PSA These Are Anti-fascist Titties

"A world without trans people has never existed and never will"

Poster spotted in Olympia, WA

PEDRO PASCAL ‘Ballerina’ World Premiere, London May 22, 2025

kendrick REALLY won that rap beef… drakes being called a pedo at fhe grammy awards LMFAOO

Maroon

Dr. Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, age gap, unprotected sex

A/N: This ended up being a 6.2k word fic that I wrote after having some wine. This was definitely NOT proofread, but I did my best! I enjoyed writing this so much. I love Michael Robinavitch with my whole heart.

—

You knew you looked good. Fuck, you had spent three hours getting ready. Exfoliating your entire body to be smoother than marble. Shaving your legs and pelvic area. Massaging lotion deep into your skin. Blow-dried hair and flawless makeup. And your outfit. A long, red, satin dress that hung off your shoulders, snatched around your waist, and a slit that showcased your left upper thigh. 

You walked into the Pitt, the clicking of your black heels announcing your presence. Every head, single and taken, craned to watch you pass by. The path up to the nurses' station might as well have been a catwalk. When Dana turned around, she let out a surprised laugh. 

“Wow! I didn’t know you owned any clothes besides scrubs.” She teased. 

You smiled and leaned against the counter. “To be fair, this is probably the only nice outfit I have.” You admitted. 

Dana glanced around the room, and just about every person, staff and patients alike, were trying to sneak glances at you. “Well, you’ve certainly got everyone’s attention. Why are you all dressed up?” She asked. 

You rubbed your hands together, trying to soothe yourself, swallowing hard before you spoke to mask any insecurities in your voice. “I had a date. Got stood up.” You replied.

Dana furrowed her brow when she saw your nose scrunch at the early sting of tears. “Stood up? Does he know you look like this?” She waved her hands down your body as if she were presenting you to an audience. 

You felt a smile reach your lips again and giggled slightly. “I mean, he had only seen me in scrubs.” You answered. 

Dana leaned in, suspicion in her eyes. “Was it someone from the Pitt?” She whispered. 

You looked around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear, but you still shielded your lips when you mouthed the name “Matteo.”

She pulled her lips into a thin line and nodded. “Not surprised. Good nurse, but still a kid.” She said. 

You shrugged, shoulders pulling closer to your frame to minimize yourself. “We’re the same age. I just thought he was a little more serious than that.” You confessed. 

Your work mom pointed her index finger at you. “What you need is a man. Not some kid. Someone older.” She advised. 

A huff of air passed your lips, and you stood up straight again. “Trust me, I’ve been trying.” You glanced around before leaning in again. “A certain stick-in-the-mud won’t hold a conversation longer than thirty seconds if it’s not about a patient.”

Dana chuckled. “Too bad he’s already gone home for the night. Otherwise, I think you’d have him wrapped around your finger if he saw how you looked right now.” She mused.

You smiled at the thought and compliment. “I’ve kinda given up on that. It’s out of my reach. Hence, my date tonight.”

“Well, never say never. Now why are you here instead of at a bar picking up hot men?” She asked. 

You looked towards the doctor’s lounge. “I left my purse here. Has my driver’s license and everything. Just glad I didn’t get pulled over.” You replied. 

She smiled and gave you a ‘get outta here’ nod of her head. “Get your stuff and go have some fun. Don’t let a stupid boy ruin your night. But not too much fun because I don’t want to see your body search on the evening news.” 

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll probably just go to Fenian’s across the street.” You agreed before heading toward the doctor’s lounge. 

As you opened the door, you bumped into someone exiting the lounge. “Oh, I’m sorry.” The familiar voice said. Dr. Robby towered over you, still not looking down, distracted by the last few minutes of his shift. “This is a doctor's lounge. We ask that patients and families-“

“Doctor Robby.” You said, trying to get him to actually look down at you. 

And boy, when he finally did. Robby’s breath hitched once he realized it was you. He had already pinned you as a patient’s girlfriend, probably in the ER after your boyfriend had an allergic reaction at a fancy restaurant.

“Oh.” Was all he could say. 

His eyes scanned your body, lingering a little too long at your exposed cleavage. You fiddled with the delicate bracelet around your wrist out of nervousness and let out a breathy laugh. “Sorry, I just left my purse here.” You said.

Without a word, Robby held the door open for you, and you went inside. You grabbed your purse, slung it over your shoulder, and exited the room again. “Thank you.” You added before heading towards the entrance of the Pitt. 

Robby’s eyes were locked on your calves as you strutted away in those black heels. He felt winded like he had fallen flat on his back and had the air knocked out of his lungs. Slowly, he walked up to the nurses’ station, not taking his eyes off you until you exited the building.

Meanwhile, Dana had been watching the entire interaction. Amused, she leaned back in her chair. “I thought you went home.” She said.

Robby rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tic. “Uh, no. Not yet.” He answered.

“You look like you’ve seen an angel.” She teased. 

He leaned against the high counter and shook his head. “No, I just didn’t recognize her.” He replied. 

Dana rolled her eyes. “Come on, Robby. Productivity dropped fifty percent the moment she walked in the door. You can admit that she looked good.” She said. 

He looked to Dana like admitting it out loud would be an unforgivable sin. It would verify that he had entertained the idea of dragging you to an on-call room with him or bringing you coffee at the beginning of your shift. “She’s half my age. I could be her father.” He replied. 

Dana shrugged. “A young father.” She amended. 

Robby rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t shake the image of you walking away. Hair bouncing on your back with every step, the sway of your hips. “Why was she all dressed up?” He asked. 

“She had a date and got stood up. Can you believe that?” She answered. 

No. He really couldn’t believe that. How does someone as intelligent as you, looking like a modern-day goddess, get stood up? But he said nothing to show his hand. 

“I’m about to head out. Anything you need before I leave?” He asked instead, drumming his hands on the high counter. 

Dana gave him a skeptical look. “No. Go on, get out of here before night shift drags you into a room.” She replied. And as Robby began to walk away, he heard Dana add, “She’s at Fenian’s.”

Fenian’s. The bar across from the hospital. Robby began to consider it. Showing up after his shift in scrubs that had probably come in contact with every possible bodily fluid that day. His eyes were sunken in from dehydration and sleep deprivation. All while you looked like a pin-up poster girl. And you probably had men on either side of you now, each trying to best the other to win your affections. 

His mind ran on like that until he found himself standing at the entrance of the bar, the neon blue ‘OPEN’ sign shining bright in his eyes. He turned to leave, shaking his head in disbelief that he had even walked to the bar. Until he saw you through the window. Sitting alone at the counter. Legs delicately crossed, posture impeccable. You sipped on what looked like vodka and club soda, eyes peering up at the Steelers game on the TV. You looked like an angel in the low light of the bar.

Robby didn’t realize he had walked in through the door until a bell signaled that he entered. The bartender looked up and smiled. “Hey, Robby. What can I get ya?” She asked. 

You didn’t turn around, eyes focused on the game. You hadn’t even considered that it was your Robby who walked in. “Shot of Lalo, please.” He answered. 

His voice made your heart jump to your throat. You turned your head, hair tossing naturally over your shoulder. Robby smiled, but it was a small one. Slowly, he moved to sit at the barstool next to you, back leaning against the bar to watch a different game on the TV behind you. 

“Can’t stay away from the hospital for too long, huh?” He said, trying to begin a lighthearted conversation. 

You studied the way he sat next to you, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted up to watch the game. You smiled slightly. “I was supposed to have a date.” You answered, almost embarrassed.

“Didn’t show up?”

“No. He even had the day off, too.” 

Robby finally glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Your posture regressed to a slouch, and you stared blankly at your fizzing cup on the bar. A strange twist in his chest arose at the pitiful sight. He turned slightly to face you, leaning an elbow on the counter. 

“You deserve better than that.” He affirmed. 

You huffed at his words and took a sip of your drink. “I guess he really is more interested in Javadi.” You said. 

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Javadi? You mean you were supposed to go on a date with Matteo?”

Your silent nod sent a vile jolt of jealousy through his body. One that he hadn’t expected. He downed his shot of tequila that he had let sit on the bar. The burn in his throat distracted him from the nausea pooling in his stomach at the thought of you and Matteo. Someone much younger than him. Better looking than him.

“Maybe it’s a good thing. I’m looking to settle down, and he doesn’t seem like he’s in that headspace.” You finally added. 

Robby raised a finger to the bartender, who poured another shot for him. “Yeah, I don’t think he is.” He confirmed. 

You glanced up at him as he threw back the second shot. It hurt to hear the truth confirmed, even if you already knew. But then Dana’s words seemed to creep into your mind.

“Dana said I need someone older.” You found yourself admitting. 

Robby met your gaze again, feeling a whisper of warmth in his cheeks, unsure if it was the tequila or your words. “Older.” He repeated, though not as a question. 

You nodded and turned to face him on your barstool. The slit in your shimmering red dress widened to reveal even more of your thigh, dangerously close to your hip. Robby couldn’t help himself from looking, and you noticed the way his eyes politely flicked back up to yours with a swiftness. 

“Someone who knows what he wants. Knows how to take care of me.” You tested the waters, seeing if Robby would take the bait. 

He remained guarded, but his eyes were riveted on your thickly glossed lips. “Take care of you.” He mumbled to himself like an oath. 

You shrugged. “Or at least let me take care of him.” You added, voice laced with sultry. 

Robby’s dark chocolate eyes snapped up, a twinkle of understanding within them. Your lips curved into a small smile, and you leaned in closer, your cleavage deepening from the change in position. “Do you know of anyone like that?” You asked softly, feigning innocence. 

You were close enough now to smell the strong aroma of Lalo on his breath, and he was intoxicated by the sweet scent of your perfume. “I-“ He began to stutter, the pitch of his voice faltering. “You’ve been drinking. I’m not going to take advantage of you.” He said as firmly as he was able to. 

You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head to your drink. “That’s Sprite.” You deadpanned. “I’m sober. Are you?” 

Robby chuckled at the idea that two shots of tequila would make him feel anything. “Absolutely.” He answered. 

Your bare knee brushed against his, leaning in impossibly close now. “Then take me home.” You whispered. 

Robby’s hands trembled as he ran one through his thinning dark hair. “I don’t do hookups. I can’t do casual. I can only handle something real.” He warned. “I know you’re upset about Matteo not showing-”

“Robby.” You cut him off. “I never wanted him. I’ve always wanted you.”

The air hung heavy between the two of you. Your doe eyes were making him crumble. “You want me?” He questioned. Now he was concerned that two shots of tequila did affect him.

You rose to your feet, standing in between his spread legs now, still craning your neck up at him. The distance between your lips was minuscule, and for the first time, you placed your hands on his body, resting them on his chest. “I want you. Take me home.” You reaffirmed. 

—-

The door to Robby’s house slammed shut after he pulled you through the threshold. He pinned you against it, hands resting on the wood on either side of your head. His head lowered so that your noses brushed, but he wouldn’t go any farther than that. 

Your hands found rest on his chest again, flush against the fabric of his navy hoodie. “Are you gonna kiss me, Robby?” You asked. 

Robby’s smile pulled to one side of his face as he studied the beautiful features of your face. “My name is Michael.” He whispered and placed a sweet kiss on your forehead. “Only here.” A kiss on your cheek. “Only for you.” A kiss on your jaw. 

Your breath staggered at the sensation of his beard dragging across your soft skin. “Michael.” You tested the name on your lips. It felt intimate. It felt natural.

Robby grinned, and his teeth dragged across your skin as he finally made his way to your lips. Your mouth opened immediately to welcome his, slipping your tongue across his bottom lip. He answered with a quiet moan and deepened the kiss by grabbing the back of your head and pulling you closer. Your arms draped around his neck, pushing your entire body against his. You both savored the simplicity of kissing, learning each other’s mouths, familiarizing yourselves with the closeness of your souls for the first time. His hand that wasn’t rooted in your hair explored the curves of your waist and back, leaving a tingling sensation wherever it wandered. 

After what felt like hours, he pulled away first but stayed close with his nose nuzzling against yours. “I’m gonna take care of you tonight. The way you deserve.” He whispered, lips ghosting over yours as he spoke. “But I have some ground rules, okay?” 

You nodded, gently scratching his beard with your fingertips. “Okay.” You agreed. 

“Number one. We can’t tell anyone at work. I don’t want anyone knowing what happens between us at home. And more importantly, I don’t want anyone questioning your judgement as a doctor because I’ve got a soft spot for you. Okay?” He pressed a kiss to your cheek when he finished. 

You closed your eyes and nodded again. “Okay.”

“Number two. You’ll always communicate what you’re feeling. What you need, what you aren’t ready for. I’ll do the same.” Another kiss on your temple. 

Another nod. “Okay.”

“And number three. Look at me, baby girl.” He tilted your chin up with a hooked finger. “Please don’t run when you see the skeletons in the closet.”

Your eyes locked with his deep brown ones that glimmered in the low light of his living room. For the first time since he brought you home, he looked timid. Like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Like he was terrified of fracturing the fresh connection you both made tonight.

A final nod, and you cradled his face in your hands. “I promise I won’t run.” 

And with one more kiss on the lips, smiles pressed against each other, Robby led you to his bedroom. You never let yourself imagine what his home looked like, let alone his bedroom. But it was neat and simple. No decoration aside from medical journal papers stacked high on every flat surface. 

He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled you into his lap. His lips trailed across your bare shoulder, leaving gentle kisses as his fingers delicately slid the straps of your dress down. You shivered at the light touches and pulled at his hoodie. Instead of taking it off, your silent wish, he stopped kissing your body and tilted his head up at you.

“If you want something, you have to use your words.” He demanded in a sickeningly sweet tone.

Your cheeks flushed at the commandment, and suddenly you felt powerless. “I want to feel your skin.” You begged pathetically.

Robby held your gaze as he shrugged off his hoodie, then pulled his scrub top and undershirt over his head, jostling his hair a bit. Your eyes studied his upper body. Freckles dusted his broad shoulders. His abdominal muscles were toned, but not excessively so. A couple of scars were cemented near his ribcage from hostile patient encounters. A glitter of gold lured your eyes to his sternum.

A smile melted on your face. “The Star of David.” You mumbled.

Robby tilted his head slightly. “Yeah?” He affirmed, unsure of why his pendant captivated you.

You brushed your fingertips across the metal, cool from the air. Your hands lifted the Star from his chest, inspecting it gingerly. Robby wouldn’t admit it, but in that moment, he felt like a dog on a leash from the gentle tug of his chain in your hands. And he loved it.

“I’ve always wondered what it was.” You mused to yourself. “You wear it every day.”

Robby nodded, an unconscious smile gracing his lips. “My savta gave it to me. I never take it off.” He confirmed.

“Softa?” You were unsure of the word.

“Savta.” He repeated with the utmost patience. “It means ‘grandmother’ in Hebrew.” 

You smiled and nodded as the first branch into his past formed between you. “Savta.” You repeated correctly this time. “When did she give it to you?” 

Robby brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes, thinking for a moment. “When I was about six or seven.” He answered. “It’s older than you.” He added with a wink, but couldn’t hold back his grin.

You giggled and threw your arms around his shoulders. And he laughed. Not like the sarcastic ones you heard at work when he was exasperated, but one full of heartfelt joy. The sound was so beautiful that it nearly brought tears to your eyes. His mouth found yours again, and you fell back into the waltz of lips.

His fingers grasped the zipper of your dress and lazily pulled it down, unsheathing your upper body from the silky fabric. Your chest became exposed to the frigid air of his home, and your skin tightened at the temperature.

Robby pulled away to analyze your newly exposed skin. Your breasts hung perfectly from your chest, and his absent-minded hand cupped one of them, massaging gently.

“So beautiful.” He murmured as his lips returned to your upper body, slowly moving his way down.

His mouth latched onto one of your nipples, pulling back with suction until a loud smack from his lips filled the air as your breast recoiled into place. You moaned at the sensation, digging your fingers into his scalp. He continued to the other breast, giving it the same treatment. Suck and smack. Then, he dragged his tongue across your nipple, rough tastebuds scraping smoothly against it. While he worked on one with his mouth, he used his fingers to tweak and tug at the other. You let out a squeal of delight, and Robby couldn’t help but chuckle.

“That feel good?” He asked before latching onto your breast again.

You shivered at intense pressure on your breasts. “Feels so good.” You mumbled.

Just when you thought the sensation had maxed out, the unmistakable hardness of teeth grazed across your nipples, and an involuntary scream left your vocal cords. The mix of pain and pleasure wasn’t new to you, but it had never felt this good. Robby looked up to you with those innocent brown eyes, teeth still clenched around your sensitive bud. With his gaze locked on yours, he relieved the pressure of his teeth, your skin snapping back to its configuration. 

“Michael!” You shrieked, and your shrillness only encouraged him to follow suit for the other nipple. 

Surely, by now, your fingernails had dug their graves within his scalp. But Robby relished the feeling of your oversensitivity inflicting pain of his own. With confidence, he trailed his hand down your waist, your hip, and to the slit in your dress. The very opening that taunted him at the bar, daring him to brush against your thigh in public. But when his fingers reached up, up, up to your hip line, he froze.

You furrowed your brow at the halt in momentum, and you looked to his face. He stared back at you, face suddenly unreadable. 

“You don’t-” He began, but he paused to take in a deep breath. “You don’t have anything on under the dress?” 

You studied his face, trying to understand what his angle was. Of course, you weren’t wearing panties. It was a silk dress, and any kind of…oh.

Oh.

You finally felt like you had the high ground again. An involuntary smirk found its way to your lips. “No.” You answered innocently.

Robby’s chest puffed out, and a primal, vicious jealousy coarsed through his veins for the second time tonight. The very notion that you went garmentless for your date with Matteo reinforced his mission to treat you better than that boyish nurse would have.

“You only do that for me from now on. You understand?” He growled in your ear.

The dominance made your spine feel weak, and you nodded. “Yeah.” You breathed.

Robby fisted your hair, forcing your face to meet his eyes. The same ones you often saw at work when he was reaching his maximum level of fury. “You can answer better than that.” He said.

Fuck, he was sexy when he was pissed. “Yes, sir.” You corrected yourself.

“That’s what I thought.” He relented, finally letting his fingers move under your dress again.

Rough, calloused pads brushed against your pelvis, moving down until they slipped against your weeping pussy. The sound that fell from Robby’s lips was unholy but heavenly as he collected your wetness on his fingertips, and your hips ground against them subconsciously.

You felt tears sting your eyes as the burning desire to be filled with some part of his body grew stronger. “Michael, please.” You begged.

Once again, Robby’s eyes locked on yours, and the desperation in his face gave you some hope. His index finger swirled around your external anatomy, collecting lubrication, before plunging into your pussy. And just that one, long finger was enough to draw a scream from you. A smug smile slithered across his face as he curled his finger inside you, pressing his fingerprint against your gummy walls.

“Think you can handle another one?” He cooed, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

Your hand clenched around his bicep, feeling the muscles ripple underneath his skin as he fingered you. “Yes, please.” You begged.

Robby deftly inserted his middle finger, curling it in tandem with his index. The stretch was pleasant, and the added finger reached even farther inside you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, letting out a string of shredded moans. “That’s my good girl.” He whispered in praise as he continued to pump his wrist.

Finally, once you adjusted to the width of his fingers, you formed a coherent statement. “Can you please fuck me?” You pleaded.

Robby’s smile wasn’t one of agreement but one that mirrored a parent admiring a child’s innocence. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ll get there.” He assured you.

His hand movements stopped, and he withdrew his fingers from your pussy, leaving you uncomfortably empty. He raised his fingers to his line of vision. Your wetness formed slick webs between his two fingers, and he studied it like a new scientific discovery. Then his tongue tore apart the webs, devouring every drop.

Watching him consume your juices with such fervor sent an involuntary pulse to your pussy, foreshadowing his next steps.

“You taste so fucking good.” He growled, pulling his large fingers from his mouth once he sucked them clean. “Stand up for me.” He ordered.

Knees trembling, you rose to your feet, trying to balance yourself in your heels. Robby held you by your ribcage, letting your dress fall to the floor and pool at your ankles, revealing your fully naked body to him. After sitting you back down on the bed, he knelt on the hardwood floor of his bedroom and delicately removed your heels like you were a reverse Cinderella. This level of care overwhelmed you, but you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Robby positioned himself between your legs, initiating a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses beginning at your ankle, moving up to your knee, then your inner thigh. He could feel the furnace heat of your pussy on his nose as he inched closer to your opening. Your knees hung over his shoulders, his hands finding purchase on the outside of your thighs. Then, without a warning, he engulfed your entire womanhood in his mouth, pulling back dangerously slow to create suction. The scream from your throat rivaled that of a psychiatric patient waiting for a room in the Pitt.

The overwhelmed tears from your eyes finally streaked down your temples as your back arched and head tilted back at his magical tongue. You repeated his name over and over and over, and his only answer came in deep grunts, the vibrations adding an unfamiliar sensation to your building orgasm.

His tongue expertly manuevered inside your pussy like a ship on treacherous waters. Every lick, suck, and nibble drove you farther from sanity. And when his thumb reached up to spiral around your delicate clit? Then you only had seconds until you spilled juices inside his mouth.

“Michael, I’m-” Your voice staggered, trying to focus on circling your release. “I’m gonna-”

Your first orgasm came in a tsunami, splashing juices into Robby’s mouth, which he gratefully lapped up like it was an oasis in a desert. Your thighs had clenched around his neck like a boa constrictor, but he had anticipated your release based on the pulsing of your walls around his tongue. 

As you came down from your high, Robby kissed back up your body, whispering praises like “that’s my girl” and “so fucking good for me.” When he reached your face and your eyes could focus again, you saw his beard glistening with your cum.

You grasped the back of his neck and pulled him close in a kiss, tasting your own salty flavor. “You’re really good at that.” You mumbled, breath still faltering from your high.

Robby chuckled, dragging his nose against yours. “It’s easy when you taste like fucking candy.” He confessed.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, and for the first time in a long time, you realized he still had his scrub cargo pants on. Suddenly, you felt a surge of energy.

“Take off your pants.” You demanded.

Robby pulled away from your shared intimacy with a raised eyebrow. “Excuse me?” He asked in the same tone he used in a patient’s room when a junior resident defied him.

Your eyes narrowed, darker than they had been before. “Take off. Your pants.” You broke it down for him.

Robby didn’t know how to handle the change in dynamics. He had been in control in every sexual encounter he ever had since his virginity was lost in college. While he didn’t want to yield, something about the tone in your voice was compelling him to reach for his belt. He stood up straight, leisurely reached for the buckle, and tugged, letting the leather slither from around his waist. You sat up on the bed, watching him undress for you in the lamp-glow of the room with a similar view of power that he had once given you a few minutes ago.

Robby unfastened his cargo scrub bottoms and shucked them off, leaving only his grey boxer-briefs, stained with a pool of precum. You marveled at the man in front of you for the first time. His body was exactly what you imagined in your late-night fantasies. Six foot one, muscled appropriately, and…

Actually, you hadn’t imagined that. His cock bulging from his boxer-briefs, threatening to shred through the fabric. Much larger than you had pictured based on his height and weight, which was already pretty large.

His hand unconsciously massaged his aching dick, and that brought you back to reality. You tilted your head, crossing your ankles over the edge of the bed. “Why are you touching yourself?” You asked, sitting closer to the edge of the bed. “My mouth is right here.”

Robby’s eyes widened slightly, even though he had plenty of blowjobs in his lifetime. But something about your tone excited him. That you were eager to suck him off. You reached a hand out and snatched the waistband of his boxer-briefs, reeling him closer. Then, in one swift motion, you pulled them down, and his cock sprang out, nearly smacking your jaw.

Fucking glorious. Cut, veined, thick, and tilting down from the sheer weight. Your mouth watered at the sight, and your pussy clenched in preparation for later. You wrapped your hand around his cock, barely fitting your grasp, and brushed the tip of your tongue across the head. Robby grasped the back of his neck with both hands, groaning at the lightest touch. You licked up the pearls of his precum, indulging in the salty appetizer. Your moans of delight and its resonance sent a shiver up his spine. He grasped a fistful of your hair to ground himself.

“Listen, kid, I’m not gonna be able to last very long if you keep-” He began.

But you cut him off by plunging down his length with your mouth until your nose was snug against his pelvis. The yell he let out was visceral and animalistic. You half expected him to yank at your hair, but instead he pushed you deeper. Your throat stretched with his length, surely bruising your soft palette. You pulled away, mouth watering even more from the gag reflex. 

Robby whispered your name, but you sunk down on him again, drawing another carnal scream from his vocal cords. This time, you remained in place, letting him feel with his free hand the stretch in your esophagus from his cock. He pulled away this time, refusing to let himself come in your mouth.

With impressive ease, Robby man-handled your body and tossed you up further on the bed, crawling over you until his face hovered above yours. “You can take care of me another time.” He whispered, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. “Tonight is about you.”

Your eyes were lost in his again, and for a moment, neither of you moved. But in that moment of peace, you felt a dangerous vulnerability. Your brows furrowed, holding back unexpected tears. “This isn’t a one-night stand, right?” You whispered.

Robb’s face softened, almost to sadness that he hadn’t already convinced you otherwise. With one elbow propping him above your body, he used his free hand to brush some disheveled strands of hair from your face. “Listen to me.” He ordered with the same authority he used in the hospital. “I told you I can’t do casual hookups. I meant that. This is something that I’ve wanted for an embarrassingly long time. I’m right here, right now. And I will be right here tomorrow.” He continued. “And the next day.” He pressed a kiss to your collarbone. “And the next day.” A kiss to your neck. “And the ne-”

You cut him off with a cheerful kiss, smiling against his lips. Robby let his body press heavier against yours in the moment of innocent love, although you wouldn’t say that out loud for another couple of months. “Michael.” You breathed against his mouth.

He hummed in response, moving his lips down your jaw, tempted to leave territorial marks on your neck for the rest of the Pitt staff to see. You grabbed his face so his eyes met yours again, forcing the connection. “I am begging you. Please fuck me.” You whispered.

Robby finally gave in, deciding he had worshipped you long enough for tonight. With a nod, he reached down and lined his cock up to your entrance, The tip nudged against your threshold, and you gave him a nod of confirmation. Slowly, every inch of him buried deeper, deeper inside you. The stretch of your pussy was paralyzing, and you couldn’t make a sound despite your open mouth.

Once he sank all the way, maxing out at the hilt, he gave a pathetic grunt. “Oh, fucking hell.” He breathed, unable to move from the overpowering tightness of your walls.

For a minute, you both remained still to adjust to each other. Tears welled in your eyes again at the overexpansion of your pussy. Then he began to move. In and out. In and out. A slow, molasses pace to start out. Your breaths were heavy to adjust to his unprecedented size, and his breaths staggered to hold his orgasm back from your tightness. But as he continued to move, you eventually began to meet him in the middle. 

Vulgar squelching sounds of your sopping wet pussy meeting the wall of his firm pelvis filled the bedroom. His hips pistoned into yours, the pace becoming steadier and controlled. His eyes never left your face, which scrunched in ecstasy and bliss. He wished he could save that image forever. 

There were other positions he wanted to fuck you in. On your knees in his bed, ass in the air. Against the wall of an on-call room. In the backseat of his truck on a hiking trip. Riding him reverse cowgirl on his living room couch. But right now was for both of you. For the months of stolen glances at each other in the Pitt, lingering hands while trading CPR positions, hopeful wishes that the other showed up on a random night shift assignment.

Robby dropped his head to capture your lips as he railed into you. Gratefully, you returned the kiss, grasping the short strands of hair on the back of his head. His Star of David pendant slapped against your chin over and over and over. “Michael.” You whispered in the same cadence that alerted your first orgasm.

He nodded, reaching down to your clit again to work you through the next release. “That’s right. I can feel you getting ready.” He guided, circling your sensitive spot again and again. “Come for me one more time.” He pleaded.

It didn’t take much for your high to snap again. Your walls clenched around his cock, soaking it further. Robby grunted at each squeeze of your pussy, hips becoming weaker as he neared his own climax. 

“I’m almost there.” He breathed. “Where do you want me?”

Your eyes snapped open through your dazed bliss, and your legs wrapped around his waist. “Inside me. Please, Michael. I want to feel you.” You pleaded.

That was all Robby needed to hear. A few more vulnerable grunts, and he erupted inside you. Each hot rope of cum was an unusual sensation. He was the first person you allowed to come inside you, let alone beg. He collapsed on top of you, chest heaving. Your hand lazily ran through his sweat-soaked hair. 

“I’ve wanted that for a long time.” You admitted, rubbing circles with your other hand on his slippery back.

Robby pressed a gentle kiss to your dewy chest. “Me too.” He agreed.

For a few minutes longer, while your vitals returned to normal, there was peace and quiet for the first time that night. Just exhausted bodies clinging together, enjoying the silence in each other’s presence.

Finally, Robby sat up. “Wait here.” He instructed before heading to his bathroom. You heard the shower start, and he emerged with a dampened wash cloth. 

He sat on the edge of his bed, dark hair slack against his forehead from sweat. He cleaned you up with the cloth, making sure nothing was left behind. Then, he placed a hand to the side of your face, cradling it. “Let’s shower and go to bed, okay?” He whispered,

You agreed and followed him to the bathroom. You both reveled in the warmth of the shower, washing each other and kissing until the water turned icy cold. Robby supplied you with a fluffy towel to dry off with, a New Orleans t-shirt, and a pair of his boxer briefs as pajama pants. Once you both settled into his bed again, he pulled you close. Closer than any man had ever held you at night.

“Gotta work tomorrow?” He mumbled against your wet hair.

You shook your head. “No. Seven on, seven off.” You whispered. “What about you?”

“Nope. Seven on, seven off.” He replied.

And with the next week off, you both had plenty of opportunity to make up for lost time.

this is someone's life i feel sick to my stomach 💔

Eliza is too fucking funny LMAO she was like just kiss already god damn 🤣🤣🤣🤣

I love the way you write Jack!! He deserves the world.

You Are In Love: Chapter Two

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: Incredibly fluffy, trauma, Jack's widower status is slightly explored, light sexual references

Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two

Description: Jack and the reader haven't spoken since the night Robby's daughter broke her arm. Trying to get them back in the same place, Robby and his wife ask them to babysit the kids while they go to a wedding.

--

“What if one of them offers to go home?” Robby asked, slinging a powder blue tie around his neck, a move usually reserved for his stethoscope. 

His wife leaned over the bathroom counter slightly to get a closer view of her eyelashes in the mirror as a mascara brush painted them. “Neither of them will actually go home.” She answered nonchalantly. 

He raised an eyebrow as he snaked the tie into a Windsor knot. “And why is that?” 

“Eliza is going to beg both of them to stay.” She responded like it was an obvious answer. 

“You think that’s all it’ll take?”

“It’s hard to say no to those Robinavitch brown eyes.” 

Robby smirked and slid an arm low around his wife’s waist. “Oh, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “We do not have time.”

“We hired babysitters.”

“So we can go to a wedding.”

“What about after? I’ll show you a good time in the back of the truck. Just like your intern year.” A swat at his ass had him howling in surprise. “Oh, yeah, just like that, Mama.”

“Michael!”

—

You pulled up to the address that Robby’s wife had texted to your phone a couple of days ago. She had asked if you could babysit the kids for a few hours while she and Robby went to her cousin’s wedding. And, of course, you couldn’t say no after meeting Eliza and baby Abbot in the emergency department a couple of weeks ago. 

You turned onto their street as instructed by your phone, counted the mailbox numbers, and…that was weird. You knew Robby had a navy truck, but you didn’t recognize the second black truck that was sitting in front of the house. As you rolled forward, you parked behind the black truck so you wouldn’t obstruct the driveway. The license plate caught your eye, and…fuck. 

U.S. Army Veteran.

Jack was here. You quickly pulled your sun visor down to check your appearance in the tiny mirror. Light mascara and blush from your day of running errands. A lavender oversized sweatshirt and black biker shorts that hugged your ass (covered by the sweatshirt though). You didn’t look bad, but you certainly didn’t put in enough effort to be around him. 

The night Eliza broke her arm was the last night on your rotation with Jack. About thirteen days ago. Now you were on the day shift with Robby and his wife. Even though shift changes overlapped, Jack was always pulled immediately into a room when he arrived at dusk. And he never seemed to wait for you when you came in the mornings. 

Your last interaction with him was warm, tender, and promising. Talk of the future, even if it wasn’t explicitly about you and him. The innocent touch of your hands around his bicep. The press of his lips against your hair. 

You had expected a call or text. But you received nothing from him outside of work discussions. A piece of your heart crumbled every time his name popped up on your lock screen, just for it to be about a patient’s chart.

Robby’s wife made a thorough effort to become your friend. She was a senior resident, just returning from maternity leave. A couple of times, she asked how Jack was doing, assuming the two of you had kept in touch, but you couldn’t provide her with an answer. You didn’t know. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror, deciding that the only way to approach tonight was with confidence and grace. Don’t let him know you’re hurt. Don’t let him know you care. But still be sugary sweet. This wasn’t your first rodeo. 

You knocked on the door, not too loudly, and avoided the doorbell in case baby Abbot was sleeping. Following a click, the door swung open to reveal Robby, uncharacteristically polished in a navy suit, with Abbot tucked into his right arm like a football. 

“Hey! Come on in.” He greeted, stepping out of the doorway. 

You smiled, giving his wife mental props for scoring a hot older man, and stepped inside. Baby Abbot was kicking his legs, blowing spit bubbles. You tickled one of his bare feet. 

“Hey, handsome!” You cooed. “It’s only been two weeks, you look so much bigger!”

Robby chuckled and shut the door. “He is definitely not failing to thrive.” He commented.

High heels clicked on hardwood floor, softening as they hit the entryway hall runner. You turned to see his wife, looking elegant as ever, but certainly much more youthful than him. 

She greeted you with a hug and grabbed your hands. “Thank you so much for helping us out. This is actually the first time we’ve left them both behind...” She said, and a streak of anxiety flashed through her eyes. Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. “So we needed extra reinforcements. Jack usually watches Eliza, but she can be a lot. And with a 4-month-old…” She trailed off, looking to make sure nobody was behind her. “He’s just older, you know? Can’t get around like he used to.”

Behind you, Robby narrowed his eyes at the last sentence as he bounced baby Abbot in his arms. But you nodded in understanding. “No, yeah. I totally get it.” You replied, an unusual feeling wrestling in your stomach at the mention of Jack. 

“I mean, Robby already has a hard time keeping up with both of them when I’m away. With Eliza running around and Abbot learning to crawl-“

Robby stepped forward, throwing his free arm around his wife’s waist. “Okayyy, she said she gets it.” He cut the conversation short, but clearly he wasn’t too upset. “We need to get going.”

His wife giggled and leaned into his side. “Okay, okay.” She conceded before calling out, “Eliza! Come see who’s here!”

Robby looked to his wife as tiny footsteps grew louder. “For the record, I get around just fine. I’m in my physical prime.” He protested. 

All he received in return was a “Sure, babe.”

From around the corner, Eliza appeared in a pink, glittery princess outfit, wielding a star wand in her casted arm. As soon as she spotted you, she squealed your name and sprinted to you. 

You swooped her into your arms, matching the tight hug she gave you. “I didn’t know a princess lived here!” You exclaimed. 

Eliza giggled and did a spin in her dress. “I’m a doctor princess!” That’s when you noticed a toy stethoscope around her neck.

You nodded and tapped the plastic stethoscope. “Oh, I see.” 

“Uncle Jack gave it to me!” She explained.

As if on cue, you could hear his signature foot pattern. Slow, steady, but heavier on the right foot. Your eyes flicked up, meeting his piercing gaze. You couldn’t bear to hold it, so you looked back at Eliza. 

“That’s very nice of him.” You commented, standing up to adult height. 

The silence that followed was a half-beat too long. Robby received a say-something glance from his wife, and he cleared his throat. “Eliza, you get two babysitters tonight. Are you excited?”

Eliza looked between you and Jack, processing this new information. “But I only need one.” She replied as frankly as a five-year-old could. 

Robby’s wife carefully took baby Abbot from her husband’s grasp, kissing him on his tiny forehead. “That’s true, but your baby brother needs a babysitter, too.” She reasoned. 

Eliza tilted her head. “But Abby is little.” She replied. 

You and Jack gave identical looks of confusion to the parents, not exactly following the child’s statement, but they were just as lost. Robby shrugged, indicating to move along.

“I can-“ you stuttered, making an awkward step backward to the door. “I can go if that makes her more comfortable.” 

“No!” Four different voices exclaimed. Desperately from Robby and his wife. Loudest from Eliza. But surprisingly, from Jack. Even he was caught off guard by his response. 

You relaxed and smiled, feeling a little more welcome. “Okay, I’ll stay.” You replied. 

Eliza cheered, jumping up and down. “Two babysitters!” She shouted. 

Robby’s wife carefully transferred baby Abbot to your embrace, giving him one last kiss on the cheek. “Bottles are in the fridge, bottle warmer is next to the kitchen sink.” She told you. 

“Got it.” You answered, bouncing the baby in your arms. 

Both parents knelt to hug and kiss Eliza, sharing I-love-yous and goodnights. As Robby stood up again, the joints in his knees cracked, and he let out a slight grunt as he straightened out. 

“Physical prime, my ass.” You heard his wife say under her breath, earning a glare from the old man. 

Jack had made his way to your side, picking up Eliza in his arms as she waved goodbye to her parents. You took baby Abbot’s tiny hand and waved for him. 

“We’ll be back in a few hours.” Robby reminded, and the door shut behind them. 

There was a moment of silence. Eliza watched the door, fighting the urge to chase after her parents like every child. Baby Abbot stared up at you, holding your gaze with the same big brown eyes that matched his father's and sister's. Jack glanced down at you, trying to find the right words to say, but his search was cut short.

“Uncle Jack, can I paint your nails?”

—

Everyone was on the ground in Eliza’s room. Jack had laid a towel down for the inevitable nail polish spill that would occur. You set baby Abbot on a blanket, letting him lie on his tummy, and mirrored him on the floor. Eliza sat crisscrossed, the rainbow assortment of polish out in front of her. Jack sat with his left leg bent, right leg extended out, awaiting his glittery and messy fate. Peaceful instrumental music played from the tiny stereo in the bedroom, giving a warm aura. 

“What color do you want?” Eliza asked. 

Jack hummed in thought, browsing his choices. “Give me your best shade of pink. I want to look pretty.” He answered very seriously. 

Eliza giggled and snatched the light pink glitter polish before swiping the others aside. “This is the best pink.” She advertised. 

You couldn’t help but smile at Jack’s devotion to making his niece happy. The cynical veteran remained still with his hands pressed on the towel while Eliza slathered the nail polish onto his nails and knuckles. 

“I think he’ll need his toenails painted, too.” You commented. 

Eliza looked up to you, eyes blown wide like you’d revealed an entrepreneurial secret. “Yeah!” She exclaimed. 

Jack’s jaw slackened as he slowly looked over to you, tongue in cheek. You gave him a sweet smile before returning your attention to baby Abbot, who cooed as he tried to figure out how to crawl to you.

Eliza continued to work diligently, covering each nail with an excessive amount of polish. “Have you kissed her?” She asked casually. 

The color drained from your face, but you refused to turn around. You didn’t see his reaction, but his silence was deafening. 

“Not yet.”

Now that caused you to turn around, only to find him smirking right back at you. 

Eliza raised an eyebrow, the same look her mother gave patients daily. “Why not?” She asked.

You tilted your head in curiosity, smiling slightly at Eliza’s annoyance. “Yeah, why not?” You asked. 

Jack looked away for the first time with an odd look on his face. Was he…blushing? Was he getting shy with you? He shrugged with the bashfulness of a teenage boy. His lips twitched as he cycled through his answers. 

“She’s been working in the day with your mommy and daddy. Not at night with me. I don’t see her anymore,” was the answer he settled on.

Your eyes softened. For the first time in two weeks, you realized that maybe he was waiting for you to make the next move. After all, he was the older man, not wanting to seem like a perv by snatching up the young intern. 

Eliza closed up the pink glitter polish and wiped the residue from her fingers onto the towel. “Why don’t you work with Uncle Jack anymore?” She asked. 

You smiled at the child’s innocence. “It’s the rules at work. I’ll work with Uncle Jack again in a few weeks.” You explained, then gambled. “I miss working with him.”

Jack’s amber eyes flicked up to meet yours, a glimmer of something hopeful in them. One side of his mouth curled up just slightly, but not too much. Eliza pulled out her nail polish selection again and spread them out. “Uncle Jack, she misses you.” She reiterated. 

Jack chuckled, the smile pulling all the way now, dimples sinking into his cheeks. “I miss her, too.” He finally responded. 

You wanted to throw your arms around his neck and tackle him to the ground with a million kisses, but baby Abbot had other plans. The tiniest Robinavitch began to cry, face reddening as he fussed. You sat up on your knees and scooped him into your arms, shushing him gently. 

“I think it’s time for a bottle.” You said to the baby and moved towards the doorway. “Are you two going to be okay in here?” 

Jack watched you leave, resisting every urge to yank you down into his arms. “Oh, we’ll be fine. Besides…” He pulled off his left shoe and sock. “It’s time for my pedicure.” 

Eliza squeaked in laughter as he shoved his foot near her face. She tried to push it away, but Jack wouldn’t give in. “It’s gross!” She screeched. 

“I will leave a bad review online if I don’t get the pedicure I was promised.” He threatened, finally setting his foot down. 

Your cheeks ached from laughter that matched Eliza’s. You felt that odd feeling of warmth again, watching him. Jack was meant to be a dad. And deep down, you wanted to do everything you could to make that happen for him. 

—

After feeding baby Abbot, burping him, and giving him a quick diaper change, you returned to Eliza’s room. Jack now had bright green polish splattered across his toes. 

“Oh, I think that’s your color, Uncle Jack.” You complimented. 

Jack gave you that famous half-smile in response. “I think so, too.” He replied. 

Eliza typed at her toy cash register, tallying up the salon bill. “Your hands are a hundred.” She announced, then pushed a few more buttons. “Your foot is not a lot because you only have one foot.” She added. 

An unexpected laugh escaped you, and Jack snapped his head up at you. A wide grin slapped across his face as you covered your mouth by pulling baby Abbot closer, hiding your snickers. “Oh, you think it’s funny?” He challenged. 

You sat down next to him, carefully shifting the baby in your arms. “Half off discount, right?” You teased. 

Jack laughed with you and nudged your shoulder with his. He fished his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, opening one of the folds to reveal Monopoly money. “Here ya go.” He tossed the assorted colored cash to the register. 

Eliza let out a big yawn as she shoved the paper into the register. “Oh, are you tired, baby?” You asked.

She didn’t say yes. No child ever admitted to being sleepy. But she rubbed her eyes before saying, “We have to do snuggle pile.” 

You looked to Jack for an explanation, but he just furrowed his brow. “What’s snuggle pile?” He questioned. 

Eliza pulled at Jack’s hand to make him stand up. “We have to do snuggle pile before sleeping.” She explained. 

Jack carefully put his weight on his left leg, slowly standing with a practiced ease until his right foot could drag up with him. “You’ll have to show me what you mean.” He replied. 

The little girl then pulled at your shirt to help you up. Jack took baby Abbot into his arms so you could stand up as well. “We have to go to the couch.” Eliza said before leading you both to the living room. 

She first pushed Jack into the corner of the L-shaped sectional. “That’s where Daddy goes.” She listed. 

Still holding baby Abbot, Jack was unable to reach for his right leg to pull it onto the couch, and you saw the brief conflict in his eyes. You gingerly grabbed the ankle joint of his prosthesis and lifted until it rested on the cushion. Jack watched you with a vulnerability that you’d only seen the night Eliza broke her arm. Before he could thank you, you were being led by a tiny force to sit down. 

“Then Mommy goes here…” Eliza explained. She pulled Jack’s arm out, the one that wasn’t cradling baby Abbot like a football, the same way Robby had. Then, she pushed you down into his embrace. “Uncle Jack, you have to hold her.” She instructed. 

Your face reddened as Jack shifted on the couch, lounging against the cushions. But he kept his arm out for you, waiting like the spot had always been meant for you. You slowly sank back, not breaking eye contact with him as you did. Once you had settled, he curled the arm around your waist, the motion turning your body more towards him, more against him, the closest you had ever been to him. His breath pooled against your cheeks, warming them further. For the first time, you could smell more than just antiseptic and coffee on him–a blend of sandalwood and citrus. 

Eliza marched to the other end of the couch and hauled a fluffy blanket in tow back to you. She climbed into your arms, cuddling between you and Jack. “And I go here.” She finished her tutorial. 

You spread the blanket across your bodies, securing the warmth. Not another word was said. Only the hum of the fan above accompanied the soft breaths from each of you. Baby Abbot already had his eyes closed, snuggled into Jack’s arm. Eliza began to drift off, turned towards you, head on your chest. 

But you were lost in Jack’s eyes, and the perfect blend of every color stared right back at you. Blinking slowly in your haven of peace. You caught him beginning to smile, the real one with dimples, the corners of his eyes crinkling. And it was so beautiful. You had no choice but to smile with him. There was nothing that needed to be said. You could hear it in the silence. 

—

It was midnight when the front door opened. Jack was the only one awake, still holding together the snuggle pile. You had dozed off, unable to fight the alluring urge to rest in his embrace. 

Robby and his wife entered the living room, both smiling at the sight before them. “Snuggle pile?” Robby whispered. 

Jack just smiled and nodded, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. The deep vibrations were enough to wake you from the best nap you’d had in years. You felt a weight being lifted off you as Robby carefully lifted his daughter from your body. Flustered, you sat up quickly, disoriented. 

“I-I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m so sorry.” You breathed. 

Robby’s wife waved you off. “You’re fine. The Lieutenant Colonel kept watch.” She replied, lifting baby Abbot from Jack’s arms, allowing him to sit up as well. 

Both parents left to transport the children to their respective bedrooms. Jack slid his right leg off the couch, his foot hitting the ground with an ungraceful thud. “Did you sleep okay?” He asked quietly. 

You nodded. “Yeah. I did actually. I didn’t even mean to. I wasn’t tired.” You rambled. “I just felt…safe.”

Safe. That was the perfect word. And Jack’s chest puffed out with a primitive pride. Then he smirked. “You talk in your sleep.”

Your eyes widened. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you absolutely do.” He was smiling, dimples and all. “You were reciting the steps for a laparoscopic appendectomy. Correctly, I might add.”

You wanted to feel embarrassed, but you just giggled. “I can’t stop studying. Even in my sleep.” You joked. 

Jack chuckled with you and ran a hand through his silvered curls. “Do you need me to drive you home?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice. 

You shook your head, smiling still. “No, I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.”

“Then let me walk you to your car.” He offered. 

Robby reentered the living room, and you heard his wife moving in the kitchen. “Let me update her on how the baby did. Don’t leave without me.” You said before standing to go to the kitchen. 

Jack watched as you walked away, and there was an involuntary ache in his chest just at the notion of your absence. Robby flopped down on the couch next to his friend. 

“Sooo…” He started, trying to pry. “How’d it go?”

“I got overcharged by your daughter for a mani-pedi.” Jack flashed his pink glittery nails as he spoke. 

Robby laughed, examining his own nails that he’d scrubbed with nail polish remover just before the wedding. “I’ll wire you some more Monopoly money at the end of the week.” He joked, but then shifted to face his friend more. “How’d it go with her?” He tilted his head towards the kitchen, where you spoke with his wife. 

Jack sank into the couch, uncharacteristic of his natural military posture. “I feel like I need to wait. I don’t want to rush into anything or scare her off.” He admitted. 

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Wait? Jack, you’re almost 50. If you wait any longer, you’ll turn to dust.” 

Jack shook his head, fiddling with his hands in his lap, another oddity from the veteran. “Michael, I’m scared.” He finally said. 

Robby’s brow wrinkled in surprise. Of all the things they had been through together, all of the traumas, all of the disagreements, all of the near-jumps from the roof of the Pitt. Jack had never admitted to being scared. And he had never, ever called him "Michael."

“Scared of what?” Robby finally asked. 

More silence. And then, “I don’t want to lose her, too.” The tiniest crack in Jack’s voice threatened to unleash a reservoir of tears if he said anymore. 

Robby scooted closer on the couch and threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Jack, listen to me.” He whispered. “You’re ready for this. You have been for years, you admitted it yourself.”

Jack looked to him with glassy eyes, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. “Tonight, when I held her, watched her sleep, heard her breathing. Holding the kids. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And the thought of losing that…of losing her. I can’t go through that again. You saw what it did to me the first time. I don’t know that I could come back from it a second time.”

Robby felt tears sting his own eyes at Jack’s words. The suffering his friend had endured when his wife passed away almost a decade ago was insurmountable. The only thing he could do to escape was go on another tour overseas, and it cost him his right leg and sanity. He tightened his grip around Jack’s shoulders. 

“Do not let fear keep you from being happy.” He said firmly. “Jack, you deserve this. You are ready for this. You know I would tell you if I thought otherwise.”

Jack just nodded, taking in a heavy breath to control his emotions. “I don’t like silence.” He said simply. “I mean, you know that. Always have the police scanner on, always have music playing, always finding ways to fill the void. Because silence is when I go back to a dark place. Or that’s what my therapist says anyway.”

He looked to the kitchen, and he could see your reflection in the window as you chatted with Robby’s wife. “But tonight, for the first time…I enjoyed the silence. I didn’t go to a dark place. I was happy with her and the kids. Just at peace.”

And with that, Robby smiled and nodded. “I’ll tell ya, brother. Being able to hold my entire family in my arms at the end of a shift from hell…no amount of therapy could equate to that.” He said. “My only regret is that I didn’t let myself find happiness sooner.” His eyes trailed off to the window, watching the reflection of his wife. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jack smiled slightly, stretching as he prepared to stand. “You’re an hour late, by the way.” He mused. 

Robby hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of his head, a dead giveaway. “Uh, yeah. It was a Catholic wedding, so the ceremony ran a little long, and-“

“You have lipstick on your neck, and you’re missing two buttons on your shirt.” Jack cut him off. 

Robby shrugged, still rubbing the nape of his neck. “What can I say? She keeps me young.” 

“What are you boys talking about?” His wife asked as you both reentered the living room. 

Jack shrugged casually. “Ah, not much. Quick question, though. If I go to Robby’s truck right now, am I going to find the two missing buttons from his shirt in the back seat?” He asked. 

“Michael!”

Robby glared at the silver-haired man. “Snitch.” He hissed. 

—

You walked outside, and Jack shut the door behind you. He placed a protective hand on the small of your back as he led you down the driveway.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you?” He asked. 

You smiled, walking slower to savor your time with him. “Jack, I’ll be okay. I’ll even text you when I make it home.” You promised. 

That was good enough for him. You both passed his truck to get to your car. Instead of opening the driver’s side door, you leaned against it, facing him. 

“Is this the last time I’ll see you until I’m on nights again?” You asked. 

Jack watched you for a second, memorizing the way the moon lit up your features, highlighting every perfect ridge and curve of your face. “I don’t want it to be.” He admitted. 

You smiled and grabbed his hands in yours. The smooth pads of your thumbs traced against the rough, slightly wrinkled skin of the back of his hands. “I’m honestly surprised you can work nights. Guys your age are usually in bed by 9 pm.” You teased. 

Jack huffed a laugh, and his grin twinkled like the stars behind him. “Guys my age?” He repeated, stepping closer to you, placing a hand beside your head on your car window. 

His body was nearly pressed against yours, but you knew you could reel him in some more. “Oh, you know. Old.” 

He inched closer, the harsh denim of his jeans brushing against your exposed knees. 

“Ancient.” 

His free hand mirrored the other now, enclosing you against your car door. 

“Elderly.” 

His chest bumped against your breasts with every inhale. Your fingers looped in the belt buckles of his jeans, closing the gap between your hips. 

“Archaic.” 

His smile was gone. It had been long gone since the first brush of contact. 

But your smirk remained. His breath was hot on your cheeks, just like before, but there was a new energy in the heat. “You better wipe that smile off your face.” He warned. 

Jack’s piercing eyes bore into your soul, and you had to look away, blushing at the strong eye contact. “Or what? You’ll wipe it off for me?” You called his bluff. 

He was as still as a statue, and even his breathing had stopped. 

“Look up.”

It was a command from your soldier, and you obeyed. There was that look in his eyes again. The vulnerable one. And suddenly you realized he wasn’t going to make the first move. He couldn’t do it. He was scared. 

You moved your hands from his hips, trailing up his upper body, muscles trembling underneath your fingertips. You cradled his face on either side, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple visibly shifting. He whispered your name, a shaky resonance from his throat. 

You stood on your tiptoes, brushing your nose against his. His breathing stuttered, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Please.”

That was the final drop that broke the dam. You pulled his face close and kissed him hard. He let out a desperate, pathetic moan of relief, like he had been in agony until your mouth was on his. One hand anchored to the back of your head, the other dropping to your waist. 

The kiss was ethereal. Your face buzzed like you’d had an entire bottle of wine. Jack’s stubble nearly cut your skin, but the sensation was addictive. Finally, he grabbed your face, pulling you away just enough to look at you. 

“Come home with me.” He pleaded. 

—

Robby’s wife sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hands, a frustrated look on her face. “They’re not doing anything.” She mumbled. “They’re just talking.”

Robby pulled the knot out of his tie, slipping it off once it became loose. “Just give it a second.” He said.

His wife zoomed in on the security camera app, adjusting the brightness on her phone to see better. “Waiting…waiting…waiting…” She tolled. 

“A watched pot never boils.” He mumbled. 

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Aristotle.”

He chuckled, walking to the closet to hang up his suit until a squeak of excitement drug him back to the bedroom. 

“There it is!!” His wife cheered. 

Robby sat next to her, focusing on the phone screen. Sure enough, you and Jack were kissing. “Atta boy, Jack!” He high-fived his wife and tackled her in a hug. 

Their plan worked.

--

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I love writing domestic fluff for Jack, so I had to do more than just a two-parter. Also, I love writing for Robby and his wife (aka the reader, which is why she has no name lol) as an intro and an outro like a shot and chaser before the actual fic.

@superhoeva hehe thank you for reading 🫶🏽🫂

5:45 A.M || michael robinavitch

summary : before the rest of the world is even awake, Robby likes to steal a few more minutes of sleep.

warnings: none. just a slow and sweet drabble

pairing : michael “robby” robinavitch x fem!reader

a/n : if I see you reposting, stealing, feeding my FICS into AI or some other fuck shit, don’t. 👀🫵🏽

—

SOMETIME IN THE EARLY MORNING, when the sky is still in its inky blue-gray hues, Robby opens his eyes.

He looks over to the nightstand next to his bed and groans slightly as he awkwardly reaches for his phone to check the time.

He sees the time - 5:45 in the morning, and the alarm you asked him to set just below to go off at 6:15.

Robby blinks a few times, trying not to yawn too loudly as the phone awkwardly clatters back onto the side table after he turns the alarm off.

Just because he had to get up early doesn’t mean you had to. But you insisted because you wanted to make him breakfast before he left.

He looks over to you and smiles softly, a small huff escaping his lips. You’re still asleep, hair mussed and lips puffed out as you breathe softly.

The irony of you wanting to get up before him makes his chest rumble, you were not a morning person whatsoever.

He likes watching you like this, when you’re still somewhere between awake and asleep.

It makes his heart bloom with a warmth he hasn’t known in a long time – but with you, he feels safe to want everything with you.

Robby scoots closer into the middle of the bed. One of his arms sneaks underneath your side, while using the other free hand, big and warm in comparison to yours that always ran cold, to scoop you up into his embrace.

He pats the back of your thigh softly as his other arm holds you close to him, shushing into your ear softly.

Robby slings one of your legs softly over his waist, your foot from your leg that’s against his side tucked just under his leg to keep warm.

He knows he doesn’t have long before he has to get up and make coffee for the both of you, but he loves being like this more than anything.

Tucked in under the warmth of the comforter and your love, Robby moves to lie on his back so you’re more comfortable and he can keep himself wrapped around you. Like he wanted to protect you from the rest of the world. Like the only thing he knew for certain how to do was love you.

Your sleepy moan perforates the hushed silence, and Robby mumbles low in his throat with that syrupy slow morning drawl of his,

“Go back to sleep f’me, sweet’art.”

There’s only a hum from you, eyes still heavy and laden with sleep as your hand dances under his shirt, lightly scratching his side lovingly before tucking that too to keep warm.

Sleep comes back to Robby easily.

Yeah, the coffee can wait.

—

© espressheauxs, 2025

when would jack stutter, have to catch his breath? whether it be something he sees, hears, smells. what makes him take pause?

Jack Abbot doesn’t stutter for effect. He doesn’t lose his words in arguments or get flustered in tension. He was trained—trained—to speak clearly through chaos. To radio for medevac while pressure-wrapping a wound with one hand. To give the date, time, and morphine dose to a nineteen-year-old he was holding together by sheer will while bullets cracked overhead. Words, for Jack, have always been tools. Precise. Tactical. Controlled.

So when Jack stutters, it’s never performance. It’s never dramatics. It’s malfunction. It means something short-circuited so violently inside him that all his practiced scripts—the field medic instincts, the ER attending cadence, the gallows humor—all of it collapses under the weight of something real.

It’s not trauma that makes him pause. He’s acclimated to that. It’s gentleness. It’s earnestness. It's the things no one ever trained him to survive.

It starts small.

You’re in his kitchen one morning, still in sleep clothes. No makeup. You open the fridge and mutter, “We need more eggs.” Not he needs. Not you need. We.

Jack freezes.

Just for a second. Just long enough that the corner of the coffee filter burns.

Because he’s spent years learning how to survive alone. Alone is safe. Alone is math he can do. But we? We is dangerous. We has loss baked into it.

So when you say something that sounds like permanence without even realizing it, Jack looks down at the mug in his hand like he forgot how it got there.

“You okay?” you ask, still rummaging.

“Yeah, I just—” He exhales, blinks. “I—uh, it’s—fine.”

It’s not the word he’s fumbling over. It’s the feeling.

Then it escalates.

You wear his sweatshirt to the grocery store and complain about the sleeves being too long. You say it in passing—no agenda, no performance. Just an offhanded “How the hell do your arms fit in this thing?”

Jack laughs. He nods. He goes quiet.

And later, when you’re brushing your teeth, he stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you like he’s never seen anything more disarming.

“You know you, uh—” He pauses. Swallows. “You look good in that.”

And that stutter? It’s not nerves. It’s not lust. It’s ache. It’s how dare you look like home in my clothes when I never thought I’d have one again. It’s him tasting the fact that someone might love him with the lights on. With the ghosts still in the room.

But the worst of it—the deepest malfunction—is when you touch the part of him he hides.

It’s a Tuesday. You’re lying in bed. Jack’s out of the shower, towel around his waist, residual steam curling off his shoulders. You’re half asleep when he climbs in, careful, always careful. The prosthetic is off. His right leg ends below the knee, the skin there pale, uneven in tone, scarred in a way that doesn’t fade with time.

You don’t flinch. You never have.

You roll over, press your face into his chest, and—without thinking—run your hand down his thigh and stop at the point where flesh becomes absence. Where history lives in muscle memory.

He draws in a sharp breath—sudden, ragged—like it knocked the wind out of him.

“Sorry,” you whisper, pulling back.

But he grabs your wrist. Not to stop you. To ground himself. To hold the moment in place.

“No, I—” His voice cracks. The words don’t follow. “It’s not—I just—” He blinks fast, jaw twitching. “I wasn’t—expecting that.”

Because what you touched wasn’t just skin. It was the thing he’s ashamed of needing love through. The thing people look at and get polite. The thing strangers pretend not to notice. The thing he never believed could be part of desire. And you just touched it like it was his. Like it was safe.

That’s when Jack stutters.

When you make the part of him he’s spent years compartmentalizing feel not just accepted—but wanted.

But maybe the most dangerous kind of stutter—the kind that ruins him—isn’t even about touch.

It’s when you fight.

Not over something petty. Something real. Something that threatens the fragile trust he’s learning to build. Maybe you accuse him of shutting you out again. Of pulling back every time things get too close. And you’re right. You’re so right it guts him.

He raises his voice. Snaps something defensive. His default. Control the room. Win the logic. Out-talk the fear.

But then you say it.

“Jack, you don’t have to be perfect to be loved.”

And that sentence? That sentence breaks him.

Not because of what it is.

Because of what it isn’t.

It isn’t a demand. It isn’t a plea. It’s grace. Unconditional. Unflinching. And it makes no goddamn sense to a man who’s only ever been valued for what he can fix, what he can endure, what he can sacrifice.

So he stares at you.

“You don’t—” His voice falters. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” you whisper.

And he stutters. He turns away. Rubs his jaw. Blinks hard.

Because he wants to believe you. More than anything. But his nervous system doesn’t know how to file that truth under anything but threat.

He says, “I just—” and never finishes.

Because he can’t.

Because it’s too much.

Because your love is louder than his guilt, and that is a sound Jack Abbot doesn’t know how to live through.

That’s when he stutters.

When you say something that unravels the wire he’s been holding himself together with since the war. Since the job started asking more than he had to give and he gave it anyway.

When you look at him like he is not a burden. Like he is allowed to stay.

That’s what makes Jack Abbot forget how to speak.

Not blood.

Not death.

But the unbearable mercy of being loved anyway.

Jenna Ortega | Met Gala Celebrating "Superfine: Tailoring Black Style" | May 05, 2025

me whenever a woman in greek myth gets fed up and destroys the men who've caused her trauma