bigots of any kind !! racist, misogynist, zionist, ableist, antisemetic, islamaphobic, homophobic, transphobic, etc
pro shippers !!
i sometimes post nsfw content (tagged as such) so if you’re under 18 dni with those posts !!
DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU USE GEN AI!! LIKE AT ALL!! idc if it’s for spelling, char.ai, what ever it is. i don’t care. don’t follow me and don’t interact with my posts at all!!
MAIN FANDOMS & SHIPS:
⬫ the pitt — rabbot, garsashimi (garsantos + barantos + garshimi), miramellis (mohellis + mellis + miramel), mcvadi, jemma, mcheavens (mccollins + heavens), crownpearl, crashtos, ellisantos
⬫ community — trobed, frankie x annie
⬫ criminal minds — moreid, willifer, penemily, jj x tara, hotchgan, simmvez
⬫ house md — hilson, hudson, wamber, chameron
⬫ succession — kenstewy, roman x gerri, tomgreg
⬫ supernatural — meanstiel (destiel + megstiel), saileen, dreamhunter, dean x benny
NOTES/DISCLAIMERS:
⬫ i do not play about pitt women !! don’t come here with any disrespect towards any of them !!
⬫ very rabbot pilled and also robby criticizer !!
⬫ i don’t ship kingdon, mohabbot or hucklerobby, so don’t expect to find that here, but i don’t mind being mutuals with people regardless <3
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Jack has tried everything after his wife’s death—bars, clubs, men, women—and still can’t get hard. Hiring a sex worker for the “boyfriend experience” is his last resort. Robby is soft, ordinary, kind. And somehow, that’s exactly what Jack needs.
Rating: Explicit
Relationship: Jack Abbot/Michael "Robby" Robinavitch
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Jack Abbot Needs a Hug (The Pitt), Bottom Jack Abbot (The Pitt), Top Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, Sex Work, Jack Abbot Cries During Sex, Erectile Dysfunction, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Making Out, Tender Sex, Soft Smut, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Condoms, Prostitution
Robby’s sabbatical isn’t as glamorous as he’d thought it would be.
He’s sore from hours on the bike. Achy and grumpy. Not sleeping well. Not eating well to the point that he’s craving a salad like crazy, but he keeps getting alerts about cyclosporasis and he’s not about to take that risk when he’s not reliably near indoor plumbing.
He did his damnedest to push everyone away before leaving, so that means he’s not getting many calls or texts and the loneliness starts to eat at him.
Except for one person (two people if you count Whitaker’s plant updates, but Robby hasn’t been able to bring himself to answer those texts). One Jack Abbot.
Robby had said he didn’t have a best friend on more than one occasion. And he stood by that assertion, maintained that it was true, even to Jack’s face. Because Jack was so much more than a best friend, best friend didn’t even begin to describe what Jack was to Robby.
And every day, Jack sent at least one text. Sometimes it was early in the morning after a sleepless night that Robby’s phone would ping. Sometimes in the middle of the night when Robby was muffling snotty, sobbing gasps in a pillow that smelled either too clean or not clean enough. Sometimes in the middle of the day when he was riding or stopped off to get food or gas.
And Robby read each text over and over. Read them until he could see the words on his closed eyelids. He didn’t answer, not yet, but the texts were there. They were a tether for his spiraling thoughts.
Something he could rely on as he went further northwest. Chasing something he couldn’t see.
He crossed the border with little fanfare and found a campground to spend the night. As he got settled in a rented tent, he was hit with a thought that made him ache. He wanted to go home.
Not home to the apartment that had been more and more devoid of life with each bag of trash he dragged to the curb. Home to Jack. To Jack’s apartment that was stocked with his favorite beard oil and beers. That had the book he’d been reading last on the coffee table. Had the mug he’d been using for the better part of a decade after a medical student gifted it to him, tucked in the cabinet next to Jack’s.
To Jack.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his hand and he squinted at the message.
‘Hope the trip is everything you’d dreamed of.’
‘It sucks. Think anyone would notice if I bailed early and came home?’
‘A certain R1 would notice. I’d notice. Everyone else? Depends on how good you are at hiding.’
Robby tried to bite back a smile and rolled onto his side, trying in vain to get comfortable.
‘I know somewhere I could hide that they wouldn’t look. Unless someone were to tell everyone…’
‘I think he could keep his mouth shut if you come home in one piece. Wouldn’t even tease you that much, probably.’
‘Do you mean it?’
‘Come home, Mike. Please?’
Blinking back tears, Robby typed with shaking thumbs.
‘I don’t want to be on the road anymore. I’m turning around in the morning.’
‘Atta boy. When can I expect you?’
Robby blew out a slow breath and changed the location on his phone maps app.
‘It’ll be a few days. Think you can wait that long?’
‘Brother, I’m on the edge of my seat already. But I’ll hold out a little longer. Come home.’
Robby swallowed thickly and tried again to get comfortable. Fuck the road trip. He needed to go home. He was starting to realize that maybe, home was a person. His person.
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r2!robby and ms3!abbot, where robby is an RA (a la s5 john carter) and jack lives on his floor. he doesn't see jack a lot, but he's aware of his existence at the very least.
robby becomes especially aware when his phone rings in the wee hours of the morning. he gropes blindly for the handset and answers on autopilot, his groggy brain knowing the routine.
"i'm so sorry," a voice slurs on the other end of the line. it's emery, one of the other students that lives on his floor. "i know it's super fucking late but can you come pick jack up?"
"huh?"
"i'm not gonna be back tonight and jack absolutely needs to get back. but he can't on his own. poor sap can hardly stand."
robby scrubs a hand over his face and scratches his beard, trying to get his brain online.
"and you aren't gonna help because...?"
"hey, i'm helping by not making him find his way home alone." emery's voice gets distant as she turns away to (presumably) tell jack something that sounds like "will you shut the fuck up? i'm on the phone."
robby sighs.
"where are you?"
and that's how he ends up outside a nightclub at 2 in the morning, dressed in sweatpants and a well-worn tshirt. emery sits with jack at the curb. she stands up while jack stays put, head between his knees. he's swaying a little and groans every now and again, like a wounded animal.
"here he is," emery says, gesturing to the lump that is jack abbot. robby nudges jack's ankle with his foot.
"oi," he says, "you alive down there?"
jack groans in response. that answers that.
"yeah, i got 'em," robby says to emery, who nods once.
"thanks, robby. i owe you."
a girl robby doesn't recognize comes up to them and wraps her arms around emery's bicep. she whispers something to her that robby can't hear (nor does he want to), and emery smiles and blushes.
"alright, i'm outta here."
"yeah. go," robby says, waving her off, leaving just him and jack. he extends a hand to jack. "cmon. up we get."
jack whines.
"can't get up."
"yes, you can."
"no," he whines. "i'll fall."
"i'll make sure you won't."
jack looks up at him, hazel eyes big and hazy with drink.
"you promise?"
"i promise."
jack slaps his hand into robby's, but makes no further effort to move. robby yanks him up, bracing for when jack inevitably slumps against him.
"i'm sorry, robby," he slurs. "are you mad at me?"
"no," he answers simply, his arm around jack's waist to keep him steady.
"you're not?"
"no, jack." although if this back-and-forth continues, who's to say?
it takes a solid five minutes to walk jack back to his car and robby deposits him into the passenger seat with an 'oomf' from jack. the drive is silent, save for jack's repeated apologies. he miraculously makes it back without throwing up, and robby practically carries jack back to his room. by the time robby gets jack a glass of water, he's already conked out on his bed, face down in his pillow, clothes (and shoes) still on. he's all sprawled out, splayed in such an uncomfortable position that robby has to check his pulse to make sure he didn't die on impact. before he leaves, he plops a bucket next to jack's bed. just in case.
the next morning, robby wakes to find a note slipped under his door in jack's chicken-scratch handwriting, with an apology for last night and an offer to buy robby breakfast.
Robby slowly, with zero fanfare or discussion or even much thought on his own part, starts adapting his home and his life around Jack. Shower stools appear in both walk-in showers, and eventually grab bars, too, bc why not. It’s a simple thing to do, and then Jack can shower at Robby’s without hassle or the risk of a fall. Makes sense, he thinks. It’s what friends do.
Jack’s got a pair of spare crutches at Robby’s place, but Robby notices the balms and creams Jack likes best. Might as well keep some on hand in the bathroom, and maybe over by the couch, too. Just for convenience, of course.
Robby calls ahead to restaurants to be sure they’re appropriately wheelchair accessible—not just a ‘check the box’ ADA activity—bc maybe it’ll be a wheelchair kind of night out, and if he can help it, Robby will never let Jack relive the experience of having to use an outdoor freight elevator to reach second floor seating.
It’s a myriad of little things Robby does instinctively, because it’s for Jack, who’s always on Robby’s mind. Who Robby believes deserves the world. Who sees something in Robby that is hard for Robby to see in himself.
Who rolls his eyes fondly when Robby hands him a packet of research Robby’s done on phantom pain relief, before pulling Robby into a wildly unexpected, but desperately wanted, kiss. A soft thank you pressed against Robby’s lips.
Jack is stunned when Robby tells him, his signature confused look painting his face. His head was tilted slightly to the side to add to the confusion.
“What do you mean, you’ve never tried it?”
Robby just shrugged in response, nursing his beer. “I mean, I’ve eaten out other people, obviously, and they liked it, I liked it,” he explained.
That still didn’t explain anything, Jack decided.
“What, did they just not reciprocate?” He pushed, like this was the biggest deal since sliced bread.
“Nah, man, they reciprocated, but I was never the bottom in any of those scenarios, and even if I was, they weren’t into it,” Robby sighed, shaking his head. “One ex said they might if I shaved, but that didn’t work out.”
“Man, that’s bullshit!” Jack practically shouted, “it’s their loss, I mean fuck, who wouldn’t want the pleasure of eating you out?”
Robby felt his cheeks burn. “You’re drunk,” he accused.
“You know me better than that, Mike.” Jack tsked, pointing at the two empty cans that sat on the coffee table in front of him. “I’m just sorry you’ve never got to experience it, with the right person, it’s fucking amazing.”
“Yeah well, some of us are shit out of luck, okay?” Robby sighed, finishing the last of his beer before standing up to get another.
He didn’t get a step away before there was a hand grabbing his wrist, halting his movements.
“Why’d you say that, hm?” Jack tilted his head again, his gaze locked on Robby, who could have sworn his pupils had not been that big a second ago.
“Oh, cause I have such a great dating history,” he rolled his eyes.
Jack licked his lips, “you just have to ask the right question, Mikey.”
Robby felt his heart rate pick up. He couldn’t even remember how they got onto the topic of eating people out or getting eaten out or whatever it was. He felt hot all over, like his blood was boiling beneath his skin as he looked down at the man he had been lusting over for half his life.
“Jack..” he rasped, shaking his head. “Don’t say what you don’t mean,”
“What if I do mean it?” The other man practically purred.
“Fuck me,” Robby whispered, running a hand down his face, overwhelmed. “I don’t believe you.”
“Let me show you, then, baby.” Jack stood suddenly, crowding Robby, one hand still holding his wrist, the other coming up to cup his jaw. “Look at me,”
Robby couldn’t help but obey, eyes lust blown, pupils wide.
“Good boy. Do you want me to show you how good it feels to be eaten out, baby?” He cooed
“Please,” the taller whimpered, feeling his knees threatening to give out. Not that that would be a bad thing, he loved to be on his knees, using his oral fixation and lack of a gag reflex to his advantage to make his partner feel good.
Little blurb based on this (and also thank you @sheldoncooperiscool for the extra inspo)
Jack has been staring at him the whole night.
Robby doesn't know him well; they share a few classes, but their social circles didn't cross until two of their friends started dating. Their few nights out together have been fun, though oddly intense. Something thick sits under the surface of their conversations. Robby is too cowardly to poke at it, but that hasn't stopped him from bringing Jack into his morning fantasies.
"Bust," Jack says lowly. Of course, his last throw is the one time Robby hits the bullseye. "I win."
"That you do." Robby takes his beer back from Jack. Their fingers brush over the condensation.
Behind them, their friends flurry around the dart board to set up a new game. "Start without me," Jack says. "I'm taking a smoke break."
"Do you mind sharing?" Robby asks before he can stop himself.
Jack finishes the last of his beer; a bit of it dribbles out the side of his mouth and strings a tempting trail down his neck. "Not at all."
The thin yellow light of the alleyway creates a halo around Jack's curls. Robby rocks back and forth on his feet, pretending to be interested in the crumbling bricks, as Jack digs a pack out of his pocket.
Jack places the cigarette between his lips. "We can share."
Robby laughs, but it fades as Jack lights it without breaking eye contact. "Share... a cigarette?"
Jack's sun-kissed skin is emphasized as his cheeks hollow around the drag, he nods and releases the smoke slowly. "If you want."
"Uh," Robby is hypnotized by the way Jack wets his lips. "Sure." He holds a hand out, but it's ignored. Jack flips the cigarette between his fingers and places it an inch away from Robby's mouth.
He stares at Jack for a moment, taking in the challenge behind his eyes, then delicately wraps his lips around the end, tentatively brushing calloused skin as he sucks in a breath. Jack pulls the cigarette away and steps forward; the toes of his shoes knock against Robby's.
Robby exhales. The blood in his ears matches the dull thud of the bar's music through the walls.
"There's an idea," Jack says lowly. He takes another step, crowding Robby against the rough brick. "We could actually share."
"What do you mean?"
"Open your mouth." Robby obeys embarrassingly quickly. The sharp bite of the smoke overwhelms him as Jack releases his drag into his mouth. His thoughts float away with it. "Your turn."
Jack pokes his tongue ever so slightly over his bottom teeth; his mouth looks hot and inviting. Robby blows his hit inside it.
The cigarette twitches slightly in Jack's hand. "You know, buddy of mine did a study abroad in London. He said over there they call these fags."
Ash falls to the concrete. "Why's that?"
"I don't fucking know." Jack smirks, "I prefer the fags we have here."
Robby's dick twitches. "Do you know any?"
The smirk grows. Jack nods. "Do you?" He takes a long drag; his Adam's apple bobs deliciously with it.
"Intimately," Robby answers.
Jack leans closer, holding the smoke in only centimeters away from Robby's mouth. He up with enchanting eyes, giving one last out Robby has no intention of taking.
Robby presses his lips to Jack's and takes in the smoke. Bitterness has never been so appetizing.
The next kiss is a real one. No excuses, just hungrily licking into each other's mouths with the small buzz lingering in the back of their minds. Realistically, the kiss tastes terrible, but Robby would rather die than give up the stale aftertaste of nicotine right now.
Jack rolls his hips against Robby's. Their belt buckles clack together in the quiet of the night, not that either of them can hear it. Anything that isn't Jack panting into his mouth gets washed away in Robby's mind.
Even through two sets of jeans, Jack's dick feels heavy. Robby wonders how thick it is, if he wouldn't be able to stop the drool leaking from the corners of his mouth as he buried his nose in Jack's pubic hair. He moans softly into Jack's mouth.
Jack traces Robby's teeth with his tongue one final time, then moves downward, leaving a hot, wet trail in his wake. The cigarette is still perched between two of his fingers, his wrist resting on Robby's shoulder. Robby tilts his head and takes another quick drag. He's never had a buzz like this from nicotine before.
A firm hand cups Robby's bulge and massages it. Smoke slides from Robby's lips as he lets out a weak noise, which only encourages Jack's movements. He's beginning to fiddle with the zipper when the loud, metallic screech of the door interrupts them.
Jack rips himself away, and Robby busies himself with finishing off the cigarette.
"Yo, Jack," the person says. "Can I have one?"
Jack digs the box out of his pocket and tosses it. Robby squints at him knowingly, but Jack doesn't have the sense to be ashamed. He stares Robby down and licks across the bottom of his teeth.
"Hey, man, I'm gonna head out," Jack says, never taking his eyes off Robby.
"Oh, already?"
"Yeah, I got some stuff I need to take care of at home."
"Me too," Robby says. He flicks the cigarette to the ground.
Jack crushes it under his foot. The smirk returns. "Need a ride?"
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miramel end of shift scene where samira comes up to mel and asks her if she’d be interested in going out for drinks. and mel is automatically like “oh i don’t really drink sorry” but then she sees samira’s dejected expression and also remembers that she’s supposed to be trying to be an individual so she’s like “…but i do know how to get us some pot, if that’s something you’d be interested in?” and i’m sure you can figure out the rest.
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