sonny

hot professor you walk by every day and have no idea who he is until you finally take his class during your last semester and end up forever remembering how much you wanted to fuck him

the divorce fight is gonna go crazyyyyy

Sammy Bryant (or Jack Abbot au) x Robby!!!

inspired by this tik tok

Robby pulled over as the red and blue lights continued flashing in his rearview mirror. 

It was one of those days in which he had deliberately taken the car instead of his motorcycle. The road was dark and nearly deserted, its few streetlamps spaced so far apart that stretches of asphalt disappeared completely into shadow between them. The siren of the police cruiser was silent, leaving only the low hum of Robby’s idling engine and the faint ticking of the cooling dashboard.

He tapped his fingers restlessly against the steering wheel before finally turning off the engine and lowering the window. Cool night air seeped into the car, raising goosebumps along his forearms. Robby shivered lightly, then darted his tongue over his dry lower lip as he watched the familiar figure approach.

The officer was young-ish, somewhere in his mid-thirties, and definitely younger than Robby. He had cropped auburn hair and an annoyingly handsome face, the kind that looked even sharper beneath the harsh blue and red reflections spilling across it. He wore the standard dark-blue police uniform, a radio clipped neatly to his chest and a black leather duty belt secured around his waist, complete with his holster and handcuffs.

husbands that miss each other soooooo bad

culinary school student Robby spending the summer shadowing Grant Riley to learn the ins and outs of a real professional kitchen

the late night shifts are relentless. He’s determined to master every skill he’s been taught, even as the burns, cuts, and countless other injuries pile up

as a side mission, Grant takes it upon himself to teach Robby everything about wine after he committed the unforgivable crime of choosing the wrong bottle at the end of the week team dinner following a particularly brutal shift

Grant also takes Robby around the city, introducing him to every kind of restaurant: high end, low end, street stands, Asian cuisines, Mediterranean spots, and everything in between

Nights that feel oddly intimate. Dinners that are often shared at candlelit tables…

college rabbot (trans Robby and first time sex)

The door clicked shut with a soft thud, sealing off the worst of the noise. Still, the bass from the downstairs speakers thrummed through the floorboards, vibrating right up into the soles of Robby’s beat up converse.

Jack had shoved past the crowd, grabbed Robby by the elbow, and essentially dragged him up the stairs without a single word of explanation. Robby had only followed because Jack looked genuinely pissed, but regret was setting in fast. They were standing in one of the upstairs bedrooms, and a random frat house bedroom was the absolute last place Robby wanted to be under any circumstances. The room smelled faintly of stale beer and cheap air fresher, and the floor was so littered with trash it looked like a raccoon had set up residence.

“What’s going on with you, man?”

Robby forced his eyes away from a suspicious pile of dirty laundry in the corner and looked at Jack. His roommate was flushed, sweaty, a few stray auburn curls sticking to his forehead.

“What? You dragged me in here.” Robby tugged at his t-shirt. The cotton had glued itself to his back and ribs from the heat downstairs. Honestly, he was a little grateful for the quiet break, even if the atmosphere in the room felt suddenly suffused with tension.

“Because something is going on with you.” Jack sounded genuinely upset, his forehead creased. Robby had never been more confused in his life. “What happened downstairs with Maddy?”

Oh.

“Nothing happened.”

“Exactly. You’ve been making puppy eyes at the girl for weeks, she finally gives you a shot, and you completely bolt. What was that about?”

I couldn’t resist turning it into a proper fic

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

Words: 4,621

Jack had been thinking a lot about moving on after losing his wife. He wanted to date again, to meet new people, but everything felt impossible. Sex was especially hard. He was frustrated beyond measure. His therapist kept telling him to give himself time—he hadn’t been intimate with anyone that wasn’t his wife in decades, especially not after the accident that cost him his leg, his wife was the only person that’d ever really known him that way.

But Jack was stubborn. He pushed himself anyway. He tried picking up women who looked nothing like her, hoping the difference would help. It never worked. Either he couldn’t get hard, or regret hit him before anything even started.

Eventually he wondered if trying with a man might be different, if it wouldn’t drag up the same memories. He tried. Most of the guys he met were too fast, too rough, too selfish. Sleazy. It left him feeling worse.

So he bit the bullet and decided to hire someone. Someone who could be patient. Gentle. Kind. Someone who would actually listen to what he and his body needed, even if they were only doing it because they were paid. Jack was desperate enough that he just wanted to feel like himself again.

He tried the clubs first—strip clubs, sex clubs. Everyone was young. Rugged or twinks, none of them what he was looking for. He ended up on sketchy websites instead, and that’s how he found Robby. Fifty-four. A regular guy. Handsome, incredibly so, but he didn’t look like an oiled up statue.

Robby thought it was a prank at first. A man like Jack shouldn’t need to pay for this. But then he noticed the hesitation in Jack’s voice, the uncertainty. This was real. Jack was struggling with something deeper. When Jack asked him to be gentle and take things slow, Robby was surprised, almost no one asked for that, except the occasional woman who’d hired him for her first time because she was too scared to try with anyone else.

Robby was as careful as he could be. He guided Jack through everything like it was his first time all over again. Jack was already in his head, certain it wouldn’t work, that he’d wasted the money and Robby’s time. But Robby pulled him out of it, kissed him thoroughly, held him close, made out with him for so long Jack lost track of time. He melted into the mattress, his mind going soft and fuzzy.

When Robby finally slipped a hand into his pants, still distracting him with endless kisses, Jack discovered his body was actually responding. He’d expected to come too fast after being pent up for so long. The opposite happened. Robby stroked him slowly, paying attention to every squirm and quiet sound, adjusting until Jack felt sixteen again, raw pleasure rolling through him in waves.

Overwhelmed but determined to see it through, Jack asked him to keep going. Robby stayed gentle as he prepped him, then fucked him missionary, letting Jack hide his face against his shoulder when the quiet sobs started.

When Jack finally came, he couldn’t believe it. His face burned with embarrassment—tear tracks, the knowledge that he’d cried while a prostitute fucked him—but underneath it was pure relief. He’d managed to get off again.

Robby stayed for aftercare. He cleaned Jack up, made sure he was coming down okay, checked that he was all right before he started getting dressed. When he finally left, Jack checked the time. Robby had stayed nearly an hour past what he’d been paid for, and he never asked for a single extra dollar.

(fic link)

Robby accidentally cruising at the gym

(might be nonsense cause it’s 2am)

Robby was relatively new to this gym. He didn’t know anyone and hadn’t spoken to a single soul in the few months he’d been going.

He recognized the staff and a few regulars whose training schedules more or less aligned with his. Among those familiar faces was a gorgeous man, roughly his age, maybe a little younger. He had grey curls, an insane physique, and deep green eyes that had caught Robby staring more than once. It was embarrassing every time he got caught watching, making him feel like a pervert. Still, he sized the man up every chance he got—his massive biceps, the sleeveless tops that always ended up soaked in sweat to offer a tempting glimpse of armpit hair. Then there were those thighs clad in tight gym shorts, and that ass—Robby had stared at that ass far too many times to count. Yet, each and every time, the man had just smiled. He clearly liked being appreciated, liked being watched as he exercised. Robby was more than happy to comply.

Robby's signal is always terrible because he's out in the absolute middle of bumfuck nowhere, but Jack is still completely enamored with the three pixels he can make out on the screen. He misses Robby soooooooo much that even a blurry, glitchy video call is enough to make him smile

wowowowowowow

Robby and Jack are on a plane, headed to a painfully dull conference. It's a long-haul flight, and their plan is simple: sleep through most of it and wake up when it's over. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned.

Robby is already two glasses of whiskey in, hoping the alcohol will knock him out, while Jack keeps shifting in his seat, unable to get comfortable. Just as the cabin finally settles into that quiet, drowsy rhythm of a night flight, the first bout of turbulence hits.

At first, it's nothing unusual. They're rational adults, and turbulence happens. The flight attendants move through the cabin with practiced smiles, assuring everyone there's nothing to worry about. The seatbelt sign stays on, a few overhead bins rattle, and the plane shudders every now and then. It should be fine.

Except it doesn't stop. The turbulence keeps coming, each wave rougher than the last, until every drop feels like the floor has vanished beneath them. Robby isn't panicking (not exactly) but he's clearly having a miserable time. His jaw is tight, his fingers grip the armrest hard enough to whiten his knuckles, and every violent jolt makes him suck in a sharp breath.

Jack tries humor first. He tosses out a couple of dry comments and jokes, but none of them earn so much as a smile. Logic isn't doing Robby much good.

Seeing the tension etched across his face, Jack quietly reaches over and slips his hand into Robby's.

It's strange. They're fully grown men holding hands because of turbulence. Under any other circumstances, one of them would make a joke about it.

Neither of them does.

Robby's fingers close around Jack's with surprising strength, almost painfully tight, and Jack lets him hold on without comment. It's awkward, a little embarrassing, and somehow exactly what Robby needs.

A few minutes later, the captain comes over the intercom to explain that a large storm has formed across their planned route. They'll have to divert around it, adding some time to the flight, but there's no cause for alarm.

As if on cue, the turbulence begins to ease.

The cabin settles into gentler vibrations, and Robby's breathing gradually evens out. His grip loosens enough that Jack can finally feel his fingers again, but neither of them lets go. Their hands remain loosely intertwined on the armrest, casual enough that they could almost pretend it happened by accident.

The flight stretches on like that. Nobody acknowledges it. Even when Jack eventually has to use the bathroom, Robby reluctantly releases him without a word. The moment Jack sits back down, though, Robby reaches over again, takes his hand just as quietly as before, and stubbornly avoids looking him in the eye.

Jack says nothing. He simply laces their fingers together again.

Eventually exhaustion catches up with Robby. The whiskey, the adrenaline crash, and the endless hours in the air finally win. His head tips sideways until it comes to rest on Jack's shoulder, and before long he's asleep, practically folded against him.

Jack smiles to himself. He adjusts just enough to make Robby more comfortable without waking him, slips on his headphones, puts one of his favorite playlists on, and closes his eyes as well. The seats are cramped, his neck will almost certainly regret this tomorrow, and his hand is still trapped beneath Robby's bruising grip, but he can't quite bring himself to mind.

They're pressed shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined, quietly dozing somewhere above the clouds.

Then the storm catches up with them anyway.

The turbulence returns with enough force to wake half the cabin, and after another tense stretch of flying. The weather gets worse and the plane will divert to another airport until it clears. By the time they land, it's well past midnight.

The airline scrambles to find hotel rooms for a plane full of exhausted passengers, but with several other diverted flights arriving at the same time, accommodations are scarce. At check-in, the clerk barely glances up before sliding a pair of keycards across the counter.

Sharing a room is the least of their concerns. They just want a shower, a mattress, and eight uninterrupted hours of sleep.

They make it upstairs, unlock the door, and walk inside.

One bed.

Including Santos’ posts to the rotation because ofc she posts about her adoptive family