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7 Going On 17 | Girl Dad Jack Abbot

Jack leaned against the hood of the car and he waited for your daughters class to dismiss. She was in the 2nd grade now, the days of crying over her math homework at the dinner table had just begun. Unfortunately so had the days of making Jack go gray— well, grayer.

As the doors open, out she ran carrying the latest fridge masterpiece that she made in art class.

“Hey bug.” He beamed, taking the backpack from her shoulders and helping her into the car. “How was school?” He asked, getting into the drivers seat and glancing at her from the rear view mirror.”

“Good.” She said matter of factly.

“Just good?” He chuckled, it was the same response every day. “What did you do at school? Learn anything fun?”

“We worked on our times tables.”

“Oh yeah? What’s 5 times 5?”

“That’s an easy one dad, 25.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh I have a boyfriend now.”

Jack hit the breaks with a screeching halt. His face almost hitting the steering wheel.

“What?”

“Mhm” she kicked her feet as she stared out the window, looking for whatever caused her dad to stop the car so suddenly.

“Is that so? What’s his name.”

“Jonathan.”

“Jonathan what?”

“Makowski”

Jack had already planned on recruiting you to find his parents on social media— you were good at that. All you needed was a first name and 5 minutes and you were looking at their cousins, aunts, sister in laws photos from their beach vacation to the Bahamas in 2009. Had you not been an ER doctor, you’d do wonders in the FBI.

“He nice to you?”

“Yeah dad, I’m his girlfriend he has to be nice.”

He felt the closest he’s ever been to an actual heart attack.

He started grilling:

“Where does he live? What’s his dad do? What’s his mom do?”

“I don’t know, dad.”

“Is he nice to the teacher? Does he get good grades?”

“Mhm. He helps me with my times tables.”

“I can help you with your times tables too you know… Does he know your dad carries and has a shovel?”

“Huh?”

“I have a nerf gun too, and I’m not afraid to use it. Does he ever get into any fights? Can he fight?”

“Daddy!”

“Does he like the Steelers or Browns?”

“You mean the Oranges?”

“Honey, I understand their helmets are orange, but they’re still called the Browns…”

“It’s so confusing, why are they called the Browns if their helmets are orange?”

“Yes I know it’s confusing… it’s because the man who created the team was named Paul Brown…”

“That’s stupid.”

“So are the Browns.”

When you pulled into your driveway, you were still asking questions.

“I can’t wait to tell mommy. He kissed me at recess!”

Okay NOW Jack was the closest he’s ever felt to a heart attack.

“Woahwoahwoah,” Jack spun around so fast he heard his back crack like a glow stick. “He did what?”

“Mhm! Under the slide.”

Oh Jesus fucking Christ.

Your daughter unbuckled her car seat and jumped out of the car, running with her art project still in her hand. When Jack walked in, it looked like he saw ghost.

“Mommy! Mommy! Guess what?”

“What sweetheart?” You stood over the stove sautéing some vegetables for dinner. Before your daughter could answer, Jack interjected.

“I have to fight a 7 year old.”

“Mommy, don’t let dad fight my boyfriend!” She protested. You bite your lip in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

“Who is your boyfriend sweetheart?”

“Jonathan.”

“Makowski?” She nodded. “He’s a nice boy.”

“Daddy said he’s gonna bury him in the backyard.”

“Honey, I won’t let him do that. Why don’t you go start your homework and then I can help you with whatever you don’t understand, okay?”

She shot daggers at her father and dragged her book bag down the hallway to her room.

“You’re laughing? I gotta fight a second grader who kissed my daughter and you’re laughing?” You looped your arms around his torso, resting your chin on his chest.

“Jack— come on. It’s funny. She’s 7.”

“Exactly, she’s 7!” Deep down Jack knew it was funny. Deep, deep down, beyond whatever uncomfortable feelings that were bubbling in his chest. Visions of him taking his daughter home from the hospital after installing and reinstalling the car seat 5 times. Just to be safe. He saw her taking her first steps. The first time she said dada. Now one mention of a boyfriend and he is picturing her on her wedding day. Having a family of her own.

“You mean to tell me you never had a little girlfriend when you were a kid? Me and Dale Wallace kissed under the bleachers when I was her age.”

“Oh great. Now I gotta fight Dale Wallace too?”

You belly laughed as he buried his head into your neck, biting and sucking on the warm skin.

“Enough! Now go tell your daughter you won’t bury her boyfriend under the tree next to the cat.”

He sighed and made his way down the hallway to his daughter’s room, turning around when he heard your phone buzz and you chuckle.

“What is it?”

Nosy.

“Jonathan’s mom. Asking to set up a play date.”

“Absolutely not!”

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ER (1994-2009) 1.22 • Men Plan, God Laughs

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PAST LIVES 패스트 라이브즈 (2023) ㅡ dir. Celine Song 셀린송

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Ted Lasso + The Wizard of Oz

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The theme song is GONE?!

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Does anyone else think 'Robinavitch' shouldn't have a T in it?

Solely based on the movie Erin Brockovich and an author I love Janet Evanovich

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Imagine you find one of Robby’s old photo albums from the late 90s/early 2000s. It’s filled with pictures of his med school, residency, and early attending years.

You’re giggling at the photos of him, clean-shaven, baby-faced, bright-eyed. None of the things that he is now.

“Robby, you were gorgeous. Holy shit.”

The words don’t sting. Not at first anyway. But you keep fawning over how pretty he was as a much younger man. And soon, Robby starts getting jealous of his younger self.

“Yeah, well, the man in that picture wouldn’t have been able to make you come like I can.” He finally huffs in annoyance.

You glance up at him, caught off guard by the escalation, before a smug grin slithers across your face. “Is that so? You sure look like a heartbreaker in these photos. I’m sure you knew what you were doing.”

Robby grunts a laugh, like he always does when he’s getting frustrated.

Your smirk lingers as you pointed at one of the photos. “I mean look at your hair. You could’ve been a 90s model. And the earring? That’s just hot.” You continue. “You look like the king of one-night stands.”

He shakes his head, arms now crossed over his chest. “I had my nose in a book for 10 years straight after college. My gross anatomy class in med school was the only reason I knew where a woman’s clit was.”

You toss the photo album on the coffee table and crawled back onto the couch, settling comfortably in his lap, straddling his hips. “I don’t believe it. You were too pretty.”

“If you want a pretty boy, the med school is only a five minute walk.” His voice isn’t angry. It’s that fake nonchalant tone that he uses when he’s getting frustrated at the residents.

You grab him by the chin, letting his beard prick your fingertips. “Michael…” You warn.

“What? I’m just saying. You’re clearly enamored by those pictures of me. When I was much younger. And-“

You cut him off with a kiss. A sweet but deep kiss that gets him to shut the fuck up. Robby makes a sound of surprise and delight, and you know you’re reeling him back down to earth.

“I don’t want a younger man. I want you.” You mumble against his lips.

He lets out that unamused grunt again. “Then why are you obsessed with those pictures?”

You pull away to roll your eyes, smacking him across his broad chest. “Because they’re pictures of you, dumbass.”

A beat of silence passes. Then he smiles slowly, and his eyes crinkle with love. In that moment, he actually does look just like the boy in those photos.

“So, you don’t care that I don’t look like that anymore?” He questions.

You shook your head, a brooding pain your chest when you realize he’s genuinely worried. “I fell in love with this man, right in front of me.” You reply, poking the space above his heart gently. “Not that baby-faced virgin.”

Robby chuckles and swats at your hand. “Hey, I wasn’t a virgin. I just had no fucking clue what I was doing.”

You furrow your brow and nod condescendingly. “Sure, sweetie.”

Your teasing is met with a tackle of kisses and warmth from Robby, laughter filling the room, snuggling deep into the cushions of the couch, hands starting to move under clothes, hips beginning to grind, the photo album long forgotten on the coffee table. He sure knows what he’s doing now.

“Is there any way I can convince you to start wearing an earring again?”

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I’m catching up with a lot of cop shows lately. Swat, Blue Bloods, Chicago PD. And I’ve noticed that every time they introduce a CI they get us to like them and then the CI dies. Always. And I wonder why? It’s not necessary to always kill the CI sometimes (most of the times) the storyline would work anyway, maybe even better…

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are we AT ALL surprised that i am coming here to lay a Kevin Atwater request at your feet???? 🥰

mood: writer's choice (i trust you)

words: strain, close, delicate

as always, i am kissing you through the screen 😘

No, we are not...but what we aaaaare is grateful. Cuz what is an event without this man right here? May we never find out.

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“Kevin?”

Hearing the strain in your voice, he jumped up from the couch and hustled to the kitchen to find you on your tippy toes, trying desperately to get the appliance box back on top of the cabinet that he had taken down for you earlier. 

“Woman, what are you doing?”

“I’m about to drop this! Help me!”

With a low laugh, he nestled in close behind you putting the box in place perfectly with one hand. “Need anything else?”

Turning to face him, you rolled your eyes as he smiled dropping a delicate kiss on your nose.

“Show off.”

Pool Party '25 post <<<

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Thanks, happy to be here ♥️

Gotta say, the (slow) resurgence of ER because of The Pitt is making me happy. Welcome to County General!

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Today is the only day you can reblog this

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11.00 AM (S01E05) THE PITT (2025—)

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The Pitt finding out about yours and Robby’s relationship because you come in on your day off to grab something you left in your locker and you’re wearing one of Robby’s old “Charity Hospital Nurse Week Picnic” tshirts.

You honestly didn’t even realize it when you walked in. You just woke up that morning and grabbed the first shirt off the floor.

First person to clock you is Dana. Just an eyebrow raise.

The second person to clock you is Santos. A smirk and a scoff.

The third person? Whitaker. “Oh! I didn’t you know worked at Big Charity, too! Did you know Dr. Robby back then?” He said loud enough for central to hear.

Including Robby. Who hadn’t seen you walk in yet. Who was now the color of cooked lobster.

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Vitals First | Michael “Robby” Robinavitch X OC | Part 2.

Fandom: The Pitt (Original Medical Drama Universe)

Character: Lucy Summers, Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, Frank Langdon, Dana (supporting)

Pairing: Lucy Summers / Michael “Robby” Robinavitch (OC x Canon)

Format: Fic (Part 2 of 2)

Word Count: approximately 2,350 words.

Genre: Medical Drama, Romance, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Empowerment

Status: Complete

Read part 1 here.

Lucy had worn plain navy scrubs; her name badge from St. Matthew’s clipped neatly over her chest, and tied her curls back with a steady hand. She wasn’t here as a visitor anymore. Today, she was agency coverage, called in for a twelve-hour trauma shift at The Pitt. She’d been requested. Requested and if Langdon choked on that news she’d bring him water.

She could feel eyes on her as she walked in. Some were curious, some judgmental. A few, like Dana’s from trauma intake, downright conspiratorial. Dana sidled up beside her as they scanned the first rounds of patient boards.

—So... you’re that Lucy.

Lucy arched a brow.

—That depends. What’s that?

Dana leaned in, voice a whisper:

—The one who shut down Langdon like a Greek goddess of triage and got kissed against a supply closet by our hottest doc? Yeah, that one.

Lucy fought a grin.

—Is that how the story goes?

—Oh, honey. We’ve added choreography.

Before she could reply, the trauma alert buzzed across the intercom:

Code One Trauma. ETA 3 minutes. GSW, unstable vitals.

Dana looked at her and just said, serious now:

—Go show ‘em.

Lucy grabbed gloves and Robby was already pulling on his gown two bays over. Their eyes met briefly but something passed between them. Pride, confidence and trust. Then the doors flew open and the bay lit up with noise and motion.

—GSW to chest, male, mid-thirties. Hypotensive en route; pulse 140, BP 78 over palp and bleeding from left thorax.

Lucy stepped forward without hesitation.

—Prep chest seals. Two large bore lines, push one liter wide open. Get a unit of O-neg ready and call CT surgery.

Langdon barked from the far end.

—I’m running this trauma, Summers.

Lucy didn’t even look at him.

—Then move faster.

She pressed down on the wound with gloved hands, voice cool and precise.

—He’s tachy and altered. We don’t have time to argue, we have time to decompress and move.

Langdon opened his mouth and then shut it because she was right. And every nurse and tech in that bay was already moving on her cue. Dana slipped the chest tube tray to Lucy without a word, expression unreadable except for the faint twitch of a proud smile.

Lucy took a breath, focused and she knelt beside the patient and spoke low:

—I’ve got you, okay? Stay with me. You’re gonna feel some pressure, but we’re fixing this.

Robby was standing against the far counter. He hadn’t moved in two minutes, just watched. Watched her take chaos and spin it into order; watched her claim that room like she’d been born in it. Watched her hands as she slid the needle into the second intercostal space.

There was a hiss of air, the patient gasped and the oxygen saturation rose. Langdon muttered textbook under his breath.

Lucy glanced over, her tone dry.

—Thanks. I’ll sign your copy later.

Robby smiled, Dana grinned.

The patient stabilized and Lucy stood, rolling her neck like the goddess of war after a clean kill.

Later, Roby found her in the charting station alone and unbothered. He leaned in, voice low against her ear.

—That was a show.

Lucy didn’t look up.

—Which part? The part where I saved his life? Or the part where Langdon looked like he swallowed a stapler?

Roby’s smile was lazy and hot.

—Yes.

He paused, then softer:

—You were unbelievable.

She finally looked up.

—You sure you’re not biased?

He leaned down, kissed her temple in full view of whoever was watching.

—Sweetheart, I am biased and you still blew me away.

By the time Lucy stepped into the on-call room, her hands were washed, her charting done and her pulse still nowhere near normal.

Robby was already there sitting on the edge of the narrow bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like he was trying to catch his breath from watching her all afternoon.

He looked up and said:

—Close the door.

She did; he stood, walked over, and backed her against it in three long strides. One hand beside her head, the other finding her waist like it belonged there.

—You have no idea what it did to me, watching you own that trauma bay.

—Pretty sure everyone saw it, Robby.

—Yeah and that’s the problem.

His mouth was on her neck before she could reply. Hot, open kisses down her pulse point, dragging a gasp from her throat.

—You don’t get it, do you? You walk into rooms and lead with those hands and that voice. Jesus, Lucy; I couldn’t look away.

She arched into him.

—What are you gonna do about it?

He growled really low and possessive.

—Ruin you slowly and loudly right here.

She pulled at his scrubs, baring his chest, her palms tracing muscle and heat.

—You say that like it’s a threat.

—It’s a promise.

He backed her onto the tiny cot, lifted her shirt without preamble and kissed down the curve of her belly like worship. Her thighs parted for him instinctively. He looked up between them, eyes blazing.

—Still mine?

Her voice broke.

—Always.

And then his mouth was on her, relentless, coaxing sounds out of her she didn’t know she could make. She bucked, gasped and twisted the sheets.

—Robby...

He didn’t stop.

—Say it.

—You. I’m yours. Please... God... Don’t stop...

His praise came like prayers between licks.

—You’re so fucking perfect; so responsive, so good for me. I’ll never get enough of this body.

When he finally slid up and into her, thick and deep and grounding, her body went soft beneath him like melting wax. He moved with purpose, like claiming her again was the only thing keeping him sane.

—You make me crazy. You know that?

She clung to him.

—Good.

He kissed her.

—You saved a life and wrecked me in the same shift.

—Then do something about it.

So he did.

Later, they lay tangled together, her leg thrown over his hip, sweat cooling on their skin. He kissed her collarbone.

—You keep this up and they’ll have to rename the trauma bay after you.

She snorted.

—You really wanna work in Summers A?

—Only if I get VIP access.

Outside the room, Dana walked by and paused long enough to smirk, sip her coffee and whisper to herself:

—Knew it.

Lucy woke up to warmth and weight; Robby’s arm slung over her waist, his breath against the back of her neck and the distinct soreness of good decisions made in a tiny hospital cot.

The on-call room light was off, her phone buzzed against the side table.

[1 new message — Dana]

Heard Langdon actually asked for your chart notes this morning.

Didn’t even choke on his pride.

Also? You left your water bottle in Bay 3. I licked it for dominance.

Long live Nurse Summers, Trauma Queen of The Pitt.

Lucy grinned into the pillow and Robby stirred behind her.

—You’re smiling. That dangerous I got praised by another badass woman smile.

—Dana texted. Apparently she’s claimed my water bottle in a blood pact.

—Sounds like her.

He kissed the curve of her shoulder, slow and affectionate.

—You staying the day?

—You bribing me?

He nosed at her ear.

—I’ll make you coffee, pancakes and praise you on a continuous loop.

—Add a back rub and you’ve got yourself a hostage.

He flipped her gently, eyes on hers now and voice a little raspier.

—Seriously though. Yesterday you were everything; I’ve never been prouder of you. Or more in love with someone for threatening Langdon with protocol.

She brushed her fingers through his sleep-mussed hair.

—I love you too, Robby. Especially when you kiss me like I’m the reason your pulse is still ticking.

His smile softened.

—You are.

Another buzz from her phone:

[Dana ]

Also, don’t think I didn’t hear Round 2 last night. Sound carried.

10/10. Applause. Bring earplugs next time.

Lucy buried her face in Robby’s chest and howled; Robby just laughed, kissed the top of her head, and whispered:

—Yeah. She’s never letting that go.