Texts between Robby and his veryyy pregnant wife?! She’s feeling all the emotions and keeps saying she’s gonna “eat that butt” when Robby gets home.
texts with michael “robby” robinavitch when you’re pregnant
♡ note: thank you so much for the suggestion. im so sorry i couldn’t bring myself to make reader say she’s going to “eat that butt” in all of the messages 😭 but it’s featured in one of them!
♡ pairing: michael “robby” robinavitch x cisfem!reader
♡ tags: established relationship (marriage), pregnancy, food cravings, mood swings, last three text images have explicit nsfw written content (dirty talking)
rabbot x reader where reader has not been responding to their texts for the whole day so they get worried. They rush back home and realize reader is sick and sleeping?
texts with jack abbot and michael "robby" robinavitch when you're sick and accidentally ghost them
♡ note: thank you for the suggestion! i hope you enjoy ♡
♡ pairing: jack abbot x gn reader x michael "robby" robinavitch
♡ tags: they/them pronouns for reader; sickfic; reader is called honey, sweetheart, and poor thing; jack is called brother and babe; robby is called man, babe, and mike
texts while in a relationship with jack abbot and michael "robby" robinavitch
♡ pairing: jack abbot x gn reader x michael "robby" robinavitch
♡ tags: mainly lighthearted and fluffy, light angst, suggestive, mentions of jack's deceased wife, reader is called honey, baby, and sweetheart, jack is called jackie and brother, robby is called mike and mikey
♡ pairing: jack abbot x gn reader x michael "robby" robinavitch
♡ word count: 1.2k
♡ tags: hangovers, fluff, robby calls reader honey, jack calls reader baby, and reader calls them mikey and jackie
You wake up feeling like a damn bus ran you over.
“Fuck,” you whine, tugging the covers snugly over your body and curling up into a ball. You refuse to open your eyes, screwing them tightly shut. If you keep them closed that means you’re not quite awake yet and you can force yourself back to sleep and let this all roll over.
Unfortunately, nothing is that easy.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
Unwillingly, you crack your eyes open. The sunlight streaming through the cracks in your blinds makes you wince, your head fucking throbbing, and you glare at Robby who has his arms folded over his chest as he leans against the doorway to your bedroom. He looks way too amused for your damn liking.
“No.”
“No?” Robby chuckles.
“No,” you repeat. You close your eyes again and try to get comfortable once more. Maybe you can become fused with the mattress. “It’s not a good morning because I woke up feeling like dog shit,” you unhappily mutter, cheek pressed into your pillow.
You hear Robby’s footsteps against the hardwood floor as he crosses the length of the room.
“I told you to slow it down last night,” Robby knowingly says. The bed dips beneath his weight as he sits beside you.
“Thank you, Michael. Hindsight is 20/20,” you dryly respond, leaning into his touch as he runs a comforting hand over your back.
“C’mon, time to get up,” he says after a few minutes, to which you immediately groan. “Jack’s making breakfast, and I got a glass of ice-cold water and some ibuprofen with your name on it.”
“Don’t wanna get up,” you grumble, pulling the covers over your head. Though you must admit that the promise of Jack’s cooking is tempting, in your current hungover state, you don’t know if you can handle it. Your tummy turns, settling uneasily. “I don’t know if I can stomach anything right now. My stomach currently feels like it’s revolting against me,” you complain, clutching at your abdomen.
“Gotta eat something, honey,” Robby says, sympathetic but not letting you get away with wasting away in bed all morning long that easily. “You, of all people, shouldn’t take ibuprofen on an empty stomach," he reminds you. "Jack’s making something light, so it will be easy on your stomach.”
You poke your head out from underneath the covers, narrowing your eyes at Robby, suspicious but also curious. “What’s he making?”
Before Robby has an opportunity to respond, Jack waltzes into the room with a plate in hand and a glass of ice-cold water in the other. "I made you," he answers, setting down the plate of food and glass of water on the nightstand beside you, "just some eggs and toast. Didn't think you would have much of an appetite this morning." He leans in and pecks your forehead, and you can't help but melt a little beneath the combination of his and Robby's touch. "Good to see you've joined the land of the living this morning, baby."
"Morning to you too," you grumble. With a loud groan, you sit up, letting the covers pool around your waist. You're not going to be able to get back to sleep any time soon. "Thank you for making me breakfast, Jackie,” you lean up and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Jack turns his head to give you a proper kiss on the lips. It’s languid and sweet, and even though your head is pounding and your stomach is turning, you think you’re starting to feel a little bit better just from Jack kissing you.
“What about my thanks?”
You exaggeratedly roll your eyes as you part from Jack and turn your attention to Robby. He holds out the glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen towards you. “Thank you, Mikey,” you say, pecking him on the lips, twice for good measure, as you take the pills and toss them into your mouth before taking the glass of water from his hand. You wash down the ibuprofen with one big gulp of water. Water has never tasted so good nor so refreshing, you think as you greedily chug the glass you’ve been handed. Man, you must have been really dehydrated.
“Slow down there sailor,” Jack says, settling down into the desk chair you have in the bedroom. He wheels himself over to saddle up by your side and places his hand on the glass, gently encouraging you to put it down. “Gonna hurt your stomach even more at this rate.”
Reluctantly, you allow him to take it from you, only after you’ve drank nearly three-quarters of the glass, and set it aside.
“Was thirsty,” you pout.
“I can see that.” Jack hands you the plate to which you accept. “Eat up while it’s hot.”
Just like he said, Jack’s made you eggs on toast. No frills, nothing fancy or extravagant, but he’s made it perfectly, just the way you like it. The toast is covered in a thin layer of butter, and it's nice and crunchy, but not too crunchy to the point where it’s nearly burnt. The eggs are fried, the edges golden-brown and crispy while the yolk is runny but not so runny that it will drip down your chin as you eat.
You lean into Robby’s side and he wraps an arm around you as you happily munch away. When you first woke up, food was the furthest thing from your mind, but it seems like you have more of an appetite than you previously thought.
Robby and Jack start talking about work, going over cases they had during their shifts this past week. You’re content to just listen to them as you have your mouth full of food. They discuss ones that they both worked on as well as share stories about patients that were exclusively seen during the day or night shift. Jack wordlessly takes the plate from you when you’ve decided you’ve had enough, not keen on pushing the limits of your stomach when it’s feeling as precarious as it is. You rest your head against Robby's shoulder, watching as Jack offers Robby your leftovers and starts eating the other half of your eggs and toast when the latter waves it away.
Even though you just woke up, you're starting to feel drowsy again. It must be because you just ate. You always get a little sleepy after eating. You blink, long and slow, trying to follow along to Jack and Robby's conversation.
"Go ahead and close your eyes, baby," Jack says, swallowing down the last bit of the eggs and toast. He sets the plate aside on the nightstand and places his hand over the covers where your knee is. "We'll be here when you wake up."
"Mhm, okay," you sleepily agree, letting your eyes slip shut. You nuzzle your cheek against Robby, and he rubs his hand up and down the length of your back. "Love you."
Two overlapping voices saying "Love you too" is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep again.
(By the time you wake up for the second time this morning, or afternoon at this point, the sun is much higher in the sky, but Robby and Jack are still in their same places talking at a low volume. Still here.)
♡ pairing: michael “robby” robinavitch x gn reader
♡ word count: .6k
♡ tags: established relationship, fluff, robby calls reader honey
By the time that Robby makes it back to the apartment, a bone deep weariness has settled into his limbs. His feet are achy from standing all day, and his lower back is positively killing him. He shucks off his shoes by the door, nudging them near-ish to the shoe rack with his foot. You’ll probably give him hell for it in the morning, but that’s a later problem. All Robby cares about at this point is getting to bed and trying to get some sleep before his next shift.
The overhead lights in the apartment are off, meaning you’re probably fast asleep, but the mood lighting, as you often like to call it, has been left on. The fairy lights strung up around the hallway cast a soft glow, and Robby fumbles around in the low lighting, doing his best to not make too much noise as he walks towards your shared bedroom.
The door is cracked open a smidge, and Robby gently pushes it open further. warm light seeps into the bedroom, allowing Robby a glimpse of the outline of you in bed. The tension that seems ever-present, wound tightly throughout the very fiber of his being, slackens as his eyes land on you.
He makes quick work of changing out of his scrubs, chucking them into the laundry basket and slipping on a pair of plaid pajama pants and an old PTMC t-shirt. He quietly chuckles to himself when he approaches the bed and realizes that you had a similar idea. He doesn’t know what bottoms you’re wearing, your lower half fully hidden beneath the blankets, but he recognizes the stretched out collar of your favored PTMC t-shirt of his, the one you essentially claimed as your own as soon as he let you get your hands on his clothes.
Robby is careful as he lifts the covers on his half of the bed and slides in. He slots himself by your side and wraps an arm over your middle. Even in your sleep, you can sense his presence, leaning into his touch and pressing yourself into him.
Robby quietly sighs, happy to finally be home. He closes his eyes, ready to pass out after the day he’s had. He stays like that for what feels like hours, but logically he knows that time hasn’t flown by like that. At most, he’s only spent the past ten to fifteen or so minutes trying to sleep. He cracks his eyes open again, frowning at the ceiling.
His shift wasn’t exceptionally terrible today, just long, but he can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop turning each case around in his mind, going over the details and what he did. What he could have done. What he should have done.
Though he’s physically exhausted, his mind refuses to rest. His thoughts flow like a steady stream, and Robby’s unable to turn his brain off from work mode even though he’s at home and should be trying to get as much sleep as he can before he goes back to the Pitt for his next shift.
Soft mumbles capture Robby’s attention. He looks down at you, and his frown softens. Though it’s dark in your bedroom and Robby’s eyesight is definitely not what it used to be, he can make out the movement of your lips.
“Don’t wanna share…mine…” you murmur. Your face unconsciously scrunches up.
Robby shifts closer to you. “What don’t you want to share, honey?” he whispers.
“My food…mine…won’t share…get your own…”
He lightly chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. Course, you’re dreaming of food. You do get territorial about it sometimes. “It’s all yours, honey, don’t worry.”
You continue to mumble more but Robby can’t make as much of it out, your sentences devolving into nonsensical gibberish. He settles back into bed, closing his eyes once more. The racing thoughts of his previous shift have quietened, the steady stream no more than a trickle now, drowned out by your sleep talking. To the sound of your voice, Robby finally succumbs to sleep.
