mischi3f-manag3d

[mischi3f-manag3d]

YOUR NEEDS, MY NEEDS [3]

MICHAEL 'ROBBY' ROBINAVITCH x F!READER

<< prev || masterlist || taglist form || next >>

Chapter Tags: swearing (as always), the first little spat, reader gets a bit protective, a cardio attending almost gets his teeth kicked in (he deserves it), inaccurate depictions of ECMO (and just medical stuff in general), explicit sexual content, p in v, a touch of overstimulation, pet names (sweetheart, honey, pretty girl), they’re both so fucked lmao

wc: 5.3k

A/N: uhhh, teehee. we’re only on chapter 3 and it only gets worse better from here. Thank you to everyone who’s been reading along!

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Robby pushes his sunglasses up on his forehead. “Still needs some work.”

“Hey, progress is progress,” you joke, then take on a more serious tone, “but really, you don’t look so great—like, not in a tired way, in a sick way.”

“I’ll be fine, and I’m off after today.”

A little bit of a relief, but you wish he’d just go home now. He’s too pale, dark circles under his eyes, but… an idea hits you. 

You’ve got about twenty minutes before your shift actually starts which should give you just enough time to visit the over-expensive Starbucks on the third floor of the hospital. 

“I’ll be right back,” you tell him as if he actually cares, then shoulder through a side door to the stairwell and jog up three flights. 

Of course, it was naive of you to think that twenty minutes would be enough, and you’re ten minutes late when you walk back into the ER. Robby is in the middle of the huddle, surrounded by his nurses, residents, and students. You slide up next to Samira and try to look innocent while taking a sip from the cup meant for Robby, warm citrus tangy on your tongue. 

Without taking her eyes off the man in the middle, she whispers to you, “are you off this weekend?” to which you nod, also refusing to look away only for entirely different reasons. God, how can someone look like they’re on death’s door and still be so hot? 

“You should come see my new apartment.”

“Is that code for getting wine drunk?” 

You see her smile out of the corner of your eye. 

“Two birds, one scone,” she says quietly. 

Samira may be a surgical resident, but she can’t stand the thought of anything—human or animal—in pain. She doesn’t even like suggesting it, hence the modified term: feed two birds with one scone. 

You strive to be more like her every single day. 

“—and remember, if you need any help, don’t hesitate to call for it. This place runs on teamwork,” Robby finishes up, looking only slightly exasperated at having caught you and Samira whispering to each other like school girls during his oh-so important huddle. 

He’ll live. 

Backpack still on your shoulder, it makes sense that you’d break away from the group and head to the lockers. Having Robby follow you there, however, makes a little less. Thankfully, everyone is busy finding where they fit into the fray, so it’s unlikely they notice (aside from Dana; Dana sees all).

You twist your lock and, when you sense that he’s close enough, hold the drink out to Robby. 

“Medicine ball,” you tell him, “these things got me through med school. Steamed lemonade, tea, and… honey, I think?”

He takes a sip, and you’re satisfied when his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Right? There’s an actual name for it, but if you just say ‘medicine ball’, they’ll know what you’re talking about, especially here in the hospital.”

His voice is a little less gravelly when he thanks you. 

“No problem.” 

Then, you nod to the time-clock, and Robby steps aside to let you pass, but it’s still a tight squeeze. You can’t help but laugh quietly when you end up having to slide against his chest as you go. 

“Bold.”

He sucks his teeth to hide a smile, but the corners of his eyes still crinkle in that tell-tale way. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

The first patient you treat is one from the nearby old-folks home. Judging by the bruising on her ribs, she must have fallen (and hit something on the way down). Her BP is too low, and her pulse is weak, and you’re extremely thankful when Princess runs in waving around a paper that confirms the woman’s code status as DNR. 

Losing a patient is never easy, but doing CPR on seniors is downright cruel and usually leaves them in much worse shape than they arrived in. 

Everyone in the room takes a moment of silence, some whispering quiet prayers, and then it’s onto the next case. 

A three-year-old with altered mental status caused by accidental ingestion of mommy’s Trazodone. His vitals keep dropping, and he ends up on a vent.

A young man who’s been preparing for a marathon—or, had been preparing for one. The broken ankle might slow his progress.  

Things get much more intense when a teenage girl is rushed in. She has a history of long Covid that resulted in myocarditis. Was stable for months then started feeling sick yesterday. 

She decompensates fast—faster than any of you could have predicted. 

Even in a state of panic, everyone in the trauma room moves with a practiced precision, most of you aware of what needs to happen and how quickly. 

“Jessie, get Roc and Ketamine on board,” Robby calls out as the girl’s heartbeat begins to stutter and slow. “Somebody start—”

You had dragged a stool over as soon as her rhythm started to falter, now stepping up and locking your fingers together to begin compressions before Robby can even finish.  

“Pads,” he continues the routine, and someone works around you to stick the AED pads on the patient’s chest. The machine is charged, advises to deliver a shock, and everyone removes their hands. 

“Roc is in,” Jessie announces before turning his attention to the med student who’s about to intubate, another stepping up to relieve you of compressions. 

“Remember, it’s okay to break ribs—usually means you’re doing it right,” you encourage. 

Almost an hour passes, everyone now covered in sweat from trying their hardest to keep this girl alive, before Robby finally decides that her heart is at the point that human effort is no longer enough.  

“Let’s get ECMO down here!”

Cannulating in a trauma room is not ideal, but you doubt this girl would even make it to the OR with the way she keeps deteriorating. 

While waiting for the cardio team, you grab a sterile surgical kit and tear it open at the same time that Victoria douses the patient in betadine. With the surgical site prepared as best as it can be down here, she’s draped, and you’re passing Robby instruments without him having to ask. 

The ECMO team arrives, the patient rushed out of the room, but one of the surgeons stays behind with the sole purpose of snapping at Robby. 

“This should’ve been started in the OR, and you know it.”

“She wouldn’t have fucking made it there,” Robby barks back, and he’s right. 

“Isn’t the entire purpose of your crackpot department to stabilize patients enough so they can get to where they’re supposed to be?” 

“Hey, fuck you!” you step forward the same way you would if any of your teammates were getting shit on like this. “Without us you wouldn’t see even half the patients you do now!”

The surgeon’s badge reads ‘Attending’ which does not bode well for you, but someone needs to knock him off his fucking high horse, and better you get suspended than Robby. 

The surgeon squints at you like you’re nothing more than dirt on the bottom of his stupid fucking clogs, and because you don’t matter to him, his beady little eyes move back to Robby, smirk uncurling on his face as he taunts, “raising your gaggle of students to be just as reckless as you—tsk, tsk, Dr. Robinavitch.”

You are not a violent person. Really, you’re not. But your adrenaline is still pumping from almost losing the patient multiple times, and your undershirt is sticking to you beneath your scrub top, and this fucking asshole is talking shit about the EC to the guy who busts his ass trying to keep it running. 

It has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been having sex with Robby, but it does have a lot to do with the fact that it’s him in general. 

Before you fucked him, you admired him, respected him, wanted to learn from him. 

And because he’s smart as hell, he’s able to predict your next move and steps in front of you to keep you from lunging at the other attending, arm shooting out so that you’re more or less trapped behind him. 

The doctor’s only response to almost getting assaulted is a sarcastic, “cute.”

You grit your teeth hard enough for Robby to hear, and he glances over his shoulder to tell you, “go take a walk.”

You’re not about to argue with him, turn to leave but not before glaring at the sorry excuse for a surgeon one more time. 

After ripping your trauma gown off and throwing it into the hazardous waste bin, you stomp out of the room and ultimately the ER, taking the route many of you know that leads to the roof. 

It’s not even noon, but the sun is high in the sky, warming your damp shirt where it clings to your arms. The air smells faintly of exhaust as it always does, something that over the years has become comforting. 

Leaning forward on the railing, you don’t even turn when the heavy door behind you opens then crashes shut. You’re pretty sure you know who it is. 

Long stride, sneakers scraping against asphalt, and then Robby’s fingers are curling around the metal bar, his elbows locked as he turns his face to you. 

“You can’t pull shit like that just because someone’s being a dick to me.”

You keep staring forward, turn the words over in your mind a few times, then realize what he’s implying. 

Your head whips to the side, and you gawk at him in both humiliation and offense. 

“You think I lost it because of—‘cause of that?” 

He stands a little straighter, lifts an eyebrow as if to ask, didn’t you? 

Taking a page from his book of habits, you scrub your hands down your face, take a deep breath while it’s hidden from view. You don’t want to scream at him, but you’re pissed at his arrogance and embarrassed that he actually thought this of you. 

“I am not trying to be your white fucking knight! I would’ve jumped in like that for anyone.” He should know this. It isn’t even the first time! “Do you really not remember me screaming at that dude for going after Whitaker? You made me sit in the fucking break room for an hour.”

Robby considers it, gears turning in his stupid, brilliant brain, then sighs. 

“Fuck, yeah, I do remember that,” he admits. 

You sort of want to keep spitting and hissing, but his brown eyes are glazed with a silent apology that you should at least make him say out loud, and he looks so unbelievably tired, and fuck you and your goddamn soft spot. 

You’re facing him fully now, arms crossed over your chest, posture reflecting the frustration that’s still simmering in your veins. 

“Listen to me,” you grind out, not actually sure if you should tell him what you’re about to, but you need to get your point across and you don’t know how else to do it. “I have always ador—appreciated the hell out of you, okay? As a boss and as a teacher and… just as someone I can trust in general. 

And yeah, things have changed a little bit outside of work, our—I don’t know, dynamic or whatever—but that’s all. Everything else is the same. I lost my cool down there because no one deserves some fuckass berating them like that. You would’ve stepped in if it had been me or any of the other residents or nurses.”

He’s rubbing his beard and nodding, looking sheepish in a way only Robby can which means he looks annoyed instead. Still, he lets you continue your little tirade until you eventually fizzle out. 

“This isn’t… I mean, we’re not—you know what I’m trying to say!”

“Yeah, thanks for fucking clarifying,” he mutters bitterly. He’s probably not used to getting lectured by anyone other than Gloria.

The two of you stare at each other for too long, and it reminds you of the awkward silence that hung between you last night when he was getting ready to leave your apartment. 

Robby can be impossible to read sometimes, but you’re almost positive you knew what he was thinking then because it was the same thing that you had been thinking. 

And now, upset as you are, jaw set, hands shaking, shoulders tense, all you really want to do is grab the collar of his shirt and pull him down so that you can—

No, that will not be happening. 

You’re the first to turn, uttering a monotonous, “see you down there,” before walking away from him. You wrench the door open, and as always, it slams shut behind you so loud that it echoes in the stairwell. 

Someone really should fix whatever is wrong with it.

~•~

It should come as no surprise that only two days pass before you’ve got your legs wrapped around Robby’s waist again. 

This time, however, you are in his house, in his bed, surrounded by him as he fucks you into his mattress with slow, deep thrusts. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut, knuckles between your teeth as you try not to scream, but Robby is quick to snatch your hand away from your face and pin it above your head next to the other. 

“Don’t hide—tell me how good you feel, come on, honey…”

You don’t hold back, couldn’t if you tried. All moans and choked off whines and, “fuck, Robby, s-so good—please—”

He releases your wrists only to grip the backs of your knees and push them up until he’s got you nearly folded in half. Your eyes go wide, knowing you’re absolutely done for. Robby’s cock always feels incredible inside of you, fills you in all the right places, but like this his strokes are somehow deeper, perfect and relentless against your g-spot, and it makes you cry—literal tears streaming into your hair. 

“Tell me to stop… if you need me to,” he huffs, not looking like he wants to stop at all. 

You shake your head frantically, nails digging into his shoulders, and the words, “don’t. fucking. stop,” are punched out of you in time with his thrusts. 

Robby grins in a way you’ve never seen before, wide and relieved but also devious, and you quickly understand why. 

“Hold yourself open for me, sweetheart,” he commands. You do, not able to get the same angle he could, but it doesn’t matter. Not when Robby, still moving inside of you, looks down and spits on your clit holy shit, holy shit, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, ever felt, dear fucking God. 

You whimper, let the sound grow into a true moan when he uses his thumb to massage the sensitive, swelling bundle of nerves. Your feet kick, thighs trembling, and your orgasm peaks quicker than you’re prepared for. It’s damn near atmospheric only to leave you falling, falling, falling. 

Robby doesn’t stop, but he does talk you through it— “there we fuckin’ go… just like that, pretty girl, look at you…”

You can’t look anywhere with the way your eyes have rolled into the back of your head, but you still hear him, and oh, you like that; you like that a lot. 

Your body stays tense the whole way through, seems like the only part of you that moves is your pussy as it pulses around Robby’s cock. 

“Gonna keep goin’, yeah?” he says, voice both soft and rough at the same time, “tell me if it’s too much.”

It is; God, it is, but Robby managed to cross the wires in your brain a long time ago, and any pain feels a lot like pleasure. 

His pace slows into something easier, but he stays just as deep as before, forcing something out of you with every stroke—mewls, gasps, various fluids. Typically, it takes you a good, long while to build up to a second climax, but considering Robby is Robby and you’re you, he doesn’t even have to touch your clit this time before you’re teetering over the edge all over again. 

You plead desperately, pathetically, “nooo,”  when he pulls out, and you know on some level it’s so that he doesn’t cum inside of you, but the loss is absolutely devastating until you’re reminded of how beautifully brilliant this man is (sometimes) as he quickly replaces his cock with thick fingers, letting you ride them while he finishes himself off. 

By the time you’re both done, you’re shaking down to your bones and his cum is puddling in your belly button and all you can do is laugh a little hysterically. 

Robby falls forward, catching himself on his forearms before he can crush you, and buries his face in your neck. The coarse hair of his beard feels extra scratchy against your sensitive skin, and the smile he presses into you is like a brand—a mark that’ll last longer and bruise darker than any hickey ever could. 

You raise a trembling hand to card through his hair, and Robby hums in response. His lips brush over your pulse point, searing the flesh only to soothe it with his tongue afterward. He bites down for good measure, as if knowing exactly why you’ve suddenly gone rigid. 

It doesn’t mean anything if it hurts a little, right? It can’t be soft if there’s blood. 

And, Robby is trying his hardest to make sure that blood pools beneath your skin, sucking a physical mark on you and not stopping until you start to squeal and push him away. 

“What am I gonna say when I hobble into work covered in bruises?” 

You want to sound annoyed, but you’re drunk off endorphins, so your giggle kind of ruins it. 

He chuckles, “tell anyone who asks that they don’t wanna know the details.”

“It’s cute you think they won’t. Those people are fueled by gossip. Pretty sure it’s their main source of protein…”

Robby rolls off of you, laughing a little louder now because you’re fucking funny, thank you, and it looks like he’s about to say something when a familiar buzz stops him. 

You’d love to ignore your phone, wish you could turn it off entirely, but nobody calls you, especially this late at night. Flipping it over to see the screen, you shoot up in bed when ‘Samira’ is displayed in bright letters. 

“Goddamn—I told her I’d go over to her new apartment, shit—”

“Just say you had a…” Robby waves his hand in a nebulous way, “plumbing emergency.”

“Plumbing? Really?”

You smack his bare chest then tell him to be quiet before answering. 

“Hey, I’m walking out right now, I’m so sorry,” you tell her, and technically it’s the truth because you are gathering what you need in order to leave and you are sorry. 

“It’s fine. Is everything okay, though?” It is absolutely not okay. You’re already 45 minutes late. 

“Yeah, yeah, for sure,” you lie, moving around the bedroom to gather your clothes, “just a little p-plumbing emergency.” Goddammit. 

Robby snorts and disappears into his bathroom to grab a small towel. When he returns, you figure he’ll just hand it to you. 

He does not. 

Instead he guides you back to the bed, sitting down on it himself while holding your hip to keep you still and standing. 

You’ve seen Robby be gentle before—tying off sutures, examining fractures and sprains, delivering the worst kind of news to strangers—but this, the way he drags the towel over your skin, slowly and softly, makes you feel lightheaded. He even takes special care to dip into your naval. When he’s done cleaning, he runs his calloused fingers over your stomach to make sure you’re dry. 

“I’ll—I’m on my way, ‘Mira, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you speak into the phone. You barely hear her goodbye before you end the call. 

Robby looks up at you with a raised eyebrow, like he’s done nothing fucking wrong, and you sort of wanna slap him, sort of wanna kiss him, end up doing neither. 

“You’re turning me into a bad friend,” you pout. 

He nips at the skin over your seventh rib, and you think you might feel his teeth scrape against the muscle and cartilage beneath. 

Without meeting your eyes, Robby mutters so low, you’re convinced that you’re not meant to hear him. 

“You’re turning me into something way fucking worse.”

~•~

You spend too much time staring at yourself in the rear view mirror of your car making sure any visible marks are covered either by your clothing or your hair. Once you feel like you won’t be caught unless Samira does a full-body search, you make your way to her brand new apartment and knock. 

It’s nine PM, and you’re bone tired, but you’re about to start your night shift rotation, so you need to flip your sleep schedule anyway. 

Samira answers the door wearing an old college shirt, leggings, and a wide smile. 

“Did everything get taken care of?” she asks, ushering you in. You look at her a little confused, she clarifies, “the plumbing problem. Tell me your place didn’t get flooded!”

Right, right—stupid fucking excuse. 

“No, it was the opposite. The water was completely off. The dude who came out said something was clogging the pipe…? I don’t know how it all works.” You really don’t, and thankfully Samira doesn’t either. 

Good thing you’re both surgeons and not plumbers. 

“Did he get it fixed, though?”

“Yeah,” you nod, dropping your bag next to the one she brings to work every day. “I felt bad, though. He definitely worked past his scheduled hours.”

“Well, that’s relatable.”

She gives you a little tour, obviously very happy with the kitchen and the unnecessarily large closet (that she has somehow managed to fill). It already looks lived in with all the pictures on the walls, cozy blankets folded over the couch, a coffee table with the latest medical journals…

“Dang, can I move in?” you ask, only half joking. 

Samira grins, hands on her hips as she looks around proudly. 

“Unfortunately not, but I am thinking about having a little get together soon. I’m still trying to branch out and—”

“Have a life outside of work?” 

“Like you’re any better!” 

She pads into the kitchen and retrieves the bottle of wine she promised you. Even if you only have one glass, it’ll give you a headache, but you can live with that if it means spending time with a giddy Samira. 

“I will have you know that I did have a life outside of work not long ago, and I’m…” you laugh and shake your head, “still recovering from it honestly.”

Samira doesn’t find it quite as amusing, however, scrunching her nose as she pours two glasses. 

“Are you talking about Langdon? That doesn’t count. You obviously weren’t making the most of your time off.” 

She isn’t completely wrong. It was fun-ish at first. And then it wasn’t. And then it just kinda hurt. 

Samira leads you over to her couch and you’re careful not to spill your wine as you sit down next to her. With the topic of your sort-of ex on the table, the two of you dive in. You haven’t had a chance to unload, and she hasn’t had a chance to roll her eyes and call him an asshole, so really, it’s a win-win. 

“And ya’ know, it would be easier if it wasn’t Mel,” you say, “because everyone loves her. I love her! And, I’d say she deserves better than him, but have you seen the way they actually are together?” 

Your friend cringes, unable to argue. “Yeah, I have. I think maybe it’s how blunt she is—it must work well for him.”

“It absolutely does. Frank needs someone who’ll be straightforward and call him out on his bullshit, and like, I could sometimes, but he’d just get all cagey. I don’t think he gets that way with her.”

It’s a shit situation. You want to be mad at both of them but can’t find it in yourself to be mad at either. Mel is a good person and a great doctor, and it’s not Frank’s fault for immediately falling for her, but…

Watching them work together and realizing that you were suddenly second best was a pretty big blow to your ego. 

You tell Samira as much, rubbing a hand down your face as you sigh. Something about it makes her laugh, and when you peek at her through your fingers, she tells you, “you look like Robby when you do that,” which makes your cheeks flare with heat. 

You reply in mock offense, “how dare you?” then change the subject. “Enough about me, though—how’ve things been? Aside from the new apartment. I feel like we haven’t had time to really talk.”

“Things are good!” she answers too quickly, and you have to suppress a smile because you came here knowing she’s hiding something. You even know what she’s hiding. But she doesn’t know you know, and you know she doesn’t—

Anyway. 

“Yeah? Any recent developments? Publications, cool cases, love life?”

“Oh, please,” she waves you off. You don’t point out that her hand is shaking. 

“Mhm. Well, you think about what you wanna talk about. I have to pee.”

You walk to the bathroom that she points out to you, do what you need to, then look at yourself in the mirror as you wash your hands. Shit, you need to sleep. There’s a subtle pulsing behind your eyes, a headache setting in just as you knew it would. It’ll take a lot more to ruin your night, though. You doubt anything could—you’re spending time with one of your best friends, catching up on everything that can’t be shared at work, not to mention the stellar sex you had earlier. 

Speaking of Robby, you’d promised to text him when you got here. Damn. 

You look down at the counter, check all your pockets. No phone. Probably just left it out in the living roo—

Oh no. Oh no. Did you at least leave it face down? 

Walking back out to the front a bit too fast, you pause at the mouth of the hallway. You can see your phone from here. 

You can also see Samira, still on the couch, staring at where it sits on the coffee table. 

“Why… is our boss texting you to ask if you made it okay?” she asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

There really is no excuse. He wasn’t working today, and as far as Samira knows you’ve been dealing with a waterline issue for most of the evening. 

“He had just—I mentioned coming here last time we worked together, but like, wasn't feeling great then, and he’s just, I don’t know, been checking up since then, I guess?” Fuck, you never realized how hard it is to come up with a lie on the spot. “Probably wants to make sure I’ll be there for my next shift.”

Samira squints at you, her, “uh huh,” proving that she is not convinced in the least. 

You start making your way back toward her, taking even steps and steady breaths. 

Then, your phone buzzes again and you fucking dive for it. Samira is closer, though, and isn’t risking braining herself on a glass table, so she reaches it first and bounds off the couch. 

“Hope you’re not passed out already since you’re about to start nights,” she reads out, voice pitchy, eyebrows high on her forehead, then starts screeching as she continues, “if you need help staying up on your nights off, I know how to keep you busy!? Oh my God!”

You’re finally able to snatch it from her but don’t have a single idea of how to explain. 

“Are you fucking Robby?” Her voice is still much too loud. 

Luckily, you can easily match both her volume and her accusation: “Are you fucking Abbot?”

“I—” She looks absolutely scandalized, jaw dropped and hand on her chest. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought!” 

To any passerby, it probably sounds like you and Samira are fighting, but the way you’re both laughing in between shouting would prove otherwise. 

“How did you know?” she demands. 

You scoff and roll your eyes, “are you joking? The way you guys look at each other at shift change… oh my God, ‘Mira, the way he’s always touching you whenever he gets the chance, come on!”

It’s… it’s actually kind of romantic. You’ve secretly been rooting for them ever since you noticed. Not that you’ll tell her that. 

“It’s just us passing things back and forth or—or tying each other’s trauma gowns…”

“Bullshit!” you cackle. 

No one can fake those heated stares and fond smiles. No way. 

“I’m not judging you,” you find the need to add because now she’s frowning. “Abbot’s got some issues, but he’s a phenomenal surgeon and, yeah, kinda hot, so I get it.”

Her arms are crossed over her chest, mouth curled to one side as she tries to keep herself from smiling. 

To your relief, she eventually relaxes, and both of you plop back down on the couch. Then, looking genuinely confused, she questions, “Robby, though? Seriously?” 

Refusing to get into it, you just shrug. 

“He can be so mean, though!”

A well-known fact. 

It isn't uncommon for him to go off on people (especially Gloria), but there’s usually a good reason for it. And, maybe Robby isn’t exactly known for being soft, but he can be; you’ve seen it, saw it earlier tonight when he… 

When he pressed his lips to your neck, when he ran his fingers over your stomach, when he grazed over your ribs and—

Now is not the time. In fact, it is never the time. Because if you think about it too much, you’ll want more of it. More of him. 

More from him. 

“He’s never been mean to me,” you utter truthfully. You can’t think of a single occasion that he’s laid into you. He almost did the other day after you almost started throwing punches, but even then, it just ended with the two of you staring at each other. 

Samira looks contemplative, eyebrows knit together. “Come to think of it, yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him go after you the way he does the rest of us.”

“What can I say? I’m the perfect resident,” you joke half-heartedly. 

“Not the perfect resident,” Samira corrects, “but definitely his favorite—especially if this is anything to go by!”

You yelp when she presses one of her bony little fingers into the bruise on your neck, giggling while wrinkling her nose at the same time. “Gross!”

And, just to disturb her a little more, you smirk and graciously inform her, as any friend would, “oh, he’s done so much worse.”

“Don’t tell me! I don’t want to hear it!”

Falling over on the couch, you laugh harder than you have in a long, long time, and you’re only able to catch your breath when Samira tosses you your phone that must have fallen between the cushions. 

“Here, text him back so he doesn’t think you’re dead.”

You do just that, thumbs moving over the keyboard. 

<< Sorry, I got here a while ago and got distracted by the new apartment which is really nice btw 

<< Also she may or may not have found out about us 

>> You told her? 

The question makes your stomach drop a little, can’t tell if he’s upset or simply curious. 

<< No, she just figured it out. Sorry. 

>> Don’t be. She and Jack have been fucking for months

You let out something that sounds vaguely like a squawk and show Samira the text thread when she starts making grabby-hands (something she never does in front of others unless really drunk). 

When she reads it, she makes a noise similar to yours and exclaims, “I hate him!”

“Who, Robby or Abbot?”

“Both! They’re both terrible, horrible, dirty old men, and we should stop sleeping with them immediately.”

She says it all with a smile, and you both know that neither of you will be stopping any time soon. 

taglist: @antisocialfiore @marrianena-library @chaerrivii @lemonpiegurll @beebeechaos @rosiepoise88 @diasnohibng @timetravelingmedstudent-blog @hawkswildfireheart @lafemme-nk @helouitmepipol @collagez @jjklesbianism @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @penbridgertonn @ikindier @nerdgirljen @jaybeebaybee @princessorry @happyfestpanda-blog (if you’d like to join, fill out the form linked above!)

[mischi3f-manag3d]

YOUR NEEDS, MY NEEDS [2]

MICHAEL ‘ROBBY’ ROBINAVITCH x F!READER

<< prev || masterlist || taglist form || next >>

Chapter Tags: swearing (they both have potty mouths, your honor), mentions of alcohol, typical medical stuff, explicit sexual content, oral (both male & female receiving), fingering, brief spanking, p in v, rough-ish sex, some angst, but also a lot of fun banter, robby is just not great with feelings in general, descriptions of a micro preemie baby and possible complications

wc: 5k

A/N: thank you guys so much for the love I’ve gotten on this fic so far. I don’t know about other fandom spaces, but in the anime communities I’m used to writing in we get downright filthy, and this probably reflects that. This chapter has some potentially triggering content, so please make sure to read the warnings above. *though I do work with neonates often at my job, I am by no means an expert. Any inaccuracies are unintentional

Three days pass before Robby sees you again. He’s on shift six out of eight, whole body heavy with fatigue, but the promise of having just as many days off keeps him going. Some may say he’s deluding himself by thinking he’ll make it more than two days before walking back through the ER doors (and they wouldn’t be wrong), but he’s trying to be optimistic. 

He hasn’t forgotten about what happened the other night, but he did forget to check the resident schedule, so it takes him a little off guard when he runs into you at the entrance of the ED. 

You’re staring down at your phone which is stupid and fucking dangerous in an area like this, but he can’t find it in himself to snap at you for it—just doesn’t have the energy (or the desire to see that kicked puppy look again).

Apparently, you’re more aware of your surroundings than he assumed, though, probably catch sight of his shadow and look up as Robby slows his pace because he’s not just gonna brush past you with no acknowledgment; he’s not that much of an asshole. 

You stop immediately, eyes wide, and the first thing out of your mouth is, “fuck,” followed by, “hi.”

If he was more awake, Robby would laugh at how your neutral expression turns to one of pure panic, but again—the exhaustion. 

He can at least crack a smile, tired and barely there but still enough to show a fraction of his amusement.

“You greet patients like that?” he questions, and it’s the first time he’s spoken since waking up. He sounds like shit. Probably looks it too.  

You blink a few times before literally shaking off whatever crisis you’re having, adjust your backpack on your shoulders, then reply dryly, “only the really special ones.”

“Oh, I’m special now?”

You give him an unimpressed look while moving past him toward the automatic doors. 

“Are you a patient?”

“Should’ve been after the other night. Got so many goddamn bite marks, I probably need a rabies shot.”

You cough—or maybe choke?—then hiss, “yeah, and I’m gonna be stuck wearing these undershirts for the rest of the week.”

He’s confused at first, then sees the bruise that’s just barely peeking out from beneath your collar. 

He’s not the least bit sorry. What was he supposed to do with your tits in his face?

“Also,” you speak up again, derailing his train of thought which is probably for the best. “It's ideal to get the first rabies shot within twenty-four hours of exposure.”

“Yeah, but not entirely necessary,” he argues half-heartedly (you’re right, afterall).

Lifting an eyebrow, your gaze flicks to what Robby knows is the faint outline of a fucking bite mark on his neck. 

“Pretty risky with how close that is to your brain.”

The doors slide open, and you both walk through them, weaving between all the people packed in the waiting room hoping to be the next name called. 

“True. Guess I’ll let you know when the hydrophobia hits.”

This time when you look over at him it’s with a crooked little grin, and he’s surprised by how relieved he is to see it. Guess he hadn’t realized how worried he was that things would be weird between you, that you wouldn’t be able to be in the same room together without it getting uncomfortable. 

Thank fuck that isn’t the case. Maybe it’s ’cause you’ve both done it before with previous partners. Why would it be any different this time? 

Except, much to Robby’s frustration, it is different this time because as soon as you reach the nurses’s station to check the patient list, Dana looks up and between you, then pins Robby with a look.  

“Really?” she asks. 

Out of his peripherals he can see your mouth pull to the side, probably biting the corner of your mouth from the inside. It’s a nervous habit that Robby happened to notice early on. 

You also do it when you’re trying not to laugh. 

Without making eye contact with either him or Dana, you use the bullshit excuse of, “I’ve gotta put my stuff up and clock in…”

Robby scrubs a hand down his face as you escape to the lockers, leaving him to deal with his favorite charge nurse all by himself. 

“Robby.” Dana scolds, but her face, doesn’t match her tone. In fact, it looks like she’s trying to keep herself from cracking up.  

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” he tells her, hoping to God that the heat creeping up his chest doesn’t make it past his shirt. “You know what they say about assuming.”

Dana’s knowing smirk only grows wider. “There’s only one ass here, and it sure ain’t me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Robby groans, “it is too fucking early for this. Just… keep the bullshit gossip to yourself, yeah?”

“You know how many secrets I’ve got tucked away?” 

No, he really doesn’t, and honestly, he hopes to never find out. 

“One more won’t make a difference,” she winks. 

Robby lies through his teeth, “there’s no secret in the first place.” He’ll be damned if the rumor spreads that he’s fucking around with a resident. Again.

Dana, of course, isn’t convinced, always too fucking smart for her own good. 

“You’re just as bad as Perlah and Princess,” he grits. 

“Oh honey, I’m worse than both of ‘em put together. I’m just less obvious.”

Robby doesn’t doubt that for one second. She’s always been kind of terrifying, and who knows what kind of crazy shit she’s heard in passing. 

But, there’s a reason she runs the show down here. One of the most reliable people Robby’s ever met, Dana is a constant grounding presence. He’d be completely lost without her. 

“Just do your fuckin’ job,” he grumbles, shaking his head to hide his fond smile. 

“You got it, bossman.”

You’re still by the lockers when he walks in, arms crossed, face all scrunched up. He guesses you’re just as displeased with the situation as he is. 

“What is she, some kind of witch? A fucking Oracle?”

Robby works his combination lock, opens his locker and slings his backpack inside. 

“I’ve wondered the same thing for years”—the metal door slams shut harder and louder than he’d intended— “but no, she just knows me too well.”

“Know you too well? You mean you make this a habit?” you gawk at him. “How many of us have you stuck your dick in?”

His expression must be nothing short of stormy, hands flexing by his sides—not because he wants to hit you but because his instinct for self-preservation is telling him to shut you up with a palm over your mouth. 

That would likely result in many, many scratch marks, though, so Robby keeps himself in check. It’s the right choice, both for his career and for your face. 

It becomes irrelevant anyway. Robby sees it in the way your shoulders drop. 

“Sorry, that was a little much. I haven’t gotten much sleep the last couple days” you confess, throwing one leg over the bench and plopping down on it in a way that makes Robby’s own lower back ache. “Also, I’ve been told I have trouble keeping my mouth shut.”

“You really do,” Robby chuckles. He doesn’t bother mentioning that a lot of times it’s actually really fucking funny. 

A siren blares outside, and you look over your shoulder toward the private exit to the ambulance bay, Robby raising his head to do the same. 

“Duty calls,” you mutter. 

Without thinking much of it, he extends a hand to help you off the bench you just sat down on, and you don’t hesitate to take it. 

He never really noticed how small your hand is compared to his own, not that he’s had any reason to notice, but you often pass instruments back and forth, trade out doing compressions. The detail has just never stuck out to him until now, and it’s actually a very inconvenient time to have picked up on it because Robby is suddenly flooded with a slew of thoughts that have no place in the ER—thoughts like what your hands might look like trapped against your back, held in place with only one of his, how your fingers might dig into the fat of your thighs as you spread them wide open for him, how small they’ll look wrapped around his co—

“You comin’?” you ask, now several steps ahead of him. 

Getting there, Robby thinks, but unlike you, he does have a filter, so he’s capable of keeping it to himself. 

“Yeah, right behind ya’.”

Just not in the way he wishes he was. 

~•~

The lizard part of Robby’s brain is effectively crushed by the time lunch rolls around (is it really lunch if it’s just him scarfing down a sad sandwich while putting in various orders at the nurse’s station?).

He hears Dana talking somewhere behind him followed by a voice that he could recognize anywhere: Heather. 

Robby quickly logs out of the computer and makes his way over, schooling his expression into something more clinical than caring. 

Heather doesn’t need him to care anymore, told him as much last time he visited her. He tried not to take it to heart, not while she was facing an impossible situation, but Robby would be lying if he said it didn’t leave him a bit… Skittish isn’t the right word, but it’s the best to describe his demeanor when around her now. 

When there’s a lull in conversation and Heather acknowledges his presence, Robby cuts right to the chase. 

“How’s he doing?”  

‘He’ being Heather’s son, Justin (probably still in the system as Collins, Heathersboy), who was born two months ago at only 25-weeks. It isn’t a death sentence, but it is a long and complicated road that will likely result in multiple deficits. 

“He’s stable,” she answers, meeting Robby’s eyes for just a moment before lowering her own to the counter. “It was a hard night.”

“Still on low-stim protocol?”

She nods. “Until he gets older… and stops having subclinical seizures.”

Global developmental delays. Epilepsy. Cerebral palsy. G-tube dependence. These are all things that Justin may live with. 

Pointing this out the first time he had to be resuscitated may not have been the most sympathetic thing to do and is the entire reason Heather had told Robby to stay away from her and her son, but someone had to remind her. 

Fuck, he can’t blame her for wanting to hold on, though. After too many rounds of IVF to count,, multiple miscarriages, and a birthing experience that came close to killing both Heather and the baby, of course she wouldn’t want to let go of Justin. Robby does not hold her decision against her. 

But, she is facing a very long road of hardships. This is only the beginning. 

“Well, that’s… that’s something at least,” he says. It’s Robby’s attempt at encouragement, and it’s genuine, but as usual it comes off as dismissive, and he cringes when Heather’s body language changes. 

Before she can get in a single scathing comment, however, Robby sees a blur of black scrubs, hears the squeak of tennis shoes, and then you’re skidding to a halt beside Heather, hand squeezing her arm in a friendly gesture. 

“Heather, oh my god, what are you doing here? Did something happen to Justin?”

You’re so fucking worried, ready to jump into action whether it means giving Heather a hug or sprinting out of the ER and all the way down to Pittsburg Women’s. 

Heather wraps her arm around you in a side hug, her head resting against yours, then tells you, “he’s still fighting.”

“Of course he is! Gotta get him some little tiny boxing gloves to hang off his incubator.”

Dana pats Robby’s shoulder to get his attention, nods her head in the opposite direction in a silent way of telling him to leave the two of you alone, and he lets her steer him away. 

You're gonna be able to put Heather at ease way better than he can these days. Once upon a time, she came to Robby for comfort, advice, affection. 

That’s definitely not the case anymore, and he’s been struggling with it, but he is not what she needs right now. Heather deserves better, deserves understanding, and even if it doesn’t involve him, Robby is always going to want what’s best for her. 

“Come on, big guy. Got a MVC that’ll be here any second,” Dana tries to distract him. 

It works. Some.

~•~

Robby gets to the dive bar at eight and is unsurprised to see you sitting at the counter. You’ve got a rocks glass in your hand, swirling around whatever brown liquor is inside, and jump when he lays his hand on the back of your neck to gently squeeze it. 

“Jesus! You scared me,” you startle and exhale. 

“Sorry.” He eyes your drink, asks if your tab is already closed, and when you say yes his hand slides down to your waist, a not so subtle suggestion for you to slide off the stool. “Let’s go.”

Robby has spent enough time around you at work (and the occasional work-related function) to know that in most cases you’d have some sarcastic barb lined up—‘most men would at least buy me a drink’, or ‘say please’, something to that effect. Today isn’t one of those days, though, because he had to see his ex and you had to tell a family that their 8-year-old daughter died after not being able to get her back even with multiple shocks and too many rounds of epi. 

Working in an ER is never easy, but sometimes Robby thinks they see the worst of the worst at PTMC (and that it brings out the worst in them). 

He ends up at your apartment again. Robby finds it a little curious, but it doesn’t bother him, so he doesn’t protest. He’d already showered at the hospital, and apparently you had too because, “blood makes me itchy,” which Robby translates to: getting a kid’s blood on you makes you itchy, and delivering bad news to families makes your skin crawl, and listening to people sob makes you want to tear the flesh off your own bones. 

He gets it. He’s been there. Unfortunately, you get used to it. 

Robby’s barely got the door closed before you’re dragging your fingers down his shirt-covered chest while lowering yourself to your knees, and for a brief moment he is convinced that yes, there is a god somewhere that is showing him mercy because he needs this. Oh fuck, does he need this. 

“Fucking—” he doesn’t get out whatever expletive was about to roll off his tongue, cut off by the way you undo his belt and pants, push them down enough to free his rapidly hardening cock. 

“You didn’t let me see this the other night,” you pout, “which was quite fucking rude.”

He lets his head thud against the door. “And, just like I told you that night—was a little distracted.”

“More like single-minded.”

You’re right about that; he was focused on what was right in front of him which, at the time, was your bare skin and beautiful fucking tits, and how all he wanted to do was sink into your pussy, just like all he wants to do right now is sink into your mouth.

You don’t waste any time (praise be to Him), giving Robby a couple of pumps and leaning forward to lick over and around his cockhead. You lap up the pre-cum oozing from his tip, a ridiculously erotic sight that makes his dick twitch in your hand. 

He never thought—not with you…

His head spins as he tries to wrap it around the idea that you’re down on your knees for him, lips stretching around his girth, pulling back to grin and admit, “I’m not gonna be able to take all of you like this,” and while most guys may find that disappointing, Robby groans in satisfaction and arousal. 

“That’s fine, you’re—” fucking perfect when you press forward to take him deeper, stick your tongue out to swipe it back and forth on the underside of his cock. 

Robby swears. Breathes through his teeth. Clenches his fists. Anything to keep himself from absolutely losing it and fucking into your mouth.

Obviously you have different ideas, testing his limits by grabbing one of his shaking hands and situating it on the back of your head. 

“Ohh, you don’t wanna do that, sweetheart,” he warns, low and breathless. 

You blink up at him, eyes a little hazy, lips slick with spit, and nod as best you can. 

Still, he hesitates. He wants it, God, does he want it, but he does not want to hurt you, and this… it would be very easy to push you too far. 

You give him a few seconds, but when he doesn’t move, you release his cock with a lewd pop and tell him, “I’m not asking you to skull-fuck me, Robby. I just want you to set the pace ‘cause it turns me on.” 

You keep stroking him, hand gliding over the length of him where your mouth had just been, and now Robby rolls his hips into it as if to give you a preview of what you’re asking for. 

It does not deter you. 

Dropping your jaw, you suck his head into your mouth again, curl your lips over your teeth, cover his hand on the back of your head with your own and start to push. 

“Alright, fuck, okay, I get the point,” he grunts. 

His head hits the door again, twists one way then the other before Robby lets it hang down so he can watch you. A mistake. A wonderful, terrible mistake. 

You look so pretty like this, the way you look so pretty when you cum—only different. 

Debauched and devotional. Robby guides you with his hand and you let him, jerking him off where you can’t reach and slurping where you can. You gag for the first time and he pulls back, but you just take a deep breath before leaning forward again. 

So he thrusts in a little further—a little further, the ridge of his cock rubbing over your soft palate and then slipping past it for a split second. 

Robby feels the back of your throat and sees fucking stars. 

He needs more, to be buried, but he will not fucking hurt you (or make you vomit around his dick), so instead he tugs you off of him and to your feet, quick to pull his pants back up enough so that he doesn’t trip. 

You squeal when he lifts you without any warning, but you still wrap your legs around his waist. It’s been a while since he’s done this, a while since anyone has let him, and it feels… it feels good. Physically supporting someone, weight in his arms and against his chest, deemed trustworthy and strong enough not to drop you. 

Robby shakes the thought from his head. 

He sets you down on the arm of your couch, splays a hand across your chest then pushes until you fall backward. The position makes your back bow while keeping your hips raised. Perfect for what he’s about to do. 

Somehow, Robby has enough presence of mind to grab one of your throw pillows, uses it to kneel on, then starts tearing at your leggings and the thong underneath. 

He holds it up in disbelief. “Do you wear these to work?” 

You push yourself up on your elbows, roll your eyes, “of course not. That would be impractical,” and fall back to the cushions. “There are some designed specifically for exercise. I wear those to work.”

That idea is gonna be stuck in his head whenever the two of you are on a shift together. 

He drops it for now, much more interested in spreading your legs and admiring what’s between them, and… 

Listen, every vulva is beautiful, and every vagina feels good (or so he assumes, it’s not like he’s tried them all). In one way or another, they’re all lovely and deserve to be appreciated. 

Yours, though… 

Robby teeters forward, eyes clouding over as he uses his thumbs to expose more of you. Already wet, dripping just from sucking his cock, hole clenching around nothing, practically begging for him. 

“Jesus Christ, this is a pretty pussy,” said almost reverently. 

You spread your thighs a little wider in response, “you think so?” 

“Uh huh.”

“Then, maybe you should show me how pretty you thi—oh!”

A long lick from hole to clit, then he’s shoving his tongue inside you as far as he can. Robby groans at your taste, the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the stutter of your hips beneath him. 

He replaces his tongue with a finger and is rewarded with his whispered name followed by a long moan. 

His goal was to get you ready to take him. Rush a little now, savor sometime later when it feels less like his dick is about to fall off. 

The fear of priapism is quickly forgotten, though. Robby can feel you soaking his beard, hear the little sounds you make from above, see the way your back bends and chest heaves when he manages to open his eyes. It’s like a goddamn grounding exercise (something he may need right now, actually, given the out-of-body experience he’s having just from eating you out).

Middle finger pumping inside of you, Robby focuses on your glossy clit, a low rumble vibrating against you when it swells under his tongue. 

He could get lost like this, maybe even die. 

Doesn’t matter that you’re his resident. Doesn’t matter that you’re twenty years younger. Doesn’t matter that he’s gonna have to look you in the eye while trying to save lives. 

All that matters is your legs over his shoulders and your thighs squeezing his head and how you keep trying to ride his fingers when he slides another inside. The angle is torturous for you and perfect for him, yet you still have the upper hand somehow—begging and whining for him to “just fuck me already”, and he thinks he might be a ruined man. 

Robby stands, shoves his pants down enough for his cock to spring free, flips you over so that your ass sways below him. It’s possible that it’s not swaying and that he just has double vision. Either way, he steadies both you and himself with a hand on your hip then brings the other down on one of your cheeks in a harsh smack that makes you hiss and stand on your tiptoes in a way that raises your ass a little higher. 

He spanks the other side, alternates between the two until your legs start to quiver, and only then does he spread you open and start pushing in. 

It’s rare that he can forgo lube, makes it more comfortable for him and his partner, but Robby’s pretty confident that you’ll be just fine without it because the deeper you take him, the more you drip. 

Gossamer strings that leak out around his cock and coat his fingers when Robby reaches down to feel you. Some primal noise he doesn’t recognize makes its way out of his chest, and he leans forward to trap you between himself and the couch, then gives your pussy a few little slaps. Not too hard, just enough to make you spasm around him. 

“Fuck, that’s it, thaaat’s it—”

He starts sinking in deeper, his teeth bruising the skin between your neck and shoulder then releasing when he snaps his hips forward. 

Robby straightens up but keeps a large hand at the base of your spine to keep you from moving. You’re still able to bounce on your toes, meeting each thrust to the best of your ability until you can no longer keep up. 

His pace increases along with his force. Fingers grip your hips to pull you to him, eyes trained on where the two of you are joined. It feels as if he’s in a trance; all he can do is watch the way your pussy takes him so fucking well, and Robby has never been the type to brag about his size, knows it was really just luck of the draw, but goddamn is he thankful for it now because it looks so good sliding in and out of you. 

You writhe beneath him. Repeat his name over and over. Babble about loving the way he fucks you, then squeeze him so tight it’s almost painful. 

Your voice breaks, legs shake, and the next time Robby pulls back he feels a familiar gush of fluid that wets his pelvis and drips down your legs. 

“Jesus Christ—don’t you dare do that again or I will cum,” he growls, completely serious. 

“Can’t… help it…” 

Robby knows this, knows it’s his own fucking fault for putting you in this position. The arm of the couch presses into you from the outside while his cock does the same inside of you. 

But he wasn’t lying when he said it would make him cum. He hasn’t made or even seen a partner squirt in a long time—too long. Long enough to have forgotten how much he enjoys it. 

You are just full of surprises, though, keep reminding Robby of things that have slipped his mind over the years.

It’s not like he’s been fucking celibate or anything. He’s had sex a fair amount during the last several years (when he’s found the time, anyway), but it’s always been different, more intimate, shared with romantic partners. 

Nothing about this is romantic. It’s fun, a little exhilarating, scratches an itch he hadn’t even known was bothering him so much. 

But it isn’t romantic. 

“I take back everything I said at the bar,” he huffs, feeling his orgasm start to build. “This is the best fucking idea you’ve ever had.”

He thinks you might laugh, but the sound is choked off when Robby slips a hand between your legs to rub circles against your clit.

It doesn’t take you long after that, and thank God, because Robby is about two seconds from spilling inside of you. 

He keeps toying with you but pulls out, the glide of his hand over his cock made easy from the mess you’ve left on him. You’re still trembling when he cums, leaving white streaks up and down your back. 

“Good God,” you rasp, stretching your arms out but otherwise staying in place. “When I asked you about starting this… this thing up, I didn’t think… Jesus, Robby.”

The exhaustion hits all over again, but he still laughs. “Disappointed?”

“Definitely not. Just didn’t know you had it in you—and before you get all offended, no that is not a jab at your age.”

“Better not be.”

You pass a couple more jokes back and forth, shit about older guys always knowing how to do it better and how you should remember that next time you want to mouth off. 

Robby manages to find a rag in your still unfamiliar apartment (the two of you have never made it past the living room), soaks it with warm water, then uses it to wipe his cum off your back. 

You straighten up and stretch again, a moan similar to the ones he was forcing out of you earlier leaving your lips as your back pops in a few places. 

“See you at work?” he asks more than states, buttoning his pants then shoving his feet into the sneakers he kicked off on the way to the couch. 

Nodding sleepily, you tell him that you’ll be there tomorrow, a six on-four off schedule that sounds almost as hellish as his. 

He nods. Says good night. Doesn’t move. 

There’s an unspoken rule, one you both knew from the start that’s somewhat common in hook-up situations: no kissing. 

Robby’s fine with it, hasn’t even been all that curious, but it feels weird to just turn around and leave. For a second he considers holding his hand out for you to shake, but that seems even fucking worse than just walking out. 

It could be your post-orgasm high, or maybe just your sleep deprived brain, but you make the decision for both of you when you shuffle forward and wrap your arms around his middle. 

With your face against his chest, Robby pets down the back of your head on instinct. 

It’s only for a few seconds, but that’s all it takes for a certain type of calm to wash over him. He can’t place it, but he knows it soothes him. 

Then you sigh and step away, a little smile tugging at your lips as you wave him toward the door. 

“Alright, alright, get outta here. You wore me out, so the least you can do is let me sleep.”

Robby can tell that you’re trying to sound nonchalant, but then you follow it up with, “text me when you make it home,” and neither of you can deny that there’s a little bit of care sprinkled in with the casual. 

Half an hour later, Robby closes and locks his front door, then retrieves his phone from his pocket. 

‘Made it’

You don’t reply, probably already asleep, which is fine. Good, even. Definitely doesn’t bother Robby one bit.

taglist: @antisocialfiore @marrianena-library @chaerrivii @lemonpiegurll @beebeechaos @rosiepoise88 @diasnohibng @timetravelingmedstudent-blog @hawkswildfireheart @lafemme-nk @helouitmepipol (fill out the form above if you’d like to join!)

[mischi3f-manag3d]

if you don’t take requests please ignore me! but Dr Robby and another HCP (maybe nurse) being on call overnight bc of snow or something and sharing a squished little twin xl bed in the on call room 🙂‍↕️

**bonus points if someone comes to wake one of them up and sees them all cutie snuggled up

this idea has my <3, i hope you enjoy anon ^-^

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader genre: literally just pure fluff notes: private but not secret established relationship, close-quarters intimacy, the interns make a cameo, abbot, mel, & langdon are your x Robby's #1 fans, Robby being a soft boy who anticipates your needs

It was the worst winter storm Philly had seen in years—whiteout conditions, icy roads, and windchills low enough to freeze the Allegheny. The hospital had issued a mass alert just after midnight, encouraging all staff to remain onsite rather than risk the commute home.

By the time it had snowed eight inches overnight, with half the staff stuck in their neighborhoods or crawling along the freeway, you and Robby had offered to pull back-to-back coverage. By moon fall, the ER had calmed down just enough for you to take a deep breath—and then you remembered the on-call room.

The room was barely more than a glorified broom closet with a twin-sized bunk bed that sagged slightly in the middle. It had a small bathroom attached, but calling it a shower was generous—it was more like one of those overhead chemical rinse stations from a high school science lab. The water ran out too quickly, never got hotter than lukewarm, and sputtered like it resented being asked to work overtime.

Still, you were exhausted and freezing, barely holding yourself upright after fifteen straight hours on your feet. Robby had noticed the way you leaned against the wall between cases, the slight tremble in your fingers as you sipped water, and the dark shadows blooming beneath your eyes.

"You should crash in the on-call room for a bit," he said softly, brushing his hand down your arm in that way he always did when he was trying to coax you into taking care of yourself. It was one of his tells—the way his fingers would trail lightly over your sleeve, slow and grounding. Just enough pressure to let you know he was there. He’d done it on your worst days, in trauma bays and stairwells and break rooms, and every time, it had a way of quieting the static in your chest.

"I’m okay," you lied through heavy eyes, stubborn and determined to monitor your cases. "There’s still a couple charts I need to—"

"They’ll still be here when you come back," he interrupted gently. "You’re running on fumes."

You hesitated, and that was all he needed. He reached up, gently tucking a damp, frizzy strand of hair behind your ear—his fingers brushing your temple with a tenderness that made your breath catch. That was the final nudge, the one that broke through your inflexibility and reminded you he always saw you, even when you tried to act fine.

"I’ll come with you," he added, voice casual but warm. "We’re stuck here ‘til the snow clears anyway. Plus Dana offered to hold down the fort."

That got you.

You didn’t say yes so much as let out a long sigh and nod, heavy with defeat and gratitude. Robby didn’t gloat—just gave your shoulder a warm squeeze and offered his hand.

"Come on," he said, voice soft. "Before we have to admit you."

You rolled your eyes, but when he stepped in beside you and gently slipped your arm around his waist, letting you lean into him as you walked the corridor together, you didn’t pull away. You were too tired to pretend you weren’t clinging to him a little. He didn’t comment on it. Just adjusted his pace to match yours and kept you steady, steering you carefully around gurneys and corners like you were the most precious thing in the building.

The room wasn’t much, but with Robby beside you, it didn’t matter. You’d shared a quick shower—taking turns under the weak stream of water, half-laughing at how absurdly cold and uneven it was, bumping elbows as you tried not to slip on the slick tile. The water had been lukewarm at best, sputtering like it didn’t want to be there either, but Robby’s hands had been warm as he helped rinse shampoo from your hair, his fingers gentle and slow like he had all the time in the world. You’d stood forehead to forehead for a few moments after, breathing in the steam and each other.

When you dried off and dressed in spare sweats and thermals, he tugged your sleeve and gave you that look—the one that said he wasn’t asking, just quietly waiting for you to rest. He got into bed first, shifting to the far side and patting the space beside him in quiet invitation. You didn't hesitate before crawling in after him, into the warmth of his waiting arms. The scent of cedar soap clung faintly to the collar of his shirt as you settled into the space he made for you—safe, soft, familiar. He pulled you close, like he’d been holding that shape for you all day.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder as he settled behind you, arm draped low across your waist, thumb tracing slow circles against the soft cotton of your borrowed shirt. You sighed, muscles finally starting to unclench, exhaustion winning the fight against stubbornness. His touch was light, reassuring, like he was reminding you he was there without needing to say a word.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice rasped from hours of use but still the gentlest thing in the room.

You reached down to brush your fingers against his, lacing them quietly together.

“Thank you,” you murmured, eyes already slipping closed.

By morning, you were tucked under one thin hospital-issued blanket, facing each other on the narrow twin bed, your foreheads nearly touching. Robby’s arms were wrapped around you like a cocoon, holding you to his chest as though to shield you from the last bit of cold left in the world. One of your legs was slotted between his, your hands tangled together between your bodies like an anchor. You were nestled in close, limbs entwined in that soft, sleepy way that only came from long hours, cold nights, and knowing each other like the moon knows the night sky—something instinctive and effortlessly familiar, like you'd been made to find each other. 

Which is precisely the scene your dear colleagues walked in on when they cracked open the door to find the unofficial king and queen of the ER.

Abbot blinked. Then smiled like he’d just walked in on a Hallmark movie. "Told you."

Langdon didn’t say a word—just pulled out his phone and snapped a picture with the biggest grin plastered on his face, immediately sending the photo to the group chat. 

"Is that... Dr. Robby?" came Whitaker’s voice from behind them, whispering.

Santos grinned. "That’s gonna break headlines."

Javadi peeked in around the corner, wide-eyed. "They’re actually snuggling. Like real-life snuggling."

Back on the bed, Robby stirred slightly, his grip tightening as if on instinct. He inhaled softly, nose brushing your hairline, and smiled—a small, contented thing. Like your scent alone had reached some deep, quiet place in him and told him everything was okay.

Mel, ever neutral, simply nodded. "Their body language indicates long-term emotional attachment." However, even she couldn't hide the glee in her voice.

Moments later, a domino of phones vibrated.

Collins: Excuse me why are they adorable

Dana: I can retire in peace.

McKay: I called it. I knew it and I hate how much I love that I was right.

Mohan: Guess who owes me $5

Mateo: I don't remember signing a contract 

"Give them ten more minutes," Abbot whispered, gently closing the door with a soft click. "They’ve earned it."

[mischi3f-manag3d]

all day long i've been thinking about dabi's struggle with intimacy

[mischi3f-manag3d]

YOUR NEEDS, MY NEEDS [1]

MICHAEL ‘ROBBY’ ROBINAVITCH x F!READER

masterlist || next >>

Chapter Tags: explicit sexual content, swearing, propositions, robby being generally exasperated, first time, p in v, light praise, resident!reader, age gap, it’s just stress relief, right? (wrong)

wc: 4k

“That is a terrible idea.”

Not an untrue statement. It is a very, very bad idea. You know this. And yet…

You swivel on your bar stool, twisting your torso so that it moves back and forth, back and forth—sort of like the festering thought that’s been ping-ponging in your head for the last few days.

“I mean, yeah. It’d probably be absolutely disastrous,” you agree, “but I figure it’s worth a try.”

That pulls an incredulous laugh from Robby’s throat, scrubbing a hand down his face before holding it out to convey his confusion.

“Then why—”

“Because I’m lonely and horny, and I’m pretty sure you are too,” you cut him off before you can think better of it.

That disbelieving smile fades from his face, replaced by something… not so great. Irritation, maybe? You can never truly tell with him.

“And just what the fuck gave you that idea?” he asks.

There’s no use in lying. You’ve already dug your grave. What’s another few shovels of dirt?

“You watch Heather the same way I watch Frank.” A bitter taste is left on the back of your tongue just from saying his name.

Robby stares at you for a moment, shakes his head for the hundredth time tonight. “As long as I don’t get that look on my face when I see her,” he motions toward you with a finger, adds, “I think I’ll be just fine.”

It takes you by surprise—the bite in his voice—but now that it’s been pointed out you can feel the downward pull of your mouth, eyes wide, hollow, puffy from fatigue. You probably look like a dog that’s just been kicked.

Pitiful as you may be, it doesn’t mean Robby can just—

“Ya’ know what? You’re right.” You slide off the stool in a quick motion, muttering to yourself, “fucking stupid of me to think you’d want…”

You closed your tab about ten minutes ago, so once your backpack is safely over your shoulder, there’s nothing stopping you from leaving the bar.

Aside from the strong hand that suddenly wraps around your forearm.

“Wait, stop, just fucking…” You pause, but you don’t turn to look at him, not when his ridicule sits so heavily in your stomach. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I know I need to get over Heather, and I’m sure I look pretty fuckin’ pathetic staring at her all shift.”

You glance over your shoulder to glare at him. “Pathetic. Nice,” because you know he’s not just talking about himself.

“Didn’t say you were,” Robby insists, and you’re surprised to feel a slight tug on your wrist, like he’s pulling you closer. “Most days you just look tired. And really fucking sad sometimes.”

“I am tired and sad!” You pivot to face him again, stare him dead in the eye as the control you had over yourself just moments ago slips away, replaced by something a little more desperate. “You think I’d be asking about this if I wasn’t? I am at my wit’s end here. I just need something—”

To your absolute horror, your voice breaks, eyes burning.

“God dammit.” This is so not how you wanted this to go.

But it had been a shit shift (as always) and you are so incredibly exhausted, have been for too long.

You yank your arm from Robby’s grip, hissing his usual mantra of, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” while turning to get away from him (again).

He stops you (again), only this time he’s standing, somehow having managed to take a few steps toward you, and his hand is on you, big and warm where it molds around the curve of your hipbone.

“Look at me.” A command, but it comes out softer than when he tells you to do something in the ER.

“Absolutely not,” you answer quickly, and it might be the first time you’ve disobeyed him.

Robby chuckles, and it almost makes you twist around just so that you can yell at him again.

“You can proposition me for sex, but you can’t look at me?”

Humiliation washes over you, made worse by the way your cheeks flare with heat.

“Just… forget it ever happened, okay?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that any time soon.”

Robby’s pulling you again, backwards so that you have to fight not to stumble. He only stops when he’s leaning against his stool and you’re standing between his legs. Back to his chest, you’re not exactly snug against him, but you can still feel his body heat, and your face is scorching for an entirely different reason.

This is… Huh.

It’s possible you didn’t really think this through, finding yourself unprepared for what it might be like to be close to him in a non-trauma setting.

“I’m sorry for being a dick. Just caught me off guard, I guess.”

You nod, trying not to react to the feeling of his breath on the back of your neck. “Can’t really blame you. I caught myself off guard when I first thought about it.”

Except not really. It didn’t come as a surprise when your mind had wandered to Robby while considering possible options. You used to think about him fairly often. Before Frank.

Robby doesn’t need to know that, though. It’s not even relevant; that ship had sailed a long time ago.

“There are other guys,” he reminds you like you don’t already know.

“I am not fucking Mateo or Donahue. Whitaker would probably run for the hills if he knew some of the shit I’m—anyway, I don’t have time to go out and meet someone, and even if I did, most dudes are fucking creeps.”

He’s silent for a few beats, like he’s working it over in his brain. Then, the more obvious issue: “I’m your boss.”

Now you do turn to face him, shuffling awkwardly so that his hand falls away from your waist.

“Oh my god, I didn’t even think of that!” All sarcasm.

It’s a miracle that you don’t spout off more, somehow stopping yourself before arguing that his position didn’t seem to matter when he and Heather were together.

“I’ve been going over the pros and cons for a while now, alright? This wasn’t just a spur of the moment idea,” you assure him. “But, if you really don’t want to or don’t think you could with me, just say so, and I’ll never bring it up again.”

“Oh, I definitely could with you,” he clarifies, gaze dropping to his lap as he releases another quiet laugh, “believe me, I could.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, pretty sure that Robby is telling you that he finds you attractive on some level but upset with yourself at how fucking gratifying that is.

“I used to—” he starts only to cut himself off, opting to just run a hand through his hair.

Unfortunately for him, your curiosity has been piqued.

“You’ve thought what?”

Robby lets his head loll backward. For the first time in a long time, you fall into an old habit and let yourself admire him. The column of his throat. The bob of his Adam’s apple. The gray in his beard.

There’s a reason you came to him, and it’s because he’s hot.

Also, you trust him to not murder you.

He looks forward again, wearing a familiar expression of annoyance, but you think it’s directed at himself this time.

“I’ve thought about it before.”

You fail to hide your smugness at his admission (not that you’re trying very hard).

“A while ago,” he insists then completely derails his own justification by adding, “and then again more… recently.”

Robby rubs the back of his neck like he does whenever he’s uncomfortable. You’ve always found the act oddly endearing.

“Well, I’m not gonna try to convince you, but you know where I stand now, so…” You flash a smile for the first time in hours, watch as Robby’s resolve cracks just a little. “Ball’s in your court, boss.”

This time when you walk away, he doesn’t stop you, but there’s no mistaking the frustrated, “fuck,” that echoes behind you.

He catches up to you just as you’re stepping out of the bar, his heavy hand landing on the back of your neck as he drops his head to fucking growl in your ear, “You are an HR nightmare,” somehow managing to sound both angry and amused.

“Yeah, well at least I’m good at my job. It’ll make it harder for my boss to fire me.”

•••

It wasn’t like it had been a huge crush. Nothing earth-shattering or world-ending. Just something a little cliché when you had started at PTMC as a first year resident.

Honestly, you could hardly even call it a crush. It was more of a respect thing, which is totally understandable considering how respectable Dr. Robinavitch was and still is.

Maybe you vied for his attention a little more than others. Maybe hearing the words “good job” and “nice work” from him sent a thrill through you that others didn’t seem to get. Maybe you enjoyed the feeling of him brushing up against you in chaotic triage rooms a little too much.

None of it distracted you, though. Mostly. There may have been one instance that had left you fidgety around the older man for a good few days.

A teen shoved out of a van, you straddling him while holding pressure over his chest where he’d been shot.

The EMTs managed to get a body board beneath both you and the kid, hoisting you up and depositing you on a gurney in the nearest open trauma room.

Doctors swarmed around you, Garcia calling out instructions before locking eyes with you, voice even as she explained that she was going to replace your hands with hers.

It was a graceful switch that allowed you to take the deep, shaky breath that you’d been holding, so relieved that you didn’t even notice Robby (still Dr. Robinavitch to you at the time) until his arm was already wrapped around your waist.

“Time to get down, sweetheart.”

The way your stomach had flipped at the sound of his gruff voice, when you realized exactly who was lifting you from your place with ease.

To this day, you remember the embarrassing squeak that forced its way from your throat, the only noise you could make in your flustered state.

“I got ya’, I got ya’,” he promised as you leaned into him, airborne for a split second before he planted you firmly on the ground. Eyes moving back to the scene in front of him, Robby had nodded in something akin to approval, then muttered a distracted, “good girl,” that made you go all wobbly and weak in the knees.

If that hadn’t been bad enough, Santos chose that moment to sprint into the room, would have careened straight into Robby had he not been quick enough. You found yourself pressed into the gurney, caged in by his arms to keep both you and himself out of the way.

And, that was it. A short interaction that wasn’t even a blip on his radar judging by how unfazed he was by all of it.

You, on the other hand… not so much.

It replayed in your mind for weeks, a looped scene that you couldn’t turn off. You went to work feeling light and giddy, always hoping you’d be able to do something that would earn his praise.

Nothing came of it, of course, and eventually you were able to let it go, any blooming feelings snuffed out by his lack of reaction.

The thing with Frank began shortly after that, messy from the very start and getting progressively messier the longer it went on.

But it’s all over, and now you’re here, standing in your apartment, staring at Robby who’s staring at you, and what the fuck—what is actually going on? How did you end up like this? You’ve somehow come full circle in a twisted sort of way.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to start. Robby has his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, rocking on his heels as he surveys your home.

“Well, this is fun,” he says in typical Robby fashion, dry and sarcastic and a little annoying.

“What, you just wanna dive right in?” you shoot back. “I know I could use a rinse, and the dried blood on your neck tells me you could go for one too.”

He can’t argue with that, so you take turns in the shower, quick but effective and alone because bathing together is out of the question.

You know he’s on the couch in your small living room—waiting, probably going over all the reasons he shouldn’t be here.

Meanwhile, you’re staring into your bathroom mirror, wet hair tied up, face bare as usual. You feel rather plain, definitely self-conscious, but you’re wearing cute panties that show off the curve of your ass, and you’ve gotta admit that your tits look good tonight.

You consider grabbing a shirt or a robe, but there’s really no point, and besides, you figure the less clothing you’re wearing, the less likely Robby is to change his mind. There’s probably a direct correlation between the two.

You wonder what it’ll feel like to have him touch you, if his beard against your skin will make you shiver, if his beard between your legs would—

Fuck. Fuck.

This is Robby—your boss who’s twenty years older than you, and that shouldn’t get you as hot as it does, but God, you know he knows what he’s doing.

This is a mistake, you think to yourself. A bad idea, just like he said.

But the more you think about it, the more you want it, and by the time you step out of the bathroom, your whole body is tense with anticipation.

He’s sitting on the couch just as you suspected, slouched over with his head in his hands (typical). Obviously, he’s still debating the morality of the situation.

“You look like you’re about to face a fucking firing squad,” you deadpan as you move toward him.

You hope you sound casual, hope you come off as unaffected. Confident.

Then Robby turns to look at you, and you stop dead in your tracks.

You don’t—you don’t have a shirt on. You barely have anything on, and he’s there, and you can see the freckles on his sunkissed shoulders and some of his chest hair, and those brown eyes are burning into you as he takes in every bit of skin that he can see.

Staring shamelessly until his control snaps all at once.

“Over here. Now.” It’s all gravel, sounds almost threatening, and you don’t think you’ve ever gotten so wet so fast.

Moving without hesitation, you only stop once you’re in front of his spread legs, barely catch a glimpse of his cock, but can’t fully admire it before Robby tugs you into his lap.

Your thighs spread wide over his, jaw dropping when he immediately shoves an arm between your bodies to rub your covered pussy.

“Not… wasting any time,” you breathe while bracing yourself for a thick finger to be shoved inside of you.

He doesn’t go any further, though, focusing on your neck instead, and you shudder at the sensation of his teeth grazing your skin.

“Didn’t think you’d walk out topless,” he gruffs.

You laugh airily, pleased with his reaction—his eager hands.

“Guess I made the right decision, then.”

There’s no more talking after that, only nipping and biting and digging your nails into Robby’s shoulders. The scratch of his beard is just as satisfying as you thought it would be, causes you to crane your neck as if to give him better access.

You buck into the hand between your legs and moan softly when he uses the other to squeeze one of your tits, encouraging you to arch your back and push your chest closer to his mouth.

He seems to like the way you sound, answers with his own groan, and the noise, the rumble, goes straight to your core.

Catching your hardened nipple between his incisors, Robby teases with just enough pressure to make you whine, quickly soothes the sensitive flesh with his tongue, flicking and sucking and driving you insane.

Your hips are still rocking, grinding against his palm, and you can feel the way your panties are plastered to your pussy, already soaked with your arousal.

Releasing your nipple, Robby tilts his head back, and fuck, oh fuck, he’s looking at you. He’s watching you. Spit-slicked lips and dilated pupils, mouth lifting on one side in an uncharacteristic smirk.

“You’re leaking all over my hand,” he says which, on its own, is enough to make you whimper, but then he adds a condescending, “desperate little thing,” and your fucking eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Fuck—please—”

You can feel his cock twitch against your ass, and surely he must be ready to sink into you, yet he still teases, “you really weren’t lying when you said you needed this.”

“For the love of god, Robinavitch, if you don’t fuck me right now…”

He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling like he’s truly happy with this turn of events.

“Patience, sweetheart. Gotta get you ready first.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” you start to babble, “I’m wet enough, I can take it, I wanna feel it, Robby, wanna feel you stretch me out.”

Robby hisses a harsh, “fucking Christ,” while pulling your panties to the side. He easily slides one long finger inside of you, coating it in your juices to spread all over your clit and vulva. You keen, louder and louder as he repeats the action a couple times to make sure you’re slick enough to take him.

“Lift up,” he commands, and you do, reaching for his cock to line it up with your entrance. It’s fat and heavy in your hand. You know you should let him stretch you like he wanted to, but you can’t wait that long. You need to feel him inside of you.

His cockhead alone spreads you thin, your hole fluttering around it as you try to accommodate the size.

“Fuck, oh fuck, you’re…”

“Told you I needed to get you ready,” he drawls, and he sounds smug about it. The hand not holding your panties is curled around your hip, guiding you down on his length just a little more. “Easy does it, take it slow.”

He sounds so collected, so controlled…

Until your feet slip on the couch cushions, and you take the rest of him all at once.

You squeal, Robby shouts, and you can feel both of his hands tremble where they you.

“Holy shit,” he rasps, jaw hanging open.

Your wide eyes meet his, warm brown eclipsed by black blown out pupils. You distantly wonder if he needs a neuro exam, know you definitely need one since it feels like your brain is oozing out of your god damn ears.

He’s so thick, God, he’s so fucking—you always assumed that Robby was hiding something impressive under those cargo pants, but this is… this is kind of ridiculous. Girthier than any of your toys, long enough to press against your cervix.

You’re never gonna recover from this. There will be a fucking imprint of Michael Robinavitch’s dick in your pussy for the rest of your life.

“Here, slide back off for a minute—that must have hurt.”

He’s not wrong. It absolutely did hurt, still hurts.

But it’s the most satisfying stretch you’ve ever felt.

Glassy eyed and tear streaked, you shake your head and croak, “feels too good.”

His face is blurry, a shame given how handsome he is. You don’t even register the hand that he lifts, his thumb brushing over your cheek to wipe away some of your tears.

A tender gesture that juxtaposes the way he thrusts upward to bounce you in his lap. He starts out shallow, almost experimental, but when all you do is beg for more, Robby finally, finally lets go.

Your panties are torn, hanging uselessly around one thigh, and with two free hands Robby moves you up and down on him. Fuck, you forget how strong he is, but the way he’s manhandling you right now is a stark reminder. You may as well be a doll.

Your tits bounce with every thrust, no doubt an enjoyable sight that you let him indulge in until their weight starts to get uncomfortable and you cup them yourself. It’s not like they look any less pretty, especially when Robby dips his head to leave a collage of bites and bruises all over them.

He grunts into your skin then leans back, head following and exposing his throat. You attack, latching onto the side of his neck and sucking, sucking, sucking.

“You feel—so fucking good,” he groans. The rumble of his voice vibrates against your teeth, makes you bite down until he hisses.

Hand fisted in your hair, Robby pulls you away, and the sensation, the burn and harshness and overall idea of him getting a little rough with you…

“I’m gonna fucking cum,” you gasp, the realization hitting you like a freight train. You’ve never been able to get off without playing with your clit, and you are clueless as to why this is any different—maybe it’s the neverending pressure against your g-spot, maybe it’s his size in general, or maybe it’s just because it’s him.

You look at him like you’re scared, heat and pleasure building inside of you. Your toes curl and your back bows and you know you’re absolutely fucked when he wets his thumb and presses it to your poor, swollen clit.

Your orgasm guts you, tears through you with an intensity that has your vision whiting out.

And, it feels like it goes on for so long. Robby keeps fucking into you, keeps his thumb against your clit, praises you as your pussy sucks his cock like a greedy mouth.

“Fuck, you’re pretty when you cum for me like that. Keep taking it, just like that…”

He sounds as ruined as you feel, his cock twitching inside you, the tendons in his neck straining against flushed skin, and somehow, in a display of incredible self-control, Robby lifts you off of him just in time for cum to shoot from his tip. The first warm string lands on your jaw while the rest paints your tits and stomach.

By the time he’s done, Robby looks like he might die.

“I’ve never…” he huffs, grunting when you collapse against his chest, then bringing a hand up to trace down your spine. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum that fucking hard.”

Your responding laugh is breathy and tired. “Ditto.”

Dropping his forehead to your shoulder, the two of you just breathe for a while, slowly regaining a few of your mental faculties.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna look you in the eye next time we work together.”

“Mm, my tits are more fun to look at anyway.”

Robby hums, quiet for too long like he’s debating what to say next.

He gives in, that post-orgasm high loosening his tongue— “always kinda liked your eyes.”

You stiffen, just for a second, unsettled by the sentiment. “Don’t get all gooey on me now,” you warn. Then you think about your current state and smile against Robby’s neck— “I’m already gooey enough as it is.”

He lifts his head, revealing an expression of open displeasure that makes you break into a fit of giggles. You have a feeling he’s gonna get tired of you sooner rather than later.

When it’s over and your breathing has returned to normal, you let yourself relax against Robby’s chest again. Your entire body feels like molasses, syrupy and satiated and just stupid enough to admit, “for the record, I always kinda liked your eyes too.”

[mischi3f-manag3d]

Work for it

Spencer Reid x Reader

Part one

Warnings/contains: no mentions of reader’s gender or genital description, dirty talk, unprotected sex, finishing inside, riding, semi-public sex

Here’s part two since you all asked so nicely! I really do love writing for this man so keep asking and you’ll keep receiving (also this gif? i’m gonna’ pass out omfg)

“This is all for you, baby,” He sighed, feeling your hand reach into his pants. “You take whatever you need.”

Spencer had this really intense way of always knowing what to say, always knowing which words were going to drive you insane. Today it was those ones.

Your stomach clenched, eyes nearly rolling back in your head as you watched him watch you. His eyes were hazy, following the movements of your fingers as you stroked his cock.

Slightly restricted by the fabric of his pants and boxers, you slowly twisted your hand around the length of him as your other hand lay flat against his FBI vest.

“It’s hard to think of a time you haven’t looked good,” You gasped, feeling him start peeling off your trousers. “But you’ve never looked this good.”

Spencer laughed, his eyebrow raised like he was challenging you. His fingers tugged at your pants, making you shuffle back to get them down your thighs.

“How about you take these off and show me what you mean?”

There was never any denying him, never any way around it- not like you’d ever want to. Kicking your pants into the footwell, you situated yourself back in Spencer’s lap as he pushed his pants down his thighs.

You watched him bring long fingers to his mouth, tongue swiping up them as he brought his hand back to his cock. All you could do was watch, completely fucked out before he’d hardly touched you.

Watching as he wrapped his hand around the head of his cock and wet it for you, his eyes locking with yours as he did it. His other hand came to your chin, holding it gently to get your full attention.

“Go ahead, I wanna’ watch you while you put it in.”

Your whole stomach flipped, a desperate moan slipping out as you raised onto your knees. Lining up Spencer’s cock with your entrance, you pressed your chin to your chest to watch it slip in.

A hiss came from between his teeth as he disappeared inside of you, taking him to the hilt. Both your hands secured back around the straps of his vest for leverage as you began to bounce in his lap.

Spencer’s head fell back against the car seat, his lips pouty and wet from where yours had been all over him. You just had to lean in and kiss him, you tongue running around his mouth and your fingers slipping into his hair.

The noises, the noises he made when you tugged on his hair and pulled him in closer. His hands secured around your hips and began to pull you down into his lap as you bounced on it.

“There we go- just like that, baby.” Spencer moaned brokenly, words muffled against your lips.

You didn’t know how you could hold on, part of you knew very well that you wouldn’t. Continuing to bounce on him, you took one hand off the vest and pressed your palm flat to the roof of the car.

Spencer looked up at the sight of you above him, he felt like he’d died and come back with a quest to be more grateful.

Long fingers pulled your hips onto his, car filled with sounds of skin on skin. His curls pressed against his damp forehead. Chest rising and falling against the firm hold of the bulletproof vest.

As you rose up again, Spencer held you in the air for a moment before he began hammering his hips up into you. Your mouth fell open, unintelligible sounds that could have been his name came out in quick succession.

You felt the coil in the pit of your stomach begin to unravel, unmistakable feeling of your orgasm fast approaching as you began to clench around him.

“I can feel it, baby,” His voice was a whine, fighting for what little composure he still had. “Give it to me- let me have it.”

Your eyes had been screwed up in pleasure, you made the conscious effort to pry them open and get one last look. It nearly killed you.

Spencer, completely debauched, sweat sheen across his face and blush on his cheeks. One hand holding your hips as he pulled you down on his cock. Other hand gripping the neck of his vest again, like he knew just what it did to you.

You nearly screamed, your voice breaking as you cried out for him- white hot feeling rushing over the entirety of you as you came for him. Clenched tight around him, you felt like your heart could stop.

Spencer only watched, fucking you through it but sure not to miss a moment. He could spend the rest of his life under you, watching you just like this as you came for him.

It was all enough for him, thighs tensing beneath you and hand clenching tight as you felt hot ropes of cum inside you. He slowed you to a stop, but still held you tight against him to keep it all inside you.

Falling against his chest, part of you was beginning to find the vest comfortable. Maybe it was just the fact you were in his arms. Maybe it was the way he rubbed your back as you came back down to earth.

Walking back into the office, you kept your eyes down as you followed behind Spencer. You knew everyone was looking at you both, you were nearly 30 minutes later than the rest of them.

You’d be crazy not to expect there to be questions.

Lucky Spencer was quick on the response.

“Yeah sorry, it’s my fault,” He threw his hands up as he rounded his desk. “There was something going on with my vest.”

[mischi3f-manag3d]

Um hi! I saw your reblog with Spencer in his FBI bulletproof vest and in the tags how you said you'd fuck him with it on!! Do you think you could write something about that??

I'm thinking like Reader is on the team with him.. sees him in it one day and can't stop gawking over him. So, one case they're on they ride together in the Suburban and Reader makes him pull off somewhere because they can't wait any longer for him to fuck them. Like semi-public sex, riding him in the suburban. Or like, if you didn't want it to be semi-public, Reader and him could be at the hotel they're staying at and she makes him keep it on to have sex..

A lot of hard work

Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings/contains: no mention of reader’s gender, objectification (of one Spencer Reid), mentions of an unsub, Spencer is confident in this, inappropriate use of the FBI vest, swearing, dirty talk, humping, making out, semi-public, almostttt at the good stuff

I LOVE that you see my tags and I love even more you asked me to write from them! I hope you enjoy this! I did cut off right before the good parts so maybe, maaaaybe we could give it a p2

The adrenaline should’ve been wearing off.

It probably was, it was probably something entirely different twisting at the pit of your stomach.

Unsub shut in the back of the police car, SWAT retreating back in their trucks, the team were gathered around the hood of the suburban for a debrief.

A debrief you should’ve been listening to.

It was no use, as if you could hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears.

Hotch had his usual stern expression as he spoke, but the more you tried to focus on what he was saying- the more your eyes kept drifting just over his left shoulder.

This was fucking obscene.

All he was doing, all he was doing, was listening to your boss (like you should’ve been). His sunglasses were pushed up his nose, he had a few perfect curls falling across his forehead, as usual.

The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows and the high sun was glinting off the large watch on his wrist. Your eyes followed his, frankly perfect, forearms up to his hands.

Veins running just below the surface leading you to long fingers, all wrapped around the thick shoulder straps of his bullet-proof vest. The one that was spanned across his chest and sitting up on his waist.

Spencer Reid looked insanely fuckable with the vest on.

You were lucky Hotch had split you up when you’d arrived on scene. If you’d had to watch Spencer running before you in that vest, you think you might’ve had to ask the unsub to kill you next.

The sight was nearly obscene.

You’d managed, just and only managed to support your team and get the job done- putting your own debauched thoughts away long enough to be serious for a second.

But as everyone was dispersing from the scene, under orders to meet back in the bullpen for paperwork, you had a feeling it wasn’t over for you yet.

That feeling came with Spencer calling your name, simply gesturing towards an empty suburban as he flashed the keys.

When nobody else joined you in the back of the car, you knew there was no way it’d ever be over. Especially not when he sat in the driver seat, vest still firmly secured around him.

Dropping yourself into the passenger seat, you resorted to pressing one very warm cheek to the window in attempt to find some relief.

There was none to be found, not when Spencer was reaching one long arm behind your seat to reverse out of the spot- Lord have mercy.

You’d both managed to get some ten minutes into the trip before he’d piped up, before he’d acknowledged the obvious change in your behaviour.

“What’s going on with you?”

His eyes flickered off the road for a moment, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his thigh as he moved through the streets.

You shifted, uncomfortably shifted as you tried to play it off. “Nothing, I’m-“

“And I’m me, so don’t try lie.”

Rolling your eyes like a petulant child, you crossed your arms as you sunk further into the seat. It was easy done, you’d discarded your vest the minute you got in the car, unable to cope with the way it was suffocating you.

“Spencer, just leave it.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, you couldn’t see it through his sunglasses but you could tell by the way his face rose and fell. He sucked in a deep breath before deciding someone needed to go first.

“You were too quick to get away from me as soon as we arrived and then spent the whole debrief staring at me like you either wanted me under you or dead- so what is it?”

That might’ve been the quickest anyone’s ever been profiled.

All part of the ordeal of being known, being so well known.

You shifted your gaze just enough to check if he was letting it go, sure enough, he was still switching between you and the road. It’s never over.

Absolutely you could tell him, you could just lay it all out and absolutely he’d be fine with it. But there was still such a sick knot in your stomach about having to fess up.

Weighing up your options (one of which included throwing open the car door) you saw movement out the corner of your eye.

Spencer’s free hand left his thigh and came to rest on the top of his vest, pulling it down slightly as he did it and drawing even more attention to the definition of his forearm.

“It’s the vest,” The words literally fell out of your mouth. “I want- need to fuck you with the vest on.”

You half expected him to crash the car. It would’ve made sense if he’d slammed on the breaks or even swerved a little. But he didn’t.

Spencer kept the car straight, eyes steadily moving to your face as he slowly raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

Everything had gone quiet, like the world had stopped spinning. All you could hear was his simple question and maybe the odd voice in your head telling you this was a bad idea.

Thankfully, his voice was louder.

The moment his eyes went back on the road, his hand came off the vest to use his turn signal. He was pulling off down a trail road, industrial with an old factory at the base of it.

You knew it was abandoned, nobody had been there for years- it was on the map he’d annotated for the team at the beginning of this case.

Without a word, Spencer pulled up beside the building and the long grass. He put the car into park and removed his sunglasses before he ran a steady hand through his hair.

You’d been watching it all, slightly turned in your seat and studying his every move. There was no way you could help it. There was no way God could give you a man that looked like that and expect you to be normal about it.

All of a sudden, you saw Spencer reach beneath his seat. It rolled back slowly until he had a significant space between himself and the steering wheel.

Still, with no words exchanged, he brought his hand back to his thigh to pat it once- then twice. It was like a natural reaction for you, picking yourself up and scrambling across the centre console until you were situated in his lap.

Your fingers immediately closed around the straps of the vest, pulling him into you so your lips could meet with his. Spencer wasted no time in having his tongue in your mouth, immediately establishing his place.

It should’ve been embarrassing, pathetic really, the way your hips began to roll into his the minute he touched you. Large hands ran up your back, under your shirt and igniting your skin.

The vest was firm against your chest, almost keeping him from you but giving you exactly what you wanted. Pressing your forehead to his, you opened your eyes to get a good look at him under you.

He’d said you wanted one or the other.

You felt Spencer’s lips working up the front of your throat, teeth gently nipping at the skin as his hands worked down to the waistband of your pants.

You weren’t sure if he’d been as impatient as you- it was more likely you could give him a look any time of day and he’d be dropping to whatever position you needed him in. He was good that way.

As your hands splayed against the front of his vest, slowing inching down further as you continued to hump his lap- feeling him somehow getting even harder beneath you.

“Spencer-“ Your voice sounded breathy, desperate for him. “They’re gonna’ be back at the office soon.”

You heard him chuckle, the sound leaving his lips and reverberating off your throat. He nodded, just a little as his fingers began to work on the front of your pants.

He shuffled his hips forward, sinking down a bit further and giving you better access to his belt- the one you immediately began to undo.

“This is all for you, baby,” He sighed, feeling your hand reach into his pants. “You take whatever you need.”

[mischi3f-manag3d]

[mischi3f-manag3d]

kinktober - day 20

terushima yuuji - cunnilingus

kinktober faq prompt list

*NSFW warning featuring cunnilingus and a tongue piercing* fem reader

“cunnilingus” is just a fancy word meaning the stimulation of the vagina using the tongue/lips 

-

Every time your best friend barged into your apartment unannounced, you regretted giving him a key to your apartment. 

Yuuji walked into your bedroom as if he owned the place, announcing, “We lost!” loud and proud. 

“Then why are you smiling?” 

“Because it was fun - I got to play someone from high school again,” he replied, falling onto the foot of your bed. “This little red headed guy - you would’ve seen him if you’d actually come to watch my games.” 

“You want me to watch you lose?”

“I want you to support me - like I support your stupid student films - ow!” 

You hit him in the face with your pillow as you said, “I was a film major for one semester, you can let that go already.” 

“Yeah, but I spent an entire Saturday evening at that film night… and they were all so bad. The least you could do is come to one of my games!” 

“I have been to one of your games this year,” you argued. “Just tell me about how it went. How many girls did you harass for their numbers?” 

“None,” he groaned, “let that go - you know I don’t do that anymore. I learned my lesson.” 

“Remind me - was it getting slapped in the face or kicked in the balls that made you learn your lesson - hey!” 

Yuuji threw the pillow back at you, “Shut up! That’s embarrassing - I’m not 18 anymore, Y/N.” 

“But even at 21, you’re still a flirty piece of shit.” 

“No I’m not!” 

“You have a tongue ring and dyed hair, Yuuji, and we all know you look that way on purpose.” 

“Leave my tongue ring out of it - I think I’m quite attractive, thank you very much.” 

You rolled your eyes at him. “Why did you even get that thing, anyway?”

“Wanna find out?” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m just saying, you’d understand why I have it if you felt it -” 

“I don’t think so.” 

You were used to his flirtatious personality - his words didn’t bother you anymore. But you’d never admit to the fantasies you’ve had about that man’s tongue - those were your business. 

“Well… the offer is on the table. Have you ever made out with someone who had a tongue ring?” 

“No,” you replied, watching him as he sat upright. 

“Well do you want to?” 

“Yeah,” his eyes shined, and then, “as soon as I find a decent guy with a tongue ring.” 

“Y/N,” he groaned as you laughed. He gave you a strong stare, one you were obviously ignoring. 

You hated when he did this. You knew his flirting wasn’t genuine, but you still got your hopes up that maybe one day he’d be real with you, he’d want you. But you didn’t see it ever happening. 

Still, you were getting fed up with the heat between your legs caused by his words - so much so that you were about to forget about your fears and tell him the truth: that you were curious about that stud in his mouth. 

You cleared your throat, attempting to clear your mind with it. “Anyway, uh… why’d you stop by?” 

“To see you.” 

You sighed. “Well… what do you want to do?” 

You watched him as he thought of an answer; he fidgeted with his stupid tongue ring between his teeth, making that heat turn to throbbing. 

You wanted to pounce on him. 

“Don’t know,” he shrugged, looking over to you to catch you staring. You didn’t hear a word he said - instead, you were busy watching his mouth. And you watched as a smirk spread across his face. “What are you staring at, babe?” 

“Nothing.” You snapped out of your trance and tried your best to hide your blush. “Don’t call me that.” 

He crawled up your bed, giggling as he did so. “If you’re going to stare, don’t get caught.” 

“I was just looking at it.” 

“Yeah, but now I know you’re curious about it.” 

Before thinking you said, “Maybe,” and immediately wanted to smack yourself. 

“Only maybe?” 

“Shut up!” 

You grabbed the nearest pillow to hide your face with, fighting Yuuji with it when he tried to pull it from your grasp. But it was unsuccessful - he tossed it across the room.

“Hey, hey - it’s okay, Y/N, look at me,” he said, trying his best not to laugh. “If it helps you feel better… I’m also curious about how it’d feel against you.” 

“Shut up, Yuuji.” 

“I’m telling the truth!” he said. His face was close to yours now - you weren’t sure when or how he got so close to you. “I’ve always wanted to feel your skin against my tongue… Or feel your tongue against mine, or…” 

He was getting closer and closer, hovering over you as he spoke. The anticipation was unbearable. You didn’t think his lips would ever land on yours - and they didn’t. 

“It’s too bad I’m not a decent guy,” he teased, tapping your nose before attempting to move away from you.

But you didn’t let him - you grabbed his face and pulled him down to you, kissing him hard. 

“I want you,” you mumbled against his lips. And then he moved his body onto yours, settling between your legs as your mouth opened against his. 

The moment his tongue grazed yours you knew you needed to feel it somewhere else. The piercing hardly made a difference in the kiss - you hardly realized it was there, but Yuuji was a damn good kisser. You held onto his jaw as his lips dipped down to taste yours again and again, until he pulled away slowly. 

“Fuck, Y/N… do you want to do more, babe?” 

You nodded eagerly, and he smiled at you. “Can I show you what this piercing is really for?” 

“Don’t get cocky until you make me cum.” 

He scoffed, “who said I’ll let you cum?” 

“Yuuji… if you tease I swear to god, I’ll slap some sense into you just like that girl did -” 

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, “You’re the boss.” 

You pulled your shorts off for him, and he tugged them off your legs. His excitement was raging - he’d been wanting to do this with you for years, ever since the two of you became close. He couldn’t wait to see what you looked like underneath the frilly underwear you wore - and he moaned at the sight of you. 

“Y/N,” he said, looking up to meet your soft gaze. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say to you - he was just in awe. 

You bit your lip. “Yuuji.” 

He shook his head - fuck, he was overwhelmed. He was not supposed to be feeling this way; he was meant to be cool and collected, but he couldn’t feel farther from that right now. 

The only thing that would clear his mind is finally tasting you - so he wouldn’t hold back anymore. He was looking up at you as his mouth opened; your eye caught the shine of the metal on his tongue right before he pressed it against you. 

It was a slow start, to say the least - you were convinced he was teasing on purpose when his tongue stayed flat against you, giving you the smallest licks along your sex. 

“Yuuji, you’re teasing,” you said, making him giggle into you. He wrapped his arms around your spread legs, pulling you closer to him so he could really dive in. 

“I know,” he mumbled. 

Your hands dove into his hair the moment his lips found your clit; you weren’t feeling the stud at all, but you didn’t care. 

His tongue teased your entrance, and that’s when you felt it. When it grazed against your walls you jumped, because you’d never felt anything like that before. 

“Fuck, you taste so damn good,” he said, “I have to know what you taste like when you cum.” 

“Then don’t stop,” you told him, pulling his mouth back down to you with a hand on his prominent jaw. 

His tongue lapped into you again and again - his mouth was flush against your sex, and all you could feel was that damn piercing against your clit, swirling around it skillfully. 

Yuuji knew exactly how to use that tongue ring. It felt like he was pulling your orgasm out of you - you couldn’t hold it back even if you saw it coming. You soaked his chin, and probably your sheets. And you more than likely woke your neighbors with the calls of his name. 

“Again,” he demanded. He was moaning into you and you could feel the vibrations coming from his throat. His tongue didn’t stop moving, and he didn’t move away from your clit for even a second. 

“Yuuji,” you moaned, unsure if you were even able to cum again - but you definitely didn’t want him to stop. 

You were moaning his name again and again and it was driving him fucking crazy - he couldn’t believe how hot you were, how good you tasted, how turned on he was just from doing this. He loved it - he couldn’t stop moaning into you, and he was so hard he could barely stand it. And it was all because of you.

His tongue was all but begging you to cum again for him - he needed to hear those moans at least one more time. 

Once again, he built you up to the peak only to push you off the edge - this time you fell even harder. You could feel his moans through your entire body - his tongue felt like your goddamned lifeline, and your hand in his hair could’ve been the only thing keeping you from floating away. 

You weren’t sure if he was really good at giving head or if your dry spell had gone on for a bit too long, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. All you knew was that Yuuji made you feel absolutely amazing.

“Holy shit,” he said, attempting to catch his breath after pulling his mouth off of you. “I hope you liked that as much as I did.” 

“I did,” you replied. “Couldn’t you tell?” 

“We’re definitely doing that again,” he remarked with a kiss on your thigh. “Preferably within the hour.”

-

tune in tomorrow for kinktober day 21: breast worship 

[mischi3f-manag3d]

kinktober - day fifteen

ukai keishin - in a car 

kinktober faq kinktober prompt list  

nsfw warning featuring: car sex, public sex, teasing, dirty talk, yall r needy, mentions of exhibitionism / exhibitionism roleplay-ish, slight degradation with the usage of the words ‘slut’ and ‘cock slut’, fucking in a cramped setting, this is swear word central with keishin’s potty mouth, unprotected sex, mentions of cunnilingus  other tags: keishin talks a lot, road trip!, established relationship, theres some fluff in there  fem reader

word count: 2735

-

Sometimes, your world stops. 

This pitstop town was still moving, cars passing and headlights flashing by as if they were leaving you behind, but they all could have frozen in time and you wouldn’t have noticed. 

Because where you were, in your car that sat in an empty rest stop parking lot, the clock wasn’t moving. The earth wasn’t spinning. Your road trip had ended early and your world had been put on pause by the man sitting behind the steering wheel. 

“We should probably just get a hotel room,” Keishin told you, and the quiet sound of his voice had you thinking that he felt the same way you did. Don’t speak too loud or the rest of the world will know you’re here; don’t move too quickly or the delicacy of the moment will be lost. “I’m sure there’s one close by…” 

“No,” and the high pitch of your whiney voice threatened to make a crack in the glass bubble the two of you seemed to be in. “Want you now. Here. Please, Kei.” 

“Needy girl,” he snickered. “How’re we gonna do this in the car, princess?” 

You argued, “It’s your fault for teasing me the whole car ride…” 

“It’s just so fun watching you get worked up… squeezing my hand and rubbing your thighs together like I don’t know what you’re thinking about. So cute.” 

He was doing it again, teasing you with lingering touches on your inner thighs and speaking as if he was innocent. He was far from it. He’d been doing this to you for hours, building you up just to let you fall, and he planned on doing so for as long as he wanted. 

Kisses left up your neck resulted in you opening yourself up to him. He’d made it that easy. 

“You really want it right here?” 

As if it wasn’t already evident in your wide open legs and the way you pulled him impossibly close, you gave him your enthusiastic answer fueled with desire. 

Your entire world was right there in that car. It was like you and Keishin were the only two people who existed - you had felt that way since you got into the passenger seat when the sun was still high. You’d quickly realized that Keishin wasn’t as focused on the road as he probably should have been, but you couldn’t care when you were the object of his attention. 

“We’re almost home, though,” he said. “Just another hour or two. We’ll be home so late if we stop now… wouldn’t you rather do this there? Wait a bit longer so I can fuck you right, in the comfort of our own bed?” 

Your hips jerked at the thought, and he laughed at your display of desperation, but you weren’t going to let him do this. 

“No,” you said, demanding and stern, but still breathless and needy. “This isn’t funny, Keishin. It’s been hours. I need to be closer to you. Please.” 

“You never need me this bad, babe - why would I ever stop teasing you if it gets you this worked up?” 

He moved away from you, and that would have been the last straw until you saw that he was moving his seat back to be as far away from the steering wheel as possible. Then, he patted his lap, giving you an invitation. 

“Come on, pretty girl. Guess I’ll have to take care of you here, yeah?” 

You saw just enough room for you to fit between Keishin and the steering wheel, so you threw your leg over the middle console and across his lap, hitting your head on the car’s ceiling on the way and not caring as he laughed. 

“Careful,” he said, and he pulled your head down to rest on his shoulder so you could avoid knocking it against the roof again. “I know you’re eager for my cock, princess, but you gotta be patient.” 

You ignored his words with thrusts of your hips against his, showing him just how much you needed him, and feeling all of his desire for you. 

“Shit - fucking hell,” and he rocked right back up against you, “been needing this all day - fuck - I’ve been this hard for you since we got in the car this morning. Feel it, feel how much I want you, princess. Look at what you do to me.” 

So you weren’t the only one Keishin had been teasing all day, but the self restraint he had displayed was foreign to you. He’d never been one to ignore what he needed, not when it came to needing you, but obviously today he had taken a chance to push both of your limits. 

“Then why didn’t you just bend me over and fuck me before we left this morning?” 

“I thought about it,” he admitted. “And it was hard not to, with your ass pressed right against my cock and your bedhead in my face. But…” He chuckled as he spoke, thinking back to the mess of the morning the two of you had. You were late checking out of the hotel for that very reason - you were just too tempting for him to pull away from, even as his final alarm was blaring. And that rush to the car is what gave him this idea in the first place. 

His hands moved with purpose as his eyes scanned your face, and he was looking forward to seeing the reaction you’d have to finally getting what you wanted. 

“…I just couldn’t stop thinking about this. Getting you so desperate that you can’t think about anything but needing me. Needing it so bad that you wouldn’t take no for an answer - even in the middle of an empty parking lot.” And you gave him the reaction he was looking for as his hand moved higher up your thigh, under your dress, higher and higher until he was finally feeling you where you needed it most. “Couldn’t stop thinking about how wet you’d be after hours of teasing… Oh, baby, you are fucking soaked - is that all ‘cause of me?” 

Your lips fell onto his, getting more of what you needed, letting him take over your mouth as his fingers lapped against your cunt. 

“Answer me. Tell me. Tell me who it’s for.” 

He wasn’t demanding. He was begging. Aching to hear you say it, to announce your need for him as if it would validate his own desperation. 

“It’s all for you,” you told him, rocking hard against his fingers that weren’t enough, giving him whatever he wanted because you knew it’d make him work faster for more. 

“I know it is, princess,” and he was smug and smirking. 

You tried catching his lips again but he tossed his head back, like he was purposely avoiding your kiss, like his game of teasing you wasn’t over yet. But your kisses landed on his jaw and your hand in his hair; you tugged it out of habit, tightening your fist and pulling because you couldn’t help it. You didn’t notice you had pulled so hard until you felt the vibrations of a deep growl leaving his throat, where you had been placing endless lingering kisses. 

“Don’t do that,” and he sounded breathless but he meant what he said, so you tugged again and harder. 

“Why not?” 

“Because - shit,” and he was trying to work through his reasoning, find the right words as he combed through memories of the only times you’d ever pulled his hair so hard. In every one, he’s got the taste of you on his tongue and the best view of you blissed out and writhing with a pleasure he can only give you when his face is between your thighs. And you tugged his hair again, and that was it.

“Fuck, I need to taste you.” He pulled you closer, with a stare that was unbreakable. “Don’t even need to fuck you anymore. Just wanna bury my face into you. That’s it. I think I could cum just from that. Let’s just get home, baby, let’s just… goddamn, I need you.” 

You were still tugging the roots of his hair, still rocking into his fingers - now you were palming him over his pants, and it was all too much for Keishin to think straight. 

“Just fuck me,” you begged him, saying it over and over, your advances getting braver each time. “Please, Kei, you know I can’t wait,” and you pulled the drawstring on his sweatpants undone, and Keishin decided to make you get what you wanted instead of giving it to you.  

“Get these off first,” he instructed, taking his hand out of your underwear and tugging on them. You struggled to pull them down your thighs, leaving them just out of the way above your knees. You shoved the length of your dress to the side and waited for your next instructions, which he struggled to give you at the bare sight of you. 

“You’re fucking dripping for me, aren’t you? Look at you - so worked up, so fucking needy. You’re this desperate for my cock, all over some teasing? Go on and pull it out for me, princess, take my cock out of my pants and show me how bad you need me.” 

And he’d swear that he’s never seen you move so fast - he didn’t think you’d listen to him, because you rarely do. But when he felt you teasing yourself with the tip of his cock, he knew that the day of agony he’d put himself through was worth it. 

Now you were the one giving him hell, but it didn’t last. You didn’t have the kind of restraint he’d shown all day, not in the moment, not when he was right underneath you begging you to let him in, not when your body was pulling him into you without giving your mind a choice. 

It was easy. It was comforting. Just having him inside you calmed you down - you couldn’t explain it, you’d never be able to. He filled you like a missing part and it was like you could breathe easier. Even though you needed more that would come, for that small moment you had enough. The gears of your world started moving again, creaking to turn, and you could acknowledge it. 

A whisper of his name brought his lips to yours for a kiss that heated the entire car, that had your hips rocking, that brought everything into motion. 

“Needed you so bad,” you admitted, and the emotion in your voice had him grinning. 

“I’ll never do it again, princess. No more teasing,” but he was lying through his teeth, both of you knew that. And you had to be glad for it, because all of his teasing resulted in this. “And I’ll take extra care of you when we get home. Whatever you want, I’ll give you. You’re riding me so well, I’ll have to reward you, won’t I?” 

You had no words to say because you weren’t thinking about anything else. Not about what would happen when you were home, or the fact that the two of you were fucking in a public parking lot - anyone could drive by and see you, in any moment you could be caught. You didn’t care. The only thing you knew was that you felt incredible - the angle your bodies had to be in to do this comfortably was just right for you feel his cock at the most sensitive part of you, fucking it perfectly. 

And when he thrust up into you, you felt that pleasure deeper than ever and it was lighting sparks in you. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he praised, grabbing your waist and pulling you down hard in time with his thrusts. It was dark but he could still clearly see the expression on your face, mouth hung open and eyes nearly rolled back. That look was all he needed to keep going, even in the cramped space. He had no problem taking care of you, fucking you how you deserved, just hoping someone was getting a good show of it. 

“Just my little cock slut, aren’t you? Needing it so bad you couldn’t even wait just one more hour - making me fuck you in a parking lot like the needy slut you are. That’s it, fuck, princess, that’s it - you take it so fucking well, that’s my girl, keep going, princess, ride it out,” and Keishin was getting off solely on what the two of you were doing, let alone how incredibe you felt around him. That was normal - your body was always this perfect, but now was this added tension of pure desire and abandoned caution. And if anyone was around, they were hearing your moans for him - they knew Keishin’s name. He just thought it was a shame they couldn’t see the beautiful girl screaming it. 

He had made the entire scenario up in his head, but when he felt you getting close to your end, he forgot all thoughts of it and focused only on you. 

“You’re getting close,” he said, “fuck, you get so fucking tight when you’re about to cum - just makes me wanna fill you up when you’re fucking milking me like this, christ.” 

You just wanted to cum - that’s all you needed. The car’s windows were fogging up, your legs were cramping, you had hit your head on the ceiling enough times to cause a headache, yet you didn’t care about any of that. You couldn’t; not when a day’s worth of aching desire was culminating in that single moment. And not when Keishin was doing everything he could to keep you thinking about him. 

It was working, and you weren’t sure if the bright lights you were seeing were headlights passing by or the effects of your blinding orgasm, but honestly, you didn’t care either way. 

Finally, you saw the end of the maddening tunnel he had been driving you through all day. And he was right there with you, cumming with you, giving you everything he had, fucking you until the end right there in your car. 

And when you were finally able to open your eyes and catch your breath, the look you gave him made Keishin want to do it all again. 

He pulled your lips to his, kissing you like it was your last time and coming to his senses all at once. He laughed into it, wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you closer to him. 

“Do you feel better?” he asked, and you nodded, giving him another blissful kiss. 

Obviously, he was the only one who had come out of that daze. 

“Come on, baby,” he mumbled, “we’re not home, we can’t just sit here and cuddle for another hour - we should probably get out of here, you know…” 

“But that’s the best part,” and you gave him a pout that was almost too tempting, but his common sense overruled his need to give in to you - for once. 

He moved you off of him with both hands on your waist, and you plopped back into the passenger seat. “It’ll be even better when we’re home. You know, when we’re in our bed and not this cramped as hell car. You can wait, clingy ass.” 

You feigned offense, “I’m the clingy ass? You’re the one who refused to let me get out of bed this morning - which, by the way, we would have already been home by now if we could have left on time.” 

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing!” he argued as he reached for your hand, laughing when you pushed him away. So, instead, he chose to get the car started. “Fine, be that way - I can wait all night for you to come crawling back, begging for my attention.” 

It was a lighthearted act that you had every intention of keeping up until you arrived safely at home, where you surely would do anything for his attention. But when Keishin pulled the car back onto the highway his hand made its home on your thigh seemingly out of habit. And you had no mind to knock away the sweet touch. Rather, you let it be, and focused on the street lights passing and the sound of rushing cars on their own routes as the two of you left that pitstop behind you. 

[mischi3f-manag3d]

Earned it by the Weekend with Aizawa 🤤🤤

Looking this song up and seeing the subtitle like

🤨

LMAO but I got you anon. This song (like a lot of The Weeknd’s songs lmao) is so sensual and kind of like beckoning? That it gives me very “memories of the other night” vibes. Like the other person just not being able to get you out of their head.

Another suggestive one so no minors allowed. Must be 18 years old to cross

“Soooo?” Present Mic asks with a grin that’s entirely too broad to mean anything good.

“What?” Aizawa sighs from his position hunched over a cup of coffee at one of the tables in the teacher’s lounge. He would much rather be in his sleeping bag taking a proper nap in peace like he originally planned for this time, but, as per usual, 1A had managed to get up to something. Dealing with their shenanigans had cut into his nap time too much to be worth it to try to squeeze one in before the upcoming staff meeting. Unfortunately it apparently left sufficient time for Mic to discover him and start working himself up to an interrogation.

“When were you planning on telling me!” Mic demands and Aizawa thinks he may be developing a headache. It’s probably not directly connected to this. Probably. But it’s not helping at the very least, especially since he’s not entirely sure he knows what Mic is talking about.

“Telling you what?” he sighs, taking another sip of his coffee and preparing himself mentally for whatever thread Mic would be pulling at for the remainder of the downtime the two would have before work called again.

“About you and the new teacher!” Mic insists, far too loud for the otherwise quiet break room. Thank god it’s just the two of them inside.

The mention of you sends vivid memories surging to the front of Shouta’s mind. Panting breaths, sweat slick skin, whines and moans of pleasure. He forces them to the back of his head, focusing on his friend’s expectant look instead.

“What are you talking about?” he bluffs, his face remaining stoic even though he swears he can taste you on his tongue now that the memories have resurfaced, blocking out the bitter taste of the cheap coffee he’s been sipping.

“Shouta! Buddy! How long have I known ya? So long! I know when there’s tension and there is definitely tension between you and the new teacher,” Mic insists perhaps a bit loudly for the room again but it’s times like these that remind Aizawa of just how perceptive his friend can be even if his literal loudmouth often leads people to believe the opposite.

“There’s no tension. I barely know her,” Shouta insists again, even as his memory supplies an image of exactly how you looked moaning his name, exactly how it felt to have you pressed underneath him.

“Oh come on, but—!”

Shouta is saved by the bell as he rises again with coffee in hand and begins to leave the room. Mic follows behind him looking very much like he’s not prepared to drop the subject, but he’s well aware he won’t be getting any answers from Aizawa until maybe later tonight and that’s a hard maybe.

As both men step out of the break room, they find you leaning against the opposite wall of the hallway, fiddling with something on your phone. You look up at their arrival, a smile spreading on your face. “You guys ready for whatever this meeting is?” you ask.

It’s an innocent enough question and so it draws an innocent response from Mic but when your eyes meet Shouta’s he sees smug amusement there and he knows. You heard. Maybe not everything but at the least Mic’s side of the conversation. You know they’ve been talking about you and the longer your mischievous gaze lingers on him, the more it reminds him of that night together. And he’s sure you know that somehow too.

“Do you guys want to head to the meeting together?” you offer and Mic agrees easily, but Shouta knows the truth.

You’re a dangerous one, you are. And unfortunately that makes you kind of perfect

[mischi3f-manag3d]

kinktober - day seven

suna rintarou - bored and ignored 

kinktober faq kinktober prompt list

NSFW warning including: “bored and ignored” kink, oral sex (suna receiving), dirty talk, bj while hes on the phone for like 5 seconds, ends with implications for more other tags: established relationship, mentions of insecurity sprinkled in the middle, suna being too good at the whole acting bored and ignoring u thing gender neutral reader

word count: 1483

-

Your current circumstance was simple: you were bored. 

Lying next to you was your solution for that: your boyfriend. 

“Rin.” 

He didn’t reply. 

“Rintarou. Suna.” 

“What?” 

You threw your leg over his. “I’m bored.” 

“So?” 

He was invested in his phone; you didn’t care. 

“So entertain me. It’s your job to entertain me.” 

“I don’t have a job.” 

“Yes you do,” you laughed. “Come on.” 

“What do you want to do?” he asked with a sigh, not even looking up from his screen. 

You shrugged. “I don’t know. We could have sex.” 

He didn’t even move, and that’s when you groaned loud, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. 

“This is the part where you pounce on me and rip my clothes off - I’m waiting.” 

He snorted, “I’m comfortable laying here - I don’t care what you do, but I’m not moving.” 

“You don’t care what I do, huh?” you mumbled as you rolled on top of him, moving to lay between his thighs with your chin rested on his chest. “Are you giving me permission to rip your clothes off and use your body for my entertainment?” 

“Go for it,” he said, sounding totally uninterested. But you saw the smirk he sent you before he hid his face behind his phone. 

You decided to take him up on his offer. You pulled the string of his sweatpants with your teeth, giving him a show that he wasn’t even watching. 

“Rin,” you said, “can I suck your dick?” 

“Yep.” 

You had to hold in your laugh as you tugged his pants down, because his disinterest had only become comical. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” and he brought a hand down to your hair, as if he was trying to show you that he was okay with this. You knew it was forced, he was doing it because he knew you needed the reassurance, and you appreciated it. 

As long as he really did want it, you didn’t mind using him to pass the time.  

But with the view you had now that he was left in his underwear, it was hard for you to believe that he was completely disinterested. 

“Rintarou,” you hummed, “you sure you don’t care? You’re already so hard, baby.” 

“Yeah, that happens,” he deadpanned. “What’d you expect?” 

“Dunno,” you said. 

Now, you were completely focused on him. 

You loved nothing more than getting to see him like this, lying underneath you and letting you do as you pleased. You lifted his shirt up just so you could get a better view of him; sculpted skin, perfect frame, stiffened bulge in his tight underwear. 

The print of his cock was much too tempting, and you just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. Rintarou didn’t even flinch when he felt your hand caressing him, but you felt him growing underneath your palm. 

“You’re so cute,” you told him, but he acted like he wasn’t even listening. 

You just couldn’t wait any longer to see all of him, so you pulled his underwear off with no help from him. His cock rested flat on his stomach, hard as stone, and it left your mouth watering. 

“So fucking hot,” you mumbled after pressing a kiss to the base. “You have the prettiest cock, Rin, you know that?” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

“It’s true,” you said as you started stroking him. “Lube?” 

He looked down at you with a raised brow. “I’m not reaching all the way over to the drawer. Just spit on it.” 

You weren’t sure if he was doing this on purpose until you saw his wide smirk - then, you knew. And you figured you’d take advantage of while he was watching you by doing exactly what he told you to do. His eyes widened just a bit at the sight, but other than that, he gave you no reaction.

His only response as you started to jack him off was a natural sigh, but he was soon distracted by his phone ringing. 

“Atsumu’s calling.” 

“Are you going to -” 

You were interrupted by two things: first, a loud, annoyed sigh from your boyfriend. Second, him taking hold of your hair, and his cock being pushed into your mouth. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be busy?” he asked, and with that, he brought his phone up to his ear. “Hello?” 

Your eyes widened at the prospects of your situation, as Suna carried on a conversation with his friend as if you weren’t lying between his legs pleasuring him. 

He was so set on ignoring you that he’d prove to you how good he was at it. 

The conversation didn’t last long, and you weren’t brave enough to test Suna’s acting; even though you knew that, likely, you’d have to push him to the edge before he even changed his facial expression, you weren’t going to take the risk. 

So you moved at a languid pace, not daring to push his buttons or tease him at all, until he hung up the phone. 

“God, he’s annoying.” The moment his guard came down, you took your chance at pulling a reaction out of him. 

And you were convinced that you were doing something wrong. 

You pulled out all of your tricks, laid them all out for him to see. And still, nothing. He stayed on his phone, mumbling something about his friends, like nothing was happening. 

It was almost like it was too easy for him to ignore you. So what were you doing wrong?

You stopped, because this had gone from turning you on to embarrassing you way too quickly, and looked up at him to see if he cared at all. 

“What?” he asked. You shrugged in response, struggling to find your voice. “Bored already?” 

“You’re the one who seems bored…” 

“Isn’t that the point?” 

Rintarou had connected the dots; the pout you were giving him wasn’t forced, you had moved your hands down to the bed on purpose, you weren’t just trying to tease him anymore. 

It was cute. He liked seeing you like this - he’d managed to degrade and humiliate you without even saying a word. Just the thought of it made his cock ache; the sight was enough to drive him to the edge. 

He threw his phone down onto the bed beside him - he’d had his fun. 

“Come on,” he said, using one hand to guide your mouth back to him, the other to stroke himself. “Don’t stop now, you were doing so well, getting me close already. You’ve got all my attention now, alright?” 

He watched as your pouty lips wrapped around his tip, still seemingly apprehensive, so he made sure to exaggerate his reactions as much as he could - but, for the most part, they were completely genuine. 

“So pretty with my cock between those lips - you can take more, can’t you? I know you can,” and you did - you took as much of him as you could into your mouth, and it was more than he could ask for. 

Suna’s phone rang again, and this time, he ignored it. All of his focus was on you now, not because he was forcing it to be, but because you were. And he knew that satisfied you - he wouldn’t dare take that away, because it was satisfying him, too. 

“You’re so good at this,” he said, and you took him deeper, humming in response to him, and his hips jerked up. “Oh - do that again - you’re gonna make me cum, don’t stop.” 

You kept going even as your eyes started to water, even as you were gagging around him - even as his moans got louder, his hand gripped your hair tighter, his hips thrusted harder. 

He was whispering praises and swears and moans, all of which were just for you; he was chasing a high and you were pushing him closer to it. 

“I’m cumming,” he warned as he pulled your mouth off of him, “fuck, I’m - oh fuck.” 

You stroked him through it, watching as he came, pumping a mess onto his stomach with his head thrown back onto the pillow and your name falling from his lips. And, finally, both of you were satisfied. 

He was breathless and looking down at you with keen eyes. 

“Don’t leave a mess,” he teased as he tugged his dirty shirt off, giving it to you so you could clean him up. 

“You’re the one who made it,” you teased. 

“It was your fault,” he mumbled back. “You’ll get me to clean up the mess you make, so it’s only fair.” 

“If you can even get me to make one.” 

Any disinterest Suna once had, either genuine or feigned, had been completely forgotten when he heard those words. 

If you were going to challenge him, he was going to take you up on it. 

“Watch me,” he replied, and you knew you’d spend the rest of the night eating those words. 

-

tune in tomorrow for kinktober day 8: collaring 

[mischi3f-manag3d]

kinktober - day ten

atsumu miya - promise 

kinktober faq kinktober prompt list

NSFW warning featuring: protected sex, dirty talk, fingering, first time together, atsumu being absolutely so horny for u

other tags: mentions of past partners, mentions of reader having a bad first time having sex, mentions of feelings of apprehension about having sex, insecurity caused by a past partner, established relationship, building trust, reassurance, atsumu being out of character for the sake of my own comfort, he just loves u a lot ok?

fem reader

(sorry this is out late! i got behind because i took a trip out of town over the weekend. i’ll get back on track sometime this week!) word count: 2936

-

For what felt like the first time - but definitely wasn’t - looking into Atsumu’s eyes left you feeling nothing but apprehensive. 

And he could tell. 

“You know I’m not gonna hurt you, right?” 

You shrugged. “I don’t know.” It was honest, maybe too honest, but you’d rather tell the truth than avoid your feelings. And Atsumu didn’t care about how your words made him feel. 

“We don’t have to do this,” he said, and he was already getting off of you and sitting up straight. “Come on, let’s just go watch a movie.” 

Keep reading

[mischi3f-manag3d]

SUGAWARA ( ꈍᴗꈍ)🧡

[mischi3f-manag3d]

you ever hear a new song and immediately go “oooh the fake scenarios in my head are gonna love this”

[mischi3f-manag3d]

Hey!!

I'm super sorry for such a long hiatus..

I had a lot of family stuff happen and it's been pretty stressful with that and being full time at work.

So to hopefully make up for my absence I'd like to get some requests from you guys!!

Send me some requests for your fave Harry Potter characters! I'm open to writing for most characters but I can let you know what I can and can't do!

Send them in!!

[mischi3f-manag3d]

Mother's Rules

George x Reader

Summary: George and Y/n find themselves only moments away from the motherly wrath of Molly Weasley.

Words: 824

Warnings: None, just straight up fluff lol

A/N: this was 100% inspired by the ask @ickle-ronniekins got from @the-wicked-gnome! I got inspired so I had to!

//

This was your first summer at the Burrow with George. You had stayed with him for Christmas too, so you knew the rules Molly had. Number one being, "Always keep the door open."

The rule completely slipped your mind today as George cuddled up onto your chest, laying in between your legs.

A gag was heard across the room from none other than Fred, making you perk up to look at him. You laughed at his face, his nose scrunched up with a frown.

"I'm just going to leave you two alone before clothes start flying." He spoke as he made his way towards the door.

You couldn't help but smile and roll your eyes at the boy as he left the room, pulling the door with just enough force to where it slowly clicked shut. Your eyes widened, knowing that you'd be in quite the situation if Molly were to see that the door was, indeed, shut.

"George" you lightly shoved him, pestering the almost sleeping red head that had made himself so comfortable on your chest.

"Yes, love?" He asked with a grin on his face, looking up at you with his one open eye.

"The door. Freddie shut it on accident." You whisper shouted. But then you thought for a second. There's no way it was an accident. You scoffed, "I swear, I'm going to turn that boys hair blue!

"But I'm comfy! And besides, mum never comes up here so we'll be just fine, darling." He snuggled impossibly closer to your chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

You sighed, running your hands through his hair, earning you a smile and a sigh of contentment from George.

Little did you know, Molly was on her way to check up on the two of you, seeing as you had spent the entire day in his room. As she made her way up the stairs, her eyes opened wide as she saw the door to George and Fred's room, very much closed and not open. She had to stop herself from storming up the stairs to the door. As she made her way to the room, ready to open the door to scold you two, she could hear George say something to you that made her think she would drop dead then and there.

"Could you actually spread your legs a bit more?" He asked, trying to get comfy in between your legs.

You giggled, letting him have some more room to cuddle up to you. You gave him a kiss on his head as you two laid there content with each other. At peace with the world. You felt like nothing could ever bother you in this moment.

Molly grabbed the handle to the door, pushing it open with more force than she anticipated. She had the words ready at the tip of her tongue, but she forced the words to stay in as she saw the sight before her. Her son and his girlfriend, cuddled up on his bed, with all of their clothes on. They were just two young teens in love, holding each other. All of the motherly rage left her body instantly, almost cooing at the sight of them. Her eyes softened, heart melting, remembering these times she shared with Arthur when they were young, hiding away from their parents.

But, the sterness returned, realizing this was one little mishap, but the rules were rules. You and George were both sat up at this point, awaiting what Molly had to say.

She cleared her throat, looking at you both before speaking, "Now, as much as this warms my heart to see, you know the rules. Next time George honey, please leave your door open. I'll leave you two be, don't mind me."

She quickly leaves the room, of course leaving the door open. She couldn't help the smile that made it's way onto her face. The love that radiated from you two was so endearing to her. She loved seeing you two encapsulated with each other, needing nothing more than the other one to keep yourselves sane and happy.

You looked at George, your cheeks as red as his hair with a small smile on your face.

"Let's never let that happen again, okay?" You spoke quietly, trying to hide your embarrassment.

He just let out a laugh as he pulled you close to him.

"I don't know darling, I think getting caught is the fun part don't you think?" He whispered back with a sultry tone. A tone that you made you turn an even darker shade of red.

"Shut up George! It's my turn to get cuddled now."

You lightly shoved him, pushing him back down on the bed and curling up to his side. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He kissed you lightly on the forehead before whispering, "I love you."

"I love you too, George."