I've Got A Lot Of Respect For Smut Writers. You Write Something Incredibly Sexual, It's Probably Somewhat

imagine having a personality so morally bankrupt that the pope himself said "i'm telling god" and headed out

Me mueroooooo

Y’all…I’m gonna kill myself oh my fucking god. He looks so good. I’m gonna throw up. IM GONNA THROW UP.

between abbot and robby, who's a boobs man and who's an ass man? 👁️👁️

SO GLAD YOU ASKED! 18+ ONLY. Do not interact if you’re a minor. not beta read. we die like men.

warnings/content: NSFW / explicit content, smut-heavy character headcanons, soft dom!Robby, possessive/control dom!Jack, breast/nipple worship, ass-focused positions and dominance, reverse cowgirl, explicit language, overstimulation, very obsessed men. One wrecks you from behind while gripping your hips like he can’t let go. The other worships your chest like he’s never seen anything more important. Choose your fighter—or don’t.

Robby :

Robby is a boobs man.

You don’t need him to say it. You feel it. Every time his hands settle just a little higher than they need to. Every time you catch his gaze flick down when you're changing in front of him, like he’s trying to memorize the way your shirt clings before it slips off.

He always starts there. Even when you kiss—messy, open-mouthed, frantic—his hands slide up beneath your top, fingertips brushing warm skin, until they’re cupping you like instinct.

He palms you slow. Presses his thumbs over your nipples like he’s checking your pulse.

And when you gasp?

That’s when it happens.

He gets still. Focused. Lips parted, breath already coming heavier as he does it again, watching the way your body reacts to just that.

“God,” he whispers, voice thick, “you’re so sensitive here.”

He says it like a confession. Like he’s been thinking about this—you—for weeks.

He drags your shirt off, slow and careful, not like he’s rushing to get you naked, but like he wants to see every inch of you revealed. The second you’re bare, his hands are on you again—warmer, firmer, heavier—and his mouth follows before you can even breathe.

His lips wrap around your nipple, tongue teasing soft at first, then deeper, wetter, until your hands are in his hair and your back’s arching off the bed. He groans against your chest when you whimper. He lives for the sound of it.

You can feel him grinding against your thigh, hard and leaking through his boxers, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t fuck you yet.

Because this? This is what gets him off.

The way you squirm beneath him. The way your nipples stiffen in his mouth. The way your thighs press together, slick and aching, while he does nothing but kiss and suck and worship you with his mouth.

And he takes his time.

Switches sides. Leaves one nipple wet and flushed and still throbbing while he moves to the other, his hand kneading slow in time with his tongue.

You’re soaked before he ever touches you between your legs.

But he knows that. He likes that.

And when when he finally slips his fingers inside you—he doesn’t speed up. He just fucks you slow with his hand while his mouth stays on your chest, watching you unravel from the top down.

You come once just like that—legs shaking, fingers clawing at his shoulders—and he groans when you do, grinding into the mattress like he feels it, like your orgasm hit him just as hard.

And even then, when he finally pushes inside you, slow and deep and perfect—he still brings one hand back up. Presses it flat over your chest like he’s grounding himself. Like that part of you is his.

You whimper his name, and he just moans right into your skin.

“You feel so good like this,” he says, voice broken. “God, baby… I’m not gonna last.”

You clench around him. He gasps. And when you come again—tight and messy and desperate—he follows with a groan so raw it makes your whole body shake.

He collapses on top of you, still deep inside, still panting against your chest, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting between your breasts like it belongs there.

Because to him?

It does.

Jack :

Jack is an ass man.

You figure it out in pieces.

Every time he pulls you in for a hug, his hands settle low. Too low to be casual. Not obscene—never that—but deliberate. Centered. Cupping you like it's habit. Like he always means to.

He doesn’t leer. He doesn’t ogle.

But his palms always find their way there. When he’s walking behind you. When you’re standing too close at the nurses’ station. When you shift in your seat and his gaze flicks downward just for a second, like your body gave something away you didn’t mean to show.

It builds in quiet moments.

Until one night, he doesn’t stop at just looking.

You're already half-undressed when he sits back on the edge of the bed, legs open, cock hard and waiting, fingers curled loosely around the base like he’s been waiting all damn day for this.

“Turn around,” he says. Low. Calm. Absolute.

You do.

You climb into his lap facing the wall, knees bracketing his thighs, back arched—already soaked, already throbbing before you even sink down.

And when you do?

He groans.

Not loud. Not uncontrolled. Just a quiet, fuck dragged through his teeth like your body knocked the breath out of him.

His hands slide to your hips, then lower. Gripping your ass like he’s molding it, memorizing it, like this—this—is what he’s been thinking about every time he kept his mouth shut at work, every time he let you walk away without touching you.

“You feel that?” he mutters, thrusting up once, deep and slow. “That’s what you do to me.”

He sets the rhythm. You don’t ride him—he moves you. Guides your hips with firm, unrelenting pressure, pulling you back again and again, until the sound of your bodies meeting is thick and wet and loud enough to drown out your breathing.

You try to hold the pace. Try to keep some control. But he’s not giving you the chance.

He shifts his grip, palms spreading your ass wide, and watches himself slide into you again and again. Slow at first. Then faster. Until your thighs are shaking and your moans are spilling out too freely.

“You look so good like this,” he says, voice rasped, jaw clenched. “All open for me.”

He fucks up into you, hard, precise—like he knows how to break you. Like he’s done it before. And when your body tightens, spasms, already close—he knows that too.

“Don’t stop,” he growls. “You come on me just like that.”

You do.

You come hard, head back, body writhing in his lap—and he doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t let up. Just keeps fucking into you, brutal and steady, until he follows with a low, guttural sound and comes so deep you feel it in your stomach.

Even then—his hands stay exactly where they started.

Gripping your ass like he owns it.

Like he’s not finished.

Because Jack is an ass man.

And once he finally gets his hands on you?

He keeps them there.

BOOMSHAKALAKA YES LAWWWWDDDDDDDD

Go give THAT FIC ALL THE LOVE YALL ITS DELICIOUSSSSSSSS

The way this is literally me & @gothcsz’s interpretation of sugar daddy Marcus Acacius like uggggg. Everybody go read our doc child: SAFETY NET for clear skin. 5 likes and we’ll work on chapter two and make it extra nasty for everybody. 😁🤭

need him to conquer the empire between my legs

I need a mutual to let me brain rot about a very specific idea I have for Jack Abbot x doctor!reader. An outline of events, if you will.

I can’t get this out of my head:

Jack sees the shock on your face before he hears the words he had just said to you.

When had the wind been this defeaning? Or was it the silence?

“J-Jack…you don’t…don’t say th-”

“I’d do it with you. Have kids.” He said again, more definitely this time. More concrete. More real. He thinks about all the time he’s spent alone, of the kind of life he could’ve had had things been different. How you’re a different person, a different doctor, more fierce in every way when a child patient comes through those doors.

And fuck, if it doesn’t make his heart squeeze when he thinks what that can be like with you.

“We don’t have to get married.” He says, eyes watching how your throat constricts and your lips wobbles, tears threatening to free fall again.

His face leans in closer to yours, how it normally does whenever he’s seen you doubt yourself and willed every bit of confidence in you.

“But I want this for you, I want this with you. That asshole down there made you feel like you had to choose one thing and give up another, but you don’t have to give up anything with me. You can have it all, and I want to make that happen for you, if that’s what you want.”

Lord knows he’d rather chew sand than let himself be this vulnerable again.

But with you, he didn’t have to be afraid of anything at all.

if i could disappear beneath the leaves || michael robinavitch

summary: between awake and asleep, dreams are not always what they seem.

pairing(s): m.r x reader, j.a x reader, m.r x reader x j.a

warnings: none, really? aside from some small allegories to sexy times.

note: i wrote this with a shiteating grin lmaoooo please don't hate me for how this ends. a million thanks for @superhoeva for proof reading my nonsense. inspired by this post and that one the marias song.

p.s: if I see you reposting, stealing, feeding my FICS into AI or some other fuck shit, don’t. 👀🫵🏽

----

LONG BEFORE THE SUN WAKES UP AND THE STARS DISAPPEAR to make space for the clouds, brown eyes that were once heavy with sleep suddenly find themselves opened up just before the light shines through the curtains. 

No matter what Robby did, or how late he’d go to sleep when he got home, he’d always wake up at the same time. 

He lets out a low yawn, rubbing the sleep off his face as much as he can with his free arm, before looking over, all of him stupefied and hazy with sleep. 

He smiles softly when his favorite view in the world is no longer blurred, his heart beating in a flurrying thump badum thump badum, and his stomach flipping in a dizzying woosh at the sight of you and Jack curled up together. Your back is to Jack’s chest as his arms curled around you, and your foot tucked just so under Robby’s ankle to keep tethered to earth. 

It makes his heart melt, knowing you wanted to hold onto him even while you’re still in dreams. Your consciousness floated away somewhere, completely unaware of everything else but the comfort and safety that the two men that are with you provide. 

As lithe and fast as he is, Robby is still two hundred something pounds and over six feet tall. So even on the rare days he gets to stay in and sleep with you, he tries to be as careful as he can be as he regretfully leaves the bed you share. 

He hates it, leaving the two of you. He really wants to stay in bed and kiss you two awake, but he’s been waiting for ages to do this for you, with you.

And as much as he’s enjoyed reuniting with you in more ways than one, few and far between were the days where he simply got to do something just because he wanted to do it.

“Shh, shh, shh…” He coos softly, as his big, warm hand cradles your face and caresses your brow bone softly with a calloused thumb. Knowing you’re still far too deep to reveal your eyes to him, he gently coaxes you further back into your dreams. 

Softly pressing a kiss to where his thumb had just been, he adjusts the thousand thread count blankets – and with a gentle squeeze to Jack’s bicep, he reluctantly tears away his adoring gaze to get started on his surprise - breakfast in bed. 

There’s a slight draft in the brownstone’s kitchen that chills Robby’s skin, but it doesn’t bother him. The hospital was always far colder than this. And yet, even with you in the other side, he feels warmed all over by you. 

He can’t explain the feeling that blooms through him as he mills about the kitchen, as bare feet softly pad about the tiled floor while he gathers all he needs to make breakfast. He truly tries to be as quiet as possible, cursing himself as he rattles the cutlery drawer with his hip. 

A familiar song is whispered from Robby’s lips as he works. And for a moment, he thinks – he hadn’t been religious for a time longer than he can remember, but he knew he had to believe in a higher power when his life became more colorful with you in it. He knows Jack would agree. 

Strawberry studded pancakes are stacked on your favorite plate set, and Robby grumbles at how some of them are so not uniform. He turns to the other counter, where he preps the French press to make enough coffee for the three of you. 

There’s something about the smell that brings him back to the days of his med school youth, where he could barely get through the day without the caffeine. Nowadays, he’s happy to be dragged along by you to whatever the latest coffee shop was, and only a little begrudgingly pay for, in his opinion, overpriced coffees and sweet treats. 

Dishwashing is left for later, wanting the two of you to wake up to the breakfast spread on the tray that was sourced at a vintage market you had dragged him to months ago. 

As his surprises for you normally tend to go, they always get found out somehow. 

Just as he places the dish towel back on the counter after drying his hands, a sound by the kitchen’s threshold snaps his eyes to the door. The sight of you wearing his shirt and looking so disheveled melts his heart, even more so than the whipped cream used on you last night. 

“Robby…” You mumble, making grabby hands as you reach out for him while walking over. “Hey…what’re you doin’ up so early, huh?” He whispers, practically scooping you up in his arms and off the floor. He’s that much taller than you, and the way you gasp always makes him chuckle low in his chest. Robby kisses the crown of your head softly, letting you seek safety from the cold of the world that’s yet to wake up. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s held you like this - just because he wanted to, just because he could. Just you and him and nothing else or no one else in the world. Holding you always makes him feel like you’d always belonged in his arms. 

“Went to the bathroom,” your voice is muffled on his chest, “you weren’ there anymore.” 

You meant the bed, he knew it. And the way you say his name with a sleepy moan in that lilt of your voice makes Robby’s heart tighten only a little. 

“Go back to bed, honey. Bringin’ us breakfast.” He kisses your head again when you whine, urging you to go along, “go on, doc’s orders.” 

Only when he gently swats your behind do you listen to him. 

Robby follows close behind with said breakfast, smiling as he watches you crawl back into bed and Jack’s arm, resuming the same position as before. Jack was always the big spoon, and you were the little spoon. 

Seeing the two of you cuddled up again makes Robby feel only a little guilty for making such a big deal out of something so trite, but he figures that the array of food will more than make up for it. 

“Room service is ready, you two.” He wheedles, settling the breakfast tray on the side table that’s on your side of the bed. 

Robby only rolls his eyes a little, clearly cognizant that both of you are purposefully ignoring him, wanting to sleep as much as possible on a rare day off. But the smell of the coffee and sugar practically teased you both awake. 

He supports his weight on his arms by caging you protectively, arm on either side of you. 

“Come on, up you get.” He murmurs against the warm skin of your shoulder, slowly working his way up and places a kiss on your temple - stealing one, two, three smooches. 

The small commotion stirs Jack awake, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He blindly grabs your hand, lacing his fingers with his hand on top of yours and a small squeeze follows. 

“Mm, do we have to?” 

“Yeah, you do.” 

Breakfast is quiet and syrupy slow for the most part. Robby is more than happy to sit back in bed, breakfast tray in his lap as the food and coffee is shared between you three. 

Plans are made but very few of them end up happening. At least not right away they do. But the day starts of slow, the warmth of twilight still keeping you three tucked away. 

With the tray and plates set aside, the three of you settle into bed once more. You’re in the middle, with Robby and Jack on either side of you. This time, Robby is the big spoon while you face Jack, holding onto his hand after sharing a saccharine kiss. 

It’s always been easier to sleep this way, the weight of them with you reminding you that they’re real and that you weren’t stupid at all to have fallen for them both. 

The rumble of Robby’s chest as he slowly falls back asleep lulls you back to your dreams, Jack scooching over to be close to you while he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. 

There’s the sound of a car alarm going off in the distance, but you’re far too sleepy to care. 

– 

The shrill beep of the snooze button set for the umpteenth time snatches you awake. 

For a moment, you forget where you are. But the fact that your joints crack as you stand up from the overused bed makes you realize where you are as you look around. 

The call room. 

Your dream was just that, a dream. 

You let out a sigh as you walk towards the door and motion to grab the doorknob, willing yourself to walk back out into the chaos. But you bang your forehead on the door softly, unwilling to face the very unreal fantasy on the other side. 

What were you gonna do? 

--

© espressheauxs, 2025

Companionship | pt. 14

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You two have a little getaway.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: This took a hot minute lol I kept rewriting the first bit even after the rest was written, and then my dog got a bad infection (he’s okay now). It’s been a time lol I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs last chapter💜

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: age gap, SMUT (MINORS DNI), p in v, oral (f! receiving), fingering, light dirty talk, pet names (honey, sweetheart, my love), foul language

not beta read

On the night of Michael’s birthday, he grew more reserved. Dinner came and went with you trying to coax him back out of his shell — and you hoped it was only his nerves about you meeting his friends afterwards. You were nervous enough for the both of you, but you began to worry he was having second thoughts.

In the car, he said, “I’m nearly twice your age now.”

You leaned back into the passenger seat with a long sigh. You both sat quietly for several moments, Michael staring out the window while you rubbed your thumb along your other palm. The age gap seemed to hold steady over your heads — even as you were falling in love. He was now closer to nineteen years older rather than eighteen, and would be until your birthday later in the year. It was clear the near two decades were weighing on him.

You reached over to grab his hand, “And so what? We’ve discussed this.”

Michael ran his other hand over his face, letting out a huff of air. “I don’t want to steal your youth.”

“Michael, you’re not stealing anything.” You told him, “This is a two way street. One I’m actively choosing.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking out at the parking lot. He squeezed your hand with a heavy sigh.

“Do you feel like I’m stealing something from you? I don’t know…I haven’t fully gotten my life together yet, I’m still waiting to get my certifications…I can’t always be there in a way someone older might be able to—”

His eyes were on you while he shook his head, “Not at all. That’s not…I want you as you are.”

You held his gaze and smiled, trying to convey the same sentiment, “That’s what I want, too.”

“I’m sorry. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy or normal. I don’t want to keep chasing you away, I just wasn’t expecting to feel this way today.”

“Well, I’d rather you tell me what's going on in your head rather than bury it.”

He nodded, “And what happens when I turn 50?”

“That’s five years away. It’s not like I’m immune to aging…I’ll age five years, too.” You said. “And I’d hope we’d have made a life together by that point. We can deal with how you feel about it together.”

“I like the sound of that.”

You smiled, and he leaned over to kiss you.

The drive to the bar was quiet, but nerves had invaded your belly at meeting people from Michael’s life. You had been able to learn how to handle the judgment from strangers, but it felt like a whole new ballgame with people in his life.

Jack was tough to read, and it felt like Dana had been an easier sell. Her husband, Benji, had been easy enough to talk to, and took some of the conversational weight off your shoulders. Perhaps since he also did not work in the hospital, or perhaps he took pity on you, either way, it was relieving.

When asked about it, you told them about school and graduating — but it made you feel too young. One could attend university at any time in their life, but all of them had finished closer to when you were born. You tried not to be uncomfortable about it.

“How did you guys meet?” Benji asked, sipping his beer.

Your eyes flickered up to Michael, trying to conceal your alarm. Why hadn’t you discussed it? Did he want to tell them the truth or—

“Coffee shop. Our orders got mixed up.” Michael supplied, the lie passing easily from his lips.

Though, you had met at a coffee shop, so it wasn’t a straight up lie.

You forced a smile looking back to Benji, “We ended up talking for a while and I gave him my number.” Again, not a total lie, but your cheeks burned.

Dana’s eyes moved back and forth between you, “You could’ve told me she was your girlfriend when she came in, Robinavitch. No need for all that secretive VIP crap.”

You watched Michael cringe slightly at the use of his full name.

“I wasn’t yet.” You interjected, smiling shyly. “It took awhile for us to figure that part out.”

The night continued after with less pressing questions and easier small talk. They each traded stupid stories about patients, or the weirdest thing they found swallowed or inserted on x-ray. With Benji there, it made you feel less out of the loop, and he waved them off.

“Don’t you guys work there enough to not talk about it after hours?” Benji asked.

“Never after hours.” said Jack with a shrug.

Michael rolled his eyes playfully, “Fine, fine — how’re the kids?”

Another hour and they were all departing. Dana pulled you into a quick hug, whispering, “You’re good for him.” in your ear. You had grinned wide, relief flooding your system as you thanked the woman. Everyone parted ways after, and Michael took your hand as you walked to his car.

“They all seem like good people. I hope they liked me.”

Michael kissed the side of your head, “Of course they did. You make it easy.”

Your eyes met his brown, “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Before opening the passenger side door, he turned you around. He was fidgety, his hand growing clammy while the other rubbed the back of his neck.

“You okay?” You asked tentatively, squeezing his hand.

He cleared his throat, “I can’t really even begin to tell you how much I enjoy our time together, how much I enjoy you. I’ve—this hasn’t been easy and we had a rough start, but I’m glad you’re in my life. I love you.”

Your breath caught and you stared at him wide-eyed. Your heart thudded hard against your ribs and you reminded yourself to breathe.

When your thoughts returned, you smiled at him, “I love you, too, Michael”

—

“You sure know how to play the long con.” You said, eyes still bleary from the early morning as trees raced by.

Michael looked over at you with an eyebrow raised, before looking back at the road.

“Murder me in a cabin in the woods?” You elaborated, “Peaceful, quiet. It’d be great if it wasn’t so cliche.”

Michael laughed loudly, shaking his head. “Does that have anything to do with the documentary you insisted on watching last night?”

You had barely been able to fall asleep until Michael had pulled you into his arms, making you feel safe and protected. You loved those documentaries, despite how dark they were, or how many lights you had to turn on to get through them.

You sipped your coffee, “Of course not.”

“I see far too much blood and guts on a daily basis; I’d never spoil the cabin like that.” He said, tone momentarily slipping into something serious. “Besides, I like you too much. Thought I’d keep you around.”

You laughed, “How romantic.”

“I’m plenty romantic!” He said with a smile, “Cabin in the woods, a fire, good wine, the works. I even remembered to snag your favorite rom-coms from your apartment last week.”

You hid your grin by glancing out the window at the world speeding by. “And to think, you did all that to take me fishing…”

“You said you wanted to learn!”

Laughing, you said, “No harm in trying something once.”

He reached over the center console to grab hold of your hand, “I’m glad we’re getting some time away. It’ll be nice to not worry about work for a bit…”

“Or studying.” You added, intertwining your fingers. “Thank you for bringing me, I’ve been looking forward to it.”

He smiled softly, and you thought about all the feelings swirling in your chest. All of them easily spelling out love. Even after confessing it to each other weeks ago, it still felt new and exciting. Like everything had finally clicked into place after dancing around it forever.

His cabin was miles off the highway, found after traveling several winding roads, a long driveway nestled between towering trees. The trees eventually gave way to the cabin, quaint but with plenty of character. A picnic bench sat to the right of the structure, where a set of stairs led into a screened in porch. A large built in firepit sat several feet away from it.

The back door opened onto the porch, which held an outdoor dining table and a few outdoor loungers. The land began to slope downward right where the porch started, free of trees that made the view of the mountains all the easier to take in. The forest picked back up again about a quarter of a mile down, where it seemed the land leveled out again. Jutting out just slightly from the cabin was a storage closet, holding some cushions for said loungers, an umbrella for the table, and some odds and ends.

You took a deep breath in, and leaned into Michael when you breathed out. It was quiet and serene, the silence only filled by birds and buzzing insects. You could only slightly see one of his neighbor’s houses through the trees, but otherwise, it was completely private.

“You sure do know how to pick ‘em.”

Michael looked at you and smiled, “Yeah, I do.”

—

After an unsuccessful fishing trip, a hike and a long soak in the clawfoot tub, you emerged in the kitchen to see what Michael was doing. Uncooked burgers sat on parchment paper on a sheet tray, while Michael was putting a bowl of pasta salad in the fridge.

You followed after him and sat on one of the loungers while Michael cooked the burgers. He was humming an old blues song while you took in the view of the retreating sun over the mountains.

Dinner was spent under the sky, with quiet banter and easy conversation — and you savored more than just the meal. Pittsburgh could be busy, messy and complicated, but stepping back in a secluded cabin, you knew you wouldn’t change a thing about your life.

Cleaning up dinner, you both settled on the couch, turning on one of the rom-coms he had brought — How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days — and you curled into his side.

By the time the credits were rolling, you found yourself in his lap, kissing up his neck while his hands explored your figure. Your heart sped up in your chest, moving your hands to his hair. You tried not to grind your hips into his, trying to be slow — but your mind grew hazy with lust.

“Mike.” You breathed against his lips, half a whine, half a plea.

Like he could read your mind, his hands were on your hips, pushing just enough to where you got the hint and stood up. Your lips never left his, even as he led you to the bedroom, hand in your hair.

Once on the bed, Michael removed your pants and trailed kisses up your inner thigh. Your face heated and you suppressed the urge to beg him to move faster. You never wanted to rush him, to be painfully young in wanting it all without the chance to savor it, but his hot breath on your skin and his teeth nipping at your flesh made you feral. You were already squirming before he even situated himself to your wet heat.

Discarding your panties, Michael left a wet kiss to your clit, and you jolted at the sensation. One of his hands traveled up your torso to grab hold of your breast, fingers twirling around the nipple, while his other was locked around your knee. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you took in a deep breath to steady yourself.

Your clit was throbbing, spurred on by the sensation on your nipple. He held your gaze as he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moaned, gripping the wrist that was at your breast and held onto him like it would keep you tethered.

His tongue was an expert, and always left you seeing stars — your orgasm never taking very long, especially not when his fingers rubbed at that spongy spot inside you. He sucked, licked and devoured everything you gave him like a man starved, and it thrilled you more to know he was enjoying it. Even when he was being slow or teasing, he never seemed to mind how long it took.

Michael’s fingers curled upwards, tongue tracing circles on your clit until the wave took you in. You cried out his name, fingers in the bed sheets while the heat barreled through your system. He had a habit of not stopping, even when you grew overstimulated, sometimes eagerly even trying to coax a second out of you.

This time, though, you pulled him up to kiss him hungrily. The taste of yourself on his tongue made your thoughts stutter, before bringing him closer.

Without warning, you flipped you both so Michael was on his back and he stared up wide-eyed at you. Your shirt was easily discarded.

He smirked, hands going to your hips while you undid his pants. Pulling off his shirt, he pulled you in for a quick kiss. He was straining against his boxers, hard and immediately at attention when you pulled back his boxers. You were quick with the condom before steadying yourself over him. You leaned down to place a delicate kiss to his lips.

You sunk down on him slowly, hissing as you adjusted to his size, hands on his chest. He groaned low in his throat and you pulsed at the sound, your hips meeting his.

“Yeah? Like hearing what you do to me, sweetheart?”

You grinned, nodding dumbly, pulling his hands from your hips up to your breasts. To be so full of him made your eyes water and you threw your head back to try to find your breath again.

“Feels so good.” You moaned, looking back into his eyes.

You moved up slowly, before grinding back down and trying to find a pace you liked. Michael stared up at you, eyes dark, meeting you halfway with thrusts of his own. Heat coiled low again, pooling throughout your abdomen.

Michael moved a hand to your clit to rub lazy circles, and it burned deliciously — overstimulation yielding to pleasure. You moaned, moving up just enough for him to brush against that spot inside you.

“You look so good like that, honey. Fuck, you ride my cock so well.”

Your pussy fluttered at the words, eyes screwing shut. You felt lost in the winding euphoria coiling tighter. Michael gripped your hip while keeping his thumb rubbing your clit, thrusting up into you as you grew tighter and tighter.

Michael choked out a moan, and you hummed a mewl as you approached your climax.

“Mike—Mike—“ you whined, “So close—don’t stop, please.”

“Gonna fill you up, my love, come on. Come on my cock, know you want to.” He ground out. “You look so pretty when you do.”

You moaned low when the coil snapped and the white-hot heat invaded your vision and took over your senses. It rushed throughout your body and a single tear escaped the corner of your eye.

Michael was relentless after that, even as you were whining from the overstimulation, he kept going. Chasing his own high, but he never let up on your clit.

You felt completely blindsided by your third orgasm, rolling off the waves of your second until you were fluttering around him again. Crying out and squirming, you met a few of his thrusts in a cock-drunk daze.

Pleasure contorted Michael's face until he was coming with you, a groan low in his throat. His thrusts grew sloppy until they slowed. He twitched and you felt the warmth of it inside you, blooming upwards.

Your hairline was wet with sweat, and you breathed heavily. You leaned down to lay on his chest, his cock still stuffed inside you, but it had pleasure still echoing in your system.

Moving your head to his shoulder, Michael kissed your forehead. One hand trailed light lines up and down your spine, while you kept your hands on his biceps trying to catch your breath.

“I don’t think I ever wanna leave.”

Michael chuckled lightly, and brought you in for a kiss.

[ Next ]

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(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately some of Dr. Robby & all of The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with bigger age gaps since this started. Sometimes I forget I aged Michael down slightly lol

Robby’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day up next!

PEDRO PASCAL attends the "Eddington" premiere at the 78th Cannes Film Festival