Beautiful Reflection | J. Abbot

honestly mad respect for pope francis cause he used his dying breath to pray for gaza and to shit on jd vance and that’s an inspiring way to go out

So is Italian!reader a ballerina cappuccina or espressora senora

LMAO she can def be both. I think her espressora signora is something that’s more for Jack tho..

work besties in their glasses

strangers.

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Female!Reader/Slight Original Female Character (No names or y/n used but called Angel as a nickname) Summary: As you stare down the barrel of residency, stress, and anxiety, you decide that one last carefree night is what you needed. And a stranger in a bar is exactly what the doctor ordered. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, age gap relationship (older man/younger woman), hook up culture, Soft!Dom Robby, overstimulation Crossposted to AO3

“You’re too pent up angel, we need to get you laid and fast- because I’m not going into our intern year with you practically foaming at the mouth.” Elbow digging into his ribs, you scoff. You’re fine. So it’s been 2 years since you’ve had sex? You can use your fingers, it’s worked since you were 15- it’ll work another few years. But lately it hasn’t been enough and the daunting stress of your impending residency years have you wanting to chew concrete. 

“Frankie I’m fine-” you grumble, nursing your beer because if you drink any faster you’ll just get another. And another. And another and that’s not good because tomorrow is your first day and-

“What about him?” He cut you off- nodding not so secretly to the man on your left a few stools away. Um- no. He looked like Langdon- freshman year, frat boy status with his cap backwards that’s no doubt hiding a receding hairline. And the frat boy look would’ve worked if he didn’t look well past the appropriate age. 

“Okay- picky, picky, um- him?” Nodding to the younger bartender, slicked back hair and probably weighed 100 pounds soaking wet. No. That was a child. You’re never letting Langdon set you up again- what’s he blind? You consider scheduling an eye exam for him when-

“Oh sure- definitely him.” Frank points his beer towards the other side of the bar with a smirk and sarcasm laced laugh. But- well? He did look handsome, tapping away at his phone with a beer in his hand. Dark hair- heavy, full looking beard, soft sad eyes you can see from here but you couldn’t tell the color yet- brown maybe. Broad shoulders, hoodie pushed up right under his elbows to show his strong forearms. Oh. Oh he might work actually. And Langdon can feel you perk up a bit- okay clearly you liked them older then. Well- if that’s what you wanted- fuck it he guesses. if you like it- he loves it. 

“Him? I was joking- I mean, maybe the old man can lay it down who knows?” You roll your eyes but- you were honestly intrigued. He was handsome enough that you didn’t think he would be alone or- well single. And you’re studying his face and the way the beer or his phone look so small in his hands and his eyes meet you- quickly snapping up from his phone and locking onto yours. Fuck. Quickly you look away, moving your head even to make it all the more obvious. But he didn’t look away. He clocked you the moment you sauntered in the bar with the guy next to you. The way your dress swished around your thighs. The way you threw your head back laughing at something your boyfriend, must be your boyfriend because there’s no way you were single. He watched you take a sip of your beer, looking down at the bar still and slowly drag your eyes up to meet his again. Fuck he was still looking at you- dark eyes not leaving yours and it was slightly unsettling but so fucking thrilling. Okay- maybe this could work out in your favor. 

“Oh- okay he likes what he sees then?” Frank mumbles around the rim of the bottle, nudging you with his knee a bit. I mean- you have to be confident. Right? Hell yeah he likes what he sees. He should right? You’re hot, smart, a fucking doctor in your prime. He should want you. No reason that he shouldn’t want you. Other than him being taken. Or gay. Or just uninterested in you as a whole but you’ll keep the confidence for now. “Go-“ Frank nudged you again. If he’s good for anything it’s going to be getting his best friend laid tonight. It’ll help his stress more than yours. You don’t go. Not yet. Fucking butterflies in your gut aren’t drowning with the alcohol. Dammit you don’t remember how to flirt. But you and him are playing eye tag across the bar now. Eyes meeting in a game of chicken- who will break contact first. It’s you. Always you. And maybe you’re not interested in him, he thinks. Maybe you’re being polite. But you’re just working up some more nerve because- ok fuck it. Fine. You’ll bite. 

“Don’t wait up Frankie” patting his shoulder you hop off the stool in the most graceful way you can manage.

“Have fun,” he finishes the rest of your beer while throwing you some unsolicited remarks, “remember we have to be at the hospital at 8, call me if you need me, use protecti-“ but your annoyed look ceased his rambling. The man across the bar watched you, watched you fucking float over to him in your short dress like a damn sign from god telling him to enjoy himself for once. Nervously chewing at your lip and pulling at your fingers, looking anywhere but at him while you walk over. You could still turn back to Frank, or pass the gorgeous man sitting alone at the bar to act like you were going to the restroom but- no. No, you are getting laid tonight. One last hurrah of your ”carefree“ twenties because the remaining few years will be dedicated to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. You needed to relax. You fucking deserved this. And this is all before you talk to him- he hasn’t even told you his name yet and you’re nervous. At least let him agree to sex first. 

“This seat taken?” God that sounded awful, so fucking cliche and awkward and you should just apologize and turn around but-

“Waiting for you actually” he smiles, grabbing the stool and pulling it out a bit for you. Okay. So far so good then? You settle into the seat and start to awkwardly scoot yourself closer to the counter but- his hand grabs one of the stool legs and pulls you closer to the counter, closer to him- your knees brushing against each other just barely to where you can register the rough fabric of his jeans on your bare knee. Oh. Oh he was strong and the way his arm flexed and- okay. Focus. 

“Do you always drink with that look on your face?” You tilt your head, meaning it more playfully than it came out but- he did have this, sad look about him. Exhausted look behind his eyes and- you could relate really. These last almost two years have been hell. 

“And what look would that be sweetheart?” Okay, he’s taken the bait then. Good. Flirt. Flirt fucking hard. 

“Like you’re just daring someone to interrupt you.” You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ears, maintaining eye contact but break it- just for a second to trail your eyes down to his lips that were framed with a thick dark beard, dusted in spots with grey.

“Maybe I am?” He sees your eyes, sees the way they watch him. How they darken when you speak and- maybe he can play along. It’s harmless. That’s what bars are for right?

“Might be off putting to some,” you shrug, reaching over to take a small handful of the shitty bar mixed nuts, just needing to occupy your hands, “but I do like a challenge.”

“Is that right? Someone as innocent looking as you?” Goading you, seeing if you’re all talk or- or if you’d actually want to come home with him. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t know how to pick girls up at the bar. 

“You’d be surprised what some strangers are like after a few drinks. Let me buy you another and we can reevaluate?” Waving the bartender over you ask for another round of beers- not waiting for his answer because you play to win, and dammit this prize looked handsome. Older, definitely taller than you, broad shoulders and you squeeze your thighs together tight because you can just imagine his beard-

“I’ll take that challenge then” winking, he takes a long sip of his replenished beer after clinking it with yours. Maybe this was a success? Is it working? 

“Good- I’m a girl that likes to win.” He tries to not stare, not look at the innocent way your lips wrap themselves around the rim of the bottle- swallowing the bitter taste and licking your fucking lips after you do. Fuck- was that on purpose?

“Then I guess we’re no longer strangers,” he turns, extending his hand out to yours, “Michael.” Oh. His hands were big, warm, calloused- heavy. 

“Angel.” Your smile was sweet, fuck. You looked up at him beneath batting eyelashes and your hands were so soft, smaller in his. He has to force himself to take his hand from yours because he’d fucking hold it all night if you’d let him.

“Your boyfriend going to be okay with you chatting me up?” He nods over to Langdon who was awkwardly drumming his hands on the bar top- a poor attempt at making himself look busy while he stares you both down from the corner of his eye, just in case you need him to rescue you.

“Who? Him? Oh- definitely not my boyfriend. Roommate.” You didn’t have time to regale Michael with the saga of Frank and Angel, it was almost a decade long and many didn’t understand the bond you two shared. So- roommate was what Langdon has been demoted to tonight. He relaxes a bit, thanking god because he’s been in weird situations where couple ask if he’d join them and he’s too fucking old and tired for this poly shit- barely has time for monogamous relationships. You both fall into an easy conversation. He finds out you’re new in town, just moved a week ago for a new job. And you don’t exactly talk about residency right away. Some men find it intimidating if you mention being a doctor right away so- you just pretend you’re someone else tonight. Someone confident and who is used to picking up strangers in a bar. He’s charming. Charming and funny and he loves the way you’re laughing at his little sarcastic jokes and you’re witty and so fucking pretty. He thinks he can do this. He can be the guy that takes home the girl from the bar- at least once right? Jack is always telling him to have fun, to not be so uptight, to fucking go to therapy but until he does go- this will definitely suffice because you’re so close now, leg almost fucking thrown over his under the counter and he can smell the intoxicating aroma of your perfume and like a fucking siren-

“Wanna get out of here?” Low- so low he almost didn’t fucking hear it but- the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes and wet your lips with a dart of your tongue and- fuck yes he wants to get out of here. He smiles, nods and pushes back from the counter to step off the stool and holds out his hand for you to hold as you hop off your own stool. And you don’t pull your hand away- he doesn’t pull his hand away as he waves bye to the older bartender. He’s been coming here for years- bar that’s close to home that he can walk to, bartender who gives him free drinks because of the work he does. And you both just- walk. Walk down the street hand in hand like you’re not practically bouncing and itching to kiss him. The breeze is nice and the conversation is still so easy- he looks at you when you talk, asks questions and adds constructive comments while ducking his head to miss a few branches that you can easily walk under. 

His house was nice, quiet neighborhood with a classic single family style look- a porch where he reads the paper, sipping coffee on his day off. And you feel nervous again. Butterflies swarming around in your belly and you have no more alcohol to drown them in because his hand is on your lower back, ushering you inside. It was quiet- simple. You can admire his style while you take off your shoes- from the old record player in the corner of the living room, the shelves of books along the walls where you can make out a title or two that you’ve been dying to read. You thumb through his books, running your fingers along the spines and he has his hands in his hoodie, watching you with desire creeping up in his gut. What were you doing here with him? You were so pretty and smart and funny and- he stops thinking because now you’re rounding his couch and settling into the plush fabric while holding your hand out to him. Okay. Okay he can do this. You can do this. He unzips his hoodie, laying it on the arm of the couch.

“Yes?” He asks smugly, coming to sit next to you on his couch. Taking your hand in his- he kisses your palm, beard tickling gently- then kisses up to your wrist. He can smell the dab of perfume that you sprayed as he kisses gently. Why was this so hot? Letting him kiss up your arm and you don’t realize you’re leaning closer with each kiss until you’re face to face now- 

“Can I kiss you?” It comes out barely above a whisper- as if you’re still unsure if he wants this with you like he didn’t just kiss and lick up your arm a second ago. And he laughs- soft and lightheartedly because yes, yes you can fucking kiss him. He’d beg for your soft lips on his and he doesn’t have to wait much longer now as you’re surging forward- knocking into him and throwing yourself in his lap. Okay- maybe you were a little too eager and you’re about to apologize but his hands are in your hair now and- oh this is good. He kisses so eagerly and bites your lip with a tug when he pulls back to look at you and you’re both breathing hard now after just a fucking minute of kissing. Everything feels hot and too much and his hands are on your thighs now- dragging up to your hips from under your dress and he’s actually toying with the band of your underwear now, snapping it absentmindedly. You just- it’s hot and you’re needy and you have to take initiative so you’re pulling your dress up and over your head and he groans. One hand pulls the cup of your bra down and he trails light kisses down your neck, coming up to the swell of your breast and bites- sucking a soothing mark into the stinging feeling and your hands tug at his hair now. 

“Let me taste you angel,” he begs, feeling how you grind into his lap- desperately, for some sort of relief. He mumbles against your chest rubbing his beard a little and grinning at the way you gasp at the sensation while he’s easily unclasping your bra with one hand and tossing it on the floor like it’s offended him. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer- grabs your ass to grind harder into him while sucking galaxies along your breasts. “Just- fuck let me use my mouth on you, please?” He’s fucking begging to eat you out? Is he actually? He is. He hasn’t fucked in so long and he knows you’ll taste amazing and if that’s all you want is to cum on his face and in his beard  he’ll be happy but-

“I don’t- I’ve never really,” you try to find the words- try to think but the way you can feel him under the rough seam of his jeans has you mindless at the moment. “It’s not my favorite.” You weren’t lying- the few times you’ve had someone between your thighs you just, laid there. Waiting until they were done because it was weird and your clit actually was a few inches to the left and-

“No?” Michael forces himself to pull away from your chest, holding your hips still from grinding and you whine a little- “do you not- like it? If you absolutely don’t want to I understand but-“

“No- no, it’s not that I just-“ you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks now. You’re practically naked in his lap and you’re having this conversation and- “it just feels weird.” You shrug. It did feel weird. Most guy just mindlessly lick and miss your clit and you can easily just use your own fingers and-

“Can I try? Please baby?” God he was begging. Maybe- maybe it’ll be good? Wordlessly, you nod- sit back on the couch to let him kneel in front of you and fuck- it was a sight. On his knees, kissing up your ankle while he slides your underwear down. Okay. Okay, fuck- this was happening. Definitely happening now as he easily pulls you by your knees and slides them over his shoulders. You were mouthwatering. Absolutely appetizing. Wet and glistening in the moonlight for him- whispering for him to taste and he actually moans when he looks. 

“Lemme take care of you.” He sighs, readying his tongue between your folds.

“Yeah- sure oka- shit!” You roll your eyes back with a scream, arching your back to where it’s not even touching the couch anymore and the only thing that’s keeping you from ascending to the fucking heavens is the way he has you caged to him. Both legs thrown over his shoulders, forearms around the tops of your thighs and keeping you still. So fucking still- but open for him because his shoulders are massive and wide and you’ll feel the stretch tomorrow for sure. But you can’t seem to care right now. You’ve been on edge for at least an hour now since you’ve met him and are unbearably wet. It would be embarrassing really. He’s licked a single stripe up your cunt and- fuck. His tongue is hot, wet, flat and slowly dragging up your cunt and his beard gives a fucking heavenly scratch against your thighs and- fuck. He’s staring at you. And starting from right below your entrance, trailing so devastatingly slow up to your clit- his eyes never closing or breaking contact. Once he reaches your clit- he swirls his tongue around it for good measure before closing his lips around it and sucks. Fuck. And he was fucking moaning- finally closing his eyes and enjoying the way you tasted and how one of your hands has taken hold in his hair now, pulling just a little. God he was fucking good and you know you’re about to cum soon and it’s going to be so fucking good. He wasn’t lying- it does feel good. You haven’t had sex in so long, hadn’t really even had much time to take care of yourself between prepping for tomorrow and moving and- fuck you were already feeling that swell of ecstasy. 

“Good?” He mumbles, smirking against your wet lips and you want to slap his stupid fucking gorgeous face because you can hear the fucking sarcasm in his voice as he’s clearly trying to prove a point now. And you can only nod but- “say it- look at me and tell me how good you feel angel.” Fuck. He’s stopped- you can just feel the ends of his beard against you and you try to grind into it but he’s so much stronger than you are and his eyes are dark and beseeching you to tell him how good his tongue is. How good is fucking mouth feels against your throbbing pussy and-

“Fuck- fuck yes it’s so fucking good Michael please just- don’t stop please baby I need-“ you don’t get to finish your babbles and whimpers because his lips have wrapped themselves around your clit again and you’re melting into his damn couch now. Sinking into the fabric and the only movement you can make is pulling his hair and using the heels of your feet to pull him closer to you. He teases a finger inside, just one and tries to not moan at how tight it feels. Just testing the waters- then another. One more of his thick heavy fingers getting easily sucked into you and it was tight. You’ve had your own for so long but his already have you seeing stars behind your eyes and- he’s pulling them out. No. No no wait. And he laughs because he hears you groan- looking up and he’s replacing his hand back to keep you still and he drags his tongue back down again, swiping at your entrance and shoving it deep inside while one of his thumbs start slow circles around your clit. He was fucking good, knew exactly what he was doing. His other hand finds purchase on your chest- roughly tugging at your nipples and pinching. You’re going to cum, and you’re going to cum in his mouth, and it’s going to be amazing. His tongue- while still inside you is shoved up along your top wall and licks back and forth slowly while working the same pace with his thumb on your clit. Fuck. Your nerves are on fire. Your body contracts and arches into him more as you cry out from your orgasm. Fuck it was good. Slow and steady and creeping up along your body. You’re whining his name and he’s letting you roll your hips into his mouth to ride out the heat and waves. 

He was watching you. The entire time. Eyes focused on how you’d bite your lip, throw your head back, use your other hand to grab your breast and you were fucking gorgeous. Fucking ethereal and unreal- cumming on his tongue and whimpering his name so sweetly. And when you finally open your eyes you’re giggling, the adrenaline pumping through your body and you’re pulling him up by his collar to kiss him and taste yourself on his tongue. God he needed you. He needed to bury himself inside you now because he was impossibly hard at the moment and wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand not knowing what you felt like.

“Good angel?” Like he didn’t already know the answer- but you’re still smiling and can barely nod before he stands- tugging you to sit up. “C’mon baby, up-“ easily, he grabs you from the couch and you cling to him- bare legs wrapping around his waist and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. “I need you so fucking bad sweetheart.” Grunting into the kiss you’ve dragged him into by a tug of his hair- he’s maneuvering through his living room and down the hall to his bedroom but you’re grinding into him now, desperately needing some friction even though he tongue fucked an orgasm out of you minutes ago. “Fuck-“ he stops, tripping almost over the feeling of your bare pussy over him- he’s pushing you against his doorway for a moment and the corner of the wood digging into your back but he takes just a second to compose himself and- “just wait, fuck- just wait until I’m inside you.” You’re not sure if that was a threat- or he’s telling himself to hold out from blowing his load all over his jeans before he’s hand a chance to fuck you into his mattress like he planned. maybe both. Definitely both. 

You get placed on his bed- gently and you look up at him with anticipation in your eyes as your hands reach up to capture the hem of his shirt and drag it upwards while you rise to your knees to be eye level. He had never been shy really, he was painfully aware that he doesn’t have the same body he did when he was 20 but- the way your eyes hungrily took him in? He did feel a small pang of insecurity. You were at least 15 years younger than he was, could’ve went home with any one from that fucking bar but you’re here now- in his bed, pulling his belt from the loops of his jeans and dragging the zipper down almost torturously slow. And your eyes didn’t leave his. You smiled. You kissed him. You pulled his jeans down and fucking gasped. Oh. It was- well it was fucking bigger than you expected that’s for damn sure. Your mouth watered, and you feel young and inexperienced all over again because you’re tentatively touching him, just a slow drag of your index finger along the length and he shudders. He was hard- but it was so heavy and thick, his cock wasn’t even able to be held up, the sheer gravity of it kept him hanging deliciously low and you leaned down to take a swipe at it with your tongue, desperate for a taste- but he stopped you. 

“No- don’t- I need you now-“ he rasped, forcing himself to tell you no, stroking your cheek and shoving you as gently as he could to lay back on his bed. “I can’t wait any longer sweetheart.” He wants nothing more than to fuck your mouth- have your pretty little eyes watering and looking up at him with your lips wrapped around his cock and drooling for more. But he’s even more desperate to be inside you. He’s tasted you- felt you clench around his tongue and if stuffing his cock in you is half as good as eating your pussy, then Michael needs to fuck you now. He’s crawling up the bed with you, kicking off his jeans and kissing your lips in a firm kiss, tongue licking into your mouth and swirling around yours as he grabs your thighs to come around his waist, feeling the blunt tip of him at your wet entrance. He settles above you- one of his hands holding your thighs open while the other comes to rest atop his headboard- swiping his cock along your folds to tease and collect at the juices that have dripped and finally- he pushes inside you.

“Oh- f-fuck-“ You don’t think you’ve ever gasped when someone stuck it in before. You’re sure of it. Because you would remember this feeling. You would have remembered it because of the way Michael’s feels. Splitting you open, pushing slowly through your tight walls. You’re wet. You’re so fucking wet and where you weren’t naturally wet with your own juices- his own mouth took care of that for you. The only resistance was his size- the tightness of your pussy contracting and working the sheer girth of him through. Fuck. Fuck it’s good. It hurts in the way that feels so fucking right. You feel rearranged, feel him not even fully sheathed within you and- god he still has more? It’s been so fucking long since you’ve had anything besides your own fingers inside you and his were already stretch to begin with earlier. It hurt so fucking good and you whine when he pushed deeper inside you- tensing your thighs around his waist and dragging your nails down his back. 

“Almost angel, fuck- fuck almost I-“ God he was already losing what little sense of control he had. He hasn’t had sex in ages and you were so tight and wet and sounded so pretty underneath him and he’s trying to ride out every clench you give around him- but fuck it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard when you’re whining his name and he’s not even fully buried inside you yet. “You’re doing so good for me baby, so good. Almost. Little more ok?” He moans, dropping his head down to kiss your lips because you’re biting them, biting at your lower lip to keep composed because you already feel the waves of another orgasm crawling up your spine and dancing along every fucking nerve that wasn’t burnt from the last one.

It’s hot. Fucking searing. Your orgasm slams into you all at once. The first one was a crescendo of ecstasy that his tongue slowly pulled from your body and let you ride out with it. This? White hot pleasure- ripping into your soul. You feel it in your bones, rattling and shaking with each fucking wave. You make no noise, can’t even fucking breathe because you’re sure whatever neurons you have left have been fried by the way he felt. He wasn’t even fully seated in you, a little over halfway- shoved tightly inside your walls and your body just, gave in. Gave into the indulgent way his cock was inching its way inside you, rubbing up against that spot that your fingers can never quite reach- stroking along with nowhere else to go besides deeper. Of course you came that easily- there was nothing but delicious fucking friction from the way Michael was wedging himself between your legs and how the bit of hair at the top of his cock rubbed so mouthwateringly well against your clit. All you could do was let him keep pushing inside you, his hand coming down to grab one of your legs from around his waist so he can slide it over his shoulder and- fuck. 

“Fuck- I feel you cumming angel,” you somehow got wetter, aiding so he can slide in just a bit more with the angle and he presses his forehead against yours now. Sharing panting breaths and hot whiny moans together- finally his hips were flush against yours. “You okay baby? Talk to me,” taking your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently and kissing the back of your hand before letting it rest above your head. He starts a slow pace, inching back out of you slowly and groaning into your mouth. He doesn’t want to cum yet, he wants this, no- needs this to last longer. And it’s hard when you’re squeezing around him and whimpering his name- your perfume is dancing around in his mind and he feels himself pulling tighter and higher. Fuck he’s about to cum. He’s using his headboard to steady himself- the knock of the wood thudding against the wall in a tantric rhythm, would almost have you embarrassed if he wasn’t fucking you so good. 

“K-keep going baby- don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop Michael-” you beg him. The rub and heavy drag of him felt so good. Indulgent and sinful because there’s no way sex could be this intense and not be frowned upon by the heavens. He’s kissing and licking at your ankle now, the anklet that you had was scratching at his shoulder and a charm was reflecting the moonlight and he swears he sees fucking stars. One of your hands cards through his hair, then his beard, and you drag your nails down his chest, dancing along the hair that’s trailed from his belly button to his cock and you just let it rest there, stroking your thumb gently. Resting right above his cock only to dig your nails into his lower abdomen and rub your thumb along the marks and- he’s fucking cumming. 

“Fuck! Fuck me- so fucking-“ he groans, hot and deep into your calve and bites down hard enough to leave a mark but- he doesn’t stop. No- Michael keeps fucking you, he goes soft for a beat, maybe two but immediately you feel him hardening up again and nudging up into you deeper and- he’s fucking his cum into you now. It’s wet and warm and he doesn’t know what happened to his refractory period but he thanks all the gods he can in this moment so he doesn’t have to leave your tight heat. But he does- he does stop to reluctantly pull out of you and ignores your whining with a chuckle and light slap to your thigh as he rolls you over to your front. Instinctively, you start to arch your back but-

“No- lay flat baby, legs together.” You feel his voice in your ear, tongue licking the shell of it and biting at your lobe while the metal of his chain is between your shoulder blades now. He pushes some of your hair off your shoulder so he can kiss your neck, down your spine a bit with his beard scratching along the way before licking back up from the base of your spine and you shudder, sighing because it’s so good. The anticipation of what he’s going to do next. One of his heavy hands is holding your hip steady now- while the other holds his cock to slide teasingly against your folds. Oh. 

“Oh f-fuck me-“ you gasp- biting the meat of your palm from just the stretch alone. The angle has you grabbing at the sheets in front of you- needing something to cling to because between his fucking thick cock and the hand on your hip that’s all you feel from him. You want to open your legs a little more, you try but his legs have you stuck and you try to surge forward to escape the pleasure and-

“No- you can fucking take it,” he growls, a slap to your ass to drive the point home. Fuck. He’s so fucking hard again, fucked you through both your orgasms and immediately still ready to keep pounding into you. “Be a good fucking girl and take it sweetheart.” It’s not slow this time. It’s fucking brutal and you can hear the slap of his hips against your ass. This man- Michael- this fucking stranger has given you two orgasms already and another is quickly flickering in the bottom of your gut- his mind shattering pace is hard to take and you think you can ride it out until he reaches under you and grabs you by your throat to haul you up so your back is pushed into his chest. He doesn’t squeeze- no but his hand is still heavy and he can feel your pulse under his fingers like a good trained doctor. He’d be able to tell you your BP if you asked and if he had the wherewithal to stop his sufferingly brutal pace to do so. He has you on your knees, holding you up with one hand on your neck and the other hand that has captured your own is now trailing down past your stomach- lowering to your soaking cunt to force you to rub your own fucking clit with him. 

Fuck it’s so good. The hand of yours that’s not caught between his heavy one and your soaked clit is reaching up to tug at his hair while you turn your head a bit so you can try to see him. You try to breathe evenly because it’s so hot and the air feels heavy now and you swear there are stars beginning to form in your mind as your eyes roll back into your head now. He drags his nose along your temple- the hand resting against your neck trailing a few inches up to hold your jaw and kiss you. Biting and pulling at your lower lip when you open your mouth and moan his name. So sweet. You sound so fucking pretty and wrecked by him. He hasn’t fucked this hard since med school- you’re intoxicating. Your body fucking sings for him- every touch he gives is met with a sigh, a moan, a while of his name. Your hips are rolling back to meet his now and he groans into the kiss- feeling you clench around him again as you tug roughly on his hair. 

“Fuck- just like that angel,” Michael has you pulled tight against his chest- his necklace digging into your back, one arm around your chest, hand gripping your jaw so you can look at him and see exactly what he looks like as he’s wrecking you. The other arm is strong against your stomach, his hand making your fingers rubbing vicious tight circles around your clit. “Doing so- fuck- so good for me baby. Are you gonna cum again for me? Just one more?” And you can only nod, it’s not like you have a choice, really. Between the way his fingers and yours are working in tandem to play with your clit and the way his thick cock is spearing into you from behind- you’re lucky that you can breathe at this point.

“No, no-“ he stops his movements now, feeling your whine into his mouth and attempt to push your ass back into his hips. “I wanna hear you say it baby- tell me you wanna cum again.” Fuck, you’re trying to get the friction back- get the delicious drag of his heavy cock back but he’s shoved so deep inside your wet cunt that he’s not moving anywhere. And neither are you from the way he has you pinned to his front. Fuck. 

“P-please Michael,” you whimper into his lips, trying to wiggle your hips just a little so that you can feel him rub against that spot inside your- or maybe get his fingertips to brush your clit but he has your hand forced between his and your body, still and twitching for movement but he’s so much stronger than you are. “Fuck- I need to cum. I need to cum again baby. Please. F-fuck please. Please. Please. Please-“ you’re babbling and he groans. 

“God- asking so fucking pretty baby. You need it?” He’s going to be an asshole- make you beg for a third orgasm like some fucking greedy bitch and you nod. You nod and whine and because you know he likes to hear you say it now. You’re saying yes. Whining really but it’s all the same to him.

“Yes baby,” nodding like a woman drunk and starved and high all at the same time. “Please I’ll be so fucking good Michael just-” you choke out at the end, he’s easing out then shoving himself back inside you now. Fast. Fast and hard and you can fucking hear colors at this point. You feel him in your veins. You’ve been injected with pleasure and it’s so good. He’s spewing pure fucking filth in your ear now and the wet slapping sound of his hips and fingers against your clit drive the point home. Growling out how good you feel. How fucking wet you are. He’s trying so hard not to cum yet- he needs this to last because he doesn’t know when he’ll get another opportunity to fuck you someone like this again. It shatters through you. Like glass spidering around every weak point of your nerves. That drop. Like the drop of a roller coaster. It’s wet. It makes you soar and float off the planet for a second and you think you can see yourself from above. You cum with a loud scream of his name and he stops fucking your pussy for a moment, stops your rubbing of your clit and moans along with you now- feeling you clench and tighten around him. 

“There it is, angel, you sound so pretty for me baby.” He lets you go. Lets you slump forward but he hasn’t pulled out of you yet and you can feel him throbbing inside you still. You’re tired. So fucking tired and he’s still hard. He leans over you now, kissing the back of your neck and when he pulls out- you gasp because he’s been inside you for so long but he’s turning you back over now. Grabbing the back of your knees and slotting himself between your thighs again and you whimper because you’re so sore. But he’s kissing you so softly now, running his hands over your body and whispering praises and- pushing the head of his cock back inside you fuck- fuck- fuck- fuck. 

You just- lay there now. Accepting the pleasure of his fucking. Becoming a wave of orgasm and orgasm after fucking brutal, hot, wet orgasm. He’s buried his face into your neck- kissing and biting gently but still slowly keeping a steadfast pace. He adjusts you for himself. Pushing your thighs open or closed to suit his needs. Gripping your leg to place over his shoulders or around his waist to drive deeper into you if he wants. And you just- take it. You moan and sigh his name because that’s all you remember how to do. You’re sure you black out at some point because it’s so overwhelmingly good. He asks if you’re good- if you want him to stop and you beg him- no. No. Don’t fucking stop. Please don’t fucking stop because you’ve absolutely never been fucked like this before and you’re sure it’s some gift from the gods. And how can you deny such a gift? Between his hot tongue in your mouth, beard against your skin, cock inside your pussy- you don’t even remember your name. You just- you’re more him than you at this point. 

“Fuck- are you cumming again?” He stills, feeling the familiar tightness of your pussy spasm and flutter around his cock as he nips at your jaw. “Oh- f-fuck yeah you are- you’re cumming again for me baby,” slowly, achingly slow he starts his pace again, angles his hips up and- fuck. Fuck you can’t think anymore. He’s caged you in, completely has you under his control in the best way possible. You can’t even move your hips in tandem with his- you’re stuck in this position and you have to just fucking take it. Your body is being accustomed to the slow debilitating orgasms that are coming, just one after another after another after a-fucking-nother. There’s no point in counting. No point in attempting to keep score because you’re losing. Winning? No- definitely losing because it’s devastating now. You’re accepting your fate. You feel raw. You feel heavy. You feel your mind blank because all you know at this point is pleasure that’s bordering on pain- and his name. 

“M-Michael I- fuck I- I can’t-” Your thighs were sore, so fucking sore from being held open by his cock but not wide enough from the way his knees are on either side of your thighs. You were gonna feel him tomorrow. Fuck you were gonna feel him all week. Your legs hadn’t stopped shaking from your first orgasm and that was at least an hour ago. 

“Can’t what baby?” God, his voice was so deep, raspy and graveled in your left ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth and groaning so deep you felt it in your gut and swim along your spine. “You can- fuck, you’re doing so good for me sweetheart.” He still doesn’t stop. His cock is inching through your tight walls with no real trajectory other than to wreck you- so fucking tortuously slow. You shake your head and turn- looking at the art he has along his wall, anything to distract you from the pleasure for a moment because your think you’re going to die by orgasm and-

“No, no you stay right here with me angel-“ his calloused hand grabs your jaw and forced you to look back into his eyes. “Look at me baby- I need you to look at me so I can see those pretty eyes while I wreck you okay?” You nod along with him- obediently accepting your directions and fate. The drag- the long and heavy drag of his thick cock through your wet cunt has you spiraling, circling the drain between pleasure and pain. It feels so fucking good- his thick warm thighs bracing your own as he rocks into you devastatingly slow. The way he’s consuming you, all you feel is Michael. He’s the breath in your lungs, the taste in your mouth. It’s the scent of his cologne in your nose, the burn of his beard along your neck and jaw, the feel of his elbows digging into your shoulders with every deep, slow, hard thrust while the chain he had one is no longer cold- it drags, back and forth in the valley of your breasts.

“Just- fuck, just one more for me? Okay baby?” his voice cracks a bit- he’s almost coming to a close. He ducks his head down and swirls his tongue around your nipple then licks a hot stripe up your neck, coming to stop at your jaw and gently nipping at the skin there again while his hand gently brushes some strands of your hair from your face. Fuck- you feel it. You feel another fucking orgasm clawing its way through your body. Fuck. You have hot, frustrated tears running down the side of your face. The pain is so good. And the only thing that stops your from transcending into the fucking astral realm is how he grabs your hand, gently from its position that was locked on his back and no doubt leaving angry red marks along his skin- grabs your hand and threads his fingers between yours and squeezes gently- and kisses your hand once more. Yeah. Yeah you’re fucking cumming again. It’s ripping its way throughout your body now, hot- hot violent waves erupting from within you. Michael moans against you, feeling you clench around him and he’s letting himself go now, content that you’re spent and whimpering bonelessly under him. “That’s it- good fucking girl.” 

The tightening and shakes of your orgasm inspire one in him, he’s ready to fuck his cum into you again but he just needs to be a tiny bit deeper. Michael pants, tries to slow down so he can move you how he needs, sitting back slightly and grabs your leg to wrap around his waist and you whimper. Feeling just an inch more of his thick cock inside- you whine. He’s fucking you hard in contrast to the way he’s kissing you- pressing his sweaty forehead softly against yours and “so sweet baby- so fucking good for me angel, I’m gonna cum ok?” Nodding and slamming just a bit too hard- bordering on painful but fuck, it’s perfect. And that fucking headboard again- slamming against his wall in a heavy pace. Hard and rhythmic and starting to pick up speed just from the sheer force of how he was driving into you. The waves of your orgasm are riding out as he’s cumming finally. Hard. Hard- and a deep raspy groan is emitting from him while he continues fucking you through it, shoving the remnants of his resolve deeper with each sloppy broken few pumps of his hips. 

You lay there- sated and weak and let him kiss along your face with praises whispered between. He hasn’t pulled out of you yet- he needs a moment to enjoy you like this. To remember what this feels like next time he’s spiraling in his own mind. You have just enough energy to kiss his palm when he cradles your face- swiping at a stray tear and asking if you’re okay. Yes. Yes you’re okay. You’ve been fucked into his mattress, split open and completely sated. You’ve never felt better. You just wanted sex before starting residency because who knows when you’ll have time and- yeah. Michael definitely gave you more than you asked for. More than you ever bargained for. 

“Give me a second,” you whine into a kiss, “I don’t remember my name.” He’s chuckling- letting your hands lazily trail over his broad shoulders, card through his beard with a twirl or two of the hair around your finger, and you push his slightly sweaty hair back from where it had stuck against his forehead. He hasn’t stopped smiling. It was so- cute? Grown man with the softest brown eyes you had ever seen, smiling after sex and it made you smile too because yeah- it was fucking good. Finally- he pulls out of you with a bite of his lip and a soft sigh. Trying to commit the feeling to memory because he’s not sure if he’ll get to experience this again. It’s been a while since he’s had sex and he’s sure it’s never been like this. He would’ve remembered vividly it being this good. 

“Hey, wake up sweetheart,” you don’t even remember closing your eyes- don’t remember how long he was gone but he helps you sit up and has a glass to your lips and- “here, drink.” It’s cold, icy and immediately soothes your throat. And while you take slow sips he holds a washcloth in front of you and- “can I?” And- you just nod. You’ve never had anyone offer to clean you before. Few have even tossed you a rag but- he’s gentle. He apologizes when you gasp at the contact because you’re sore and overstimulated but the washcloth was fucking warm. He gently cleans you and kisses your temple. Who was this man? You just- you watch in awe as he cleans the mess he made of you and takes the glass from your hand to set on his night stand. 

“Um, I- I should go.“ you stutter out. You should- right? You’ve clearly overstayed your welcome from what’s acceptable after mind altering sex. But he just nods. 

“You don’t have to.” He doesn’t trust himself to not beg you to stay. He just- he wants more time with you. He just met you hours ago and he’s not ready to give you up yet. “You can stay- if you want. Only if you want. Offer stands.” He smiles, trying to not seem nervous because he genuinely never has done this before. He’s never taken a girl home from the bar. He’s only had sex with women he’s been in relationships with. But you just- he was fucking drawn to you since he landed eyes on you. When you tipped your head back laughing at whatever your roommate had said- he was struck. The way your eyes would dart over to him and then quickly back when he’d make eye contact. It was cute- how you bit your lip and tried to ignore him until you pat your roommate on the back and practically floated over to him. He knew he was a goner then. 

“Okay,” you bit your lip and nodded- “yeah- I’ll stay.” You smiled. Leaning in to kiss him and he’s offering you something to sleep in- one of his shirts or some boxers but you shake your head and smile wickedly at him as you slither back up his bed and in between his sheet, grabbing his hand to pull him with you. No. No clothes necessary tonight. 

It was his lips you woke up to, dragging along your neck with his beard in tow. You were sore and tired but it was hard to argue with the way your body opened up so easily for him. His hand splayed across your chest, not rough- just warm and resting along your skin while his lips mindlessly kissed your neck and jaw. 

“Good morning,” he rasps, feeling you stir against him. He woke up maybe 15 minutes ago, your legs tangled up with his longer ones. He took a moment for himself, a moment to enjoy the feeling of someone in his bed again- no matter how fleeting it would be. You would be gone soon. And he can’t- he can’t delude himself into believing he’s ready for a relationship right now. It been a while since Janey. He’s been focused with work and things have settled down, albeit slightly, pandemic wise. And you were so- young? Clearly a woman and old enough to drink but- you two did get to talking to be fair. He wasn’t drawn to you in a way that felt deeper than physically. And maybe that was his own clouded judgment but he wanted to get to know you. He wanted to see you again. But he wouldn’t say anything- not unless you did. He wasn’t ready to get rejected or shatter a perfectly harmless fantasy. But he couldn’t help tasting your skin one more time- seeing the erupting marks along your chest and smiling to himself a bit. 

“Good morning-“ you mumble, sighing into the way his lips felt along your raw skin. How was he so gentle? How could he rearrange your insides last night and place feather like kisses along your jaw now? Turning- you face him, throwing your arms around his neck and tilting yourself up to capture his lips. 

“I have to go-” you’re not really trying to leave the comfort of his warm bed- sighing into his mouth as he’s pulling you into his chest. “I’m gonna be late for work- it’s my first day.” mumbling against his lips, moaning at the feeling of his hands dragging down to your ass so he can grind you into him. Fuck. No. You know you’ll never be able to leave if you stay now- feeling his heavy cock start to stir against your thigh.

“Don’t go baby,” He was going to be late too, he had a fresh crop of interns to see to, so he absolutely had to be there today but- “stay here with me.” Fuck- why was it so hard to let you go? It was one night. Stranger at a bar, something he’d never allow himself to do and he was struck. He’s grabbing your ass to grind into him harder- smiling at the way you gasp into his mouth when the tip of him catches your clit. You can hear a phone vibrating on his nightstand- probably yours, most likely Langdon calling you and wondering where the fuck you were. He did call, 3 times and texted. He had your location and you were still alive at least. He was going to have to pick you up and haul ass to the hospital.

[Frankie]: 20 minutes away

[Frankie]: Be ready 

[Frankie]: Or I’m leaving your ass.

[Frankie]: Got your stuff tho

You groan, exasperated because you have to untangle yourself from Michael to walk to the living room for your clothes but you feel his strong, heavy arms circling around your waist as he’s coming up behind you to kiss your neck. God why was it hard to leave him? He was so funny, charming and- no. No, you just needed sex to get through your first day- one night stand. Someone you’ll definitely never see again because you’re starting residency and can’t afford to be distracted now. But- he was so fucking handsome. 

“I really,” you pause to kiss him, “really,” another kiss, “mm, really need to go.” A moan, kissing his swollen lips again but running a hand through his beard to hold him into the “last” kiss. You make it to the living room and sit on the couch to tug your underwear on, well- trying to, anyway, because he’s grabbing at it and pulling you back into his lips and your back hits the couch. He just- he needs to get it out of his system. One last kiss. Maybe a mark that he nibbles into the top of your breast. That’s it. And as you’re pulling on the rest of your clothes he’s going back to his room to find his boxers and walk you out the door but- 

“Just one more kiss-” you whine, pulling him hard and crashing your lips into his. You spend another 15 minutes trying to leave. Every time more clothes come on, one of you pulls the other back for ‘just one more kiss’.

You’re on his couch, pressing him into the arm rest now that your shoes are finally on- locking your lips against his.

He’s pushing you against his kitchen counter now as you’re reaching for your purse, hands coming on either side of you so he can cage you in and claim your lips once more. 

You grabbed handfuls of his Steelers shirt at his chest, forcing him against his front door now while you try to savor the possibility of a last kiss. 

He would walk you to the car- but he’s so fucking hard again that there would be no hiding it from his neighbors or your roommate in broad daylight. So he claims the official last kiss, cradling your face in his large hands and- this one was gentle. Not hungry. Not desperate. Gentle like- like it would be happening again. But you’re not delusional. It’s won’t happen again. You didn’t get his number, he didn’t ask for yours. You’re definitely never going to that bar again because this was a one time thing you allowed yourself to have. You need to be focused. Focused now because you’re gonna be so fucking late and it’s your first day and you got hardly any sleep and Frank is fucking honking-

“Hurry the fuck up- I have your shoes, clothes, and stethoscope along with a nice cold Red Bull.” Fuck he was the best. Sometimes it’s hard to believe you have a Frank Langdon in your life who can read your mind. “So did the old man lay it down good or?” You take the thought back immediately, jumping in the back seat to change into fresh clothes as you tell him to drive and not break any traffic laws to get to the hospital now. You’re running through the hospital- Langdon a few paces ahead because of his stupidly long legs and you’re chugging the rest of your Red Bull while running the ER nurses station to sign in and let them know you’re both here for your internship. 

“Barely made it.” A voice interrupts as you both are shuffling through the doors to who you assume is the Dr. Abbott the nurse mentioned- arms crossed and pointing to the locker room for you both to await further instructions. A few other interns are already inside and what you assume are some residents prepping for their shift. 

“ER?” One asks, throwing her hair in a bun while you shove what you can in an empty locker next to the one Frank picked out. 

“Yeah,” you nodded- offering your hand to her with your name and introducing your other half to her as well. “You?”

“Surgery, Garcia.” You wanted to ask more but Dr. Abbott is calling everyone outside the locker room for a briefing. God, why were you nervous? You’ve never been nervous- well about work or academics anyway. But your stomach won’t stop fluttering and you’re trying to pay attention to Dr. Abbott but something is gnawing at your gut. Langdon can feel your anxiety, can feel your antsy movements and see the way you’re chewing at your bottom lip And pulling at your fingers so he grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze- making you look at him to see his wink. A silent “it’ll be ok angel.” Like he always says. 

“Okay kids, the rest of this little introduction into your internship will be handled by Dr. Robby.” You don’t hear anything more- blood is rushing through your ears, mouth has gone dry, palms fucking sweating. Fuck. No? Fuck. There he was- Michael, in all his fucking 6’2, bearded, sad soft brown eyes, wide linebacker shoulders glory. As if on cue, your pussy clenched involuntarily- thighs started to ache from being held open by him for so long last night, scattered bruises across your chest started to sting. Every kiss and touch he laid on your body flared up like they knew their owner was near- like your body was calling out to his. As if your body picked up on the fact that he was near like some fucking homing signal for orgasms. And Michael, well- Dr. Robby actually, he’s as cool as a cucumber on the outside. Laying down some information and guidelines while trying to not stare at you. He doesn’t remember anyone named Angel on his list of interns. Did you lie? Of course you did- you just wanted sex and to be fair no one really calls him Michael so he can’t blame you. 

And next to you? Well Langdon is practically vibrating with excitement. He hasn’t been this happy since his med school acceptance. He’s trying to contain his joy while his eyes bounce back between you and your new boss. You’re speed running through all five stages of grief and he’s never been happier because that is definitely the old man you went home with last night. He’s excited for your debriefing and inevitable crash out session at home later because you have a 12 hour shift ahead of you both and you cannot spiral. Not now. Not yet anyway. 

emilia perez first loss 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🍾🥂🥂🍾🍾🍾🍾🥂🥂🥂🥂

𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 – 𝐦. 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 (𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | what a fucking delight it was to write this, as someone who has a big fat crush on this ^ man right here and as someone who is also a lifelong steeler fan. this one goes out to @ovaryacted (who pretty much beta-ed the first handful of pages for this), @heavenbarnes (who maybe might have been bitten by the robby bug?? no pressure to read babes), @jackabbotsfakeleg (who is the first fellow steelers fan i found on tumblr; this team is my doom but i love them!), plus all the robby fiends

warning(s) include language, inappropriate relations (?),age gap (reader is 25ish/2nd year med student, while robby is pushing 50), he fell first and harder, sexual tension, reader is a steelers fan and from pittsburgh, (american) football talk, baltimore ravens trashing, injury (mentioned), smut, penetrative sex (p in v), oral sex (f receiving), handjob, nipple play, bodily fluids, big dick/down bad!robby, special appearance at the end; she's thick, guys... sitting at 5.2k words!

Medical school lecture halls are just as chilly as Robby remembers.

The air feels a little less clean, a little more human, but still. There’s a nip to the air that takes him back to his Monday-Wednesday-Friday EMED 851 lecture. Part of him wishes he had worn one of his hoodies, though that would look a little weird with the button-up and slacks he has on. The light blue–cornflower, the tag reads–top and black bottoms feel odd, tugging at Robby’s skin in a way that his scrubs and cargos don’t.

There’s a wide array of students scattered across the seats of the room. To his surprise, most of them listen to him ramble about airways with attentive eyes and scribble down whatever they can catch. Good. That means that they’re maybe halfway serious about this shit, which earns them 2% of the qualification needed to work in emergency medicine.

Other than a lull of awkward silence at the very beginning plus a few verbal stumbles in the form of curses that cause the class to giggle while he apologizes and gathers himself, the doctor is pretty solid. 

There’s only one other time he flounders, if he should even call it that. It was more of an unforeseen pause. Nothing more than the tick of a few seconds when his eyes lock with yours for the first time today.

You’re already staring in his direction, waiting for him to finish the word that collapses surprisingly easy on his lips at the sight of you. He blinks, a strange flush ricocheting across the skin of his face when you blink at him, even throwing in a little grin just as he snatches back his composure with a distracted um.

The shirt you’re wearing is nice. Simple and fitted. Cap sleeves stop right below your shoulder and reveal intricate lines of ink that swirl back under the fabric in loops that make Robby wonder more than he should. You’re wearing shorts, too. Huh. He’d have half a mind to question how your exposed legs bear the nippy air of the hall, but it doesn’t matter. You make it work–and well–the material cutting off just a little higher than he initially realized.

Zipping his eyes back up to yours, he warms at how you’re picking at your bottom lip; your other hand now using your pen to write down something you remember him saying a few moments earlier.

Covering his gulp with a fast wipe at his beard, Robby somehow finds a way to push out the words that have been stuck in his throat for what feels like longer than the brisk five seconds that have passed since he spoke last.

His head tilts, barely, and his lips twitch into a small smile, dragging his stare from you to the carpet beneath him so he can speak again. Robby plays off the mistake as him thinking–about the question itself and not how you are unmistakably the prettiest thing in this room.

Eleven. That’s how many times he glances at you between then and the end of his lecture. The first three times were a genuine accident, and boy, did they feel like one. Goosebumps flutter across the back of his neck, which he’s rubbed enough times that some of the students probably think there’s something wrong with the tendons there. Robby almost agrees, with the way they keep allowing him to swivel and study you.

The more it happens, the oops of peeking at you, the longer it takes for him to look away. By the end of his knowledge-packed but run-on sentence answers, Robby’s stare cements to you. You’re nodding, legs crossed, and unintentionally drawing patterns with the pad of your finger across the skin of your thigh. For some reason, he’s fairly confident in the fact that you probably don’t even realize you’re doing it.

“Any more questions for Dr. Robinavitch?”

Dr. Robinavitch. Professors, man.

Robby doesn’t try to stop himself from glimpsing in your vicinity. Not right at you but close, so his peripheral can catch any possible movement of your hand raising. His eyes burn with an unsettling eagerness while he waits for something to happen. What the fuck is wrong with him? What the fuck is wrong with you for wearing shorts that fit that well even while you’re sitting?

Your hand stays where it is, arm propped against the side of your seat, fingers fiddling with the pen he can tell you’re trying not to click. The small pang of disappointment that rises inside him squashes away in seconds, and he prays that his ears don’t start to hue red after you hold his stare the longest you have for the entire class.

Looking at him through your lashes, you wait. And wait… and wait. A smirk barely ghosts across your mouth, and Robby rips away his stare. Throat bobbing while he swallows, blinking faster than he means to, he looks to the professor.

“Think they’re ready to kick me out, Dr. Hummel. I’ve probably rambled for long enough, yeah?” Robby shrugs. A sheepish smile warms his face when the room echoes with a healthy applause, and Robby almost recoils at the sound. There’s no way Hummel didn’t tell them to do that. And all he can do is stand and take it, hands tucked into his pockets, his thanks an awkward nod and embarrassed grimace-flavored grin.

Robby tries not to blush when he spots you clapping along with everyone else. He tucks his chin, feeling a little silly with how satisfying it feels to know he’s spoken well enough for you to show some appreciation. Or maybe you’re just doing it to be nice. Either way, you’re making the attending pinker than usual.

Class wraps in a daze.

Dr. Hummel leaves Robby lingering to the side, a wave of shuffling backpacks and zippers echoes throughout the hall. There’s a reminder announcement about a research paper due two weeks from today… or is it a presentation? Robby doesn’t listen hard enough to verify.

A sprinkle of pupils, glowing with a luster that only presents itself after their final class of the week concludes, come up to formally greet Robby. All with names he’ll try to remember but won’t. Bright-eyed and buzzing more than he thinks one would be after an hour and a half long lecture on airways, but hey. He appreciates the eagerness, even if it’s a little much.

Doing his best to be polite, Robby tries to seem as if he’s actively listening–nodding, humming, and throwing in a smile for good measure. He catches a few of the words being smattered his way, but he’s already forgotten them by the time the students leave him be. A sigh of relief sinks out of his nose when he turns his head to find you still in the room, only just now standing from your chair and sliding a thick notebook into your bag.

A line of spit gets caught in his throat when he sees you adjust your shorts, subtly tugging at where they’ve ridden up in between the warmth of your thighs–warmth of your thighs? Fuck, Michael, get it the hell together.

Robby coughs loudly into the crook of his elbow before pivoting to find you gliding his way. His heart jumps as you head right for the man, and his mind races to search for something to say. Hi? Nice to meet you? I really like those shorts?

His mouth opens to speak, though he quickly settles it into a kind grin as you scoot past him with a smile of your own.

“S’cuse me,” you pronounce gently, and Robby’s throat bobs.

“Of course,” he nods, voice huskier than he means for it to be as he takes a polite step to the side. You gift him one last breath-snatching smile before floating out of the hall without a second look. A long hum seeps from Robby, his fingers reaching to scrape at the nape of his neck.

Fuck, he needs to change out of these clothes… and maybe receive a beating of some kind for how long he let himself gawk at your ass just now.

Unfortunately, Robby doesn’t find the courage to ask anyone to smack him across the face the entire walk to his car. He does, however, have enough sense to unfasten the button that’s been digging into his skin since he threw on the shirt.

The man could cry happy tears when he pulls into the Panera Bread parking lot to find it close to empty. Surprising, considering that it’s the middle of the day on the UPMC campus but hey. He’s not complaining. The less college students in line between him and his overpriced iced green tea and tomato basil BLT, the better. In fact, he might splurge and go for a brownie, too… maybe that’ll clear the fog you’ve spelled him under.

His mind wandered for the whole ride over–swirling with blurry images of you and tingling with unanswered questions. Robby even stumbles through his order a few times, though the embarrassment over that is briskly wiped away when he turns his head to find you sitting at one of the tables.

Of course, you’re here.

Of course, you’re here and snacking on chocolate croissants and sipping coffee while reading off the screen of your laptop with the most delightful expression of intrigue he’s ever seen.

You aren’t real… you can’t be because only dreams are this coincidental.

Teeth grinding, Robby scans the area around you. Empty, other than an older man stirring his tomato soup and a mother and daughter sharing a frosted cookie with a pair of soft smiles. Robby’s eyes crinkle at the sight, shifting in his place at the counter in deep thought.

He guesses it’ll be a short wait for his food, as it always is. Then all he needs to do is fill his cup at the machine, wait for his number to be called and he’s home free… no matter how tempting it would be to tip over your way and say a quick hello. There’s a voice in the back of his head chanting for him to swallow the nerves and fucking do it, yet he still isn’t sure what’d he start with. What do you say to a young woman you’re certain will haunt you for the rest of you life–

“Dr. Robinavitch? Hi…”

It takes Robby a second to look at you. Even without, an odd feeling tightens Robby’s chest. He finally turns, swallowing through a tickle in his throat, just barely blinking away how his eyes try to water as you approach him carefully. Dear lord, someone please help him–your voice. All you’ve said is his name and a simple, normal hello yet he’s already turning into a puddle of nothing.

“Oh, please. Everyone just calls me Robby,” he holds his hand out for you to shake but regrets it immediately at the spark that ignites when your palms touch. Clenching his teeth at the feeling, Robby masks his tight jaw with a warm smile. “You were just in my lecture, if I remember correctly.”

Robby feels dumb when he tags on the question at the end. There’s no doubt surrounding whether he’s remembering correctly, as he’ll never forget you or those shorts even if he were to try.

“Yeah, for Hummel’s class. I’m actually glad I ran into you again. I really enjoyed you coming to talk to us today. And I’m sorry, I feel like I should’ve said something before leaving class but I couldn’t think of any cool questions to ask you afterwards but, uh, yeah. Having an actual attending from an ED come to talk to you about using a mac versus a miller is much more pleasing than reading about it in some textbook at three in the morning.”

A small chuckle lightens his face. “That’s very kind of you, ‘m glad you liked it. Is ED your main interest?”

“One-hundred percent. I mean, I won’t even start my rotations for another year but that’s definitely the end goal.” 

“Well, good. That’s good, um… sorry, one sec,” Robby’s cut off by the calling of his number, but raises a gentle hand with a pleasant smile in hopes that you’ll stay put. He mumbles a small thank you to the worker that slides him his bag, turning back to you with a lick to his lips. “Like I was saying, that’s great. We could always use more people like you in the ED.”

Wait. Shit. People like you? The man hasn’t even known you for that long and has talked to you for even less. He finds himself lucky when you decide not to think about the statement as hard as he does, accepting the compliment with a small grin.

“I appreciate that, Robby. Hopefully at least one of my clinicals ends up being in The Pitt. I can’t even imagine all the things I’d learn as your MS considering that all it took was a class of you speaking for me to fill up two pages of notes.”

Is he as red as he feels?

“Ah, hearing that, I’m sure you’d fit right in wherever you end up. Secretly kinda hoping it is in my ED at some point, though.” And not just because you’re a knockout and a half. “Just over the short time I’ve talked to you, you seem stellar. Good listener, pretty, cares about the details.”

Wait. Shit, that second one is a slip and much too obvious to just glaze over like his last one. You’re blinking at him in a way that itches his insides, and he exhales a rough breath. Shaking his head, he dips his nose in an embarrassed hang of his head.

“‘M sorry,” he starts with a breathy laugh because it’s all he can do. “That wasn’t appropriate of me, I’m sorry. Your good looks have nothin’ to do with your abilities.”

Suddenly, it feels like karma is having its way with Robby. Was there a door he should’ve held but didn’t? A thank you he forgot to tell someone? There must be because he’s usually quicker to control himself around someone that’s piqued his interests as much as you have.

When he tilts his gaze back to you, there’s something in your face hinting at something he doesn’t let himself attempt to decrypt.

“Jeez, I’m really eatin’ it today, aren’t I,” Robby squirms with a sheepish smile. “And that feels like my cue to leave you to you’re studying before I am forced to have you gag me.”

“Oh, I’m not studying. I mean, I should be but your answer to that one question Jeremiah asked has me knee deep in an article about the history of clinical airway management. Also, I didn’t take you to be into that kinda stuff, but I’ll make sure to be gentle if you really want me to.” 

Brow line raising in a flutter of rousing excitement, Robby allows himself a full grin. You match the toothy-smile, leaning with something that looks like anticipation with another wring of your hands.

What a well-dressed, witty, gorgeous geek you’re proving yourself to be.

“I, uh, I actually know of a few other studies you might be interested in,” Robby suggests, a wave of poise centering his thoughts and reprioritizing his intentions. “...if you've got the time?”

The next sixty-ish minutes pass devastatingly fast. A few more people have populated the Panera dining room but Robby’s too high on your presence and one and a half cups of iced green tea to care.

“You’re making this up, you gotta be.”

“I swear, Robby,” you hold up your hands. “I will admit, losing to the ratbirds–at home, in OT–does tend to cloud one's judegment, but enough to think they have the upperhand against a metal lightpost? All Dad saw was red and I ended up waiting in the ER with him while he waited to get his fingers re-set. We we’re at chairs for a while and then brought to the back, and the thing I remember the most was this hum hanging in the air the entire time. Even though I was only around five, that shit was… addicting. Not as electric as a Steelers home game but pretty close. The nurse and my dad kept having to tell me to stay behind the curtain but, of course, I didn’t. ‘Cause, you know. Children. But watching all those people come in broken just to have people like you give their everything to try and fix them… that’s when I knew I wanted to be an emergency physician.”

The corner of Robby’s lips quirks up as he watches you. You stare back at him with held breath before ripping your eyes away to the half-eaten piece of brownie he’d offered you. A little dry but completely worth it with how your hands brushed when he passed you the sweet.

“So basically what I’m hearing is that the Baltimore Ravens are the reason you were able to find your purpose in life so early on…” Robby eases out, rubbing a hand across his beard in anticipation of the response he’s fishing for. He gets it and more when your face wrinkles into a cute grimace and you flinch with a shudder.

“You put it that way, and it almost makes me think I should drop outta med school to move to Canada.”

Your words pull a deep chuckle from Robby, who’s feeling warm at how the two of you are leaning and talking. Bodies relaxed and bellies content with sandwiches and baked goods, the dance you’re both performing is becoming more difficult by the second.

He’s starting to feel less and less sorry about how the side of his shoe keeps knocking against yours, even doing it once on purpose as a thanks for when you notify him of a loose crumb in his beard. The tips of your fingers keep creeping towards each other but Robby blames that on the smaller scale of the table he’s joined you at. You got up, once, for napkins and the man had to take in a deep breath at the swing of your hips. He’s not  sure he looked away fast enough either. At least, that’s what the smirk that dashes across your face reveals to him.

“So,” Robby starts after a comfortable lull in the conversation, pausing to clear his throat. “Are all of Hummel’s students this awesome or did I just get lucky runnin’ into you again?”

Flattery. The age old tactic and Robby makes sure not to lay it on too thick. In all of his bumbling and slip ups from earlier, he’s maganed to regain some of his bravado. It returns to him slowly but surely as he starts to unravel you. Not by much but enough to finger out what makes you tick; which jokes to draw out, what subjects (medical or otherwise) gets you going, which throw of his timbre embellishes the shine in your eyes.

“Mm, most of them are pretty cool. Some are also the biggest assholes you’ll ever meet but what’s any place without a few of those?”

“Heaven,” Robby answers with an unbothered shrug of his shoulders and you bob your head in agreement.

“Preach,” you grin, popping a corner of brownie into your mouth. “They were on their best behavior today with you being there but trust me, they’re incapable of going twenty four hours without creaming their pants over making other people feel like shit.”

Wow. “Oh, yeah?”

“For sure. Dr. Hummel should have you come around more often, though. Maybe next time you can snap a few egos in check.”

You’re into whatever this is, Robby can feel it. It’s in your eyes, that don’t notice their lingering on the hair that’s peeking out at the top of his exposed chest. In your voice, that’s lilting in a manner that’s ringing through the thick fog he entered the building with to guide his ship closer to your sweet taunt.

Robby’s quicker than the hesitation his words want to bite back on, tilting his head to give you a quick once over before flicking them away with a grin that’s smugger than he means for it to be.

“Oh, that’s definitely something I’d consider as long as you're still sittin’ front row.”

Your lips curl upwards and Robby is buzzing at the win. It makes his chest puff a little, too, and his head starts to feel a little funny when he catches you staring again.

“Hey, uh,” just do it, Rob, “why don’t we exhancge numbers? You know, in case you ever feel like conversing more over slightly-stale bread and the best passion papaya iced green tea on this side of the Mississippi.”

Taking a second to think, you sniff.

“While I have had better passion… papaya iced green tea–” you recite the words with a subtle unsureness, laughing a little at the nod Robby encourages you with.

“You got it,” he reassures you, voice rasping with obvious amusement before letting you continue.

“–I’d love to keep picking your brain. I will warn you, though, since the age of eleven, I have somehow managed to, uh, shift every conversation I’ve been a part of to the topic of the Pittsburgh Steelers at some point, so if that’s not your thing, then…”

Your words melt into a stronger laugh than you expected to leave you, and it wraps arround the high-pitched giggle trickles out of Robby.

“Oh, I’ve dealt with worse, sweetheart,” he winks, pulling out his phone from his back pocket and opening it before sliding it your way. He holds his breath the entire time you add your contact, eyes flicking to his screen where he sees your name along with a simple :). He huffs at the sight, plucking the device back into his grip. “Much, much worse.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

You add a smirk and tip of your head with the question. Robby’s soaring.

The following hours prove to be just as indelible as your shorts, and it’s all because of you.

You’re more than special, and Robby sits undisputed in that fact as he commences the third round of the night. The slide into you is just as good as the first and the second. You’re on top this time, your hands clutching his face to rub at the thick of his beard while you sink down onto him.

Robby holds your waist, hands light but still there as he splits you open. A noise breaks from his throat when you sit fully, and he rests his forehead against yours. While you take a second to adjust, Robby peeks down past the pudge of his belly to where the two of you meet, groaning at the sight of you stretcehed around him.

Eyes flicking to yours, Robby tightens the arm he has around your waist to tug you until your breasts are flush against his chest. You cling to him at the shift, hips barely lifting before collapsing back down onto him with a shuggering grunt.

Your body keeps the same languid speed, Robby helping you just barely with a hand splayed just above your ass.

“Fuck, you’re so deep,” you pant out against his mouth. “And fucking huge. I should’ve known considering how you walked into class earlier, though.”

“Shit,” Robby moans. “Really?”

You bob your head, hand reaching to grab at Robby’s shoulder. The muscle holds strong under your squeeze, you answer him during another rock of your hips.

“Mmhm. You just… oh, fuck, you walk like it’s big. Which it totally is, by the way.”

“So you’ve said,” Robby ribs, adding a few bucks of his hips that yanks a squeak out of you. “Actually screamed it a few times, too.”

“Well, can you blame me–”

You’re interrupted by Robby, who surprises you with a steep roll to the side. Now hanging over you, Robby pants through a groan. He’s gonna feel that tomorrow but the chance of a strained back isn’t gonna stop him from trying to get you to keep making those sounds that have him seeing stars.

He takes the miracle of his cock remaining inside you even after the change of position, hitching both of your legs back as far as they’ll let him and jerking you with a thrust. It’s deep and driving, intentional enough to make you feel every inch and vein of his swollen member. You wail out right next to his ear and he smiles against the tattoo on your shoulder in victory. He still doesn’t know what it is. You won’t tell him and he got tired of guessing.

“No, I can’t,” Robby throws back, hips falling into a pattern of sharp thrusts. You feel bottomless and it makes his stomach clench. “Eyes on me, baby. Right here, okay?

Robby meets your stare as soon as you crack open your lids. He tightens the snap of his hips, allowing himself to indulge. Call it a habit but he likes to look… observe the way your mouth parts as you puff out air every time your clit hits his pelvis… how your brows pinch together and eyes water as he pounds into the spot it only took him a total of seven thrusts to find… how your hands reach for his neck, squeezing when you hear him flutter your name out on a gruttal moan.

You especially like him loud, he’s found. Not bold enough to ask for it, Robby had the pleasure of figuring the phenomenon out on his own. It didn’t take long, thankfully, as he got embarrassingly close to blowing a vocal cord when you tongued at his nipples and skillfully jerked out his cum onto your stomach. Afterwards, his taste buds found your slit a sopping mess of slick and cream, which he slurped away at until you tugged him up by the hair and kissed your juices from his mouth.

The first time he’d fucked you, it was slow. A loitering exploration of every indent and ripple inside your hole, every mole and freckle of your skin. You’d already come once against his tongue after he’d convinced you that no, you were not going to die if he didn’t kiss you right then.

(‘What about her, hm?’ He’d asked with a finger ghosting across your clit. ‘Nothin’ wrong with being a little greedy but I gotta show her some love, too, alright? She’s much too pretty to ignore, even with you givin’ me those eyes…’)

However, it’s the first time you peak around him that the sky parts. Heaven calls, singing songs of eternal delights but Robby declines the offer. His soul finds the symphony of you falling apart much more satisfying. Ever more gratifying, as it’s his name flooding from your lips. Not God’s or some boy in one of your classes in those cold ass rooms–his.

The second time you’d come around him hits both of you like a train. He’d gotten you trapped on your side, leg hanging in the air helplessly. Neck stretching, you’d bit at his tongue a few times when he’d upped the speed of his hips, warning Robby that you were gonna come again. After you added on a whine that you did not want him pulling out when he came, he flipped you into a rough prone bone, pounding you until your pussy creamed with his cum and your ears heard nothing but dial tones.

This time–the third time–Robby lets himself get lost in it. Uses his mind and body for the sole purpose of calling forth and tying your euphoria to his. A perfect ache is throbbing a pulse through his cock, and the man can only plunge himself in and out of you with mindless, hoarse grunts.

Robby executes it flawlessly, the seaming of the end of your climax grazing just over the start of his. You cry out unintelligible words, grabbing at him like he’ll disappear if you don’t and trembling as he works to milk out your release for as long as he can.

“That’s my–fuck… yeah, that’s my sweet girl,” Robby pants, still rocking you as his thrusts melt into a sloppy chasing of his own end. His sweet girl. That’s exactly what you are now, regardless of what happens after this. “Gonna fill you up again. Make you nice and full’a me.”

The only warning Robby’s able to give is a long, choked swear before he starts to spasm, sack twitching as he surges out rope after rope of a plentiful load. He uses a few more thrusts to fuck the cum deeper before joining your lips in a tired kiss. When you run your hands up his back to rake your nails through his hair, Robby groans.

Hips still, his softening cock remains a welcome intrusion. His eyes flicker shut at your appreciated touch across his scalp, the man melts completely into you, hoping it takes a long while for your breaths to return.

Robby’s mind is completely still. Numb, even, and there are only figures of you. Clenching his eyes, he sighs before mumbling something so muffled that he has to repeat it.

“I said,” he begins with a kiss to your jaw, “the Ravens might be my new favorite team.”

Robby feels your inhale pause and lifts his head to look in your eyes. A short laugh wheezes out of him when he finds you already staring back, your face a cross of complete and utter confusion and a little bit of hurt.

“What on earth could have possibly compelled you to say that to me?”

Your question starts strong but falls apart with giggles at how Robby keeps laughing. The two of you shake with stupid giggles, and Robby has to take a second to remember where he was going with this.

“Only ‘cause they led you to me. No Ravens, no angry dad. No angry dad, no ER visit. No ER visit, no grand revelation of wanting to become a doctor in emergency medicine. It’s simple, I’m a little surprised I had to explain it.”

“...you think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Oh, baby, I know I am.”

“Hello?”

Robby blinks, and wants to glower at the fingers Jack snaps in front of his face until he remembers he’s supposed to be answering something. A question. He’s supposed to be answering a question.

Which question?

Fuck if he knows.

Who asked it?

Fuck if he knows.

It takes every part of Robby’s being to not look to the right because that’s where you’re sitting with a wide smile just barely hidden beneath your palm. Eyes boring into him, you stretch your crossed legs and reposition.

“E-even though that might have looked like a stroke, guys, it was not… I don’t think,” Jack picks up for Robby with a pat to the later man’s shoulder. “It’s actually something we in our profession call getting old, but please don’t worry. I’m going through it, too. Apparently, not as fast as this guy, though.”

The rest of the room lightens with a chuckle so Robby’s laughs along with them. It’s fake and ugly but the pause gives him a chance to zip his eyes your way and back.

And, of course, Jack catches him. Hell, he knows Robby well enough to have already seen the way that his hand clenches into a fist every time you move so much as an inch.

As Dr. Hummel attempts to return order to the slightly distracted class, Jack gives Robby a silent not bad, Rob. At all, though a little more decorum wouldn’t hurt.

Robby bites at his tongue, completely pink.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

Protect and Honor

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Summary: Marcus Acacius promised his best friend he would look after his wife if he ever perished in battle. What he didn't expect was to fall in love.

Warnings: OC death (reader's husband), grief, descriptions of battle/wounds/blood, guilt, angst, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, dry humping, cum eating, pining, language

WC: 6.6K

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The entire city of Rome slept when the army returned. Warships quietly entered the port with another victory to announce, along with countless lifeless bodies in the hulls. Tomorrow, the emperors would rejoice, filling the streets and arena with games, wine, and laughter. But many families would be in mourning over the loss of fathers, brothers, children, and husbands.

It was those families Acacius thought about when he stood in between the young leaders of Rome, accepting praise and applause for leading those brave men into battle, then leaving their loved ones with holes in their hearts.

It wasn't unusual for him to feel burdened with responsibility and grief when he returned from war, but this time was especially painful because he lost someone very important: Antonius Sattius. His right hand man in battle, and his close friend since he was a boy. The man he celebrated with when he was married one year prior was now carefully carried from his ship, body draped in clean linen and emblazoned with gold.

His heart felt heavy in his chest as he made his way up the winding road to your modest home. Even though it was the middle of the night, he couldn't fathom not telling you the news right away. You deserved to know directly from him and not rumors that would inevitably flow through the streets at first light.

He knocked on your door, then stood with his head bowed and his hands clasped firmly at his waist. He wore his amour, although now clean, out of respect. His muscles were weary and everything ached, yet the thought of his own soft bed was distant in his mind when you swung open the door a moment later with a small lantern in your hand.

"Acacius?"

His head lifted and he met your gaze, eyes filled with sorrow, and watched while your expression changed from confusion to despair when you realized the reason he was alone at your door in the middle of the night.

"My lady, may I come in?"

Your lower lip trembled when you nodded and stepped aside, allowing his hulking frame to engulf your small sitting room as you hurried to light some candles with shaking hands.

"Was it quick?" you asked with your back to him. He nodded, standing stoically next to your furniture.

"Yes. He did not suffer."

Flashes of your husband's bloodied, dirt streaked face clouded his vision. He remembered voices shouting, swords clanging, and distant cries of pain as he hunched over Antonius's body, searching for signs of life.

You sighed and turned to face him, silent tears staining your cheeks, then slumped into a chair.

"Please, sit."

He relented and chose to sit across from you, perched on the edge of his seat, poised and ready but for what, he did not know. He watched you stare down at your tangled fingers in your lap, giving you time to process your loss.

"How will I ever go on? What am I going to do?" you whispered softly. Marcus pursed his lips, his heart breaking.

"I shall help you with anything you may need," he said. "I made a promise to him long ago. He was able to die with peace in his heart, knowing you would be watched over."

You gave him a weak smile. "And what was he to do for you, Acacius, if you had fallen first?" you asked. "No wife. No children. I have never heard you speak of family."

"He was my family," Marcus replied. "He promised to return my body to Rome, to be buried next to my mother and father."

You nodded solemnly and looked around the candlelit room. He could see the anguish flitting across your face as you tried to reconcile with the new life you would have come morning.

"If I had a choice, I would have taken his place."

"Do not say that," you said firmly. You narrowed your watery eyes at him and he fell silent. "We lost him for a reason. The gods - they have their reasons. Perhaps one day, we will discover what those are."

He held your gaze for a moment, a heaviness hanging in the air between you until the tears began to spill down your face and your vision blurred. Without considering decorum, Marcus stood and crossed the room to sit by your side. Tentatively, he reached for your hand, and you eagerly took it before leaning into his shoulder to sob quietly. All the while, Marcus sat strong beside you, letting you cry yourself out until your body sagged and your eyes could no longer remain open.

You didn't ask him to stay and he didn't ask permission. Once you disappeared into your bedroom, he removed his armor and made himself as comfortable as possible on your lounging chair before crossing his arms and willing himself to sleep.

The following morning you weren't surprised to hear Marcus stirring in your sitting room, no doubt being woken up by the two girls you had employed to assist with meals and laundry. A luxury, you realized, you would likely have to forgo as a widow.

You wrapped yourself in a fresh stola and splashed some water on your puffy face, trying to make yourself look halfway decent before exiting your bedroom. Marcus was just securing his armor when he turned to face you.

"I hope you were able to rest," he said. You saw some movement from the kitchen and your gaze slid over his shoulder to the two sets of eyes peering around the door. The girls saw you and quickly disappeared, but it didn't stop your face from warming when you realized they must have been whispering about Marcus being in your home so early in the morning.

"Some, yes," you replied. You swallowed thickly and stretched your arm towards the dining area. "Would you join me before you leave?"

"Of course, thank you," Marcus said, straightening his spine and following you into the room to sit at your table, where the two servants had already begun to place some food.

After you had filled your plates, you ate in silence, the only sound coming from the cleaning being done in the kitchen. As you stared down at your plate, you felt your stomach churn. The thought of eating while your husband lied dead somewhere in the city made you sick.

"What happens now?" you asked. Marcus set his fork down to look at you. "His body? Where is it? What do I need to do?"

"I was hoping to take some of his clothes to the mortuary while I am here," he said. "Whatever you prefer he be buried in, of course. If it is too much, I can assist in planning the ceremony."

"I do not wish to make a spectacle of it," you told him. "Antonius would not have cared for that."

"I will be sure to keep it small. The men will understand."

Marcus kept his promise. He planned most of the ceremony on your behalf and even stood valiantly at your side the entire time. He supplied the two coins for you to place upon your husband's closed eyes, then led you back home. You cried more tears you ever thought possible in the eight days you spent mourning while soldiers came to pay their respects in small groups, all the while Marcus sat by your side like a pillar of strength.

Once the typical mourning period passed, you expected Marcus to go back to his life where he might occasionally check in on you to uphold his promise, but to your surprise, he stopped by your home every day. It wasn't always the same time of day, nor for the same length of time, but every single day for months, you saw one another.

Eventually, you fell into a routine once a week where he would escort you to the markets. With your basket looped around one arm and your other hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, you meandered down the street together, wandering slowly from stall to stall until you gathered all the goods you needed for the week.

"I wish you would have kept the girls," Marcus told you for the third time that week. "I would have paid-"

"It was not about money," you reminded him, picking up a ripe piece of fruit and testing the firmness between your fingers. "It was unnecessary, I told you this already. What do I need servants for? To cook food for one? I hired them in anticipation of having children. My dream of being a mother is gone."

"You could remarry."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes before placing the fruit back and moving on.

"You know as well as I that suitors look for an untouched woman," you said quietly so that you couldn't be overheard.

Marcus remained silent by your side as you continued to stroll. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining but it wasn't terribly hot, and there was a slight breeze in the air, bringing with it the scent of lemon trees from a nearby orchard. You were about to open your mouth to remark on the perfect weather when Marcus spoke.

"I could help you find a suitor."

You twisted around and looked up at him in surprise. The sun glistened off his tanned, battle-scared face, his dark eyes gazing down at you without the faintest glimmer of humor.

"You are serious."

"If you like," he said, "I know there are some higher ranking officers who are still unwed. I would never bring any man who Antonius would not approve of."

The idea of moving on left you speechless. It was something you knew you should do, that otherwise you would live a long and lonely life, but it still unsettled you.

"Perhaps," you said slowly, then looked away. Marcus noticed your discomfort and patted your hand.

"If you are not ready, we can wait."

You nodded, pinching your lips together as you pretended to look at some flowers.

"And what of you, Acacius?" you asked, changing the subject. "Are you searching for a bride?"

Marcus chuckled and shook his head. "I fear the emperors have chosen war as my betrothed. It was a rare act of kindness they have allowed me this time of rest and mourning."

Your heart clenched in your chest, realizing for the first time that some day soon, Marcus would be sent off to a faraway land once again, leaving you all alone. Suddenly, the perfect weather and the sounds of the market was not enough to keep a smile on your face. You struggled to make sense of the mixed emotions you were feeling but did your best to shrug them off and carry on.

What you didn't realize that right next to you, Marcus was wrestling with the same uncertainty.

Just as you both expected but didn't want to acknowledge, three weeks later Marcus received word he was to lead Rome's army across the sea to conquer yet another distant city. When you heard the soft knock at your door far too early one morning, you sat up in bed, dread filling your chest.

With a cloak wrapped tightly around you, you slowly padded towards your door, only opening it timidly after taking a deep, shaky breath.

Marcus stood on the other side, clad in his black battle armor with a look of regret once again. Your heart sank as you tried not to slump against the doorframe.

"Come in," you said meekly. He nodded, jaw tense, and stepped inside your home the same way he had been every day for six months, only this time he set his sword by the door and turned to address you.

"I have my orders," he began, "I will be gone for a month or two, but I have asked a trusted retired general to check in on you in my absence."

You nodded and blinked away the tears that welled up in your eyes, but you weren't quick enough. Two fell down your cheeks and your lower lip quivered when his face softened and he stepped forward.

"Be brave," he murmured, cupping your jaw and swiping the tears away with his thumb. It was the most intimate thing he had done since you have known him. "I will return and escort you to the market in no time. Until then, do try to stay out of trouble. I do not want Julius to write of you injuring yourself chasing after the crows in your garden again."

You laughed as more tears spilled down your face. "I will try."

He smiled down warmly at you, eyes scanning your face and palm still cradling your jaw. You both felt something shift in that moment. The air grew thicker when your eyes met and your heart flipped when his gaze briefly fell to your lips. Your fingers itched to touch him, to pull him close and dispel of the gap between you, but you hesitated. Unknowingly, Marcus was doing the very same, swallowing nervously at the butterflies in his stomach, something he hadn't felt in years with a woman. But neither of you acted on your feelings, for the ghost of your husband still lingered in the room.

You cleared your throat and gently took his hand, the one that was pressed against your cheek, and pulled it down to hang between you.

"Please try not to die."

Marcus grinned and the air in the room instantly lifted.

"I will try."

Begrudgingly, he let go of your hand and took a step back. "I will return before you know it. And when I do," he said, bending to pick up his sword, "I expect to be inundated with all the exciting rumors around the city, first thing."

You bit your lower lip and swiped the back of your had across your cheek.

"I promise."

Marcus gave you one last lingering glance before forcing his feet to move. You watched with a heavy heart as he made his way down your walk, towards the road, towards the direction of the sea. From where you stood, you could just see the tops of the warships, their sails already fluffed in the dimness of the sliver of sun peaking over the horizon.

As it turned out, Julius was quite good company. He was old enough to have all grey hair and deep wrinkles around his eyes. He walked with a limp, which was assisted by a cane he had whittled when he was a much younger man. He would share a meal with you or sit in your garden a couple times a week, and he would tell you stories of war, his family, and the exciting adventures he had experienced throughout his long life.

"My wife passed on three years ago," he told you one morning while you watched the sun break through the clouds and warm up your vegetable garden, which was growing at a substantial rate. "She had grown quite ill for a long time. She suffered greatly, and it broke my heart to not be able to ease her burden."

You frowned and gently took his hand in yours. "I am so sorry, Julius. But I am sure she was grateful for every moment she had with you."

He smiled at you, yellowing teeth peeking out behind his lips.

"We had a lovely life together. I feel such sadness that you and Antonius were not afforded the same luxury."

"As do I," you sighed, then turned to look back out at your peaceful little garden. "But the time we had together was good. He was a kind and strong man. Marcus told me once in this very garden how he died. That he was saving the life of a young, scared soldier. He sacrificed himself for that young man, because that was the type of soul he had. Always looking out for others."

Julius ignored your slip of the tongue, using Marcus's informal name, and instead hummed quietly next to you as he considered your words.

"He sounds as though he would want you to find another," he said after a beat. "Am I wrong?"

You shrugged and fiddled nervously with the hem of your tunic.

"I suppose he would."

"So... will you allow yourself to find happiness once again?"

You pressed your lips together, gaze falling to your lap. "I would like to, but..."

You trailed off, cheeks burning from guilt. Julius gave you a moment before he spoke again.

"Do not tell me you cannot find any suitors. You are a beautiful woman."

You laughed and shook your head.

"I have not been interested in seeking out a courtship," you said, but Julius could hear the hesitation in your voice. Slowly, realization dawned on him.

"Acacius is a good man."

You whipped your head to the side, eyes wide with shock. "What are you implying?"

Julius shrugged. "He told me he has been here to visit you every day since the passing of your husband. He knows much about you, about your life. Spoke to me for what felt like hours before he left."

"Well, yes, he has been assisting me due to a past obligation he promised my husband," you assured him, sitting up straight.

"And what if he has been assisting you simply because he enjoys your company?" Julius asked. "That, perhaps, something has grown amongst the anguish, tethering his heart to your doorstep?"

You sputtered in surprise, struggling to come up with something to say. Julius just chuckled and patted your leg before standing.

"I am simply an old man," he told you, grabbing his cane and putting all his weight on the wood. "But I have experienced love. Despite what you may think, Acacius cares deeply for you, of that I am certain. And I do believe you feel the same for him."

He left you frozen on the worn bench in your garden, mind reeling and heart fluttering wildly in your chest. He spoke the very words you wished you could admit. Even in the solitude of your home, you could never say just how much you had grown to care for Marcus. And now that the words were out there, floating around in the summer breeze, you couldn't think about anything else.

Marcus had been gone nearly three months. Not one. Not two. But three whole months. Fear gripped your throat every passing day until finally you were walking along the shore one morning and far off in the distance, you could see the ships on the horizon. They were just a handful of black triangles, but you couldn't stop grinning. As each hour passed, they got closer and closer, pulling in groups of people all day long to watch, but they were so far away that by the time the sun set, all had retreated to their homes. It was too dark to watch the ships arrive, and citizens knew there would be a celebration in the morning, so everybody chose to go home and rest.

Everybody except for you.

You sat on the shore, the sea breeze whipping through your hair and cutting across your cheeks. You shivered from the spray of the ocean but you stood your post valiantly. When the first of the ships reached the docks, you stood and bounced nervously from foot to foot, yet still kept your distance.

It took nearly an hour for the ships to unload, but even in the darkness of night with only the dull flames from their lanterns to guide them, you saw a flash of bright red and your hands clamped excitedly over your mouth.

He was home. He lived and he was safe.

He was calling out orders to his men and ushering workers onto the ships to assist with the fallen and injured soldiers, his red cape draped around his broad shoulders, billowing in the wind. When he turned away to walk up the dock, head hung low and bones likely weary from battle, you couldn't hold back any longer.

"Acacius!"

His head snapped up and his eyes locked onto you immediately. Instantly, his face brightened and he smiled wide. His pace quickened to reach you and yours did the same until you finally found yourselves standing just a mere foot away, gazing up at his tired but happy face.

Neither of you knew what to say. Instead, you both let your eyes rake up and down the other, examining each other for any differences or maybe just to confirm it wasn't all a dream.

"You did not die," you breathed, both of you laughing.

"I did not," he said, smile still stretched across his face. A shiver shot down your spine at the sight of him, all tall and imposing and real. He quickly shed himself of his cape and wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you close against his armor and breathing you in.

"You smell of the sea. How long have you been here?"

"All day," you confessed, already feeling warmer. He tutted under his breath and nodded towards the sleeping city.

"I will walk you home and tomorrow, we shall celebrate."

You allowed him to lead you through the streets, listening to him tell you tales, but none of battle. He told you of the different animals he saw, about a terrible storm that gripped the army for three straight days, and how a drunken solider swore up and down he spotted a mermaid and had the whole ship poking fun at him for the remainder of the voyage.

You walked past the statue of him that was erected in the center of the city after his last victory and you grinned.

"I have not seen you in so long, I began to think this is what you looked like."

Marcus rolled his eyes and tugged you closer. "I am sorry it took longer than expected. I trust Julius kept you in good company?"

"He was wonderful," you told him honestly, then nervously added, "but I would have preferred you."

If it wasn't so dark, you would have seen his face flush.

"I have been told we will remain home for several months now," Marcus told you. "Emperor Geta has sought a bride. He wishes to spend the next few months planning a wedding. It sounds as though his bloodlust has been assuaged for now."

"Ah, so you are saying I get you all to myself once again?"

Marcus laughed as his face grew even warmer than before. "So it seems, my lady."

He walked you up the familiar path to your door, waiting patiently as you unlocked it and hurried inside to fetch your lantern. When you returned, you sheepishly handed him his cape with your thanks.

He did not toss it over his shoulders. Instead, he gripped it in one hand while his eyes roamed over your beautiful face. He had missed you so much that it caused an ache in his chest the whole time he was gone, mind riddled with thoughts of you to the point where he felt like a madman.

Inviting him inside would be forward and untoward. You racked your mind for a legitimate reason, but you couldn't think of a single one. So, you resigned yourself to feeling grateful he was alive and unscathed, that you could sleep peacefully knowing he was home and you would see him tomorrow.

"You will be by in the morning?" you finally asked when the silence had gone on long enough. Marcus blinked and focused on your eyes.

"Yes," he said, "first thing. I shall be here as if no time had passed at all."

You grinned and bit your lip. "Wonderful. Then... I suppose I will release you. Please go home and rest, General, you have earned it."

He nodded in agreement, then forced his feet to move away from you, even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to go the opposite direction, into your arms.

"Sleep well," he croaked, eyes still glued to your face. You smiled shyly, the reaction so endearing it had his heart leaping.

"You as well. I am glad you are home safe."

He stumbled backwards but continued to gaze at you until you giggled and slowly shut the door. Once you were hidden in the safety of your home, you took a deep, ragged breath and fanned your face. Your pulse was racing and your blood was pumping so fast, you were certain you wouldn't sleep a wink all night. Instead, you set your lantern down and began to pace around your sitting room, wondering what you should do to exhaust yourself when suddenly, you heard a sharp rap on your door.

Without thinking, you rushed to open it, already knowing exactly who it was.

"Marcus," you breathed when you laid eyes on him once again. He looked slightly different now, a little more disheveled and filled with determination. "W-what is wrong?"

You watched his throat bob nervously before he stepped forward and cupped your face.

"My apologies," he said, "but I should have done this months ago."

His neck craned down and his lips pressed urgently against yours. You melted immediately, throwing one arm around the back of his neck to pull him inside so he could kick the door closed behind him. His tongue flicked across your lower lip and your jaw dropped, granting him access to deepen the kiss.

His hands dragged down your sides, fingers plucking at the fabric of your stola as you lead him further into your home.

When you staggered into your bedroom, his eyes popped open to look around. It was modest, just like the rest of your home. A soft, large enough bed sat in the middle of the room, along with a small wardrobe and a chair that sat next to it. It was quaint and unassuming, just like you.

"Wait," he whispered, breaking the kiss. His palms still pressed against your cheeks, fingertips curling around the backs of your ears. You looked up at him, lips wet and parted, panting for air. "Are you quite sure this is what you want? We can slow down, we can wait."

"I am sure," you replied. Your hands fell to the tie on your stola, blindly undoing the knot as you continued to hold his gaze. "I thought of you every day. I feared something would happen to you and you would never know my true feelings. My heart could hardly handle the stress."

You felt the fabric slip loose and fall to the floor. Marcus's eyes darted down and with pride blooming in your chest, noticed the hungry way he looked at your naked body for the first time.

"Thoughts of you were the only thing that kept me alive," he murmured, walking you backwards to lay you down on your bed. He began to unhook his armor, all the while his eyes remained roaming over you. "You saved me more ways than I could count, my lady."

You almost told him that he saved you, as well. But something about the look in his eye told you he already knew. After the loss of Antonius, you were not the only one who felt despair. You both were broken, the memory of Marcus's dearest friend, your husband, weighing heavy on both your hearts. But finally, after months and months, you came to the realization that Marcus was your husband's final gift to you.

Once he finally rid himself of the last of his clothes, you allowed yourself a moment to take him in. He was strong and broad, just as you imagined, and his body was littered with old scars. By all accounts, he looked like a rough man, but much to your delight, his touch was soft and his kiss was tender. When he climbed on top of you, settling his hips between your legs and sliding his tongue leisurely past your teeth, you didn't feel scared. You felt safe.

The tip of his cock nudged against your inner thigh when he shifted his weight. The subtle reminder of his thick length you had only gotten a glimpse of caused you to inhale sharply.

"You are so soft," he mumbled against your mouth. His calloused hand drifted up and down your side, gently grazing along your skin before it rested on your breast, cupping the heavy flesh in his palm and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You moaned and lifted your back off the bed, pressing into his hold while your fingers got lost in his hair.

Something stirred inside of him when he heard the noise of pleasure escape your lips. His hips ground against you and his mouth trailed down to suck a mark on the sensitive skin of your throat, eager to pull more sounds from you. It took no time at all before you were whining and rolling your hips in rhythm with his, relishing in the feeling of his cock gliding between your folds, taunting you with his size.

The very same hand that took countless lives with the blade of his sword slipped between your bodies so he could stroke two fingers through your pussy, testing your arousal and making a pleased noise at what he found.

"Does that feel good?" he asked lowly. His chest had pressed against yours, desperate to feel as close to you as possible, with only his arm separating you.

"Yes," you gasped while wrapping your legs around his waist. It seemed you wanted to be closer, as well. "I wish to feel you. Please, my general, do not make me beg."

Marcus chuckled against your throat, fingers still petting at your entrance. "I am willing to wager you would sound so pretty begging for my cock."

You squirmed impatiently underneath him and nipped playfully at his scratchy cheek, making him smile.

"Fine. If I really must," you sighed, "please, Marcus. I have spent countless nights dreaming of all the ways you would make me yours." You felt his muscles tense and his lips paused against your neck. "I would lie in this very bed wondering what kind of lover you are, your favored position to take a woman, and how incredible it would feel to be split open by your thick cock."

Marcus reared back with a growl, fisting himself before lining up his cock at your opening. Blind with lust and need, he pushed forward, entering you with one swift pass. Your head flew back into the sheets at the sudden fullness, mouth opening and closing pathetically, unable to formulate a single sound.

"Breathe," Marcus reminded you when he fell forward to rest on his forearms which were braced on the sides of your head. "Breathe for me, my love."

You forced yourself to drag in a shuddering breath, the pressure between your legs stealing all your attention. You couldn't stop yourself from glancing down, mouth agape, to see where you were joined, almost as if you couldn't believe it unless you looked. Seeing yourself stretched around his considerable girth shook loose a shattered noise from the back of your throat. His nose brushed against the side of your head and you heard a similar noise from him when he followed your gaze.

"Look how beautiful," he murmured before slowly pulling back his hips, leaving just the tip of his cock nestled snugly inside your cunt. Your eyes widened when you saw how his length glistened in the candlelight, soaked with your arousal, then moaned his name into the night air when he sunk back inside you, parting your walls and carving a spot for himself to claim as his own.

"You are so tight," he grunted, jaw clenched from the way you squeezed around him every time he thrusted back inside you. "Next time, I will make you come from my tongue and fingers first. But tonight, I simply could not wait."

You huffed a breathless laugh and dragged your eyes up to meet his. "I had no idea the fearsome General of Rome was so indecent."

Marcus lifted the corner of his mouth in a smirk. "I look forward to showing you just how indecent I am."

With every thrust, he drove himself deeper, knocking the air from your lungs each time the tip of his cock met a place inside you that had your back arching off the bed and your nails leaving red marks down his back.

Your hips burned from how wide you stretched and your skin tingled everywhere his lips touched. He was gentle, but assertive, a lethal combination you didn't know you needed until it was between your legs, whispering filth in your ear while ramming himself inside of you over and over.

You whispered his name, voice broken and raspy, then said, "I am close... please, please-"

Before you had a chance to realize what was happening, he rolled over, pulling you with him so you sat slumped over his chest. You blinked and looked around before pushing yourself up. Straddling his hips, you gazed down at him, eyes unfocused and hazy with desire.

"I now see why I never felt the urge to seek out a wife," he whispered, watching when you got your bearings and began to bounce in his lap. His fingers gripped your hips, indenting your skin and helping you move. "None could ever compare to you. You are more beautiful than any flower, taste better than any sweet-" He groaned when you began to circle your hips faster, grinding down on him and breathing heavily. "Your eyes shine brighter than any star. And this fucking cunt-" he growled, roughly grabbing at your ass so he could pull you up and down on his shaft. You cried out, fingers scrambling for purchase on his chest. "Best fucking cunt I ever had. Gods above, Rome could be in flames and it would not keep me from between your legs."

"Marcus," you whined, gasping for air while the pressure mounted low in your belly. "So deep... s-so deep, I can hardly breathe."

"Come for me," he commanded, "come on my cock. I wish to see the look on your beautiful face when you fall apart."

Moments later, you did just as he asked. Your eyes squeezed shut but stars burst behind your lids as your orgasm rolled through you, hitting you in waves that had you cursing and crying his name. The blood rushing in your ears was so loud, you didn't even realize he was speaking until his massive hands lifted you off with an urgency that had your eyes snapping back open. When you looked down, he was furiously stroking his cock, chin tilted towards the ceiling and bronzed chest glistening with sweat.

As quickly as you could, you slid down to the floor, kneeling between his thighs and pulling on his free hand for attention. When he saw you gazing up at him with your mouth open, spent but eager for his seed in your mouth, he whimpered and pushed himself up.

"Stick out your tongue," he whispered. You did as he asked, a shiver shooting down your spine when you heard his voice so thick with desire.

The fat head of his cock rested on your warm tongue. When his eyes met yours, you preened at the instant look of relief you saw half a second before he spilled down your throat.

His jaw hung open wide, hypnotized as he watched thick streams of his seed paint your lips and tongue. It wasn't until he was milked dry and exhausted that he let go of his cock. With parted lips, he gently lifted your chin, closing your mouth and nodding at you to swallow. He gave you a satisfied smile when your throat bobbed and you licked your lips, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And you speak of indecency," he said, voice hoarse.

You giggled and climbed into his lap, slinging your arms around his neck and nuzzling against his throat. With a deep sigh, he leaned back, pulling you with him until your bodies were stretched out across your bed, limbs tangled together while you caught your breath.

"Will you stay?" you asked meekly as you traced invisible shapes over his chest. He kissed the top of your head and gently squeezed your arm.

"Of course."

You laid just like that, holding one another with only the sound of insects outside your window filling the silence. Eventually, Marcus shifted a bit and your chin tilted up.

"Are you..." he began, then you watched him swallow nervously as his eyes darted up towards the ceiling before trying again. "Do you feel any regret? Or... guilt?"

You turned so your chin rested on top of his chest. "No. Do you?"

He shook his head but kept his eyes pinned to the ceiling.

"Not anymore. But months ago, when I began to see you differently... yes, I did."

You pressed a soft kiss against his skin, making his eyes drift back down to you. "I believe I denied my feelings for a very long time for the same reason," you admitted, "but while you were gone, it afforded me the time to think. And I have concluded Antonius sent you to me for a reason. He requested you take care of me should anything happen." You shrugged and rested the side of your head against his shoulder. "I believe he trusted you more than anybody in his life. He would have been happier I chose you rather than some stranger."

He considered your words for a moment before nodding and turning on his side. You smiled up at him sleepily with your head resting on the inside of his bicep. He cupped your cheek and, after searching your eyes, slotted his lips with yours for a tender kiss.

"Do you think we can share a fruitful life together?" he asked with his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your cheek.

"Oh, yes. You ought to see my vegetable garden. I hardly need to go to the market for much any more," you joked.

He laughed, dark eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight.

"That is a good start," he said, and you giggled. When you both quieted down, he gave you another kiss before saying, "I would be honored to take care of you for the rest of our days, if that is something you want."

"It is," you replied a little too quickly.

His face lit up at your eagerness. "Good. Then let us rest. Tomorrow at the ceremonies, I shall announce our pending nuptials."

And although it felt a little fast, you didn't argue.

Marcus followed through with his promise, as he always did. The following morning, you both dressed in your finest clothes to attend the celebrations being held at the arena. It was never something you enjoyed attending, the ritual of sacrifice feeling barbaric, but on that particular day you didn't mind. You sat with Marcus in the emperor's box, a place you only ever saw from afar. He introduced you to the emperors and you tried your best not to let your nerves show. Before the games began, Marcus announced his plans to wed, which was met with polite acclaim by those seated in the box.

"That was a little scary," you admitted quietly to Marcus once everyone had found their seats and the first fight began. The loud cheering and yelling drowned out anything you said, but you still kept your voice low.

"Nothing to be scared of, my lady," he assured you with the squeeze of your hand. You smiled when he brought your knuckles to his lips for a brief kiss. "I told you I would protect you for the rest of our days."

Happiness bloomed in your chest, excited for what your future held. But there was one thing you knew for certain:

As long as Marcus was by your side, you would never know sadness again.

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My collection for Black is Beautiful.

Petitions - UK Government and Parliament

Petition: Do not stop transgender people from receiving care in mainstream hospital wards

The previous government proposed changes to the NHS constitution which would mean transgender hospital patients in England may not be treate

Well fucks? Get to it!

Columba 

summary: It isn’t until you’re in his home that you learn it’s General Marcus Acacius who’s summoned you for your services—you’re not sure why he did, when the other courtesans standing beside you, hoping to be chosen by him, have bodies that look nothing like yours.

pairing: Marcus Acacius/Plus Size f!reader (Courtesan)

rating: E (18+!! This is smut. No y/n, explicit smut, plus size reader, courtesan reader, age gap (reader is of legal age in today’s standards), takes place pre-Gladiator 2, dommy Marcus Acacius (loves giving orders), he’s a tiny bit possessive, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, rough sex, backshots, woman on top, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, breast worship, hair pulling (m receiving), slight breeding kink, (1) pussy slap, dirty talk, spanking, spit mention, some biting, with hair like that he wants it pulled, some sweetness at the end) 

word count: 4.8k+

a/n: I took one look at Marcus’ hair and immediately thought, that guy likes his hair pulled. I also decided that since he spends weeks to months with a bunch of men at a time, when he comes home, he really appreciates a curvy woman. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything for him until I saw the movie, but the trailer got me. This is unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Masterlist

It was the marble bust atop a pedestal that revealed whose home you were in. The opulence of the domus’ atrium, with its four tall marble columns surrounding the impluvium's shallow, sunken pool in the middle of the room and the compluvium’s opening in the ceiling above it, allowing the moon’s light to filter in, told you whoever lived here had notoriety—then you saw the face carved out of stone, recognizing the curls and strong nose you'd only ever seen as he was paraded past you down the street in honor of his latest victory, and you knew.

General Marcus Acacius is a man feared by many for his ferocity and skills in battle. It's been said Mars, the God of War, blessed his birth, while others believe his bloodline is descended from the God himself. What you know to be true is he's a gifted General that the Emperors and Gods have smiled upon, and in his presence, an intimidating figure you didn't dare look at unless you were addressed.

There are four women standing to your right, all of you younger than him, naked, and courtesans of the highest standard—well-educated and well-versed in politics along with the pleasures of the body—and highly sought out by society's elite. 

Marcus is at the opposite end, silently making his way down the line with what you can only assume is a scrutinizing eye, and you fear there's been a mistake that you're here—the other courtesans are all built similarly with small breasts, flattened stomachs and thinner waists than yours, whereas you’re curvier, and have more meat on your bones, with your bigger chest, soft noticeable belly, and grabbable hips. Clearly, he requested a particular type of woman, and it doesn't appear you're it. Staring down at the tiled floor seems better than seeing the disappointment on his face when he gets to you. 

His sandaled feet come into view as he stands before you, and you can feel his eyes roaming over your bare body—golden snake bracelets coil around each of your upper arms, and at the unexpected gentle touch of his fingertips to one, you flinch. 

"Do I frighten you?" His voice is a low, deep rasp that shivers down your spine. 

"No, Sir," you answer.

His thumb strokes over the snake's head and along its body. "Why do you flinch?" 

Raising your head, you see he’s wearing a white tunic with a gold pattern lining around his neck, down his arms, and along the hem, a belt securing it at his waist; golden cuffs covered his wrists. You’re met with dark eyes, a furrow crinkling between his eyebrows—his brown hair with a kiss of gray, curls like waves on his head, his facial hair dotted with a few silvery strands. It takes you a second to answer his question because the glimpses of him you caught during victory parades and the marble bust didn't prepare you for his beauty. 

Mars and Venus have bestowed their blessings upon him. 

“My apologies, Sir,” you finally reply. “It was simply surprise at being graced by your touch.” His expression is difficult to read, so you continue speaking, “I’ve heard of your prowess in battle that inspires songs and how your enemies tremble before you, but I do not believe I have reason to fear you—unless that is something you wish. Do you wish for me to be frightened of you?” 

Some men liked it if you acted afraid of them to feel powerful. Some men, usually the big, tough ones, liked to bury their faces in your bosom while you held them. The slight show of relief on Marcus’ face when you said you had no reason to fear him made you suspect he’d be in the latter category. 

“No.” His eyes are locked onto yours. “I do not need another to fear me. I wish for you to want my touch.” 

“I wish for more than your touch,” you reply. “I wish to feel your lips on mine and your weight on top of me, I wish to feel your cock inside me and to hear the sounds you make when you peak, and I do wish for your touch; I wish to feel your hands claim my body as yours.” 

His gaze turns to one of desire, and it makes you smile. 

"You," he says. "Stay. The rest of you,” he announces, keeping his eyes on yours, “leave us.”

The invitation the messenger brought to your home the day prior did not state who requested your services; it simply said the person was a public figure, and the woman picked would be paid handsomely.

The servants, who stood as still as statues against a wall, scurried to assist each of the other women with redressing.

"Come," he orders, offering you a hand you accept. He leads you to a room you realize is his personal quarters when you spot his armor in a corner, Medusa's golden head on the cuirass shining in the candlelight—she wards off evil and offers protection. There's a bed against the wall opposite the door, and he lets go of your hand, slipping off his sandals by the doorway before walking over to a thin table laden with a jug, cups, and a bowl of berries and grapes. 

"Care for some wine?" he asks without looking at you while pouring himself a cup. 

His body is tense, and you’re assuming you’re here to help him relax—he arrived home only days ago from war, and you got a chance to see him rolling down the street on a chariot as he waved to the cheering masses. It would make sense that he could use somebody with your expertise to get him to unwind. 

“No, thank you, Sir,” you answer, and he faces you again, taking a drink. “It’s a great honor that you chose me, and I do not wish to forget a single moment.” 

His cup lowers, and you're surprised to find he’s wearing a little smile. He twists to set his wine down next to the jug, and removes the cuffs from his wrists, setting them onto the table then his eyes are on yours. 

"Marcus," he says, and it only takes a few strides to have him in front of you again. 

"I'm sorry?" you ask.

His attention moves to your body, and he’s not looking upon you like an object or something he’s just purchased as most men do; his gaze is appreciative, the same kind of look you could imagine was on his face when he stared at art that pleased him. Your figure isn’t the ideal for most Roman women—your hips are too wide, your breasts are too large, your ass is too big, your thighs are too thick, and your stomach is too noticeable—yet, there are many men who sought you out and paid well for your time, and it seems the General is one of them. 

"My name." He walks around you, his fingers sliding along your upper back from shoulder to shoulder. “Call me Marcus. I want you to be familiar with how my name tastes on your tongue.” 

The touch and his words cause your nipples to harden and goosebumps to rise on your skin.

"Marcus,” you say. 

He’s in front of you again, his darkened eyes on yours. His big hands grip your waist, pulling you into him, and he shoves his face into the crook of your neck, feeling him inhale deeply. “Gods, you’re the best thing I’ve smelled in months.” The words are said against your flesh. “Like a meadow of flowers in Spring, and I fail to remember the last time I felt such softness.” He squeezes the fleshy handles at your hips and goes lower to grab handfuls of your ass, then runs his hands up your back. “Upon hearing your description,” he says, “I knew you’d be perfect, but what I imagined has no comparison to seeing your beauty with my own eyes.” His admission catches you off guard as it sounds as though he always intended to pick you from the line of women. It’s curious that he even invited the others if his mind had been set beforehand. He straightens, meeting your gaze. “Take off my clothes.” 

There's no need to reply; you just do as he ordered, getting his belt undone, the leather falling to the floor, then pulling his tunic over his head, it meeting the same fate as his belt. 

He’s completely nude, standing at his full height before you. 

You expected the scars etched all over his body, the evidence that he'd lay down his life for Rome without hesitation. There's a long, jagged one across his right pec, silvered with age, that has you forgetting yourself and softly pressing your fingertips to it.

He snatches your smaller hand, pulling it away from his marred skin. 

"My apologies," you quickly say, bowing your head in submission. "I shouldn't have touched you without permission." 

"You may touch me." Once again, he surprises you by putting the flat of your palm against the scar, his other hand grabbing your chin to lift your face. 

From his reaction to your fingers on him, you think he hasn’t been with a woman in quite some time, and you hope you can make up for all the nights he spent alone. 

It seems he's done with the pleasantries when his lips crush into yours. It's all of the encouragement you need, kissing him back while rubbing your palms up his broad chest, feeling his warmth. You snake a hand down his stomach through the trail of hair low on his belly to take his half-hard cock into your hand—he groans and twitches in your hold.

He truly has the Gods' favor—a talented General, handsome and well-endowed. 

With his hands on your waist, he walks you backward to the bed, laying you on the mattress. He's on top of you, deepening the kiss with his tongue pressing into your mouth, his hand palming your tit, making you wet with arousal and your body heat. 

It's fascinating how he's defying all of your expectations. The men who seek you out after spending months fighting are often rough and brutish, using you however they want to release their tension. There's never kissing or offers of drink; it's orders to suck their cocks, or to get on the bed in their desired position—and here's Marcus kissing down your body, along the skin of your neck to your chest. Most of his weight is on his knees between your legs while bending forward over you, and the only word you can think of to describe it is he's worshipping your breasts. He has them in his hands, moving from one to the other, licking, sucking, and nibbling on your nipples and soft skin, the sensations making your pussy weep with need. 

“Gods, Marcus,” you moan. He has you squirming with how good it feels, your fingers pushing into his curls. He takes a pebbled bud between his teeth and gently tugs. “Oh,” you gasp, your hands tightening in the tousled waves on his head.

He releases your nipple. “Harder,” he rasps, then flicks his tongue against your stiff peak, and you do as requested, pulling his hair harder. A loud groan rumbles from his chest as he continues laving at your tits, skimming his hand down your stomach, your skin tingling under his fingertips, until he’s sliding two fingers through your wet slit. You tighten your hold on his head, your toes curling when he starts rubbing your clit, and the realization hits that he intends for you to have just as much enjoyment as him. 

"Marcus," you whine.

He’s one of those men who has you praying that he’ll wish for your company again, and you wouldn’t even make him pay if you got another chance to warm his bed. 

The push of his thick digit into your pussy makes your breath hitch at the slight stretch, his thumb pressing to your sensitive bundle of nerves, moving side to side—you know he’s going to make you come, and you silently thank the Gods.

His finger is pushing in and out of you, his thumb continuing its movements, and he lifts his face to look you in the eyes, his own are so black there’s hardly a sliver of brown remaining. "Come for me," he commands, slipping a second digit inside you—you’re so wet you can hear the slick slide of his fingers pumping into you. The muscles in your belly are tightening, and the fire in your core is building. "Come for me, sweet girl." His head dips to lightly bite your nipple before soothing it with his tongue. "Once you come, I'll do as you wish and sheath my cock into this perfect cunt." 

The hot heat of his mouth envelops your pebbled bud, and he sucks—it's your undoing; your eyes close as you fall over the edge, coming with a moan of his name. His digits and mouth continue to extend your ecstasy while your chest heaves with labored breaths and your heart pounds. 

He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, his hand sliding from your pussy, up your stomach, leaving a trail of your release on your skin. His voice deepens, “You’ve done well for me, and I keep my word—turn over.” 

He helps you to roll onto your front, and you get up onto your hands and knees—a familiar position. He takes a moment to admire you in front of him, his palms feeling the thickness of your thighs and hips. His fingers dig into your plump asscheeks as he spreads them and dips his head, hearing and feeling him spit between them, the hot saliva dripping from your asshole down to your opening. He shuffles up behind you, sliding his cock through the wetness of your come and his spit to lubricate himself, then notches it at your entrance—you both moan as he slowly starts feeding himself into you. 

Gods, he’s big. 

There’s a slight burn with how he’s stretching you, your inner walls having to accommodate his ample girth, and once he’s pressed all the way to the root inside you, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in. 

He has a tight grip on your waist and pulls out almost all the way, immediately pushing back into you hard enough there's a clap when his hips hit your ass. This was expected, Marcus setting up a rhythm that punches the air from your lungs each time he thrusts forward—he’s working out what he doesn’t wish to feel, and with how slippery it is between your legs, he's moving easily, and the brutal pace feels amazing. 

Many times, you’ve had to fake your enjoyment to make those employing you think they’re talented lovers—the majority are selfish in bed and care little about your comfort but want their egos stroked. Marcus, on the other hand, earned your favor when he took the time to ready you with his fingers and allowed you to climax. 

He's pounding into you, the collide of his body against yours making your asscheeks shake, and with how his cock is pressing into something truly divine, he’s also earned your screams of his name and whatever incoherent words are babbling from your mouth—he has you dizzy with pleasure, heat coiling in your belly, and there’s no doubting the Goddess of Beauty and Sex has given him her blessing. 

Sounds are spilling unbidden from your lips, Marcus loudly grunting with each stroke, the wet slap of skin hitting skin echoing in the room, and you look over your shoulder—the candlelight around the room shows the glisten of sweat on his golden skin. His head is thrown back, his eyes closed, and his jaw slack. Hair is sticking to his forehead, and a beautiful rosy flush has begun on his chest, rising up his neck to paint his cheeks. You can't think of another you've laid with who looked so breathtaking while taking their pleasure, and you could only imagine how glorious he’d look on the battlefield. You don't know what comes over you, reaching your hand back to touch his hip, and suddenly, he’s looking at you, his eyes glazed with lust. 

It’s as though he’s been in a trance, losing himself in your body, and now he’s come back to be in the moment with you. He falls forward, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of you, blanketing your back and slowing his pace. His chin is on your shoulder, and he bites the shell of your ear; all of his weight goes onto one arm to free up the other that roughly grabs your breast and plucks at your nipple.

“You take me so well,” he says into your ear, his cock continuing to slide in and out of you. “Your sweet little cunt will milk me dry, and then I’ll have you again and again after that to keep you full of my seed.” 

His words steal a moan from your lips. 

“Does that please you, my sweet girl?” he asks. “You wish for more of me? Has another ever fucked you so good?” He gets his hand between your legs to circle the pearl of your pleasure, and your jaw drops, eyes closing—he’s going to make you come again. “Answer me,” he growls, lightly slapping your clit, and you clench around him. 

It’s challenging to think, but you say, “No,” and push your ass back against him as he thrusts forward, fucking yourself on him to get closer and closer to your end. “I’ve never had such fortune.” 

“You do now—by morning, I’ll have you ruined for any other man, and your cunt won’t soon forget the shape of my cock.” 

He means every word that slips from his tongue, and it sets the fire in your belly ablaze. You’re holding yourself up on shaky limbs, the muscles in your stomach knotting up—you’re close.

“Marcus,” you moan. 

His warm breath tickles your ear as he speaks into it: “I love how my name sounds from your lips. I know you’re close. Give in so I can feel you ascend to the heavens.” 

His words, the fullness of his thick shaft moving in and out of you, and his fingers swirling around your sensitive bundle at the apex of your thighs has you shattering—stars burst behind your eyelids as white-hot pleasure erupts in your center, your pussy clamping down on him hard enough he slows to a stop, and groans in your ear.

You exhale panted breaths, your heart beating rapidly, and the blissful euphoria ripples through your body, slowly ebbing away. 

Somehow, you find your voice, "Allow me to ride you." 

He kisses your shoulder, his beard scratching against your bare skin. "You want to mount me?" he asks. 

"Yes."

"Then you shall." 

He pulls out of you, an achy groan leaving him as he lies beside you on his back, and you get up onto your knees. He draws your attention with how he’s splayed out on the mattress, his long legs slightly spread and arms crossed over his head. His cock is still hard, it shiny with your juices, and resting against his lower belly, cushioned by the tantalizing path of hair that led directly to it—and he’s looking up at you, his eyes dark with want that keep lowering to your bosom, and back up to your eye line, the pink of his tongue wetting his bottom lip, that you suddenly wish to bite. 

There’s the common knowledge about Marcus all of Rome is aware of—the family he comes from and the military achievements that have led to him being the victorious General the Gods have blessed the city with, and now you’re versed in his more private attributes—he likes his women to be sturdy with sizeable breasts, he enjoys the pleasurable pain of his hair pulled, he’s a generous lover, he prefers to be in control unless you can tempt him enough to hand over the reins. It’s quite tempting for him to lie back and watch your tits bounce as you ride him. 

Shuffling in place to face him, taking his hard length in hand—he didn’t ask, and you didn’t offer, yet you want to take care of him like he took care of you, so you scoot back enough that you can bend down at the waist, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock.

The sound of Marcus’ loud moan and the way his back arches as if it were the string of a bow shoots straight to your cunt—you can taste the mix of your essence and his arousal that’s steadily dribbling from the sensitive head that you lick and suckle; your hand easily stroking up and down the sheath of skin on his shaft. The muscles in his thighs and stomach have tensed like it’s taking everything in him to hold back and not fill your mouth with his come.

“Enough,” he grits the order through his teeth, and his palm lands on the side of your ass with a hard slap that echoes against the walls, the sharp sting getting a moan out of you—your head lifts off of him to see he’s scowling. “I’m not spilling down your throat,” he continues and smacks your ass again. “Ride me, or I’ll have you under me.” 

“Apologies, Marcus,” you reply demurely and sit up on your knees once more. Quickly, you move, throwing a leg over his waist to have your thick thighs hugging his hips. You rise, grabbing his cock, you press to your entrance, and you watch his face as you slowly start to impale yourself on him, relishing in how his mouth falls open and the tight grip he has on the meat of your thighs, his fingers digging into them hard enough it bordered on painful. 

The fullness is incredible when you sit flush against him, and you love how he fills you. Your palms find purchase on his broad chest, and you rise until only the tip of him remains inside of you, and you drop back down—the rhythm you set has you moving in his lap, up and down in quick succession, Marcus groaning, his eyes locked on the jiggle of your breasts. 

Sweat forms on your skin, feeling it on your forehead and a single drop sliding down your spine, your eyes closed as you focus, your moans stuttering each time you sink onto him. 

His hands are resting on your backside, rising and falling with you, his voice rough with pleasure, “That’s it, ride me, bounce on my cock.”

This isn’t about you, and though it feels good riding him, your goal is helping him achieve his own high, and you’re determined to do so—your hands leave him to press your tits together, and you gasp in surprise when he sits up and shoves his face into them. Your pace doesn’t waver, and you look at him to see he’s keeping himself up with an arm braced on the bed behind him, the other hand grabbing a handful of your ass, and you know he’s not going to last much longer. 

Your fingers slide into the unruly curls at the back of his head, and you yank them hard to make him look at you, Marcus hissing while his cock twitches inside you. In this position, you’re taller, and he gazes up to meet your eyes. 

“I want you to come,” you pant, continuing to fuck yourself on him. “I want to feel you flood my cunt with your seed.” The noise he makes sounds like a whine. “Then I want you to do it again, and again after that—I want you to fill me to the point I’m brimming with you, and you’re in me for days.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut as he groans out a long, drawn-out Fuck

With his beautiful neck on display, you duck your head and lick up the taut skin of his throat, wishing you could suck a mark into it to remind him of you for a while after you part ways. His free hand roughly grabs your chin to pull you close enough for him to slot his lips against yours, and you have to slow to a grind as he messily kisses you, shoving his tongue into your mouth. 

He breaks away to fall back onto the mattress, his fingers getting a tight grip on your ass, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts you enough to start thrusting up into your soaked pussy rapidly—he’s grunting while baring his teeth to chase his high, and all you can do is press your palms to his chest for balance while keeping yourself raised enough for him to pound into you. 

The slick push and pull of him, moving in and out of you, has you chanting his name, and it sounds wet between your legs, hearing the clap of skin on skin of him plowing into you. Perspiration makes his tan flesh glint under the candle's light, his hair is a mess atop his head, and his expression is wild; it’s no surprise when his strokes get uneven and his eyes close. Marcus tugs your ass down to bury himself as far as possible in you as he gives in, coming with a guttural groan—you feel his cock jerk and the wet pulse as he paints your insides with spurts and spurts of his spend, wringing himself out until his body goes completely lax.

He pulls you forward to lie on top of him, wrapping his arms around your middle, and turns you both onto your sides. There’s a hiss that slips from his lips when he removes his softening length from your cunt, and you smile at Marcus sliding down the bed far enough for his face to nuzzle in your bosom while hugging you tight. Your fingers stroke through his sweat-damp curls, his hums of appreciation sounding like the purr of a cat. 

Minutes pass in silence as your breaths even out and your hearts slow. After some time, he says something you can’t make out.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” you reply. 

His head lifts, and he kisses under your chin. “Stay,” he says again. 

“I have no intention of leaving. I’m here until you send me away.” 

“And if I don’t wish to send you away?” 

His lips trail along your jaw. 

Your eyebrows pull together. “As I said, I’m here until you request my leave.” 

“And if I never request your leave?” 

He’s kissing your neck now, the question making your eyes round. “You intend for me to be your mistress?” 

It’s not uncommon for a courtesan to become one’s mistress. Some of you are from families of wealth and do this line of work for the powerful connections, while others are freedwomen who’ve worked their way up to earn their notoriety—either case, courtesans are respected and thought to make great mistresses. 

“That is all I can offer since I have no plans to marry,” he answers. “You can stay here with or without me when I’m ordered away, and whatever is left of my salary and spoils of war after the household debts are paid, you may keep.”

He makes you frown. 

“Why me?”

Marcus gets his arm out from under you and scoots up the mattress to look you in the eyes. 

“You’re everything I desire in a woman with your beauty and intellect, and you can sate my needs in bed—you’re perfect, and I want you all to myself. I do not wish to share you with anyone else.”

It’s in this moment you realize you’re the one in control here—you don’t need him, you’re self-sufficient, and there are many who’d eagerly take his place, but your looks are rare in your profession, and he needs his deal to be enticing enough for you to take it. 

“What if I decline your offer?” 

“Then I pray you’ll allow me to keep your company until I receive my next orders.” 

He seems to be a good, honorable man who wants to please you, and he had you tempted to accept on the merit of his skills in bed alone—there’s just something that won’t leave your mind. 

“Before I make my decision, answer this question: if you believe me to be so perfect, why were the others here?” 

He presses his large palm to your cheek. “It was in your power to deny me your company, and though the other women weren’t of my tastes, they were better than nothing.” 

You see no flaws in his answer. 

“I accept your offer on one condition.”

“And that is?”

You no longer find him intimidating, and you’re now comfortable brushing errant hairs off his forehead and sliding your fingers through the curls above his ears. 

Your eyes lock onto his. “You return home to me,” you tell him. “You fight with the might of Mars, and you always return home to me.” 

That earns you a small smile, and he takes your hand into his, kissing the center of your palm. 

“I will, my Dove.” 

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