ambthegamer

[ambthegamer]

[ambthegamer]

Eventually she will cave or maybe he will?

Violent Hearts (III)

Emperor Geta x reader

Find the series masterlist here

The day of your wedding to Geta arrives

Chapter III warnings: 18+ minors dni - forced marriage, misogynistic views, alcohol use, a kiss, Geta undresses in front of reader without her consent, reader’s hair is braided but there’s no mention of specific length or texture. 3.3k

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The days after the emperor laid his claim on you were frustrating to say the least.

That night you had tossed and turned, unable to sleep as you replayed his words over in your mind.

No matter how long you pondered on it, you could not make sense of his decision. You were nobody, nothing. The little status you had once possessed had been stripped from you.

The emperor could choose anyone for his wife. A woman from a powerful family, one who’s connection would strengthen his empire. He could choose the most beautiful girl in all of Italy, an earthly rival for Venus. With a snap of his fingers she would be his.

So why had he chosen you?

You longed to ask him. To question him on his decision, to find out exactly what kind of game he was playing.

You had no such opportunity.

The home of the emperors became even more active than usual, servants and senators alike hurrying about the halls in preparation for the wedding.

You were moved to a bigger room, your bedchamber now home to expensive furniture and fine art. A huge four poster bed, with sheets so soft they felt like rose petals kissing your skin.

A team of servants were tasked with attending to your every need. Bringing you luxurious oils that would fragrance your skin, helping you dress in the finest clothes you had ever worn, decorating you with heavy gold that dripped from your neck and your lobes.

Claudia was your favourite. The greatest ornatrix in all of Rome she had proudly announced herself as, flashing you a mischievous grin. Her deft fingers moved so quick they were a blur, weaving your hair into elaborate braids with a surprisingly gentle touch.

Unlike the rest of the servants who seemed terrified to even make eye contact with you, Claudia was all too happy to divulge the secrets of Rome’s high society. She shared scathing gossip as she draped your tunic and fixed broaches just so. You could almost forget that she was bound to serve you. She felt like the closest you had ever come to making a friend.

But Claudia could tell you little of the wedding plans, and so you were kept largely in the dark.

The only insight you had was from the hours you spent being grilled by the senators, the men stressing the importance of the role you were about to undertake. They spoke to you in patronising tones as though you were slow and stupid.

The ideal empress was demure and calm. You were not to attempt to overshadow your husband. Your job was to be a support for him, to agree with his decisions without question. Your own opinion was not required. Most importantly, you would give him strong heirs. Children that would carry the weight of an empire on their shoulders from birth.

You found the whole thing rather tedious.

“Can the emperor not explain this to me himself?” You snapped one afternoon, sick and tired of the lecturing.

The senator sat across from you scoffed.

“The imperator is far too busy to waste his time with such matters.”

With you is what he meant. Geta had chosen you, but that did not mean that he owed you his time or attention.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Finally, the day of the wedding arrives. You sit stiffly in your chair as hands pull and poke at you. Forcing your limbs into an ornate white gown, the silk draped just so, accentuated with a deep purple stola over the top. The gold fastenings press uncomfortably into your shoulders, but you do not complain.

You do however hiss when a clumsy hand prods a ruby studded pin into the side of your head. Claudia had brought in an assistant for the particularly detailed style she had planned. The terrified looking servant offers stumbling apologies, and you wave your hand dismissively.

“Let me.” Claudia orders, nudging the girl aside with her hip. She expertly slides the pin in place without injury.

“I have never seen a bride scowl so much on her wedding day.” Claudia comments light heartedly.

“Have you ever dressed a bride who had no choice in her marriage?” You grumble.

“Every one I have ever worked on.”

Claudia’s soft hands drop to your shoulders, offering a reassuring squeeze. Her eyes meet yours in the mirror, her teasing expression replaced with one of concern.

“If I may, I would like to speak freely with you for a moment.” She says quietly.

“When don’t you?”

“Please Augusta.”

“I am not empress yet. And even when I am, you know that I value your boldness.” You reply.

Claudia glances around the room, waiting until she is sure that the rest of the servants are too busy with their tasks to bother listening in.

“You are a smart woman. I have no doubt that it is why the imperator has chosen you.”

You scoff, but Claudia presses on, bending to whisper in your ear.

“I fear that Rome is on a knife’s edge. There is much talk, rumours of unrest within the senate. The fighting between the emperors is stretching the limits of the empire. How can men be loyal to both of their leaders when they both give conflicting orders?”

She pauses for a moment to once again check the room. Her fingers have begun to press into your flesh like a hawk’s talons.

“Lines are being drawn Augusta. Sides will be chosen, that is if the brothers cannot find some kind of balance between them.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You whisper.

“Because I do not wish to see you come to harm. I know you are unhappy. I cannot say that I envy your position. But you are about to enter a game with players who are far more experienced than you. Quick wit and a sharp tongue are not enough in this viper’s pit. You need allies, Augusta - people you can trust. You must put aside your feelings, at least for the moment, and play their game. Let them think that you are the emperor’s empty headed wife if you must. Smile and simper and before long they will loosen their tongues. They must not view you as a threat. If they do then there is no telling what they might do.”

“Are you not yet done?” A guard calls impatiently from the door way, making you both jump.

“Almost.” Claudia bites back, shooing him away. She helps you rise from your seat, and holds your now trembling hands as she moves you to check your appearance in the mirror.

You hardly recognise yourself, having never been so luxuriously decorated. Gold flashes with every subtle movement of your body, weighing you down. The dress is unlike any you had ever seen, light fabric subtly clinging to the curves of your hips, swishing delicately around your ankles when you turned in place. You looked every inch a beautiful bride. The only exception being your cold expression. As you stare blankly at your own reflection, you feel more like a statue than a human being.

A storm was brewing in your mind. A quiet anger that spread deep in your bones, settled uncomfortably in your stomach. This was the life you could expect now. Being reduced to nothing more than a pretty accessory to hang off the arm of the most important man in all of Italy. A man who could not spare you even a moment of his time. A man who seemingly had a price on his head, and had now shared that burden with you.

“Smile.” Claudia reminds you gently. You do what you can, swallowing down the lump in your throat and willing your face to contort into the perfect picture of an eager bride. The best you manage is a grimace.

Anxiety courses through your veins as the guards usher you out of the room. Turning your head you catch one more glimpse of Claudia, her hands clasped beneath her chin and bottom lip pulled between her teeth. It does not appear that she has much faith in you.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

You keep your head held high when you enter the room, ignoring the stares and murmurs of those who are gathered to witness your impending nuptials.

Your eyes pass over Geta as you approach. He is always dressed in finery, but today so much gold covers his body that his appearance is god-like. Dark eyes bore into you as you take your place at his side, a small smirk playing at the edges of his lips. Still he does not speak. You look away from him, glaring at the clergyman as he prepares to begin the ceremony.

You compete your duties as instructed. Recite the vows. Sign the marriage contract.

You do not smile once.

Claudia’s words echo in your mind, but still you cannot bring yourself to do it. Your lips refuse to budge from the straight line they have set in to.

When the ceremony is done you are asked to face your new husband. The word makes your chest burn with anger.

A warm palm cups your cheek, a thumb stroking just below your temple.

Geta tilts your head to him, leaning in, still with that insufferable smirk on his face. It has your teeth grinding together.

He squeezes your jaw as though to force away the tension there, his other hand taking hold of your waist with an undeserved familiarity. When his mouth meets yours it is surprisingly gentle. His lips are softer than you expected, warm and full.

Despite your annoyance with him, your body betrays you. A shiver runs up your spine at the first time you had felt a man’s lips on yours. That’s what you tell yourself. It’s a natural reaction to your first kiss, not because of who is kissing you. Geta still appears satisfied with your reaction, grinning when he pulls away.

Your eyes roll of their own volition.

The waiting crowd cheer and applaud when you and Geta turn to face them. All except Caracalla who glowers on the sidelines. Perhaps he is jealous of his brother taking a wife before him. Perhaps he just hates you.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Somewhat naively, you had thought that yourself and Geta might have a moment alone once the formalities were out of the way. Of course you were mistaken. This was Rome - the formalities were never over. Every moment was a spectacle, every second carefully calculated for the benefit of the empire.

Even the ceremony itself was an unnecessary event. Geta’s word was law. If he declared you as his wife, then it was so. The vows and contract were merely an illusion of choice.

After the ceremony you were hurried to a balcony, overlooking the large square below. Lesser citizens, patricians and plebeians alike had been ushered into the cities heart, thousands of bodies crowding the streets. Every head was upturned, necks craned. You doubted if they were really all that desperate to lay eyes on yourself and Geta, or simply afraid of the consequences if they appeared to be disinterested in their great ruler and his latest prize.

The crowd cheers, a deafening roar that seems to shake the very walls around you. At least they give the impression of happiness, smiling brightly and clapping their hands. You do not share in their joy, staring sullenly down at the sea of faces, still feeling bitter about Geta’s apparent lack of interest in you.

Even now he pays you no mind, too busy soaking in his own glory, loving every second of being adored by his people. You wonder if he knows how most of the people really feel. Loathing the spoiled twins who have everything while they rot in squalor.

If he does, he does not show it.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The celebrations continue. A disgustingly lavish feast is laid out, likely enough to feed every citizen in Rome. Instead the people sit outside hungry, as the elite gorge themselves senseless.

Roast pork with bronze skin that cracks and glistens. Plates piled high with fresh vegetables, marinated in the most expensive spices. Pastries that glistened like gold from the sticky honey glaze.

And the wine. All of the finest bottles are retrieved from the cellar. The guests guzzle greedily on them, cups overflowing, until some are so inebriated they give up on the chalice’s altogether, their greasy mouths swigging directly from the bottles.

You pick at your food in silence, sipping wine that turns sour on your tongue. Your husband sits at your side, but he might as well be on the other side of the room. His attention is dedicated to the guests who gather around him.

The women gush to tell him how handsome he looks in his finery. The men congratulate him on his “fine choice of a wife”. They wish him a lifetime of happiness, and an army of heirs to carry Rome’s future.

Nobody bothers to speak with you.

Perhaps you should heed Claudia’s advice. You could play the role you’ve been assigned, begin to make connections of your own within the company you will be forced to keep. But a headache is beginning to bloom in your skull, and you are sure that forcing conversation with these people will only make it worse. Likely because you will find yourself wanting to bash your head against the walls. So you continue to stew in silence.

As the evening continues, and the light outside slowly fades, the celebrations become riotous.

Rome’s best musicians have been brought in to play, the strings of lutes and lyres plucked delicately over a steady drum beat, a chorus of voices singing songs you are unfamiliar with. The guests dance wildly, twisting and turning, not caring when they drunkenly knock into those around them. Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time. It only darkens your mood further.

As you lift your glass, a hand curls around your wrist, stopping it from reaching your lips.

It is the first time Geta has touched you since your kiss.

“Dance with me.” He says.

It is an order, not a question.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you feel your brows almost meet in the middle from how deeply you frown. Geta smiles as he pulls you to your feet, either unaware of your foul temper or not caring. Remembering your lectures, you allow yourself to be dragged to the centre of the dance floor, pulled this way and that like a marionette performing for the crowds entertainment. Some clap as Geta pulls you close by the waist, others cooing as though the sight is the sweetest they have ever seen.

You keep your posture stiff as Geta begins to move you, your hands awkwardly resting on his shoulders.

“You look beautiful.” He says, voice just audible over the noise of the room.

“Thank you imperator.” You answer coldly. You keep your gaze on a spot over his shoulder.

“You know you don’t have to call me that. You are my wife, after all. Geta will suffice.”

“Noted.”

Despite your frostiness, his smile never wavers. Geta holds you tighter, pressing his cheek to yours, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Tell me dear wife. You look like you would like to slaughter everyone in this room. What vexes you?” He whispers.

“Is that a real question?” You snap.

“Of course. What kind of husband would I be if I did not care for what my wife is thinking?”

“What kind of husband indeed.”

“You are clearly troubled.” He comments.

“Of course I am!” You hiss, trying to keep your voice low enough to not cause a scene.

“You - you infuriate me!”

Geta laughs softly.

“What could I have possibly done?” He says, sarcasm dripping from every word. You pull back enough to glare at him.

“Everything! You announce on the first evening that you spend with me that you wish me for your wife, despite knowing nothing about me. You ignore me for days. Even now that we are wed, you are too busy soaking up the attention of your guests to speak to me. And you expect me to smile and simper, like some empty headed fool?”

Geta grins throughout your rant. Your words bounce off of him, like arrows snapping and crumpling against his breastplate.

“Are you done?” He asks.

You pull back from his hold.

“Yes, I am. I am tired. I will retire to my room.”

“Our room.” Geta calls as you retreat.

“Excuse me?”

“We are husband and wife now my dear. You will share my bedchamber. Someone will escort you.” He says brightly, laughing as you huff and stomp away.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Another night, and another unfamiliar place to lay your head. The few belongings you have accumulated in your short time in Rome have already been placed into the Emperor’s bedchamber. The servants must have been instructed to transport them while you were busy “celebrating”.

You send them away when they offer to help you dress for bed, even Claudia. It takes you more than an hour just remove all the pins from your hair and to shed your jewellery, the bright jewels thrown down carelessly onto the table. You blink back furious tears as you dress in your nightgown, cursing the emperor’s name under your breath.

“It is nice to hear that you are thinking of me, although your language is more colourful than I expected.” A familiar voice says from the doorway. You do not turn to face him when you reply.

“I was not expecting you back so soon imperator. I had thought you would spend the whole night drinking yourself into a stupor with your friends.”

“Those people are not my friends. They fear me. A friend must be your equal, and there are none who are equal to me.” He shrugs.

“What about Caracalla?”

Geta barks a laugh as he removes his jewellery, tossing it aside with the same care you had shown your own.

“My brother is a snivelling brat. Pathetic. He is a stain on the empire.” He says venomously.

“I do not think he is so bad.” You lie.

“You do not know him.”

“I do not know you either imperator.”

Geta pauses, regarding you thoughtfully as he removes his stola.

“Is that what has you so upset? You wish to know me better?”

“Not particularly.” You grumble.

“You are a poor liar.” He laughs.

Finally you spin to face him, cheeks growing hot at his mockery.

They burn all the more when you see the state of undress the emperor is now in.

He has shred every scrap of fabric, standing confidently with his arms crossed over his chest. His muscles are subtly defined beneath his pale skin, not bulging like those of his soldiers, having probably never worked a hard day in his life.

You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands, but not before you catch a glimpse of dark hair between his hips, his manhood hanging with an impressive length despite its softness.

“What on earth are you doing?” You shriek.

Geta tuts, moving to clamber onto the bed.

“I didn’t expect you to be a prude.” He grins.

“I am not!” You spit furiously.

“But is it wrong of me to expect some decorum?”

“This is my bedchamber.” Geta shrugs, leaning back against the pillows with his arms tucked behind his head.

“I always sleep like this. The nights get awfully warm.”

You peek between your fingers, doing your best to keep your eyes trained on his face.

“Well this is also my bedchamber now. And I would prefer you to keep your clothes on.” You demand.

Geta rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one arm as he faces you.

“You understand that we are married? You are my wife, and will one day be the mother of my children. We are going to have to get quite acquainted with one another’s bodies, so I see no point in being modest now.”

You open your mouth to speak, but fail to find the words. Instead you gape at his boldness.

You know what your duties are. But you’d been so swept up in the chaos of the day, lost in your anger at Geta, and the confusion that Claudia’s warning had brought, that you had forgotten. Forgotten that your wedding night was when such duties were fulfilled.

“Now, I believe you said you were tired. So are you coming to bed or not?” Geta says in a bored voice.

You take a step back. Your hands shake at your sides in spite of your best attempts to stop them.

The emperor frowns at your nervous twitching. He seems deep in thought for a moment, before one thick brow arches.

“I’m not going to touch you.” He says. His tone so much softer than you expected.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, I am not going to touch you. You have no reason to stand there looking so terrified. You can get in the bed, I am not going to force myself on you.”

“Why?” You snap. Geta is being far too suspicious. Every instinct in your body screams that this is a trap. He is not to be trusted.

“I am many things, but I am not a monster. I am not about to attack my wife on our first night together.”

“You could.”

“Of course I could. I have every right to, no one would stop me. But I fail to see how that benefits me. I do not want to make you fear me.” He explains.

That gives you pause for thought. He seemed to get off on the power that he wielded over those around him, savouring their fear like fine wine on his tongue. It did not make sense that he did not also wish for you to cower before him.

“Well… what do you want?” You ask quietly.

There’s that damned grin again. The one that makes you feel like some pitiful tiny creature staring down a lion’s jaws.

“I want you to beg for it.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I said I want you to beg. I am a patient man, far more than I am given credit for. I will wait for the day that you plead for my cock.” He says casually.

“I will never!” You hiss.

Geta seems unperturbed by your disgust, once again rolling onto his back and settling down on the expensive sheets.

“No, of course you wouldn’t.” He drawls sarcastically.

“Look at the way you have behaved today. Pouting and sulking all day long because I denied you my attention. There is a part of you that already craves me, even if you are loathe to admit it. It will not take long for you to give me what I desire, I am sure of it.”

The more smug Geta becomes the more your fury builds. You have never been so insulted, hot flames of anger growing in your chest, climbing up your throat and threatening to spill out in venomous words.

Your husband gives you no opportunity for rebuttal. He turns his back to you, pulling the sheets up to his waist. Settling in for a peaceful nights sleep.

Standing in the centre of the room you weigh up your options. Fleeing was out of the question. You would never make it out of the maze that was this house without being spotted. Even if you did, you had nowhere to go.

You could try to make your way back to your old room. At the very least you would have a few hours of peace, then you would have a clearer head to make decisions in the morning.

Geta’s breaths are shallow and steady, but you are not convinced that he is asleep yet. If he heard the door open, would he chase you down?

Reluctantly, you reach the only option that is left to you. Hesitantly sitting on the bed, shuffling back until your spine presses to the headboard.

You think you hear Geta let out an amused hum. You remain tense, keeping your eyes firmly on him. Waiting for him to turn on you.

But he doesn’t. As the minutes draw on his breathing becomes heavier, his body sagging as he succumbs to sleep. After a while he rolls onto his back.

He looks different like this. Softer. His scowling and snarling nowhere to be seen, replaced with a peaceful expression. His eyelids flutter as he dreams, and you can’t help but wonder where he goes when he’s lost to that other world.

You own eyelids droop, a day of tension catching up with you.

But you will not fall asleep. You can’t. If you do you’ll leave yourself vulnerable, god knows what will happen if Geta awakens and finds you unconscious at his side.

You feel your head nodding. The slow rhythmic sound of your husbands breaths matching the pace of your own.

You must not fall asleep. You will not. You will…

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Translations:

Ornatrix - a servant whose main job is to dress and style the hair of the person they serve

Augusta - a name often used for Empresses

Patrician - nobleman

Plebeian - a commoner

[ambthegamer]

Today is 266 days, we are still alive. 🇵🇸🍉

Please don't skip! 🙏🏻🥺

Please consider sharing or donating, thank you! 🩷🍉

[ambthegamer]

I was surprise to see Geta be nice to her after the reader told him what she did. The plot is getting good!

Violent Hearts (II)

Emperor Geta x reader

Find the series masterlist here

You belong to the Emperors now. But you have no idea what lies in wait for you.

Chapter II warnings: 18+ minors dni - violence, blood, death mention, sex work, mention of attempted sexual assault, sexual harassment, cursing, misogynistic language. 2k

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The room you had been given in the emperors’ home was small, but still more than you expected.

You had anticipated that all the concubines would be housed together. But on that first afternoon you were shown to a room just big enough for one person.

It was modest of course, just a simple bed, a table, and a chair. But you welcomed the opportunity to have a moment alone. After washing, the servant girl had lead you back, gesturing to the clean tunic laid out on the bed for you. She left you to dress, and had not returned since.

You’d sat in the room all afternoon, unsure of what you were supposed to do now. You didn’t dare leave, sure you would be swiftly punished if you were caught wandering the halls unattended.

No one came to collect you.

In the evening a meal was brought to you, handed over by a silent servant you didn’t recognise, who scurried away as soon as the plate was in your hands.

As the hours ticked on, and it became obvious that no one would be calling on you that night, you relented and curled up on your bed. Hoping that despite your unfamiliar surroundings, and the growing anxiety gnawing away at your insides, you might sleep well.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The second day continues much like the first. Eating breakfast alone, then spending long hours pacing the short length of your room, or half dozing on your bed, willing the time to pass faster.

The early evening brings a small surprise.

Along with your meal you’re handed yet more clothes, instructed to dress after eating and wait to be collected.

You cover your body in the thin fabric, silk that slips through your fingers like cool water. An unexpectedly expensive uniform for a metrix. It is far more revealing too than the clothing you are used to. The fabric so sheer that you fight to drape it in a way to retain some modesty, gathering it across your chest and hips. There is little to work with, the hem now settling above your knees, but it will have to do. An impatient knock at your door tells you there is no more time for you to fuss.

You’re lead from your room, guided through vast unfamiliar corridors. You cannot follow the path that you’ve taken - the home of the emperors is like a labyrinth. It is unlikely you will be returning to your own room tonight anyway, you remember with a shudder.

Finally, you arrive at a wide hall. The long wooden tables are littered with half eaten meals, the remnants of glistening meat and vegetables on golden plates, splashes of wine spilled by drunken hands.

After almost two days of silence, the noise of the room is startling. The many senators and high ranking soldiers laugh raucously, voices booming, each battling with one another to be the loudest, the most important. There’s no sign of General Acacius, a realisation that for some reason fills your stomach with dread. He would have at least been one friendly face.

The emperors are both here though. Sat at opposite ends of the room.

Geta’s eyes momentarily flit to you, before returning to the senator eagerly rambling at his side. His expression is unreadable, no indication as to whether he is pleased by your arrival or not.

Caracalla’s feelings are easier to decipher. He glares at you, jaw clenched tight, that same fury behind his eyes. The woman on his lap purrs against the shell of his ear, and he turns his attention back to her.

There are women everywhere. Beautiful girls, dressed identically to you. They smile sweetly, draping themselves across the laps of men who paw at their thighs greedily. Their smiles don’t reach their eyes.

You’re left alone on the edges of the room, unsure what is expected of you. The last thing you want is to feel the men’s entitled hands on your skin. Although you suppose it is a thought you will have to make peace with. That is your purpose here.

Still, you are at an odd impasse. You feel the heat of the stares of men in the room, the way their eyes drag slowly from your face to your chest, making their way down to your calves exposed by the short tunic. You know what lust looks like on a man’s face. But none of them act on it. All quick to avert their eyes when you meet them, turning away as though they feel some guilt for looking.

After a while you grow tired of lingering on the sidelines. While you don’t wish to engage in conversation, or anything more with anyone, you might as well be comfortable while you are here.

With a boldness that earns hushed whispers and raised eyebrows, you pull back a chair at the nearest table. Help yourself to some olives and pour a small chalice of wine. You rather enjoy the shocked looks on the faces around you.

You glance over at Caracalla. He’s busy tucking his face into the neck of a young woman to notice you. The girl’s strained expression aims for pleasure but does not hide her disgust well.

A call of your name gives you pause as you raise your cup to your lips. The voice is familiar to you already, that confidence and unwavering tone.

Emperor Geta.

He waves you over with a ringed hand, leaning back in his chair as you approach slowly. You’re still holding your wine, the cup shaking slightly in your hand. The room has fallen uncomfortably silent. Everyone is likely bracing themselves for the inevitable, he will punish you for you arrogance, sitting at his table uninvited and helping yourself to the feast.

“Come, sit.” Geta says lowly.

You hesitate. There are no free chairs near him.

Tutting impatiently, he takes hold of your wrist, pulling you firmly until you’re resting on his lap. By some miracle you manage not to spill your wine over him.

Geta aims a sharp glare across the room, everyone hurrying to avert their eyes, conversation beginning once again.

You sit stiffly in place, feeling your body grow hot with discomfort. The emperor’s arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back until you’re forced flush to his chest.

“Are your lodgings to your liking?” He murmurs against your ear. You can hear the smirk he wears.

“They are smaller than I am used to, but they will do.” You retort, irritation having you forget yourself for a moment.

Thankfully he laughs.

“I am sure they are. But you have a finer room than most here.”

“I am grateful imperator.”

“So polite.” He chuckles.

“You don’t get that from your father.”

“I don’t get it from my mother either.” You reply bitterly.

“No? Did you not get along well with your family?”

“I’m sure they are glad to see the back of me imperator.”

“And you? Do you miss them?”

“Not at all.” You admit.

“Hopefully you will be happier here.” He muses.

The softness of his tone surprises you.

You turn to look at his face.

Up close he is more handsome than you had given him credit for. A soft nose, plump lips, eyes as dark as mahogany framed by thick lashes. There is a smattering of freckles across his otherwise pale complexion that gives him a boyish look.

“So tell me,” he murmurs, arms holding you tighter still.

“What exactly did you do to have my army so shaken?”

You gulp, unsure if this is a test.

“The General told you imperator-“

“I want to hear it from you.” He snaps. He combats his abruptness with a gentle hand stroking the curve of your hip.

“I want to hear the details.”

“I - I blinded a man. Casius, I believe his name was.” You admit, voice barely above a whisper.

“How?”

“With.. with my hands imperator. I g-gouged out his eyes.”

You’re expecting anger, not the wide grin that stretches across his face, sharp canines glinting in the low light.

“Tell me, what did it feel like?” He presses. His voice sounds almost breathless.

You pause for a moment to think.

“Warm. His blood was hot. His eyes felt like ripe grapes bursting under my fingertips.”

Geta laughs.

“And the man you killed? Tell me what you did to him.”

You feel a little bolder now, encouraged by the emperor’s keen interest.

“I took Casius’ dagger. When the second man charged at me I gutted him like a pig.”

You snarl as you speak, a sudden rush of hot anger washing over you when you relive those moments.

“Did he scream?” Geta whispers.

“No imperator. He made no sound.”

“Pity.” He says.

“Casius screamed.” You say quickly. It surprises you how much it feels like you’re seeking the emperor’s approval. If this really is trap then you have run head first into it.

“He wailed like a child.”

Geta throws back his head, a barking laugh escaping his throat. In spite of the tension you’d felt previously, you find yourself smiling. Geta seems amused by your grin.

He smirks and strokes a hand over the back of your head. You manage to refrain from leaning into his touch, trying to gain control of the ever changing emotions that course through you.

“Are you - are you not angry with me?” You ask hesitantly.

“Of course not. I am sure you had good reason, did you not?”

You nod.

“He tried to t-touch me. Said he would show me the kind of welcome I could expect in Rome.”

Geta’s jaw clenches tight, his fingertips squeezing your waist with a bruising grip. His other hand curves possessively around the back of your neck.

“Then they got what they deserved. Men need learn they cannot touch what does not belong to them.” He sneers.

“Is that why the men here haven’t tried to touch me?” You whisper.

“Yes. They know I do not like to share.”

You want to ask him what he means. Does he intend to keep you just to himself? Or will he pass you around to the others when he has grown bored of you?

You have no time to question him, a man seated to your right choosing that moment to lean in and invade your conversation.

“Imperator.” He smiles, breath reeking of alcohol.

“Senator Consus.” Geta replies coolly.

“I’ve heard that your new toy is a bit of a wild thing. I am glad to see you have already trained the bitch to be a perfect lapdog.” The senator laughs.

Your body tenses, and it’s only in that moment you realise just how much you had been relaxed. You had sunk back into the emperor’s hold, softening for him. Now your spine straightens and you draw in a sharp breath.

Geta pets at your waist as though to soothe you.

“She is quite lovely, isn’t she?” He says.

“Indeed she is imperator.” Consus replies. He leans in closer, one hand splayed across the table, the other coming to rest on your thigh, exposed by the slip of your tunic.

“Selfishly, I do hope her spirit is not entirely broken by the time you are done with her. You know I like when they have a little fight left in them.” He sneers.

You open your mouth to protest, ready to tell the old lech to fuck off, consequences be damned.

Geta beats you to it.

In a quick flash of movement, he picks up a knife, spinning it deftly in his fingers and driving it down swiftly into the back of the senator’s hand. The man screeches, drawing the attention of the rest of the room. Geta withdraws the knife, and Consus snatches his hand back, clutching the gaping wound to his chest.

“You need not worry about her spirit senator, for you will never have her. And if you so much as think about touching the future Empress of Rome again, then next time I shall take your hand clean off.” Geta growls.

The senator weeps through his apologies, staggering to his feet to flee. The room is once again silent, all eyes on you and the Emperor. All the fury has been wiped from his face, replaced with an impressively neutral expression.

“I apologise for running your dress.” He says quietly, gesturing to the crimson spray that adorns the fabric.

“I will have someone escort you back to your room and bring you fresh clothes.”

Geta stands, sliding you off of his lap as he goes. Then he turns and exits the room, as though none of the last few minutes had even occurred.

You are quickly ushered from the room, keeping your head down to avoid the stares from those in the hall. You stumble down the corridor in a state of shock, grateful when you return to the peace and solitude of your room.

It is only some time later, when you lay on your bed, that Geta’s words finally sink in.

“The future Empress of Rome.”

It was certainly the strangest marriage proposal you could have ever imagined.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Translations:

meretrix - a prostitute

[ambthegamer]

What a thrilling chapter. I'm glad the reader isn't a damsel in distress!

Violent Hearts (I)

Emperor Geta x reader

Find the series masterlist here

What will become of you when the emperor’s men come for you?

Chapter I warnings: 18+ minors dni - graphic violence and gore, minor character death, cursing and misogynistic language, attempted sexual assault, mentions of sex work and slavery. 4.5k

A/N: this has been a labour of love and totally distracted me from everything else I’ve been writing, but it’s been so fun to finally get sucked back into writing again!

I know some of you really don’t like reader with a backstory stuff, but I can’t help myself and just wanted to build a whole little world here. It’s why I’m releasing parts 1 & 2 at the same time. We don’t meet Geta until the end of chapter 1, so you can technically skip ahead to chapter 2 if that isn’t for you (although I personally think you’ll be missing out and there maybe be some references then that don’t make total sense, but read it in whatever way works for you!)

Also bear in mind I know nothing about the Roman Empire so please don’t expect this to be historically accurate! Anyway - please thoroughly read the content warnings and enjoy x

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

There was no warning on the day they came.

Looking back, you might have expected such a fateful day to have started ominously.

Perhaps a great rolling storm, the sky threatening to crack apart at the seams as lightening tore through the heavens. Or maybe the wind would cease to blow, the sun beating down brighter and more fierce than ever before, until wild fires ravaged the landscape.

But there was no such foreboding.

It began like any other morning in late May. Pleasant heat that grew as the sun climbed its way lazily across the sky, a gentle breeze that stirred your tunic around your ankles as you wandered through the grounds of your home.

It was quiet and calm, and no one bothered you when you came to stop by the rosemary bushes. You rested there for a while, feeling the sun beat on your back, breathing in the fresh green scent in the breeze.

It was shouting in the distance that first interrupted your peace. Too far to make out the words, but close enough that you could hear the panic in the tone. More voices joined in, closer and louder now, your home a buzzing hive of activity as your fathers advisors ran through the corridors, their feet slapping on the stone floors.

A servant girl scurries through the garden, her head dropped down. She doesn’t see your hand reach out to grab her wrist, and she gasps as she’s halted in her tracks.

“What is happening?” You question her.

She doesn’t meet your eyes.

“They say the emperors’ men are here.” Comes her whispered reply.

“Why?”

“I - I don’t know.” She pleads.

Of course she wouldn’t know. She was of low standing, only here to pour wine and serve food, and to dress the various members of your fathers household. Deep down you knew you weren’t regarded much more highly than her, despite the blood that flowed in your veins.

You relinquish her, and she nods her head in gratitude, continuing her half run into the house. You push up with a sigh and follow her, curious to see what could possibly warrant visitors from Rome.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

You find your father in the atrium. He’s not alone of course. Wherever he goes a handful of advisors follow. Your brother too, an extension of your father’s shadow. You’re surprised to find your mother here. It was almost noon, but still early for her to rise. She drank herself into a stupor most nights, only dragging herself from her bedchambers to appear at dinner, ready to pour more wine down her greedy throat.

But now she sits at her husband’s side, anxiously twisting the rings on her fingers. Your brother occupies the chair the other side of your father. Puffing out his chest in an effort to appear more like a man than the boy he truly is. There’s no chair for you, of course.

The front doors swing open, servants hurrying out of the way as a group of men stride quickly into the room. There must be twenty or more, all broad shouldered soldiers, dressed in the finest armour. Their general leads them. He’s stone faced, lines deepening in his bronze skin when he scowls. He walks with a fierce determination, dark eyes locked on your father as he approaches.

“General Acacius. Welcome.” Your father says, his voice booming through the room.

“Tiberius.” The general replies curtly.

A sneer curls at the edges of your fathers lips, his fists clenching on his lap. He’s insulted, being referred to by his first name like some common plebeian by a guest in his own home.

“To what do we owe the honour of Rome’s finest visiting us?” Your father asks. His voice is tight, words spit through gritted teeth. He’s losing his false politeness rapidly. Always quick to anger.

The general smirks.

“It has come to the attention of the emperors, that during your last visit to Rome you expressed some opinions that were… less than favourable, shall we say, about our leaders.”

Your father gulps audibly. Beside him, your mother stiffens.

“Nonsense.” You father replies with a weak laugh.

“I am of course loyal to the empire.”

“The reports of these comments come from reputable sources Tiberius. And I’m sure you can imagine that the emperors do not take kindly to such disloyalty. Especially by those they have been gracious hosts to.”

“I - I don’t-“

“We are not here to discuss whether or not such insults were made.” The general interrupts.

“We are here to seek recompense.”

The room falls to a strained silence. Yours was a world of formality and of rules. Respect was earned by wealth, and your father had enough of it that he had never once been so directly insulted. Even previous guests who may have wished to air grievances with him had waited until the usual pleasantries had been exchanged. Bread broken and wine poured. The general was trampling all over those traditions. Cutting straight to the point like an arrow’s point slices through the air.

A few of the advisors bristle at the disrespect, murmuring to one another.

“What did you have in mind?” Your father asks hesitantly.

“There is no need to look so terrified Tiberius.” The general laughs.

“Your family will be brought great honour by our proposal. We are here to escort your son back to Rome. Where he will fight as a gladiator in the great colosseum.”

Gasps ring out around the room. Your mother wails, clutching her head in her hands. Your brother blanches and sinks back in his chair.

“You wish to take my only son. And send him to slaughter?” Your father’s voice wavers with emotion in a way your unused to hearing.

“That depends on him. Death is not a guarantee. He will be given the same chance to fight, as they all are.”

You can’t stop the derisive snort from escaping you. Sword, spear, bow - your brother was useless with them all. When you were young and still allowed to spar with him you won every time.

The icy cold glare of your father turns to you. It does little to chill you now. You have grown accustomed to it.

“Perhaps we should have this conversation without the women present.” An advisor whispers in your fathers ear.

“Out! All of you.” He shouts, waving his hand towards you and the servants who cower against the wall behind you. They all hasten to leave, only the girl you’d spoken to in the garden lingering long enough to help your weeping mother from her chair. At least her staggering steps could be mistaken by the guests as coming from great emotion, rather than the alcohol that flows through her veins in place of blood. You follow them all out, the door slammed shut behind you.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The men talk for hours. You’d hoped to press your ear to the cracks in the wooden door and listen in, but it’s blocked by a soldier. He stands proudly, fingers curled around the handle of his sword in preparation. It’s unnecessary. No one here would be stupid enough to attack one of the emperors’ men. Apart from your father perhaps. He seems lacking in intelligence, you conclude, not for the first time, as you sit on the marble steps and wait. Arrogant enough to disparage the emperors themselves, within their own walls. He has no one to blame for his son’s fate but himself.

It is early afternoon when the negotiations come to an end. You watch on curiously as soldiers make their way into your father’s treasury, returning with arms full of its contents. Golden chalices, gilded swords with ornately carved handles, breastplates of the finest bronze. It was a sizeable chunk of your father’s wealth, and you know it would have cost his pride greatly to relinquish them. Still it confuses you. The trinkets must pale in comparison to the riches possessed by the emperors. How could their fury be calmed so easily?

But your father looks content, leaning back in his chair with an almost smug smile stretched on his lips. His advisors murmur to him, whispering congratulations for the intelligence of his deal. You brother too seems appeased, no longer cowering at his fate. His freedom must have been won.

General Acacius emerges through the doors. He approaches the steps where you sit, and you hurry to your feet, expecting him to pass you by. Instead he stops a few short feet from you and whispers your name.

“General?” You ask in confusion.

“It has been agreed that you will be returning with us to Rome, in place of your brother.” He says.

Shock washes over you. Goosebumps break out on your flesh despite the heat.

“Surely there has been some mistake. How could I be expected to take his place in the colosseum?” You insist.

“You will not be expected to fight. You are to be a gift for the emperors. An apology from your father for his transgressions.”

The general won’t meet your eyes as he speaks.

A gift. The situation is suddenly all too clear. Your family name may have some standing, but you were not noble enough to be offered as a potential wife for one of the emperors, or even one of the lesser men in the senate. You would be reduced to a meretrix. To be passed around and abused, used for men’s pleasure and tossed aside when they were through with you. How quickly you had fallen below even the servant girl.

It was pointless to fight the decision. Your opinion counted for nothing in this house. There was no time given to collect your belongings, or take one last slow amble through the walls that had been the only home you’d ever known. The soldiers hurry you out to their waiting chariot, stuffed full of the rest of your fathers loses. You knew he’d mourn the gold more than you.

No one from your family comes to say goodbye. Your father, ever the coward, offers you no explanation for his decision, staying silent as the guards escort you from the house.

Keeping you chin up high, you step into the chariot, aided by the General’s hand holding yours to steady you.

“I’m sure my words will bring you little comfort. But for what it is worth, I am sorry that you are paying the price for your father’s arrogance.” He murmurs, low enough that the words are just for you.

“You need not apologise General. You are bound by duty.” You reply.

He nods, closing the door softly. A moment later the chariot lurches forwards. You keep your gaze on the road ahead, knowing that if you look back you might break. You hated living in that house, hated your family and their cold indifference towards you. In spite of it all there was still an aching in your chest, a cold fear that was settling deep in your bones. But you refused to cry.

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The journey back to Rome was due to take three days.

The hours stretched on. You were bored beyond belief, unable to even sleep the time away, the jostling of the chariots wheels over uneven ground bumping you left and right.

Each evening, as the sun sank closer to the horizon, your group came to a stop. Tents were set up, fires lit to prepare the evening meal.

During these times the soldiers relaxed: laughing and singing, drinking and playfully sparring with one another. On the first two nights, some had tried to engage you in conversation. You ignored them each time.

You emerged from the chariot only to enter your private tent, staying in there alone, eating your meals in silence and tossing and turning through the night beneath sheets far scratchier than those back home. In the morning you would push past the flaps and step out into the sun, only to immediately return to your seat amongst the rest of the emperors’ new treasure.

You knew what the men thought of you. Their whispers were carried to you on the breeze.

���Stuck up bitch.”

“I’ll bet her father was glad to be rid of her.”

“It’s no wonder she is still unwed.”

“She’ll be nothing but a common whore soon enough.”

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

On the final night, you lay in your bed, chasing sleep that cruelly evades you.

The men are clearly excited to almost be home. They’re more raucous than usual, booming voices and barking laughs filling the cool night air. You move to press your pillows over your ears to silence them.

Shuffling just outside of your tent has you freezing. Barely audibly over the ongoing frivolities.

You hold your breath and listen.

The flaps to your tent are lifted, a tall figure stumbling through. He’s unsteady on his feet, cursing under his breath as he attempts to right himself.

“What are you doing in here?” You snap, sitting upright.

The soldier grins, revealing a row of wine stained teeth.

“Thought I’d check that you’re comfortable, your highness.” He says sarcastically.

“I am fine. Now get out.”

The man laughs, staggering closer.

“You think you’re so much better than all of us don’t you?” He sneers. He’s close enough now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, and the stale sweat on his skin.

“You won’t be so proud once the emperors’ have had their way with you.”

You move to stand, but a large hand shoves firmly against your shoulders, knocking you back onto the bed.

“Have you ever laid with a man before?”

“If you don’t leave right now I shall scream for the General.” You threaten.

“The General is asleep.” He shrugs. You scowl up at him, drawing in a deep breath in preparation for a blood-curdling shriek.

Despite his drunken state, he’s quicker than you expect him to be. One dirty palm clamps over the lower half of your face, smothering your mouth and pressing your head back into the pillows. He throws his weight down onto you. You’re pinned in place, his knee trapping one of your arms, the other seized at the wrist in his free hand.

“I’m gonna show you what kind of welcome you can expect in Rome.” The soldier laughs. You thrash uselessly against him, breathing quickly through your nose, every scream you try to release suffocated by his hand. Your panic only seems to spur him on, his face splitting in a wide grin, eyes wild.

He wrestles your arm under his other knee, freeing a hand to hastily lift his tunic. Your stomach turns. Bile rises in your throat. He shuffles on the bed, cursing as he struggles to bare his lower half.

The movement gives you a split second of opportunity, his weight lifted just enough for you to pull one hand free from under him.

There is no time to think, not a second to spare for you to hatch a clever plan. It is instinct alone that has you aiming for his face, your fingers curled into a claw. You will not be taken this way. Will not let this filthy creature sully you with his lustful advances.

When your nails meet their target you push hard into his eye socket and pull down.

The soldier lets out a pained wail, throwing himself back. With both hands now free you scramble at his face again, scratching until you feel his other eye burst. Blood pours down his face, deep crimson tears that drip onto your tunic, the stains blooming like roses on the linen.

“You fucking bitch!” He screams.

You ignore his insults, grabbing at the dagger sheathed at his waist. Throwing yourself off the bed, you land on the ground with a dull thump, twisting and standing to put distance between the two of you.

There’s confused shouting outside. You hear footsteps rapidly approaching, and another soldier barrels into your tent. His face pales when he sees his comrade, rocking like a weeping child on your bed, his bloodied fingers pressed to the pulpy remains of his eyes.

He lets out a furious roar, running straight for you in a fit of rage. He doesn’t see the weapon in your hands until it’s too late.

It’s so easy. Without his armour the dagger plunges into the depths of his belly, unprotected and soft. You pull hard, dragging the blade through his flesh until it’s torn wide open. His entrails spill, hot and wet onto the ground below, landing with a slick plop, the gush of his blood echoing in your ears.

His breath is hot in your face as he exhales a gasp. Eyes locked, you watch as the light in his rapidly fades, his body slumping at your feet when you withdraw your blade.

“Get out of the way! Move!” A familiar voice shouts.

General Acacius enters with his sword drawn, flanked by his men, too many bodies attempting to crowd into the tiny space. The General’s eyes dart from your blood soaked dress, to the man sobbing behind you, finally landing on the body and viscera at your feet. The men begin to roar, the vilest insults spewing from their lips, immediately calling for your execution. You raise the dagger and hold it steady, every intent to use it again should you be forced to.

“Enough!” Acacius bellows. The men reluctantly fall silent. His lips press into a tight line, jaw twitching with tension.

“Clean this mess up.” He orders, to no one in particular. He takes a step forward, sighing when you point the blade at his heart.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He says. As if to prove his honesty, he tucks his sword back into the sheath hanging from his hip and holds out a calloused hand to you.

A moment passes as you debate your next move. You have no reason to trust the General. You barely knew him and you had just slaughtered one of his men, blinded another. But there’s something in his unwavering gaze, a softness in his dark eyes that you weren’t expecting.

You take his hand, but do not drop the dagger, clutching it tight as he pulls you from the tent, the soldiers thankfully parting as their leader moves through.

The General’s tent is much the same as your own, the only difference being the pile of armour discarded by the side of his bed. He lets the tent close softly behind him, as you linger in the centre of the room, unsure what to do now.

“Here.” He says softly. He motions to a bowl of water resting on a small wooden table. When you look at him, brows raised in confusion, he nods to your hands.

Glancing down you finally have a chance to take in your appearance. The adrenaline coursing through your veins has left your hands trembling, your fingers stained with violent splashes of red. It’s soaked into the fabric that’s draped over your body too. The colour of rich wine.

Eyeing the General with caution, you place the dagger on the table, still within reach, and begin to sluice the blood from your hands. Picking out flesh from beneath your nails.

“Are you hurt?” He murmurs, moving closer to pass you a strip of linen. You soak it in the rose tinted water and use it to wipe your face clean.

“No.” You reply.

“Good.”

You continue to wash in silence. Without a mirror you can’t assess the job you’ve done, looking to the General who finally nods when you’ve cleaned away the worst of it.

“I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything else to wear.” He says apologetically.

“It’s fine.” You reply.

The General pulls a wooden chair into the centre of the tent, turning it to face the entrance.

“You should get some sleep. I will keep watch.”

“Why?” You ask.

“What do you mean?” He says over his shoulder.

“Why are you protecting me? Your men want me dead.”

“What the men want does not matter. The emperors are expecting a suitable apology from your father. To turn up without you would infuriate them.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want me dead?”

The General scoffs.

“No. I am no fool. But even a fool could see why Caius decided to enter your tent tonight. I can’t say that he didn’t get what he deserved. Marius too.”

His candour shocks you. It was rare for a man, particularly one of his standing, to be accepting of a woman defending herself.

“Now sleep.” He says firmly.

“We leave at dawn. It’s only a few hours away.”

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

The arrival into Rome brings with it an unsettling mix of emotions.

You were thankful that the journey was over. You would finally be escaping the uncomfortable chariot, and leaving behind the soldiers who aimed scowls your way at every opportunity.

But you had no idea what awaited you in the city. Would you be given time to settle in, or expected to service the emperors as soon as you arrived. Would they be willing to accept the deal that had been negotiated? And how would they react to what had happened the night before?

You keep your eyes cast down as the chariot moves through the city. Stretching out your fingers as best you can, your wrists ache and hands feel numb. You were bound in rope, wrapped tight around your arms to keep them pinned at your sides, hands clasped together and wrists entwined. The rope cuts into your flesh, scratching sores into your skin. The soldiers had insisted on it before continuing the journey, and the General had reluctantly agreed to keep the peace.

When the chariot comes to an abrupt stop you’re thrown forward. Without the use of your arms you’re powerless to stop yourself falling from the seat, crumpling in a heap on the floor.

The door swings open with a bang, calloused hands grabbing your shoulders and pulling hard. You’re dragged out into the open, blinking rapidly in the harsh sunlight and hissing at your rough treatment.

“Be quiet.” The soldier spits.

He ignores the rolling of your eyes, shoving you forwards towards towering marble steps. They lead up to the largest building you had ever seen. The great pillars are ornately carved, but from this distance you can’t make out their depictions. You’re not given any time to take in the sight before you, being pulled up the steps by two soldiers, following behind the General.

After stumbling up the last of the stairs, you’re met with wide open doors and a lengthy corridor, the walls bright white and decorated with paintings in gilded frames. The General takes great strides down the hallway, his back straight as an arrow and head held high. The two guards blocking the far end nod to him in greeting, stepping back to push open the heavy wooden doors.

You’ve always lived in comfort. But the home of the emperors is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. The single room that you step into feels bigger than your entire family home. Although, you suppose this is your home now. For how long remains to be seen.

There’s every chance that you won’t live long enough to see beyond these walls again.

The deciders of your fate sit in the centre of the room. Two ornate thrones side by side, members of the senate surrounding them. There are murmurs as you’re lead to stand before them, although the emperors themselves say nothing.

Geta and Caracalla.

You have no way of knowing which of the twins is which. But you had heard many stories about them, of their cruelty and stubbornness. Tempers that were quick to flare. Crazy, your father had described them as. You wonder if it was such language that had landed you here.

“Imperators.” Acacius says in greeting, bowing to the two men.

One appears unable to sit still, fidgeting in his chair. There’s an unsettling energy about him, the way he rocks forwards in his throne, knees bouncing and fingers twisting the large rings that adorn them.

The other emperor is stoic. Still and quiet, dark eyes scanning the General before flitting over his shoulder to you. You hasten to look at the ground.

“Welcome back General. How is our dear friend in the south?” He says sarcastically.

“Tiberius is well imperator. My men are currently retrieving the gold he sends along with his most sincere apologies.”

“It was not gold we were seeking.” The fidgeting man snaps.

“Of course not, my lord.” The General nods.

“The boy was sickly and weak. It is unlikely he would have even survived the journey. To have him fight as a Gladiator would have been an insult to the sport.”

The General lies with ease. Would he lie too about what you had done?

“So you return empty handed! With what? Some cheap whore in his place!” The emperor screams, pointing a finger at you.

The General offers your name.

“She is Tiberius’ daughter.”

The emperor who has been still until now leans forwards.

“A patrician’s daughter. So why is she bound like a common slave girl? Surely she does not scare you General?” He smirks.

The General clears his throat.

“There was.. an incident last night imperator. My men felt more comfortable with her bound.”

“What kind of incident?”

“She killed one of my men. And blinded another.” Acacius admits.

“You dare kill a soldier of Rome? Your arrogance rivals your fathers!” The other emperor shrieks, his face reddening with fury.

“Caracalla, please.” His brother says to quieten him.

Geta steps down from his thrown, approaching you with slow steps. He stops in front of you, and you dare to lift your head.

Meeting his gaze, you find none of his brother’s anger in his eyes. If anything he looks amused, smirking slightly as he looks over you. He reaches to his waist, pulling out a short dagger, the handle golden and bright in his fist. Your breath catches in your throat.

“General. You can tell Tiberius that his debt is considered settled.” Gera says lowly. He lifts the blade, pointing it square at your chest.

This is it. You close your eyes, preparing for the plunge of the dagger that will tear you to shreds. Your blood will spill, an acceptable payment for your father’s mistakes, and your own.

You flinch when a warm hand takes hold of your wrist. Opening your eyes, you watch in shock as the emperor slides the blade under the rope that surrounds you, cutting it free in one clean slice. The binds unravel, rope falling to the floor and relinquishing your arms.

You swear you hear the General exhale a sigh of relief.

“Come!” Geta barks, gesturing to a servant girl hovering at the edge of the room. She moves quickly, head bowed.

“Let her bathe. And get her some clean clothing.” He orders.

The girl nods, making her way out of the room. Unsure, you take a step to follow, then glance back at Acacius. He gives you a subtle nod.

Halfway across the room you hear Geta call your name. You stop instantly, turning back to face him. Hands trembling at your sides.

“Welcome to Rome.” He says, still smirking.

Somehow through your shock, you find your voice.

“Thank you imperator.”

≿━━━━༺ ✦ ༻━━━━≾

Translations:

meretrix - a prostitute

[ambthegamer]

Awww, I enjoyed reading this fic! It made me smile during it.

Eddie Munson's Day Off

This can be read as a standalone but the appearance of Sally Gutierrez makes this an AU of @dr-aculaaa's Saturday Night/Sunday Morning series.

Summary: It's 1994. Our favorite quartet live in Chicago and do their best to leave their experiences in Hawkins and the Upside Down in the past. And in the spirit of moving on, self-proclaimed heavy metal god Eddie Munson has a brilliant idea: taking a day off.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings/Themes: Friendship, Angst, Trauma, Fluff, Angst, Everyone Lives/Upside Down Defeated AU, Various References to Movies and Television, Comedy, Meet Cute

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY to one of the loves of my fandom life, the gloriously talented @dr-aculaaa. Another year of life, another year of friendship, another year of YOU. I'm so honored to know you and share this fandom space with you. Thank you for all of your fics that bring myself and so many others so much comfort, all of your art that I don't even have words to appreciate properly. You deserve the world, but all I have to give is this fic.

You can find my masterlist here and Drac's wonderful Saturday Night series here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

May 1994

It all started after their bi-weekly movie night.

And it was Steve's week to choose, so that meant that this was his fault. Not Eddie's. Not in the slightest.

"Pardon my French but you're an asshole," Steve quoted snarkily into the receiver as he scanned in returns. "Asshole."

"Come on Harrington," Eddie scoffed on the other end. "You can't make us sit through Ferris Bueller's Day Off and not expect me to have a brilliant idea."

The thought did pass through Steve's mind when he'd shoved the tape into the VCR from amongst the haul that he'd brought home from Family Video. Maybe not the thought, but a thought that his friend would get some kind of idea from the spieling, silly high schooler.

Playing hooky had never crossed his mind, though.

"You're a loose cannon, Ed," Steve replied and then adjusted the receiver where it was cradled between his ear and his shoulder.

"Just like Bueller the Bard himself."

But the call had come on a boring Wednesday afternoon as Steve covered the floor while his coworker was at lunch, and he had listened to Eddie's ranting and raving about his perfect idea for their little friend group without an opportunity to object until Eddie was already asking if he was in.

In hindsight, Steve should've realized that something like this was bound to happen eventually. He hadn't realized how much of a secret fan of John Hughes' movies Eddie was until the metalhead was mouthing along to the movie as they watched. Turns out, during his recovery post-Vecna, he'd developed a taste for the popular teen films.

Talk about conformity.

"How can you expect us all to get a day off work on such short notice?" Steve ignored Eddie's previous statement.

"Well, I'm planning on calling in sick," Eddie explained. "And I already got Rob and Nance on board. That just leaves our very own Cameron Frye."

"I'm not Cameron."

"You most certainly are," Eddie chuckled haughtily. "Rich parents, fancy cars. Come on Steve. It's one day. Call in. Pretend you're sick. Shit, say your grandma died."

"Oh, like Nancy's not already using that excuse?" Steve asked.

"Bold of you to assume that Nancy is Sloane."

"We aren't characters in a movie, Eddie!"

"That's exactly what Cameron Frye would say."

Steve shouted unintelligibly and then slammed the receiver back onto the cradle repeatedly, effectively hanging up with Eddie...and scaring the customer that was about to walk in.

Despite Steve's initial protests, he still called in sick to work and showed up at Eddie's apartment alongside Nancy and Robin early Friday morning.

None of them really knew what to expect; this was Eddie's scheme, not theirs.

Robin and Nancy had taken what little they knew about the assignment to heart though. They'd dug through their closets for old clothes that felt more appropriate as homage to the movie--outfits that certainly threw Steve back into 1986.

Permed hair and textured fabrics. Nancy had an old fringe jacket that looked like it belonged to Sloane Peterson, shoulder pads and all. Robin went with more of a Ferris vibe and found a sweater vest that almost looked like his.

Steve, however, remained a stick in the mud and wore his typical casual attire: a polo and blue jeans.

A classic.

Of course, Steve had expected Eddie to be in his usual metalhead regalia. Upon seeing the others, he'd had a joke ready on his tongue for when Eddie opened the door with his leather jacket on--

"You supposed to be Charlie Sheen, Ed?"

--only for Eddie to appear in an almost exact replica of Ferris' red-and-grey striped bath robe. He would get dressed in his 1986 best when they were ready to leave.

"Come on," Eddie whined at Steve as he waved them inside. "What are you wearing? You weren't even gonna break out your old Red Wings jersey?"

"I'm not a Red Wings fan," Steve snarked.

"You could've asked for my jersey from field hockey," Robin interjected. “It looks like a red wings jersey.”

"I don't think a community college field hockey team would've been appropriate Rob.''

He just hadn't thought that dressing up would be important.

"Well," Eddie began, hands held out innocently as he interrupted their spat. "I knew you'd be apprehensive about the whole thing, so I got one for you. Consider it an early birthday present."

"If it makes you feel any better," Steve sighed as he pushed past Eddie. "I did sit in my car and debate showing up for a good half-an-hour before I came here.”

"That's our Cameron," Eddie patted Steve's shoulder and then began telling the others his plan for the day.

There would be no going with the flow, no taking it easy, they were gonna relive the movie scene for scene if he had anything to say about it.

Zooming around Chicago to see the sights, a Cubs game, lunch at a nice restaurant, and finally the Art Institute for silent contemplation of color and form.

"Unfortunately there's no parade," Eddie pouted after he showed them how he'd modified Jeff's Cassio to play coughs and sneezes. "But, I'm happy to sing a metal cover of Danke Schoen in a private concert for the three of you when we go swimming at my buddy Joe's pool later this afternoon."

"You're not allowed to have a mental breakdown dingus," Robin stage-whispered in Steve's ear.

"Just as long as you guys don't total my car," Steve grumbled, knowing that he would be providing the wheels as none of them had access to a red Ferrari.

"You've really thought of everything Eddie." Nancy joked. "Have you called old Principal Higgins to chase us around the city too?"

"Ha ha," Eddie deadpanned and stuck his tongue out at her.

Steve watched as his three friends chatted and bickered excitedly over this idea and that, and he couldn't help the smile that bloomed on his face.

While he wasn't exactly jumping for joy at the plans, it was nice to hang around his friends again in such a lighthearted way.

"Alright!" Steve shouted, causing the others heads to turn towards him in shock. He blanched under their scrutiny but cleared his throat and stood up, hands on his hips. "Are we gonna hit the road? Or are we just gonna talk about the great time we're supposed to have?"

Eddie clapped his hands and snapped his fingers and then closed the distance so he could grab Steve's keys from his pocket.

"I was serious about the not totaling my car thing," Steve reprimanded.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Eddie nodded.

"Now, where's that hockey jersey?"

They cruised down Lake Shore Drive with the windows down and the music playing loudly; Eddie had made the perfect mixtape that suited all of their tastes.

"In 1930, the Republican-controlled House of Representatives," he droned in a poor impersonation of Ben Stein. "In an effort to alleviate the effects of the...anyone? Anyone?"

"Shut up and drive, doofus," Robin cackled and swatted at Eddie's head from the backseat.

It was the perfect day for a baseball game.

Actually, just perfect altogether.

75 and sunny, not a cloud in the sky.

Eddie couldn't have picked a better day to take off, and he thought of everything.

Even their goddamn seats were perfect.

"My dad got us tickets to see the Cubs once," Steve regaled them with a story as Eddie waved the hotdog vendor over. "And even he couldn't get us seats this good."

"I know it's not the seats they had in the movie," Eddie grinned as he passed a dog over to Steve. "But what can I say? I'm pretty great."

They all had a good time.

Steve was an avid baseball fan and had even played on the varsity team back at Hawkins High. He explained the plays to the others, and even found himself jumping to his feet to cheer along with the crowd when the Cubs made a triple play.

Eddie, who couldn't be caught dead at a sporting event unless his uncle was in tow, enjoyed the snacks and the cheap beer and the generally upbeat atmosphere. He listened to Steve's explanations and tried to cheer along with the others.

Even Nancy and Robin, who weren't the biggest baseball fans, admitted--once they had beers in their hands and a soft pretzel to share--that they had fun.

"You know Mike and Lucas are gonna be so jealous," Nancy laughed. "They always ask if I can get them tickets when they're in town."

"Those little nerds? Seriously?" Robin questioned.

"They used to play little league way back when," Nancy nodded. "They weren't very good but I think it's the only sport either of them really kept up with. Until Lucas joined the basketball team."

And in true Ferris Bueller fashion, Robin had to start the call of "Hey Battah Battah Battah, Sahwing Battah Battah!" as the visiting team went up to bat.

"He can't hit, he can't hit, he can't hit, he can't hit," Nancy continued.

"Sah-wing Battah!" They all concluded in tandem before they fell into a fit of giggles.

It was during lunch that the day started to take a bit of a turn.

For Steve, at least.

"Alright," Nancy began as they arrived at their destination: a restaurant that was definitely out of their budget on a regular day, but today was a special one and they all could afford this one-time treat. "It's not Chez Quis, but this was the best reservation I could get on short notice."

Working for the Chicago Tribune had its perks, which both Nancy and Eddie took advantage of on behalf of their Day Off.

"Shhh," Eddie scolded. "Don't tell them that. I was supposed to plan this whole thing."

"Not such a hot shot after all," Robin quipped.

"At least I made the reservation under Froman," Nancy patted the metalhead's shoulder apologetically.

They ordered the lunch specials with an array of sandwiches on Turano sourdough, and hearty soups, and house-made potato chips. It was all rich food that soaked up the beers that they'd probably over-indulged in at Wrigley, as they sat and caught up on each others' lives.

"I'm up for a promotion at work," Nancy announced excitedly. "All that hard work and those late nights paid off."

"Well, I think I found a new apartment," Robin added on.

"You didn't tell me!" Nancy exclaimed.

"I was gonna surprise you," Robin shrugged. "And it's not like the place is really ours yet."

"Well the band is officially unofficially going on tour next month," Eddie surprised them with good news of his own. "I, uh, didn't think we were sharing things like that today so I was saving it til next week."

They all chattered over one another as Steve sat there taking it all in.

Each word a knife to his heart.

Steve had been the first one to disappear from Hawkins in favor of the Windy City after everything with Vecna in '86.

They'd all been broken in some ways--mind, body, spirit--and he just needed to get out. He'd had a choice back then, to escape to the city where he would be a faceless stranger, or to disappear into isolation of his family's old cabin up at the lake; both guaranteed him time alone, but he'd been driven to the city by ease of access to his friends.

And it might've taken a little while, but the others all followed suit and moved to the city too.

For a while, it was nice being a short drive or train ride away from his friends.

Of course, life got in the way.

School for Nancy and Robin, work for him, odd-jobs and music for Eddie. Recovery for all of them. Years passed and they simultaneously grew closer and further apart. Weekly movie nights turned bi-weekly, then there was always someone missing.

This unexpected outing together...well, it warmed Steve's heart.

They were all together, where he could protect them.

But as the others celebrated each other's triumphs, Steve slowly realized that while he'd been the first to escape Hawkins and find a new life, he was the last of his friends to actually live that life.

He was still at Family Video--a manager now, not just a key holder--and still drove the same car. He had no thoughts about the future, no ambitions. Hell, he'd renewed his lease for the same shitty studio apartment he'd lived in since he arrived in Chicago almost 8 years ago.

It was reliable and safe.

Now he realized, as he sat there amidst his friends' triumphs as they didn't even bother to look at him for something new and exciting, that it was boring.

He was boring.

Maybe he really was Cameron Frye.

He was still caught up in his contemplation when they arrived at the Art Institute.

The big, romanesque building was full of thoughts and inspirations from all over the world, but it was easier to get stuck in the sad little world that he'd built for himself in his head at lunch, than it was to get lost in layers of paints or sculpted bronze.

"I told you not to have a mental breakdown," Robin told him after she'd found him staring at the paper map he'd taken in the lobby, instead of any of the exhibits. "Talk to me, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Steve sniffed, and then tucked the map into his back pocket. He couldn't tell Robin and bring her down; this was a problem of his own making, and it was something he needed to work out on his own too.

"Let's go look at some paintings," he insisted.

Although they weren't in the actual movie, and the galleries were mostly silent, The Smiths' Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want continually played in Steve's head as they went from one room to the next.

What did he want? He wasn't sure.

They walked through the Miniatures Room and he looked at all of the tiny replicas of houses and interiors, and he wondered if he should be an architect. Could he go to college now? Was it too late? The city was always growing; he could certainly design a skyscraper!

And then they strolled through the Modern wing, and saw works by Dali, and as he felt his mind melt along with the surrealist clocks, he thought that he could be a psychologist of some sorts and reshape people's minds after they melted. Of course, that required more schooling than an architect; hmmm...that was a conundrum, wasn't it?

Maybe he would just be a wristwatch salesman instead. Or a grandfather clock repairman?

Of course, none of these things inspired the idea of becoming an artist; he just wasn't an art guy. He didn't understand what these things meant. To him, they were just things. A clock was a clock and a building was a building.

Nothing inspired any further contemplation, no thoughts or feelings.

He didn't even feel anything when he stared at the Seurat that Cameron Frye had his own internal spiral in front of, like he hoped he would.

Until he found himself in front of a massive painting, Hercules and the Lernaean Hydra.

And he started crying.

He didn't know why, really. He just did.

It wasn't a beautiful painting, to him. In fact, it was pretty bleak. Dark colors and hopelessness. Dead body in the corners and a multi-headed monster that Hercules had to face alone. Steve supposed it reminded him of his and his friends' trials in the Upside Down but...it didn't strike any sort of fear in him.

Only a deep...sorrow.

"This one made me cry the first time I saw it too," a voice came from Steve's side.

He cleared his throat and wiped the back of his hand across one eye with some shame, before a tissue was thrust before him.

He turned his head and found a woman, conspicuously looking up at the painting instead of at him to give him some privacy amidst this unexpected public show of emotion.

"Th-thanks," he spoke hoarsely and then took the tissue to dab at his tears. When he'd composed himself enough he continued. "Wh-why did this one make you cry?"

"Oh," the woman let out a throaty laugh and turned her head to him to shoot a gentle smile his way. "That's still a mystery, but I think if you're gonna have an existential crisis in front of a painting, this one is a good one to have it in front of."

She turned back to the painting and explained some things about it to Steve--the darkness and the light, the tension between good and evil, the uncertain outcome of the battle that Hercules would inevitably have to face even though the observers would never witness it--and the more she spoke, the more Steve was able to understand.

He saw himself in that painting, whether he realized it at first or not. The old him, back in Hawkins facing down literal monsters. And himself now, facing metaphorical ones.

"Of course," the woman continued and pointed to the plaque beside the painting. "Art is subjective. That's my interpretation of it. That says it's a political painting symbolizing war concerns in 19th Century France."

"Was that during the French Revolution?" Steve asked, thinking back to the World History class he had senior year.

"That's the 18th century, I think," she offered.

"Got it. You know what? I always get the numbers mixed up."

"I do too. You were close enough."

They chuckled in tandem.

"Well, I could definitely use a tour guide like you if I want to make heads or tails of anything in this place," Steve offered a compliment. "I've been struggling with it since I got here."

He looked around the room--his friends were nowhere to be found--then back at the woman. She still held that gentle expression, lips upturned in a smile and Steve felt a bubble of butterflies in his stomach as that smile grew wider and caused her freckle-dusted cheeks to become rounder and more pronounced.

"Well," she cleared her throat, "I could show you a couple of my other favorites on this floor. I was on my way to go and see them, actually, and snap a few pictures."

He finally noticed the small Minolta hanging from the strap around her neck.

"I don't want to intrude," he held his hands out in front of him, trying to refuse her offer politely.

"No, it's no intrusion, if I was already going to go," she shook her head. "Besides, I like to tout my superior knowledge over the ignorant."

Steve scoffed and chuckled, "I wouldn't say ignorant."

"Alright mister," she folded her arms over her chest. "Then I'll show you my favorites and we'll see how you interpret them, before I tell you what they really mean."

"I thought art was subjective."

"Oh we have a witty one, folks. I hope you know the rest of your history better than you know about the 18th century."

"I'm actually really good at history," Steve announced boastfully.

Actually, history was one of those things that he knew a ton about. Maybe he could be a history teacher or something some day.

"Let's go then, smarty pants," his new friend announced.

She turned and walked towards the next room with Steve hot on her heels. She turned and glanced at him over her shoulder; her eyes roamed up and down his body for a second and Steve felt his cheeks get warm.

"I'm Sally, by the way," she finally introduced herself.

"Hi Sally," he greeted. "I'm Steve."

After the Art Institute, they'd gone to Eddie's buddy's place out in the suburbs for a dip in the pool, before it got late and they called it a day. They'd dropped Robin and Nancy off then headed back to Eddie's.

"What'd you think Harrington?" Eddie grinned expectantly as he and Steve got out of the car.

"It was pretty cool," Steve shrugged.

"Pretty cool?!" Eddie exclaimed, tossing his hands in the air. "Pretty cool, he says, when he got some girl's number. You know, you wouldn't have gotten it if we hadn't have gone. When was the last time you went on a date Steve? Huh?"

"What do you want me to say?" Steve laughed at his friend's antics. "'Oh thank you, oh great Eddie, for having this brilliant idea. I had the best day of my life?'"

"Yes."

"Well it's not gonna happen."

"Save it for your wedding day then," Eddie mocked and stuck his tongue out.

"Uh huh." There was a beat before Steve continued. "It was a good day off, though, Eddie. I think I really needed it. More than I realized. Thanks for making us have one."

"Thanks for coming along," Eddie said in return.

He handed the keys to the car back to their rightful owner and clapped Steve on the shoulder. He was about to head into his building when Steve called out to him.

"You know what?" Steve asked.

"What?"

"I think Ferris got one thing right."

"Oh yeah?" Eddie grinned. "I thought you were staunchly against Mr. Bueller's antics."

"Yeah well," Steve shrugged. "A broken clock is always right twice a day."

"And what was he right about?"

Steve thought about the day for a moment. About all of the places they went and things they saw. The thoughts and feelings and people. A whole world that was out there that he never thought about until that day.

A whole person he never would've met if he hadn't gone out with his friends.

He looked back at Eddie and smiled.

"'Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.'"

Eddie walked out of the bathroom and into the communal space of the apartment.

It had been a long day. A good one, but a long one nonetheless, and he started to wonder if he was getting too old for these kinds of shenanigans. But goddamn it! He was still young! Not even thirty!

Still, he couldn't do these hours-long adventures around the city. His muscles were sore and his brain practically mush.

He'd lit up as soon as he'd gotten home and now he was ready to stretch out on the couch and let himself melt into relaxation.

And he was about to when he noticed...

You.

You sat on the other side of that screen and stared at him. You sat there and read these words.

He blinked twice then he sighed.

"You're still here?" he asked you and took a few steps closer. "Come on, I know that we're trying to recreate the full Ferris Bueller experience but it's over. Go home."

You continued reading.

"Go!" he waved you away dismissively and then fell onto the couch with a groan. "Go!"

You scrolled down to the end of the post.

bum bum. chick. chicka chicka.

[ambthegamer]

Is Eddie a medium or ghost whisperer?

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Paring Eddie Munson x Reader 

Summary In the wake of a storm, you seek out Eddie because he gives the best hugs and may be the only person in Hawkins who has the answers you need [fluff, 2.1k]

A/N Eddie didn’t come back wrong. Not in the way you’re thinking, at least. But he does hear things from time to time…

The sweet scent of wet earth lingers inescapably as you pedal, bike wheels whirring softly as they weave around potholes filled with rain. The familiar stillness that follows every storm has settled over Hawkins. Cool droplets fall from tree branches onto your skin, contrasting the warm fall air. With the wind at your face, the heaviness in your chest begins to lift as you travel further from home. 

When you arrive, rain drips from the Forest Hills entrance sign. The old, chipped wood has survived years of vandalism and wear. Puddles of water have collected on the gravel road, and colorful toys have sunken into muddy portions of front yards. The closer you get to Eddie’s trailer, the more you hear muffled music permeating from within the four walls. 

The lights are on, visible through the curtains. It isn’t until you’re close enough to dismount your ride that you realize you’re hearing Ozzy Osbourne. Eddie’s voice passionately joins in as the chorus circles back around, a smile pulling at your lips as you rest your bike against his trailer. 

The moment you knock on the door, he quiets. There’s brief shuffling, then purposeful footsteps until he’s finally swinging it open. The way his eyebrows shoot up at the sight of you is comical. A guitar solo pours out to greet you as well. 

His curly hair is pulled back in a low, messy bun and a black pair of pajama pants ride his hips. Every time you see him, there seem to be more designs inked across his pale skin. They’re down his arms, splayed across his chest. The dragon was your favorite of them all. Snaked along the side of his rib cage with its mouth bared, shielding a splotch of scars. 

“You’re goin’ off the rails, huh?” There’s a playful lilt to your voice as you quote the lyrics back to him, tilting your head. 

His cheeks flush as he opens the door wider for you, your perfume wafting as you walk in. “Every day of my life—fuck me, I can’t believe you heard all that,” he groans, running a hand down his face. 

After shutting the door, he turns off the stereo. You sigh as you toe off your vans and take a relaxed look around the small space. With Crazy Train having come to an end, you can hear the TV quietly droning about the possibility of more rain. 

For as much as there was that changed in the world, this place seldom did. With its warm lamplight and eternal coziness. The air smelled of pine, underscored with smoke. Even the mug shelves and baseball caps hanging on the walls have stood the test of time. 

When your eyes meet again, he offers a boyish grin that settles under your skin. “Wasn’t expecting your pretty face today.” He tucks some wispy flyaways behind his ears. 

“Sorry I didn’t call first,” you say. “I just needed to get out of the house...needed to see you.” Eddie doesn’t miss the brief shadow that flickers in your eyes, as though another thought is protesting from a cage in the back of your mind. 

As much as he’s tempted, he doesn’t coax it out. “Nothing wrong with a good ol’ change of scenery.” He lifts his brows in that charming way of his. “Not that this is the Four Seasons or anything—” 

Before he knows it, your arms are around him. A hum vibrates through his chest as you tuck your nose into the warmth of his skin. As he hugs you in return, the remaining tension melts right from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Once he’s sure you’re feeling better, he starts rocking from side to side until your smile slips through. 

You try to pull away, but he only squeezes tighter. “Eddie,” you whine through a giddy laugh. 

“Nope, you’ve gotta commit now,” he quips. “I don’t make the rules, angel.” Hearing that, you relax into him, exhaling at the playfulness and familiarity of his embrace. 

“How do you do it?” You murmur into him like he’s some sort of magic. 

He smooths his palm up your back, gently massaging at the base of your neck. “Do what?” 

“Make everything better,” you whisper, feeling the rest of your worries dissolve under his touch. 

A weak chuckle rumbles through his chest as he pulls back to look at you. The honesty in your eyes makes him feel like he’s an imposter. Like he’s somehow got you fooled. “I don’t know about everything...” 

Life has been different since the Upside Down. There were scars from that day that were never going to fade, engraved beyond skin deep. It was the voices from before, the rumors and taunts, that made him feel like he was that same punk teenager who corrupted everything he touched. Like being himself was innately wrong. 

It was hard to believe that someone like you genuinely enjoyed his company, found him helpful, thought he was good. But he was getting better about it because he didn’t make it this far for those old voices to hold the same power. These days, new voices echoed around him, not confined to memories but strikingly real, intimately near. Never unkind, just disembodied and drifting through the in-between. 

They didn’t scare him anymore. He learned when to listen and when to tune them out. Something was bound to follow after he crawled his way back to the land of the living. Nevertheless, he’s grateful for a second chance at life. If things had ended any differently, he never would’ve seen how much better things could get—or cross paths with you. 

You think for a moment before speaking up again, “Then we’ll agree to disagree.” 

Eddie takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb, eyes flitting over your face in awe. You grow shy under his gaze, and that’s when he leans in to kiss you, his plush lips soft and slow. A satisfied sound rises in your throat as you trail your hands along his waist, feeling the different textures of his scarred skin beneath your fingertips. 

Caught up in the warmth of your mouth and the pleasant stirring in his gut, he doesn’t feel you pull the elastic from his hair, letting it cascade down over his shoulders. However, he smiles at the feeling of your fingertips gently scratching his scalp. 

“I got something for you,” he eventually whispers, pecking your lips one last time before heading to his bedroom. 

Butterflies dance in your stomach as you trail after him, toying with the hem of your shirt. You take a seat on the foot of his bed, watching him saunter to his nightstand, humming under his breath. Your eyes drift to the dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades, the blade descending a short way down his spine. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, turning back around with something hidden behind his back. Eddie snickers as he approaches, your eyes adorably shut. It’s a contagious sound. The bed dips as he takes a seat, his thigh pressing against yours. 

He taps your nose with something soft, prompting you to open your eyes. 

It’s a small stuffed ghost with two black buttons for eyes, and an even smaller one for a mouth. You’re quiet as you take it from him, thoughtfully turning it over in your hands. Shaped like a comma, it has two adorable arms raised up from the sides. Faint stitching is visible along the perimeter like it was homemade. Eddie shifts and scratches the back of his neck, unsure how to interpret your silence.

A smile finally breaks across your face. “He’s adorable. Where’d you get him?” 

Eddie runs a relieved hand through his hair. “You’re not gonna believe me, but Wayne and I went to visit Ruth in the nursing home the other day. You remember her? The lady who used to live a couple trailers down.” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “They happened to be having one of those activity days where someone comes in to lead a craft or whatever…“

“And you stayed?”

He kisses your cheek. “Bingo.” Then his voice grows fond. “All I could think about was making one for you.”

Warmth spreads throughout your chest. “I’m gonna name him Ghostie.“

The distant sound of a car door shutting makes you jump and look towards the window. Eddie almost laughs, but stops himself at the way your shoulders slump in dejection. Like you’re upset at yourself for reacting.  

He leans in, talking carefully, “You alright?” You shake your head in dismissal, but his attentiveness doubles down. “Talk to me, Goose.” 

The reference makes you smile, and you nudge him for it. “I’ve just been a little on edge.” There’s something else you want to add, but don’t. Eddie’s ready to prod it out this time around, but you’re quick to tap his nose with the stuffed ghost. “I might just be going off the rails like you and Ozzy.” 

He huffs an amused breath. “Not gonna let that go, huh?” 

“Never.” 

•••

The rain starts back up again. Slowly, before pattering down harsher against the roof. By then, you’ve already eaten dinner and settled on the couch for Beetlejuice, the sun long set. Eddie’s arm rests over your shoulders as you lay asleep in his lap, Ghostie tucked into the crook of your elbow. He had a feeling things would end up this way.

When he shakes with a chuckle at yet another wacky scene, you stir. He doesn’t realize until you shift with a soft hum. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he practically coos, squeezing your shoulder. 

“How dare you laugh and be amused.” Your voice is soft and groggy in that way he adores.

“I know, I’m awful,” he agrees with feigned gravity. “Gotta go turn myself in. Tell the kids I love them.” You snort as you sit up, snuggling into his side with Ghostie in your lap. 

The lights flicker as a strong gust of wind blows outside. A concerned furrow forms between his brows at the way you gasp and stiffen. This jumpiness is unlike you. He rubs your arm in hopes of loosening you up, but darkness promptly envelopes the room. You can hardly see aside from mere outlines. 

The sides of the trailer creak as the wind continues, a bit fiercer than before. Eddie curses under his breath at the inconvenience, while you’ve grown even more rigid and silent. There’s a false glimmer of hope when the lights briefly flicker, but darkness soon prevails again.

“It’s okay,” Eddie assures, pulling you closer. “Wind’s just disturbing the lines. They’ll be back on in a second.” The lights flicker before dying out again. 

Tears well in your eyes. Your voice wavers as you speak, “Eddie?” 

“I’m here,” he assures. “I’ll go grab a flash—”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” 

Now it's his turn to still. It’s not a foreign question, not by a longshot. It’s one that was peppered throughout his childhood, and always returned in the later half of every year when the nights began to grow a little longer. It’s the sound of your voice that sets it apart this time around. You’re not seeking an answer for fun or on a whim. You’re searching for a second opinion. Deep down you knew, out of every other soul in Hawkins, he’d have one to give. No one came back from the Upside Down without a few ties that lingered. 

He’s quiet for a while, the sound of wind and rain filling the space between you. 

“It’s not a matter of belief,” he finally says, swallowing hard. “If something’s real—God, Satan, ghosts, whatever…” he pauses. “It’ll keep existing whether you believe it does or not.” 

“So do you think…are ghosts real?” He can’t see your attentiveness, but he can hear it. 

He chuckles humorlessly, blindly taking your hand in his so you know he’s not making fun of you or messing around. 

The two of you start talking at the same time, “I—” 

“Can feel them,” you breathe. “At my house. It started a few days ago after you left.” 

Like he may have left them behind.

The lights stutter back on as the TV bursts back to life, somehow picking right back up. Eddie reaches for the remote and turns it off, his finger lingering on the button. When his attention settles back on you, there’s a sense of disbelief in his dark eyes, like he’s looking into a mirror for the first time in a while. 

“Feel them?” he slowly repeats, searching your gaze for more. 

“Hear their voices... like soft whispers,” you continue. “So I know they’re real.” 

There’s a thoughtful beat of silence.

“Me too.” 

- 

Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think. 

MORE

[ambthegamer]

This is on my list to read!

No Shelter Masterlist

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x AFAB!Partner!Reader

Series Setting: 1999 Los Angeles - No Upside Down AU

Summary: You are Eddie Munson's partner of 12 years. You've been together through everything. You managed Corroded Coffin while they were establishing themselves. But who are you? When you look in the mirror, you only see yourself through Eddie's eyes.

This is a series about being lost in a relationship, and seeing if there's a way to find yourself without tearing it to pieces. This is also a story about being queer and very in the closet. (It's the 90s)

One

Two

Eddie's Interlude

Three

Sugar Blurbs:

Promise

Something

One Shot within AU:

A Lesson in Anatomy

[ambthegamer]

Painting pretty people is always the hardest 😳🥺 #Eddie #WIP I just love how this man has won milions of hearts in the span of a few minutes with his puppy eyes, the sweetest smile and gentle personality 🥺

[ambthegamer]

[ambthegamer]

Yup!

Eddie Munson gifs 4/?

The moment that impacted so many of us <3

[ambthegamer]

Oooh, I am going to read this right now.

Violent Hearts Masterlist

Emperor Geta x reader

Used as a pawn in your father’s games, you are sent to Rome as a plaything for the Emperors to do with as they please.

One despises your very existence.

The other seems intrigued. But what exactly does he see when he looks at you?

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII (coming soon)

[ambthegamer]

For all the lost sheep looking for OC readers and writers.

*fan fair sounds *

Come join the Stranger things x OC community.

Invites are already making their way out to anyone following the blog, so follow the @stranger-things-x-oc-blog and reblog this post to spread the word.

[ambthegamer]

[ambthegamer]

It's two months since my grandma passed away, so these gifs made me smile.

Andrew Garfield talks to Elmo about grief and the passing of his mother

[ambthegamer]

Joseph Quinn as Eddie Munson -> Stranger Things s4 e01 "the Hellfire Club"

I just like to imagine him doin stuff around the house 🫶🏻

[ambthegamer]

I love this fic!

Title: Roller Queen

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary: A heatwave has hit Hawkins and bored out of his mind, Eddie tries to find something to do. He finds that something in the Palace Arcade…

Word Count: 6997

Content Warning: 18+ mdni. Semi-public sex. Oral sex (male receiving). Vaginal fingering.

Notes: This is what you get when you spend quite some time on Pinterest during a heatwave and suddenly finding a picture that just inspires you. The picture is all the way at the end, it just worked for me.

There is also one mention of the name Arlo in this and that's what I called the unnamed Hellfire member aka Corroded Coffin’s bass player, also known as the titular “Freak”. There’s an entire backstory in regards to why I gave him that name, but I won’t bore anyone to tears with that particular HC.

Betaread by @adrille88 Thanks again ❤️ Any remaining mistakes are all mine.

If he was really honest with himself, Eddie had to admit that he kind of liked heatwaves.

All the assholes would leave the town of Hawkins, abandoning the hot and humid place like a bunch of rats leaving a sinking ship, and they’d go spend a couple of days at their log cabins near some lake, leaving all the less fortunate residents behind.

Not that he thought that he was less fortunate, fuck no. He wouldn’t want golden boy Jason Carver’s shiny life. Sitting next to mommy, wearing his Sunday best and listening to daddy as he preached fire and brimstone to the congregation as they clutched their crucifixes. Lord knew where the bastard was now. Probably forced to suck up to some senator’s kid whilst he pretended that he wasn’t from some backwater shithole in Indiana.

So yeah, heatwaves weren’t all that bad. Besides, you could dress for the heat.

He was currently lazing about on the porch in an old pair of jeans that were cutoff right above the knee. His Motörhead shirt (which he had also modified after he tore it making it sleeveless as well as a little bit too short) was in a crumpled heap right next to him.

The only thing that was bugging him at the moment was trying to decide what to do.

It was the first summer after graduation, so he should have been spoiled for choice, but sadly that was not the case at all.

Steve and Robin were at work, like Jeff, and he didn’t feel like bothering them at their workplaces. Again. Dustin was at some kind of robotics camp. Wheeler had joined the Byers family for their last summer in California before they moved back to Hawkins. The Sinclairs were visiting relatives, as was Gareth. Arlo had been signed up for summer classes by his mother because he was failing a couple of classes.

So there was currently no one that he could shoot the shit with.

Usually Eddie wouldn’t have any problems on his own, he’d almost grown accustomed to it when he was a kid, but he was bored out of his mind at the moment. Didn’t help that he was coming off his previous high as well.

Absentmindedly scratching his neck, he brushed away some of the locks of hair that had come loose from his ponytail and that were sticking to his sweaty skin. He’d already taken a cold shower earlier and even that wasn’t enough to fight the heat.

The AC had also gone on the fritz at the worst possible time so staying in his bedroom wasn’t an option. Which meant that jacking off was off the cards, too. Because hey, when in doubt, jerk off. It was basically an unwritten rule.

Everyone that was still in town had either gone to the community pool or the woods, but those weren’t really places where we wanted or could go to. Lover’s Lake and Skull Rock were places that were worth considering, but you never knew if you’d disturb anyone whilst there and some people didn’t take too kindly to having an audience. And even if they were keen to have onlookers, that didn’t automatically mean that they’d want him there.

There wasn’t really much else to do apart from aimlessly driving through town until he found something that was worth his while.

Getting to his feet with a groan, he stretched out, grabbed his discarded shirt from the couch and put it on. His keys and cigarettes were on the small table next to him so he pocketed the packet of smokes and then locked the front door (even if no one was insane enough to attempt to steal anything from them, what with them having the good old Munson name and all).

As expected the van was hot as hell, so he rolled the windows all the way down on both sides before starting the engine and heading out of the trailer park in search of something to do.

Driving around town, he’s reminded of that Ghost Town song by The Specials (Robin was going through a bit of a ska phase at the moment) and before he knew it he was humming it which was in stark contrast to the Megadeth song, Wake Up Dead, that was currently blasting through the speakers.

Despite having previously decided that he wasn’t going to go to Family Video, he found himself driving in that direction anyway. Maybe Eddie could convince Steve to give him access to his backyard so he could have a dip in his pool in exchange for a couple of joints? Worth a shot.

This brought him right past the arcade, which was practically next door, a place that he hadn’t set foot in for quite some time. Together with Harrington, he seemed to have earned the dubious privilege of dropping the kids off there quite frequently, but he never joined them despite Henderson asking him to do so every single time.

He wasn’t about to have his ass kicked by some kid at-

Eddie swore that his eyes were seconds away from rolling out of their sockets.

All that he caught was a quick peek through the open doors of the arcade, but it had been enough to make him punch the brakes of his van and he came to a standstill right in front of the building.

Eddie had never parked his van so fast in his life.

When he got out of the van and walked across the asphalt to his destination, nerves set in, which was insane when he really thought about it. Why was he even nervous? Was it because he was seconds away from shooting his shot and potentially getting horrifically turned down?

The name of the place was lit up in purple neon on the awning over the doorway. Unbelievable that this was something that could make him set foot in the place after all this time, having seemingly graduated from it many years previous, constantly proclaiming that it wasn’t “his scene” since books and board games were more his thing.

That was a better excuse than saying that he had simply been unable to afford it. Money had always been tight in the Munson household and wasting a couple of quarters on something that he couldn’t even take home with him or put in his belly seemed pointless.

There’s an acne stricken teenager sitting on a folding chair next to the open door, a look of annoyance on his face that betrayed the fact that he didn’t want to be here at all.

“There’s a change machine inside. You know where to find me if it stops working,” he says with a bored tone when Eddie passes him by. The kid doesn’t say it, but his line sounds well practiced, leading him to believe that the aforementioned machine must have some issues.

It also sounds like the kid has no intention of going inside unless he absolutely must.

So that means that no one will see Eddie crash and burn if he does. And if he doesn’t, there won’t be anyone to disturb him either, so it was a win-win situation no matter what.

It was cooler inside, but only slightly. The AC was old and far too small to cool such a large space, but it still tried to do its job to the best of its abilities.

There were plenty of noises around him, machines beeping in an attempt to make him look at them, to make him see what he could play if he would only give them a couple of coins. He barely even seems to notice them at all, not caring about what the games have to offer him.

Not now.

The row of games that were visible from the door are all vacant. No one’s there to pour over them, desperately trying to win, so he moves on to the row next to it as he tries to find what he’s looking for. He’s about to turn the corner into the third, already somewhat convinced that his mind had been playing tricks on him, that the heat had fried his brain, when he comes to a sudden standstill and simply stares at the image before him.

Eddie had not imagined it, hadn’t gotten a severe case of heatstroke, hadn’t witnessed a mirage or anything of the sort. Even if mirage was probably the best word to describe what he was looking at.

You were leaning over the controls of one of the machines, tapping away at the buttons and moving the joystick back and forth.

That in itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Dustin often spoke of you with awe in his voice, regaling everyone with how good you were at the games at the arcade. You and Max held a lot of the high scores and that was pure catnip to the younger boys who only cared about trivial things like that. The fact that you were older only seemed to make you more appealing to them.

A fellow nerd.

An older fellow nerd.

An attractive, older fellow nerd.

Eddie had never really gotten it until now, but that was more down to what you were wearing, which was a lot more revealing than what you had worn when you still walked through the hallways of Hawkins High. Hell, Principal Higgins would probably have a heart attack if someone wore that to school.

In an effort to fight the heat, you were wearing a pair of cut off blue sweatpants, which were so short that they might as well be hotpants, and a dark blue bikini top. And on your feet were the signature roller skates that were very much an extension of yourself as it were.

He doesn’t think that he’s ever seen you without them when you weren’t in school or working. There’s even a story about how you kicked Andy Collins in the balls with them once, but no one has ever been able to confirm that particular story since it was very much based on hearsay.

It is a fact however that Andy doesn’t seem to sniff around you quite as much as he does with every other (single) female in town. Had to be a reason for that.

The corner of your mouth twitches, so you definitely noticed that you had an audience of one by now. It would be rude not to go over to say hello, right? Right? So Eddie starts moving, unsteady on his feet all of a sudden, like he had forgotten how to walk simply because he was in the presence of such beauty.

“Hi,” he croaks out and he raises his hand in greeting. “Pretty hot outside, huh.” He mentally slaps himself for saying that, because why on Earth had he decided to state the obvious? Guess that meant that trying to act cool had gone straight out the window. His remark makes you snort though, which he supposes is a win of sorts. “Anyway. Hi.”

“Hi,” you say with a grin, doing your best not to laugh, as you look up for a few seconds before focusing all your attention back on the game. “Don’t see you round here a lot.”

“Not much of a gamer,” Eddie admits, which technically wasn’t true, but he didn’t think that he had to clarify that he was talking about video games. You would have seen him around the arcade a lot more if he was into those.

“So why’re you here then?”

“Thought I’d check the place out. Henderson’s always talking about it.”

“Ah, Henderson,” you sigh and there’s a hint of exhaustion there that almost makes him laugh. “And that’s enough to get you to show up?”

“Maybe not just that.” His eyes skate over the curve of your ass and when he looks back at your face again, he can see that your eyebrows are raised. Subtlety had never been his strong point. “Busted,” he chuckles.

“Hm,” is all that he gets out of you before you look back at the screen once more.

Eddie tries his best to feign an interest in the game that you’re playing, Bubble Bobble, by trying to keep his eyes peeled on the screen. Even thinks about commenting on the cuteness of the green dinosaur that’s blowing bubbles at his enemies, but he doesn’t out of fear of looking like a complete fool. He actually opens his mouth once with the intention of commenting on how well you’re playing, but what the hell is he supposed to say?

‘Good game, hot stuff, but do you wanna get out of here and play a real game in the back of my van instead?’

Bad idea. Really bad idea. He’d prefer it if his nuts didn’t meet the boot of your skates. That would be a horrible ending to what was turning out to be a pretty good day so far. He’d like to end it on a high if he could, preferably with your phone number scribbled on a piece of paper in his pocket.

Damn, this was easier when he could hide behind his usual bravado, but he’d already fucked that one up from the moment that he started talking to you. Hell, he couldn’t even hide behind his hair, because it was in a messy ponytail right now.

Still, you haven’t told him to fuck off just yet so it wasn’t a complete disaster. He leans back against the side of the machine next to yours and he really looks at you this time.

God damn, he had always thought that you were pretty, but fuck, you looked good enough to eat right now. He catches the glint of a bead of sweat as it rolls down your neck, following it as it makes its way down your skin and ultimately disappears into the fabric of your bikini top.

Eddie can almost taste the salt on his tongue if he thinks about it hard enough.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Your voice cuts through the first wisps of the daydream that was forming in the back of his mind, one that already had his cock twitching in his pants, seconds away from begging him to excuse himself so he could jerk off in his van.

“I would if I had a camera,” he bites back.

You shake your head and sigh and a couple of seconds later the game makes a noise, something that even a newbie like him knew wasn’t good. As if to emphasize this, the words “game over” appear on the black screen.

“Thought you were good.”

“My heart wasn’t in it,” you say while the screen starts flashing the ‘insert coin’ message on the screen in an attempt to lure in new players. “It’s this damn heat.”

“Maybe you don’t do well with an audience.”

“You’re shitting me, right? You know how many times I have those little shitheads breathing down my neck?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “A lot?”

“Yup. I barely get any alone time as it is.”

There’s a sudden flush of guilt and he can feel his cheeks burn as they begin to color a dark shade of pink. He’s bothering you. You never said it, but that's what he reads between the lines.

“You want me to leave?” He’s already turning away from you, instantly apologetic, so he’s surprised when he feels your fingers touch his wrist.

“Did I say that?” He’s watching your hand, noticing the gentle pull on his arm which doesn’t stop until he makes no move to leave anymore. “Did I?”

Since you repeat yourself, you’re obviously expecting an answer. The only problem is that the heat combined with your touch are kind of short circuiting his brain.

Eddie eventually manages to get out a small “No?” which he considers a victory. At least it shows that he’s still capable of speech, if only a little.

“No,” you repeat after him and he’s instantly relaxed when he finds that his presence does seem to be wanted after all. He can’t stop his expression from falling a little when your hand lets go of his arm. “But you say you’re not a gamer. Maybe you just haven’t found one that you like yet.”

“Sweetheart, I haven’t been in here for years,” he says with a casual wave of his hand. “The flashing lights are about to give me an epileptic fit.”

“Was that a joke?”

“Yeah?”

“That was so funny I forgot to laugh,” you deadpan.

The flat tone of your voice makes him snort as well as make him wonder why he has never tried talking to you before.

He supposes that it was a form of thinly veiled jealousy over the kids liking you so much. But who cares about them? And why is he thinking about them so much anyway? Being in the presence of a hot girl combined with the stifling heat was really doing a number on his brain, that was for s-

You clap your hands together in front of his face, snapping him out of his thoughts for the second time since he was with you.

“Anyway!” you exclaim and clear your throat before continuing. “There’s a couple of old games in the back. Maybe you’d even recognise some of them, oldtimer. Want me to show you?”

“Which ones?”

“Pong, Death Race, Space Invaders, Asteroids… ring a bell?”

“Always was quite partial to Death Race actually.”

“Figures,” you grin. “Come on then,” you say as you push yourself away from the cabinet and start leading the way.

Eddie lets you take the lead, because it means that he can walk behind you and his eyes drop down immediately, unashamedly ogling your ass as you glide through the arcade.

On your way to the back, he hears the crinkling of plastic and watches you remove the orange wrapper from a lollipop before it disappears into your mouth. He swallows hard when your jaw moves, your cheek bulging as you keep moving the candy from side to side. He’s practically salivating as he tries very hard not to let his mind come up with images of how your cheeks would look if there was something else in your-

“There she is,” you break through his reverie again and he briefly wonders if it’s intentional, if you have some kind of inbuilt radar that alerts you whenever a guy is about to have some very impure thoughts in your vicinity. “Death Race.”

You point out the black cabinet at the end of the row of machines, the two steering wheels making it instantly recognisable. You come to a standstill right next to it and wave your hand over the front of it, like some bikini babe that they sometimes use to advertise cars.

“Goddamn,” he whistles in wonder. “Didn’t know they still had this one.”

“They do,” you reply as you stand to his left. “Don’t think they ever get rid of a game if it’s still working.” You dig around in your pocket and hold out a quarter to him. “Here. First game’s on me.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Eddie takes the quarter from your fingers and puts it in the slot. “I’ll try to make it last.”

Unfortunately it doesn’t last that long. Sadly, he’s a little bit rusty. Not that he was any good when he still came here, but he finds himself wanting to impress you as much as he can.

Eddie’s on his fourth quarter when there’s an almost sickening crunch from your direction. Eddie looks up from the screen to see you chewing on the hard candy of your lollipop and he catches you tossing the stick in a garbage bin behind you. He wants to say something, but the words die on his tongue when your hand suddenly connects with his chest and he’s pushed back against the wall.

“Hey, wh-”

-at the hell.

The rest of the sentence comes out all muffled, because your lips crash into his hard. There’s barely time to close his mouth and you enthusiastically take advantage of that by licking into his mouth, your tongue connecting with his, and he can taste nothing but oranges. When he starts kissing you back, he can taste the same artificial nectarine flavor in your lip gloss.

Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you in closer and you sigh when his hands start rubbing up and down your back. You even giggle when one hand dips down lower and grabs your ass cheek.

There’s no opposition from him when you push him to the side, in between the opening between the black cabinet and the wall, one that the both of you fit into neatly, effectively shielding you and him from the view of others just enough.

Not that there was anyone else there apart from the bored employee that was still sitting outside and even he wouldn’t be able to see what the pair of you are doing from where he’s sitting.

“Aren’t-“ You pull away just far enough so Eddie can look in your eyes for a split second, see how blown out your pupils are, and then you dip your head down so you can drag your lips over his neck. “Aren’t you scared that anyone might see us?”

“No.” Your reply comes far too quickly and your teeth graze his Adam's apple slightly. “Why?”

“Wh- are you serious?”

“Mhm,” you hum against his skin. He gasps when you suck on his neck hard enough to leave a mark. “So sensitive.”

“Fuck.” At least Eddie can sort of peer into the space behind you now. He catches no movement whatsoever. And it’s not as if the arcade is rigged up with security cameras either. You stick your hands underneath his shirt, your fingers finding his nipples with ease and pinching them. “Damn, sweetheart.”

“What?” You look up at him, batting your eyelids almost too innocently, and when he doesn’t reply, you lick a stripe from the dip in his collarbone all the way up to his ear. “Cute,” you say directly into his ear before you gently tug on his lobe with your teeth. “You’re cute.”

Your intent couldn’t be more clear however. You wanted him and you were laying it on so thick that it was hard to ignore. It was all in the hungry way that you kissed him, filled with lust and longing, full of heat and desire.

Even though there shouldn’t be any mistaking your intentions, Eddie still wonders when it would be acceptable to invite you into his van. If he does it too early, you might smack him for being a perv, but if he does it too late, you might mistake it for disinterest, which would be a million miles off from what he wants. If only he had talked to you before, he would know what you were like a bit more, but all he has to go on are stories from Henderson and a handful of rumors.

There’s an unexpected brush of your fingers over the front of his jeans and it’s so light that he mistakes it for being accidental at first, but when it happens again and then again, it becomes a bit more difficult to ignore.

“Oh?” The triumphant tone in your voice is impossible to miss, because now you know that he was already half hard before and that was definitely because of you. “Thought that you had a couple of rolls of quarters in your pocket, but I think I was wrong.”

“You use that line a lot?”

The words came out too easily after all so naturally he’s curious, maybe even a little jealous, but he would never admit to that.

“Please,” you chuckle, “you think so little of me?”

“I don’t know. Don’t know you that well. Unfortunately.”

“You could get to know me. If you want to.”

“Hmmm. Tough question. Let me think about it.”

Eddie meant it as a joke, obviously, but he doesn’t miss how your brows furrow and how your hand stops moving, even if you can’t seem to stop your fingernails from scratching at the fabric.

His hips end up chasing your hand when you pull it away.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Eddie blinks, suddenly confused. “Is that a trick question?”

“Nope, just an honest one.”

“No.” It’s his turn to answer quickly now. And Christ, he feels like such a fucking dickhead for giving you the impression that he might not want this. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“Good,” you reply with a grin that’s bordering on feral, “because I really didn’t want to.”

“Then wh-?” He cuts off his sentence because your hand is back on his crotch again. You touch him with more intent now and he wonders if you can feel his dick twitching through the thick fabric. “Fuck.”

“Cause you looked a bit uncomfortable for a couple of seconds there. Figured that it was because of me.”

“It wasn’t, sweetheart. Trust me. Just never had a pretty girl seconds away from making me come in my pants like a schoolboy in a public place before.”

“Hmmm. I can think of something a lot better than that.” His eyes widen when you drop down onto your knees and start undoing his belt. “All you need to do is stay quiet.” A strangled kind of noise comes out of his mouth and it makes you grin even wider. “Think you can do that?”

“I’ll fucking try,” he squeaks out when you pull his pants down roughly to expose his underwear and his pale thighs. “I’ll really fucking try.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that.” Your hand rubs over the front of his boxers and he groans low in his throat. “No louder than that, okay?” You pull the last cloth barrier down, unveiling his cock and it proudly stands at attention. “Oh god,” you say, obviously impressed, “prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh yeah?” You lick at the glistening bead of precum on the tip and your eyes close briefly as you taste him. The noise you make is exaggerated, but fuck, who cares? “Like it that much?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer as the tip of your tongue starts following the trail of a prominent vein on the side of his shaft, chasing it all the way down to the base and then back up again. “I do.”

Eddie lets out a sigh when you finally wrap your lips around his cock and let him slip halfway into your mouth. You sit there, looking all pretty, your eyes on his, and he already knows that he won’t be able to get this image out of his head for as long as he lives.

You bob down a bit further, a mere inch at most, and then release him with a soft pop. You spit on your palm, circle your fingers around the shaft, and start working him with your hand.

Ducking your head, you sink your teeth into his pale thigh and then lick the already slightly reddening mark. You repeat this a few more times, much to Eddie’s amusement. The slight sting of your bites in combination with the movement of your hand are pushing him ever closer to the edge.

Having teased him enough, you take his dick into your mouth again and he briefly wonders if you would have still done this if the place had been a bit more crowded. Not that he thinks that the sound of screaming kids would have done anything to kill his boner. If anything, the sheer thought of there being a greater possibility of getting caught only turns him on more.

When you cup his balls and start massaging them, Eddie hisses through his teeth. Fuck, he really wasn’t gonna last long. He also had no idea how he was supposed to stay quiet. He didn’t consider himself particularly noisy (he was), but he liked talking and there was no way that he would be able to control the volume of his voice.

Not when you kept eagerly sucking him off and especially not when you were pairing it with a look that was practically spelling out how much you loved having his dick in your mouth.

You also look like you want him to crack, like you desperately want him to make noises that are way too loud, like you want to get caught giving him head in the back of the arcade.

“Shit,” he groans as softly as he can and he can feel the corners of your mouth twitch upwards into a smile. “Can’t help it,” he says, softer now. “Feels too fucking good.”

Humming around his length, you hollow out your cheeks and when your hands lightly grasp the back of his thighs so your fingertips can dance up and down his skin, he shudders.

Saliva was bubbling at the corners of your mouth and fuck, it has to be one of the hottest things that he’s ever seen. His hand instantly moves of its own volition, moving to the back of your head, and he pushes you down for a split second, stopping when your fingernails dig into his skin. He loosens his grip, giving you ample opportunity to pull away, but you don’t and your eyes are almost flashing a challenge to him, practically daring him to do it again.

So he does.

This time he holds you down a little bit longer, forcing you to take him in a little bit deeper and instantly letting go when you make a gagging noise. You stay right where you are, his dick halfway in your mouth, eyes still a little defiant, so he does it again, harder, and forcing his cock in deeper still. The discomfort is plain to see and when your fingernails drag down the back of his thighs harshly, he can feel it, too, but your grip on his legs relaxes soon enough. He scratches your scalp affectionately.

Your eyes are glistening with unshed tears, threatening to overflow, and his hand releases you so he can wipe at the corners of one of your eyes, in an attempt to brush your tears away.

“Didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart,” he admits. “You just look so fucking good like that.” You blink once which finally makes the tears spill out. “Good tears though, huh?” You make an affirmative noise even if he already knows the answer. “Good ‘cause I’m seconds away from coming all down that pretty throat of yours.”

He catches a glint in your eye, as if his words spurred you on, but Eddie’s entirely unprepared for what you do next.

Your hands grab his hips and you plunge your mouth all the way down his length until your lips make contact with the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You gag around him, but you inhale deeply through your nose and manage to stay down for a bit longer.

Your throat muscles contracting around his cock is what pushes him over the edge and he comes in thick spurts down your throat. He bangs the back of his head against the wall behind him, his lips pressed tightly together to stop himself from shouting as he climaxes. His hands are balled to fists at his sides and he slams them against the wall as a form of channeling the pent-up energy that has nowhere else to go.

It takes him a short while to come back to his senses and his hands shake when he relaxes his grip. When he hazards a glance down, you’re still on your knees, his now soft cock still in your hands as you’re lazily licking up and down his shaft.

Reaching for your face, he touches the corner of your mouth and mumbles the words, “Show me.” You stick your tongue out obediently, showing him that there’s not a single drop of his cum left. “Good girl.”

Exhaling shakily, he manages to say, “up,” a couple of times, his fingers hooking under your chin and pulling in an effort to make you move faster. As soon as you’re on your feet, his lips crash into yours, his tongue invading your mouth until he can taste himself on your tongue.

His hands are everywhere. On your ass, your hips, your tits. He simply doesn’t know what to grab first, and it’s not like you seem to care either with how content your sighs are.

Changing positions, he pushes you up against the wall and hurriedly pulls his boxers and shorts back up. Your hands take over to zip him back up this time, leaving his hands free to pull the cups of your bikini top to the sides and burying his face between your tits.

“Like that,” you breathe out when his lips finally find one of your nipples. “Just like that.”

“So sensitive,” he remarks with a grin, positively delighted that he can throw your earlier words right back at you this time. “I wonder…” He trails off and brushes a hand down your stomach, light as a feather, until his fingers come to a stop at the waistband of your shorts. “May I?”

You’re nodding before he even manages to get the words out, betraying your eagerness and perhaps your impatience. So naturally that makes Eddie move slower than he would have, taking his time to undo the bow that keeps the drawstring of your shorts tied together, and even when that’s undone, he slides his digits underneath the fabric painstakingly slowly.

“Eddieeeee,” you whine, “stop teasing.”

“Who’s teasing?”

“You are,” you pout. “Not like we have all day.”

“We don’t?” You’re ready to say more, he can tell, but he knows you’re right. And he doesn’t know what you’ll do if he keeps teasing, so he slips his fingers into your panties and slides them between your folds. “Jesus, baby, you’re soaked.”

“Mhm,” you bite your lower lip and nod.

“You got this wet just from having my dick in your mouth?” You moan affirmatively. “Poor thing. Seems only right that I help you out then, right?” One of his fingers probes your entrance, not quite pressing inside yet. Not until you answer him. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whimper. “N-need to feel your fingers inside me.”

“Come on,” he husks against your cheek, “spread your legs a little wider.” You give him some more space to work with and he slides the digit in with ease. “Good girl.”

Your head drops forward onto his shoulder, your mouth almost level with his ear so he can hear every shaky breath and strangled moan. It makes him add another finger, plunging them deeper inside and curling them upward until he hits your sweet spot. Your walls spasm and contract around his fingers, trying to keep them there.

“Really want to get my mouth on you, sweetheart,” he husks against your temple.

“No time,” you answer. “R-raincheck?”

“You’d better,” he chuckles. He just knew that he’d be taking you up on that offer before the end of the day.

Fuck, if he had his way, he’d be on his knees in front of you right now. Your ass pushed up against the controls of the Pong machine, his head buried between your thighs, until you’re screaming so loud that it drowns out every other fucking sound in this place.

If only he’d asked you to come with him, he’d have had his wish.

His thumb finds your swollen and neglected clit with ease. His touch sends a shockwave through you which makes your whole body jolt. You grab at his shoulders, his name on your lips as your fingernails leave crescent shaped marks in the sections of his skin which aren’t covered by his shirt.

Your breath hitches and you let out a choked sob, only to have Eddie cut off any other sounds that you might make by pressing his lips against yours and swallowing all your delicious noises, effectively silencing you. Your thighs convulse around his palm, trapping his hand between them.

Reaching upward, you grab at his tied back hair, wrapping the ponytail around your fingers and pulling until your hand, along with all the other muscles in your body, go slack.

“Mmmm.” You sigh against his lips and he pulls away just far enough to see your blissed out features as you float back down to Earth. “Always knew you’d be good with your fingers.”

“You wanted to get caught, didn’t you?” Your face splits into a grin and he shakes his head. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

You open your mouth to speak, but you’re distracted by Eddie sticking his fingers into his mouth and sucking your juices from them. Cupping his cheeks, you lean forward and your lips brush together when a loud scream suddenly cuts through the relative silence. Startled, it makes your eyes snap open, but you visibly relax when it dawns on you that the noise isn’t anywhere near where the two of you are.

“I wanna play that one,” an underage voice shouts and it’s answered by a decidedly more bored adult voice. “Come on!” The child sounds impatient and is probably dragging the adult behind him in the direction of the game of his choice.

“Shame that,” you say as you adjust your top, covering your chest up once more. You move away from him and he hates the fact that there’s space between you now. “I totally would have let you fuck me as I played the pinball machines.”

“I have a van,” he replies, helpful and hopeful at the same time.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” You stick a hand in your pocket and he thinks he can hear you jingle some coins. “Still got some quarters left so you’re shit out of luck.”

“You’re just going to play a couple more games after that?“

“Uh, yeah? I never leave until I’m all out of quarters. Sorry.” Eddie’s expression falls, but his smile returns when you press your lips against his cheek and whisper in his ear, “Can’t you wait a little bit longer like a good boy? Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You give his lips a quick peck and wink. “If you think I’m going to end this day without having your dick inside me then you’re an idiot.”

Someone clears their throat loudly behind you and when you turn, you see what you can only assume is the owner of the bored adult voice earlier.

“There are kids in here, you know,” the man huffs.

“I don’t see any,” you say as you flip him off. “Or are you talking about yourself?” You grab Eddie’s hand and pull him along with you. “Come on, babe. Let’s leave these games for the kids, huh? We both got what we wanted. For now.”

The implication of what you’d done there hangs in the air as Eddie lets you lead him past the man and he barks out a laugh when he sees the furious, and dare he say frustrated, expression on his face.

Fully expecting to leave, he can’t hide his disappointment when you come to a standstill in front of a machine, Q*bert, and take a coin out of your pocket, obviously intending to still stick to your rule of not leaving until you had no coins left.

“You’re still going to- Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head as you put a quarter in the slot and start playing. “I’ll just get comfortable here then, shall I?”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, “just stand there and look pretty. Maybe it’ll help.”

“Okay, I can do that.” He folds his arms and leans against the cabinet next to yours, very much mirroring the stance that he had taken earlier. “But seriously, just one game and then I’m dragging you out of here.”

“Fiiiiine. One game,” you say with a loud groan that didn’t sound anywhere near convincing enough. “But you’d better settle in, pretty boy, because I can make these games last a lifetime if I have to.”

“Did you just call me out over not being good at playing video games? Seriously?” Amusement was dripping off his voice, because he honestly didn’t care that he was no good at any of the games here. But he could have sworn that you had just issued him a challenge and he had every intention of winning that. “Honey, I can last real long when I’m doing other things.”

“Sure.” If you were trying to come across as unimpressed, it wasn’t that successful. You looked more curious than anything else. You shrugged, a bit noncommittally, and threw in a, “They all say that.” 

“I actually do though.” Eddie took a step closer and he could see your fingers tightening around the joystick, fully prepared to try your damndest not to let him distract you. One more step and he’s so close now that his lips are a couple of inches away from your ear. He clears his throat and chuckles when you jump ever so slightly. “Baby, I’m genuinely not boasting when I say that I could be down there for hours and I don’t think that I need to elaborate on that now, do I?”

You release the breath that you didn’t even know you were holding, close your eyes for a fraction of a second, and then the telltale “game over” tune starts playing.

“Fuck.”

“Oh no, sweetheart, did you just lose? I was really looking forward to seeing you play as well, but… a deal’s a deal.” Before you could protest (which you wouldn’t dream of doing), Eddie grabs your hand and makes good on his promise of dragging you out of the arcade. “I just really want to show you what I can do now. Promise you won’t be disappointed…”

And here's the picture that partially inspired this one...