#Joe Quinn fanfic

[stardancerluv]

💐Thank you so much for a reblog!!💐

What the Emperor Wants

Part Twenty

Summary: Geta & his reader are finally wed, Geta remembers when he first saw reader, when he first wanted her.

Notes/Warnings: 18+, p in v consensual sex, squint dommy/darker Geta, squint breeding kink, mentions of voilence, dated views of marriage..man/women dynamics, flashbacks in italics. I give a backstory to the little girls (from the deleted scene…included in the collage) seen tossing flower petals. Mixed in some traditional Ancient Roman practices with some bits that are the “writer” in me. Enjoy!

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.” : “Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia." traditional Roman wedding vow, stola & palla: parts of women’s clothing in Rome.

❤️s, reblogs, comments, feedback are all welcome. 💐 (sorry for the delay on this chapter) Thank you for reading! ❤️

You bathed once again, fresh braids with new ribbons twined your hair. You ignored the sliver of red that remained Tertia’s dagger near your heart. It was vivid and red but had not drawn blood.

You were grateful no damage by the grace of the gods had been done to your wedding clothes. Through the pain during the violent attack you saw the stars. You were still unsteady by the attack. You wondered how long she had been planning it. The thought made you ill.

Stirring in Geta’s arms was truly a gift. A soft look had come from him. His eyes like warm like a summer’s soil despite his sharp appearance; the finely crafted ebony lines that traced his eyes or powder that dusted his smooth face. His softness, made your affections for him to grow.

*******

The spice of incense filled the air. He stood waiting for you. He had wrung his hands behind his back in anticipation. It had felt like this day was longer than most in his life. His eyes settled on the follows Mila and Flora had sprinkled in their wake.

He had always thought, Caralla would be impulsive and marry. It would be a scandal. It would have been frowned upon and it would have been nulled. There would have been a lot of drama.

As he grew into a man, first son his mother reminded him of the importance of marriage and having a heir. His father when not beating on him and Caracalla, more him would speak of expanding the empire. It was the only thing he was ever in agreement with his father.

He wanted Rome to be as large and as powerful as possible. Marriage and having a heir bored him. It made him vulnerable. He never wanted that. And yet a solid party or particularly in fight in the arena pleased him. Punishing foes in it brought an invigorating enjoyment to it.

It was in his royal box, when everything changed for him. A gentle breeze swirled into the royal box; it drew his attention away from his gladiator that was astride a rhino. He watched as a stray strands blew into your eyes. You were as delicate as the petals that were now thrown at his feet.

The room brightening, he looked up as Aelia holding a robust torch stood a safe distance behind you. The sight of you with the crown and gold veil obscuring your face made his heart skip.

*******

Candles flickered, the scent incense swirled in the air. Distantly, the small coin shifted in your shoe as you walked. You focused on the one you held. As Aelia, followed with a brilliant torch which brought a great warmth as she followed close.

Just ahead of you; you saw as the little girls who were always called upon to toss flower petals. They were always called upon when needed, last you saw them was when Rome was seeing off General Acacius. He was atop his large, strong horse that he would ride to his ship. Now they were there for you. The petals you saw underfoot, were lovely and rich in color.

The two girls were sweet, well cared for. Aelia, was a mother to them. From the handful of moments, you had seen them with her. The whispers you had heard, spoke of their parents having taken ill and Aelia had taken up the care of them.

Geta, had bestowed them to her. Though, it was well known that she carried out all of her duties for Geta and Caracalla; along with the duties of the little ones. Usually, you saw them helping with the culina. Helping to clean and gather the fruits and nuts for Geta, Caracalla and now for you to enjoy. Their clothes for this grand day was even lovelier than ever.

Finally, glancing up you saw that you had reached where Geta stood, the sight of him before you stole your breath. He looked absolutely magnificent, your heart squeezed with excitement.

********

As you drew closer, he remembered the stolen moment. He had needed some air, Caracalla was being particularly excessive with his drinking so he needed to just step away. Hearing voices, he paused in the shadows. It had not taken him long before he realized it was your voice he heard. As he heard how you knit words together kept him listening. It made him more curious about you. He was certain the gods chose you to be the embodiment of the poetry and art he loved so dearly. The more he heard you speak, he knew he had to have you. And now he did.

******

Gently, you opened your veil. The material was as soft as a breath. You barely felt it. Blinking, you looked and met his eyes. A warmth, a happiness came over you. A soft smile curled his lips.

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.” You whispered, offering a gentle hand to him.

He gently took your hand in his. “Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius.”

With his other hand, he easily slid a far grander ring upon your finger it nestled the one he had given you prior nicely.

“My heart.” He whispered.

His soft words made your eyes water.

Gently turning his hand you placed the ceremonial coin into his palm. It had been made during the time of his father. On the side opposite his father’s face was one of venus. Now, that he would lead as emperor, a coin would be made in his honor.

Once in the city walls of Rome, you had seen and even used a coin that had the profiles of both him and Caracalla. It had an astonishing resemblance to the both of them. You would have had never thought, one day you’d be in the same space of them or even come to love of them.

Your affection for him continued to grow. He had chosen you to be at his side; yet there was a distant tingle of apprehension. Silently, within your heart you gave prayers of gratitude to the gods, goddesses. Yet, you wondered what they chose for the both of you.

*******

As you drew close, he could barely discern, your silhouette under the delicate golden colored veil. How delicate you were at this moment, made him pause. This was it. A new life for him was beginning and he felt exhilarated.

His mind’s eye easily knew the curve of your lips, the apple of your cheeks and the vibrance of your eyes; he grew hungry for the feel of you.

He gently took your hand in his. “Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius.”

You easily revealed yourself from behind the veil and his breath caught despite all the tribulations of the day, you were his beauty.

Your voice soft and ever so pleasing to his ears.

Easily, he placed your hand within his. Barely pausing, he slid a far grander ring upon your finger it nestled the one he had given you prior nicely. You were now, his wife…his empress; and the spoke the part that remained.

“My heart.” He whispered.

As he saw tears in your eyes, he longed to brush them aside with his thumb, or even kiss them away.

He was ready to truly lead and have you at his side.

*******

He had held above you the cake, easily crumbling it far above your laurel crown and the animals had been given to the gods, goddesses; now the celebration was in full swing. The finest foods were displayed and passed around on beautiful plates. Music filled and swirled in the fragrant air.

“Blossom, you are now the empress of the world.” Geta’s whispered in your ear, he brushed away some crumbs of cake he had broke above your head, as he did he saw a shaving from a walnut that lingered on one of your shoulders.

A flush filled your cheeks as you turned to look at him. “As long as I am by your side, that is all that truly concerns to me.”

He smiled. “You will always be my sweet blossom.”

You nodded.

He reached and held your hand, his thumb grazing your knuckles. “Does this all please you?”

“I don’t know where or what to enjoy first?” You confessed. “But the dancers and singers are lovely.”

“They are. They arrived from one of our new providences.”

You nodded.

Sitting back he smiled, pleased. Many a wonderful tribute had been made to the two of you. Despite Thraex and his attempt to dampen the mood of this union, the people in attendance appeared happy.

He would have to keep an eye on that power hungry senator.

Your brother and his continued to get along, this helped his spirits. That illness that had taken ahold of his brother could let itself known at anytime and was violent. He had worried it would bring a sourness to Caracalla since they both knew that the marriage would mean. At the moment, he saw him smiling and enjoying the company of a dancer that swished closer to him. A large plate of food sat in front of him and had a wine in hand. He could see just how content he was, this meant the night would end well considering how badly the day had begun.

Silently, in his heart he spoke prayers for his gratitude over how well had turned. He could have lost you. Glancing at you, he squeezed your hand that he still held. He was also beyond grateful that his brother’s illness had not brought a shadow of madness today.

Taking a sip of his wine, he felt good.

*******

Excitement tingled within you, as you stood in the middle of the chambers that the two of you now would share. Your laurel crown and veil sat beside his at a nearby table. You still marveled at how you had kept it atop your head the entire evening during the festivities. You had stood up and sat, a handful of moments, had it remained unwavering.

Glancing, at his grand bed which looked far bigger than he had previously, you longed for to join with him as a man and wife did. Idly, you wondered if it would feel different since you two were now married.

You watched as Geta, took a hold of the ceremonial dagger. His clothes swung and flowed as turned back to you. There was a twinkle in his eye that shone as brightly as his good mood.

He reached out and pulled you to him by the knotted belt that had hung from your waist. Seeing, feeling that small display of strength pleased you.

“My wife, my empress.”

“I am.”

“With slice of this dagger, I cut to free you from your previous bonds of life.”

“Yes, my sire.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded.

“It You will free you to be my wife, mother of the children we will surely have, empress of the Roman people and so that you can accompany me the underworld when death has come for me.”

“Free me, my love.” You replied softly.

Once again nodded. Your heart beat harder as he tugged harder on the belt, pulling you even closer. He rose his hand that held the dagger, the belt hung tautly onto you. Lowering the sharp blade it easily sliced the knot at the center of the belt.

You wilted into one of his waiting arms as the belt then fell to the ground at your feet. His eyes met yours as he looked down at you. A smile curled his lips. He brought the dagger up once more. He glanced at it and then you.

“My brother in one of his fits, would have wished me to plunge this into your heart.”

“Yes. It would have been your right. He suspected, I wanted to take you from this world.”

“Yes.”

He threw the dagger into the shadows of the room, the metal clanking against the floor as it tumbled. He brought a hand to your throat.

“I would have much rather stolen your breath with hands around your subtle throat.”

“I would have let you. To perish by your hands would have been a great pleasure.”

His words, the look that entered his eyes made your heart thud harder. A sharp, aching need to feel and have him above you grew between your legs. His lips curled from a smile into a smirk, as you felt as his thumb caress your throat. You trembled gently.

“I still wish to steal your breath but only as our passions are met and we become one.”

“Then do not delay our passions any further my husband, my emperor.”

********

He did not know what had taken him over. The dark edge that had first emerged between the two of you brought an exquisite contrast to the warmth and love he felt for you.

“You are beautiful.” He breathed. “Get onto bed, I don’t want to wait.”

He loved seeing the dusting of pink that reached your cheeks. You slipped from his arms and your wedding clothes, he loved being able to see your curves once again especially as you were crawling over the expanse of the bed.

******

He pulled himself free of the many layers that covered him, before finally crawling over and settling happily between your legs. With a smirk still across his face, on he relished the sight of your legs opening wider for him. Moving just so, he captured your mouth with his. He could taste the fruit and sweets, you both indulged in. Though they tasted better on your lips.

As he kissed you still bracing himself on the bed, he reached down. Laying a hand on your soft mound, he allowed his thumb to graze your special bud that was nestled at the apex between your legs.

“Geta.”

His stomach tightened in pleasure at how his name was a mixture of a purr and a moan.

“Did that feel good blossom?” He met your eyes, he could see the fire of your passions in them.

“Yes.” You licked your lips.

He needed to watch as you writhed under him once again. His thumb grazed you once more.

His desire, knotted in his stomach. Biting back his own moan, he wrapped his fingers around himself.

“We will become one blossom, my empress.”

“Yes, yes please.”

Gently he rubbed his tip against to soft petals that were you. Were as dewy as a spring morning. He loved knowing he was the cause of this. Taking a breath, finding your entrance with the greeting of gentle snugness he then slid into you. He finally could not contain the moan that erupted from him. You felt amazing.

******

Pleasure ripped through you as you felt him enter you. Moans, whimpered poured from your lips. As your eyes met, you felt as he took a hold of hip and soon the passions ignited between the two of you. Lips met, both of you moved together and moans became you one.

“Perhaps this time, since we are man and wife, your belly will take my seed.” His voice was deep and raspy in his pleasure as he spoke in your ear.

“Yes. Yes.” You moaned softly, writhing in his arms.

Thoughts barely filled you. The pleasure was intense.

“Call out for me, wife. Call out for me.” He urged.

Distantly, you felt as one of his hands drifted between the two of you. Next, stars burst as if from the heavens as his touch sent off your pleasure.

“Ooh Geta.” You called out. “Geta!” His name burst from deep within you. You trembled.

“Look at me.” His hair was a mess and wild, like true fire and his eyes matched it.

He moved what felt like deeper within you. It made you call out in pleasure, as his fingers dug into your hip.

Through your half open eyes, heavy with bliss you watched as he arched between your legs, your name one mingling with his own moan. He choked, gasping for air and called out as you felt his seed spilled, filling you.

********

Stirring, a soft sound came from you. Your eyes fluttered open to find Geta holding your hand. The rings were flush as they fit snugly on your finger.

“Something drifting in your mind?” You asked softly.

“I am fond of this. This is very pleasing to me.”

You smiled. “I do like these rings you chose for me. They are truly beautiful.” Any words you could express would truly pale to how you actually felt.

You glanced up at him. It gave you the view of how he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss just above the rings.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

*******

Aelia, fluffed the purple. The vividness of the purple palla contrasting the whiteness of the stola, made you truly feel like the flowers Geta always compared you to.

“They will love you, girl.” She whispered. You met her eyes and nodded.

“Don’t make her nervous, Aelia.” Even with the trumpets as loud as they were, you could still hear the jest in his voice.

“Far from it sire.” Her whispered.

You met her eyes over your shoulder, you shared a fleeting nod.

His hand met yours and squeezed.

“Yes, sister.” Caracalla, quickly added. Dondas, followed with a chirp as if to agree. “They had better. Or I will have their heads taken.”

You looked in his direction, just to his own laurel crown. You were not completely comfortable with this new dynamic to your relationship of sorts. You did not wish to upset his temperament. “Thank you.” You replied softly.

*******

“Citizens of Rome!” The herald called out.

Silence fell over the crowd, high and low born alike.

Your stomach twisted. You reached and squeezed Geta’s hand, he replied with his own squeeze once again.

“Today is a day of celebration. We are in the presence of Emperor Geta and his wife, the empress….”

The excitement pounded in your ears that you could barely hear as he announced you.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998 @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @helsa3942 @marrowfrog00 @misspendragonsworld @therealjomarch @deliciousfestsalad @aspiringwhore @justalittlebitshy @littlemissholy @ruinedbythehobbit

[icallhimjoey]

https://www.tumblr.com/icallhimjoey/769345688851103744/i-asked-for-pyjama-vibe-joe-and-forgot-about-his

Ohhh can we get a soft pyjama and glasses Joey? Like him wearing the combo for the first time because it’s a new relationship and we looooove it. Or us stealing the shirt after freaky time. Or idek! The possibilities!

soft pyjama and glasses joey, at your service Wordcount: 2.1K

---

Not A Wink

“Wait, can you… wait here. Wait, no. Just. Yea… wait here and, also, um... yea, maybe... maybe close your eyes a second…” you pushed Joe away from your closed bedroom door, two hands to his chest.

Joe took hold of both of them as he laughed, easily letting you push him back, stepping backwards down the hall.

“What are you hiding in there that I can’t see?”

You were having a hard time hiding your own smile.

“No, nothing, I just… I’ve got to just check something, quickly. Just in case. Wait here.”

You were the cutest girl he’d ever met. Joe couldn’t quite believe he was allowed into the home of the cutest girl he’d ever met.

“Close your eyes.” You insisted, and Joe couldn’t help laugh more, his arms stretching as you walked back to your bedroom, touching until you were out of reach.

“I can’t see anything from here!”

“Close your eyes!”

Joe gave you a deadpan stare, shoulders dropping, but joy never leaving his face. When you waited by the door, hand on the handle, and looked at him in silence for a moment, he rolled his eyes and finally complied.

“It’ll just be a second,” you said, your smile evident in your voice.

Joe heard a door open, then soft footsteps, some light shuffling, and then silence. He wondered if he was going to be able to tell what needed a last minute wipe down. As if he was going to care about a crease in your bedsheets. You should see his bedroom…

“Okay, ready. You can open your eyes.”

Joe’d been a good boy and had really kept his eyes closed. When he opened them, it was to you stood in your doorway, both hands behind your back, biting down on your bottom lip as you smiled.

Cutest girl in the world.

“Yea? Am I allowed in?”

Joe got to see your bedroom exactly as you wanted it to look every day, but how you never managed to leave it. With everything in its place, no dirty laundry on the floor, no clothes on the clothes-chair, no half-empty mugs on the bedside table and, most importantly, the bed made.

You never made your bed. You’d do it once when you changed the sheets, and then left a rumpled mess behind when you rushed out of bed after sleeping through your alarm each morning.

“Wow,” Joe said, overdoing it a tad, just to fuck with you. “This looks like a hotel room.”

It didn’t. Not really.

“Thanks.” You smiled, ignoring his humorous tone and taking the compliment as if he’d really meant it. When you looked at him, you saw how his gaze had landed on where you slept in your bed. He pointed a finger as he raised his eyebrows.

“Is this from where you send me voice notes every night?” Joe took a step forward, his eyes on you as his index finger still pointed at your pillow.

You nodded, teeth digging into your lip. It was impossible to lose your smile.

“This is…” Joe started, looking at your bed for a moment, scanning the sheets and trying to picture you in that spot. No make-up, pyjamas on. Face in your pillow, phone in hand. In a short while, he wasn’t going to have to imagine that anymore. “This is sort of strange, isn’t it?” Joe mused, turning his face to see you stood in your doorway still.

“Why?” you asked, watching on as Joe sat down on top of the covers, acting like he just took a seat on a throne which made you giggle. “You’re making it strange.”

“It’s like I���m visiting a famous landmark.”

You grinned as you watched him sensibly bounce on your mattress a couple of times, getting a feel for it.

“It is like visiting a famous landmark.” You joked, and then quickly added. “Don’t leave a Google review though, I move around a lot in my sleep and I couldn’t bear the negative feedback.”

Joe laughed as he got back up, couldn’t help his arms reaching out to grab hold of you as your face beamed with pride at making Joe laugh like that. You bit your lips so hard, you nearly drew blood.

For a moment you just stood like that. Close. Holding each other, faces just inches removed, twin smiles about to burst. You weren’t going to get a wink of sleep this night.

“Did you um,” you cast your eyes down to his button-down shirt. To his jeans. “Did you bring a more comfortable outfit?”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I brought my pyjamas?”

“Were you planning on watching a film in jeans?”

Ha, he thought. A film. If he’d got the chance, he’d be watching you more than he’d be watching any film this evening. His eyes tended to stick to you with too much ease.

Like right now.

“Or is this a no-bottoms sort of evening?” you challenged light-heartedly.

Joe’s eyes scanned your face a moment as he grinned.

“I brought pyjamas.” He then said, leaning down a little in hopes of sneaking a kiss.

You let him sneak one without any fuss. Warm lips of a warm smile to warm lips of a warm smile.

“In your overnight bag?” you teased, having made a big deal of the backpack he’d walked in with earlier, before dinner.

“In my overnight bag.” Joe didn’t mind how the simple fact that he brought some things over was somehow entertainment he was providing you with. It was either that, or the bad puns he’d make, and a giggle at a pair of soft pyajama bottoms didn’t feel quite as embarrassing as an awkward joke would likely make him feel.

Joe was told to change whilst you made your way into the bathroom to take your make-up off.

You felt real butterflies about the prospect of having Joe over properly for the first time ever. This was the first time you had made plans that extended to the next morning. This was going to be more than just some raunchy touching in your living room before he’d leave just before or just after midnight to go sleep in his own bed.

You were going to be wearing pyjamas around each other.

Brush your teeth in your bathroom before you’d crawl into bed together.

Prepare and have breakfast in your kitchen the next morning.

You swiped a cotton round over your eyes and heard Joe move around in your flat. Just him existing on his own in your space made your stomach flip. Halfway through your facial cleanse, Joe suddenly appeared behind you, and for a moment, you smiled at each other in the mirror. He was still in his button down, but his jeans had been replaced with a pair of faded black joggers. For a moment you thought maybe he had a question about something, but before you could even ask, he stepped forward and casually placed a dark blue toiletry bag next to the sink.

So domestic.

You refrained from opening it and having a peek inside as you finished up in the bathroom, hair tied up, face clean and bare. You made your way back to your bedroom to change into your own pyjamas and found evidence of Joe left behind. His charger in the socket on the side of the bed where he’d be sleeping. His backpack to the side. His clothes semi folded in a messy pile on the dresser.

Looking at all of Joe’s things in your bedroom with the background noise of him pottering about in your kitchen made you smile so much, you wondered when your cheeks were going to grow sore.

So domestic.

“What do you want to drink?” he called across your flat, and earlier, when Joe had offered you a drink in your own home, it had solely been to make you laugh. This time, it didn’t feel so much like a joke as it felt like he genuinely wanted to do something nice for you. Get you a drink so you wouldn’t have to get it yourself. A simple sweet gesture that probably wasn’t meant to make you feel the way it did.

There were so many things about the beginnings of a new relationship that you didn’t like.

The risk of letting a new person into your life wasn’t lost on you. Letting someone in too quick, too soon. Revealing too much of yourself too quick, too soon. The vulnerability that opened you up to the possiblity to get hurt...

Scary stuff.

But the excitement of it all? The constant uncontrollable smile you couldn’t seem to wipe off your face. The butterflies wreaking havoc inside of your stomach. Giggly breathlessness that turned nerves into excitement. The way all of it could make you feel lightheaded in the good way?

Fucking gold.

With your body in a soft cosy outfit, you found Joe in your kitchen wearing an outfit not unlike your own. For a fraction of a second, the nervous thought of Joe getting to see you in your factory settings crossed your mind.

But then you saw his glasses.

Joe hadn’t yet worn his glasses in front of you, and stood here in your living area now, in a cream-coloured cotton long-sleeved shirt, you couldn’t help the way that made your eyebrows pinch together.

How could a man look sexy and adorable at the same time?

“Glass of–... uh oh,” Joe turned around holding up a freshly opened bottle of wine, but stopped mid-sentece when he saw your expression. “Sorry, was I not meant to–”

“No, no!” you cut him off, and tried your very best to keep the laugh that bubbled up inside. “No, that’s– yes. Yes. That’s fine, yea. I would love a glass, thanks.”

Joe frowned a little in confusion, eyes narrowing, but his smile unwavering.

“It’s just,” you hestitated telling him. Thought maybe he wouldn’t appreciate what you considered to be a genuine compliment.

“Just... a bottle of wine that you were saving for a special occassion that I wasn’t meant to open?” Joe made a face, and it was becoming a little bit embarrassing at how easily he had you in stitches. “Or what?”

“No,” you laughed, and Joe couldn’t help the slight muddled huff of laughter that escaped his nose. This really wasn’t helping the cute allegations. “No, it’s just that,” you tried again, grabbing two glasses from a cabinet and placing them down in front of Joe. “You look...”

Before you finished that sentence, you let your eyes dance over him. The flash of selfconsiousness across his face only endeared him more to you.

“A mess?”

“Cute.”

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you were expecting, but you definitely didn’t think the comment was going to make Joe blush so fiercely. Hadn’t anticipated him turning slightly shy as he put the bottle down, dropped his head to his shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut whilst an arm reached to pull you in.

“Sorry,” you said through a giggle as you got trapped into a tight hug.

“Stealing my compliments now, are we?”

“I think it’s the glasses,” you gladly accepted the firmly pressed kisses to the top of your head.

“You think?” Joe pulled back a little and adjusted them on his nose as he looked at you through the lenses.

“Yea, I do.” You smiled, peering up at him, hoping that if you smiled and looked at his lips for long enough, he’d get the hint.

He did get the hint, but didn’t give you what you were asking for before he got both his hands on your face, both thumbs on your cheeks, both pinkies hooking your jaw.

“Guess I’ll keep them on then.” Joe managed to say through a kiss, and he said it like he’d be doing you a favour.

Which, he would be, actually. But he was joking, so you laughed against his mouth, and the giggle made Joe want to eat you alive. Swallow you whole. Squeeze your bodies together until they weren’t able to ever unstick again.

There was an open bottle of wine on the counter next to you, a TV waiting for someone to press play on its remote, and a bed eager for two bodies to occupy it all the way until the morning.

But Joe was kissing a cute girl in her kitchen, glasses bumping into her nose, and felt no rush to move out of the hold you had on him.

Cutest girl in the world.

Yea, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep this night.

---

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Add yourself

[usetheeauthor]

Kinktober Day 5: Uniform

Ralph Penbury (Timewasters) x Time Traveler!Reader

Summary: Ralph’s going to join the French Foreign Legion but you just won’t let him go.

Warnings: 18+ smut, uniform kink, blowjob through pants, boot riding, cumming in pants, sub!ralph

“Love, please…I must leave at once.” Ralph whimpers. Yet despite his protests, he allows you access to his neck so you can properly pepper the soft skin with wet open-mouth kisses.

He’s leaving you today. For how long? Could be months or even years but you tried putting on a brave face about his impending departure. After all, it is for the best if you plan on going back home. Yet the time has finally arrived and you’re an absolute wreck.

It’s so strange to see how attached you grew to him considering how long it took for you to reciprocate your feelings for him. You had always found him to be quite the strange fellow. Very intense with his emotions, too. He instantly fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you but you were put off by his forwardness. Hell, he proposed to you the very next day you met!

All you cared for back then was to get back to your timeline so his pursuit of you seemed futile. His learning of your revulsion made him do all he could to prove himself as a worthy man for you. He wrote you songs of his love, tried sweeping you off your feet any chance he got (literally), and he’d been trying to save you in various situations so that you knew him as your protector…even if those situations were as small as throwing his jacket over a shallow puddle of water for you to walk over.

Slowly you warmed to him, simply because of the effort he’d gone through just to make you love him. But he could tell it wasn’t enough. So, his next bet was to join a greater cause wanting to build from those experiences and better himself. And that’s when you learned that he’d enlisted in the French Foreign Legion.

You thought you’d handle it just fine but now two weeks later and you’ve cracked under your cool facade the moment you see him in that dorky tan uniform. There’s a range of emotions that consume you: sadness, lust, yearning…it’s all so overwhelming. It feels too real.

You look up at him with doe eyes, cheeks stained with tears. “Don’t go,” You kiss him hotly, your tongue caressing his own. Once you part, a line of saliva connects your lips. Your hands roam down his body, desperately clawing him through his uniform. “Stay with me.”

He mewls when your hand cups him through rough material of his pants. “I cannot. It wounds me deeply to go but I must—“

You smash your lips against his hard enough for the hat on his head to land on the ground. You walk him backwards into his bed until you both fall against the mattress. You’re feral, hands and mouth all over him and he melts with bliss.

Ralph didn’t think the uniform would have this much of an effect on you. When he was advised by a confidant that women love a man in uniform, he took the concept and ran with it, immediately signing away his life for military service. The way you’re responding to it went far beyond his expectations. He isn’t even expected to be leaving until next week in actuality, only wearing the uniform to admire himself in the mirror when he caught you in the corner of the room with lust-filled yet wet eyes. But he’ll just save that tidbit of news for another time.

Because you finally understand. You’re just as pathetically needy as he’s always been for you. Although, you’re a lot more lewd in your approach.

You snake down his body until you’re on your knees at the edge of his bed, your face nudged between his legs. His eyes bug out of his head when you begin to suck on the tip of his cock through his pants. You were on the exact right spot. Ralph can feel the suction’s pressure around the crown with some of your saliva soaking through the thick material.

“Oh, my…” He gasps, eyes rolling in the back of his head.

Then to show off some more, you begin to knead his balls through the pants with precision, earning another surprise hitch in his breath. You lick a long stripe up his hardened base, enjoying the feeling of the mild abrasiveness of the fabric against your tongue. Even if you can’t get a proper taste him; the warm, heavy feeling of his cock against your tongue makes you moan out loud.

You soon find yourself grinding down on his combat boots as you latch your lips around the sensitive mushroom head again. His head falls back against the mattress but you sink your nails into his inner thigh, nails sharp enough to penetrate the tough cotton.

He recognizes correctly that it’s a warning to him that he mustn’t remove his eyes from you. So with fluttering eyes and those pink pouty lips, he watches you while he struggles to keep his eyes from rolling and his moans from pitching in tone. It shouldn’t feel this good but because it’s you, it’s heavenly.

“Going to cum, my love.” He rasps, large hand resting on top of your head for a moment as if he’s petting you.

This makes you ride his boot harder, making the steel-toed part of his shoe press directly against your clothed sensitive little nub. You cry out at the delicious feeling. You’re going to cum soon, too.

But he doesn’t get to cum until he tells you he’ll stay. Until you could somehow convince him to follow you back to your life instead.

“Tell me you’ll never leave me.” You demand while rubbing your cheek against him like a cat in heat.

“I’ll never leave you.” He sighs.

“Tell me you’ll follow me anywhere and everywhere I tell you.” You continue to rub your face over the crotch of his pants, looking at him with such tender and wide eyes that look so innocent despite the absolute filthiest thoughts they held in them.

“I’ll follow you. Anywhere, Everywhere you tell me. Please just let me cum,” He’s practically sobbing by this point. “I’ll be so good for you.”

“Cum for your love.” You say, giving him one heavy lick and, in the next second, he’s spurting inside his pants. The twitching within the confines of his pants is erratic. You sneak your hands beneath his shirt, soothing a hand over his belly as he whines and squirms beneath you.

Your high peaks at the sight of him, gushing your honeyed essence on the tip of his boot. You don’t stop rocking against him, wanting to feel his toes flexing within the shoe.

Aftershocks shoot through the both of you as you come down from your high. You continue to kiss and worship the leg you straddled until you rise up on shaky legs and go to lay beside him in bed.

He turns to look at you with a smile, still panting. “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”

[musedblues]

AMORE ~ FATI (part 2)

a/n: oh my oh my, thank you everyone for such wonderful feedback! if there is one thing im gonna be for the rest of the year it's a hoe for geta. so i could be coxed into making this a longer series if yall want 👀

warnings: READ PART 1 before this. minimal historical research. fantastical bs. graphic descriptions of murder. sexual situations. you get the gist! MINORS DNI

taglist: @nosamiam1 @screaming-blue-bagel @prestinalove @nxrdamp @alba8688 @mademoiselledreyfus @theawesomekungfupanda @peepeepoopoololswag

part 2 of ?

///

The day you wed was rushed. In the span of a handful of hours there were flowers and musicians flooding the halls. There were endless rows of fabric for you to pick from to dress in. There were a dozen hands shaping your garments to your figure. There were hundreds of spectators lingering outside the empire, waiting for you to reveal yourself as empress. There was Geta.

He looked to you as he often did, with undivided attention. He looked to you in a room full of people and his stare did not break or faulter. Geta's brown eyed gaze was all you could fixate on as the day unraveled around you, as ceremonies were followed through and as you were hurried along into becoming royalty. All you saw was Geta. All you saw was how he kept those brilliant dark eyes ever locked on yours. 

It would have overwhelmed you to otherwise look away, to think too vastly about the changes your life was catapulting through in such a short amount of time. That's why, when the ceremony had ended and the gathering to celebrate included your three dear friends, you did not know exactly how to answer their pleas for explanation. 

They were happy for you, they were shocked. You were giddy all the while, filling them in as you could, but unable to process the meaning and importance of your new status into words. Instead, you all laughed and spun about the room as musicians played. Julia was thrilled, beaming as the party raged on. She flitted from guest to guest, speaking highly of you loudly enough for you to hear every time.

And then there was Geta, with that illuminating stare ever fixated on you. As your party failed to cease and as the once set sun began to rise into a new day, Geta pulled you away from the gathering. Right in the middle of a conversation you were holding with the priest, Geta yanked you from the room and toward the staircase. He'd barely been able to pull you along toward his room without keeping his hands out from under your dress.

Geta had never displayed much patience when it came to bedding you, that morning being no exception. It seemed his door had barely shut before Geta had ripped your garments away and began to have his way with you. Not that you were complaining. You knew you were signing up for much more, marrying Geta. But you knew also, you were signing up for endless nights and days and weeks in his bed. On his floor. Against that beloved chaise lounge.

And that's where you stayed for a few turns of the sun, In that room, with Geta. He turned away every knock at the door with a booming demand they go away. He was quick to turn his undivided attention back to you, tracing his fingers across your torso, digging his teeth into your skin. He didn't let up. You never asked him to. But when the knocking became more and more persistent, you couldn't help but wonder when your never-ending  tryst may have to be halted.

"Shouldn't you be off working?" You wondered, raking back Geta's light toned locks. He leaned near the window, admiring a new sunrise with you. "Shouldn't I? Aren't I supposed to be adopting some kind of responsibility now?"

"I suppose." Geta seemed to understand. But a sly grin turned up the corners of his mouth as he turned his gaze from the sunrise to you. "But right now, you're only responsibility is to me. I command it." With a brow quirked and a gentle hand on your shoulder, Geta guided your descend till your knees met the floor in a bow before him. You knew exactly what he demanded, and you were glad to be of service.

///

When your time captive in Geta's room did eventually end, he proceeded to shower you with treasures. You were awarded cases full of paints and an entire room in the empire all to yourself- and a million canvas at your disposal. 

"Shouldn't I have more to do?" You worried to him, one evening. Wasn't the whole point of his mother's begging you to wed so you'd have some kind of influence in the royal goings on? Or was your shift in status all that you needed to represent for now?

"Would you care to do more?" Geta wondered, with a pout of a lip. "I promised you value and respect. I should like you to gain it however you please. But I should also like nothing more than for you to be free of responsibility. It adds up to madness. I'd like to keep you carefree." Geta reasoned with a smile, as his hands traced the curve of your chest. He'd been all to enthralled by your new title, by your belonging with him, to him. He'd be ever so captivated as you stayed as relentless as himself, eager as ever to find yourself between his knees. It was hard to want anything else, to long for more than his body tangling with yours. But the days did eventually move on.

Geta began to spend afternoons away from your side. But every day at his command, by others- you were presented with dozens of dresses in the finest colors you'd ever seen. You were fed the freshest foods. There was no time for you to wonder how to fill, Geta saw to your every waking moment of the day, with entertainment to squeal about and treasure to admire. Geta saw to your evenings in his room, under his touch. You saw to his pleasures all the while, ever more enthralled by how the well regarded and often harsh emperor melted in an instant under your lingering caresses.

///

Your days spun on in that same wonderous circle for a while, until Julia stepped in. One morning her highness surprised you by settling in for a meal with you; asking how you'd been adjusting to this new reality. You mentioned getting on nicely with the guards and the servants. You mentioned having made friends with the gardeners and feeling lucky to have be granted time to paint. You admitted to feeling a little too spoiled by Geta. 

"He wants you to be happy. We all do." Julia smiled, lifting a chalice to her lips as you smiled back her way. But she wasn't finished speaking, it seemed. "I'm glad you're fitting in as I suspected you would. But it's time for you to adjust to royal life beyond its pleasures. I'd like you to join me for a charity event this evening."

"I'll be glad to join you! I've only been wary of taking such steps since Geta insisted otherwise. He keeps saying I'll be better off with no responsibilities despite my offers to be of more service." 

Julia listened while you explained, rolling an eye at the mention of her son's guidance. With a swat of her hand, she leaned in closer to speak again. "We'll deal with him along the way, you and me. Come represent with me tonight, it'll be the perfect first job for you."

You trusted the royal's input and longed to make yourself more useful. It was easy to look forward to having a purpose for the evening, and it was a thrill to realize you'd be going out for the first time as a royal yourself. This was it. You were playing the game. You were apart of the bigger picture. 

///

The charity event was less excitable than you'd hoped, in some regards. There wasn't much to do or say there. Just hands to shake and bows to accept. But that was the rush of the evening. Just weeks ago people passed you on the street with no second glance. And you'd passed them by all the same. Funny how quickly life changed. The same class of people you were peers with weeks ago were humbling themselves before you now, beaming smiles your way, expressing pride to know someone from your side of things could dream of achieving such royal goals.

You rode home with Julia in a fog of glee, as she praised you for connecting to the public so effortlessly. For bringing a sense of humanity to the royals, for respecting her son, for the massive change you not only agreed to but seemed to enjoy. You let her fawn over you, relishing the compliments, yearning to feel as radiant as she believed you to be.

When you reached the purple carpeted entrance, and made your way up the stairs, you found Geta waiting up for you near his bed. Clothed only by his robe, he turned to find you dressed in finery, dressed like a royal. The man smiled, eyes raking up and down your figure. 

"You're a vision. You're home." Geta stated, reaching to hold your head in his hands. "It's so funny." He spoke low and gently, searching your eyes as he seemed to realize something while addressing you. "I can't imagine my plans before you were in them."

"How much have you had to drink?" You wondered with a small laugh, nervous by the softness in his lament. Geta was hardly cruel to you. But he was rarely as tender as he'd just become.

"I've just been going stir crazy waiting up for you. I hadn't even realized you'd left for the night until you didn't join me here at the usual hour. Did I hear something about charity with my mother?" Geta wondered, moving about the room now. Stretching his arms on his shuffle toward the edge of the massive carved bed.

"It was rather boring. Thought there be more action." You admitted. "I know you've wished me away from drafting battle plans and enforcing laws. But I do long to be a more active member of this family, Geta. Besides, your mother enforced our union for a reason, didn't she?"

Geta listened as you spoke, keeping a sly eye on your amble toward where he stalled against the bed. He reached a ringed hand out to rest at the curve of your hip, fingers pressing to pull you ever closer before him.

"She was right too, she saw you were made up of good will and the strength to stand by that. I'm glad she forced the idea. I'm more glad you chose this life all the while. It's admirable you wish to have more responsibilities. But that's a question to answer another day. All you need to worry about answering now, is this... tell me how can I make your evening free of all worries and wonders? How can I serve you, your highness?"

"I'd ask you to wake me from this dream, but I rather like the course it's taken." You grinned, reaching your arms around the royal's neck, struggling to hold back a burst of shocked laughter as Geta pulled you in and lifted you up all the while. In a flash he'd thrown you to his bed, moving like a jungle cat in your direction.

///

The next day you were scheduled to meet with a few senators and councilors alike. Your royal role was to be discussed, possible plans drafted. It had been a meeting you'd been looking forward to since your wedding day. 

Not even Caracalla's glare could cloud your excitement, as he passed you in the halls. his dull beady eyes rolled in your direction as he floated by in a stomp. The guard at his side, and the guard at yours, shared looks you couldn't read. And while you felt a certain fear in the wake of the more cruel emperor, a pity followed. How sad a life he lived, so shrouded in hate and rage. 

As you entered the meeting room, welcomed by a set of men smiling at your appearance, the reality of your situation seemed to settle deeper into the pit of your stomach. You recalled Caracalla's very recent glare your way. Geta's imploring you to take as little responsibility on as possible. Julia's plea for you to take on as much as you could bare. The decision was yours to make now, and you realized if you didn't achieve the perfect balance of wishes and demands, this entire empire may implode at your slightest misstep. 

Over the course of a couple of hours, you and the group of leaders discussed stances for you to take heart to. Causes to stand for and against. Talk of addressing the people of the empire and hosting parties and appearing at events took up a large portion of your time. Until finally you worked up a project to occupy your time and a planned meeting for a few days from now.

You were left feeling satisfied by the efforts the team had put into giving you purpose in your roll within this empire. But you wondered still what more you should be achieving?  

The senators left out of the back of the meeting room, while your guard lingered near the half opened main entrance. As you collected a couple of scrolls and began to head out, a muffled voice could be heard around the corner of the crack in the door. with a few steps closer and one shrug to hide better out of sight, you recognized one voice as your husbands. And the other as his brothers. You crept ever closer toward the crack in the ajar entrance to spy as the siblings squared off in the hall, four soldiers squared off between them and their sharp words.

"It's like you to hide behind the voice of a woman," Caracalla scowled, "you've always used our mother's useless input when your feckless lack of leadership reared its head. But to adopt a whorrish commoner as your wife, to give her a semblance of purpose is a laughable new low for you, Geta."

"Speak of the empress as you did just now once more and I will slaughter your guards first before you, so you can see how powerless you truly are." Geta seethed, stepping to sneer at his brother with his hand on his sword. 

You pulled back from the door, mind buzzing. Geta really did care for you, it seemed, even if you were here to benefit the emperor in some twisted way, he'd spoken quite protectively of you in your absence from his side. And that bloomed a certainty in your chest that you needed to be more sure of your place here. You should stop worrying about what action to take, and simply take it.

You spent the evening piddling around with the ideas the senators had given you. And feeling gratitude that the man you'd wed defended your honor. You really could be glad to benefit the emperor as his wife, as his supporter. But you were newly determined to act as the angel on his right shoulder; ready to battle the devil Caracalla on his left.

When Geta joined you for bed that night, you admitted to hearing the spat the siblings shared. You went on to press more, to demand your willingness to be more of an asset to the empire, to Geta. 

"Don't make me tell you no." Geta broke your on going plea with a frustrated groan. You hadn't seen that coming.

"What... what do you mean?"

"I want you here, yes. But I do not want to need you. Don't you see that? Don't you see this entire push and pull is between my brother and me? I will not have you mixed up in the middle. I know my mother thinks you and I working together against Caracalla is what needs to happen but even if it is, now isn't the time. She cannot see that because all of this is only between my brother and me." Geta was speaking as certainly as ever. His words so sharp, his voice so commanding. Yet his eyes stayed soft on yours, his hands never clenching, but reaching out to hold either side of your face.

"I want you here." He repeated again, enunciating every syllable. "But I cannot need to depend on you. Or uncertainty will seep from my leadership alone, and into the villages and this fight between Caracalla and myself will be lost. Thats all this is. Between him, and me. So please don't ask again. Not for a while. I will tell you, empress, when your time will come. Because it will. But not yet."

"I see." You mustered, not quite hurt, not quite sure of yourself, not quite without understanding. Simply shocked but his sudden outburst. Shocked by the rawness of it. Shocked by how he'd waited till now to make such a stance known, he usually spoke exactly how he felt in an instant. Why didn't he make that clear to you from the start, you wondered?

That night you sunk into bed without feeling Geta's skin against yours, without his touch. He kept on one side of the massive bed for the first time since you'd ever shared it with him. And you didn't know what to make of that.

///

A couple nights ended just as that one had, silence filling the space that was usually occupied by heavy sighs and the thud of your bodies against one another's. You did as he asked, you asked little to nothing of the man. So why was he still keeping such a distance from you? 

Sleep evaded you as answers did too. You took to wandering the halls to tire the spinning questions ever on your mind, a poor guard forced to linger close behind your restless quests.

Often nothing happened. Dark cornered dead ends spun your heels, and you ended up back in bed, you'd sleep, or you wouldn't. And then you'd end up wandering the next night, your habit threatening to wear a sorry familiar path along the rugs. 

But one night a light shone from a room you often found dark. You were curious enough to move ever closer toward it, but weary enough to go slow.

In the parlor you found Julia and her son. Caracalla was sipping from a cup of tea as a bevy of guards lined the outskirts of the room. His face grew long with a grimace at the sight of you. But Julia was alight, waving you to come and join them.

"What's this? Come to suck up royal blood like the common tick you are? Why would you allow this nobody such free reign of our home, mother?" The half reigning emperor really had a knack for dramatics. He'd never had a good word for you, but ever the creative and new verbal lashing. 

"Come now, Caracalla. She wed your brother. She was anointed. She's one of us now, official as they come." Julia stood to greet you, giving you a strong look that made you want to hold your breath. She was always planning something, it seemed. You could tell her mind spun now.  "Besides... She's already with child. Already carrying the future heir. Isn't that right? There is much to plan ahead for." 

Appalmenthaltedyour senses and all logic. You sure hadn't yet been given a reason to think you were with child, and knew she couldn't have a reason either. You couldn't decide if you wished she was right or wrong right now. Julia was looking at you as if to suggest you find a way to make it true in an instant. If you were, would that mean Caracalla would step away? Or would that ensure a plot for him to end your days? He wanted such full control. You'd been told by Geta not to dare threaten the stakes of the game between his brother and himself until further notice. But Julia, as before, had done so anyway.

"You really shouldn't have told me that, mother." Caracalla grinned wickedly, rising up from his chair. A shiver crept up your spine when you turned to find the way he was looking at you. 

"Now, son, you have an entire half of this empire to guide. Shouldn't you be off ruling like you say you wish too so badly?" Julia snapped. She was a bold and brave one to do so, in the frighteningly little leaders wake. Caracalla kept his bone chilling glare fixed on you as he saw himself out of the room, guards following. Yours had waited out in the hall. So, when the room went quiet and Julia was left lingering at your side, you couldn't help but let panic show.

"Why did you do that? What if I'm not-"

"These boys are entirely too focused on the dynamics of their fight, and not nearly worried enough about the outcome of the empire they're running." Julia explained in a sharp hush. Her usual kind eyes were wide under furrowed brows and pointing sharply at yours. 

"You and I have to take the reins of the little control we're allotted, weather we wish it or not. How much clearer do I need to make it to the lot of you that the time for games is up? Rome is tired of playing. And I will not stand by for the people to overthrow the hard work of many leaders past- because my imbecilic sons hate each other enough to divide the empire. You better get to work on the heir to this throne, because even what you and I can do together won't likely be enough."

Julia's cutting and hissed speech left you in a stupor. She huffed out of the room, your guard sauntering in confounded as you stood there processing everything that had only just happened. There was no way you were going to be able to sleep tonight.

///

The day of duties had nearly come to a close. You'd had another meeting with the senators. They let you talk until you were blue in the face about changes to policies and addresses to the public. But they only sent you off with another party to plan. You'd shared a quiet meal with Geta, glad when his eyes met yours over the course of the meal. Frustrated when little to no conversation sparked as you ate. Geta only mentioned something about following you up to the room as you finished, heading up the staircase.

In the hall before the second turn you were meant to take, a sharp whistle cut through the darkened home. There was a light on in the parlor, and an eerie silence stayed after the call. You looked to the guard at your side, and he looked to you, tilting his head to imply he'd go first to investigate. But you waved at the guy, hurrying to creep at the pace he set, something in your gut insisting you peer into the illuminated room.

Caracalla stood near the back of the parlor, a room covered in that ugly wallpaper you hated so much. In his grasp, he held Julias arms to her chest, and a knife to her throat. There were no soldiers in sight beyond yours. A horrible mistake. A terrible instance.

"Hey you, blood sucker, don't move." Caracalla taunted you, tightening his grip around his mother who shook with fright in his clutch. "Come in. If you turn around, she dies. If that guard follows you, she dies."

With a careful glance toward the man who usually followed you around, you stepped forward, holding a palm out to insist he stay back as demanded. In a slow creep you entered the room, watching the wild eyed emperor consider your every move. 

"What are you doing Caracalla?" You begged to know, voice steady and low. 

"Now you and I both know you're far too worthless to ever threaten my position, right commoner? You and I both know you're only playing a small role here but, I'm not so naive to the plans for bigger things you all have at my expense." Caracalla spat an explanation your way, wearing the most twisted version of a smile you'd ever seen.  "So, I was hoping we could all come to some sort of agreement tonight. Ah, brother just in time- no, no wait." 

Caracalla's speech ended when Geta must've loomed in the doorway behind you. You didn't dare turn to see. Geta must've waved a guard to follow or moved to draw his sword. Because Caracalla was screaming next "Do not come into this room except alone and with your palms facing me! I will kill her if you decide on any other move!" He yelled so loud spit flew from his lips, face scarlet with rage. Julia trembled in his grasp, biting back sobs you could tell. 

Geta eased beside you, his entrance into the room as calculated as yours had been. His hands up as his sibling demanded. 

"Brother, I'll give you some choices. I know you're a big fan of options, having rarely taken kindly to my demands." Caracalla went on, sickening grin ever growing. He tightened his hold on his mother, a knife so precariously nudging against her throat. Before going on, he glanced up to the guards outside the door, demanding they shut it. He had to shout once more and nod to the woman in his grasp before his wishes were granted. When you heard the thing shut with a hollow thud, your blood ran cold. 

"Now, your choices Geta. You see one of us in this room has to die. One of you." Caracalla was practically beaming, like a child thinking up a rule to a game to play. Julia screwed her eyes shut and muffled a cry. "It could be our dear mother. She's been too crafty, meddling around, making decisions no one but the likes of we emperors ought to be making."

Geta let his hands fall slowly, keeping a laser focus on his brother. 

"Or, It could be your lovely new wife and alleged unborn heir." You felt your fists tighten at your sides, your body frozen in place with a new wave of fear. You felt Geta look to you with a shock you prayed Caracalla couldn't read. You didn't know if you were with child. And you hadn't yet brought up Julia's pressing such matters to the front of your mind. Geta had other matters to deal with the past evening. And he'd been clear about you keeping your own plans to yourself. That must've meant his mothers, too, you were certain. "I'm sure your wife's a fine and easy shag. But her presence here is a threat, no matter how inane I can see she is. And if one commoner should shake up this empire, I'd hate to have to deal with your half bread ilk." 

And before Geta could rocket into rage, Caracalla reminded him that any wrong move and Julia's life would be the one taken, and then the rest of yours would follow suit. 

"Let me finish... you could obviously choose yourself, brother. With you out of my way, I won't have to worry about the fate of the women in the room. I can do with or without them whatever I please. Should you be so chivalrous as to take the fall?"

"You're worse than mad." Geta shook his head, keeping a study on his sibling. Your heart hammered as you waited for the plot of this meeting to unfurl.

"Trouble deciding, I see. Let me help." Caracalla kept his wicked grin as he decidedly and swiftly moved the knife away from Julia's throat before flinging the woman flying to the ground, against the wall at Getas feet, with a crushing thud. What a ruthless fucker. You barely had time to register that the boy had disregarded his mother in a heap, before he was lunging for you. 

Caracalla had you in a stinging grasp in the blink of an eye. His plated chest pressed against your back. His left hand held your wrists in one vice like hold, at your stomach. His right held his knife to the bend of your neck. 

"How's this view, Geta? Inspiring any choice? Time is ticking. I'd hate to make up my mind before you do."

Your brain was working overtime, spinning up a dozen ways out of this. You'd been squirming against his hold since Caracalla reached for you; and it had worked to loosen one of your wrists from his grasp juuust enough to think of breaking free. But you knew you only had one chance. And as he asked Geta to make a choice, and before anyone spoke again, you moved at the speed of light. In one swift action, you yanked your hand free and swung your elbow back hard as you could muster to crack against your captor's nose. 

Caracalla was caught off guard enough to reactively let go, and you were quick enough to spin and sweep his feet out from under him with a carefully kicked foot. This made Caracalla fall to the ground, his knife clattering at his side, his nose pouring blood, his elbows cracking against the marble floor because his hands were too busy reaching for his face to save his quick fall. Geta was fast as you, giving you a flash of a look before his hand extended to shove you away. As he reached for his brother's knife, Geta's foot stomped on Caracalla's chest to keep it down, with a crushing thud.

You clattered over to Julia's side, who was still slumped in tears on the floor. You knelt to her, reaching out an arm as you examined her finding no blood or bruising. Only tears stained her complexion as she watched her sons descend into the eye of the storm of their decades long war.

Geta had Caracalla by the throat, his fingers digging into his brother's neck as he knelt over him. "Didn't I warn you to watch your back, time and again?" Geta spat. "And didn't I tell you to never speak so lowly of my empress just the other day? I made my choice long ago, dear brother, it's always been you." With a cry that had built up over the years, with Caracalla's knife, Geta plunged the instrument into his brother's neck, twice over. Julia buried her head in your shoulder as it happened. You listened to Geta's yell, to the sound of tearing flesh, the sputter of blood. You watched as Caracalla fought his way to bleakness, legs twitching, mouth moving to speak and only spewing red. You watched Geta throw the knife to the ground and rise to stand, his hands finding the back of his head as he heaved to breathe and paced about the room. You saw, between your husband's spiral, that damn ugly wallpaper.

It wasn't long though before Geta knelt before where you did, gasping an apology. He looked to you for a moment, but he was speaking to Julia, you understood. She pulled away from you to look at him as he whispered another sorry, as she cried. He began to reach for her, but the mother shuddered away at the sight of his blood-stained hands. And then with a shake of his blonde head Geta's eyes were on yours again.

"Are you?" He wondered, still breathless, still in a daze. But despite the way the room had begun to spin for all of you, you understood what Geta was asking. 

"I-I don't know." You shook your head, quick to make it clear that it was up in the air. You could've easily been pregnant. But you hadn't had a reason to think you were. Unless Julia cast a spell on you that evening, you couldn't be certain.

Geta's expression shifted a few unreadable times, as you decidedly turned your focus back to consoling Julia. Geta apologized again, and looked about the room. He ultimately stood and opened the doors to the guards and demanded they take care of the body and the blood and wake the coroner. When they took his body Julia went with it. When Geta looked to you there were a million what if's turning into what now's between the two of you. The fight for power had ended, but was there a plan for such a time as this? Was it ever meant to end?

///

Caracalla was laid to rest by Julia's demands. She decidedly packed her things soon after, to spend a month mourning nearer the sea- and to wait out the public's inevitable celebration of her son's death. She'd always known the he was a tyrant and a bully and whatever could be worse than that. But he was also her son. So she went off. 

And all of a sudden Geta was in charge of everything. He freed Caracalla's less threatening prisoners, he addressed the people of Rome and wished to unite them. Geta was taken aback by the mix of praise and disapproval he was met with. Folks celebrated his keen and swift leadership. Folks celebrated his slaughtering his own sibling for the betterment of the empire. Folks denounced his eager leadership. Folks denounced the murder of his sibling, calling Geta as ruthless and power hungry as his brother. Suddenly there was no brother to carry the blame, no brother to take up the honor. There was only Geta.

For the next weeks, Geta was always awake. On the strolls you took past midnight; you found him drafting plans and laws and making sense of things once out of his control and understanding. 

For the next weeks, you hardly heard from the man you wed, decidedly trapping yourself in the room full of canvas and paint and quiet. You weren't even inspired to create, but your fingers moved still to make sense of this new reality in some way. You filled up many frames with rocky blue waves and darkened mountain ranges. 

For the next weeks, you'd rarely felt the emperor's touch. He'd crash into bed as you were scrambling to leave it. He'd appear in rooms you grew sick of staying in, missing your presence, you, passing by his.

Until one day, you were moved to linger about the meeting room as your husband and the senators were setting up a meeting. You sauntered about, restless as the men settled into a discussion about budgets and plagues and armies. A few of the men of the assembly began to bicker about opposing views, as Geta sat letting them. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as the pair argued on. You wondered when the last time he'd had a full night's rest was. 

As senators were arguing about Caracalla's former wishes for the empire, Geta began to insist they cease their chatter. One of them seemed to stall their argument, but another surprisingly turned to you.

"What do you make of this quandary, empress? You've always been wise to-"

From his slouched position, Geta interrupted. "My brother is dead. My wife isn't privy to all of the information needed to decide. I will decide the outcome of this debate. You must stop arguing just to oppose." His announcement was abrupt, his patience wearing thin, you could see. But maybe you could help ease the tension he held throughout himself. You'd been able to before. Maybe you could be made to understand more.

"Are you sure I can't-" You eased into wonder, locking your gaze with Geta's weary brown eye's. He listened for a moment. But then his patience had run out, eyes screwing shut, hands facing out keeping you back, keeping you away.

"No, please" He implored to you, eyes full of pleading. As his gaze grew more heavy, and began to turn toward someone else, you recognized an anger in his expression. Then you saw his focus on the guards near the door. "Take her to the hall!" 

Taken aback as you were by Geta's outburst, you knew better than to fight him, than to argue back. Not in the heat of the moment. You'd decided you'd get him to listen to you one way or another, eventually. But you knew the man well enough now to know this wasn't the time or the place. With a nod you hurried ahead of any guard and sliped out of the room, down the hall, to the gardens. 

You spent the afternoon there contemplating only simple things with the gardeners. Like what the bees thought when winter came or what flower the workers liked best. You found the dining hall alone and thanked the cooks for the meal. You savored your dinner wine and stalled your time up to the bedroom. You figured sleep would evade you yet again. You dreaded the practice of trying to rest when you just knew you wouldn't be able to.

But when you did go up, Geta was there, already sleeping. You were glad to see it, having missed the sight in a few days time. As you eased into bed at his side, you moved slow and held your breath. You'd hate to wake him. But then,

"What would you have said?" Geta's whispered wonder nearly caused you to jump, having assumed he wasn't awake. 

"What?" You gasped, nearly laughing as you settled into bed with less precision now. He didn't move at your side but he did speak up again. He asked how you would have handled the issue with the senate if he would have let you. You only thought for a moment before answering. And once you had, quiet took over the room again. You'd hoped it would be broken by Geta once more. But you watched his breathing slow and realized he'd eased into sleep at last and dared not move to change that. But you wanted to keep talking. You'd always had such meaningful banter. You wanted to ask if he was okay, because you knew he wasn't, you wanted to be so much more to Geta than he was letting you be. 

But instead, you let him sleep.

///

There was a party the next day, a game in the arena. You were pleased to walk by Geta's side, delighted to find a grin turning up the corners of his lips one of the first times you locked eyes with him that morning. But soon after a brooding took over his countenance that showed no signs of letting up.

As the pair of you left for the arena, you took on the task of sharing kind hellos and nods to the people who lined your path. You shook hands with the folks who hosted the games, and listened to their stories and shared some of your own. You shielded your eyes from the hot sun and felt glad to be out in the day, instead of roaming the halls of that dreary home. You watched the fighters in the circle duel, and turned with a frown to find Geta's unfocused gaze fixated elsewhere. Undecided on how to snap him out of such a haze in the midst of such a public event, you went on taking on the task of shaking hands and sharing smiles.

You were left alone to host the dinner that followed. Somewhere between the first pour of wine and the blessing over dinner, you realized Geta had left the room. But it was full of senators and socialites and friends you'd now come to know. And you were at the head of the table. So you lifted your glass in a toast to the rest of the year under the ever-shifting rule of the empire. And you ate. And you laughed and when the night ended you shook hands and shared smiles.

As you began to see everyone out, a pair of men lingered nearer the dining hall than the exit door. An elder with a wiry beard stalled with a furrowed brow, but a gentle grin. 

"As you know, Julia wrote to us, inviting us to tonight's events. But I see she isn't with us?" The man began to address you. He'd introduced himself over dinner, along with a handful of other faces you'd only just met that night. 

"The royal mother is still seaside. I'm sure she'll be sad to have missed your appearance here." 

"Well, your highness, that's the thing. Julia wrote to us... about you. You see, I'm a doctor. She insisted we make your acquaintance and check-" 

"Oh." You offered this poor old fellow a clenched smile as you realized where this was going, sparing the guy the further awkward explanation. Of course the woman sent them here without telling you first. She'd decided to curse pregnancy upon you without asking first. And now, because you were superstitious of the way this whole possibility had been continuously pushed, you told the doctor to stay. 

It wouldn't hurt to check, right?

///

Your stomp up the stairs was determined. You'd just been reminded that your fate, in your hands or not, was not just your own. Born to die, maybe. Living to lead some kind of life with Geta? Sure. But the second half of that 'some kind' was yours. And you were tired of waiting for your turn. You marched up the stairs, with an entire new plan in mind.

Maybe it had been enough, to be married, to host parties. Maybe that was okay. Maybe Geta was ever changed after the murder of his brother. And maybe you couldn't help the man out of his stupor from that. But you weren't going to sit around and wait for Geta to catch up with the changing paces of the empire. You were going to remind him that you were dictated to stay here because there was more to you than a kind smile and a commanding presence.  As you considered the entire life you'd led that ended up in your arrival here, and the life you'd spun into so far this season, you headed to your room. 

But in there, Geta wasn't sleeping. He was sat in that tiny chair at that tiny table in the middle of the room, with his elbows on his knees and his head hung low. In his loose clutch was a nearly empty bottle of wine. 

You eased into the room, shutting the door with care. The flicker of the lanterns in the corner guided your step into the middle of the room, where you stalled before Geta's miserable slouch. Before you could think of how to address the man, he was lifting his head to peer up to you. Geta seemed as if he could cry, the weight of his new reality evident all over his face.

"I was wrong." He whispered. You cast the man a puzzled glare as you settled into your posture before him. Decidedly, you spoke in return.

"I hope you're not regretting what happened to your brother. Unfortunate as it may be to lose family, he had it coming, don't forget-"

"No, I was wrong when I said I didn't want to need you." Geta implored, gazing up at you with big glossy, anger filled eyes that softened as your brow furrowed.

"I do need you. I want you here with me. And I need you here for me. I was wrong." Geta's admission seemed to hiss its way out of the very pits of himself. And as he finished speaking, the emperor slid from the chair to fall to your feet, head pressing against your knees, wine bottle clattering to the floor.

As this powerful man reduced himself to a puddle before you, you felt the rise of a certain power within yourself. You'd come up here with every intention of swinging for the fences. But Geta had submitted himself at your feet by his own will. 

"You need me after all, your highness?" You breathed, carding your fingers through the emperor's golden locks as he stayed in his slump before you. Geta muffled a yes, it sounded as if he were truly near tears now. It could've broken your heart, the cracks in his voice, if you weren't surging with adrenaline now.

"Good. I'm glad you've come to your senses. Now let me tell you what I need." You started, curling your fingers to latch withing Geta's hair, pulling his head back for his eye's to find yours. "I'm done parading around as a glorified party planner. I'm acting as more than a wanton body for your bed, now. You promised me value and respect. And I hope I shouldn't have to remind you of that promise ever again. I hope my demands to be heard shall no longer be put on pause. I refuse to raise your child from the side lines, Geta." You announced, voice soft but commanding as you could make it. 

His already drunken and dewy-eyed expression morphed into something wider and more stupefied. The emperor let his head turn to one side for a beat, and then the other, as if to shake his head. As if to ask if you meant it. 

You let your head move up then down, to assure it was true. Maybe Julia did curse you that night. But a child was never out of the question by how many nights you spent with your legs wrapped behind Geta's back. Things sure happened fast in this world, deaths and births and promises and problems were ever spun to life like passing storms in the royal court. But time always slowed in this room, for better or worse. Luckily tonight, Geta began to smile.

"I shall see to it all, I already promised. I promised you." Geta clawed his way up your figure. His body molding against yours with desperation and desire ever present. His lips pressed against yours, his fingers sunk into the skin of your cheeks. His skin was warm to the touch, as you peeled away the layers that had been covering it. You demanded that the man tell you what he needed then and there, desperate to hear such sultry pleas fall from his lips.

You saw to his wish to plow you against the mattress that's middle had been missing your union. You answered his call for your fingers to yank at his hair. He begged you for more. He swore there was nothing he wouldn't do at your demand. If you'd been dreaming, you never wanted to wake up. Especially if the next day meant you'd be finally allowed to make decisions that affected an entire empire. And now too, the heir to it's throne.

[whatsupsonnyboy]

Drunk in my mind | Joseph Quinn (part II)

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Joe and you (actress!reader) met during the filming of a romantic thriller, you two struggle to keep your undeniable chemistry professional. But when intimate scenes push your limits, the line between acting and reality begins to blur.

wc: 5.1K

warning: fluff, slow burn, co-stars to friends, friends to lovers, mentions of sex, swearing, overthinking, angst

a/n: sooo here its part II for drunk in my mind, it's kind of angsty soooorry, i just cant help writing messy Joe, its absolutely captivating for me idk. Hope you enjoy this one (plus, there's obviously gonna be a next and least part)

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

part I | part II | part III

Joe barely slept. Again.

He had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, thoughts running in circles, replaying every word, every second of last night’s disaster. He had hurt you. That was the only thing that mattered. He hadn’t meant to, not in a million years, but that didn’t change the fact that he had. And now, there was no way to fix it. Not when today was another workday. Not when the only thing he could do was push through, pretend nothing had happened, and get this over with.

The worst part was knowing that you would be there. That he wouldn’t be able to avoid you. That he wouldn’t even be able to talk to you properly—because how could he? What could he say? Sorry I shut you out? Sorry I ruined everything? Sorry I want you so much it’s ruining me?

No. It didn’t matter. None of it did. The only thing that mattered was getting through the next few hours without making things worse. The only way to do that was to switch off, keep his head down, and be professional. That’s what he told himself as he got up, showered, and got dressed. That’s what he repeated in his head all the way to the set. That’s what he told himself when he saw you.

You were already there, talking to the intimacy coordinator, going through notes, nodding at whatever Edith was saying. Your body language was careful, measured. Professional. You didn’t even glance in his direction.

Joe forced himself to look away, to keep walking. No lingering glances. No hesitations. No what ifs.

Just work.

The scene was unavoidable. Production had no choice but to pick up where they left off.

A love scene. One of the love scenes. The one that was supposed to be raw, desperate, consuming. The one that should have felt like two people unable to stay away from each other any longer.

Instead, it felt impossible.

Joe was hyper-aware of you. Every movement, every breath. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let it show, that he would be professional, but as soon as the cameras rolled, he felt the hesitation. The way his hands hovered for a second longer before touching you. The way he stiffened when he should have softened.

“Cut.” Mark’s voice rang out almost immediately.

Joe exhaled sharply, stepping back. He didn’t dare look at you.

“Alright,” Mark sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We need more… connection. More need between you two.”

Joe nodded, forcing a tight-lipped smile. More connection. If only they fucking knew.

They went again. And again. And again.

Each take was just as difficult as the last. Every time Joe’s hands traced your skin, every time your breath mixed with his, it felt like walking a tightrope. It wasn’t just awkwardness—it was something else, something dangerous. Like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step would send them both crashing down.

By the fourth take, something shifted.

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the sheer force of muscle memory, maybe it was the fact that neither of them could afford to keep messing this up. But suddenly, the scene started to flow.

Joe stopped overthinking. He stopped hesitating. He let himself sink into it, into you.

And for a moment—just a moment—it didn’t feel like acting.

It felt real. The heat. The pull. The way his hands gripped your waist, the way your fingers tangled in his hair.

And that was the problem.

Because for a split second, Joe forgot. Forgot the cameras, the script, the fact that this was a scene and not something he could actually claim as his own. It was the way your body pressed into his, the way your breath hitched against his lips—it was everything. Too much.

Panic hit him like a train.

His body betrayed him first, his muscles tensing, his pulse hammering against his throat. His fingers curled involuntarily, his grip on you momentarily faltering before he forced himself to let go. He stepped back too fast, severing the connection in a way that felt brutal.

"Fuck, sorry," he muttered, already distancing himself, already forcing his mind into lockdown.

But it was too late.

The moment was gone. The scene was ruined.

The set was dead silent, and the weight of everything—everything that had just happened—pressed heavily on both of you. Joe’s eyes flitted to the floor, unable to meet yours, his breath shallow as though he’d just been caught in the act of something unspeakable. You didn’t know what to say, what to do. Your body felt stiff, frozen in place as you stared at him, but inside, it was all unraveling.

It wasn’t just about the scene. It was about everything that had been building up, the tension that had been hanging between you two for so long. And then, in that moment, everything felt more complicated than it ever had before. You’d crossed a line. He had crossed it. Neither of you had intended it, but there it was, unspoken yet undeniable.

“Fuck,” Joe said again, quieter this time, almost as if to himself. His hands fidgeted, as if they didn’t know where to go. He was torn between apologizing again or pretending it hadn’t just happened. His whole posture was tense, defensive, like a man on the edge of a breakdown.

You weren’t sure what to feel, how to react. Everything in you wanted to lash out, to scream at him for doing this to you, for making you feel something you shouldn’t feel in the middle of all this. But nothing came out. No words. No anger. Just confusion.

"Is everything alright?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. 

Joe didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of apology and frustration, like he wanted to say so much more but couldn’t. Finally, he took a deep breath, looking like he was preparing to speak but unsure what words would make it better.

Mark’s voice broke through the tension. "Cut!" he called, clearly frustrated by the pause. “We need a break. Everyone, take five.”

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t look at Joe without feeling your chest tighten, your breath coming in short bursts. He had pulled away so quickly, as if the moment had disgusted him. And maybe it had. But why had it happened in the first place?

The space between you had never felt so vast. And it wasn’t just the physical distance. It was something far more complicated. The emotional distance. The boundaries you’d been trying to ignore for so long had suddenly slammed into reality.

Joe didn’t move, didn’t say anything more. He stood there, staring at the floor, his fingers running through his hair in frustration. He focused on breathing, on grounding himself, on pretending that the past two minutes hadn’t just thrown him into complete fucking turmoil. He couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t let this happen.

Not again.

He heard your footsteps behind him, hesitant. Maybe you were about to say something, maybe you were about to ask if he was okay—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t meet your eyes and risk unraveling completely. So he took a step further away, putting more space between you, a boundary neither of you had needed before.

The silence stretched on until it became unbearable. The set felt colder, more sterile, and the walls between you felt thicker than ever. 

“Five more minutes,” he said, his tone flat, detached. “We need five minutes, and then we’re finishing this.”

You didn’t know what to say. The words didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. But you couldn’t let the scene stay ruined. You couldn’t let it fall apart because of this. You had a job to do.

With a stiff nod, you turned away from him, walking towards the side of the set where they were setting up for the next shot. Joe didn’t follow, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back.

The five minutes passed in silence. You barely moved, barely thought. You just breathed, trying to collect your thoughts, trying to block out the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

Joe squared his shoulders, forcing every ounce of emotion out of his system. When he turned back, he wasn’t Joe anymore—he was his character, detached, composed, ready to finish what he had started. 

The second take began.

And this time, he made sure it was nothing more than a performance.

Joe came back to his position, his face set, his eyes distant. He was a professional, and he was determined to keep it that way, no matter what it cost him. He stayed rigid, focused entirely on the task at hand, keeping his distance. The touch, the heat, the closeness, all of it—he forced it all out of his mind.

You did the same.

And somehow, the scene went on. He acted, and you did too. Every movement was calculated, each touch forced, but the cameras were rolling, and the show had to go on. There was no room for mistakes now.

As the scene finished, the tension in the air was palpable. Mark called cut, and everyone immediately scattered, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to acknowledge the unspoken tension that still hung between you and Joe.

He didn’t speak to you. Neither did you. There was nothing left to say.

-

You had never felt the weight of silence quite like this.

The distance wasn’t just physical—it was everywhere. In the moments between takes, in the breaks that used to be filled with effortless conversation, in the absence of his presence when you turned your head expecting to find him watching.

Because that’s what Joe used to do.

He used to sit behind the camera when it was your turn to film, watching, always watching. You’d grown used to it, to that silent but constant support, the way his presence felt like an anchor amidst the chaos of filming. But today, his chair was empty. He had scenes of his own to shoot, yes—but that had never stopped him before.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Maybe this was for the best. But the ache in your chest told a different story.

It was pathetic, really, the way you kept looking for him. How you still expected to turn a corner and see him waiting, how you half-expected him to fall into step beside you between scenes, making some dry comment about the ridiculousness of whatever you had just filmed.

But he wasn’t there. And you hated how much you noticed.

It was infuriating, this version of Joe you were seeing now. The cold professionalism. The single-minded focus. Like nothing that had happened between you mattered at all. Like you weren’t worth even a fraction of the consideration he had so easily given before.

Maybe that was the worst part—not just the absence, but the realization that you had been wrong about him.

You had believed he was different. That he was kind, thoughtful, the kind of person who cared about more than just the job. But maybe that was just another illusion. Maybe he was no different from every other actor who smiled for the cameras and left the wreckage behind when the scene was over.

And maybe that was on you.

Because you should have known better. You should have kept your distance, maintained the boundaries that would have made this easier. But you hadn’t. You had let yourself trust him, let yourself believe that whatever had been growing between you was real. And now, you were paying the price.

The worst part?

He wasn’t.

Joe was moving on like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing more than another scene, another line to be delivered and discarded.

And that? That hurt more than anything.

- 

Joe had told himself—convinced himself—that this was for the best. That if he kept his distance, if he forced himself to be professional, to be cold, then maybe things would settle. Maybe the weight in his chest would lessen. Maybe he’d stop wanting you so fucking much.

But it hadn’t worked.

If anything, it made it worse.

The absence of you was unbearable. The silence, the lack of your voice filling the gaps between takes, the missing glances you used to share—it all felt like a punishment. And he knew he deserved it. But fuck, it was getting harder to breathe.

You weren’t just keeping your distance—you were freezing him out. Completely. And he couldn’t blame you. He had drawn the first line. He had built the first wall. But he never expected you to build one even higher, even thicker, impenetrable in a way that made his chest ache.

Days passed, and the realization settled like lead in his stomach.

He had been selfish.

At first, his fear had been simple: that you didn’t feel the same. That this pull between you was something he had imagined, exaggerated in his mind. That maybe you were just friends, that maybe he was just another coworker to you.

But then, he saw the way he had hurt you. Saw the anger in your eyes, the disappointment, the pain. And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

Of course, you had felt it too.

And instead of talking about it, instead of giving you the chance to decide what to do with those feelings, he had made the decision for both of you.

That was the worst part. The unbearable truth.

He had convinced himself this was for your sake, for the sake of the film, for the sake of professionalism. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. He had done it for himself. To protect his own heart. His own fears.

And now? Now he had no idea how to fix it.

You wouldn’t even look at him anymore. Wouldn’t speak to him unless it was strictly necessary. And even then, your voice was devoid of warmth, clipped and controlled, like you were barely tolerating his presence.

He wanted to fix it.

He just didn’t know if he had the right to.

Because if he had been the one to break everything apart… how the hell was he supposed to ask you to put it back together?

-

Joe had told himself that he could fix this. Maybe not entirely—maybe not in the way he wanted—but at least enough to make things bearable again. He had spent days carrying the weight of his own selfishness, his own fear, and now, faced with the wall you had built between you, he realized something even worse.

He wasn’t the only one who had made a choice. You had, too.

You weren’t playing along anymore. The kindness, the warmth, the easy understanding—you had shut it all off. And why wouldn’t you? He had been the first to pull away, to decide what was best for the both of you, and now you had done the same. Except this time, he was on the receiving end of it, and it fucking hurt.

Still, he had to try.

So he made an effort. Small things at first. Little acknowledgments, nods when you passed by each other, polite comments about the scenes. He didn’t push, didn’t expect anything in return. He was just trying to remind you that he was still here. That he wasn’t avoiding you anymore.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because you weren’t meeting him halfway.

You weren’t cruel, not exactly, but you weren’t letting him in either. When he spoke to you, you answered, but only in clipped, neutral sentences. When you had breaks between scenes, you no longer spent them anywhere near him. And when it came to the actual filming, you were professional—so professional it was almost unbearable.

Joe could handle the distance. What he couldn’t handle was the fact that you wanted it.

And it was fucking up everything.

The more he thought about it, the more distracted he became. He fumbled lines, missed cues, stepped in the wrong place. Tiny, stupid mistakes—mistakes he never made. He could feel the irritation creeping in from the crew, from Mark, from you.

Especially from you.

Your frustration was palpable.

At first, it was just little things—tightened shoulders, tense jaw, the way you let out sharp breaths whenever the scene had to be reset. But then, after the fourth take was ruined because he hesitated before delivering his line, you snapped.

"For fuck’s sake, Joe," you muttered under your breath, but loud enough for him to hear. “Can you please focus for once?"

He flinched. Not because of your words, but because of the way they sounded—tired, exasperated, like you were done. Done with him, done with the whole damn thing.

He wanted to apologize, to explain, to say anything to make it better.

But what the fuck was he supposed to say?

That he was exhausted, but not from the long days of shooting? That he had spent every second of the last week thinking about you, about how badly he had handled everything? That standing next to you, knowing he had ruined whatever was between you, made it impossible to focus?

None of that would fix anything.

So instead, he swallowed it down. Forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to focus.

And when the cameras rolled again, he delivered the line.

Perfectly.

Because if there was one thing he could still do, one thing he had left, it was pretending.

- 

You didn’t have to look at him to know when he entered the set. You felt it. The weight of his presence, heavier than before. It was as if he’d been trying—no, he had been trying, and that was what pissed you off even more. You hadn’t wanted to see it, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, but you knew he had been doing his damned best to be cordial, to rebuild whatever mess of a relationship you had left.

The tension between you two had been thick, but you kept your eyes fixed on your script. You forced your body to stay rigid, not even glancing in his direction. His attempts to be professional, to give you a nod or some small, respectful gesture, didn’t go unnoticed. And it annoyed you to no end.

He had been the one who messed this up. He had been the one to pull away. And now, after all that, he expected you to just... let it slide? No. Not this time. Not after everything. You had built walls higher than you ever thought you could, and there was no way in hell you were letting them crumble so easily. Not for him.

As the scenes had unfolded, the weight of the unfinished tension from the past days had pressed down on you, turning every moment into a battle to maintain composure. He’d been trying, you could tell—he’d been trying so hard to fix things, to show that he cared—but all you felt was a cold bitterness creeping in. He didn’t get it, did he? He’d thought he could just pick up the pieces and act like nothing had ever happened. Like everything had been fine now just because he suddenly cared.

You had watched him stumble through his lines. His movements had been all off, as if he hadn’t been quite present, as if his mind had been somewhere else. It had been infuriating. Why did he have to make everything so difficult now? Didn’t he see that you were the one trying to push through this, that you were the one who just wanted to get through it without falling apart?

Every time he misplaced his mark or hesitated on his lines, you felt your frustration boil. You couldn’t help but sigh loudly, a sharp exhale through your nose that was loud enough for him to hear. You didn’t care anymore. It wasn’t your fault he was distracted. If he had cared about this as much as he said, he wouldn’t have been falling apart like this. It was like you were filming with a stranger—someone who didn’t even have the decency to put in the effort.

His eyes had darted to yours, and there had been that brief flash of guilt, of self-awareness, but it had only made you angrier. He had been doing this on purpose, hadn’t he? Trying to make you feel something again, trying to bridge the gap you had both built, but you hadn’t been interested in falling for that. Not now. Not after everything.

As the day had dragged on, you had begun to realize just how tired you were. Tired of the tension. Tired of him. Tired of pretending that you weren’t dying inside, that you weren’t resentful of every moment you had to spend in this space with him. He’d been messing up more than ever, and it had been hard to watch and even harder to ignore.

But even worse had been that little voice in the back of your head, the one that still cared, that still wanted to reach out. You hated it. You despised it. But no matter how hard you had tried to shut it up, it had lingered there, mocking you, making you wish for a simpler time when things hadn’t felt so complicated.

But then, after the fourth take had been ruined because he had hesitated before delivering his line, you had been done.

You had thrown your hands up in frustration, your voice snapping as you muttered, "For fuck’s sake, Joe, can you please focus for once?"

He had flinched. But it hadn’t been the words that had hit him—it had been the tone. The weariness in it. The frustration. You hadn’t even realized how much of it had seeped into your voice. You had felt a little bad, but not enough to stop the words from coming out. He had made this hard for you. So why shouldn’t you make it hard for him, too?

He hadn’t said anything, though you could feel the tension in the air. You had known he had been wrestling with something, but what could he possibly say? It wouldn’t have mattered, would it? You hadn’t wanted to hear any explanations, hadn’t wanted any half-hearted apologies. You were past that. You had just wanted to finish the scene, finish the day.

You saw him there, standing still, like he was trying to pull himself together, but you couldn’t figure out what he was doing. He seemed lost, but what could he possibly be struggling with? Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe you were just overthinking it.

But then, as the cameras started rolling again, he took a breath. You watched him steady himself, as if he was trying to shut everything else out. And when he spoke—when he nailed that line, just like nothing had happened—you felt your chest tighten.

As the final scene wrapped, you gathered your things, moving quickly, not wanting to linger. You could feel his presence behind you before you even heard him step closer.

“Hey,” Joe’s voice was tentative, careful, like he was testing the waters. "Sorry I kept messing the scene up. It 's been hard to focus lately"

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking him in the eye. The tightness in your chest felt unbearable, but you weren’t about to let him see it. What was he exactly doing? What did he pretend?

“Yeah… it’s okay, Joe,” you said flatly, your voice colder than you wanted. You didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to feel the tug of something still there when all you could think about was escaping. "See you." 

You could hear him hesitate, then take a step back. And even though you felt a flicker of something—maybe regret, maybe pain—you didn't care. Not enough to turn around. You didn’t want to give him a chance, you weren’t feeling like talking.

Despite everything, despite your anger and the wall you had built, a part of you still ached when you saw him looking at you like he was genuinely trying. Like he wanted to fix things. But no. You wouldn’t let him. Not then. Not after what he had done. So you turned away, and the emotional distance felt as real as the physical one that had been between you two for days.

You wanted it to be over. You wanted it to end. You wanted the tension to disappear, but you were afraid that if you gave him an inch, he’d tear down everything you’d worked to build. So you kept your distance. You kept your anger. And maybe, just maybe, you’d get through it without losing yourself.

- 

You had known this scene was coming. You had read it a hundred times, rehearsed it in your head, told yourself it was just another day at work.

It was a fight. A breaking point. The moment where your characters—two people caught in an inevitable downward spiral—finally let the dam burst. It was raw, emotional, the kind of scene designed to leave a mark.

But nothing could have prepared you for how it would actually feel.

It started fine. You exchanged the first lines with the usual sharpness, slipping into your role with ease. Joe did too, his delivery solid, precise. But then something shifted.

His voice. His expression.

The anger in his eyes wasn’t just acting—it was him.

And suddenly, you weren’t just saying the lines. You were there, locked in an argument that felt too real, too close to everything you had been trying to ignore.

He stepped toward you, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his voice rose. “Don’t do that. Don’t stand there and pretend like it doesn’t matter.”

You felt it—an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.

It made your pulse stutter.

You forced yourself to hold your ground, to push back like the script demanded. But his energy was suffocating. His eyes burned into you with a desperation that made it impossible to look away.

And then it happened.

His breath hitched. His voice broke.

And a tear slipped down his cheek.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t in the script.

You felt something twist violently in your chest.

Because in that moment, you knew.

This wasn’t just about the scene. This wasn’t just about acting.

He was breaking in front of you.

"Cut!"

The room exhaled all at once. There was a beat of stunned silence, then Mark’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Wow. That is what I wanted to see. That was incredible.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the set—crew members nodding, sharing glances of admiration. Someone clapped Joe on the shoulder.

He barely reacted.

He just stood there, breathing heavily, blinking rapidly like he was trying to pull himself back together.

And all you could do was watch.

Watch as he wiped a hand over his face, as he swallowed hard, as he tried—and failed—to shake it off.

Something inside you cracked.

For days, you had let anger guide you. You had let pride build a wall so high that you convinced yourself it was the right thing to do. You had blamed him. Resented him. Refused to let yourself care.

But looking at him now, hurting in a way that was so real, you realized the truth.

You had been wrong.

Not for being upset. Not for feeling hurt. But for pretending like it didn’t matter.

For acting as if walking away from him was easy, when the truth was—it wasn’t.

Because no matter how much you fought it, no matter how much you wanted to be done, there was one undeniable fact staring you right in the face.

He still mattered to you. More than you had ever been willing to admit.

- 

Joe lay alone in his room, sprawled on the bed after another long day of filming. The scene still echoed in his mind, like a painful reverberation. He felt exposed, vulnerable, embarrassed for having shown so much emotion in front of the entire crew, especially in front of you. Everything he had been avoiding, everything he had repressed, had surfaced. And now, with the knot in his stomach that wouldn’t go away, he knew he couldn’t keep ignoring what he felt.

He felt powerless. He had been unable to make things better between the two of you, and the fear of losing whatever was left of any kind of relationship consumed him. Yet still, he didn’t know how to take the first step. The distance between you two was palpable, his pride wounded, and the fear of being completely rejected paralyzed him.

He closed his eyes, feeling a pressure in his chest. How did it come to this? he asked himself once again. What else can I do if every time I try to get closer, she pushes me away with a coldness that leaves me speechless?

Meanwhile, you walked down the hallway of the set, alone, after another exhausting day of filming. The sound of your footsteps echoed in your mind, but it was the silence around you that made you think the most. At that moment, something shifted. You realized what was happening inside you. For days, you had been looking at Joe as someone who had simply let you down, as a person who had played with your emotions. But now, after that last scene, after seeing him so broken and vulnerable, you realized he had also been suffering—not only because of what had happened between you two but because all of this had affected him deeply.

A strange sense of guilt washed over you. For a moment, the pain and resentment you had kept inside mixed with a new perspective. Why have I been so blind, so determined to protect my pride at all costs? you asked yourself. It hurt more than you expected to see Joe like that, so vulnerable, so real.

You stopped for a moment. You knew you had allowed your own pain to cloud your judgment. All this time, you had been thinking it was only him who had let you down, but the truth was, you had played a part in this too. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to shut yourself off so much, to hide your feelings behind walls that kept growing taller. Maybe neither of you had been brave enough to face what you were really feeling.

But the truth was that neither of you knew how to take the next step, how to break the silence that had settled between you without everything spiraling out of control again. Joe continued to be tormented by his own fears and lack of courage, while you kept resisting, knowing that opening up wasn’t easy, especially after everything you had been through.

[filthyjoetini]

Fizzy

a/n: Hello, I'm back (well, kinda). I bought too much Coke and thought, What would my version of Joe say? …and ideas started bubbling—get it? Okay, enjoy.

warnings: No one proofread this. I just needed to get it out.

word count: ~1k

The kitchen was warm, the soft glow of the under-cabinet lights casting a golden hue over the countertops. The scent of cured meat and cheese lingered in the air as you stood in your pyjamas, your hair piled atop your head in a messy bun, preparing what was arguably the laziest dinner known to mankind: two slices of bread, a big blob of mayonnaise, a bit of meat, and a couple of slices of cheese.. Simple. No frills. Just enough to fill the hunger gnawing at your stomach without requiring too much effort.

It was quiet, except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of plastic as you folded the pack of meat closed. That was, until the front door clicked open.

“Babe, I’m home,” Joe’s voice rang out, low and a little weary but unmistakably warm.

A smile tugged at your lips as you turned your head, just in time to see him step inside, shaking a few raindrops from his hair. His curls were slightly damp, a sure sign that he had gotten caught in the drizzle on his way home. Before you could say anything, he crossed the small space between you, one hand sliding to the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

His lips were cool from the weather outside, a contrast to the warmth of his touch. The kiss lingered just enough to make your stomach flip before he pulled back, his big brown eyes scanning your face with that quiet, amused fondness that always seemed to settle there when he looked at you.

“Missed you,” he murmured.

You hummed, brushing a curl away from his forehead. “You were gone for like…four hours.”

“Four very long hours.” His grin was teasing as he dropped his tote bag onto the counter and stretched, groaning dramatically before making his way to the fridge. “What are you having?”

“Gourmet dinner,” you said, holding up your plate. “Bread, mayo, meat, cheese.”

He snorted, pulling the fridge open. “Classy.”

There was a beat of silence. Then another.

Then---

“What the hell—?”

You glanced over your shoulder. Joe was standing in front of the open fridge, staring at the shelves with an expression of pure bewilderment. His head tilted slightly, his eyes scanning the contents before he turned to you, one brow raised.

“Why,” he began slowly, “is our fridge entirely stocked with Coke?”

You bit your lip. “It’s not entirely—”

He gestured at the shelves. “There are fifty-odd cans of Coke in here.”

Your eyes flicked toward the fridge, as if seeing it for the first time. The shelves were, indeed, a sea of red and black cans—regular Coke on the top, Coke Zero on the bottom.

“I mean… we drink it,” you offered weakly.

Joe turned fully toward you now, arms crossing over his chest. He was fighting a smile, you could tell by the way his lips twitched, but he did a very convincing job of looking stern.

You exhaled, setting your plate down. “Okay, look, I went to get a six-pack. For each of us. Because obviously, I drink Coke Zero and you drink regular Coke.”

“Obviously,” he echoed, nodding.

“But they didn’t have six-packs. They only had twenty-four packs. And I panicked.”

His brows lifted. “You… panicked?”

“Yes!” You threw your hands up, eyes going wide. “I don’t know! I just—I saw the giant packs, and I thought, ‘Well, we do drink a lot of Coke,’ and then suddenly I was at self-checkout scanning two massive cases and people were looking at me like I had a problem and—”

Joe’s laughter burst out before you could finish. It wasn’t just a chuckle, either, it was the full-bodied, head-thrown-back kind, the kind that shook his shoulders and made his nose scrunch up.

Your rambling died in your throat. “What?”

He shook his head, still grinning. “You do this. Every time.”

“I do what?”

“You buy weird amounts of things.” He gestured vaguely toward the fridge. “Remember when you accidentally ordered a year’s supply of rice because you thought you were buying a single bag?”

“…That was one time.”

“Or when you stocked up on pasta and we had to eat spaghetti for a month?”

“In my defence, it was a very good sale.”

He stepped closer, resting his hands on your hips, eyes still twinkling with amusement. “It’s adorable,” he murmured.

Your cheeks warmed. “It’s not adorable, it’s embarrassing.”

“It is adorable,” he insisted, dipping his head to kiss your temple. “You get flustered and overwhelmed, and then suddenly we’re the proud owners of enough Coke to survive the apocalypse.”

You huffed, but his lips were still brushing against your skin, and it was hard to argue when he was being this unbearably sweet.

“So,” he mused, pulling back slightly, “what’s the plan? Are we opening a drink shop? Selling cans on the black market?”

You rolled your eyes. “We drink it, obviously.”

“For the next two months?”

“For however long it takes.”

Joe chuckled, then stepped away, grabbing two cans from the fridge—one regular Coke, one Coke Zero. He popped them both open, handing yours to you before clinking his against it like a toast.

“To my darling, slightly chaotic, very adorable over-purchaser,” he said with a smirk.

You narrowed your eyes but couldn’t stop the small, reluctant smile that tugged at your lips. “To my insufferable but charming boyfriend.”

He grinned. “I’ll take it.”

-

Tag list (most of you guys aren't around anymore, am I right?): @ohmeg @daleyeahson @lma1986 @palomahasenteredthechat @mandyjo8719 @aysheashea @littledemon-lilith @readergf @sidthedollface2 @i-wont-run-this-time @miserybeans @kylakins88 @thehillzhaveeyez @punctualhowell @icallhimjoey @ghostinthebackofyourhead @siriuslysmoking @cancankiki @definitionwanderlust @1paire2vans @theonewiththecrackedmind @fromasgardandback @captainonaboat @josephquinnsfreckles @emilyslutface @alessxaa

[archivequinn]

hello everyone, I have an emperor geta (nsfw) story but I am afraid that if I share it no one will read it... is anyone interested?😬

[honey-flustered]

Kinktober 8: Feeding/Stuffing + Cuckolding

Michael (Hoard) x Married!Milf!Older!Reader

Summary: Michael sure does love your cookies (derogatory).

Warnings: age gap (Michael 20s, Reader mid 30s), unhealthy food consumption, face stuffing kink, cheating/swinging/cuckolding, food sexual innuendos/puns

It’s odd. You specifically remember mothering two growing boys. But you’ve counted two growing boys and one fully grown man…

Michael lives next door at the Michelle residence, his foster mother’s home, along with his pregnant girlfriend. You’d think he’d stay clear of you, the ‘MILF with the Pink Flamingos’. Yet, he’s been in your kitchen several times anticipating your delicious baked goods.

He’s always responded well to your cooking. In fact, you remember the first time you and your husband had moved into the neighborhood, introducing yourselves to the neighbors when you’d approached Michael’s door with a platter of lemon cakes. He immediately gave you ‘the eye’ as he’d taken a bite of the confectionery, highly praising you and going for seconds—thirds. From the way he openly flirted with you, you assumed he knew exactly what you and your husband were into until you’d met his proper girlfriend who clearly isn’t one to fool around.

Still every evening, Michael would come over to your home, flirting and scarfing down whatever you gave him. A quiet sick part of you enjoyed seeing the way his belly would protrude after a satisfying home-cooked meal. You especially love it when he’d curl up against you on the couch —after hours when your husband and the kiddos are in bed—making you rub his tummy and soothe his hair.

Today is no different. There you are rubbing his belly on the couch and playing in his hair when he looks up at your lap.

“The meaning of those pink flamingos out there…do they have anything to do with why there are so many couples in the neighborhood competing for you and your partner’s attention?” Michael questions.

“Why yes,” You giggle, moving a strands of hair away from his forehead. “We’re swingers.”

“That explains why your husband doesn’t seem to mind my presence.” He says, snuggling more up against you.

“Oh, he does mind it,” You admit. “We only swing with open couples. You and your lover aren’t exactly open, are you? Anything happening between us would be considered cheating.”

“The wicked smile on your face tells me, you aren’t entirely against it.” Michael smirks, breath hitching when you dip your finger in his bellybutton before soothing over his happy trail.

“I’m a mother and a housewife, Michael. I don’t wreck homes, I remodel them,” You quip, tugging his hair as a gesture for him to rise up from your lap. He stares at you with both confusion and hurt as if feeling rejected. “My husband’s standing on a stair-step just out of view from our eyes but enough to where he can watch us. He doesn’t trust that you wouldn’t try anything with me despite the many nights you’ve rested in my lap.”

“Is he looking for a show?” Michael says, gripping the fat of your thighs.

“Maybe,” You answer. “Or maybe he’s just making sure you aren’t eating my cookies. He especially loves those and you didn’t leave not a crumble for him last time.”

You pick up a small cake from your tray, raising it up to his lips. “You can have as much cake as you want though.”

Michael smiles, widening his mouth to accept the sweet treat. You cram it in messily, your fingers coated with icing and cake fluff. He swirls his tongue around your fingers, sucking in earnest while maintaining eye contact with you.

When he’s done licking your fingers clean, he sighs happily. “Luckily for him, I’m big on cake-eating.”

[hopelesswrites]

Book Club 2

Part 1

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

-Your book club bestie persistently tries to set you up with her son, at the expense of your new white top.

Again reiterating: Joes mum is a fictional character here, she's the essence of every suburban white woman I know.

-

Your headache never went away and followed you into the next day. Only, today’s matters were worse than a headache, you had dinner with Mary and Joe.

Now only down the street from Mary’s house your stomach was doing flips in anticipation for the night. You hoped Mary wouldn’t make it awkward, considering she had been trying to plan this for as long as you’ve known her.

At the door you felt as small as an ant, why was it so big and daunting? Who has such a large door?

In truth it was obviously a normal door, but your mind started skewing your perception of rationality.

The doorbell? Far, far too loud.

The footsteps on the other side? Definitely too fast, why was Mary running? 

The door opened but it wasn’t Mary. “You made it! Come in, Mums just finishing off the gravy” Joes cheery voice boomed through your ears. Joe was the definition of inviting. His soft brown hair was freshly washed, you could tell by the fluffiness of his curls. As you panned down the man you took in his clothes. He had on a cream cotton button up that looked like a crumpled up piece of blank paper, black jeans and the most god-awful loafers you think you had ever laid your eyes on. You wondered if you had composed your face well enough or if your look of disgust was showing. 

“I’m sorry, am I late?” You asked, toeing off your shoes at the door and following him through to the kitchen. As suspected it was just the three of you, and it was obviously starting to look like a big setup. You curiously considered Mary giving Joe a debrief before you got here. Trivial facts about you, talking points, how to act, how to speak. You figured Joe would probably be good at following directions like that, put on a persona Mary deemed fit for you. 

“My Love!” Mary smiled wide at you, “just in time, why don’t you follow Joe into the dining room and help set the table, I’m almost done”. 

And so, the schemes begin. 

The round table was on the smaller side, tucked into the space given for a dining setting. You ran through the pros and cons of this: the table was set that you weren’t sitting across from Joe, but you were close enough next to him where feet kept bumping into each other. 

You realised Mary had done this so she could look at you both, observe your interactions, and once you were all seated and conversation (interrogation) began flowing, her eagle eyes were on you. 

“Joe tells me you bumped into each other last night” Mary says nonchalantly.

“Yeah, we did” was all you could bring yourself to say.

“What a funny coincidence” The woman replied, a pleased smile on her face.

“I was just telling Joe the other night how I was starting to give up on the two of you meeting, always seem to be busy at the same time”.

Give up my ass, you thought.

The rest of dinner continued on much the same, Mary bringing up things about you to Joe and vice versa. By the end of the meal, you felt you were well acquainted with the man.

After clearing the table and fighting and losing for dish washing duty you were sat back at the table with Joe while you both waited for Mary to finish prepping dessert. To “talk amongst yourselves” she called it.

Awkwardly you drew shapes in the condensation of your water glass, avoiding making any sudden movement to prompt Joe into conversation.

“She thinks we’re stupid huh” Joe spoke quietly, trying not to alert the woman on the other side of the wall, who most probably was waiting to hear any kind of noise from the room.

“Shameless woman doesn’t care what we know” you responded, earning a chuckle from Joe.

“I wouldn’t have minded getting to know you without my mother’s interference”

“Bit late for that now” you scoffed back.

“I don’t think so”

That got your attention, finger halting at the rim of your class.

“Grab a drink on the way home?” Joes’ eyes bore into you, he was starting to look like his mother, eagerly waiting a response.

Did you even want to get to know Joe? Mary’s son! The woman had plotted a whole meet cute for you both, it all felt a bit silly now. Did you even like Joe? He was definitely attractive, smelled nice as well, but what did you know about him that would entice you in any other situation.

Tall – check

Gentleman – check

Stable job – check

Dressed well – half check, those shoes were criminal.

Good relationship with his mother – dependent really, you didn’t see any red flag with Joe and his mum, just a guy with an overly enthusiastic loving mother.

He honestly passed your first level of inspection, if he was any other guy on a dating app you’d go for the drink. But you couldn’t help feeling like it was so wrong. Every possible bad scenario ran through your head, what if he didn’t end up liking the real you once he got to know you, or what if he was only being polite and you ended up looking too eager. Your biggest worry though, what if you hurt him, what if your terrible luck with dating followed through with Joe, what if you strung him along and ended up breaking his heart, how would you face Mary then? It felt like keeping work life and personal life separate, you couldn’t bring your mess into Mary’s life.

“Another time? Ive got to be up early tomorrow” you offered with a kind smile that made you feel sick. This was considered stringing along wasn’t it.

Before you could think about it any more Mary came into the room, two hot bowls of apple crumble in hand and the night continued as it began.

-

Life continued after you left Mary’s house, new book in hand, and Joseph, basically forgotten. The book Mary chose was an interesting commentary on murder mystery novels. Much more enjoyable compared to last meetings book, you finished it in the first week.

Now a month later you found yourself back in front of Marys door, only this time without the feeling of dread, and you could hear the ladies inside laughing and chatting, it was safe to enter.

Mary had set up in her living room, tea and biscuits already laid out on the coffee table while Linda and Kylie gossiped to themselves about the rising price of bananas and the woman who lived down the road from them. Another woman sat quietly going over her notes on this month’s book, only looking up briefly to give you a kind smile. You could hear Mary laughing loudly in the kitchen, a delightful smell of tomato and basil wafting from the room. You followed the smell to catch Mary offering Teresa a spoonful of her spaghetti sauce.

“Oh, that’s naughty” you whispered, approaching the two ladies.

“Just a taste test before we serve it to everyone” Mary giggled, handing out a spoon for you to try.

You grabbed the spoon for yourself but before the sauce could make it to your mouth it had slipped off and down the front of your white shirt.

“Oh damn!” Mary cursed, grabbing a tea towel and gently dabbing it off. “Quick go to the bathroom, I have stain removing spray under the sink”

You didn’t waste any time and rushed down the hall towards the bathroom, not paying any attention when you reached for the handle and the door swung open before you could touch it, steam and heat hitting you in the face, as well as a solid body.

“Shit!” I’m so sorry!” That familiar deep voice swore in front of you.

Joe stood in the doorway, in only a pair of sweatpants, a towel around his shoulder and dripping wet curls in his face.

“What are you doing here” You grumbled, moving aside so you could swap places, Joe now staring at you stood in the doorway.

“This is my mums house- what happened here” Joes face turned from shock to a shit eating grin as he pointed to your chest, rather the large red stain on your chest.

“Spaghetti sauce”

Joe chuckled, “You’re supposed to eat it, not wear it”

“Ha-ha, you’re funny” You rolled your eyes, turning around to ignore Joe in search for the spray Mary sent you here for. Did she know Joe was in there? Was this another scheme?

Joe returned midway through you holding your shirt stretched out, stomach on display while you awkwardly sprayed the stained area.

“Here, put this on and give me that, ill get it out” He was fully dressed now in a matching sweat set, a black shirt outstretched.

You stared at him for a moment before shaking your head. “No, I can’t wear that”

“Why not?” Joe asked giving you a confused look.

“I have to go out there!” you cried, earning a deadpan look from Joe.

“So?”

“So? They’ll gossip! they’ll ask questions, it’ll become a whole situation.”

You realised you may have become slightly dramatic over this exchange but your interactions with Joe had surpassed your comfort level.

“Fine, wear the stained shirt” Joe gave you a tight smile before walking out. You looked back down at your shirt, it honestly looked worse, the stain had bled out into a larger patch.

You returned to the group, laughing with the ladies about your accident while Mary went around serving everyone a bowl of pasta before you began your meeting.

“Joe not give you any trouble?” Mary asked when she got to you, which you answered with a short no.

Because, of course she knew he was in there.

[harrywavycurly]

Texting Joseph Quinn Part 23: Fandom

Masterlist: Here

A/N: This was fun and I’m so sorry yall have had to wait so long for an update but I hope you enjoy and happy Valentine’s Day!💖

[sweetprfct]

**AN: my fics have constant repeated side characters like the reader's bff Sara.

Permanent December (Re-published) - (18+, enemies to lovers, comfort, hurt, fluff) Summary: You and Sara have been best friends for a while now and when Sara had started dating Wes, you realized he also had a best friend. Joe. But somehow, you and Joe tend not to get along all the time. Wordcount (so far): 14.8K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

Written in the Stars - (18+, smut, hurt, comfort, angst) Summary: You are a believer in fate but after getting your heart broken, you had stopped believing it. Until you met Joe. Suddenly, it got you questioning if fate is real or not. Total Wordcount: 44.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

Is It Over Now? - (18+, smut, fake dating to lovers, hurt, comfort) Summary: Fake dating your flatmate, Joe, should be a simple thing. It meant you get to help get his ex back, and it meant you get to stop your parents' nagging about bringing someone home for once. But what happens when fake dating turns into something unexpected? Now, what? Total Wordcount: 39.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

High Infidelity - (18+, hurt, angst, comfort) Summary: Did you really have to chart the constellations in his eyes? Did you really have to tell him how he brought you back to life? Disclaimer: elements of emotional abuse, mention of harming, infidelity Total Wordcount: 16.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - epilogue

Guilty as Sin? - (18+, smut, fluff) Summary: They said there's no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk. Total Wordcount: 5.9K

part one - part two

Midnight Rain - (18+, angst, hurt, comfort) Summary: The glitz and glamour of Hollywood isn't always what it seems. When Joe had started working with you in a movie, he had started wondering as to why you, the famous Hollywood starlet, has been acting out lately. Was there some dark secret behind all the angry spoiled façade? And why was he so fascinated about it? Total Wordcount: 16.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

The Hate Formula - (18+, smut, enemies to lovers, fluff, comfort) Summary: Living in the same building, across from each other shouldn't be much of a problem, right? But how come you and Joe tend to always push each other's buttons every day? Is it because you both truly just hated each other or is it because there was something more to it? Total Wordcount: 34.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

[stardancerluv]

So excited for Gladiator 2! That said, after the trailer dropped I had to write something! 18+ will have mature themes throughout it, while trying to incorporate what I know of ancient Rome while writing a story.

Movie is out, I love it! Will write now with some of its influence on me.

Here it is!

What the Emperor Wants

Emperor Geta has recently acquired “reader” she is to do with as he pleases. What does that really mean? We are gonna learn what it is to belong to Emperor Geta.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen

Part Eighteen

Part Nineteen

Part Twenty

Part Twenty - One (coming soon)

[icallhimjoey]

this might be too close to your most recent but possible ficspiration? I'm stressed and run down and I think you are too, and I woke up today just wanting a lazy lie-in morning with our soft boyfriend to make the real world go away. bonus points for a lil soft smut.

everyone deserves a soft lil joey who just wants a lazy little lie in with us so here you go - enjoy! (tw: lil teeny tiny bit of smut) Wordcount: 2.5K

---

Five More Minutes

"Mhmm... five more minutes." You tucked duvet where there wasn't any yet and curled up tight, ducking into your shoulders, ready to ignore real world chaos for at least a little while longer.

Five more minutes longer.

You weren’t sure when the words slipped into your bloodstream and became part of you. If they were already there before Joe, or if it had born into life just from being with him. 

Of course, you’d said them a thousand times before.

Everyone did. 

But it was a real habit now. A thing you did. Your subconscious had grown accustomed to forming the words when sleep even only slightly threatened to slip away upon waking. 

Five more minutes. 

You could be on an airplane, being tapped on the shoulder by a flight attendant and you’d tell them, “Five more minutes.” getting giggles from everyone within earshot. Or you could be on your own sofa on a weekend afternoon being woken up by the doorbell ringing and you’d tell an empty flat, “Five more minutes.” and then would have to go and collect whatever delivery you’d missed at the post office later.

You’d mutter it to no one, to strangers, but more often than not; you’d say it to Joe.

Five more minutes. 

You’d always say it. Even if you didn’t have five minutes to spare, and also if you’d have all day to snooze - the words would slip out before you'd even know it, inaudible and unintelligible, strung together with sleep, but you’d always say them. 

And then, after spending enough time together, Joe started doing the same. 

"Mhmm... five more minutes." Joe was the one to say it that morning, voice barely there, just a low rumble of noise.

You had to reach over him to stop the alarm on his phone from increasing in volume, and Joe took advantage of your body being close by wrapping both his arms around your middle, keeping you there.

"Joe..."

"Hmm," Joe groaned, body sleep warm, but his grip deceptively strong seeing as he was barely awake. "Five more min–..." Joe didn't even finish the words, ending on a sigh as he nosed at your cheek.

It took just about all of your willpower to not give in and just fall back asleep right on top of him.

You knew Joe would let it happen.

He'd easily ignore every responsibility if it meant cuddling with his favourite person underneath his sheets for however long he wanted.

He couldn’t pull you in close enough if he tried; he wanted you to share the same pillow, to breathe in the scent of your skin as his nose pressed into your neck. 

Joe wanted your weight on top of him forever, one hand free to hold your ass, the other free to touch whatever else he wanted; drawing lines down your side, finger tips sneaking under your top to crawl along your back, leaving shivers in their wake.

Joe just wanted a lifetime of this, even longer if it existed, but if five more minutes were all he was going to get, he’d take it, and was that really too much to ask?

"Joe..." his name left your lips in a murmur that you tried to make sound like a threat - like anything you could ever say in his bed could sound like a threat.

Silly.

Joe skillfully ignored you, mouth grazing over your cheek as one of his hands squeezed your hip tightly before slipping up and under your T-shirt.

And it was lovely. Warm and soft and gentle and, just, lovely.

But you knew Joe didn't have the time.

When Joe's palm started rounding out to your front to find new bits to grab at, you groaned loudly and tried to actually fight his grip this time.

"No, babe, I love you, but you have to get up."

You sat up, now straddling the boy, duvet falling down the back of you, exposing Joe to the temperature of the room and it made him flinch before curling up to preserve whatever warmth he could.

"Five more–" Joe tried once more, face burying deeper into his pillow, one arm reaching out to pull you back, but you were already gone. Up and out. Pushing the duvet even further down the bed in a bid to make sure Joe couldn't easily snuggle back up under.

"How dare you..." Joe gasped, already sounding more awake, humour hidden somewhere in his vowels.  

"Well," you smiled, using both arms to open the blinds, bathing Joe in morning sunlight. "I said I love you and you didn’t say it back, so..." you reasoned, giving a slight shrug of a single shoulder.

"Um, I don't want to alarm you," Joe started, not ready to give in just yet, now bending into shapes to reach for a corner of the duvet, "But I love you so much I don't think you fully understand."

You scoffed as you walked past the bed, a quick hand moving the duvet even further out of Joe's reach, making him grumble in defeat.

"You calling me stupid?" you teased, grinning at Joe's failed attempt to get back into bed the way he wanted to, and you started collecting an outfit from his wardrobe.

"No," Joe said, now finally sitting up, vanquished by the morning. His hair went every which way, a look you fucking loved on him, but a look you know Joe hated.

"You’re the smartest person I know, which actually is a real testimony to this amount of love I’ve got cooking for you."

Sat with his bum sunken into his mattress and tummy rolls on show, Joe rubbed a hand over his face and had to squint when he stared straight into the sun for a second.

"Yea?" you asked, arms full of clothes, stepping closer to the bed for a quick morning smooch before you'd jump into the shower.

Joe got the hint immediately, head tipping back to get you right on the lips.

"Cook me breakfast instead."

It was easy to get up and drag Joe out of bed on mornings where you'd actually gotten enough sleep in the night. When the evening before you'd been sensible and had gone, night babe, slipping into bed without waiting up for Joe.

But then the nights where you did wait up for Joe, where you forgot about your early morning for a second and stayed up late together; those mornings were tough and left you to be the one to whine for an extra five minutes.

You were still half asleep when the fresh scent of shower reached your nose.

The rustling of Joe getting dressed is what pulled you from your slumber more, and when you peeked with a careful squinty eye, you saw how the sun was barely even up yet.

Illegal.

Joe had no business dressing up into a button-up this early in the morning.

You were about to turn over to see if your prediction was correct, if Joe really was partaking in criminal behaviour before dawn, but before you could, you were slapped right out of your soft snoozy state.

Not Joe's fault that your ass peeking from the covers, all round, all deserving of a little lovetrap, distracted him mid getting ready.

You groaned loudly at the shock, the sharp fraction of a second of pain already gone before it even fully registered, and before you could even complain about it, Joe lovingly rubbed a large palm over the now reddening skin.

"Good morning."

"Noo," you whined, reaching behind to push his hand away so you could try to cover yourself up more.

"Five more minutes."

Joe let your hand find his to tangle fingers together, and if you weren't after some morning cuddles over the covers, you really should have been more clear.

Air was pushed from your lungs when Joe let himself fall right on top of you, trapping your arms in between you a little weirdly, and you felt on your face that Joe's hair was wet from his shower still.

You knew this was likely Joe's stupid way of waking you up where he thought you'd find him annoying enough to push him off of you in a struggle he wasn't going to let you win easily.

However, Joe was wrong.

Instead of fighting him off, you shifted onto your back, just enough to where you felt comfortable with Joe's full bodyweight on top of you and got both your arms around his neck, trapping him right where you wanted him.

You'd get him back another time for the brutal ass-slap.

This was prime snuggly morning time, and Joe smelt all fresh and clean, teeth brushed and skin moisturized, and it wasn't your fault that morning cuddles just happened to be infinitely better than late night ones. You'd be sleep soft like you were now, and Joe wouldn't hesitate to sink heavy limbs over your frame; you somehow never overheated in the morning.

And, listen. Who was Joe to deny you this bliss?

You could have five more minutes of this, no questions asked.

"I've got coffee waiting," he murmured into your ear after a while, no sign of him moving to get up yet, though.

"Hmm, that's okay, you can have it cold." you whispered back, eyes closed, nose nuzzling into the skin by his ear.

You felt Joe's stomach muscles pull as he silently laughed.

"Iced coffee." you simply said just before you felt Joe try to pull free from the headlock you had him in.

"Room temp doesn't count as iced," he argued softly, leaning back just far enough to get a good look at your face. The cheek that had been pressed to his tinged slightly red. Joe couldn't help smile at it.

"How do you wake up this good looking?" Joe started, and before he'd even finished his sentence, you were already frowning through a smile, clearly disagreeing. Made him laugh.

"No, I'm serious, here you are, two seconds after waking up, a literal, like, Disney princess, whereas I– did you see me? I wake up and it's, it's honestly shocking, I'm all," Joe pulled a face that was meant to be ugly, but was just him raising his eyebrows whilst squinting both eyes shut. Made you laugh.

He looked at you like that a second until you leant up and planted a kiss right on his mouth.

You felt how Joe's slow grin grew into the kiss and for a moment, you thought maybe if you held onto Joe tightly enough, you'd be able to coax him back into bed with you.

Just for a little while.

Five more minutes.

But then Joe broke the kiss, and instead of feeling Joe's slow smile, you got to look at it for a moment as he hovered over you a second too long.

If he had places to be, surely those places could wait, you thought.

Joe had a literal Disney princess in his bed, he'd just said.

"Five more minutes?" you asked softly, both your hands finding Joe's cheeks to cup.

You couldn't help thinking how Joe looked nice. Pretty. Skin shiny from scrubbing and hair kept in place by how wet it still was.

"Hmm," Joe mused, leaning into your touch and closing his eyes a second. "You can have all the more minutes you want, but I..." Joe inhaled sharply. "I have to get going."

You groaned with annoyance, head dropping backwards deeper into your pillow, but the wallowing only lasted a second, because as he struggled his way back onto his feet, Joe got you with kisses to your chin, jaw, cheeks, nose and eventually, your lips.

Promises of cooking dinner tonight at a normal hour were made, and whilst doing up the last of his buttons, you started saying, "Hate to see you go," of which Joe knew exactly how the quote ended. As he walked out, he stopped right at the threshold to lean into his hip, popping his booty, his face doing the absolute most trying to suppress a smile as you finished, "But I love to watch you leave."

It wasn't so bad being woken up by Joe before the sun was even up if it meant he left you in a fit of giggles.

But the best mornings?

The best mornings were the ones where you both had no place to be.

Where you just got to add five more minutes to five more minutes to five more minutes.

Mornings where you'd wake up and would whisper, "Five more minutes..." and reached for Joe who'd greedily accept you into his arms and would say it right back, "Five more minutes."

Where you'd try to crawl into each other's skin, early morning light warming your tangled legs that stuck out from under the covers.

Where words knitted together with sleep as Joe asked, "Hey, you know what day it is?" and you'd sleepily answer, "Saturday?" and Joe'd reply, "That's right, just another day." as he'd pull you into him tighter.

Where you were still soft with sleep as Joe's front curved to your back and an arm curled around which you got to hug close, using his hand to rest your head into.

Where the need to be close became so overwhelming that Joe would make sure he got you on top of him exactly how he wanted, one hand grabbing at the fat of your bum whilst the other snuck around into your underwear.

Where a soft, "Hmm?" was enough of a question, and "Mhmm." was enough of an answer for Joe to push himself inside, not enough strength to hold his head up, but just enough to buck his hips up and hold your thigh in place.

Where he'd groan to your whines, warm palm running flat across the curves of your waist underneath your top, teasing the soft skin just under your boobs.

Where the sex was so slow and lazy, it would go on for ages, neither of you in a rush to really go anywhere, essentially spoon-fucking yourselves slowly awake.

Where eventually someone's stomach would rumble and Joe would start whispering things into your ear about breakfast in between his own panting and the frequent oh-fucks he'd let slip out.

"What if we, ahh, what if we went and got coffee," Joe'd mumble, kissing you over your shoulder, breath hot, skin sticky. "And then go to the shops, get– oh fuck, get bagels, yea? Maybe some bacon, and eggs?"

And you'd whine at the suggestion, barely managing to squeak out, "Avocados." which would for whatever reason make Joe push in extra deep and moan so loud, it'd make you laugh.

Joe would make you orgasm, just before he'd come himself, and in your come down, he'd murmur a soft, "Five more minutes." as he burrowed his nose into your skin.

And you'd agree, "Five more minutes.", hiding both of your bodies underneath the covers, ready to ignore real world chaos for at least a little while longer.

Five more minutes longer, to be exact.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959, @hanahkatexo

@hazelenys, @imjustjen14, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[daleyeahson]

I feel like we moved on from this way too fast 😮‍💨😵‍💫

[whatsupsonnyboy]

Drunk in my mind | Joseph Quinn (part III)

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Joe and you (actress!reader) met during the filming of a romantic thriller, you two struggle to keep your undeniable chemistry professional. But when intimate scenes push your limits, the line between acting and reality begins to blur.

wc: 5.3K

warning: fluff, slow burn, co-stars to friends, friends to lovers, mentions of sex, swearing, overthinking, angst

a/n: here's the final chapter for these two. Hope you enjoy it as much i did bringing it to live.

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

part I | part II | part III

The news had unsettled him. It would be a lie to say otherwise.  When he had thought that all the pressure from intense scenes were gone, production had decided that it'd be great to explore the intensity of the relationship of your characters by changing some scenes about the breakup between them. 

You two were informed together, first thing in the morning after some days since your last scene together. Joe had searched in your eyes for a response, a hint about what you were thinking… but he couldn’t get anything. Your eyes were distant, unapproachable. 

Mark gave each one of you a copy of the rescripted scene so you could follow the reading and oh God, it was even worse than he had imagined. 

None of you said a thing, but the similarity to the breaking point you were going through was irrefutable. For a second, the idea that it was done on purpose crossed Joe’s mind… but he knew it wasn’t like that. It was just a coincidence, a terrible and hurtful coincidence. 

“I never wanted to hurt you.” Joe read, trying to sound dull and barely looking at you. 

But Mark wouldn’t take it and demanded more veracity. 

He sighed and obliged himself to lock his eyes with yours. 

“I never wanted to hurt you.” he said with a broken voice, almost trembling. 

“Then why did you?” you said back, not needing to read it from the script. You sounded terribly genuine and Joe could’t keep looking at you. 

Joe shifted beside you, the tension rising like a storm cloud in the room. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the script, the weight of the scene pressed down on him. He knew it was just acting, just lines to deliver. But those words... they feel too real, too personal. You two had crossed a line between performance and truth, and the reality of it stung. 

Mark asked you two to memorize it fast so you could practise a bit before taking it to the set the next day. You both had less than 24 hours to learn the lines, practice and execute it. But Joe felt like that was the easy part, the tough one was to pretend again that anything of it felt real. 

-

Joe stood there, gripping the script in his hands, the weight of the words in front of him feeling heavier than ever. His chest was tight, and his mind raced as he tried to prepare himself for what was about to unfold. Mark had insisted on rehearsing the scene before they shot it. Of course, it made sense—this was the heart of the story, the climax of everything that had been building up. But Joe wasn’t sure he was ready to face it.

He could feel your presence beside him, even though you hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. Every inch of him wanted to avoid looking at you, but the words were pushing him to face you—to feel the weight of what you were about to do.

The silence stretched on for a moment, and Joe felt the tension between you tighten. The crew was setting up, the distant hum of activity in the background, but here, in this room, it felt like there was nothing but the two of you. He could barely keep his hands from trembling.

Mark gave a quick nod, signaling for them to begin. "Let’s just take it from the top," he said, his voice steady, but Joe could see the tension in his eyes too. He knew this scene would be everything.

Joe opened the script and read the first lines but he was looking at you when his voice came out hoarse, almost like he wasn’t sure if he even believed the words he was about to speak.

“You don’t get it, do you? I never wanted things to end like this”

His voice cracked slightly, and he could feel his face flush with discomfort. He glanced at you then, but only for a split second—just enough to see your stiff posture, the way you were holding herself together, as if everything in you wanted to run but were forcing yourself to stay.

You didn’t speak at first, but your eyes narrowed, and Joe could tell you were already calculating your response. That same cold distance had settled back in between you. It had been there for weeks. But this time, something felt different. He wasn’t pretending anymore. He couldn’t. The weight of the scene was too much.

When you finally responded, your voice was steady, too steady. Too controlled. But Joe could hear the hurt buried beneath it.

“But they did… and it doesn’t look like there’s nothing left to fix”

The words landed in the space between you, heavier than any line you’d ever said on set. His stomach dropped, and for a moment, he almost forgot the rest of the scene. It was too real. It felt like something that should’ve been left behind—something too painful to confront.

He could feel himself shutting down, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to push through it.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter as they left his mouth. He looked at you, his heart pounding.

It was true—he never had. But somehow, somewhere along the way, he had. And now here you were, saying the things you never had the courage to say in real life, making it all too raw, too painful to pretend it was just acting.

You didn’t flinch, but there was something in your eyes, something that made his breath catch. He could see the same confusion, the same anger, that had been there when everything fell apart. It felt like you were reliving it, just as much as he was.

The silence stretched again. Joe could feel his skin growing too tight, like he was suffocating under the weight of it all. His fingers tightened around the script, but it didn’t help. Nothing would.

His voice broke the silence again, but this time it was more of a nervous laugh, a way to cover the unease bubbling up inside him. "Jesus Christ, this is brutal," he muttered under his breath, trying to lighten the mood.

But it didn’t help. It didn’t change anything. It just made the discomfort more obvious.

He glanced at you, hoping to see some sign that you were as uncomfortable as he was, but instead, you just looked… like you were losing control. Your eyes were wide, and your breath was shallow. Joe could see the strain in your face, the tension in your jaw. It was all too real for you, too much.

Then, after a beat that felt like an eternity, you broke. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when you opened them again, they were brimming with unshed tears. You inhaled sharply, as if trying to hold everything back.

“I can’t do this right now,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady.

You didn’t wait for him to respond, didn’t even look at him or anyone in the room as you dropped the script and walked out of the room, your steps echoing in the silence that followed your.

Joe stood there, staring after you, his own breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to fix it. The weight of the scene, of everything you were both feeling, crushed him in that moment.

He stood frozen in the rehearsal room, staring at the door where you had just walked out. The weight of the halted scene hung in the air, thick and suffocating. His mind replayed the intensity of those lines, of your reaction, and the way the raw emotions they were supposed to act out had bled into the reality of the situation.

He wanted to follow you, but something held him back. He needed a moment to collect himself, to process everything that had just happened. The script in his hand felt heavier than ever, and he found himself reading the same line over and over without really understanding the words.

The director's voice broke through the silence, pulling him back to the present. He stood next to Joe, his expression serious, more so than usual.

"Joe," Mark said, his voice low but firm. "I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but it’s clear this isn’t working. The tension is there, yeah, but it’s not helping the scene. If you don’t figure it out, it won’t work. I’ve let it slide for a while, but you need to resolve this. It’s urgent."

Joe’s chest tightened as Mark’s words sunk in. He knew he was right. The tension between him and you wasn’t just affecting the scene—it was affecting everything. And now, it was spilling over into the real world, making it impossible to get through even a single rehearsal.

Mark continued, his voice softer but no less determined. "Take some time if you need it. But you have to talk. This scene is important, and we need to get it right today."

Joe nodded absently, the weight of the words settling deep in his gut. The scene, the tension, everything—it wasn’t just about acting anymore. It was about the unresolved emotions between you. And that was far more complicated than he had ever imagined.

As Mark walked away, Joe felt a heavy urgency settle over him. He couldn’t keep avoiding this. If there was any hope of getting through this, of fixing things with you, he needed to face it.

Without a second thought, his feet carried him toward the rest area, his thoughts spinning in a whirlwind of uncertainty. What would he say? What if you shut him out again? What if you didn’t want to talk?

But he couldn’t turn back now. Not after everything. He knocked on the door, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited, hoping that you would be ready to face this too.

-

You opened the door without a second thought, barely registering the weight of his presence before he stepped into the room. The last person you expected, or maybe the last person you needed. But there he was. And though you didn’t want to face him, you knew you couldn’t do this in front of the whole set. Not now. Not after everything.

He stood there for a beat, watching you, waiting for you to say something. But I wasn’t sure what to say, not when everything between you felt so... fragile. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost gentle.

“Are you okay?” His gaze was intense, but there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t just concern—it was something deeper, something that was harder to ignore.

You snapped without thinking, the frustration bubbling over before I could stop it. “Do I look okay to you?” Your words came out harsher than you meant, but it wasn’t like you could just pretend you were fine. “You should go. Please”

But instead of retreating, he took a step closer, his face tightening, his jaw clenched. He was silent for a moment, but then it broke. Everything he’d been holding back, all the anger, the confusion, the pain—it all came crashing out at once.

“You think I don’t care?” His voice was low, but it cut through the silence like a knife. “That all I wanted was to get through this fucking movie and move on like nothing ever happened?” His words were sharp, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he spoke.

You didn’t flinch, but his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You could see the way his muscles tensed, how his fists curled at his sides as if fighting to keep himself together.

“You think this is easy for me?” he continued, his voice growing louder, more intense. “You think I’ve been just fine with this? With us? Hell no. Do you have any idea how fucking exhausting it’s been to pretend?” He stepped closer, and you could see the frustration in every line of his face. “To watch you act like I don’t exist?”

His eyes burned into your, relentlessly. And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t see the walls he’d put up. You didn’t see the guarded, distant Joe. You saw the person who had been carrying all of this, keeping it locked inside. He was raw, exposed, and in that moment, you couldn’t help but feel it, too.

But you didn’t respond. You didn’t retaliate with the same anger he was throwing at you. Instead, you held back. Cautiously. You needed him to get all of it out. To speak his truth, no matter how much it stung.

His voice broke slightly as he continued, the tension in the air so thick it was suffocating. “Do you think it doesn’t hurt me, too?” he said, his breath coming faster now. “Do you think I don’t wish I could change everything? That I don’t regret every fucking thing that’s happened? You’ve made it clear what you want. But I’m here, still here, and you keep pushing me away like I’m just... nothing.”

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to calm him down or argue. You were letting him speak, even if it felt like you were about to fall apart. This was the honesty you had been begging for, even if it came with a fury you weren't ready for.

His chest heaved, the strain in his voice betraying him. “I didn’t want to hurt you, you know?” He was quieter now, but the emotion was there, thick and heavy. “I never fucking wanted to hurt you. But I did. And it’s killing me to see you like this, to see you push me away like it was nothing. I’m not okay with this, but you... you’ve been acting like I don’t even matter.”

His words stung, but they were nothing compared to the way his eyes looked at you—like you were everything and nothing at once. It was too much to process, but at the same time, it was exactly what you needed to hear.

You stayed silent, not because you didn’t want to answer, but because you knew that if you opened my mouth right now, you might not be able to stop yourself from falling apart. Instead, you watched him, his frustration and pain spilling out in the rawest way possible.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. “God, this is so fucking hard,” he muttered, almost to himself. He sounded like he didn’t even know who he was anymore. “I can’t fix this if you won’t even let me try. And it’s driving me insane.”

There was a long silence between you, the tension unbearable, the air thick with everything left unsaid. You wanted to say something. Anything. But you held back.

This wasn’t the time for you to fight back, to argue, to match his anger. Not when he was this exposed, this broken.

So, you did nothing. You just stood there, letting him get it all out, knowing that this was what had to happen before anything could change. You had been waiting for him to finally be real, to drop the walls—and now that he had, you weren't about to stop him.

Finally, his words slowed, and he seemed to deflate, like all the energy he had left had been poured into that outburst. He was breathing harder now, looking at you, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t angry anymore—he was... lost. And for the first time in weeks, you saw him the way you had seen him before.

But you still didn’t speak. And the silence between you stretched on, heavy with everything that had been said, everything that still needed to be said.

It was too much for either of you to process in that moment, but you weren't going to walk away. Not now. Not when this was finally happening.

You watched as his posture changed, the rigidness in his shoulders giving way to something more fragile. There was a noticeable shift in his expression, a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. His breathing became uneven, and he lowered his gaze, as if ashamed of himself. His words came out softer now, but they were laced with an emotion you couldn’t ignore.

"I was scared, okay?" His voice cracked, and for a brief moment, it was as if the room held its breath, waiting for him to say more. "I didn’t know how to handle this. I didn’t know how to handle you."

The words hit you like a physical blow. It wasn’t what you were expecting—certainly not after everything that had happened—but somehow, it made sense. Everything he had said up until then, all the anger and the frustration, it had been just a mask. A defense. He had been fighting something deeper, something he hadn’t let out until that moment.

For a second, you didn’t know how to respond. You felt the weight of it in the pit of your stomach, that familiar ache of disappointment, of things left unsaid. But the sincerity in his voice made it hard to stay angry, harder to hold onto the walls you had built up.

You took a step forward, unsure of what exactly you were about to say, but knowing it was time to speak your truth too.

"You think I don’t get it?" Your words came out a little more fragile than you intended, but they held the truth you had been avoiding for so long. "I’ve been scared too, Joe. I’ve been terrified. But I didn’t know how to handle it either. I didn’t know how to handle... you."

There was a rawness in your voice now that matched his, a vulnerability you hadn’t let yourself show before. His words cut through the layers of frustration and hurt you had been holding onto for weeks, and now, without the anger to mask it, you felt the cracks starting to appear in your own defenses.

"I never wanted to get to this point," you continued, your voice quieter, more deliberate. "I never wanted to be... like this, with you. I didn’t want to be angry all the time, to feel like we were just two people passing by each other, pretending nothing mattered."

Joe’s eyes finally met yours, and there was something in them now—something different. The intensity was still there, but it was tempered by a kind of sadness, a recognition of the pain you both had carried. He didn’t say anything, but the way he was looking at you told you everything. This was the first real conversation you had had in what felt like forever.

For a moment, the silence stretched between you both, heavy with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. You could feel your heart beating louder now, the sound echoing in your chest. It was terrifying to be this honest, to say everything that had been buried for so long, but it was also... necessary. You knew that then.

Finally, you spoke again, your voice a little steadier.

"I thought I could just ignore it, you know?" you admitted. "I thought if I kept pretending it didn’t matter, that it would go away. But it doesn’t. It never does. And here we are. And I don’t want to keep doing this anymore. I don’t want to keep pretending like this is okay when it’s not."

Joe nodded slowly, his gaze still locked on yours, his expression softening. It was clear that he was hearing you, that he was understanding you in a way he hadn’t before. Maybe it was the first time you had really listened to each other—not just in the heated moments of anger and frustration, but here, in the quiet aftermath.

"I know," he murmured, his voice still shaky, but softer now. "I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen."

The air in the room suddenly changed.

You felt it the moment his voice dropped, the sharp edges of his anger giving way to something else—something darker, something heavier.

"I tried to push it away," Joe murmured, his voice raw. "To push you away. But I couldn’t. I never could."

His eyes burned into you, and it was impossible to look away.

"And seeing you every fucking day, pretending like it didn’t mean anything, like we didn’t mean anything—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his jaw clenching. Not because he was out of things to say, but because the words seemed to betray him, choking on the weight of them.

And then, he took a step forward.

It wasn’t aggressive, but it wasn’t hesitant either. It was pure instinct, pure need. A force pulling him closer before he could think better of it.

His hand twitched at his side—barely, but you caught it. Like he wanted to touch you. Like he didn’t know if he was allowed.

Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it.

His breathing was ragged, his jaw still tight, like he was fighting himself. Holding back, even now.

But his eyes—God, his eyes.

Dark and desperate, so full of something you didn’t want to name.

You should have stepped back. You should have said something, done something, stopped it before it went any further. But you didn’t.

You stayed exactly where you were.

And that was all it took. A mistake—an instant where your gaze flickered down, just for a second, landing on his lips before you could stop yourself.

It was small, barely noticeable. But he noticed.

Joe sucked in a sharp breath, and something in him snapped.

One second, he was frozen. The next, his hands were on you.

Gripping your waist, pulling you against him like he couldn’t take it anymore.

His lips crashed into yours, rough, desperate, stealing the breath from your lungs. There was nothing soft about it—no hesitation, no caution. It was weeks of silence, of resentment, of longing finally breaking free.

A low, almost pained sound escaped him, vibrating against your mouth, and it wrecked you.

You didn’t just let him kiss you—you kissed him back. Hard. Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails dragging slightly against his scalp as if to prove he was real, that this was real.

His grip tightened on you, hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, closer—like he was trying to erase the space that had existed between you for so long.

The kiss was messy, frantic, full of everything that had been left unsaid. No patience. No restraint. 

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

You both pulled away at the same time, breaths colliding, foreheads almost touching.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Joe’s hands lingered on you for a second longer, as if his body hadn’t caught up with his mind yet. Then, slowly, he let go.

Your lips tingled, your breath unsteady. And when you finally forced yourself to meet his gaze again, you saw it. The same thing you were feeling.

Shock. Relief. Inevitability.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to. Because this—whatever this was—was far from over. And you both knew exactly when it would happen again.

Walking back onto set felt surreal.

The weight that had been sitting on your chest for weeks was suddenly gone, replaced by something else entirely. Something heavier, but in the best possible way.

Your lips still tingled from Joe’s kiss. Your body still hummed with the memory of his hands on you, his breath mixing with yours, the way he had needed you like he was making up for lost time.

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was feeling the exact same thing.

But when you did glance over—just for a second—there it was.

His gaze was darker now, more focused. A quiet kind of intensity that wasn’t just acting. His jaw was tight, his breathing just a little uneven.

He was still thinking about it. Thinking about you.

And fuck, that knowledge sent a thrill down your spine.

The set was already buzzing with activity, but somehow, the air felt different.

Maybe it was just you. Maybe it was just him. Or maybe… maybe everyone else could sense it too. The energy between you two had shifted, palpable in a way it hadn’t been before.

There were looks. A few whispered comments exchanged between the crew. The director eyed you both for a moment, lips pressing together as if debating whether to say something.

But he didn’t.

And honestly? You didn’t care.

The only thing that mattered was getting through this scene.

Because the sooner it was over, the sooner this day would end. And the sooner this day ended, the sooner you’d be back with Joe, pressed against him, tasting him, feeling his hands—

You took a slow breath, rolling your shoulders back as you settled into your mark. Joe did the same, standing across from you, tension coiled in every inch of his body.

Mark exhaled, glancing between you two. “Let’s run it once before we shoot. I want this to feel real.”

Silence fell over the set. And then—

You started.

For the first time in a while, the scene flowed effortlessly. There was no hesitation, no forced emotion. It was raw, real, charged with something far beyond the script.

Every word, every look, every beat of silence between you two felt like a confession. Joe’s eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, it wasn’t just the character speaking.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

His voice was hoarse, thick with something that wasn’t entirely pretend.

Your throat tightened. The line shouldn’t have hit so hard. But it did.

“Then why did you?”

The words left your lips softer than intended, but they still cut through the air like a knife. Joe exhaled, his jaw clenching.

His fingers twitched at his side, and you swore—you swore—you saw it. That flicker of truth behind his eyes. The set faded away. The world faded away.

And it was just you and him.

Until the director finally spoke. “That was… yeah. That was it. Let’s set up for the take.”

You barely registered the movement around you. The crew adjusting lights, checking marks, preparing cameras. Because Joe was still looking at you. And you both knew exactly how this night was going to end.

-

The moment filming wrapped, you felt it.

Relief. Anticipation.

That thrumming energy beneath your skin that had been building all damn day, reaching a fever pitch the second the director called the final cut.

It was done.

You had both done what you needed to do. Played your roles. Delivered the scene with a rawness that had left even the crew silent for a beat before applause broke out.

And now—now, finally, you could go.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Because just as you were about to gather your things and head out, someone in the cast spoke up.

"Dinner?"

It wasn’t unusual. Long shoot days often ended with the team grabbing food together, unwinding before heading home. Normally, you wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But tonight…

Tonight, all you wanted was to get out of there. To be alone with him.

Still, before you could come up with an excuse, you heard Joe’s voice behind you.

"Yeah, sounds good."

You stiffened for half a second, barely suppressing the look you wanted to shoot him. Was he serious? After everything, after the way he had been looking at you all day, he wanted to—

Then you caught it.

The way his fingers twitched at his side. The way his voice was just a touch too even, too controlled.

He was playing the long game.

Keeping things under wraps just a little longer, keeping himself in check just a little longer. Or at least, trying to.

So you nodded, giving nothing away, even as your pulse pounded relentlessly beneath your skin.

"Yeah. Let’s go."

-

The restaurant was dimly lit, lively with conversation and laughter. Plates were passed, glasses clinked, and yet—none of it reached you.

Because he was sitting right there. Across the table. Too far to touch, but close enough that every time your eyes met, the air shifted.

It started subtle.

A glance over his wine glass. A fleeting brush of his knee beneath the table. A slow drag of his fingers along the rim of his glass—a movement you felt way too acutely.

And then, it escalated.

His hand settling against the table, fingers tapping absently. Close to yours. Too close. You could have moved away.

You didn’t.

Neither did he.

It wasn’t obvious to anyone else. To them, you were just part of the group, engaged in conversation, playing your part. But underneath it all, there was something else entirely.

A silent, electric dare.

It stretched between you with every passing second, every stolen glance, every slow, deliberate breath.

Until finally—finally—you couldn’t take it anymore.

"I think I’ll head back," you murmured, pushing your chair back.

Joe’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark, unreadable.

"I’ll walk you."

It wasn’t a question.

And you didn’t argue.

-

The walk back to the hotel stretched longer than it needed to.

Neither of you rushed. Neither of you wanted to.

The cool night air was a relief against the heat still thrumming beneath your skin, but it did nothing to quiet the tension—the kind that had been building for far too long, simmering beneath every glance, every near touch, every moment of silence.

And now, without the noise of the restaurant, without the weight of prying eyes, there was nothing left between you except this.

You talked. Not much, but enough. And for the first time in what felt like forever, it was easy.

It shouldn’t have been, not with everything between you, everything still unresolved. But somehow, in this quiet moment, it was.

Maybe because you both knew exactly where it was leading. Maybe because there was no need to say it out loud.

By the time you stepped inside the hotel, the air between you was charged.

The low hum of conversation from the lobby, the soft chime of the elevator—none of it registered. Not when Joe was walking beside you, his hands in his pockets, his jaw set like he was still trying to keep himself in check.

Not when your pulse quickened with every step down the hallway. Not when you stopped in front of your door and turned to face him.

This was it. The moment of no return.

You reached for your key card, sliding it through the lock with a steady hand, but before you pushed the door open, you hesitated.

And so did he.

For the first time since you left the restaurant, he faltered.

You saw it in the way his fingers played with his rings, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He was thinking.

Maybe too much.

Maybe about what this meant, about what came next, about whether either of you would come back from it.

But then—then your eyes met his. And whatever thoughts had been holding him back crumbled.

Because you weren’t hesitating. You weren’t backing away.

You just stood there, your fingers still curled around the door handle, your breath shallow, your body waiting.

And that was all the invitation he needed.

In one slow, deliberate step, Joe closed the space between you.

You barely had time to inhale before his hand came up, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face toward his—a silent question.

One you answered without hesitation.

You stepped back, into the room. And he followed. No more doubts. No more distance.

Just you.

Just him.

Just this.

[filthyjoetini]

Stumblin' In

a/n: Hello loves! I'm back! And this time I've pre written 3/4 of a story...who is she?! I don't know her. Soooo...this little story will have four parts and is (very) loosely based on something that happened in Venice when I saw Joe...(still not over it tbh...heh). Thank you to my warrior editor and influence for this story @barfightzanddiscolightz. &lt;3

warnings: none

wordcount: 1.9k (she's short)

part 2 - part 3 - part 4

You blinked rapidly, trying to adjust your eyes to the brightness that suddenly overtook the previously dimly lit screening room of the cinema you were sitting in. Your brain just wasn't made for such quick changes, especially while it was still processing what had just happened on screen. The film you had chosen to watch was one of those arthouse indie productions that attracts all kinds of people from all walks of life.

Slowly you pushed yourself out of the plush seat and stretched your arms over your head. Your ever-weary limbs and joints popped, and you feared that one of the at least 50 other people in the room had heard it. 

Taking your time, you picked up your trusty leather jacket, which had once belonged to your father, and pulled it on. You shoved your hands into its pockets to retrieve your mobile phone. As you checked your unread messages, your eyes moved from the screen to your Dr. Martens-clad feet. You had undone the laces, wanting to be as comfortable as possible. Shrugging, you began to walk down the aisle, the laces whipping your jeans-covered calves, shins, and other seats along the way. You told yourself you would tie them once you had reached the atrium.

With your face almost buried in the screen of your phone, you stepped to the top of the stairs and began your descent. Not even three steps down, you stumbled over your now tangled shoelaces and instantly lost your footing. With a small yelp, you practically flew down the stairs, right into the back of someone's legs. The abrupt stop sent your phone flying down the hallway and past the curtain, as your head snapped back, slamming into the steps. The impact made your breath catch in your lungs and you let out a small whimper.

"Oh my God! Are you alright?"

With blurred vision and eyes refusing to cooperate, you tried to make out who was speaking to you. You knew it was a man from the voice, but his features were a mystery in the blur. Your eyes not working the way you wanted them to made you let out a frustrated sigh. You began slowly blinking your eyes, hoping for a clearer perspective, before giving up and closing them completely.

"Hey! No! Open your eyes!"

You sluggishly opened them again, your vision still as blurred as before. Lifting your arm, you tried to touch the man hovering above you. The movement sent a jolting pain through your arm, up your neck, and into the back of your head.

"Ouch.", you hissed.

"'Yeah, ouch.”, replied the still blurry man. "Please focus on me, can you do that for me?"

 "Yep.", you lied. You couldn't focus on shit, because in addition to your blurred vision, your head was throbbing like you'd been hit by a freight train.

"Okay. Cool. You hit your head pretty hard. Can you move your legs?"

You made slow, jerky movements with your legs, wiggling your toes in your boots, not realising he couldn't see them.

"Okay. They work. Good! That means, no spinal injury.”, the man said, obviously relieved. "I'm going to move you now, is that alright?"

You nodded and immediately regretted it. Your head hurt like hell. How could a carpeted step hurt so much?

Warm hands slowly pushed under your arms and knees and then suddenly, but slowly, strong arms lifted you up and close to an even warmer body. As gentle as he was, the movement of your body was still very uncomfortable and made you whimper again.

"I know. I'm sorry.”, the man who was now walking spoke softly. As you both passed through the curtain into the even brighter hallway, you turned your head towards the man's chest to avoid the glaring overhead lights. You pressed your face into the fabric of his top and inhaled deeply. He smelled damn good.

"...is there a room I can take her to? She hit her head on the stairs when she fell. Also, could you call the A&E, I think she has a concussion."

"Sure, follow me please.”, a new feminine voice said and then there was a static crackle. "Henry, can you please call A&E, we have an injured woman with a suspected concussion."

"Copy. A&E is being called.”, came back Henry's very staticky voice over what you assumed was a walkie-talkie.

A few moments later you heard a door open and were carried very carefully into a small, office-like room.

"You can put her on the sofa. The paramedics will be here any minute."

Gently you were lowered onto the sofa. Gone were the strong arms and the warmth, and you began to shiver. Your eyes slowly began to focus, and you could finally see, though still blurred, the man who had been helping you. He was tall and handsome. His dark blonde hair was curly, and his face had a very patchy five o'clock shadow. But the most striking thing about his face was his huge, baby cow eyes, which were currently wearing a worried expression. Your gaze moved slowly down his body. He was wearing brown trousers with black loafers and a beige cable-knit jumper, topped off with a very expensive looking black trench coat. Visually, he was the exact opposite of you. You had opted for your usual all-black autumn outfit.

With a small but noticeable smile, you closed your eyes for a second and another shiver ran through your body. Unexpectedly, you were suddenly covered by a blanket. Slowly you opened your eyes to see that it wasn't a blanket, but the man's trench coat.

"Thank you...", you whispered. You were surprised at how weak your voice sounded, but the drowsiness that was slowly creeping up on you made it difficult to speak. Your eyes closed again.

"You're welcome...hey! No! Don't fall asleep!"

"But I'm so sleepy."

"I know, but you can't."

The man's voice was very close now, and as you felt hands cupping your face, your eyes shot open again. You looked up at him with wide eyes, he was kneeling beside the sofa and his own eyes held yours in an equally steady gaze.

“You literally can’t fall asleep because you took quite the tumble there, Humpty Dumpty and I’m 99 percent sure you incurred a concussion.”, he explained with a grin. "Besides, you keep moving your head when you should be holding it still. If I have to hold your face to keep you awake and mostly still, I will gladly continue holding it."

You didn't respond to him. You just kept staring at him and he had the audacity to just stare back at you with his big, wet, brown puppy dog eyes. 

A few moments later there was a knock on the door and two paramedics with a stretcher made their way inside.

"Hello there! You must be our patient.”, one of the paramedics said as he made his way over to you. He then looked down at Mr. Baby-Cow-Puppy-Eyes and spoke again. "Sir, may I ask you to move so we can examine her?"

"Uh... sure.”, he replied, taking his hands off your face, slowly rising to his feet. You groaned weakly as his fingers lightly brushed your jaw and he let out a soft snort before turning to the medic. "I was just trying to keep her awake. She fell down the stairs and hit her head on one of the bottom steps."

"Thank you.”, the second paramedic said, moving in to examine your head and neck. Your rescuer stepped back and moved to the corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest to wait. He was still in your line of sight, so you looked at him occasionally to make sure he was still there, and every time you did, he smiled sweetly at you.

"Ooookay.", the second paramedic said as soon as she concluded her examination. "You have a mild to moderate concussion and swelling on the back of your head. We need to take you to the hospital for a 24-hour observation."

You frowned at her, and she smiled sympathetically. "Do you want your boyfriend to come with us?"

"Who?" you asked, a confused expression on your face.

"Him.”, she said, pointing to the corner where your knight in a cable-knit jumper was standing.

"I'm not her boyfriend. I'm the one she collided with.”, he chuckled and shook his head.

"Alright, I'll take that as a no.”, the paramedic grinned at him and then down at you. "Are you ready to be hoisted onto the stretcher?" 

"Um...", you started, then suddenly panicked as you softly patted your jacket and jeans pockets. Your mobile phone - you didn't have it on you. "Wait! My phone! It must have slipped out of my hand or pockets when I went all humanoid egg earlier..."

Your reference to the handsome man's earlier statement made him burst out into laughter.

"She hasn't lost her sense of humour. Good.”, the first paramedic said with a chuckle, and began to lift you up by your feet, while the other paramedic assisted him by simultaneously lifting you up by your torso. The coat that still covered you was about to slip off your body if you hadn't grabbed it as if it were your lifeline. In a way it was your lifeline, for you were still cold, and the weight of the fabric did an excellent job of keeping you warm.

"I'll go look for it. Just give me a second.”, expensive trench coat guy announced, and quickly slipped out of the room.

Not even five minutes later he returned, waving your mobile phone in the air.

"Here you go.”, he smiled, handing you the phone but not letting go of it. "Please keep me informed about your condition." Just as he started to remove his hand from your phone, he added: "And you can keep my coat for now, but I want it back at some point."

"OK. I will, and you'll get it back... at some point.”, you promised, as the two paramedics wheeled you out of the small room. Halfway down the hallway you suddenly realised that you didn't have his contact details. How were you going to let him know how you were?

"Wait! Stop!", you shouted, making yourself jump more than the two people you were addressing. "Can you please turn around?"

"All right, but just for a second. We really need to get you to the hospital.”, the male paramedic explained impatiently, and they both turned the stretcher around and were about to push you back when you saw him standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall.

"I don't have your number!", you called, waving your mobile.

"Check your contacts.”, he urged with a wink, before pushing himself away from the wall and walking the other way. "Keep me updated!"

"I will!"

The two paramedics turned the stretcher around again and began to push it hastily towards the cinema's delivery entrance where the ambulance was parked. All the while, you unlocked your phone to see if he had really left you his number. He had to have. How else would he get his coat back?

Quickly, you opened your contacts app and there it was: a new entry.

Next to the emoji with the bandage on its head was his name:

Joe.

Grinning to yourself, you locked your phone and put it to your chest as the ambulance sped off to the hospital...

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