#Joseph Quinn x You | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darnell-la · 4 months ago

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FRIENDS & CUFFS

summary: y/n has only been curious about Eddie’s handcuffs after they began dating. she wondered why he never used them on her, and at first, long told her she didn’t know anything about that life. she soon found out that Eddie had a lot to teach her.

warnings: quick friends to lovers storyline, making out, fem receiving oral from male, reader weakens after orgasm, slight innocent reader, drug dealer Eddie (not really mentioned), rough sex, bondage (Eddie’s handcuffs/chains), missionary, doggy, no protection, crying, whining, a lot of male noises, pet names, chocking, etc.

note: we haven’t done an Eddie Munson fan fiction in a while. we still love him, so, there will be more. more stranger things in general. you see what I did there? — nevermind.

———

Steve nearly asked Eddie every day since he graduated, when he was going to make a move on y/n. He hated watching the two drink and get close, yet never make a move.

When people would ask them if they were together, or assume, anyone could tell they the nervousness entered the room.

Not too long ago, y/n and Eddie finally made a move. It seemed so perfect how they both leaned in to feel each other’s lips.

“I think we should stop — You’re drunk, and it’s getting late,” Eddie whispered after y/n stopped fake fighting on top of him. “What if I won’t want to sleep just yet?” Y/n asked, a bit shy, but the alcohol in her body, helped her gain confidence.

“You’re drinks, princess, and I’m not. I don’t want you to regret this, and mess our friendship up,” Eddie said, really wanting to taste her, but she was afraid of showing what he’s been wanting to do with her.

“A kiss could never ruin our friendship, Eddie,” y/n said, slightly sounding desperate as her eyes could barely stay open. “Wanna do more than just kiss you, y/n,” Eddie admitted.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at what her best friend said. She thought she was the only one who wanted to experiment with him. She felt nasty, but now, she felt loose.

The two both crashed on each other’s lips, making g out rough but passionate. None of them have kissed like this before. They would’ve never mixed their saliva like this with anyone, but because it’s them, they wanted to do much more.

The night ended with y/n halfway passed out, and Eddie’s face resting on y/n’s thigh, dripping juice from y/n’s throbbing heat. “So good for me — I wanna get used to this,”

Now, the two are dating, happier than ever, but y/n has been curious lately. She didn’t pay much attention when they were just friends, but now that they’re dating, she thought about Eddie’s handcuffs.

Most partners would be jealous, but y/n? She was curious. She thought to herself plenty of times how he would use them on her, and why he hadn’t done it yet. They’ve only been sexual for a short time, but if he were kinky like that, why wouldn’t he mention it?

“You good, sweetheart?” Eddie asked after turning to his girlfriend who seemed to be daydreaming. “Yeah, I was just thinking,” y/n said, not knowing if she should bring this up as a conversation so soon her their relationship.

“What is it? What were you thinking about?” The metalhead asked as he leaned back on his bed, taking his eyes off the weed he was pre-rolling for his rich customers who couldn’t do it on their own.

“So, uh — I noticed the handcuffs, and I was curious,” y/n said as she stared at the cuffs that were basically chains, dangling from a hook in his wall. She knew that had to be for something sexual.

“Hey, y/n, look — I swear on my uncle, I’ve never used them in anyone, and never planned to. I just liked the thought of them near me. I’ve even thought about you in them,” Eddie spoke quietly, a bit embarrassed by his truth.

“Oh, wait, I wasn’t jealous or anything. I just was curious on why you didn’t use them on me yet,” y/n said, making Eddie's eyes widen. For the longest, he had thought y/n was innocent, and she was. She was just open-minded when it came to her boyfriend.

“You’re not ready for that, princess,” Eddie chuckled lightly. “Why not?” Y/n asked, a bit offended as she crossed her arms. “Being restrained means you can’t do anything. I don’t think that it’s a good idea to put you in something like that, knowing you’d wanna get out,”

“What do you mean, want to get out? I can take it,” y/n said, only making the man laugh. “You can’t even take me slow in doggy. What makes you think you can take me deep up front with your pretty hands cuffed?”

Eddie shifted in the bed to cup y/n’s chin, slightly teasing her because they both knew she wasn’t a taker. Especially with his length.

“I-I can take it — It’s not even that bad,” y/n said, making Eddie throw himself back onto his bed with a loud laugh, knowing his uncle wasn’t home to tell him to shut the hell up.

“What!? You’re mean as fuck, you know?” Y/n said as she kept her arms crossed. “Oh, really, baby? I’m sorry, it’s just — You’re a comedian,” Eddie kept laughing, only making y/n roll her eyes.

“C’mon, I’m just pullin’ your tit, baby,” Eddie leaned up to hug y/n, but she moved away. “Babe, don’t start this. I was just kidding,” Eddie tried hugging y/n again, but this time she pushed him away. Of course, not too hard. She was just being dramatic.

“And, that’s why we can’t do what you wanna do. You can’t even handle being picked on a little bit,” Eddie said as he pushed at y/n’s shoulder lightly, slightly feeling bad for what he did.

“Whatever, I’ll be fine,” y/n said, making y/n sigh as he rolled his eyes. “Fine — We can use em, but ion wanna hear none of that cryin', okay?” Eddie jumped off of the bed to get his handcuffs that had dust all over them.

“Really?” Y/n asked, a bit excited, but knowing she wouldn’t be too excited soon. “Ah huh, but only one rule,” Eddie said with a smirk as he untangled the chains. “Yeah?” Y/n innocently asked, not knowing how quick of a turn this would take.

“The only thing stopping me, is our safe word,” before y/n could agree with a smile, Eddie lunged at her, grabbing her quest roughly to cuff them as quick as possible.

“Hey,” y/n said with an eye roll, not knowing he’d get in the mood this fast. “Not a word from you, princess. Let’s see how good you think you can take it,” Eddie said as he placed the chains where they needed to be.

Seeing y/n in this sight, made him harder than he thought he could get. She was always beautiful, but seeing her innocent body slightly retrained, knowing she was actually ready for what was coming, made him want to burst then and there.

“Always thought about tying you up at school. I was a little perv-nerd when it came to you, princess. You always looked and smelled so good — Had to keep myself from throwing you in my van with your hands and legs tied,”

Eddie was in an emotion he couldn’t control. He was either not sure about putting his pretty girl through this, or he was getting too dark to the point he would black out and not remember anything he’d do to her tonight.

“Pretties thighs — Pretties body — Pretties fucking face,” Eddie slightly growled as he gripped y/n’s face. The younger girl whined with huge eyes, feeling her heat get wet.

“I know, baby — Hearts probably rising. Maybe a hint of fear, knowing you can’t get loose — Don’t worry. You know, I’ll take good care of you,”

Eddie quickly began tugging on y/n’s clothes until parts of her showed more than before. She had already had her night dress in, so exposing her bra-covered breast was easy.

“You sure you want this y/n because, fuck — I won’t be able to stop myself,” Eddie warned as he climbed on top of y/n, pulling her dress up as she slightly moved at his cold hands grazing her skin.

“U-Use me — Please,” y/n stuttered, not knowing if she should’ve said it. “What’s the safe word?” Eddie asked in a stern tone. “Red,” y/n said, feeling her heart raise. This was actually happening, and she only had to question him once.

“Good girl,” Eddie grunted as he reached into his jeans to pull himself out. “And, that’s the only thing I wanna hear from you tonight,” Eddie said as he pulled y/n’s panties to the side.

“I-I’ll try,” y/n spoke, making Eddie shake his head with a chuckle. “You’re always doing a terrible job. Just means I’ll have to start off rough,” before anything, Eddie doubly pushed through y/n’s walls, causing her to cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Yeah? You feel that? Feel how deep I am inside of you? I told you doggy would be the only position you could truly handle — This is next level,” Eddie couldn’t stop but grin down at the struggles woman.

“S-So much,” y/n whined low, only making Eddie shush her. “Nah uh, what did I say? Didn’t I say to keep that pretty mouth closed? Hm? — You’re the one who wanted this, so accept the journey,”

Eddie grabbed both sides of y/n’s waist before pushing down onto the mattress. Y/n knew he was positioning himself to fuck her rough. He’s never gone too rough, but she asked for it tonight.

“Hush it up, princess — You wanted it,” Eddie continued saying as he pounded down into y/n, going the deepest he could get at the start of his session. After being handcuffed, there would be no room for taking it slow.

“E-Eddie,” y/n cried out as she pulled one of her restraints. At times, she’d forget that she wouldn’t be able to get out. “Wanna break free? Keep trying, princess — Makes this so much hotter,” Eddie growled with a smile, looking down at the way y/n pulled on the chains.

“This is the tightest you’ve ever been — The way you’re soaking around me, only makes me closer,” Eddie felt himself twitch. He didn’t want to cum this quick, but it didn’t matter. He’s always been able to keep going.

“Eddie- Eddie, you — The condoms. You forgot the condoms,” y/n took forever to say what she was trying to say. “Oh, really? Guess that’s your luck, hm?” Eddie leaned in front of y/n’s face.

Deep down, Eddie felt bad for slipping into her without protection. He had completely forgotten, but he didn’t want to get out of character. He had to somehow make sure y/n was 100% with what was going on.

“Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me. Tell me!” Eddie slightly yelled as he snapped his hips, wanting to keep his work going. He could feel the way she fluttered around him. She was so close.

“Too much, Eds — I’m gonna cum,” y/n made the mistake of telling him how close she was. “And, you want me to stop? When you’re so close? C’mon,” Eddie leaned into y/n’s ear so she could hear his groans better.

The room was filled with wet slaps, whining, growling, and a bunch is cuss words from Eddie. He couldn’t keep himself together. This situation was too much for him. He was going to explode.

“E-Eddie, slow down — Please,” y/n tried begging the man, but he wouldn’t listen. Why would he? She hadn’t used the safe word yet. “Want me to slow down?” Eddie asked as he leaned up.

“Yes, yes,” y/n huffed, surprised he actually slowed down. She had thought he got soft, but little did she know, he was just getting a short break. “Want me to be nicer? Take it easy on you?” He asked as he softly placed his hands around her neck.

“Please-“ y/n was cut off by the grip of his hands. “Then you asked the wrong one to chain you up, sweetheart,” Eddie spat before he began slamming into her, making the young lady cry out instantly.

“E-Eds! C-Can’t anymore — I can’t!” Y/n kicked and arched her back, trying to control herself, but her cunt continued to squeeze around Eddie, only assuring him that he was doing exactly what she wanted. Using her.

“That’s it — Keep struggling — You’re going nowhere, and this isn’t even the beginning — I have so many loads I’ve been wanting to empty into you,” Eddie tightened his grip a bit more to hear her struggle for air.

For a second, Eddie thought he might have been going too far tonight. Quickly handcuffing her, saying mean things, pinning her down, and fucking get rougher than he’s ever done.

The only thing that helped him was her words. She never once came close to the word red. She would’ve said it by now, and she would never come to him later and say she was uncomfortable. Y/n wasn’t like that.

That’s how Eddie knew y/n probably enjoyed this more than him. She loved faking that she needed him to stop. He even saw a small pour from her when he slowed down a few minutes ago.

“C-Cumming — Cunming,” y/n’s body stiffened before she shook. “That’s it- That’s it — Fucking take it,” the older man growled as he pounded her, wanting her juice to splash anywhere it could.

“Ian stoppin’ either, baby — Told you to keep that fucking mouth shut, didn’t I?” Eddie asked, but y/n didn’t answer. Her eyes were landing everywhere but on him. She felt out of it already.

“Didn’t I!?” The man shouted as he shook y/n by her neck to catch her attention. “S-Sorry,” tears streamed from her eyes, upset at herself for not taking it like she swore she could.

Right as Eddie went to assure her that she was fine, she spoke, shocking him.

“I-I’ll be good, I promise. Please cum in me. D-Don’t pull out and punish me,” she cried. “I’ll do anything, Eds, just- Please, use me,”

“Jesus’s H. Christ,” Eddie huffed as he pulled out. He quickly turned his girlfriend around, knowing the chains were long enough for her to be comfortable. He took no time to push back in her, roughly, with a warning.

Y/n wanted to speak out loud to thank him, he she kept quiet. She wanted to be good like she promised.

“You’re just a slut, y/n — A dirty fucking slut, and I knew it from how you dressed at parties — You always got drunk before you sat on my lap, facing me- Dragging that pretty pussy across my clothes cock — Swore you even stained my jeans, once,”

Y/n whined, happy that he noticed his much she wanted him before they got together. Yeah, a bit of embarrassment was felt, but the thought of being caught was what made her close to another orgasm.

“You’re in for a ride with me, princess. Especially after I coat these walls,”

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andy-15-07 · 3 months ago

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hi! do you write for joe quinn or fred hechinger? joe and fred are such cute actors, and i would love more y/n x gladiator cast interactions!!

ty!!! 😊

Emperor of My Heart

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x reader

WORD COUNT: 693 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, casting golden hues over the living room where Joseph and Y/N were curled up on the couch. A half-empty cup of tea sat on the coffee table, forgotten in the midst of their comfortable silence. Y/N’s fingers absentmindedly played with the sleeve of Joseph’s sweater, and he hummed softly, eyes closed, seemingly content in the warmth of their little bubble.

Then his phone rang.

Joseph groaned, reluctant to break the peace. “Should I?”

Y/N grinned. “If it’s your agent, you probably should.”

He sighed dramatically, reaching for the phone. His agent’s name flashed across the screen, and suddenly, the air in the room shifted. Y/N sat up straighter, her eyes filled with anticipation as Joseph answered.

“Hello?”

There was a pause, and then—“Wait, wait, say that again?” Joseph sat up, his free hand gripping Y/N’s knee as if grounding himself. Y/N held her breath.

A beat of silence. Then Joseph shot up from the couch, running a hand through his curls as he let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re joking.” Another pause. “No, no, I—I don’t even know what to say—thank you. Thank you so much.”

Y/N’s heart pounded as she grabbed his wrist, eyes wide. Joseph pulled the phone away for a second, grinning like a madman. “I got it. I got the role.”

Y/N let out an excited squeal, launching herself at him. He caught her, laughing as he spun her around. “You’re looking at Emperor Geta.”

They both collapsed back onto the couch, breathless with excitement. Y/N cupped his face, grinning. “You’re gonna be a bloody emperor, Joe.”

Joseph let out a breath, shaking his head as if still processing. “I can’t believe it.”

Y/N pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I can.”

A few weeks later, Y/N found herself on the massive Gladiator 2 set, watching Joseph transform into Emperor Geta. The golden laurel crown sat perfectly atop his curls, and the regal robes draped over his frame made him look every bit the Roman ruler. He stood in the middle of the set, deep in conversation with the director, but his eyes flickered toward Y/N every now and then, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re staring,” a voice teased beside her. One of the costume assistants grinned. “Not that I blame you.”

Y/N laughed, crossing her arms. “It’s surreal. He’s been running lines in his pajamas for weeks, and now he’s actually here.”

Joseph finally broke away from the conversation and strode toward her, a cocky smirk on his face. “Well? Do I look the part?”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to scrutinize him. “Hmm. I don’t know… You look a bit too soft to be an emperor.”

Joseph gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “How dare you?”

Y/N giggled, tugging on the sleeve of his costume. “You look perfect.”

He leaned in, dropping his voice. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

A crew member called for him, and he groaned, stealing a quick kiss before jogging back to set. Y/N watched him go, heart swelling with pride. Joseph Quinn: her emperor.

The long days on set blended together, but Y/N never tired of watching Joseph slip into his role. She marveled at his dedication, the way he carried himself with a newfound regality. One afternoon, between takes, he plopped down beside her in full costume, exhausted but beaming.

“This is insane,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Every time I step onto that set, I feel like I’m stepping into another world.”

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder. “That’s because you are.”

He exhaled, tilting his head against hers. “I wish you could be in a scene with me.”

She chuckled. “Me? In ancient Rome? I think I’d stick out.”

Joseph smirked. “You’d make a great empress.”

Y/N laughed. “I’ll leave the ruling to you, Emperor Geta.”

A runner called Joseph for his next scene, and he sighed, pressing a quick kiss to Y/N’s temple before standing. “Watch me?”

“Always,” she said, smiling as he walked away.

And as she watched him disappear into the grandeur of the set, Y/N knew—this was just the beginning of something incredible.

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pedgito · 4 months ago

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𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 | Emperor Geta x reader

summary | Emperor Geta takes a liking to you but ends up with far more than he bargained for.

author's note | full blame on @hauntedhowlett. also don't look at me and tell me that man doesn't have a mommy kink, he does.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!geta, dom!reader, mentions of spousal/child loss, brief mentions of pregnancy, subtle mommy kink, lactation kink (titty suckin' hell yeah), oral (f receiving), use of sweet boy/good boy, unprotected piv

word count — 4.2k

A widow, a mourning would-be mother—naive amongst your youthful glaze, the softness in your features as you stare down the two brothers from across the long, crowded table. It has only been a fortnight now, but your face proves entirely unsuspecting.

This meeting was about you—not of your late husband, not of legality or current issues to address, but your qualification to have a spot amongst men. Most were unaware of your puppetry with your late husband and his place in the senate—an older man triple your age that had brought you for a price.

Easily to manipulate, easy to convince.

“There is no place here for a mockery like this,” An older gentleman with stringy, greying hair chirped up from his seat, fist tucked under his wrinkled chin, eyes carefully examining your figure, licking his split, dry lips, “she is young—negotiate a price with her father and—”

“He is dead,” You state flatly, a piercing glare shot down the line toward the spoken male, seemingly ticked by the sound of your voice, expecting submissiveness, “And I will assure the price is one you will never afford.”

Caracalla, as aloof as he was, seemed to snicker at that. A high-pitched cackle that slips from his lips as Geta raises a brow, his mouth hidden behind his curled fingers, opposite hand spread out wide on the arm of his throne.

“I am well versed,” You address both of the emperors directly, “Educated—my husband would be displeased to hear me say this, but he was not the smartest man. I have lost more than just him, but I am not here to beg.”

There was no love lost, fortunately. He wasn’t a good or bad man, only a man. He frequented brothels often, voiced his displeasure when you weren’t serving him correctly, and only forced a child upon you because of societal standards. It was distressing, still deep in your own grief as you avoided the deadlocked stares from the surrounding men, praying that one of the two young emperors would have a soft spot, or even a weakness.

You would find it, if needed. But, Geta’s amusement was a comforting sign.

The same man, displeased with your presence, grips hard enough at his wooden cane that it starts to crack, “Better yet, force her to work in the brothel. Plenty of use for you there,” His gaze switches from the head of the table to you, nodding his head with a triumphant smirk.

“As I am sure your wife would love to hear about your visits,” There’s a collective tenseness, both of hands gripping the table and men shifting in their seats, eyes flickering back and forth between the volleying conversation, the dueling man’s face going slack, “do not act surprised, you keep company of men with loose lips, be thankful one of them has died with the rest of your pitiful secrets.”

Geta clears his throat then, sharing a brief moment with his brother as they nod in unison.

“I will consider this,” He begins, tongue swiping along the inside of his bottom lip, “given the suddenness of—”

“Your highness, do not fall victim to her deception, she is—”

“If you value that head of yours,” Geta’s words are biting, quick, “you will not interrupt me when I am speaking.”

He’s highly temperamental, the dagger he’s spent twirling in his hand for the past several minutes tossing lazily against the wood as he flicks a hand up dismissively, “Get out of my sight,” He excuses them all, aside from his finger pulling like it was held on a string to aim in your direction, “you—stay.”

You’ve just resigned yourself to death, surely.

–

The wine is dark, staining his upper lip as he drinks, clunky rings tapping against the glass of his cup as he passes you off a cup of your own. He had his own private quarters, opposite of his brother and hidden down a long, trailing hallway, an office-like room attached to his quarters.

You weren’t going to defy his command as unsettling as it felt, his glittering and colorful robe dragging against the tile floor as you stood silent, a comfortable distance away.

Your dress was unbearably tight, back straight as an arrow while your shoulders ached, but you didn’t waver, didn’t slouch. Your breasts spilled over the fabric, barely covered by the shawl draped over your shoulders, signs of motherhood that had yet to dissipate. You cleared your throat, shuffling quietly on your feet.

“I do not like nervousness,” Geta announces, turning his head over his shoulder as he swivels his body to lean against the edge of the desk—the room was clearly unused, aside from now.

“I am not nervous,” It wasn’t that at all, rather an uncertainty.

“Drink,” He suggested, nodding his head toward your full glass, “it will help.”

He doesn’t seem to believe you and you defy his order further, traveling toward him to rest the glass against the desk, hands settled at your stomach as you look at him, his eyes carefully tracking your movement as he sloshes the wine around in his mouth, a fingertip trailing the rim before he mirrors your actions.

“G—your highness,” You begin indecisively, “forgive me for sounding…selfish, but is there something you require? Do I serve a purpose being here?”

“What are your current living arrangements?” He asks suddenly, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, tilting his head in question.

“I am living under the selflessness of a senator’s wife—though, if he knew, it would not be welcomed with open arms,” Geta is aware of your steadfast gaze, rare that you ever looked anywhere but his face, not the usual roaming nervousness he had become acquainted with.

“Ah,” He chuckles, “If I may pry—well, I am…is it—”

The man who had challenged you earlier with a wife too gracious for her own good.

“Yes, unfortunately.”

Geta contemplates—he wasn’t against you having a voice within his council, aware that it wouldn’t be well-met, but there was a way to ensure safety and submission; he's learned to mold and shape to achieve what he wants at the lift of a finger. It was a mix of power and practiced manipulation.

“You will relocate here, to the palace,” He informs, “as an extra measure and because I am fond of your…bite,” His mouth upturns in a lazy smirk, “you will be well cared for here, I assure you.”

A man who was far too fond of his toys, you notice the glint in his eyes as soon as his expression morphs. Greed; he could have everything and even that wouldn’t be enough.

It was only minimally amusing, his confidence.

And within a few hours and a few snaps of his fingers, you were set up comfortably in your own room, a pleasant conversation with his less than stable brother and the obedient monkey perched on his shoulder—he was endearing, but visibly paranoid.

You refuse the help of the servants as you attempt to retire for the night, brow furrowed in frustration as you reach unsuccessfully for the tied string of your dress, resilient and stubborn in your unwillingness for help as you curse to yourself, half a second from ripping the fabric in half before the door to your room is opening quietly, creaking on it’s hinges.

“I assure you, they are here for a reason,” Geta remarks fondly, the faint fire of the candles lit around your room painting him in a warm glow, softening an unusually rigid man, he approaches without a word as you relent, hands curling around the edge of a nearby chair, his hand working methodically along the knotted fabric at your back, a few minutes passing before he’s tugging it loose, a breath of relief slipping beyond your lips.

Geta takes a few steps back, ringed fingers interlocked behind his back as he watches you expectantly, watching quietly as you turn with your arm clutching the fabric to your chest, hair loosened, your face relaxing into a natural scowl.

“Do you require anything of me?” You ask, curious of his lingering presence but not feeling threatened or undermined—shockingly, he seemed unsteady. Unsure. His confidence failed him for the first time in his young life, “If there is…something you would like to address, I will listen.”

“When did you marry?” An odd start, but you answer with ease.

“Fifteen—he promised my family wealth, it was a simple trade. They died not long after. Tuberculosis, or so I was told,” You shift from one bare foot to another as Geta’s lips pull together in a narrow line, “You know, we are not much different.”

That grabs his attention, his eyebrow raising in a silent question as you approach slowly, arms crossed over your chest now, holding the fabric in place, “Coyness is unbecoming, Emperor.”

“Enlighten me,” Geta replies, his restless hands finding their way over the collars of his robe as he tightens it around himself, joining him near the end of your bed—a strange thing to claim; this entire room, yours.

“If my math proves me right, we are of the same birth year,” You begin, “—those men, your advisors, they severely underestimate you and Caracalla. They are scared of you, yes. But, if given the chance, they would strike you down without a thought,” He turns his head, blinking away a sour expression, feeling particularly bare despite his state of dress.

Your gaze was powerful, intense, even Geta could not handle it.

“I am trying to say that I understand,” You clarify, tilting your head to catch his eyeline, reaching out slowly to provide a comforting touch, hands curling around his wrist, “not that I understand your role and the burden it carries, but being young and overlooked. I have felt that, I still feel it.”

He’s never been approached so openly—though he prefers the proclivity of men who bow down without question, his psyching was always searching for something more. A poor boy without love, or meaningful relations. You offer a soft smile as he turns his head to you.

“You came here for a reason,” You remind him, “—make it clear.”

His eyes follow the steady rise and fall of your chest, your fingers curling over the rough, coarse lining of the dress as it pushes your breasts up, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip in a wordless hunger.

“Did you plan to force yourself upon me?” You ask curiously, his face flushing with embarrassment, “Or, perhaps, hope that I would be charmed by you?”

“It is rare that I am denied,” He explains, like a petulant kid preparing to be denied their favorite toy, “—but, you are not mine.”

“I belong to no one,” You clarify, “I am not a whore, or a servant. We are…equals, yes?”

“Not entirely,” Geta counters, still donning the crown on his head—more subtle than the formal one he wears around, a delicate band of gold leaves adorned with gems, “but, it seems—”

You smirk slightly to yourself as you reach forward with one hand, plucking the band gently from his hair and tossing it aside to the bed, fingertips trailing down to his chin as you tug his face to look at you.

“You need not put on a performance for me,” You comfort him, his features softening as his eyes flicker toward the crown, “it is as simple as just asking, Geta.”

At level ground, it feels more appropriate. If he wanted your head, he would have it.

Eagerness invades his mind, clawing forward as his palms form to your neck, jaw, lips pressing against yours with impatience, a hum of hunger laying in wait in his throat. For a second, you allow it. Indulge in the simplicity of desire that has been long forgotten, sighing fervently against his mouth before you’re taking grip of his robe and forcing him back, his eyes blackened with lust and his mouth open, blinking with confusion.

“Ask me,” You demand him, “I have allowed so many in my life to take, not this. Not you.”

Geta clears his throat hastily, closing his mouth, gathering the immense willpower it took to listen, comply, “May I—may I kiss you?”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face as he lunges forward eagerly once more, held back by your surprisingly powerful grip, unaware of how your dress had shifted down, held up solely by the body contact against Geta, chest to chest.

It was teasing, taunting him with the ability and control you had over him, lips grazing against his testingly as he laughs too, a quiet and joyous noise as you finally let him have it, arms wrapping over his shoulders as his own hands roam down your sides, around your back and down your side, squeezing a hand at your thigh and bringing it up, high enough that it can rest at his hips, his fingers kneading into the exposed skin near the slit of your gown, toying with the delicate skin that he could reach.

You revel in the neediness, an intense feeling of want washing over you, his nose following the lines of your face as they nudge at your chin, forcing your head up as his kisses trail down, spit slicked lips pressing into your skin, bodies separating as you dress falls, as bare as he under his own robe, plump breasts pulling his eyes down, a slow blink and an instant flick up towards your face.

“Seems the effects of motherhood are taking their time to dissipate,” You admit, his fingers twitching at the sight of them, “If that is an issue we can end this he—”

“No,” He growls, “it—sorry, it is not.”

You reach for his hands quietly, his gaze following your direction as you cup them over your breasts, the heavy weight of them in his hands, the gentle squeeze that would otherwise make you wince but instead has your thighs clenching together. Geta was practically salivating at the sight, mesmerized by the fullness and warmth, his thumbs rubbing carefully over your hardened nipples, a small opaque drop of liquid painting his finger.

You grab his thumb suddenly, shoving his hand away at the sight.

“Despite a loss my body continues to provide,” You explain, “ It is not a lot, but it lingers.I have tried…everything to will it away.”

“Why?” Geta asks, looking up at you with newfound curiosity.

“It is not ideal, you see—”

“Who has told you this?” Geta pesters, watching the liquid drip down his finger before he brings it to his mouth, “I see no issue.”

Your nose twitches in uncertainty, his fingers trailing an abstract pattern into the underside of your breasts, around the side, admiring, “I have always been curious,” Geta admits, his voice trailing as you slowly guide yourself to sit on the bed, the emperor following in suit as he kneels against the edge of the mattress between your open thigh, “did he appreciate your body for everything that it was?”

“He was barren,” You admit, “He liked my mouth on his cock and that was all. He did not care for much else or my pleasure at that, he was much too inadequate anyways.”

He doesn’t address the glaringly obvious admittance—a much longer story for another time that neither of you cared for at the moment, “May I?” He asks politely, his hot breath ghosting over your chest as you nod, his mouth latching onto your skin in an instant.

It starts at the center of your chest, face buried between your breasts as he pulls his robe open, aided down by the push of your hands, his alabaster skin contrasting the plum sheets, his knee rising briefly to push into the sheets as you catch a glimpse of his cock, hanging heavily and intimidating in its size, anticipating of the stretch if you allowed him so far.

His tongue follows a planned path, along the underside of your breasts and around your nipple, grazing over the pebbled skin with the subtle taste of sweetness seeping into his taste buds as his lips wrap around and such, the faintest push of teeth in your skin as his eyes peer up at you, your brow furrowing in delight at the sudden shock to your cunt, nothing like you’ve felt before.

You did not know pleasure like this, a fair trade. It was a shock to the system.

He’s looking for acknowledgement, trading off to share the same care to the other breasts, his free hand trailing to the side of your face and under your neck, cradling you with a gentle touch as the hand on your breasts curls around and squeezes, sucking gently at your breasts as his head tilts into your comforting touch, your opposite hand turning as you run your knuckles alongside his jaw.

“Sweet boy,” You praise, “is that what you wanted?”

As if he hadn’t been eyeing you the entire meeting, breasts squeezed together as you leaned daringly over the table to argue with your aggressor, quenching the hunger all day with a steady diet of wine and the assorted fruit placed around the palace, always within reach, watching you quietly.

He nods slightly, distantly, as he’s focused on his current task.

“Geta,” Formalities forgotten by now, his eyes widened as you stare at him, rising on your elbows with a waiting expression, “have you lost your tongue?”

“It would—it would seem I have not,” He chuckles with a knowing smirk, swiping his tongue around your nipple in a circular motion, “I am pleased, yes.”

He shifts his arms around you, curled fists landing in the sheets beside your head, his cock sliding against the inside of your thigh as he settles to his knees, a fresh flush to his chest as he admires your state of nakedness, trailing two wondering fingers from your chest to your pelvic bone, a slow dance in the low light of the room.

You nudge his hand away, “You are eager,” You note with a fond tone, watching as began to lean into you, eager to capture your lips once more, but your fingers are pressing over his lips before they reach their destination, shaking your head in disapproval, “I have ideas for better use of that mouth, Emperor.”

He pulls back with grin, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as you filter your fingers through his ginger hair, curling your hand over the back of his head as he bows, settling on his belly with his cock trapped between the sheets, slowly his nose buries into the coarse curls, his tongue dragging down the seam of your pussy.

Geta can only liken it to a taste of the divine, or the closest he would ever reach, settled between your open legs with a mission to please, to satisfy. And for the first time in his life—serve someone other than himself. Normally he would bark at the informality of things, only allow his given title, a strict instruction of a bowed head and obedience, but he finds himself bending to your rule and dropping to his knees, if you demand.

“You have your wits and sharp tongue,” He hums against your cunt, a delightful noise slipping out as you tug at his hair, “I suggest you put them to good use.”

As he does, you find yourself drifting.

He is precise, thorough—which is not at all expected from a man of his status, or any man, really. They were never concerned with the pleasure of anyone but themselves, but Geta has proven you wrong in many ways as undesirable as his ruling may be.

You only cared for your life anymore, witnessing how delicate it could be when it came to everyone around you.

He likes to watch, too. It isn’t at all surprising, eager for praise he brings you to a quick and intense, but fleeting orgasm. It swells in your stomach, the heat pooling before it explodes, hearing the satisfied groan as he licks you clean, murmuring a shaky, “Good–good b-boy,” as you force yourself to catch your breath, allowing him to climb his way back up your body with the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, both of you sighing into the shared space as your foreheads meet and Geta was completely at your control, awaiting your next command.

“Are things often like this?” You ask curiously, “Is this what you seek?”

Domination; someone to submit to.

In a daze, he shakes his head, lips parted slightly.

“Do you enjoy that I make you feel this way?”

He smiles, sated, nodding in response.

“I want to feel you,” It was a whispered request, his eyes searching your face—again, even just the nudge of his cock between your folds was enough to make you tense and you find your own fingers drifting between your legs, dipping inside of you as he looks down, mesmerized as you guide his hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around his as you work together in tandem.

When his brow draws together, you guide him inside of you, staving off his impending orgasm.

“Slow,” You instruct, hands traveling to grip his face, nodding his head between your hold, “You are…quite large, I am not used to that,” Geta seems to find a surge of confidence at that, leaning forward greedily to capture your lips, his teeth dragging along the fleshy skin as he angles his and pulls back slowly, entering you at the same pace despite the impatient shake to his body, eager for more, “slow—slow, look at me,”

“You’re obedient,” You praise, “far more than I expected.”

“My brother likens you to a goddess,” Geta notes, the odd timing sending you into a gentle snort of laughter, “I must say I agree, you are mesmerizing.”

“I prefer Caracalla not be a topic as your cock is buried inside of me,” You retort with a kind smile, his own morphing into a frown of concentration as your knees hike around his hips, encourage him to lean his weight against you as he rocks his hips, a gentle rhythm that is drowned out by the sounds of the city at night.

His itching impatience grows tiresome, gripping desperately at whatever skin he could reach, pitiful moans of pleasure inked into your skin with the silent plea of more—please, more?

“Make me come once more,” You urge him, “and take what you need.”

It was all he needed to hear, taking the opportunity to slip out of you as he guiding you toward your stomach, guiding one knee up toward your chest as he hovered over you, turning your head to face him as he pushed his cock back inside of you, your walls fluttering around him in satisfaction of being filled again.

There was a perfect view of the sky this way, a small alcove open to the night breeze, stars twinkling against the contrasting colors of midnight, “It is beautiful,” He begins, not admiring the same sight as you, a shakiness to his voice as he pumped his hips at a nearly unbearable pace, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you.

He’s panting into your skin, a feeling you’ve experienced in plenty of other circumstances, with a well-versed ability to separate yourself from your body as men chase their pleasure, but with the emperor, it was a different experience.

A cacophony of small whimpers followed by an utterances of words you’re not sure he or his brother have spoke often, “Please—-please, may I—“

The gravity of the situation flips as you realize your mistake, giving a man with far too much reach and power any type of influence over you, your brain searching for a way to counter his plea as you turn your body, arm wrapping around the back of his neck as he shakes with his impending orgasm.

Words are lost, unable to speak before he’s pulling out of you, the drip of his warm seed coating your skin, the tight grip at your chest loosening in an instant.

Thank the gods, you pray silently.

“I apologize,” He breathes heavily, bottom lip swollen and red from the mutilation of his teeth, chest flushed bright and burning, “if—if I scared you.”

He uses his discarded robe to clean you up, unthinking of the consequences as he leaned back to stand, fully nude as he extends his hand in wait, beckoning you closer.

“Scared me?” You challenge, curling your hand into his own as he pulls you up, legs bracketing his thighs as your hands come to rest against his abdomen, staring up at the emperor.

“Your bark is quite frightful,” He admits, “I can only imagine how you would rip me apart had I gone too far,” His words trail, a softening to his voice as he curls his hand around the side of your face, a gentle gesture.

“Would you like that, Geta?” You ask with a creeping suspicion, a smirk spreading across your face, “For me to rip you apart?”

A man of such power, unrestrained and chaotic—shrinks.

Almost too shy to admit it.

“Careful, my lady,” He warns, “I am still a ruler of Rome, such disrespect is—”

“Punishable by death,” You confirm, “but, you promised me safety, yes?”

Geta nods silently, watching the slow crawl of your fingers up his chest before they grab his chin, your thumb smoothing over the dimpled skin, his lips pulling apart in a shaky exhale.

“And I am sure a good boy like you will keep that promise?”

#emperor geta #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x y/n #emperor geta x female reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #emperor geta smut #gladiator 2 #emperor geta fanfic #geta x reader #my writing #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you

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sweetprfct · 1 year ago

Text

Yes Forever

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joe has been giving hints and it's making your heart explode every time.

Author's Note: The bridge of TTPD is to blame for this. Enjoy! :)

Wordcount: 1.9K

You knew you should have seen it coming.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t making it obvious these last few weeks. It wasn’t like his little actions were something he has been hiding. You should have seen it coming, but you didn’t want to expect anything. You didn’t want to hope just in case you were wrong, you know? You didn’t want to feel disappointed if it was just your mind making things up.

It started off at the night of his movie premiere. You were all dressed up, and Joe couldn’t get his eyes off of you. Though, that wasn’t the thing that stuck out the whole night because Joe always looked at you like that no matter what. He was always telling you how stunning you were and that he was so lucky. The movie premiere went smoothly. You joined him at the red carpet and everyone was so proud about the movie and then, the after party came. You didn’t know if it was Joe having way too many drinks, or your mind was just being delusional.

You sat next to him in the booth. Joe and his co-stars were laughing talking about a memory from the set, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander somewhere else. It wasn’t like you were bored with their conversations or anything. You were actually enjoying yourself, but it was Joe’s soft touch on your hand under the table that was distracting you so much.

“You know you should watch out for Joe.” One of his co-stars told you. “I would run off if I still had the chance.” He teased.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as Joe wrapped an arm around you. His hand softly caressing your arm and his other hand… well…

It was doing something that was making your heart race.

Your hand was set on his lap and his index finger was grazing over your bare ring finger. You couldn’t help but purse your lips as you tried to keep your attention on the conversation in front of you. Joe kept that going for the rest of the night, and he didn’t say one word about it when you got home. So, you let the subject go.

Then, you noticed one night when you were slowly falling asleep on the bed that Joe was just smiling and staring at you. His fingers caressing your soft cheek, while you were fighting hard to keep your eyes open.

“Hmm…” You smiled, letting out a soft hum.

“So beautiful.” Joe whispered, kissing your hair. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Joe.” You smiled, moving closer to him.

You rested your head on his chest, your fingers finding his as you played with them. Joe then intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand on his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“You have no idea how much you occupy my heart.” Joe said. “It’s all yours, darling. All of it.”

“I love you so much.” You smiled, pressing your face on his neck.

Joe held you tighter in his arms as comfortable silence blanketed the room for a moment. You two never really talked about the subject of it, but you knew there was that mutual understanding between the two of you. You just knew. You both really didn’t have to talk about it because what was there to talk about, right? You both already knew where this was heading.

“You know, there was no other woman I felt this way about.” Joe murmured. “When I first saw you, I knew in my heart that it was you. You’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

You hitched a breath as Joe grazed his fingers over your bare ring finger again. You kept your eyes close, face still pressed on his neck. You didn’t know if you could look into his eyes right now. With the words he was speaking, your heart was beating hard out of your chest that you swore he could hear and feel it.

“Darling?” Joe moved back a little, gazing down at you.

You kept your eyes shut and stayed still. Joe’s fingers grazed over your cheek again, his lips tugging into a small smile.

“You’re the love of my life, you know that?” Joe whispered as you fluttered your eyes open.

You smiled at Joe, glancing up at him and said, “What’s going on, Joe?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve noticed it lately…” You tilted your head at him.

Joe raised his brow, pretending like he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“Notice what?”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Nevermind.”

Joe reeled you back in his arms, kissing your hair softly. “I just want you to know how much I love you.”

You nodded your head, smiling softly as you set your head back on his chest. You didn’t want to say it first if he couldn’t admit it because you didn’t want to look stupid. Maybe you really were being delusional in the first place. Maybe Joe really was just being sweet and wanted to reassure you of his love.

That was all.

You finally let that subject go for a few weeks. It didn’t appear in your thoughts again until that one night when Joe had taken you out for a date night. He had suggested taking you into a nice restaurant since it had been a while since you both had gone out on a date. So, you agreed. You dressed up in a nice pale blue silky dress, and Joe was in a nice button up and trousers. You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his curls the moment you saw him waiting for you by the front door.

Joe hummed approvingly as he set his hands on your hips, pressing your body against his.

“God, I can never get over how stunning you are.” Joe whispered, kissing down your neck.

“And I can never get over how handsome you are.” You smiled, feeling his hands gently run down your sides.

Joe gazed down at you, his eyes sparkling before leaning down to kiss you passionately. Leading you out the door, Joe had taken you to the restaurant that he chose, and it was nice and cozy. You couldn’t help but enjoy this moment with him. It really had been a while since you two had spent time together, especially with both of your busy schedules.

“I’ve missed this.” You smiled, taking a sip of your wine.

“Me too.” Joe took your hands in his from across the table. “Sorry if I have been so busy, darling.”

“Joe,” You tilted your head at him. “I understand. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I know, but still…” Joe took a deep breath, playing with your fingers. “I want to apologize and want you to know that I love you.”

Squeezing his hand lightly, you gave Joe a warm reassuring smile. “Joe, I know. I love you too.”

Joe smiled slightly, looking down at your fingers. He played with the ring that you had on your middle finger for a moment before slipping it off. You watched as he slid it over to your ring finger and for a moment, you felt your lungs stopped working. You felt your heart almost exploding as Joe smiled slightly before slipping the ring back on your middle finger again.

“Joe–” You whispered.

“Good evening, I’m Elle. I’ll be your server this evening.” The server stood by your table, giving both of you a genuine smile.

You pulled your hands away from Joe, your index finger and thumb playing with your ring anxiously under the table. Suddenly, the thoughts that you had pushed away from the last few weeks appeared in your mind again. You bit your lower lip, trying to focus your attention back on Joe and the server. You could feel your heart beat a thousand miles per minute, and you didn’t know how to really react with what just happened.

The rest of the night, you tried to keep your thoughts to yourself. You told your mind to be quiet and just enjoy this dinner date with Joe, especially that it had been so long since you both have done this. Joe never mentioned it once during the whole dinner. He acted like nothing happened and what he did was just a normal thing. However, your heart couldn’t fit in your chest anymore. No matter how much you tried to push the thought away, you kept repeating that little scene he did before dinner.

“Hold on a second, darling.” Joe held your hand before you could open your front door later that evening.

“What is it?” You turned to face him as he cupped both of your cheeks between his hands.

“I just want to do this.” Joe leaned down to kiss you softly on the lips.

You chuckled softly, kissing him deeper and pulling him close to you. You wrapped your arms around his neck as Joe continued to kiss you, this time so lovingly and gentle.

“I love you.” He murmured through the kiss.

You let out a soft hum as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Marry me.” Joe murmured through the kiss.

You froze for a moment, parting from the kiss as you stared at him with wide eyes. Joe, however, gave you a look that was all so loving. His chocolate button eyes twinkled as he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“W…What?” Your words stuttered as you processed what you just heard.

Joe didn’t say anything as he walked around you and unlocked the front door. He turned to face you again, held out his hand and opened the front door of your flat. You gasped softly as soon as you saw what was behind him. The place was lit by candles and rose petals were laid out all over the floor.

It was like what you saw in the movies.

“My love.” Joe took your hand in his as you both entered the flat.

You swallowed every emotion that was coming up in your throat as you watched Joe’s hand reach for his pocket. Then, he gazed up at you, holding a small red box in his hand, and a smile tugging on his lips as he got down on one knee in front of you.

“Joe, I–”

“Darling, you knew that the first time I saw you, I knew that you were the one. You make me a better person everyday, and I love you so much. My heart is yours forever. Would you do me the honor to spend the rest of your life with me?”

You gasped softly, both your hands covering your mouth as tears welled up in your eyes. Your heart was racing, and you could barely find words in your mind.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” You smiled as you helped Joe get up from the floor. “A thousand times yes. Yes to forever with you. Yes to everything with you.”

Joe grinned happily as he took the ring from the box and slid it on your ring finger before reeling you into his arms and kissed you passionately. Everything almost felt unreal as you kissed him back.

“I love you.” You murmured, smiling happily.

You have never felt this happy before. Your heart was exploding in happiness as Joe kissed you again and held you in his arms. A big wide grin on his face, tears welling up in his eyes the moment he parted from the kiss.

“I love you.” Joe whispered, embracing you.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you stared into his eyes, happiness radiating from the both of you.

With Joe, it was always going to be yes.

Forever.

The End.

**********

Taglist:

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#Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader #Joe Quinn x Fem!Reader #Joseph Quinn Fanfics #Joe Quinn Fanfics #Joseph Quinn Fics #Joe Quinn Fics #Joseph Quinn rpf #Joe Quinn rpf #yes forever #one shot #sweetprfct

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asvtrials · 4 months ago

Text

𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

Emperor Geta x fem!reader, minors dni!

masterlist

summary: Emperor Geta was a selfish lover. He expected you to give him everything, every thread of your being, body, and soul. Yet he refused to do the same. Why would he? He was the Emperor and you were nothing but his concubine, not too long ago you were a common whore that he just happen to take a liking to, just a vessel for his satisfaction. So why was his mind suddenly screaming for him to kneel before you, to let your thighs straddle his face until he suffocates? warnings/tags: smut, mention of an orgy in the beginning, mention of exhibitionism, generally ancient Rome things, Emperor Geta tries to act unbothered but is smitten for his concubine, facesitting, oral (f! receiving), p in v, kind of rough, sub/dom dynamics (obviously), implied abuse, potentially out of character, not accurate to the Gladiator franchise...

a/n: This man is consuming my thoughts. This is me basically pushing my pussy drunk Geta agenda. I love the idea of Emperor Geta being arrogant and selfish but caving at the idea of hearing her scream and moan as loudly as that woman. 'Mae Columba' means my dove, 'Corculum' means sweetheart. Also, this is my first time writing this man

tags: @teechallas-blog @ladynoonwraith @quuinyoung @ghostinhours @slasherflickchick @marn13s-vilewhispers @munsongirl48 @getas-empress @hillarymurray4 @cleo-2345 @lookingformuses @meganfoxismywife @claa-01 @funsquadgoalzz-blog w/c: 3.3k English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistakes I make. I tried present tense for the first time.

── ୨ৎ

Your thin tunic provides you with little to no warmth, yet you weren't cold even on this chilly night.

Your Emperor's hand runs up and down your right side, his fingers keep grazing your nipple but he is too focused on conversing with Macrinus to notice the impact of his action.

Your eyes wander around the room, from the people who drank, smoked, and laughed, too gone to do anything other than that, to the numerous naked, sweaty bodies intertwined with each other in the most intimate way that was humanly possible.

Yet there was nothing intimate about what you observe. It was primal and carnal, most of them didn't even look like people anymore, the scene becoming too animalistic and raw.

These types of gatherings were rather common in the Palatine and you have gotten used to settings like this one. But this time you couldn't take your eyes off of two people. Two prostitutes amongst the crowd of moving bodies caught your attention.

A woman sitting on top of a man, on his face… The expression of pure bliss she had looks like it was taken out of a vulgar painting, a carefully crafted sculpture depicting the most euphoric moment of one's life. The man's tongue works meticulously on the woman’s cunt making her scream and moan like she was touched by the god's themselves.

The sight was enough for your breath to get caught in your throat.

That made Emperor Geta turn with a frown, some wine dripping from his full lips. You don’t notice that his eyes travel the path of your gaze, focusing on the same pair as you.

You snap back to reality when his hand gripped your thigh. If you weren't used to his rough touches you would yelp in pain.

When you meet his eyes, there's something behind them that makes you pause. Without a second glance, he turns back to his conversation, leaving you confused. But you don’t miss the way his hand slides further between your legs, almost teasingly.

It wasn't unusual for him to touch you in front of everyone, be it in these types of events or when the gladiator fights bored him to the point where he ordered you to get on your knees and ‘entertain’ him yourself.

But this time, his thumb merely grazes the thin fabric of your tunic between your legs as his hands grip your exposed thigh. Possessively.

Your mind started to race. Did you anger him? Was he upset?

You are in a room filled with naked bodies fucking each other like animals and it never angered him before when you watched. Sometimes you would even comment how ‘sloppy’ their technique was and he would chuckle. So what happened now?

You lean on his side, sliding your hand to his cheek, caressing it gently. He doesn’t react but he doesn’t push you away either. That feels like a win, an opening.

After being his concubine for so long you learned how to behave around him, how to slither your way out of trouble in case you had upset him.

A little touch here, a kiss there, a plea for forgiveness honeyed with praises about how good he is to you along with some dick sucking usually does the trick.

Geta was an emperor but he was also a man with a very big ego. You quickly understood that as much as it is a nuisance it could also become an advantage.

By the time you followed him to his chambers, it was well past midnight.

He had made it a habit to share a bed with you, not even the guards looked surprised anymore.

He walks inside the moment the guards open the heavy doors. He reaches for his golden belt with a heavy sigh but you quickly stop him. “Let me, my Emperor.” You speak, your voice soft. You quickly approach him and meet his stern gaze, waiting for his approval.

Geta lets go of the belt, letting his arms fall to his sides. He looks spent and tired from the long day but you could sense something else frustrating him.

Carefully, you undo his belt, feeling his shoulders relax at the loss of the heavy material. Your eyes travel up his body before finally meeting his gaze through your lashes but you are met with the same cold look from before.

You take a step back to settle the belt on the table. You aren’t sure if you should approach him again. You expected him to kiss you, to touch you while you were so close but he didn't do either. He just watched you with a raised brow and gritted teeth.

You avert your gaze, focusing on the detailed carvings of the table ignoring the fact that you had seen it a million times before.

You hear his sandals brush against the marble floor, making you shiver. You weren't sure what to expect, he hasn't looked this displeased with you in a long while.

“Mae Columba” ‘My dove’ he says, his voice barely above a whisper but it still held the authority of an Emperor. “Do you know why you wear such lavish cloths?” He asks, not expecting you to answer before continuing, his voice dropping “Why do you smell as good as you smell? Why do golden jewels hang from your ears and wrap around your wrists? Why you aren't passed around my soldiers like a common whore?”

He was right behind you now, his arms coming to cage you between him and the table.

His harsh words forced tears to collect on your lash line. You took a deep breath but your voice still quivered as you spoke. “Because you're the Emperor…”

“Because I'm the Emperor.” He repeats softly against your ear, yet there is no softness in his tone. “Then why do you wish for me to become someone else?”

“I don—”

“Lies!” He shouts, making you flinch away.

You don't dare to face him, remaining turned to him as his hands start to wander down your sides. “I saw how you looked at those filthy commoners…you were entranced, my dove”

“My Emperor I—”

“Have I not done enough for you?” He whispered, but his quiet tone gave you no comfort. His hands moved to your clothed chest, squeezing your breasts mercilessly.

A small whine escapes your lips, your back arching against him. “You gave me everything, my Emperor.” You manage to say through rugged breaths.

He hums pleased. “Clearly not enough since you wish to see me between your legs like a filthy whore.” He murmurs against your ear.

“No!” You yelp, grabbing his forearms after he squeezes your breasts particularly hard.

Your thighs meet in an attempt to soothe the aching between your legs. “I promise.”

“You promise?” He asks, his tone dripping with disbelief and mockery.

“Yes! I promise.” You reply quickly, desperation seeping out of your words.

“On the bed.” he commands lowly and you comply without words.

The bed was thrice the size of the bed you used to sleep in, soft with satin sheets and numerous pillows. A bed that an emperor deserved. You weren't sure if you deserved it, yet here you were, lying on the Emperor's sheets like you did many other times.

He looms over your lying figure eyes rolling down every curve of your body like a wolf eyeing a little lamb. His favorite little lamb.

The one that he never feasts upon but rather chases around until the poor thing is spent and exhausted and pliant for him to bite all he wants.

Geta’s hands find your ankles and he pulls you to him, earning a surprised yelp from you. He crawls to you, entrapping you between his arms once again.

He melts against your mouth, lips moving harshly against yours, refusing to give you a second to breathe. You cry loudly when his teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“My Emperor” you moan against his rough endeavors but he doesn’t stop, you aren’t sure if he even heard you. He was too busy squeezing your already bruising flesh, not even bothering to remove your tunic.

Red liquid escapes from the wound that Geta so eagerly opened. The metallic taste travels to your mouth but he doesn’t seem to mind, and as much as it scares you, neither do you. Instead, you claw at his back breathlessly repeating your words “My Emperor…Let me show you my devotion.”

Geta studies you, his big eyes making him look almost innocent under the dim candlelight.

His lips open to speak his mind, your spit and blood coating them but instead of speaking, he gently caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, smearing the blood.

What are these thoughts? These foolish ideas that plague his mind? His gaze couldn’t deter from your tearful eyes as he let his thumb run down your chin, the faint color of the blood following along.

You were so easy to break, to tear apart and carve as you pleased. He always did just that.

Yet you always came back.

You didn’t have a choice, he wasn’t foolish enough to forget that. But still, you looked at him with a particular dedication that Gate couldn’t quite comprehend.

Basically, involuntarily he whispers, letting his palm rest on the side of your face “You’ve proven your devotion, corculum. You’ve been so good…” Geta leans closer, his nose pressing your cheek. He breathes in your scent, fighting the urge to squeeze your face with his fingers.

Your breath hitches when he pushes his thumb past your inviting lips and he feels a moan threaten to spill when you sucked on his digit immediately. He couldn’t uncover any thoughts behind your eyes, only lust. Lust for him. Just like he lusted you.

Why is his breath coming out so short, why is his heart threatening to jump from his chest and into your arms? He isn’t even inside you yet and he feels like he can’t think properly.

You weren’t quiet during your shared activities but Geta was always too focused on his own selfish pleasure, rarely caring about yours.

But right now he feels the inexplicable urge to make you scream his name, to make everyone in the palace know, everyone in Rome, the urge to get on his knees and worship you just to get the blessing of your sounds in return.

Oh, you were sent by Venus herself, there was no doubt. There was no other explanation for his crazed thoughts.

The whine that he brings from you when he pulls his hand away burns something deep in his chest. He quickly yanks at his clothes, uncovering his naked, toned body.

Your eyes don’t dare to travel down but you find yourself on your fours, crawling to him. You press your lips to his stomach, tracing his toned body with your lips and tongue softly, teasingly.

A low growl leaves Geta from deep within his throat as he runs his hand through your hair, nearly gently before he grips your locks. He pulls your head back forcing your eyes to meet his, the sudden harshness causing you to freeze.

“You are an enchantress, aren’t you? You have turned me into a madman.” He mutters softly, his tone almost despairing as his blunt nails massage your scalp.

Looking up at him through your lashes you blink, unsure of what to say. Was this an indictment? It sounded more like a statement.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing, my Emperor.” You say softly.

He hums quietly, eyes falling to your legs and he has to swallow hard.

He has seen you like this so many times, and yet you left him speechless every time. From the first time he had bed you, you had left him speechless. Put a spell on him the moment he pushed his cock inside your warm, dripping cunt.

His mind told him to pound you against the mattress as hard as he could, so that every time your core throbbed tomorrow you would remember how vile it was for you to imagine him, your Emperor, between your thighs.

But his body betrayed him. He leans in, his bottom lip grazing your inner thigh.

“I don’t think you realize what you’re doing to me, mae columba” He whispers, so quietly that you could miss it if your senses weren’t so heightened.

He released a quivering breath before pressing his lips on your skin. You gasp at the action, gripping the smooth sheets. The feeling of your flushed skin against his lips was exhilarating, it was the beginning of something that he wasn’t sure he could control.

Without a second thought, his mouth starts to bruise your thighs fervently, his teeth plunging into your flesh like you were his last meal before the guillotine.

Your moans and cries fill the room and Geta’s heart as he continues to mark your thighs, his intensity matching a starved wolf.

He wanted more. He was insatiable, he was always insatiable.

With a swift movement, he flips the both of you. You yelp in surprise, as you land on his chest, your legs spread apart.

His head finds the soft mattress but he wouldn’t care even if it was the hard floor. All he could focus on was your clothed core, inches away from his face.

“My Emperor!” You begin. You weren’t sure what to say, how are you even supposed to react to such a scene?

Rome’s Emperor gazing at you between your thighs, looking as famished as ever.

“Quiet.” He growls, his arms coming to wrap around your thighs. His hands slowly travel up your body, dragging your tunic with his fingers revealing more of your skin.

Your naked cunt was inches away from his face, his breath hitting your soaked folds sending a shiver down your spine.

His eyes couldn’t leave your core, mouth watering at the sight. Impatient, you peel off the dress, revealing your naked body.

It was a pattern whenever you were around him. But this time it didn’t make your cheeks burn about being so vulnerable before his ravenous gaze. On the contrary, it made your chest flutter with satisfaction as you lay on top of one of Rome’s brutal Emperors.

No warning was given to you before he harshly pulled you down to him. His tongue lays flat against your pussy, emitting a desperate sound from you. Soon enough he was lost in the feeling of your wetness. There was no point in fighting your spell anymore, he was already hypnotized.

Your eyes can’t leave his face. The way he loses himself so eagerly forces your breath to become shallow and desparate.

His tongue laps on your cunt sloppily, and your juices run down his chin though he never wavers, not even for a second. His mouth worked against your folds like he wanted to consume you whole, to drain you of your essence.

“Gods!” You moan loudly, throwing your head back. “My Emperor!” You cry out.

He whimpers against your pussy, he fucking whimpers. You aren’t sure if you can hold on much longer after that. It seems like any fear or shame you had abandoned your body because you start to rock your hips against his face, his nose brushing against clit with every move.

“I can’t take it anymore, my Emperor—” you gasp, your body trembling uncontrollably.

He grabs your waist, his nails digging into your skin possesively. He pulls you even closer to him, if that is even possible, his tongue running over your folds callously.

Your climax came to you like a violent wave, your body shakes violently after your release. Geta doesn’t stop though, his tongue collecting your fluids even if you jolted and whined.

He only stopped when he had nothing else to take. Like always.

You fall to the side, your mouth agape as you pant frenziedly. Geta isn’t looking any better, his slick-covered lips are parted slightly and his chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Gods…” You breathe out.

Geta finally finds his strength again, moving to position himself above you. His burning body pressed against your side, his lips brushing your temple. “Where the gods between your legs, corculum?”

“That’s what it felt like” You whisper and he fought the urge to smirk.

“Turn around.” He orders lowly, the playfulness draining from his voice.

With all the strength left in you, you comply, turning around to lie on your chest. You gasp when the Emperor effortlessly lifts your thighs off the mattress.

You whine at the feeling of his hard cock brushing against your dripping cunt.

With one forceful push he’s inside your tight walls and you scream. Your nails rake at the satin sheets as he grunts at the warmness that envelops his cock. “You always feel so good, my dove. Like you were made for me” He groans, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“P-perhaps I was” You moan, the sound muffled by the sheets, your eyes nearly rolling back.

He sneers lowly. “Always know just what to say. How to bewitch me with your words…”

You yelp when you feel his hand clutch your jaw and pull you backward. Your back slams against his hard chest. He draws his hips back making you whine at the feeling of his dick slipping away before slamming it back inside. He did it again and again until you were crying and clawing at his hand.

“My Emperor!” You cry out and if it wasn’t for his strong hands you would’ve fallen forward.

His cock hits you so deep, so good you can’t help the tears that run down your flushed cheeks and the lewd cries that fall from your lips still they aren’t nearly as lewd as the wet, sloppy sounds that follow after every intense thrust.

His own grunts are so loud against your ear that you swear you can come from the sounds he’s making alone. It was never this intimate with Geta, so close. He usually pushes your head against the pillows and fucks you into the mattress like an animal. You rarely see his face or hear his sounds other than the harsh words he spews at you.

Your back arches at the harshness of his thrusts, and your head falls on his shoulder. His hand slides down to your core. You feel his smirk against your ear when he flicks your clit and you flinch.

“Geta!” You scream his name as you come for a second time for the night, your voice hoarse from all the screaming.

If your brain wasn't mushed from pleasure you would slap a hand over your mouth, bracing yourself for his palm landing on your cheek.

He grabs your face and turns your head to face him. The moment your eyes meet you know there won’t be any repercussions for your defiance. His pupils are so blown to the point where you couldn’t locate the light brown of his iris. He pulls you for a heated kiss and with one last, mind-numbing thurst he spills his seed deep inside you.

He falls forward and pulls you with him. You fall on all your fours, his chest falling flush on your back. You whimper when his cock moves inside your overstimulated pussy with the movement.

Geta’s breath was hot against your shoulder and his hands squeezed your waist occasionally, seemingly without noticing.

“My Emperor,” You breathed out. “Forgiv—”

“Quiet.” He rasped, silencing you immediately.

He threw the both of you to the side, pulling you closer to him by the waist.

That day Geta, with his dick deep inside you, realized two things. That you have probably enchanted him and that he didn’t care one bit.

Because if being bewitched meant that he would spend his living days between your legs, getting drunk on you, then he would gladly do it.

#elle's favs #elle writes...geta #emperor geta #joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #emperor geta smut #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x female reader #emperor geta x y/n #gladiator ii #gladiator movie #gladiator ll #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n

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whatsupsonnyboy · 18 days ago

Text

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.

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amorchai · 7 months ago

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𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐇 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖.

written for my old blog but never posted!

pairing(s): joseph quinn x celebrity!reader

words: 602

warnings/tags: r is famous, flirting and teasing.

from the brief moment you both met backstage, awaiting each moment to be announced to the show, you and joseph were laughing and getting to know each other with just a few questions. he was addictively charming, the way his lips would keep a contained smile, eyes glittering as they stared deeply at you whenever you spoke, greatly attentive.

there was a lot of flirting already, both single actors, finding an immediate liking to one another faster than either found usual. but who could blame you when he was so kind-hearted and handsome?

leaving him after a lot of giggled, flirty comments shared, you found yourself anticipated to await him to join the stage. feeling a tad exhilarated and nervous over how new and abrupt these feelings were arising.

one date and you would be swooning, you were sure. not that you were against the idea.

some time passed, questions and answers exchanged between you and the host. you were polite, funny and responding to each question and putting up a conversation. however, each word that uttered past your lips was with how aware you were that joseph was backstage watching.

and before you knew it, his name was called by the host and he was waving to the crowd briefly as he joined to your side to the empty spot beside. he sent you a quick wink, his expression gleaming of pure joy as he swipes his hand over his beard while the crowd still cheered for him.

you had to watch him, smile extending upon your lips at the adrenaline of the situation that you nearly miss the host’s question. you settle back in the seat, looking towards the desk and missing joseph’s eyes land towards you with a fond smile.

“did you two meet backstage before you came out?”

he looks away when you start to turn your head back to him, instead joseph begins to respond, “oh, yeah! we did have a little chat beforehand, it was great.” you went to reply after him, but he continues to respond, “even prettier in person.”

joseph watches your expression, nervously laughing when you blink, shutting your mouth from responding as you turn back to the host with a flustered nod, refusing to speak as it may come out a little croaked. the cheers from the audience promoting the anxiety.

but it felt blissful nevertheless, the anxiety an inviting, newfound feeling and not one of stress or uncomfortableness. not when you would be constantly catching his glances between questions. when he was telling a story, it wouldn’t only be to the host, but he would look towards the audience every so often and even at you.

it was clear he was a kind soul, one of the kindest you’ve met, and it was scary how willing you were to like him from the first night of meeting, only merely a couple of hours beforehand.

at the end of each question joseph answered, the host would begin talking and joseph would nod along, gaze fleeting to you when you still look at him for a moment, hesitant to turn away. joseph trying hard to listen to the host while fighting the blush threatening his cheeks, his hands touching them instinctively.

the whole night was surreal, flirty glances and one-liners which you were sure fans would easily pick up on and make a big deal out of. usually, scenarios like that, you wished people weren’t far-fetched with celebrity romances.

but as you look back at joseph, his smile aimed towards you for that moment more, it might be different this time. very different.

amorchai masterlist . taglist

#જ⁀➴ 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 #𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 ⁑ joseph quinn ⭑.ᐟ #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fandom #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #joe quinn #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fluff

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filthyjoetini · 26 days ago

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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

#fizzy #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x you #rpf #rpf fic #rpf fanfiction

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queenvidal · 4 months ago

Text

The Golden Rose Of Rome

Emperor Geta x Reader

Chapter 1: Thorns

Chapter Summary: The Emperor is not used to being denied. He'll come to find even the most beautiful flowers carry thrones. Drawing his intrigue is dangerous and no prickle will stop him.

Wordcount: 4k.

A/N: Written inclusively, no race mentioned or implied.

Chapter Index: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2/ Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

Masterlist

The air of the Imperial Palaces is buzzing with laughter and music. Expensive wine is flowing freely between Rome's Elite, a parade of wealth and charm where every guest is competing for attention in the glittering spectacle. From their golden dais, the twin emperors oversee the festivities, though each is engrossed in his own way.

Caracalla lounges lazily in his gilded seat, the lack of enthusiasm evident. He is barely paying attention, too focused on his beloved monkey that is sitting on the armrest. While taking long, careless sips of wine he occasionally fed Dundus with grapes.

Geta on the other hand is sitting upright but his face is mirroring the boredom of his brother, his dark eyes observing the crowd with mild interest.

These elaborate displays of power and wealth had quickly lost their appeal and soon became tiresome rituals of their rule. Necessary evils, as even Emperors have to maintain appearances.

Caracalla throws a grape in the air, watching Dundus catch it mid-air. His eyes momentarily move towards the crowd before returning back to his monkey. With a sigh, he breaks the silence, gesturing toward a group of dancers performing in the center of the hall. “Do you ever wonder why we bother with all this? I’d wager most of them don’t even remember why we are holding these festivities.”

Geta glances at his brother, with a hint of humor in his voice he asks, “Do you?” Caracalla narrows his eyes at the teasing but keeps silent, his attention back to the monkey.

“It’s necessary,” Geta continues, his eyes resuming to oversee the guests. “The spectacle reminds them of our power.”

“Power,” Caracalla echoes with a grimace. “If they were truly loyal, we wouldn’t need to remind them at all. Loyalty bought with wine and music isn’t loyalty. It’s theater.”

“Perhaps,” Geta shrugs his shoulders. “But the people thrive on theater. It keeps them entertained and compliant.”

Caracalla sighs, swirling his goblet, “We should have asked Macrinus to send some of his gladiators.”

Geta tilts his head, amusement coloring his features. “We can’t have people die at every festive occasion, brother.”

Caracalla’s grin turns wicked as he strokes Dundus’s fur, “Says who?”

That elicits a faint chuckle from his brother. Geta reaches for a new goblet of wine, with his lips curved into a half smile. “The night’s still young, Caracalla. Let’s see what this evening brings before you write it off entirely.”

As if on cue, the grand doors of the atrium swing open, catching both brothers’ attention. A new set of guests enters the hall. Another senator with his family, but something about them is different, their arrival causes a subtle shift in the room. Heads turn and hushed whispers travel through the crowd.

“More senators,” Caracalla releases a tired breath, his attention already elsewhere.

Geta is about to dismiss them as well but then the senator steps aside, revealing two young women trailing behind him. Geta straights in his chair lightly, his attention sharpening.

The elder of the two wears a pale bluish almost lavender colored dress that shimmers in the light of the chandeliers. Her hair is pinned up, exposing her neck and shoulders. An air of quiet confidence surrounds her as she walks, her head held high as she speaks with her father. The younger one, in a soft, rose-colored gown, clings to her sister’s arm. Her movements try to mimic the elder’s, though she lacks the sisters' confidence. They exchange a few words with their father before he drifts off with their brother, leaving the two to stand at the entrance.

Caracalla notices Geta’s interest and raises an eyebrow. “Something worth noting?” But Geta doesn’t reply right away. Caracalla follows his brother’s line of sight, observing the young women briefly before turning back to Dundus. “They’re pretty, I’ll give them that. But half the women here are pretty.”

“True,” Geta murmurs softly.

Caracalla has to smirk, to him they look like every other noble daughter. “Careful, Geta. You seem interested. Should I have them sent up?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Geta scoffs at his brother, before leaning back in his chair, his eyes moving over the crowd again.

Caracalla chuckles softly, tossing another grape to Dundus. “The night’s young, indeed.”

The air smells like flowers and honey. Your eyes dart between the crowd, as you take a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves. The practiced mask of composure quickly slips into place. With a pet of your sister's hand on your arm, you smile at her, “Shall we?”

Sabina nods, giving you a faint smile of her own. Her calm exterior is just an act and you know that. You can feel the unease radiating from her. The court is a beautiful prison, a place where every glance and every word carries meaning. Tonight, the eyes of friends and foes will be on you. A dance you’ve learned long ago but it's still new to your little sister.

With Sabina’s hand securely around your arm, you lead her through the hall, exchanging brief pleasantries with the various nobles and acquaintances you encounter. The conversations are fleeting and filled with hollow friendliness. Not wishing to spend the night with unhonest smiles alone, you two continue moving through the crowd.

When a servant approaches with trays of wine, you take two cups, handing one to Sabina with a quiet instruction. “Drink slowly. It keeps your hands occupied.”

Sabina accepts her cup, taking a quick sip. “It’s impressive how you do it.”

You cast her a small reassuring smile, petting her hand on your arm. “All practice, Sabi. Trust me, soon it’ll come as naturally to you as it does to me.”

She shakes her head softly, moving forward through the guests. “No, it’s not that. When you do it, it looks simple. Like you were born for this.”

With your eyes on the nobles around you, you say, “Thank you for the compliment, but I am born into this and so are you. Soon enough, you’ll handle it with ease. Just watch Marcus and me.”

Sabina nods silently, her steps quickening to match your pace as you lead her further into the hall. You come to stand before one of today's entertainments, beautiful exotic dancers. Their bodies move like water as they glide across the floor in a swirl of colors. As you two watch them, servants continue to offer delicacies, exotic fruits, pastries filled with honey, roasted meats sliced finely. You sample a bit of everything, savoring the fleeting pleasure of it.

As you take a small piece of a fruit you haven't heard from before, you nod subtly toward a woman standing near a pillar. "See Lady Amagus, the one in green? She’ll divorce her husband soon. He fathered a bastard with her youngest sister.”

Sabina’s eyes widen and she covers her mouth, momentarily forgetting to conceal her reaction. The shock fades quickly again. "By Jupiter... the humiliation."

You nod, your gaze following the woman. "I can’t imagine it. But she’s holding herself with outstanding grace despite it."

The two of you continue your way through the crowd, gossiping quietly as you walk. Eventually you stop near the archways leading to one of the many palace gardens. The fresh cool evening air is a welcome gift. You turn your back to the arches, enjoying the air brushing over your shoulders, your little sister quickly following suit.

Sabina leans in, her voice lowered as she speaks. “I’ve heard Julia Meranius will marry into House Heras. Not the son, but the father. Lady Heras just died and they’re already making wedding plans.”

You shake your head, your jaw tightening in disgust. "Tasteless. Makes you wonder if her illness was more than just a coincidence.” Sabina glares at you but you just shrug your shoulders. “Unfortunate, no less.”

The music changes and you allow yourself to breathe, savoring the cooling breeze that drifts through the heated hall. Unfortunately, the peace is short-lived, as from the corner of your eye, you catch Sabina’s gaze wandering, drifting upward to the side, to the golden dais.

The Emperors.

“Stop it.” You admonish her quietly, the calm mask on your face intact despite the warning in your tone. “It’s unwise to draw their notice.”

Sabina startles slightly, her eyes snapping back to the crowd immediately. “They look-” “Don’t.” You cut her off with a sharper edge, casting her a quick warning glare.

Your sister exhales softly, her lips pressing into a thin line as she lifts her cup, sipping in silence.

Shortly after your arrival, you’ve stolen a quick glance at them yourself, when moving through the crowd. You know what she was going to say.

That the twin emperors might as well be statues - cold, motionless, carved from arrogance itself. They can’t even bring themselves to feign interest in the spectacle before them.

You glance at Sabina, ensuring her focus remains elsewhere while your own thoughts betray you. War, death and bloodshed are known to be your ruler's true passions and it seems neither music nor wine can compare. True to their title, the mad twins. A name only uttered in the smallest of whispers in the darkest of Rome's corners.

With a slight shake of your head, you try to banish these traitorous thoughts. You’re not here to dwell on politics, that is reserved for your brother and father. You are here to enjoy the evening.

Sabinas' sudden firm grip on your arm quickly demands your attention. She leans closer to you. “Senator Domitianus just arrived.”

You take another slow sip of your wine, eyes flicking over to where the elderly senator stands. “Pay him no mind. He’s toothless. A few years left to live and even fewer alliances to call his own. In a few months, he’ll be nothing more than a whisper in the wind."

Sabina smiles faintly, her fingers tightening just slightly around your arm. It’s comforting in a way, this quiet understanding between you two. “Hold your head up high, Sabina. He will be soon forgotten, while we are still standing despite his efforts. We are proud and everyone shall see it.”

Up on the golden dais, the emperors still watch the growing crowd. Dundus is squeaking happily, performing tricks for his master, much to his delight.

Geta rolls his eyes, annoyed by the loud, little creature. Resting his head on his hand, he suppresses a sigh. This night really does feel endless, the music and chatter blending into a monotonous hum. His eyes wander over the dancers without much interest. He watches their performance for a moment, before a flicker of blue in his periphery catches his attention. At once his gaze shifts again, landing on the sisters he noticed earlier tonight.

The older sister stands out, not only in her appearance but in her demeanor. The woman in blue carries herself with effortless elegance, a composure that sets her apart from the peacocks who parade themselves before him and his brother. Unlike the other women in the hall, she seems unconcerned with drawing attention to herself, oozing quiet confidence as though she has nothing to prove.

“What do you think of them?” Geta asks, his voice low as he turns to his brother, though his gaze never leaves the sisters. “They seem out of place.”

Caracalla glances over at them, his face twisting into a smirk. “Which one caught your attention, the proud dove or the trembling chick?”

Geta’s lips twitch slightly but he didn’t look away. “The one in blue. There is something about her.”

“That so? And what would that be?” Caracalla asks, his eyes landing on the girls briefly again before looking back at the monkey. “She’s just some noble’s daughter, here to remind us that her family still exists. Probably hoping to secure a good match for herself or the skittish one by her side. And if you’re not careful, she’ll think you’re interested.”

As if sensing their eyes on her, the woman in blue turns her head slowly, her eyes sweeping the room until they nearly meet Geta’s. But before their gazes can lock, a familiar figure strides into the hall, stealing the emperor's attention.

“Fabius Verrinus.” Geta observes quietly, looking at his brother with a knowing grin. He straightens in lazy anticipation. “Finally, some entertainment.”

The brothers share a look of amusement. Senator Verrinus is infamous, known for his sharp mind and even sharper tongue. A man of the kind that thrives on attention and over the time the emperors have become eager spectators.

“Let’s see who he targets tonight,” Caracalla says, leaning forward with rekindled interest.

Verrinus exchanges a few words with a fellow senator when his gaze finds the two sisters. He pauses mid-sentence, his lips curving into a predatory smile. Geta's brows knit together, it seems the sisters haven’t only captured his interest.

The senator excuses himself, making his way towards the two women in purposeful strides. By the looks of it, the elder one notices him first, her posture tensing lightly in anticipation.

Verrinus' voice breaks though the music, loud enough to draw attention of the close by nobles. “Ah, the daughters of House Cassius! A vision, as always.”

The crowd parts slightly as he approaches the sisters. Fabius' voice is laced with honey but his smile fails to reach his eyes. “I must say it's quite surprising to see you in attendance tonight. I’ve heard your family is facing hard times. I heard your father struggles to keep his trading routes safe. Perhaps he should take notes from more capable men.”

His words are calculated, insults cloaked in feigned civility. The younger girl stiffens visibly, her wide eyes darting nervously between her sister and Fabius.

Caracalla chuckles quietly from his seat, leaning in to watch the exchange. “The little one looks like she’s about to cry.”

Geta ignores him, his eyes focused on the elder one. She is completely unmoved by Verrinus' words.

With a small step, she positions herself between the man and her sister, regarding the senator with a calm expression. “It is said that true nobility lies in enduring challenges with grace, my lord. Perhaps that is why my father commands respect, while others must resort to empty words to make themselves feel important.”

Geta arches an eyebrow, surprise evident in his face. Her boldness gains even more attention, subtle murmurs carry through the crowd of onlookers.

Verrinus' smile falters for a brief moment, his eyes narrowing at her. “Lady Y/N, surely you’ve heard about the rumors that your father-”

“Rumors,” she interrupts him, her tone smooth but direct. “Are like smoke, Senator. They may cloud the air for a time, but they vanish quickly when met with light. Only fools grasp at shadows in their search for relevance. It’s truly a blessing to know my family is above such things.”

The crowd’s whispers grow louder, encouraged by her eloquent retort. Verrinus opens his mouth to respond but before he can so much as utter a word, she silences him with a brilliant smile. “If you’ll excuse us, Senator. My sister and I would rather enjoy the tranquility of the garden than linger in such smoke.”

Without waiting for a response, she takes her sister’s arm and guides her through the archway to the garden, leaving Verrinus to stew in the bitter humiliation.

Caracalla bursts into laughter, clapping his hands once. “Oh, she’s good! Did you see his face? Like a fish gasping for air.”

Geta huffs a laugh, his gaze shifting briefly to his brother, then back to the archway where the sisters disappeared. Caracalla leans back, clapping his hands again. “That was entertaining. What did he say her name was?”

Geta gestures to a nearby squire. “The woman in blue, who is she?”

The squire bows deeply before answering. “That is Lady Y/N Cassius, Your Majesty. The oldest daughter of Senator Gaius Cassius. Their grandfather was a merchant who built the family’s fortune. Senator Cassius expanded their influence further before securing a seat in the Senate.”

“Merchants elevated to Patricians,” Caracalla sneers, his earlier respect dimming by the family's status. “Hardly remarkable.”

With his eyes lingeing on the archway to the gardens, Geta points out, “Remarkable enough to silence Verrinus,”

The squire explains further, “House Cassius faced challenges of late, but they are still highly respected by many.”

“Respected,” Geta repeats, deep in thought. “Yes, I see why.” He dismisses the squire with a wave of his hand. Leaning back slowly in his seat again, his expression turns unreadable.

He was no stranger to the name Cassius, the family isn’t unfamiliar but the woman herself is. Geta realizes now that he’s never truly encountered that woman before tonight. That in itself feels like a peculiar oversight on his part. How had he overlooked someone like her, surely he would have noticed her before tonight.

Caracalla's mind is already distracted again as he leans against the armrest, his little Dundus sitting on his shoulder. “You see that one over there?” He gestured idly toward a group of noblewomen, his voice dripping with indifference. “She’s been staring at me for the last hour. Desperate for attention, like the rest of them.”

Geta doesn't reply, his focus still drawn toward the garden. Verrinus' still standing off to the side, his face still flushed from embarrassment or rage, likely a combination of both. The man’s pride is clearly wounded and yet Geta feels no pity nor amusement. There is only a quiet, growing curiosity about the woman who had so effortlessly dismantled the most vicious man of the city.

“Are you even listening, brother?” Caracalla asks, tossing a grape towards him.

“Hm?” Geta responds absently.

Caracalla frowns at him, “Brooding about the girls, are you? Don’t waste your time.”

Geta’s expression remains impassive as he keeps silent, his mind still working. Their father is a senator and by the looks of it, his eldest daughter has more wit than half the Senate combined.

Eventually his eyes shortly move back to his brother before returning to the archways, “If her father’s political acumen matches her wit, House Cassius might prove useful.”

Caracalla laughs, loud enough to make a few nearby guests glance their way. “You always think in terms of politics, brother. Sometimes a woman is just a woman.”

“Sometimes, yes,” Geta agrees quietly. “But not this one.”

Caracalla laughs again, even louder this time. “And what of it? Haven’t you seen that little sister? That girl looked like a frightened fawn. I’ll take her, she seems easy to break. You can have the sharp-tongued one.”

Geta rolls his eyes, his tone dry. “How magnanimous of you.”

Caracalla only grins. “Her tongue will be the death of her. Verrinus won’t forget this. A shame, really. She’d make an entertaining court jester.”

“Or a useful ally,” Geta muses, swirling his wine thoughtfully.

“So? Are you going to sit there brooding all night, or are you going to follow her?” Caracalla teases lightly before tossing a grape into his mouth. “You look like a dog sniffing after a bone.”

“Unlike you, brother,” Geta finally tears his gaze away to meet Caracalla’s amused expression, “I don’t make a habit of chasing every pretty face. And I certainly don’t declare my intentions aloud in the presence of the entire court.”

Caracalla laughs, unbothered by the bait. “Oh, come now, Geta. Admit it - you’re intrigued. The noble merchant’s daughter, standing tall amidst the wolves. It’s practically a tale out of one of those tragic love poems you pretend not to enjoy.”

Geta ignores the jab about poetry, but his curiosity is undeniable. Caracalla's eyes met him again. “But don’t let it distract you from the reality of who we are.”

“And what’s that?” Geta asks, his annoyance clear in his tone.

“Gods,” Caracalla states simply, flashing a sharp grin. “And gods don’t chase mortal girls, no matter how clever they are.”

Geta drains his goblet, setting it down with a decisive clink. Rising from his seat, he adjusts the folds of his imperial robe.

“Oh, so you are going after her,” Caracalla drawls, leaning back with a smug grin. “Be careful, Geta. That rose seems to have thorns.”

Geta doesn’t spare his brother another glance, as he descends the dais. “I’d rather deal with thorns than another evening listening to you.”

The moon is rising behind the horizon, casting its brilliant silver glow across the sprawling opulent gardens of the imperial palace.

You dare to take a deep breath, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. Verrinus is such a coward. Instead of searching the confrontation he so clearly wished for with your father he chose the assumed easier opponent.

A mistake, clearly. Your father was a good teacher and you an even better student. Still, the confrontation was nerve racking and unnecessary. The rivalry between your two families shouldn't be so open on display.

“That was impressive.” Your little sister beams at you, awe reflecting in her eyes. “He was stunned into silence.”

You two come to stand in front of a marble fountain. You lean against the cool stone lightly, before addressing your concerns. “Father will have a wonderful time in the Forum next time.”

Sabina looks at you with a small smile, petting your shoulder. “But what else could we have done? Ignore him? Surly Father will understand.”

Of course he will but that doesn’t make it any easier. Verrinus is a man who holds grudges. Father will not be thrilled. This will have consequences.

“On another note,” Sabina’s smile grows, “Did mother tell you about her recent encounter with Verrinus' ex-wife?”

Getas' feet take him slowly through the garden, following where the sisters had disappeared earlier. The feast is still lively, the music and laughter echoing in the distance but the Emperor doesn’t take notice. His eyes are set onto the two figures in the middle of the garden.

His pace slows down as he watches the sisters. The younger one is grinning brightly, gesturing wildly as she tells a story. The older one, Y/N as he has learned, listens attentively. The soft blue seems more lavender now, shimmering in the pale light. Her face, shining with a genuine smile, looks like a painting brought to life. Beautiful.

She seems to notice eyes on her, her head turning towards him. In an instant the smile is gone, replaced by the expression of careful composure he came to admire earlier tonight.

“Lady Y/N,” Geta greets, his voice smooth but edged with curiosity. “A word?”

You dip into a respectful curtsy, your heart taking on speed again. Sabina quickly follows suit, though her gaze carefully darts around, as though searching for potential onlookers.

“Your Majesty,” you greet him back, tone carefully measured despite the storm in your chest. “I hope you are enjoying your feast.”

“I was,” Geta lies, his expression unreadable. “But I couldn’t help but notice you earlier. Not many would dare speak to Verrinus in such a way. You have a sharp tongue, though you wield it well. It’s rare to see such grace under pressure.”

Your heart keeps pounding violently in your chest, fearing guests might taking note of this exchange. With a tight smile on your lips, you reply, “Your Majesty is too kind.”

Geta steps closer, his attention fully on the woman in front of him. “And now I find myself wondering why I have not seen you before tonight.”

“You have, Your Majesty,” you dare to correct him carefully, “I am a rare attendant to the court but we were introduced at the Colosseum some years ago, though I wouldn’t expect you to remember. There are many faces demanding your attention. It would be understandable if mine was forgotten.”

Geta’s brow arches, the response only deepening his curiosity. “I assure you, Lady Y/N, your face is not one I would forget.”

His tone is almost playful but there is a weight behind his words that makes you feel even more on edge. “I am honored by your kindness, Your Majesty, but it is likely true. After all, I am one of many.”

Sabinas' eyes move toward a group of men lingering near the garden entrance, Fabius Verrinus among them. She subtly touches your wrist, a silent warning.

Your expression hardened ever so slightly, as you caught the men in the corner of your eye as well. Quickly you return your focus back to the Emperor. “I am honored to have spoken to you, Augustus, but I don’t want to keep you from the feast for too long. Surely you have more pressing matters than to concern yourself with a mere daughter of House Cassius.”

Geta’s eyes narrow subtly. Why does he get the feeling she is trying to leave? At the realization, his voice hardens, “I decide what matters concern me, Lady Y/N. And at this moment, you do.”

Your sister shifts nervously and you place a reassuring hand on her arm. “I am flattered by your attention, but surely it is misplaced.” You attempt a soft laugh. “I doubt I am deserving of it.”

Getas' jaw clenches faintly, “I disagree. You’ve spoken of the arena, do you attend often?”

“Always.” You tell him, a genuine small smile cracking through your mask. “I have never missed a game since my father became senator. I find the games to be fascinating.”

“Fascinating?” The Emperor repeats, intrigued. “Most noblewomen I know prefer the banquets to the arena. Why do you favor the games?”

You hesitate, sensing the weight of his curiosity. “The arena is a place of stories, of triumphs and tragedies. It shows the strength and spirit of Rome and it reminds us of the cost of greatness.”

Slowly Sabina takes your arm, applying soft pressure. A few nobles decided to take a stroll in the garde as well, although they are out of earshot, their discreet glances don't escape the young Cassius.

Your back straightens instinctively. “The hour grows late and I fear we’ve already taken too much of your time, Augustus. With your permission, my sister and I will return to the palace to find our father.”

“You seem eager to leave.” Geta observes, his voice calm but with an edge of suspicion. He steps forward, blocking her path slowly, a silent challenge. He watches her for any crumb of reaction, anything that might shatter her controlled composure.

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” You sling your arm around your sisters, offering a casual smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “But my sister tires easily. It would be remiss of me not to see her safely back to our father.”

Sabina is about to open her mouth to speak, ready to elaborate on the excuse but you subtly squeeze her arm, silencing her before she can undo your carefully chosen words.

Geta’s jaw tightens as he considers the women, his piercing gaze flickering between the two. That little one didn’t look the least bit tired only a few moments ago. A very poor excuse, one Geta recognizes for what it is: a dismissal.

He is the emperor. He does not get dismissed.

Hot frustration blooms in Geta’s chest at her defiance. He considers insisting her to stay, forcing her to remain in his presence, but something about her makes him hesitate.

He has the power to make her yield, to bend her will with a single order. Yet, for now, he lets it go. With a controlled breath, he eventually steps aside, allowing them to pass. “Good night, Lady Cassius.”

The two sisters bow down again in unison, wishing him a good night as well, before walking towards the palace.

The moment you move past him, your grip on your sister’s arm tightens like a vice. With swift, elaborate steps, you steer her back towards the archways. She is about to look back over her shoulder but you tug her forward.

“Move,” you almost bark under your breath, the pressure of the night’s interactions finally catching up to you.

Sabina, despite it, leans in closer, her voice teasingly soft, “He’s handsome.”

With slightly hurried steps, you return to the Atrium, your grip is unrelenting, “I’ve noticed.”

Geta stands still, rooted in place with his mood souring as he watches the women leave. The bitter taste of rejection lingering on his tongue. All the women in the atrium would fall over themselves for his attention, desperate for any scrap of it, but not her.

She evadied him at every turn, so politely and as elegantly, it wasn’t just frustrating - this was fascinating. For a brief, aching moment, Geta is consumed by the thought. But then it shifts into something darker, something sharper. He knows he will see her again. And when he does, he’ll make sure she won't slip through his grasp again so easily.

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icallhimjoey · 10 months ago

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please bestie i want some soft love that's so second nature joe doesnt even have his attention with you whilst he gives it, please can you write something like that?

im not allowed to write right now because work and stress and boundaries and mental health etc etc so 🥰fuck you🥰 for this Wordcount: 1.8K

---

Cotton Soft Touches Gentle Voices Smooth

“What are you doing?”

You barely even heard Joe ask the question from across the room. You were so buried in whatever was happening on TV, focus completely zoomed in, mind somewhere else entirely. It took Joe another try for you to register the question directed at you.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” you turned your head to Joe before your eyes followed and for a moment, you just slowly blinked at him. Something about his face combined with the fact that it really took you a minute to find yourself back in the room made you smile. You were so cosy.

“Watching TV.” you answered innocently, because you were, eyes back on the screen already.

You were warmly nestled into the sofa, curled up, knees pulled in, all comfortable in your white ribbed cotton pyjamas. The throwpillows and blankets on the sofa created the perfect nest for you to happily curl up into.

Snug.

Soft ambient light from several lamps placed in strategic corners lit up the room just enough. If you stood and opened the curtains a bit more, you could still catch the faint and fading oranges of the sunset.

You were shower fresh, limbs covered by white clean cotton, nose still a little cold from the difference in temperature after getting out of the hot stream, and wet hair cool where it touched your skin.

But you felt so warm.

So fucking cosy.

When you’d walked back into the living room post shower, skin glossy and wet hair brushed back, Joe had installed himself at the dinner table with his laptop and a notebook.

He’d cleared away the mess from dinner and had turned his spot into a desk.

“Just need to do these e-mails,” he said after you’d let your arms curl around him from behind, arms that he grabbed hold of for a second, and you kissed the top of his head.

“Will only be a minute.”

You’d left him to it then, not minding that Joe had some work to do, just happy that he was in the same room instead of hidden away in what he called the office and you called the guest bedroom.

The ‘only a minute’ easily turned into an hour plus. Joe kept busy on both his computer and his phone, and would sometimes scribble some things down onto paper. There was a phone call or two, just quick “Sorry to call so late, but have you seen the...” and, “Hey, yea, I'm just reading it now, can I call you back in a minute?” type things.

Joe became background noise to you the second you snuggled up, and similarly the low sounds coming from the TV were just a nice reminder that Joe wasn’t alone.

But then, halfway through typing a response to an e-mail, something in Joe’s peripheral vision caught his attention.

Something moving slowly.

A little rhythmically.

When he peeked over his laptop screen and saw his girlfriend looking just about the most comfortable she’d ever looked, he didn’t even think you were aware that you were doing it.

In your layers of soft cream fabrics, head slumped to the side, Joe saw how you let your fingers softly skim over the area below your ear. They danced in circles and lines by your jaw, onto your cheek just a little before trailing back to your neck and—

That was what Joe always did.

That’s where Joe let his fingers draw shapes.

He would brush some hair from your face and would then let his fingertips linger, and it always made you hum. Made you relax. Gave you tingles that made your hearing go funny for a second.

Joe watched you lazily self soothe, and after a moment he decided that he’d actually done enough work. He could finish this e-mail tomorrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm? Watching TV.”

Your eyes were back on the screen before Joe could’ve even said anything about how you were touching yourself.

It was nothing sexual - not really. Not what he was witnessing right now anyway. He imagined it just felt nice.

He closed his laptop and got up from his seat, and without looking away from the TV, you moved to make space for Joe next to you, knowing he’d make his way over to press himself into your side.

Joe smiled as you moved blankets aside but kept that one hand near your ear, index finger mapping out your hairline towards the nape of your neck and back.

Instead of sitting down though, Joe pushed a knee into the sofa right next to your thigh and placed his fingers right were yours were, pushing them aside.

“I do this,” Joe said as he hovered over you, and you grinned as you let your head fall to the side more. “This is my job.”

Joe tickled his fingers along your soft skin, fresh and clean from the shower, and it only took a few seconds for you to sigh into his touch.

It was nicer when Joe did it.

“S’nice?” Joe murmured, still with just one knee on the sofa, and you hummed, eyes closed, nodding.

“Is nicer when you do it.”

“Yea?”

Joe leant forward to press a kiss to your cheek, getting you just under your eye, and then he moved to sit down next to you.

After a shuffle of throws, pillows, and limbs, you found yourself under Joe’s arm, curled up into his side.

You were comfortable before, but this would always be infinitely better.

“Hmm, you smell nice.” Joe commented after taking a moment to press his nose into your still damp hair.

“Yea? What do I smell like? Shampoo?” you whispered, voice not wanting to be any louder.

Joe easily bit, taking the invitation to get another real good whiff of you, his whole face now pressing into the crook of your neck.

You relished the attention, feeling fuzzy on the inside, heat blooming in your chest.

“Yea, sort of lemony… all fresh and clean.”

You blushed and were unable to hide your smile as you settled together for some TV watching, warm bodies pressed together, always fitting just right somehow.

Joe’s arm rested on the back of the sofa and bent around your head just right for his fingers to play. To touch the skin around your ear like you’d been doing before. To lightly trail and leave goosebumps down your whole body.

You could easily fall asleep like this, legs intertwined, head on his chest.

You lazily watched TV in silence for a while and if Joe was going to keep up the barely there shapes drawn down your neck you knew you actually would fall asleep.

It was becoming difficult to keep your eyes open, every blink a comfortable invitation to just keep them closed, but then the soft buzzing of Joe’s phone pulled you both from your haze.

Joe had your earlobe in between his fingers when he answered, and for a moment you were fully expecting him to get up. Move to where his laptop lay shut to open it once more to maybe finish something he hadn’t yet.

But when you tried to sit up a little for Joe to slip out of this cocoon you’d created, you felt his arm tense. He wasn’t letting go of the soft skin of your ear and to make sure you stayed put, he bent a leg to keep yours in place.

“It’s past ten, mate,” Joe answered and although you didn’t know who was calling him, just from his tone of voice you knew it wasn’t work related.

Joe gently rubbed your earlobe between his fingers and it felt so nice, it turned the world blurry as you unfocused your eyes.

When you relaxed back into him, sinking into the line of his body, Joe tilted his head down to look at you, barely catching your little smile but happy to see you were still enticed by whatever was happening on TV.

You weren’t though.

Not really.

Because as Joe spoke, he let his fingers continue what they’d been doing and if he thought you were able to try to follow his conversation as well as what you were watching whilst he made you melt with his touch, he was wrong.

You were bad at multitasking on a good day, and you knew Joe was too. The fact that he was somehow able to keep you lax and floating whilst simultaneously being mentally present for this phone call was impressive.

Joe laughed through casual conversation with a friend who had some questions about future plans they’d made. Their chat quickly turned into a hey-now-that-I’ve-got-you-on-the-phone catch up.

The low vibrations from his smooth voice were nice. You felt them where your face rested on his chest and relished in the tender love you were receiving that felt like a second nature sort of thing.

“No, I’m just at home. Watching TV.”

Not being mentioned suddenly made Joes fingers feel a little scandalous. Like the person on the phone wasn’t allowed to know you were there and how he was making you feel right now.

It got a little worse when you felt how Joe let his fingers trail down your neck to disappear into your pyjama top where they slowly caressed over your collarbone.

Your voice let a little noise escape when his hand snuck back up again, finding its way into your hair, and Joe chuckled lowly.

You let yourself balance on the borders of consciousness, half asleep with thoughts so far removed from where you were, yet half laser focused on Joe’s fingers and where they tickled your skin.

Unsure of when you’d drifted off, or when Joe had finished his phone call, the next thing you registered was a soft and low far away, “Have I done a plait?” that pulled you back into the room a little more.

With your eyes still closed you reached a heavy hand up to feel what was essentially just a twirled strand of hair, not a plait at all.

You couldn’t hide the little smile that spread at how adorable you thought it was that Joe’d just been playing with your hair and thought he’d actually done something.

He hadn’t.

He just made you feel loved, which was actually far better than a plait.

“Mhm,” you hummed approvingly, snuggling up into Joe more, understanding that it was likely much smarter to just get up and find your way into bed, but you’d quite literally never been more comfortable before.

“I’ve done a plait.” Joe whispered, gleefully proud of himself and making sure that you knew, that you’d heard him, give him some praise.

“Well done.” You lied, because he’d not done a plait, but that was okay.

You weren’t going to shoot yourself in the foot, because you were about to sink back into sleep and there was just one thing that’d make you feel even more comfortable.

That would send you right back off into sleep.

“Do another.”

---

The Taglisted

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add yourself

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfiction #joe quinn x Y/N #joseph quinn x Y/N #icallhimjoey #cotton soft touches gentle voices smooth

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fawninthesnow · 4 months ago

Text

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞: 1 | Maternal! figure | Caracalla & Geta

Summary: You visit the young princes in the palace.

Warnings: Fluff, (slight) angst

Work count: 400~

a/n: Keep in mind they are around 14-16 here and orphaned already. After looking through some deleted scenes from the script, I found that all the boys want is to be adopted and loved. Here is something short for that with the holidays and all.

More on my Master list! + follow & like pls

Caracalla hovered over his brother's slumbering form in bed and gently shook his arm. “Is she coming?” The young man nudged him harder. “Are you awake?”

Geta groaned and turned over. “I am now.”

“Is she coming?”

“She said she would, but I am unsure.” He groaned in the dark of his bedroom. He reached for a candle, “You need to go back to bed. Come on.” Caracalla trailed behind his brother as they made their way down the hall. A noise emanating from the emperor’s foyer piqued their interest. The two boys cautiously approached the source of the sound.

You stood in front of the fire, removing the fur coat from your back. “Yes, that would be perfect.” You replied as a servant offered tea. “Are the boys asleep?” The two peeked into the room from the corridor.

“Yes, the princes are still in their beds.”

“She is here early.” Caracalla whispered with a giggle.

“I can hear you two.” Your voice was rich and velvety as you called the two out. The two brothers stepped out from the shadow of the pillars. “Come here.”

****

You held Geta to your bosom as Caracalla lay on your lap. Your fingertips buried in the eldest son’s hair; your opposite hand rubbed Caracalla’s back. “They treat us like we are our father.” Geta murmured.

“The people of Rome should be grateful for you two.” Caracalla turned up, staring at you. “Rome, she will soon see, my boys.”

Geta closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet aroma of lilies and vanilla that surrounded you. Your skin was smooth and sun-kissed, reminiscent of freshly harvested honey. Caracalla nestled against your thigh, soaking in the warmth emanating from you. “The people are now celebrating with their families.”

“Yes, the winter solstice.” Caracalla leaned close, speaking softly into your clothing. Meanwhile, his brother stepped outside onto the open veranda, gazing down at the bustling city square below. The square was alive with people—some joyful, some inebriated, and others lost in dance.

“You both used to celebrate with your parents, yes?” The two went silent. Your fingertips cupped Caracalla’s face. “Well, you can celebrate with me.” Geta accepted your soft gaze finally, looking into your eyes. “Ah, I nearly forgot. I brought gifts from home!” You stood and Caracalla followed you.

From your trunk, you take out a few velvet boxes. “I, I have been reading your…your letter at night.” Caracalla fished for a worn paper from his robe.

“Aren’t you cute…” You present the two of them with a variety of gifts. “I have missed you both so much.”

Part 2 <3 Happy holidays, everyone!!

More on my Master list!

follow & like pls

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sacklerscumrag · 9 months ago

Text

Metalhead Next Door

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Notes: hello :) i got the sudden urge to write for eddie munson today for some reason lol

i'm apologizing in advance for how bad it probably is. please keep in mind that i havent written anything in a long time, let alone for eddie

but if you do read it for whatever reason, thank you i love you im giving you a big kiss rn <3

Warnings: neighbors to lovers, jealous!reader, pining, oral sex (f receiving)

Word Count: 1.4K

A loud rumble from a run-down truck rang outside your trailer window, jolting you from sleep. The book you abandoned some hours ago slid off your chest as you sat on the bed to peek outside. Snow continued to fall and hardened on the window sill from earlier that morning, each flake a silent whisper against the palm of your hand as you held it out in the icy air. Metal music blared through the familiar window across from yours, drawing your attention toward the warm glow coming from inside. An overpowering scent of weed lingered between the two trailers—something you'd found comfort in within the last couple of months of living next door to the Munsons. Of course, you'd heard the rumors where Eddie was concerned, and you'd have to be blind not to see how people treated him around here. Everyone ignored him, wrote him off as a freak while telling the tale of the long-haired devil-worshiping drug dealer to anyone who would listen. But after almost a year of living next to Eddie, you realized that couldn't be further from the truth.

The first night, Eddie crept up on your front porch when you weren't looking, making himself comfortable on the wooden staircase, offering whatever joint he was nursing—all leather jacket and wild hair with a grin that could warm you to your core if you let yourself admire him for a little too long. Since then, you'd meet Eddie outside once everyone had gone to bed and let his wild D&D stories carry you through the night. The world around you seemed to soften around Eddie, swallowed up by the relentless comfort of his presence. Even when he was gone, one last tiny blaze of warmth and light continuously flickered in your chest for him.

The night air was crisp, making you cling to your blanket that much tighter as you curled up in bed. You nearly jumped when you heard a thump against your bedroom window, a snowball crumbling as another landed against the window pane.

"You're not gonna make me wait out here until I freeze, are you?" Eddie's voice trickled in from outside, making you smile before quickly opening the window and letting him climb in. "It's fucking freezing out there. Hey, sweetheart." Your heart warmed at the nickname as he brushed past you, flopped down on your mattress, and picked up your abandoned book. His hair looked like he'd run his hand through it far too many times today; the snow still crunched as he crossed one boot over another as scattered icicles clung to his jacket's leather and denim patches.

"Well, it's no D&D book, but-." Eddie teased before you cut him off by snatching the book, placing it on your bedside table, and settling beside him. He smirked, clearly pleased with himself for getting to you so quickly.

"So what's new with you, Munson?" You said as you sank next to him, sneaking glances whenever he wasn't looking.

"Same shit, different day. I learned a new Metallica song last week, gonna play it at our gig."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I'll play it for you sometime." You smiled at that. "Oh shit, I was supposed to call Dustin." Eddie dramatically sat up on your bed and sighed.

"Dustin? Was it important?"

"Yeah, sort of; he's been trying to set me up with this girl. Or was it Steve setting me up? All I know is I went out with her last week, and now I gotta be at Family Video tomorrow at 6 to pick out a movie for whatever the fuck a double date movie night is." Your heart sank. Eddie was being set up; he was dating someone. And it wasn't you. Figures. He would never see you as more than a friend; all you ever did was hang out and talk about D&D; he could do that with any of his other friends. This shouldn't surprise you, but that didn't make it sting any less than it did.

"Hey, you okay?" Eddie noticed your silence amidst his rambling. You were seemingly lost in your thoughts as you toyed with your fingers. Something had shifted; your warm presence from just a minute ago felt frigid and distant.

"Yeah." You wiped the tears welling in your eyes and stood from the bed, suddenly needing to put as much distance between you as possible. "Just tired, I'm just gonna go to bed." The mere thought of Eddie snuggling up on a couch with some girl made your chest feel like it would cave in any second. You quickly turned toward your window to open it, unable to face him without fear of bursting into tears.

"Sweetheart, if I did something to piss you off, I'm sorry."

"You didn't just please…I want to go to bed." Your tone was firmer than Eddie had ever heard from you. He should go, head out through the window, and call it a night. But he couldn't. "Please." Your voice slightly cracked, and with it, a piece of Eddie's heart at the realization. When you managed to turn around, his chest was inches from your face, tenderness filling those big, brown, beautiful eyes darting back at you. His ring-clad hand cupped your cheek, skimming over your skin delicately like you would break under his touch.

Before you knew it, your mouth was on his. Your arms around his neck; he tasted like cigarettes and mint from the gum he anxiously chewed before you came in. It was intoxicating. Chills spread across your skin when his hands slid across your waist, pressing you closer to him. It didn't take long for Eddie's need for you to become apparent with feverish hands pushing you back until the desk bumped against your ass; Eddie tapped your thigh to signal you to sit on the hard surface, standing in between your legs and trailing his lips down to your neck and chest. Your hands tangled in his curls, breathing in as much of him as possible before he pulled away slightly.

"Eddie." You paused, studying his face for a moment; face flushed, hair tussled, and lips swollen and pink from your own; he was perfect. "I'm sorry. I should've told you how I felt, I-. Eddie's lips interrupted you with a searing but brief kiss as he spoke against your lips.

"Don't you dare apologize. I've been waiting so fucking long for this." A smile spread across your face, and relief flooded your chest. You tugged on his vest to draw him back to your lips as his hands began to knead your thighs, core clenching at the feeling. Whimpers escaped you from just his lips on your skin. His mouth worked its way along your neck, lifting your shirt and continuing to work his way down until he was kneeling before you.

"Can I?" You nodded as Eddie's ring-clad fingers hooked onto your shorts, pulling them off and discarding them on the floor along with your underwear. He hooked one leg over his shoulder and kissed the delicate skin of your inner thigh. "God, you have no idea how bad I've needed to taste you." Your breath hitched when you felt his tongue begin expertly working along your folds, then back toward your clit. It wasn't long before he slipped a finger inside you, then another. The chill of his rings pressing on your most sensitive spots as he plunged them in and out of you had you arching your back and squeezing your thighs tighter around Eddie. Your chest heaved; every whimper and moan that escaped was like music to his ears. Eddie consumed you like a man starved; it was like the more pleasure he drew from you, the more he wanted. He couldn't get enough. He teased your clit between his lips and began to suck hard. Eddie's movements were relentless. Your eyes screwed shut, and your core tightened until it snapped. Eddie's hand dug into the flesh of your hips to hold you in place as you squirmed against him until you were practically pushing him away. He could see the blissed look on your face as he stood and wrapped your legs around his waist, carrying you over to bed. Once you were settled, Eddie stepped toward the still-open window.

"Don't go," you whispered; a pang of fear hit you. Eddie smirked to himself before shutting the window securely, throwing his jacket on your nightstand, and crawling in beside you.

"Don't worry, sweetheart." He placed a kiss on your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you #hellfire club

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musedblues · 9 months ago

Text

AMORE ~ FATI (part 1)

a/n: wait until the movie? nah. haven't stopped thinking about this freaky fucker since the trailer dropped! eat up, babes. also the horny police called and there is a warrant out for my arrest.

description: after winding up in a crime related to the royals, geta strikes up a deal with you.

warnings: down right hoe shit, sexual descriptions, gruesome descriptions, minimal historical research/ distant memories from high school test, cliff hanger. MINORS DNI

Part 1 of 2 (at least)

///

The afternoon was like any other, the day your life changed. You awoke to an empty home, gathered your cart of crafts, and headed to the stalls. You sold your paintings there and begged the clouds to cover the swelter of the sun.

For your landscape art, you accepted coin. You accepted food. You accepted a jeweled ring that afternoon, just as well. An exchange like it wasn't out of the ordinary. You pawned the adornment for cash that evening, and made the trek back home. With plans to paint pictures into the night, to sell off the next day.

Your home was quaint, once big enough for two, now only you haunted the halls. The man you'd once been forced to marry had been dead for many months now, and a certain freedom was found in his absence. But a certain monotony about your routine seemed to predetermine the days ahead as far as you could see them. So, you painted.

As you fiddled with brushes and stained your grey dress with speckles of deep amber, a bursting knock came across your door. The guest gave you no time to greet them before turning into an intruder. Two royal guards burst into your home, shouting and grabbing you and dragging you away. All so quickly.

You went fighting. You cursed as they held you in a carriage. You demanded their silence broken. But they remained stone faced as you begged to know why you'd been abducted from your home.

Your captors rode into the city, past the colosseum, right through the gates that led to the home of the reigning family. Your heart hammered in fear, knowing what you knew about the rulers. Caracalla and Geta had only just taken over the reign of their father, their mother looming near, picking sides; as you understood. Since the change in leadership, Rome hadn't suffered en mass. But a growing dread hung heavy over the population, knowing the brothers were struggling to join together in power. Knowing their clash divided not only their power, but all of Rome.

You were grabbed at once more, forced out of the carriage and into the great hall of the estate. Gold and red statues lined the entrance. A plum rug stretched before your feet, a welcoming cushion as the rest of your senses were drowned by harshness. Before you, pacing near his throne, Geta waited.

You'd seen him and his brother before, trailing behind their father at rallies. Lingering near the stands at games. You'd always let your gaze settle on Geta, if ever you'd seen him. You'd always been drawn to gawk at the trimness of his figure. The enigmatic expressions he would pull. The presence he commanded. He was easy to admire, from afar. And the towns ladies often gossiped of how alluring he could be up close, if they were lucky enough to be invited to do so. No one spoke as much of Caracalla. In his name, fear and loathing often followed.

With a glare in your direction, Geta ceased pacing. He nodded toward his guards to relinquish their hold on you.

"What is all this?" You demanded, refusing to bow or humble yourself before this ruler in anyway. How could you dare offer up respect when little to none had been offered to you? Geta seemed taken aback, for a flash. His brows furrowed and his lips parted in shock, at your boldness. But then a grin flickered across his lips and his pacing started up once more.

"You're in possession of something of mine, no?" Geta alluded. Want as you might've to argue, to proclaim your innocence, you were too baffled. What could he possibly be on about?

"You were seen taking a ring as payment today, at your stall." Geta boomed, voice filling the room, echoing off the tall painted ceilings. He started into a story, then, that made things clearer. You learned that ring was a family heirloom, stolen by a servant only one night ago. That he'd sold it to a carriage driver for freedom. You learned that servant had been slain. But the ring was still gone. And you were the last person seen with the distinct bluish jewel in your palm. There were many a shopper along the street market this morning. Several were looking into your stall as you accepted the ring for payment. You couldn't deny the action. But you didn't have it any longer, anyhow.

"I exchanged it for money. With the sellers near the river." You decidedly conceded. "I've got nothing more to do with this now release me." Your voice shook, out of fear for your fate, and anger for your circumstance.

"Names." Geta stalled his meander, a few steps away from you. His dark eyes had cast across your figure before boring right into yours. You couldn't look right at him without feeling a shiver up your spine. And you were not about to let on that Geta had this effect on you. So, you cast your gaze to the hands at his sides, and scoffed at what you saw.

"Why? Are the rings already on your fingers not good enough? You cannot be allowed to want for what you don't have, if you're in possession of more than enough already."

"What's mine is mine! No one else's." Geta yelled, keeping his eye's boring into yours. His voice shook through the halls, and fueled your rage further. Your rage for your circumstance, and for that of this nation.

"Your greed shall poison this empire." You spat at the man.

"An empire I was born to rule cannot be soured, destiny has been at work since my conception and my father's before me." Geta grinned, an all-knowing sort of smile that was meant to belittle you, you were certain. But you couldn't be made to feel so worthless.

"We are all born to die, your highness."

"Your opposition will result in bleakness if you do not answer my call for this information. Give me their names." Geta shouted, still inches from you. Geta was giving you a chance to answer. And that shocked you. You voiced your opposition only because you thought you were surely moments away from being killed, and refused to die without standing your ground. But here you still stood. Geta was letting you.

As taken aback by his patience as you were, his arrogance and demanding shouts were only deepening your desire to withhold. To stand resolute. Who were you to ruin some poor people's lives over a bit of jewelry? Your silence was deafening, each passing moment tensing at Geta's shoulders. You watched his jaw clench, you watched his eye's dance between your own. You smiled.

"Get her out of my sight." Geta hissed, waving his men to capture you once more. You rolled your eyes as they grabbed at you. "Keep her in the cellar until she starts talking. Do not, however... take drastic measures."

You shot a perplexed frown the rulers way as he shook his head in your direction. A scowl turned Geta's lips down. But as he watched you begin to growl in unwillingness to go, his smile curled to life.

"And what of you? What punishments are you allotted?" You yelled as the guards dragged you away. Geta kept his furrowed smirk pointed at you, a puzzled sparkle in his eye.

///

The cellar smelled damp as it felt, your feet squelching along the dirt paths. You'd been taken past a row of prisoners, all in various stages of wither. You closed your eyes too them, offering silent prayers for their fates in passing.

"In you go," A guard shoved you toward the back of a small cell, chuckling as he locked the barred off door. "When you're ready to talk, we just might be around to listen. Let's hope we don't forget about you all the way over in this corner."

How had you ended up here? Hours ago, you'd been at peace in your quiet cottage, paint brush in hand. Now you sat on a wooden bench, senses filled with cold. How were the gods so cruel? Why did you have to accept that stupid ring? Why didn't you admire it longer? Maybe you would've found evidence of its owner, somehow, in the royal gleam of the thing. Maybe you could have returned it with honor, the promise of your home awaiting you. But none of that was happening. Now, you were unsure of everything. But you weren't going to go down without a fight. You weren't going to rat out the innocent fellow you pawned with, for simply surviving another day of this confounding life. You weren't eager to play into the rulers demands for more, as if he didn't have enough. As if he deserved to be granted assurance when himself and his brother offered Rome none.

Hours must've passed. Guards floated by time and again, jeering at you through the bars of your cell. As they passed you by, the voices grew louder yet, giving other prisoners hell. You heard shouts and screams. You heard begging for torture to cease. You heard the stabbing of flesh and the gurgle of blood. You heard the quiet from your own cell. Why were you being spared of such treatment? Why was your confinement different from the others?

As you began to question your own sanity, and the fate the gods had in store for you, a guard was passing by your cell once more. He stopped there, jamming a key into the lock. This was it. Your turn had come. You braced to be berated as the man reached in and yanked you to stand. The guard demanded you to follow as he dragged you through the cellar the same way you'd come in.

Suddenly you were in the great hall again. The purple carpet like clouds under your step. There were servants arranging decor as if an event were to be taking place soon. Your observation of the hall was short lived as the single guard dragged you up a marble staircase. The home was vast, and full of well painted statues and portraits and windows. The sun was long gone from the sky. It had to be later than midnight. As you soaked up your surroundings and let your imagination run wild, you tried not to worry how you'd be executed. You tried to remind yourself that death waited for no one. You tried to remember the last picture you'd been painting, a field of sheep under a setting sun.

Your captor stalled before a great carved door, twisting the handle. Your captor dragged you inside.

Candles lit a room with a bed in the middle, the biggest you'd ever seen. The amber glow of the space was welcoming, despite the terror that resided about your situation. Beyond the bed was a table full of wine, bottles of all sort decorated the clothed stand. Before the table, was Geta. His slump on a stool shifted when he saw you. Moving to stand, the man dressed more scarcely than before was slow to approach you. His expression unreadable.

"Leave us." He demanded, pointing the guard to exit the room. The man's parting left chills in his wake. What was to become of you now? What was this all about?

Geta did not stay still at your front. He instead let his head roll from one side to the other as his pace turned back toward the cloth covered table. Among the bottles of wine were a scattered few chalices. He filled one with a drink. And then another.

"We caught the carriage driver who initially accepted the ring." Geta announced, back toward you all the while. You admired the tone of his shoulders, as one was left uncovered by his robe. The cloth stayed tied among his waist. "We also captured the man you pawned the ring off to. We have the ring." Geta continued, bringing both cups of wine over to where you stood. Ah, so poison was to be your execution?

Accepting the chalice in a fist, you stayed silent all the while. Geta locked his tired gaze on yours and kept talking.

"The ring was my fathers. Something he left just to me. Caracalla was given finery as well, just for himself. We do not do well with equity, my brother and I." Geta raised his wine for a sip and kept his dark gaze locked on your own. His eye's were red from lack of sleep, it seemed. His eyes were bright, all the while, as they peered into yours. This leader had a way of drawing you in. This leader had a way of making you forget you were probably on the verge of slaughter or worse.

"And while this mission to hunt down the ring has been my mission alone, Caracalla's wrath has still been promoted since he learned something of our fathers had gone missing." Geta explained.

"What's become of the carriage driver and the man I sold your ring to?" You dared to wonder.

"The servant was killed as you know, by Caracalla's own sword. The driver has been exiled at my command." Geta said. "But the man you sold it too was killed as well, by my brother's guards. Before I could get to him. You see my wrath is often equal to Caracalla's. But my bloodlust isn't as insatiable. And I can see his way of violence has stirred fear among our people. Would you agree?"

You had to nod.

"I do not wish death upon you. Blood should only be shed in battles and in honor. You were a simple moving part. You should not deserve to be killed in the crossfire. But you should pay for stumbling where you dared not have stepped. Otherwise, Caracalla will catch wind that I let you slip away without a punishment. And he will do worse."

"So, what is my fate?" You wondered, clutching the wine in your fist, unmoving. Mind whirring. Had you really been shown a backhanded kindness by the ruler you'd always believed to be more unyielding? His already alluring nature becoming more attractive as you understood this to be true.

"Exile seems drastic, yes. But it's an option." Geta raised his glass to gesture, moving to pace before a cushioned chaise. This room, his room, wanted for nothing. There was space and comfort and treasure promised throughout its expanses.

"Then there could be a fine. You'd be meant to pay every fortnight." Geta reasoned drinking once more. Still not entirely trusting of your own wine, you rested the chalice on a nearby chest, crossing your arms with a scowl. As if this Empire needed more money.

"I'm too poor to keep that up." You spat, expressing displeasure in your tone. Geta raised a brow and frowned when he realized your implication, how much work needed to be done for the betterment of the population. With a sigh, Geta cast his gaze about the room. When his pace turned naturally closer to you, his eye's locked on your face as a realization dawned across his. Geta let a smirk hint at his lips as his dark eyes glanced into yours.

"There is... another way..." Geta implied something you didn't see coming. As the man continued his languid back and forth, his gaze stayed ever fixed on your figure. And you hadn't really been ashamed of the glances you'd stolen of his, this day. He was drawing closer, as if to entice you. He didn't need to know that it wouldn't have taken much seduction. He didn't need to know that you'd already been wondering what it would be like to untie the robe at his waist.

Geta didn't need to know that you were becoming less wrought with terror by the second. You'd hoped he'd never known you were afraid, before. But now, in the flickering candlelight of his lavish room, you saw him. The persona Geta had put on all these years, all this time, was just that. You could see plain as day. Geta was full of anger, yes. But he seemed full of so much more, to you, now, too. The man seemed to hold a brewing mixture of depth about him that felt so obvious all of a sudden. Now, more endeared to the ruler, and just as attracted, you made up your mind.

"Seeing as I have no funds... let's just get this over with." You sighed, feigning impatience for the wrong reasons.

Geta circled you, eyeing you up. You wanted to melt under how hot his gaze was. But right now this was all happening far too slowly. Your interest had skyrocketed. But your time had also been heavily wasted here. You had plans, after all. He'd held you captive long enough.

"Sit down. I'm tired of waiting." You barked at him, shoving his shoulder so he collapsed into the chaise. Geta fell seated at your order but looked up to you with an irate sneer. An anger passed over his expression but morphed into curiosity in a blink.

"Seeing as to how I'm getting what I want out of you, I don't mind giving into your demands." Geta announced, as if to remind you he was the one calling the shots. You couldn't help but grin, struggling not to roll your eyes at the man's obsession with power. Humming so he knew you heard him, you settled either knee at Geta's sides.

As the ruler's fingers reached to grab at your hips, your day flashed before your imagination. Funny how life worked. How days could be spent so monotonously for so long only to become upturned and scattered about the next. You never imagined you'd find yourself straddling one of Rome's emperors over a payment for your latest painting.

Geta's kiss surprised you. Not the fact that it was bruising, and harsh. But the fact that it was. You assumed this would go quickly, without much effort put into anything besides a quick and vulgar shagging. Granted, his lips didn't press into yours longer than a couple minutes, before his teeth were digging into your neck. But the way his hands wandered to grab at your limbs and claw at your skin was a welcomed affection you had not expected.

When you finally got to untie the robe around his waist, you couldn't help but admire the build of his core, the shape of his figure. You'd heard girl's oggle over the emperor before, he was no stranger to trysts of most kind. You'd heard girl's trade deadly details of their nights spent with Geta, his lust unbridled. But the sight of his body bare before yours was better than any rumor you'd caught wind of.

As you lowered yourself into Geta's lap, he was quick to rock his hips against yours with force you had been bracing for. His grip on your hips threatened to turn you over, but you'd be damned if you let him gain complete control. You rose a hand to the man's head, raking a set of fingers through his hair. Your fingers curled to grip with perhaps too much gusto, and your hips rolled to force Geta back, more fully seated.

You heard the man let out a hoarse curse as his grip lightened, as he accepted your dominance. Did this really count as payment if you were getting more out of it?

Geta pushed you away when it was all said and done, a steady hand stayed holding your side as he nudged you off of his lap. You maneuvered to stand, adjusting the skirt of your dress with a sigh.

"I suppose I should thank you for sparing my life. Surely thought you'd take it. Shame our exchange has come to an end. Didn't quite feel like a payment at all." A daring smirk painted your face as you turned to head for the door. You heard Geta lumber to stand, perhaps drunk off wine and pleasure. His feet padded as your hand reached for the handle of your escape.

"What was the painting?" Geta asked, stalling your leave and perplexing you to turn to face him. He was shrugging his robe back into place with a raised brow. "The painting bought with my ring, what was it?"

"Oh," You realized, pursing a frown. "I- I don't exactly recall. I do a lot of landscapes. Seascapes. Could've been anything like it." You noted. Geta watched you speak, mouth opened, stalled to say more. His tongue glided over the ends of his teeth as the man nodded and sauntered back toward his table full of wine.

"My guards will see to your return home." Geta called, back facing you. You took that as your leave, anxious for some rest after exhausting your mind with wonder all day, and your body with pleasure this night. As you shut the emperor's door with a soft click, a gratitude filled your chest. That could've gone a lot worse.

///

The next day seemed surreal. You recalled the night like a fevered dream, like a plot from a book. But there were scratches along your thighs that reminded you what had happened was very truly real. You recalled the feelings Geta stirred in you with warmth.

You milled from room to room, mind in constant awe of the way your life had been spared. Since the brothers had come into power, so many senseless killings had been threatened and followed through. So much violence had afflicted common criminals and the odd person out of place alike. Was it more to do with Caracalla? Was he truly the more cruel? Did Geta have a softness about him? Or had you just gotten damn lucky?

You went about your daily chores and sat down to paint. Your art displayed sheep dotting across greyish green land. Your setting sun was in progress. A breeze flowed through the window, and you imagined it in your painting as well. A knocking rattled your door. It's persistence grating your nerves. Only now, at least, no one was intruding.

Maybe that's why you were shocked more so now than before, to see two royal guards at your front door.

"Geta is demanding your audience." One of them chuckled lowly before reaching to grab at you. He was too strong to fight off, though kick and yell you did.

Oh God, he'd realized he'd let you off easy, hadn't he? You should've pretended to hate rocking against his lap in that chair. You should've begged for freedom. Or maybe it was Caracalla after all. Maybe he'd heard of your involvement with his father's stolen ring and wished you dead. And these guards were luring you in with a false promise that Geta was the one wishing for a meeting.

While your mind raced, and the carriage took off into the city and passed the colosseum, you cursed the guards for dragging you away again. For being such fowl scum of the earth to manhandle women like they did.

It wasn't long before you were being yanked from the ride and marched into the great hall with that luscious purple carpet underfoot. Geta was there, assessing a scroll with a couple of servants nearby. His shock surprised you, when his glance looked up from the papers.

As you squirmed against the holds the guards kept on you, Geta shoved the scroll he held onto, into the grasp of a servant. He drew his sword from his side, the instrument of war and horror blinding you in its brightness. The emperors stomp in your direction was quick, his footfall shaking the building and you to your core. This was it. This was your fate.

"Release her now!" Geta yelled, directing his fury to one of the guards at your side. Before the words fully formed from the man's mouth, either of the guard's grips had unlatched from your arms. You did not see that coming. You almost couldn't comprehend that his blade had missed piercing straight through you.

"You were gone for all of a few seconds before you bring her back here?" Geta quizzed, face red with anger. He held the end of his sword to the man's chin, forcing his footsteps back.

"You- you told us to go fetch the girl from last afternoon, is that not what we did your highness?" The guard was bold in asking, though his voice trembled.

"I told you to ask her to come. I told you to remain at her door in patience. And you dare drag the woman back in the matter of mere moments? With force? That's a direct disregard of my orders!" With speed that rallied a gasp from your throat, Geta whipped his sword to slash at the knees of the guard that defied him. The man let out a cry as his legs gave way, sending the fellow to collapse. Geta ordered the other guard to take the injured one to a medic and stay there until he was ready to deal with them further. His blood pooled and stained the purple carpet.

"Why am I here again?" You couldn't linger in uncertainty any longer, once again failing to greet the leader without any respect of his authority. Geta plunged his red stained sword into its sheath as he demanded his servants get out. The workers scattered at the sound of his command, scurrying toward exits. The room was filled with quiet as Geta turned to face you fully.

"I'm sorry they dragged you here. You were only meant to show up if you so wished." Geta's voice was lower, his rage subdued. He confounded you, the way he held so much darkness and contempt about him. The way he eased into constraint. These were not the stories you had heard. This was not the man described to you by retired servants and wives of soldiers. He was more withheld, before you. And it caught you by surprise time and again.

"But since you are here now, and you have not yet raised a hand to lash across my cheek, I shall tell you," Geta went on, letting his eyes do what they had done before. Letting his gaze sweep across your figure. "I asked you here to present to you a proposition. An invitation to spend more evenings like the one we shared just before."

"You cannot be serious." You let a breath of a laugh fan from your throat.

"I'm hardly ever anything but." Geta reasoned with a curled lip and a shrug of his shoulder in a way you knew was meant to get you to chuckle for real. This man continued to confound you. This man contained multitudes. How had no one else, in all their gossip, mentioned this?

"Is this more to do with payment? Did our exchange not suffice?" You reasoned, still uncertain of the terms in which Geta was asking.

"I think you know exactly how well our exchange sufficed. Well enough for me to not have stopped dreaming of doing exactly that time and time again. I'm merely asking because I wish too." Geta was so close, his breath ghosting across your cheek, his eyes searching yours. "And now you get to decide what you wish. Who am I to deny you a choice?"

"What happens should I turn to leave?" You wondered.

"A guard would take you home. And with fair treatment, I'd make certain."

"What happens should I stay?"

"A servant would take you upstairs. And your imagination could fill in the rest."

Well, this certainly wasn't how you expected your day to turn out. That painting of all the sheep and the sunset would have to wait another long day. You suddenly couldn't dream of plans outside of those featuring Rome's half reigning emperor.

With a nod toward the door you'd seen Geta's servants go through, he grinned.

With footsteps more certain of the direction of his room, you found yourself locked in there, waiting.

///

The next weeks were filled with plans you couldn't tell anyone without fear they'd think you'd gone mad. You spent days milling about the stalls to sell your landscape paintings, careful of the payments you accepted. You'd harvest the fruits from your garden for meals and wait until night fall, when your promised escort arrived.

Nights were spent in Geta's room, on his floor, against his wall, in that blessed chaise. Nights were spent shoving the emperors head into the pillows as your hips rocked together. Nights were spent demanding he speed up and slow down at your desire. Nights were spent with Geta sharing wine in between drawn-out romps. You'd drink and laugh and carry on, a couple times until the sun peaked dimly into a new day. You'd stay drinking, sharing stories about where you had come from and your hardships. Things you'd hardly spoken of before. Things you couldn't believe Geta would listen so intently to.

It started off as only a few times throughout any given week. But at the end of those nights Geta would always ask about the next. You'd offer up a day or a time and he'd promise you that he'd see to it happening. He would pour you more wine and tell you the dirtiest jokes, and ask what pleased you most before those nights ended.

But after a while, he stopped asking. And your escort showed up outside your door more nights than most. And it became a rather expected part of the schedule of either of your days.

This night as you padded across the purple carpet, following behind a servant you'd come to trust; a ruckus was sounding from the stairwell you headed toward.

There you found Geta and his brother spitting fowl words in one another's direction. The men were swarmed by guards, ready to take on any outcome of the boys spat. And while they argued about political things you weren't privy to the full details of, you understood they spoke their father's name. You heard Caracalla remind Geta that their father had decidedly upped Rome's soldiers pay to ensure their loyalties to the empire. You heard Geta shout something about how his father was dead, how the brothers needed to learn to ensure loyalties in their own manner. And then he noticed you had arrived.

"Thank God." Geta seethed, waving his brother off, taking the stairs two at a time to lower himself to greet you.

"For you, Geta, trust is easily earned, isn't it?" Caracalla shouted, still domineering about the stairs. "A bat of your lashed eyes toward any common whore and they come flooding through our halls." Caracalla cast a snarl in your direction that turned Geta's blood so hot you swore you could feel the smoke coming off him. With a decidedly quick hand, you rested your fingers to grip Geta's arm, stopping him from running up the staircase to rip his brother in two. You didn't care so much what Caracalla thought of you, so long as Geta's opinion remained unchanged.

"But my powers of persuasion are not so charming. And I must demand trust more harshly. And I must remain harsh to keep control. And I do control the half of this empire entrusted in my name!" Caracalla was seething, fists balled at his sides, eyes bulging with rage. You'd never known anyone to be fueled by such negativity. Geta had slowly started toward his brother, letting your grip remain on his arm.

"We'll reach an agreement. But not till morning. Go back to your side of the estate, now." Geta demanded, taking the staircase slowly, keeping his eyes on his brother. The younger one stood shaking with fury as the elder led you to his room. Guards and servants followed, wordlessly seeing the pair of you behind closed doors. A couple of soldiers usually waited on either end of this hall, but tonight a few more lingered near in addition. These boys really hated each other.

Once locked in his room, safe from rage and question, Geta had you pinned against the wall. He'd usually greet you. He'd usually ask about what paintings you'd sold that day, or if you'd had any great stories of your family before they sold you to a husband. Or of your husband before he died. But tonight, Geta was ravenous. Tonight, he moved more accordingly to the rumors you'd once heard about him.

The emperor didn't fuss with your clothes. He didn't give you time to unravel his either. No sooner than his hand had crept up the skirt of your dress, was he rocking his hips into yours, pounding your back against the wall.

Your nails clawed at the back of his neck and your legs curled to flex around his waist. Geta was relentless as his body hammered into yours. He huffed harder with each new pulse and let out some cursed sighs when your teeth pierced into his shoulder, to keep from screeching all the same. You knew the guards could hear from the hall. But they didn't need to hear more than they had too.

His efforts had ended, his face stayed buried in your neck. But you weren't ready for it to cease.

"You think you're finished? You're only just getting started." You barked, pawing at Geta's head and forearm, shoving him downward. He didn't hesitate, his knees cracked to the floor with force you knew had to hurt. But he didn't seem phased. Geta seemed entirely entranced on bending your knee over his shoulder. Scratching his fingers along your skin. Burying his head between your legs. And he did so consciously, like a duty being fulfilled. He was relentless tonight, and you felt lucky to be relented against.

When your pleasure had ended, and you were left to slide from the wall to find footing, you found the wine too.

"Well, I can't help solve Rome's problems," You began, pouring you each a drink. "But I hope I've just helped solve some of your own, your highness." You half mocked, but half spoke in well-meaning regard. Geta hummed somewhere behind you. His voice sounded nearby. But his hands fell to close the space between you, gripping at the hilt of your hips.

"Dunno, might need to try a couple more times." You could hear the smile in his tone, and you felt his sultry chuckle against your neck, where he nearly dared to place a kiss, but didn't. Geta only reached ahead for his chalice, and asked about your day.

///

You didn't need to sell paintings. You could've lived a basic enough life, fed from the food you grew in your garden, rested from the comfort of your own bed. Secure enough in your late spouses left over finances.

You had known married life for all of five years. Wed before you'd even turned old enough to know better. All because your parents thought it best. They said you'd been sold to a husband to take care of you, in the long run. He did care for you, in his own twisted way. He kept you fed and housed until he died. And he left all his meager earnings to you in his passing. It wasn't much, but it was enough for you, for now, for a while.

You started painting when you moved in with him, to fill the days that dragged on so endlessly. You dreamed of freedom from the man for so long. And kept painting when he died, to fill those same days that were just as endless and a lot quieter to boot. He'd left you all alone in the expanses of the great wide world, yet freedom seemed even more unobtainable to you then, somehow. So, you painted. And decidedly started selling those paintings when the house filled up without room for any more of them. You kept selling them when you realized how eagerly peers bought from you.

You'd made friends down at the stalls. You found a quaint routine there, waiting in the sun to trade paintings for coins, and chattering with townspeople while the mornings stayed young. Bakers and seamstresses and writers alike shared your routine, all becoming familiar faces you were pleased to see each day.

"Goodmorning, you!" A trio of girls your age came giggling your way. Girls you'd invited over a few times. Girls you were happy to see now.

"Listen, are you going to the games in three day's time? I'd like us all to twirl about the colosseum buzzed on vino, carefree!" The small brunette leaned across the table your art was displayed on.

"She just wants to go to wait on Geta, afterward. He always invites girls in after the games." The blonde rolled her eyes, leaning against the post of your stall as you chuckled in understanding, and out of sudden apprehension. You and Geta agreed to your trysts because he trusted how discreet you could be. When you refused to bend your will to give the names of the people you pawned his ring to, he admired that. You couldn't give yourself away, now.

"But haven't you heard?" The redhead leaned in, waving you all to listen closer. "Geta hasn't invited any of the girls that wait at the empire gates in, in weeks."

You'd often trailed in past that very line of girls in question, much to their growing displeasure. Luckily, none of them were from the side of the country you had resided. None of them could spread your name around in whispers, as they did not know it.

"I'm still eager to take my chances." The brunette joked, going on to beg you to come to the games at the colosseum.

"I don't know." Was the best answer you could give without disappointing your friends, or thinking up a messy lie on the spot.

///

Another night in Geta's room was unusually spent in his bed. You'd been used to being forced against a chest of drawers, his voice growling in your ear. Or yours demanding the emperor sit on the stool before the table of wine, and wait in agony like a good, obedient, merciful ruler.

But tonight, Geta had you moving slower in his sheets. He'd closed his eyes as your hips rocked atop his, nice and easy. And when he reached to flip you over, his core pierced languidly into yours. His hand brushed across your cheek and his eyes stayed steadily locked on yours.

"Are you feeling quite alright?" You couldn't help but worry, too overcome with the silence that fell about the room. Geta had been resting at your side, his finger tracing the same pattern against your stomach forever.

"What if you stayed, tonight?" The ruler asked, after a while.

"You didn't answer my question. You realized, still confused as to what mood you'd found Geta in tonight. You'd been often surprised by his wit and his resolution. But this wasn't a way you'd known the emperor before.

"You didn't answer mine either." He pointed, finger still dancing across the skin of your abdomen. You turned your head to find Geta's gaze. His head rested on a pillow at your side, his eyes rolling up to lock with yours. His dark brown stare was illuminating. His curls graced his head so delicately. His silence was so reticent this night. Maybe it was the fact neither of you had had any wine.

"I'll stay if you tell me what's going on in that head of yours." You shot a pointed look to the man at your side who let a lifeless smile flash across his lips as his eyes turned away from yours. Silence filled the room once more, but you got the sense that Geta was choosing his words a while.

"Nothing... none of this is how I thought it would be." Geta spoke. You kept your eyes cast across his amber lit room, fixating on the pattern of the wallpaper. What did he mean?

"What's this?" You quizzed. "Ruling an empire? Sleeping with me? Sobriety from wine for a night?" You tried to joke, desperate for some kind of clarity.

"None of it." Geta responded, his inflection implying everything you listed was weighing on his mind then. And that surprised you. He was always surprising you. Silence settled yet again, and stayed for a while. It was Geta who broke it, after so long. He sat up to meet your eye, searching your gaze before offering a nod. You nodded back, knowing that meant your promise to stay here had been sealed. He rose from the bed to dim the candles, and crashed back into it with a sigh.

When Geta rested his head of golden curls on your chest, in the dark and quiet of his room, you finally understood what he meant. This was all very different now, than it started. None of it had turned out in an expected way. But you felt at ease with it all. You hadn't shared a bed with anyone since your late husband, and those times simply did not count in your mind. You did not care for that man as you had come to care for the one laying against you now. And that dawned on you in fear. But then, a realization that it didn't matter. Not now. Now, you got to rest under the weight of the emperor, for one peaceful night.

///

The next morning was bright and felt early in your bones. And it wasn't long before it hit you, the games were meant to happen today. Geta's stirring at your side was a relished wonder, as his smile widened to see you upon waking. But it all came crashing down as servants and soldiers demanded quick work of getting up and ready for the day of events.

"It will be too hard to send you away now, with all the crowds starting to gather." Geta realized, peering from the window of his room to the public below. "I'll have some appropriate attire sent for you. You shall join us today." The emperor's smile was bitten back, but you saw it reached his eyes as his looked into yours.

Things were shifting with Geta. Night's were turning into days with him. Festivities were offered to be shared. You knew better than to ask. You knew better than to wonder why. You simply thanked him for his offer and waited for clothes to change into as the leader headed out of his room, yelling for a guard to hurry along and follow. You milled about Geta's room, admiring the wallpaper in the daylight. Admiring the stained glass of his window. You traced your finger along carved chests and bed posts. You dared to open a drawer, finding a collection of jewelry there, a familiar blue stoned ring at the front of the collection.

You snapped the drawer shut in a hurry when a knock came across the door.

"Hello." A familiar face entered. Julia, the Emperors mother, twirled in the room with a stack of garments. "These are mine from seasons past. I brought a few, just in case." The woman was dear, with soft curls that matched her sons, gold earrings that brightened her blue eyes. She smiled and introduced herself as if she needed too. For her, you bowed.

"Such a pretty thing, you are." Julia cooed, resting her clothes at the foot of the emperor's bed before turning to consider you. "I've seen you come and go. Quite the feat to boast over. Geta never struggled to make friends, not like Caracalla. But he has failed to keep so many of them."

Julia kept a studying gaze on you as you thanked her for her kindness and watched her saunter out the door. The woman told you to meet the family downstairs once you readied yourself. That's when a certain anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach. What was this? What had you gotten yourself into? Worry plagued your mind as you squeezed into a bright blue and plum skirt. The fabric hugged at your figure but fell so elegantly to the floor. You never dreamed of such finery adorning you. You'd never dreamed of a life so different from the one you'd been used to living.

Downstairs, everyone had gathered, gearing up to head out. Guards of every kind kept the ruling brothers on either side of the room while Julia flitted about, laughing with a man you didn't know. Senators and councilors seemed to mingle with the family just as well, their wives and children patiently lingering on the outskirts of the gathering.

When Julia found you descending the stairs her first greeting after a smile was to tell you how perfectly the dress fit, how powerful you seemed entering the room. She said you held a certain presence about you, keeping a watchful eye on your expression as you gushed to thank her for such continued kindness.

And then you were off, trailing with the wives and the children of the party as the royal family presented themselves before the public. They were loved and hated so that the cheers and boo's from the crowd muddled together in an indistinguishable roar. Your heart pounded to realize how close you were to the action of the day, to realize how viscerally the opinion of the public mattered to the fate of the royals.

You watched Caracalla pull some face, pointing a finger at a citizen who cursed his name on the families walk toward the colosseum. You watched women line themselves along the path Geta walked, his politics be damned. You watched as he turned to look back, smile stretching wider as his eyes found yours. You watched then, as Julia stalled to join your side, and failed to calm the quickening of your heart as she held your arm to walk with you. None of this was how it used to be.

The woman leaned in, explaining exactly how today's games were meant to go. She yammered about the history of it all and pulled a few giggles from your throat as she threw in some personal deadly details about old games she'd bore witness too.

Once you'd all reached the colosseum, the brothers were ushered off to find their royal box, while Julia strategically placed you just outside of there. She frowned when she reminded you could not be allowed to join them further than here, but smiled when she hoped you'd enjoy the day's events. You watched her saunter off, stopping a guard and pointing in your direction before she disappeared in the box all the while. The guard locked his gaze with yours, offering a respectful nod as you considered your surroundings.

All kinds of vendors and stalls were open around every entrance of the arena. All kinds of people wandered about, sampling food and drink, playing cards at tables until the event's kicked off. You decidedly began to wander about, accepting free samples and smiling to people you'd seen in passing. You shielded your eyes from the sun and noticed that guard trailing nearby, keeping a steady eye on your every move.

When the crowds began to clamor toward the inside of the arena, you realized the games were about to begin. You downed a free sample of wine and found your way to watch from afar. Caracalla and Geta were announced in, and greeted with that same muddled roar of praise and disregard. You watched as Geta ate up the attention. You watched as Caracalla fought against it, spitting and arguing with some poor guard in the box. There was something so volatile in the air, as if one wrong move from either of the emperors would unleash havoc. The public was only one excitable realization away from realizing their joined forces could rip the royals from limb to limb. Geta was quick to shift focus to the games, demanding the publics energy be reserved for the battles that were begun, turning the spotlight away from himself. It was a tactical move, but you worried if he and his brother did not change the course of their political actions soon, no amount of pantomime could save them.

Another few swallows of wine helped ease your nerves, all the while. You'd forgotten how on edge the public had only just seemed. You'd been entranced by Geta's presence even from so many miles away. His distraction's had worked wonders on the crowd, his excitable reactions to the winners and losers kept the arena entertained for the better, for now. He kept you entertained all the while. When he would tear his gaze from the games every once and a while, you liked to imagine he was looking for wherever you might've been.

When you wandered off to find more wine, the guard that had been following you stayed back, glued to the battle that was happening. You returned with two cups, to share. The guard tried to deny your kindness but caved with a smile at your insistence to have at least one drink. It was a day of festivities after all.

"We thought you weren't going to make it!" A voice familiar echoed over your ear. Turning from the view of the battle, you found your friends. You chuckled as you greeted the small brunette, buzzed enough off wine to shrug your nerves away. You couldn't exactly explain how you ended up here, to them. Or how you'd come to dress so finely. But they didn't pester you too much about it, drunk all the same. The girls swarmed you with giggles and hello's and how are you's.

"Change your mind, have you?" The blonde teased, raising her brow at you. But your mind was too slow to understand why.

"This is the gate the royals always leave from. Isn't it obvious?" The small brunette pointed, waving her hand to gesture around. When you glanced up, you noticed a particularly increasing population of young women that had begun to collect around the area. Geta always famously exited from this path, and always famously collected a girl or two to follow him back to the royal hall.

"Oh, no, I just sort of-" You stumbled over words, "ended up on this side." How were you to explain this all away? "I actually... should be going now that it's nearing an end. Get home before sun set." This reason sounded good enough in your head to speak aloud, as you began to walk backward, waving to your friends all the while. You spun on your heels, anxious to get away, making up your mind to head home should that be your only sound escape. But you'd barely walked a dozen paces before that guard was gliding close and halting your leave.

"You're not to go. I'm to see you united with her highness when she passes through that exit."

"Is- is that what she ordered?" You asked meekly, looking up to the roman soldier who loomed over you with his bulky build, yet kind eyes. The man did not speak, but lifted a hand to spin you around by the shoulder, placing a gentle palm there to guide you back where you came from. You saw your friends notice, perplexed gaze's settled on your march as you stepped closer to where they'd stayed waiting.

Caracalla was the first one to storm through the arched entrance, scowling at you on his storm toward his chariot. But then, a spectator, too drunk for his own good, began to slur insults to the emperor. The fellow had barely began cursing Caracalla's name, before the ruler stepped close to grab the man by his throat, strong enough to lift him to the tips of his dirty toes. The citizen struggled to breathe, squirming for relief. Caracalla shouted in the man's face, something about knowing better. The ruler let go, the citizen dropped to the floor in a rattled gasp. When Caracalla demanded the guards that followed him, to slaughter the citizen still choking for breath on the ground, you'd had enough.

"Do not do that. Have you such little mercy?" It wasn't to be helped, the way your body and mind worked together to force out a shout. You should have been more afraid of the way Caracalla turned to fix his fiery gaze on you. But rage at the senseless violence was all you could feel. Yet, the guards were already slashing their swords at the belly of the the citizen, so he might suffer still before passing.

Caracalla stood considering you, longer than you expected. The crowds fell silent, the only noises were the hoarse cries from the dying man. And your heart hammering in place.

Caracalla moved his look from you, to the guard steady at your side, and back to you. His head shook, and a scoff left his throat. He turned to leave, kicking the man he'd murdered on his exit. Your body shook with panic. Your stomach churned at the realization that you'd escaped yet another royal execution.

The crowds parted to let Caracalla pass, steering clear of the angry little man. Your friends seemed to think of walking closer to where the guard had stalled you to wait. But their confounded and horrified expressions morphed into something more wonder filled, as their collective eye unfocused from your position.

You were too busy assessing your friend's questioning gazes to see he'd appeared. But instead, you heard Geta's voice in your ear.

"I'd say you're lucky he spared you. But I think there are more powerful forces than luck working on your side." You heard him say. Your friend's gazes had no doubt been locked on the emperor, but soon fell more perplexed onto you, yet again. And then you realized everyone's eyes had shifted to you. The entire crowd that had watched you speak against the vindictive leader just ahead. The same crow that had pushed closer to wait for a scrap of attention from the man that spoke to only you, now, was casting a collective stupefied glare right at you.

"I'd like to take you away now, but I'll have you wait on my mother. She hasn't stopped bringing up your name since this day has begun." Geta stayed speaking lowly, and you nodded to assure you understood, keeping your nervous gaze cast on the crowd that had fixated their attentions on you. "Do not worry though, tonight we can debrief in more ways than one."

You had to turn and grin at him then, pleased to see he'd waited to share a smirk with you. He was off no sooner though, parting through the crowd with little acknowledgement their way. Your friends kept their slack jawed gazes set on you as you wondered for a beat about saying something to them. But then Julia was sweeping you away, resting her clutch at the bend of your arm like she'd done before.

They watched you leave, just as everyone had. You shot your friends a quick shrug and an expression you hoped they'd understand meant you'd catch them all up later, if ever you could dream up a good enough fib.

Unlike your journey here, Julia asked all about you on your trek back. You gave thoughtful answers, not daring to spare the truth of your meager life to the woman, but hoping the way you spoke of it would endear you to her somehow. It wasn't like you needed to be adored by Julia. But you did long to be respected in some basic human way, by the royal woman.

///

That evening went on strangely. Caracalla locked himself away in the furthest parts of the halls. No one dared speak about him in his absence. No one had dared to allude to his fury or righteousness at all. Instead, the tone of the evening was rather merry. You shared a meal with a mile long table of strangers, glad all the while to have been welcomed in the celebrations of the day. You gabbed with socialites and senators alike, until one by one they headed for home and bed. Try as you might to take your leave, Julia would not let you. She only kept dragging you from guest to guest to introduce. Until you were the last one standing. Until even Julia had made her exit from the room, Geta too. Leaving you to wait in the parlor until further command.

A pair of guards stood unmoving near the doors, as you sat at the head of the dirty table. There were plates and glasses and saucers left awry, covered in crumbs for the kitchen maids to come and handle. There was a steady crackling fire on the opposite end of the room. There was wallpaper that didn't put your senses at ease the way the kind in Geta's room often had.

When the sound of the door opening stirred you from blank thoughts, you shifted to stand. Julia was easing into the room, smile and curls soft as ever. Eye's full of a certain kind of knowing. Behind her, Geta followed. His mother spoke your name, as if to grab your attention, as if she didn't already have it.

"You're not to return home." The woman began, gliding to stall before you. Geta shouldered past her, moving to stand at your side and watching as his mother spoke. "I've noticed you come and go, as I mentioned." Julia went on. "And I've noticed how my son has been less fraught, during the time you've been around. I've heard you speak, and I've seen you command a presence in any room you enter."

"What are you on about? What is this?" Geta demanded, that brooding gaze of his beginning to darken as understanding evaded him.

"As good as she has been for you, son, I'm certain she'll benefit our empire just as well." Julia glanced to Geta before her gaze settled unmovably on yours. Your chest filled with the weight of a realization. Your mind buzzed with wonders of her implications. "You will marry in two days time. Enough to spread the news across the public, and plan something grand."

"Marry?" You breathed, feeling your heart hammer in your stomach.

"You actually don't-" Geta began.

"I actually am watching this empire teeter on the edge of collapse." Julia interrupted Geta, causing his jaw to clench and his brow to darken further than before. "If we do not start moving more intentionally in the direction of change, you and your brother will ruin everything. If you marry this girl, you will marry someone from the very public you've been so often accused of dismissing. This girl is clearly capable of not only earning our family greater public favor. But she would be your bride, and you two together would have a better chance of making sense of this empire than your brother. Caracalla cannot be allowed to overpower your rule, Geta. Do you realize how close that idea is to becoming our reality?" Julia was insistent. "You do not have a choice. This has to happen. For all our fates." She was looking right at you again.

You were shaken, stunned, totally unprepared. Just days ago you were living such a carefree reality, all you knew were paints and pleasure by way of the emperor's hands. But now all of a sudden, all of Rome's fate depended on if you stayed standing here or made a break to sprint for the door.

"Get out." Geta pointed, coldly dismissing his mother. She began to argue back, pleading his name to listen. "Get out! I command it!" Geta was fuming, rage becoming his entire essence. You couldn't help but screw your eyes shut at the boom of his voice. You heard a guard approach to see the royal mother out of the door. She went without a fight, but insisted Geta had no choice, insisting she was already making plans to assure this fate for the both of you. As one guard saw her out of the room, the other followed, leaving you and Geta alone in the room with the ugly wallpaper.

The fire stayed crackling in the corner. The table stayed dirty. Geta began to pace, like he did, hands on his hips, head shaking in an effort to make sense of things.

"You are quiet." He spoke up, softer than he had spoken all night.

"I am choiceless." You warbled. Hadn't this already happened to you? Hadn't you already been forced to wed a man for the betterment of some kind of future? You thought you'd already paid your dues. You thought freedom was supposed to be promised at some point. You thought you'd had it, just days ago. But even still you were captured by the powers that be. It wasn't like you were opposed to being Geta's bride. But you were rocked to realize it didn't matter what you wanted, in this life. It was just going to keep happening to you, against you, despite you.

You watched as Geta sped up his pace, thinking. His eyes danced as if to keep up with an invisible coming together idea. And then his moving stalled. He rolled his shoulders and let his eyes rake up your figure, like they so often did. Geta's brown stare bore into yours, as if to search for an answer to a question not yet asked.

"You claim to have been born to die." Geta gestured, sauntering closer. "I claim to have been born to rule. But we have failed to consider what there could be to live for. I have reason to believe my answer to living lies within you." His speech was imploring. He meant it. He only ever spoke with authority, by that you weren't surprised. But by his meaning, by the tenderness in it, you were. "As ruler, I shall make the final decision regarding my mother's demands. But... I shall also wait here in silence as you choose your fate. I will command no guard after you should you flee. This time, this wedding, you'll be allowed to choose."

"Should I flee, will there be fines? Will I forever be in your debt somehow?"

"I shall see to it that you owe nothing to this empire if you leave it. But you must leave it entirely, you must go far from here. It's the only way I could make these guarantees."

"Should I stay..."

Geta loomed closer, until his breath fanned across your face. So close you could see the golds speckled across the brown of his eyes. Close enough to kiss.

"I would see to your value." Geta breathed, stalling an inch before you. "Your profile on coins. Your voice heard above others. Your throne... My bed... I'd see to it."

Your heart hadn't stopped pounding since this conversation spun to life. But it beat harder yet, at Geta's tone and implication now.

"Take my hand." Geta held an open face palm before you. "Or turn away." You glanced to the door.

You considered all that lie beyond it, the quiet, the vastness. The race to the finish line of life would be slow and steady outside these doors. Your freedom would be quiet and lonely. Then you turned to Geta and saw a different kind of future to consider. And then a thought dawned on you. What if the freedom you'd always been in search of, was not just yours alone? What if an entire empires fate had always been pressed into the back of your heart, clear in the front of your mind only now that you understood everything Julia had said. You thought of your latest painting. The one with the sheep and the sunset. You wondered if maybe it was a sunrise all along.

Your hand flexed, knuckles deciding between clenching and raising up. Until suddenly your palm was in Getas. Until suddenly your fate, and all of Rome's, had been sealed.

///

Part 2 Coming Soon...

#joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #emperor geta #emperor geta fanfic #geta x reader #gladiator 2 #joseph quinn x reader #fem!reader #joe quinn smut #minors dni

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whatsupsonnyboy · 1 month ago

Text

Drunk in my mind | Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

wc: 5.9K

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

a/n: heeeeeey, i know it's been ages, so sorry, but you know how life could be! anyway, i recently got lot of free time so i decided to pick up writing this precious man. This one just got on my mind while listening a podcast, originally it was going to be a one shot... looks like it's gonna be more parts to this! Hope you enjoy it 😌

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open | masterlist

part I | part II | part III

He was feeling really excited about the whole thing. The whole project was kind of a dream if he was honest, the story was captivating, the arc of his character was interesting and challenging and the chance to work with Mark as a director was more than anything he could have dreamt of. He felt like the whole universe was playing on his favour, as if it was saying “hey, here you have, you deserve it”, and that could only make him feel grateful and lucky.

He had known since the very first moment he accepted the role who his co-star was going to be. He remembered how worked up he felt—the incredible chance to work with such a talented and young actress, someone with that kind of range. It was exciting, a little intimidating even. The thought of it made his heart race a bit. So when the two of you finally met, he couldn’t help but like you instantly.

And he had noticed that you liked him too. The chemistry between you two was undeniable, something neither of you had tried to hide. It wasn’t just about the physical attraction, though there was plenty of that. No, it was something deeper, a connection that he couldn’t quite put into words. There was an admiration there, something rooted in the way you thought, how you carried yourself, your mind… it fascinated him. And he felt that same spark from you, even if neither of you dared to acknowledge it fully. In an environment like that—so close, yet so professional—it was delicate. Neither of you wanted to be the first to cross a line that could jeopardize everything.

The first few days of filming were a blur of getting to know each other on screen, but it didn’t take long before it was clear you two clicked on a deeper level. Not even two weeks into the filming, and you had found yourselves spending almost all your breaks together. The quiet moments during meals, those late-night chats after a long day of work, felt like they meant something more than just passing time. You'd wander around the city on free days, both of you enjoying the shared silence between laughter and conversations that didn’t always make sense, but that somehow felt significant.

Joe would sometimes catch himself watching you when you weren’t looking, studying the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about something you were passionate about. He’d love to listen to you for hours, about everything and nothing, and that feeling of connection lingered in the air between you. The way you made him feel heard, understood… it was rare. And judging by the way your gaze would linger on him, he could tell you felt the same.

But there was always that unspoken tension—the fragile balance between admiration and attraction, and the fear that crossing that line would change everything. Especially there, in that professional environment, where neither of you could afford to lose focus.

The more time he spent with you, the more he liked you. He found himself continually impressed by the way you worked—the passion you poured into every scene, the incredible talent you demonstrated even in the smallest moments. It wasn’t just your skill; it was your intensity, your energy, the way you approached everything with such genuine depth that it left him captivated. He couldn’t recall ever feeling that way about anyone else. Sure, he had admired colleagues before—he could still remember how stunned he had felt working with Denzel back in Gladiator, or the first time he shared a scene with Lupita. But none of that compared to what he felt now. This was something different, something unexplainable. And it was delightful. Getting to do a romance thriller for the first time while working with someone like you made everything feel effortless.

He found himself looking forward to every scene with you, not just because of the professional challenge but because of how naturally the two of you clicked. You seemed to challenge him in the best way, pushing him to reach new emotional depths, yet there was always this lightness between you both that made working together seem easy.

He had even forgotten about the sex scenes —the very thing that had made him hesitate when he first agreed to the movie. He had done intimate scenes before, of course, but this was different. When he had read the script, he had known it would be a whole new level of vulnerability. But as the filming drew closer, it felt almost like an inevitable tension was building between you two. It wasn’t just physical; it was mental, emotional, a strange but undeniable connection he couldn’t quite put into words.

Edith, the intimacy coordinator, had talked to both of you, together and separately, several times already. At first, it had made him feel calm, safe, almost like everything was under control. But the more time he spent with you, the more that sense of control started to slip away.

The idea of the two of you being semi-naked on a bed, pretending to have sex, sent a shiver down his spine. Not a bad one, not a good one either. No, it was something far more complicated. It felt… unprofessional, and yet it was so much more than that. The goosebumps that had run through him when you kissed him during the first take a few days ago… they had lingered. The memory of that kiss wasn’t just physical; it had settled deep in his stomach, making him question everything. And the worst part? He was afraid to be the only one who felt it.

He couldn’t let this happen. He liked you, of course… as an actress, as a co-worker, as a friend even. But that was all, right? He couldn't allow his body to suddenly want you in a way that went beyond professional respect. Oh God, he was feeling ridiculous. He was supposed to be a professional, and that’s how it had to stay. But how the hell was he supposed to act casual about you being above him, with nothing but a thin piece of cloth separating your bodies? Your breasts close to his face as your eyes locked with his, looking at him as if he was the only man in the world. How was he supposed to resist that?

He could certainly tell the difference between reality and acting. But how was he supposed to teach his body that distinction? The worst part was the guilt. Guilt because of how unprofessional he felt. Guilt because he had let this go so far without acknowledging what was happening inside of him. It had been so easy to let his guard down around you. He had felt so comfortable with you from the start, so at ease in your presence, that he hadn’t even stopped to question his own feelings. Now it felt like he’d jumped into this situation without looking at the consequences.

But now it was too late to undo those feelings. The scenes were scheduled to start early next week, and he had no idea how to handle this newfound tension between you. How was he supposed to manage those feelings—this raw attraction—within the next two days? He didn’t know if he could control it. Production had given the entire crew the weekend off, and he was left with two options: spend the weekend with you, in town, facing the intensity of his growing feelings, or retreat to London and try to pretend none of it existed.

He could already feel how difficult it would be to run away from this. Because it somehow felt like he was running, but taking a little space felt like the best, he could still book a flight, go back home and try to clear his head. Joe wasn’t sure that it would work, but at least he had to give it a try.

It wasn’t something weird of you to appear out of nowhere in his hotel room with a pretty nice plan that would immediately convince him to get out of the hotel. But that night he was going to force himself to do things right.

“What do you mean you can't?” you asked in a laugh.

Joe tried to stop you at the door, but it was worthless. He couldn’t even articulate a word at the look you gave him as you made your way in his room.

“You leaving?” you asked then. “Where you off to?”

You looked at the carry-on luggage on the bed. All what he needed for a weekend out was already packed.

“Home” Joe simply answered and the inquiring look in your eyes made him go on. “I thought it’d be nice to see my mum and friends”.

“Oh, I see”.

You seemed disappointed, and Joe felt like there was something else you wanted to say so he remained silent.

You didn't.

“I’ll be here on Sunday night”.

Why had he said that? It felt like he was explaining himself, he needn’t, you hadn’t asked for it either.

“Have a good weekend Joe” you said, with fake sympathy and left the room afterwards.

He couldn’t explain how awful he felt the moment he heard the door closing, or even why he was feeling that way. But he was not going to stay and figure it out, he would let that to Monday Joe.

You couldn’t understand a single thing. It was nonsense. One day he would treat you like you were the most beautiful and fascinating creature in the entire planet, the next, he would run back to London without a single explanation. Not that he owed you one, because you two were nothing but co-workers. Explanations were for people who were romantically involved, weren’t they? And Joe and you were nothing like that.

Because spending every single moment of your free time with him didn’t mean you felt anything for each other. It just meant, you liked each other, as co-workers. You just enjoyed each other's company in a job environment full of unknown people.

It was nice to have him around. Somehow, it made you feel like you were just hanging out with someone you hadn’t seen in a while, as if your paths had crossed before, in another time, another place. Talking to him about anything felt effortless, like catching up with an old friend, which was a rare gift. He had that gift.

You had heard the rumors, of course you had. Almost everyone who had come across Joseph Quinn always used the same words: “nicest of the guys,” “damn funny,” “witty sense of humor,” and “incredibly sensitive.” And all of them were spot on. But it was more than that. You couldn’t help but admire how much he made you feel seen, how, despite the attention and praise that followed him, he managed to make you feel like you were the only one in the room when you spoke.

At first, you were simply delighted by how everything had aligned so perfectly. The chance to film a movie with Mark, one of the most promising directors in the current industry, was already a dream come true. And then there was Joseph Quinn, the charming, talented British actor whose reputation had already preceded him. From the very beginning, everything was going better than expected. Mark’s direction was an experience in itself—eccentric and demanding, but exciting and fulfilling all the same. But Joe… Joe was everything you could’ve dreamed of and more.

From the moment Heather, the casting director, introduced you to him, you felt a spark. That dreamy look in his eyes, the sunglasses perched atop his head, holding back the honey curls that were starting to grow long again, and that stupid, adorable accent that made your heart skip a beat. He was effortlessly charming, but it wasn’t just his looks or the humor he carried so naturally; it was the way he made you feel at ease, the way he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, listening to you as if your thoughts were as valuable as his own.

You could clearly remember the way your stomach flipped the first time he asked you how you were feeling after the first day of shooting. You had felt terrible, after a night of no sleep. Leaving home for a long time was always kind of torturous, especially when it meant sleeping in a bed that wasn’t yours. Such a small, silly thing, yet it had made everything feel off.

But you were sure your lack of sleep and the consequent irritability had gone unnoticed. Or at least you had thought so, until Joe insisted that something was wrong. You hadn’t expected him to notice —especially not so early, not after just one day of filming. But he had, and the way he looked at you, like he really cared, made you feel like you owed him a little real kindness in return. After all, he was the only one who’d truly seen through your facade, despite all your efforts to hide how miserable you were feeling that day.

You two had ended up in his room, ordering the fanciest food you could find on the service menu, and watching the first Netflix blockbuster you both could find on the smart TV. There was something calming about it.

You had fallen asleep quickly, almost immediately after a few spoonfuls of the seafood rice Joe had ordered. The need for rest was bigger than your hunger. And strangely, falling asleep in Joe’s bed had been incredibly easy, a stark contrast to the nightmare it had been to even try to fall asleep in your own room the night before. Maybe it was just exhaustion, maybe your body was begging for rest—maybe it was the warmth and scent of him next to you that made it feel like you were safe, like you weren’t alone in this strange place.

You remembered waking up to the sound of Joe’s alarm blaring, and the embarrassment quickly rushed through your body as you realized you had fallen asleep in the bed of a stranger who also happened to be your co-star. It felt like the worst possible thing in the world at that moment, but Joe didn’t seem to care at all. He emerged from the other side of the room, where there was a sofa-bed, and you realized he must have let you sleep alone while he stayed there, keeping his distance. His smile when he looked at you was warm and soft, the kind of smile that made you feel... something you couldn’t quite name. He asked if you had a good night, and you could only nod, still blushing a little, but now, with a hint of warmth spreading in your chest.

However, the night he disappeared you weren’t feeling delighted at all. You had almost felt abandoned. Absurd, you knew, but couldn’t help it. And that really pissed you off. Because you didn’t even have the right to feel like that. Joe was just your co-star, your almost friend maybe. So all the rage and the frustration were useless.

You didn’t want to waste more time feeling like that, and you knew that if you stayed at the hotel the whole weekend, it would turn into endless hours of overthinking. So you fixed yourself internally, as if you had just gotten up from a fall and texted Sam.

She was one of the supporting actors in the films, and she was really nice and fun. She loved being out so it meant you’d probably get no rest for the next 48 hours, but that was better than to go over and over the same thoughts in the loneliness of your hotel room. Alcohol and loud music seemed like a better choice.

It hadn’t worked. He knew it the moment he was back to the filming location, he probably had known a long before he entered his hotel room, but opening the door of the suite made it land hard on his chest. There was that feeling all again, as it had never left, just had gone undercovered for a few hours. The terrible urge to go running to your room and kiss you, hold you, run his fingers through your hair as you rested your head on his chest.

He was done. He was finished. All the repressed feelings and unsaid words were pressing on his chest like a ton of rocks, making it hard to think, to breathe. It was like the world had shrunk, and all that mattered was this impossible attraction, this desperate need to be near you. He couldn’t even remember feeling this helpless about anyone before. It was almost unbearable.

He hadn’t said a word about it back home, maybe he should have talked about it with a friend, could have helped… but he had been so determined to be distracted about the whole thing, that going over the matter hadn’t really been an option. It had probably been a childish choice, but regretting it then, in the loneliness of his hotel room, within a few hours to go and face reality, was pointless.

Someone was knocking the door just a couple hours after he had finally been able to fall asleep. Getting to sleep decently had turned into an impossible mission with hundreds of intrusive thoughts constantly hunting his mind. And now, he would not only feel miserable, he would look like it too. Edith instantly pointed it out the moment he opened the door. Not helping at all.

She was there to talk to him before getting to the set, Joe knew she was going to be there, he also knew he was going to talk to you after. Another talk for you two was awaiting the moment before entering the set. So he kind of knew he could still do something… maybe he could talk about how not exactly comfortable he was feeling about the sex scenes, but how was he supposed to do that. First, those scenes weren’t exactly the problem. Second, then what? What was he expecting to happen?

Joe ran again through every single fake scenario that had haunted him for the last weeks while he was showering and getting ready. Edith was waiting in the living area of the suite, and as soon as he heard Joe out of the bathroom she started with the questions.

“How was your weekend off?” she politely asked.

“Mm, great” he simply replied. He knew the small talk was her way of not jumping straight into asking about being ready to get naked in front of a camera. “How about you? You get some rest?”. He asked, trying to not be a dick with her.

Edith explained how she hadn’t fully taken the days off, though she’d rested a bit. She spent most of the time working on the shooting protocol and handling some logistics. She told Joe they were aiming to wrap up everything in one day, two at most. She mentioned details about the environment—how she’d been adamant about lighting, the silence during the shoot, and limiting the crew in the room.

Despite knowing she was saying all those things to make it look like a friendlier scenario, it just had the opposite effect on Joe. When he entered the room Edith was in, she didn’t even try to hide the concern in her face at Joe’s appearance.

“Are you feeling alright, Joe? If you feel sick or something we could talk to Mark and postpone everything”. Her tone was soft, and for a second Joe really thought about it.

He could play sick. He could try to slip out of the situation for at least two or three more days… maybe he could fix his mind. Try to put in order some thoughts and see things in a different way. But that wouldn’t work unless he talked to you about it. That was what he had to do. Confront his feelings about you and explain how fucking nervous, no. How fucking sick it made him the idea of getting an erection in the middle of filming, and how violent it would be for you and for him, and for everyone in the damn room. Maybe you would be comprehensive. Maybe you would even laugh about it. Or maybe you would think that Joe was a complete idiot, an unprofessional guy who couldn’t take control of his own body for a few hours.

“No”. He hissed, almost unconsciously. “No, I… just need to eat something” he lied. “I’m fine”.

Edith raised an eyebrow, skeptical. It was like she could hear every word of his internal struggle. She pressed on, asking if something was worrying him. Joe shook his head, offering no further explanation. She didn’t want to push, but he could feel her concern. She then mentioned she’d be there for the whole shoot, that he could ask her for anything he needed to feel more comfortable. She even casually suggested a jockstrap if that was something he was worried about.

Before leaving Joe’s room he specifically mentioned how she knew that these scenes could be stressful, and sometimes even awkward, but that he could totally trust her about anything he didn’t really feel like doing. He also told Joe that lots of actors have a hard time about getting unwanted erections, but that was something really natural, because despite him being an actor, his body didn’t necessarily acknowledge that. She concluded by assuring him that everything was going to work just fine and left Joe to go to your room.

Joe didn’t really know how to feel about that information, it somehow made him feel better and at the same time made him more anxious to become one of those actors she was talking about.

Saying Joe looked terrible was an understatement. He looked sick, pale, distant. You’d tried asking him, but he responded with nothing more than a monosyllabic grunt, eyes averted. The coldness, the avoidance— it rattled you. What had changed? Why was he acting like this now?

First, the sudden withdrawal, and now, the silent treatment. It made no sense. Especially now, when you were on the verge of exposing yourself in front of him. It made the whole situation even more uncomfortable. You needed this to be over, more than ever.

Edith offered a few more directions, calming words, and encouragement before the two of you stepped onto the set. The space was intimate: Edith, Mark, a few techs, Laura and Henry —just the essentials. The air buzzed with anticipation, but it didn’t throw you off. You’d done this before. You’d been through much more explicit scenes. And Mark and Edith had been nothing but professional and supportive, so the only thing that made you nervous was Joe.

Neither of you exchanged a word while Mark ran through the sequence, explaining the shots and movements. You nodded in unison, your eyes never meeting his.

Minutes later, you were pinned against the wall, Joe above you, his body hovering just an inch from yours, his hands firm but cold—one gripping your arm, the other on your hip. His touch felt distant, almost mechanical, and when your eyes met his, you caught a flash of something you couldn’t quite place—nervousness? Anxiety? But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

You both stood silent as Mark called “ACTION.” Joe delivered his lines. You laughed on cue, and then he leaned in for the kiss. This time, his lips found yours with such intensity, it startled you —a hungry, almost desperate kiss that stirred something deep within your stomach. You didn’t have to fake it. The chemistry was still there, you could feel it, even if you both had to keep up appearances for the crew.

But the more you kissed, the more strained his body became. His hands were tense. The roughness in his touch grew harder, sharper. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t like how he used to kiss you, with that mix of admiration and passion. It was stiff, forced. Something was off.

The rest of the scene went downhill. Joe seemed to withdraw further as the shots progressed. His body, rigid as a board, betrayed every word he spoke. The tension was palpable. When it came time for the bed scene, the air felt suffocating.

You straddled him, your torso barely covered by the robe. His gaze never left your body, but his eyes held no warmth, no connection. Instead, they were guarded, cold. As you lowered yourself onto him, he swallowed hard, his whole body stiffening beneath yours.

You couldn't ignore it anymore. His discomfort was suffocating.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, despite the growing unease.

He nodded, a faint, bitter look crossing his face before he turned his gaze away from you.

Before you could speak again, Mark gave the signal to get into character. The cameras rolled, and you tried to keep your focus. But God, it was so painfully obvious.

You shed your robe, and when Joe let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, the silence in the room felt deafening. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The whole scene felt like it was falling apart.

You repeated your lines, but Joe’s response was hollow, distant. He ran a hand over his face, visibly frustrated, but still unwilling to acknowledge what was happening.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, his voice low but lacking conviction. "Let’s start over, I—I wasn’t ready. My bad.”

You did it again, hoping that maybe, this time, things would fall into place. But when you leaned in for the kiss, he was stiff—his lips barely responding, his movements robotic. The chemistry was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable stiffness that everyone in the room could sense.

Mark stopped the scene, his face a mixture of confusion and frustration. "What the hell is going on? This is not the energy we’ve had for weeks. Where’s the chemistry?" His voice cut through the tension like a knife.

You both stood there, silent, trying to navigate the gap that had appeared between you, both of you utterly confused by the growing chasm between your previous connection and the awkwardness that now stood between you.

You tried again, but after a couple of failed attempts, the scene became more and more artificial. Joe’s responses were mechanical, his body unyielding, the chemistry as absent as it had ever been. Mark, now visibly frustrated, demanded answers, but neither of you had any to give.

By the sixth attempt, Joe couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved you aside, freed himself from your hold, and pulled his robe around his body. His face was twisted in anger, his frustration spilling over as he muttered under his breath.

"This is ridiculous," he spat, walking away, leaving you and the crew behind, still trying to understand what the hell had just happened.

Mark instantly followed Joe out of the set, maybe to try to talk to him or to calm him down, but it was clear that something had broken. Everyone in the room fell silent, watching as Joe stormed out. It was like the tension in the air was a living thing, pressing down on everyone. You felt paralyzed for a moment, unsure of how to react. He wasn’t like this at all. You had never seen Joe like this—nervous, frustrated, and overwhelmed. It was as though he had completely closed off from you, and you couldn’t understand why.

You stood there, holding your robe, feeling utterly exposed in every way. It wasn’t just the physical vulnerability of the scene—it was emotional too. Joe’s behavior had sent a confusing signal, and suddenly the chemistry that had felt so natural seemed impossible to grasp.

Edith was quick to approach you. “Take five,” she said softly, gesturing towards the corner of the set. “We’ll give him some space. Let’s reset.”

You nodded silently, walking away from the set as the crew murmured among themselves. They were all so professional, but you could tell they were uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the awkwardness of the scene anymore—it was Joe, and the way he was falling apart in front of everyone.

You found yourself in the small lounge area, sitting down, trying to breathe through the confusion. What had happened? What was wrong with Joe?

It wasn’t long before Edith came over to sit beside you. “You okay?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

You wanted to tell her that you were fine. You weren’t. But you didn’t know how to explain what was happening.

“Do you think he’s okay?” You finally asked, your voice tight. “I mean… is he...?”

Edith hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said gently. “He’s been off the whole morning. He seemed like he was pushing something down, but I didn’t want to pry.”

You bit your lip, frustration bubbling up again. This whole situation felt so... off. Everything was supposed to be smooth. The chemistry, the camaraderie, the work—it had all been seamless until now. And now, it was like a wall had gone up between you and Joe, and you had no idea how to break it down.

“We’ll talk to him,” Edith said, after a moment. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. Just try to take a break. Don’t overthink it.”

You nodded, but your mind raced. It didn’t make sense. What was going on with Joe? Why couldn’t he just talk to you?

After a few minutes, Mark came in, looking more serious than ever. “We’ll have to reschedule for tomorrow,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “Take a break, everyone. I’ll talk to Joe, and we’ll figure out where we go from here. I don’t want to push this.”

With that, the set slowly emptied, leaving you alone in the quiet of the lounge. You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Something was wrong, and you had no idea how to fix it.

On the way back to the hotel Edtih tried to talk to you again but you weren’t feeling like it, so you politely refused and went to your room alone. You needed to rest for real. You needed a shower and to hide under your bed until it was 2026. You were feeling ridiculous, exposed, frustrated… you were not even sure why you were feeling like that, no one, not even Joe said that any of it had been your fault, but yet you were feeling responsible.

And that overwhelming feeling made you more upset if it was possible, because it was truly unfair. You were not irrational though, you knew you couldn’t blame Joe for the way you felt, but at the same time he had been a dick for the last 72 hours or so… how could you not feel as if you had done something wrong. Maybe you had, you could deal with that, but why wouldn’t he come clean about whatever the hell was upsetting him?

You couldn’t stand being in your room all alone chewing over the same thoughts, you needed answers, so if Joe wouldn’t be brave enough to talk this out, you were. You put on some jeans and a hoodie and with your hair still wet you left your suite and walked to Joe’s.

Maybe he wasn’t even there, he should have since he had claimed to not be able to keep up with the shooting. But it didn’t matter, you were determined to talk to him even if you had to wait there for hours.

He gasped your name when he opened the door, eyes widening in genuine surprise. He didn’t look as bad as he had this morning —but he still wasn’t quite himself.

"We need to talk," you said, but Joe didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

"Joe, seriously."

"I… I wouldn’t even know what to say," he confessed. At least this time, he looked at you.

"Well, I do. So at least you're going to listen."

He didn’t argue. He just stood there, silent, watching as you walked past him into the living area. When he finally followed, he sat on the armchair across from you. Something about that —his distance, his passiveness— made your anger flare.

"You’ve gotta be kidding me, Joseph Quinn." Your voice was sharp, cutting through the silence.

Joe opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance.

"How dare you? What kind of psychopath makes me believe he cares, that he's comfortable with me, that we're friends—only to turn around and act like none of it meant anything? What was it, Joe? Just a game? A fucking joke?"

"I care about you," he whispered, but you weren’t done.

"Oh, you care? Funny, because all I see is someone who’s been acting like a complete asshole for days. And for what? I don’t even fucking know. But you know what I do know? That this —whatever the hell this is— is cruel."

Joe stared at you, his expression unreadable. Not a single word. No excuses. No explanations. It was infuriating.

"And now, you just sit there like you have nothing to say? Nothing about the filming, about this morning, about how I fucking feel?" Your voice was rising, the frustration pushing you past your breaking point. "How could you do that?"

Joe finally stood up, his movements restless, his frustration mirroring yours.

"You want me to talk?"

"Of course I fucking do!"

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room, looking as torn apart as you felt.

"Then you should know—I was never pretending. Never," he shot back, his voice raw. "I do fucking care about you. You're important to me, okay?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "Then act like it."

Joe exhaled sharply. "I don’t know how, alright? I already told you—I don’t know what to say. What do you want from me?"

"The truth, Joe. That’s all I fucking want." Your voice cracked, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t anger driving you. It was exhaustion. Defeat. "I just want you to be honest about what’s wrong with you. With us."

Joe looked away. His silence was worse than any argument.

That was it.

Your chest ached as you turned to leave, blinking fast to keep the tears at bay. Joe said your name in a whisper, but you didn’t stop. He called it again, louder, but you kept walking.

You were almost at the door when you felt his hand wrap around your arm. Firm, but not rough. Desperate.

"Let me go, please," you whispered, voice shaking.

Joe didn’t move.

"Joe, please."

He heard it then—the way your voice broke completely. The way you were crying, whether you wanted to or not.

"Look at me," he begged. "Please."

You couldn’t. Instead, a quiet sob escaped, and your body gave up fighting. That was all Joe needed to pull you in, his arms locking around you. You didn’t resist.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, again and again, his voice breaking as he held you tighter.

You turned in his hold, but instead of meeting his gaze, you buried your face in his chest, hands gripping his shirt. He cradled the back of your head, his touch tender in a way that made it worse.

Because he still wouldn’t say what you needed to hear.

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