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megalony · 2 days ago

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Horrors To Overcome

Okay, this is my first time writing for A Quiet Place Day One with Eric (Joseph Quinn). I hope you all will like this, I am in love with the Quiet Place series and I have another idea lined up for Eric if anyone would be interested.

Please let me know what you think.

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Summary: When the world turns to chaos and silence overrides everything, (Y/n) bumps into a familiar face and they both try to stick together to survive.

Enjoy.

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Stay quiet. Don't make a sound.

(Y/n) never really realised how hard it would be until now to stay quiet. She had no idea how many things could make a noise or how loud she could be when she thought she was being quiet.

Sometimes the sound of her breathing sounded horrendous. The sound of gravel crunching beneath her shoes was so quiet it was almost non-existent. Almost. But everything had a little sound to it, like a signature written across everything and it was frightening.

What kind of a world was this going to be for those of them that were left if they couldn't make any noise?

If they couldn't listen to the sound of each other's laughter, if they couldn't hear a loved one's voice or hear them murmur how much they loved one another. If they couldn't hear funny voices or hear the most beautiful singing or the sound of a piano or a soft guitar strumming in the background.

A world without noise was going to be so bleak. But it was a price people were willing to pay for survival. For what other choice did they have? Would it really be worth it for everyone to make a sound and have their lives taken away? Have the world change so much that no other life could survive out here?

A world without noise was a frightening prospect, but it was the only one that they had left.

Both (Y/n)'s arms coiled around her chest as she tried to walk down the street. She thought about taking her shoes off, but she wasn't wearing heels and they weren't clicking against the pavement. At least not yet. And if she had to start running, it was preferable to run in shoes rather than barefoot.

She wanted to tilt her head down and stare at her feet, but she had to keep looking. She had to keep moving and she had to make sure she didn't bump into anything or kick something or trip over.

The streets looked so different. So bare and broken and bewildered. Cars were turned upside down. Small fires were dotted around the road. Craters as big as sink holes filled the ground and buildings were partially collapsed. There were even blood splatters up the side of high rise buildings.

(Y/n) hadn't seen anyone in a while. Not since everyone tried to make their way to the river.

She wanted to go home. (Y/n) wanted to go home and see if there was anything left. She wanted to feel safe and secure and be somewhere familiar. Then she could decide whether she wanted to risk making the journey to the water and travelling to somewhere unknown, somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere with complete strangers. She had to decide whether to try and find refuge somewhere nearby or whether to risk leaving forever and finding salvation with complete strangers.

It was unusual to have to count each and every step she took and watch where she placed her feet.

On a normal day, on a day before the world turned to chaos like this, (Y/n) wouldn't look where she walked. Sure, she would glance ahead, make sure she didn't barge into anyone or step in any muck or dirt on the street. But she would never purposely count each step, never tread carefully to ensure no amount of noise echoed from her steps.

She had never been so cautious before.

It didn't feel right.

Her arms stayed deadlocked around her middle, her own way of comforting herself and giving herself so she didn't start crying. So she didn't let out one whimper and alert the creatures that she was here. She was in distress, but she was here.

Each step (Y/n) took dodged broken glass, crumbled buildings, bricks and grit. The broken buildings made it hard to find her bearings and work out where she was. She would just have to keep walking and walking until she found something familiar. Until she got home. Then tomorrow would be a new day with new decisions and choices and horrors to overcome.

A burst of water to her right made her take body freeze on the spot. The gust of water was followed by a spluttering and a cough and such deep, ragged breaths that (Y/n) felt sure that this was it.

That person had alerted the creatures that they were here. One would be climbing the walls at any moment. They would come down, screeching and stabbing their pinchers into the ground. They would wreak havoc and attack anything they heard, anything in their path.

Tears welled up in (Y/n)'s eyes and she felt the desperate need to close her eyes and wait for the inevitable, but she couldn't. Something drew her eyes to her right, something made her look.

Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was desperation. Or maybe it was the simple fact that nothing had come to kill her yet which made her look.

As soon as she looked, it felt like a fire roared to life within (Y/n)'s chest and her heart lurched up into her throat.

She moved before she could think better of it. Her feet danced across the pavement in a tap dance to avoid bricks and crumbled pieces of road and tarmac to get towards the entrance to the subway.

(Y/n) had never seen the subway look so strange as it did with water flowing from every orifice right up to the top step. She wondered where all the water was coming from. Surely there weren't enough water pipes in the subway and beneath the roads to flood it like that. Well, there had to be, but it just didn't seem real.

She stopped right before the top step, afraid to step into the water and make a splash, make a sound, a trickle of water that would alert the creatures of their existence.

Her hands waved out in front of her as a look of desperation flooded her face and her knees bent so she was level with him.

Eric.

He looked shell-shocked. his chocolate brown suit was drenched and glued to his frame like it had become a second skin. He was pushing back against the fence, stood on the second step down so his lower legs were still submerged in water.

The look in his eyes was unreadable and it made (Y/n) wonder what horrors he had seen down there in the subway. What had he witnessed? How many deaths had he seen? What had he done to claw his way back up to air, to some moderate sense of safety?

When another spluttering breath left Eric's lips, (Y/n) moved her hands again to gain his attention. He hadn't seen her yet.

The moment Eric twisted his head to the right, he jerked and cowered down against the wall as if he thought (Y/n) was one of those creatures here to end his life. The look of horror in his eyes was frightening and heartbreaking and his parted lips continued to pant as his chest rose and fell to the point it looked like his chest was going to pop.

Eric's brows furrowed slightly when he looked at her. Oh. He knew her. They worked together; at least, (Y/n) worked at the law firm where Eric was studying. Or where he had been studying. He guessed neither of them would be working there anymore.

The way she pressed her finger to her lips had his eyes narrowing again and he heaved for breath. He watched with intent concentration as (Y/n) pointed at him before she smothered her finger against her lips so much it must have hurt. And he watched what she tried to mouth across to him.

'Be quiet.'

He found himself nodding and he pressed his palm against his mouth to try and ensure that his breaths didn't make a noise and he didn't start to wheeze. He couldn't make a sound. He gathered that.

Every person who he had seen in the subway who screamed, who lashed out or slipped or slammed their feet too harshly had attracted attention. Eric found out very quickly that if he didn't move, if he stayed silent and pretended to be a statue, the creatures would move right past him.

It didn't work out so well when the subway became flooded. Eric had screamed into the water, he has gasped and choked and flung himself about. He collided into people, he pushed bodies and bag and prams and all contents of things out of his way when the water became too high and he couldn't breathe.

He scrambled, kicked, fought and pushed until he got towards the stairs and managed to swim up here. He thought he was going to drown down there. Eric didn't know what was worse. Drowning in the subway or coming up for air and being attacked up here. Neither option felt welcoming.

Once (Y/n) looked around and ensured there were no creatures within sight, she held her hand out towards Eric.

Maybe, if it had been a total stranger that came out of the water like a beacon of hope, she would have ran. She might have hurried, left them to fend for themselves because that was survival. (Y/n) couldn't help everybody and at times like these, helping people could get her killed.

But that wasn't just anybody. That was Eric. That was one of the young ones at the law firm who was just learning the tricks of the trade. The one who made a point to learn everybody's name. The guy who brought (Y/n) coffee whenever she was at work on a morning shift. He was down to Earth, he was sweet and sensitive and kind.

(Y/n) couldn't just leave him. She wouldn't run away without knowing if Eric had any sense of what was happening. If he didn't know and made a noise, he would get himself killed. (Y/n) didn't want to witness that, she didn't want that to happen to him.

Surprise flooded Eric's system when he saw (Y/n)'s hand outstretched towards him.

He couldn't stop himself from shaking when he reached out and took her hand. Hers was warm compared to how his blood was freezing in his veins. He tried to be careful, taking one step at a time towards her until he was out of the water and out of danger of making a large splash and drawing attention to either of them.

He stood still, again taken by surprise when (Y/n)'s free hand held onto his shoulder and she seemed to take a moment to check him up and down. She was making sure he wasn't hurt.

When she mouthed 'okay?' to him, Eric nodded and took the time to look over her as well. She didn't look injured, she wasn't bleeding or limping or cradling any part of her that seemed to be hurt.

Eric had a great urge to shake the dripping water off his frame, but he knew that would cause too much sound. Any sort of sound would be too much. Instead, he tightened his hand around (Y/n)'s and pointed down the street. They needed to move. He didn't care where they went, as long as they got away from here.

He took slow steps alongside her, but he couldn't focus on looking ahead when all he could do was look down at the shell shocked girl beside him. There was a faraway look in (Y/n)'s eyes and with each step she took, she seemed to move closer and closer to his side until their arms were brushing alongside each other and her free hand moved to curl around his upper arm.

His body was soaked but the cold water was refreshing when (Y/n) felt like she was overheating from all the excersion from the day's events. Staying close beside Eric made (Y/n) feel some sense of security.

It reassured her that she wasn't alone. She may have started this terrible day alone and she may have started this defense by herself, but not anymore. At least, not for a while. Being with someone felt safer than being alone. She felt like she could keep walking without her thoughts becoming too much for her to handle.

Another set of eyes, another set of ears and another mind to help hide and figure out where to go and what to do, it was helpful. It was comforting.

Both of them seemed to shudder and press together when the rain started to fall.

At first, it was little droplets. Small splatters on the floor and it made them pause their treck along the road. Rain made a sound. It made a noise when it tapped against the roof of cars and when it splashed into puddles and when it started to hammer down and fall from the trees and tap on the windows, it could become a symphony.

The creatures must know. They must have known that the rain was making that noise, that it was nothing they could harm, nothing they could kill. Because none of them came; no creatures climbed the buildings or scoured the streets and aimed towards them.

One of the announcements said they don't like water, maybe that included the rain too.

When the rain started to become heavier and the droplets felt like pins scratching against their skin and sticking to their clothes, Eric pointed to the pavement. There was a building that was clearly under construction with scaffolding and wooden boards set up. That would provide them some shelter.

When they got under the scaffolding, they both paused. Their fingers were still woven together as they hunched over near the wall.

(Y/n) took a moment to listen to the rain. It was loud. It dripped from the scaffolding and splashed into puddles on the floor and it made background noise. It made a cover for them.

"Are you okay?" (Y/n)'s voice came out barely more than a whisper and as she spoke, she could feel a lump forming in her throat. Her eyes welled over and she looked around, making sure that the rain covered the quiet sound of her words.

She could see the panic written across Eric's face. She could see the contemplation in his eyes until he realised that the rain was their protection. It would provide a blanket for their words, as long as they kept their decibels low.

"I think so. Where are you going?" Eric took the time to look around and guess where they were.

They were in mid-town. Somewhere he didn't usually go. This was somewhere he went right beneath when he travelled to and from work each day on the subway. He didn't even make it to work this morning. He had barely been on the train for five minutes before it stopped.

An emergency announcement sounded, everyone was evacuated just as the chaos started. Eric didn't get off the platform before the creatures swarmed the subway and he ended up swimming out of there.

He didn't know what to do.

Would his home still be there waiting for him? What good would it do him to go home alone? He couldn't very well go to work, anyone there would be in hiding or trying to get out and get somewhere safe. He had no idea where to go. Did he hide in a shop? At least a shop would have food and drink and shelter.

"Home, for now at least." (Y/n) cast her eyes down to her feet before she looked back up into Eric's melting chocolate eyes. "I don't- I don't have any family here, home seems the best choice right now."

(Y/n) didn't want to think about her family. What was left of her family was broken, but they were all in different states. No one was here, no one was close by and the few friends she did have would either be dead or in hiding or making their way to the water. She was alone.

A sad sort of smile formed on Eric's lips as his shoulders sagged down and his hair began to curl as the water finally faded from his hair and trickled into his clothing.

"My family are in England. I was only here to study." Eric raised his hands at his sides like he wanted to laugh or make a joke but it only made him tear up and had a lump forming in his throat.

He was in New York to study. He was here to become a lawyer, his parents had pushed for this and he wanted to make them proud. How could he do that now? How proud were they going to be of a son who was crying and walking the streets aimlessly with no idea how to help himself?

Were they even alive? Was this chaos happening back home? Was this happening all around the world or was there one country, one town or one little village that didn't have these creatures?

(Y/n) didn't have a response to that. Just looking at the sadness and uncertainty in Eric's eyes was making her want to burst into sobs right here and now. They were both alone. They were both isolated from any family or friends and they both had no destination in mind or way they could get through this.

"Can… can I come with you?" There was an air of desperation in Eric's words that made (Y/n) want to scream because this shouldn't be happening. They shouldn't be this frightened, this traumatised and upset and afraid and isolated. None of this should be happening, but it was, and they could do very little about it.

Eric didn't want to ask, part of him really didn't because it felt strange. He felt bad for asking if he could tag along with her when the world was ending. Maybe she wanted to be alone. Maybe she thought he would be a hindrance. Maybe she thought he was weak and being silly for asking.

But when she reached out and took his hand again and stepped closer to him, Eric felt his heart doing summer saults in his chest. "Of course."

He got the sense that just maybe, (Y/n) didn't want to be alone either. Maybe if they had been strangers this would have been a little more unorthadox, maybe it would have been uneasy or uncomfortable. But they were friends, they were colleagues and they spoke almost every day at work. Eric felt he knew her enough to be comfortable enough to panic and cry and be himself around her. He hoped she felt the same.

With their hands entwined, they moved back onto the road and began to trudge through the rain.

They walked in tandem, their steps and their paces matching while their hands stayed deadlocked together and their arms were glued up side by side. (Y/n) took to leaning her cheek against Eric's arm, focusing on the sound of the rain and listening out for anything else that sounded unfamiliar.

The silence was comfortable between them. They seemed to cling to each other the further they walked. They rounded a corner onto a new street that finally looked familiar and (Y/n) began pointing to the street signs to show Eric which way to go.

(Y/n) could of cried when they were finally on her street again, although it didn't much look like her street. She barely recognised the road that had been covered in craters and pot holes. The corner shop looked like it had combusted. Everything looked like the blitz, but at least the two apartment buildings on each street corner were in place.

(Y/n) took a step forward but before she stepped onto the road, she paused short when she felt Eric's hand slip from hers.

Her head turned to look beside her but Eric was no longer right beside her, he was behind her.

Both his hands clamped down on her waist and he pulled her back towards him until his chest was glued down into her back. His face hovered dangerously close to her ear and (Y/n) couldn't be sure whether he wanted to whisper something to her or if he simply wanted to breathe close to her skin to calm himself down.

His fingers were puncturing into her hips and he was trembling behind her. Had he suddenly become afraid? Did he want to go somewhere else? Had something spooked him?

As if he could hear her thoughts, Eric managed to unclamp one hand from her hip so he could point across to the building across the road on their left.

A creature.

A cold shiver ran down (Y/n)'s spine and she found herself shrinking down and pushing back into Eric. Her hand reached behind her to grip his arm and her jaw dropped but no sound escaped her mouth. She wanted to cry. Tears were welling up in her eyes and her throat was turning dry and she felt the great need to cough and splutter through a howl.

Her eyes snapped closed when Eric's hand moved from pointing out the creature and his palm clamped across her mouth. The touch wasn't forceful or smothering, but it was enough to coax (Y/n) to stay quiet.

She tried to stay deathly still, clutching at Eric's arm while she felt his head turn just a little more until his lips were touching the side of her temple. The touch was delicate, like the first flakes of snow on the grass but (Y/n) could feel how badly his lips were trembling and how he was fighting back his own sobs.

He breathed shallow and quick against her temple, almost like he was kissing her skin and his fingers were puncturing into her hip leaving bruises in his wake.

Eric kept his eyes on the creature despite how badly he wanted to close them and disappear. He wanted to curl up and wish this whole scene away. But holding onto (Y/n) was doing something to keep him grounded. It was stopping him from screaming and getting them both killed here and now.

He watched the creature, the odd block of arms and legs and a strange shaped head that could splinter apart and crack open like a walnut shell. He watched it dig its pointed claws into the building across the street. He watched as it made a horrid echoeing noise that had (Y/n) quaking in his arms and made Eric double over her like a security blanket.

The creature was moving away. It was heading in the other direction. It continued down the street until it was far away from them and just out of sight.

Once it was gone, the pair of them stayed deathly still, making sure nothing else was lurking around the corner about to become a predator.

(Y/n) dared to open her eyes when she felt Eric press his lips harder against her temple and kiss her head. She could feel the relief pouring through him into her. She felt him stop shaking and finally breathe softly against her skin.

Her hand unlatched from his arm and she shakily pointed to her building. The rain continued to beat down against them and lightning struck the skies as their beacon, their safe haven, was finally within sight.

Eric's hand stayed on her hip as they crossed the road at such a slow pace it didn't feel like they were moving at all. But going any faster in this weather felt like tempting fate far too much.

The door was open. It felt like a sign, like something welcoming them inside, like the building was promising to protect them and keep them safe.

Once inside, Eric didn't bother to shut the door, it could stay wide open like that because it meant they could come and go without fear and if anyone else needed shelter, they could hurry inside.

(Y/n) turned her head and looked up at Eric, letting tears fall freely from her eyes while she pointed down to the stairs.

"Stay this side." Her voice was barely audible, the quietest whisper she could manage, but she had to tell him.

She walked these stairs each and every day, she knew which floorboards creaked and which steps would be loud and which would be quiet. Walking on the left side of the stairs and staying close to the bannister was the safest bet as the boards didn't creak as much over here.

As not to tempt fate, (Y/n) walked on her tiptoes and she was sure Eric looked down and copied her movements. He stayed on his toes, barely setting his feet down on the floor until it felt like he was gliding on air.

It took them five minutes to climb two flights of stairs but when (Y/n) approached her door, her expression turned grave and her stomach churned.

Her bag. Her keys. Her phone. Every possession she left the apartment with was somewhere in the streets, lost in the chaos. She didn't have a spare key outside, it was too dangerous when anyone could walk in the building and try and get into her apartment.

A clap of thunder outside made her jump and she stepped to one side while she looked up at Eric.

"No keys."

Eric nodded before it seemed to sink in what she had said and his lips rolled together tightly while he looked around. He had nothing but his foot to use to get them inside the apartment.

He stepped back and nudged (Y/n) to one side and raised one leg in the air. He knew he had to kick just below the lock to make sure it broke properly.

He watched (Y/n) wave her hand out in front of him before she pointed to the window and waited. As soon as a flash of lightning struck the sky, she pointed and Eric snapped his eyes closed.

He kicked the door just as thunder tore through the air and shuddered the foundations of the building.

The door was open.

When they headed inside, (Y/n) felt brave enough to carefully twist the door handle and close it. She prayed no creatures would be inside the building. She prayed they wouldn't be nearby and being here in her home with padded walls and other apartments enclosing them in would keep them safe. She prayed they could make a small amount of noise, a few hushed words and a few movements around the flat. Hopefully they would be safe, for a while at least.

Tears were drenching her face the moment she turned around to face Eric and she took her chance before her courage dissipated.

Her arms bound around his waist and she smothered her face in his chest, glueing herself up against him to try and seek whatever comfort she could and to hold him together. Because she could see Eric looked like a puzzle that was about to fall apart.

She felt his shoulders quake and the tiniest, smallest whimper left his lips before he smothered his face in her hair and tried to breathe in her scent. He kissed the top of her head with one arm bound around her waist and the other hand cupping the back of her neck.

They held one another close as if letting go or moving back would physically tear them apart limb from limb and kill them. Neither of them wanted to let go.

"It's okay." Eric's voice was a whisper on the wind, just a little bit louder than he had been when they had been out in the rain, but it was enough. It was enough to soothe one of the many broken nerves within (Y/n) and when she felt him start to sway them from side to side, she gripped him tighter.

For now at least, it was okay. They were okay.

***

Sleep had always been something Eric thought of as peaceful. It was an escape. A way to leave the real world behind when things got too heavy; a way to drift off and get lost in an alternate world. A way to recover and rest and feel a sense of bliss that you just couldn't find in the real world.

Eric didn't see sleep in the same way anymore. He couldn't. How could sleep be something peaceful when it came with consequences and threats?

If he went to sleep, he risked everything. He risked going to sleep alone and waking up alone. He risked something happening during the night and not knowing it. Going to sleep meant letting his guard down.

What if a creature passed the building in the dead of night and Eric made a sound by mistake? And what if that mistake led to the creatures harming (Y/n)?

Eric had never had to think about making noise in his sleep. When he slept alongside someone, the only thing he worried about was if he snored while he slept- something he was adamant he had never done. He didn't consider that the covers would rustle or that he could make noise by turning over and have the bed creak or the cushions move.

He never considered before that he could make a whimper or a groan in his sleep or that such a quiet noise could be the undoing of him. Of everything around him.

He was in a frightful battle of needing to sleep so he could function but being too afraid to sleep and risk it all.

This led to a few sacred hours of sleep where he seemed to wake at least twice every hour in a panic, trying to make sure he wouldn't make a noise or do anything to alert the creatures of their existence here.

His arm reached up to cross behind his head on the arm of the sofa and his tired, dreary eyes focused on the ceiling that had been his canvas for the last half an hour or so. He imagined different scenarios, different images forming in his mind and scenes acting out while he stared up into the abyss which was actually the ceiling.

There was so little to do when he had no energy to get up but too much paranoia to settle to sleep.

"Eric?" The whispering of his name caught Eric off guard and his head lifted from the cushion so he could peer over the back of the sofa. (Y/n)'s quiet murmur of "Can't sleep either?" made his lips quirk into a gentle smile as he nodded.

At least he wasn't the only one up in the dead of night, plagued by terror.

It strained his neck to lean up like he was, but he couldn't find the will to tear his eyes away from (Y/n). He watched her, enchanted, as she padded across the carpet until she was level with the arm of the sofa that his feet were dangling over.

The first night they spent in (Y/n)'s apartment, they had both slept in the living room. Too afraid to part from each other's company, too exhausted to try and get changed or get a drink or do anything other than sit together on the sofa and drift into exhaustion.

Last night (Y/n) had tried to sleep in her room, after trying and failing to persuade Eric that he could sleep in the bed too, that she trusted him. But he hadn't been able to sleep and he saw no point lying next to her and disturbing what little sleep (Y/n) managed to get.

But she didn't want to be alone anymore. Staring at the shadows until they resembled the creatures had become too much and (Y/n) instinctively felt that Eric was awake too. She wanted some company, she wanted to forget the chaos they had found themselves in and just try to relax, for a little while. That felt doable if she was with company. If she was with Eric.

Eric moved his arm from behind his head to scratch at his eyes and clear his vision a little more. He noticed the way (Y/n) was fidgeting from foot to foot with one arm bound around her waist and the other scratching the back of her neck in a nervous habit that he recognised as something he did too.

"Can I join you?"

She didn't have to ask. This was her home and if she didn't want to be alone, Eric was never going to refuse her company.

Before Eric had the chance to try and sit up, (Y/n) moved. She took him by surprise when she softly perched down beside his hip on the edge of the sofa and when she stretched out and laid down on the very edge beside him, Eric didn't know what to do.

He suddenly forgot how to breathe, how to focus, how to process his thoughts and keep himself in order. All he could manage to do was shift his wide eyes to stare down at her. His eyes looked so dilated and blown wide that there was barely one small ring of chocolate brown surrounding those black orbs and they watched as (Y/n) shifted around next to him.

She moved carefully, doing her best not to make a sound or cause the sofa to squeak or groan beneath them. Moving slow seemed to be a new reality for them and it was starting to become a reinforced habit.

(Y/n) wasn't quite sure whether to stay lying on her back beside Eric or whether to turn and face him. She settled on turning on her right side with one arm beneath her head and her left hand softly settling on Eric's shoulder.

Those dark eyes could get him anything he wanted, (Y/n) thought, as she stared up at him in the darkness and the new sense of normality which had become silence.

Her fingers danced across his shoulder and gave a light squeeze while she shifted between looking from his eyes down to his sharp jawline that was littered in stubble. Being here with Eric felt better than being in another room, uncertain and alone and almost always terrified.

(Y/n) couldn't stop herself from gliding her hand from Eric's shoulder up his neck towards his face. she kept her movements slow, giving him time to turn his head away if he didn't want the touch, but if anything, Eric seemed to lean closer like he had been yearning for her touch all his life.

Her thumb traced the corner of his jaw and worked along the edge of his cheekbone beneath his tired yet dilated eyes.

"You need some sleep." She murmured softly and with her thumb continuing to trace beneath his eyes, Eric couldn't help but close them.

He tilted his head down, pushing into her touch as a quiet, inaudible sigh escaped his blushing red lips. Again, Eric didn't quite know what to do when (Y/n) inched closer and pressed her face against the top of his chest. She didn't seem to care about the undone buttons on his shirt pressing into her cheek or the racing of his heart or the fact that he hadn't showered in almost three days.

The feeling of his pulse softly lulling beneath his skin was soothing and being this close made (Y/n) feel at ease. It seemed to do the same for Eric because he nudged his arm across until his hand laid on her hip and he angled his head down until his nose brushed against her hair.

The slight smell of smoke and damp didn't manage to mask the smell of (Y/n)'s shampoo, that faint hint of raspberry with a silky edge to her hair that made him feel like he was burrowing down into a pillow.

Eric didn't want to go to sleep. He didn't want to become vulnerable, especially now that (Y/n) was laid here in front of him and he felt the need to keep her safe. But somehow, with her chest merged up against his own and the feeling of her lips and nose pressing against his exposed chest, it was calming. Comforting. And Eric found his mind was already shutting down without his permission for some much needed sleep.

Being cooped up together on the sofa, such a small cramped space, when they weren't supposed to make any noise might not have been such a good idea at times.

Neither of them could turn much in any direction and (Y/n) found that when she tried to turn or twist around, she felt Eric's hand clamp down on her hip, even in his sleep. He was a light sleeper, worsened by the events of the last few days. Any movement or slight noise woke him and when (Y/n) tried to turn, she felt Eric hold her hip and help her turn without making any noise. It was sweet, even in a delerious sleeping state Eric was still worrying and trying to protect them both.

(Y/n) could feel the light seeping through from the open curtains, basking across her face making her feel a warm glow all over.

One hand moved to brush across her face, again slow and tender as not to make a sound and it was suddenly hard not to yawn or stretch or groan as she woke up. Things she had done before without thinking but now they had become things she had to scold herself not to do.

It took (Y/n) a moment longer than it should have for her to work out why she felt rather constrained and uneasy.

Eric.

She had been surprised how quickly he had fallen asleep last night and how easily she herself found it to switch off and calm down for the first time in days. The pair of them had moved around quite a lot despite the small space the sofa provided.

It seemed now that Eric was making the most of their limited space. His head was softly nestled into the crook of (Y/n)'s neck and each breath he took fanned against her throat and she could feel his nose nudging against her skin. He had his right arm slung around her waist like he was ensuring that neither of them moved or made a single sound in their sleep. And his leg was cast over her thigh with his knee safely nestled between her thighs.

Raising her hand, (Y/n) slowly began to card her fingers through Eric's crimped curls that were askew and as wild as if he had been in the jungle. Her cheek nestled against his hair and her fingers rhythmically tugged and scratched at his hair and scalp. The action earned a vibration from Eric's chest that shivered through into her body but he did well to muffle the sound against her throat where he placed a delicate kiss without thinking.

"Morning."

He pressed another kiss against the hollow expanse of her throat as if returning the response in a gesture and he felt the shiver that it ensued running through (Y/n)'s system.

Eric's arm tightened around her waist and he nestled down deeper against her chest, praying he wasn't laid too heavily on her because right now, there was no where else he would rather be. He was as comfy as he'd ever been and he was calm. He was finally calm and settled and not laid in terror for every waking moment.

Somehow, it was a silent agreement between them that they wouldn't be leaving one another anytime soon. Neither of them wanted to face this world alone. The universe had clearly thrown them together for a reason, and they weren't about to oppose fate.

Maybe the world was ending outside these walls. Maybe their futures wouldn't be long or filled with happiness and pleasure. But for now, within these walls, they were in their own sense of serenity together. Just the two of them.

#imagine #a quiet place day one #a quiet place day 1 #a quiet place eric #a quiet place part ii #a quiet place the road ahead #eric x reader #a quiet place imagine #a quiet place eric x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader

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trainer-from-unova · 2 days ago

Text

day on the green

𖤐 bandom blog: @princess-lvcifer 𖤐 english ao3 𖤐 spanish ao3 𖤐 edits 𖤐 kofi 𖤐 𝄞 𖤐

ship: eddie munson x f!reader

summary: you travel with your best friend through the country to go to a metal festival in San Francisco with him

a/n: lots of metallica references as usual / i wrote this in summer 2022 / english isn't my first language, sorry if something's weird expressed

cw: fluff, best friends to lovers, sexual and romantic tension, sexual humor, affectionate insults

word count: 12'1k

"______, Eddie's calling," said her mother, entering her room without knocking or asking permission. She was listening to Metallica at full volume and knew she probably wasn't going to hear her.

"I'm coming," she said dropping the magazine she was reading, leaving it at the foot of his bed and getting up from it to go downstairs to where the house phone was. "Hey, what's up?" She wanted to hold back the urge to smile like the lovesick fool she was, since her mother was circling the house like a shark, and she didn't want her to know she liked him, not because she was ashamed of him or because her mother thought he was a bad influence — on the contrary, she and Eddie got along well, she didn't see him as a bad guy, but who would want her mother to know which boy she liked? And on top of that he was a close friend who often went to her house.

"Are you at home?" he asked nervously.

"Can't you see I am, asshole?" She asked now. "What's wrong?"

"Okay, don't move from there, I'm on my way," he said, and hung up.

"You fucking asshole," she whispered to herself, she hated being left wondering, she was worried, but knowing Eddie it wouldn't be serious. The most serious thing that could happen was that he'd get caught smoking or selling weed.

She didn't hear Eddie park his van in front of her house because her music was on full blast, but if it wasn't for that, she would have heard him. She had good hearing and recognised the noise made by the engines of his loved ones' cars. She could also recognise the sound of keys or footsteps as they walked.

What she did hear was the doorbell of the house in the distance. She got out of bed and turned the music down, it was obvious that Eddie was there to tell her something, although she had no idea what, but she'd better be able to hear it loud and clear, she'd listen to her favourite songs loud and clear at any other time.

The door to her room was open, so he didn't ask permission to enter. He was practically at his houss, but he did leave it ajar when he entered.

"What is it?" She asked indignantly as she sat cross-legged on her bed. "You've got me fucking intrigued!"

"Boom," he said, raising his right hand, in which he held a pamphlet. She could clearly see names of rock and metal bands she knew: Scorpions, Ratt, Y&T, Metallica, Rising Force, Victory.... Though his eyes went to her favourite band, Metallica, hardly paying attention to the others, as she didn't care that much about them.

Eddie took off his shoes and sat down on her bed, facing her, also with his legs crossed.

"It's this year's Day on the Green," he said, handing her the sheet, "Saturday 31 August. The next day it's Wham! and some other pop bands I obviously don't want to see. I've always wanted to go. We have to go, I won't take no for an answer."

"18'50$... It's expensive, and in Oakland! How are we going to get there, if we go at all?"

"But it's worth the price! And we can go by bus, or by plane, or in my caravan... Yeah, I think my caravan would be better. Think about it, you and me, travelling around the country in a caravan, listening to our favourite songs and shouting them out, and then listening to them played live by their creators and together with more fans..." He couldn't fit the smile on his face and his eyes were shining, it was adorable when he looked so excited, you could tell he liked what he was talking about. "It's a great plan, you can't say no," he said pointing his right hand with his index finger.

It was true, it was a great plan and she couldn't say no to him. And she really wanted to live such a unique experience with him, and alone, but the money issue put her off, and she didn't know what her mother would say about it.

"And on top of that, it's the summer holidays, you can't give me the excuse of school."

"Yes, but the money and my mother..."

"Don't worry about the money, you know..." He whispered.

Yes, it was true, he was loaded from selling weed, but it was bad for her to accept that he paid her entrance fee and everything, and that he drove and paid for the petrol.

"Even though you're failing all your science subjects, you're a good girl, I'm sure she'll let you have a whim like that. And I'm sure she doesn't think too badly of me, does she?"

"I hope so... But before we say anything, we should organise it a bit, so that she sees that we're not going on a wild adventure, that we're organised, and get her in a good mood."

"I see the logic of it, but it has to be as soon as possible, tickets may fly."

"Then let's get down to work. We must go to the library to consult maps and their routes."

That's what they did. They worked out how long the trip would take to get there and back, when they would have to leave Hawkins and when they would be back, motels to spend the night in, gas stations, how much money each of them would have to take with them to pay for expenses, how much the whole trip would cost, and a little emotional and psychological blackmail to use on _______'s mother if needed.

The next day, she let her mother know that Eddie would be going to dinner in the evening and that they wanted to tell her something important. The second she thought they wanted to tell her that they had been together for a long time or even worse, like a pregnancy, but she cleared her worries by telling her it was nothing of the sort.

"I want you here at six o'clock sharp. Get ready," she told him as she got out of Eddie's caravan in front of her house. Her house was between the school and his house, so he was her taxi driver.

"I know, I know."

"Isn't he coming in yet?" asked her mother when she saw her walk in the front door alone.

"No, he's going home to get ready," she said as she made her way to the stairs and took her backpack off her shoulders, "or did you want him to get ready here?"

"What should I make him for dinner?"

"Whatever you want, he'll eat it all pleased," she said on the first floor.

Hours passed and the doorbell rang. It was time. Luckily, he had been on time. For what he wanted to do, he was, but not for his early morning classes at school.

Eddie wasn't that uncomfortable, because he already knew the mother of his best and only female friend, but she had told him that her mother saw him as a possible boyfriend, so he knew what was going through her mind when she saw him with her daughter (the same thing happened with some people at school), and that made him ashamed, because on top of that, at least on his part, he did feel something for _______, something more than friendship.

And well, besides, it was the first time he had dinner and spent so much time with her mother, and of course, there was also the main plan, the mission they had to achieve: to convince her to let her go with him on a trip around the country and go to that metal festival. Technically she didn't need her permission, since she was already 18, but being a woman and still living under her roof, for things like that it was better to have her approval.

"Well, what is it that you wanted to tell me? Intrigue kills me," said her mother, as the three of them sat down at the table.

"Like mother, like daughter," he thought.

"Well, mom, as you know, I love metal, and so does he. It's a music that has helped me a lot in many ways for a long time, and so has Eddie, even though we've known each other for half a year. There's going to be a festival in Oakland on Saturday the 31st of August and we'd really like to go. We've thought about going in his caravan, both of us driving every couple of hours. Also, because of the proximity, we'd like to visit San Francisco and Los Angeles for at least a day, and we'd come back through the south, through the Bible Belt. He has insisted on paying for everything but I have told him no, I could pull from my savings or start working a bit. We've also looked at routes and motels to sleep in, and if anything should happen to the car Eddie is a good mechanic and has all the necessary equipment. I would call you every time we stopped at a place with a phone box. And I think I deserve to go to the festival, plus it's something that would make me very happy and travelling around the country in a car would be an experience..."

"And of course I would look after her in every way, you don't have to worry about anything," he said as seriously as she did.

"Of course, of course," she pointed her index finger at him, giving him a quick glance and a quick nod.

She looked at each of them and a smirk appeared on her face. They were both already fearing the worst.

"All this to ask me to take you on a trip and go to a concert?" she asked incredulously while holding back her laughter.

"...Yes?"

"For God's sake, you don't need to worry so much, you're both old enough to ask my permission. Besides, I can't wait for you to see the world and get wise," she said looking only at her daughter.

"So, ma'am, does that mean yes?" asked Eddie.

"Of course it does," she replied, and they both looked at each other smiling from ear to ear and high-fived.

She looked at them tenderly. It was obvious to her that they were both in love with each other.

Time passed ridiculously slowly.

During the months of waiting before the festival began, Eddie slightly increased the prices of the weed he sold, and started giving private guitar lessons to kids in town to earn a little extra and to disguise where he was getting the money to afford the trip. Meanwhile, she started giving drawing, English and Spanish classes to other kids.

On the first day of May Live Aid was announced, but despite being closer than Oakland, as it would be held in Philadelphia and would be no more than a day's drive (not counting the return trip), it was too expensive. 35$ each ticket. The price was understandable, as the event was going to be an unprecedented spectacle, where many people would be working for a good cause, but they already had enough expenses with what the Day on the Green tickets cost and the trip they would be making. Besides, even if they didn't go to the festival, raising so much money in such a short time was quite difficult, as Live Aid would be on 13th July, and tickets flew quickly, and rightly so, seeing the list of artists who were going to attend to help the cause.

Anyway, they watched Live Aid together on TV and that made them want to go to Day on the Green even more.

And finally the day came for them to go on the trip. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't climbing the walls like Spiderman herself because she was so nervous. She had never left Indiana, she had never made such a long trip, both in terms of distance and days, and she had never been separated from her mother for such a long time. But at least she was going to experience all that with her best friend and the boy she was in love with.

She had been ready since the day before and had gone through her luggage four times, and was about to do it for the fifth time, when a clack sounded outside her house. It was him, no doubt about it. She almost had a heart attack. It was time to go.

She left the house with the luggage and she and her mother pretended to put the things in the caravan, but he got off them and insisted on doing it himself.

As it was almost the end of August, and it was so hot, he was wearing no shirt and shorts. Both young friends were embarrassed for her mother to see him like that, but it was an understandable outfit because of the heat.

She hugged her mother goodbye and told her that she loved her very much. As the mother she was, she could feel her nervousness.

"Don't worry about anything, silly, you'll have a great time, you'll see," her mother whispered in her ear as they hugged.

"I know, but..."

"Before you go, I have to take a picture of you!" said her mother as they parted, "Come on, get together."

Eddie put his arm around ______'s shoulders and pulled her close to him, resting his head on hers, and she posed, making a peace sign with one of her hands. He made a devil sign with his free hand.

Her mother took the camera off her neck and handed it to her, they got into the car, both waved goodbye to her mother and Eddie drove off.

"I CAN'T WAIT!" he shouted.

"Same," she said, laughing a little nervously.

"Well, it doesn't look like it from you," he said, looking at her strangely, "what's wrong?"

"It's nerves, don't worry."

"Nerves about what?"

"To make such a trip, to be so far away from my home and my mother for so long, my comfort zone."

"I mean, it would fuck me up at this point, but if you don't want to go, there's still time for me to turn back..."

"What the fuck are you talking about?! No way, of course I want to go on the trip and to the festival, and I've got you on top of that. I wouldn't do this madness with just anyone."

"Do you consider going on a trip and to a festival a crazy thing?" he asked with a mocking smile.

"No, but yes, if it's that far away..."

"As long as you don't tell me to turn around when we're in Nebraska or something like that, it's all right," he said jokingly.

"You know I won't."

On the way they listened and sang along to the cassettes he had, and she brought her own too, so they wouldn't always be alone listening to his.

It was around lunchtime and Eddie had already been driving for a couple of hours, so they stopped to rest and eat.

"Wait, I have to put sunscreen on again," she said before getting back in the car. She had just finished talking to her mother on the phone. She had little to say to her, evidently.

"Really? That's a scam, it's not necessary."

"You're telling me you've been driving around shirtless in the sun for hours without sunscreen?"

"Of course I am."

"You're going to burn, you idiot!"

"No way, you exaggerator."

"Put it," she said, offering the bottle of sunscreen.

"No," she said with disgust.

She poured cream into her free hand, moved closer to him and directed her cream-filled hand to his collarbone, rubbing her hand over it, and trying not to look at his tattooed chest or his tablet, making a superhuman effort not to let her eyes wander to those areas of his body. That took him by surprise, but he kept still and quiet, accepting the gesture.

"Dampen down a little," she asked as she rubbed cream back into her hand, looking up, meeting his eyes. "Do you see how necessary this is?" She asked as she creamed his left cheek, inches from each other. "You're already red."

He was sure he wasn't red from the sun, but he shut up.

"Turn around," she asked again, and he again obeyed.

For a second she stared at his back. She thought is was beautiful and couldn't believe she was about to run hee hands over it. She pushed his hair forward with her little finger so as not to get even a little cream in it.

"Don't you want to put your hair in a high ponytail or a bun?" She asked as she ran her hand down his back. "You'd be cooler."

"I look ridiculous."

"I'm sure you wouldn't. Besides, what difference does it make if I see you like that?"

"A lot," he thought, "you're the only person whose opinion really matters to me."

When he noticed she was done, he turned and she offered him the bottle of sunscreen again. His arms, legs and torso remained. It was understandable, she wasn't going to rub it all over him, he was too old to follow and it would be very uncomfortable in many ways, especially touching his torso, although they both wanted to.

When he finished applying the cream, he gave her back the pot and hugged her tightly.

"You idiot, you're going to stain me and you're sweaty! Ugh!" and he laughed wickedly.

"Do you want me to help you lie on your back?" he asked as he let her out of his grip.

She was wearing shorts and a crop top.

"Okay," she said as she turned around. She didn't need to, she could do it on her own, but she wasn't going to refuse help, especially if it was about him touching her.

Eddie put cream on his right hand and directed his hand to her back. He was nervous, more so than he had been before, when she was creaming him. He didn't know how to touch her, but he knew he had to act normal, so he rubbed his hand across the uncovered part of her back with the mission to get the sticky cream off his hand as quickly as possible. He tried not to look too closely at her back, and his fingertips ended up inside her crop top, unintentionally brushing her bra for a second. Then he slid his hand down her right side to remove what little cream he had left, stopping when he brushed against her trousers. She loved the feel of his hand right then, in that place, like that, even though it probably wasn't a big deal and she was making a movie in her head. Then he pushed her hair forward and decided to rub cream on her neck, massaging it lightly.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

He got into the car, in the passenger seat, where she was before, and she quickly rubbed cream on her belly and legs, then sat in the driver's seat, where Eddie was before.

"Turn around and face the window," she said.

"For what?"

"You listen to me, okay?"

"Well... Okay."

She took off the extra hair tie she wore on her wrist as a spare in case she lost the one she was wearing and grabbed Eddie's hair, doing him a bun.

"Tell me, are you cooler right now?"

"Yes, but I'm sure I look ridiculous."

"You look gorgeous, as always," she said matter-of-factly, as she settled everything in the car so she could start driving.

After a few more hours they stopped again to stretch their legs and change drivers, had dinner at a fast food place and finally ended up at a motel, almost on the outskirts of the state.

When they entered the room they saw that there was only one bed.

"I'll go and ask for a room with two beds," he said, turning away.

"Eddie, it's night, and you're exhausted," she stopped him, taking him by the arm. "Come in, come on," she said, nodding her head.

"You don't care?" he asked, referring to sharing a double bed.

"I don't give a shit," she was even excited, but of course she wasn't going to say that, and she couldn't know that he did too, but he didn't want to make her uncomfortable in any way, so that's why he offered asking for a room with two beds.

They arranged their things and the first thing they wanted to do was to take a shower, they were exhausted, sweaty and sticky from the sun cream.

"I'll shower first," they both said at the same time, standing in the middle of the small room after sorting their luggage and taking things out. "...You first," they both said again at the same time, and laughed at the synchronicity and telepathy they sometimes had.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" she asked.

"Come on," he said, leaning closer to her.

They both kept their dominant hands behind their backs and recited the chant of the game at the same time.

"...and... three!" They both pulled their hands behind their backs at the same time, making their hands and fingers make the shape of the object they had chosen in their minds. She drew paper and he drew scissors, but as soon as he saw that she was losing the game, he turned his hand from scissors to stone, and then put his arm around her shoulders, making her walk towards the bathroom.

"You win, you first," he said.

"Dude!" she said, annoyed but laughing.

"Shhh."

"Well okay, but at least let me get some panties and my pajamas, or do you want me to come out of the bathroom naked?"

"All right, all right," he said letting go of her and raising his arms in the air as if he was being mugged.

She grabbed her clothes and stepped into the shower. Meanwhile, he pulled on his pajamas (aka boxer shorts), turned on the TV that was there, looked for MTV and sat on the edge of the bed to watch it. He wanted to lie down on the bed, but he didn't want to stink up the bed with the stench of his sweat or stain it.

When she came out of the bathroom her hair was wet, she was wearing only panties and a baggy T-shirt, and clearly no bra.

"Your turn," she said as she made her way to the bed to lie down on the left side of it.

He got up from the edge of the bed and went into the bathroom, which was full of steam.

"Did you take a hot shower, you crazy woman?" he asked before closing the door to get undressed and get into the shower.

"Yes," she replied as if it was the most normal thing in the world for the month they were in.

"It's the middle of August."

"Do you think I don't know that?" she asked, holding back her laughter, and then he, still surprised, closed the door.

She flicked through the television herself, but ended up back on MTV, then picked up the phone on the bedside table and called her mother again to let her know where they were and that they were okay.

He came out of the bathroom shortly after, wearing only short but baggy black boxer shorts and still with drops of cold water sliding off him, mostly running down his tattooed chest and back from his wet hair.

"Anything interesting on TV?" he asked as he lay down next to her on the bed.

"No, but we should turn it off now anyway," she said, referring to the fact that they had to get up early the next morning to continue driving.

"Yeah," he said, getting out of bed.

He went to turn off the television and the light, then turned on the ceiling fan and opened the window, then took off all his jewellery and watch, and finally lay back down on the bed with her, on her side, resting her head on his right arm. She moved into the same position facing him, and he could see her silhouette perfectly thanks to the little light coming in from outside the motel. Her T-shirt rode up slightly, revealing her belly.

She moved closer and snuggled up to him, which he gladly accepted and wrapped his free, left arm around her.

"I still can't process all of this, if you told me about this when we became friends..." she said as she looked at her friend's tattooed chest.

"Yeah, I wouldn't believe it either," he said, stroking her arm with his thumb.

It was the 27th of July last year, in the morning. She drove to her nearest record shop before they opened first thing in the morning. There was a queue of metalheads waiting in line outside the door, and she assumed they were there for exactly the same thing she was: to buy Metallica's new album, Ride the Lighting. Last year, having just released their first album, Kill 'em all, she had fallen completely in love with them and their style of music, and couldn't miss out on having the new album the instant it was released. She walked past all the metalheads standing there, until someone called out to her, catching her attention.

"_______!"

There he was, standing like the others, impatiently waiting for the shop to open to get his record.

They both knew each other from high school, despite not being in the same year or classes, and not being from popular groups, they understood and respected each other.

"Are you coming to get the new Metallica album?" he asked.

"Yes," and a big smile broke out on Eddie's lips as he gestured for her to come with him, standing next to him in the queue. "Thank you," she said for being a sneak. The person behind him pouted but fortunately didn't protest.

"I didn't know you liked Metallica, let alone knew them," he said, smiling. It was always a pleasure to meet people with the same musical tastes, especially when your tastes were considered strange and living in a small town.

"I can't say the same," she said smiling sideways, "it's pretty obvious looking at you that you do know them and many more rock and metal bands."

During the little while they waited in line they talked about how they met Metallica, their favourite songs from Kill 'em all, their favourite band members and asked each other if they liked other bands.

They went inside and went straight to get their copies of Ride the Lighting to take home.

"I'd love to listen to it together," he said as they left the shop after paying for the records, "and know each other's opinion of the songs instantly."

"Yeah," she said as they walked to the car park.

"I'd invite you to my place, but since my uncle works nights he sleeps in the mornings, and I'm going to have to listen to it," he said, referring to the record, "with my headphones on..."

"It's all right," she said. She could invite him to her house, since her mother was working and she had the whole house to herself, but she had just met him formally, she wasn't going to just invite him to her house. "I have an idea."

"What's that?"

"As soon as we get home we'll listen to it and when we're done we'll call each other to talk about it, what do you think?"

"That's fine with me."

They exchanged phone numbers and got into their cars and headed home to listen to the album for the first time.

Two minutes after she finished listening to the album, the phone rang. She knew it was him.

"What do you think?" he asked expectantly.

"I'm in shock, man."

"In a good way or a bad way?"

"What do you think? Let's see."

"Good? Because come on, I loved it."

"Me too! Although I didn't like all the songs," she said with a wince as she ran her finger along the phone's curly cord.

"No? Really?!"

"Yes."

"Which ones didn't you like?"

"Fade to Black and The call of Ktulu or whatever the fuck it's called," she could hear a small chuckle on the other line.

"I don't think they're bad."

"No no, I'm not saying that, it's just that they're not my style, I need a lot more rhythm, apart from the fact that they're too long."

"Yeah, it's understandable. I do like them but they're not my favourites either."

"And which ones are?"

"I couldn't tell you, they're all very good..." he was thoughtful for a few seconds. "Maybe... My favourite is Creeping Death. The riff, the lyrics, James's voice... It's tremendous."

"I loved that one too! And For Whom the Bell Tolls. Ride the lighting too but not as much as those two. I need to listen to them on loop for hours, I swear, I loved them."

Who knew in that moment that that album would quickly become a gold album and that just over a year later they would hear them live with him on the other side of the country?

The next few days of the trip were pretty much the same as that day: driving for hours, changing drivers, putting on sun cream, stopping to eat and go to the toilet, calling her mother and his uncle, filling up with petrol, listening to their cassettes at full volume and singing loudly in the caravan, smoking tobacco, laughing, talking about silly things, taking pictures with the camera of _______, and taking showers and sleeping in motels.

It was Thursday night, and they were already in downtown Nevada, resting in the motel where they stayed that night. They were also in a room with only one bed, a double bed, but they didn't mind.

"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight, I can't believe we'll be in Oakland by tomorrow. I could just keep driving right now," he said as they huddled together, and knowing him as well as she did, she knew it was true.

"Yeah, me too," she said, smiling as much as he was.

"I'm so glad you're my friend, I wouldn't be having this magical experience without you... I love you so much," he said smiling sweetly.

He really wanted to say so much more, he wanted to tell her how much he loved her, that she made him crazier than he already was, that he wanted to hold her tight and never let go, to kiss her and take care of her, but... He had to keep quiet. They had a precious friendship and if he confessed and she didn't reciprocate, which he assumed was most likely, it would probably make things very awkward between them and if he confessed during the trip, they wouldn't be able to run away from each other, having to share a car and rooms for days. It would be the worst-case scenario.

She assumed that he meant that he loved her very much as a person and as a friend, and nothing more. And he did mean that he loved her in those ways, but he also meant that he secretly loved her as a partner.

"I love you too," she said, smiling in the same way.

They stood for a few seconds looking into each other's eyes in silence, and for microseconds at times their eyes would wander to each other's lips.

Maybe it was the emotions running high, maybe it was the tiredness, maybe it was the night, maybe it was the hormones, maybe it was the way they were cuddled up in that marriage bed, maybe it was that she was sick of hiding her feelings, maybe it was that she was too brave when she liked someone, maybe it was Eddie's words and that she wanted to have even a little faith that she could have more than friendship with him, or maybe it was all of the above at once, but she decided to bring her face close to his, ridiculously slowly for fear of screwing up.

He noticed and almost had a heart attack. He didn't know what was going through his best friend's mind, he didn't know how she felt about him, but according to him, it looked like she was getting close to his face to kiss him, which if it was true, he had to take advantage of the opportunity, so he decided to do the same as her: get close to her face in a ridiculously slow way.

But then they were stopped by noises from the people in the next room, and they weren't just any noises; they were noises of bed springs and moaning, especially from a woman.

They both stopped dead in their tracks, frozen in their tracks, staring at each other with wide eyes and trying not to piss themselves laughing.

"This is ridiculous, I swear," she whispered as she moved slightly away from him and lay on her back, "I can't believe it," she said, pillowing her ears, to no listen the moans.

"Why are you whispering? You aren't the one who should be quiet. Do you want me to knock on the wall?" he asked as he raised his left arm and put his hand on the wall.

"No, let them have a good time," she said, her pillow no longer acting as a hoof against the noise. "Besides, if you hit the wall, you'll break her," she said as he lay on his back like her.

"We're not going to sleep tonight, but not for what we thought."

"It probably won't be long before they're done."

"They'd better."

And there they were, lying on their backs staring at the ceiling, taking in what had just happened, or rather what might have happened... if it hadn't been for the two shamelessly scandalous people who were fucking like rutting animals in the next room. They were uncomfortable in many ways, although they had to admit that the situation was funny at the same time.

The next evening they were in Oakland. They went to dinner and to stretch their legs a bit, seeing a bit of the city, and then to rest at the hotel where they would sleep.

"There are a lot of good looking guys around here," she said as they walked back to the hotel, noticing that there were a lot of metalheads around town, and she assumed that many of them might be like them: not from there, not living there, but had travelled there to attend the festival. "Something tells me they're here for the same reason we are."

He didn't say anything, he knew perfectly well that his best friend was crazy about long-haired men because she said so on several occasions, but still, he didn't think he had a chance with her even if he had long hair.

They still couldn't believe that they were already there and that the next day after lunch they would be at the stadium enjoying themselves like crazy.

The next morning they decided to take the car and go sightseeing in San Francisco, passing over the Bay Bridge of course. They were aware that with how big the city was and how little time they had before they had to be ready to go to the stadium in Oakland they wouldn't be able to see much, but they weren't there for sightseeing and seeing how different it was to Hawkins was enough for them.

The concert started at two in the afternoon.

She insisted that they had better be there as soon as possible to get parking in the stadium car park and to queue as soon as possible, so they drove back to their hotel in Oakland to get their tickets and then to the stadium. They were both wearing Metallica T-shirts.

Fortunately Eddie bought the tickets a few days after the event was announced, so they had tickets to be on the field and not in the stands, which was too boring and far away from the stage. As soon as the gates to the field opened, they and everyone else ran as if they were being chased with a chainsaw to get to the front row, in front of the stage.

"Do you see how I was right to come early?" she asked. They were almost in the front row.

"Yeah, yeah."

"I saw on TV once that this kind of thing happened at concerts in stadiums, at a Michael Jackson concert."

The first band to play was Victory, then Rising Force, then Metallica. At last the moment they had been waiting for the most, the moment they had travelled thousands of miles from their hometown on the other side of their big country had finally arrived.

_______ started screaming with excitement, jumping of joy and grabbing Eddie's arm, almost cutting off his circulation and digging her nails in when she heard The Ecstasy of Gold, a song by Ennio Morricone from the soundtrack for the film The Good, the Bad and the Ugly that they always played at the beginning of their concerts two years ago as they went on stage and prepared to play.

"Are you all right?" he asked, laughing.

"AAAAAAH!" she said, waving his arm.

"I agree," he laughed, "Ride on my back," he said, bending down.

"Oh," she thought the suggestion was a good idea, but she felt bad for him, because he would have to carry her weight for all or most of their performance and he wouldn't be able to enjoy doing headbangs, or pogos, or even raising his hands in the metalhead's signature horns symbol. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said, "ride."

"Okay, thank you very much, really."

"You don't have to give them," he said as she mounted his back and grabbed it.

She had her favourite band member, Cliff Burton, practically a few feet away from her. She felt like if she reached out and lifted her arm she could touch him, even though he was actually about 20m away.

They started playing one of their favourite songs: Creeping Death.

She wasn't the only one going crazy with excitement and singing her lungs out for the song, there were many more people in the audience full of excitement to see the band playing live, and she was happy for them. They were a very good band, and it was one of the first times, if not the first, that they had played in a stadium in front of so many people.

"DIE! BY MY HAND, I CREEP ACROSS THE LAND, KILLING FIRST-BORN MAN! DIE! BY MY HAND, I CREEP ACROSS THE LAND, KILLING FIRST-BORN MAN, DIEEEEEE!"

Eddie looked up and saw her singing loudly with a smile from ear to ear that didn't fit on her face. He had never seen her so happy, and his smile grew bigger. Then he turned his attention back to the group in front of him.

"OH YEAH?" shouted James Hetsfield, the band's vocalist and rhythm guitarist, into the microphone, and then he tilted his head towards the audience and put his hand to his ear, as if trying to sharpen his hearing. He was clearly playing with the audience.

"OH YEAH!" they shouted, and many more.

"OH YEAH?" James shouted again, doing the same as before.

"OH YEAH!" they shouted again.

"FUCKING RIDE THE LIGHTIIIIING!" shouted James into the microphone, and he and the rest of the band started playing that song. "HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY! ARE YOU FUCKING OUT THERE?" he shouted raising his hand, encouraging the audience to be loud when they were already halfway through the song. "HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY!" he shouted in the same way almost at the end of the song, "I CAN'T FUCKING HEAR YOU!" he shouted as he put his hand to his ear. "HEY!"

Then he walked away from the microphone and stood next to Cliff. They were both doing headbangs and were perfectly in sync without even trying. Meanwhile, Kirk Hammett, the band's lead guitarist, on the other side of the stage was going more his own way.

When the song was over James walked over to the foot of the drum kit, where Lars Ulrich was standing, and picked up a small bottle of beer, probably fresh and alcoholic, and walked back to his microphone.

"ROCK AND ROOOOOLL!" shouted Eddie, and she laughed and shouted back.

"ARE YOU DOING ALL RIGHT?" asked James, and everyone shouted, "We've come here to kick some assess! [ . . . ] You know Cliff Burton over there?" He asked the crowd, pointing to his bandmate, the bass player. "Everyone, "Hey Cliff, how ya doing?"" he said waving his hand in greeting.

"HI CLIFF!" she and a few others shouted.

James stepped away from the microphone as he took a sip from the bottle of beer he had just picked up next to the drum kit, and Cliff began to play a bass solo while doing a light headbang, his head bent low and focused on the strings of his black bass while his hair moved incessantly, as did his fingers.

The best words to describe that bass solo were "Epic", "Legendary", "Magical", "Iconic", "Mind-blowing"... And it sounded like he was playing thunder instead of an instrument. ______'s eyes and mouth opened slightly without her noticing, and the hair on her body stood on end. Absolutely everyone was shocked, including Lars, who forgot to start playing the drums, and Cliff himself had to turn around and tell him he had to start playing. As soon as Lars started playing the drums, Cliff came back and played another epic bass solo.

She would recognise that rhythm anywhere, in any situation. It was For whom the bell tolls, and it was a song entirely written by Cliff. The smile on his face throughout the whole show, but especially during that song, was priceless. He kept doing headbangs, moving around the stage, gesticulating with his hands and singing to himself. You could tell he was excited to play that bass solo and his song in front of so many people enjoying it.

Then they started playing The Four Horsemen, a song from their first album, and it seemed that she wasn't the only one who was running out of voice, because she noticed James' voice faltering a bit.

The song was followed by Fade to Black, despite a boy in the audience shouting out Whiplash as a suggestion.

"Thank you! That was Fade to Black, from the album Ride the Lighting...! ...ARE WE GOING TO FUCK UP TODAY OR WHAT?" The crowd screamed in response, and he threw the pick at a person in the audience. "Good catch! ...WANT DESTRUCTION?" the audience shouted back in response. "By the way, this one goes... There's no other way, on the Kill 'em all album. We want to hear you scream! This song is called... SEEK & DESTROY!" The crowd screamed again for the third time, and more than the previous times. "I can't fucking hear you," said James pretending to be disappointed as the crowd sang the chorus. That was the song where the crowd was the loudest.

And last but not least, and finally for the fan in the audience who kept shouting it: Whiplash.

"THANK YOU SO MUCH!" said James as the song ended, "THANK YOU!

The crowd started screaming "Metallica!" non-stop, and seeing that they wanted more of them and that Y&T weren't ready to go on stage yet, they were allowed to play more songs. They chose to play half of Diamond Head's Am I Evil? and Motorbreath.

"Good day, whatever!" said James, waving goodbye to the audience. "Cheers! Thank you very much!"

As they left the stage, Eddie crouched down and she got off his shoulders.

"Well, we can go now," she said jokingly. "Thank you very much. I'll give you a massage later."

"Don't worry about it."

"That was amazing, my God!" she said as they walked out of the stadium after all the performances were over.

"I told you you had to come!" he said. "Thank goodness I convinced you into it."

"But can we talk about Metallica's performance? Oh my God, it's still not sinking in!"

"Cliff's bass solo in the intro of For whom the bell tolls made the hair on the back of my neck stand up," he confessed.

"Me too, man! And his smile throughout the whole song?! I love him, he's a genius and super adorable, I could tell he was living it up."

It took them a while to get out of the car parking and around the stadium as it was packed. Being from Hawkins, they had never seen so many cars together and so much traffic.

"Where do you want to go now?" he asked as he drove. It was still daylight, but it was late afternoon. "Are you hungry? Shall we go to dinner?"

"I'm not hungry yet, are you?"

"Neither am I."

"Not as hungry as the concert, but I can't wait to go to the beach and see the ocean. I'd like to see the sunset there."

"Then there we go."

They crossed back over the bay bridge and missed directions to the locals, peering out of the caravan windows. They were told that the best beach to enjoy the view, including the Golden Gate Bridge, was Baker Beach, so that's where they went.

They arrived at just the right time, at sunset. They took off their shoes and for the first time felt the sand under their feet and between their toes. The ocean breeze made their manes and their wide shirts move as the wind wanted them to, and for the first time they smelled the salty water. The eyes of _______ were fixed on the sun hiding behind the Pacific Ocean.

She decided to take her camera out of her bag and take a picture. Meanwhile, Eddie was looking at her. He thought she was prettier than the sunset. When she finished taking the picture, she put the camera back in her bag, put it on the ground and looked at the sunset again for a second, then looked at Eddie.

"This is the best day of my life," she said, teary-eyed but smiling.

"Hey hey hey," he said worriedly, "why are you crying?"

"I'm crying from happiness," she said as she smiled at her friend's concern and ran her fingers across her eyes to wipe away the tears, "it's a good thing."

Eddie put his arms around her and kissed her head repeatedly. She was too adorable, she could handle him. He loved her madly.

"It's the best day of my life, too," he said when they broke apart, and he placed one of his hands on her cheek, rubbing his thumb gently to wipe away the trace of the silent tear that had fallen down her face seconds before.

They both couldn't wait to tell the other that they loved each other, that they loved each other madly and not just as best friends, to kiss... But the fear of rejection and ruining the moment, the day, the trip and their friendship outweighed those desires.

"We haven't tasted water yet, how is that possible?" he said, grabbing her by the shoulders, trying to make her laugh and trying to distract himself from the impulse he had felt to confess and kiss her at that moment. "Come on!" he said, taking her by the hand and making her walk towards the shore, leaving her slippers, socks and bag behind.

"It's warm," she said, slightly surprised with her feet in the water.

"It must be because it's been in the sun all day. How about a swim? It's perfe-"

"Ugh, something touched my foot!" She said in disgust, lifting her foot and moving towards him.

"It's seaweed."

"I'm not taking a bath," she said, still disgusted.

"Because of the seaweed?" he asked, raising one of his eyebrows and smiling mockingly.

"It's too disgusting... For that I prefer swimming pools or bathtubs."

"It's just a plant, but a sea plant," he said, bending down and picking it up. He stretched out his arm to pull her closer but she pulled back as if he was holding a cockroach, and seeing how her body and face reacted, he couldn't help but laugh as he let go the plant. "Look, there's a very clean area over there," he said pointing with his head as he approached her, and while she was distracted for a second looking at the area he had pointed out to her, he bent down and grabbed her behind her knees and her waist, like a prince carrying his princess in a fairy tale that mothers told their daughters in bed before they went to sleep at night.

"What-" She didn't mind him grabbing her like that, in fact, she obviously liked it if it was him, but she stopped liking it when she saw Eddie start to go into the sea, into an area with too much seaweed for her liking. "Eddie, no! Don't even think about it!" and he laughed a wicked laugh, like when he saw his fellow Hellfire Club members in distress in a Dungeons and Dragons battle.

"Don't be a pussy!"

"Eddie I'm literally a pussy!" she said refering to her vagina.

"Not everything could be perfect this day, baby!"

"Eddie, if you drop me there, your uncle will never hear from you again! And I'm wearing clothes, not a bikini!"

"So what? The clothes are drying."

"Not in this air and it's getting dark, and I don't have a towel."

"Weeeell," he said, turning around while smiling and setting her down on the shore, on the sand.

They walked back to where they had left their things and she sat down on the sand. He decided to sit behind her, wrapping his legs and arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder.

"You're stupid," she said, annoyed but smiling at the same time.

"And you love me for it," he said, poking her lightly in the side with the tip of his index finger.

"Yes..." He sighed deeply, "very much, as you have no idea, much to my disgrace," she thought.

It was getting colder and colder, so they decided to go somewhere for dinner and then to the hotel to rest, trying to catch up on sleep while they were snuggled up to each other, as they were used to.

The next morning Eddie woke up with a horrible neck ache from doing so many headbangs and some back pain from holding _______ during Metallica's performance, so before leaving the hotel she lay on top of him on the bed and gave him the best neck, shoulder and back massage she could. She was smart and knowing how much her neck would hurt the next day and how fragile it was, she decided not to do headbangs.

Then they headed for Los Angeles and by lunchtime they were there, on Venice Beach with a few litres of alcoholic beer they had bought, and now they had their swimming costumes and towels on (and sunscreen, of course).

"We had rock and roll..." he said, referring to the festival, "we've had 'drugs', if we can consider them drugs...", he said, throwing his hands up in the air, one with a bottle of beer and a freshly lit cigarette in the other. She had forbidden him to bring weed for fear of being caught in a checkpoint. "The sex is the only thing missing."

"I don't feel like fucking any guy here," she said, "they all look like Barbie's boyfriend."

"And they all look like Barbies here," he said half-heartedly, to her surprise.

"But Barbies are pretty."

"Have you seen the sculptures of the ancient Romans? They're made of rock, they're quality and there are few of them. On the other hand, there are a lot of plastic ones, of poor quality and copies of each other. I prefer a woman made of rock."

"How do you know that, Shakespeare?" She asked with a mocking smile. "I thought you were bad at history."

"Yes, but not at art."

"Anyway, even if we wanted to fuck with someone here, I don't think they'd want to fuck with us."

"Speak for me, but not for you. You're beautiful."

"I'm not that much."

"Said the one who always has several guys behind her."

"But they're not Kens because I'm not a Barbie, I'm not popular."

"You are popular among the "weirdos" at school, and you know it, don't tell me you're not."

"Well, I didn't say I was ugly, I admit it, but..."

"You're beautiful. End of discussion."

"Well, all right, if you say so..." She looked away, holding her smile and blushing a little, "Thanks, I guess. You too," she looked back at him.

"Oh, you think I'm a pretty girl, too!" He said in a squeaky voice and put his hand to his chest, pretending to be surprised. "Thank you very much! Aren't you roasting? Shall we go in the water? Or are you still terrified of seaweed?"

"Mm..." Yes, actually yes, she was too disgusted by that.

"At least come and soak your feet, right?" he asked as he stubbed out his cigarette in the sand and got up.

"Well, okay," she said, doing the same as she made a bun with one of the hair ties around her wrists.

"The tide brings the seaweed to the shore," he said, pointing to it as the two of them stood there soaking their feet, "but look, it's all clear up ahead. You only have to go the first few yards. I can carry you and get you there without you touching any seaweed."

"Uh..."

The beach was full of people and she was embarrassed to be seen being carried, as if she didn't have the legs to walk and go into the water on her own. It would be more embarrassing if they found out how disgusting the seaweed made her feel, but it was not her fault that she found it disgusting, especially as an inland girl who could only swim in clean pools. But then she thought that she shouldn't give a shit what strangers thought of her and that she didn't want to miss the experience of swimming in the Pacific Ocean with her best friend after an epic and unforgettable trip, so she accepted the proposal.

"Well, okay," he thought he was going to carry her like he had carried her at the festival the day before, but he carried her like he had carried her on the beach in San Francisco, like a princess. That was a little more embarrassing than being carried like a little girl on hia back. "How are you not disgusted by stepping on them?" she asked, disgusted, referring to the seaweed as he began to walk deeper into the ocean.

"They're just plants," he laughed, "you act like they're cockroaches."

"But their touch is disgusting."

"I don't think it's that bad."

"Well, lucky you."

"You know there are people who eat them?"

"Good for them," she said indifferently, and he laughed again at her answer. "Oh, it's freezing!" she said, referring to the water when he was already deeper in, the water coming up to his waist, and she was wetting her butt.

"It's not that bad! Besides, what did you expect? Don't be a pussy!"

And when he finally reached the area without seaweed, he suddenly let her go, making her scream at such an abrupt change of temperature. She, annoyed, splashed him with her arm. He laughed.

"It would have been worse little by little, if you do it all at once it's less bad," yes, he was one of those who jumped in the pool, "or did you want me to baptise you?" He closed his eyes, shut his mouth, covered his nose with his hand and bent down, putting his head completely in the water. When he pulled it out, he shook her hair like a shampoo advert and splashed her a little.

They stayed on the beach most of the day, until it got dark and they went to the hotel where they would be staying that night.

On Monday morning, 2 September, they would start the journey home, back to Hawkins. It was a bit depressing, as they didn't want the trip to end, they had had too much fun, and on top of that they didn't feel like going back to school, especially as they had to repeat their last year.

It was the second time that Eddie had repeated his last year and the whole group of friends from ______ had graduated and left town, but at least they would be in the same class together.

The last night they spent together they were sad for that very reason, because it was going to be the last night they would sleep together. And the last morning they spent together Eddie woke up before she did, so knowing how little his best friend wanted to go back and start her last term again, he decided to wake her up by tickling her, making her squirm in bed, crying with laughter and screaming for him to stop.

They returned to Hawkins on Saturday evening. Eddie helped get their luggage out of his van and into their house, and her mother offered to stay for dinner with them, so she could listen to the stories of the trip told by the two of them. Knowing that his uncle would not be home when he arrived because of his work schedule, and knowing that his best friend's mother's food was better than anything edible in his house, he gladly accepted the invitation.

"The beaches were amazing. The one I liked best was the one in San Francisco, because of the view of the Golden Gate," she told her mother when the three of them were at the dinner table.

"But she was afraid to go in the water because she was disgusted by the seaweed," said Eddie, "and the next day in Los Angeles I had to carry her like a Disney princess to get her into the water without being brushed by any of the seaweed."

"I wasn't afraid, you exaggerator!" she said in her defence, "just disgusted."

And then it was time to say goodbye. They both felt it would be a long time before they would see each other again, but in reality they would see each other in two days, on Monday morning at the school.

"I had a great time," she said in front of him, holding his hands, looking at him and smiling wistfully beside his van, parked in front of her house, "thank you for convincing me to come, thank you for everything."

"Thank you for coming," he said, looking at her and smiling in the same way, squeezing her hands and then letting go to give her a long, tight hug. "I'll see you Monday at school, okay?" he said as they parted.

"Unfortunately," she didn't even have a spark of desire to go back there, who would? Only popular people or people who find it easy to study or the poor bastards whose validation depends on having high numbers on papers after spewing out useless data for everyday life. "Goodbye," she said as she began to walk backwards, waving her hand as a final goodbye, and then she turned around. He stood there, watching her walk away from him and through the door of her house, making the last direct eye contact with her eyes quickly before she closed the door behind her.

As much as she was looking forward to seeing her mother and being in the comfort of her home, and especially in the comfort of her room and bed, she felt that she had missed something of utmost importance along the way, that she was missing something important: it was him, and the post-concert, post-trip depression. The same thing happened to him, and on top of that his uncle wasn't at home to greet him when he arrived from dropping off ______ at her house, but he knew that was a likely thing. He would see him on Sunday at noon, as he had a night shift, and in the morning he slept.

Their beds were supposed to be their greatest source of comfort, especially after almost two weeks of travelling around the country, from motel to hotel and back again. So why couldn't they sleep? They were not stupid, they were aware of their feelings, but they didn't think it would affect them so much. They missed each other, they wanted each other to be there beside them, lying down and cuddling. He tried to hug his pillow but it wasn't the same. She wanted to hug a crappy stuffed animal he gave her off the arcade hook a year ago but it was too small to be cuddled.

Eddie could have perfectly well drugged himself to calm down and fall asleep as soon as possible, but instead he decided to do something even more stupid: get out of bed, leave the house, get in the van and drive to his best friend's house. Hopefully she was still awake, hopefully they could sleep together that night, hopefully he wouldn't make a fool of himself in front of her for having such a need like a little kid.

"Shit," he thought as he got out of the van, which he had parked in front of the house. He didn't see any light inside, everything indicated that mother and daughter had already gone to bed in their respective rooms.

But then he thought that just because she was in bed didn't mean she was already asleep. She decided to go to the side of the house and stand under her bedroom window. He bent down to the floor in search of pebbles to throw at the window to get her attention in a quiet way, without waking her mother or her neighbours.

He threw a pebble at her window, calculating his aim with his mind and throwing it hard enough so that it would reach the window but not break the glass even a little bit. It didn't rattle against the glass because there was no glass, the window was open because of the heat, but he thought that wasn't a problem, and maybe it was more effective for the pebble to go inside her room.

As it happened, the pebble ended up inside her room, bouncing on the floor, making noise, but he didn't know that for sure, he didn't know if that had woken her up if she was sleeping or if it had caught her attention enough to make her get out of bed and look out the window to see what was going on, so he decided to throw another pebble, and just as he was about to throw it, she looked out of the window.

"Eddie?" she asked in a whisper, surprised and confused. "What is it? What are you doing here?" He dropped the pebbles and took a few steps forward. It was the moment he was waiting for, what he had planned and wanted was happening, but he opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out of him. He didn't know what to say, because there was really a lot he wanted to express. "Do you want me to come down?" she asked, and he nodded his head quickly, but it was dark and she couldn't see it very well, so she decided to ask. "Yes?"

"Yes," he answered, "please."

"I'll be right there, wait a second," she said, who had to put on a pair of trousers because she was in her panties, go downstairs and get her keys.

"No hurry," he said as he moved away from the window. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The longer it took her to come down, the more time he would have to calm down. He was restless, more than usual. He never used to get this nervous before playing in front of people from the school.

He heard the door of the house open and close and she approached him with the keys in the pocket of the shorts she had just put on. Crickets could also be heard not far away, and the leaves of the trees rustling in the thin breeze.

"What's the matter?" She said, approaching him with concern. "Has something happened?"

"No, no, it's all right," she saw how nervous and uneasy he was and knew he was lying, but she took his hands to calm him in every way. He gladly agreed, and he did calm down somewhat.

"So?" she asked, even more puzzled.

"Well... You see... I know it's stupid, but... Well, you know me, don't you? I'm like that, I can't help it..." There was a brief silence in which he didn't know what to say, or rather how to say it, trying to find the words in his mind while she looked at him and waited for whatever he was going to say. She didn't really know what to expect from him, and the situation was strange. "I couldn't sleep and I think it's because I'm missing you by my side," he laughed nervously again. She smiled and tightened her grip.

"The same thing was happening to me."

"Really?" he asked in surprise.

"Really."

"So...? Are we sleeping together tonight?"

"Please and thank you. At your place?"

"Okay."

"I'll come in for a moment to write a note to my mother for when she wakes up tomorrow and doesn't see me at home," he said, holding up her hand, pointing to her house with her thumb behind it, "okay?"

"Sure."

After what she said and did, they rode in his van to Eddie's house in absolute silence, no music, no talking. They didn't need to, and they didn't have anything to talk about since they hadn't seen each other for only two hours. The silence was not uncomfortable, they wore smiles on their lips and their hair swayed in the breeze coming through the lowered windows.

"If your uncle sees me and finds out that we slept in the same bed, he'll think badly," she said as she climbed into his bed and snuggled against him.

"Let him think what he wants, I don't care," he said as she settled her head on his arm, "he'd be happy and everything. Your mother is not the only one who matches us," which was true. Some people in town, especially in high school, just assumed the two of them were a couple.

"Yeah."

He started stroking her head, or rather her hair, with the hand on the arm she was using as a pillow. The other was on her back. They were pressed against each other. He had his neck in front of her face, and his tattooed chest exposed. They both felt at last at peace, completely calm and ready to sleep if they wanted to, but they didn't want to, they wanted to enjoy this moment of being conscious.

"You could have fallen asleep smoking weed but you didn't, why?"

"You're my favourite drug," he dared to say. The night made everyone feel vulnerable and sensitive, and he was no exception. Maybe he shouldn't listen to the things that went through his mind at night, but there were times when he couldn't help it, and that was one of those times.

That phrase and him going to her home to tell hee that he needed to sleep with her definitely had to mean something, something good and important, but she couldn't assume that either if it didn't come out of his mouth in a more explicit way. She didn't want to get her hopes up, make an Oscar-worthy movie in her head, and then get the shock and the downer.

Luckily for her, Eddie spoke without her asking any questions.

"There's something else I wanted to tell you..."

"What's that?"

"The problem is... I'm afraid to tell you."

"Whatever it is, you can tell me, Eddie. I love you madly and I'm going to be there for you no matter what."

"I don't know how to express it either..."

"So, if you can't put it into words.... Express it with an action," she said, believing where he was going.

Emboldened by his best friend's words and the late hours of the night, he decided to move the hand on her back to her cheek. With his thumb he brushed her lips to find out exactly where they were, for they were in their room in complete darkness, unable to see each other even if they were inches away from each other. Then he raised her head slightly and bowed his head, and at last did what he had wanted to do for more than half a year: he kissed her, confessing at last his deep feelings for her. She quickly returned the kiss, while a big smile formed on her lips.

"So... Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

"Yes, for a long time," he said, leaning his forehead against hers.

"How long?"

"More than half a year ago."

"Well, it seems we're in sync even for that."

"Do you feel the same way I do?" He asked, surprised and confused but happy at the same time.

"How do you feel about me Eddie? Please tell me, I want to hear it come out of your mouth," she said, now she was caressing his cheek.

"I love you. You are my Arwen to my Aragorn. When I hear love songs I can't help but think of you. You make me so happy just to be by my side. You are beautiful in every way and I have so much fun with you. You are not only my best friend and the person I love the most after my uncle, you are the woman of my dreams and I think you are my soul mate" with every sentence he said she got more emotional and it was hard for her to hold back the urge to cry with happiness, while he was still not processing that he had just kissed her, that his kiss had been reciprocated and that he was finally telling her out loud what he'd been keeping quiet and so deep inside for so long, "and I can't wait to fucking graduate so I can start working a full time job and save up to get married and live on our own and together in our own house, our own home. ...Although any place is a home if you're there," he suddenly heard a sob and felt a drop fall on his arm, the one that was being her pillow. "_______?" he asked frightened with fear that he had completely screwed up.

"I love you so much," she said crying out of pure happiness, her heart couldn't fit in her chest from all the happiness she was feeling, "you have no idea how happy you make me right now."

"So you're crying from happiness again?"

"I couldn't cry for anything else," and now it was she who jumped up and kissed him. Then he hugged her tightly.

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"You didn't even have to ask."

"I wanted to ask you, I've wanted that for a long time and to hear a yes for an answer from you," she smiled even more, almost laughing at what he had just said.

"Yes, silly, I do."

"Now I'm completely yours, more yours than ever, more than I've ever been."

"I'll say the same."

They kissed again, and then he moved his free hand to her pillowy arm, and took off one of the three rings he wore. He took off the skull-shaped one and handed it to her, leaving it on her hand. She could tell which ring it was by touch.

"I want you to have it from now on, as a token of my love and our relationship."

"Thank you," she said, putting it on her thumb, as it was too big on the rest of her fingers.

Little else happened after that, just a few more kisses, caresses and the occasional playful touch but nothing more. They were exhausted from the journey and finally felt at peace, ready to sleep now that they were together physically and romantically.

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bcmbiquinn · 2 days ago

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THE FIRST FALL OF SNOW

Summary: Teenage Joseph having a high school crush/ falling in love.

Pairing: Joseph Quinn | fem!reader

a/n: This is entirely inspired by one direction songs from their first albums where they just yap about being down bad for a girl. It was also partly inspired by Taylor Swift song“so high school” and also simply about how sweet and pure high school crushes can be. There are gonna be more parts but be patient with me as I’m quite of a procrastinator and some times struggle with writing, anyways hope you like it.

Credit for divider: @fanguro

The autumn breeze rustle through the trees surrounding the school grounds as you hurried up the stone steps of the historic building. Your heart race not from the brisk walk, but from the anticipation of possibly catching a glimpse of him in the crowded hallways.

Joseph. He was the boy who made your heart skip a beat every time he passed by your locker, making your cheeks flush pink.

The first time you saw him was in English literature class, something about him captured your attention , maybe it was the way he rested his cheek on his hand when he was concentrated taking notes or how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

Whatever it was, you found yourself studying him more often that you studied Shakespeare or dickens.

As you approached your locker, you saw him further down the hall, surrounded by his usual group friends from the drama society. They were probably talking about their upcoming school production of “A midsummer Night’s Dream” where he’d landed the role of Lysander.

You pretended to be very interested in organising your textbooks while stealing glances at his direction but then, he looked up and your eyes met for a brief moment, you could feel your heart stop for a bit, then you looked away as you could feel your cheeks burn.

As you walked toward your classroom, you remembered the first time you two spoke. It had been three months ago, when you’d both reached for the same copy of “Hamlet” in the library. Your fingers had brushed, you felt your body shiver and take a step back shyly. Joseph smiled - that crooked genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners- and insisted you should take it.

“You probably need it more than I do, I’ve already read it twice.”

You managed to stammer out a thank you and then he walked away. “You dumb girl, don’t you know how to speak properly?” You thought to yourself as you clutched the book to your chest.

That night, you’d stayed up until 3 am reading, imagining his fingers turning the same pages, wondering if he ever fell asleep while reading it, just like you were doing it then.

Since that moment you two have shared glances across the hallway or classroom, shy smiles and soft hi’s at each other and ever time you could feel your heart beat as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

Every morning like clockwork, Joseph would arrive at his locker -just three down from yours- at 7:45 and every morning you’d wake up early so you could arrive at school earlier and see him, you’d pretend to organise your books while secretly watching his reflection through your locker mirror.

One morning, you found yourself doing the same, looking at him through your mirror while trying to push another book into your locker that clearly couldn’t fit in anymore.

“Earth to y/n!” Your best friend Sara’s voice snapped you out of your reverie. “You’re doing it again”

“Doing what?” You asked innocently.

“Staring at Joseph like he’s the last chocolate biscuit in the tin” Sara teased, leaning against the neighbouring locker. “why don’t you just talk to him? Properly, not just those awkward Hi’s in the hallway…you look like a creep, hun”

You shut your locker with a bit more force than necessary. “It’s not that simple Sara. He’s…he’s so… I can even get a word out without shaking and my face turning red like a tomato” I let out a deep sigh. “He will probably laugh at me. Have you seen him at drama class? He’s brilliant! And I’m just…me”

Sara rolled her eyes. “Just you? You mean the girl who won the school’s creative writing competition last year? C’mon pumpkin, give yourself some credit!”

But you weren’t listening to Sara anymore, Joseph had just walked past you and as he did, he’d glanced your way again. This time your eye contact lasted a fraction longer, you felt time slowed down and then both of you looked away.

What you didn’t know was that Joseph’s heart was racing just as fast as yours.

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #chocolate button eyes #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you

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lovebugism · 1 month ago

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✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all.

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water.

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls.

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him.

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you.

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura.

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes.

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you.

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him.

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now.

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you.

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that.

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath.

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is.

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames.

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended.

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now.

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way.

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before.

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens. “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame.

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs.

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands.

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath.

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air.

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in.

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now.

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more.

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward.

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours.

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…”

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor.

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’.

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure.

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away.

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver.

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

3K notes · View notes

lokis-army-77 · 1 year ago

Text

Private Viewing

Camboy!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 6.8k

What happens when your favorite camboy is in your class? You should stop watching his content... or should you? What happens when you are eventually paired together for a project? Everything will be just fine, won't it?

Warning: 18 +. This is pure fucking filth. Spit, masturbation (m and f), use of vibrators and fleshlight, choking, multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f reviving), fingering, voyeurism? Soft!dom Eddie, tell me if I'm missing anything.

Thank you @lesservillain for giving me this wonderful idea. 💗 and @munson-blurbs for figuring out if I should do this for Steve or Eddie and for helping give me a title💗.

Masterlist

Nothing but slick sounds filled your room, the occasional deep moan calling out from your laptop speakers accompanying your own sweet cries. The guy on the screen, Ed as he called himself, or DungeonMaster as he was known on Only Fans and Twitter, was fisting his cock in his heavily ringed hand. He was putting on a show for more than ten thousand viewers but the way he stared down the camera with those dark eyes made you think he was watching you, fucking his hand to the way you were pumping your fingers in and out of your soaking wet pussy.

You had stumbled upon his Twitter three months ago and he immediately captured your eye. The way his tattoos wrapped around his pale skin, how he wasn’t all lean muscle like the other OF guys, his tummy by no means a six-pack but he still looked strong enough to sweep you off your feet with ease. His moans were heavenly and so was the deep timber of his force as he praised you through the thirty-second video clip. It was all enough to convert you from your usual consumption of smutty books to the infamous Only Fans sight.

Since then, his streams and videos have become the one and only thing you get off to. And like then, tonight was no exception.

You were so close to the edge, Ed’s moans spurring you on. Your fingers move at an almost inhuman pace in and out, in and out.

“Rub that clit for me, baby. Need you to cum.” He groaned, head resting on his shoulder as he continued you pleasure himself.

“Fuck!” You gasp as you rub your clit with your free hand. Your rhythm is horribly off but it doesn’t matter, you are so close to cumming. So so so close. “Please,” you beg out into your empty room. You aren’t too sure why or what you are pleading for. More friction? More fingers? More words of encouragement from him? Maybe you’re asking to cum?

It’s like he had heard you through the screen as he moaned out, “That’s a good girl. Just like that. Doing so well for me. You gonna cum baby? Yeah? Me too. Want me to count for you?” He nods his head lazily. “I knew you would baby. Okay. Five.”

You want to cry.

“Four.”

The strings tugging inside you are becoming taut.

“Three.”

You feel like you’re going to explode. He’s counting too slowly.

“Two.”

The tears are flowing now.

“One.”

You let out a strangled scream.

“Cum baby. Do it, now.”

Your walls clench around your fingers and your legs snap shut, trapping your fingers. Every muscle in your body is shuddering as those strings snap and your release comes out in a stream, wetting your hand and the bed. Your hearing has gone, there’s a ringing in your ears but you can faintly hear Ed cumming as well.

With watery vision and slow movements, you turn to face your laptop screen just in time to see his tattoo-covered chest painted with milky white ropes of cum.

When the ringing subsides you hear him say more clearly, “Thata girl. Always make me cum so much.” He takes a towel and wipes off his chest and stomach before adjusting the camera view to the shoulders up. “Get you some rest baby, I’ll see you on Thursday.”

And then the live is over.

Slowly, sluggishly, you remove your hands from between your legs and begin the now regular clean-up routine before going to bed.

…

Three days later, Thursday rolls around, and thus begins the fall semester of your junior year of college. It’s a groggy morning, everyone is tired and very unenthusiastic about having an 8 a.m. advanced music composition class.

You had struggled to get out of bed at six this morning just to get one of the dorm showers first before they were all taken up. Luckily two of the five were open and you were able to get to class a whole twenty minutes early, even having time to grab coffee at the on-campus Starbucks on the way.

The music building was old and the tables you and your fellow students sat at were even older. It all added to the sleepy ambiance. Your eyes drooped and you yawned every time someone else did, the black coffee you had chugged not doing anything for you.

You’re only awoken when your professor, a stout old man with a very severe receding hairline, slams open the door to the classroom a little too hard and it hits the brick wall, creating a loud, startling bang.

He apologizes before making his introduction. He then gets out a clipboard with a sheet attached and hands it off to a girl in the front row, instructing everyone to fill in their name and school email for his role sheet.

It’s only once you’ve finished and passed the clipboard on, that you notice the guy two seats down from you looks vaguely familiar. You can’t quite put a finger on it and it bugs you.

His hair is pulled back into a messy bun and his clothes make him look like the alternative guy of your dreams back in high school. He’s got rings on almost every finger and an aura that just screams confidence.

It begins to become a problem, your inability to place this guy's face. You’ve only taken a handful of notes the entire first hour and thirty minutes into this two-hour class. Your eyes are constantly staring at him no matter how hard you try to make yourself pay attention.

Then, he raises his hand to answer one of your professor's questions. That’s when it clicks. Your pen falls from your grasp and your mouth forms an O.

“Oh my fucking god. No. It can’t be.” You think to yourself but just to be sure you take out your phone, turn the brightness and volume down, and hide it under the table. You open Twitter as fast as you can and you don’t even have to look for his user, he’s the first post on the screen.

Ed @ DungeonMaster86 was boldly displayed above a picture of the guy sitting next to you with his massive dick in his hand.

It’s a wonder you weren’t caught with how you practically choked on thin air and began furiously looking from your phone to the guy and then back to your phone.

Your stomach drops. You can’t keep watching his videos, can you? That wouldn’t be right. That would be weird, watching the porn your classmate makes.

When class is finally called to an end you pack up as quickly as you can and bolt out the door to your next class, hoping that by getting away from Ed, you'd be able to concentrate. Out of sight, out of mind.

That statement turns out to be false when he is in your next class and when you spot him in the student commons talking with another guy. It's like once you made the connection of who he was, he was everywhere.

…

Arriving back at your dorm, you throw your backpack on your desk, snatch your laptop out of it, and struggle to jump up onto your bed. Never had you been so thankful for the single dorm than this moment as your curser hovered over the bookmarked Only Fans page at the top of your screen. No roommate meant no one would see the moral dilemma you were currently losing with yourself.

‘You know him, it’s wrong to keep watching his videos.”

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him though. The only way he would know you are watching is if you tell him, you aren’t going to tell him, are you?’

‘No…’

‘Then it’s okay, it’ll just add an extra element of taboo to his streams. Plus, he’d miss you in the chat.’

You sigh as the devil on your shoulder wins out once again, talking you into something you know you shouldn’t be. But hey, it feels good to be bad.

Steadily, you click on his bookmarked profile and the first thing to pop up is the live stream that is currently in session. And against your better judgment, you enter the stream.

He’s only just started, people are slowly filtering in. Ed is sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off, and a singular, ringed hand teasing himself through his black jeans.

You breathe a sigh as he looks into the camera, eyes half-lidded, luring you in. It does the job, because in an instant your fingers are typing out a message in chat.

Princess23: hi Ed

His eyes flicker as he reads his messages, smiling as he replies to you. "Hi, Princess. How's my girl been?"

There's a bubble of excitement at the fact that he recognizes your username, even if you've been a regular in the chat for months.

Princess23: stressful… you've been distracting me.

The reply to his question is truer than he realizes.

"Aww, princess, is that so? You've been thinking of me?" He leans back on his free elbow, still groping himself with the other hand.

Princess23: yes. been thinking about your cock, how much I want it in my mouth.

It's one of the less bold comments you make but it makes you blush all the same, especially now.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck that pretty little mouth? Of yours?"

Princess23: yes please

"Mmm." He hums, fingers now fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans.

You set your laptop to the side and start to situate yourself. Slowly taking your clothes off one by one.

Ed replies to a few more comments before announcing that it's time to start.

He leaves the screen for just a moment before coming back with something in his hand. Smirking at the camera he shows it. A flashlight in the shape of a mouth.

"This one’s for you, Princess. Since you need my dick so bad," Ed explains. He sets it on his bed before making a show of taking his jeans and boxers off.

As you watch, your hands roam your body. Fingers pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipples before trailing down. The light touch over your ribs makes you giggle. Then you rub and scratch at the inside of your thighs.

Ed's moans are now coming through your speakers, you tilt your head to watch.

"Spit on my cock baby, get it nice and wet for me." He commands before spitting in his own hand and rubbing it on his thick length.

"Your mouth looks so pretty like this, waiting, drooling for me. Need me to fill it so bad don't you, baby?"

"Yes." You answer him breathlessly, fingers teasing around your mound.

You watch and he sits back down on his bed, thighs spread, a hand cupping his balls and the other grabbing the fleshlight. He lets out a long, drawn-out moan when he inserts his cock into the fake mouth.

"Fuck baby, your mouth feels so perfect."

You can't help but whine. Allowing your fingers to finally circle your clit.

The both of you go one like this for a bit. Him fucking the fleshlight and you massaging your clit. But then you need more, more than your hand can give you. So you reach to your bedside table, stretching at an uncomfortable angle to open the drawer and pull out the purple mini wand you kept there.

The vibrations start slow and constant as you press the toy to your clit. It pulls soft, quiet noises from you as you watch your computer screen. Your mind is blank, filled only with the pretty sounds Ed is making, the way his body looks, and the pleasure between your legs.

There are no thoughts. You follow his lead. When his hand speeds up, you kick up the vibrations, when he slows down, you turn the vibrator back to the first level.

It's a rollercoaster, almost, taking your pleasure for a ride. The stream isn't even done yet when you feel that tight pull in your abdomen. The toy works you up fast.

So you stop. Taking the toy away and changing positions. On your hands and knees, you hug a pillow to your chest and prop the toy up under you, keeping it standing as you push your clit down onto it. It's not even on and it's making your hips buck in sensitivity.

You turn it back on and immediately feel the slick seeping from your cunt and running down the toy.

"Oh fuck," you cry. Your eyes locked on the screen where Ed has also changed positions.

He's got his own toy lying on the bed and he's laying over it. The way his leg and glute muscles contract as he thrusts into the toy has you memorized.

He chants, "Baby, baby, baby." Over and over. What you would give to have him chanting your name instead. Like a prearranged falling from his lips, praising you, worshiping you.

The need for him grows and so does the tightness in your core.

Reaching your hand down you turn the speed up. Your hips buck into the toy and you bury your face in the pillow. You're close.

He’s not far behind. Peering up from your pillow you can see his thrusts are sputtering. Sporadic as he draws close to his end.

“God dammit, baby. Gonna cum in this perfect mouth of yours. Fuck. Can you swallow it like the good pet you are? Hum? The good pet I know you can be?”

“Yes.” You turn up the vibrator. “Fuck, wanna swallow all of you. Please.”

The vibrations are becoming too much but you keep the toy pressed into you, hips shaking at the feeling of being overstimulated.

Without warning, you cum with a guttural cry into your pillow. Body spasming, muscles twitching. You can still hear Ed moaning and the sloppy sounds of his cock fucking the fleshlight.

With barely any energy you reach down between your heavy body and the bed and turn your toy off. You don’t even bother with your computer, too exhausted and fucked out to exit the stream. You fall asleep to the sounds of your new classmate's self-pleasure.

…

It’s October now. The semester is halfway over and you’ve still been watching Ed, or Eddie. You learned his actual name in class when your professor called role on him by name the second week.

Today you are being assigned a partner for the final project. You have your fingers crossed that Eddie won’t be chosen as your partner but as your professor calls out pairs, it seems luck is against you.

You freeze when your name is called and directly after so is Eddie’s. You groan internally. How the hell are you supposed to do this? You already have trouble concentrating when he sits two seats away, what’s going to happen when he actually interacts with you?

There isn’t much time to think about that as he abruptly moves from his seat to the one directly next to you.

“Hi.” He says, eyes bright and expectant. “I’m Eddie.” He holds out his hand for you to shake but you just stare at him. He looks at you curiously before waving his hand in front of your face. “Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

You snap out of your stupor and accept his hand, shaking it as you introduce yourself. “Sorry. I was a bit out of it.” You say, trying to play it off as you just staring off into space.

“No problem.” He smiles. “Uh, do you want to exchange numbers so we can figure out when we can work on this together?”

“Oh, yeah. Here,” You open your phone and push it to him with the messages app open. “You can text yourself.”

He does just that, even going as far as putting in his contact name as Eddie with the skull and crossbones emoji beside it.

“Great. I’ll text you when I’m free. I have work on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes on Saturdays, but other than that I’m usually free.”

You nearly choke when you realize he’s given you his streaming schedule. “I- uh. Okay. Just text me when you can.”

"Sure thing sweetheart." He grins at you before standing, grabbing his things, and heading out of class along with the rest of the students.

You sit there for a minute, thinking. God, what are you getting yourself into?

…

You both have finally come up with meeting times that work for both of you. Tuesday and Wednesday after seven. Giving you time to get to the school library after the closing shift at your on-campus job.

It’s been two weeks of working together on this project and it’s been easier than you had originally thought to concentrate on the task at hand and keep your dirty thoughts at bay.

Right now, you are both sitting in one of the private study rooms looking at Eddie’s computer as he explains why this particular cord progression would fit with the emotions you are trying to convey in your composition.

You sigh, “Eddie, as much as I love that sound, I really don’t think it fits with the overall composition of the song. It isn’t as emotionally charged as I’d like it to be.”

“Well show me something similar to what you’re wanting.” He rakes his hand through his hair. It’s been a long night for each of you. It seems that every new section of the song you are creating for the project gives you a new challenge to work through together.

You pull out your phone and Eddie leans over to watch as you begin to type. There is a particular song you are thinking of that has the weight and emotion you are trying to convey with your own music and as you type the first letter of the song, O, the first suggestion that pops up is onlyfans/DungeonMaster.

Mortified, you slam your phone down on the table. Eddie looks at you with an eyebrow raised.

“What was that?” He asks.

“What was what?” You answer.

“Why did you slam your phone down?”

“Oh, I just forgot the title of the song.”

“Right…” He scratches under his chin and then stretches back in his chair. “Why don’t we call it quits for tonight? It’s getting late and we aren’t going to agree on anything if we’re both tired.”

A yawn suddenly comes up out of nowhere and you then realize how tired you actually are. “That sounds good to me.” You agree with Eddie and begin packing up your things. You don’t want to be with him longer than you need to be right now, even if he seemingly didn’t notice his OF user pop up on your phone screen.

“Bye Eddie.” You wave to him on your way out the door.

Faintly you hear him call out to you, giving a goodbye of his own. "See ya, sweetheart."

…

After your little slip, you began avoiding Eddie. At least in person, you still tuned into his streams. You bailed on the next three meetups you had planned, helping only through voice notes and text. Eddie said he understood when you said your boss was forcing you to stay late to deep clean.

It was Thursday now and when you saw him in class he barely looked your way and you wondered if he had seen what you hoped he had not.

You tried stopping him once your lecture was over, feeling an anxiousness creeping into your mind. Your conscience had been telling you to come clean. To explain your perversion. Let him know you watched him, that you paid to enjoy seeing him fuck into a toy or his hand.

You called out his name and reached for his arm. "Eddie."

He turns to you. "Hum?"

You take a deep breath to ground yourself. "I wanted to say sorry for not being able to come help with the project."

"It's okay, you said you had work." He replies, unbothered.

"No, Eddie, I didn't get held back at work. That was a lie."

He doesn't look all too surprised.

"I've kinda been avoiding you because- well, because of what I think you might have seen on my phone that day."

Eddie stops you there. "Can this wait until later? I've really got some errands to run before work."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry to keep you Ed." You had meant it as a nickname but as it came pushing past your lips it was too late to take it back. You had never heard anyone call him that outside of his onlyfans.

You watched as his eyes widened at the name and a spark went off behind them. "I'll see you later sweetheart." The smirk he gives you isn't the usual playful one you'd seen him throw before. No, this was sinister, like he knew.

Your heart fell into your stomach as you watched him walk away, leaving you alone.

Tonight as you logged into the stream, it wasn’t to get off. It was to see if he'd show any signs of knowing you might be lurking about among the thousands of viewers.

When the video loads, Eddie is sitting in his desk chair. He's talking to the chat like he always does. There's something different in the atmosphere around him, mischief if you've placed it correctly.

He keeps replying to comments until the clock reaches 6:10. It's time for the show to begin.

"Tonight I have a very special treat for you guys." Eddie starts as he reaches over just off camera to his desk. "I've got the wand out."

The chat erupts. Eddie doesn't bring his vibrator out often, but when he does, you know it's going to be a good show for every party involved.

"I would also like to say hello to a special quest in the stream tonight." Eddie’s smirk gets bigger and your heart pounds in your chest. "Hi, sweetheart. Hope you enjoy yourself."

You feel like you've been shot. There's a ringing in your ears and your breathing has stopped.

He knows. Fuck. He definitely knows. You've never heard him say that pet name on camera. It's always babe or baby when he refers to the collective whole watching the stream. Eddie has only ever used that name with you.

Eddie starts up the vibrator, tracing it over his covered cock. He hums at the feeling, loud and long.

You clench your thighs together. You tell yourself you should stop watching but you can't bring yourself to.

'He knows." You argue with yourself.

'But he wants you to watch. Why else would he say his pet name for you? Why else would he say he hopes you enjoy yourself? He knows and he likes it.'

The devil on your shoulder makes sense again and you curse it.

So, you watch. Intently, you watch. Your eyes never leave the screen.

Eddie whimpers once he has his cock out of his pants. The tip is a deep purple/red color, showing how worked up he's gotten already.

He lets his head fall back, resting on his chair as he moves the vibrator down to his balls. He presses it into himself before dragging it up his shaft and to the head.

You feel a wetness seeping into the cotton of your panties and as his legs widen, yours press together more.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, sweetheart." Eddie moans, mouth open slack and eyes squeezed shut.

You can't believe he's saying your pet name and making those noises. You wonder what he's thinking about. How you'd look sucking on his cock? Maybe what it would be like to be pounding into you, watching your cunt suck him in and clench around him.

Eddie grits his teeth when he turns the speed up. One hand is holding the vibrator just at the frenulum while the other is cupping and squeezing his balls.

Your thoughts are running wild and your hips have started to rock in search of some kind of friction.

He moves his hand from his balls and begins to tug on his shaft. Deep guttural moans fill the air, and the sound of them turns you on even more.

It's not long before Eddie is bucking his cock into his hand. You can see his muscles straining in his legs as he does.

"Fuck fuck fuck- ah fuck sweetheart, you've got me so close. Fuck." His voice is pinched. You can see the exhaustion in the furrow of his eyebrows as he pressed the vibrator over his tip, the change in placement making his hips shudder. “God, I’m gonna cum. The thought of you is gonna make me cum, sweetheart.”

Hearing his breathy, deep, timber of a voice say that the thought of you was going to do him in had you thinking you might just cum too. No touching required, just Eddie and his beautiful noises.

In a matter of seconds, Eddie is choking on his words as his balls go taut. He lets out a drawn-out grunt and ropes of cum begin to spurt out over his chest, covering him like a painting. He doesn’t even bother to clean himself up before he looks into the camera and says good night, chuckling when he mentions your particular pet name again. Then, the screen goes dark.

…

Fridays are slow in the used bookshop you work at. Especially after 4:30. No one had been inside in maybe an hour? Your boss left early, leaving you alone to close down at 6. For the past fifteen minutes, you’ve been putting misplaced books back where they belong, sweeping, and tidying up anything else you see.

Because of the usual slowness, you have your headphones on. The music isn’t loud but it does drown out the sound of the bell chiming as someone enters the building. You are unaware of the person creeping up behind you until you are suddenly turned around and corralled against the bookshelf.

You let out an alarmed screech only for your mouth to be covered by a big, warm hand. Your headphones fall to the floor beside you as they are accidentally knocked off your head. You hear his voice then, whispering in your ear.

“Hi, Sweetheart.”

“Eddie-” You heave, relieved it wasn’t someone coming to kill you in cold blood.

“Did you enjoy my show last night?” He leans back, caressing a strand of hair away from your face.

You shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You deny. Even after you had told yourself you would come clean to him, granted that was before you knew he knew your secret.

“You don’t know, do you? I think you do why else would my account have popped up on your search suggestions the other day?”

Keeping your mouth shut, you refuse to answer.

Eddie takes your chin between his fingers and moves your face to the side as he leans into you. His lips tickle the shell of your ear as he speaks again. “So… Which one of my subs are you? Hum?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Eddie tuts. “Don’t get all shy on me. Tell me. Now.” His tone is dominating. It’s one thing to hear it over a computer speaker, it's another when you hear it in person. His presence alone had your knees knocking.

“I-I,” You can't help but stutter. “It’s Princess23.” You shamefully tell him your user, eyes looking anywhere but his.

He sucks in a breath. “Oh, Princess. That was you?”

He forces you to look at him and you nod your head.

You hate that he’s making you look him in the eye, but you can see what’s swirling around deep within them. Desire, lust, dominance, but nothing mean. Nothing hurtful.

As you watch him, you catch the minute changes in his expression. His jaw clenches and his eyes darken, a hunger taking over as he stares you down.

“I can give you a private show if you want, baby.” He leans back in. “Right here,” He nipps at your ear lobe. “Right now.”

“Eddie, we can’t… We’re at my work.”

He looks around you, head swiveling to peer down both ends of the aisle. “It’s fine Sweetheart, no one’s here but us, right?”

“Yes, but-”

He cuts you off with a finger over your lips.

“Then let me show you why the real thing is so much better than what you’ve seen online.” He doesn’t give you time to think before his lips are on yours.

They are soft, almost pillow-like as they mold against yours. His tongue slithers its way into your mouth, tasting you, he moans when he does.

To you, he tastes like menthol cigarettes and black coffee with the faintest hint of weed. It’s intoxicating, and addicting. You’ve only had one taste and now you won't be able to function without him.

His hand cups your cheek and pulls you closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tugging at his hair. His body keeps you pinned to the shelves and he spreads your legs by inserting one of his own between them.

With him being so much taller than you, it only takes you barely bending your knees for you to make contact with his thigh. You are thankful when he doesn’t stop you from humping his leg. The friction of you rubbing yourself against him has the seam of your pants pressing against your clit. It’s a wonderful pressure that leaves your mind blank.

When he pulls away, you follow, not wanting his mouth to leave yours. Eddie chuckles when you give a needy whine.

"It's okay baby, I'll give you what you want." He coos. "But first, since you wanna get yourself off, you've got to make yourself cum on my leg."

You pout. "But Eddie…"

"Ah ah, don't complain sweet girl, you'll only make it take longer. Now get to work."

You do as he says, rolling your hips with purpose against him. He doesn't help you at all, he only provides support and kissed along your jaw every few seconds as he watches you work.

It's harder than you thought it would be. The layers of denim dulled the sensations yet added to the tension your clit felt as the fabric rubbed against it.

"Mmm, fuck." You gasp, fingers gripping onto Eddie’s shoulders. "M'so close. Eddie, I'm so close."

He smiles at you and he gives your body gentle touches. "That's it, Princess. Let go. Being such a good girl for me."

You moan loudly at his praise.

"That right sweet girl, use me to get yourself off. That's it, keep going."

His words are spurring you on, your hips, although losing their rhythm and steadiness, keep going strong. Then, you feel it. That tautness in your tummy and the ache in your bones. You are so close.

"Please, Eddie. Ah- so close. Need more." Your words are short and your hips move faster.

"What is it, baby? What do you need?" Eddie asks, willing to give you just a little.

"Kiss me again," you beg.

He obliges. Taking your face in his hands and practically devouring you.

The canter of your hips stalls as your body shudders against him. A sticky wetness can now be felt, uncomfortably, between your legs.

"So good for me." He praises.

You can feel how hard he is, his needy cock prominently pressing into your thigh.

"Wanna feel you. Eddie please, I need to feel you." You're practically begging him to fuck you now.

"Yeah, sweet girl? You need me to stretch that pretty pussy on my dick? Make you feel so good, baby." He trailed his kiss down to your neck, stopping only to suck and nip at the sensitive skin.

You nod frantically. "Yes, yes Eddie. Need you inside me."

Hands rush to unbutton pants, fingers caress bare skin, breaths hitch. You tug at Eddie's pants impatiently as he pulls your own down. The sudden feeling of cold air hitting the pool of slick between your thighs.

You are both a whirlwind of arms and clothes and a few books falling from their shelf. Eddie’s fingers make their way to your center, exploring between your folds.

You throw your head back, cracking it on the shelf above. "Ow," You moan out in pain.

"Careful there, Sweetheart." He gives you another kiss and moves his unoccupied hand to cradle your head.

The pain is instantly forgotten when two of his thick fingers circle your clit before pushing into your entrance.

"Mmmm- god." He feels so good inside you, fingers curling into your walls. The wet slick of him moving fills the stagnant air of the bookstore.

"You're sucking me in, baby. Pussy squeezing me so tight." Eddie rests his forehead on yours, his breath mixing with your own. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Gasping in response, you buck your hips up into his hand. "More-"

It doesn't take much convincing for Eddie to pull his hand from between your legs and position his hard length at your entrance. Slowly he slips inside, meeting no resistance with how wet you are.

Eddie pushes into you, cock stretching you out farther than you think you've ever been before. His one hand rests on the back of your head while the other pushes your shaking hand out of his way as he goes to press it against your neck.

You grasp his arm, nails scratching his skin as he chokes you.

"Oh- oh, Eddie. Fuck me." You cry, cunt fluttering around him.

Your words are music to his ears. His pace begins steadily. In and out at a lazy, leisurely speed. Then he picks it up, hips bucking faster and faster.

He's giving it all to you. Everything you've dreamed of since you saw him on your Twitter all those months ago.

The head of his cock is repeatedly hitting that one spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. You can’t keep yourself up. The feelings coursing through you have your knees buckling and Eddie does a good job at catching your weight.

He stops his movements to try and situate you. “Come on, baby, gotta stand up.”

You shake your head. “I can’t, s’too much.” Your heart is pounding in your chest, if you even tried to stand you would just fall again. “There's a couch.” You point to the back of the store. “It’s in the break room.”

Eddie grunts as he hoists you up in his arms and follows your directions.

The couch is old and made of leather. It is cold on your skin as Eddie lays you down and you shiver as he rips your pants and underwear from around your ankles. Never would you have ever imagined being naked from the waist down in your work break room.

In contrast to the cool leather, Eddie’s hands are searing hot. He grips the back of your knees, picking your legs up and spreading you out. You’re almost folded in half.

“Jesus fucking christ. You. Are. Beautiful.” He enunciated every word. The complement has you keening and clenching around nothing. “Fuck, look at that pretty cunt. She’s gaping for me.” Eddie smiles, eyes flickering to yours before looking back to your most intimate part.

You let out a wonton gasp when he spits, a glob of it falling right atop your parted slit. Eddie takes a hand away and grabs his cock. He rubs the tip through your folds, giving your clit a heavy tap tap tap before entering you again and grabbing the back of your knee again.

Eddie wastes no time in pistoning his hips into yours. The new angle gives him free range of movement to fuck you fast and deep. The skin of his thighs makes a sharp slapping sound when he connects with your ass, it sets the rhythm for the song of your shared moans.

“Pull your shirt up.” He commands and you do as he says. Lifting your shirt up and over your breasts. Eddie lets out an irritated grunt at the sight of your bra. “That too.” He puffs out and you pull it up as far as it will allow.

Your breasts bounce as Eddie fucks you mercilessly into the couch. His eyes are shamelessly trained on them. “Fucking hell, Princess. Gimmie our hands.”

You reach out for him and he grabs your wrists, guiding you to hold your legs back like he had been doing. With the newfound freedom of his hands, he extends them out to play with your tits. He pinches and tugs at your nipples, making you moan in pleasure as he continues his assault. His thrusts become faster, harder, more desperate. You know he's close and you can't take much more either.

“Eddie… Ah- Eddie-” You babble out his name. You wiggle under his hold and the harsh prodding of his cock into your cervix. The strings of another orgasm are being pulled tight.

He growls. “I know baby, I know. Fucking cum for me. Cum on my cock.”

Tears well up in your eyes and begin to overflow. Your body writhes, back bowing, muscles straining. You’re on the precipice.

Eddie sees how close you are and moves a hand down between your legs, circling his thumb over your slick-covered clit.

“Oooh- Oh fuck!” You scream. “Shit shit shit shitshitshitshit…. Ah!”

“Louder.” He moans. “Want the whole town to hear you sweet girl.”

“Eddie! Oh, I’m there. I’m fucking there.” You cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you let go. A scream erupts from your throat. Even in your ecstasy, you can feel Eddie’s tempo shift. He’s losing speed.

“Goddammit. I cumming too.” Eddie whimpers, sinking into you fully. His cum fills you up and you can fill you as it runs down your ass as he pulls out.

Your body is twitching as he moves you to lay more fully on the couch. He doesn’t follow though. No. He sinks to his knees and before your foggy mind can even comprehend it, he attaches his mouth to your pussy.

You are pliant under his touch, unable to resist. His tongue explores you and you moan in pleasure. He’s lapping up the mixture of his cum and your slick, humming at the taste the whole time.

You choke back a sob when his tongue flicks repeatedly over your clit before he begins to suck on the already abused bud. “Eddie, please.” Reaching down you tug on his hair but he doesn’t move. “Ed-” He starts shaking his head, burying himself in your pussy.

Another orgasm is quickly approaching. Your breathing quickens and you can feel your body trembling as he works you up, sending you higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, and your body spasms in pleasure. He doesn't stop, continuing his ministrations until you finally come down from your high once more.

“Christ. You taste so good.” He says as he crawls up your spent body. Draping himself over you he places kiss after tender kiss all over your face. “Did so good for me. I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“Mhum. So proud.” He grins, the light of the room catching in the wetness covering him from nose to chin.

Eddie cuddles into you more and your eyes close. He’s exhausted you. You both lay there in silence, content in each other's presence. Eddie eventually falls asleep, his breathing slow and steady. You don’t have the heart or the energy to wake him. You stay awake, just barely, still in awe of what happened.

It feels like hours have gone by when you finally do shake Eddie, calling out to him softly. He stirs, grumbling as he looks up at you.

“Eds, baby, I need to lock up.”

He only rests his head back down between your breasts. You shake him again.

“Eddie.” You say it a bit more sternly. “Get up and I’ll let you take me back to yours.”

That gets his attention and he’s up and dressing himself in an instant. You on the other hand are slower, feeling the prominent ache between your legs. He has to help you pull your panties and jeans back on.

He has to help you close the store as well, your legs weak and not trusted to hold up your body weight without crumbling to the ground.

Never had you thought this was how this would end. Sitting in the passenger seat of your favorite camboy's car as he drives you to his apartment, grinning like the Cheshire cat as you both think of all the fun things you’ll get up to. Round two was bound to be wilder than the first.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #female reader #camboy!eddie #camboy!eddie munson #soft!dom eddie

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trulyumai · 26 days ago

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Leaving Behind Gold

—Pairing: Emperor Geta / Wife! Reader

—Synopsis: Fed up with Geta's priorities, you attempt to leave his side. Only, Geta isn't ready to let you go, and is ready to get vulnerable to get you to stay.

—Warnings: Slight angst, Geta getting nervous and breaking down.

A/N: I’m only posting geta content are y’all sick of it yet? im sorry in advanced there will be more

The moment you step through the palace halls with your packed satchel, it feels like the air around you is a trap—heavy, stifling, suffused with the weight of the decision you've made. Leaving Geta is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but his obsession with Rome has left no room for you. Your heart clenches as you pass the door to his chambers, but you keep walking, steadying your breath.

He finds you almost immediately.

You hear his voice before you see him, a frantic bark cutting through the quiet corridors. “Where is she?” Servants scatter at the sound of his tone, their whispers falling to silence as his heavy steps echo closer.

Your pulse quickens, and instinct takes over. You veer left, ducking into the library, your sanctuary within the palace—a place where he seldom disturbs you. Slamming the door shut, you throw the latch into place, your chest heaving. The silence presses in around you, broken only by your ragged breaths.

Then comes the pounding.

“Open this door!”

His voice is a snarl, wild and guttural. The sound of his fists against the heavy wood is thunderous, shaking the frame.

“Wife, youre being foolish. Do we really want to cause a scene, hm?”

You press yourself against the far wall, heart racing as you clutch the satchel to your chest. “Go away Geta! You can’t stop me from leaving!”

The words only seem to inflame him further. His pounding grows erratic, each strike like a storm battering the door. “You don’t get to decide such a thing!” he roars. “You’re my wife. You’re mine!”

“Yours?” you spit back, your voice trembling. “I was yours once, but you’ve given every piece of yourself to Rome. There’s nothing left for me!”

There’s a pause, a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the door, and then his voice drops—a low, desperate rasp. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

You hear him press his forehead against the door, his voice cracking. And then it all comes out.

“I love you, do you hear me? I love you more than anything. More than Rome, more than the gods themselves. You’re the only thing keeping me sane, and if you leave... if you leave...”

The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of his labored breathing. Then his voice returns, hoarse and broken. “I can’t survive without you.”

Your resolve falters, your hand trembling as it rests on the satchel. “Then why do you make me feel like I’m second to everything else?”

He pounds the door again, his desperation boiling over. “Because I’m a fool! A stupid, blind fool who thought Rome would give me purpose—but it’s you. It’s always been you!”

His voice cracks, and you hear him sink to his knees outside the door, his fists slapping weakly against the wood. “Please,” he begs, his tone raw and unrecognizable. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll tear the empire apart if it means keeping you by my side. Just—just open the door. Let me see you.”

Your hand hovers over the latch, your mind warring with your heart. You hear him slump against the door, defeated. “You said you were mine,” he murmurs, barely audible now. “But you’re wrong. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Tears streak your face as you press your forehead against the cool wood. “Then prove it, Geta. Prove that I matter more than Rome.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then his voice, soft but resolute: “I will.”

Your fingers tremble as they slide the latch back. The door creaks, revealing him.

Geta is on his knees, slumped forward, his shoulders shaking. His face is flushed, streaked with tears, his hair disheveled as though he’s been clawing at it in anguish. When his bloodshot eyes find yours, a sound escapes him—a choked, desperate sob that makes your chest tighten. His lips part as though to speak, but they wobble, and no words come.

He’s utterly wrecked.

And it breaks you.

Your satchel falls to the ground, forgotten, as you step toward him. His hands lift weakly, reaching for you, but it’s you who sinks down, wrapping your arms around his trembling form. He freezes for a moment, as though he doesn’t believe it’s real, but then his arms encircle you with crushing strength, pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, over and over, his breath hot against your hair. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a fool.”

His words dissolve into quiet sobs as you clutch him tighter, burying your face in his neck. “I thought I’d lost you.” he murmurs, his voice still unsteady. “I can’t—I… You’re my everything. You and my child, dear wife, I swear it to you, here and now. Nothing will ever come before my family again. Not Rome, not anything. Just... don’t leave me.”

You pull back just enough to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over his tear-streaked cheeks. His eyes meet yours, wide and shimmering with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before. “I don’t want promises, Geta,” you say softly. “I want you. Not Rome’s Geta. Not the emperor. Just... you.”

“You have me,” he says, his voice breaking as he presses his forehead against yours. “You’ve always had me.”

And in that moment, you believe him.

There’s a pause, before Geta’s voice breaks through the air.

“Do you… think I'll be a good father?” The emperor's gaze lingers on the back wall, not moving or lingering on your now watchful figure.

“I think,” with a soft kiss to his temple the man leans in, intently listening. “You’ll be the father you always wanted to be.”

Geta hummed, his ringed fingers carrasses your side. “I want to be kind. Nothing like my father. A drunken excuse of a man.” He spat.

Catching his face in the palms of your hands, you sighed and began to litter his face in little kisses. One on the cheek, two on each brow.

“Then you shall be, my husband.”

#fluff #x reader #fanfiction #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #geta x you #geta x reader #geta #emperor geta #angst

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asvtrials · 12 days ago

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𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

Emperor Geta x fem!reader, minors dni!

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.

#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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songbirdmunson · 3 months ago

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18+ only please & thank you (warning: talk of choking)

Give me Eddie that only cums the hardest when you’re bouncing on his dick slowly, absolutely tortuously grinding yourself down against him. His chest is red, his face flushed as he looks up at you, he swears you’re an angel sent straight from heaven to kill him, before he knows it his mouth is saying words that his brain can’t keep up with. “Choke me please.” And you’re so happy to oblige him. Your smaller hand wraps itself around his throat and squeezes until his eyes are rolling back into his head and he’s cumming so deep inside you- it’ll be leaking out of you for days.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x reader #eddie x reader #eddie smut

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ange-olras · 5 days ago

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I'm freaking out over this deleted scene

#gladiator caracalla #emperor caracalla #caracalla x reader #emperor geta #geta x reader #gladiator #gladiator 2 #deleted scenes #fred hechinger #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader

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fawninthesnow · 1 day ago

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𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞: 2 | Maternal! figure | Caracalla & Geta

Summary: You visit the young princes in the palace; While teaching, and tell them a folktale of a wolf and its two creations.

Warnings: Fluff, (slight) angst, english is not my first language, foreshadowing, spoilers

Work count: 1k

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. This series is for that.

More on my Master list! + follow & like pls

“Give it to me! I want to read it!” The boys tugged at the letter, snatching it back and forth between them. Finally, Geta managed to wrest it from his brother's grasp and held it high above his head. “You can barely read her writing. Let me read it to you!” Caracalla folded his arms and listened.

Hello, my loves. I’m writing to you from Germania. I miss you both more than words can express; my heart aches at the thought of you being alone in that palace. However, I take comfort in knowing that you have each other. I eagerly await the day when I can hold you both in my arms again. I’ve written two letters, so please, for my sake, stop arguing over who gets to keep the paper.

Caracalla took the envelope from the table; the boys sit beside each other, reading from the papers.

When I get back, we can get to your studies. Hopefully this time without much of a fight—Geta.

Caracalla nudged his brother.

If you are reading this, I should be on the coast of Corsica.

The two turned to each other, “That means she is only a day away, Calla!” His brother excitedly beamed, holding onto the letter in his hands with a careful yet tight hold.

Each moment feels like a journey around the sun without both of you. Please know that my love for you exceeds what I can express and what you can ever imagine. With all my love, Lady [Y/n].

The boys stayed awake that night, eager not to miss your arrival. Typically, it was Caracalla who would stay up late or rise before dawn to spend more time with you. However, since they hadn’t seen you since the holidays and with the new year already upon them, neither wanted to waste a moment away from you.

Geta held a small torch in his clutch, his brother’s hand in the other. “Calla, stay awake.” He sighed as his brother nodded off while standing. Geta led his brother to his room and tucked him in bed.

“Where are you going?” Caracalla asked as he regained some consciousness.

“I will stay with you.” He laid his head back onto the pillow.

You glanced into the bedroom when you heard their voices. The two were facing each other, unaware of your presence. As you stepped inside and smiled, Geta instantly stood up and rushed into your arms. “He is sleeping?” Geta nodded, his head buried in your clothes. “Are you tired?” He didn't need to agree; it was evident. You climbed into bed with Caracalla and carefully lifted Geta, bringing him in as well. In response to your scent, Caracalla turned toward you and wrapped his arm around your side. On your other side, Geta mirrored the gesture. You pulled the blanket over all three of you. “I love you both so much.”

***

“Grab it, Caracalla!” His brother yelled as he jumped back into the fountain. His brother continued to laugh, taking his time with the slithering creature. “Caracalla! I swear!”

The boy picked up the snake in his two hands and inches closer to his brother. “…oh, Geta?”

“I’ll tell! I’ll tell [Y/n]!”

“Tell me what?” You left the palace and joined them in the overgrown courtyard. Upon seeing the snake in Caracalla’s hands you frowned, your hands on your hips. He looked down at his feet and placed the snake back into the bushes. Geta ran to your side and held onto your clothes. “You know better.”

“I know.”

“You know your brother hates snakes too.”

“I know.” He repeated. You did not need to tell him to apologize. “I am sorry, Geta.”

“If I see another snake in your hands, you will go to your room.” The boy groaned, “Wait…why are you both out here? You should be inside with your studies.” The two brothers looked at each other.

Inside, you read from a scroll and the two boys took notes, “Beyond the oaks in Germania, Gray wolves are carnivorous and primarily hunt ungulates such as deer, wild boar, and even smaller mammals; ready to traverse for several miles. Do you recall the ways they communicate?”

“Howls, body language, and scent marking.” Caracalla said, rather doubtful of himself.

“That is true! Good job.” You cuffed his cheek. “Wolves have a special place in German literature; representing wilderness and the untamed spirit of nature.” You gaze fell on the two and cleared your throat. “Would you both like to hear a story?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, please.”

You took a few of Caracalla’s wooden toys; a wolf, two boys and two rather worn figures. “There once were two people…although they tried, they never could tame this wolf.”

“Hm? Why didn’t they just give it away?” Caracalla asked.

“Well, it is an animal that cannot be disposed of. Now, others would come to their home and would give the two all kinds of advice! ‘Just hit it, it will listen.’ ‘Let it be, it will listen.’ ‘Put it outside, it will listen.’ Nothing worked. The wolf would always come back…rowdy, violent and disobedient.”

“It is a wild creature! Why would they invite it into their home to begin with?” Geta asked and leaned forward, rather invested.

“Some things come inside without an invitation.” The two brothers looked at each other. You pushed the two figures away, leaving the two boys and the wolf. “And the two people…they had two children soon after, leaving the wolf with them.” The boys looked rather puzzled, sad---

“As the children grew, the wolf would linger around the home. Eventually, the children grew fond of it. They shared a bed, food. Soon, they built a home just for the wolf, visiting it every day.”

“They should kill the wolf.” Geta spat.

“That is a very big task, Geta.” You said softly, looking him in his brown eyes. “What do you think, Caracalla? What would you do?”

“I am not sure…I would treat it like a wild animal. I would never make a home for it.”

You squeezed their cheeks. “Alright. That is enough for today.”

Part 1

A/n: Wolf is in reference to the movie but does not mean the same thing. <3 After doing more research on the actual twin emperors of rome, I am now aware Caracalla is older yet loved his brother very much; I will be going off of their real stories instead of the movie! I love the movies dearly lol but I prioritize my writing.

More on my Master list! + follow & like pls

Must be following to be added to next taglist! I prioritize my followers <3

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skeltnwrites · 5 months ago

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Bad Cop - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You wake to a call from your boyfriend Eddie who asks you to bail him out of jail.

Word Count: 2.2k

TW: interactions with police, mild injury, talk of fighting and bullying, sexual innuendos

A/N: I might be a little late to the Eddie Munson party but I’m here now! :D

“This is a collect call from Edward Munson at Hawkins Police Station. Will you accept the charges?”

You clear your throat but your voice still feels raw when you speak, “Yes.”

“Please hold,” the operator says.

A trilling sound as you wait, twirling the phone cord anxiously. You’d been tucked in bed a minute ago, dead to the world. The phone rang loud enough from the kitchen to startle you awake. You caught the time on the alarm clock on the nightstand as you kicked the blankets off, just after one in the morning.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft under the crackle.

“Edward.” It’s not angry per se but you never use his real name which is telling.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Are you okay?” you sigh, tipping your head till your forehead meets the wallpaper.

“I’m sorry— I’m fine. I just, can you bail me out please.”

“What happened, Eds?”

“Just a stupid fight. Nothing serious, I promise.” He pleads like you won’t believe him and doesn’t give you a chance to press for details, “There’s cash in a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet. On my side, all the way in the back.”

You want to scold him but you're still kneading sleep from your face, irritated now that you know he’s okay. You bite your cheek, considering the possibility of an argument. Knowing that it shouldn’t take place through a phone.

“You’re sure? It’s enough?”

“Swear.”

“Okay, on my way.”

He apologizes again before the line clicks.

You shuffle through the band tees he’s grown out of and have since been neglected to the back of your shared closet. You make a mental note to remind him to drop some off at Goodwill. Under a stack of vinyls, you locate the box with a rolled wad of twenties held together by a rubber band. You snap the band, biting your lip. It’s enough to buy something expensive, really expensive. You jam your heel into a laced sneaker and do not bother to change out of your pajamas. The money is pushed deep into your pocket along with the house keys. You shake away arising questions as you start the van.

Cold air smacks your bare arms as you push open the station door. You blink rapidly at the fluorescents. An officer hands you a clipboard, you sign two dotted lines, and fork over most of the cash. He retreats to a separate room without a word, presumably to retrieve your boyfriend, leaving you alone in the lobby.

Your arms pillow your head on the counter until a familiar set of steps rounds the corner. His eyes, big and sorry, find yours instantly. But your attention quickly shifts to the marbled purple and blue highlighting the arch of his cheek. The stern speech about bar fights and bail payments you’d rehearsed on the way flees your throat. He brushes past the counter to hug you and you spot a split lip too. Your shoulders deflate as you meet him halfway.

“Thank you,” Eddie mumbles into your crown.

You give his waist a quick squeeze before pulling back. His hands chase the goosebumps from your skin as you scan his face. His curls are frizzy which is typical but more disheveled like he’s been running his hands through them. Your nail traces his lower lip where it was clearly cracked open but is now glazed over with a layer of dry blood. “Lose any teeth?”

He smiles, pearls still intact, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad. His breath smells faintly of alcohol as he says, “You look tired.”

“I am so tired,” you admit.

He grits his teeth guiltily, “I’ll make it up to you.”

An officer clears his throat and passes Eddie a brown paper bag with ‘Munson’ scribbled on the front. He snatches the bag with a wink. The man offers nothing but a blank stare, maybe mild disapproval as Eddie pivots and jogs toward you, already at the door. He fishes for his lighter from the bag, kissing and pocketing it as you step outside.

“Can I drive?” Eddie reaches for the keys in your hand. You always let him drive.

You snatch the carabiner to your chest, elbowing his side, “Are you trying to get a DUI too?”

“I had one beer,” he scoffs as you unlock the door.

You believe him but pretend not to as you hop in the driver's seat. “You’re a criminal now. Can’t be trusted!” You yell playfully before slamming the door as he jogs around the hood.

“Very funny,” he mutters as he climbs in.

You sling your arm over his seat to back out. The streetlight accentuates the bruise when you glance past him.

“Does it hurt?”

“Hmm?”

You point at your own cheek.

“Oh, no. It’s fine. Should’ve seen the other guy,” he chuckles.

“We’ll ice it when we get home,” you pull out onto the main road before settling your gaze back on him. “So who was the other guy?”

His eyes roll in your peripherals, “So Shelly Watkins was there—“

“You hit Shelly Watkins?”

“Jesus! No! Her stupid boyfriend Rob Perry.” He groans in disgust. “You remember him? He was such a dick in high school!”

You shake your head, trying to recall.

“He’s a couple of years older I think. Well anyway, Shelly was blabbing her big mouth, as usual, about Robin and her new girlfriend.”

“What was she saying?” You interrupt, curious but inferring already.

“Nasty shit. And she’s talking so loud the whole bar can probably hear. I mean, I couldn’t not say anything, babe. And hey,” he throws his hands up in surrender, “All I said was ‘Seems like what other people do in their spare time isn’t your business.’”

You smirk, knowing it was not as polite as he made it out to be.

“And Rob is all ‘What did you say?’” Eddie teasingly lowers his voice, foot hiked up in his seat to face you with a finger curled under his nose like a mustache.

You steal glances from the road to watch the theatrics as he retells the story, making sure to emphasize when he punched Rob square in the nose so hard it broke.

“Did you win?” You ask, attempting to hide your proud grin by checking your blind spot.

“Oh yeah.” Eddie crosses his arms, accidentally nicking the wound on his lip with his nail as he retracts the faux finger stache. He winces, tapping the cut to assess the damage. Fresh blood coats his finger; he’s quick to press his whole hand over his mouth as he fumbles through the glovebox with the other. A deck of fast food napkins you’d organized spills out. You catch one before it falls, crumpling it into his free hand and swerving back into your lane. He replaces his hand with the thin sheet, wiping his fingers on another napkin off the floor as you pull up to a stoplight.

He tips his head like a puppy when he catches you staring. You lick your thumb, smearing a stray drop crawling down his chin. Your palm lingers on his skin, rubbing circles behind his ear as the light flicks green.

It’s not long before you pull into the driveway and unlock the front door. Eddie holds a third napkin to his face. You consider going to the ER for stitches as you toss the keys on the counter and snatch a Ziploc bag from the cabinet.

Two lines of light form a skewed L in the hall from the cracked bathroom door; A silent message that you are allowed to come in. It squeaks familiarly loud on its hinges but Eddie doesn't acknowledge you.

He focuses on his reflection as he peels the napkin away hesitantly. The blood has stopped but his lip looks swollen and angry. You hook a finger through his belt loop, tugging him until he turns. You nudge the bag of ice to his cheek and he flinches grasping your hand to pull it away.

“‘s cold.”

You tug the hand towel off the sink and wrap the plastic, pushing it back to his cheek. You hold it there caressing his lash line with your pointer. He leans into the touch, rubbing his eyes with ringed fingers. Eddie pulls the thick silver off one by one, setting them on the counter.

“Sit,” you tell him.

He perches on the edge of the toilet lid obediently. You pick a washcloth from the drawer and run it under the sink. He parts his knees as you approach him, hands snapping into place at your hips. You cup his chin, pushing up until he tilts it toward you. Cool water cleans his lips where you brush. He doesn’t flinch, even when you accidentally dig too hard. You progress down to his jaw, where blood is smeared dry, and flaky.

“Think I’ll have a cool scar?” His breath fans your chin as you work cautiously.

“No,” you say. He toys with the strings on your pants, happy to be taken care of. “But you don’t need it. You’re cool already.”

The corners of his mouth lift fondly. He fights the urge to smile, hoping you’ll work longer if he sits still. You swipe in slow strokes, also secretly loving the time and touch.

You give his face a once over before tossing the rag to the counter. He searches your expression for a diagnosis. But words are slow to find your mouth, too enraptured with the long lashes that bat his cheeks sweetly. “I love how eager you are to stick up for the people you love,” you start.

“But?”

“But, we can’t afford you getting arrested over something like this.”

“I know,” he groans and headbutts you gently in the stomach. His hands cup the backs of your thighs and his hair drapes around his face like a curtain. You comb a handful of it over his neck and he tilts his head so you can see his eyes. “I don’t regret what I did, though. He’s always been such a bully. He deserved it, you know?” He sighs, gaze drifting away, “I felt like I could finally stand up to him after all these years.”

Your fingers trail down his shoulder to smooth out the tee riding up his back. “I don’t doubt that he deserved it. I know you just want to do the right thing. But still, he can probably afford it, we can’t.” You hesitate to ask, “Where did you get that money anyway?”

He hugs your middle, muttering into your belly, “Been saving.”

“For what?”

He shrugs and says what you believe to be, “Something special.” You are curious but lean on your trust rather than insecurity. He most likely intended to surprise you with something if you didn’t know.

“Sorry, you had to spend it.”

“Not your fault.” He peers up at you as if to ensure you know that and you brush his bangs back.

“Still, sorry.”

He blinks slowly up at you like a cat waiting for more pets. Then, he shoots up, back stiff, eyes wide. “You have work tomorrow,” he realizes out loud.

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” you pull his arm until he stands. “I actually have come down with a real nasty cold,” you force a cough into your fist.

“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, not only that but there's this criminal that won’t leave me alone. Think I might have to file a report at the station tomorrow.”

He laughs, flicking the light off as he follows you to the bedroom. The ice pack is left to melt in the sink and the stained washcloth to dry on the counter, a mess for tomorrow you’ve decided. You’re quick to crawl under the covers and he’s even quicker to shed his clothes and join you.

Eddie pecks the sliver of collarbone poking out of your shirt, making his way up in a dotted line. He presses gently to your lips, and you break away mindfully, aiming for the corner instead.

“You know?” Your eyes are closed but you feel his stare.

You hum.

“I think it’s kinda sexy when you call me a criminal.”

“Oh my God!” You throw an arm over your burning cheeks, “You are so horny.”

He laughs into your wrist but moves it aside to cradle your cheeks firmly. He pulls one eyelid open gently with his thumb when you refuse to engage. You release the smile you’ve been keeping. He mirrors it, teeth bright in the moonlight spilling in. “Think about it, I already have handcuffs so you can play bad cop and—“

You grope for a pillow to push into his face and then another when he chucks it off the bed, giggles overlapping.

“I’m going to call the police on you, have them arrest you again. Take you to horny jail.”

“Now you get it,” he releases his grip on your wrists to sit back on his heels and in a voice that is not his own he fawns, “Oh, officer! I promise to be a good boy from now on!”

You roll over, groaning wildly into your pillow. “Go to bed!”

He settles behind you, his heart races where it's thumping against your back. Yours isn’t far off. A final kiss is planted on your nape where he tickles you with his hair as he wishes you a good night.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fic #joeseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #stranger things

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heavndoll · 5 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

pairings — catholic!fem reader and eddie munson

summary — you're a good catholic girl. always have been — even though you're dating eddie munson, who's the complete opposite of that. he's crude and vulgar, and his influence may just taint you entirely.

warnings tags — adult language. mentions of religion, talks of god. eddie hates god, but has a god kink. major blasphemy. reader has daddy issues. mentions of jason craver (ew i know). graphic details of smut: loss of virginity (virgin!reader) + corruption. oral (eddie receiving). f!ngering. slight degrading but more praise. wrong usage of a rosary.

Eddie Munson was merely the Devil in your parents eyes.

To you, he was the seventh heaven.

Crossing paths with him was not a mistake, but a blessing. Eddie took care of you, and loved you. He really loved you.

You met him through a friend who went to Hawkins with him, and you couldn’t perceive him as a bad boy, whatsoever. He was genuine and kind the second you and him met, asking questions about you that no other guy ever had done.

But you knew he was not the guy you could bring home to your parents. Your parents were aware of him, since your father was a Sheriff for the Hawkins department, and always got reports of him.

You couldn’t tell them about your infatuation for Eddie, and how your heart burned for him, belonged to him. You were more faithful to Eddie Munson than you were to your Catholicism, and for you to say that to your parents, would earn you a kick to church camp.

You couldn’t say that their sweet little girl was in love with Hawkins’ freak; that he had told her many ways he wanted to deprive her of innocence and purity; that he dreamed of her worshiping him under her cross.

And you dreamed of that, every Sunday, for the past many month.

You sat in between your father and mother as the Priest read from the bible, and you fiddled with the ending hem of your white, babydoll dress. You stared mindfully at the cross, your head drawing the image of Eddie taking your virginity, rupturing your virtue, right underneath it.

You did feel a bit of guilt when you thought such lewd things, and you did blame Eddie for it. You felt even worse thinking of them in church, where you were supposed to be devoting your love and soul to the Lord, not a wild man.

“Hebrews 13:4 says, ‘Marriage is to be held in honor among all, and the marriage bed is to be undefiled; for fornicators and adulterers God will judge’”, the Priest spoke confidently, eyes glancing up to everyone for a second.

You swallowed thickly, fingers gripping tightly on your dress.

What the fuck, Jesus, you thought to yourself. I’m a fucking eighteen year old, of course I want to fornicate!

“Sweet dear,” your mother whispered, and you looked at her. “You look unwell. Are you okay?”

“Do you mind if I take a moment outside?” You wondered, brows drawing upwards. “It feels stuffy. Just for a minute, please.”

She sighed heavily, shaking her head. “Very well, then. Be quiet, dear.”

You thanked her, standing up, and quickly — but quietly — dismissed yourself out of the building, pushing open the wooden doors. The second you were outside, you groaned, the doors swinging close behind you.

“I’m damned for Hell,” you mumbled, rubbing your temple in frustration.

“So am I,” you heard a voice come from the side of you. You spin your head, finding Eddie there, smoking a cigarette. “For smoking of the Lord’s sacred grounds.”

“Eddie,” you sighed in relief, walking up to him, and he brought you into his embrace. He kissed the side of your head, before pulling back. “What are you doing here? If my parents — or anyone — sees you, they will make a fret out of it!”

Eddie chuckled. “Is that so?”

“I’m serious, Eds,” you frowned, throwing a small, playful slap to his shoulder. “We don’t need a scene.”

“Ah, I know, angel,” he cooed, kissing your forehead for assurance. “I just needed to see you. Was wondering what you are doing tonight?”

“I have homework, and finish my project on the Betrayal of Judas tonight,” you explained, annoyed at the mere thought of it. “It’s going to take all night. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted you to come by my trailer tonight,” Eddie said, and you smiled, but upset you had to decline his suggestion. “But it’s okay. I’m going to pick you up after school tomorrow, okay?”

“If Sister Josie sees you, she will report you to my parents,” you warned, and he only barked a laugh, throwing his head back. “I do not want to be sent to a camp because I was caught with you, Eds.”

“If your parents did that, I’d kidnap you,” Eddie stated, and you rolled your eyes, shooting a look at the church’s doors, eyes retreating back into his shortly after. “Go on in, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow, and we can do something fun.”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Anything you wanted,” Eddie promised, giving your chin a soft pinch. “Be good for me, yeah?”

You hummed, and nodded. “Bye, Eds,” you gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he watched you walk all the way back into the church.

You hurried back to your row, perching yourself back in between your parents.

“Feel better?” Your mother asked.

You inhaled sharply. “Much better.”

Your fork poked at the vegetables that sat on your dinner plate, your eyes boring into it. It was always quiet on Sunday dinners, and you never said anything, unless your parents did.

Your mother poured herself another glass of red wine, and your father glanced at you, then his wife. “Got another report today about that Munson boy,” your father cracked the perfect quiet, and was visibly angered. “He’s been seen graffiting near Lovers Lake.”

“And who is reporting that?” Your mother questioned, sipping her beverage.

“Probably that ass kisser, Jason,” you mumbled, and your father slammed his hands down on the table.

“LANGUAGE!” Your father bellowed, and you dropped your fork onto your plate, slouching back into your chair. “Jason is a good boy. A good son of the Lord, and that’s the kind of guy you need in your life.”

“Jason literally tried to kiss me at the eighth grade school dance,” you recalled, scoffing. “Without my consent, may I add!”

“Well you two were children then,” your mother said, and you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s a lovely boy. His friends are lovely too!”

You purse your lips. “His friends are dumb fucks.”

Okay, so maybe Eddie really did have a bad influence on you. Because you would never — for the love of God — curse in front of your parents, until now.

“What’s with the mouth?” Your father asked, and you glared at him. “You ought to pray tonight to the Lord tonight.”

“I’m just growing up, daddy,” you mocked, standing up from the dinner table, and threw your napkin on top of your plate. You stormed out of the dining room, straight into your bedroom, slamming your bedroom door behind you.

You dropped your body onto your bed, stuffing your face into your pillow. You wanted to scream and kick every object in your room, but refused not to do such a thing.

You were fine with laying on your bed, and smothering yourself with a pillow, until you heard gentle knocks at your window. You jolted up, your head craning toward the sound, and peeked at the window.

And you found Eddie, standing right outside your window.

You cursed under your breath, and stalked over to your window, snapping it open. Eddie smiled at the sight of you, though he could tell you were mystified by his unnoticed appearance.

“Do you want to kidnap me that badly?” You wondered, and he chuckled breathily, shrugging. “You can’t be here right now. My dad and I got into this fight.”

“About me, I suppose?” Eddie asked, allowing himself to jump into and through your bedroom window, and you didn’t stop him. “I know how your daddy likes to talk about me.”

“He said I should be with Jason, or someone like him,” you said, and he closed your bedroom window. “Because he is a son of the Lord.”

“Or the fucking Devil,” Eddie joked, and you snickered, but agreed. “I wonder what your dad would think if he knew you were with me, hm?”

“He would take his shotgun to you,” you admitted, and Eddie took a look around your bedroom. “Anyway, you can stay for a bit, but my father demands I pray for cursing.”

“Their little girl suddenly has a mouth of dirt?” Eddie teased, and you slapped his arm, which he laughed at. “Have I finally corrupted their innocent daughter?”

“Shut it, Munson,” you snapped, and he leaned against your desk, his eyes casting down at your Bible that sat on top of it.

“How about you pray right now? I won’t say a thing,” Eddie suggested, and you raised a brow, tilting your head. “You need to get it over with, anyway. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“You want to watch me pray?” You asked.

“It’d be nice, ya’know?” Eddie grinned, and he could tell you were completely gullible to what he was getting at. “Maybe I could learn a thing or two.”

You considered it, and simply agreed, walking up next to him. You grabbed your bible, and opened it up as you made your way over to your bed, kneeling at the end of it. Your knees brushed against your carpet-like flooring, looking up at your cross.

“Wait, Eds,” you paused, and he was already giving you your pink rosary. You thanked him, wrapping it around your fingers, and held it tightly in your hand.

Your cross hung right above your bed, right in the middle of your room, and your attention diverted from him, to the Bible.

Eddie simply watched and witnessed you speak and pray, and he felt sick for getting aroused to this pure sight of you, pleading for forgiveness from a man who supposedly ruled the Earth. He wanted to touch you, for his hands to memorize and caress every curve of your body.

His eyes unpeeled that baby pink tank top you wore, then went to your white, soft sweatpants. He wondered how it’d be like for you to plead and worship him in front of the Lord as he made you call him your God.

Maybe that was an awful, crude dream to play in his head, but he wanted to have your devotion turn to him, not the Lord.

The Lord couldn’t love and care for you the way he did.

Eddie went over to your bedroom door, and locked it, seeing how focused you were on the pages of pure fiction.

He kneeled behind you, and wrapped an arm around your torso, your body shuddering. He brought you closer to him, planting an innocent kiss on your shoulder.

“Eddie, I’m praying,” you pouted, setting your Bible down for a moment. “You said you wouldn’t disrupt.”

“Just keep going, love,” he mumbled, his tip of his nose brushing against your skin. “Keep praying.”

You rolled your eyes and did so, continuing to recite every word from the pages.

Eddie’s lips made their way to the nape of your neck, getting the sweet scent of your perfume. “What a good girl,” he whispered, his hot breath sending a symphony of shivers along your body. “Doing anything to stay pure and good.”

You nearly faltered, your concentration weakening. His hand trailed to your stomach, resting on your abdomen.

Eddie had touched you before, but not fully — not under your clothes. He even afforded to show you how to touch yourself, but Sister Tina from your school said you’d be banished to Hell for such a thing; so that set enough fear in.

Now, you craved for him to touch him. You didn’t know why in this particular moment — out of every heated, lusting moment — you wanted to feel him, to take you apart, and taint every part of your body, and brain.

You began to stutter as you spoke, Eddie’s hand crawling under your sweatpants, grazing over your clothed area. “Do you think the Lord wants me to touch you?” He taunted, and you hummed, your hands grasping harshly onto both sides of the Bible. “What do you think?”

“Eddie,” you managed to breathe out. “Eddie.”

“I want him to watch me take his devoted angel,” Eddie continued, his fingers creeping into your underwear, and your body flinched the second his fingers pressed against your bud. “Show him that he is no protector.”

You nodded, and Eddie grinned, resting his chin onto your shoulder.

You wanted Eddie. You needed Eddie.

“Keep reading, or I’ll stop,” Eddie warned, and you couldn’t hold onto a single thought as his middle finger curled into your unripe cunt. You moaned, squeezing your eyelids shut to the feeling of it. It was a single fucking finger in you, and you felt like pure bliss.

Eddie continued to pump the individual finger in you, slowly and surely as you tried to read more.

Everything was going smoothly, until a knock hit against your bedroom door.

Your father barked your name, you and Eddie freezing up. “Honey, why is your door locked?” Your father asked, shaking the doorknob. “Are you okay?”

Eddie smirked, his ring finger joining his middle, both pumping into a picked up pace.

“I–I’m praying!” You announced, trying to hold back your noises. “I wanted to pray in privacy, talk to the Lord!”

“Oh,” your father spoke from the other side of the door. “I’m glad to hear that, sweetie. I just wanted to say, you know I’m just looking out for you, right?”

Eddie’s fingers struck an unknown, but euphoric, spot in you, and you choked down a loud moan. “Yeah, daddy! I know that,” you responded, throwing your head back onto Eddie’s shoulder, and the Bible collapsed to the side of you.

Eddie chuckled quietly, using his free hand to wrap onto your throat. “What a filthy girl,” he whispered into your ear, grasping onto your neck.

“There’s bad guys out there, like Eddie Munson,” your father said, and Eddie wanted to bark a laugh. “If you were to be with a boy like that, I’d lose it. Boys only want one thing, and you know that.”

Another noise was lodged in your throat, Eddie having to squeeze your throat as a warning.

“I know, I know! Now, can I continue praying, please?” You asked, and Eddie’s finger shoved into you faster, and harder.

“Yes, of course! Your mother and I are heading to the Martins for a bit,” he acknowledged, and you had to slam your own hand over your mouth. “We should be back no later than 11. Be good!”

You kept your hand over your mouth until you heard the front door slam shut, and the second they did, you freed all your noises. Your chest heaved, your body becoming pudding against Eddie’s.

A hot sensation hit your stomach, and you found pleasure in it. It was an unfamiliar, enjoyable feeling. Your thighs trembled, and Eddie took a quick note to it, noticing how you were barely adjusting to this. “Are you going to cum?” Eddie asked, and you looked at him with confusion.

“Cum?” You repeated.

“Does it feel like your stomach is on fire?” Eddie asked, his fingers making themselves deeper into your core, and you nodded. “That means you’re at your climax, love. That you are going to cum. It’s very normal.”

You still had a lot to learn, and Eddie was glad enough to teach you it all.

“Just let it go, sweetheart. Let it be free,” he cooed, and you hummed, your body convulsing the second your climax poured out of you, nearly dropping to the floor. He kept you up and close to him, and you panted, swallowing thickly.

Eddie’s fingers disappeared out of you, removing his hand completely from you. He placed his two fingers in his mouth, getting the sweet taste of you, and nearly moaned. “You taste fucking divine.”

You blushed, and eyed your Bible, picking it up. “I think I got enough forgiveness,” you joked, and Eddie hummed, helping you stand up with him. “I just…”

“Hm?” Eddie wondered, taking the Bible from you, and rested it on your desk. “What is it, sweet girl?”

“I want,” your voice quavered, your head hanging low in embarrassment. “I want more.”

Eddie placed his finger under your chin, bringing your head up to look him directly in the eye. “You want more? You have to be more specific, love,” Eddie mused, and you whimpered. “Use your words, please.”

“I want you to touch me more,” you only knew how to say it like that. Just paraphrase it in that way. “I want you to fuck me?”

“Is that a question or statement?” Eddie jested, and you whined more, embarrassed. “I’m kidding, sweet girl. I know what you mean, but are you sure?”

You nodded, smiling in confidence.

Eddie tugged you closer to his body, his lips smothering yours, and his hands laid on your hips, squeezing them gently. Your arms looped around his neck, holding him close to you, your body aching for him.

He led you over to your bed, sitting down onto it as you straddled his lap. Your hands cupped his cheeks, your rosary brushing against his skin, and you could feel him smile on your lips.

His lips fell off of yours, and he stripped off his upper half clothing, dropping them to your floor. Your eyes widened to the view of his body, his abs perfectly toned, and your finger drew around the tattoos he had on the left side of his chest.

“I like this tattoo,” you giggled at the Demon and spider tattoos, and he smiled, kissing the side of your head. “But I will always like your puppetmaster tattoo a lot more.”

“Gotta get you a tattoo one day,” Eddie said, and you shook your head. “Get you a pretty tattoo, just like mine, yeah?”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, and he hummed, his fingers hooking under your shirt. You let him take it off of you, undoing your bra by yourself. You hesitantly shimmed off your bra, the straps sliding down your arms, and onto your lap.

You put it on the ground with the other clothes, and you didn’t stare at Eddie as his eyes gawked at your breasts. You were insecure and worried – he was the first guy to ever see your bare body.

Panic slowly rolled in. “Is it okay? Am I okay?”

“Baby,” Eddie breathed, looking up at you, and then at your breasts. “You are so beautiful. This body, all mine to touch and mark.”

Your worries washed away, Eddie planting loving kisses on your breasts.

“Your body is fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, captivated and enthralled by your gracious beauty. “All fucking mine.” He carefully laid you on your back, on the bed, and hovered over you, his lips falling back onto yours. His body rutted against yours, hands at the waistband of your sweatpants,

“Take them off, Eds,” you breathed into the kiss, and his taste was gone for a moment as he listened, stripping off your sweatpants. You were left in your white cotton panties, and he took a second to unbuckle his belt, and then his pants, both landing on the ground.

You and Eddie were only left in your underwear, and you could feel a hard bulge brush against your inner thigh.

Oh, you thought to yourself. That.

“Are you sure you’re ready, doll?” Eddie asked, and you looked at him with assuring, doe eyes, and he kissed your forehead. He reached over to his pants, grabbing his wallet from it, and pulled out a small wrapper from it.

You shivered, and your eyes bored into Eddie as he took off his boxers, and you tensed the second you glimpsed at his cock.

You were about to pray to God again, due to the overwhelmingly huge size of Eddie.

Eddie opened up the wrapper, taking out the condom, and slipped it on. You took off your panties and kicked them off, throwing your rosary too, seeing how they joined all other clothing items on the floor.

“It’s going to hurt at first; if you want me to stop, just say so,” Eddie said, and one of his hands held onto yours for comfort as his other was used to guide him into you. You could feel the head of him at your cunt, and you squeezed his hand whilst his cock made its way into you, slowly and bit by bit.

Your back arched, gasping aloud to the feeling of him fulfilling you. Eddie’s hand grasped onto your jaw, holding onto it, forcing you to hold eye contact with him. “Just take me, love,” he mused, and you whimpered in response.

You were being easily stretched and torn apart by his cock, your virtue draining out of you with every brush of him coming in and out of you. You continued to hold onto his hand, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand for assurance you were safe.

Eddie kept a steady, delicate pace, taking a clear eye to how you were already in shambles. He was simply dispossessing you of your longing purity, your body and devotion belonging to him now.

This was Seventh Heaven to you — this was all of the joy and exhilaration you longed for.

Your cunt adjusted to his size, and your hand let go of him, setting both of them onto his shoulders. “More, Eddie. Please,” you pleaded, and he began to drill himself deeper into you, his hands pressing onto your stomach for support.

You squealed, his eyes on the way his cock thrusted into you. Your body elevated upwards, and your glossy eyes caught a glance of the cross above your bed.

If this corruption was so cruel, so vile, why did it feel so fucking amazing?

Flares of euphoria spurred throughout your body as wanton, lewd noises elicited out of your mouth, and filled your bedroom. Embers of pure, raw desire were in Eddie’s eyes the second they fell back into yours, his breath shuddering his rib cages.

A firestorm grew in your stomach, and your nails dug into Eddie’s shoulder, earning a harsh moan out of him. “‘M gonna cum,” you told him, your chest falling up and down rapidly. “I need to cum, Eds.”

“What a sensitive whore you are,” he taunted, and you groaned, the fire spreading into your thighs. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum for your God.”

Your lids sealed shut as your climax peaked and rushed out of you, your body moving with a hard jolt to it. Eddie nearly laughed mockingly at you, your delicate, unripe body, now sweating and shaking from sinful sex.

You barely had collected the fact Eddie referred to him as your God, but you didn’t hate it.

You liked it.

“I’m going to fuck your pretty mouth,” Eddie said, and helped you sit up as he took off the condom. “I always told you I’d find a way for you to worship me. Get on your knees, angel.”

Eddie tossed his condom into your trash bin, turning his attention back onto you.

You obeyed, and stumbled to your bedroom floor, collapsing down onto your knees. Eddie seized your rosary, and took the opportunity to tie up your wrists with the symbolized jewelry. You whined, tugging at your hostaged wrists.

“Open your mouth for me,” Eddie said, standing in front of you. Your mouth popped open, and he shoved two fingers into your mouth, creeping them to the back of your throat. You gagged the second his fingers hit your throat, your eyes watering.

You stared up at him with pure and pious eyes, that were almost daunting, too.

“How are you going to be able to take my cock, when you can barely take my fingers, angel?” He asked, and a tear trickled down your cheek. He was amused by this single tear. “You worship me?”

You nodded as his fingers left your mouth, his knuckles brushing along your cheek. “Yes, I worship you. Only you,” you assured, giving the edge of his palm a delicate, small kiss. “You’re my religion.”

He chuckled. “Such a good little thing you are.”

Eddie’s fingers curled into your hair, nails scratching against your scalp. His hips pushed forward, his cock stuffing your opened mouth.

You remembered your friend told you about blowjobs — that you make sure your teeth don’t touch, or it makes it unpleasant. Your friend wasn’t as faithful or pure as you were, only going to Catechism to please her parents.

Eddie’s cock continuously hit the back of your throat, drawing inchorenet gargles from you as tears lined at the brim of your eyes. Your throat was brutalized, yet you soaked into the pain of it, taking pleasure in every second of it.

Your eyes rolled back the deeper his cock went, his teeth gritting together, and moaned your name like a mantra.

Eddie’s head fell back, his hips snapping into your face, and you gurgled, trying your best to breathe out of your nostrils. “Shit, shit, I’m close,” he told you, and that was the only warning you were given, nothing else. “Keep your mouth steady and open for your God, baby.”

His climax flooded into your mouth, your tongue getting a salty taste of his high, and he pushed his cock out of your mouth. He tried to catch his breath, sweat beading at his forehead and body, his fingers unhooking from your hair.

“Let me see, doll,” Eddie said, and you happily showed him the way his cum sat on your tongue. “Mhm, that’s a good girl. Swallow it.”

You closed your mouth, taking it all down at once, and he kissed the top of your head. He unknotted the rosary, and your wrists were glad to be free.

Eddie sat the jewelry on your bed stand, and helped you up, sitting you down on your bed afterwards. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He panicked, and you shook your head, a few strands of your hair matted to your teary, sweating cheeks.

“Did I do okay?” You asked, and he frowned, cupping your cheeks, caressing them lovingly with his thumbs.

“You were wonderful, sweet girl. So good,” he reassured, kissing the top of your head. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and dressed. You still have that project.”

You groaned, barely remembering it. “Oh fuck!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff

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strawbbzombwie · 6 months ago

Text

Treasure.

Warnings: This is definitely not historically accurate but I’ll try my best😭 18+ so MDNI!! Emperor geta x fem!reader, Geta is possessive asf, P in v smut, loss of virginity, fingering, breeding kink, creampie, Geta and reader are newly married.

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: This is my first proper time writing a fanfic so I hope it’s alright and you enjoy it!!🫶🫶

“You seem nervous.” Geta spoke, snapping you out of your thoughts. You set eyes on your new husband, his back facing you as he set down the chalice of wine he held in his hand.

Your eyes scanned the chambers now belonging to you and him, dimly lit with candles casting a shadow over Geta. The nervous pit in your stomach grew more and more unbearable as time went on. Finally, his eyes met yours.

“Should I be nervous?” You muttered. He smirked at you, his dark eyes gazing into yours and scanning the rest of your body, practically undressing you with his eyes. You wore a white tunic adorned with a golden belt tied around your waist, your wrist covered with a golden bracelet and now a golden ring on your finger.

To Geta, you were an angel sent from the heavens themselves. He felt proud to call you his wife, proud he got to call you his before any other man could. To him, you were his treasure, his most prized possession and his empress.

“Of course not. I won’t hurt you.” He smiled at you, running his hand across your soft skin. You felt his calloused fingers run down your face, his cold rings making you shiver. You looked up at him, smiling back at him. His thumb grazed across your bottom lip. You could feel your face growing warm, the nervous feeling in your stomach disappearing and being replaced with arousal.

He cupped your face in his hand and interlocked his lips with yours, sharing a passionate kiss. His lips felt soft against your own, the sweet but bitter taste of wine now invading your mouth. It felt intoxicating, sharing an intimate moment with your new husband felt comforting to you but the slight ache between your legs grew more agonising the more time he spent kissing you.

His hand left your face, moving to your shoulder and slipping the fabric down and then down to your belt, untying the knot and letting it fall down onto the floor, your tunic pooling around you shortly afterwards.

You felt vulnerable. There you were, completely exposed and at his mercy. You felt his soft lips leave yours and watched as he took a step back to look at you. He looked you up and down, the smile on his face clear as day.

“You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re all mine.” He said, lust dripping from his voice. Those last two words made your knees weak.

“All mine.”

He was right, you were all his. You were his empress, his wife, the mother to his future children. You were his and belonged to no one else. You were his to fuck. To claim. To breed. If anyone else were so much as to look in your direction, he would kill them with his own hands.

“I’m all yours..” you mutter, arousal pooling between your thighs. He grinned, leading you to the bed now belonging to you and him.

“Lay down.” He commanded, beginning to take off his own garments. You obeyed, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him undress. You began to feel nervous again. There was no denying that Geta has had sex before. You on the other hand, were still a virgin. Geta could see the panic on your face and speaks up.

“Don’t worry. We’ll start slow so it wont hurt. I wouldn’t dream of hurting a pretty girl like you.” He reassured you, the praise causing you to hold back a moan. He finally finished untying his belt, also letting his robes fall to the floor. Your eyes immediately went down to his cock. Now you understood why he carried himself with confidence.

He was thick, not too big but big enough to make you feel nervous and he was fully hard, the tip red and angry resting against his stomach leaking precum.

Your eyes widened, brows furrowing in worry as you now realised that this was truly happening, you were about to lose your virginity. Geta walked up to you and sat down next to you, pressing soft kisses on your jawline and down your neck, causing a moan to slip out of your mouth.

“Relax and let me make you feel good” he groaned, his hand caressing your body, resting on your stomach, his rings making you jump.

“Soon enough you will be carrying our heir. The future emperor of Rome.” He whispers in your ear, his warm breath causing you to shiver. He leans down, pressing a kiss onto your stomach and kissing up your body, your tits and eventually back to your neck.

His hand wandered further down until it was between your legs, lightly grazing his fingers across your cunt, causing you to moan out. It was music to his ears. He wanted to make you a moaning mess only for his ears to hear, only for him. It made him proud, knowing he would be the one making you moan and whine in pleasure, knowing he would be the one making you cum around his cock as he continued to fuck you through your orgasms.

His index finger pressed against your clit, beginning to rub it in slow circular motions. Your head fell back and moans of pleasure began to fall out of your mouth. You felt your body grow weak.

“You’re doing to well for me.” He said, a smirk growing on his face as he took his finger off your clit and pressed it against your entrance, feeling your slick coat his fingers. He slowly pushed his finger inside of you, causing you to yelp out. It hurt but the pain was quickly replaced by pleasure as he began moving his finger in and out of you, quickly finding that spot within you that made you grip onto his arm.

You could feel the knot in your stomach grow tighter as he inserted another finger, his palm bumping against your clit. His eyes were dark with lust as his gaze met yours, lips interlocking with one another’s as you came undone with his fingers.

He moved away from you, removing his fingers from you and bringing them up to his mouth, tasting the slick coating them. You whined at the empty feeling but could not take your eyes off the sight in front of you.

“You taste divine.” He says, removing his fingers from his mouth and moving so he’s situated between your thighs, gazing down at his lovely wife. He gathered your arousal on his fingers and coated it on his cock, adjusting himself so he is pressed against your entrance.

“You’ll feel great I promise.” He whispers, slowly pushing himself inside of you, causing you to whimper in pain while he bottomed out. He took his time, letting you adjust to him inside of you before slowly thrusting in and out.

Moans began falling out of your mouth as your hands gripped the bedsheets, your tits bouncing with every thrust. Your legs wrapped around his hips, wanting him to be closer to you.

Geta was watching you unravel right in front of him, watching how your tits bounced every time he thrusted into you, watching how your eyes rolled back in pleasure. It made him proud, knowing he was finally claiming you as his own. He could feel his own orgasm building up as he moved his hand to rub fast circles on your clit as he quickened his pace.

The knot in your stomach became unbearable as your sounds of ecstasy grew louder, your hands gripping to Geta’s arms.

“Go on. Cum for me.” He moans out, causing the knot to snap and for you to come undone around his cock, twitching in pleasure. Geta’s thrusts began to grow sloppy as he unravels in front of you, spilling his seed inside your pussy.

A few moments pass and you are both a sweaty, panting mess. He pulls out of you and watches the cum leak out from you, scooping it up and pushing it back inside you with his fingers. You quietly moaned at the sensation.

“Can’t have any go to waste can we?” He smiled. You slowly shook your head, eyes growing tired as your body begins to feel heavy. Geta lies down next to you, wrapping his arms around you as he kisses your cheek.

“You did so well for me.” He mumbled into your ear, his hot breath feeling comforting as you both begin feeling tired. His hand finds its way to your stomach again, rubbing small and slow circles around it. You feel your eyes begin to close as you hear your husband say something before you drift off to sleep.

“My perfect treasure.”

I really hope you enjoyed reading this I loved making it and hopefully I will write more soon!!This is my first fic so it may not be as good as ones I write in the future but I’m super proud of it!!💖💖

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #emperor geta #emperor geta x reader #gladiator #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x fem!reader #gladiator ii

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lovebugism · 19 days ago

Text

✶ ┄ HOUNDS OF LOVE !

part one | part two

summary: you and marcus live lightyears apart within the city walls when emperor geta takes a greater liking to you than expected. you start to find a strange sense of understanding within the crazed emperor, while general acacius plots your escape. (11k)

pairing: marcus acacius / f!reader, emperor geta / f!reader

contents: established relationships, angst, hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of war, mentions of sex work, brief mentions of emotional abuse (geta has anger issues he's working on), swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, unprotected sex, exhibitionism & voyeurism) (this is another dark fic!! please heed the warnings!!)

“Meet me in the garden,” you pant against the General’s mouth as you kiss him with a desperate sort of fervor. It’s all wet and hungry and unforgiving, like biting into an apple. “At sunset, on the morrow. Say you’ll meet me there.”

Despite your delicate touch, you cradle Marcus in a most violent hold. You keep him impossibly close with one hand wrapped around his neck, tanned and taut with the strain of war. Your other twists in his hair, dancing through the greying curls of fine silk. You embrace the General within the candlelit crypt where, before now, only death seemed to roam.

Marcus stands as still as the statues of ghosts surrounding you. You lick into his mouth like you plan to breathe life back into his lungs, even while he withers into nothingness at your feet. A thin layer of your spit coats the scruff of his chin. He balls his calloused hands into fists at his sides and pretends a part of you isn’t glittering upon him. He holds onto plausible deniability like a shield.

“It is not safe,” Marcus murmurs in a gruff whisper when you pull back to take a breath. His lidded eyes dart over your kissed face — gaze heavied, lips swollen. Beautiful devil, fallen angel. “You know this.”

Not anymore, he wants to say. Not while you belong to Them.

“Why not?” you challenge, always so girlishly gentle in your stubbornness. “Everyone will be at the feast, Marcus— No one will see us, I’m sure of it.”

Your eyes flit between his kissed mouth and dark-eyed gaze. Universes shine in your irises despite the shadows of the labyrinthine tomb. Marcus feels a white-hot knife twisting in his chest as he resists the urge to hold you.

“It’s the world we live in now, petal. There is little use in questioning it.”

“But why?” you question, anyway. “Why must we live in this world, hm? The war is over— We could make our own, somewhere far away from the city. Somewhere no one could ever find us—”

You create heavens with your naivety.

Marcus burns them down with words.

“The Emperors would not stand for losing their general. For them, the war is never finished,” the General interjects in a sorrowful deadpan, aching when your face twists with grief. “And if they misplaced you? They… They would burn cities to the ground in their hunt… They would set the world aflame before they stopped searching for you.”

Marcus knows this because he knows himself — every star in the sky would burn out before he stopped looking for you. He knows this, too, because he knows the Emperors. Perhaps better than anyone else in the entire world.

Geta and Caracalla were born with the belief that they possessed ownership over everything they touched. Anyone stealing from their Empire would meet a swift and tortuous demise. They were merciless gods who dangled life and death on their fingertips. Only those who kissed the ring would make it out of their rule alive.

And you knew it, too.

That was the worst part of it all: you knew it.

Tomorrow comes and passes like rolling summer clouds, slow and heavy and suffocating. You watch from the royal garden as the sky turns from a glittering sapphire to milky shades of peach and lavender. Another day gone by that you’ve spent grieving on your own.

Though time marches mercilessly on, threatening to untie unbreakable bonds, it changes little of how much you and Marcus have grown together. Like cherry trees kissed with the promise of spring, with your roots tangled gracelessly together. It’s a knot that cannot be undone, not even by the promise of death.

And for that, you figure you must be grateful.

Because as you sit on the stone steps of an artificial lake, twirling your fingers in the warm water of the koi pond, you wonder how dreadful it must be for the multi-colored carp. To swim in circles your whole life, to think the world is only as big as the bricks holding you hostage.

At least you know what it means to grow up in the rolling green of an infinite countryside. At least now you have gardens to roam in the greatest city in the world. At least now you get to live.

A breeze sweeps suddenly through the garden, rippling the crystalline water and rustling the bright green leaves over your head. It carries the soft sound of footsteps scraping the stone trail. Your ears perk, your heart stops, and your head whips over your shoulder. You hope to see Marcus standing at the steps below you.

Your chest tightens and deflates all at once at the sight of Emperor Geta.

He’s adorned in his white-gold cloak, with his laurels sat atop his strawberry-blonde curls, and carrying a jeweled ring on each finger. The sunlight paints the man in flaxen rays of light. The rainbow-colored flowers seem to bloom with every one of his steps. All you can think is how beautiful he is — much too pretty to be so cruel.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” the Emperor concedes, eyes wide and palms splayed in surrender. His sandals scuff the cobbles with each hesitant stride.

“No, of course not,” you blurt with a rapid shake of your head, a quickness sure to give away your choked-back terror. “I just… I only thought you’d be at the dining hall with the rest of the court.”

“I was. Until the handmaidens notified me of your absence.”

You meet his wide-eyed expression with a narrowed gaze, lips curling into an unsure smile. “How can I be absent from a place I do not belong, Your Majesty?” you quip, though your voice threatens to shake.

Geta’s brows furrow. His ringed fingers twitch at his sides. “Belong?” he echoes.

“The feast is for nobility, and I grew up in a brothel,” you answer, giggling quietly under your breath. “I am certainly the farthest thing from royalty.”

You flash him a gentle smile and playful gaze, but the Emperor only frowns.

He can hardly stomach the thought of it — of his most precious thing living in the countryside, surrounded by filth, touched by unworthy hands. He’s glad you’re now, where only he can touch you. Where he can make you clean.

“There is a place for you there, nonetheless,” Geta tells you and takes another step closer. He stands at the bottom of the stone steps and tilts his chin to his chest. His chocolate eyes harden as he presses more firmly, “And I will see that you attend.”

His sudden glacial disposition makes your stomach wrench. You’ve grown so used to him now, learned all the ways to keep him satisfied, that you’ve forgotten how quickly angered he can be. You don’t want to remember his wrath.

You nod at the invitation with a wavering smile, knowing you aren’t at liberty to turn him down, and rise from your spot by the pool.

You hold your gown in both hands as you descend the stairs, flinching slightly when Geta rushes to help you. Sometimes, you think he can sense your worry, or that he regrets snapping at you the way he does. Either way, his efforts to pivot the situation are apparent to you — like he never learned how to apologize, so he’s forced to improvise in the matter.

His warm, petaled hand engulfs you to ease you down the tricky cobbles.

“I only mean that… it is strange. Being without there… Or anywhere, really,” he admits, talking slowly like each word is foreign to him. His gaze darts from yours to the vacant path ahead. “I find that I am looking for you in places I knew you could not be. It’s foolish, I know.”

His gentleness is perhaps more striking than his rage.

“It isn’t foolish, Your Majesty,” you insist as you reach the bottom of the staircase. You peer at him through your lashes and fake another smile. “I just didn’t know you were such a poet.”

Geta doesn’t understand your meaning. Where was the poetry in his words? How did such burdensome feelings of tenderness make him a poet?

“Neither did I,” he muses, guiding you out of the garden with his hand in yours.

Though still riddled with feelings of uncertainty, Geta is strangely moved by how you’re looking at him now — with the sun sparkling in your softened gaze, more gentle than anyone deserves to be looked at. So he figures he can be a poet for you, if he must.

You bathe again in the rosehip oil Geta always insists you wear, and dress yourself in the fine silk gown you know he prefers. The pale blue fabric drapes off your shoulders and flows to your ankles, cinched at the waist with a jewel-encrusted belt of gold. Your skin and body are adorned, in this moment alone, with perhaps more money than you’ve ever seen in your life.

The thought makes your head swim as you amble to the dining hall.

The silent guards at your side make no effort to rush you for fear of the Emperors’ wrath. Still, though, the notion that they are commissioned to ensure your attendance is not lost on you. Any attempt to flee will surely be met with force — if not from the knights, then from Geta himself.

The feasting is long done by the time you arrive. Mingling bodies flit around the crowded manor in a blur. Live music swells distantly as rose petals fall from thin air to decorate the marble floor. You wring your hands nervously together as you weave through the bustling court, gravitating to the large open window at the back of the hall — where you know the Emperors rest on their plush, velvet chaises.

Caracalla notices you first.

The boy rises from his lounged position — laurels crooked on his blonde head and robe shifting up his pale thighs — and smiles at you with all his crooked teeth. His lone golden tooth glints in the sunlight.

“You showed,” he announces to no one in particular, just before his wild head swivels to his brother on the other side of the couch. “See, brother? I told you there was naught to worry about. Did I not?”

Geta does not appear happy to see you. His features remain in an emotionless scowl while his smokey eyes rake over your form. “You did,” he responds distantly, if only to appease his younger brother.

Caracalla doesn’t seem to notice the tension caging him on both sides as he flashes you another toothy grin. “He threatened to send the Praetorians after you,” he lilts like it’s some kind of silly secret.

The Emperors’ bodyguards line the wall behind them, as well as all the entrances and nearly every window. They were like your Marcus — military veterans, strong and sharp and ruthless — though you imagine the only soft side you’ll ever see of them is a fist. They are certainly not the kind of people you want sent after you.

“Well, you were right, Your Majesty,” you grin. “There was naught to worry about. I was simply making myself presentable for the court.”

Caracalla holds his ringed hand out for you as you near him. You bend at the waist to kiss the emerald on his ring finger. The motion is muscle memory to you now. “You look beautiful,” he slurs like a child. “Like a fairy, almost.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” you nod politely and rise to full height again.

You feel his ocean eyes on your body as you pass him by, glassy and sparkling with a boyish sort of wonder. A stark contrast to the way his brother glares daggers at you.

“You certainly took your time,” Geta monotones in place of a greeting.

You stand obediently at his side and twist your clammy hands into knots. “I was only getting dressed, Your Majesty. I wanted to look pretty for you—”

“Nonsense,” the Emperor spits and turns away. You’re always pretty, he’d say if he could get the words out. Instead, he softens his suddenly hardened edges and flashes you a gentler glance. “I thought you’d defied me,” he confesses, as though in lieu of an apology for his fleeting hysterics.

“I couldn’t,” you murmur with a quiet smile.

Not wouldn’t, he notices. Not shouldn’t.

But couldn’t. Like your body was fated to listen to his command.

A funny feeling sparkles like gold in his chest. It makes him fidget uncomfortably on the couch. “Sit down,” he instructs with a wave of his ringed hand before slouching back in his seat, pale arms splayed along the edge of it. His brows pinch when you descend onto the empty spot beside him. “Not there.”

You freeze in place. Your eyes widen and dart to his thighs, spread out and hidden beneath the skirt of his robe. You look to Geta once more and cower beneath his expectant look. You sink hesitantly onto his lap, feeling like your heart’s in your throat as you lean into his chest.

Your unsure hands curl around his shoulders. His curls brush your cheek. He smells overwhelmingly of musk and wine and cinnamon. Something about it makes you dizzy.

You survey the room from your position in Geta’s lap. Most people aren’t looking, you find, too busy talking and flirting and dancing together. A few noblemen across the way leer incredulously at you, though, like they’re trying to gauge if they know you from somewhere. You presume you likely slept with one or more of their sons during the war, most of which are likely dead now.

A few women crowd behind the chaise — all dressed in muted shades of silk, all dripped in jewels and gold. They’re pretty, effortlessly so, as they talk into their goblets full of wine. Some looked relieved to have the Emperors’ attention off of them. Others sneer at you for it, having no idea you’d switch places with them in a heartbeat if you could.

Your eyes dart across the dining hall, almost instinctually so. They lock immediately with Marcus the moment he enters the room.

The General wears his black-gold armor and a faraway look in his eye as he leads a group of foreign gladiators into the manor. A hush lulls over the crowd, which parts for him without thinking. Marcus navigates through it with an absentminded sternness, like every step is muscle memory.

He softens only when his gaze meets yours.

His puffed-out chest deflates with a wavering exhale at the sight of you, a lamb on the lap of a man who holds a knife to your throat. He blames himself for it most of all, knowing he’s the one that brought you to slaughter.

“Finally!” Caracalla shouts into the silence, voice ringing through the hushed court. “Where have you all been— In the showers together?”

A bout of laughter rolls over the crowd as the blonde boy leans over to you. You try not to grimace at the bitter smell of wine on his breath. “Who nearly missed the games, little dove,” he croons too close to your ear.

The nickname makes you tense. You muster a smile, anyway, and remind yourself to breathe. “What a shame that would’ve been,” you lilt in response.

“The armor is tricky, Your Majesty,” Acacius confesses, voice deep like a cathedral organ. “Especially for those who have not donned it before. Such as yourself.”

There is a bite to his words despite their monotoned delivery. Caracalla pays it no mind as he lounges back on the couch, wine sloshing in the chalice he holds in a limp hand. “Get it out with it, then,” he slurs.

Each gladiator faces the other. One is tall and sturdy, like an oak tree. The other is shorter and lankier, much too young and far too pretty to fight in such gruesome battles. As Marcus’ voice booms throughout the quiet dining hall to introduce them — The Barbarian versus The Might Vincenzo — Geta presses his mouth to your ear.

“Which one shall we bet on, little dove?” he whispers to you as his hand curls tighter around your waist. His other idles over your skirt, pale and jeweled and warm, though his long fingers threaten to dip between your thighs.

You blink hard to keep your head from swimming. “Hm?”

“Which one of these imbeciles do you think will win?” Geta repeats.

“Oh, um, I— I don’t know, Your Majesty,” you stammer in response. It’s hard to think about anything other than how close Marcus is to you now. How pretty and wartorn he looks. How desperately you wish to hold him.

“Just guess,” the Emperor presses, squeezing softly at your hip. “It’s only for entertainment, anyway.”

How could certain death possibly entertain you? your mind races as your mouth blurts, “The little one, then.”

“Really?” Geta hums in amusement. His dark eyes, smudged with brown liner, squint softly at your glossy profile. They flit across your features like he’s seeing you for the very first time, though you aren’t looking back at him to notice. “Hm. I would’ve picked the oaf.”

“Well, it is the most obvious choice, Your Majesty. Though, I find it’s often the smaller ones that surprise you—”

You turn your head to look at him. Your breath catches audibly in your throat when you find the Emperor much closer than expected. He’s so close your eyes nearly cross to meet his gaze. So close, that the tip of his large nose threatens to brush the bridge of yours. So close, you get drunk on the alcohol tainting his breath.

Geta’s wine-stained mouth curls upwards in a cynical smile. “They do, indeed,” he croons quietly, raspberry breath fanning warm over your jaw.

Chills pebble along your skin accordingly. It takes great strength from you to break his magnetic chocolate gaze. You turn away from the Emperor and focus instead on the gladiators circling one another. Vincenzo moves in seemingly practiced motions, unfazed by the brutality of such duels. The nameless Barbarian houses a great sadness in his young eyes — a hardened look of regret, perhaps, for what he knows he must do.

“Let’s not entertain them for our amusement, brother,” the Barbarian mutters lowly to his opponent, blade hanging limp at his side.

The larger man charges like a rhino. A deep roar sounds in his throat as he thrusts his knife towards the younger boy’s neck. The Barbarian dodges the swing with ease, possessing all the swiftness of a snake as he ducks past his opponent and slices his muscular bicep with one fell swoop.

The crowd gasps in a mixture of horror and amusement as Vincenzo’s blood drips onto the floor like deep red wine. It stains the marble in fat droplets, blending with the rose petals littered at the gladiators’ feet.

You flinch at the sight. Your breath hitches as you turn away — eyes squeezed shut, brows tightly furrowed. Geta chuckles with merriment. You feel it rumbling in his chest as he murmurs, “Don’t be frightened, little dove. It’s only a game.”

Something in you aches when the Emperor reaches for the jeweled goblet at his side. Your fearful eyes remain fixed on his face while the hall erupts in a symphony of violence — of battle cries and laughter, of dropped blades and dull smacks.

“Here,” Geta offers with the wine in hand. “Drink. It will calm your nerves.”

He presses the rim of the chalice to your mouth. His gaze never waves from your lips as they part to welcome the bittersweet raspberry. The wine pools like blood on your tongue. It tastes like guilt going down.

Dusk falls over the city like a wounded swan. The velvet darkness outside your window makes shadows of everything it touches, only partially diminished by blinking stars and waning silver moonlight. The crescent shape of the bright white orb would fit just perfectly beneath Marcus’ jaw, you think to yourself.

The thought alone sends a warm, melancholic feeling down your spine — with such an intensity only the tenderness of twilight could elicit.

You slide from the crimson satin of your mattress with a tight chest. You migrate towards the entrance — bare feet padding faintly along the floor, thin cotton nightgown trailing behind you. You stand before your bedroom door and rap your knuckles rhythmically against the wood.

Twice, once, three times.

And then you wait.

“It’s me,” you hear Marcus murmur from the other side.

Your heart swells like sunshine in your throat. You smile wide despite yourself, with no one else around to see it. “It’s been Romulus for nearly a fortnight,” you tell him, panting slightly from where you’d held your breath in anticipation. “I was starting to think you’d been banished from your post here forever.”

“You know the Emperor likes to torture me,” he quips, though his usual monotone never wavers.

It might’ve been easier on you both, if Geta had shipped him off to lead another meaningless campaign. At least then Marcus could miss you from leagues away. Instead, he has to guard your bedroom door and miss you from the other side of it. Torture is an understatement.

“Well, I quite like it when you’re here,” you confess quietly, tracing shapes onto the doorframe with an absentminded hand. “Makes me feel safe.”

You wait patiently for a response.

“Good,” is all the General can think to reply.

Your face pinches with concern. Your chest does, too. “Are you angry with me?”

“Why should I be angry with you?”

“I don’t know… Our conversations together have grown so short— I worry you do not wish to speak with me at all.”

Though you cannot see him, Marcus flinches at your words. He stands like a statue outside your door, in the middle of the dim corridor, and glares over his shoulder into nothingness. “It isn’t true,” he insists, voice low but honeyed still. “I wish to speak with you always.”

“Then why do you not?”

“Because it isn’t safe,” he repeats, though you never seem to hear him.

“Will it ever be?”

Marcus goes silent as he ponders for a moment. Quiet engulfs the bedroom all over again, filled only by crackling candles. “No,” he answers after a few long moments. “Not for a long while.”

You feel like he’s stabbed you with a freshly sharpened blade, right between your ribcage and into your bleeding heart. It would hurt less, anyway. “Why?” you wonder aloud in a pained whimper, knowing the answer will do nothing more than twist the knife.

The answer sits ready on Marcus’ tongue, as though the question of why has plagued him long before you asked it.

“Because I… I ruined you. By bringing you here.”

“You saved me,” you correct.

“I destroyed you,” he retorts, voice heavy with choked-back emotion.

“I would be dead if it weren’t for you,” you remind him of the blatant reality, which threatens to consume you every time you see his face. You wish you were holding it now, cradling Marcus’ bearded cheeks in your supple palms, so that he might understand the weight of your words. “I would’ve lost everything if you hadn’t taken me with you. I would’ve been tortured, probably killed. But now I get to—”

The word gets caught in your throat. You swallow hard and fake a smile at nothingness. The pretending comes naturally to you now.

“Now I get to live. Both of us do.”

There is a brief moment of knowing silence. This isn’t what living is supposed to feel like — fleeting touches in dark crypts and whispered conversations through bedroom doors. Both of you know it, but it’s a truth too brutal to admit out loud.

“Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“You know… We aren’t unspectacular things, Marcus,” you speak slowly and with a strangled intention. “We’ve already come so far. We’ve survived so much— We can survive a little more, can’t we? Until it’s safe again?”

“I don’t presume we have any other choice.”

“We don’t,” you sigh. “Because I love you.”

“I know,” Marcus nods, with an air of surrender in his words. “Because I love you, too.”

You fall into the heavy wooden door as though it were your lover’s body. You did not need to see him to feel held by him. He hadn’t touched you, and he didn’t need to. His presence alone affects you in such a way that it feels like he has been caressing you for a long, long time.

Marcus’ heavy armor clunks faintly on the other side of the door as he stands up straighter. Emperor Geta enters his line of sight, a shadow slinking down the candlelight corridor. He clears his throat. “Your Majesty—” the General announces, for you and you alone.

He hears your feet pad against the floor as you scurry from the entrance.

“Dog,”the Emperor greets in a cynical deadpan.

His sandals scuff the cobbles when he stands before the taller man. The torches hanging on the walls bathe Geta’s face in flickering amber hues, highlighting his tired features where the makeup had worn throughout the day. He seems weighed down by a certain kind of grief. The kind that makes Acacius feel ten feet tall.

“Have you been guarding my Empress like a good little hound?”

Marcus nods politely, though the term of endearment catches him momentarily off guard. To be the Emperor’s whore was one thing, but it was entirely another to be referred to in such high regard. The General tries to contemplate what that must mean as he answers, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Geta grins despite his visible fatigue. “Good boy.”

You’re already back in bed by the time the door swings open. You lounge along the expensive satin sheets and pretend you’ve done nothing but wait obediently for the Emperor, while simultaneously swallowing down any remaining feelings of longing and heartache.

Geta enters the room like a rolling storm cloud. He wears all the chaos of the day in his mussed blonde curls, smudged makeup, and wrinkled garb — a palpable sort of disarray. You scramble on the mattress to greet him, like you often do, until he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“No. Don’t,” he commands. “Stay there. Don’t get up.”

You obey, freezing partially upright, with your elbows holding most of your weight. Your face swirls with concern at his look of annoyance. Your heart drops to your stomach in fear.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, though the Emperor pays you little mind as he migrates to the table by the window.

He pours himself a chalice of wine. The glugging flagon fills the heavy silence. You swallow hard and stare timidly at the back of him. “Are you angry with me?” you repeat once more — a question that seems to accompany womanhood, especially when bound by the innate violence of man.

“I couldn’t be,” Geta answers like it’s obvious, sparing you a fleeting glance over his shoulder. He turns away to down the full goblet in three lengthy gulps, then wipes his stained mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s only my brother,” he confesses through labored breaths.

Your worry lessens, but only slightly.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s acting like a child,” Geta spits, angered all over again, as he pours himself another cup. “More so than usual.”

“Has something happened?”

“Nothing that should concern you.”

“Well, it’s certainly bothering you, Your Majesty,” you coo in slow and calculated measures as you rise from the many cushioned pillows. “So, forgive me, but it cannot help but concern me as well.”

Geta is unaccustomed to such tenderness. He tenses beneath it, glances hesitantly over his shoulder like he plans to find a ghost sitting in your place — as though he’d only heard the words in the wind and not from your mouth. A foreign feeling swirls again in his hollow chest, like a blizzard of snow or a flurry of rose petals.

“He’s jealous of me. Just as he always has been,” the Emperor tells you as he stalks toward the bed. He gestures mindlessly with his hands, and the wine sloshes over the rim of the gold chalice until it hits the stone floor. He raises it to his mouth, tips his head back, and down the bittersweet pomegranate.

His neck is long and milky white. His protruding adam’s apple bobs with each languid swallow. A drop of deep red trails from his mouth and down his chin once he’s finished. He rubs it away with a fist. You forget to stop staring.

“Lay down,” he commands, chest heaving.

Your body obeys without a second thought. You lie back on the velvet cushions, docile and willing, in a way that comes naturally to you now. You’ve been Geta’s thing for so long that a part of you has grown used to it. Needy for it.

The mattress dips beneath the Emperor’s wait as he kneels beside you. Your mind starts to reel.

Your brain seemingly anticipates an inevitable pleasure, which comes to you like clockwork most nights. It makes your mouth water like a drooling hound that knows when it’s feeding time. A funny feeling stirs in the pit of your belly and pools like honey in your undergarments. Your thighs clench together when a subtle throbbing begins to pound between them.

You should be grateful when Geta crawls beneath the sheets only to rest his head on your chest.

You’re shocked, most of all, by such a foreign act of tenderness.

Your breath catches when his cheek presses to your breast. He nods gently to rub his burning skin over the smooth cotton. A deep exhale fans from his nose as he rests his body weight against you.

You cradle him with hesitant hands and remind yourself to breathe. Your fingers scratch lightly over his clothed shoulder while your others comb through his strawberry-blonde locks. It’s a warmth so foreign to the two of you that it threatens to bring you both to tears.

“He says he wants someone like you— my brother,” Geta admits after a few moments of long silence.

“A whore?”

“A paramour,” the Emperor corrects, face twisted in irritation at your use of the term. He focuses on the muffled sound of your heartbeat when anger threatens to consume him. A heavy sigh deflates his chest. His anxious fingers twist in your nightgown. “I told him he could have his pick— Between us, we have plenty of women to go around, but… He insists his mind is stuck on you.”

Your bated breaths come to you in trembling inhale-exhales. You hope he doesn’t sense how frightful his words have made you.

Geta is cruel, yes, but he is at most times predictable. Though Caracalla may be kind, he is most of all volatile. And there is nothing more dangerous than an erratic, easily excitable ruler.

“And what did you tell him?” you wonder with a feigned sense of curiosity.

“That you were mine, of course,” Geta blurts like it’s obvious. “He offered to share, to which I told him that he should be grateful that I’m sharing the throne alone with him… And now he’s off with his monkey, crying like a child…”

You feel strangely comforted by his words. You breathe a sigh of relief through your nose and rake your fingers through his blonde-brunette curls. “Your brother is a fragile thing, Your Majesty,” you advise in gentle murmurs. “You must be gentle with him.”

“I don’t know how to be gentle with anything,” Geta confesses, half-muffled into your chest. “Least of all, with someone like him.”

“Shall I speak with him? Perhaps I can calm him— make him understand?”

“It’s my burden alone.”

“It is mine as well, Your Majesty. So that mustn’t be true.”

Geta turns slowly to face you, with all the hesitance of someone unused to such kindness. His chin rests on your clothed sternum and bobs with each word. “You shouldn’t have to carry it,” he whispers into the honeyed silence of the candlelit bedroom.

You muster a small smile. “I know. But I will, anyway,” you shrug. “When you care for someone, your brain has little say in the matter.”

Geta falters at your admission. A foreign emotion swims in his chocolate button eyes. He’d rather blame it on the flickering flames strewn around the room. “Is that what this is?” he mutters, almost to himself, when he finds the breath to say the words.

Your fingers in his hair slow to a stop. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“This… This tenderness,” the Emperor answers, spitting the word like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted it. His face scrunches distantly, as if it were sour on his tongue. “Sometimes it overwhelms to the point of tears. It’s a… a blinding radiance, like… a knife— lodged somewhere deep in the body…”

You cup Geta’s freshly shaven face between two, gentle hands. He swears he sees the sun.

“Why do you speak of love like it hurts you, Your Majesty?”

He swallows hard. “Because it does,” he confesses before rising from your body.

You mourn his warmth as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress. He sits with his back facing you. His dove white robe hangs off one pale shoulder when he bows his head.

“I never believed in it as a child— the permanence of it all, of… love. And yet, I… I find myself longing for it anyway. Like a fool.”

You rise on one elbow and resist the urge to touch him. “Wanting to be understood by someone doesn’t make you a fool, Your Majesty.”

“I know that I… That I haven’t been the most gentle with you at times. But I am… I am sorry for it,” Geta tells you in near inaudible murmurs, flashing you a sheepish glance over his freckled shoulder. “I understand it must be difficult for you.”

“What, Your Majesty?”

“To be caught between all that was. And all that must be.”

Your stomach wrenches at his words. Your chest tightens beneath the weight of them until you have to fight for every wavering breath. You take a trembling inhale and rise so you’re sitting at his side, taking careful calculation in the following words you speak.

“We cannot… We cannot choose who we love, Your Majesty. We can fight ceaselessly against it, perhaps, but it doesn’t change fate.”

You reach out for him with one tremoring hand. You rake a rogue curl behind his ear and hope he doesn’t know Marcus’ face is the one stained permanently behind your eyelids.

“We love who we love, Your Majesty. And the rest stay ghosts.”

Geta’s eyes glitter with an emotion you’ve not seen from him before. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, as though searching for something in your gaze — sincerity, perhaps, or maybe an equal sense of longing.

You blink, and his mouth is on yours. Geta kisses you back onto the velvet-satin and settles over you once more. It’s wet. Hungry. Unforgiving.

You kiss him back with a similar intensity, clutching his robe in both hands, desperate to understand him.

Marcus remains on the other side of your door — an invisible ghost, an unwilling witness. He hears all of it, as clearly as he would if he were seeing it with his own eyes. A hollow feeling of yearning and hunger gnaws at the pit of his stomach as he tries to imagine your pleasured form. The painting behind his eyelids is blurred and distorted with time.

He wishes he could see you now, even with Emperor Geta fucking you into the mattress. He could pretend that he was the one fucking you, at least, and let the image alone bring his withered form back to life.

You’re together in his head, entwined still, with your mouths bruised in a relentless kiss.

Marcus hopes you’re still together in yours, too.

General Acacius spends most of his nights in the crypt, which he feels is rather fitting for a half-dead thing like him. When he is not surveilling your bedroom door, or being otherwise taunted by Emperor Geta, he finds a strange sanctuary in the dreary tombs. It is perhaps the only place where he is left alone.

Caracalla is petrified by thoughts of ghosts, and Geta detests history, so neither is likely to show their face in such an ancient mausoleum. Which is ideal for someone plotting an insurrection.

You find him there in the wee small hours of the late, late night. He wears a deep red cloak over his white robe, perhaps to conceal himself, as he shuffles around the room to snuff out flickering candles. You wonder who he lit them for because you know he does not need them. He’s grown too used to navigating in the shadows.

Your sandals scuff suddenly against the damp cobbles. Marcus does not seem startled by the intrusion. He knew you were there by the sweet scent of your perfumed body alone. There is nothing about you he would not immediately notice.

“What are you doing here?” he wonders with his back facing you, voice low with a timbre that bounces off the tomb walls.

“I wanted to see you,” you answer sheepishly.

Marcus says nothing in response.

You wring your hands into knots and shift your weight on your feet. He extinguishes the torch on the far wall, and shadows engulf the windowless crypt — save for one lone candle flickering atop Emperor Commodus’ cracking tomb. Your eyes flit from the flame to Marcus’ silhouette, gaze swimming with uncertainty.

“May I ask you a question?”

“I don’t see why not,” he monotones and flits across the room like a ghost.

“What do you do down here?” you ask. When your voice inevitably trembles with distant alarm, you quip, “I only mean it mustn’t be healthy— Spending so much time in the dark.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Marcus insists with a venom that makes you flinch. He hooks his pointer finger around the hook of the candle holder, and the dancing flame paints his statuesque features in shades of amber. He softens immediately at the sight of you.

“I just do not wish to incriminate you,” the wartorn man confesses.

Your chest aches with an immediate concern. “What does that mean? Please do not tell me that you’re doing something perilous—”

“No,” Marcus interjects firmly, then amends. “Not yet, at least.”

“Explain it to me, then. Help me understand.”

“It’s best you do not know, petal. It’s safer that way.”

The word alone makes you cross. You wish he’d stop using it.

“But I will tell you when the time is right, I swear,” he assures you, though his voice threatens to tremble with wavering strength. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, heavy with an emotion you cannot place. “I will keep you safe no matter what, you know that—”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Acacius,” you murmur with a stern glint in your eye, clutching the downy fabric of his robe in your fists.

“There is naught to worry about, petal. I assure you.”

Marcus takes a step closer to you despite the voice of reason in his head telling him otherwise. He lifts his free hand and swipes a callused palm over your cheek, soft and warm with sleep. You lean into his touch like a cat. A funny feeling blossoms in his chest.

“I’ve been thinking… About what you said some days ago… Making a new world for ourselves…” He talks slowly and deeply and nearly to himself. You nod against his palm to egg him onward. “You were right. We deserve better than this— Why should we have to live like dogs?”

Marcus swipes his thumb over your jaw and takes another daring step closer. You feel the heat from the candle he holds in his free hand, though your eyes remain on his face. You couldn’t look away from him if you tried. A part of you is hesitant to blink even, for fear that you might miss him for a millisecond too long.

He angles your gently head upward with his weathered palm. You can smell the musk on his tanned skin from here, as well as the ale and mint leaves on his breath. It’s dizzying. The ground seems to sway under your feet at the dwindling proximity between you.

“We love each other, don’t we?” he murmurs in a honeyed voice.

You nod without a second thought. Your mouth waters with the hopes of tasting him.

He nods with you. “So fuck the war.”

Marcus ducks down to press his mouth to yours. His lips swallow your own in a kiss, lingering and languid and deep enough to drown in.

You melt into his touch with a heavy sigh exhaled through your nose. The warm breath fans across his unshaven cupid’s bow while your hands migrate to his hair. You twist the greying tendrils in your fingers, keeping him impossibly close against you.

When Marcus goes to grip the fabric of your nightgown in both his hands, the candle holder tumbles to the ground. The gold clatters audibly across the cobbles. The wax light falls on his side, and the flame begins to dwindle on the murky stone floor.

You wonder, briefly, if it will take fire — if the smoke will give you away, or if the tomb and all its history will burst into flames, or if the inferno will take you and Marcus with it.

Though it snuffs quickly out, bathing the two of you in a navy blue darkness, you figure you wouldn’t care if it did burn you to ash. Not as long as Marcus was there to kiss you into embers.

Marcus’ face consumes your dreams.

The details are blurred with the haze of sleep, but he was there — touching your face, asking to try again. You merged into one another like ghosts. Like drops of melted honey. Like lovers of Pompeii turned to ash. Every day, you tell yourself that it is unsafe to love him more than you do now. And yet he haunts your dreams, and yet you find more love in you for him.

And yet…

A violent hand pulls you from your gentle slumber. It jerks mercilessly at your arm, snatching you from your peaceful dreams and waking you into a nightmare.

“Wake up!” a strident and familiar voice bellows into the quiet bedroom, lit only by the faint blue of an early morning. The words are punctuated by another rough tug at your wrist. You awake to the sharp aching in your fingers.

“Wha—” you slur, trying to blink away the bleary mist as you lift your heavy head from the pillows. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“Up!”

You’re urged from the mattress by the unforgiving fingers digging bruises on your arm. You squint through the sleep and ebbing darkness to find Geta looming over you — blonde curls mussed on his head, swollen eyes wide and wild, velvet robe askew on his shoulder to reveal his pale chest. His skin there is flushed red with anger. You don’t know what you did to deserve his wrath.

“Geta?” you gasp through a faint whimper in your throat, trying to pull your wrist from his grip. He only holds you tighter. “What are you doing— You’re hurting me.”

“Liar!” is all he shouts in response, like he doesn’t even hear you.

The crazed Emperor drags you out of bed just to drop you to the cobbles. The thin sleeves of your nightgown slip off your shoulder; the skirt of it bunches at your thighs. You make yourself as small as possible as you shrink away from the man towering above you.

“I don’t understand,” you squeak through the heart in your throat.

“Liar!” he shouts again.

His voice rings through the shadowed bedroom. You cower in response. He sobers at the fear twisting your features, but only slightly. His heart pounds hard against his ribcage, beating red-hot rage through his veins. He can hardly hear you through the rushing in his ears.

“What have I done?” you whisper, voice trembling.

“You have made…” Geta trails off, swallowing the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away burning tears and spits, “A mockery of me.”

Fear ebbs into confusion. “I have not—”

“You lie!”

“I do not!” The volume of your voice startles even you. You blink up at him with wide, pleading eyes, searching for any ounce of mercy within him.

You find none.

Just a man made of towering orange flames, threatening to set you ablaze.

“I have given up everything to be here,” you whimper. “To be at your side. To understand you—”

“Make no mistake… Your lies no longer have an effect on me, little dove,” Geta interjects through a bout of cynical laughter. He shakes his head and grins despite the tears glittering in his eyes. “You think you are so clever. That you were brought here, to my Empire, to be cherished...”

The Emperor takes slow, daunting steps towards you. You shrink away from him and choke back a sob bubbling in your throat. Tears fall from your lashes in fat droplets down your burning cheeks.

Geta grins like it pleases him.

“Let me be clear, so there is no longer any misunderstanding…” he tells you, speaking in slow, deep murmurs as he crouches before you. You can see the flecks of gold glimmering in his deep brown eyes from here. You can see the fire swimming within them, too, as he assures you, “You were created merely for me to destroy you.”

The throne room is absent of its usual bright red roses and ornate gold decoration. The chandelier overhead has not yet been lit. Instead, the spacious room is illuminated by an ever-rising sun — which basks everything it touches in shades of melancholy blue.

The servants light torches along the wall while you and Marcus stand together before the scowling Emperor. Something about it strikes a feeling of nostalgia in your chest, though these circumstances are much different than the ones you were brought here under. Geta no longer looks at you with lust in his dark eyes. He looks at you, instead, with betrayal.

“Thanks to the civic virtue of some good men…” the eldest Emperor quavers into the silent room. “…Your insurrection has been revealed.”

Your stomach twists at his words. Your mouth falls softly agape with shock. Of any explanation you could’ve been given upon your sudden imprisonment, you couldn’t have expected this one. You thought, perhaps, that he had somehow found out about your meetings in the crypt with Marcus. You would’ve been able to stomach that, at least. Your love for Acacius is something you’d be willing to die by.

But not this.

Not something you were completely unconscious of.

Geta continues tearily. “The honor… The dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you— All this, you have forfeited by your treachery.”

“Emperor Geta, please,” Marcus sighs. His deep voice echoes through the empty throne room like a heavenly, sorrowful instrument. He bows his head and swallows hard, knowing now that he must beg for mercy. Not for himself. But for you.

“Torture me, if you wish, but let her go. She had no part in this—”

“Forgive me,” Geta spits emotionlessly. “But I have no cause to believe you, General.”

Marcus turns to you then, tired eyes wide and pleading. “Tell him. Go on, it’s alright,” he urges gently, though your silence makes his chest ache. “Petal, tell him— Tell him you were unaware.”

You say nothing.

“Tell him!”he repeats in a shout that rings through the quiet throne room. His trained apathy splinters for the first time in front of Geta. He is perhaps more fearful now than he has ever been before. No war was nearly as frightening as the thought of losing you.

“What does it matter?” you mutter in response, voice fragile like glass. “He made up his mind the moment he found out.”

“Then take me if that’s what you want,” Marcus says, pleads to the merciless Emperor. His sandals scuff the stone floor as he takes a step closer in surrender. “Put me in the Colosseum— Crucify me on the royal steps, if you must— But please, do not make her suffer for something I brought upon her. Do not punish her for my sins.”

“You are the Great General Acacius…” Geta croons bitterly. “What could one more splash of blood possibly mean to you?”

“Everything,” Marcus answers without a second thought, voice heavy with a predestined grief. “It would mean everything.”

Something in Geta shifts. You see it flickering in his dark, teary eyes. A surge of power, almost, like a stroke of bright white lightning. The corner of his pink mouth twitches as he tilts his chin upward. “Step back ten paces,” he commands suddenly.

Marcus’ brows pinch first in confusion, then relax a moment later when he inevitably obeys. His feet sound along the cobbles as he takes ten slow steps backward. He mourns the distance it puts between the two of you.

“Turn around,” Geta’s voice echoes through the vacant throne room.

You hear Marcus take a wavering breath in. He spins on the heel of his leather sandal until his back is facing you. His heavy eyes flutter shut as his chin falls to his chest. He searches for an ounce of hope within himself, knowing he’d lost all of it some time ago now.

The Emperor smirks. “Good dog.”

Acacius seethes.

Geta’s dark eyes, rimmed red with emotion, flit back to you. Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach — dread, perhaps, or maybe acceptance for what’s surely to come.

“Was it a lie?��

“What?” you ask with bated breath.

Geta shrugs, then readjusts his robe when it falls from his shoulder. “Any of it.”

“No.”

“Tell the truth.”

“I am.”

Geta snarls at your subdued emotion. “I am the Emperor of Rome. I could have my pick of whores— You being here is a privilege. Do you understand?”

You nod once. “Yes.”

“You came from filth— to the greatest city in the world,” Geta spits the words like so many drops of venom. He waves his hands up and down your form, pale fingers now void of their usual gold rings. “You were just… some whore without a face before I made you better. I did this!”

He gestures wildly around the darkened manor, voice breaking at the volume of his shouting. His robe falls askew to reveal more of his bare chest as spit coats his bitten lips. You remain in place while the Emperor inches closer. The fear has left you, as well as any instinct to cry — your grief is too violent for that now.

“I brought you here,” Geta convinces himself. His saliva splatters on your cheek in faint droplets. Tears glitter on his cheeks like stained glass windows. A fire flickers in the deep brown of his eyes.

“I willed this— I cared for you with every bit of conscience as I was born with.” He takes a deep breath and steps back, shaking his head in disgust. “And yet…”

He turns away.

You’re able to take in a deep breath for the first time in several minutes when he parts from you. The leadened weight on your chest remains.

“If you do not wish to be here, I certainly will not make you,” Geta rambles in teary blubbers. “One whore is as good as any other— Perhaps I can find one who is capable of pretending she cares.”

You step towards his retreating form. “Geta—”

“Go!” he shouts, looking back at you with a crazed look in his sleep-worn eyes. He wipes spit from his chin and quietens, strangled by an unavoidable emotion. “Now. Walk through those doors, and I promise no harm will come to you. Just do not stand before me and patronize me in this way, I will not stand for it.”

His promise makes your chest swell with hope. You remain frozen even still, stuck at an unnavigable crossroads. Such assurances of safety mean little to you when Marcus

has a sword to his throat.

You look at the man over your shoulder. He has not moved from his spot some feet behind you. His back still faces you, though you notice his hands are balled into trembling fists.

Even if it were true — even if Geta really planned to let you go without a knight slitting your throat — it would mean little without Marcus. You would not know where to go without him. You would not be able to live with yourself if you left him here, not knowing what Geta planned for him. You would be away from the city, yes, but it would not be freedom.

Your instinctual will for survival is replaced by the primal need to keep Marcus alive.

To do that, you must reach for the bloodied hand of death.

You turn away from your lover — away from the opened cage door and the promise of freedom — and rush to the heartbroken Emperor. You clutch his cotton robe in your fists and tug at the gold trim to pull him closer. You meet him in the middle, entwining your mouth with his.

You kiss him. Hard. With enough ardor to snatch the breath from his lungs. His pink lips part for yours, almost instinctually so, and you swipe your tongue over the rough pad of his own. He tastes of sleep and honey and very distantly of wine. He gets heavy against you as he falls into your kiss. His hands cling to the skirt of your nightgown until his fists start to shake.

You pull away only when he’s melted for you all over again, when the red-hot anger has ebbed from his milky white body. A thin string of saliva keeps you connected until it splits against your chins.

“I know… I know you are hurt, Your Majesty,” you speak in slow murmurs, and through uneven breaths. Your fearful eyes dart over his face and find him utterly kissbitten — mouth swollen, eyes heavy, cheeks flushed. “And I know that it is difficult to forget pain. But I’ve found it’s harder to remember happiness. Glory.”

Each word from your mouth is stamped with intention.

You speak of glory only with the hopes that he might remember his many useless wars, all of which Marcus has won for him without complaint. There would be no Empire to rule without the Great General Acacius, who dares not to sneak a glance at the two of you over his shoulder. He, instead, keeps his heavied gaze on the torch hanging by the door. The flame sears his vision until he can see you dancing within it.

“We have no scar to show from sweetness, do we?” you quaver with a forced smile, cupping Geta’s burning cheeks between both your hands. You swipe your thumb over a fat tear clinging to his cheekbone. “How can we allow ourselves to be blinded by anger when there is still so much love?”

Geta snivels and rests his forehead against yours. His long lashes flutter against his glowing cheeks.

“I wept for you,” the Emperor confesses quietly, words weighed down by tears. “I had come to believe that… If I wanted something badly enough, the sheer strength of my desire would make it mine. I see now that it was foolish—”

“Perhaps it is true,” you whisper to him, breaths entwining and kissing both your cheeks. If he notices your voice shaking, you hope he confuses it with desire and not with fear. “Perhaps that is why I’m standing here now. Because I am yours…”

A moment of silence lulls over the blue hour. The quiet feels deafening in the large throne room, quelled only by the sound of heavy breathing. Yours hitches in your throat when Geta parts wordlessly from you. He sniffles once, then exhales hard through his mouth.

Your gaze remains fixed on his face in an unwavering stare as you try to gauge his reaction. His features are emotionless, but his heavy-lidded eyes flit back and forth between yours — as though he, too, were trying to measure your sincerity.

Your fate, in that split second, teeters on a knife’s edge. You hold your breath and wait for him to raise his hand. Not to hit you, maybe, but to sic his guards upon you like dogs — either to drag you into a cell or to be kind enough to kill you on the spot.

Geta lifts his palms only to cradle your jaw between them. His long fingers wrap around your neck like he intends to choke you there. He drags your mouth back to his instead. Your noses smush together with the intensity of his touch. It’s all teeth and tongue and spit. Desire and anger and grief. A billion things he licks into your mouth.

The weight of his hunger smothers you. Consumes you. He could kill you this way, if he wanted. There is little difference, you’ve found, between a bite and a kiss. It only matters how deep he buries his teeth into you.

Your chin shines with his spit when he parts from you. Geta’s chest heaves with labored breaths, flushed and swelling with proud. He hasn’t yet let go of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your thrumming pulse against his fingers.

“Show me, then,” he pants. “That you’re mine… Prove it to me.”

The Emperor goes to step back from you. Your hands dart for his wrists, holding him there when he threatens to pull them away. Geta’s eyes widen in shock.

“Don’t make him watch,” you plead in a delicate whisper.

His wide, chocolate eyes flit over your shoulder. He seems to forget about Marcus’ presence until that very moment. He looks back to you, at the plea swimming in your eyes, and nods once in response.

“Take him,” he calls to the knights lurking in the darkness.

Their heavy armor clinks together as they comply without complaint. They lead Marcus to the door with their hands on the hilts of their swords. You watch him leave from over your shoulder, in the very corner of your eye. You hope he understands, but you wouldn’t blame him if you didn’t. You find it hard to forgive yourself even now.

Marcus always said that people find out who they truly are during times of war. Maybe this is who you are. Maybe you cannot kiss the devil without taking some of his sin.

The door closes with a heavy thud across the room.

The weight of being alone with the Emperor washes heavily over you. Like drops of ice-cold rain. Like warm, melted honey.

Geta peers at you with a similar uncertainty. Head bowed slightly, wide eyes glittering from beneath his lashes. You do what you have always done — take care of this man the way he’s asked you to, placate his anger with your body. Giving yourself away is as natural as breathing most days.

“Sit down, Your Majesty,” you urge in a gentle whisper.

The Emperor listens as obediently as his knights.

The sound of his sandals padding along the cobbles fills the suffocating quiet. He descends upon his throne like he was made for it, spreading his legs before him and propping his arms along the golden rests. He looks like a painting upon his seat of power, bathed in the deep blue of an early morning. An angel dragged to hell.

Geta watches you with an unwavering stare as you take slow steps toward him. His brown-eyed gaze goes glassy at the sight of you, an angelic thing all dressed in white. His thighs part to welcome you between them. He tenses under your palms when they smooth over his milky white chest, past the sparse chestnut hair littered there and down to the tie of his robe.

His stomach rises and falls in heavy, uneven pants under your touch. You unknot the string with bated breath, then brush the golden trimming to his sides. He’s bare underneath it, likely from where he’d been brutally roused from his slumber. His cock is on immediate display — resting on his fuzzy thighs, half-hard and glowing red at the tip.

You descend to your knees to take care of him on instinct. His hands dart to your shoulders to stop you. “Ride me,” he commands, though it sounds more like a plea as it spills his swollen mouth.

Wordlessly, you straddle his thighs. The cotton fabric of your nightgown bunches at your hips. You spit into your palm and reach between your bodies for his cock in a single practiced motion. He feels like velvet in your fist.

Geta’s nostrils flare with a heavy exhale when your hand drags up the length of his cock. His head tips back onto his throne when your fist falls back down again. Your lips find the expanse of his long, white neck like a deep-seated compulsion. You kiss his pulse as though it were his mouth. He cradles the crown of your head and brings his lips to your ear.

“You love me,” he sighs within a moan when your thumb brushes the head of his drooling cock.

You can’t tell if it’s a command to repeat the words back to him, or an affirmation he repeats only for himself. Either way, you nod in response and line his stiff cock at your entrance. Geta’s mouth parts in a silent moan at the feeling of your silky cunt.

“I do,” you whisper just before you mount him.

There is a dull ache in your belly when he pierces you, though you’ve grown accustomed to his length with time. Your satin folds split to welcome every inch of him accordingly. Your hips rock back and forth over his supple thighs and your velvety walls pulse around him, swallowing him further inside.

Your breathy moans entwine and fill the air. You keep a white-knuckled grip on the back of the golden throne as you ride him, without break and without mercy — in spite of the burning sensation in your thighs. You tell yourself it’s to finish him quickly, though a primal part of you chases after your own pleasure.

Geta’s breaths leave his parted mouth in huffed exhales as you bounce on top of him. He mourns the sight of him disappearing in and out of your glistening pussy but fights to keep his eyes open to watch the rest of you. Your fucked-out face swirls in a mixture of concentration and pleasure as Geta lifts his hand for the collar of your gown.

He unties the dainty knot at your sternum and tugs the fabric down your chest, baring your breasts for him. His mouth waters at sight of your plush skin, moving in time with your rhythmic grinds over his lap.

A strangled moan sounds in your throat when he takes your left nipple in his mouth. You caress the back of his head, twisting your fingers in his honey hair in an effort to keep him close. He runs the rough pad of his tongue over your sensitive tit and smiles when he hears you whimpering.

“You love this,” he mutters against your chest. “You love when I fuck you. ”

You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“God—” he grunts through gritted teeth, tipping his head back when one particular grind makes him twitch inside you. His hands grip your thighs over your skirt. His fingers threaten to sear bruises onto your skin. “Your pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”

You nod again.

His right hand parts from you only to come down a moment later. The dull smack of his palm against your clothed hip echoes through the throne room. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Yes,” you squeak with your face scrunched, trembling when your clit drags across the thatch of pubic hair at the base of Geta’s cock.

“Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours—”

His hand lifts again. You hear the impact of his palm against your ass before you feel it, a subtle stinging you find a strange comfort in. Geta laughs in maniacal, breathy chuckles when you keen for him.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yours!” you exclaim in a feeble gasp, clutching the Emperor to your chest. You shudder on top of him when an orgasm rakes suddenly through your body. It flows quickly and without mercy, but never quite ebbs. You’re left a whimpering, weeping mess while the aftershocks of your pleasure consume you.

“It’s yours,” you squeak in nearly inaudible blubbers, pressing your kissed mouth to the shell of Geta’s ear, repeating the phrase like it’s the only one you remember. “’S your pussy… It’s yours…”

The words alone are enough to make Geta burst inside of you.

He tenses all over. His dull nails press crescent shapes into the skin of your thighs. His rosy mouth parts to exhale a guttural moan. You feel his cock jerk with your drooling confines right before he spits several loads of cum inside you. Your cunt pulses around him, instinctually milking him for every drop of liquid pleasure, and a whimper sounds in Geta’s throat.

You feel it bloom in the pit of your belly like a flower — something soft and warm and seeping. As the two of you relax against one another with wavering exhales, you feel his cum leaking out of you like drops of summer rain. It pools on his lap and drips down to the throne underneath him, tainting the gold with a mixture of your sin.

It proves a point. Marks a territory.

Geta swells with pride.

Your back slouches as you melt into his body. You hide your burning face in his neck as his feverish grip on you loosens. Geta twitches beneath you when your cunt pulsates around his softening cock. “Mm…” you hear him hum, mixed with a laugh you feel rumbling in his chest. His head tilts back as a lopsided smile tugs deliriously at his mouth.

He runs a gentle hand up and down your spine, a reminder of his being there despite your feeble efforts to dissociate your brain from your body. You can’t ignore the warmth of his touch on your tingling skin, or the way your hearts press together and beat to the same rhythm.

A distant feeling of acceptance pools in the pit of your belly along with the Emperor’s cum. Your grief is a much more discreet thing, however, and you miss Marcus like an unstitched wound that won’t stop bleeding. Like a knife lodged somewhere deep in the body.

“I think… I think I’ve found an adequate punishment for the General,” Geta pants, the crooked grin audible in his words. “Perhaps he will learn his lesson when I’ve fucked a child into you—”

You tense when the Emperor’s palm splays over your stomach.

“—Perhaps then he’ll understand that you’re mine.”

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