#joaquin phoenix x you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

painted-flag · 20 days ago

Text

A VICTOR, part one - Commodus

𓃮 emperor commodus x fem!reader 𓃭 masterlist. part one | part two | part three 𓃮 warnings: none for this part, but future descriptions of smut and violence. 𓃭 As a longtime and loyal servant working in the underbelly of the palace, your emergence into the light catches the attention of the emperor. ✧.* This is a dedication piece to the man who started my obsession with questionable men/villains when I was younger and it only seems the right thing to do with all the hype coming back.

There was something otherworldly about Rome. You always felt it, every moment of every day, that the impermanence of such a city would continue to ring through the annals of time. It had been there long before you and would remain long after. Many of the buildings may deteriorate and the people change – coming and going like the passage of seasons – but here, in this area of the world, Rome would come to stand the test of time.

You had always been in awe of it all since you arrived as a small child. Eyes darted to every structure, every perception of movement, caught in a trance. Now, after many years, this place continued to enchant you. The lowly streets you grew up in did not last long. Your mother had caught the attention of palace organizers – her food was regarded as the best one could offer.

Since then, you have moved to staying near the palace. It's so close to court yet so far away. Each day your mother would take you to the kitchens to help her as soon as you became old enough to take the stress of the job. It worked out in your favour, eventually landing you a spot as a servant with multi-talents. Such a thing was rare, and because of that, you were always busy.

You displayed the same prowess that your mother had in the kitchens but managed to charm other experts in your youth to teach you different skills. From then on, the bowels of the palace became your sanctuary beyond the bounds of the chaotic streets of Rome. Whether it be in the kitchens, the textile rooms, or even the playrooms for the servant's children to stay in and out of the way, you were always found working.

Today, of all days, you found yourself outside of the kitchen and serving instead. Recently your chores had changed to different duties that required you to be in areas of the palace you did not grow up in. You had learned to like the shadows cast by people as they scurried about the torch-lined hallways of the underground. Now, you were above ground. Serving when necessary, cleaning as well.

You would not have minded if it was not for the piercing gaze of sharp green eyes that tended to follow you as you went about your work. At first, you had not noticed it. You were too absorbed in your duties to see the constant watch of the newly appointed Emperor.

However, you caught on quickly. Emperor Commodus would watch you intensely when you would walk into a room he happened to be in. You did not dare reciprocate. Despite growing up in the bowels of the palace, you knew all too well of the habits of men in positions of power. Similar in age, he grew up with you, yet never once had you crossed paths. It was likely due to the protectiveness of your mother.

Royal male children often became insatiable once reaching adulthood and your mother wanted to spare you from it. Yet, from what you had heard, Commodus had not the taste of princes that came before. Of course, there was still occasional trysts – you could remember a fellow servant giggling about spending a night with him. You could also remember the heartbroken look on her face as she was let go from her services and no longer permitted on the grounds the day after. That happened a few times; Commodus would take in a lover for the night and then discard them the next day as if they were a speck of dust on his feet.

It was why his heated gaze made you increasingly nervous with each passing day. Any day you could meet the same fate as those servant girls and lose the only place you remembered calling home.

You breathed in and out deeply, stabilizing the pitcher of wine in your grasp as you prepared to enter the large dining chambers. The Emperor was having dinner with some guests that night and you were tasked with serving. It was not what you wanted, having preferred to stay in the kitchens and make the food, but whatever your master Attius says is done without question.

With careful and calm steps, you pass the large opening into the room with your head humbly facing the floor. It would be an offence to raise your head and make eye contact with any of the men in that room.

Their conversation as well was no consequence to you. They were speaking of politics, of a real world outside of your own. There was no care in your life about politics. Why speak on something that does not know you, or rather women, have a capacity for things beyond what they have predetermined? Why should you give it any time of day, when it has not and will not do the same for you? Ultimately, deep down, you wanted to care enough to change something about that predicament, but you supposed you would have a better chance of fighting and killing a tiger in close combat.

You made it to the table. Custom permits you to fill the emperor's glass first and you become exceedingly nervous once near him. Never in your time there had you been so physically close to him. It would be stupid to deny his exquisite physique. Commodus had likely been crafted by the gods, as it is with the royal line. He reflected the perfect nature of the gods and their mastered ability to craft the perfect human. Now that you were close, you could smell the scent of parchment and burning wood that clung to him.

The pitcher tipped and you poured his wine. All the while you did not feel his heated gaze on you. He seemed too busy talking to the guests and them laughing as if everything he said was the most genius and original words to pass a person’s mouth. However, once you moved away and another started to talk, you could feel the shift of his eyes. It always caused your heart to race and the tiny nearly invisible strands of hair on your arms to rise. A tingle went up the back of your neck.

The emperor ignored his speaking guests to watch as you poured the wine into their cups. They continued speaking, not wanting to call out their Ceasar for his lack of manners. They acted as though they did not notice his green eyes become attached to your form. You took in another deep breath, causing your chest to rise and contract within the fabric of your tunic.

Once you were done, you made your way to exit. The walls had come to suffocate you, and each second under the green gaze of the emperor made you want to crumble and fall to the ground. A slave could not be in their presence for long. Many took offence to it. You had been taught that you go in and out quickly, acting like a fleeting shadow to quell their needs; preferably without them saying it.

At the entranceway to leave, another slave coming in to serve grabbed you forcefully on your forearm. Callias stood in front of you, a sneer on his face. You tried to pull your arm from his grasp once but knew he would not let go. He had a habit of exerting his strength over the other slave women. You noticed that as a trend from other slave men. They often put down slave women in an effort to feel a sliver of power in a world that had taken what little they had.

Pathetic, but then again you wished to feel the same way as them. Just a dash of power and a bit of control over the world would feel good.

“Master says you have taken too long to serve them,” Callias whispered, “You are to go to the kitchens and stay there for the evening.” The venom in his voice, coupled with the pain of his grip, caused you to flinch. You slowly nodded and knew that if you were to say anything it would be taken as disrespect.

Callias let go of you, nearly flinging your arm away from him as he left you to go serve the emperor and his guests. The spot he grabbed was red and you could feel the ache concentrated there. It would not bruise, but from how much it hurt that fact was not relieving. Finally, you were free and you made work of leaving. You nearly ran through the halls and down the flights of stairs to retreat back to the place you feel most comfortable.

During it all, you had not noticed the piercing gaze of Commodus as he watched the exchange transpire.

You had found yourself lost in the rhythmic motions of cleaning in the kitchens. It was soothing work once a majority of the workers had left for the evening. The silence allowed you to think as you meticulously scrubbed pots. While not your favourite chore, you scarcely trusted others to do the work well enough.

The motions of your work distracted you so much that you did not hear the pattering footsteps of someone entering the room until they cleared their throat. You turned around and saw a guard. His clothing was more refined than the lower guards and you swallowed some saliva that was in your mouth. A slight sting of anxiousness swept across your spine.

“The Caesar has summoned you.” His voice was smooth and echoed throughout the empty kitchen. Your gaze quickly swept about the space, hoping he was addressing anyone other than you. When you realized he was speaking to you, a weight settled in your gut.

“Is… is there a reason for my summons?” You questioned.

The guard did not respond, choosing to turn around and walk into the exiting corridor by a spiralling staircase. You knew there was no other option but to follow. Putting the washing cloth down, you dried your hands and followed behind the guard. He remained a few paces ahead of you as he guided you up the stairs and through the halls of the palace.

It was not as though you were oblivious to the location of the emperor’s chambers. Despite your limited time serving above ground in the palace, you still had mapped the entirety of the place when you were a child.

Fear began to grow in your heart and weigh down on your lungs. There was an inkling of hope that he summoned you for something other than the reasons he called for other ladies. Your stomach growled, aware that you had not eaten since earlier that day. In the chaos of your work, it was a frequent habit to forget food.

In a matter of minutes, you two had reached the doors to the room. He positioned himself on one side of the door, the other covered by a guard that was already there. You hesitated, unsure of what to do. The guard that fetched you grew tired of your loitering and sighed deeply before reaching for the hand and opening one of the two doors.

You took one final breath and walked into the room. You scanned the area quickly, finding a large well-decorated room in front of you. Various mosaics spanned the walls, adding a sense of grandeur to an already elevated way of living. Carved busts were on display, along with various items that looked like they came from places outside of Rome – lands far beyond that were reached by the forces of the empire. In the very centre rested a bed. Four strong quartz pillars surrounded it, with linen draperies resting as a cover over the bed.

You saw the figure of the emperor off to the side, standing with his back to you and facing a table lined with various foods. Fruits, nuts, meats, and baked goods you could recognize as having been made by you only a few short hours ago. He had already eaten recently – a grand feast with guests – yet already had more food lined up for him. That feeling in your stomach of both anxiousness and hunger screamed for a reprieve.

He shifted to face you and your gaze quickly moved to the floor as a sign of respect. You held your breath, unsure of why he wanted you here. Was your service that evening awful? Had he lost care for the food you made and have fallen into disfavour with him? Or, were you going to end up like those other girls before, used and thrown out?

“Look at me,” His voice was like honey, a sweet tang with a rich coat. You slowly raised your head and made contact with the sharp and deep sea green of his eyes. They reminded you of the foam that would wash up on the shores of your old home before coming to Rome. In a strange sense, it was familiar, which unsettled you more than it should have.

“Wine?” Commodus gestured to a pitcher next to him and two spare cups. Your eyebrows furrowed as you scanned the gold-lined chalices. He let out a low hum as he awaited an answer.

“Caesar, I don’t entirely understand…” You trailed off.

“I thought as much,” He proceeded to pour wine into both of the chalices while you stood there in confusion. His figure was dominating and he had a manner that held control of the space. When he finished pouring both drinks, he turned back around and approached you. He held out the cup, but all you did was stare. It was incredibly unsettling to witness someone ranked so high above you serve not only themself but someone else of lower status.

“Well?” He moved the cup closer to you, his manner mostly amused, but underlined with a growing annoyance.

“Th- thank you, Caesar.” You took the cup from him. Commodus’ fingers brushed against yours, warm but calloused. He hummed again and took a sip from his cup. You held yours, staring into the clear liquid. White wine, reserved only for elites. You had never even come near it in your life save a few times to serve it. Now that he was closer to you, the familiar scent of parchment and burning wood surrounded you.

His eyes scanned over your body for a moment as a short silence fell over. Moving almost hesitantly, he used his free hand to reach up and brush the red mark on your forearm. You flinched, both by his touch and the slight pain it elicited.

“That servant, the one who grabbed you, why did he do such a thing?” Commodus stepped back and moved towards the table full of food. He plucked a grape from a vine and plopped it in his mouth, an action that surprisingly caused a stirring in your lower stomach.

“My master thought I lingered too long, Caesar,” Your answers were kept short, hoping that there was a way out of this. You still had no clue as to why you were summoned.

“Lingered too long,” He repeated it as though mocking, but not towards you, “What a ridiculous notion. You are too pleasing to be a blight.”

“I-” The words got caught in your throat. In one breath, he had insulted your master and then complimented you. You shifted the weight on your feet and decided to take a large gulp of wine, sweet with floral undertones. “Thank you, Caesar.”

He made his way to his bed, climbing the two steps of the marble platform it was placed on and sat on the edge of it. Commodus was watching you as you stood there, still as a statue busts that littered the room and unsure of yourself.

“There is something you wish to say. I can see it.” His words echoed through the room and reverberated through your bones. You ran your tongue over your teeth, tasting the sweet wine once more.

“Is there a reason for my summons, Caesar?” You questioned. Commodus looked down at his cup and used his index finger to trace the edge. He appeared almost… lost for an explanation.

“Your mother had been one of the cooks, the best as I remember. I’ve heard you have taken that place.” It was an obvious means of deflection, but you knew not to rebuke it. You were also unsure of how he knew so much about you. Did he inquire into your past before summoning you? Had you done something wrong?

“Yes, Caesar, I have been lucky to assume the position.” You answered.

He surveyed you once more as if it was a personal struggle to look away. Not that it was anything unusual – Commodus always looked when you entered a room. That was likely the deciding factor in inviting you to his rooms after weeks of watching you.

“Have you eaten?” He asked.

“I… have not,” Your hold on the cup got stronger and warmed up the surface.

“Eat,” He motioned with his cup towards the table full of food. You approached slowly, unsure of what to make of all this. It felt like a trap, it had to be a trap. The kindness he was displaying likely followed with a payment. You would have to repay him for this, and what better way would be your virtue? But surely the emperor did not need to bribe women, so what was really going on?

You reached out for a dried fig and ate it. Your stomach had been aching for a few hours and suddenly the onslaught of it all overcame you. The food in front of you was already beautiful, but it intrigued you even more. Commodus was not watching, but instead sat still and looked at his cup in deep thought.

Silently, you ate. It was only for a few minutes, but the deep satisfaction of a full stomach was not something you were well acquainted with. After you were finished, you set your cup down that was now empty. The sound was sharp and caused Commodus to raise his head. You were still unsure of meeting his eyes. They were so intense that they would knock the air from your chest and cause your head to spin. That was not what you wished to experience.

“Do you like your work?” His question was sudden and caught you off guard. It seemed that all Commodus was able to do was constantly surprise you with his demeanour. He was not like he seemed and you did not know whether that was dangerous or not. Unpredictability was unreliable.

“I am honoured to serve the empire in any capacity,” Your words, rehearsed and polished, seemed enough to satisfy him. Commodus placed his cup down on a small bedside table and fell back onto the plush covers. He let out a sigh before adjusting and moving to the other side of the bed.

“Come here,” He beckoned you over. Your brain started to conjure up scenarios, all of which would end up with you unsullied and out of work. However, you were surprised to see Commodus lying with his eyes closed. He patted the free spot next to him for you to sit.

Slowly and unsure, you felt the bed dip where you sat and rested your back against the headboard. He kept his eyes closed, content with your compliance.

“Sing for me.” He requested.

“Excuse me, Caesar?” You asked. He opened both of his eyes, looking up at you through heavy lids. The space between you two was small and your heartbeat increased at that.

“I know you can sing, I remember hearing it at the Cerealia festival. Sing for me.” He was staring at you expectantly.

In your memories, you could briefly remember singing during that festival when you were a girl of ten – only a few years younger than the emperor. It was your first time singing in front of a large group of people. It had been a celebration in one of the gardens amongst some of the other slaves, but Commodus’ words led you to believe it was not just the slaves watching.

A deep blush settled across your face. While you often occupied your time doing chores through humming and singing, it was not something you wished to do in front of others. The only reason why you sang at that festival was because your mother had wanted you to. However, no amount of excuses could ever be used to deny the emperor, so you took a deep breath to calm your nerves and began to hum a sweet tune.

The sound carried through the air of the large room. Gradually, your humming turned into light singing. Over that time, Commodus had shifted closer, now only a finger width of space separated you two. One of his hands reached out to touch your forearm that rested by your side, brushing against the fading red mark. His fingers glided up your skin, raising the hairs there. The thumping in your chest increased.

Quietly, as if not to disturb you, he spoke, “The slave that hurt you, what is his name?”

“Callias,” You answered. Commodus hummed and closed his eyes again, nuzzling his head back into the pillows. He settled down but did not remove his hand from your arm.

“Keep singing.” He mumbled into the pillow.

On his orders, you continued the song you had been singing before he interrupted. A warm breeze came in from the open balcony doors, reminding you of the heat of summer. Everything felt like an odd dream. This outcome did not even come across your mode of thinking when you were escorted to his room, but you were thankful it ended up this way. He had not tried to seduce you or even force himself on you when that failed.

It seemed he only wished for company. You could not help but wonder if your performance so many years ago stayed with him. It was a stupid thought, silly even, to think that young him would have heard a slave girl singing and remembered. It was likely that you were simply sent up more often in recent weeks and had come to his attention.

At the very least, that was what you tried to assure yourself as the emperor fell asleep next to you. You were not sure what you should do but decided to stay and continue singing. You did so until the stars came out and sleep slowly took over your body.

In the haze of sleep, you could still feel the warmth of his hand on your arm.

(I am ignoring my archaeology degree to write this. Like Ridley Scott, inaccuracy is my best friend.)

(Also, no beta reader, just my manic thoughts.)

☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!

#emperor commodus #gladiator #commodus imagine #commodus fanfic #commodus fanfiction #joaquin phoenix #commodus x reader #commodus x you #gladiator 2000

229 notes · View notes

profeyandere · 7 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐒 ─── ☾ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ ᴘʜᴏᴇɴɪx ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.9ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏᴅᴜꜱ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

The soft and warm breeze coming from the deserted Roman streets caused you, as was usual in your slightly anxious and nervous person, a strange feeling of restlessness that many could assimilate due to the strange cool gusts that arose suddenly and chilled anyone who was surrounded by them, but all assumptions disappeared when you stressed to yourself that the reason for your anxiety had begun not long after the sudden death of the former emperor of Rome. Marcus Aurelius, known for being a man as strong as Hercules himself or as wise as the ancient ancestors, had been a second father to you, a man who with his extensive memory told you even the smallest details of each of his adventures in the foreigner and the various conquests that he had managed to make and be victorious around Rome to make his empire one that he had managed to take to Africa, being discovered as a technologically backward continent and very little known by those who were around his Roman kingdom, turning out to be one of the kindest men to those who really knew him, having helped the most impoverished population through various laws and in dire situations, including slaves, women, and children. That man had always taken care of you, he had made you feel protected under his attentive, loving, and proud gaze; He was the father you never had. Although you did not belong to one of the highest social classes, at least you did not belong to one of the lowest, and this, together with the fact that your mother took care of her children since the first of them was born, evidently your arrival into the world. It caused you to spend more time in the Roman palace where the emperor and his children were.

"As thoughtful as always," said a voice behind you that caught your attention, bringing you back to reality with a soft gust of fresh air that made you sigh. "Again, you find yourself thinking, even if you are in the safest place in the whole world, next to me."

That voice, which was usually distant from those who bothered him or showed irritability when directed towards less close people, was now soft and calmer than how you had heard it before. He had been angry before, your husband had been really angry, and now everything seemed more peaceful because he could see your wonderful ethereal figure next to the large balcony of your room.

“I find myself thinking about you, as usual,” you murmured, hoping to show him a little of the affection your heart held for him, slowly turning your body to turn your back to the beautiful view of the empire that loomed beneath your feet, facing the sharp and distant look of the man who had not moved from the main door of the room. "You know I always think about you. I worry about you, especially when you're awake when the moon is so high in the sky."

A soft growl, barely audible, came to you like the roar of a lion. You always liked to show your affection towards him, but you were also aware that he wasn't entirely used to receiving it from anyone other than his sister, even if he had shared his life with you since he was five years old.

Now everything was very different. Commodus was no longer the adorable boy who so often held your hand when he forced you to run with him through the palace corridors, trying to get you to keep up with him so that the guards wouldn't catch you in some absurd game that he thought that it had occurred to him and he would win for being the son of the emperor, even though that was only an excuse to be closer to you and explore that physical contact that he had heard so much about from the cooks; Commodus was no longer the charming boy who so many times tried to sweeten your ear so that you would ride a horse with him despite the various denials you gave him every time he proposed that activity that avoided being malicious, even if the only thing he wanted to feel was it was your arms around his waist. Although, despite all this, and even though Commodus had grown to become the man you know today, there was one thing that had never changed despite the years.

"I don't see the point in waiting up for me. Tomorrow you won't get out of bed until it's late and all I want is to share at least a little of my awakening with my wife's love," he scolded you, trying to be a little serious with you, even if the slight curvature of his lips denoted the opposite. "You do it every night. You wait until I come to the room, whether you long to rest in Morpheus's arms or not."

"You know that I don't like sleeping with light, and I'm aware of how much the darkness terrifies you," you told him, approaching one of the candelabras that rested peacefully on one of the pieces of furniture near your large double bed, ready to make the flames disappear that little by little were consumed. "I don't want you to feel afraid in a place where you should feel at home, much less after the great and important service you offer to Rome."

The emperor felt something strange inside him, he always did when it came to you. Your kindness and serenity, your understanding, and your sweet soul were the attributes that made you the perfect candidate to rule the great Roman empire with him, even if the latter was never to the liking of his late father; He had too many imperfections and had committed terrible acts that not even he would forgive himself if he had to judge himself, but you always seemed to see through it all to the person who was really hiding behind that same layer of grime and horror. You had met a Commodus that no one else was able to see, or perhaps no one wanted to accept that he was there. He had always been despised, you had seen that with the constant rejections of his father as he was always chosen as his last option; He had always been separated and humiliated, being the laughing stock of the guards who were supposed to protect him so much when he was pointed out as a weak man for not being able to withstand the constant beatings when he was trained to be noticed by his own father; He had always been the outcast of his own family, only knowing love through her older sister Lucila and seeing her as the mother he lacked so much during her youth. All of this meant that the only thing he knew, as far as feelings were concerned, was bitterness and loneliness, even if he had you to vent in his moments of greatest weakness.

"As my wife, you are supposed to listen to me," Commodus said in an attempt to appear authoritarian with you, even though he was aware of your stubbornness and how much you didn't like him speaking to you that way, trying to make himself look more strong and imposing in your presence. He was obviously looking for a reaction from you and got it when you raised one of your eyebrows in question. "I can be fine in the dark, I'm not a child anymore."

"Did you stop being a child three days ago? Because remember, my dear Commodus, that three nights ago you were in bed hugging me as if something bad was going to be done to you, begging me for there to be a tiny little flame in sight or a light to illuminate your part of the bed," you answered with a soft sly smile, keeping you close to the last lit lamp that provided light to the room, putting more emphasis on that fear that you had never managed to figure out how to remove; Sometimes it was exasperating not knowing how to help him at times like this. "Your well-being is one of my greatest concerns and, if you do not feel well in the only place where you should by obligation feel comfortable, then it is my duty to do everything possible to make you feel protected."

Moments like those, in which you showed your genuine concern for him, could be very common throughout the days, but he always appreciated them as if they were the first time you said those important and strong words for him.

An attempt at a smile appeared on his face. He gently lifted the cheeks of his lips, which made you feel a little more relieved to see that the tension he had carried with him all day seemed to have momentarily vanished with your short speech. You observed the way in which his tall body, muscled by the various exercises he performed throughout the week and which had apparently begun to deteriorate a little due to the obligation to continue doing other chores, let himself fall, exhausted and exhausted, to the edge of the large imperial bed that had belonged to you since he was crowned emperor, making it bounce softly at how soft it was, while the thin pillows full of feathers sank with their weight towards the defeated side, closing your eyes so that the Darkness slowly surrounded him, and it was only because his eyelids had lowered and not because the last light in his room had faded with the air coming from outside.

Small hands that he would recognize anywhere on Earth, as delicate as glass and as soft as silk, he felt as they were quickly placed on his sharp cheeks that, thinner than they had ever been, showed a slight deterioration in his physical appearance state due to stress. Your hands so loved and tender, gently cradled his face so that he would relax, causing his jaw to relax as he felt your thumbs tracing his bone and there were no longer any frown lines on his forehead frowning from him; Now everything was starting to be different at that late hour of the night.

"How do you do it?" He questioned himself, even though his words escaped from his lips and reached your ears. "How do you make him feel safe with your caresses, more than I could ever be in the company of the entire Roman troop?"

Your laughter flooded his ears in such a perfect way that he couldn't help but accompany your laughter with his own, as if it were an effect that you had on him, allowing you to attract his head towards your body, thus causing his face to be buried on your soft belly covered by a long white silk nightgown.

"I don't know, you answer that question for me."

His greenish eyes, always showing curiosity, slowly rose and drew your elegant dark and slightly moonlit figure to finally meet yours in that dark and dull room in which you were. And that's when he saw it, at that moment he was able to answer himself. Your eyes shone with love, with warmth, with a light so strong that it could guide him back to you if, at any point in his life, he felt lost wherever he went; because you were his light within his world of darkness.

#commodus #commodus x reader #commodus x you #commodus x oc #reader #you #oc #commodus imagines #joaquin phoenix imagines #gladiator 2000 #gladiator

335 notes · View notes

galos-writing · 25 days ago

Note

Can you please do Arthur/joker turn on and turn offs HCs? :)

sure thing dear! sorry for the wait, i was @ the hospital for my dads surgery - nothing serious hes fine now :)

anyway i hope u like these hcs :D a little reminder that Arthur and Joker aren't two different persons so i supposed their turn ons and offs werent that different.

Warning: mention of weapons

Arthur's turn on's/off's

• Arthur Fleck is a notoriously insecure man, with peaks of anxiety when something bad happens to him. His childhood traumas and the daily negative interactions with other Gotham citizens make him shut himself in silence and raise walls around to separate him from the world where he can peacefully fantasize about having someone to actually care for him, and praise him for his skills.

• Arthur is very easy to arouse, and not exactly the type for initiating anything; he likes it better when you take the initiative. It makes him feel desired and more attractive than he thinks he is.

• What he loves more than anything is being praised: his mind goes on a frenzy at every time you tell him he's going good, or you compliment his size or his physique.

• Sometimes he'd approach you shirtless and secretly expect you to make compliments to his body, acting so confidently and showing himself off like a piece of art. Your praises instantly turn him on, so for everything he does he istantly shows it to you to get praised, and get that secret shiver down his spine that makes him wander with his imagination.

• Reassurace also makes things easier for him and encourages him to go through with it. Your sweet smiles, kisses and words of reassurance make you gain rougher thrusts and plenty of noises from him.

• Arthur is not a rough sex type: despite his imagination is extremely vivid and he knows enough to imagine a wild pornographic scenario with you, during the act he's way calmer, not having the courage to do more, and any attempt of yours to get rougher with him will instantly shut him down.

• Degradation is absolutely off the table for him: being insulted or humiliated for his manhood size, for his appearance or for any other aspect of his is an instant turn off. Not only, he would get angry and offended: you know too well, after trying to call him a 'fucking asshole' to spice things up. It didn't go well...

• Submission is something else he's attracted to: when some days are rougher than others, he would just want you to take charge of things, to take care of him. Your sweet touch and loving words would imediately send him to Heaven.

Joker's turn on's/off's

• Joker's mindset is slightly different than Arthur's, but since the matrix is the same their kinks don't differ much.

• You can tell when Joker is "out": his voice is lower, huskier, not as soft as when he's the calm and shy Arthur. And, let's say, he's definitely needier.

• Just like Arthur, Joker gets easily aroused by responsiveness: your goosebumps, shivers and whines are an instant turn on for him. His being touchier and teasing your sensitive spots more often than when Arthur does, makes him earn noises and soft sighs from you. Terrific.

• Joker is an absolute sucker for praises too: your noises and words of praise pump his ego up, making him groan and thrust harder inside you.

• He doesn't mind being dominated, but he prefers much more being the one in charge. He would get excited at your weakness under him, and he often restrains you with his hands, pinning your wrists down the mattress or wherever you two are doing it.

• However, he hates when you do it to him. He gets nervous and irritated, and would shout at you, because you would bring old traumas to him by restraining him.

• Aruhr and Joker both love when you praise them, but Joker is even more excited when you mix praises ith degradation: things like "my beautiful bastard" or the use of dirty talking is absolutely on the table.

• During Joker's moments of thirst for blood, for example when he killed Randall, his passion results more dnangerous than usual: he would include his gun during the act, getting turned while aiming at your head, or even better, giving it to you to make you aim at his head. He would close his eyes and smile while moaning and lean his head against the weapon.

tag list: @darknessisafriend @werewolf-and-go-wild @emperor-commodus @indieblair @it-vexes-me @ajokeformur-ray @fly-like-a-phoenix @hebimoonlight @jokerflecker @joaquinisart @callmejokerr @pursuit-of-comedy @five-miles-over

#joaquinphoenix #joaquin phoenix #imagine #jp #scenario #joker headcanons #joker x reader #joker x you #joker movie #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck imagine #arthurfleck #headcanons

63 notes · View notes

darknessisafriend · 2 months ago

Text

Everything will be okay - Commodus x you

Here's some Commodus piece! right in time as Gladiator II is out. I started writing this imagine a while ago, in August which was a particularly rough time where I lost my grandpa, I needed to write about it, but it took time, time to start grieving as well. (so obviously TW death)

I dedicate this writing to my grandpa and anyone who faced or is facing the hardship of losing a loved one. Everything will be okay loves ❤️

Everything will be okay

You were taking care of flowers in the imperial garden; you had chased slaves and gardeners wanting to help you out. Your face was puffy and red, your eyes swollen and a headache splitting your skull. You were trying to keep your mind distracted, away from the brutal shock of the news, the pain filling your whole being. The blank state of your mind was soon interrupted by a rumbling of armors and quick steps, your heartbeat quickening, you knew who it was.

“Leave!” ordered the voice of Commodus, your husband, making any person leave the gardens, even his praetorians. Before you turned around his strong arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight. You clenched your jaw, feeling your heart going wilder, your eyes turning watery, unable to say anything, you bit your trembling lower lip.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” he breathed, pain filled his voice too, as if anything that affected you, touched him too. He gently turned you around in his arms, cupping your face to meet your eyes. The moment he did, you let out a strangled sob, tears escaping your eyes. You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him, desperately trying to suppress the pain as your tears wet his chest plate. Commodus let go of you, undoing the laces of his armor, briefly parting from you to take it off and just as quickly as you parted, his arms were around you again. This time you could feel his reassuring warmth, his quick breathing, and that is all you needed in that moment. Commodus remained silent; he knew there were no words enough to express the comfort he wanted to give you, how much he wanted your pain to go away, take it all so you could smile again.

“I planted new flowers, Damascus Roses, I…sorry for disturbing your day…” you spoke after some, time, parting from him to pick a few leaves from plants, a way to distract yourself, trying to stop crying. Your husband approached, resting his hand on the small of your back, understanding.

“They are truly beautiful; I have no doubt they shall blossom soon. And you did not disturb me, you are always my priority.” He reassured you, kissing your temple. You looked down at the leaves between your fingers, tearing them into small pieces.

“I never expected father to die so soon…he was healthy…I used to say he would live close to a hundred years old…and now…” you then spoke, silent tears streaming down your cheeks “I couldn’t even see him…talk to him…one last time…I had so much to say…so many hugs to give…” you sniffled, biting the inside of your cheek, wanting to stop crying, but you couldn’t, the pain was too immense.

“Y/N. He knows you loved him dearly; I have seen you send him the letters; you have done your best. But the gods…decided to call him to their side as he was worthy of them…please do not hurt yourself with these thoughts…” he tried, his hand keeping on rubbing your back soothingly, guiding you to a marble bench to sit. You instantly leaned against him, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders. “I know how you feel. I had a different relationship with my father but for so long, I craved to hug him, to speak about how I felt, to tell him how much I loved him and what I would be ready to do for him…yet I never really could, only when I lost him, I let it all out and it was too late. But you my love, you have been a good daughter, I am sure that from the Underworld he smiles at you.” He soke softly, his eyes wet, sharing your pain, your distress.

“In my religion, there is no underworld, but Heaven and Hell...I hope he is in Heaven; it is similar to what you call the Elysian Fields.” You explained between sniffles “He deserves to be in peace, he was always good to us and trusted you blindly without even knowing you really.” You smiled through tears. “I wish you had met him; he would have liked you…” your voice shook again, struggling to speak those words. Commodus looked down, swallowing his saliva, his other hand reaching for yours, his fingertips playing with your wedding ring.

“It is not too late to pay my respects to him. I could…Y/N just say the word I will bring back his body to you.” He let out, taken by passion as always, unafraid of the challenges he could face. “I can bring him to you so you can embrace him one last time, bury him as your beliefs requires.”

You turned your head to him; not sure you had heard correctly. You met his eyes; he was terribly serious. He was offering you a way to grieve, to make your peace. You pinched your lips together, searching his eyes, amazed by the man you had the luck to call your husband.

“Say the word Y/N. You only need to command, and I shall be your hand.” he said again, confirming his intentions, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it devotedly. You swallowed down, torn, in this hard moment you wished for Commodus to remain by your side, yet to bring back the one you lost eased your spirit, a final goodbye.

“Bring him back to me, my love…” you finally managed to say “Please…” you whimpered, your hand cupping his cheek briefly, sorry to make him leave. And even if his eyes showed signs of yearning, he spoke none of it and stood, placing himself in front of you before kneeling, putting his fist on his heart.

“Your word is my command.” He vowed, looking at you determined, taking your hand and kissing it with equal devotion. “I leave the Empire in your capable hands my love. I will bring back your father.” He promised, and stood, turning away, calling his scribes and guards, giving instructions as he put his armor back on, ready to ride to Gaul to get your father’s body. He instructed that a priest had the body to be embalmed or preserved until he arrived so he could process to the roman rituals for the dead to allow the soul to pass and not remain wandering in the mortal world. He instructed as well that word doesn’t come out that he left Rome, for your safety; to pretend he was sick and that in the meantime his wife assisted by his counselors would rule.

And just as fast as he had arrived by your side, Commodus had left, it would take about a week or a little more. Thankfully as Commodus had left, you inherited most of his workload, drowning yourself into letters he received, papers from the Senate and more. It distracted you, to the point you worked yourself to exhaustion, otherwise when night came you would cry yourself to sleep, it was normal after all but in those moments, you missed Commodus’ comfort more than ever.

As days passed you grew anxious, where was Commodus? Did he manage to obtain your father’s body? In which state? Would he even be able to bring him back? You stared at the sleeping city from your balcony, your tired eyes looking out for any movement, any singular event…

“Your majesty.” You were startled by a knock on your door, in the middle of the night, it was rather unexpected and even worrying. No one woke the lords in the middle of the night unless it was extremely urgent. Your pulse instantly quickened at that thought. You rushed to the door to open it, not bothering to cover yourself.

“Did something happen?” you asked, your eyes traveling between your chambermaid and the messenger, looking for any clues of bad news. The messenger bowed, averting his eyes at your light clothing.

“Forgive my presence so late in the night, highness. But I was required to reach you as soon as possible and by any means from the Emperor himself.” He apologized, your heart skipping a beat, your hands rolling into fists anxiously. “The Emperor is on his way to the palace, he should reach you before dawn. And whishes to inform you that he brings back your father with him.” He announced, slightly widening his eyes as you froze, your eyes glassy and tears starting to escape. Your chambermaid sent the messenger away, grabbing a warm shawl to cover your shoulders as you walked outside of the sleeping quarters. You couldn’t rest, you couldn’t stand still for as long as Commodus wasn’t standing in front of you.

And for what seemed like endless hours, you paced restlessly in the halls of the palace, your mind imagining the moment you would see your father, what state was he in? would you lose all sanity at the sight?

From afar you could hear the rapid footsteps of a dozen horses, so you rushed to the entrance of the inner court, ordering the doors to be opened. The group instantly entered, each carrying torches, except for one, Commodus, his horse was dragging a tiny carriage and on it…a silhouette, wrapped entirely in linens…your father.

“Y/N” you barely heard him call your name as he stopped close to you. Your eyes were fixed onto the cadaver of your father, your heart pumping into your ears, your body frozen in place, scared to approach, scared to touch the icy skin, scared to lift the veil and see his face…

“Y/N.” repeated Commodus louder, as he got off his horse, nearly collapsing on his knees in front of you, his fist on his heart, he caught your gaze to make you look at him. “I brought your father to you…I thank the gods proper care was done to preserve his body. Do not fear to lift the veil as he seems to be only sleeping.” He spoke with confidence to reassure you, it had to be done, to help you grieve properly.

“Thank you...” you murmured, your lower lip trembling as tears began to fall freely, blurring your vision almost entirely. Commodus stood up and came to stand by your side, one arm wrapping around your shoulders as he made you approach the corpse.

“I am here. Do not be afraid.” He murmured, licking his lips almost nervously as he tried to do a cross sign to accustom your beliefs and respect your father as well. Then, he approached his hands, carefully uncovering the face of your father. It was like sleeping as he described…but more pale, quieter…at least you were glad to notice his face didn’t show any traces of suffering.

“He didn’t suffer, the healers told me he was gone in his sleep.” Informed Commodus as if he had read your thoughts. He took a step back to allow you to come closer, your hands trembled and your heartbeat so fast that you felt breathless. This was real, he was really dead in front of you and yet it felt surreal, like a nightmare you would wake up from.

“Papa...” you cried out, your hand going to brush over his gray hair, soothingly caressing them. “I am so sorry…so sorry we couldn’t talk one last time…sorry I couldn’t hug you…sorry I couldn’t be there...” you sobbed, tears falling on his burial shirt.

You stayed there for an hour, maybe more, touching him gently, speaking to him; during that time, Commodus remained standing by your side, ordering a few things to his praetorians so you two were left alone in that painful moment. As your eyes had no tears left, a headache splitting your skull, you turned to your husband, throwing yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest, his tunic absorbing the wetness of your face as he squeezed you tight, kissing the top of your head, soothing you the best he could for long minutes.

“I have ordered my praetorians to fetch a Christian priest. We will have him buried in their cemetery if you wish.” He spoke quietly. You squeezed your eyes shut, moved by his care “Thank you...” you murmured against his chest before lifting your head to look at him. Only then you noticed the bags under his eyes, the dust covering his skin and clothes, his shoulders weren’t as straight as usual, he was exhausted, probably pushing through his limits to remain standing; he had been so fast, he had surely ridden days and nights, without truly resting. That was something you had always loved with Commodus and yet it also worried you; when he had an idea in mind, he would lose sleep and hunger until he had reached his goal.

“We should go prepare for the burial, you could rest a bit, my love…” you murmured tenderly, so thankful he was there for you, so thankful you he had chosen you as his wife. You headed with your husband to your private quarters, taking hold of his hand, a comfortable silence between you.

“Bring me a warm water basin, and the necessary to wash. Also, black clothing for the emperor.” You ordered your chambermaid and removed his armor piece by piece, dust flying all around the room, the scent of sweat reaching your nose. You threw away his under-armor tunic and undergarments as well.

“Y/N you don’t have to do this…” protested Commodus, as he understood your plan. Not wanted to be a burden on your heavy spirits already.

“You brought my father back to me, all the way from Gaul to here.” You simply replied, dampening the washing cloth in the warm scented water “Besides, it distracts me. I need to think about something else for a bit, clear my mind.” You added softly, your eyes burning from too much crying every time you blinked.

“How could I face you again if I didn’t even have the time nor will to do this for you? I couldn’t bear it…then, I wanted to meet him properly.” He spoke softly as you washed his feet, soundly exhaling in relief, his muscles relaxing.

“Circumstance could have been better. But yes, he would have liked you, I think… He deeply valued ambition. He used to say I deserved a man who knew what he wanted and who wanted to reach the sky to provide me and my future children the best life.” You smiled softly as you thought of him, yes, he would have liked him. “Look at your hands my love...” you commented, referring to how callous they had gotten but especially the small cuts he had on his palms from squeezing the reins as he rode.

“Can you tell me what he was like? What kind of man? I know things of course from public knowledge but you know better.” He replied, letting you apply oil on his palms.

“He was such a clever man, a scholar from the beginning. He read much, Greek classists, some Roman ones too. He always said that you couldn’t understand the world you live in and its future without understanding the victories and defeats of the past. He was very strategic in his decisions; he had that broad vision over things…he would have been an excellent counselor to you or would have enjoyed debating with you...” you chuckled nostalgic, grabbing a dry cloth to dry his skin.

“So that is where your sharp mind comes from when talking politics hm?” you heard the smile in his voice, trying to cheer you up “Wrapped in the sweetness of your mother. Any emperor around the world would bend the knee.” He cooed as you looked up, gently cupping your face and kissing your forehead protectively. “I would have been deeply honored to discuss with him.” You closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him more, your face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, that was so calm and steady even after that exhausting trip, it soothed you too, everything will be okay.

“Now, if you are ready, let’s accompany your father to his eternal resting place. Let us not keep the gods...your God waiting.” Commodus spoke softly, a little encouraging smile, telling you he would always be there.

Tag list:

@skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @thatdummy-girl @galos-writing @pstvchld @chiclunatic

@buttergirlie @rosebloodstuffandthangsss @clowndaddyfleck @jaylovesbats @dreamingmaria @just-a-fucking-comedy @lady-carnivals-stuff @sierraclegane @lemondedeniname @hvproductions @syvellsworld @papercut-paranoia @jokerflecker @bring-your-holy-water @five-miles-over @beatlebabe1996 @kfanniart @soulsfrostedheart18 @mayflower-gal @creativestorylove

#joaquin phoenix #commodus imagine #commodus x reader #emperor commodus #commodus x you

147 notes · View notes

ledgerserious8 · 11 months ago

Text

Little Neighbor | Arthur Fleck & Reader

Warning : Don't copy my writing Don't steal my writing. All rights are reserved for my writing

Genre : Flutter First Met

Summary : The first met with your neighbor Arthur.

Word count : 1.4k

You let out a little sigh from your mouth as You was in the elevator as seem ready to go to the building you lived in

Arthur was your neighbor from two weeks but you never talked to him or met him, You was so busy with your things since you started living in Gotham

The both of you was standing in the electricity but his eyes on you

"You seem new here?" - He begged as he was eyeing you carefully

"Excuse me?" - You asked him calmly as looked at him after waking up from your thoughts

"I mean, yeah, you do seem new here." - He explained as stated clearly

"You are my new neighbor, right?" - He added as he was still looking at you with his pale face

"Yeah I'm here from two weeks" - You replied shortly as seem a little bit shy

"You're a very quiet person. I like that in a person." - He said as he was smiling a little but his white face made it a little bit off puting

And your nod to his words made him feel curious about you because he liked people calm and peaceful like you

"My name is Arthur Fleck it's a pleasure to meet you." - He said to you as held out a pale hand for you to shake

"It's pleasure to you but I don't touch" - You replied politely as waved to him and smiled

"That's fine, anyway are you busy right now?" - He asked you clearly and was just nodding with his head

"No I'm not busy now, Need something?" - You asked him calmly and your word made him smiling

"Would you mind doing a little of chit chat with your new neighbor?" - He replied as sighed as he was trying to talk to you more

"Yeah it would be good since the electricity still working" - You explained calmly and smiled back

"That's good then. I mean, this is an awkward time to become neighbors." - He stated as the lights were still on in this part of town - "So how's your life been? Are you moving here with anyone?" He asked you curiously and was still nodding.

"No I'm alone but my aunt will visit me soon" - You replied calmly and he can noticed honestly in your voice

"I'm also alone. It's just me and my mom." - He whispered softly as he sighed as he was finally finding common ground with you.

You can feel some sadness in the tone of his voice but you decided to not ask him

"So what's your name young lady?" - He asked you but his face was still pale.

"I'm Y/N" - You replied politely as smiling friendly

"That's a beautiful name. It suit you." - He admitted as he was showing a little bit of charm.

He was taking his chance right now to maybe befriend you or hopefully to romance, there's something about you was dropping him to you

And you can feel it too about him he seem so gentle and a man with golden heart but locked and hiding in darkness like a treasure

"I'm going to ask you an awkward question. Would you like to be my friend?" - He asked you as his shiny face was showing a little bit of hope

The both of you was enjoying the silent moment together but still, he was hoping for an answer from you.

"Sound Great" - You replied calmly to him and smiled friendly and you seem comfortable with him

"That's good to hear." - He replied as his face became happy and seem more shiny to you

The light flickered slightly as the both of you was smiling at each other, the silence was a little bit of a weird but still enjoyable moment for both of you as he can studying you and see everything about you

"Would it be wrong if I ask you another awkward question?" - He asked you politely with his white, pale face.

"No it's okay go ahead" - You replied politely, trying to convince him to be completely comfortable

"If you don't mind me asking do you have a boyfriend?" - He asked you as his face turned into a little bit of a disappointment.

He was hoping but he is not that lucky - "You are quite young right? I can tell you're not married or anything right?" - He added as he was trying to see if he have a chance with you.

"Honestly I'm single you know It's hard to live in city like Gotham and it's so hard to find a good man here" - You explained calmly as remembering the rumors about the criminals of Gotham and how everyone can be under control

"Yeah, I mean, Gotham's not a nice place and I completely understand." - Arthur replied as he was still nodding to your words showing how wisdom you are

Then he smiled at you. - "Will it be weird if I ask you one last question?" - He asked you as his curiously face was still waiting for your response

You nodded silently to him allowing him to asking you, you still seem so shy to him and he liked that soft side of you

"Do you mind if we chat somewhere more private?" - Arthur asked you nervously but he was trying to be friendly but you can noticed his nervously

"I mean my house or something. Maybe my mother is home, we could have some snacks." - Arthur added as chuckled as he was rubbing the back of his head by his hand

"It would be great thing to do but it's better to be next time" - You explained calmly and trying to be polite with him

"It's morning and you know everyone had work to get money and live" - You added softly

"Oh, that's ok. I understand. It's kind of a busy day for everyone." - Arthur replied politely as he was nodding with his head to you

Then he sighed with a little bit of disappointment as noticed the elevator doors opened to make the both of you realize it's time to back in reality

"Well, I guess we should go our own ways now. See you around neighbor." - Arthur explained as he seemed like he has something else to say but he just smiled and waved at you.

"See you next time little Neighbor" - You replied as waved to him back and started walking outside the elevator

You called him a little neighbor because the way his eyes was looking at you like a little child inside his soul and his expression showing innocence and gentle heart

That golden heart you're curious to find..

Arthur was quite disappointed with that reply, but still, he was happy since he made a little friendship with someone like you in his place

He smiled at you one last time before the both of you went your ways and disappeared from his eyes by walking away

Arthur went back into his own apartment as he was feeling disappointed now.

Not just because you didn't agree with him and refused his request. It's because he is now thinking about how lonely this world is and how he has no luck in love or a companion for himself

He just walked slowly and sit on his bed and looked at the ceiling silently for a few seconds

"Why does life have to treat me like this. No one even notice me." - Arthur mumbled to himself as he sighed softly

But then he remembered your words to him and it's made him started smiling with himself It made him actually feel like there was someone like you in this world who cared for him and was his new friend

Even if it wasn't in the romantic way. Arthur actually liked being cared for as He was now laying on his bed again and smiling softly and remembering you

He would love to be your friend..your boyfriend..your comedian...your arthur and especially..your

Little Neighbor

#actors #celebrities #joker imagine #joker x reader #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x you #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck x reader #fluff #joaquin phoenix imagines #imagines #the joker #joker #joker 2019

237 notes · View notes

thepinkdreamganjaqueen · 3 months ago

Text

Subway Obsessions Arthur's POV ch.1

Arthur Fleck POV x Fem!Reader

Masterlist 🩷

Summary: From Arthurs POV. It's just another night on the subway. A typical ride on the Gotham train on his way home from a long day of running errands and away from his tedious depressive thoughts. Perhaps he would catch a glimpse of the woman he could only seem to catch in passing, the woman he’d been secretly watching, following, fantasizing about nightly. Perhaps the unending misery that is the city above had him thinking of change, of something new to obsess about. Something to draw his mind away from the blistering and the mundane. Would he finally get the courage to talk to her?

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, public exhibitionism, subway cruising, swearing, stalking, obsession, mentions of violence, fem!reader, romantic smut, fluff

A/N: Beginning to a series? Who knows. May add things later. First fic, btw! I'm hyper fixated now, so expect more. This is something I've been mulling around with for a while. I've done this story from both the readers' POV and from Arthur's because I can't get enough!! So, make sure to read both! I loved writing from this perspective so much, btw! Literally! Send ideas, edits, etc. my way!! And be nice please. The first chapter is mostly fluff/ descriptive plot/character building. Cheers! Enjoyyy!

Word Count: 3.9k

SERIES: Subway Obsessions

CHAPTER 1: Chance Meeting

Today was another mundane day. Arthur had been out earlier in the evening running errands for his mother. Picking up T.V. dinners at the grocer and medications for him and her at the local pharmacy. Still, getting around the city was a chore in of itself. He figured the subway would be the easiest and quickest way home. It was nearing 10 o'clock pm. His mother would be worried, and it was getting late. He knew the dangers of roaming Gotham city at these hours. His mother used to say, "That's when the colorful people come out." A way to make something serious, completely unserious. Still, he knew the dangers and tried as hard as he might to keep his wits about him. Easier said than done when you're a man with a neurological disorder, apparently so many people hate you for. He wished they’d understood or tried at least.

He always pondered why the people of Gotham were so... well so mean! Everyone he encountered save for the very, very few were just assholes to him. Perhaps it was the political climate? With Thomas Wayne running for government placement, it probably didn't help. Make the rich richer and the poor poorer he thought. Perhaps it was the state of the city itself, the infrastructure, the lack of resources. He sure has been on the wrong end of that stick one too many times. "Good people suffer Happy," his mother would say. But he never understood why it had to be that way. Life was circumstantial. He didn't ask to have what little he did. He didn't even ask to be born and thought life was the real joke.

It doesn't have to make sense to be funny! He jested internally. Because its fucked! And there lies the comedy for those broken enough to see, yet perhaps healed enough to laugh at the pain. Because, what else can you do?

His mind wandered through these endless fields of thought when a train car stopped in front of him. He had been standing on the platform disassociating for some time. Perhaps he even forgot where he was for a moment, ruminating over the wrongs of life and playing them out differently in his head. The things he didn't say or do, what he could have done differently...

The brisk hiss and click of the air brakes as they screeched to a halt brought him back to reality. He blinked a couple of times, waiting for the doors to open. As he did, a disheveled looking figure pushed past him while exiting. He burst out in a cry of compulsory laughter and stepped on the train. He was in the last car and immediately noticed it was bearable, as bearable as riding the subway can be he postulated.

In his search for a seat towards the end of the train car, he noticed a large putrid looking spill in the back. It melted off the seats and slid across the aisle. It looked sticky. Best to avoid that then, he thought. He opted for a bench seat away from the offending area and sat down, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, arm outstretched on the head of the seat next to him. No one was in this car except for him. He found a moment of solace and drank it in, filling himself with the noiseless satisfaction of silence and peace when a warbled voice broke over the loud speaker. He couldn't really understand it, but the semblance of words spoke what sounded like “platform 19”. It was all he could understand through the robot whine. He felt anticipation rising within him.

At approximately 10:15 p.m., the doors of the subway train broke open with a gush of cold night air. At the other end of the subway, he watched as a woman stepped onto the train like a fawn. Scared and unsure of where to go or sit. She was bright and colorful; she immediately caught his eye. Was this what his mother meant by colorful people? He thought to himself. He quickly realized it was her! The girl he had fantasized about daily and nightly, hoping to catch her on the train but only seeming to in his thoughts and dreams, remembering her face, her scent that penetrated her surroundings. He had tirelessly followed her the first time he saw her. She was the only person to smile at him that day. He had to know more and had to know why. But she wasn't always on the same train. He always hoped to run into her and had almost given up, thinking she must have been some sort of hallucination he created for himself to lessen his own pain. But there she was.

She looked different tonight. She looked like a predator, displaying colors brightly in the face of possible danger. She was a force; he felt the atmosphere change as soon as she stepped in through the steel doors, a thickness lifted in the air and he could feel himself tense in his seat. His clothes were suddenly uncomfortable, his collar too tight, his hands, sweaty. She always looked beautiful when he saw her, she always looked content and comfortable. Hair in a messy bun with strands falling about her face swayed by the wind that surged through the train car. Sweats he could still make out her figure through, leaving him wanting more every time, it drove him crazy! But today she looked like she was straight out of the films on the TV! He thought to himself. She made him think of glamour, it's the only word that truly fit, like the old films he would watch with his mom. Wow! Was she a sight to see, a cool pristine liquid flowing over his burning eyes. A soothing image of pure proclivity. An unknown sense of calm swept over him.

He watched, frozen, as she cautiously observed the train car searching for a seat. He looked at her from top to bottom. She was significantly smaller than him, petite, probably around five feet three he gauged. Fuzzy black boots, blue jeans tightly hugging her figure, full thick thighs, his mouth began to water - he thirsted for her, wanted to drink in her every essence. He felt a lump in his throat as he tried to choke it down. A tight black shirt under a small cropped pink sweater with red hearts all over. It perfectly displayed her large soft breasts. Brown curls bounced about her shoulders as she walked, strands of them fell daintily on her face and cheeks. As she walked, she would flick it away with a quick movement of her head. The way she did that, moving her hair out of her face without using her hands. It made him tingle in all the right places. His mind raced. What else can she do without using her hands? he thought.

There was something pink in her hair too, he saw as she walked past. She didn't notice him at first. Most people don't he thought to himself. Although this thought disappointed him, he didn't fault her for it. He had the urge to make her notice him. To be a presence and to be objectified by her, he only wished he could hold that kind of power.

As she passed, the scent he had come to know as her- wafted past him, he sucked in through his teeth sharply. It was heaven on earth. Stimulating. He would follow that scent hoping to find her, mercilessly searching. It was like a drug, an aphrodisiac, and he felt his cock spasm. She was eyeing the seats towards the back where that odd spill was. A butterfly he thought. It's a pink butterfly in her hair. He immediately felt like a school boy again, fawning over and wanting to get the attention of the pretty girl and for her to return it.

"This one's fine!" He blurted out, not really knowing what he was saying. She turned around, her beauty, dark, striking, and he found it hard to speak again. He stammered and was able to get the lump out of his throat to follow up with; "I don't know what that is back there but these are not so bad" his voice felt cracked but he tried to contain his composure, he didn't want to scare her off. He was the only other person on the train, and it must have jolted her since she didn't see him at first. Plus, she probably thinks I'm some kind of creep or weirdo, he thought to himself. There was some truth behind those thoughts, but that didn't make him a bad person, he thought. All day, he spends trying to have a nice day to make himself and others happy, trying to think good thoughts, trying not to let the bad influence the good he can salvage.

"Oh, thank you!" A sweet voice broke the monotony of thought, and immediately he was flung back into the present. She made her way to the seats laid out in front of him. A row of sideways seating. He watched her sit gracefully, slowly, like a calculated ballet dancer, he thought. Every move fluid, every move perfect. When she sat, she arranged her things on the seat next to her and settled in. He wondered to himself where she was going. Why she had so many bags, why she was riding the subway so late, as a woman, she should be terrified. This city is not safe, especially for someone as strikingly beautiful as her. She was like a beacon of light, too bright to stare at, but he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame and simply couldn't resist the allure.

She actually sat next to me! He thought. Only one seat away, actually next to me. But that wasn't all. She saw him, noticed him, heard him, and listened to him. The weight of these simple gestures made his hands sweaty, and he tried his best to remain aloof. The doors of the train opened on the other side of her, and a breeze blew her hair behind her and over her face. He couldn't help but see her, every aspect of her. He studied her every move, every inch of her body. He wanted this to last, for this image to never leave his mind.

The wind that blew past her carried on it her scent. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the sweet alluring scent of peach? No. Some kind of berry? No. When the doors shut and the pressure created another breeze, the scent wafted to him again. Taking it all in, he identified the smell as watermelon. Some kind of fruity smell filled his senses with the feeling of euphoria. It was intoxicating. He wondered what it would be like to be pressed up against her, inhaling her deeply. He looked down with a deep sigh when he looked back over. She was moving a strand of hair out of her face and caught a glimpse of her looking at him as well. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she broke her gaze. She was fire, burning too hot near him, and he wanted so badly to play, to burn himself, engulf himself in her flames breathlessly.

He tried to come up with something to say, anything. How do I talk to her? What would I even say without sounding stupid? He thought. He watched on as the florescent lights above her flickered. It lit up parts of her he hadn't seen upon first observation. Glitter decorated her collar bones and cheeks. Her sweater was slightly unzipped. He could see the peeking out of her cleavage. Sparkling with glitter, so pretty, she reminded him of the stars of the night sky. Unmistakably beautiful, yet so. Far. Away. He had been working up the courage to say something to her, to hear her voice again, he didn't want to forget it. A symphony replayed in his mind. He needed more.

He stumbled over his words, "Sorry, I-it's hard for me to talk, I meant to introduce myself. I'm Arthur, " he said in the kindest, most unassuming voice he could muster. She looked up and locked eyes. They burned his insides like hot coals. He anticipated her reply, not knowing if she would even engage in conversation with him. "No worries!" She spoke in a reassuring way that made his heart flutter. "I know how it can be, trust me!" She sounded genuine. Kind. There was something underneath her voice, though he couldn't quite conceptualize. Fear? Doubt, maybe? He wanted to take it away.

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur!" Again, her voice beaming so light and so lifting. She reached out to shake his hand that he had offered. Her hand was small and was practically swallowed by his. Her fingers were warm, sweeping softly over his palm as she grasped his hand in hers. It's a simple thing, he thought. It was a small touch, but it was enough to make him crumble inside. She felt so nice! "Y/N," he said. "I like that." He lamented. Such a beautiful name. But everything about her was beautiful. Her presence was wholesome and welcoming. Is this real? he pondered. Thoughts took over again, and not knowing how to continue the conversation, they sat in silence for a moment as he worked up the courage to speak again.

Moments passed that felt like a lifetime, but he was content in her presence, soaking up her aura. As he went to ask her a question, she moved to speak as well. Catching each other off guard, Arthur profusely apologized "No it's okay, go ahead," he said, not wanting to interrupt her. "No, no, that's okay, what were you going to say?" She insisted back. Her voice was small and mousey, she seemed so shy. Why would she be? She screams confidence and power. Even in her apprehensive movements, she seems calculated, he thought to himself. He stole another glance at her. Her eyes sparkled reminiscent of a smokey quartz gem in a bracelet he once saw in a shop window. A thought of her adorned in nothing but gems crossed his mind. He tried to hold onto the image before it left his mind's eye. He felt a flush in his cheeks again, and his eyes darted. He couldn't look her in the eyes for too long. It made him nervous. He was working up the urge to speak again, to say something, anything.

He broke the silence and asked, "So what brings you to ride the subway so late at night? Aren't you scared?" He uttered jokingly. After saying it, he felt immediate stupidity. Why would I say that? He thought and started an inner spiral. As if seeing his reaction to his own question and wanting to ease the tension building within him, Y/N said, " Well, I work at the Gotham shelter overnight. So, having to ride the train every night, I guess, I've gotten used to it for the most part. But, yeah, I do get scared sometimes. The city can be super sketchy, and I've been attacked twice already, so I had to buy mace and stuff to try and protect myself."

The words spilled out of her mouth like a wave of glass, he couldn't fathom her ever saying this of all things, it was jolting for him and triggered something within him he had tried so long to hide. His mind raced. He felt anger and rage well up inside of him it hardened his sternum and burned in his throat. He became stiff but was unaware. The spiraling began to start again. This city was ruining people, hurting people, good people! He thought. She helps people, and then people hurt her?! Pieces of shit! He screamed internally. The emotions he felt were at war within himself. He felt rage for her pain and suffering at the hands of this city's denizens, he felt fear for her life knowing she rides the train every night, he felt regret, why couldn't he have been there to help, to do something? He all but took the pain on as his own, it soaked through to his core. He too had been at the mercy of some of the worst people he has ever had the displeasure of encountering in this god forsaken city, he too had been attacked, hurt, mercilessly tortured by these fucking terrible people.

Lost in his train of thought and looking straight ahead he couldn't help but sternly say in sympathy "These people are just fucking terrible!" She must have noticed his change in demeanor at this declaration. He suddenly felt a warmth cross his leg, and lightly squeeze. It was smooth and comforting. His concentration broke completely. Pulled out of a trance by her as if the thoughts were just zapped out of his brain. His eyes quickly darted back to her where they followed the length of her shoulder, to her arm, and from her arm to her hand that rested upon his thigh. He felt the muscles in his face relax, his shoulders dropped, jaw unclenched. The sheer power she had over him he thought. The warmth emanating off of her palm was like security, a blanket of nostalgia. He couldn't remember the last time he felt what felt like love, like connection, or attachment. He couldn't help but see flashes of images in his mind, her moving her hand closer to his cock which had began to throb. He tried to brush away those thoughts but they plagued him. She was touching him. Something that never happens to him. He immediately craved her touch, he wanted more, he wondered how that would be possible. He thought this couldn't be real. Not this time.

Once again, breaking his thought pattern she spoke, and he gave her his full attention. "Yeah, but I'm ok now!" She said in a reassuring tone. Her voice, like petals on velvet. Soft, gentle. "You're here now! And so, I feel safe." Safe? He thought, with me? Like she trusts me? He could feel the negative thoughts start to brim to the surface of his mind but quelled them by responding instead. He needed clarification. The words she spoke just didn't make sense to him. He couldn't see why she would or should trust him, although he so badly wanted her to, for this to be true, he needed it to be. He suddenly felt the urge to never leave her, to always be by her side. He would watch, he would follow, and he would do anything for her.

He only imagined what it would be like to know her both romantically and intimately. "You feel safe? W-with me?" He spoke haphazardly, unsure of the answer he wanted to hear, hoped to hear. "I do." She looked into his eyes sincerely. His heart leapt into his throat; he couldn't breathe. She was so fucking beautiful. He wanted to grab her, to feel her against him. He shifted his legs at the thought. Looking up at him like that weakened him in so many ways. Most noticeably, in his pants, where he tried to conceal the results of his dirty thoughts. "Then I will protect you Y/N" he proclaimed proudly. A shy smile touched her lips and she continued to gaze into his eyes. He smiled back. I make her feel safe, he thought. She is comfortable in my presence. No one even bothers talking to me, no one ever wants to talk to me. He had the urge to speak once more but couldn't find the words.

Before either of them could speak, the subway speaker rang out once again in that barely audible robotic toned voice announcing the next stop as the harsh brakes squeaked heavily to a stop. As if anticipating her to leave, he just as quickly stood up and offered out his hand. "Thank you," her voice sang. She turned to face him, her small stature looking up at him once more. He held his composure but felt the heat well up inside him. "It was so nice having someone to ride the train with tonight for a change!" She cheerfully exclaimed with a smile.

She had grabbed her things and had let go of his hand. What sweet bliss it was for the few seconds he had held it. Her fingers, so dainty and soft. The train screeched to a halt, and he instinctively grabbed her hand again and put his other hand at the small of her back to steady her. He could feel the soft curve of her spine. He slowly moved a pinky closer, hoping she wouldn't notice, tracing the line of her jeans as he did, feeling the line of her panty through the fabric. He quickly pulled away as she exited the train. He had held back. He wanted to do so much more. He wanted to turn her around, grab her face and kiss her, shove her onto the subway seats, and have his way with her, make her cry out. He wanted her to miss work. He wanted her to quit! He wanted her all to himself.

This moment was too perfect. It felt like a dream. As she stepped off the platform and began to walk away, he stood as the doors shut, helplessly watching her as she slowly walked. Unable to stop time. As the train brakes hissed and cranked, he saw her stop and turn around. She had stepped to the doors, but it was too late. He watched on as her figure shrunk into the distance as the train traveled once again into the dark tunnel. He waved. He would see her again. He would make sure of that. Platform 19. He thought, I'll remember this time.

117 notes · View notes

fleckficgirl · 6 months ago

Text

Heartthrob | Arthur Fleck x reader 💗 CHAPTER 12

Summary: Attempting to conceal her checkered past, a young dancer in Gotham (Y/N) lands a job at Ha-Ha’s and finds herself increasingly drawn to a shy, lonely clown named Arthur Fleck.

Warnings: sex, age gap, language, violence, mental illness, assault

Word Count: 2093

Chapter List: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Arthur's Note (see what I did there?): Thanks every so so much for the kind words and encouragement. I didn't realize the new trailer was coming out today but I started writing this fic again about a week ago and I think I'm on a roll! I <3 Arthur Fleck so much and hope you enjoy!

Arthur had insisted on walking you home, had kissed you again at the front door of your apartment building and promised to call you the next morning; you both had the next day off and planned to see each other.

When he pressed his body into you. You could feel he was hard, but restraining himself. Arthur was nothing if not a gentleman. It only made you love him more.

“I'll call you in the morning,” he hummed into your ear.

“First thing in the morning,” you corrected him with a sly grin.

Arthur smiled, blushing. “First thing in the morning.”

You hated to pull yourself away from him. It was crazy: You'd never cared that much about sex, but for the first time in your life, you understood what it felt like to want to ask someone upstairs, what it felt like to actually want someone to spend the night in your bed. But of course, you had your parents to think about and they'd never go for it in a million years.

Arthur watched you get into the elevator. When the doors closed, you felt like you might cry. Reminding yourself you were gonna see him again in twelve hours was the only thing that put your longing heart at ease.

***

It was almost midnight, and your parents usually went to bed around ten, so you were surprised to find them both sitting up on the sofa in the living room, watching what had to be the last half hour of The Murray Franklin Show. They never watched Murray. They never even stayed up this late.

“What’s going on?” you asked as you locked the front door and hung your coat up.

“We’ve been worried sick!” your mother cried as your dad muted the television.

Oh boy. This was already off to a great start.

“Why?” you asked, cocking your head to one side. “I mean, I know it’s almost midnight, but-”

“There’s been another killing on the subways,” she continued. “They think it’s related to what happened to those three Wayne boys a few days ago.”

“You’re kidding,” you sat down on the sofa to face them. “Who’d they kill?”

“A man,” your father answered. “But they don’t know anything else yet. You were out all night and didn’t hear anything about this?”

You shook your head. “No. But it’s getting crazier out there.”

“What exactly did you do tonight?” your father raised an eyebrow.

“Met up with friends,” you answered breezily. Technically you weren’t lying. Arthur was a friend. Sort of.

“That’s interesting,” he continued, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Because those so-called girlfriends of yours called here looking for you. Two different times in fact.”

“They did?”

You gulped, trying to scan your mother's face for some kind of hint to help you navigate the choppy waters of your father’s suspicions. But her “worried sick” face had morphed into her “I’m just gonna stay out of it and keep the peace” face.

Typically a bad sign.

“First Tina and then that other girl…” your father said. “The one with the silly name…”

He looked to your mother who shrugged in response.

“Chantelle,” he finally remembered. And Chantelle said she was calling to find out how your ‘hot date’ went tonight.”

Damn that Chantelle. You knew she had a champagne-and-dial addiction - it was why she was still hooking up with at least five of her ex-boyfriends - but you could still murder her ten times with a hatchet. She had no idea how crazy your dad was.

“I told your father it must have been some kind of practical joke,” your mother finally interjected. “You know, those telephone pranks kids these days like to play on one another?”

You could see she was trying to help you out. And for one crazy second, you considered telling them the truth:

Mom, Dad…I’m in love with a beautiful clown.

No, that wouldn’t go over well at all. They’d hit the roof. In fact, they'd go through the roof.

The less you said about Arthur the better. At least for the time being.

“I did go out with friends,” you explained in as even a tone as you could muster. “I don’t know what Chantelle’s talking about.”

“Which friends?” your mother asked.

“Just some friends…from…from…” you struggled to complete the sentence. You never went anywhere besides work these days, so where the hell would you meet any other friends?

“Some friends from GU?” your mother asked hopefully.

It was perfect. You could have kissed her right then and there. Saved by the mama.

“Yes!” you nodded. “Yes, some friends from college.”

“Honey, that's wonderful!” your mother smiled.

Your father nodded approvingly. “Those are the kinds of people you should be spending time with. People who are serious about their future…as opposed to a couple of strippers.”

“They’re not strippers, Dad!”

He smiled at his own dumb joke and you pursed your lips. Your father never approved of anyone if he didn’t deem them “serious about their future.” The problem was, most of the kids you’d met at Gotham University were entitled assholes from rich families who didn’t actually care about their futures: no matter how badly they fucked up, their privileged parents could afford to yank them out of hot water and they knew it. Your dad had it all wrong. But you didn’t have the heart to correct him.

“How come you look so disheveled?” your father’s voice broke into your thoughts once more.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He pointed at your rumpled clothes.

“Your outfit’s wrinkled, your hair’s a mess. And your makeup…”

“Did something happen tonight, honey?” your mother asked. You could sense the growing concern in both their voices, and it brought you right back to when you’d started having problems at GU. Your poor parents had to watch as their star student daughter - who’d never given them a lick of trouble - suddenly turned into someone they didn’t recognize. Someone they were afraid of.

“Sweetheart,” your mother prodded gently. “You didn’t happen to get into a…a fight or an altercation with anyone tonight, did you?”

You shook your head and laughed, trying your best to put them at ease. “Not that I can remember.”

It was a true enough answer. More true than they needed to know, anyway.

“You can tell us if you’re…struggling,” your father added. “We want to know if something’s going on.”

You shook your head again. “What happened was, the subway was totally jam packed. Maybe it had to do with the killing tonight, I dunno. Anyway, we were stuffed like sardines. I got all pushed around on the train. You know how the people in this city can be.”

“Fucking animals,” he muttered under his breath. You glanced up at the TV where a still-muted Murray seemed to be delivering his closing words. “You’re alright though, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” you assured them both. “Nothing a shower and some shampoo can’t fix.”

You breathed a concealed sigh of relief as you watched your parents breathe one of their own.

You popped up from the sofa and stretched.

“Gonna get ready for bed,” you announced. “See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, sweetie,” your mom called out. “We love you.”

“Love you, too.”

You turned to go to your room and heard your dad unmute the TV, Murray Franklin’s voice ringing out over the orchestra as an organ struck up the groovy chords from his signature closing song:

“Goodnight, and always remember: That’s life!”

You laughed softly to yourself. “That’s life!” you whispered as you dance-glided down the hall and into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

Life really was something, wasn’t it? Especially life in Gotham, a life like yours: one that now had a beautiful man named Arthur Fleck in it.

After the crazy night you’d had, the shower felt like a balm to your soul. You crawled under the cool covers of your bed, still giddy from your date with Arthur and the promise of seeing him tomorrow. As you drifted off to dreamland, you thought about even though your parents drove you up the wall, you loved them and would do anything for them. You hated the toll your problems at GU had had on them - how scared and defenseless they’d been, not knowing how to help you when the shit hit the fan. They didn’t have the resources and privileges of your ex-classmates’ parents, but they’d stood behind you when no one else had. You’d never forget that.

After the nightmare at Gotham U - after everything it’d put you and the people you loved through - you’d vowed to yourself that you’d never be powerless again.

Although you felt powerless to stop the freight train of emotions you felt for Arthur, you decided he was a worthy exception. Arthur also knew what powerlessness felt like. He wasn't like the rest of them. He was the salt of the earth, just like your parents. Just like you.

And as long as you and Arthur had each other’s backs, you told yourself as sleep enveloped your being, nothing could ever take either of your power away again.

Together, you were unstoppable.

***

The phone rang first thing in the morning, just as Arthur promised. Thank GOD your bedroom had its own phone line.

“Hey you!” you answered playfully on the first ring.

“There you are. We’ve been calling you, bitch!”

“Chantelle?” you paused, your breath hitching.

“And Tina’s here,” Chantelle said. “We’re at Ha-Ha’s. You didn’t call either of us back last night so we decided to ambush you first thing in the morning.”

“Oh yeah,” you shook your head. “And by the way, thanks a lot for telling my dad about my ‘hot date’ last night. He was real happy to confront me about that when I got home.”

“So you did come home last night!” Chantelle gasped.

“I told you a million times!” Tina’s annoyed voice rang out in the background. “She wasn’t gonna have sex with him on the first date.”

“So how was it?” Chantelle asked. “Tell us everything!”

“It was…great,” you answered. “He’s…wonderful.”

Chantelle squealed. “Y/N’s going out with a college boy!” She sang.

“Let’s not blow this out of proportion,” Tina countered. “College boys are a dime a dozen. And most of ‘em wouldn’t know how to please a woman even if they majored in it. Gimme the phone, Chantelle.”

You heard the receiver scuffle on their end and Tina’s no-nonsense voice rang in your ear.

“How was the outfit, hair and makeup?” she demanded. “Any mishaps?”

You paused. It would take too long to explain the whole blacking out thing to them, you reasoned. And you didn’t want them to worry.

“Everything went fine,” you said. “You guys did a great job. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I have some very exciting ideas for the next date outfit,” Tina said. “When are you getting here? I’ll fill you in. We’ll try on some samples.”

“I’m off today!” you sang into the phone. “And I’m actually seeing him again this afternoon.”

“What? You slut!”

Chantelle grabbed the phone back. “You’re seeing him again? So soon? Oh my goodness, Y/N, I feel like you’re gonna marry this guy.”

You heard Tina groan in disgust behind Chantelle before snatching the phone back again.

“Then my outfit ideas will have to wait for your third date,” Tina said. “Assuming there is one. What were you planning on wearing today?”

“I dunno,” you glanced around your messy room helplessly. “I haven’t even thought about it.”

“Okay, listen to me, Y/N. You’re an autumn. That means warm skin tones. Understand?”

“Warm skin tones,” you repeated back, even though you had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

“I’m talking greens, I’m talking yellows…come to think of it: do you have anything in peach?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

“Black is fine. Accessorize with those gold hoop earrings. A full face of makeup just like we showed you. But go easy on the blusher, for the love of God.”

“Thanks, Tina.” You laughed.

“Shit. Hoyt’s coming,” Tina warned. “Call us immediately after today’s date ends. We need a detailed play by play so we can mastermind the plan for date number three.”

“I thought you said these college boys were a dime a dozen,” you countered.

“Mastermind your outfit for date number three,” Tina corrected herself. “If you’re gonna date a college douche, the least you can walk away with is a killer wardrobe.”

💕💕 If you enjoy my writing and find it valuable, please consider leaving a tip to support my work. Thank you! @ghastella xx 💕💕

✨ Tag list: @fallon779 @mamaferretart @cherryboss713 @lolwey

lmk if you want to be tagged!

68 notes · View notes

rosesloveletters · 2 years ago

Text

midnight rain.

pairing: Commodus x Fem. Reader

word count: 3,777

warnings: toxic/unhealthy relationship dynamics(?) and mentions of specific gender roles (I don’t know how else to describe it)

summary: A retelling of the ‘frightful dream’ scene . . . Your husband Commodus requests some time alone while he reads scrolls from the senate. When night comes and he still has not sent for you, you take matters into your own hands; you find him fast asleep, but never at peace. // Reader stumbles upon her husband Commodus who’s been crying and offers him comfort.

author’s note: I never thought I’d write for Commodus again and I am so pleased that inspiration struck! A few things before reading: I am not trying to promote toxic masculinity or the idea that men shouldn’t cry or express emotion, but at the time, it would have been viewed as a weakness especially from someone of Commodus’ social standing. I wanted to delve into his mind a little and write a softer side to him that he surely has, but that we did not see too much of onscreen. His descent into madness intrigues me and I wanted to explore that in this fic somewhat. All seriousness aside, I just want to hold Commodus while he cries and writing this allowed me to do so, at least, in some form. If you read this fic, I hope you enjoy it.

Edited.

The emperor was midnight rain.

Winds rich with humidity blew through the open palace halls, carrying the pungent scent of fresh herbs, smoke from guttering torches and the heavy rains yet to come. Storms were brewing on the horizon and while the people of Rome slept, unbeknown to them, there too was a cacophonous melody playing inside of their Caesar’s tired mind.

It was far too late for you to be wandering the palace alone, but Commodus had bid you leave; he was to spend the twilight hours poring over scrolls from the Senate, as his father was apt to do in the past. The young emperor sought not to follow in his father’s footsteps, but be that as it may, some things cannot be helped.

You had busied yourself in the gardens earlier, when the light still stretched across the sky and plunged the Roman landscape in a vibrant orange glow that slowly faded until the wispy clouds high above your head twisted into a mesmerizing purple-pink majesty. You found solace amongst the flowers, watching idly as little bees busily buzzed from bloom to bloom.

When the light died and you still had not been sent for by the emperor, you took leave of the gardens and reentered the palace through the open doors.

Inside, you made yourself comfortable in the library for a few hours to delve into a book or two, devouring the words on each page like your mind was starved of food for thought.

Immersed in another world were you and did not pay mind to the bustling which took place beyond your imaginings.

Servants passed through the halls, completing their evening duties, lighting torches for ease of sight as the night set in, cleaning the already spotless floors, checking and rechecking stock to be certain there was enough of everything… Even the ghastly praetorians and their looming, statuesque figures faded while you were so captivated by ink on a page.

As the pitch black of midnight bled in through the outer walls of the fortress, the hustle and bustle of evening had dissipated considerably and the only prevailing sounds were those of the whispering winds through silk curtains billowing in the minor disturbance or a barely imperceptible clink or grate of armor as a praetorian moved from his post.

Still, no word from your emperor.

That fact disturbed you, though you knew he was safe. The palace would have been thrust into chaos had anything been amiss, yet it still gnawed at you that this was highly unusual.

Commodus was protective to a fault and rarely let you out of his sight for any length of time, but he had been pulled in many a direction for the duration of the week at hand and you had to find entertainment where you could. The Senate and the people of Rome needed him now; you could wait.

When Commodus became emperor, everything changed like midnight.

You put your book back in its place on the shelf and quietly crept from your sanctuary. Your guards, stationed at the door, fell into step behind you and trailed you down the hall like phantoms of night. It felt silly to be so cautious inside the palace, but it was Commodus’ orders; what was the use in listening to him if he was just going to forget about you?

Turning, you dismissed them and, with a shared, confused expression between the two of them, they branched off and left down a side hall.

It appeared that you were finally alone, but such was never the case in Commodus’ domain.

You forged ahead beneath the watchful gaze of praetorians you knew were there, but you could not see them. They were there for your protection, to diligently guard the palace and the emperor, but their strict stoicism and the serious air about them made you nervous. The unwavering loyalty between emperor and his personal guard was strengthened by one man’s resolve, though your Commodus had been plunged into manic paranoia until it became oppressive.

Your footsteps carried, heightened by the fact that there were no other movements or sounds coming from elsewhere to blend with yours.

You took yourself straight to Commodus’ chambers.

There were two guards posted at the doors that were still shut tight. All was as it had been when you left, except these guards were fresh and bright eyed, having replaced the two that had been there before.

You approached them and bid they let you enter, “I request that you allow me access to the emperor’s chambers,” you said.

“Caesar has requested that he not be bothered,” one of them spoke, unconvinced to let you pass despite your connection to the emperor.

“I can assure you that, should Caesar be displeased by my admittance, it will not fall upon your shoulders.”

They seemed uncertain, but soon relented, stood aside and allowed you to enter.

You did not want to disturb him and you did your best to keep any sound of your entrance to a minimum as you slid through the doorway and into the vast room.

The cold floors were contrasted by the wet winds that blew in from the open terrace. Night was well under way and you were worn, though your walk from the library to your emperor’s chambers had accelerated your heartrate considerably. It would be nice to relax with him, alone, if he had found himself at a proper stopping place with his scrolls.

Upon initial inspection, the room looked relatively unchanged. The desk was still covered with open scrolls, parchment and ink. His quill rested idly by and, though all appeared well within your initial inspection, the only thing out of the ordinary was that the emperor was missing from his workspace.

You cast a look over your shoulder, noting the miniature scale of the colosseum was unchanged, and your searching gaze landed on the bed. Commodus was curled in on himself tightly, his back to you, as he snoozed lightly on the plush mattress.

You smiled to yourself, reasoning that he must’ve gotten so absorbed in his work that he’d not realized the time, grown exhausted and retired for the night before he could send for you.

Odd as that may have been, it was plausible. Commodus had never been known to have forgotten you before, but things were different now. He made a conscious effort to please the Senate and that meant spending extra time revisiting scrolls, passing legislation and participating in, as well as negotiating, Rome’s politics with the dry old men your emperor had once been so critical of.

Commodus rarely slept, at least, undisturbed sleep was near impossible for him to achieve. Perhaps the scrolls kept him from thinking of it, you thought, and that was why he had been able to visit the land of dreams, but you were relieved that he had finally found peace.

Your fingers skimmed one of the jade marble pillars as you shifted about the room, uncertain of how you should bridge this gap. Torchlight streamed in from the carved stone latticework, coating half of the room in a spectacle of oddly shaped shafts of light, including the curtains which framed the imperial bed.

To avoid the embarrassment of awakening him, you swiftly removed your sandals so that the noise of you walking would not echo. You shivered as the chill of the marble floor penetrated your skin and sank deep within you – a pleasant reprieve from the humid air.

However, when the wind blew in through the open terrace particularly hard, you drew your yellow stola in closer about your shoulders. You noticed that Commodus’ own garb had been removed – his cape and armor lay on a table not far from the colosseum model – and he slept in just his tunic.

It puzzled you that he lay on top of the linens and your brow creased in thought.

Tentatively, you approached the bed, careful to remember to step up onto the raised platform; the thought of tripping and unceremoniously toppling onto the emperor of Rome as he slept was not a pleasant one, but the thought still made you smile. If something of that nature were to happen, it might make Commodus shriek in terrible fright and send the guards at the door into a frenzy, but once he realized it was only you, there would have been no repercussions, only gentle laughter as he pulled you into the bed beside him.

You had fallen in love with the young Roman prince, before he had become emperor, three summers ago when the heat of late August was not the only thing which left you feeling breathless.

There was nothing he would not have done for you then and that was still the same now, even if everything else was different.

You remembered fondly how he had courted you, eventually asking for your hand in marriage and how you had eagerly accepted. You were wed the summer before this; little did you know those few months would be the last time that things would ever be so simple.

You sank onto the bed and the mattress dipped beneath your weight.

Commodus murmured softly and folded in on himself a bit more, instinctively protective of his vulnerability. It pained you to witness his paranoia, even while he slept. The ever-present thought that at any given moment someone might burst through the door and try to hurt him kept him from ever letting his guard down completely. That, among other things, kept him awake most nights.

The torches and oil lamps still burned bright; the fuel had been replenished earlier by some servants while Commodus was busy with his scrolls. Your heart ached for the young man who never slept in the pitch black of night; he was afraid of the dark and maybe that was why he never would look in the mirror either, because that same darkness lived in him, too.

You were compelled to reach out and touch him, then, gently stroking your hand along the curve of his face and as you did, you gasped in surprise, almost drawing your hand away; his warm cheek was damp with tears.

It had not been long since the emperor had fallen asleep, cried himself to sleep, you painfully reminded yourself.

Why had he not sent for you?

Resisting the urge to wake him, you shifted your weight as you settled in behind him and draped an arm over him. Soon, the solid press of his back against your front eased your nerves and you carefully and deliberately reached up and combed your fingers through his dark hair. He cooed softly in his sleep, sniffling a little as he relaxed beneath your touch. The tension flooded out of his shoulders while you held him like this. Even in his sleep, he could sense that the comfort was yours, brought to him by his cherished wife who loved him more than his own father ever had.

His father.

Commodus had tried to be the son that the great Marcus Aurelius had wanted. He had tried to make his father proud, but nothing he had done was good enough and, what was worse, he did not know why. Why did his father not love him? Commodus did not know the reason, but in the end, it was clear: Marcus Aurelius had longed for a different son.

Since then, Commodus had tried to squeeze love from various sources but it never satisfied him.

Not until he met you.

“My love…” you whispered to him, careful to lift him gently out of his dreams, “please awaken and talk to me.”

Commodus moaned and for a moment you were not sure if he had heard you until he responded with a full-bodied stretch and the rustling of fabric met your ears as he turned to glance at you over his shoulder.

His eyes were green like freshly sliced limes and just as bittersweet; they were red-rimmed and tired, lined with dark circles that alluded to the many nights he had suffered through without sleep.

He said nothing, but turned over until he was able to wrap his arms snugly around your shoulders. He remained that way for a time, clinging to you while his body adjusted to wakefulness after the impromptu nap.

His heavy eyelids fluttered and his head dropped to your shoulder, “I’m sorry…” the apology was whispered into your skin and you almost did not hear him.

When he looked up at you with an almost childlike expression on his face, you cupped his cheek in the palm of your hand and stroked across it with the pad of your thumb, “Commodus,” you started, “is everything alright, my love?”

He craned his neck and kissed your palm, “it is,” he said, “now that you are here.”

Your hand fell away and reached for his, sliding your fingers into the spaces between his own thicker digits. He squeezed you tight, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips before he looked away again, “I meant to send for you, but I was in such a state…”

He did not need to tell you more. He had been crying, that much was confirmed by the drying tear tracks upon his smooth cheeks and the redness in his eyes. Commodus’ emotions were often left unchecked; he felt so viscerally, violently and brutally and the tears would come, whether they were born out of pure sadness, or frustration and rage.

It was one thing to express emotion, but it was another entirely to witness it from the emperor of Rome.

The only time he could fall apart was when he was by himself.

He was supposed to be a fearless hero but instead he cried more than some women did and that was unacceptable.

At least, it had been for the stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius, who had once grown tired of his son’s outbursts. Commodus doubted it would be any different now. The palace was his own, but this new life was not.

He did not want his servants or his guards to see him crying while asking after you; that was not an image he wished to paint for them.

While he waited for the tears to subside, he had relaxed on the bed until he succumbed to his exhaustion.

“That is alright,” you assured him, “I was reading in the library for a time because I thought you were still at work.”

“No,” he responded, the dulcet tones of his honeyed voice was indicative of sleep, the vestiges of which still clung to him like ivy on stone, “I finished with that some time ago. These senators demand more from me each passing day that I have no choice but to work as I do now, just like my father had done.”

That sentiment hit some nerve within him and was certainly the source of these tears and what had brought them forth, “Commodus,” you repeated his name but the sound of it did not reach him.

He was looking through you, unsettling as that was, he was prone to it. Often did you wonder what he heard and saw in these moments that were lost to the wind and rain. These elements were, too, present within the emperor who was waning into crescent, tearstains glittering like stars on his cheeks – this man was made of midnights and he was hauntingly beautiful.

Only, when the darkness had overtaken him, he did not reemerge anew.

You tenderly kissed his forehead; his skin was warm against your lips. He drew you closer through the barely imperceptible inhale as his nose rested at your collarbone and you tilted your head back, allowing him to find comfort where it was needed.

He had dropped your hand in favor of holding you while his full lips pressed bruising kisses against the bare column of your neck. Your fingers found his hair again, giving it a gentle tug of affection that made him groan appreciatively.

He lifted his head and leaned close, his sweet breath fanning across your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. His eyes flickered in the lamplight as he looked at you, “do you know what my father said once?”

You languidly chased his lips with your own, but he eluded your desires, resolving to let you capture and conquer him in his own time, when he was ready.

“I don’t,” you replied, “won’t you tell me?”

“He said that it’s a dream…a frightful dream, life is.”

You looked into Commodus’ eyes, but he was somewhere else. You did not have the courage to speak up until he asked you, “do you think that’s true?”

You hesitated, momentarily assessing how best to respond.

“Sometimes it is,” you settled on a half-hearted agreement for now and his shoulders slumped into you as though out of some sort of relief.

“And I have only you to share it with…” Commodus’ eyes brimmed with tears and he bit back a sob, “but I have no proper time with you now. It is all like some great nightmare!”

Your arms encircled him comfortingly and you rubbed his back to soothe him, understanding that his tender state was in part the fault of his father who had failed him as a child, but also because Commodus was just so tired. In his fitful sleep, it was difficult to reach him, but even more when he was awake because he could not escape his nightmares even during the day.

There was a slowly burning madness inside of him and soon it would boil over.

But, not tonight.

“Shh, Commodus.”

You held him close while he cried, shoulders shaking with the force of each painful sob that carried and reverberated off the palace walls and made it seem all the louder.

You pulled him in against you, your bodies flush to one another and you could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest.

Commodus scrounged for love in every aspect of his life, searching for fulfillment in dealings with his guards, the people of Rome and occasionally even the senate. He desired love himself, but he also wanted to be the provider of love to his people because if they respected him then perhaps, they might love him, too.

It was you who gave him what he needed, only, it seemed that it was not enough.

He had an empire to run, scrolls to read, legislation to propose and citizens to care for; Commodus was meant to be an emperor first and a husband, second.

His sobs grew quieter and more restrained, changing from full-bodied cries to soft whimpers. Your cheek rested against the crown of his head, your hand still rubbing his back as you held tight to him.

Many times had you found yourself in this position, but few of them were like this.

The tearful emperor would have been perceived as weak by anyone who might have seen him like this, but not you. You knew what he was capable of, even if no one else did. The moon might only reflect the sun’s light back upon the shadowed earth, but there were things one could only dream of that lurked in the darkness that not even the light of day could brighten. There, too, were demons veiled by the emperor’s dark side and once in a blue moon they were revealed by the light.

He was quiet now, but he breathed deeply, dragging in oxygen harshly through his nose while his cheek rested gently against your chest. He could listen to your heartbeat in this position and his lips bore a marginal smile.

“You know I love you,” Commodus whispered to you in that unassuming, hushed tone his voice took on when he was calm.

His lips found purchase on your neck again and you released a pleased sighed, “and I love you, too.”

The storm had passed.

The drought had been the worst, but the rain was over and the clouds had begun to part; Commodus was returning to himself, and after the downpour, you both would flourish again.

When he was overwhelmed, Commodus had to purge the emotions that consumed him.

“Shall we ready ourselves for bed, darling?” you posed the question as not to disrupt him; he seemed comforted by your closeness, satiated and remedied now that you were in his presence once more.

You felt him nod once, “I think that would be for the best,” he agreed, lifting his head when the sound of rain suddenly flooded into the room.

Beyond your chambers, the sky opened and rain came down from the heavens like you had anticipated might happen into the night. The gods were crying with the emperor, watering the lands of rich, fertile soil for the flowers, plants and food that would grow here.

Commodus smiled wistfully as he gazed out to watch the droplets fall to earth, “What did you mean?” he asked.

The sudden question perplexed you.

“Meant what, darling?”

“That life is a frightful dream, only sometimes,” he clarified, “implying that it is not so all of the time.”

He had turned to look at you and your heart skipped a beat. Your lover’s eyes held their usual mischievous brightness that enchanted you, sparkling like springtime and full of icy vitality. His full lips parted as he waited for your response and you had to steel your imagination against kissing him instead.

Your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck that had grown long enough to curl a little, “well,” you began and felt him press even closer, if that were possible, as he hung on your every word, “life does often feel like a dream to me, but not always an unpleasant one.”

“Yes,” he appeared childlike as he agreed with you, “I suppose that for all of the unpleasantness, there are still good things.”

“Like you,” you said, “us.”

Commodus expelled a brief, lighthearted chuckle, “you are right about us, my love.”

That is a good thing. We are a good thing.

You heard the admission in his voice, he did not need to say it because you felt it. It was there, in all that he did. You were enough for Commodus and you always would be, even on days when he was pulled in different directions that did not lead to you; he would always come home.

The love was present in the way he held you, kissed you, made time for you, loved you.

Yes, Commodus loved you.

He always had.

#commodus #commodus x reader #commodus x you #emperor commodus #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix x reader #gladiator #gladiator 2000 #౨ৎ::biblio::౨ৎ

589 notes · View notes

knoepfl · 3 months ago

Text

A Warm Embrace

Characters: - Arthur Fleck (Joker) – A complex and fragile man, struggling with loneliness and illness. - Reader (You) – A loving partner who wants to care for Arthur, showing him compassion and warmth. Trigger Warnings: - References to illness (fever, coughing) - Emotional vulnerability and self-doubt - Mentions of poor self-worth

Masterlist

Summary: Arthur Fleck returns home soaked from the rain and clearly unwell. Despite his resistance, the reader lovingly insists on taking care of him, giving him a warm bath and showing him that he is not alone. Through gentle touches and quiet moments, the reader provides the warmth Arthur so desperately needs, helping him open up emotionally.

Word Count:~5,013

---

The rain poured relentlessly outside, casting a dreary veil over the city. You sat curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the television but not really watching. Your mind was preoccupied, worry gnawing at you as the clock ticked on. Arthur should have been home by now, and the longer he was gone, the more your anxiety grew.

He had been feeling under the weather for the past few days, coughing and sneezing as he tried to carry on with his life. You knew he wasn’t taking care of himself as he should, and it made your heart ache. All you wanted was to nurture him, to be the light in his dark world, but it seemed like every time you reached out, he pulled away, too proud to accept help.

Just as you were about to call him, the front door creaked open, and the sound of dripping water echoed through the hallway. You shot up from the sofa, rushing to see him. Arthur staggered in, drenched from head to toe, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his clothes clinging to his skin. He looked utterly miserable.

“Hey,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Arthur! You’re soaked!” You rushed over to him, instinctively reaching out to help him. “What happened?”

“Just got caught in the rain,” he replied, his voice hoarse and raspy.

“Yeah, I can see that. Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.” You gently took his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

He hesitated, looking down at his drenched attire. “It’s fine. I’ll just change in a minute.

”You frowned, crossing your arms. “Arthur, you’re freezing! You need to warm up.”

He sighed but followed you to the bathroom. You turned on the hot water, letting it fill the tub while you rummaged through the linen closet for a towel and some clean clothes. You pulled out a fluffy towel and a pair of his soft pajamas, handing them to him.

“Here. Just take a quick bath to warm up, okay?” You offered a reassuring smile.

He looked at the tub, then back at you, and you could see the internal struggle in his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m not really the bathing type.

”You chuckled softly. “It’s just a bath, Arthur. You’ll feel better afterward, I promise. Plus, I’ll be here to help you.”

He looked uncertain, but the chill in the air seemed to urge him on. Finally, he nodded, and you stepped out of the bathroom, giving him a moment of privacy to undress. You could hear the water splashing as he climbed into the tub, and you felt a sense of relief that he was finally taking a moment for himself.

When you re-entered the bathroom, steam filled the air, and Arthur was sitting in the tub, his shoulders hunched, looking almost defeated. You knelt beside him, the warmth from the water radiating against your skin.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” you said, your voice gentle.

He offered a small smile, albeit a weary one. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

You took a washcloth and soaked it in the warm water before gently wiping his face. He leaned back a little, his eyes fluttering shut as you worked. “You’re really taking care of me,” he murmured, his voice quiet.

“Of course I am,” you replied softly. “You deserve it. You do so much for everyone else. Let me take care of you for a change.”

His eyes opened, meeting yours, and there was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “I don’t want to be a burden.

”You shook your head firmly. “You’re not a burden, Arthur. You’re my partner. I love you, and I want to help.”

He looked away, his expression pained, and you could see the walls he had built up around himself. “I just... I feel weak sometimes.”

You paused, gently cupping his face, urging him to look at you. “It’s okay to feel weak. We all do. But it doesn’t mean you’re not strong, Arthur. Strength is about allowing yourself to be vulnerable.”

He sighed, letting his head fall back against the tub. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It can be. Just let go for a moment.”

You reached for the shampoo, pouring a small amount into your palm before lathering it into his hair. He closed his eyes again, and you could see the tension in his shoulders ease as you massaged his scalp, fingers working through the tangled strands.

“Your hands are magic,” he murmured, a hint of a smile on his lips.

You laughed softly, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “It’s just some shampoo and a little love.”

As you rinsed his hair, you couldn’t help but think about how lucky you were to have this moment with him. Arthur was often so consumed by his thoughts and struggles, but here, in the warmth of the bathroom, he felt almost at peace.

Once his hair was clean, you turned your attention to his body, gently washing away the grime and stress that clung to him. You took your time, careful to avoid any sensitive areas, but your touch was soft and soothing.

Arthur leaned into your touch, his eyes drifting shut again, and you could see the relief on his face. “You really care about me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice a whisper.

“More than anything,” you replied, your heart swelling with affection. “I just want you to feel better.”

He opened his eyes, looking at you with a mixture of appreciation and something deeper, something that made your heart race. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You smiled brightly. “Well, you don’t have to find out. I’m here, remember?”

With that, you helped him rinse off, and as you wrapped a towel around him, you couldn’t help but notice how fragile he looked, standing there shivering in the warm air. You guided him back to the living room, wrapping him tightly in another blanket, trying to shield him from the chill of the world outside.

“Stay here. I’ll get you something warm to drink,” you said, heading back to the kitchen.

When you returned with a steaming cup of herbal tea, you found Arthur curled up on the sofa, looking far more comfortable than before. He took the mug from your hands, cradling it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a small sip and letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

You settled beside him, leaning into his side. “How do you feel?”

“Better. Much better.” He paused, looking down at you. “You really are amazing, you know that?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“No, you’re special.” He turned to face you fully, his expression earnest. “I don’t deserve you.”

You frowned, shaking your head again. “Don’t say that. You deserve all the love in the world, Arthur.”

He looked away, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. “It’s hard for me to accept that sometimes.”

You took his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. “It’s okay to feel that way. But I’m here, and I want you to lean on me.”

He took a deep breath, the weight of his struggles apparent in his eyes. “I’ll try. I just—sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in my own thoughts.”

You leaned in closer, resting your head against his shoulder. “Then let me be your life raft. I’ll always be here to pull you back.”

He smiled softly, his fingers intertwining with yours. “You really mean that?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, your heart swelling with sincerity.

For a moment, you both sat in silence, sipping your tea, simply enjoying each other’s presence. You could feel the warmth radiating between you, filling the space with a comforting energy.

Eventually, Arthur shifted, looking down at you. “You’re too good for me, you know?”

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “Oh really? Is that so?”

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “I’m just a mess of a person, and you... you’re so much more.”

You shook your head, sitting up to meet his gaze. “I love you for who you are, Arthur. The messiness and all. You make me happy, and that’s what matters.”

His expression softened, and you could see the love shining in his eyes. “You make me want to be better.”

“Then let me help you be better,” you said softly, resting a hand on his cheek. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “Okay. I’ll try.”

As the rain continued to patter softly against the window, you wrapped your arms around Arthur, holding him close. He melted against you, the tension in his body dissipating as he relaxed into your embrace.

In that moment, you knew that together, you could weather any storm.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! I wanted this story to capture a softer, more vulnerable side of Arthur Fleck—a side that often gets overlooked. Arthur is a character burdened with pain and loneliness, so I thought it would be heartwarming to explore what it might be like for him to experience real care and kindness from someone who loves him.

If you’re here, I hope this little moment of fluff gave you some comfort too. We all deserve to feel seen and cared for, just like Arthur does in this story. Thank you again, and I’d love to hear your thoughts! Take care, and don’t forget to be kind to yourself. ~♡

#arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #Joker #fanfic #Joker x reader #Arthur Fleck x you #arthur x reader #joaquin phoenix #joker 2019 #Sick #Illness #Fluff #Love #Fleck #Self doubt #low self worth

32 notes · View notes

misfitgirlwrites · 7 months ago

Text

‼️ CLOSED ‼️

It's time!! Thank you to all the likes and reblogs I still get on all my Joker things! I'm excited to add more to what I already have! If you all were here like 500 followers ago, you know the drill:

One reblog is one entry! One like is one entry! Each person can only get TWO possible entries!

There will be three winners!

First Place: A self-insert. Not just the regular reader inserts that I usually write, tell me as much about yourself as you feel comfortable giving away and I will write a story personalized just for you :)

Second Place: An imagine. Much shorter than the self-insert (my max for this will probably be around 400-500 words) and this one will also be personalized if you want!

Third Place: A set of headcanons! This one will also be personalized but much shorter

I WILL write anything NSFW (smut, violence, etc.) but if I do not feel comfortable with a request I WILL NOT write it!

As of now, I write for THESE specific Jokers:

Ledger’s Joker (The Dark Knight)

Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska (Gotham)

Arthur Fleck (Joker)

If there is a Joker you want that isn’t listed just ask me and we can talk about it :))

If you’d like a story for something other than Joker CHECK HERE to see what other fandoms I will write for!

If you happen to like the shows Helluva Boss & Hazbin Hotel, feel free to try your hand at that giveaway too! You CAN win here and there if you're lucky!

This giveaway starts today (June 24th, 2024) and ENDS on Thursday (July 4th, 2024) at 12 p.m. (EST)!

Everyone who enters will be put into a generator and that’s how I will choose the winners!

Good luck and thank you all!!!

38 notes · View notes

painted-flag · 17 days ago

Text

A VICTOR, part three (final) - Commodus

𓃮 emperor commodus x fem!reader 𓃭 masterlist. part one | part two | part three (final) 𓃮 warnings: 18+ descriptions of violence and smut (fingering, pinv, slight biting kink and nipple play, possessive behaviour) 𓃭 As a longtime and loyal servant working in the underbelly of the palace, your emergence into the light catches the attention of the emperor.

It had been a long, excruciating week. You had managed to avoid Commodus in that time. Attius was still insistent that you complete your duties despite the injuries, but you had managed to do them all in the lower levels of the palace. In the few instances where you needed to get work done in areas Commodus could be, you chose to do them very late into the night.

There was not a word you could use to express the heartache you had felt at that time. It is funny that a person could be stamped so permanently onto your ribcage in such a short time of knowing them, but the emperor was a man you would never forget.

In your dreams, you could still feel the touch of his calloused hands and the warmth that only he could provide – no other form of warmth like fire or the sun could compare or compete.

The swelling in your face was gone, but you still sported a cut lip and the bruises were still prominent. Each night, you would go to Cassius to get a poultice to put on your wounds, which soothed the skin and removed some of the aching pain.

While you had been smart in dodging Commodus and staying on the lower levels of the castle, you had to fetch rosemary from the gardens and it could not wait until night. So you found yourself, in the heat of midday, picking some rosemary in a secluded area of the palace gardens.

It was calm, with a gentle breeze that kissed your skin. You held a woven basket with the handle tucked into your bent arm. With a small knife, you would cut off bundles of rosemary that looked ready to harvest and placed them in the basket. The motions were soft and serene and you found some peace with it.

Footsteps alerted you to a presence behind you. You wanted to turn, but at the sound of their voice, you knew who it was and could not afford to face them.

“You are not sick,” Commodus spoke from behind you, his tone full of contempt.

You stopped your current task but still refused to turn around. Keeping your back to him was incredibly disrespectful, but you feared what he would do if he saw the markings on your face. How quickly would he cast you aside?

“I have… recovered quickly.” You excused. Commodus scoffed from behind you and stepped closer. He was only a pace or two away from you and his close proximity had your knees weak and resolve crumbling.

“You were never sick. I am not stupid…” His tone then switched to something that sounded almost insecure, “Have I done something to incur your indifference? Why do you avoid me? Whatever it was, name it and I shall work towards absolution. Shout it at me, insult me even, I give you permission for that. So long as you speak, so long as I can hear you talk because I have learnt that nothing… nothing hurts more than the absence of you.”

His small speech could have knocked you off your feet. It sent your mind reeling. A strong urge to drop your basket and fling yourself into his arms washed over your body. How much you dearly missed the comfort of his embrace. He sounded vulnerable, not something you ever thought would come out of his mouth.

“It is not you, Caesar.” You hoped the honorific title would make him display more mercy toward you, but you failed to notice the depths of his devotion that had built up long before he invited you to his chamber so many nights ago.

“Commodus.” He corrected what you addressed him as, “You of all people do not need to call me that. What is it that burdens you so?” He questioned.

You knew there was no point in trying to keep it hidden. Your clothing thankfully covered most of the bruises, except for the one on your face. Slowly, while looking at the stone ground, you turned to face him. Your face raised and made eye contact with him, finding some solace in the green of his eyes. His look of desperation for your attention quickly morphed into simmering rage. You could see the bump in his throat move as he swallowed and his jaw set.

He took the final step to get closer to you. Commodus raised his hand and hovered it right over your bruise, eyes scanning it over and over as if it was not real.

“Who?” His voice was oddly calm. It was as if his mind had shut down, unable to fully process what he was seeing.

“I am fine and–”

“Who did this?” Commodus interrupted. He gently traced over the bruise with the tip of his fingers, mapping the way it marred your face.

“I have neglected my duties as of late. Master Attius did only what was necessary.” You tried to reason. His nostrils flared at your words.

“It was him that did this to you?” You wanted to answer, but there was a sob that threatened to claw its way through your throat. You did not wish to cry in front of him, but the stress of everything had hit you. He saw the tears that welled in your eyes and pulled you in for a hug. However, his sudden touch on your arms caused you to flinch.

Commodus looked down immediately, grabbed your wrist, and pulled up the sleeve of your dress to see the bruises that littered your forearm and disappeared under the top of the fabric. His breath became laboured.

“Nothing must go unpunished, he told me.” You bit your lip to hold the sobs back. Commodus let out a long sigh and rested his forehead against yours. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, letting the warm breeze hit your bodies.

He eventually moved, lifting his head and planting a kiss on your hairline. His hands reached up and rubbed your shoulders gently, trying to provide comfort while also not wanting to make your pain worse.

“You are not to do any more work today. Go to my room and wait there.” He instructed you.

“Wait for what?” You asked. He did not answer you, only giving your temple one last chaste kiss before he turned around and left the garden. You could hear his harsh footfalls as he got further away and you were scared at what he was capable of.

Commodus was angry and that was dangerous. You worried about what his wrath meant for anyone in the palace. Yet, you could do nothing but stand there as he left, bracing for the coming aftermath of whatever he had planned.

You swore that you would wear down the marble flooring in Commodus’ room. For the last few hours, you had paced back and forth. Sometimes you would sit in a chair for a few moments before becoming restless again and resuming your short march. There had been no word from Commodus or anyone as to what was going on.

You surmised that was the best outcome. He had not gone on a rampage and caused chaos, which was good. It had only struck you recently that perhaps you had been terribly stupid this whole time. The way he looked at you in the gardens and his vulnerability at thinking he had done something wrong to you. There you came to understand the depths of the situation and that the feelings you held are in some capacity reciprocated.

That was why you paced so relentlessly. He harboured feelings for you, which in itself felt surreal. You were nothing and would remain nothing, but somehow that was enough to catch his attention. Had it been that festival you sang at so many years ago? Was it that moment when the fates decide to entwin both of your paths?

The door on the other side of the room opened and you stopped pacing. You stood still, hoping to see Commodus. It was hard to conceal your disappointment when another man walked through the doors. He was old and hunched over slightly, but his face appeared kind. He carried a bag with him and set it down on one of the tables.

“Excuse my brash words, but where is the emperor?” You questioned.

The old man smiled and began to take items out of his bag; vials and bandages, “The emperor has not been in the palace for hours, my lady.”

“I am not a lady,” You spoke.

“I have been instructed by the Caesar to look over his lady that awaits in this room. I am correct in assuming that is you?” He teased you slightly and you felt a little more relaxed around him. You approached the table and looked down at the healing supplies he had laid out.

“Yes, uh, that would be me.” You shrugged. You did not want to question why Commodus had referred to you as his lady but knew it was not something to take lightly. Whatever he said goes and there was no reversing those words. The more you thought of it, the more it warmed your heart.

“Well, I am Cosmo, fair lady. Might I check over your injuries?” He questioned.

You nodded with permission and he moved towards you. While he tended to your wounds, all you could think about was Commodus; where he was and what he was doing. He was not in the palace and Rome was a large city. A sinking feeling of worry and dread washed over you.

After you had been tended to, more servants came in to bring you new attire. The dress you wore was nothing you had ever come close to having. The tunica, stolla, and palla all matched with the vibrancy of orange and black. Commodus had picked it out for you and you could not help but wonder if he chose it because it was similar in colour to your favourite animal, the tiger.

When you had gotten ready, guards escorted you to a waiting carriage. Each time you tried to ask what was happening, you only got the same short response; Caesar awaits you. By now, slight fear had entered your heart. He had been gone that whole day and the last you saw of him was when he became consumed by rage. Had he hurt others? Had he hurt himself?

The large imposing figure of the Colosseum entered your vision as the carriage approached. There were not many times in your life when you had time to visit, but each memory had been ingrained in your mind. The sun was setting and cast the stone in a delicate golden light. The heat of the day waned and you became grateful for the clothing wrapped around you to shield you from the occasional cool breeze.

You do not remember there being a gladiatorial game scheduled for that day and your suspicions got worse as you were led out of the carriage and into the Colosseum. There was no shouting, no screaming, or bounds of cheer. Nothing but silence greeted you as you walked up some stairs and found yourself at the cloth-covered entrance to the emperor's viewing box.

The guards escorting you grabbed the silk curtains and pulled them away, allowing you to enter alone. The viewing box was grand, filled with seats for the senators. A large stone chair, like a throne, was placed up front in the centre. There, leaning against the stone railing, was Commodus. He had his back to you, but you could see he wore a regal outfit of black armour with silver and gold accents. A gold laurel crown rested over his touseled dark locks.

Your heartbeat picked up at the sight.

“Commodus?” You questioned. At the sound of your voice, he turned around and smiled. He raised both of his arms like one would do to welcome someone with a hug.

“Ah, you’re finally here,” He approached you and placed one hand gently over the healing bruise on your face, “How are you?” His other hand rested on your waist to pull you closer. A flush fell over your body.

“The healer says I am doing well. There are no complications.” You answered. You had no idea what to do with your arms, so you pressed the palms of your hands against the chestpiece he wore, feeling the bends and grooves of the detailed pattern and the coolness of the metal.

“And how is your mind?” His thumb swiped back and forth across your cheek.

“I am alright. It hurt for a while… everything is fine now.” You reassured him. During your week of avoiding him, you had missed his comfort dearly. While he had originally gone to you for solace, you became attached to him and learned that you wished to lean on him as well.

“Not quite, darling.” Commodus took your arm and guided you to the big throne. He sat down comfortably. While you looked around for a chair next to him, he pulled you down so you sat on his lap. The movement was abrupt but sent heat through your body.

“Nothing can go back to normal until you see justice for the crimes you have suffered,” Commodus wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you securely in his lap. The armour he wore was almost cold, but his presence provided a warmth that erased that feeling.

“Attius was well within his rights to punish me and–”

Commodus grabbed your chin and turned your head to look at him. There was a quiet rage within his eyes, though not directed at you.

“I’ll not have you speak like that, do you hear me?” He told you. You nodded which made him smile and leave a chaste kiss on your cheek, “Good. Now, I have prepared a show for you.”

“A show?” You questioned.

“More like a trial,” He motioned with his hands to a set of guards standing within the arena. They began to march towards one of the entrances and he continued to speak, “I will not have my lady wronged. Nothing must go unpunished.” That phrase clicked in your head, the one that Attius had used against you. At that moment, you understood what was happening.

The doors to one of the entrances opened and out came the person you were expecting. Your master, Attius, had his hands bound by shackles in front of him. He was led in by multiple guards, crossing the sandy terrain. You sucked in a breath when they got closer and you could get a better look at him. He was dressed in rags, but his arms and the lower half of his legs were exposed, showing the gnarly bruises that littered his skin. Splotches of blood, some aged more than others, consumed the brown cotton he wore.

What shocked you the most was the bruise on his face that was almost an exact copy of the one he gave you.

Commodus chuckled lightly to himself when Attius almost stumbled over. You now understood where he was for those hours of not being at the palace. While undeniably barbaric, something about his protective nature and thirst for vengeance on your part was, in a twisted way, attractive. When Attius got within speaking distance, Commodus tightened his hold on you as if to assure himself you would no longer get hurt.

“You have committed an egregious crime,” Commodus spoke. Your hands placed over his that rested on your stomach and began to carefully thread your fingers through his. He had gotten tense and you were doing what you could to calm him down, if only slightly.

“Caesar, please! Mercy! Show me mercy!” Attius was shoved down to his knees by the guards, kicking up some of the sand.

“Mercy from me? No, it is not me that you wronged,” Commodus turned to you, his face of indifference and hate towards Attius morphing into adoration for you, “My lady, do you grant him mercy?”

For a moment, you wanted to. You may have many weeks ago, but lately, you had come to understand that violence was often necessary; all thanks to Commodus’ guidance. You thought of everything Attius did towards your fellow servants over the years. Each indignity, each strike, each time he would show no clemency.

You wanted him to feel that fear.

“No mercy,” You answered. Commodus smiled at you and his eyes twinkled with something akin to excitement. He surged forward to capture you in a heated kiss. You matched the fervour, pushing back and feeling the softness of his lips against yours. He hummed with satisfaction, tasting the fruit you had eaten a while ago on your lips.

He pulled away and whispered, “You’re perfect,” He then turned to face Attius again, losing all sense of warmth in his gaze, “It is, with my fair judgement, deemed that the offended parties will fight until death.” Your brows furrowed at his words. He did not mean that you would fight, right?

Attius looked just as confused as you, “Caesar, surely I will not fight her?”

“Of course not,” Commodus scoffed as if the mere notion was the worst idea ever proposed, “No, you will not be fighting my lady. Moreover, my lady’s favourite animal shall fight for her.”

While Attius was still perplexed, your face dropped. You looked around the arena, suddenly aware of a looming threat. Commodus would not, would he? But then again, this kind of violence was in his nature. You understood why he picked out your outfit for that night, how the colours matched that of a tiger. The same animal he had seen you weaving into the pattern of a carpet.

Suddenly, growling could be heard, looming ever closer. With a loud thundering snap, a section of the ground was pulled back quickly. There was no time to spare as a tiger, large and snarling, lept out from the depths. A chain was linked to a collar on its neck but did little to disrupt its movements.

Your eyes were glued to the scene, stuck in a state of both stupor and intrigue. Commodus was smiling madly and he rested his chin on your shoulder. You revelled in his warmth while you watched Attius fail to fight back with nothing but a short sword.

The fight did not last long. Even if he was not beaten and frail, there was no winning against the ravenous beast. It lunged and sunk its teeth into his side. You could see the tiger's jaw clench down and elicit screams of pain from Attius’ mouth. When he fell, the tiger took it as an advantage and aimed for his throat, cutting off his wails. As the beast fed, Commodus leaned back in his throne and used a hand to turn your chin to face him.

“Do you see what I have done for you?” He began, “Take it as a vow. All those that lay a finger on you will be eaten like scraps. That was the fate of that filthy vermin that marked your arm, the fate of your master, and the fate of anyone who dares come after you now. You belong to me and me alone. Right, darling?”

You nodded, too lost in the trance of his eyes to speak. His thumb brushed your lower lip before retreating. From a small round side table, Commodus lifted a woven laurel wreath that was as green as his eyes. He placed it on you and adjusted it so it sat along the crown of your head.

“It appears you won the fight. Congratulations, my victor.” He kissed you on the cheek before gently tracing the bruise on your face. There was still an air of contempt that he held while looking at your injury, but Attius’ death gave him more satisfaction.

“Thank you, Commodus.” You said.

“We shall celebrate,” He squeezed your hips as a signal to get up and you did. He stood up after you and held out his hand, “Come,”

You placed your hand in his, warming at the familiarity of his touch. Taking one last glance at Attius’ still body, you followed Commodus out of the viewing box.

You had been eating at a table in Commodus’ chambers since the two of you arrived back at the palace. It was a private dinner, but still grand in the assembly of food laid out. The two of you ate and talked like you once did before you avoided him. It felt right to go back into that routine like all was finally right with the world.

The sun had long set and the both of you finished eating and only talked after. As the night got older, you began to unwind. Commodus stood off to the side, facing away from you as he took off his armour pieces. You occasionally glanced towards him while sipping on wine – not remembering the amount of cups you had. By the time he had gotten down to his underclothes and was unfastening his forearm braces, you decided to voice a question that had been burning you inside.

“Commodus?” He turned to give you his attention and hummed. You took another quick sip, “Why did you choose me?” He paused for a moment, as if your question did not entirely make sense.

“I’ve already told you. At the very least, part of it,” He took off his braces and placed them next to his other armour pieces. His footsteps echoed off of the marble flooring as he came back to you. Commodus rested his forearm over the top of your chair as he leaned over you.

“You sang at that festival and I felt warmth for the first time. It followed me in my dreams ever since. Admittedly, I did not know if you were still in the palace as you did not frequent above the lower levels. I should have hanged Attius for keeping you from the light.” His fingers reached out to trace your arm, moving up the length, across your shoulder, and towards the exposed collarbone.

All of a sudden, his posture went rigid. You could see the bump on his throat move up and down as he swallowed nervously. After a few tense seconds, he lowered himself to your eye level, crouching slightly. The gesture alone was incredible. Never would you have predicted an emperor would lower himself to your level, both literally and figuratively.

“I am correct in assuming these feelings are reciprocated?” He asked. You understood why he had become so nervous. While naturally ruthless, Commodus was an insecure man who looked for approval in the faces of everyone around him. Whether one could consider that a weakness or a strength was up to them. For you, none of that mattered.

It was almost comical the way you shared that same worry for a while. You too were scared that the depths of his dedication and care were shallow, but if today had taught you anything, it was that a notion like that was far from the truth.

“You are correct, Commodus.” You responded, “I deeply care for you.” Those words washed over him and you could see how he instantly relaxed. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, scanning you up and down as if to see if you were real.

He surged forward and captured your lips with his, an ecstasy of heat. You melted into the feeling and relished in the attention. His hands gripped your waist tightly and pulled you up from the chair until your lower back dug into the table. He lifted you to sit on the table, the plates and cutlery jostling with the movement. Commodus was devouring you and at that moment you realized you did not mind it at all.

His movement to pick you up and place you on the table caused you to gasp, which he used to his advantage. His tongue entered your mouth, exploring and dominant. Your breathing became laboured and your body felt fuzzy – as if all the sensations around you that were not Commodus faded into the background.

He kissed you a few more times before gently biting on your lower lip, pulling away and letting it go. You opened your eyes and saw him staring right at you. His chest was heaving slightly and he kept his forehead resting on yours; completely unwilling to be further from you in any way.

“That…” Your whispered voice trailed off. Commodus smiled at how dazed you were and was happy to see his power over you.

Glancing out the window near you, you saw just how dark it was and understood that it had to be closer to twilight. Your mood instantly died. You would need to go to bed immediately. Already you had lost out on valuable sleeping time and knew it would cause you to lack in your chores tomorrow.

“Commodus, there is nothing I would like more than to stay with you, believe me. But I need to go and rest. There are many tasks I have to get to tomorrow.”

He looked at you like you had said something incredibly bizarre, “Did you not hear what I told you in the arena? You are mine and because of that, you will do no more work. From now on, my room is yours. You are my lady, the emperor’s lady.” His hands rubbed up and down your thighs, as he pushed himself to stand between them. Even sitting on the table, you did not reach his height.

“And what will people say?” You questioned.

“They’ll say nothing if they favour their heads.” Something in the way he said those words made you more eager for him. Deciding to take charge for once, you grabbed the fabric of his tunic and pulled him towards you for a kiss. Commodus moved with you as he was eager to participate, but remained gentle to not hurt your bruises.

There was a heat that bubbled in your stomach, fueling a hunger that you had never felt before. Instinctively, your hips ground against his. Commodus reciprocated, moving the clothed area of his hardening length against your core. The kiss got more intense, a mesh of heated breath and knocking teeth. He clung to you like a last resort, like you were his last chance to arrive in the Elysium fields.

Your hands roamed everywhere, up his arms and down his chest, feeling the muscles that lay under the fabric of his tunic. The table moved with the force of each of your movements, becoming unstable. Commodus gripped your thighs, pushing them against his sides and wrapping around his waist. You let him pull your arms around his neck and he lifted you off of the table.

His strength nearly shocked you, but it was not surprising. He pulled away from the kiss long enough so he could walk up the marble steps to the raised dias that held his bed. Before you knew it, you found yourself falling onto the plush silk sheets of his bed; or more accurately what he has now framed as your shared bed. The thought sent a fluttering feeling to the already burning part of your stomach and lodged up towards your chest.

Commodus leaned down over you and rested on one forearm while he used his free hand to trace across your collarbone and neck, “You’re mine. Not the senate’s, not Rome’s, not anyone’s.”

You nodded enthusiastically, begging for more attention from him, “Yours, only yours.”

Commodus leaned down and began to assail your neck; licking, kissing, and biting every inch. You trembled under his touch and became reduced to nothing but breathless moans. His hands pulled away at the fabrics that wrapped your form, the pretty assemble being torn off you. You would have been sad about it if it were not for the fact that he could easily buy you another.

He took away each layer and left you bare under him. Commodus stopped his assault on your neck and pulled back to look at you. Despite the occasional bruise on your arms and legs and a fading one on your stomach, he reached out and gripped your hip and swiped his thumb back and forth as his gaze travelled over you.

“My Venus,” He whispered. If you were not already unwound below him, you would have melted right there.

“Commodus,” His name fell like a plea on your lips. You needed him desperately and began to tug at his clothing. He humoured you, smiling softly as he stripped down. Once he was bare, you latched onto his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. You felt the softness of his lips as your tongues explored one another. His chest brushed against yours and the skin contact made you moan. He felt just as hot as your blood, pulsing and begging under the skin.

One of his large hands trailed down your stomach and brushed over your hip bone before caressing your inner thigh. In an instant, you opened your legs – entirely ready to surrender to him. Sensing how eager you were, he chuckled against your lips.

“So impatient, my love.” His fingers moved up your inner thigh but stopped just as he got close to your core. You whimpered when he ceased his movements. “Beg, darling. Tell me how much you want me.”

“Commodus please,” You moved your hips to try and get closer to his touch but he used his other hand to hold you down. He tsked and shook his head from side to side.

“That’s not playing fair,” He scolded you. While his hands were preoccupied with holding you down, yours were free and you used that to your advantage. He may be able to bring you to heel, but you know you could do just the same.

“Fuck being fair,” It was the first time you swore in front of him and his eyes sparkled at that, “Fuck me, Commodus, please.” Your hands moved to his lower stomach, lower and lower until you were able to grasp his hard cock. His entire body shuddered and his nostrils flared. Something clicked in him, a snap and his patience was gone.

Commodus pushed up further on the bed and crawled on top of the sheets, moving right up to you. You had shuffled towards the headboard with your legs bent at the knees and together. His hands gripped your knees and spread your legs so he could slot himself between them.

“Do you want this?” His warm breath tickled your neck as he trailed his lips across the skin, just barely touching but feeling so right.

You grabbed his jaw with both of your hands and moved his head to look him in the eyes, “Would I have spread my legs for you otherwise?” His eyes darkened at that and you could feel his jaw clench.

It was then that you had an idea that may not have been the best. You had seen how possessive he was of you and the violence he was willing to give to others on your behalf. You wanted to test the waters and see how much you could rile him up.

“Are you going to stop teasing and fuck me or do I have to find someone else?” It was a fake threat. There was nobody else that could ever compare to Commodus; nobody else you would ever want to even speak to. His face fell into incredible seriousness and you let go of him, only for his hand to grip your chin. It was not strong enough to hurt but it held your attention.

“I know what you’re trying to do, darling.” He leaned down with his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “By the time I am done, you won’t even be able to think about anybody else.”

In an instant, his warm fingers brushed through your folds. You sucked in a breath at the contact. His fingers moved meticulously, discovering each stroke that made you shake under him and moan. Commodus kissed across the expanse of your neck and chest, dragging his teeth along the skin occasionally. You found it hard to keep your eyes open as you were entranced by what you felt.

Your hands moved to cart through his hair. When you tugged at the strands, Commodus groaned. It appeared he was particularly sensitive there and you made a note to remember that in the future. He retaliated by latching his lips on one of your nipples, causing your back to arch. You felt one of his fingers slip into you at the same time while his thumb circled your bud. The fire that coursed through your veins was overwhelming and your breathing became erratic. He slipped another finger into you and upped the pace, dragging in and out with the rhythm of your hips moving.

His name tumbled from your lips over and over again like you were reciting a prayer. His mouth left marks across your chest and neck, some of which you knew would not be able to cover. You had a feeling it was deliberate. In your haze of pleasure, you could feel your body pull taught. The point of no return was met.

“Com… Commodus, I–” Your voice hitched as his thumb rolled over your bud once more.

Against the heat of your skin, his voice murmured, “I know, darling. Let go.” It was as if that was the final straw you needed.

The tense string of your body snapped and you found yourself shattering. He continued his movements, helping you ride out your high. Your head lolled to the side as you shut your eyes. His fingers moved out of you and you suddenly felt sad at the loss of contact. You craved more and wished to spend the rest of your time living in this bed with Commodus.

“Open your eyes for me,” Commodus’ hands cradled your face. You slowly opened your eyes, staring right into his. His lips turned up, “There’s my girl.” He leaned in to kiss you and groaned at the feeling. Your body was still sensitive and recovering from your orgasm, but you craved more of him.

“Commodus… please.” There were no other words that needed to be said. His movements were eager, but not rushed. He shifted up so he was on his knees and grabbed his cock that was slick with precum. Slowly, almost painfully, he dragged the tip along your folds. You whimpered at the feeling and lifted your hips to feel more friction.

The haze of your previous peak was still heavy. You understood then why some people were so provocative in their transgressions. If you could stay like this with him forever you would stake your life to the ground and take that deal in a heartbeat.

You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning too much at just the feel of his cock against your folds. He collected your slick on his skin, trailing up again until the head got caught right at your entrance. Gradually, he pushed forward until he bottomed out. You saw his eyebrows furrow and noise leave his mouth that was a mix of a sigh and a groan. He muttered a few curses.

Commodus did not rush as he was content at the pace he was going because it made you come undone and desperate for anything more. The feeling of being so full made you squirm. You wanted friction or anything to bring back the feeling of ecstasy you had. Your heart felt like it was going to pump out of your chest. Being connected like this with him was the best feeling in the world and you cursed your past self for believing it was a silly fantasy. This was real; real and raw and so good.

He slowly pulled out, dragging until the last moment to make you feel empty. You whined at the loss of his warmth but quickly shut up when he pushed back in, burying himself to the hilt. He repeated that action a few times, each getting faster until he set a steady pace. Your hips matched his movements. His face was buried in your neck with his lips brushing the shell of your ear. You could hear his moans and grunts which only spurred you on further.

You scratched the planes of his back, digging deeper with each thrust. Even when so deeply connected it did not feel like it was enough. Nothing could ever feel enough to be connected with him. Your scratching made Commodus move faster, picking up the pace.

The change of speed caused you to release your hold on him, finding little energy to lift your arms. It was like you were under a spell and completely under his influence.

“That’s it, gods, good girl,” Commodus murmured into your ear. You moaned back with small babbles of his name as your brain was unable to form a single thought other than him; his presence, his feel, him, him, him. It consumed your mind and left you a squirming mess.

He took your hands that had fallen, grabbed your wrists, and pinned them above your head. Your legs wrapped around his waist and it changed the angle at which he was thrusting into you. The tip of his cock hit a soft spot in you that had you chasing stars at the back of your eyes. The stretch that he gave you was a good ache, one that spread out from your core and burned through your body.

Commodus began to mutter words with each thrust, “Mine. My girl. My Venus.” He went on and on. Your chest rose against his, pushing for a bit more contact. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but his grip on your wrist was tight. His breath hit the shell of your ear, tickling it slightly.

The familiar feeling of your build-up hit you and Commodus could tell. He continued the steady rhythm but changed the angle to reach deeper. You nearly shouted at the difference. While he was relentless, his posture changed slightly, becoming less composed as he chased the same high you were experiencing. Both of you could feel the bed moving under you, its sturdy build taking the movement.

You were wound up again and pulled taught, but this time it felt more intense than the previous. Commodus lost his movement and fucked you with reckless abandon. All manner of control was lost and his perfect posture faltered. It seemed, like you, he had become just as mindless and broken down – doing everything possible to chase pleasure. Despite it all, you could still feel the care that he had for you in the way he muttered sweet nothings into your ear. You squeezed around his length as the build-up in your stomach started to increase.

“Let go, love. Let me hear you.” Commodus instructed.

Suddenly, like the waves that crashed against the shores of the home of your childhood, a flood of ecstasy came over you as you reached your peak and descended off of it. Your wanton moans filled the room, matching the sounds the two of you had been making for a while. Commodus visibly relished in it, nipping at your earlobe and kissing your neck. The feeling of your orgasm caused your walls to squeeze and made his movements falter.

He pulled out suddenly, right as he came. The hot strings of cum coated your lower abdomen. He moved to rest his forehead on yours, eyes closed and face scrunched in the heat of his pleasure. Your legs felt numb. Commodus almost collapsed on top of you. He released his hold on your wrists and held himself up by his forearms on either side of your head.

The two of you joined in a kiss. This one was a sharp contrast to the quick pace you had. It was slow and passionate, full of trust and care. His hands tangled in your hair, pushing it back with a gentleness unseen. Your hands rested on his broad shoulders, feeling the perspiration that gathered there. Both of your bodies came down from the high, chests rising and falling.

You thought back to just a few short weeks ago when you were invited into his room. You were incredibly glad he only wanted company then. If not for that, you would have never been able to build this relationship with him. Moreso, you were incredibly thankful your younger self decided to sing at that festival and caught his attention. It seemed that little actions in life led to big changes.

It still felt absurd now with your change of position. You were no longer a servant, no longer expected to fulfill the duties that had your body aching and mind hurting at the end of the day.

It was so ridiculous to you, that you could not help but let out a chuckle. Commodus moved his forehead from yours and opened his eyes. You wished to get lost in those eyes.

“And what do you find so amusing, hm?” He spoke.

You looked at him with adoration, “Is it wrong to be happy?”

“No,” Commodus moved to rest beside you, taking a spare cloth from the wash basin placed beside the bed and wiping your stomach down. There was something in his movements that felt almost… domestic. It was not something you ever thought of an emperor doing. “I’m glad you are happy.”

A beat of silence passed as he laid down next to you on his back and used an arm to pull you flush against him. Your head rested on his pec, hearing the thumping of his heart.

“Are you happy?” You asked. He squeezed you closer and kissed your temple.

“You made me happy long before all of this.” He answered. Your face scrunched up with wonder.

“What do you mean?” You lifted your head to look into his eyes, fingers tracing patterns onto his chest.

“Your singing. It followed me everywhere since that festival. From my mind,” He placed one hand over yours and guided it right above where his heart would be, “to here.”

There were no words you could think of to respond with. The poetics of his words hit you. You wanted to drown in him, to stay there in that moment for a lifetime. You reached out to trace his jaw, thumb massaging the top of his cheekbone. He leaned into your touch and kissed the pulse point of your wrist.

“I don’t know how I could ever thank you, for everything,” You could barely imagine what it would be like back in your old life, under the constant fear of your old master, “I may not know what I can do to repay you but–”

“Stay with me.” He interrupted you. There was a shine in his eyes, “You want to repay me? Stay. That is all I need.”

You stared at him and nodded your head, “I’ll always stay.”

The two of you understood the depths of the promise. It was your own declaration of love, without the words being spoken. A mutual understanding and a promise of forever. It was not traditional to other couples, but again you knew this relationship already did not fit within the bounds of traditionality. It did not matter.

You kissed him again, sealing the words upon both of your lips. There, you were content to start a new life; a better life.

This was incredibly fun to write! I am 100% open to writing more fics for any characters in the Gladiator films and plan to open up requests. So, if that's something ya'll are interested in, let me know.

Thank you all for the support! <3

taglist: @scrumptiousloser @juliusceasersblog @po1sonddol @cheesecakeluver @oscarisdaddy69

#emperor commodus #gladiator #commodus imagine #commodus fanfic #commodus fanfiction #joaquin phoenix #commodus x reader #commodus x you #gladiator 2000

196 notes · View notes

thatsthewrongwallcraig · 6 days ago

Text

Scar Tissue II

Summary: “Oh, you're standing on business, huh?” You grinned and he laughed, his palm falling down to your feet, his thumb absentmindedly caressing the curve of your ankle and you almost groaned out aloud.

Pairing: Joe x afab!Reader

Word Count: ~4.5k (Idk either, okay?)

Content Warnings: Emotional Constipation, Awkward And Angsty, Two Idiots In Love, Explicit Trauma Flashbacks, Pining And Yearning, Drinking, Fluff, Smut 18+!, A Poorly Closeted Daddy Kink, Age Gap, Unprotected Intercourse, Crying

A/N: Punching the air, sliding down the stairs, inhaling sawdust

Find Chapter I here!

Tagging: @somepallings @queer-crusader @crimsonkingart @ohlookapan

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

If the Lord don't forgive me

I′d still have my baby and my babe would have me

- Work Song By Hozier

The repeated scratching of a felt-tip highlighter pen across recycled newspaper pages caught your attention.

“Joe?” The man sitting at the breakfast table right in front of you raised his brows gently as his name slipped from your lips.

“Hm?” He hummed in return, the sound getting slightly muffled by his beard.

“Something interesting in there?” His eyes fell to the paper before darting back to you.

“Listings.” The word came with a certain reluctance as if he had to work it out of his throat.

“Listings?” You repeated, watching his gaze turn apologetic immediately.

You knew that expression, had seen it plenty lately, but still couldn't quite pinpoint its origin. There was nothing to your knowledge that Joe needed to feel sorry for when it came to you. Quite the contrary, actually, you sensed a certain notion of remorse tugging at your insides for the bomb you had yet to drop on him.

“Yeah, it's…it's actually nothing. Forget about it.” He put the pen to the side, briefly idle fingers latching onto the spoon in his cup promptly.

“Okay, weirdo.” The crow's feet in the corners of his eyes crinkled as the idea of a grin ghosted over his face.

“I'm out tonight.” Head-first into the icy water was the best approach, you'd decided.

“Oh.”, Oh? What do you mean - oh?, “Rose and the gang?”

You cringed a little, jaw clenching as you shook your head. Joe would be worried and there was nothing either of you could do about it.

“More like…Stan.” The fuse was lit and now you just waited for the damn thing to detonate.

“Stan? Who's Stan?” You felt your heart hammer against your chest, not in anger or annoyance over Joe maybe caring a bit too much sometimes but more in worry about accidentally hurting him.

“Stan as in my boss Stan. That Stan.” The awkwardness hung so heavy that it felt like trying to breathe in through a mouth full of molasses - lungs clumping together at the attempt to form coherent words.

“Work outing? Sounds nice-” The sudden urge to just throw him through a shut window tugged at your imagination.

“No. A date, Joe. I'm going on a date.” For a moment you wished to never have agreed to it just to spare yourself the way Joe looked at you, the lack of blinking telling you about the myriad of things that would remain unspoken.

“Okay.”, The silver spoon clinked against the cup as he shoved it around with his thumb, “Have fun. Take care.”

From awkward to painful it went within a hitching breath.

“I just- I just want you to know that I'm going to be home a bit later than usual, yeah?” You watched his eyes fall back down onto whatever information it was he had circled so meticulously, this time they didn’t raise back up.

“Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate it.” He wasn't lying but he wasn't telling you the full truth either, the slight strain in his voice giving him away.

“Of course. See you later then.” Although he didn't see it, you worked your face to smile at him as you got up from the table, leaving a now thoroughly lacklustre bowl of soggy cereals behind.

The second the door fell shut behind you, Joe dropped the newspaper; neon-yellow lines staring back at him as if they were mocking him.

“The fuck am I even thinking?” He mouthed into the now empty kitchen, unsure whether to just tear the damn paper up or not.

Guilt didn't even begin to describe that sensation that constricted his chest at this very moment. He tried to shake it off, to just shove it aside but he couldn’t help himself but to turn his phone to the loudest possible volume - just in case.

“You limp-wristed bastard.” The word rolled over your tongue as you turned the keys in the front door, fingers shaky and trembling from the flood of emotions crushing through you since you hopped off the bus and walked back home at a brutally stern pace.

You didn't notice just how hard you were grinding your jaws onto another until you worked yourself out of your jacket and threw it on the hallway floor. The sound hadn't fully faded as Joe came walking from the living room already, a pair of thick-rimmed reading glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

“You're back early.” The sentence half question and half obvious statement.

“Got…stood up.” Your voice broke halfway through, the words trickling from quivering lips in a pathetic croak.

“Didn't know what I expected.” The immediate self-loathing followed suit.

How dare you think that this could've led somewhere? How dare you assume to move on with those invisible shackles pulling and dragging at your feet no matter where you tried to walk?

“Don't.” Joe had wrapped you in a gentle embrace in a split second, his voice soft and earnest as he practically whisked you away.

“I don't get it.” You sniffled into his chest, from electric excitement to upset misery in a swift handful of hours tearing at an already terribly fragile sense of self-worth.

“Did he call? Did he text?” You shook your head in the confined space you had left.

With the motion, you could hear Joe groan out under his breath, the tone of anger vibrating with it undeniable.

“That's just a shit move. I'm so sorry, pumpkin.” His arms closed down around you tightly, his whole chest eagerly swallowing all the sobs wrecking through your larynx whether you wanted them to or not.

“He's not responding either. I don't know what happened.” It took a bit to calm yourself enough to form a full sentence and you wiped teary cheeks against his fuzzy, loose cut shirt.

“Well, he better tell you tomorrow or I'll make him.” You looked up at Joe, feeling the thin coat of mascara smearing around your lash line.

“I'm joking….unless?” Neither of you could hold back a genuine little grin and if he would've been able to, Joe would've tattooed the image of you flashing a smile through glazed-over eyes into his retina.

“I'll come back to that tomorrow.” As your breaths calmed down back to normal, Joe's embrace around you loosened up, allowing you to pick up your bag and proudly parade the little treasure you'd bought in compensation.

“Do you, perchance, feel inclined to join me drown that shit day in way too pricey tequila that I may or may not have bought on an angry whim?” You raised the heavy bottle up to Joe's line of sight.

“If you'll have me.” Joe ogled the bottle with softly raised brows as he stepped away, making way for the both of you to find more comfort on the sofa than standing in the hallway.

Joe certainly didn't mind you enjoying an occasional drink or even more than that. He knew about its temptations all too well and had been adamant about guiding you onto a path of considerate substance abuse rather than finding you passed out at the bus stop on the night of your 21st birthday. Not that he'd ever really expected this to happen but rather safe than sorry in his opinion.

“Do we have limes in the fridge?” You asked, trying not to be an absolute savage and, at least, pitch the thought of preparing actual shots instead of just putting a bendy straw into the bottle and calling it a day.

“Can you imagine me buying limes?” Joe took to the living room after shrugging his shoulders.

“I take this as a no then.” An attempt had been made.

You wiped your under-eyes with your fingers as you slumped down onto the sofa, watching Joe fetch two glasses and unscrew the bottle. He poured generously and a sense of contentment spread in your chest as you appreciated how you didn't need to play pretend around him. He knew you preferred your glasses properly filled and he acknowledged it; simple.

“So, this Stan just didn't show up, huh?” Joe sat down onto the sofa after handing you your glas, hoisting your stretched out feet onto his thighs as to not disturb your comfort and for a heartbeat you felt your breath hitch in the back of your throat - the tender touch of his broad hands around your ankles working up your legs at lightning speed.

You shut down the accompanying thoughts immediately, snuffed any spark of them because no, just no. There were things not to be thought about, especially not with your feet gingerly resting on Joe's lap, not when the slightest touch went through you like an electric current, causing you to clench around nothing without the faintest hints of alcohol having passed your lips.

“Ate them fucking fries myself.” You shrugged your shoulders, trying to shake everything else off as well.

“Fries? Where were you going?!” Joe toasted to you before taking a hefty mouthful - that was certainly something you had adapted straight from him.

“The diner downtown.” Joe had to swallow quickly because his jaw threatened to just drop.

“He wanted to take you out on a date at the diner?!” The alcohol burned down his throat, strangely comforting and spreading the violent warmth all throughout his chest.

“Is that so outlandish?” You arched your brows at him and took a more careful approach to your drink.

“Unfortunately not for him as it seems. The diner. You deserve to be taken out on a real date, my god.” For a moment, you just looked at Joe, forcing yourself not to read into any of it as much as you would've wanted to.

Your eyes dropped from his face to your feet resting on his thighs, and calves exposed by the fabric of your dress that ruffled right below your knees.

“Uh-Huh?” You took a swig from your glass and let the tequila seep into your tongue until it was nearly too intense.

“Yeah. The diner, please. Call me old fashioned but it's not too much to ask if he'd taken the time to get to know you to estimate what movie you'd like to see and take you to the cinema or just throw down a reservation at a proper restaurant at the very least. A walk in the park, a museum…no, it had to be the diner.” Joe making such a fuss about it coaxed a grin out of you.

“Oh, you're standing on business, huh?” You grinned and he laughed, his palm falling down to your feet, his thumb absentmindedly caressing the curve of your ankle and you almost groaned out aloud.

“You should know that by now.” You fought to not just listen but actually comprehend as your mind got flooded with a violent surge of arousal you couldn’t hold at bay.

You'd spent hours looking at those hands, had felt them on you in moments of desperation as they calmed and soothed you, caressed the patches of self-hatred you wore beneath the clothes that made you look like a normal person. Never had they struck you or touched you in a way you didn't agree with, unlike so many others that had.

From the very back of your throat, words threatened to emerge, worked and wriggled their way to the front and tickled the tip of your tongue.

I love you.

You cleared your throat and washed it down with a now equally mouthful of tequila.

“Do you mind if I put on some music?” You didn't even wait for an answer before you pulled your feet from his gentle grasp and got up.

“Go ahead.” Joe watched you turn your back on him to make a swift walk for the stereo.

You fumbled with the aux cable and your phone, trying to get your damn act together whilst Spotify was buffering; the small green circle on your screen turning and turning until you could pick a playlist.

The whole date, just you accepting the invitation, had been a farce. Even if Stan had shown up, you would've eaten some fries whilst planning an awkward escape. You'd been excited, yes, but not fully about Stan if you were honest with yourself. You'd been ecstatic about the fact that someone had finally asked you out…only to be ditched, but whatever. It had left a chink in the armour you'd crafted yourself over the years, however, rattled you enough to accept what you knew for a bit now: Technically you were already with the one you wanted to be with.

Technically Joe knew that you loved him, you'd told him on a few occasions and he told you “I love you too, kiddo.” so technically - technically…

Well, practically, you were actively lying to yourself.

You pressed your thumb on the next best icon only to have Hozier blasting through the speakers seconds later. You'd caught Joe humming along to Take Me To Church on the radio once and ever since started eating the man's entire discography whole.

“Crowd pleaser!” Joe acknowledged your pick in music with a nod, cradling his glass whilst looking at you.

Another one of those moments in which you could've just as well fallen to your knees and raise your fist at whatever God's up there for having given you Joe yet not enough of him to still your aching need.

He just sat there and it had you fighting for a coherent thought. He sat there, looking at you with warmth and compassion in eyes that had seen too much, palming a glass of tequila with hands that had done too much and dealt damage beyond articulation - but never towards you.

“Joe?” You reached your hand out, indicating for him to come get up and grab it.

“Would never decline.” He placed the drink on the shallow sofa table, and the reading glasses followed suit.

You never really felt truly nervous around him, there was no need to - usually - but right now something strained you, caused your stomach to twist and turn as you watched him get up from the couch.

Throwing you a soft smile, Joe took your hand and you felt like falling off a rollercoaster, the whole wagon dropping down to plunge into unknown yet thrilling depths with you strapped to it.

“What movie would you take me to?” You asked, swaying slowly with your hands in his.

“I remember you saying that the current cinema program is quote unquote garbage, so I wouldn't.”, Joe responded without missing a beat, making your breath hitch,“I'd take you for a walk in the park, along the river because I know you like ducks. After that, I'd take you out for some pasta you talked about the other night as well.”

“Then why don't you?” Joe raised his brows and tilted his head to the side.

“I mean…sure." We haven't been out in a bit, no?” You considered hammering your fist against his chest to make the point land with him.

“Joe….I- for crying out loud.” The decisions had been made in the blink of an eye and you leaned up to him, your eyes catching a glimpse of brief confusion in Joe's before you fired the one shot you had and pressed your lips to his, the feeling making your stomach free fall.

Time slowed down, calm guitar chords in the background getting stretched until every single note echoed in your ears as you felt his beard brush against your skin. He didn't pull away nor was Joe particularly stunned, his hands dropped yours but only to cup your face in the very same moment, his mouth slowly moving against yours.

“I love you.” The word came almost silent, muffled by the fear of scaring him away but instead, Joe swallowed each of them with a sense of greed you'd never seen on him before.

These weren’t sparks flying, this was an entire forest burning at the strike of a lightning bolt.

Limbs shuffled, you clawed at his shirt to pull him closer as he pushed against you to move you back.

“Joe…”, You mouthed breathlessly as you moved with him, “Say something, please, anything-”

He cut you off.

“I love you so much. I suffocate and choke on it every damn day, you have no idea.”, The sore tone in his voice went right through you and into your head, rendering you weak and wanting, “Whatever you want from me I'll give you, just please, let me love you.”

“Touch me.” You breathlessly pressed between mouths that threatened to just eat away at each other.

Joe already gave you almost everything, the only thing left you could want from him being him; his hands and lips on you, inside of you, wherever really.

The armrest of the sofa strived your leg as Joe gently pushed you past, his hands wandering from your face to brushing along your waist right down to palm at the curve of your ass. There was no hesitation in his movements and you needed it to be like that. You needed him to take the lead right now to not get lost in the nooks and crannies of what ifs, the vacuum of possible uncertainties - Joe shoved at your silhouette and you yielded willingly.

“Since when?” He asked quietly whilst he clasped at the undersides of your thighs, hoisting you up against him to set you back down on the edge of the dining table eventually with ease; all fat and muscle for his body to be a ballistic weapon when it had to.

The pads of your fingertips traced along thick welts of old scars, bullet burns, knife cuts and remnants of a past he hardly spoke about - a violent father, an oppressed mother and a son fighting for his life from the moment he'd been born, the struggle of it painted on his body from his calves up to the curve of his shoulders.

“Since when do you know?” Joe repeated his question, fingers ruffling at the flowy fabric of your dress, bunching it up in his fists as the tip of his nose caressed yours.

“I don't know.”, You managed after catching your breath, “It just happened. Just woke up one day and it felt like the world came crashing down around me.”

It was the truth. There was no way to truly pinpoint the exact moment you'd fallen in love with him, one morning you just knew. You knew and you had kept your mouth shut about it.

Joe almost felt like laughing out about it because he realised how both of you had been sitting in the very same boat without even noticing it, each of you wielding a paddle in the opposite direction for the boat to turn and turn without ever getting anywhere.

“What's so funny about that?” Your teeth latched onto his bottom lip before letting it slip free again, pulling a rumbling groan from his chest that cut right through you.

“It's not…but it kinda is, no?” You listened to the wooden table underneath your ass creaking as Joe leaned his weight against it, one hand fumbling around the waistband of his jeans whilst the other brushed along the inside of your thigh, inching ever closer to the seam of your slip.

The agonising anticipation had you jutting your hips in his direction, your brain already entirely drunk in whatever it was that happened right now, mental walls sufficiently crumbling and involuntarily letting things besides the pleasure slither in.

“Joe…Joe…slow down.” You shoved your face in his chest anew as the expression around your eyes and mouth started to contort into something you had no control over.

Something on the inside stung and bit at you, disgust thrumming through your chest as the faint memory of ghosts from the past came knocking.

“Hey, I gotchu. I'm here.” The brief change in atmosphere clicked with Joe immediately, his curious hands halting promptly as he listened to your chopped-up breathing.

He could only assume what was going on in your head and whatever you decided him to do or not to do anymore was your call to make. Your body started trembling as the memories came flooding.

-Don't be like that…come on now, pretty. It's not going to tickle when I touch you there, I promise-

You bit down at the inside of your cheeks.

-It's fine. It's going to be our little secret, yeah?-

The rotten amalgamation of feelings tore you asunder eventually.

-No, no, no, no , you little slut. You come back here! I paid good money for your cunt, whore.-

Your skin kept crawling, urging you to scratch it all open until the sensation stopped.

“They can't hurt you.”, Joe's calm voice fought to get through to you as he left a wash of little kisses on your forehead, “I'm not going to hurt you. What do you need me to do? How can I help?”

“Talk to me.” The plea got muffled by his shirt, your saliva soaking a dark spot into the fabric whilst your breathing calmed down slowly.

“Okay, sure can do.”, The hand that had been pulling around his belt and zipper raised to tug a few strands of hair behind your ear, “It's Thursday evening. You're at home and you're safe. There's Hozier playing in the background and your kisses taste a bit like tequila because we just had some.”

Joe brushed along your hairline, feeling how you relaxed against him, hands gliding under his shirt to palm at his sides - crisis averted, at least for now.

“I wanna be with you.” It gave Joe a brief moment of whiplash, feeling your fingers trail down to the waistband of his pants, fingertips dipping below the thick material but he didn't stop you.

“So do I.” His breath breezed along your cheek as he took the hint and allowed his hand to inch towards your slip again, the pad of his thumb brushing over it making you moan against his lips as you looked back up at him.

“That okay?” You nodded, your mind slowly winning the slackline walk between the trauma haunting and the pleasure being gifted in the here and now.

“Uh-Huh.” Your hands slowly worked his belt, looping the black leather out of the buckle before pulling at the zipper.

Your heart was thundering inside your ribcage, a part of you still trying to comprehend what was happening, intimate touches being exchanged without something inside of you dying yet again. Instead, it felt good, his thumb stroking over the thin fabric of your damp slip, pressure teasingly increasing whenever he drew little circles over your aching clit.

“I want you.” The words came a bit raspy as you pulled at his pants and tried not to think too much about what you were doing although you knew you did it on your own behalf because you truly wanted it.

The three little words made Joe's thought's short circuit, everything threatened to black out for a split second as he felt himself throbbing against your tenderly wandering fingers.

Surroundings and music started blurring more with every brush of your hands and every caress of his thumb against your oozing cunt, anticipation growing by the second and your train of thought disappearing into comfortable nothingness.

You tugged at his jeans and he shoved your string to the side, a breathy whine rolling over your tongue as he pulled you closer to the edge of the slightly shaking table.

Hands fumbled around with fabric, some of it tearing and ripping a little at the rampant growing impatience taking over both of you. You clawed at him, exposed crotch against his lap, tilting your hips until he could drill himself inside and that he did. The sensation spreading through your lower abdomen gave you a headrush, the stretch unfamiliar yet not uncomfortable and so much better than you fucking yourself on your fingers thinking about Joe.

You pressed your upper body against his chest basking in the feeling of finally being that close to him, breathing him, feeling him all around you and him taking away this ancient paint that had been resting on your shoulder since you had formed your first coherent thought.

Everything came to a comfortable halt as Joe rolled his hips against you, the physical sensation taking over everything else and leaving you dizzy.

“Fuck, daddy…” It just slipped from your lips faster than you could've reached, your cheek against his collarbone, the words acting on their own.

You hoped for Joe to not have heard any of it, however, he certainly did.

Without missing a beat, his hand shot to the nape of your neck, nails grazing against your scalp as he demanded: “Say that again.”

With widened eyes, you looked up at him, lips halfway agape and face flushed with cock-drunk embarrassment.

For a moment, Joe himself couldn't grasp what was going down, his body skipping the stages of Am I Into This? Wait, Why Am I Into This?! entirely, only reacting immediately, feeling himself twitching inside of you at that deliciously fucked up little commentary.

You picked up on his promptly, a relieved grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you leaned in, lips almost touching his earlobe as you repeated yourself.

“I said…fuck, daddy.” Joe grabbed a handful of your hair, firm but not painful, making you look him right in the eyes as he pushed his girth inside of you as far as he could.

“I'm so fucking weak for you, you know that?” He didn't wait for an answer before pressing his lips back to yours, knocking the air from your lungs in the process and causing every last faint restraint to break - palms clasping onto fabric and bare flesh as Joe fucked you on the dining table, the wood rocking with every thrust.

Meanwhile neither of you took any notice from the muted phone next to the stereo going off time and time again, another text another missed call from Stan who left you message after message of being sorry about having missed out on you, offering you to have a talk about it as soon as possible.

#you were never really here #you were never really here joe #ywnrh joe x reader #joaquin phoenix

9 notes · View notes