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general-kenobis · 4 months ago

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never have i ever

Summary: You're playing the game "Never have I ever" at Dustin's birthday party and it surprises you when Eddie reveals a secret of his personal life.

Warning: 18+ MDNI, masturbation, oral (m receiving)

Word count: 3.1k

You're only at this party because it's Dusin Henderson's 18th birthday. He thinks he's old enough to drink, so he makes sure all of his friends are drinking too. Except, he's only adept at drinking beer. Not like you, though. You like anything strong. You can drink beer, cocktails, tequila, anything alcoholic.

As you sip on your piña colada, one made especially by Jonathan, you watch as the younger boys play D&D at the bar. On the other side of the table, Eddie is smoking weed with his friends as they watch their friends playing. You try not to be obvious with your glances that are being directed at the metalhead, but you might be failing doing so because of the drinks you had.

Steve is trying to get your attention as he talks about his date, and Robin can't seem to listen to him because she's too busy checking Vickie out. They've been going on dates, but she's too invested and doesn't hide it. He's babbling and rambling, not hiding his excitement, and you feel bad you're not exactly listening to him.

The Hideout was rented just for Dustin's birthday, so you're allowed to listen to whatever you guys felt like. You and your friends are old enough to drink, and you're all taking care of the younger group in front of you. Will doesn't drink and Eleven isn't fond of it. Max is the one along with Mike who likes to try on cocktails and Jonathan makes sure he adds enough ounces of alcohol.

"Okay, you know what? If they're going to play a boring game, let's just play our own game!" Robin says as soon as Steve shuts his mouth

You both ask her what game it is and she seems excited about it. "Never have I ever"

Steve rolls his eyes and mumbles something and you just snort.

It's not like it's a forbidden game, but it sure can be fun.

She gathers every adult, including Eddie, who clearly couldn't be bothered by the idea. His friends decided to stay and watch the youngsters playing. As you all sit around a bigger table, Robin and Nancy spread shot glasses to each one of you, placing a good amount of tequila on each glass.

You don't protest, you like the idea of playing something like that. And it's funny how some of them, like Eddie and Steve, look like they're afraid of doing it.

You nudge the curly haired man beside you and whisper "You seem pretty worried"

He nudges you back and mocks you, shaking his head softly "Nah, just not the biggest fan of these games"

"Okay! Listen. I'll start and the round goes on to the right. Don't bullshit us and don't be soft" Robin shouts from the other side of the table, preparing herself before starting it.

They're all telling off things based on their own experiences, until Argyle decides to be the greatest menace ever. He started saying specific stuff that weren't related to him, rather to find out if people have ever done anything. The tequila shots were smaller so you all wouldn't die from alcohol poisoning.

You started to feel giddy, your cheeks were burning red and every time Eddie would bump his arm against yours, you would feel squirmy in your seat.

"Never have I ever been given a blowjob" Jonathan said and the guys took their shots. Argyle wouldn't stop laughing at this point, but mostly because he was drunk and high on weed.

It took a few seconds for you all to notice the fact that Eddie didn't take his shot and all eyes were pointed at him. He was leaning against his chair with a bandana over his head, so he wouldn't feel hot from drinking. His t-shirt was wet from the drink he missed and spilled over it. From your point of view, he looked hot as fuck.

"What? Yeah, I've never been sucked before and I'm not ashamed. I've barely hooked up with girls before" He seemed unbothered from saying the truth and it took them by surprise.

At least Steve and Jonathan were. Argyle, not so much. They've been friends for a while and they've shared experiences before. Meaning they didn't have many, but the fact no one ever wanted to give Eddie a blowjob seemed kinda off to you somehow.

"Huh, it's their loss" You murmured but loud enough for him to hear you

"What's that?" He rested his elbow over the table and leaned his head against his hand, having your full attention.

Eddie was holding a smug on his face and his lips were curved upwards. He pretended he didn't listen to you, but he knows what he heard.

"Uh– I mean" You blew through your closed mouth, trying to disguise your temptation of complimenting him. "Ah, they're all just stupid for not doing that"

"Really?" He pushes, biting his inner lower lip as he still muses towards you.

As you cross your arms in front of you, Eddie laughs at the way you react to his teasing and sits back straight on his chair. The game doesn't take too long to end, especially when Nancy says she's feeling kind of sick, and Vickie is about to throw up on the table.

You all scatter around, getting up and collecting the shot glasses. You don't feel sick, but you sure feel funny and like you're about to float from the amount of tequila you just had.

As soon as you turn on your heels to go back to the table, Eddie is standing there in front of you, holding a bottle of water. He's still wearing the bandana and it makes him look gorgeous from how the lights are hitting him. Without his bangs, you can see him more clearly. How his eyes are blown from the weed he smoked, the way his eyebrows are perfectly shaped, just like the shape of his plump lips.

You don't think he wouldn't notice, but he tilted his head to the side and gave you a sided smile. The kind of smile you give someone when you're about to mess with them, when you want to taunt them.

"Why are you looking at me that way, sunshine? Something wrong with my face?"

He follows you as you start to walk towards the table and you shake your head, hiding your thoughts as you drink your water. Eddie doesn't even let you sit without pulling a chair for you. He sits next to you, facing you. He crosses his arms and slumps back.

When he does that, your eyes literally drop a few inches to watch how he just sits there with his legs spread open, almost an invitation to what you've been thinking about.

You almost choke on the water from drinking it too fast. He takes the bottle off your hand and closes it, keeping his previous demeanor.

"Okay, now you're just acting weird. What the hell happened?" He sounds a little concerned, but the fact he's sitting like that in front of you doesn't help it.

You shrug, taking a deep breath. You cross your legs and lick your lips playfully before opening your mouth to speak. This small action sends a shock wave through his own body but it lasts a fraction of time.

You pull your chair closer to his, your legs standing in the middle of his. Eddie shifts his eyes to your legs and the way you are looking at him.

"You wouldn't wanna know what it's like to get a blowjob, Eddie?" You try not to sound like you're enticing him, or even provoking him. But the context says otherwise.

He laughs nervously, diverting his eyes from you. He looks at the ceiling and sighs. You see him taking a deep breath, looking back at you.

"What is this conversation about, really? None of the girls I've gone out with would wanna suck a freak off. They just wanted to hook up because I'm sort of famous in town. And I've had sex like two times. So really, don't bother with the subject"

He played defensive, like he was offended. You didn't intend to sound as if you're joking and making fun of him for not having much sex.

"No– Eddie, I'm not trying to make fun of you. You're such a grumpy little man! Come here" You quickly get up and pull him by his hand, following to the back of the bar.

You knew the whole place. You've been at the bar a hundred times and he talked about the back of the bar where he and his band use as backstage. They had set up a few furniture including one couch.

One you pushed him to after you closed the door and locked it. He looked at you terrified but amused at the same time, because he had no idea what was happening.

You sat beside him, resting your arm on the back of the couch. His brows were furrowed and when you noticed how pretty his lips were you couldn't hold it back.

"We're friends, right? You trust me?" You ask, your voice a little shy and your tone a little lower.

He nodded and tilted his head, again. "Yeah, sunshine. If we weren't, you know I wouldn't let you fucking kidnap me and bring me here" He jokes.

It's the way he calls you sunshine. The way he looks tenderly at his friends and how he treats everyone. It's so fucking cute. It's not even the alcohol talking and you know that.

You also know sometimes he throws glances at you, but you know he wouldn't do shit about that. He's too afraid of committing, too afraid of being heartbroken. He just doesn't know what he's actually missing.

And then you laugh like you're embarrassed, your head is hanging low because you can't seem to face him right now. But he pinches your chin carefully, looking right at you. His fingertips aren't that soft and you know it's from playing guitar. They also smell like smoke.

"What is it?" He asks again, pleading chocolate brown eyes staring into your soul. You look back at him and move your face until you're just a few inches away from him. "Oh?"

At first, he seems confused and kind of lost. But it's only a matter of seconds until he's the one taking you in and kissing you softly. He tastes like tequila and cherry from the gum he was chewing. It's intoxicating, it's a mix of feelings for you. He's still holding your chin. He uses the other one as leverage and holds your neck. You're anxious to taste him, literally.

The euphoria hits you like a train wreck when he lets you pull his hair a bit. He tries not to gasp from the touch, and he instinctively bites a small bit of your lower lip. It sends you to a frenzy and your other hand flies up to his crotch. Obviously, he's hard. Not just from the touch, but from the kiss. From how you hold his hair.

Eddie never had a girl hold his hair like that, he barely had a girl that interested in him. And he likes the feeling of being desired, it's different. And knowing you, he feels like he can trust you.

So he lets you touch him. Both your mouths never leave, only adding more fuel to his fire. You notice his behavior and try to unzip his jeans without being concerned about breaking the kiss.

He helps you out lifting his hips so you can get rid of it, trying to focus on kissing him and touching him. You love the feeling of having someone this horny for you. You feel his hardness grow through the fabric and you can feel the dampness already.

"You're so hard for me, Eds" You whisper hovering your lips over Eddie's and he grunts in response.

Your little evil laugh makes him more turned on for you, and his first instinct is to pull your hair, but not with force. He pulls you back a little, enough for him to have a look at you, the way you stare back at him with lust in your eyes.

"You're so gorgeous" He mumbles, his eyes sparkly. When you grip his hard cock tight, he hisses at the touch and closes his eyes forcefully.

He's still holding your hair and when you do that again, he grips it tighter. He's playing your game. Only he's the one getting something out of it. At least today.

You hold his underwear and pull it down, watching as his dick springs free from the fabric. Red tip, already leaking and begging for more of your attention. Eddie doesn't let go of you, only enough for you to start sliding down the couch, kneeling in front of him. You look at him before looking at his cock, it's trimmed and it looks gorgeous. It's already begging for your attention.

The alcohol in your system seems to evaporate immediately. Eddie glances down at you with concerned eyes, like he's afraid you won't do it. But you glance up and nod, reassuring him you will do it, smiling just before you start giving him the pleasure he deserves.

You lick a stripe through his shaft, tasting him for the first time. He didn't know the feeling until then, and it made him pulse like he never did before. One hand holding your hair back and the other one gripping tightly on the edge of the couch.

Your tongue savors his precum until you reach the tip and give it a small kiss. You look at him again, he's trying to hold back his whimpers. You know it's hard for him to handle the touch as it is his first time. Usually something this provocative causes a man to last only a few minutes.

But you take your time, taking his cock inside your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. It's not your first time, so you don't gag anymore.

You bob your head up and down a few times, sucking him and the liquid coming off of him. You use one hand to grip his balls, and the other one you leave resting over his stomach. He seems to love it.

He watches you carefully, he looks at how your tongue roams up and down his length, reaching the tip again, swallowing thickly. You feel it pulsing every now and then, precum spreading all over it until you suck it in again.

"Jesus fuck" Eddie moans. He lets out a loud, unsteady breath. His hand is gripping your hair carefully and if you didn't know any better, he's just being gentle when you know he would pull it harder. He was almost melting from the feeling of your mouth.

You take him back and forth, rolling your tongue around it. You lick his cock down and reach his balls, sucking it until your mouth is full and he struggles to keep his eyes open because he wants to watch it all.

You hold his shaft with your delicate hand and pump him, your mouth helping out with the job. You sank back down lower, taking every inch of him, looking up at him. Your lips slid perfectly around his skin and it made him even harder. He starts to buckle his hip when he glances at you, seeing lust in your eyes again.

Your eyes are blown from pleasure and Eddie wonders if you’re feeling the heat between your legs as well. He wants to know if your pussy is wet from doing all this with him and he can’t help but thrust against your mouth. He starts slowly, until you’re feeling comfortable having his entire length in the back of your throat.

Eddie watches when you let him fuck your mouth mercilessly, feeling his tip hitting your throat. He can't hold back his grunts, letting his head fall back to the couch. His eyes are now closed and he's in a bliss of pleasure.

The quiet room is filled with the sound of his cock in your mouth, Eddie moaning huskily and you whimpering from your own pleasure. No one cares you're both there, no one even knows you're there. He holds your head and hits his length in a perfect spot that makes him shiver.

He stops his thrusts because he wants you to finish for him. You grip the base of his cock and grip it tightly, letting the blood rush to the tip, and you suck him hard. You hollow your cheeks and suck him hard enough for him to feel lightheaded.

“Godfuckingdamn” Eddie pleads.

It's how it makes his heartbeat fasten quickly and his cock is almost exploding from the pleasure. You know he's going to cum because his legs start to falter and shake. His hand is gripping your hair tighter than before and he's buckling his hips upwards.

It comes with the loudest grunt he lets out. He fills in your mouth and the warm liquid washes over your throat as you swallow all of it. His dick pulses incessantly and you don't let go of him for a second.

Eddie feels kind of drained, but in a very good way. He's still on a high, but he feels relieved. His entire body is shaking, his legs are weak and his hands fall on top of the couch. You take the last bit of his cum and let go of him.

You think it's cute to see his cheeks flushed, painted in red. He's breathing heavily and you can't quite describe how hot he looks right now. His dick is still a little hardened but less than before. You get yourself up and help him get his pants done and sit back on the couch.

Eddie looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's seen. And it's not just because of what happened. He likes the thought of kissing you, of having you blowing him. He kissed you without any hesitation, tasting a bit of himself in your mouth.

"That was mind-blowing" He heaves, resting his forehead against yours and you laugh softly.

"You wanna go back to the party?" You ask, getting up from the couch, ready to open the door. But he pulls you back and holds your hand.

He shakes his head, showing off a little bit of shyness in his features. "I wanna take you home and kindly fuck you"

It makes you laugh at how much he can still manage to be such a gentleman when saying something dirty. But you agree to that and you both leave, driving to his apartment.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n #joseph quinn fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x fem!reader #joseph quinn imagines

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filthyjoetini · 2 months ago

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Fizzy

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

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

word count: ~1k

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

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

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

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

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

“Missed you,” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

There was a beat of silence. Then another.

Then---

“What the hell—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obviously,” he echoed, nodding.

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

His brows lifted. “You… panicked?”

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

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

Your rambling died in your throat. “What?”

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

“I do what?”

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

“…That was one time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For the next two months?”

“For however long it takes.”

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

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

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

He grinned. “I’ll take it.”

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

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whatsupsonnyboy · 23 days ago

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the first time || Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: The first time you and Joe meet, something clicks—quiet but unmistakable. Like the start of something that doesn’t need to be explained. And really, who were you trying to fool?

wc: 7.3K

warning: smut (mdni!!), p in v sex, protected and unprotected sex, fluff, midly slow burn (but not really lol), there's just lots of sweet boy joe and amazing sex

a/n: hey, so as i've already post about, i've been writing a bunch of one shots of how it might feel (in my mind ofc) to be in a relationship with this golden boy... so here it is, the first one. I'll post more eventually, it’s not really a story with parts but more like a collection of scenes that pop into my head. They’re not directly connected, but they all belong in the same universe. Hope you enjoy it! 🫶��

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open | masterlist

You hadn’t planned to stay long.

Just a drink or two. Say hi to Wes. Smile politely, maybe sneak out before midnight with the excuse of a fake early morning.

But then he was there.

You didn’t even notice him at first—just another face in the mix, half-shadowed by the glow of string lights and the low thrum of music. But then he laughed. God, that laugh. Low and rough and golden around the edges. And when you turned to look, really look, he was already looking at you.

That was the first hit. The first crackle of something electric and new.

Wes introduced you. Casual. Effortless. And suddenly you were standing closer than necessary, drinks in hand, eyes locked, trading names like they meant something more.

He was funny. Way funnier than he had any right to be. And warm. Charming in a way that wasn’t performative, but lived-in. Like he didn’t need to impress anyone but couldn’t help doing it anyway.

You asked about his work—half curious, half testing. He didn’t dodge, didn’t show off. Just smiled, scratched the back of his neck, and said, “I love it. Even when it’s a mess. Maybe especially then.”

You nodded, because you got it. Because you were already thinking the same thing about him.

Time blurred after that. Drinks refilled. Conversations spiraled—music, books, worst dates ever, the best breakfast food after 2 a.m. You laughed so hard at one of his stories you had to cover your mouth with your hand, and he just grinned at you like you were his new favorite thing.

When people started leaving, neither of you moved. You were leaned into each other now, shoulders brushing. His fingers drummed absently on his glass. Yours curled around the edge of the sofa like they wanted to close the space.

So when he offered to walk you home, it didn’t feel like a decision.

It felt like the natural next breath.

You walked through the quiet streets, city humming softly around you, your conversation dipping into silences that weren’t awkward, just charged. Your arms bumped once. Then again. And neither of you apologized.

By the time you reached your building, the air felt thicker somehow. Like it knew.

You paused outside the door, keys in hand, heartbeat tapping like a warning or a dare.

“Do you wanna come up?” you asked.

And he—of course he did.

The elevator was quiet, slow, and small enough that your shoulder brushed his again. This time, he didn’t pretend it was an accident.

He looked at you—really looked at you—and that was it.

You kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No awkward pause. Just the sharp inhale before your mouths collided, hot and eager, like you’d both been waiting for permission all night.

His hand cupped the back of your neck. Yours slid into his hair. You kissed like the elevator could betray you at any moment, like you only had seconds, and every one of them mattered.

When the doors slid open on your floor, your lips were still touching, your breath caught between kisses.

And you have no idea what you were doing, but it felt so right that questioning yourself about it wasn’t even an option.

The door clicked shut behind him, but he barely registered the sound. Your hand was still in his, and your smile—soft, a little crooked—was the only thing anchoring him.

You tugged him gently into the apartment, fingers laced with his like it had been that way for years.

No small talk. No tour. No hesitation.

Just the unspoken hum that had been building all night, finally breaking the surface.

When you turned to face him, your lips already parted, he didn’t wait. He kissed you like he needed to. Like the moment he’d felt your mouth in the elevator hadn’t been nearly enough.

You tasted like wine and something sweeter he couldn’t name. Your arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth when your hips pressed into his.

It hit him all at once—how good this felt. How easy. The way your bodies seemed to move in sync, like instinct, like muscle memory from a dream he hadn’t realized he’d been having.

You gasped into his mouth, and that sound—sharp and breathless—lit him up like a live wire.

His hands found your waist, then your back, then slid lower, gripping your ass as he pulled you closer. He was hard already, pressed up against you through his jeans, and when you shifted just right, grinding into him with a little roll of your hips, he swore under his breath.

“Fuck, okay,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded, mouth dragging down to your neck. “You—god, you feel insane.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when he bit gently just beneath your ear.

Then everything sped up.

Your jacket hit the floor. Then his. His fingers were under your shirt, warm and demanding, tracing up your spine as if memorizing you. You didn’t hesitate—you lifted your arms, let him peel the fabric off you like a second skin.

He stared.

Because shit.

You stood there in a bra that barely held you in, chest rising fast, eyes blown wide. You looked wrecked already—and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“You’re...” He exhaled hard. “Jesus, you’re unreal.”

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t sweet. It was starving.

He backed you into the couch, hands everywhere—pushing, pulling, gripping, needing. You tugged at his shirt until it was gone too, and your hands ran across his chest like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. He loved that. The urgency. The want in you.

When your mouth landed on his jaw, then slid lower, biting down on the edge of his collarbone, he groaned—loud, filthy.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he panted, rutting against your thigh without even meaning to.

Your hand dropped to his waistband, teasing. “Yeah?” you whispered, voice wrecked and dangerous.

He nodded, helpless.

“Then let me.”

The way you said it—it wasn’t a question.

You palmed him through his jeans, slow and confident, watching the way his breath hitched, the way his eyelids fluttered. He wasn’t used to being this undone this fast. But you had him—already.

His hands slid behind your back, unclasped your bra with practiced fingers, and when the straps slipped off your shoulders, he barely gave you time to react before his mouth was on you. Tongue and teeth and lips, worshipping, making you moan—fuck, that sound, he’d chase it forever.

The way you arched under him, like every touch was too much and not enough.

The way you gasped his name like it was the only word you remembered.

It was pure heat. Messy and fast and real.

And when you whispered, breathless, “Come to bed,” your lips swollen, pupils blown wide, he didn’t even hesitate.

He didn’t care about tomorrow. Or what this was. Or where it might lead.

All he knew was that he needed to feel your body under his. Needed to hear you fall apart.

And if he was lucky, he’d get to wake up beside you.

You led him by the hand, your steps quick, your breath even quicker. The apartment wasn’t big, but every second it took to reach the bedroom felt like an eternity stretched tight with want.

The moment you were through the door, you turned to face him, pulling him in again like you couldn’t stand the distance. Your back hit the edge of the bed and you kissed him like you meant to steal the air from his lungs.

He smiled against your lips when you fumbled with the button of his jeans, your fingers slightly clumsy in your rush. You cursed softly, laughed under your breath.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“Don’t be.” His voice was low, rough. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

Every little misstep, every shaky inhale, every wide-eyed second of wonder—it was perfect.

His jeans hit the floor. Then yours. You tugged at each other’s underwear with a mix of eagerness and surprise, and when he finally kicked his off and you stood in front of him completely bare, his breath caught in his throat.

You were stunning. Not just beautiful—though, fuck, you were—but alive. Lit up from within. Chest rising fast, lips parted, looking at him like he was something you couldn’t wait to taste.

And god, he wanted to be tasted.

You lay back on the bed, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation, settling between your legs, both of you skin-to-skin for the first time. It was overwhelming. It was right.

Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, your mouth brushing along his jaw, and he felt everything. Every inch of contact. Every trembling breath.

And when he dipped his head to kiss your chest again, slower this time, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips lifted into his without thinking.

“I don’t have—” he began, breath hitching.

“In the drawer,” you whispered.

He reached blindly, found the condom, tore the wrapper with shaking fingers. You helped him roll it on, your touch so tender it nearly broke him.

He looked at you once more, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You good?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want this.”

Fuck. So did he. More than he could admit out loud.

The second he pushed into you, slow and deep, your mouth fell open with a gasp that echoed straight through his chest.

“Fuck—” he groaned, breath catching, head dropping against your neck. You were tight, so wet around him it was almost unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, like anchoring himself was the only way not to lose it too fast.

And you—you arched into him, legs curling higher around his waist, nails dragging down his back.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, voice already wrecked. “So fucking good.”

Joe swore under his breath. He could barely think. Could barely hold back. The heat between you was blinding, raw, something feral clawing at his insides.

He pulled back, thrust in again, and your body met his with such perfect rhythm that his control slipped a little—hips snapping harder, breath rough in your ear.

Your hands roamed down his back, fingers brushing the dip of his spine, then slipping between your bodies until they were there—on your clit, teasing yourself as he fucked into you.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you moaned, back arching, head thrown back. “Right there, just like that—”

Joe looked down at you, eyes dark and hungry, and the sight of your hand moving against yourself while he was buried deep inside you… it undid him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, replacing your fingers with his own. “Let me.”

You whimpered, hips jerking as he rubbed slow circles, watching you unravel for him. Your face. Your breath. The way you bit your lip to muffle the sounds that wanted to break free.

“Let them hear you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t hold it in. I want every fucking sound.”

You obeyed.

You moaned like the world was ending. Like no one had ever touched you right until now. His name on your tongue, over and over, like a spell that made you shake.

He was losing it.

You clenched around him, again and again, dragging him deeper, and he couldn’t stop the filth that poured out of him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So perfect. Taking me like you were made for it.”

You whimpered beneath him, hips rolling in rhythm with his, and then your hand was on him, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you like it was the only way to stay grounded.

You kissed him open-mouthed, messy, tongues sliding together, both of you panting, slick with sweat, chasing something neither of you could name.

When you broke away, your voice was hoarse, breathless.

“Harder, Joe. Please—fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He grabbed your thigh, lifted your leg higher over his hip and started thrusting harder, deeper, until the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

You cried out, high-pitched and desperate, and your walls tightened so suddenly around him he swore.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, and then you were falling apart, shaking, clenching around him so tight it pulled a raw, broken moan from his chest.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, and he felt it—watched it—his fingers still working your clit through it all, not letting up.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking perfect—” he stuttered, barely holding on. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

Your mouth brushed his ear, breath hot. “Come inside me, baby. Come for me.”

And that was it.

He came with a groan, hips stuttering, pulse racing, holding you so close he thought he might crush you. You took every second of it—his shaking, his panting, the broken way he whispered your name like it was salvation.

Then silence.

Then breath. Tangled limbs. Sweat. Skin against skin.

And the most beautiful fucking quiet.

He stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you trembling.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “Holy shit.”

He smiled, dizzy and wrecked. “Yeah. Holy fucking shit.”

Your breathing was still uneven when he collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. His skin was warm and damp, and yours probably wasn’t any better. But when his arm instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

There were no words. Just the soft rustle of sheets and your fingertips drawing lazy, invisible patterns over the curve of his bicep. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head—gentle, almost reverent—and you let out a quiet sigh, one of those that come not from tiredness, but from fullness. Overwhelmed in the best possible way.

And you stayed like that. Breathing together. Letting your bodies cool down but your connection settle in deeper. There was nothing awkward. No pressure. Just warmth. Familiarity. His thumb brushing your side. Your knee nudging his softly under the sheets.

You didn't mean to fall asleep. But you did.

And somehow, when your eyes blinked open hours later, he was still there.

The light was pale and golden, sneaking in through your curtains. Your bedroom looked dreamlike, still hazy with sleep and the remnants of the night before. You turned slightly and found him already looking at you, face resting on the pillow, eyes still heavy-lidded, hair a mess of curls flattened on one side.

And it didn’t feel weird. Not at all.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice still raw from sleep.

He smiled, lazy and crooked, and it made your stomach do something ridiculous.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice low and warm and sleepy. “You drool a little, you know.”

You gasped, pushing at his chest with the back of your hand, laughing despite yourself. “You liar.”

“Swear on my life.” He grinned. “Just a little. Cute though.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, but he only laughed, that soft, raspy morning laugh that already felt too intimate. Too familiar.

Like you’d heard it a hundred times before.

When you peeked out again, he was still watching you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something.

“I usually hate sleeping next to someone,” he murmured.

Your heart skipped.

“But with you…” He shrugged slightly. “Didn’t even notice. Slept like a baby.”

You smiled then—slow, genuine, a little unsure. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

He shifted closer, his forehead gently bumping yours, and you felt his hand stroke slowly up and down your arm. His thumb brushed over a spot on your shoulder, then traced lazy circles on your skin.

Neither of you said anything else. There was no need.

Eventually, you turned, slow and careful, until your back was pressed to his chest and his arm slipped around you without hesitation. His hand settled on your stomach, warm and still.

You let out a soft sigh and nestled into him, your legs tangling under the covers. For a moment, everything was quiet—breath and body, shared warmth, the steady thud of his heart against your spine. Then his fingers shifted, just slightly. Slid lower.

The first thing you felt was heat—his chest pressed against your back, the slow roll of his hips, still half-asleep but already there, already hard. Your breath caught as his hand skimmed your stomach, fingers brushing lower, exploring like he hadn’t had his fill last night. Like he’d only just begun.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, scratchy with sleep. “You’re already—”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting your hips back against him, shameless.

He groaned, the sound low and desperate, and you could feel it vibrate through your spine. His lips found the spot behind your ear, open-mouthed, warm, lazy like everything about that morning, but hungry in a way that made your pulse spike.

“You sure?” he murmured, fingers sliding between your thighs now, stroking through the wetness he found there, drawing a sound out of you that was all need.

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and he looked wrecked already—his curls a mess, his gaze still soft with sleep but blown wide with want.

“Yeah,” you breathed, not hesitating. “Just finish outside.”

He stilled for a moment. Just a beat. Long enough for the gravity of it to flicker in his eyes. But then you reached back, guided him to you, and that flicker turned to fire.

“Fuck—okay. Okay.”

The first push inside was slow, careful, but deep—achingly so. You both gasped, your body stretching to take him, his hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“Jesus… you feel amazing” he whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, forehead dropping to the pillow as he began to move, drawing back, then pressing in again with that maddening control. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

And he didn’t. He couldn’t have even if he tried.

It wasn’t frantic—this wasn’t a race. But it wasn’t slow either. It was deep. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. His hand slid under you, fingers finding your clit, stroking in tight circles as he thrust, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies met like it might disappear if he blinked.

“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So good like this. So—shit—warm. Wet. Fuck.”

Your mouth dropped open, hands gripping the sheets as the pressure built, deep and consuming. Every snap of his hips sent sparks up your spine, every stroke of his fingers wound you tighter.

“Joe—”

“Say it again.”

“Joe—oh my God—”

He bent over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, your ear.

“Feel how deep I am?” he murmured, cock pulsing inside you. “I can feel you gripping me, baby, fuck—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

You came with a strangled cry, your body locking around his, muscles fluttering, your whole self unraveling in waves. He thrust once, twice more, desperate now, but then pulled out with a groan—messy, hot, and helpless as he came on your lower back, one hand braced on the mattress, the other gripping your hip like it might keep him from flying apart.

His breath was ragged, your name half-formed on his tongue, and for a second, all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears and the high-pitched whine of satisfaction in your bones.

You lay there, both of you trembling, panting, your bodies still joined, sweat cooling between your skins.

There were no words. Just the beat of your hearts, too fast and completely in sync.

He kissed your shoulder, once, twice. You reached back to touch his thigh, his hip—anything to anchor him to you. To keep him right there.

And for a moment, neither of you moved. No guilt. No fear.

Just skin. Breath. Fire. Somehow, trust.

You lay there, breathing together, warm and safe beneath the quiet weight of morning. Your legs tangled again. His hand resting on your hip. His thumb started drawing circles along your arm as he could memorize you by touch.

And when you finally started drifting off again, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he pressed one last kiss to your temple.

Soft. Unthinking. Like second nature.

You smiled against his chest.

Neither of you meant to fall asleep again. But you did.

And somehow, that felt like the most intimate part of all.

The second time you woke up, it was to the scent of coffee and the quiet sound of someone humming off-key in your kitchen.

For a moment, you thought you’d dreamt the whole thing—until you stretched, and the ache between your thighs reminded you vividly that you hadn’t.

You reached for a hoodie, padded barefoot into the living room, and there he was—standing by the stove in nothing but his boxers and one of your oversized mugs in hand. His curls were still a mess. His back was turned, but when he heard your footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Morning, again,” he said, handing you the mug without missing a beat.

You took it, fingers brushing his for a second too long. “You made coffee?”

He shrugged, modest and smug all at once. “Well, I didn’t burn anything, so technically I made magic.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and sat on the edge of the couch as he poured his own cup.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of morning where you both felt like you’d skipped a few steps. Like you were already past the awkward stage. You talked about nothing in particular—your mutual distaste for early mornings, how Wes never mentioned either of you to the other (the bastard), the fact that you both hated people who didn’t rinse their dishes before putting them in the sink.

He made you laugh. A lot.

And at some point, still barefoot, hair wild and shirtless, he leaned against the counter and said, “Last night was… not what I expected.”

You looked up from your coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

“God, no,” he said immediately, then softened. “It was just—better. More. You know?”

You nodded. Because you did know.

There was something about it. About him. About this. And you could both feel it pulsing under the skin, but neither of you tried to name it.

Eventually, the time came. He went to grab his things—shoes, phone, jacket—and you trailed after him, not quite ready to say goodbye, but not wanting to be that person either.

He stood by the door, pulling his jacket on, one arm still half out of the sleeve, when he turned to you with a smirk.

“So… am I allowed to ask for your number, or is this one of those magical one-night-stand rules where I disappear like a gentleman and we pretend we don’t exist?”

You blinked, then laughed, genuinely caught off guard. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Flattering,” he replied. “But I’ll take it as a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone. “Give me yours. I’ll text you.”

He rattled off the digits, and you sent a simple “Hi” before he even finished spelling out his last name.

He looked at his screen, smiled, then looked back at you like he was about to say something else—but didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. Soft. Warm. Familiar, again. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“See you around,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence he left behind was anything but empty.

It was full.

Full of something unnamed but very, very real.

You never had the talk.

No labels, no declarations, no drawn-out conversations about what this was or where it was going. It just was.

He texted you that same afternoon. Something dumb and funny. A meme you still had saved in your camera roll. You answered. And he answered back. And suddenly, you were talking every day. Not constantly, but consistently. Steadily. Like the kind of tide that always comes back to shore.

The first time you met up again, it was spontaneous. He was nearby. You had an hour to kill. You grabbed coffee and sat in the park. He stole your cookie. You punched his arm. He kissed you mid-laughter, with your cup still in hand, and just like that—there it was again.

That thing.

And then came the nights. The way his hand would slide against the small of your back as you opened the door. The way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for days, even if it’d only been hours.

You’d fuck on the couch. In your kitchen. Sometimes barely making it to the bedroom.

It was intense. Messy. Addictive.

But never rushed.

He made you laugh mid-moan. You pulled his curls just to hear the sound he made when you did. He always made sure you came first—sometimes second—and then held you like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving. Sometimes he stayed. Sometimes you did.

You shared breakfast. Showers. Bad TV. Inside jokes. His hoodie. Your leftovers.

Somehow, he learned how you liked your tea. You learned what cologne he wore. He kept a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. You found one of your scrunchies on his nightstand once.

And none of it felt like a big deal.

It was just natural.

You’d text him something random at 1AM. He’d reply with a voice note that made you laugh out loud in bed. You'd call him when your day sucked. He'd show up at your door with snacks and that face that made everything easier.

You never talked about exclusivity. You never needed to.

Because even if no one had said it aloud, you both already knew.

It wasn’t casual. Not really.

And still, neither of you used the word "relationship."

But it didn’t matter.

Because every time he kissed your forehead before leaving, every time he whispered “sleep tight” like a secret, every time you caught him staring like he was still surprised you were real—something in your chest softened.

Something in you knew.

And maybe you weren’t officially together.

But your hearts hadn’t gotten the memo.

He didn’t really notice when it started to change. Maybe that was the point.

There was no sudden shift, no dramatic realisation. Just a quiet accumulation of small things that began to matter more than he expected.

Like the way his phone would light up and he already knew it was you. The way your name on the screen felt like a hit of dopamine—something in his chest unclenching without him even realizing it. The way the days stretched a little too long when he didn’t hear from you.

He started keeping snacks you liked in his apartment without thinking. He started recognizing your routines—how you stole his hoodie when it got cold, how you took your coffee with oat milk and exactly one sugar, how you always asked if he’d eaten after a long shoot. He noticed the way you hummed softly when brushing your hair, and how your laughter lingered in his apartment long after you'd gone.

He hadn’t planned to stop seeing other people. It just happened. Not out of obligation. Out of instinct.

You stopped replying to those flirty messages. He stopped swiping right out of boredom.

It wasn’t something you ever discussed. There was no awkward conversation, no labels. Just a quiet understanding—like turning down the volume on a song that didn’t hit the same anymore.

One night, Wes texted him asking if he was going out to their usual bar, and Joe found himself replying, “With her tonight.” He didn’t even think twice.

“You seeing her now?” Wes asked.

He stared at the screen for a while. Not officially. Not technically. But yeah. Yeah, he was.

And maybe the most surprising part was that none of it scared him. Not like it used to.

There was this night—you were curled up on his couch in his shirt, eating cereal at midnight, laughing at something stupid he’d said. And he watched you, spoon halfway to his mouth, thinking, Fuck. I really like her.

He didn’t say it. Of course not. But it was there. In the way he touched your back without thinking, or the way he waited for your laugh to fade before kissing you.

He got used to you without realizing.To the way your shoes sat by the door when you stayed over. To the way you wrapped yourself around him in your sleep, like his body was where yours belonged. To the way the silence between you didn’t press down—it settled around you both, warm and easy, like a shared blanket.

He hadn’t realised how much space you'd taken up in his life until he was scrolling through his photos one night and found more of you than anything else. Pictures you didn’t even know he’d taken—your head thrown back in laughter, curled up with a book, sleeping against his chest.

He remembered waking up before you one morning, the light slipping through the blinds, your arm thrown across his stomach, your hair a mess, your face half-buried in the pillow. He just laid there, watching. Not because he was having some big epiphany. Just because it felt nice.

Then came that Tuesday. You were in the bathroom, hair up in a messy knot, brushing your teeth with one hand and scrolling on your phone with the other, wrapped in his old t-shirt like it belonged more to you than him. Joe sat on the edge of the bed and watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a shit, this feels good kind of way. In a please don’t let this go anywhere kind of way.

You caught him staring—of course you did. You always did. Mouth full of toothpaste, you raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He just grinned. “Nothing.”

But he meant everything.

Because it wasn’t just the way you looked in the morning, or how you always denied stealing the blanket.It was the way you’d become his soft place to land. It was the cardigan draped over his chair. The mugs in the sink with your lipstick on the rim. The playlist on his Spotify titled hers.

The lines between you and him had blurred so gently, it didn’t even feel like change.

It just felt right.

And no, he hadn’t said it out loud yet. But when you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm pulled you closer like instinct, he didn’t need to.

You probably already knew.

He’d been pacing around the apartment for most of the afternoon, fingers stained with ink from scribbled notes, corners of scripts folded and dog-eared, empty mugs lining the coffee table like some modern art installation of a man losing his grip. The flat smelled faintly of coffee, highlighters, and the Thai food box he had grabbed in that small local in front of his gym and barely touched.

His phone buzzed earlier—your name lighting up the screen like a small calm in the storm.

“hey, out for a bit but I’ll swing by around eight?”

He’d smiled when he read it. A quiet kind of smile, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth even as his eyes were half-glued to a page of dialogue he couldn’t get right.

“Perfect. I’ll order pizza.”

And then he forgot about it. Not you, exactly. Just the time. The waiting. The worrying about whether you’d show or not. You’d said you’d come, and that was enough. You’d always done what you said so far. He trusted that. Trusted you. It was himself he didn’t quite trust lately.

The new script was a minefield. The director intimidating. The pressure building behind his temples like a storm he couldn’t quite outrun. Somewhere between scene fourteen and seventeen, he pulled his hair back into a tie and rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something half-human under his breath.

He hadn’t even realized the sun was already setting when Wes’s name lit up on his screen.

“you bailing on us tonight?”

He blinked, thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Had plans. Next time i swear”

A beat. Then another buzz. Wes had sent a photo.

Dim pub lighting. Clinking glasses. And you—laughing. Head tilted toward someone familiar. Keith. A friend of a friend. All easy charm and textbook good looks. The kind of guy who always had too much confidence and not enough shame. His arm wasn’t touching you, not exactly. But it was close.

“well… maybe you should reconsider”

And that—that—was when it hit.

A flash of something ugly and electric shot straight through his gut. Not quite anger. Not quite panic. Just that instinctive, animal sting of I don’t want anyone else that close to her.

He tossed the phone onto the couch, harder than necessary.

Fuck. He didn’t want to care. Hadn’t planned on caring. You weren’t his girlfriend. You hadn’t talked about exclusivity, or commitment, or any of that. You were just… seeing each other. Spending time together. Sleeping together.

But still.

He ran a hand over his mouth and stared at the photo again.

Just a few hours ago, he hadn’t had a single thought like this about you. You were the one thing not stressing him out.

Now, you were burning a hole in his brain.

He flipped his phone face down. Then face up. Then picked it up again. He’d stared at the photo so long it had burned itself into his vision. The way you were laughing, the exact curve of your shoulder leaning toward Keith. The lighting didn’t help. It could’ve been a casual moment, an ordinary conversation. But in his head, it had already become something else. A whole story.

Keith. That charming asshole with an ego bigger than his biceps. The kind of guy who calls waitresses “princess” and still manages to get dates. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not exactly. It was a sharp, nagging sting of insecurity. Of fear. Fear that you were out there realizing you could be with someone easier. Less complicated. Someone who didn’t have their brain split between you and a script that read like ancient code.

He stared at a fixed point on the floor, leaning back on the couch, arms crossed, legs tense. The script beside him felt more like a threat than an opportunity. The notes he’d taken—now scattered across the table—looked like pieces of a mind that didn’t know where to begin.

He went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, stared at himself in the mirror. Didn’t like what he saw. Came back to the living room. Sat down. Stood up. Turned on the TV. Turned it off. Checked the time: 8:04 p.m.

Not late. Not really. Four minutes was nothing. But to Joe, it felt like a century.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge without knowing what he was looking for, then closed it again. The pizza he’d ordered—maybe a little too early—was already getting cold. Like him. Like everything.

He forced himself to sit back on the couch. Put on an old record—one of those he used when he needed to focus. But the needle barely hit the first chords before he got up again, restless. He went to the window. Pulled back the curtain. You weren’t there. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it once more.

8:11.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He didn’t want to be that guy. The one spinning drama in his own head. The one building stories before the movie even started.

But there he was.

And the knot in his chest was pulling tighter by the minute.

Everything about the new film was overwhelming him. He wanted to scream at the ceiling. Throw the script against the wall. Nothing made sense. And the only thing that did—was you. It was you, goddammit. The one thing that didn’t need decoding. That felt simple, and somehow, impossibly huge at the same time.

That’s why it hurt. Because exactly for that reason, the idea of losing you—or worse, realizing you weren’t as in it as he was—felt unbearable.

And then, at 8:16, the doorbell rang.

His heart did this stupid little jump. He got up too fast. Felt that ridiculous urge to pull himself together, to act normal, to pretend he hadn’t been falling apart on the inside.

He wanted the sound of your arrival to reset everything.

But it wasn’t enough to quiet the noise. Not when the doubt was already echoing in his throat.

And when he opened the door… he didn’t know if he wanted to pull you into his arms or put you on the spot. If he wanted to kiss you or yell.

And that—exactly that—was what pissed him off the most.

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw his face.

It wasn't the kind of wrong you could smooth over with a kiss or a joke about the pizza going cold. It was the kind of wrong that sat heavy in the air, thick in your throat.

"Hey," you said, stepping inside. Smiling, out of instinct, even when your gut already knew better. "Sorry I’m late. I stopped by the pub for a bit, lost track—"

"Yeah," Joe said. Short. Sharp. Already turning away.

You shut the door behind you, heart picking up speed. The living room was a mess hunched over, papers scattered around him like a small, personal storm.

He laughed, low and humorless. "I didn’t know if you were still coming."

You blinked. "I told you I was."

"Right," he muttered. "But maybe you were grabbing pizza with Keith instead"

You stared at him. "What?"

He grabbed his phone from the couch, tossed it onto the table. The screen still lit up with the photo: you, standing close to Keith, laughing over something stupid, a drink in your hand. Frozen mid-smile.

"Are you checking up on me now?" you said, a little sharper than you meant.

"Wes sent it." He raked a hand through his hair. "He was concerned."

Your stomach twisted. "No. You were concerned."

He laughed, but it was hollow. Bitter. "Yeah, well maybe I was, especially when I saw you smiling at him like that."

You stared at him, anger flickering up, hot and defensive. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to throw that at me when we never—"

"I know!" he cut you off, standing up suddenly, voice breaking. "I know we never said anything, okay? I know we were both just... assuming things and pretending it was all casual and cool and whatever the fuck, but it's not. Not for me."

The words hung there, raw and electric.

You stepped back, heart hammering, because it was true for you too. You just hadn’t said it. Hadn't dared.

"I’m not seeing anyone else," you said, almost without thinking. "I haven’t even thought about it since you."

He stared at you like you’d just said something unbelievable. Like maybe he didn’t deserve to hear it.

You swallowed hard. "And yeah, I was talking to Keith. Didn’t realize that’d be a fucking crime”.

Joe closed his eyes for a second, like the weight of it physically hit him. When he opened them, he looked wrecked. And beautiful.

"I’m sorry," he said, hoarse. "I’m fucking scared, alright? I’ve got this project that’s swallowing me whole and half the time I think I’m gonna fail, and you’re the only thing that makes me feel like maybe I won't. Like maybe I’m not a complete fuck-up."

You felt your chest tighten, emotions crashing all over you.

"Then don't push me away," you said, stepping closer. "Don’t look for reasons to doubt this when I’m standing right in front of you."

He shook his head, almost helpless. "I don't want anyone else," he said, voice rough. "I don't even see anyone else anymore. It's just you."

You could feel your throat tightening, that sting behind your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay steady.

"It's you for me too," you whispered.

The silence felt thick and heavy and full of everything you hadn't said before tonight.

Then Joe moved — fast, almost clumsy — closing the space between you, pulling you into him like he couldn't bear the distance for a second longer. His mouth found yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft or careful — it was desperate, claiming, full of everything that had been burning between you for weeks.

And you let him. You let yourself fall into it, finally, completely. Because you knew. He knew. It was real.

You didn’t make it to the bedroom. You barely made it past the couch.

Joe kissed you like he meant it now. Like every inch of his mouth on yours came with a promise. No more holding back, no more ifs. Just you and him, here and now, and whatever the hell this was that had already swallowed you whole.

He pressed you against the wall, hands threading into your hair, breath hot and ragged against your cheek. "Fuck, I missed you," he groaned, like the hours apart had been unbearable.

"You had me yesterday," you gasped, tugging at the hem of his shirt, needing him bare, needing him now.

"Not like this." He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor, eyes hungry and tender all at once. "Not after hearing you say it."

You stilled for a second, chest rising too fast. "Say what?"

He leaned in, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your ear. "That you wanted me. That you weren’t going anywhere."

You cupped his face in your hands, staring into those stupidly beautiful, frantic eyes. “I didn’t say it tonight, Joe.”

He blinked.

“I’ve been saying it every time I’ve come back.”

And then he lost it.

He picked you up, hands under your thighs, your legs wrapped tight around him, and carried you blindly through the apartment until you crashed into the edge of the bed. He didn’t even bother pulling the covers down.

Clothes disappeared like they were on fire.

His mouth was on your neck, then your chest, then lower—devouring, tasting, worshipping. You were already shaking by the time he slid inside you, both of you gasping like it hurt, like it healed.

“Jesus—fuck—you feel like home,” he choked out, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting deep, slow, relentless.

You grabbed at his back, his hair, anything to ground yourself. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop.”

He didn’t.

He moved like you were the only thing keeping him together. Like if he stopped touching you, he’d fall apart entirely. The rhythm grew rougher, faster, but still so full. Not desperate. Claiming.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You gasped, eyes wide and wild. “I’m yours, Joe—fuck—I’ve been yours.”

He groaned into your mouth and slammed into you harder, and it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was real. It was raw and feral and exactly what both of you needed.

Your orgasm hit like a wave you didn’t see coming—hot and electric and blinding. And he followed almost instantly, moaning your name like it was a sacred word, collapsing on top of you, chest heaving, heart pounding against yours.

Silence.

Just the sound of breath and skin and the world finally slowing down.

You felt him shift, just enough to look at you. His eyes—open, vulnerable, like he’d just been cracked wide.

And then, softly, so softly—

“I love you.”

You blinked, breath still uneven.

And smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I love you too.”

And just like that, there were no more questions.

Only answers written on skin, on sighs, on mouths still swollen from too much kissing.

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electrosuite · 5 months ago

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okay. al. i need something put into words. idk if you've seen it but in "we live in time" andrew and florence didn't hear cut when filming a sex scene. so i was wondering. could you do something where eddie has taken up acting. it's an experimental movie, so y'all are actually fucking. it's unsimulated sex. y'all don't hear cut, but you're so into it that neither of you stop. you don't notice until he cums, then you both remember the cameras.

warnings: swearing, fingering oral sex, descriptive sex, sex on camera

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i saw we live in time opening week and absolutely loved it. put andrew garfield's bare ass in more movies!!!

masterlist

One of the best decisions you'd made was moving to Hollywood to pursue acting. You loved it, and you were a natural. You could make yourself cry on command, you often lost yourself in scenes, and you weren't afraid to get nude on camera. That was something that was pretty common for the 80s, specifically female nudity.

You'd filmed many sex scenes in your career, but they were all simulated. Prosthetics, body doubles, cushions between bodies. But when you were approached to do an experimental film, one with completely unsimulated sex, your curiosity was piqued.

You were told you wouldn't meet the other actor until the day of, which turned out to be the first day on set. You were told that some studios, this one included, preferred to get sex scenes out of the way first and film the rest after. Your first impression of this guy would be when you had sex with him.

So when you were sitting on set in your tight black dress — which would be removed in the scene — and he walked in, your eyes widened. He was very handsome, just your type. He had long curly black hair, he was covered in tattoos, and immediately started joking around with the crew. He was wearing a suit, one which fit his body nicely.

When he spotted you, he walked right over and sat next to you.

"You my co-star?" he asked in a hopeful tone.

"That would be me."

"Eddie." He stuck his hand out and you shook it.

"Y/N."

"You look familiar. I feel like I've seen you in something else before."

"Maybe. Sorry, but I don't recognize you."

"I haven't been in anything big, just a couple of low-budget movies." He noticed your nervous energy. "You okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Sorry, just... I've never done anything... real. It's always been fake sex."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Well, it's a first for both of us, then. It's a first-first for me, I've never done anything like this."

"Really?"

"Yep. Never even taken my shirt off on camera."

"And you're just jumping right in, huh?"

"Why not? If I'm gonna do it, I might as well go all in."

"Well, are you at least experienced?" you joked.

"Oh, I'm experienced. Yeah." You chuckled. "Also, I was told to tell you that they had me go ahead and put a condom on so it wouldn't disrupt the flow or anything. They said you were pretty adamant about it."

"Thank god. I really don't want to leave here today pregnant."

This made both of you laugh, but it was true. That was the most important thing to you when agreeing to do this movie.

"Alright, actors in positions," announced the director, who settled into his chair next to the camera.

Before you could get up, Eddie looked back at you. "Hey, I know we'll be recording, but don't let that stop you from telling me if I'm crossing any boundaries, alright?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Thank you."

"Of course."

The scene immediately started with the two of you standing at the edge of a bed, inches away from each other. So that's where you went, your calves touching the mattress.

You'd read over the script for this scene numerous times. There was a camera a few feet from the bed, and one strapped onto the ceiling above where you would be laying. Neither of you would speak, just moan.

You were getting more nervous by the second, the lack of space between you two making your heart pound.

"Hey," he whispered, making eye contact with you. "You still good?"

You nodded. "Yeah. I'm good." You got yourself into the acting mindset as they finalized the cameras. "Ready."

"Quiet on set," yelled the director. Everyone hushed, the silence making you realize how many eyes were on you. "Action!"

You reached up and slowly undid Eddie's tie, his eyes never leaving your face. Once it was on the floor, he pulled you in for a kiss. It was gentle yet deep, both of you taking in a deep breath. His hands gripped your sides, your palms flat against his chest.

He reached around you and unzipped your dress, letting it fall to the floor. He then effortlessly unhooked your bra and you pulled it off of yourself. So far this was exactly like some of the other scenes you'd filmed. It was always a little bit nerve-wracking to expose yourself on camera — how could it not be?

He pushed you down onto the bed, his knees on the edge between yours.

He wasn't supposed to kiss you as long as he did. It was only supposed to be a couple before he moved on, but he was going off script a bit. His hand cupped the breast visible to the camera, which was now a bit closer.

He began kissing down to your neck a bit, then trailing along your body. He wrapped his lips around your nipple, his tongue circling it. You couldn't help but tangle your fingers in his hair, knowing it would help the scene.

As he kissed down your body, he maintained eye contact with you, watching to make sure you were still comfortable with this. Once he was to your thighs, he knelt down next to the bed and pulled you by the legs closer to him.

He slowly pulled your underwear off, dropping them on top of your dress. He continued to leave kisses on your thighs, making a genuine and impatient whine escape your mouth.

The feeling of his tongue on your clit made you gasp, your hands immediately finding their way back to his hair. This was weird with cameras, and at first it made it hard for you to really get in the mood.

But he was good with his tongue. You were so used to fake moaning that the real ones that came out of you felt foreign. His hands on your thighs, keeping them spread, were also keeping your hips still.

Usually when you filmed cunnilingus scenes, they kept their mouth closed and just positioned their face between your legs. So it was a foreign feeling to actually be eaten out on camera.

He couldn't stop staring at you, you looked so beautiful. Your head thrown back, back arched, tits out and nipples hard, fingers pulling his hair.

He wasn't supposed to make you cum, the script didn't call for it. He was supposed to do this for about thirty seconds and move on to the actual sex. But he was told that if the scene lasted too long, they could just edit it down. So he decided before even meeting you that he would make sure you had at least one orgasm today.

And it didn't take you long to get there. The camera had moved now so that it was behind him and to the side, getting a shot of his back and your face simultaneously.

"Fuck," you whispered to yourself as you felt your orgasm approaching, and fast. You were worried about how you would look, actually cumming and being recorded. You were trying to remain as calm as you possibly could, but you'd never been eaten out like this.

You were much louder than you anticipated when you finally came, and Eddie had to hold you down to keep you in the shot. When he finally stopped, he was immediately back to kissing you. He was still fully clothed, so you pushed his jacket off of his shoulders.

Instead of unbuttoning his shirt, he just pulled it over his head. He had a beautiful body, and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. You reached down and helped remove his belt, but he took over a moment later.

Within a minute, he was completely nude, and you got a good view of what he was packing. You were told before the shoot that you'd be having unprotected sex, and as you were already on birth control, it wasn't that big of a deal to you. Or at least, it wasn't until you were finally here. Now it was sinking in that you were about to be creampied by a guy you just met less than five minutes ago.

He was already rock hard, the sounds that escaped your mouth having gotten him bricked up immediately. He loved giving oral. It was one of his favorite things in the world. If it was up to him, he would've kept going, gotten you completely out of your mind before fucking your brains out.

He positioned himself back at eye level with you, reaching down and lining himself up with your entrance.

"That okay?" he whispered into your neck as he pressed kisses to your skin. He wasn't supposed to say that, the script calling for no dialogue aside from the natural swears that would occur. But he'd already gone against it, and asking for consent was something he insisted on.

"Mm," you moaned simply, nodding as minimally as possible.

With zero hesitation, he pushed into you, and the gasp that filled the room was almost comical. It was such a perfect porno moan that you couldn't believe it was genuine, even though it came from you.

He stretched you out so much, so perfectly, you weren't sure you could handle much of this. It was almost too much, too good.

He engulfed your mouth into his, kissing you deeply as he immediately picked up his pace. The bed was already squeaking, and your chest was already red.

The camera was above your head now, recording from an angle that showed the top of your thighs and your head thrown back as Eddie began sucking hickeys onto the skin of your neck.

That was when the scene was supposed to end. It was the shortest one in the script, which was another reason they wanted to get it over with first. But when the director shouted "Cut!", neither of you could hear him over the animalistic moans you both were letting out.

In fact, he called it about three times. But you two were so immersed, and your moans were so loud in each other's ears that it was useless. After a moment and after all the equipment was put down, the entire crew left the room and just allowed you to finish.

Out of all the times you'd had sex before, you didn't expect the best to be a completely scripted one. Eddie wasn't lying when he said he was experienced, he knew how to hit every nook in cranny in you like it was the millionth time.

When he felt himself getting close, he reached down and began circling your clit with his thumb. In the movies he'd seen, they always came at the same time. That didn't happen much in real life, but he wanted to make it look cinematic because, to his knowledge, they were still filming.

You gasped at the sudden contact, not expecting it. Thirty seconds later, you were cumming in sync, moaning into each other's mouths. He kept it going as long as he could but eventually he had to stop. Both his and your legs were trembling, sweat beading on your upper lip.

He kissed you for a moment, thinking in his head how great that would look on camera.

But when you both looked over at where the crew was, they were gone. You were confused, wondering why they didn't film as much as possible.

"Oh my god," you said, looking back up at Eddie. "Did they yell cut?"

His eyes widened. "Did they?"

"Did you hear them at all?"

"No, I didn't. Did you?"

"No."

You couldn't help but giggle at the situation. "Holy fucking shit."

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck."

"That's kind of hilarious."

He pulled out of you, pulling the condom off before grabbing one of the robes from the crates behind the camera, tossing another one to you. He opened the door to the rest of the set and the crew's heads shot up to look at him.

"Did... you yell cut?" he asked the director.

"Yep. Three times. You guys were so into it we figured we'd just let you finish."

That was when you laughed even harder, your head fuzzy and body tired.

After everything was cleaned up and you were heading back to your trailers, you caught up with Eddie outside his.

"Sorry we didn't hear cut earlier," you apologized.

"I'm not." He smirked slyly, and you felt butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"Do you think you'd do something like this again? Real sex on a set?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. With the right person."

"Well, if I get another opportunity like this, you're the first person I'm recommending."

"God, please do." His voice was raspy now, seductive, sultry. Normally you didn't pay any mind to men who flirted with you. But something about actually fucking Eddie seemed to form some kind of bond, maybe just in your head.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a napkin, which had your phone number written on it. You leaned in close, wanting this to stay between the two of you.

"Well, if you ever want to do something without cameras, call me." You turned around to walk to your trailer, his eyes glued to your ass the whole time.

He swore he could get rock hard again right now if he wanted to. Something was different about you. You were one of the best fucks he'd ever had, and he intended on using that phone number sometime soon.

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ssweetleaf · 11 months ago

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quiet.

eric (a quiet place) x fem!reader

summary: trying to keep quiet while eric fucks you.

includes: SMUT 18+, unprotected p in v

divider credit goes to @cafekitsune <3

A strong hand was clamped tightly over your mouth, fingertips pressing almost uncomfortably into the fat of your cheek whilst your chest heaved— the palm in question belonging to Eric, stern to keep you quiet, however the erratic rutting of his hips never faltered.

His pupils were blown out, his doe eyes seemingly black, nostrils flaring and teeth clenched to keep his own noises at bay— lashes occasionally fluttering to his cheeks when he squeezed his eyes shut.

You just felt too good. He wanted to scream, to groan into the stuffy, silent air and revel in your perfect cunt and how tightly it squeezed around him, milking him with your arousal, a thick ring of cream wrapped around the base of his cock, a clear indication of how good he fucked you.

Eric’s brows drew tightly together, furrowing at the constant clenching of your gummy walls, thanking Christ for the blanket he’d found to drape over the two of you, aiding in muffling the wet ‘schlicking’ of his cock with every inward thrust, and the sharp slapping of his balls against your ass.

“So good,” he mouthed, no hint of his voice in the air, keeping his promise of being quiet, just the subtle movement of his lips, teeth biting into the pudge of his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood to the surface.

He squeezed at your cheeks momentarily, urging you to look at him, to watch his mouth, his lips, with his faux speech.

“Such a good girl.”

#joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #eric x reader #eric smut #joseph quinn fanfic

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keeryhours · 4 days ago

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coming home to you - sam (warfare)

Sam (Warfare) x female! wife! reader

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Summary:

Sam is heartbroken to leave his pregnant wife home when he’s deployed - but he doesn’t expect things to go quite so wrong.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m receiving), movie spoilers, pregnancy, war, gore!, death, serious injuries

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N:

I’m really excited to write my first Sam fic! I hope you guys like it. If details are wrong, I’m so sorry, I know nothing about the navy but I did rewatch the movie and research as best as I could. His last name is O’Brien in this. Endless thanks to @glassbxttless and @peachyproserpina for answering a million questions, reading over this, and hyping me up, and @getaapologist for feeding us with screenshots!! Also ignore that I hit the image limit so the dividers stop :))

The night before Sam shipped out, he spent it in bed with you, holding you close. You couldn’t let go of him, scared it would be the last time you ever held him. He held you just as tightly, his hand stroking through your hair, rubbing your back, breathing in the smell of your soap and shampoo and committing it to memory.

As you drifted off to sleep, head rested on Sam’s shirtless chest, he lay awake. Thinking. He wanted to savor every moment he had with you, even if it meant he slept the whole flight tomorrow. His hand drifted down to press against your stomach, still as it always was. You were days from the positive pregnancy test, barely 6 weeks. Still so new, still made Sam’s heart beat wildly in his chest when he thought too hard about it. Especially when he thought about how he wouldn’t be there for the birth, or even the beginning of their life.

He knew that, god willing, he’d be coming home to a son or daughter, already a year old. A child who would be too young to understand, who he would be a stranger to. That scared the shit out of him, even more than going overseas. He didn’t know the first thing about being a father. His own father was fine, a little strict, but being a father himself was something else entirely. There was no preparing for it, and he would be thrown right into it when he returned.

You still hadn’t told anyone yet. When you came running to Sam, tears in your eyes and a positive pregnancy test in your hand, Tommy and Erik had been the first people Sam wanted to call. He was ecstatic, although terrified, and wanted to share the news with his brothers right away. But you stopped him, a huge smile on your face and your hand on his chest.

“Not yet,” you’d said, feeling his heartbeat thudding beneath your palm. “Let’s keep this our little secret just a little bit longer.”

It had been hard for Sam to keep his mouth shut, but he enjoyed having that private thing to share between you. When you were around the guys, he felt so giddy, like it could spill out at any moment. When you’d decline a beer, you’d meet eyes for only a moment, a huge smile on Sam’s face.

But now it was time to leave, and the reality was setting in. His stomach was in knots. He’d never been so nervous to ship off, not even his first time. He didn’t want to miss any of this. He wanted to see your belly grow, to go to doctors appointments, to hold your hand when your baby was born. He wouldn’t get any of that. He had always been sad to leave you for tours, but this was worse. Now he was leaving two people he loved more than anything.

He couldn’t remember when he finally fell asleep. But the next thing he knew, his alarm was going off, and he startled awake. The sun had barely risen, the sky barely turning blue through the bedroom window. You were still tangled up around him, sleeping soundly. He carefully, reluctantly, untangled your limbs from around his own and lifted himself from the bed, the springs creaking slightly. He turned back in time to see you snuggling into his pillow, holding it much like you’d held him.

He dressed in his uniform, grabbing his bag that had already been packed. He slung the heavy pack over his shoulders, looking back at you sleeping peacefully in your shared bed. He walked over, smoothing his hand over your hair. You stirred slightly but remained asleep. He bent down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered open, barely awake. “Leaving?” you asked, your voice still weak with sleep.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, baby. I’ve gotta go.”

You frowned, sitting up in the bed and wiping at your eyes. “Okay,” you croaked. You placed your hands on either side of his face, pulling him in for a long, passionate kiss. He returned it, the kiss stirring something in his chest that he had to push away for now. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said. “So much.” He rubbed a hand over your abdomen. “Both of you. Take care of yourselves. I’ll write you every week.”

“I know you will.” You kissed him again, shorter this time. “Bye, Sammy.”

He grinned at the nickname. “Bye, sweetheart.”

You laid back down, falling back into your slumber quickly. Sam stood, walking towards the bedroom door. He stopped by the dresser. He looked down at his hands, smoothing his thumb over his gold wedding band. Then he reluctantly slipped it off his finger, laying it gently on the table next to your jewelry. He knew it would be waiting right there for him when he got back.

He took one last look at you, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed and kiss you breathless. But instead he opened the door, heading out into the rest of the house before slipping out the front door and locking it behind him, leaving you alone.

You wrote to Sam every week. Every letter included a whole breakdown from your pregnancy books, the fruit size comparison and a breakdown of how you’d been feeling, what the doctor had said, ultrasound photos and bump pictures you took in the mirror. Sometimes a private photo just for Sam’s eyes, ones he’d hide in his belongings and pull out only when he was alone. It was what kept him going.

Waiting to go home to you felt like a lifetime, although he kept busy with OP1. He felt a lump in his throat every time he pulled out a photo to see you having grown bigger. He felt like he was missing the most important event of his life.

He was sitting in the barracks, laughing with Erik, Tommy, and Elliott, when the mail was brought in for the week. He sat up straighter, eyeing the bag of mail as it was distributed, impatiently waiting his turn.

“Excited to hear from your girl, O’Brien?” Elliott teased, sly grin on his face. “Let me know if she sent any good photos this time.”

Sam shoved his friend hard in the shoulder, but they both laughed. He knew those photos were for his eyes only, anyway, although the guys liked to tease him about his hot wife back home. He knew his wife was hot, but still.

When Sam was handed his mail, he found the one with your name on it and immediately tore into it. He pulled out the letter and watched as a couple photos fell out, landing facedown on the table. He would look at those after.

He immediately began reading the letter, his heart thudding faster when he saw the “20 weeks” scribbled at the top in your handwriting. He knew what that meant. You had been talking about how excited you were for this appointment in your letters for weeks. This was it.

He read your letter, talking about how things had been on the base with the other wives, how you’d been feeling, what you’d been up to. Baby the size of a mango. How your mom had come for a visit and drove you crazy for a week. He loved hearing all the mundane things happening back home, but his heart was thudding in anticipation for the news he was waiting for.

The letter ended with your usual - Hope you enjoy the pictures! All my love. - and your name signed in swirling script. His gaze dropped down to the photos. One was very clearly an ultrasound photo - he was familiar with them by now. He reached for the other first.

One of you in the mirror like you sent every week. You had really popped, he thought as his eyes widened. Your belly was perfectly rounded, your hand resting at the bottom as you posed for the photo in the mirror that hung on the back of your closet door. You had a bright smile on your face. You looked beautiful.

His eyes dropped down to the upside down ultrasound photo. He reached for it slowly, as if he were scared. He lifted it with a shaking hand, then finally, finally turned it over.

He had yet to see an ultrasound where the baby looked so much like a baby. It nearly took his breath away - and that was before he noticed the writing typed onto the photo.

It’s a girl!

“Holy fuck,” Sam muttered, in total disbelief. “Holy shit!”

“What?” Erik asked, looking over at Sam’s shocked yet elated expression.

Sam looked up, seeing the whole room of his brothers looking at him. “It’s a girl,” he said. “It’s a girl!”

The whole room erupted into cheers, patting him on the back and congratulating him, pushing him around playfully and making comments about how he’d have his work cut out for him as he smiled bigger than he had since he’d left home. He couldn’t believe it. He was having a daughter.

As your pregnancy progressed towards the end, Sam grew weary. He missed you. Seeing the photos you sent made him long for you like he never had before. He wanted to take care of you - something about seeing you pregnant made him extra protective, and here he was, overseas and only able to communicate with you through letters. He longed to feel the baby kick, to help you set up the nursery, to tell you to go sit down and rest while he took care of things.

As you reached the last couple weeks, his anxiety was at an all time high. He was on a mission from weeks 35-38, and every day he worried the baby would come and he wouldn’t know. So when they returned to the base and he caught up on your letters, seeing the babe was still safely growing, he felt immense relief.

It was a week after they had returned when he got a letter that was thicker than usual. His chest tightened - he knew before he even opened it. He stared at the unopened letter, frozen and face pale.

“What’s wrong, man?” Erik had asked, but then he looked at the letter the other man’s eyes were locked onto. His eyebrows raised. “Is that-?”

“I think so,” Sam muttered.

“Well, open it!” Elliott said, the guys all crowding around, waiting to see.

With the courage of his brothers surrounding him, he ripped open the letter. He pulled out the letter itself and a large stack of photos - the one on top featuring the most beautiful baby he had ever seen.

A birth announcement. A newborn baby girl laid wrapped in a blanket, her eyes closed, a head full of brown hair. She had your nose and lips, Sam’s hair and eye shape. He swore his heart stopped beating. At the bottom - Olivia Claire O’Brien. The name you had decided on after a long back and forth in letters, the name that somehow fit her so well.

Sam stared at the photo in shock, barely able to hear the cheers and commotion around him. He couldn’t believe it. He had a daughter waiting for him back home now - a real, living, breathing daughter. His daughter.

“She’s beautiful, man,” Tommy said, flashing a genuine smile as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. Sam somehow pulled himself together, muttering a bashful thank you to his brothers.

“Congrats dude,” Elliott contributed, rubbing the top of Sam’s bald head.

“You’re gonna be a great dad,” Erik said, and that made him feel better than anything he’d ever heard. Now, he just had to get through the rest of this tour so he could get home to his girls.

It was supposed to be a standard surveillance mission.

Things had never gone so horribly wrong.

Elliott had gotten hit by shrapnel from a grenade, and he needed a CASEVAC. They were supposed to just escort him out to the tank then get back into the house - but an IED had gone off.

Sam had woken up disoriented, his head pounding, ears ringing. He didn’t know what the fuck had happened. Then, the pain crept in. He looked down and saw his right leg twisted the wrong direction, small fires burning his pants and skin.

“Oh my god,” he said, his voice trembling. “Oh my god, fuck! Fuck! Oh my god!”

He didn’t know what the fuck had happened but the next thing he knew Erik was stumbling over, patting his leg to put out the flames. “Ow, ow, ow,” he said, still coming back to himself, nausea and fear roiling in his stomach.

He looked over to his left, seeing a body completely blown in half. Panic rose in his chest, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

Erik began dragging Sam back into the house - and that’s when the pain became the worst thing he could possibly imagine. He screamed, a loud, guttural scream of terror and pain and pure misery. He felt like his leg was still on fire, like it was going to rip right off.

Erik pulled him into the house, laying him on the ground. Sam was relieved to not be moving anymore, but once the pain had kicked in, it didn’t stop. He groaned loudly, moaning in pain, desperate for some kind of relief. He barely noticed Ray and Tommy pulling an unconscious Elliott into the house behind him.

“Two rooms deep!” somebody yelled, and then he was being dragged again, screaming. When he stopped moving he unbuckled his helmet and pulled it off, tossing it to the side. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Ray began checking him over. They rolled Sam onto his side as he gritted his teeth, still moaning in pain. It felt better being back on his back, but not by much. Ray grabbed a pack of gauze and stuffed it into the wound in Sam’s leg, and again - he screamed. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life. He thought he was going to be sick.

Sam heard Ray speaking into the radio. “We have two severely wounded. We need another CASEVAC as soon as possible. Be advised an IED caused the injuries, over.”

Even more panic rose in Sam’s body. He wasn’t sure he heard Ray right, until he related it into the radio again “We have two severely wounded. We need another CASEVAC.”

“Who’s the severely wounded?” Sam asked, grabbing onto Ray’s arm. “Is it me?”

“No, it’s not you,” Ray lied, trying to calm his friend. “It’s not you.”

“Then who is it??” Sam asked, getting more worked up by the minute. “Who is it?? Who the fuck is it? Who is it?”

“You’re okay, calm down,” Ray said. “You just think about that beautiful baby girl, okay? And that hot wife of yours, remember? They’re waiting for you. They need you, okay? You’re gonna get home to them, okay?”

Sam took in his words, his mind flipping through images of you, of his daughter. “Okay,” he said, calming the slightest bit. “O-okay.”

Ray reached into the front pocket of Sam’s uniform. His brothers knew what he kept there. He pulled out the photo of you holding Olivia, and pressed it into Sam’s shaking, bloody hand. “You’re going to see them soon, okay? You focus on them. That’s what fucking matters.”

Sam nodded, taking the photo and holding it where he could see it. He had smeared blood onto it, dust now coated it and made it slightly harder to see, but it was you. It was you and it was Livvy and that’s what he focused on, trying to push the pain out of his mind with thoughts of coming home to you both.

You sat in Sam’s recliner in the living room, rocking a sleeping Olivia in your arms. She was 6 weeks old now and had been fussier than usual. It was hard to take care of her without any help, but you loved it. You loved her. And you knew Sam would, too. Hell, he hadn’t even met her yet and he was already obsessed with her.

You rocked gently as you watched TV with the volume on low. You were barely paying any attention, your eyes heavy. You’d been running on little sleep. Erik’s wife and your best friend, Viv, had been by nearly every day to help. She loved the baby time and you loved the cherished rest it afforded you.

The large framed wedding photo on the wall caught your eye. It had been the happiest day of your life - tied with the day Livvy had been born. Sam wore his dress uniform, looking handsome as ever. You wore a gorgeous white dress with long lace sleeves. In the photo you clutched onto his arm, a smile taking over your entire face. Sam looked equally elated. Surrounding the large portrait were smaller photos, the both of you with your families and your wedding party.

The sound of the phone ringing brought you out of your reminiscing. You grabbed it quickly, hitting the answer button before it had time to wake Olivia. She stirred, but remained asleep.

“Hello?” you answered, keeping your voice quiet.

“Mrs. O’Brien?”

You froze. Panic crept beneath your skin. “Yes?”

The man over the line introduced himself. “I’m a Casualty Assistance Calls Officer.”

Your blood ran cold. Casualty? Oh god. Oh god. You felt as if you might be sick. You tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder and stood, walking to the other side of the room and laying Olivia in a bassinet. “Is- is Sam-“

“Petty Officer O’Brien was injured in combat,” the man said. That’s when your knees gave out, your body dropping back down into the chair. “He was involved in an IED explosion. He sustained serious injuries to both legs. He’s currently receiving treatment on base, but will be shipping home in the next few weeks.”

Sam was hurt. But he was alive, you thought as relief rushed through you. He was alive and he was coming home. But how would this change his life?

The officer gave you little more information, but promised to be in touch with updates regularly. You asked if you could speak with him, but were told he was heavily medicated for the time being. When you hung up the phone, you felt as if your entire world had been tipped on its axis. Everything felt shifted, like nothing would be the same.

You wanted nothing more than to run to him, to be by his side. But you were helpless to do anything but sit and wait.

Sam was out of it for a while. He had life saving surgeries overseas before he was finally sent back home to continue care and rest in his own bed, his own house, with his family.

His family.

All he could think about on the flight home was seeing you again, and meeting Livvy. If he was honest with himself, he was terrified. Being a dad was a new kind of challenge, one he didn’t know if he was prepared for. What if he fucked it up? What if he couldn’t be a good dad because of his injuries? What if he couldn’t run and play with his daughter?

His legs ached as he sat through the hours long flight. He took some of his pain medication, which helped a bit and allowed him to get a little sleep. He rested his head against the window, watching the clouds pass by until the pain waned and he drifted off.

The plane touching down woke him from his slumber, jolting him awake. He looked around, recognizing the base. He was back home in Coronado. He felt a weight off his chest.

That anxiety came back when he was helped off the plane and into his wheelchair. He hated it. He always hated feeling weak, and now he physically was. He knew it wasn’t his fault, and the doctors promised he would regain the ability to walk eventually. It was just going to be a long journey.

He was pushed away from the plane and through the base, his stomach churning. This was it. He fidgeted with the material of his pants as he looked everywhere for you.

Then - there you were.

You spotted each other at the same time. Erik’s wife, Viv, stood next to you, and in your arms was the most beautiful little girl he’d ever seen. You held her at your side, your hand against her back for support. You handed her to Viv and then you were running.

As you got closer, Sam could see the massive smile on your face, the tears brimming in your eyes. He reached out for you, a matching smile on his own lips. You pulled him into an embrace as you reached him and he held you back just as tightly, laughing in relief that he was home, he was here, he was holding you.

You pulled back slightly before pressing your lips to his. God, it had been over a year since he’d kissed anyone, over a year since he’d even seen a pretty girl in person. He wanted so badly to pull you onto his lap and kiss you deeper.

You pulled back and held your hands on either side of his face, as if you weren’t convinced he was real. He felt the same way about you, his hands gripping onto your waist. You looked even more beautiful than when he’d left, if that was possible. There was a kind of motherly glow about you that made his heart beat wildly.

“You’re here,” you said, still smiling as a few tears escaped, and he laughed.

“I’m here, baby,” he said. He pulled you down for another quick kiss, and then his eyes were drawn behind you.

You turned to see Viv holding a fussing Olivia, then faced Sam again. “Want to meet your daughter?”

His mouth went dry - but yes, he wanted that more than anything. You stepped behind his wheelchair and pushed him over. As he got closer, he could see the little girl better. She looked like the perfect mix between the two of you. She was perfect.

“Hey, Sammy,” Viv greeted with a smile as you stopped his chair. Sam greeted her back, but he was barely paying attention. You were taking Livvy from her arms, and then you were gently setting the baby in Sam’s arms.

“Livvy,” you cooed to the baby. “This is your daddy.”

Olivia looked at him curiously. Seeing her so close, being able to hold her and touch her, took Sam’s breath away. “Hi, baby girl,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her chubby cheek, then pulled her close and placed a kiss to the top of her head.

Livvy smiled at him, reaching for his nose. Sam laughed, pure joy coursing through his veins. He pulled her in for a hug, and she laid her head on his shoulder. He rubbed her back as she was content to just be held by her dad. Viv snapped pictures in the background, but he hardly noticed.

He had his family back.

—

Sam spent the day playing with Livvy as well as he could. She adored him already, clinging to him and laughing so hard every time he’d make a funny face or play peekaboo. Sam was overjoyed. He had never felt so content.

That night, you rocked Livvy to sleep in the recliner while Sam watched, a warm smile on his face. When she was out, you carried her gently to the nursery and laid her down. She didn’t wake, just rolled onto her side and settled.

You walked out into the living room. Sam sat on the couch, his wheelchair against the wall. The TV played some cable movie with the volume on low, but he wasn’t paying much attention.

He was watching you. You walked over with a playful smile, your little sleep shorts hanging low on your hips. Sam licked his lips - god, it had been so long since he’d seen you in person, so long since he’d been able to touch your body. He reached for you and you went to him.

His hands found purchase on your hips, thumbs rubbing the exposed skin between your shorts and shirt. His breath caught in his throat. All the blood in his body rushed down south, like he was a teenager and this was his first time touching a girl.

“Want you so bad,” he mumbled. He pulled you closer, and you leaned down and kissed him.

“I wanna take care of you,” you whispered. “Can I?”

Could you? Hell fucking yes.

Sam nodded, nipping at your bottom lip one more time before he watched you sink down to your knees in front of him. His cock was filling out his sweatpants, so eager for you to touch him he could hardly stand it.

You eyed the outline of his cock through his grey sweats, mouth watering, core aching as you thought about having him inside you again. It had been so long.

You reached for his waistband and gently pulled them down. His already hard cock sprung free, tip red and leaking in anticipation. “Baby…” he muttered, his pupils blown as he watched you between his legs.

You could see the scars on his thighs, making your heart ache, but you turned your attention back to where he needed you most. He threaded his fingers through your hair as you wrapped a hand around his shaft, making him hiss.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his cock throbbing in your grip.

You moved forward and wrapped your lips around his tip, tongue teasing over his slit. He groaned, head dropping back against the back of the couch.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned. “It’s been too fuckin’ long. Need you so bad…need your mouth.”

You couldn’t resist his pleads. You took more of him into your mouth, tongue tracing the vein on the underside as you took him down your throat. Sam’s grip tightened in your hair, another low groan spilling from his lips. You set a slow pace, letting him savor the feeling of your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck yeah,” he breathed. His free hand grabbed onto the couch cushion. “So good, baby. Feels so good.”

You hummed around his dick, which drove him crazy. He was panting above you, barely able to hold on. He’d been dreaming of this, especially when you’d send those photos that were for his eyes only. If only he could see more of you.

He watched the way your lips wrapped around his girth, the way you’d look up at him through your long eyelashes, looking so innocent despite what you were doing to him. He bucked his hips up as much as he could without hurting himself, wishing he could fuck your face like you sometimes let him do. Fuck, he loved that.

You gently cupped his balls, massaging them in your hand as his cock twitched in your mouth. He was breathing heavier now, his legs starting to shake. His hold on you was a little rougher, his moans a little more desperate. You knew he was close.

“G’na cum,” he groaned. “I’m so close.”

You lifted off of him, working his shaft with your hand instead. “Where do you wanna cum, baby?”

“On your face and tits,” he answered quickly, his voice strained. “Please. Please.”

You stopped long enough to pull your sleep shirt over your head, revealing your bare tits to him, the cold air making your nipples harden in the dim light of the living room. His cock twitched again and then he was moaning as you wrapped your mouth around him once more.

You sucked him off, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. He was losing his mind above you. When he started throbbing against your tongue, his moans getting a little higher, thighs and hands trembling, you knew he was right there. You pulled off of him once more, jerking him off quickly while you looked up at him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck,” he moaned. “Gonna…oh shit-“

He let out a choked moan as he came, his cum spurting onto your face and chest, covering you in his spend. He watched with wide eyes, thinking he had never seen anything hotter in his life. You looked perfect like this.

When he had finished, he sat there breathing heavily while you cleaned yourself up with some tissues. You smiled at him playfully - and he beckoned you over. He tucked himself back in his sweats and pulled you down to sit next to him, cuddled against his chest.

“I fucking love you,” he said, before leaning in and kissing you hard. You returned it, hand resting on his strong chest.

“I love you too,” you said, and god, did you.

—

Recovery was slow. Sam was still in a lot of pain. He had multiple more surgeries to go through, and a rigorous physical therapy schedule. But he was determined to keep his legs, and determined to regain the ability to walk. He felt useless as he was. He knew he would never be active duty again, but he wanted to do something.

The only bright spots in his life were you and Olivia. He loved playing with his daughter. She loved sitting on his lap, watching Sesame Street with her dad. He’d watch kids shows all day long if it meant he got to spend time with her.

It took Livvy no time at all to warm up to Sam. She adored him. It’s like she knew the second he held her that that was her dad. “Dada” was her first word, and any time anyone else held her, she reached for him. She hardly ever took her eyes off him.

Sam still had bad days. Some days the pain was significantly worse than others. Some days his mental state was what he struggled with.

This was one of those days where he struggled with both. He had been feeling down, although he wouldn’t admit it, it was obvious to you. You wanted to do something to make him feel better.

You left Sam in bed taking a nap after his physical therapy. You had called Viv and asked if she wanted to watch Livvy for the night - she said yes, of course, and was excited for a sleepover with her and Erik’s goddaughter. Viv came by during Sam’s nap and picked her up. You gave your daughter a million kisses before you allowed her to go, but you knew she would be safe.

When Sam awoke, it was already 7pm. He called for you, still unable to do much on his own. You walked into the room to find him there, still looking as if he hated himself.

“Do you need some help?” you asked him softly, brushing your hand over his hair that was slowly growing out.

“Bathroom,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes.

You grabbed his crutches from against the wall and helped him stand. Once he was situated on them he was able to hobble into the bathroom while you waited for him. When he was done, you helped him lay back down.

You crawled into bed next to him, cuddling up to his side. He wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. “Where’s Livvy?”

“Sleepover with Auntie Viv,” you said. “Just us tonight.”

Sam smirked down at you. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you giggled. “What, you have something you want to do?”

“Maybe,” he teased. He shifted so he could face you better, then he tilted your head up, leaning down to kiss your soft lips.

His tongue traced your bottom lip and you happily let him in, your own meeting his as he pressed his body into yours. His hand rested on your waist and he pulled you closer, bringing you onto his lap.

“Are you sure?” you asked, gently straddling him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Sam mumbled, kissing down your neck and nipping at the spot that always made you gasp. Your hands tightened on his broad shoulders. “I want this. I need it.”

You and Sam still hadn’t had sex since he’d been home. You were scared he was still in too much pain - and for a while, he was. But now he was healing, and he wanted more than anything to be inside of you.

You reached down between you and lowered his sweatpants, large cock springing free, already hard and needy. It throbbed between you, so desperate to get in your pussy he could hardly stand it. You lifted yourself up and pushed your shorts and panties down, Sam helping.

He grabbed the base of his cock and dragged it through your folds, already soaking wet just from the thought of fucking him again. He lined himself up at your entrance then gripped onto your waist as you held onto his shoulders and lowered yourself down onto him.

You did it slowly, both so you could adjust and so you could watch Sam’s face for any sign of pain. You saw none - in fact, his face contorted in pleasure, his head falling back against the headboard.

“Christ,” he groaned. “Just as fuckin’ tight as I remembered.”

You whined as his girth stretched you - it felt like your first time again. His hands were trembling where they held you. His eyes went wide when you landed flush against him, finally buried completely in your tight heat.

You slowly, experimentally, rocked your hips against him. “Is this okay?”

“Oh yeah,” he grunted, using his hands to guide your hips a little faster.

You were nervous, but you knew he’d let you know if something didn’t feel good. You let yourself bring your hips down against him harder, the curls at his base rubbing against your clit just right.

“Sammy,” you moaned, starting to carefully bounce on him. He kept his guiding hands on you, encouraging you to go a little harder, a little faster.

“You feel so good, baby,” he said, his voice low and laced with desire. “I needed this so fuckin’ bad. You have no idea.”

You thought you did have an idea, because you felt the same way. You were keening, head thrown back as you bounced on him, the curve of his cock pressing perfectly against that bundle of nerves at your front walls.

He began thrusting up into you, grunting with every movement of his hips. The bed frame creaked with your movements - it hadn’t seen any action in a good while. Sam ran his hands up your front to pull your shirt off then grab at your tits, his thumbs rubbing against your hardened nipples. In this position they were bouncing right in his face, just like he liked them.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you in my whole fucking life.”

You smiled, looking down at him. “You sure you’re not just saying that because I’m riding you right now?” you asked him, breathless.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he teased.

You grinned, bouncing a little faster. He hissed, fingers tightening on your waist. You stopped immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Just hurt a little,” he said, though you could tell he was downplaying it. “Don’t stop though. Maybe just a little slower.”

Hesitantly, you rocked your hips again, watching him carefully. When he seemed alright, you worked back into a steady rhythm. He was letting out quiet little moans, leaning forward to wrap his lips around your nipple and pull your body against his.

“Sammy,” you moaned. “I’m so close.”

“Cum for me,” he begged. “Please. Need to feel you squeezin’ around me. I want you to cum on my cock, baby, please.”

It only took a few more rolls of your hips before you were crying out, your head falling forward onto his shoulder as you rocked against him, pussy clenching around him and pushing him over the edge. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held you flush against him, groaning your name as he thrusted up with every release, filling you the way he liked.

You just held each other like that, breathing heavily. A sheen of sweat covered your skin. Sam kissed your shoulder affectionately. “I love you. More than anything.”

“I love you too, Sammy.” You kissed his lips one more time before carefully sliding off his lap. You cuddled up against him under the covers.

Things were different now. But you were happy.

part 2 soon

tag list

@fandom-princess-forevermore

302 notes · View notes

icallhimjoey · 5 months ago

Note

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

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

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

---

Not A Wink

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

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

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

You were having a hard time hiding your own smile.

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

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

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

“I can’t see anything from here!”

“Close your eyes!”

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

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

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

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

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

Cutest girl in the world.

“Yea? Am I allowed in?”

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

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

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

It didn’t. Not really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were going to be wearing pyjamas around each other.

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

Prepare and have breakfast in your kitchen the next morning.

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

So domestic.

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

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

So domestic.

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

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

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

Scary stuff.

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

Fucking gold.

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

But then you saw his glasses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A mess?”

“Cute.”

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

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

“Stealing my compliments now, are we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cutest girl in the world.

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

---

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Add yourself

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #joe quinn fanfiction #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x you #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn x reader #rpf #not a wink

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etherealeowyn · 3 months ago

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Can't Take My Eyes off You - Johnny Storm x Reader

Word Count: 2,418

I really liked how this story came out, and I'm contemplating writing a second part for this piece! Let me know if you want part 2!

Johnny dialed Y/n’s number on the rotary phone, and held it up to his ear, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm himself to ask the woman out.

He had only talked to her briefly earlier in the day, but he could tell that this girl was special, so much so that he wasn’t about to leave the café where she worked without getting her number.

He stared at the small, lined piece of paper in his hand, adorned with her nice handwriting, hoping she had given him her real number instead of a fake one.

“Hello?” a voice asked on the other line, and Johnny couldn’t stop a smile from forming when he recognized her voice.

“Hi, this is Johnny, the guy from the café earlier,” he spoke, his voice slightly shaky from nerves.

“Yes, I remember you,” Y/n spoke with a little laugh, finding his nervousness cute.

“Haha I’m glad, I got tickets to see Frankie Valli tomorrow, and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me. I understand if you can’t, but I have a feeling I’d enjoy myself a lot more if you were there with me,” he responded, letting a smirk tug at the corners of his mouth.

“In that case, I would love to go with you,” she replied, and it was obvious she was smiling just by hearing the tone of her voice.

“Perfect, just give me your address and I’ll pick you up at 6,” he excitedly said, writing down her address on the other side of the paper he held.

The two exchanged information before he placed the phone down and hung up, letting out a deep sigh of relief knowing that everything went exactly how he wanted it to. He fell back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, letting his mind run rampant with thoughts about tomorrow, and how pretty he knew Y/n would look.

Y/n on the other hand, wasn’t as relaxed, she frantically ran over to her closet and began pulling out a series of different dresses, in an attempt to find one she believed would look the best. She’d slip one on and then immediately tear it off after she deemed it wasn’t the best option.

That was until she pulled on a pastel yellow chiffon dress that was fitted around her torso and flared below her waist. It was poofy, but not too much, and it fell to just about knee length. It was elegant, but at the same time, it was playful. She deemed it to be perfect.

She hung it up in her room and pulled out a pair of heels that matched perfectly, and in her opinion made her legs look stunning.

The second she picked everything out, she happily jumped up and down, unable to contain her excitement for tomorrow.

It took her forever to fall asleep that night, and it felt like an eternity waiting for the morning to arrive. But she managed to get a little sleep, just enough to make sure she had enough energy for the day ahead of her.

Johnny began to get ready, slipping on a pair of grey dress pants and tucking in his white button-up shirt. He grabbed a tie from inside his dresser drawer, and wrapped it around his neck, leaning closer to the mirror as he adjusted it. His tongue partially stuck out of his mouth in concentration, and his body had become tense, yet all that stress drained from his body when he managed to get everything to look right.

He looked down at his silver watch and saw that it was about 5:15, so he grabbed his keys and began to walk to where his car was parked. Johnny turned the key into the driver’s side door and opened it before jumping in and adjusting the radio.

He left a little bit early so he could stop at the flower shop to pick her up something because he wanted to do everything in his power to make sure Y/n would enjoy this date. To be completely and utterly honest, he was overwhelmed when he saw the variety of bouquets that lined the store, but he ended up getting a mixture of yellow, orange, and pink roses.

Setting them gently on the passenger seat, he looked at the address written on the lined piece of paper and headed to her house.

The house was well-kept, and Johnny could tell there was a sort of warmth radiating from it. It seemed like one of those houses where good memories were made, and it made him hope one day that he could have something like that for himself.

Walking up the pathway, he held the flowers and adjusted his tie one more time before he rang the doorbell. His throat tightened from nerves as he waited for someone to answer the door, and every second that went by felt like an eternity.

He composed himself one final time when he heard the door unlock, and he couldn’t help but smile when Y/n appeared in front of him. Johnny stood there for a moment in awe of the woman standing in front of him, because her dress clung to her body perfectly, and he loved the way that her hair was down, yet it curled up at the ends.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” Johnny started, “I got you these, I wasn’t sure what your favorite flower was, but I tried to pick out something that was pretty like you.”

He couldn’t stop a rosy blush from appearing on his face when he handed her the flowers. Y/n eagerly took them, and pulled them towards her nose, closing her eyes as she inhaled the fresh scent.

“Thank you, I love roses,” Y/n excitedly responded, looking up at him gleaming.

“You can come in for a second while I put these in water,” she continued, motioning for him to enter with her free hand.

Johnny stepped inside, as Y/n closed the door behind, and immediately he could smell the sweet aroma of baked goods fresh out of the oven. She didn’t take a very long time to put the flowers in a vase, but as he waited, his eyes followed her every move.

He watched as her delicate, manicured hands gently unwrapped the flowers and placed them in the crystal glass. Y/n smiled as she carefully arranged the roses to make sure that they were all situated properly, and Johnny felt like his heart was going to burst right there on the spot.

He hardly knew the woman, yet he was already so undoubtedly infatuated with her that he wasn’t sure what he would do if she didn’t like him.

“Johnny, they look absolutely gorgeous, thank you so much,” Y/n told him, as she set the vase on the counter in front of him, so he could admire the purchase he made.

“Of course, you ready to go?” Johnny asked, holding out his hand for her to take/

She grabbed it before replying, “Definitely, I’m so excited,” and letting her lead her to his car.

Y/n couldn’t help but find his car to be stunning, she loved the baby-blue color of it, plus it was obvious that he kept incredibly good care of it. She watched in admiration as his hand pulled open the passenger side door, and he sweetly smiled at her, waiting until she was inside and situated before closing it for her. He walked around to the other side of the car and hopped in, before starting the ignition and pulling out into the street.

The entire way there, the pair didn’t shut up, it didn’t matter what the topic of conversation was. It was especially nice because both felt more comfortable in the presence of each other by the time Johnny pulled up to the venue.

Y/n could see people waiting outside, but there wasn’t a super long line, which was surprising to her because Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons were pretty big at the time. Their music was playing on the radio practically all the time.

Johnny got out of the car and handed his keys to the valet, before letting Y/n out of the car and taking her straight to the door of the venue, instead of waiting in the line.

“Hey Johnny, have a nice night,” security spoke, as he pulled back the velvet rope blocking the entrance.

Once they got far enough away inside, Y/n questioned, “How’d you know that guy?” surprised by their quick entry.

She noticed that people were staring at them as they walked by, but she just figured it was because they cut the line, now that she thought about it, it was odd because no one looked angry. Rather, they looked more shocked than anything.

“Well, you see, I kind of have an important job,” Johnny responded, rubbing the back of his neck with one of his free hands, he was nervous to tell her about his powers, but at the same time, it was refreshing that she didn’t know who he was. Mostly because it prevented her from having any preconceived notions about him.

“Oh yeah? What do you do?” Y/n asked sweetly, holding onto his arm and turning her head to look at him.

“Uh, I’m part of the Fantastic Four, I have these… powers,” he said, and he expected her to have a drastic, expressive reaction, but she didn’t. However, that didn’t stop his heart from frantically pounding in his chest.

“Why do you look so ashamed, that sounds incredible,” she replied slightly furrowing her brows, as her eyes lit up in some sort of astonishment.

“I guess I thought you’d think I’m some kind of weirdo or freak,” He scoffed, staring down at the ground in front of him.

“I certainly don’t think you’re a freak, and who cares if you’re a weirdo, I consider myself one,” Y/n laughed, “And to be completely honest, it sounds like you’re a hero, which I deeply admire. I could tell you have a good heart.”

Johnny was mildly taken aback by her comment, mostly because he didn’t ever truly think he was a hero. Yes, he did heroic things, but he was much too humble to call himself a hero. But the way the words rolled off her tongue, and the admiration behind her gaze made him feel good. People had told him he was special before, yet the genuine nature of Y/n’s words made him believe it.

His face felt hot as a blush overtook his features, and for a second, he was speechless. The only thing he managed to do at that moment was smile, as he hastily scrambled to come up with a sentence.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this flustered before,” Johnny replied, letting out a breathy laugh, “I’m not used to getting complimented so sincerely, especially by a woman as beautiful as you.”

“Aww thank you, if it makes you feel any better, you look incredibly cute when you’re all flustered,” she giggled, grabbing a drink for him and herself off the tray of one of the bartenders walking around.

He took a sip from his glass before responding, “I’m glad you think so, if I was any redder, I think I’d turn into a tomato.”

“Don’t worry, you’re far from looking like a tomato, to be completely honest, I’m kind of jealous because when you blush it makes the color of your eyes pop,” she joked, though she wasn’t lying one bit, his eyes did look extremely blue.

Their conversation was cut short though when the lights dimmed, and a man walked on stage announcing that the concert was about to begin.

“Would you rather sit down at one of the tables, or go dance?” Johnny whispered, leaning in close to the woman’s ear. He was content regardless of what her answer was because honestly, he just wanted to be close to her.

“I’d love to dance with you,” Y/n responded, looking at the man with a smirk on her face.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he spoke, holding her hand and walking her over to the dance floor where couples were already beginning to congregate.

Johnny’s hands softly held onto her hips, as Y/n’s arms draped around his neck. The two swayed with one another as the band began to play a slowed-down version of Can’t Take My Eyes off You.

You're just too good to be true Can't take my eyes off of you

Y/n’s head was tilted up slightly, just enough so that the two could maintain eye contact. Though they didn’t say a word, it was clear that both were enjoying themselves, just by the way their eyes were gleaming.

You'd be like Heaven to touch I wanna hold you so much

“I know this might be forward, but can I kiss you?” Johnny asked, studying the woman’s face for an answer before she even said anything.

“Absolutely,” she responded, her eyes that were once staring into his, now lowering until they were fixated on his lips before fluttering upwards once again.

He removed one of his hands from the woman’s waist and used it to cup the side of her cheek, leaning towards her until his lips connected with hers. The kiss was urgent, yet at the same time tender, and within a couple of seconds, Y/n stepped closer to the man limiting the space between them.

At long last love has arrived And I thank God I'm alive

When their lips disconnected, they pulled away slowly, letting their eyes slowly flutter open. Seemingly still lost in the trance of the kiss they shared.

Johnny’s hand lowered back down to her waist, and he pulled Y/n closer to her body until it was pressed up against his. Her head found comfort lying against his chest, listening to his heartbeat almost in time with the music. He pressed a kiss on the top of her head, before smiling to himself as he looked down at the woman in his arms.

He hadn’t been this happy in a long time, and he was savoring every second of the feeling. Johnny didn’t say a single word because he was afraid that he would ruin the moment, so instead, he simply held her tighter and desperately hoped this was going to be the start of a new chapter in his life.

You're just too good to be true Can't take my eyes off you

#johnny storm #johnny storm x reader #the fantastic four #the fantastic four x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #fantastic four imagines #johnny storm imagine #johnny storm fanfic #joseph quinn fanfic #marvel fanfic

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andy-15-07 · 4 months ago

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

ty!!! 😊

Emperor of My Heart

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x reader

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

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

Then his phone rang.

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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stardancerluv · 6 months ago

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What the Emperor Wants

Part Ten

Summary: Out in the country, feelings are revealed.

Notes/Warnings: 18+ mentions of arousal, dated beliefs in god/s, dated beliefs between men & women. Art/photos of sculptures used in collage are to display & give an example of some possible moments that take place in the chapter.

❤️s, comments, feedback, reblogs are all welcome and appreciated. It’s a longer chapter, but didn’t want to interrupt some of its flow. Thank you for reading! ❤️

There were so many people at the Villa, you were taken aback. So you were grateful for Aelia, at least you knew her. She showed you around while Geta tended to some matters.

Feeling terribly flustered, you found yourself outside. You smiled, spotting a small pond. Gathering your clothes, you sat down beside it. The sun was warm and the grass was soft. Seeing little fish swimming made you smile.

Leaning closer to get a better look at them, you saw your own reflection. You gasped. You had not realized how much of a lady you had become. You wondered, if your mother would recognize you. Did being around the emperor truly do this to you?

“There is the sweetest blossom of Rome. She is near fresh water. Neptune, I pray does not see you and fall in love.”

You blushed and glancing back at the clear, water smiling as a fishes swished by.

“Geta, such honey like words. Be careful we should not upset the gods.”

“I merely hope he realizes my gratitude to have such a blossom such as you.”

Your cheeks remained aflame with his words

“You are in touch with them more than I. Surely, they are aware of your true emotions.”

“I certainly hope so.”

With a soft sound, pushed himself away from the tall tree that had given you shade and he drew close; his clothes brushed you as he knelt near you.

“I already feel the good humors for being here.”

“It is the same for me. Though, I fear I may lose my way in those hallways at least once while we are here.”

You shyly looked away. A chuckle from Geta made your cheeks feel warmer.

“I had to reorient myself as well.”

Your eyes grew as you looked back at him. “Truly?”

He nodded. “Yes, I have some new furniture, works of art that have acquired since I was last here. Accommodations were also made for you.”

“I hope I wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

********

He swallowed, the good humors filled him to brim when he was around you. It made him restless. Made him want to do a great many things.

He slipped his hand into the folds of his clothing. His fingers easily found the small pocket that had been sewn into several of his garments. Usually he carried with him a small leaf, that he would urge Caracalla to chew on when he had one of his fits or just fretted.

Now, it held something different. A little trinket. A bracelet. He had been looking at the jewelry that he had debated wearing at the villa. It was the least he could give you for saving his life.

“Geta, are you alright?”

He rose his eyebrows. “Yes? What? Why do you ask?”

As he glanced at you he could see concern splashed on it.

“You appeared to be elsewhere, you had grown silent.”

“I am good. Very good.” He nodded. He let his fingers brush against the small treasure a final time.

“I have a gift for you.” Geta said softly.

Glancing around, he did not know why, it was not as if he cared for the words or thoughts of others. Drawing closer to you, where you sat by the pond.

“It is not everyday when one takes an active hand in saving my life. I found this treasure.”

He took his closed hand from the folds of his clothes. He opened it. The sun rays happy danced on its accents. It was lovely, gentle like you were. Not has bold as some of the pieces him or Caracalla would wear.

“Oh, Geta. I…I don’t know what to say. Such finery for me.” Your voice shook.

It caused him to inwardly tremble.

“Do you like it?”

“I do. It’s just, by the gods I never even wished.”

“That is why your emperor has bestowed it upon you, not them.”

“Yes. You have.”

“Allow me then to slip it on you.”

You nodded. “Please. I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

Easily he moved the metals as they should. He grazed his thumb over the bracelet.

“I like it. I chose wisely.” He placed your hand back into your lap.

“Oh, it is wonderful.” You brought your hand to your shoulder.

“Very fitting for one who saved me.” He smiled.

He watched as your eyes twinkled, your face became as brilliant as the sun above. His heart raced he wanted to kiss you. He would.

You trembled at the suddenness of it. But then he felt as you melted against him. Your lips responded to his.

Easily, moving just the right way he hung over you as you easily laid back. Your hair became even richer in color as the loose strands from the ribbons laid in abandon against the soft green grass. His heart beat harder as he hung over you, he anchored one of his hands in the soft earth.

Breaking the kiss so he may take a breath and allow you one as well, he smiled as you reached up and your fingers nestled in his hair.

Drawing close to you once more, his nose, his lips grazed your cheek. “You are as lovely as any nymph lucky enough to have caught the eye of a god.” He whispered in your ear. “But tell me dear nymph you will give chase and make me chase you?”

He pulled back so he could look at you as you spoke.

“Only if he wishes it.”

He smiled. “Good. Right now, I do not. I do not wish to live the tale of the mighty Apollo and Daphne.”

As he spoke those words he saw your eyes become watery.

“You know of their story.”

You nodded.

He swallowed. The words came and knot that had been tightening unbeknownst to him loosen ceased to be.

“My dear blossom.” He whispered in your ear. “I have come to care. Perhaps, my elation, my tenderness is from all that transpired. But, I promise to take care of you and devote my affections solely to you. Please do not wither into a tree where all I can do is only admire from afar.”

A tear slipped from one of your eyes. “No, I promise, as long as we can share a tenderness I will not take root and become a mere tree.”

His lips met yours.

********

You felt wonderfully rejuvenated. He had ordered a bath for the two of you. Any of the knots that had held over from the carriage ride were now gone. Now, candles flickered making shadows dance as the two of you lounged and ate.

Occasionally, you couldn’t resist looking at your wrist where the bracelet twinkled. You would not worry about what may or may not happen when you would be seen wearing it.

“How long will we be here at the villa?”

Geta, shrugged. “A few days at the very least. I already feel much better and it’s only been a day.”

You nodded and happily nibbled on the fish that was on your plate. It was fresh, mich fresher than what was served at the Domus in the city. It reminded you of the fresh fish your mother would serve your family.

“It is very different than the city. I had forgotten one can hear bird calls floating on the breeze.”

“They sound different than in the city.”

You nodded once again. “There they only know of their cages.”

“Beautiful cages, I had an artist craft a lovely one.”

“They were lovely and safe in it.”

A rich chuckle came from Geta, you glanced at him.

“Dondas, is also not harassing any of them here.”

You giggled. “Dondas is cute.”

Geta rose an eyebrow. “He’s a menace.”

“At least he makes Caracalla happy.”

“That is true.” He took a sip from his wine. “Speaking of animals, have you ever ridden on a horse?”

You looked off as if you could see the moment. “Only once.”

You still could remember the feel of the animal, how your mother had controlled the straps of rope used to control the animal.

“Oh?”

“The day, I learned how to treat a wound. My mother had snatched me up when she went to retrieve what was needed. I was small enough to ride with her and hold the items.”

“You need to have a real ride.” A pleased look came over him.

You watched as he pressed his lips together, while glancing at his arm. “Should you look at it again?”

“Yes. We don’t want darkness to seep in.”

“I will have them fetch whatever you need.”

*******

“Aelia?” You glanced at the woman who stood by the door. “Do you wish to watch me check on our Sire’s arm?”

“Oh? Yes. This is very fascinating. Never seen anything like it.”

He slipped from the top of his robe. The soft fabric pooled around his waist. His chest, resembling some of the carved statues you had seen in the gardens.

“It may still sting.” You said softly as you met his eyes.

He nodded.

Gently, you peeled back the cloth. It looked good. Not dark. Soon you poured some of the vinegar and clear oil on it to clean it.

Geta hissed.

You glanced at him under your lashes. “It doesn’t hurt too much does it?”

“I do not like it. I will be fine.”

******

You reached up to the broach that was the cause for all of this. Your finger traced the edge of it.

Geta’s and Aelia’s voice were only murmurs to you has you stood by window that led to balcony. Should you undo the clasp that held the fabrics of your clothes together, you wondered.

He had not dismissed you. Did he need you? A flutter excitement filled you. How he had wanted to be you before the party had stolen your breath. Apart of you should be scandalized, you were no harlot despite being his but it had felt so good. you enjoyed being joined with him.

You gasped as a warm hand settled on your stomach and you were pulled close. You’d know his strong frame now anywhere.

“My sire.”

An admonishing sound came from him. He was so close, you could feel the warmth of his breath.

“Geta, my emperor you wish to be this close?”

You turned your head just enough to see the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

“I do.”

You felt as he held you tighter against him. A gasp came from you as his arousal pressed against you. Your heart squeezed. Not in fear but in anticipation.

A soft, low chuckle came from him. “You feel what you have done to me.”

You nodded.

“You have entranced my loins.”

“I have?” You managed. “You have quickened my heart.”

“Oh? Have I?” His voice grew deeper.

You felt as his hand drifted up your torso, which made it beat harder.

“My emperor?” You breathed.

“I want to feel.” His hand then laid where it beat. A soft sound came from him. “I enjoy causing this response in you.”

You trembled as his hand then slipped under the soft fabric that had been wrapped around and draped from you. It was even warmer and softer feeling as it laid against your skin. His rings were a cool contrast.

Lightning then streaked across the ebony sky, and thunder crashed as if drums from all over were struck. Without a thought, a cry of surprise came from within you and turning you nestled against Geta. You easily found his throat and hid your face there. He smelled of honey, fruits. It was very pleasing, it felt right.

You felt as his hand rubbed your back. “My little blossom. Jupiter is just sharing his pleasure with us. From his perch in the sky above, he saw and heard us. He gave us his blessing.”

You didn’t move you. “Even though, I am just a girl who was blessed that you made me yours.” You whispered.

Despite the twinges of worry that prickled you, deep inside the desire to press your lips to his throat grew.

He chuckled. “Jupiter is very pleased. I saw you and made you mine, just as he goes after what he wants.”

The sky once again brightened as lightning streaked across once again, thunder rumbled not long after.

Hearing his words, you felt reassured. Making Jupiter happy was above all. Geta followed close to the mighty Jupiter. You felt such a great honor in all of this.

Following your urges, you pressed your lips to his throat.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @laura-naruto-fan1998 @helsa3942

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

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general-kenobis · 3 months ago

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three's a secret | E.M. x f!reader & S.H. x f!reader

Summary: You and Steve are friends with benefits. However, you've been wanting to try something way out of your comfort zone, and it brings Steve to a mission: find someone who agrees to your intentions. (Ps: your guest has a very peculiar piercing on his body)

Pairing: Love triangle! Eddie Munson x f!reader & Steve Harrington x f!reader

Warnings: DIRTY SMUT!! (18+ MDNI), threes*me, p in v (both unprotected), oral (f and m receiving), fingering, choking kink, c*mshot, praising, aftercare. (I swear to God there's a fine amount of smutiness in this fic)

Word count: 7k

𓆩❤️‍🔥𓆪

"I found your guy" Steve slides into the booth during the break of his gig at The Hideout.

You look at him, confused, and he looks from you to the curly-haired guy leaning against the bar counter. That's Eddie. He's the backing vocalist for Steve's band.

"Remember? You told me you wanted to have a threesome and I found ourselves a guy" He leans closer to you, his beer breath fanning over your face.

You and Steve have been friends with benefits for months. You've shared multiple intimate moments together, either at his or your house, or by the lake, or in his car. Even at skull rock. And your latest discovery was that you had the wish to try ménage à trois, but you had never done it before. You were too embarrassed to tell Steve, and also too reluctant to even find someone who would be willing to do it.

Although you're both exclusive, he made an exception for you. He was always considerate of your feelings and wishes, being kind and caring. This is the same guy who splits you open and utters dirty things to you in bed.

"You just deliberately told him I wanted to be fucked by two guys?" Your voice cracks at the realization that you might be doing such thing.

"We're good friends. In fact, we talk about a lot of stuff when we're together. And he would love to get along with you better"

Steve gives you a comforting smile, but you're staring at him like you're having second guesses. You've met Eddie before, exchanging only a few words with the metalhead. You got along with him right from the start, but you were never around them when they would hang out, and he was with your group of friends only a couple of times as well.

You were sitting in a booth, swirling your drink, when a random man sat down beside you. He reeked of whiskey, and his hand rested on your bicep, startling you. You shot your eyes up at him as you watched him attempt to hit on you.

"Haven't seen you around before. Let me buy you a–" Before he could finish, a sharp scrape echoed through the room as Eddie pushed the chair back and pulled him by the collar of his shirt.

The man was looking up in shock as Eddie leaned over him, eyes dark with something dangerous. "Yeah, no" His voice was low and edged with amusement "This table's taken"

Eddie plopped down in the seat beside you, stretching out like he hadn't just sent someone almost crashing to the floor. He smirked at you, tilting his head. "Now, where were we?"

You could only chuckle at his action and tilt your head just like he did "Very humble, but thank you for that"

"Nah" He shrugged "Couldn't just stand there and watch a perv get his way"

You and Eddie immediately kicked off a conversation, the minutes extending as you both got distracted with each other. Steve was nowhere to be seen, probably just resting in the backstage room as he always does with his bandmates. The man next to you smelled like something woody, a few necklaces hanging down his chest and a bandana was wrapped around his head.

You remember talking about him to your friend. Telling him how exotic he looked and how pretty he was. Steve, the obvious man that he is, didn't say it right away, but he noticed how attracted you were to his friend. That's why he tried to talk him into doing the thing. And then, the subject was brought up.

"So, you're in?" You ask him with concern, but he leans forward, his gaze locking with yours, his voice dropping just a little more serious.

"Oh, I'm definitely in. I mean, c'mon, I'm only in this because of you. And how about you?" He smirks again, eyes glinting with mischief "I have a feeling this is going to be one hell of a ride"

"You're not, like, worried about him seeing you naked or the other way around?"

He waves you off with a scoff "I couldn't care less about Harrington, I'm sure I'll have a peek of his dick just for fun. But for the rest of the thing, I won't even give him a single glance"

"Good. Because, well... the three of us? That's going to be a lot of fun"

Eddie chuckles, his fingers twitching as if ready to play with a few strands of your hair. Maybe that's the uphold you need to feel more intimate and comfortable around him.

"Yeah, I think Steve might end up regretting this. But, hell, I guess we'll just have to make sure he doesn't, huh?"

But it suddenly makes you feel too nervous and a little taken aback. The look on your face already gives it away and he rests one hand on top of your thigh, carefully.

"Why did you agree, by the way?" You ask.

He leans back, using his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. "Couple reasons. One, Steve seemed really into the idea because of you, and I trust the guy. Two–" His voice softens, he meets your eyes "I don't know, I just thought it could be fun. But only if you were actually into it. I don't wanna make things weird for you"

You shift a little bit in your seat, relaxing your tensed body "I appreciate that"

Eddie curls his lips upwards, squeezing your thigh softly, his fingertips grazing your smooth skin. You can definitely feel the callousness on them.

"Look, I know it can be… a lot. And I don't wanna make you uncomfortable. If this is too weird, if you're not into it, there's no harm in admitting it. I won't take it personally"

"You really mean that?" You study him, surprised at his genuineness.

He pulls his hand back, lifting both of them in a mocking surrender. "Swear on my Metallica records. No pressure. No expectations. Just making sure we're all on the same page before Steve starts planning some seduction act. And I'm definitely not interested in that"

Your laugh echoes through his ears and he swears he's more inclined to take you to his trailer and abduct you to himself, than rely on the idea of sharing you with Steve.

"That sounds exactly like something he'd do"

"Right? That's why I figured we should talk first. I want you to feel good about this, comfortable, before anything else. Because if you're not, then it's a no-go. Simple as that"

You find yourself sliding your hand to his firm bicep, down his forearm where his tattoo of bats peeks out from his shirt. Your eyes drift from your touch to his brown doe eyes. "Maybe I wanna test the waters first"

He looks from down your gentle, small hand, up to your expectant, glinting eyes. "Oh?"

Your heart pounds and hammers against your chest as you slightly lean in closer to him "Yeah. See what I'm getting myself into"

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"By kissing you."

He freezes for a second, then lets out a slow chuckle "Well, well. Look at you, taking initiative" His voice drops slightly, more playful but still careful "You sure?"

You just nod, let yourself settle for your initiative. And your knees wobble when he leans in closer as well "Then by all means, sweetheart. Be my guest"

And then you finally attach your lips to his, soft at first, just testing. Eddie's lips are warm and taste like Negroni, and he kisses back easily, matching your pace. There's no rush, no pressure, just the slow, deliberate way his hand finds the side of your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. When you finally pull back, your lips hover over each other as a smug little smirk tugs at his lips.

He stares at you half-lidded through his lashes, a pink shade covering his cheeks. Eddie pulls you in for another kiss, using his tongue this time. It brushes against your lower lip first with a teasing motion before slipping past, slow and unhurried, tasting of beer. Your fingers tangle in the worn fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking. Eddie makes a low sound in his throat, half a chuckle, half a groan, and takes it as permission to kiss you harder, his other hand sliding to your waist. When you finally pull back, breathless, Eddie leans his forehead that's nearly touching yours, eyes dark and lidded with something smug and satisfied.

Steve watches from a distance how close you two sit next to each other. How you seem to feel unbothered by the way Eddie's hand rests over your thigh and how close you're leaning towards him, like you're groping him. His breath hitches and it feels like there's a tinge of jealousy there. He had never been a jealous guy, like ever. He tries to reason with himself, tell himself that this is only a one-time thing and that it's fine.

He walks to the table and sits across from you two, taking a swig of his beer, trying to act nonchalantly "So, how's the getting along going?"

"Very good. Just a little extra credit on our project" He winks at his friend.

He narrows his eyes slightly, trying to play it cool but failing a little when he catches the way you're still flushed, the way Eddie's looking at you like you just did something he didn't see "Oh. Yeah?"

You clear your throat and try not to smirk "Yeah"

You watch as he leans back in the booth, taking a slow sip of his beer, acting nonchalant "Huh. That's… cool"

There's a hint of uneasiness when his fingers tap against the table incessantly.

Eddie grins wider, resting his chin on his hand as he watches Steve with amusement on his face "You sure, Harrington? You look a little… tense"

"Please. You think I'm shaken by this? I suggested this, remember?" He stifles a cough and waves his friend off.

"Uh-huh. And yet, you haven't stopped staring at my mouth since you sat down"

He blinks at you before covering it up with another sip of beer, voice slightly tighter "I have no idea what you're talking about"

The curly haired man nudges you under the table as he snickers "Oh, sweetheart. I think we might've broken him"

He tries to not look too bothered, but there's a hint of something else, something darker lingering in his gaze "Alright, you know what? If we're doing this, we're really doing this. So don't get cocky just yet, Munson"

"I cannot wait to see you naked, Harrington" He mocks in a playful tone, cackling at the sight of Steve almost choking on his beer from the comment.

You and Eddie are sprawled out on Steve's couch, as the low hum of music plays from the stereo, while some random movie plays on the TV. Steve is in the kitchen, grabbing beers for the three of you, giving you and Eddie just enough space for you two to get comfortable.

Eddie is leaning back against the couch, smirking at you as he twirls one of his rings between his fingers "So, how you feeling, sweetheart? Still good about this?"

"Yeah. You?" Your heart rate picks up when you meet his eyes.

He stretches his legs out, looking at you with something unreadable in his dark eyes "Oh, I'm more than good"

Before you can respond, Steve reappears, carrying three beers, handing one to each of you before flopping down into the chair across from you both. He takes a slow sip, watching the way you and Eddie are sitting close, maybe a little too close for his liking. His jaw tenses just slightly, but the smirk playing at his lips gives him away.

"You guys look cozy" He tries to act casual, but deep inside he's feeling the nervousness. The idea of doing a threesome seemed less intense before.

Eddie extends an arm behind your back on the couch and chuckles "Just keeping your spot warm, Harrington. Didn't wanna start without you"

"How considerate of you" His eyes flick to you, a teasing edge in his voice "And what about you? You just letting Munson take over already?"

You smirk through the rim of the bottle before taking a sip "Maybe I just like the attention"

He chuckles, shaking his head, but there's something intriguing in his demeanor "Yeah? Then let's test that theory"

He places his beer down and moves towards you, just enough to close the space between you, fingers grazing your knee before trailing up your thigh, slow and deliberate. Eddie watches with amusement, but there's something heated in his gaze too, like he's invested at the scene in front of him.

Eddie feigns a gasp "And here I thought you'd be shy about all this. Turns out you like being in the spotlight, huh?"

You feel your breath hitching slightly as Steve's fingers press just a little firmer, his lips twitching at your reaction "Maybe"

"Then let's give you a little more of it"

Before you can react, he's kissing you. Slow at first, teasing, his lips warm and firm against yours. His hand slides to your waist, fingers pressing just enough to ground you. Then, just as you start to melt into it, there's movement beside you.

Eddie hums as he watches you kiss Steve, his fingers brushing against your arm before sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face towards him as Steve pulls away just slightly "Alright, alright. My turn"

He kisses you without hesitation, deeper, rougher than Steve had, his tongue teasing against yours immediately, fingers still holding your face like he's savoring the moment. Steve doesn't pull away entirely, and if anything, he leans in closer, his warm breath against your neck, hands still gripping your waist. The tension starts bubbling inside your chest, it's a pressure that makes you feel fuzzy at first. He deepens the kiss, biting your inner lower lip, sucking on it for just a slight second before twirling his tongue around yours.

The weight of them on either side of you is dizzying, overwhelming in the best way. Steve's lips find your neck as Eddie kisses you deeper, hands roaming, heat building between all three of you.

Steve hums beside you, clearly enjoying the show, his hand slipping higher up your thigh, fingers pressing just a little firmer, making you shift slightly under his touch. When Eddie finally pulls back, lips still ghosting over yours, Steve leans in, his voice is lower and rougher.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" His hot breath fans your ear shell, sending sparks through your veins. He knows you become submissive when it comes to him.

All the while, Eddie presses a kiss just under your jaw as he watches your reaction "Oh, she likes it. Look at her, already so needy and we've barely done anything."

The man to your right laughs softly, his fingers finally sliding higher, brushing against your dripping pussy just enough to make your breath stutter "Damn. He might be right. You are needy, aren't you?"

You bite your lip feeling heat flooding through you as Eddie kisses his way down your throat, Steve's fingers teasing in slow, torturous strokes over the fabric of your underwear "You two talk way too much"

"Oh, sweetheart… you love it" Eddie rasps against your skin.

You feel Steve's touch become more determined, his long fingers circling your swollen nub "Let's see how much more you can take, then"

The teasing, the touches, the kisses. It all blends together, overwhelming in the best way, pulling you under as you surrender completely to them. Eddie trails sloppy kisses down your chest until he reaches your nipple, latching onto it with his teeth, playing with it. His free hand gropes your other nipple, flicking your hardened skin through your crop top. Steve pulls your panties to the side and collects your wetness, using enough of your slick to slip his fingertips to your entrance. He glues his lips to yours before you can protest a whimper, barely keeping your eyes open. You slowly lift both hands and slide them over their thighs, fingers grazing their jeans, reaching their arousal. You are a dirty little slut tonight.

You love it. You feel their cock growing harder in your hand as you stroke them, while Steve slips two fingers and pumps them into your pussy. You can hear the squelch sound of it, his thumb pressing against your clit ever so gently in circles. Yes, you're a little whore who's getting off on the fact that these two men want to fuck you. You are getting wetter by the second. Your hips are thrusting up to meet his fingers, your body begging for more.

Eddie's mouth moves from your nipple to your ear, and he whispers "You're such a fucking slut"

You can only nod at the moment, sucking Steve's tongue, pressing your fingers into their tight jeans. They never leave you as they try to help themselves by removing their pants, their cocks straining against the boxers, dampening the material. You mewl between the kisses, Eddie's lips finally finds your exposed nipple and sucks on it, marking your skin with his teeth deliberately, flicking his tongue against it. He keeps one of his hands holding your leg up on his lap, pressing his fingertips on you firmly.

The other male curls his fingers and fucks you dumb, your hips meeting his hand while your hips roll against it. The immediate groan leaving their mouths is almost like a symphony when you finally grip both dicks in your hands, trying to focus on your coordination to stroke them in sync. You notice Eddie is thick, he has a piercing on his frenulum and it throws you off immediately. You use your thumb to play with the jewelry and he buckles his hips in response. His cock isn't longer than Steve's, while the latter is both thick and huge, but you don't care. You're having the time of your life.

Steve lowers his head, spreading kisses, leaving spit over your skin as he reaches to your other nipple. The action causes you to buckle upwards and moan, squeezing their cocks. Your fingers wrap around them and spread precum all over their shafts, pumping them as much as you can. They can't help but grunt against your tits, making you clench around Steve's fingers.

"God, you're such a fucking mess" He utters, sucking your nipple, pulling his head back bringing your skin along with his mouth, leaving you with a loud pop. You can't see it, but you can feel the sly grin washing over his face when you moan.

There's a fine line between shame and feeling lascivious. You're so wet, horny and eager for them. You feel your body yearning for them, even though they're both onto you right now.

Eddie slides his hand from your thigh, over Steve's hand, swatting his thumb away, using two fingers to stroke your clit. The touch is soft, but also antsy, and he circles your bundle of nerves as the other man finger fucks you mercilessly. You are three hungry people moaning and groaning almost to each other. You play with each frenulum using your thumbs, they both fuck your hands in clumsy motions, their hips stuttering as you twist your wrists.

You throw your head back, pumping them faster, Steve slowed his pace, ripping a sob out of you with a torturous stroke of his fingers while they curled. Eddie uses the other man's distraction for leverage and assaults your mouth again in a messy kiss. He laps at your tongue, sucking on it and you feel his ragged breath against your mouth the more you pump him. His ringed fingers pinch and stroke your clit, playing with your nub as you kiss feverishly.

Steve then halts his movements when you pull the skin of his shaft and squeeze his tip, jolting upwards in shock. "Fuck, I forgot how good you are with your hands"

He continues to fuck you nonchalantly, his fingers working on your throbbing pussy. You let out a hum against Eddie's lips, making him fasten his strokes. Maybe he made it a personal purpose of making you feel good as much as Steve does. This is no contest, whatsoever, but they're willing to give you a ride to the sky. You clench around Steve's fingers, your clit starts to pound and there's a building pressure growing uncontrollably inside of you. You're squeezing their cocks too hard with your hand, feeling the coil about to snap.

You keep your hips rolling, and they can feel your shuddering each passing second as you feel the pleasure approaching its apex. Eddie grins through the kiss, his fingertips now rapidly stroking your clit as Steve fucks your pussy, making you clench harder each time. Your hands are still holding them, but you feel your arms wobbly when it finally washes over you. Steve feels it first when your pussy cages his fingers, almost squeezing them. While the curly-haired man keeps his middle finger over your nub as you pulse and throb for them.

You're dripping wet when he pulls out of you, lustfully groaning at the sight, bringing his digits to his mouth, savoring your taste. He always does that to one of his fingers, offering the other one to you because he knows it brings you to the abyss of hysteria. Eddie watches with greedy eyes, dark blown pupils, and he does the same. Before even removing his hand from you, he collects your wetness, diving into your pussy and startling you with a whimper. He keeps them inside of you, he wants to have the same as his friend did. With a humbleness and eagerness, he circles his fingers around your spongy walls and makes your jaw go slack.

You can't help but whisper his name in a daze, and Steve just leans back against the couch as you try, but lacks strength, to still pump him and Eddie. The metalhead finally slips out of your pussy and immediately latches his fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking them, eyes trained at your swollen, still throbbing cunt and he twitches. You feel it in your hand and almost bring him to the edge when you pull the skin of his shaft and squeeze the head of his cock just like you did to Steve. You use his piercing for leverage, stroking his skin side to side, ripping groans out of his mouth. He grunts, using one of his hands to squeeze your thigh and leave fingerprints on your skin.

"You did good, sweetheart" Eddie beams at you, before drifting his eyes to Steve. He's definitely trying not to have a peek at his friend's cock. He just wanted to have a small glance, like he's curious to know what it looks like. But he avoids going there, and he knows he thinks the same. "Care to let me guide her to the next round?"

You look between them, hands still wrapped around their length. Steve doesn't seem to be bothered, because the idea of the threesome is for Eddie to also enjoy it. And mostly you, obviously. They help you undress, pulling your crop top off, sliding your skirt along with your underwear down to the ground. The latter isn't subtle when he pulls you forward, almost laying you down on the edge of the couch, holding your waist as he spreads your legs apart.

Your head rests against the soft material, and Steve stands on his feet next to you. Immediately, your eyes become hazy at the thought of blowing your friend while Eddie eats you out. He kneels on the carpet and hangs your legs above his shoulders, diving in without any hesitation. He latches onto your slit, licking a long stride up to find your clit, clinging to it with his teeth. The air leaves your lungs and you force your eyes shut with the sudden dizziness.

You have lost count of how many times Steve ate you out, but knowing there are two guys fucking you, it makes your senses raise violently. Your body is in a state of insatiability. You tilt your head to the side and meet Steve's cock, licking your lips before wrapping your mouth around him. He thrusts forward, one hand flying down to grab a fistful of your hair as you waste no time filling your throat with his shaft, making yourself gag on him. Your tongue glides against his skin, while your hand squeezes his balls and cups them.

Eddie sinks his face on your dripping cunt, pressing his tongue through your folds as he strokes them up and down. He manipulates your entrance with the tip of it, swirling it around your pussy just before pushing in. Your hand flies up to his hair, pulling his strands with a messy buckle of your hips and a moan leaving your mouth against the cock you're gagging on. He slips in and out of you, nudging his nose against your already swollen clit. He shakes his head, grazing his teeth against you, his fingers digging deeper into the skin of your thighs. You hear Steve groaning from above, slapping his pubic bone against your face as he fucks your mouth.

He pulls your hair harder when the tip of his cock reaches your throat and he gasps when you hollow your cheeks and engulf his shaft, making him pulse inside your mouth. Eddie starts pumping himself, but still makes sure to give all his attention to your clenching pussy. He flattens his tongue and keeps his hungry pace as it swirls around your folds. His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks the skin, pulling it back before repeating the motion. He sucks on it, tasting every little bit of you, stroking himself, humming against your skin at the sound of your moans and whimpers.

Steve cradles your face with both hands and thrusts against your mouth gently, not pushing hard enough so he won't hurt you. You're a mess of spit, tears and sweat that's making your hair stick to your face. You're just glad you were using waterproof mascara at this point. Eddie flicks his tongue into your clit, watching as you roll your hips and jolt upwards when he takes notice of the patterns that make you most sensitive.

You suddenly pull back from Steve, looking down at the man eating you out. He doesn't budge when you're about to speak, he just presses his tongue harder against you, your head hangs back as he smirks against you. "Please fuck me, Eddie"

He freezes on his spot, leaving you just enough to carefully remove your legs from his shoulders, whirling you around. "Say no more, sweets. On your fours for me"

His tone is a little husky and demanding, and you lean on your elbows, bending your knees with your ass up for him. Steve looks astonished, feeling the heat of the moment wash over him as he goes back to fill your mouth with his cock. Eddie lines himself up from behind and spreads your folds with the tip of his cock, using your wetness for leverage before pushing inch by inch until you're used to him. He holds your waist, fingers pressing hard on your skin, as he distracts himself watching you blow his friend. He's cupping your face with both of his hands, ramming his hips forward as he fucks your mouth again. His cock twitches at the sight of you being a needy slut for them both.

Eddie sinks further into you, slamming his hips against your ass once. Your body lurches forward and you gag on Steve unexpectedly. He keeps his pace as he inches back and forth, hitting your spot viciously, feeling you clench around him. You're dripping wet, you can feel your arousal slipping down your thigh as he fills your pussy with hunger. He startles both you and Steve with the echo of his slap on your ass, bringing you to a turmoil. You push your ass against his hips, skin-on-skin slapping while you take in every inch of your friend's cock into your mouth.

"Such a busy little slut, aren't you?" Steve coos, thrusting harder and rather quickly. He brings your chin up so you can look better at him, swiping a tear away from your cheek "You like that, don't you? You love being fucked by two guys"

You blink at him, senseless. You bring yourself to push back and lick his length, your lips wrapping around his tip, sucking on it. He hisses looking down at you, pulling a few strands of hair out of your face. "So beautiful cockdrunk. You're taking Eddie so well"

Eddie, on the other hand, rolls his hips against your ass, watching as he slips in and out of you. He lets out a frazzled, breathy laugh, slapping your ass again. "You're taking me really, really well sweetheart. Your pussy is so good, fuck"

Both of them exchange a single, but pleasant glance before looking down at you. You're in your own little world, daydreaming about the fact that you're going to cum again if he keeps fucking you like that. Your heart rate is quickly rising, your belly is twisted as you feel your pussy throbbing again.

"She's going to cum for you, she's already a mess" Steve watches you from above, his eyes glinting with blissful pleasure. He didn't think he would also be able to feel so dissolute seeing you being fucked by his friend. But the sight of you crumbling apart for them is making him lightheaded.

"Fuck, cum for me. Let me fucking make you cum" Eddie is almost at the brink of an outburst. Your hips roll around his cock that splits you open. He almost slips out of your soaking pussy, pushing further into you, balls deep inside of you. He snaps his hips forward and moans your name, his eyes shut, brows creasing with anticipation. His jaw is locked and his head is thrown back.

You pull back from Steve rather quickly, your body begging for Eddie's release as he pounds on you firmly and quickly. His harder thrusts make you unbalanced, and your elbows give in. You look over your shoulder at him, whimpering his name, ripping him out of his own daze, making him stare back at you. He sees your lips caging between your teeth, brows furrowed when your stomach tightens and you clench around him bashfully. Your hand grips Steve's cock, and he feels himself twitching at you. You're already feeling limp, but you still fill your mouth with his cock and blow him majestically, hollowing your cheeks every once in a while because you know he likes the suction. He bites his inner cheek and fucks your mouth again, his breath becomes uneven and you feel his shaft become rigid before he cums in your mouth.

"Fuck, baby. Take all of it" He grunts, feeling his cock throb inside of your mouth as you swallow all of him. He gives you a lopsided, messy smile, and you try to smile back at him, even though your jaw hurts.

And it's only a matter of seconds until Eddie spurts inside of you, his hips stutter and he shudders against you. His fingertips are pressing on your skin, his nails digging into your waist as he jolts forward, filling you with his seed as well. He holds you in his grip and slams forward a couple of times, before slipping out of you with a painful yelp. He's exhilarated when he sees his cum dripping down your pussy, reaching your thigh. Eddie smirks at his own job, fascinated with the sight of your cunt still throbbing, pushing more of his fluids out of your entrance. He's quick to pick a few baby wipes and clean you up. The aftercare makes him look soft after he made you his own slut, after he made you scream his name.

"Harrington, do the honors" He motions to his friend, who's still holding your face, soothing you with soft strokes of his thumb against your skin. He's still hard.

Steve lifts you up, holding his gaze at you and kisses you gently. His tongue finds yours and he hums against your mouth, a low sound of approval, and his free hand moves to your waist, fingers pressing just enough to make your skin tingle. Your tongues sweep over one another, in a way that sends heat straight to your core. His grip tightens slightly, pulling you closer, his breath mixing with yours as the kiss turns messier, needier. His other hand slides down between your legs, his fingers once again stroking between your folds, slipping against your clit and you moan against his mouth. It sends a vibration down his stomach, reaching the tip of his cock again.

"You are the death of me, you know that?" He hovers his lips over yours, and you take this as an opportunity to grope him and pull him back to the couch as you lie under him.

You look to the side, glancing at Eddie, who's expectantly waiting for his turn to get a blowjob as well. Your eyes sparkle as you finally take in the piercing on his frenulum, a small piece of jewelry that shines under the light of the living room. He takes notice of your reaction and holds his cock up so you can have a better look. The smugness on his face and his bold demeanor make you clench around nothing, while Steve trails down his lips against your stomach, reaching your clit. He latches his teeth against your sensitive spot and you retract, shutting your eyes, biting your lip. You look back at Eddie half-lidded, blinking through your lashes as you watch him stroke himself at you.

"Like what you see?" His fingers graze around the head of his cock, playing with the piercing just for you.

You lift your head and lock eyes with him, nodding slightly before replacing his hand with yours. You start pumping him slowly, still glancing up at him, watching as he blinks and heaves a groan. Eddie bites his lip and slips one hand over your hair, pulling a strand of it. You take him in without a warning, your mouth and your tongue sliding over him until you reach the base of his cock. He tilts his head back and moans your name. Steve keeps you entertained as he laps his tongue over your slit, licking stripes and drinking your dripping wetness. He pulls back and holds his cock, slapping the tip against your clit, just how you like it.

He slides his length between your folds, collecting your slick before slipping inside of you entirely. He doesn't wait, he doesn't give you time to adjust. He's used to fucking you raw and senseless. Your hips buckle upwards and he rests one hand above your waist, while he uses the other to squeeze your throat. He thrusts into you at a quick pace, his balls slapping against your ass, his firm hand grips your throat scarcely, careful to not choke you to death.

But the tightening of your throat squeezes Eddie's cock and he pounds against your mouth too. You gag on him, you swallow him whole, you savor his salty taste and you lick his shaft, bringing him closer to a frenzy with you. You shift your eyes between him and Steve, the latter holding your waist down so he can fuck you without your hips rolling. He likes to play hard, he likes to torture you, make you squirm around him and beg for him to let you fuck him back. He likes it when you're submissive, even though he won't ever admit to anyone that he's on the bottom as well. He likes to play a fair game when it comes to this.

"You like my cock, sweetie? You like my cock fucking your dirty little mouth?" Eddie utters, his hips slamming against your mouth as he watches you struggle to answer him, but you nod "Yeah, are you going to let me fill you with my cum?"

You nod again and he makes you gag. You push yourself off him, your hand shoving his stomach as you grip his length with your hand, bringing your tongue to his frenulum again. You swirl it around his skin, flicking over the jewelry as you look up at him through hazy eyes. He's much more sensitive than Steve is, and he can't keep his gaze down at you because he forces his eyes shut from the pleasure that was still building up.

You speak up for the first time after several minutes "You wanna give me a cumshot, Eds?"

He's stunned at your words, at the way you spit on his cock and blow him gracefully, even though Steve is pounding on you so hard that his tip hits your cervix. You suck him, your teeth barely grazing his skin as you feel more of his precum filling your throat. You hum against him and it makes Steve twitch inside your pussy, his reaction making you clench around him as well. You're still watching Eddie, but your eyes trail over your friend, who's seemingly very entertained at the interaction. His brows are furrowed and he watches you get mouth-fucked by his friend. It all makes everything very vulgar, because way before you had this idea, you and Steve had only fucked like normal people. But the sight and the scene and all the reactions had switched something inside of him too.

"Fuck, baby" Eddie shakes his head, amused "Yes. Shit, of course!"

You don't usually touch yourself when you fuck with Steve. You like to feel his fingers on you, you like the sight of it. You love when his long fingers fuck you too. But tonight, you've made it a goal to go way out of your comfort zone to bring them to the edge with you. So you slip your hand down your stomach, reaching your clit and deliberately stroking your skin with your own fingers. Your hips are uncontrollably rolling against Steve, and he loses his shit when he sees you touching yourself. You're touching yourself and blowing Eddie. He couldn't be more aroused than that. The latter, on the other hand, feels the sweat coating his body, the long-gone twist in his stomach crawling back over him. He tries to brush off the urge to make you gag until he comes in your mouth, only willing to thrust into you so the tip of his cock reaches your squeezed throat.

"She's gonna lose it again, Munson" Steve pants, slamming his hips against you, watching you lose your balance to the way your pussy clenches around his cock "Look at this pretty thing falling apart"

"Fuc–" You barely have the time and energy to react to your apex. Your third orgasm of the day in a span of less than an hour. Your whole body goes limp again, and you stutter, crying out moans as your body shakes.

He removes your hand from your clit, lacing his fingers with yours with the one free hand. As he leans against your body and chokes you, he slams forward harshly, feeling the jolt of electricity wash over him. He watches your contorted expression, your lips quivering as you come down from your high, while he overstimulates you. Then again, there's something about you that makes them both cum all at the same time. Eddie tilts your head up to face him, pulling out of your mouth as he grips his cock and spills all over your face.

You stick your tongue out, trying to get a glimpse of his taste. You feel his warm cum coating your face, and when Steve digs his nails on your waist, he spills inside of you. His cock twitches and makes your walls flutter around him, his body is almost hovering over yours and his grip around your throat loosens. He breathes heavily above you, Eddie is also a panting mess and you're a mess of cum. Your friend slowly pulls out of you, his aching cock almost throbs again and you wheeze at the feeling.

You stay sprawled out on the couch, watching them put their boxers back on before cleaning you up. Steve is responsible for cleaning up your pussy, slightly pressing the baby wipe over your sensitive spot. While Eddie softly wipes his cum off your face, his gentle fingers holding your jaw up. It almost feels domestic, if it wasn't for the filthy conversation and the poundings filling the air in the living room. You stifle a laugh through a snort, clearly catching them off guard, making them pause their hands over you.

"What?" Steve asks with curious eyes, while you purse your lips.

"Just feels very domestic. The aftercare is funny, considering this meeting was one hell of a dirty ride"

Eddie gets you. He lets out a breathy laugh and resumes cleaning your face, and Steve can't help but grin at your comment. His expression immediately shifts as he looks at the white spot on his couch.

"Dude, not the fucking couch" He lets out a frustrated sigh and playfully tosses the used baby wipes at his friend, who doesn't quite gets to protect himself in time.

"Fuck off, Harrington! Keep your freaking jizz away from me" Eddie groans, tossing the baby wipes back at him and you laugh at the pestering "You never cum on your couch?"

You glance from him to Steve, who looks so astonished he can't even respond. If you didn't know better, you might think he was careless enough to stain the furniture, but he's always been too meticulous to let that happen. You're handed your underwear and Steve's t-shirt, and you dress yourself while witnessing both friends arguing over something comically weird.

@kellyxo1 @sammybrrr @zafetycar @andvys @hellfire--cult @skeltnwrites @ghost-proofbaby @eddiesxangel

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musedblues · 10 months ago

Text

AMORE ~ FATI (part 2)

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

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

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

part 2 of ?

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What... what do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But instead, you let him sleep.

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wouldn't hurt to check, right?

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#joseph quinn #emperor geta #joe quinn #joe quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn x reader #emperor geta x reader #fem!reader #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn smut

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whatsupsonnyboy · 2 months ago

Text

Drunk in my mind | Joseph Quinn (part II)

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

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

wc: 5.1K

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

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

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open | masterlist

part I | part II | part III

Joe barely slept. Again.

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

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

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

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

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

Just work.

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

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

Instead, it felt impossible.

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

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

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

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

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

They went again. And again. And again.

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

By the fourth take, something shifted.

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

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

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

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

And that was the problem.

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

Panic hit him like a train.

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

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

But it was too late.

The moment was gone. The scene was ruined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second take began.

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

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

You did the same.

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

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

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

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

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

Because that’s what Joe used to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe that was on you.

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

The worst part?

He wasn’t.

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

And that? That hurt more than anything.

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

But it hadn’t worked.

If anything, it made it worse.

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

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

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

He had been selfish.

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

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

Of course, you had felt it too.

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

That was the worst part. The unbearable truth.

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

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

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

He wanted to fix it.

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he had to try.

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

But it wasn’t enough.

Because you weren’t meeting him halfway.

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

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

And it was fucking up everything.

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

Especially from you.

Your frustration was palpable.

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

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

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

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

But what the fuck was he supposed to say?

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

None of that would fix anything.

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

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

Perfectly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice. His expression.

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

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

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

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

It made your pulse stutter.

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

And then it happened.

His breath hitched. His voice broke.

And a tear slipped down his cheek.

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

You felt something twist violently in your chest.

Because in that moment, you knew.

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

He was breaking in front of you.

"Cut!"

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

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

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

He barely reacted.

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

And all you could do was watch.

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

Something inside you cracked.

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

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

You had been wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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electrosuite · 6 months ago

Note

bathroom sex with eddie munson pls!

warnings: swearing, unprotected sex, public sex, descriptive sex, oral sex

word count: 1.1k

masterlist

You weren't sure you'd be able to pull it off, but when you finally convinced Eddie to come with you to your family reunion, you were ecstatic. You hated going to them; you always thought they were stupid and cheesy. But you knew this would be a perfect opportunity to introduce him to your whole family, saving you multiple occasions of meetings.

This year it was at your cousin's house in Carmel, Indiana, which was only about a forty minute drive. Eddie was so nervous to drive that you decided to do it, knowing the route better anyway.

"They're gonna love you."

"No, they're not."

"They're not like most people, y'know. They're not so judgmental."

"You say that."

"I know that. I promise they're gonna love you."

You could tell he still wasn't trusting of that, but you knew your family. And you knew they would love him.

But he mostly kept to himself or you. At one point, your aunt dragged you away to help set up some activity and he gave you a panicked look as you walked off.

When you came back to the table you'd left him at, he was gone. After asking around, you found him standing alone in a corner with a plastic cup full of some kind of soda.

You wrapped your arms around one of his and you could feel anxiety lift from his shoulders.

"Sorry," you said quietly. "She has the grip of an eagle. What are you doing over here?"

He shook his head. "Just standing." He dipped his head down a bit to kiss you.

You smirked at him for a moment, then looked around. When you saw that no one was looking, you grabbed the drink out of Eddie's hand and laid it on the bookshelf next to him.

"What are you-" You interrupted him by pulling him into the bathroom behind him. You locked the door behind you and leaned back against the door. "What are you doing?"

You just looked at him, putting on the face that he knew too well.

His eyes widened and he pointed at you. "I know what you're trying to do."

"What am I trying to do, exactly?" you asked coyly.

"Your family is right outside."

You were silent for a moment, and you could hear loud, muffled music begin to play through speakers all throughout the house.

"I dunno, I doubt they'd be able to even hear us talking."

"I don't wanna fuck up my first impression with your family."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just standing here." You adjusted your position so your hips pressed backwards against the door, accentuating your curves.

He stepped over to you slowly and stopped when he was only a couple of inches from your face.

"Oh, is that all you're doing?"

"All I'm doing."

He sighed teasingly, unable to hold back a smirk.

"You're such a tease."

He kissed you, his hands cupping your face. He kept you pushed against the door for a moment, not waiting long before pulling you by the face to the vanity. He scooped you up onto it and you leaned back against the mirror, his kisses following you.

You hiked your dress up to your hips and pulled your underwear to the side, Eddie crouching down and throwing your legs onto his shoulders. He immediately found your clit with his tongue and you gripped the edge of the sink, trying to be quiet even though the music outside was drowning out your voice.

Honestly, the fact that there were people — all of whom you were related to — that could hear you on the other side of the door was a bit of a turn on for you, and you weren't sure why.

Eddie seemed to be holding back a bit, and you knew why. Normally when he ate you out, he had you screaming just from that. He was incredible with his tongue, able to manipulate that sensitive little bud in ways not even you could. The combination of his tongue swirling and lips sucking was like the most intense vibrator ever, and it was all you wanted most of the time.

This orgasm wasn't even close to as intense as they normally were, because both of you knew that if they were, you'd get caught for sure. But it was still enough that you struggled to stay quiet.

"I don't have a condom with me," he whispered into your neck.

"S'alright." You leaned into his ear. "I wanted you to bust in me anyway."

He gulped at that, never fully getting used to hearing you dirty talk.

"You're disgusting," he joked. "Walking around your family reunion with my cum inside of you?"

"Mmm, yes please."

And with that, he was inside of you. His arms snaked under your knees and pressed them closer to your chest to allow himself to go deeper. He really filled you to your brim, and you didn't think you'd be able to take any more had he been even an inch bigger.

"Fuck, you feel so good, Eddie."

"Yeah?" he breathed. "How good?"

"So fucking good, Eddie. Fuck."

After a few more seconds, he pulled out of you and turned you around so you were facing the mirror.

"Look at yourself getting fucked."

You made eye contact with your reflection, seeing how lust-filled your eyes were. You felt him pull your loose hair into a ponytail with his fist, keeping a tight tension on your scalp. His other hand was on your shoulder, keeping you firmly in place where he wanted you.

You'd never done doggystyle with both of you standing. Usually you were on your knees on the edge of the bed and he was standing on the floor to keep better control, but this — your back arched, your head pulled slightly back, and your tits bouncing in the mirror — this was different.

It was better. Maybe you'd have to incorporate a mirror into sex every time from now on.

"Y/N, I'm already close."

"Already?" you moaned. "What, can't even last three minutes today?"

He yanked you back by your hair, your back flush against his chest. The hand in your hair was now around your neck, his other hand reaching down to finger you.

"Maybe I would if your whole family wasn't outside."

"Turning you on?"

He grunted and laughed as you moaned from the extra friction. It was literal seconds later that he had to clamp his hand on your mouth to keep you from screaming at your second orgasm.

And once it had ended, you felt his warm cum fill your hole, gushing out onto your thighs. That feeling alone could've made you cum again if he hadn't have stopped.

You both stood standing for a moment, your legs trembling slightly.

"Shit," he whispered, pressing kisses to your neck. When he pulled out, you felt cum dripping down your legs and you rushed over to the toilet, cleaning yourself up a bit. "Maybe we should fuck in public more."

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queenofthekings · 11 months ago

Text

𝓢𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓐𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮

Summary: Your story of survival in New York, and the promise you made to Eric.

Author’s note: If I get anything wrong about New York, pls don't yell at me I'm just a Brit who's never been and is relying on the movie and my friends for help lmao. Special think you to @littlexdeaths for helping me with this, without you I probably wouldn't have gotten this finished. And if any of you see a reference to The Enemy, no you don't.

CW: 18+, fluff, descriptions of injuries, horror, spoilers for a quiet place day one.

Word count: 1.5k

Tagging: @espressomunson.

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

You’d first met Eric in class, his accent being the first thing you noticed about him. Like him, you’d travelled far to attend law school in New York and both of you would talk frequently after classes about life back home and how different New York was compared to it.

The more you got to know each other, the more romance blossomed between you. He would always wait for you before class and go in with you, sitting beside you just so he could brush his fingers against your hand or whisper something funny into your ear to distract you.

You were expecting him to ask you out on a date, but then the world fell apart.

When it started, you were with a couple of your classmates, just laughing and joking around and then it stopped.

You barely had time to react before something akin to a bomb exploding just down the street caused everyone to start screaming and running all around you. Your lungs and eyes were burning from the smoke, and you could barely see but all you knew was that you needed to run. You had no idea where your friends were, but you hoped they were just hiding somewhere, and you’d see them soon as you darted into a bookstore.

With shaking hands, you got out your phone and dialled Eric’s number, silently praying he’d pick up only it went straight to voicemail. “Eric, it’s me. If you get this, stay where you are; I will come for you, okay? I will come find you. I’m so fucking scared right now, but I hope you’re still out there and you’re safe.”

You wanted to tell him you loved him, but you were too scared to, what if he didn’t feel the same way? God, feelings were hard when the world was ending.

You ended the call and looked around you, trying to find anything of value, picking up a map and a small nightlight you could use as a torch. You weren’t entirely sure where you could go but staying where you were clearly wasn’t an option. Shoving your things into your backpack, you hesitantly walked back out onto the now quiet street, trying your best not to walk on any broken glass or rubble.

Tears began running down your cheeks as you walked, but you didn’t bother wiping them away. You had to come to terms with the idea that you were the only one left; your friends were gone and so was Eric, even if that thought killed you.

As you walked, you wished you could listen to your music to drown out the silence with the occasional bursts of screaming but you knew it was too dangerous, you had to be alert at all times.

As night started to fall, it began pouring with rain and even through your hooded jacket, you were soaked through. You ran towards some shelter as fast as you could, you ended up finding an abandoned church and slipped inside the door as quietly as you could.

Being careful to avoid the puddle from the hole in the roof and the massive hole in the floor, you made your way to one of the pews and finally rested.

Sleep didn’t come easy for you that night, but you managed to get maybe a couple of hours, better than nothing, you supposed.

In the morning, you looked over your map to find the best route to South Street. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you knew it had to be done, even with the number of blisters you’d gotten on your feet from walking so much the day before.

Sliding off your shoes, you assessed the damage and wondered if you should trek out to find a pharmacy to get some band aids but just as you were about to put your shoes back on, you heard a commotion from the hole in the floor, with two people climbing out of it.

You froze as you slowly made your way over towards them, your heart pounding in your ears as you saw Eric. You couldn’t quite believe your eyes as you got down onto your knees next to Eric’s head, a shaky hand on his shoulder.

His eyes opened and instantly locked with yours, slowly getting up to embrace you, even if he was soaking wet. You tried your best not to cry but after everything you’d both been through, you couldn’t hold your emotions back and neither could he; you both held each other and cried quietly.

Eric refused to let you go, and you refused to let him go – even for a second. You slept together wrapped up in each other’s arms that night, finally getting some decent sleep at last.

In the morning, you could tell Sam wasn’t doing well and both you and Eric offered to go get her medication, Eric refusing to let you go. Reluctantly, you allowed him to go but not without giving him a kiss on his cheek, a silent promise that you’d see each other again.

You stayed with Sam, initially playing tic-tac-toe together but eventually getting to talk about each other’s lives before everything went down. Went to school together, had a massive crush on him you wrote on the notebook, causing both of you to laugh silently.

“He talked about you a couple times,” Sam whispered. “Always wanted to find you, now it makes sense why.”

You weren’t entirely sure what that meant, but in your heart you hoped it meant that he felt the same way about you. You kicked yourself for letting him go with just a kiss on the cheek and not a proper love confession, just more reasons to make sure he came back safely with Frodo in tow.

The four of you stayed in the church until the next morning, deciding to venture out to find Patsy’s. You and Eric never let go of each other’s hands, not for a single second.

But when you were out in the open, you’d knocked over an abandoned suitcase, the sound echoing throughout the silent streets. All four of you froze for a moment, before you knew you had to lead the monsters away to give Eric and Sam a chance.

Pressing a kiss to Eric’s lips, you pushed him away and sprinted away in another direction, screaming as much as you could to draw them towards you. It didn’t even fully occur to you that you could die in the process, but as long as Sam, Frodo and Eric made it out, that’s all you cared about.

That was the last time Eric saw you, saving his life. And all he could think about in that moment was how much time he’d wasted not telling you how he felt. And now, you were gone.

By the time Eric got onto the final boat with Frodo, he finally allowed himself to cry, to mourn over the loss of both you and Sam. At least he still had Frodo to comfort him, he closed his eyes and just stopped to listen to the purring cat in his arms until it jumped out of them. His eyes opened instantly, feeling himself on the verge of a panic attack as he looked around for that black and white cat.

Until he saw him at someone’s feet, his eyes filled with tears, clouding his vision but he could tell the person was walking towards him. Wiping away his tears, he got a good look at the person. He blinked several times, not quite believing his eyes.

It was you.

Battered and bruised, a long cut down the left side of your face, but still you.

You smiled once Eric noticed you, the cut across your face contorting a little so it almost looked like a half grimace. You took a seat next to him, handing back Frodo. “Hi,” you said, your voice a little croaky after not being used in what seemed like forever.

“Hey,” he said back, his voice just as croaky. “I thought I’d lost you, too.”

You shook your head, petting Frodo. “I was almost a goner,” you pointed to your face. “But I got saved at the last second, I don’t even remember by who. I thought I’d died, but my face hurt too much. Couldn’t even see out of my left eye at first, but I knew I had to get to here.”

“You still look beautiful,” he moved a stray hair away from your face, not even flinching like most people did at seeing your cut.

You pulled a face, letting out a small hiss in pain as you forgot the cut for a moment before you rested your head on his shoulder. “So what happens now?”

Eric sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I don’t know, but one thing I know for sure; I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head once again. “Don’t you worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got all I want right here; I have you and we have Frodo.”

“Good. Even then, I’ll follow you wherever you wanna go,” he whispered, capturing your lips with his in a gentle kiss.

#spilled ink #a quiet place day one #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #eric x reader #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfiction

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