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sepherinaspoppies · 2 months ago

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Temporary Fix- Martin x Reader

summary: Martin is desperate to feel something. Anything. Rest? Relief? Sleep? Pleasure? Then he meets you, who can assure him that he will feel all of what he seeks.

warnings: drug use, hair pulling, handjob, ball play?, face riding, sub martin, dom reader, clit piercing stimulation, praise, orgasm denial, unprotected p in v, (please don’t be silly wrap that willy), surprise at the end!

wc: 4,675

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divider by @saradika-graphics

masterlist

notes: im so sorry this took a long ass time, family problems and I just moved back to Mexico so ive been busy lol.

For weeks, perhaps months, his body was aching. Tension had built up around his lower back, feeling like pins and needles stabbing the muscles of his back. Soon after, those aches and pains shifted over to his chest, and it felt like a heavy weight that couldn’t be shaken away, making it difficult for him to breathe.

Especially late at night.

Which prompted him to consume one of his mum’s low dosage of Ibuprofen. While the effects of the pill worked, it only lasted about an hour or two the most. Eventually his mum caught on the missing pills, but luckily his mum believed the little white lie he told, excusing it as his sister’s behavior.

With nothing to dull the never-ending sensation, he needed desperately to find relief elsewhere.

And that’s how he met you.

Out of all the places in town, he’d never assumed to meet a drug dealer in an open field, sitting by the train tracks, staring into the distance, with a cigarette in one hand and a lollipop in the other.

“I have hypoglycemia.” You informed as you turned around.

It is then when he took in the rest of your appearance. Your eyes were dark, smudged by black eyeliner and eyeshadow. Silver glitter cascading down your cheeks, giving the illusion of tears. On top of your left brow, two little studs of a piercing decorated your skin. And below that piercing were two other piercings, a septum and a lip ring.

He tried to picture you without the dark makeup and piercings, somehow he couldn’t. It suited you.

You wore a t-shirt of one of his favorite bands, Black Sabbath. Paired up with a black tennis skirt and fishnets that accentuated the length of your legs. Truly, you were beautiful.

“What’s that?” He asked you, off topic, taking a few steps towards you.

You exhaled a cloud of smoke, then dragged your tongue around the sweet. “Low blood sugar. When my sugar levels drop below a certain level, I faint.” He nods his head, noticing another silver piercing on the tip of your tongue.

Hot.

He wondered what other piercings you hid underneath your clothes, he had a feeling the facial piercings were not the only piercings you had.

His ocean blue eyes continued to stare at you, assessing if you were who his mate had referred him to. “You’re Tommy?” He asked.

You threw your head back in a laugh. “No, that’s my brother’s name. I strictly use it for business.” You kicked the grass that stuck to your boots as you stood up, getting ready for the usual business exchange. “Most people don’t buy drugs from girls.” Though, you didn’t know why. You were great at not getting caught. No one had suspected a thing when you had done a deal next to a policeman.

“Would you have come if you knew I was a girl?” You questioned.

“Fair point.” His lips pulled into a faint smirk. “So, what’s your name?”

You placed your cherry flavored lollipop back into your mouth, hiding the amusement from his view. There was no denying that the guy in front of you was attractive. Judging by his looks alone, he fit right into the description of guys whom you considered your type.

His long black hair reminded you of Eric Draven, from the Crow. He was tall and lean, similar to the fictional character you had posters on your bedroom walls. But it was his eyes that pulled you in. Which was a shame, you strictly forbade yourself to not date any of your clients. If you’d call them that.

The last time you did, he left you panicked and traumatized. You have learned your lesson since then.

“Will, said you need some sedatives. I have some bars; aka Xanax.” You shake the translucent orange bottle of white bars from your pocket. “They’re legit. They work. But it’ll cost you two hundred quid.”

His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets at the said price. He carried only a hundred in his wallet and a fifty that his mum gave him for groceries.

Fuck!

His reaction caused you to narrow your eyes, “Fine, one-eighty quid.” You negotiated, putting on your best serious and business face.

That, however, doesn’t deter him. “One-twenty.”

You scoff loudly. You were generous by giving him a twenty percent discount, and he wants more?

The nerve of this guy!

“One-sixty.” You counteroffer.

“One-fifty.”

“Done.” You reply as you both are quick to exchange goods. Immediately so, you begin to count the money in case of any scams the dark brunette might throw your way. After all, you barely met the guy.

“Is this…chocolate?” Martin asked, a little taken back that you managed to slip a small Butterfingers next to the translucent bottle.

Is it normal for drug dealers to provide chocolate to their clients?

He wouldn’t know. Though, the last time Martin bought drugs was with one of his mates, behind a very smelly bin next to a seafood restaurant. Not once did that sketchy, and yet very creepy, dealer gave them a sweet after their transaction.

He hears you chuckle, a playful look on your pretty face. “I carry candy with me wherever I go. That’s for you. You look like you could use it.”

“What if you faint?” He stops before you have the chance to walk away.

“Don't worry, I won’t.” You smile, using the heart shaped lollipop to wave him goodbye.

His eyes watch you walk away, and his breath hitches when a small breeze lifts the back of your skirt, giving him a delicious eyeful of what was underneath.

As soon as his bedroom door closes, Martin begins to inspect the bottle you’d given him. He wondered how many of the little bars he could take. He knew, of course, not the whole thing. His mum would scream at his overdosed corpse and probably descend into madness.

So it was safe to say, he only took one.

It dissolved on his tongue almost instantly, and about an hour later or so the effects started to kick in.

The waves of anxiety and the aches and pains Martin usually got during this hour never came. He felt at peace; calm as he stared into the silver glow of moonlight out of his window.

A heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders and for the first time in months Martin finally fell asleep quite comfortably.

This exchange between you and Martin went on for about two more months, meeting at the field exchanging goods and Martin usually attempting to ask you out, only for you to deny him every time.

Eventually, Martin got the hint and no longer hit on you, much to your disappointment. Not only that, you started seeing him less and less as he only met you once every two weeks. Regularly seeing you every week.

Maybe you were a little harsh for not giving him a chance.

But you reckon that wasn’t the case as he would’ve completely cut ties with you.

There must have been something else on his mind or perhaps his work life got the best of him; which was good.

You wished nothing but the best.

After contemplating on whether to call or not call Martin, you decided to instead shoot a message to your shared friend, Will. He informed you that he hadn’t seen him around or heard from him in some days. Which was odd since they were best mates, often talking about random shit (including you but Will would never tell you).

Will you make sure he’s alright? You texted.

Can’t. I’m staying over at my girlfriend’s. But since you care about your best customer, go ahead and pay him a visit ;)

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you could hear Will’s tantalizing voice inside your head.

Stupid wanker. You thought as you typed Martin’s address on your phone.

It wasn’t that far from your apartment, only a couple of streets over that was doable by walking.

Though, Will mentioned for you to sneak through the upstair’s window as he lived with his parents. You were thankful you wore good shoes fit for the climb but not a good enough outfit as you reckon anyone passing by would get an eyeful of your ass.

Martin laid on his bed, playing with what looked to be a miniature helicopter. Although you couldn’t hear what he was saying you still found the act a little funny.

“Martin!” You knocked through the window, not too loud and just for him to hear. You watch as he jolts a little, his face showing a mixture of fear and confusion once his eyes settle on you.

Instantly, he sets his toy aside and runs to you, opening the window and helping you up. You mutter a breathless ‘thanks’ which makes Martin nod. “What are you doing here?” He asks, a bit surprised by your random presence in his room.

“Oh, I- wait, what happened to your face?!” You exclaimed, panic rooting deep in your stomach. Martin turned his head away but you weren’t having that. You softly placed your hands to the sides of his cheeks, examining the markings on his face.

The bruises on his nose and lip were fresh, probably from a few hours or so ago.

“It’s nothing, really.” Martin murmured, attempting yet again to push your grasp. “It doesn’t look like it!” You say, keeping a firm hold on both sides of his cheeks. If you weren’t so concerned about the cuts and bruises, you would’ve taken your time in appreciating how soft and smooth his cheeks were.

“Why do you care?” He murmured very quietly under his breath as his eyes no longer met yours.

It was a good question, why did you care? You weren’t this… caring for your other clients. You had your regulars, most of them coming and going. Not once did you bother to think about them, caring only for the cash that kept you well-fed and alive.

You knew something about Martin was different from the others. Yet, you had a hard time deciphering the answer to his question.

Why did you care?

“I don’t know. I just know I do.” You sighed, taking a seat right next to him. A long comfortable silence followed between you two, and you took your time to inspect the details around the perimeter of his bedroom.

A few posters were scattered on his walls, some of them were a few bands such as Nirvana, The Smiths, and one of your personal favorites: Oasis. The other posters seemed to be art pieces done by himself as the various kinds of paint brushes and the smeared paint on the surface of his desk proved it.

He was an artist.

Far left towards a desk sat a large terrarium made for a reptile that you couldn’t see. You wanted to giggle at the miniature couch and bed Martin made for the little fellow, it was cute and you could tell how much he cared about his pet.

“Why did you come?” Martin finally spoke, although faint.

“Honestly?” You clear your throat as you shift your feet awkwardly, “I hadn’t seen you in a while; I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Not because of the drugs?” He asks.

You tried to conceal a smile at the mirthful tone of his voice. “No…”

His eyes narrow at you and you swore you saw a hint of something playful in his features before he shifted his body to face you. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Fine. Yes, also because of the drugs but mostly because… I- I cared for your well being.”

Oh God.

Heat expands around Martin’s face, and he was glad that there was barely any light for you to see. “I’m sort of alright,” he shrugs. Martin has been better, definitely when the drugs did their job.

Your head tilts to the side at the ‘sort of’. “Sort of? Are you not taking them anymore?” Martin shakes his head.

“I don’t like ‘em anymore. Couldn’t feel anything. Nothing.” Martin did not understand why. The first couple of weeks went fine without any trouble or problems. He had become more productive than he’d ever been, from helping his mum and his little sister with chores and homework to picking up extra shifts (which was totally unlike him).

Then about two weeks ago, everything changed. Martin walked to a new coffee shop when someone— his ex-girlfriend of two years— had accidentally bumped into him as she walked out, spilling hot coffee on his chest and hands.

Normally, one would wince and possibly shriek at the burning sensation, but not him. He smiled at Lydia as she stammered apologies, not feeling the harsh burns on his skin.

As an apology, Lydia had agreed to go out for dinner at their favorite restaurant when they were still together.

They had a good time, catching up about their work, family, and friends. Martin learned new things about her he didn’t even know when they dated. After a few pints and cigarettes, Lydia brought him over to her apartment, where they both stripped each other’s clothes off instantly.

But along the good, comes bad.

Martin had her on all fours, her cunt glistening with so much of her arousal, needy and ready for him. To his horror, Martin’s dick couldn’t seem to get hard. No matter how many times he fisted himself, his dick was unresponsive.

Discomfited, Martin practically ran out without an explanation. Dick move, he knows.

Since then, Martin figured the drug was the cause for his insensitivity. So he stopped altogether.

“Glad to know I wasn’t the only one,” you slump down Martin’s bed once he finishes explaining. Martin furrows his brows in confusion but soon begins to puzzle the pieces. “So those were your pills?” He recalled that moment when he saw faint letters of a name, your name, printed on the bottle. It was a prescription. Your prescription.

“Yea, it was to help with my panic attacks,” you explain. Though, carefully not to give too much of your personal information. “While it helped, it also made me insensitive.” At that, Martin sat up straighter attentively listening to you.

“That’s why I got all these tattoos and piercings, I hoped I could feel the pain of the needle as it went right in.” You could still recall the piercer’s shocked expression when you exhibited no look of pain. You confirmed that you weren’t intoxicated and signed a waiver that everyone signs. Yet the piercer had counted to three with every piercing, and not once did you flinch.

Martin glanced up at the piercings on your face, “Did you?” He asked. You shook your head, moving your arms around, to show Martin the many tattoos. He thought of you brave for not even flinching at something so painful. As much as he appreciated tattoos, he would never get one on himself. The thought of needles made Martin a bit light headed.

“Are these the only tattoos you have?”

“No, I have more.” If your parents were still alive, they’d go crazy at the amount of tattoos you had.

“May I see?”

Your other tattoos and piercings were located in a more private area on your body, and you would’ve said no. But it was the ‘may I’ that made you agree.

Your fingers lifted the hem of your oversized t-shirt, neatly placing it next to you on the bed. You move your hair to the side, granting him more access and the art that took hours to create on your body.

Martin sat amazed, especially at one tattoo in particular. A long branch of wild flowers started between your clothed breasts, going down your hip and finally wrapping around your thigh. It was beautiful that he did not notice the belly button piercing just sitting below it.

The art piece was precise, fully detailed as possible that Martin knew it must've taken you multiple sessions to finish.

Inadvertently, Martin’s fingers start to trace one of the flowers, following the pattern down and down causing you to hitch your breath at the near proximity of where they were going.

“Beautiful,” Martin compliments under his breath. Your skin was so soft that he had no desire to take his hands away.

And you didn’t want him to either. You wanted Martin to continue exploring every inch of your body for his touch was feather-like and gentle, sparking something within you.

Martin looks at you and your eyes are warm and relaxed. His fingers suddenly halt at your inner thigh, right where the branch ends. “You want me to keep going?” He whispers, moving closer towards you, his hands ready to remove the unnecessary clothing until you said that one word of consent.

You licked your lips, feeling the heat from his body coming closer and forward. His lips were only a breath away from yours, awaiting an answer from you.

“Yes,” you whispered back, your head tilting upwards as you brushed your lips with his. The hand that he used earlier, grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you swiftly to close the small gap.

Your lips were just as he imagined them to be, perhaps even better as he pulled you by your underarms and sat you right on his lap, where you gasped at the hardness of his length pressing against your abdomen, feeling every solid inch of himself.

And there was plenty of him.

You continued to chase his lips, never once pausing for required air. The kiss was full of want and need that made you feel like a puddle on his arms. Shivers went down Martin’s back at the cooling sensation of your tongue piercing colliding with his own. Only then, he began to imagine what that piercing would feel like on his cock, resting right there on the bulbous tip where you would swallow every single drop of his come.

In his desperation, Martin’s hands went to unclasp your bra, only for you to tut at him, placing his hands on back on his sides. “No touching, I call the shots here.” You scolded him as if he were a little boy.

Martin’s jaw dropped at your dominant tone, not that he was complaining.

“Do you wanna feel with me?” You whispered, trailing your hands up and down his chest, now that you got rid of his shirt, admiring the light brown sprinkles of hair. His pectoral muscles flexing against your delicate touch.

He nodded vehemently— desperately, blue eyes staring at your cherry pink lips. “I wanna feel everything with you.” It was a want and a need right now.

“Take off your shorts,” he did as you commanded and you swore your insides clenched at the mouth watering view, “d-do not move or come until I tell you to. Understand?” You asked, keeping composure.

You sat behind him immediately after he said yes. A part of Martin was a bit confused on what you had planned for him but another part of him found the mystery of it all quite exciting. And he was right, his hips jolted forward as soon as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing so wonderfully.

Martin moaned as you gave open mouthed kisses all around his neck before your teeth grazed around the sensitive skin, marking what was yours. You did the same to the other side until you were satisfied and skin covered with love bites you wanted everyone to see outside his bedroom walls.

With the same hand, you slowly began to stroke his cock, pulling the foreskin up and down, your thumb resting at his baby pink tip, admiring the way it twitched with more of his arousal. Your other hand, reached to cup his balls, giving them a good squeeze. Combined, made Martin see stars.

“Oh…fuck,” he stuttered, feeling his end approaching.

You smirked, stroking his pretty cock faster. “If you come, I’ll punish you. And you won’t like it when I do, baby. I won’t show you any mercy.” The last guy you punished ended up passing out within seconds, and as much as you wanted to punish Martin, you needed him. Needed his cock inside you.

A part of him was intrigued at what you’d do, but Martin chose not to awaken that side of you. He wanted to be good so that he’d earn his reward. His release.

You watched as Martin kept control of his breathing, his hands fisting the sheets impossibly tight. Meanwhile you found yourself growing wetter and wetter at the little whines he let out.

This went about a few more minutes until Martin ran out of things to think about to not come. From his grandmother to his best mate, Will. While it worked, the need to release screamed louder with each fast stroke.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! Please, I can't-can't hold it much longer!" Martin whined, as heat settled in his gut with each involuntary thrust up.

You grabbed his jaw to face you, noticing a few tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. You slowly swirled your thumb at the wet slit, causing Martin to sob loudly. “Aw, you wanna come?” You cooed, biting his earlobe not too harshly.

“Yes! Yes! Please! I beg you, I- I- need it!” Any more of your teasing, Martin was sure his dick would fall right off. “Please!” He begged yet again, his pretty blue eyes full of want and need.

When you finally were going to grant his release, he did the unexpected and touched you. Using your hand to stroke his cock at a much faster pace. Then Martin released a long moan of your name as ropes of his come gushed on his lower belly and your hand.

Finally, he came.

Just as he relaxed in your arms, he sat back up frozen in fear over what he had done.

“Did I say you could come?” You questioned, with an angry and dangerous tone. “I’m sorry–” Martin tried to apologize, holding your hand to prevent you from leaving. But you weren’t having it. Those sweet puppy eyes wouldn’t work on you anymore.

“Only good boys deserve to come. And since you were bad, you don’t get to come anymore–”

“But I am your good boy. I won’t do it again, I promise.” The dark haired brunette pleaded, caressing his head with your hand. “Please, I'll be so good to you.”

“Then prove to me how much of a good boy you really are, Martin.” His hands automatically shift you down the bed, ripping your fishnets right down the center of where he truly wanted to show you how good he was.

“No, I wanna sit on your face.” You briefly told him and Martin’s eyes widened with interest.

“Can you keep this on?” Martin pointed at your fishnets.

You agreed.

With great enthusiasm, Martin lays on the bed, ready to use his tongue on you. He hoped he wouldn’t disappoint you, never once did he receive a complaint about his head game. However, in those experiences he was the one in charge. Now, Martin was about to unlock a new experience he was set on trying for years.

After you rid yourself of your bra, you hurriedly crawled your way to Martin’s face, setting your knees on both sides of his face. Martin’s eyes darkened, not only at your heart shaped nipple piercings on both of your breasts, but the piercing over the small hood on top of your sex.

A clit piercing.

“Be a good boy,” you instructed before you lowered yourself on his mouth. Your hands gripped the metal bed frame for leverage as you slowly grind your cunt, back and forth.

Martin hummed, in total bliss at the taste of your sweet slick that was coating his face. You moan loudly as he moves his nose against your piercing, sending shocks of pleasure to your spine. His tongue feasts on you, licking the seam of your folds with each of your grinds.

You press your core closer to his face, unconcerned if Martin could breathe; not that he minded. It was a good way to die, though. And your jaw drops open with multiple breathless moans, once his tongue made its way inside your entrance, licking inside your quivering walls.

Martin’s eyes stared at you as you were lost in complete pleasure, you truly looked devine sitting on his face. He could come on just this alone, but he didn’t want to risk another punishment from you. Martin was set on being your good boy, so for now he had to follow your instructions.

“Yes, that’s it!” You rip one of your hands from the headboard and dig them into his hair, guiding him where you want him, as you are getting closer to that cliff of euphoria. Martin happily goes where you want him.

When you guide his head towards your bud, Martin moves his nose at a much faster speed. When you guide his head lower, Martin sucks and licks at your entrance vigorously.

“S-so good!” You praise and it took everything in Martin to not come.

Martin moans. The vibrations alone cause your thighs to shake and release multiple broken moans as that tight coil at the pit of your stomach finally snapped, triggering your release.

“Oh fuck, Martin!” You shout, pinching your hardened nipple for extra stimulation.

Martin laps every gush of your sweetness, licking you clean through your orgasm. He watches as the apple of your cheeks flush bright red, and your eyes flutter rapidly in what he thinks is bliss.

“I’m too sensitive now,” you whined as you laid down next to Martin, basking in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Martin frowns, he wanted to make you come another round, this time–with your permission– he’d use his fingers.

“Did I do good?” Martin asks as he lays on his side to face you.

“Perfect.”

“Do I get a reward?”

You throw your head back and laugh. “No.” You say as you straddle his hips, and Martin hisses when you grip the base of his cock, running the swollen head around your pussy, gathering wetness before you slid down.

Martin’s eyes roll in the back of his head over the smugness and warmth of your tight walls clamping down at him. The feeling of you was indescribable, heavenly; and he couldn’t do anything but groan and grip tightly at his sheets, desperately wanting you to move.

Once you adjusted to his overly girthy length, you began to grind your hips at an angle where you could feel the head of his cock kissing your cervix and hitting that special spot inside of you that had you cross-eyed.

Fuck he was big.

“I won’t be able to last much longer,” Martin warns, gasping at every clench you give.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Martin.” You snaked your fingers down your bud, circling your pierced clit before you came once again with a loud whine so unlike you.

However your eyes, in which you didn’t realize were closed, shot open as you felt Martin’s cock pulsate and instantly separated yourself from him causing him to whimper over the loss of contact.

“Please! I need-want to come inside of you!” He cried, chasing his hips towards your pussy.

You denied him that and started again.

Every round Martin was close to coming, you detach yourself from him. Until your hips became somewhat sluggish, Martin took you by surprise and threw you at the end of his bed, mounting you from behind. You were at a loss for words as he slid inside of you without warning, giving hard, fast, and needy thrusts.

“Be a good girl and take what I give you,” Martin mumbles as he grips the roots of your hair, forcing your head to look at him. “You don’t get to come anymore. Do you understand?”

You have no choice but to oblige.

#Ewan Mitchell #martin x reader #idk how to tag this #martin (in the modern world) x reader #ewan nation #pls dont come for me over these tagz #in the modern world #filthy smut #so be nice to me

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punk-in-docs · 4 months ago

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A song of rage and salty waves: part I

— Emperor Geta x reader (Salacia)

— 2.5k words

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary; You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblog and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW!! some dub con/ threat/violence/basically forced marriage/forced smut situation/Geta is such a vile human being/Macrinus is villain sorry denzel ily

You’re imprisoned in Rome.

You certainly didn’t come here of your own free will. Your father had tugged you here from Corsica. Employed clever charm with letters and schemes from his high position in the senate.

As the role of your sex; you were born to obey.

He sent you imported silken stolas the colours of cornflowers or lazurite, with gold fibulae at the shoulders. Gem inlaid jewellery, rings to decorate every finger, and earrings the sway. A golden net for your hair. Wheedled you into coming to join him. Sending servants to travel with you and take heed of your every comfort.

He made sure you dined on plump fresh fruit. Seafood of lobsters and crabs. Drank wine so rich dark it looked black.

You despise it. The stone pillars and temples. And gods of old. Eyes watch you everywhere. See you. Follow you.The governing heat and noise and sweaty heaving mass of all forms of life.

You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa.

Salacia. The ocean nymph and the being of your name. Crowned with seaweed in your hair. Sea foam dripping off your fingers. Ripped from your home, an isle by the sea, at the whim of another.

Imprisoned here in this cold marble city. A fish out of water. Gasping dry on the shore.

Pulled inland and stolen away. You can’t hear gulls or waves anymore. It sickens you. Heart pangs that throb for home.

When you arrived, pulled back your folded palla down to your shoulders. He welcomed you with open arms and fondness. Wrists linked in gold cuffs. Tugged you to his chest and embraced you warmly. Hissed in your ear - abrasive like harsh sea spray - spies are everywhere.

He needed you close by. For reasons you had yet to fathom.

You dined like spoilt deity’s. Breads and wines, fish, fruits from far regions fattened by the suns heat, and succulent meat roasted in sweet cassia spices on a spit.

He had urns of flowers - picked by the servant - placed in every room. Lilies, juniper branches still bearing dark fruit, lavender, oleanders.

Companions join him and he is boastful of you. A nubile creature offered placement at a table of old muddled men. He introduces you to trusted friends and advisors in the senate.

One man in particular takes keen interest as to your recent arrival. His name was Macrinus. Man of information and resources. Dealt in cunning and cruelty though you found him sincerely charming. Your father watched you with a desperate eye.

Macrinus bore a smile so dazzling and blinding it made you dizzy; made think of the sun god. Apollo and his light cast across golden wheat fields. Notes of fine music. He sipped his wine slow, as he learned the flavour of your name. Where you came from. Understanding the rolling sea foam in your veins.

There’s a game to be held at the coliseum. He will have your father as his guest - and you by a very pretty extension. He nods at you; his eyes glimmer like pooled liquid gold in the half lit dark. It almost makes you feel safe.

They dine and drink into the small hours. Yet you slip away.

You watched this awful city out your window that night in your silk dress the colour of night time tidal waves. The air is stale. Carrion to you. Hot. Full of dust and sweat. Here, It smells like mulberry trees and a green garden waiting for blessed rain.

You couldn’t hear the sea. Or your sisters. Your mothers humming as she wove cloth and mended clothes. And you wept.

Salt found in your tears to be your only sacred comfort of home.

You are soft to this hard stone city. The coliseum is magnificent. As large as it is those who hold their powerful fists over its rule. Clutched in gold. Fine for the rich. Deadly for the slaves and warriors thrown into the pit at the whim of others. Met with carnivore teeth and sand and death.

The senators, generals, and the rich merchants watch from their perch, up among the gods they serve, presiding in shade and clothed in perfumed silks and jewels. Ladies and men both.

Your hair took hours to fasten in its current coiled style. Plaited and weaved. Your dress is the colour of the softest blue shore. Your servant lavished your arms and fingers in golden finery. A serpent cuff coiled around your arm. Skin draped in lemon oil because it’s the small piece of Corsica you carry here with you. Serenity to push against this place of gore, butchery and death.

You find yourself seated here amongst giants. Macrinus is seated one side. Your father the other. He fondly lays his hand across yours in gentle touch.

His palm is damp. Gold rings wet.

His face looks haggard with age. The lines by his eyes more prominent. Rome is poisoning him. The golden apple just a fingertip shy of his reach. St Bartholomew flayed and stripped of skin piece by piece. Schemes and plots lay thick in his mind like rot. Sweat beads down across his brow and the thinning salt pepper of his hair.

He says something to Macrinus that you’re too absorbed to hear. It’s low. Dragged through a growl. He appears unmoved, with a slow flick of his eyes to you. Watching this finery and loudness devour you. Your eyes so full wide and round. Salt and innocence entwined.

You all rise when the emperors pass by, Geta and Caracalla, who stride in, garbed in gold and cloaks. Come to take their rightful place at the mouth of the box where you are seated.

They are like twin suns to the Roman people. Lion gold hair kissed by fire. They burn and twist and shine with it. Make noises like gold coins that clack when they move. Strung in riches and golden crowns of olive leaves and branches.

Together they make you think of Romulus and Remus. Raised rabid by wolves. And they certainly make an impression. You’ve heard tale of the voracious nature of the blood sport they all but live for. Faces limned in the glory of gore.

The crowd cheers for them. They nod and wave but it appears barbed. The games begin with a wave of applause and a regal hand.

Caracalla twists and casts an eye in your direction. Seeing new meat.

The way you sit sedately and can’t cast your mind into the butchery and violence happening below. The clash of steel. The hollow squelching cries that proceed death. The spill of viscera and the scatter of brain matter from split heads.

Each new gash or split in skin made them smile. The taint of blood. Metallic sour. Spilling of offal and exposed bone.

He tilts his head like a clever wolf. Eyes darken. His sneer as terrible as a skulls. He leans across and whispers something to his brother with a knock of his arm to gain attention.

Another set of wolfish eyes join the first in hooking to your skin. Silly soft girl. Made of gentle sea breezes and lapping blue waves calm and soft enough to wade in. Pearl shining in moonlight. So watery and weak. So good. Untouchable.

Geta swept his gaze on you from head to toe. Appraising you hungrily through greedy eyes. The beauty of your figure in that soft folds of that stola. The gold that crushed your neck. Broaches at your fair shoulders. Hair glistening and finely arranged.

He liked the way you winced when another sword blow came. The pull of your brows and how you had to look away. He wanted you gathered up in his lap; fingers crushing your jaw as he turned your head; force you to watch as the men cleaved at each other and drew blood. Hacked off limbs. Laugh at your revulsion.

Looking at you sat there; He has an urge to take his dagger, slit that fine silk from your shoulders and bare your real beauty. Grab it off you and snatch your dress down. Spoil himself on your curves. Grab your breasts. He’s sure you’ve tits that even a goddess would envy. He’d reel you in by grabbing your ass that definitely needs a spank and some attention.

You’re even prettier than some of the finest whores he’s had grace his bed. They never kept his interest too long. Too entwined in filth and sin like him; you look pure as a vestal virgin.

He likes that. He wants to pluck it off you and spoil it.

You don’t dare meet his eyes. Of course you don’t. He’s an emperor. He could have you executed for looking at him wrongly. Instead; you wring your hands in your lap and squirm. Close your eyes tighter with every dying wail.

He turns back to the fight. As do you. A gasp flies from your mouth when you draw your eyes to one of the measly soldiers in the arena. Your father left his seat to stand, mouth gaping.

You saw the familiar arrangement of strong limbs. Garbed in warriors clothing. The way his arms shook holding a sword. Inexperienced and struggling. The fight was not fair. The same head of hair that matched your own.

Your oldest brother.

Macrinus grinned. “He’s not my finest fighter. But I wager he’ll be good sport.” He smirks.

Your father turned, cursed the gods, and exploded with venomous rage. Flew for the man with his fists. Grabbed his clothing. You tried to restrain the storm of his temper - but then you’d got that trait from somewhere hadn’t you? - an ocean thrashing wild and free. Terrifying in its rage.

“You promised me.” Your father roared. Spittle flying.

“I never promised to protect your traitor of a son. Let us see if the gods spare him. Yes?” Macrinus commented.

You couldn’t take your eyes from the pit. Nor could your father. He clutched to you like he could barely stand. Weakened and shrinking. Hand a vice on your shoulder. It burned like the sting of sun but you couldn’t shrug him off.

Your brother was meeting with an opponent far larger than he was. A Retiarius. Helmet, trident, dagger and a net.

Of which had currently knocked your brother to the blood dusted dirt. Spearing the trident deep into his thigh. Pinning him to earth like a bug. His cry of pain ringing out. Blood sheeted down one side of his head. His scream is the most horrible thing you’d ever heard.

You can’t help it. Where you’re stood, you cry out. It pours forth from you.

The Retiarius loomed over your bother like a terrible storm cloud. Looking up at the stands for direction. The whole audience cheered and screamed for more.

Geta stood up and the crowd bayed. He sneered at the sight before him. All the power of a god; crammed into a mortal man.

He raised his arm. And hesitated for a moment. Before he smirked. And pointed his thumb right up.

Death.

Your father wailed. The huge lumbering gladiator descended onto your brother. Flinging the net off and cutting his throat in one fast slice. Blood poured and pooled around lifeless eyes. Stained the sand.

Macrinus stood to his feet and clapped along with everyone else. The emperors’ laughed like hyenas at the sight. Blood and pain only made their smiles grow.

Before you knew what was happening, the palace guards had you and your father surrounded. Hands viced around your arms. Your shoulders. Your father too.

Traitor. He decried. A traitor in the senate. The tarpeian rock.

Just like his now dead son. People’s poised against the glory of Rome. Against Caracalla and Geta. Death to all.

Macrinus spoke harshly to the guards to release you. He backhanded you across your cheek. Your eye felt like it was going to burst. Cheek flamed with fire. Lip cut and bleeding down your chin from his ring.

He then wasted little time in digging his fingers into your finely done hair. Hauled you along screaming. Tears streaming.

Your father could only watch, limbs wrenching forwards in terror to help, as Macrinus marched you across the stands to where they sat.

He threw you to the ground like a feral animal. Tumbled you onto your knees. Skimmed your hands. As you squirmed and cried at your body twisted to his cruelty.

“Your majesties. I have personally uncovered a traitor in your court. Senator Aurelius. Not only was his first born placed in rebellion against Rome. But he himself has been sowing seeds of treason in your senate. I bring you his filthy kin as recompense…” He spat at the Emperors. Releasing your mussed hair to throw you to their feet.

They examined you as one would a creature. Nothing of humanity left. Devoid of any feeling. You crawled slowly to your elbows. Tried to claw away sobs. Raising up but not daring to look at them. You weren’t worthy. You feared them.

Geta was the one who rose slowly to his feet. Coming to stand before you. “We are most grateful for your revelation, Macrinus. You will be rewarded for such loyal service.” Though he spoke to him, his eyes never left you.

You father shouted and cried pleas. They go unheard. He snaps to the guards who hold him. “Silence that treacherous snake-“ he barks. They beat him into submission.

You stay cowering on the ground. In amongst the gritty dirt, and the blood like those slaves and gladiators. That’s how they saw you. That’s how much you were worth. Held in the same regard as the dirt on their shoes.

You feel a ring clad hand tip a finger under your chin. Blood dripping down onto that digit as he made you raise your head to look at him until your neck hurt.

“What is your name, pretty little traitor-“ He sneers. Because that is all you are. They’ve tarred and feathered you with the same brush.

You give it to him through tears that run freely. You give this awful golden haired emperor with dark lecherous eyes your name.

“Salacia.” You cry. Voice watery and cloaked in heavy salty sobs. Lips parted. So soft and pliable. Lovely and ripe and waiting for him. A gift from the gods-

He tilts his head down at you. Looking like some sun gold lion. Showing his canines in a cruel white smile.

“Imprison them. Both.” He smirks.

He thinks he may have them bring him your fathers head on a platter. Strangulation seemed too soft. Too forgiving. He had to make an example of you.

He had a particular way in mind for your fate. He watched you get led away crying as he sucked your sweet blood off his thumb.

You tasted like salt and sea foam

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people—

@indouloureux @trashmouth-richie @atabigail @lunatictardis @waywardrose @ceriseheaven @hillarymurray4 @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @ddejavvu @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

#emperor geta #punkwrites #joseph quinn #ancient rome #gladiator 2 #gladiator #i would die for this man #geta is a bitch ok #lots of holy goddess imagery #idfk what im doing #i wrote this in a fever dream induced daze at 2am ok #pls dont kill me smut in next chap ofc #geta is a hugeeee nasty prick #the title is so douchey I’m sorry #smut to come !

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