This just popped into my head: Geta has trouble falling asleep (because why wouldn't he), and so he wanders around the gardens and hears quiet singing and comes across a young woman (slave or whatever) and she gets him to fall asleep; she's not allowed to leave his side after that.
I hope I answered this in some kind of way that makes sense. Hope you like it!
(also I know these are big ass pictures (thank you @inseparabiles) but this stupid smile is too perfect to not put here.)
Fitful Sleep
Emperor Geta x reader
Warnings: none, perhaps implied nudity?
Sweat collected at his hairline, along the back of his neck, and anywhere that his skin touched. The haze of sweltering heat that had settled over the city throughout the day didn’t dissipate once the sun disappeared. It somehow got even worse at night. There was very little breeze gently pushing at the thin linen curtains separating Geta’s bedroom from the terrace.
Sleep only came to him in short bursts, something that grew more irritating each time he awoke drenched in sweat, the humidity trapping it against his skin. He would wake only for long enough to move over to the other side of the bed, now slightly cool, mostly dry, and collapse, gradually falling asleep again.
Ten times. Ten times he woke, before he had enough. He felt mad, launching himself out of bed to stand out on the terrace, the barest hint of a breeze doing wonders to his sweat-slick skin. He couldn’t be bothered with a robe, it was far too hot. There was no one to see him anyway. As he leaned against the railing, he started dozing off.
After the third such time, he moved into his room, looking around for a solution. He spotted the ornate chaise, and immediately made up his mind. Too impatient to summon someone to move it for him, he dragged the heavy piece of furniture out to the terrace, pushing it up against the railing. He laid down on it, the fabric a bit too warm for his liking, but it would have to do.
As he began to relax for once, on the fringe of true sleep, he heard a sound. Something soft, drifting on the breeze. He lifted his head, looking down to the gardens below through the posts of the railing. Eyes tracing over the courtyard, they slowed to a crawl as they first noticed a soft blue robe, hanging off the shoulder of the siren.
There was a lot of bare skin, more than was appropriate for someone outside a bedchamber. He knew he shouldn’t look, he should lie back down, but he was curious. Surely this person was suffering from the same ailment. His suspicions were confirmed when they dipped down to cup some of the water from the fountain they sat on the edge of, and let it fall from their hands over their bare calves.
Geta wondered intensely if the water was cool. If the sigh that reached his ear was any indication, it was. And as they gathered more of it up, wetting their hands to press them to their neck, shoulders, the genuine consideration he gave to going down there himself was alarming. He understood the reason they might have thrown caution to the wind and gone out there in such a state. He felt warm, heated through in a different way, from the inside out.
The most he could see of them was their bare shoulders, the robe kept up enough to hide their back from him. But it was enough to fill his mind with delirious, feverish thoughts. Burning heat like the sun bearing down, like sitting too close to a fire. Smooth, damp skin, already hot beneath his hands, his lips.
The humming roused him from his thoughts, and he caught a glimpse of their profile for a moment before they turned back around. It was branded in his mind. He thought he might know that face, but he wasn’t sure. He forced himself to quiet his mind again, knowing that above all else, he needed to sleep. If he was to be of use to anyone the following day, he needed to close his eyes.
The tune changed to one he recognised, though he wasn’t sure where he knew it from. After enough time, he stopped trying to place it and let himself relax.
The heat had abated at some point in the night. Now, as Geta passed through the gardens, his eyes lingered on the fountain, on where the mystery person had sat. He could picture them sitting there still, skin shining with drops of clear water under the bright moonlight.
“Yes, well it’s a miracle that the worst of it seems to be over,” someone commented, laughter echoing.
Geta looked up, examining the throng of people lingering in the gardens. Was he looking for his siren? Checking on Caracalla? He couldn’t say. But as he scanned, he spotted a shoulder slope that he thought he recognized.
You hadn’t been given a moment of peace since the gathering started. It wasn’t enough that you had barely slept the night before, just like everyone else, but it seemed the discomfort from the night before bled over into tonight.
All of the staff were so frantic, so frazzled after the heatwave that what should have been easy work became all the more complicated as tempers rose and communication faltered. There had been three dropped amphorae, and one beautiful green glass pitcher shattered. As a household, they were never this clumsy.
Thankfully, the twin Emperors seemed to be distracted enough that they wouldn’t hear of this until tomorrow. You knelt and gathered the bigger shards as carefully as you could. Some of the glass disposed of, and the rest of it being swept up by another, you turned to return to the party, to see what else might need doing.
You collided with a chest, hands reaching out to steady yourself, an apology ready to begin tumbling from your lips. It died on your tongue as you locked eyes with him. Geta.
“Are you alright?”
He seemed genuinely concerned, and though you were new here, you assumed rightfully that it was a rarity.
“I’m fine, thank you, Emperor.” As instructed, you averted your eyes from his warm brown ones, ignoring the way his hand lingered on your upper arm.
“Look at me,” he instructed, his voice slightly firm.
After a moment of warring with yourself, you did. He was smiling, a sight far too beautiful to comprehend.
“Are you new here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes traveled over your shoulder, your neck.
You found yourself nodding, having a hard time stringing words together. He was intimidating, as he should be, one of the co-Emperors of Rome. But it wasn’t his title that intimidated you. It was the way he was appraising you.
“You helped with dinner yesterday, yes? I was trying to figure out where I’d seen you before.”
You nodded, letting out a cautious smile. He wanted to remember where he had seen you before? Why?
“The fountain… It sure seemed refreshing.” He was teasing you. “I considered walking down to join you myself.” His words were tinged with amusement, a glint in his eye confirming it.
An overwhelming wave of embarrassment and slight fear washed over you. You were only here what, a few days? Already in trouble. It was stupid, you knew it was stupid when you did it, but you would have actually lost your mind if you were made to suffer another moment in the sweltering windowless room.
Geta’s laugh ripped you from your thoughts.
“You saw me?”
“Emperor,” he spoke sternly, raising an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his full lips.
“What?”
“‘You saw me, Emperor,” he corrected.
“E-Emperor,” you repeated, concerned that you were about to be dismissed.
“Yes, I did.” He let his smile spread. “What was that tune you were humming?”
“Just something my mother used to sing to me,” you answered. An eyebrow raise reminded you. “Emperor.”
He looked away for a moment before returning his attention to you. “I do think that you would be better suited elsewhere.”
Oh no. You were being dismissed.
“I think I will have need of you in my personal quarters. A good tune may come in handy during sleepless nights.”
Boiling hot mortification poured over you, your mind making many leaps and assumptions. He was unaffected, still smiling, still more handsome than he should have been.
“Don’t look so scared,” he chuckled. “Do you know how to make a bed? Draw a bath?” His tone was slightly mocking, but full of amusement.
You nodded, watching him carefully, the mortification giving way to something quite different. Something you couldn’t, or wouldn’t, name.
“Good. I’ll expect to see you later.” He looked satisfied with himself, his gaze still approving, if a bit intrigued. And after one last look, he turned, walking off further into the gardens, back to where the party was concentrated. As he passed the fountain, he looked back over his shoulder at you, a grin on his face.
I may be crazy but I LOVE when singers leaning in to guitarists this way….if you have similar pics please share (I need it for scientific purposes……..)
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