#Jewel in the Palace 2

[kdram-chjh]

Kdrama: Uinyeo Dae Jang Geum (Season 2) (2025)

Dae Jang Geum is BACK!!! 2024 JEWEL IN THE PALACE

Watch this video on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/79KdkAGKkpU

[sluttyten]

I keep considering giving up on my photocard collection, but then I have days like today when I get the last photocards I needed to complete my KunDoTen sets from the Universe album (finally!!) and the Ten card I needed from the SMCU Express album!! And it just makes something in me feel so right to look at these completed sets

[hrpayo01]

Jewel in the Palace Episode 2: The Literari Purge 1504

[musaslullaby]

Is the princess really getting married?

Charles leclerc x fem reader

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: The Princess of Monaco is getting married, but the fans don't know who the lucky one is.

Face: people on Pinterest, and the driver.

Warning: fluff, Instagram AU.

A/N: There will be a second part.

Masterlist

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Ynofficial

Description: Me every time they tell me I should go get ready.

Liked by user56, lewishaamilton, and other 948.983.

user43: Yn doesn’t want to be a princess anymore.

user32: Let’s switch places, girl. ❤️ Like to author

yourbrother: Yn, you shouldn’t post these things.

Ynofficial: Don’t be so strict.

yourbrother: I’m just trying to keep you on the right track.

Ynofficial: How boring.

user3: The best princess I’ve ever seen.

user12: This is too funny.

user34: POV: How to pretend not to be a princess.

❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: POV: It’s not a POV.

user34: YNNNN!!!!

Ynofficial: Yes, that’s my name.

yourbrother: What am I going to do with you? ❤️ Like to author

user78: What do you have to do today?

Ynofficial: Another one of those shoots for something, honestly, I don’t even know.

user23: Wait, you’re doing a photoshoot and you don’t even know what for?

Ynofficial: Exactly.

Ynofficial

Description: At least I have him to keep me company.

Liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and other 8.483.939.

user45: How cuteeee.

user67: The luckiest little dog in the world.

user221: Yn doesn’t need a boyfriend; she has her dog.

❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: I totally agree.

yourbrother: He’s the only one who deserves to live in the palace.

Ynofficial: I know you love my son more than me, thanks.

yourbrother: I never said that.

Ynofficial: So, you love me?

yourbrother: You trapped me. ❤️ Like to author

user21: The last photo is worthy of a queen.

user34: Maybe you meant goddess?

user56: Guys, doesn’t that dog look like Leclerc’s dog?

user7: Who’s Leclerc?

f1lover: How can you not know? He’s a god on earth.

user90: He’s an F1 driver who has a dog of the same breed named Leo.

user50: Now that I think about it, they adopted them around the same time.

user54: Coincidence?

Ynofficial

Description: Okay, okay, I have to admit I had fun this time.

Liked by user43, checoperez, and other 98,453.

yourbrother: I told you.

Ynofficial: You usually tell a lot of lies.

user45: I love the relationship between Yn and her brother.

❤️ Like to author

user6: The heir to the Monaco throne.

user7: He’s very kind, I met him.

Ynofficial: Try living with him, then we’ll see.

user21: Were the jewels real?

Ynofficial: Yes, and they’re really heavy too.

user6: I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.

Ynofficial: The clothes are super uncomfortable tooooo.

user67: But they’re beautiful.

user0: They look amazing on her.

Ynofficial: I can’t wait to take them off.

Ynofficial

Description: A date before saying goodbye.

Liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and other 4.784.839.

user21: Who are you with, girl?

Ynofficial: With a human being.

user6: The luckiest human in the world. ❤️ Like to author

user5: YN OF MONACO WHAT ARE YOU DOING??

user34: Thank you, Yn.

user1: Whoever it is should thank their lucky stars every day to be with someone like Yn.

❤️ Like to author

user45: So, is she engaged??

user41: Yn, don’t play these tricks on us.

user67: It’s not funny.

user3: I love the dress.

Ynofficial: I don’t, they forced me to wear it.

user56: No way we could afford it.

user32: I wish I were a princess.

Ynofficial: Wish granted, please come take my place.

user6: Guys, isn’t the Monaco GP today?

user5: Oh God, you’re right.

user43: Do you think she’s going to the GP?

user8: I didn’t know she was into F1.

user09: Neither did I.

user5: Yn is the black sheep of the family.

❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: You’re absolutely right.

user56: That description doesn’t sound like you.

❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: Sorry, too poetic.

yourbrother: Mom wants to talk to you.

user6: Trouble’s coming.

Ynofficial: Time to run off to Mexico. Checo, will you host me?

checoperez: Whenever you want. ❤️ Like to author

user32: Wait, they know each other???

user9: Did I miss something?

user78: What does this dialogue even mean?

user76: YN?

Ynofficial

Description: Guess who’s not supposed to be wandering around the paddock?

Liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and other 877.473.738.

gp1: YN OF MONACO.

vroom: Wait, they allowed her to go to the GP??

race: I think at least someone from the royal family always has to be there?

user43: YN, DID YOU MEET CHARLES?

Ynofficial: 🤫🤫.

16_55: IT’S A YESSS.

user2: MY TWO FAVORITE PEOPLE MEETING. ❤️ Like to author

yourbrother: Where did you go? Mom’s going to be very angry.

Ynofficial: Cover for me.

yourbrother: Wait, what?

Ynofficial: Thanks, love you.

yourbrother: No, Yn, come back here, we agreed to stay low-key.

Ynofficial: No one will see me.

yourbrother: That includes me too, right?

Ynofficial: Maybe yes, maybe no.

63_: I love this woman.

user42: Is the car comfortable?

Ynofficial: My princess ass didn’t appreciate it.

user21_: That’s why you’re my favorite princess.

Ynofficial: I don’t think you know any others.

danielricciardo: Princess Yn is a fan of mine.

Ynofficial: You’re my childhood.

danielricciardo: I’m not that old.

Ynofficial: Don’t worry, Daniel, it’s hard to accept.

landonorris: Wait, Daniel met her and I didn’t?

maxverstappen1: He’s just privileged.

Ynofficial: I’m coming to you, don’t fight.

user98: Everyone wants Yn. ❤️ Like to author

81_4: She’s anything but a princess.

f1lover: Please marry me.

Ynofficial: Sorry, I’m a bit busy.

Ynofficial

Description: As a good princess, I have to congratulate Charles Leclerc for winning his home race, Monaco. Congratulations, Predestined One.

Liked by charles_leclerc, f1, and other 42.457.473

f1lover: How sweet, Yn.

ferrarifan: After this post, I’m over the moon.

race_: The Monaco curse is broken.

❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: Yes, but now Charles has to endure at least a month of bad luck.

charles_leclerc: Thank you, Yn. ❤️ Like to author

charles_leclerc: I thank you, Your Highness, for wasting two minutes to make the post. ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: Consider yourself lucky.

landonorris: Will the next victory post be dedicated to me?

georgerussell63: Keep dreaming, mate. ❤️ Like to author

oscarpiastri: Charles has reached the pinnacle of his career after this post.

carlossainz55: I can hear him laughing and blushing from here. ❤️ Like to author

maxverstappen1: Princess, may I humbly request your attention? ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: I always have my full attention on you, Max Emilian Verstappen.

charles_leclerc: No, today is my day, step aside. ❤️ Like to author

user56: Is Charles jealous??

user45: Max asking for Yn’s attention?

Ynofficial

Description: I can officially say I’m off-limits.

Liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and other 98,457.633.

yourbrother: I’m so happy for you, little sister.

❤️ Like to author

landonorris: Can I be the best man?

Ynofficial: No, you might show up to the wedding already drunk.

maxverstappen1: You said yesss! ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: I said yesss!

georgerussell63: Congratulations, guys.

❤️ Like to author

lewishamilton: Congrats, but honestly, I expected it.

❤️ Like to author

oscarpiastri: He has the eyes of love.

❤️ Like to author

user44: No, okay, we need to figure out who it is.

f1lover: It’ll be the most beautiful wedding ever.

ynlove: Our little girl is growing up.

charleslec_: I hope it’s Charles.

race: It’s definitely a driver.

vroom: I don’t know; it could also be a prince or noble.

user32: I doubt it, knowing Yn.

ynqueen: Love is blind.

user3: Whoever it is, I’m so happy for you.

user77: I’m going to drop a bomb: I think it’s Max.

maxie_: Oh God, yes, can you imagine??

1_11: The best couple ever.

Ynofficial: I like your theories.

user66: Yn, help us, please.

cl16: Has anyone noticed Charles didn’t even comment?

55_: Strange.

Ynofficial

Description: Goodbye, Monaco.

Liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, and other 757.648.

yourbrother: I can’t believe mom let you go.

carlossainz55: Knowing Yn, she would’ve gone anyway. ❤️ Like to author

Ynofficial: My friends know me too well.

user43: Wait, how long have they known each other???

formula1_: More importantly, since when does Yn love F1?

f1lover: It’s a new thing, actually.

race: Yn, princess of the people.

Ynofficial: Always at your service.

landonorris: Now she’s getting a big head.

charles_leclerc: As soon as they offered you to skip your duties, you accepted right away.

Ynofficial: You shouldn’t talk to a princess like that.

charles_leclerc: And you shouldn’t talk to a prince like that.

f1love: WAIT, WHAT DID CHARLES MEAN???

charlesmylife: Guys, Yn deleted it.

charelsofmonaco: No, I don’t understand.

16cl: I arrived too late 😭😭😭.

Flove1: Finally, we have proof that this man exists.

user65: I was convinced it was a joke.

user90: Secret agents of the world, unite, we need to find out who Yn’s boyfriend is.

user67: YN, WE HAVE TOO MANY QUESTIONS.

Ynofficial: And I have zero answers.

user56: Where are you running to, girl?

Ynofficial: Away from nobility.

Ynofficial

Description: I had to try the ice cream in Italy.

Liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and other 74.673.883.

yourbrother: Bring me some.

Ynofficial: No.

charles_leclerc: I’ll bring it to you.

Ynofficial: Since when are you two so chummy?

f1lover: No okay, we missed something.

race: Something important.

Formula1: Is that Leo or Yn’s dog?

f_1: The numbers don’t add up.

user78: I can’t tell them apart.

user1: They look the same.

landonorris: Good job, Yn, distract him so I can win in Monza.

carlossainz55: NO, YN, BRING CHARLES HERE NOW.

Ynofficial: Now I don’t know what to do anymore.

user56: Yn is a princess even outside of Monaco.

user09: How cute is the guy tying her shoes?

[allfearstofallto]

Also wanting to write a yandere historical au!! Like so bad!! Like imagine...

[Part 2] [Part 3]

Spoiled Prince! Scaramouche who gets whatever he desires as the next in line for the throne. He needlessly torments you, his favorite maid to pick with. He knows that you can't run away, not while you're so poor and desperate. You're at his mercy, his every beck and call until you decide that you'd rather live on the rat infested streets than in his palace any longer. But you quickly begin to notice that the streets are littered with more than rodents, when you are made aware that Scaramouche has sicked the palace guards on you. Dragged back to the mansion, where he waits for you with a scowl. How dare you think you can run away from him?

Hero of the Nation, Knight! Childe who was already popular with the ladies for his good looks long before he slayed the dragon tormenting the kingdom, but now he was bombarded with admiration. Yet he still chases you, the baroness with what you and others assume is nothing special to your family's name. You ignore his constant bombardments of gifts and love letters thinking them to be jokes at your expense. Why would he want you, when the princess, the jewel of the city, has asked for his hand three times over? He practically goes mad with rage when he finds out you're arranged to be married to someone else. You accept being betrothed to another, yet you won't take him?

Arranged Husband! Diluc who you're weary of. Your father assured you that he was the most suitable marriage candidate for your family that was running low on funds, and he always seemed disinterested, almost scared of you. You're wed to him a mere three months after meeting him and with only two letters exchanged between the two of you. Moved into an unfamiliar palace, you try to wander the halls as normal, while avoiding your also unwilling husband. Until you stumble upon a room with a door slightly ajar. Your husband stands in it, surrounded by portraits of you on the wall that you never posed for, underwear and garments that had gone missing, and your bed linens from the night before. It begs the question, who did you marry?

I'm so sorry...I've been reading A LOT of reincarnated as a villainess manwhas...

[whoworewhatjewels]

Who Wore What Jewels Weekly

Who Wore What Jewels Weekly

We are rounding up the best jewels of the week. From Anne Hathaway wearing not one but two Bulgari high jewelry looks in Tokyo to Rihanna’s cheeky F*ck  you Y/Project earring to the epic brooch moments spotted on the likes of Succession star Brian Cox and Emily In Paris cutie Lucas Bravo.  Scroll down to see who wore what jewels and vote on your favorite! Enjoy! WHO: MJ Rodriguez WHERE: …

[aisiedaisie]

hiiii ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ i just found your page this morning and read through your entire masterlist and i loveeee your writing! is it possible to get royal poly!marauders at a ball or something and they catch sight of the reader (can be whatever role you wanna give them) and they are like 'damn'

Hello hello~!!!

First of all, thank you so much for patiently waiting for me to get to your request. Life has been pretty hectic on my end, so writing had to take a back seat for a little while. But today, I finally had some time to sit down and write!

Now, let me just say— this idea is absolutely amazing! I’m completely in love with royal and historical AUs, so there’s a good chance I’ll revisit this concept and or turn it into a series of drabbles. (Not that I’m particularly skilled at keeping things short!!!)

I really hope you enjoy my take on your idea 💖

edit: I got a bit carried away-

Royal Flush

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.7k

The night after the neighboring kingdom’s delegation arrives, the Griffyn Kingdom buzzes with anticipation. To honor their esteemed guests— especially the visiting princess —the King and Queen have announced a grand ball. This celebration is more than an act of hospitality; it is a shining declaration of unity, a glittering prelude to alliances and promises that will shape their shared future.

You find yourself standing in Princess Lily’s chambers, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows against the ornate walls.

 Before you, Lily examines herself in a floor-length mirror, her emerald-green gown a masterpiece of silk and embroidery. You and Mary fuss over the gathered fabric at her hips, smoothing it into place with careful precision.

“I can manage the rest,” Lily murmurs, her voice gentle but decisive. She steps away, gliding toward the gilded jewelry box on her dressing table. Its lid is open, revealing an array of jewels she brought for the journey— diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires glittering alongside an assortment of tiaras.

“You two should get ready as well,” she adds, her tone as light as the shimmering necklace she picks up, its facets catching the firelight.

You pause, caught off guard. “What?” The word escapes before you can stop yourself.

Normally, Marlene would stand guard in her knightly uniform, Mary would accompany Lily throughout the event, and you would remain behind— content to watch the festivities from a quiet corner of the castle, keeping a vigilant eye on the princess’s chambers.

“There’s no need for that tonight,” Mary says, her voice warm with reassurance. She steps forward, deftly fastening the diamond necklace around Lily’s neck. The glittering stones resting perfectly against the princess’s pale freckled skin. “We’re on excellent terms with the Potters. No one here will mean us harm.”

The words hang in the air, both an assurance and an invitation. Tonight is different, you realize. 

A diamond tiara rests atop Lily’s head, its intricate design sparkling like a constellation of stars nestled in her fiery red locks. She adjusts it briefly, her reflection regal and resplendent. “You rarely get a chance to enjoy yourself during visits like this,” she says softly, her tone kind but firm. “Go on, get ready.”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, touched by Lily’s thoughtfulness. Her generosity warms you in a way words could never fully express.

With her gentle urging, you retreat to your own room to prepare. A quick bath washes away the lingering weariness of the day, and you do your best to ready yourself for the night ahead.

Despite your efforts, a sense of inadequacy lingers. 

For such grand occasions, it’s expected that the lady's maids and companions are impeccably dressed, each carrying at least one formal gown for travels like these. 

You do have such a dress— a blush colored piece gifted to you by your mother when you first joined the palace as Lily’s lady’s maid.

The fabric clings just a little too tightly at the waist, its once flawless seams now strained from years of careful reuse. The soft blush color, though elegant, has faded slightly with time, its original vibrancy dulled by repeated wear. The bodice is adorned with modest embroidery— delicate vines and blossoms stitched in pale gold thread that catches the light just enough to hint at refinement. The skirt, while gracefully cut, feels heavier than you remember, its weight pulling at your movements as if to remind you of the weight of high society.

It was the best your family could afford when you first came to the palace— a gift from your mother, its fabric chosen to honor both simplicity and a touch of nobility. Back then, it had been a symbol of hope, a token of pride for a baroness’s daughter stepping into the royal household. 

Now, however, standing before the mirror, you can’t help but feel its inadequacy in the face of tonight’s grandeur.

Even so, you smooth the skirt with steady hands, letting your fingers trace the faint ridges of the embroidery. This night, you remind yourself, is not about the richness of your gown, but the confidence you bring and the memories you make. 

Perfection may elude you, but presence—your presence—is more than enough.

When you step back into Lily’s chambers, it’s clear everyone is ready to go. Lily, as expected, looks effortlessly regal in her emerald green dress, the rich color complementing her fiery red hair that cascades down her back in elegant waves. Mary, ever composed, is radiant in a soft yellow gown that perfectly flatters her figure, her dark hair neatly arranged in a low bun at the nape of her neck.

“You look darling,” Lily murmurs, stepping forward to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Her touch is as light as her tone, her emerald eyes warm with affection.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to suppress a grin. “Says the actual goddess standing before me.”

“Truly,” Mary chimes in, her voice sweet as she adjusts the clasp of your necklace, ensuring it sits perfectly centered. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Before you can protest their kind words, a knock at the door interrupts the moment. Marlene peeks her head in, her light blonde hair swept back into a tidy low ponytail. “Ladies,” she announces with a bright grin, “it’s time to head down.”

Excitement ripples through the room as the evening’s promise beckons.

_____

You weren’t quite sure what to do once you stepped onto the crowded ballroom floor. Back home, state balls were familiar territory, their routines and customs etched into your memory. But here, in a foreign kingdom, uncertainty clouded your thoughts. 

Was the etiquette the same? 

Would it be seen as rude to linger by the walls, content to watch the swirl of color and movement before you?

Must you be drawn into the heart of the celebration?

Apparently so.

You stand near one of the grand marble pillars circling the ballroom, the cool stone a comforting anchor amidst the overwhelming splendor. A glass of white wine rests in your hand, a half-hearted shield against your unease. From the corner of your eye, you notice movement—a man approaching with easy confidence. His dark hair is tied into a loose, messy bun, strands slipping free to frame his sharp features. His attire marks him as a knight of the Griffyn Kingdom, though the smirk curling at his lips carries a roguish charm and confidence uncommon in most knights you’ve met.

“You must be part of the delegation,” he says, his voice smooth, his smirk deepening as his gray eyes fix on yours.

You hesitate, biting back the urge to fidget. He’s handsome, undeniably so, but you can’t quite place why he’s chosen to speak to you. With a soft sigh, you nod. “I am.”

“I thought so,” he replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “I remember seeing you earlier, standing just behind the little princess. So, why aren’t you out there, dancing?” He gestures toward the center of the room, where couples spin and sway beneath glittering chandeliers.

“I’m not particularly fond of dancing,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. It’s not entirely true, but you hope the excuse is convincing enough to deter him.

“Nonsense,” he says with a laugh, his hand extending toward you. “Anyone can see you want to. Prove me wrong, if you’d like.”

The invitation lingers between you, daring yet strangely kind.

You hesitate for just a moment, glancing at the glass in your hand before setting it down on the corner of the nearest table. Then, with a small breath of resolve, you place your hand in his. “Don’t get mad if my heels end up on your toes,” you quip, a touch of nervousness slipping into your tone.

“Trust me, I’m quite nimble. Dodging danger is part of the job,” he replies with an easy smirk, already guiding you toward the dance floor with a confidence that leaves little room for argument.

Normally, you might have countered with a quick remark of your own, but your mind is too distracted. The pounding of your heart fills your ears, drowning out coherent thought.

The lull in the music amplifies every other sound—the clack of your heels against the polished marble, the low hum of whispered voices as heads turn to watch you pass. The weight of their gazes burns into your skin, and your hands tremble slightly as the knight clears a path through the crowd, his presence commanding in a way that both unsettles and reassures you.

Other couples filter onto the dance floor as the musicians shuffle their sheet music, preparing for the next song. The murmurs of the room settle, anticipation hanging in the air.

“Well,” you manage, your voice soft as you cling to anything that might distract you from the dozens of eyes still following your every move, “it seems you’re rather popular.”

“What can I say?” he responds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am rather handsome.” The smirk that accompanies his words is maddeningly self-assured.

Before you can respond, his hand presses gently against the middle of your back, drawing you closer. His other hand takes yours in a firm yet careful clasp, guiding you into the proper frame with a natural grace that makes it seem effortless. You barely notice the band striking the first notes of the song, your attention fixed on the storm gray eyes studying you with something close to intrigue.

You set your hand clumsily on his shoulder, your fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his maroon jacket. He doesn’t seem to mind your hesitation, his movements assured and steady as he begins to lead you through a simple waltz.

To your relief, the steps come naturally, your body quickly attuning to the rhythm of the music and the gentle guidance of his lead.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice soft, nearly lost beneath the rising swell of the orchestra.

You glance up at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you give your name.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he replies smoothly, his lips curving into a charming smile paired with a wink that, despite yourself, pulls a smile to your face.

“And you?” you counter, a touch of playfulness creeping into your tone. “Who might this oh-so-charming knight be standing before me?”

His eyes glint with amusement, their gray depths catching the light like polished steel. “Sirius,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue with a quiet confidence.

You nod thoughtfully, letting the music and his lead guide you effortlessly across the floor. “An attention grabbing star for an attention grabbing knight,” you muse aloud, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Seems fitting, I suppose.”

His laugh is low and warm, the sound wrapping around you like the melody. “Well, I do strive to live up to my name.”

“I doubt you have any trouble with that,” you say, a soft smile playing on your lips as you hold his gaze.

The music begins to fade, the elegant notes giving way to the quiet hum of conversations around you. As the dance slows to a stop, you take a small step back, though his presence still lingers like the warmth of the ballroom’s golden glow.

“So much for not being a dancer,” he teases, his smirk as effortless as the steps he led you through.

You turn to him, unable to suppress your grin. “Maybe you were just that good of a lead,” you say sweetly, your voice light with sincerity. But before he can respond, you catch sight of Mary and Lily across the room.

“I ought to check in on my lady,” you add, inclining your head slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Sir Sirius—”

“Sirius,” he interrupts gently, his tone almost playful. “Just Sirius is fine.”

You nod, your smile softening as you take a small step back. “Fine, then. Thank you for the dance, Sirius. It was... unexpected, but I truly enjoyed it.”

With a final glance, you turn and make your way toward Mary and Lily, weaving through the gathered crowd. The warmth of his hand on yours still lingers faintly, and his name echoes in your thoughts like the fading strains of the music— a memory you suspect will stay with you far longer than the evening itself.

_____

James and Remus stepped out of the nearest sitting room, the faint hum of ballroom music echoing down the corridor. Remus, ever meticulous, adjusted James’s slightly askew collar, his fingers deftly hiding the newly formed love bites that marked the prince’s neck—evidence of their brief but heated absence.

“We need to get back before anyone notices,” James murmured, his voice low but tinged with amusement as he fixed his tousled hair.

Remus smirked. “We’re already late. Let’s hope Sirius hasn’t set the place on fire in our absence.”

But as they approached the ballroom’s grand entrance, what they saw made both men falter. There, on the dancefloor, Sirius Black was leading a woman in a waltz.

The sight itself was striking. Her blush colored dress stood out in gentle contrast against the bold, jewel toned gowns of the others swirling around her. The simplicity of her attire only seemed to magnify her elegance, and for once, Sirius appeared utterly focused, his usual roguishness tempered by something softer.

“Sirius never asks a woman to dance,” a sharp voice cut through the hum of the crowd. James and Remus glanced toward a cluster of women, their faces half hidden behind delicate feathered fans. The speaker, a haughty looking noblewoman, tilted her head knowingly, her words drawing murmurs of agreement from those around her.

Remus’s brows knit together. Sirius was notorious for politely but firmly declining the endless stream of invitations to dance he received at events like these. Yet, watching him now, Remus found he could understand why Sirius had sought out this particular partner.

She was... radiant.

“Well, isn’t she a sight to see,” James murmured, his voice just low enough for Remus to hear.

Remus nodded, his hazel eyes tracking the woman’s graceful movements. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s one of Princess Lily’s lady’s maids,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

James’s eyes widened slightly in recognition, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Is that so?” he drawled, the spark of an idea lighting his gaze.

Remus sighed, already sensing trouble. “What are you thinking, James?”

The prince’s grin only grew. “I think,” he said, “we should pay a visit to the princess. Seems like her lady’s maid could use some... royal introductions.”

_____

After reuniting with a gushing Mary and Lily, a server approaches, bowing their head politely before handing you a fresh glass of wine. You thank them quietly, though you can’t help but find their deference a little peculiar. Still, you accept the drink, shifting your attention back to the princess as she launches into a spirited account of your performance on the dance floor.

“You looked absolutely stunning out there,” Lily exclaims, her cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening—or perhaps the wine.

“She’s right,” Mary agrees with a hum, a bright smile lighting her face. “Everyone was watching. You two were the talk of the room.”

Both women had taken their turns dancing with high-ranking gentlemen throughout the night. Suitors vying for the honor of even a single waltz. Yet, they seemed convinced that your dance was the highlight.

“He’s quite a talented dancer for a knight,” Mary observes, taking a sip from her own glass.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I figured he’d be good, considering how confident he seemed. But he led me effortlessly. I barely had to think about the steps.”

“Well,” Lily interjects with a soft laugh, her hand fluttering to her lips as though trying to stifle her amusement, “that’s hardly surprising. He’s a noble, after all.”

“What?” Both you and Mary turn to her in confusion, the notion catching you both off guard. Nobles rarely became knights, considering the station beneath them. Sirius hardly seemed the exception, yet here you were.

“He’s the son of Duchess Black,” Lily explains with a slight grimace, lowering her voice. “Her sons are far more tolerable than she ever will be.”

“Lily!” Mary scolds, her eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard the princess’s blunt critique. Fortunately, the surrounding hum of conversation seemed to swallow the comment whole.

“But...” you trail off, your brows furrowing as you ask. “Did you not just dance with the heir to the duchy?”

“That would be my younger brother,” a smooth, familiar voice cuts into the conversation, making you turn sharply.

Sirius stands behind you, his easy smirk firmly in place, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his gray eyes. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you instinctively dip your head in greeting, murmuring, “Sir Sirius.”

“Sirius,” he corrects lightly, his gaze softening as it lingers on you.

“Sirius,” you murmur, correcting yourself softly.

His smirk softens into something warmer. “You danced with Regulus, Your Highness?”

“Lily,” the princess corrects, her tone mirroring his own.

Sirius chuckles, his attention shifting to her. “Of course, Lily. So, you danced with Reg?”

“As I always do, Sirius,” she replies with a sigh, clearly anticipating where the conversation might lead. Her expression brightens, however, as her gaze lands beyond him. “Oh, James, Remus! A pleasure to see you.”

Both Mary and you instinctively bow your heads, mirroring Lily’s graceful greeting as two men approach.

“Leave the formalities for the elders,” James teases, waving his hand dismissively. “Raise your heads, ladies.”

James Potter is every bit the image of royalty, dressed in a pristine white suit adorned with a red sash. The high collar adds to his regal air, but it’s his confident posture and easy smile —so warm and almost boyish—that truly captivate.

Beside him stands a tall, broad shouldered man with tousled brown hair. The scars that trace his skin catch your eye briefly before you hastily return your attention to the prince, unwilling to appear rude. Yet, the man’s hazel gaze, calm and piercing, seems to notice everything.

“Are you all enjoying the ball?” James asks, his voice warm and smooth as his signature smile graces his lips.

Lily answers first, her response polite and poised as ever. Her agreement prompts Mary and you to nod along.

“Glad to hear it,” James replies, his smile widening. “I know Sirius was enjoying himself not too long ago,” he adds with a teasing lilt, his hand clapping Sirius on the shoulder and lingering there in a way that seems deliberate.

“It was one dance,” Sirius groans, tilting his head toward the prince in exasperation.

“One dance more than usual,” Remus chimes in, his deep, steady voice carrying a hint of humor. His hazel eyes flicker to Sirius, glinting with quiet amusement as he observes his discomfort.

James turns his gaze to you, his teasing grin softening into something gentler. “He didn’t step on your toes, did he, my lady?” he asks, the mock solemnity of his tone bringing a smile to your lips.

You shake your head, your amusement showing clearly. “Of course not.”

James bursts into laughter, the sound rich and full, drawing a few curious glances from those nearby.

“Having women cover for your clumsy footwork now— what a shame,” Remus adds, his tone dripping with mock disappointment as he shakes his head.

Sirius turns to you, lips curling into an exaggerated pout. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve egged them on.”

You shrug, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now, why would I do that, Sirius?”

“You’re killing me, doll,” he groans dramatically, prompting laughter to ripple through the small group.

The conversation shifts back to something closer to polite, though the teasing undercurrent remains. Mary moves subtly closer to you, her hand brushing comfortingly over your back. It’s then you notice the weight of the many gazes lingering on your group, a pressure you hadn’t fully realized until now.

Your eyes lower to the polished marble floor as you focus on listening to James and Lily’s easy banter, their words melding with the hum of the ballroom.

“You alright?” Remus’s voice pulls your attention. He steps closer, his question soft, laced with genuine concern.

You nod lightly. “It seems all of a sudden I’ve run out of energy,” you say, a polite fib. The truth is, this entire night has been draining, though you don’t want him to think he’s dull company. “I’m not used to parties like this,” you add quickly to clarify.

Remus’s lips curve into a smile, his expression warm and understanding. “We have lounges on the top floor for guests who need a break. You’d be welcome to rest there if you’d like.”

You shake your head gently. “I really shouldn’t, but thank you for the suggestion–”

“That’s a great idea,” Lily interjects with an encouraging smile. “Let’s rest our feet for a while.”

“I’ll let Marlene know we’re heading upstairs,” Mary offers before slipping away, likely toward one of the food tables where Marlene is undoubtedly stationed.

“We’ll escort you,” Sirius says smoothly, but Lily raises a hand, declining the offer with a polite smile.

“We’ll be fine on our own, but thank you,” she assures him.

“Of course,” James replies, bowing his head slightly.

Mary returns soon after, accompanied by Marlene, who carries a golden plate piled high with delicate finger foods.

“Enjoy your rest,” James says with a gracious nod, his tone sincere though his smile holds a trace of teasing warmth.

The women dip their heads in thanks before retreating upstairs to find a quiet lounge.

_____

As soon as they’re out of earshot, James turns to Sirius with a mischievous smirk. “Well, wasn’t she a sweetheart?” he asks, his teasing tone unmistakable.

“She’s polite but knows how to hold her own. I’d say you’ve chosen well, Sirius,” Remus adds with an approving nod.

“If you two hadn’t left me—” Sirius starts, a hint of irritation coloring his words.

“We did say you could join us,” James cuts in, raising his hand as if to defend himself.

“And you know damn well if all three of us disappeared, people would notice,” Sirius counters, arching an eyebrow.

James shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Your loss.”

“Not entirely,” Sirius says with a wolfish grin. “It just means we can take our time later.”

“No visible marks,” Remus warns, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “We’ll have guests for a while.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, his grin unwavering. “It’ll be fine—it’s never stopped us before.”

Remus sighs, his lips twitching upward despite himself. “Fair enough.”

[marsmaximoff]

🏛️ emperor caracalla ; headcanons ⋆₊𐕣˚𖤐 ݁｡☽

content warning: fem!reader. mentions of blood, killing and sickness, cheating, possessiveness, toxicity. idk if there’s anything else.

word count: 0.7k

author’s note: first time writing headcanons, so constructive criticism is welcomed. and english is my third language so please bear with me. i apologize for any mistake 🙏🏻 also, i’m unlocking a new obsession, so i needed to write for caracalla asap. i’m gonna write for other fred characters too because that man has me down bad. that’s it! enjoyyy! <3

emperor caracalla is a menace with an insane duality and you know that better than anyone

we have 1) mad ruler with an insatiable thirst for blood

you ALWAYS go to the games

he demands wants you there with him

(not like you have much choice being married to him)

but still, he loves to know you’re there. mostly because he actually enjoys sharing his passion and spending time with you. buuut, also because he REALLY likes to show you off. (you love seeing him all giggly clapping and yelling tho)

and let me tell you, he takes every opportunity to do so. to remind everyone that you’re his. and to brag in front of his pretty much unmarried brother.

i’m talking hand rubbing your thigh when sitting by his side (he does it absentmindedly, it’s genuinely cute), arm around your waist during feasts, sitting on his lap when watching combats, theatre or any sort of entertainment and a ton of PDA.

both of them are possessive, but he is more subtle, not as straightforward

regarding Geta, you two have an… odd relationship. he’s thankful there’s someone else to deal with his brother’s madness. but he’s suspicious of your intentions. tho jealous.

some would even say not only of the marriage itself…

caracalla knows, and absolutely feeds on it. he finally has something that belongs to him and only him

god forbid someone doesn’t get it

Dondus has grown to adore you. you’re like his other parent -he’s adopted you as such.

squeaks at you and happily climbs your arm to rest on your shoulder

loves using your braids as little ladders

and snuggling against your neck too

he’s just so cute can u tell i love him :3

anyways

and 2) sappy child

he follows you around like a puppy

you hate it when he gets overwhelmed, he tends to hide and isolate himself

you end up acting like his mother

gets insecure of his real face and keeps it from you

needs a lot of reassurance

the guards always look for you when he has an outburst

your touch and presence are the only things that ground him

LOVES LOVES LOVES cuddling

clings to you like he needs you to breathe

good luck waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom 💀

play with his hair and he’s GONE

big on pet names

to you is always “my love” “my dear” “my darling” “my wife” “my empress”

emphasis on the “my”

everything’s fine with him but “sweet boy” makes him melt

and obviously “my emperor” cause it makes him feel powerful

and compliments too

spoils and pampers the shit out of you

jewels, clothes, animals, entertainers, you name it

absolutely whipped

loves kissing

now, it can’t all be a fairytale 😞

sometimes you feel like he loves Dondus more than you

and it seems that some men being forced to kill each other brings him more happiness than you ever could

he can switch from sad to angry in a matter of seconds and sometimes his sudden change of tone and expressions startles you

🚩 🚩🚩

being married to a sick man is hard

many palace servants and guards feel bad for you

paranoid

thinks you don’t love him anymore and are going to leave him quite often

obsessive

if you say something that feels ‘off’ to him get ready for an intense interrogation

possessive and extremely jealous

cause why the fuck where you laughing with some random man?

he’d threaten to kill him and would probably get rough with you

hates other people touching you

gets violent

has hurt you before during one of his fits

regrets it afterwards but has a hard time apologizing

would probably be unfaithful. i know, i hate it too 🥲

over all i think he wouldn’t be that bad of a husband, like it could be way worse

and i say he could genuinely love you, it just wouldn’t be the healthiest of loves

but you can try to fix him girl ✨✨

[fawninthesnow]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞: Part 3

Parts: 1, 2

𐙚 Emperor Geta x Fem Reader! 𐙚 18+

Summary: You are the daughter of General Marcus Acacius. You and your family are brought to the palace due to unrest outside of the city. For the first time in weeks, you are alone with Emperor Geta in his chambers.

Warnings/contains: dom fem, f4m, teasing, pinning, size kink, praise, idealization, biting, edging, obsession, not proof read

Word Count: 2.3k

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You found yourself in the forest beyond your home, walking through the crisp fall leaves as you read from a storybook. The forest was quiet besides from a few chattering birds and the sound of the wind. Something felt off today, rather, your father was being quiet. Whenever he was quiet, you knew there was something afoot.

It had been a month since your first trip to the palace and you had not seen the scrawny Emperor since then. Part of you missed him. The other part grew irritated with the thought of his existence.

However, at the palace, you plagued his thoughts. You were everything. He saw your silhouette in the shadows of the palace. Vases took your shape, as did the waves in the water in fountains. He heard your voice through the halls and your laugh in his chambers at night. Your hands were on his skin like the handwoven robes from his closet and jewels from faraway places. The feel of your breasts and waist. Your height. You embodied glamor, femininity, and Grandeur.

Day in and day out, like a fiend, he replayed the times you spoke to him. Even if you were rather rude, he felt as if he deserved it. You had not cared to respect him as greater than life. To Geta, that was the sexiest thing a woman could do.

He sat on his throne, wearing the crown you disrespected and disregarded. He spreads his thighs, attempting to assert some kind of dominance in his palace. His head in his hands, the man listened as the advisors ahead of him spoke of change in the city and of riots along the borders of rome.

Although he should have cared, his mind was distracted. His brother entered the throne room carrying his animal upon his shoulder and a bowl of fruit shavings. “Brother, look! It is Dundas! She can speak, just wait!” This only pushed him over the edge with rage.

“Stop this!” His once excited brother grumbled, caressing Dundas. The advisors went silent. “Clear the room.” He said softly. “Leave the room!” He commanded, “Everyone!”

The group of advisors left the throne room after emperor Caracalla.

In your bedroom, you lie in your bundle of sheets, playing with candles on the nightstand, testing the fire with your fingertips. In a sudden a burst, your father, mother and a group of guards entered your bedroom. “[Y/n], get dressed.” A few servants followed, collecting your clothes.

“Dress yourself, my love.” Your mother placed a dress onto your bed and blew out the candles on your nightstand. You quickly dressed behind your privacy screen.

“What is this about?” You asked, coming from behind the screens.

“We will discuss it later.”

“But, Father, it is the middle of the night,” You nearly laughed. Your eyes shifted to his hip, “Why do you wear your sword?”

Your mother led you outside, “Keep quiet.” That was rather hard for you to do. Quiet? No. You were the questions child, always a word on your tongue. But due to the atmosphere of everyone, you figured it was best. You were placed on your mother’s horse, and she sat behind your father on his. With your father’s command, you were led to the inner city.

The city was quiet and still. Only the sounds of the calvary’s horses and your own breathing filled your ears. A chill ran down your spine as the cold front blew freezing air onto your skin. You drew the hood of your fur cape over your head, dying to ask your father what took place here.

After arriving at the palace, you and your mother were escorted to the throne room. “Where do they stand now?” You sneered at the sound of the emperor’s voice. You and your mother bowed in his presence. He looked to your father, walking up to him in night robe. The throne room was dark, and the only sounds were the wind, and the voices of men.

“They have gathered around the amphitheater; others, outside of the city.” You listened in although they spoke by the throne. “Our soldiers are more than capable-“

“No! Listen to me! I am not stupid. There are more protesters than there are soldiers!”

“My Emperor, if I may, please do not let their hysteria get to you!”

The emperor’s eye twitched, “Get out of my palace! Go fix this, Acacius!” Your father bowed and dismissed himself along with his soldiers. “And you!” The emperor pointed at your mother, “Get out of my sight. Take that minx of a daughter with you.” He spat. You angrily stepped to him. He gulped, although confident you would not react too harshly in front of your mother.

“[Y/n]!” Your mother called. You huffed, pressing the heel of your shoe onto his bare toes.

“What is going on?! Someone, answer me!” For a moment, he nearly obeyed your command, however, your mother pulled your arm, leading you to a guest chamber to rest.

Your mother paced the room, holding her hands under her chest as she walked. You lay in the bed, not looking at her. “That is no way to speak to an emperor! And my gods! You stepped on him! Just wait until your father hears this! He will be livid!” She muttered something to herself, “We will be banished, we will! With what is happening at the boarder?! Your father will be to blame.”

“What *is* happening at the border, mother?”

“Riots. The people are hungry.”

“Father said-”

Your mother groaned, “The crops are dying, and all the good crops are being sent to the inner city. To these citizens. To the palace.” You sat up on the bed.

“What does that mean for us? For the emperors?”

She shook her head and spoke softer, “…I do not know. But food is wasted every day here. There is no way the people will remain calm.”

“…why all of a sudden?”

“The emperors were cut off from trading with the east, therefore cutting off food supply to the citizens of the greater part of the empire. These wars. No one wants to share food with their conqueror.” You sighed. You knew they were idiots, but this was extreme. It only proved to you that they must be out of their minds. Especially Geta. You rose from bed and left the chambers. “Where are you going?”

“Father said there is nothing to worry about. I trust him.”

“I am simply worried about *us*.”

“Mother, rest. I need to get some air.” ‘She is so much like her father.’ She thought.  Your mother agreed and began to prepare for bed. Through the halls of the quiet palace, you paced towards the back, to the emperors’ chambers. The halls were heavily guarded compared to before and their swords were drawn instead of sheathed. As you passed, guards bowed, respecting you as the General’s daughter. “Which one is emperor Geta’s?” The guard that protected his room looked you over before opening the bedroom door. “I will be quick.” You mutter, slipping inside.

Geta had not noticed you were inside of his bedroom, instead, all his attention elsewhere. He kneeled in front of his fireplace, blazing with orange and white flames. His hands open and facing the gods as he muttered a prayer. “…Gods, please…” he continued to mumble, and you stepped closer.

“They cannot hear you.” He jumped at the sound of your voice, drawing a dagger from his robe. “Oh, relax.” You pushed the sharp blade down.

“They cannot hear…” He repeated, “Stop that! They can.” He sighed, going back to his position of prayer.

“No, they cannot.” You giggled, lying next to him, you sat up on your hands. “You are a greedy and selfish emperor.” His eyes fell to your hands, your painted nails. “They will not grant a single wish.” You say, eating from his bowl of grapes on the table. “You do not agree?”

“I do not.” He said before continuing.

“Tsk, it is a shame that you are blinded, my emperor. You cannot pray to the same gods as men who eat bread from dirt roads. You cannot because you do not share the same ink, not the same robes.” You said with a laugh.

He tried his best to take deep exhale and be calm. He refuses to let you get to him. Not again! You may be divine but at a time like this, you were a divine distraction. “How did you get inside of here?” He asked, still holding his dagger. Dammit. He could not help but have conversation with you. You were impossible to ignore.

“The door.” You followed him with your eyes as he stood and poured himself a glass of wine. “You drink at a time like this?”

“It takes my mind off of things.” He replied matter-of-factly. He swallowed the wine in his cup in a single gulp.

“Oh, that is nice for you.” You said, tossing trinkets from his tables and drawers into the flames.

“Hey, stop that!” You looked into his eyes before pushing a silver blade into the fire. The fire erupted a bright green and deep red. “What is wrong with you?!” He moved you away from the fire. “Do not touch anything!”

“Do you know why I find you pathetic?”

“Please, I would rather not know.” He muttered, refilling his cup of wine.

You followed him to the cart of alcohol, “On a note, you might have a drinking problem.” The man rolled his eyes and tilted the second glass back. From his raised arm, the loose tie on his robe came undone, revealing his torso and exposed his hips. “I find you pathetic because I believe you are not fit to rule. However, you try so desperately to hold onto power. Honestly, it is rather brave.”

“You think I am brave?” He asked as you stood by his side.

“Is that the only thing you heard?” You asked, your eyes naturally fell to his hips. “You believe you are so…God sent, ordained. But you fail to humble yourself.” He held his head, another full cup in his hand as he walked to his bed. “You might hate me for saying so, but your brother is humbler than you. At least he is aware he is a man.”

He turned around and pointed at you, “Do not speak of my brother! And do not disrespect me! I am humble!”

“To what extent?”

“I am one with my people!”

“You are one with insanity if you believe that.” His nose flared in anger before he dropped his hand. The man chuckled.

“You…I could never grow angry with you.” He admitted defeat. “Please, spare me your analysis.” His nightwear stayed put around his lower hips. The trail of hair beneath his belly button and at the top of his crotch was rather distracting.

You reached for his torso and pushed the robe from blocking your view. “I figured you were too busy sitting on your backside…to look anything like this.” He looked away from you as your hands touched his firm abs. “What war are you planning to fight in, hm?”

“Do not patronize me…[Y/n].” You chuckled, your fingers traced down his chest, along his side and to his crotch. His breath caught in his throat at the familiar touch of your fingertips.

“Take off your crown.” You quietly spoke to him. Geta removed his crown, “To the floor.” The man tossed his crown onto the cold marble floor. He shut his eyes. There was no point in arguing with you, the back in forth was long expired. You have him already. Even if you chose to leave the bedroom, you knew he would follow you out. It had been weeks without you. But he had to maintain some form of control over his masculinity. “I need…to be alone.”

“Why?” You asked, removing the robe from off his shoulders and back.

“I need time to think. Do you understand privacy?” You tilted your head. He stood between you and the edge of his bed. He looked up at you, his shy brown eyes looked in yours. “Listen, I have a lot on my mind and sometimes it feels as if…you just want to humiliate me.” You nodded your head, removing the ties from your dress. He could still picture your figure as he closed his eyes. You took the cup from his hands once again. “My people are…they do not love-”

You helped him onto the bed, your hand under his knee as you moved him to the middle of the bed. “Being loved is a fragile thing.” You said into his ear, your tongue traced down his neck to his Adams apple. As you left marks along his neck, he writhed and moaned beneath you.

“I- I, you are~”

“You do not know how long I will be here. Would you leave this to chance?” His eyelids fluttered closed under your weight and stimulation.

“…I want you.” His palm held onto the back of your hair, “I do.” He undid the rest of your dress, moving the cloth off your skin. He did not question your actions, nor your decision to lie in bed with him. There was no time as you undid his night clothes, stripping him nude beneath your fingertips. His fingertips tore into the layered sheer tulle; his teeth gently pressed on your shoulder, leaving an indent in your skin. His fingers sunk into the woven braids of your hair. “Please…take me.”

Suddenly, your father knocked upon the doors of the emperor’s bedroom. “Sir! I need to speak with you.” He huffed, sitting up on the sheets. You ran into the closet of the bedroom upon hearing your father’s voice.

“Come in!” He groaned. General Acacius and a few of his men came into the bedroom. He tossed a sheet over his crotch. “What?”

Part one on my Master list!

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[tashibum]

To Own, But Not To Share (IV)

Part 1&2 Part 3

Emperor Geta x Female Reader

Chapter Summary: You and Geta admit your true feelings to each other

Chapter Warnings: SMUT, 18+, light choking, dirty talk, spooning sex, cumshot, slave to fiancee?? 4.1k words. Read on AO3

The L Word

His feelings for you were not fitting for an emperor. With his power, he should take things by force and have no mercy.

Yet, he found himself at a temple once a week, on his knees praying. The same god that gave him you, he prayed to Cupid that his arrow would strike your heart as well. Geta gave offerings of cows and sheep to please him. Anything the god wanted, he would supply him with.

Geta could just claim you as his. No one could say no to him, you would have no choice. You could be ordered to say the words “I love you” back to him when he said them. You could fake your happiness to him and the Roman people.

But Geta wanted the true feeling. Such a shame it’s the one thing he could not buy or force.

He granted you your own chambers within the palace. Privacy was something you had never had before. Your family home was small, and then becoming a slave meant you had even less. In your chambers you could shut the door and no one would disturb you. Geta made sure to let everyone know that he was the only person who could open the door without knocking.

In your room, Geta sent all your clothes and jewellery to be placed in your wardrobe and dressing table. All of these possessions were what he had given you, and you were aware he could take it all away from you if you displeased him. Slaves were not meant to own anything. They were meant to be owned.

Your prized possession was one of Geta’s robes. He had left it behind one night and instead of informing a maid, you hid it. When you slept alone, you would take it out from within your dresses and hold it as you slept. You told yourself not to develop feelings for him, you were simply his favourite at that given time. You were sure once more time passed, he would grow bored of you and want someone younger, skinnier and sexier.

When the emperors met with the senates, you spent your time replenishing Geta and Caracalla’s goblets with wine. Geta had made it clear that you would not be leaning your body over any of the senates, there were other slaves that could do that.

“Is she a woman or a witch?” Caracalla asked his brother from beside him, looking over at you at the edge of the room. Dundus sat on his shoulder and ate the occasional grape he held up for him.

Geta gave a confused look. “A woman. What would make you think she has sorcery?”

“She has bewitched you. She is a slave, yet you give her unfair privileges. Jewels that are ours, you give to her.”

Geta was pleased his brother got straight to the point. His issue with you was that you were being given things Caracalla thought to be his.

“Her role as a slave has changed,” Geta put bluntly. He had not informed you of any change, yet knew you must have known something was going on.

“To what? Chief of staff?” His brother huffed mockingly.

“She…….”, Geta paused, thinking of how to word his strong emotions.

“You like her, don’t you? More than you should.” Caracalla had stuck in the knife; now he was going to twist it. “You are her owner. You literally bought her, brother. She sees you as nothing more than that.”

Geta shook his head. While he did not know if your feelings matched his in intensity, he knew, at the very least, you liked him.

“You are an emperor. Weakness like this should have you de-throned,” provoked Caracalla.

���I will court her,” defended Geta, unsure of himself.

“Oh, she will become an Empress of Rome? That really is a promotion! Need I remind you that emperors do not marry plebeians. She is below you. And her cunt isn’t that impressive,” Caracalla remarked from the time he fucked you.

Geta’s hand immediately rose and slapped his brother hard across the face, causing Dundas to hide behind Caracalla’s head.

The room went silent, all eyes now facing the twin emperors. Geta stood up and walked out of the room, his footsteps the only sound anyone could hear. You wanted to follow him to make sure he was okay, but knew better of it. It would be above your station.

Caracalla looked at you from across the room and patted the now vacant space next to him. You could not defy him, so went over, still holding a jug of wine to show him you would not stay with him for long.

“You’ve been promoted,” he declared.

“To what?” You timidly asked, not knowing if the smaller brother was being serious or not.

“Geta’s personal sex aid.”

And with that, you knew he was not serious.

“I do not see the appeal,” he tried to spite. He was hurt because you rejected him and favoured his brother. He would have been happy to share you if you wanted, but that first day put a sour taste in his mouth. The way you moaned for his brother, but was so hesitant and frigid for him.

You did not care though, you did not see any appeal in him either.

“I’ve felt your hole - I’ve felt better. Unless I have not felt the hole he favours.”

He raised his eyebrow at you, as though he wanted something he had been missing out on. The raspiness of his voice added to his perverted suggestion.

The thought made you tense up. Geta had done nothing to your other hole. The closest he had ever gotten to it was when he had been licking you, and his mouth went too low by mistake.

You stared at the door, trying to avoid looking the emperor in the eye after making such a remark, hoping that Geta would come in and rescue you from further embarrassment.

“I’ve been told I have more girth than him,” he bragged.

Please Geta. Please. You silently begged, not even knowing if he had left the building not to return. You did not want to speak to Caracalla about his cock in his attempt to seduce you.

“At the right angle, it can make women gush their sweet juices.”

You wanted the ground to swallow you up. A spontaneous death seemed sweeter than hearing Caracalla speak of such things.

Then, finally, Geta returned to the room after cooling down, but got riled right back up again when he saw you with him.

“You better go,” Caracalla justified, knowing his brother's territorial nature over you.

You walked away from him and Geta caught your arm as you passed him. He tugged you out of the room with him again and lead you into an empty corridor.

“What did he say?” He demanded. This close to his face, you could see his cheeks redden. He was terrified that his brother had said something to you about his feelings for you. He knew his brother would love to embarrass him and tell you that he loved you.

“Nothing,” you dismissed.

"Tell me!” He challenged, rage overtaking him again.

"He told me I was your sex toy. Then told me the size of his disgusting length,” you explained.

Geta’s demeanour cooled instantly. “I was worried he had filled your head with lies.”

You took ahold of his jaw and leant up to give him a gentle, sweet kiss. You then leant your head on him. As your fingers stroked his cheek, his hand rested on top of yours against his face.

“Of course not. His words mean nothing to me,” you comforted.

Geta pushed you off him to hold your face in his hands. He had never felt like this about someone before. As he stared into your eyes, the feeling in his abdomen returned. It was where Cupid had shot him before. Cupid did not need to use another arrow on him, Geta needed him to change his target to you. Then the thought occurred in his mind that maybe he felt this sensation because Cupid had just shot you, and it was his way of informing Geta. How Geta wished the Gods spoke to him in words and not riddles!

“Give me the jug. You can go back home to the palace to relax,” he requested. The thought suddenly appeared that you were working, and it upset him. Geta was sure of it now, you were going to be future Empress of Rome, and women of such status did not work.

You did not question him on his motives, but just gave him a smile as you headed to the horse and carriage waiting outside.

“Where is she?” Caracalla asked as Geta rejoined him to discuss politics.

“I thought I would drink straight from the jug,” he dismissed, reeling from how Caracalla spoke to his soon-to-be wife.

The following night he told you he had plans with you. You asked for more information, but he smirked, wanting it to be a surprise. Whatever it was, it required maidens fully prepping you for it. You were washed, shaved and had makeup put on. The anticipation made you sick with anxiety.

You were grateful when he finally said you were not leaving the grounds of the palace, not in the mood for social diplomacy. He held your hand has he lead you around the palace and when the doors to the gardens opened, your jaw hit the floor.

Candles lit a path towards the centre of the lawn where more candles were laid out in a heart shape. Inside the heart was a blanket and pillows. You were speechless by his romantic gesture. Geta had ordered complete privacy, so no one saw him in this vulnerable state. Tonight was the night he was going to tell you he loved you, so wanted everything to be perfect. He had to tell you sooner rather than later in fear his brother would beat him to it.

He held your hand as you lowered yourself onto the blanket. You sat crosslegged until Geta pulled you to lay on your back next to him. You rested your heads on the pillows and stared up into the night sky. With it being late at night, you held onto his arm as a source of warmth.

“The Gods have been so gracious to me,” Geta reflected. You could not share his optimism. A life enslaved was not something you were thankful for. You guessed you could be thankful to Fortuna for being bought by Geta and not someone else who would have abused you.

“You have a blessed life, Emperor,” you agreed.

Geta sat up and turned to you. “More than that. Venus and Cupid work in tandem up there,” he explained and pointed to the sky. “I never thought love to be true, until I met you.”

Your eyes went wide with the meaning of his words. He was thankful to the love gods for you. It made your eyes well up with tears. Was this an admission of love?

“I accepted my fate that I would be married to a princess from another land, all to strengthen Rome’s alliances. After all, marriage and love are not connected. However, spending time with you, it has made me desire both,” he cooed.

“I’m sure your future bride will be very grateful,” you encouraged. He wanted a wife, and you knew it could never be you. He was destined to marry a princess or a duchess. Definitely not a woman who fell into the slave trade as a teenager. You saw a different side to the emperor than everyone else. While others saw him as selfish and cruel, you only saw gentle softness. His words were so delicate that it was hard to keep your emotional distance. Everything about him was magnetic to you, but you tried to not be sucked in. It would hurt to much when he inevitably moved on.

You didn’t understand him, so he said it nice and simple for you, “I love you.” He looked like he was about to cry.

Three words, just three words, but they were huge. Bigger than you could properly comprehend. If he loved you, it would mean everything in your life would change again. You would go from being a nobody, to being respected and feared by the empire.

This meant you could stop your refrain. You could put down your walls and accept the feelings you repressed.

It had been silent for a few moments, and Geta got nervous that you would reject him. But you needed time to collate your words.

“I feel myself……..falling for you more everyday.”

It wasn’t those magical three words that Geta dreamt of you saying, but it was confirmation that it would come.

“Well, when you feel it, don’t hesitate to tell me,” he urged, and laid back down next to you. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you against him.

“I’m sorry we met in such circumstances,” he whispered, oozing genuine sorrow. “You never deserved to be enslaved, by anyone.”

“I’m one of the lucky ones, but thousands of people out there still suffer. You must know what your subjects live through,” you commiserated. You thought back on all the conversations you’d had with the emperor, and couldn’t think of a discussion on Roman life. You knew everyone in Rome hated the Emperors, you’d hear your owners talk about it. They had little food, which meant you had even less.

“Of course there are people envious of the power and belongings I have,” he dismissed. You couldn’t tell if he was avoiding your criticism or genuinely did not know how tough life was for a Roman.

“If you want the public’s perception of you to be positive, maybe you could hand out food. Or end the public executions,” you suggested warily. No one was allowed to critique the emperors, it could end in your own public execution.

“Not even my wife yet and you’re bossing me around,” he joked, completely dismissing your serious proposal.

You didn’t know why you even bothered - even if you convinced him, Caracalla would never budge. So, you tried to push away the thoughts of how much everyone hated the man you desired.

“I would not be a virgin bride,” you argued.

“You will be a born again virgin on our wedding night,” he said, as though he had already thought over every detail of your wedding.

“Shall we abstain until then?” You questioned suggestively.

“Absolutely not. The gods do not wish that from us,” responded Geta.

You moved even closer to him in his arms. He was not hard under his toga, it helped you believe that he wanted you for you, and not just your body. He was content laying out here stargazing with you, he did not need to have sex with you to enjoy your company.

He walked you back inside with his arm wrapped around your hips.

“Do you want to stay in my chambers tonight, or yours?” He asked.

“Mine,” you answered, needing time alone to process everything that happened in the gardens.

“As you wish,” he replied and walked you to your door. Once at the doorframe, he took your hand in his, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. This gesture was what his subjects did to the emperors, never the other way around

“I will see you at breakfast, my amor,” he gushed before walking to his own guarded chambers.

You walked into your room and shut the door. After a second, you picked up one of your feather filled pillows and squealed into it as you jumped up and down with glee.

He loves me!

The Emperor of the empire loved you and wanted you to be his wife. It was anything beyond your wildest dreams. You thought of your family, how you became a slave to give them money, and now you would marry the richest man in the world. You wished you could tell them, but you didn’t even know if they were still alive. It had been years without contact.

You stripped down for bed, and decided tonight you would wear his robe. You laid on your mattress and let your hands caress the fine fabric of the robe as it covered you. Geta was the only thing on your mind. You pictured what your life could look like with him. He would take you to all his official meetings, you would meet all his generals and senators. You would be protected by the praetorian guards. You would give him heirs.

You held your lower stomach as you imagined cute little boys running around, calling you mama with their big, brown eyes looking up at you. They would have matching togas and armour with their father. You tried to picture Caracalla with his nephews, knowing his childlike nature would mesh well with theirs.

The image of your future family was so vivid in your mind, it was as though the gods gave you a vision.

The intense vision made you start to cry. You suddenly felt very empty. You wanted Geta to get you pregnant so you wouldn’t feel empty anymore.

You got up from bed and splashed your face with water the maids had left for you. You knew you were being ridiculous. He had only admitted his love for you an hour ago and you were already losing your sanity with daydreams of children that did not exist.

You took a cloth and began to wipe off the streaky makeup from your face. Geta was so soft, you could picture him doing this for you, gently rubbing the fabric over your face until you were clean. Everyone else could have their opinion of him, but you knew his heart. You knew he had a need to be adored and cared for, but he was so afraid of losing the throne, he only showed maniacal ruthlessness.

You knew that he made your heart beat go fast, and he filled your days with happiness. You knew that no one else could ever sweep you off your feet like he did, and there would be no one else for you except him.

Did you love him?

I think I love him.

You had the urge to run and tell him. He had to be told immediately. You cursed yourself for not saying it back to him during your date, but you didn’t want to look desperate. Plus, you weren’t sure. But now you one hundred percent knew.

You knew better than running in the corridors of the palace; you knew the guards would likely think you were going to ambush the emperors. Your bare feet slapped on the stone floors as you hurried your way past sculptures and paintings of past emperors and the gods. You finally reached the guards protecting Rome’s rulers, and were so eager to speak that you spoke far too fast and unclear for them to understand you.

“The emperors are not to be disturbed,” you were told, completely dismissed.

“Please, just ask Emperor Geta if I can enter his chambers. Tell him it’s an emergency. He’ll know it’s me,” you requested.

He huffed and trotted along to his leader, leaving you with several guards staring at you wearing a just robe that was clearly not yours.

When he came back, he didn’t even bother to speak to you, just moved to the side of the corridor to let you pass. When you reached his chambers, the door was already open and Geta was out of bed, pacing around the room in a robe. His hand was up to his mouth, biting his skin and nails in anxiety. He turned to see you when he heard you shut the door behind yourself. His worry for you turned into confusion when he saw his robe gracing your body.

“What-?” He asked, wanting to know how you got his clothes, but you cut him off.

“I love you,” you blurted.

His concerned face turned stunned, he did not believe his ears.

“What was that?” He urged.

You closed the distance between him so you could look into his big, brown, worried eyes as you said it again. “I love you.”

His breath stuttered in shock and he picked you up as though you weighed nothing. His hands carried you under your thighs and you wrapped your legs and arms around him like a koala. He pressed his plush lips against yours and kissed you, never wanting it to end. No one ever told him they loved him. Even as a youth, after his mother passed away, his father offered nothing but brutality. He never had any familial or romantic love, and now he had it, he would never let you leave him.

“Say it again,” he commanded.

You found it cute the way he wanted you to repeat those three words.

You moved your hands to hold his face, letting his fresh stubble scratch your fingertips. “I love you.”

“Again,” he whispered.

“I love you, Geta,” you said, staring into his eyes. Your fingers pushed back his wavy hair, so smooth without the sharp, pointy laurels in it.

He carried you to the bed and unceremoniously dropped you onto it. Your robe was loose and showed off your naked body. You thought perhaps Geta would take this moment to be intimate with you, but he took off his robe and simply laid against you.

“I want to wake up with my wife-to-be in my arms. Wedding preparations will begin in the morning,” he claimed.

You were a tad disappointed that Geta fell asleep without having sex with you, but took solace that you had the rest of your lives with each other, so had plenty of time to make up for it.

You didn’t know how long it had been when you woke up to Geta’s hand on your hip. You laid on your side with your back to him and assumed he was asleep, until you felt him sit up. He moved the robe you wore so your bottom was completely revealed to him.

You turned your head to face him and as you did, his fingers slid in between your folds.

“What filled your dreams, love? So wet already. I could slide my cock in here without needing to do anything first,” he teased.

He pushed his middle finger inside you and you nodded to him before letting your head turn back around to look at the wall. Having one of his fingers inside you felt better than one of your own. There was just something about it. Then you felt him add another finger, making you stretch to fit around him.

When he pulled his fingers out, he reached around to put them in your mouth. You eagerly licked and sucked your own juices off his hand. In doing so, you took his fingers as far as you could into your mouth, to tease what you could do if he so wished.

His hand went to his cock and the other held your hip again. He shuffled closer to you so your ass touched his hips and he slapped his hefty cock against your wet sex a couple of time before pushing the blunt head inside you. You bit your lip against your pillow as your body easily accommodated him

“The way you take me, it’s unlike anything else,” he purred from behind you.

Like this, he could push his entire length inside you and your body had no choice but to take it.

“This is where you belong,” you moaned, feeling blissed out.

One of his hands snaked under your neck and went to hold your breast. He alternated between squeezing and fondling to pinching your nipple - not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to show his want. Your hand reached behind you to feel his balls. They were sticky from where they kept slapping against your wetness.

“They’re so full,” you commented, causing him to grunt. “You have to empty them for me, okay love?”

Geta nodded against your hair, then moved his hand to the front of your neck to lightly choke you. You loved it - loved how the pressure on your throat and the pressure on your cunt was caused by him.

“I’m your girl. Tell me I’m yours,” you begged, wanting him to claim you.

Geta was working so hard on fucking you, only a weak “mine” left his lips from behind his head. To you, that wasn’t good enough.

“Say you own me,” you requested, but a mere grunt came out of his mouth. He was the emperor of Rome, he was as powerful as the gods, you had seen him yell plenty of times before, yet he struggled to vocalise his power in this moment.

“Say you own me!” You yelled, probably loud enough for the guards and Caracalla down the hall to hear.

“I own you. Pussy’s mine,” he rasped out.

He took both of his hands and used them to move your hips in rhythm with his thrusts. Soon, he pulled out of you and let his seed land on your ass cheeks. When the warmth hitting your body stopped, you turned over to lay on your back, not caring that his spend was now being rubbed into his robe and bed sheets.

“Did you…….peak?” Asked Geta, still trying to get his breath back.

You shook your head. It didn’t matter to you. You had made him cum, and pleasuring the emperor would forever be your priority.

“Next time, you tell me,” he objected and moved his way down the bed. You didn’t understand what he was doing, until he spread your legs. He didn’t give you any explanation or warning, he just went straight in and lapped at your folds. His two fingers entered you again, fucking you just how he knew you liked. Emperor Geta may have been a selfish leader, but he was not a selfish lover. He always wanted you to take pleasure from him, and tell him how much you enjoyed it.

His mouth concentrated on your clit as his fingers worked their magic inside you. As you reached your orgasm, you felt bad for forcing him to talk earlier. You could not judge him for not being able to speak when you could only muster out a quiet “cumming” as you exploded on his fingers.

“No one in Rome will know how sweet their Empress tastes,” he said from between your legs, licking clean your inner thighs before sucking his fingers. You smiled up at him to show you appreciated the compliment.

“There’s so much to get done,” he started. He stood up from the bed and put on a robe to wear before the maidens would come in to dress him. He sat next to you at the side of the bed and held your hand as he listed everything he wanted.

“I want new armour made for the day. You’ll need to be fitted for your dress. Flower arrangements will need to be made. I want games in the colosseum to celebrate. I want a feast. I want as many people to be there as possible.”

Geta went on and on about how he wanted the marriage ceremony and celebrations afterwards to be perfect. The only thing you wanted was for your family to be there, but knew it would be very unlikely.

@your-nightmaredoll @1950schick @justasmallbean

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Omega Ours - Part 1 | Alpha!Cassian x Alpha!Nesta x Omega!Reader| Short Series 2.7k

After fighting your way out of every potential mating offered to you, your village sends you off with the High Lord. Rhysand, tired of dealing with the Alphas living in the House of Wind, gifts you to Cassian and Nesta in the hopes that it'll settle all three of you down.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, language & themes. Omegaverse dynamics including Alpha & Omega and the sexist assumptions/implications that go along with it, heat/heat cycles, forced proximity, d/s themes, only one bed (and only one chaise), lots of tropey tropes! No use of YN but liberal use of pet names.

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Cassian & Nesta - from Pinterest

Created for @polyacotarweek - prompt 5 faveourite tropes (Omegaverse, only one bed, forced proximity, sort of insta-love)

Part 2 will be posted on the 13 (Free day!) follow @illyrianlibrary for updates ❤️

Part 2 | Masterlist | Poly Fics | Cassian

The only way to describe the couple stood before you was - handsome. 

The High Lord and Lady who’d brought you here were beautiful, elegant. But this couple could only be described as handsome, strong, Alpha. 

You knew them, of course. General Cassian of the Nightcourt and his mate, Lady Nesta. Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death, they’d called them in the camps that circled the Illyrian villages like pilot fish on a shark.  

“I’ve brought you a present,” Rhysand drawled, pointing at you. “Well, it’s a favour and a present. The last unmated omega of the season. She's  from the Western Isles, I thought it might help to tamp down your behaviour if you two had a project.” He grinned and you turned to look at Nesta and Cassian again. 

It was true, you’d rejected every mate offered to you, bitten some of them, in your desperation to get away, and that’s how you’d lost your freedom. Fighting the boys from the village was one thing, fighting an Illyrian was another. They’d hauled you into the camp in front of the High Lord on his last visit and demanded compensation. 

Rhysand, ever flush with jewels and gold, had paid them and then had a set of cuffs and leathers made for you. Nightcourt black velvet, red stitching and silver buckles. But restraints were still restraints, no matter how soft they felt against your wrists and ankles. He’d had new clothes made for you as well, traditional sheer panels of matching blood red that hung in gossamer curtains down your legs, pooling around you as you were forced to your knees in front of the Lady and General. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Nesta studied her nails, her air bored but her eyes kept flickering towards you. 

“Come now, Nesta, we both know you and Cassian caused quite the stir the last time you were both in heat.” 

You were right then, you could smell it on them anyway, that raw power and strength that designated them as Alpha. 

“Still -  you want us to take care of your problems?” Nesta huffed. 

“Of course not, she’s a gift, for you and Cass, if you happen to tame her enough that she stops mauling my men then that’s a bonus.” 

You looked between them, it was undeniable how attractive they were. Better than the mud caked idiots from the village at least, but you still railed against the hand that dragged you back to your feet. 

Cassian kept his hand under your elbow, pinching your cheeks with his other hand. “Come on, Nes. She’s cute, isn’t she?” He angled your face up towards his mate. 

Nesta shrugged one shoulder and you snarled, snapping at Cassian’s fingers. 

“Feisty,” he gave a deep chuckle, “I like that, that’s how Nes and I got together.” He hauled you over his shoulder, your legs and arms dangling, the panels of your dress slipping dangerously. 

“Put me down!” You beat your fists on his back. 

“Should have thought of that before you tried to bite me,” he teased, jostling you. 

You scowled at Nesta, who followed, laughing, through the halls of the palace and then tried using the only knowledge you had about the Illyrians. You reached out and grabbed his wing, squeezing as tightly as you could. 

He growled back, the sound travelling up through his chest into yours, vibrating your very core. 

“You want to play rough? Good.” 

Cassian shouldered a heavy door open and suddenly the sweeping corridor was gone and a dark, warm room wrapped itself around you. 

The walls were an oxblood red with thick velvet curtains that lay heavily in front of the eternally open windows. The soft jasmine breeze that circulated through the house was mixed with the cleaner scent of mountain air and the crackling of a fire, rich and inviting. 

The general set you down, his gaze travelling slowly down your figure. He clenched his jaw and then instantly turned to his mate, cupping her cheeks in his large hands and kissing her roughly. She growled in response, leaning into his embrace and allowing him to lift her against his body. You watched as he carried her across the room to an open archway, almost hidden behind a large tapestry, and then they vanished again. 

Tentatively, as much as you could with the thin chain connecting your ankles, you crept across the room to the curtain, now brushed back and curling heavily on the polished floor. 

Nesta and Cassian were tangled on the bed, the heady scent of their arousal lay thick in the air, the bedsheets already rumpled as if they’d been interrupted before, the room in disarray. 

On both bedside tables there were stacks of books of various genres, a pitcher of water on one and dagger on the other. 

“Either come in or go,” Nesta groused from the bed, hair messy, one of Cassian’s hands still tangled in the long golden-brown strands. 

“Play nice, Nes.” The general laughed, biting at Nesta’s earlobe. “You can join us or you can sleep,” he said over his shoulder. 

Sure enough there was a small chaise made up with blankets at the end of the bed. You shuffled over, and fell heavily onto the soft cushions listening to the sound of their love making. Each grunt and moan made you press your thighs together harder. Each stifled sigh had your hands twitching, itching for something more. You may have rejected every attempt at a mating, but you weren’t completely without feeling, without desire and needs and lust. 

You lifted your hands to cover your ears, the chain between them digging into the bridge of your nose, and fell into a confused sleep. 

 You awoke to the sound of moving bodies and cloth dragging on the floor. 

“She’s asleep, let her rest, Cas.” 

“What if she’s cold?” The footsteps came closer and you tensed on instinct. The steps stopped, but a gentle weight floated down on you, a large cotton blanket, awash with their scent, settled. 

“I’m going to wash,” Nesta’s voice faded as she walked away but there was no other movement. 

“I know you’re awake.” His voice was loud in your ear, closer than you’d expected and you jumped again, almost sliding from the chaise. Cassian’s arm caught you, tight around your waist and his bareskin was so warm against your own. You cracked one eye open and looked around the room as best you could with his wings blocking out the faint candlelight.

His arm was speckled with tiny scars that twinkled against his tan skin, the hair that decorated his forearm was as dark as the long tendrils that brushed over his shoulders and this close, his chin almost resting on your own arm, he smelt heavenly. That mixture of his own scent and Nesta’s even stronger in his proximity and, no doubt, enhanced by their earlier activities. 

“If you want, you can borrow some clothes.” His voice was a sleepy rumble and you resisted the urge to let your omega instincts take over and push yourself back into his chest, seek out that warmth, that comfort - but you didn’t respond. 

The sound of running water in the other room stopped, replaced with the gentle pad of Nesta’s footsteps and then she was in front of you. Surrounded by them again you had to fight back every urge to give in to her wicked mouth, her lips plump and kiss bitten. 

“We’ve left you some things on the chair, choose what you will. If you want to join us on the bed, you can.” Nesta moved away taking Cassian with her and you assumed from the gentle rustle of sheets they were back in bed. 

The chair that sat opposite their grand fireplace was strewn with clothes, silky looking negligees and billowing linen shirts, some cotton leggings and a pair of woollen socks. 

Waiting a moment, hoping they weren’t looking, you rose from the chaise and rushed for the chair. The translucent dress the High Lord had had you wear left your skin cold and bare, exposed and vulnerable. Cassian’s shirt was a welcome relief, covering your body from view, although the two slits in the back for his wings did feel slightly odd. The socks were warm and fluffy, long enough to reach almost to your knees. Redressed, you turned to return to your chaise and tugged the blanket up to your chin. 

You didn’t really want to spend the entire night there, but you also refused to give in to the ridiculousness of the situation. No one chose your mate, or mates, for you and you’d rather sleep on the tiny chaise that allow anyone to take that choice from you. 

Thankfully, Nesta and Cassian had turned away, the Illyrian’s large wings spread over the bed,. Shielding his mate from view? Or stopping her from following you around the room with her silver stare? You weren’t sure, but you were grateful as you closed your eyes. 

It was only as you were falling asleep that you realised you were snuggled into the shirt, inhaling Cassian’s scent, and by then it was too late, you were tumbling into your dreams. 

The next morning Cassian and Nesta were gone, but someone had left a tray of food, a pot of tea and a stack of books on the table. The doors to the balcony were open and the jasmine wind blew the curtains back so invitingly you couldn’t resist. 

You were halfway through one of the books they’d left, something by Sellyn Drake that had far more smut in it than you were anticipating. A slice of buttered toast was stuck halfway to your mouth as you stared transfixed at the page, when the door opened. Cassian held the door for Nesta, taking a long sword from her hand and placing it on the table that was perpetually strewn with weapons. His own sword and daggers followed and the two of them began to strip out of their leathers. 

There had been a rumour that Nesta trained alongside the Lord of Bloodshed and the Shadowsinger, trained with other women as well, but you hadn’t thought to believe it until now. 

Her leathers were tight against skin, a sheen of sweat making her sparkle, her long hair was tied up in what was now a messy ponytail and, most surprising of all, she was smiling broadly at Cassian. He returned the smile, cupping her cheek and pulling her in for a kiss, his hands wandering down to the buckles and clasps that held her fighting leathers together. 

Cassian looked equally as powerful, his own armour dark against his tanned skin, his tattoos flowing under the leather before appearing again at his collar bone and trailing over his shoulders towards the vast wings at his back. You set the book down slowly, the lust filled scene already had you feeling hot under Cassian’s shirt even before they appeared. 

The movement caught his eye and he turned, taking Nesta with him and pinning her against his chest. They way they looked at you, like the most delicious prey, had you pressing your legs together. You wouldn’t give in to this, especially not when it was exactly what that smug prick of a High Lord wanted. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he cooed, “Would you like to join us?” 

It was Nesta who held her hand out, crooking her finger to coax you forward. “We’re going to bathe, the tub is large enough for three, come.” It was more a demand than a question and, though you longed to see how far down Cassian’s tattoos went and how Nesta would look covered in bubbles, you resisted again. 

With a shake of your head you went back to your book, trying to ignore the sound of them together through the wall. 

You fell into a rhythm, the three of you. Nesta and Cassian continued as they were, training, working in the library and attending meetings, and inviting you to join them whenever they were together. 

Your nights on the chaise were becoming increasingly uncomfortable, but you refused to be worn down by their requests, preferring to stay silent and read alone either on the balcony or by the fire. No amount of reading could drown out the sound of their love making, though. If you could call it that, judging by the bruises both of them sported proudly and the way their headboard banged against the stone wall. 

Despite your protests their allure was difficult to ignore, their playful banter, the care and attention they showed each other, even the way they whispered in bed, dissecting the day's events and, on a few occasions, discussing you. 

This only happened when you were pretending to sleep heavily, breathing slow and steady as you wished for dreams to take you. 

“Nes, did you see the way my shirt fit her today, rolling up her thighs-” Cassian had made a deep, guttural noise, only to be shushed by Nesta. 

“Yes, Cas, stop, she’s right over there.” Nesta hissed in return. 

“I know, God, she’s so fucking close, don’t you think she smells good?” 

“You know I do.” The sheets rustled and you heard Nesta whimper as a wave of arousal flooded you. They could smell you, you knew it and you couldn’t stop it. 

Sleeping in their room, bathed in their scent every day, surrounded by their things, it was like a huge nest and the longer you lingered here the more you wanted to give in and climb into their bed, to be between them and allow them to care for you.

You knew something had changed when you woke up drenched in sweat. As usual, Nesta and Cassian had already left the room, your breakfast arranged in its spot, clothes laid out for you. They’d started adding some new things, items that smelt like neither of them, clean linen and lavender, but you were still drawn to their items the most. Perhaps, it was the way they smiled when they saw you cuddling into one of Cassian’s shirts or standing on the balcony in one of Nesta’s dresses. But you refused to confront that feeling. 

Despite your long, cold, bath you still felt hot and uncomfortable. It was mid way through stripping off your linen trousers that Nesta reappeared. She moved with a preternatural grace that you were sure existed well before her sister’s ascent to High Lady. A smoothness to each turn of her hand, or extension of her arm, she made walking seem like a dance and you were transfixed.  

Nesta stopped as soon as she saw you, her nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly.

“Are you okay?” she asked in that cool, silvery voice. 

“Yes,” your voice felt hoarse. You barely spoke and had gone days without saying anything to either of them, merely existing in their presence. But now, locked by her gaze, there was no escaping. 

“You seem -” she weighed her words carefully, “unwell.” 

“I can assure you, I’m fine.” You took a half step towards the balcony doors, hoping the breeze would cool your skin. 

Nesta hummed, surveying you from head to toe. “I’d feel better if you got into bed.” 

You knew this was as persuasive as Nesta could be, a simple request made in the lowest of tones, an argument not worth having. 

“I-” 

“The bed.” She crossed the room swiftly and turned you towards the large, velvet draped bed that took up a large portion of the room. Since your first entrance into Nesta and Cassian’s suite, you’d done your best to avoid even looking at it. Now there was no escape.

Your hands were shaking, a tingling heat rising from your spine and coiling in your stomach. On this occasion, just once, you’d listen to her. “Fine.” With great difficulty, you pulled the shirt over your head and dropped it to the floor. You were so tired. When had you become so tired?

Nesta’s deft fingers grasped your chin, holding you still so she could look at your pupils, large and frightened. “Get in bed and go to sleep,” she insisted, and you obeyed. 

Part 2

[kdram-chjh]

Kdrama: Uinyeo Dae Jang Geum (Season 2) (2025)

Jewel in the Palace Season 2 | Dae Jang Geum 2 || Amazing World #korea #drama #netflix #tvseries

Watch this video on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/moAR06kl77s

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: talk of mutilation (clipping of wings)

word count: ~ 4.4k

story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho, @tiredsleepyhead, @tele86

Chapter 1

***************

Chapter 2

Azriel POV

The Summer Court glimmered with its usual brilliance, sunlight dancing on turquoise waves that stretched endlessly toward the horizon. Azriel walked beside Rhysand as the sentinels led them to the beach just outside the opulent palace. The salt-kissed breeze tugged at his dark hair and brushed against his wings, but it did little to quell the quiet tension coiling in his chest.

He didn’t know what to expect. Rhys had only hinted that the visit was important. Tarquin had been unusually cryptic when extending the invitation, but his tone had carried an undercurrent of excitement, as if he were unveiling a closely held secret.

Tarquin was waiting for them, his skin gleaming as he greeted them with a warm smile.

“Rhysand. Azriel,” Tarquin said, inclining his head. “Welcome to the Summer Court. I’m glad you’re here. Come. There’s someone you need to meet.”

Azriel’s shadows stirred faintly, a flicker of unease coursing through him. He exchanged a glance with Rhysand, who gave a subtle nod before they followed Tarquin.

And then Azriel saw her.

She was standing on the beach near the water, the white sand glistening like crushed starlight beneath her bare feet. Her black hair cascaded in loose waves down her back, glinting faintly blue under the sunlight. She was crouched low, her attention entirely focused on a young boy beside her, no older than six, his giggles carried by the gentle breeze. Azriel stopped suddenly, completely captivated by her presence, as she raised a hand, the air shimmering around her as a shape began to form from the water pooling nearby.

A sea turtle, intricately detailed, swam gracefully through the air, droplets of water sparkling like jewels as they dripped from its form. The boy squealed in delight, clapping his hands as the turtle dipped and twirled around him. She laughed softly, the sound warm and melodious, a stark contrast to the hum of power Azriel could sense thrumming beneath her movements.

Her face alight with joy, she conjured another shape: a dolphin that leapt playfully beside the turtle. The boy chased after it, his little feet kicking up sand, and she watched him with a look so tender, so full of quiet affection, that Azriel felt something inside him shift.

She stood up, her dark hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of midnight. The soft sea breeze stirred the strands, catching the light in a way that made them glimmer faintly.

“Y/n,” Tarquin said, as he approached her, his voice warm and coaxing. “Come. It’s time.”

She turned then, and a smile graced her tanned skin, her freckles glittering across her nose and cheeks. Azriel’s breath caught. Her blue eyes, bright and piercing, met his, and something shifted inside him—a pull he couldn’t explain, a tether he hadn’t known existed. 

Mate. 

His mate. 

The bond snapped into place then, a sensation so sudden and overwhelming that he nearly staggered. His shadows, always restless, froze mid-sway before rushing toward her as if drawn to her light. He fought to maintain his ever-stoic expression.

She walked towards them as her gaze flicked to Rhysand, softening with recognition, before returning to Azriel. There was strength in her eyes, but also a quiet hesitation, as though she carried a secret too heavy to hold alone.

“Y/n is family,” Tarquin said, his tone filled with pride. “She’s been protected here, hidden, but the time has come for her to step into the world as she truly is.”

Y/n’s jaw tightened slightly, and her hands fidgeted at her sides, though she masked it well. “Tarquin—” she began, but he interrupted her gently.

“Show them,” he said, his voice kind but firm. “They need to see you.”

Azriel’s shadows stilled, sensing the gravity of the moment as he watched her carefully. She hesitated, glancing toward Tarquin, then Rhysand, before finally turning her gaze to Azriel. Something passed between them in that moment—something unspoken but electric, leaving his heart pounding in his chest.

Then, with a steady breath, Y/n closed her eyes. The air around her shimmered faintly, a ripple of magic that seemed to hum with anticipation. And as the glamour faded, Azriel’s world tilted.

Her black wings unfolded slowly, their dark, feathered expanse catching the sunlight. They were breathtaking—sleek, powerful, and unlike anything Azriel had ever seen. The feathers shimmered faintly, as though black night sky had been kissed by starlight, and when she extended them fully, they seemed to fill the space around her with an undeniable presence.

Azriel could do nothing but stare. The word angel came unbidden to his mind, the sight of her stealing the very breath from his lungs. She was stunning, otherworldly,  a being who seemed to belong to both the heavens and the earth. And in that moment, she didn’t just look like an angel. She looked like his angel, sent to claim him and cast light into the shadows that had long consumed him.

“Y/n,” Rhysand said softly, his voice filled with quiet awe as he stepped forward. “You’re extraordinary.”

Tarquin motioned toward him, “this is Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court.”

Y/n smiled faintly and nodded her heard, and her gaze flickered to Azriel. When their eyes met again, the tether between them tightened, unspoken but undeniable, but only for Azriel.

Azriel took a step closer, his wings trembling faintly at his back. His hazel eyes were wide, his usually guarded expression uncharacteristically open. “You’re…” He paused, his voice catching as he struggled to find the words. “You’re Illyrian?”

Her cheeks flushed, a faint blush coloring her skin, but she didn’t look away. “Yes,” she said softly, her voice like the melody of a soft wave lapping against the shore.

“Y/n,” Tarquin said, gesturing toward him, “this is Azriel. Spymaster of the Night Court.”

She inclined her head, her expression unreadable. “It’s an honor,” she said softly.

Azriel swallowed hard, his shadows retreating slightly as he forced himself to reply. “The honor is mine.”

For the first time in centuries, Azriel felt vulnerable, as though she could see through the shadows that clung to him, past the walls he had carefully built. But he didn’t pull away. He didn’t want to.

Tarquin’s voice broke the moment, though it was gentle. “Now you see why she’s special. Why she needed protection.”

Azriel nodded slowly, though his gaze remained on Y/n. “I see,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with something deeper.

They all remained still, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air as Y/n folded her dark, feathered wings back against her shoulders. Her blue eyes held steady, though Azriel noticed the slight tension in her posture, the way her hands fidgeted at her sides. She was waiting—for their reaction, for judgment, for the questions she surely knew would follow.

Rhysand, ever composed, stood silent for a long moment. His violet eyes flickered between Y/n and Tarquin, his usually impenetrable expression softening with a flicker of understanding. Azriel, standing beside Rhys, couldn’t take his eyes off her. Feathered wings—an Illyrian female with feathered wings. It was the stuff of legend, of whispers told in the shadows of war-camps, tales of a time long before any of them had been born. And yet, here she stood, living proof of those stories.

Tarquin broke the silence, his voice calm but tinged with pride as he looked to Rhysand. “She is your sister.”

The words struck like a thunderclap, shattering the stillness and sending a ripple of shock through him. Rhysand’s eyes widened, his mask of control slipping for just a fraction of a second before he schooled his features again. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though a thread of disbelief ran through it.

Tarquin inclined his head, his sunlit features solemn. “Your sister, Rhysand. Y/n shares your mother. You both carry her blood.”

Y/n’s gaze darted to Rhysand, her lips parting slightly. Azriel felt the tension in the air shift, a fragile balance of disbelief, curiosity, and the beginnings of something deeper.

Rhysand’s voice, quiet but firm, broke through the heavy silence. “How is that possible? If she is my sister, why has she been here?”

Tarquin straightened, his golden-brown skin glowing faintly in the sunlight. “Your mother,” he began carefully, “was not always bound to the Night Court. There was a time, long ago, when she sought refuge here, in the Summer Court. It was during that time that she and my father… shared a bond.”

Rhysand’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering briefly to Y/n before returning to Tarquin. “She never told me.”

“She didn’t tell anyone,” Tarquin admitted. “Not even Y/n.”

Y/n spoke then, her voice soft but steady, cutting through the growing tension. “I didn’t know who my father was until Tarquin told me. All I knew was that my mother brought me here to protect me.” She paused, glancing at Rhysand. “She feared what the Illyrians would do if they knew about my wings. About me.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes darkened slightly, the mention of Illyrian prejudice sparking a quiet anger in his chest. He had seen firsthand the brutal traditions that still lingered in the war-camps, and the thought of anyone clipping those magnificent wings, of trying to diminish her strength, made his shadows writhe in agitation.

Tarquin stepped closer to Y/n, his expression softening. “Feathered wings are rare,” he said, his voice reverent. “So rare they haven’t been seen in centuries, not since the first Illyrians roamed the mountains. When your mother saw your wings, she knew she couldn’t take you back. She feared what they would do, the jealousy they might harbor, the traditions they might try to impose. So, she came to my father, and he swore to protect you.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes softened, the sharp edge of his expression giving way to something more contemplative. “And you kept her hidden all this time.”

“I did,” Tarquin said simply. “Because she is more than a rarity. She is a connection to a history we’ve all but forgotten. And she is your family, Rhysand. She deserves to be seen.”

Y/n shifted slightly, her wings rustling faintly as she looked at Rhysand. “I didn’t know what to expect,” she admitted, her voice trembling just slightly. “I didn’t know if you would want me in your life. But I… I wanted to try.”

Rhysand stared at her for a long moment, his gaze flicking over her face, her wings, the quiet strength in her eyes. Slowly, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate as he stopped just a pace away from her. “You are my sister,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And that means you are part of this family. If you’ll have me.”

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears, and she nodded, her voice breaking as she whispered, “I would like that.”

Azriel stood silent, his chest tight as he watched the exchange. He had seen Rhysand command armies, face down High Lords, and wield unimaginable power with unflinching precision. But this—this quiet moment of vulnerability and acceptance—was something else entirely. And as Azriel’s gaze drifted back to Y/n, her wings catching the sunlight like an angel’s mantle, he couldn’t help but think that she wasn’t just a rarity. She was a gift. 

“Come,” Tarquin motioned. “Let’s move to the study where we can talk privately.”

***************

The Summer Court’s private study was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below. Rhysand leaned against the edge of a carved desk, his violet eyes sharp and calculating as he watched Tarquin pace the room. Azriel stood in the shadows, his expression neutral, though his shadows stirred with quiet curiosity.

Tarquin finally stopped, his gaze meeting Rhysand’s, his usual easy demeanor replaced by something heavier, something almost cautious. “I owe you an explanation,” he began, his voice low but steady.

Rhysand crossed his arms, his posture relaxed but his tone laced with steel. “I’d say so. You’ve been keeping a sister I didn’t know I had hidden from me for years. Start explaining.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes were fixed on Tarquin, waiting for him to continue.

Tarquin ran a hand through his hair, gaze drifting toward the moonlit waves. He looked as though he was deciding how much truth to share and how best to shape it. At last, he cleared his throat, his voice low and steady. “Your father and mine were powerful men, Rhysand. They cared about their bloodlines and their courts. They weren’t saints, and neither were the courts they ruled.” He paused, shoulders tensing before he went on. “Before my own mother ascended to her role in Summer—she traveled through other courts, learned their ways. She spent time in Illyria, quietly, to understand the warrior culture there. And what she found disturbed her. That is where she met your mother”

Rhysand remained silent, but Azriel, standing just behind him, stiffened at the mention of Illyria. Tarquin continued, voice growing graver with each word. “Your mother—and my mother—were horrified by how Illyrian girls often had their wings clipped, their futures stolen before they ever had a chance to soar. It went against every principle they believed in. They both decided to risk their safety to help. They developed secret routes, safe houses, and allies willing to shelter those girls. It wasn’t a grand rebellion—too much attention would have doomed them all—but it was a quiet resistance, saving a few at a time. Smuggling them out under cover of darkness, guiding them to places they could heal and grow, unshackled from those awful traditions.”

Tarquin glanced at Rhysand, noting the stillness that had overtaken him. “They both saved dozens over the years. Perhaps more. No one kept count. The best rescues were those never spoken of again.”

Rhysand’s posture remained calm, but his eyes were sharp, thoughtful. He said nothing, silently urging Tarquin to go on.

Tarquin sighed, returning his gaze to the dark, rolling sea. “When your mother realized she was carrying my father’s child—Y/n—she knew that if her daughter had Illyrian wings, if anyone learned the child’s true paternity and heritage, Y/n could face the same fate. Even here, hidden in Summer, there were those who would see a half-Illyrian girl as something to tame rather than to cherish.”

He ran a hand along the stone desk. “So, she hid her own daughter’s existence as much as she could. She allowed my father, the High Lord of Summer, to take care of her because with his title, that pretense offered protection. There would be questions about the wings, of course, but my father’s word as High Lord could not be easily challenged. She trusted my father, keeping Y/n close, safe, and away from the eyes of anyone who might see the clipping of her wings as a necessity or a right.”

A silence fell, broken only by the distant cries of gulls. Finally, Tarquin turned fully to Rhysand. “She did all this long before Y/n ever knew who she was. She saved countless other girls first and, in doing so, learned how to save her own daughter. It was not a perfect life, nor a perfect solution, but it worked. By the time Y/n learned the truth—of who her mother had been, of whose blood ran in her veins—she had grown strong, whole. Untouched by the cruelty that others suffered.”

Rhysand’s jaw clenched slightly, and Azriel’s shadows swirled around him, as if absorbing every bit of this revelation. The High Lord of Night finally inclined his head. “My mother saved her, gave her freedom,” he said quietly. “She may have had to hide her, but your father kept her whole. I will not forget that.”

Tarquin nodded, relieved yet solemn. “Your mother’s legacy lives on in Y/n. She’s the child of a woman who fought for those who had no voice, who refused to let cruelty stand unchecked. And now that Y/n is here, with you, perhaps she will find her own way to honor that legacy.”

Rhysand’s expression didn’t change, but his voice was cold when he spoke. “And you thought it best to keep this from me?”

Tarquin met his gaze, unflinching. “She was just a child when I learned of everything. She didn’t even know who she truly was. I chose to protect her, to let her grow up without the weight of that knowledge hanging over her. And when she did learn the truth, she wasn’t ready to face it. I waited until she was. Until she wanted to meet you.”

Rhysand’s gaze softened, though only slightly. “And now she’s here.”

“Yes,” Tarquin said, his voice quiet. “And now she’s here. She’s your blood, Rhys. But she’s also mine. I’ll protect her, even from you, if I must.”

Rhysand nodded slowly, though the protective glint in his eyes didn’t fade. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

A tense silence settled between them before Rhysand finally inclined his head, his lips curving into a faint smile. “You’ve done well by her, Tarquin. But she’s not just yours anymore.”

“She belongs here,” Tarquin said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

Rhysand turned to him, his expression thoughtful, though his violet eyes gleamed with an unyielding resolve. “She is free to decide to come and live with her family in the Night Court,” he countered, his tone gentle but no less firm.

Tarquin’s jaw tightened as he glanced out over the water. “I’ve protected her for years, Rhys. When she didn’t know who she was, when she had no one else—”

“And for that, I’m grateful,” Rhysand interrupted, his voice sincere. “More than you know, Tarquin. But things are different now. She knows the truth. She knows who she is.”

Tarquin’s gaze snapped to him, a flicker of frustration in his seafoam eyes. “And what exactly do you think the Night Court can offer her that I haven’t already?”

Rhysand sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “A chance to connect with the part of her she’s never known. With the family she didn’t know existed until now. She’s my sister as well, Tarquin. My blood. I can’t ignore that—not now that I know.”

Tarquin’s wings shifted slightly, a telltale sign of his unease. “And what if she doesn’t want to go?”

“I won’t force her,” Rhysand said, his tone softening. “The choice will be hers. But I want her to see Velaris, to meet Feyre, Cassian, Mor, Amren… to know the life she could have with us. I want her to have every piece of herself, Tarquin, not just the part tied to this court.”

Tarquin studied him for a long moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. “And if she decides she’s better off here? With me?”

Rhysand’s expression remained calm, though a flicker of something sharp crossed his eyes. “Then I’ll respect her choice. But I won’t give her up without giving her the chance to know me—to know us.”

Tarquin looked away, his shoulders tense as he considered the High Lord of Night’s words. Finally, he exhaled, his posture softening slightly. “You care for her already.”

“She’s my sister,” Rhysand said simply, a faint smile curving his lips. “Of course I do.”

Tarquin shook his head, his expression torn. “You’d better mean that, Rhys. Because if you take her to your court and something happens to her—”

“She’ll be as safe with me as she’s been here,” Rhysand assured him, his voice steady. “You have my word.”

Another long silence stretched between them before Tarquin finally nodded, though the tension didn’t leave his face. “Fine. Talk to her. But it’ll be her decision. And if she wants to stay… you’ll leave her in peace.”

Rhysand inclined his head, his smile widening just slightly. “Agreed.”

Tarquin turned to leave, his steps heavy, but Rhysand’s voice stopped him.

“Thank you,” Rhys said, his tone laced with genuine gratitude.

Tarquin paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Don’t thank me yet, Rhysand. Let’s see what she decides.”

And with that, the High Lord of Summer walked away. From the shadows, Azriel remained silent, his gaze flicking briefly to the closed door. Y/n was just beyond it, waiting to step into a world that had been hers all along but that she had never known. 

***************

The Summer Court’s ocean breeze carried the faint scent of salt and jasmine as Y/n stood on the veranda, her wings shifting lightly in the golden light of sunset. Rhysand had just finished extending the invitation—his words measured but laced with hope. He stood beside her, his violet eyes warm yet watchful, waiting for her answer.

Y/n glanced at Tarquin, who lingered a few paces away. His expression was carefully neutral, but the tension in his posture betrayed his unease. He had basically raised her, shielded her, been the only family she’d ever known. Leaving the Summer Court meant leaving him behind, at least for a time. 

She turned her gaze back to Rhysand, searching his face for any sign of ulterior motive, but all she found was sincerity. He wasn’t asking for himself—he was asking for her. Asking her to take a leap into the unknown, to explore the part of herself she’d only just begun to understand.

“I’ll come,” she said finally, her voice steady though her heart raced. “To see Velaris, to meet your family. To learn more about who I am.”

Rhysand’s shoulders relaxed, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips. “You’ll be welcome there, always. For as long as you choose to stay.”

Tarquin stepped forward then, his expression softening as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “If this is what you want, Y/n, then I won’t stop you. But if you ever need me, if you ever want to come back—”

“I know,” she said quietly, offering him a faint smile. “Thank you, Tarquin. For everything.”

As the conversation ended and plans began to take shape, Azriel stood in the shadows, watching her. He hadn’t spoken during the exchange, hadn’t dared to. But as Y/n’s words sank in, as the reality of her coming to the Night Court settled over him, a rush of emotions collided within him.

He should have felt relief—gratitude, even—that she would be close, that she’d be in Velaris where he could watch over her. But what he felt was far more complicated.

The bond thrummed in his chest, loud and insistent, a reminder of what she didn’t yet know. Of what she might never feel. It wasn’t just the bond that unsettled him—it was her. The way her blue eyes seemed to hold entire worlds. The gentle strength in her movements. The way she spoke, careful and deliberate, yet tinged with quiet vulnerability.

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around him, a reflection of his inner turmoil. He was glad she was coming, but the thought of being so close to her, of seeing her every day, terrified him. What if she never felt the bond? What if she did and rejected it? What if she grew close to someone else?

He pushed the thoughts away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Protect her. Support her. That was all he could offer; all he would allow himself to offer.

But as Y/n turned, her wings catching the last rays of sunlight, her gaze flicked briefly toward him. Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles—a polite acknowledgment of his presence—and it was like the sun breaking through a storm.

Azriel’s breath caught, his shadows pausing in their restless dance. He inclined his head in response, his face carefully neutral, though inside he felt as though his very foundations were shifting.

She was coming to the Night Court. To his world. And for better or worse, nothing would ever be the same.

Chapter 3

[hrpayo01]

"Goodbye mother, I am leaving now"

[irrelevantwriter]

An Emperor's Devotion

Pairing: Emperor Geta (Gladiator 2) x Female Reader/You

Warnings: NSFW, Ancient Rome type shit, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, necessary floor sex and injury (for the plot)

Word Count: 2734

Summary: Part 3. Emperor Geta feels the need to prove a point.

A/N: Part three finds our favorite deviant emperor doing what he does best...serving cunt. And eating it. As always, there are liberties taken with Ancient Rome. We're all here for the smut anyways. And there might be a part four in the works. Maybe. Feedback is that good shit.💗

*Read Part One here

*Read Part Two here

*Masterlist

***********************

The uproarious cheers of Rome eclipsed your husband’s greeting as General Marcus Acacius made his way up the palace steps. 

You stood dutifully behind him, taking in the spectacle. The General and his army defeated another colony, expanding the Roman Empire once again. Another state of slaves for your insatiable lover. 

“General! Welcome home! Rome celebrates in your honor,” Geta announced, taking the General’s hand. Like a good soldier, he kissed the jewels bestowed upon the Emperor’s hand. 

“My greatest thanks, your highness,” Marcus replied, eyes shifting to you. “And the Empress,” he added, moving to take your own hand in his. 

You let him. 

He placed a stubble-laden kiss on your skin, something akin to desire crossing over his rugged features. 

You smiled, accepting his greeting, though you kept your composure. You could feel Geta’s eyes on you. At the slightest indication of disloyalty, the Emperor would have Marcus’ head. 

And perhaps yours. 

“Welcome home, General,” you responded, taking your hand back. 

Geta offered the General wine and a toast, to a new Rome. You remained at your husband’s side, watching the men talk of bloodshed and conquest. It made your stomach sour. 

“A feast will be held tonight. For your victory,” the Emperor announced, jolting you back into the conversation. 

“As you wish, Caesar.”

“And,” Geta started, a mischievous tone taking hold of his words. “Perhaps you might find yourself seeking the pleasures of the flesh? I offer you the best Rome has. Though I am aware you know that already. The whores love to speak of their dalliances with the finest of our Roman army.” 

Marcus stiffened, gaze darting to you. You could see he was embarrassed by the Emperor’s lewd offer though he tried to hide it. 

You were not naive to the thirst for women that most men held. The women of Rome did what they had to, and that often meant making themselves accessible to the men. The higher the status, the better for her. You were no better. You just happened to reach the top before anyone else. 

Your husband was playing a game you were very much aware of. You tried hard to keep your amusement concealed. Seeing a usually stoic man like the General become nervous was an entertaining sight indeed. 

Geta looked proud of himself. As if humiliating the General was his goal. It appeared he had succeeded. 

“I-I thank you, your highness. Your generosity is astounding. Though I do not think I will need…such services,” Marcus clumsily replied, eyes landing on anything but you. 

“Well, as you wish General. The offer stands,” Geta acquiesced, finally done playing with his toy. “My queen and I would love to entertain the masses, but we have business to attend to.” He reached for your hand, signaling your departure. 

“Of course, your highness.”

“We will see you at dinner, General.”

And with that, Geta led you away. You followed silently, finding it strange that he was headed to your chambers and not his own. 

Guards and maidens followed behind, but once you’d reached the doors of your quarters, he dismissed them. As he often did these days. He was not fond of the extra company.

He opened the door for you, letting you through. You breezed past him, making your way to the chaise and table near your balcony. As expected, wine and food awaited. 

“Nearly a years time we have been married,” he started, voice deeper than just moments before. “And you are still so difficult to read.” 

You smiled at that, removing the deep green palla from your shoulders. The material fluttered in the wind as it floated down to the chaise beside you. 

“That amuses you?” Geta questioned, coming forward to pour you both wine. His eyebrow was raised, eyes lined with coal. They pierced you, searching for the answer to his query. 

“No, Augustus. I am simply trying to understand why that bothers you so,” you replied, reaching for a grape dipped in honey. 

Juices exploded in your mouth, the flavor sweet yet bitter. You took another. 

“The General appears quite fond of you.”

You met your husband’s gaze, accepting the wine he offered. He stared down at you, testing you. He was playing a fool’s game.

“Most men are quite fond of me, Imperator. It’s why you chose me, is it not?”

You sipped from your glass, eyeing the man you’d married. He remained emotionless, as if thinking over your words. You, knowing where this tirade was surely headed, took matters into your own hands. 

“It is rather warm.” You placed your wine down, fanning yourself against a nonexistent heatwave. “Will you bathe with me?”

Geta, stunned by your sharp change in subject, scoffed, “My conversation boring you, wife?”

You stood, meeting him where he was rooted to the ground, as if one of many statues. You reached for his mouth, surprised when he let you. You could feel how rigid he was. Something had him wound tight. 

“I would rather have a different kind of conversation, my love,” you whispered, seeing surprise on his features when you rubbed honey into his lips. His tongue darted out to taste the sweetness, catching your fingertips as he did.

His eyes turned molten, his shoulders softened. His hands, as if of their own volition, grasped at you. 

“Distraction is a weapon. One you seem rather fond of.”

You laughed at his words, leaning in so that his breath mixed with yours. “I am only what you want me to be. If you want me to be a distraction, then I shall do what my Emperor desires.”

He kissed you. Long and slow and sticky with honey. Your bodies pressed against each other, heat bubbling to the surface. His rings caught in your hair, yours pulled at the gold embellished tunic he wore. Frankincense and jasmine collided as you indulged in all you both had to offer. 

“Dulcis distraction,” Geta breathed, chest heaving as he took in your kiss swollen lips. 

“You think me sweet, my love?” You teased, making him laugh.

“The only thing sweet about you is your taste. My queen does not have the capacity for sweetness.” 

He spoke with a reverence that made you shiver. And as his hands reached for your stola, you knew he was right. To be at his side, in front of all of Rome, was not for the faint of heart. You understood that. You became what was necessary to survive. You made Rome love you. You made your husband fall in love. You made him fall to his knees in pleasure. 

He was at your mercy. And so was his empire. 

“Come,” you beckoned softly, leading him towards your private bathing quarters. 

He followed, fawning after you out of sight of prying eyes. 

Steam billowed off the pool of milk and water. Flowers of every kind danced across the surface. Canisters of various oils and herbs lined the steps. One of your maidens waited in the corner and you dismissed her. 

You could hear your husband start to undress behind you. You followed suit. 

The water swayed as Geta walked into the warm bath. You heard him hiss, the sting of heat making him react. You laughed, letting your stola fall to your feet. He raised a hand toward you as you moved to the steps. You accepted the gesture, letting him help you into the inviting waters. 

“You keep your bath much too warm for my liking,” Geta gently admonished, taking in your nude form as you submerged yourself, rose petals clinging to your skin.

“You accuse me of being a relative of Pluto. Perhaps it is true,” you teased, letting him pull you towards him.

“I say that in jest.” 

He steadied you against his bare chest. Your nails raked over the muscle, tangling in the hair that rested there. It matched the trail leading down his taut stomach. A path you’d become well acquainted with in the last several weeks. 

“My Emperor jests? A shocking revelation,” you mocked, enjoying the way his eyes narrowed. 

His hands, while gentle at first, became demanding in their touch. He gripped your hips, releasing and then squeezing once again. 

A warning.

“What has you so troubled?” You dared to ask, seeing his jaw clench. A tell.

“You.”

You cocked your head at his reply, not understanding. 

“Many people covet what I have as the Emperor of Rome. I relish that,” he paused, fingers tracing up your sides. He moved in close, lips hovering over yours. “But I do not like to share.”

A shiver, a real one, ran up your spine at his words. It was a well known fact that Geta assassinated his brother Caracalla for the throne. Many agreed that his brother was unfit for such power. He was struck with a disease that affected his behavior. Behavior that had become quite outlandish. Even for the brothers. But there had been rumors. Rumors that Geta had killed him in front of their mother. A ruthless act. And for that reason, their mother had been sent away. Or so the rumors said. No one had laid eyes on her since. 

It appeared, it was all true. 

“Have I frightened you?” He whispered, a lone finger now tracing one of your nipples. The flesh budded at his touch. 

“No, Augustus.”

“You understand my position? Why I must watch men like Marcus Acacius closely?”

You nodded, biting your lip when he moved his ministrations to your other nipple.

“Men like that would kill me and take what’s mine in an instant,” he growled, suddenly taking hold of your chin. “Would you let them?”

“No. I wouldn’t,” you breathed. For the first time since marrying him, you were afraid. But beneath the surface of that lay the quicksand of arousal that always threatened to take you down. It sat heavy in your belly, accompanied by that familiar pump of blood between your thighs. 

Geta laughed at your words, as if not believing you. That didn’t stop him from taking your lips against his. His tongue invaded your mouth, twisting in invitation with your own. You desperately tried to keep up, feeling him harden beneath the water against you. 

“Follow me,” he breathlessly commanded, ushering you to the steps. 

You went, moving to sit at the stones edge when he gestured to do so. A chill made your skin prickle. You looked on in jealously, wishing to be back in the bath’s warmth with him. 

“Do not look so sorrowful, wife. I mean to take care of you. To remind you just how generous of an emperor I can be.”

He moved closer, forcing your legs apart. You resisted at first, unsure of the angle, but he didn’t seem to care. He pressed on, hands roaming up your thighs, catching wayward petals as he did. 

“Relax, my love.”

His mouth closed in, hot breath fanning over your damp curls. You struggled not to move, anticipating his touch. Needing it. 

The moment his lips laid upon your skin, you cried out. The strength in your arms gave way, your hands instead tangling in his hair. His tongue wasted no time in finding your opening, sliding in easily. 

He moved as you’d shown him weeks ago, his nose every so often bumping your bundle of nerves. Your nails scratched at his scalp and in return, his teeth lightly scraped over your sensitive flesh. Your thighs trapped his head, pleading with him to show mercy and praying he never stopped.

“Sweet like the honey she teased me with,” Geta murmured, adding his fingers to his torture. 

You writhed, the chill no longer felt on your skin. Lust now heated your veins from the inside out, making you feel as if you were being burned alive. 

“Geta…” you moaned, feeling him double his efforts at your call. 

Bursts of light began clouding your vision. Your limbs convulsed as if you were possessed, cries of passion echoing off the bath walls. Geta did not stop. 

“I-I cannot,” you whimpered, feeling overcome. You went to push his head away, but he was quicker, snatching your wrist.

“You can, my love. You’ll do as your emperor desires. Remember?”

His mouth and fingers took turns punishing you, pulling pleas of mercy from your lips. Geta’s name became a prayer. A prayer to the gods. 

When you had thoroughly soaked his hands and chin, he relented. You felt boneless, hardly more than a corpse. Geta’s roughened laughter touched your ears, his warmth suddenly enveloping you. 

Your eyes fluttered open, trying hard to focus as he wedged himself between your legs. He was hot and hard, seeking your body for relief. 

His mouth found your neck and suckled, paying no mind to the stone digging into the flesh of your back.

“My name on your lips is what undoes me. It is the sweetest sound to fall from your lips.”

Without warning, he pushed himself into your flooded walls. He grunted, seizing your mouth and making you taste your release. His chin smeared it across yours, giving you no choice in the matter. 

Your nails embedded themselves into his back, piercing the pristine skin. He growled, thrusting his hips that much harder. Your breath caught as he reached your depths. Depths that were once hollow but now remained full of him. 

“Pleasure yourself,” he commanded.

His movements were becoming unsteady. His heart pounded against yours. He was fast approaching his peak. And since you’d shown him what it was to please you, he’d been obsessed with having you join him. He claimed it felt different. Better. Tighter. Sweeter. 

Who were you to deny such a request?

Your fingers fumbled between your bodies, seeking the swollen bud just beyond your opening. Your touch caught his cock as he sheathed himself and you both moaned, the intrusion unfamiliar but welcomed. 

You could sense the tension mounting in your husband. See his brow furrowing and his biceps flexing. He was the sun god above you, red tresses making a halo of light.

Your fingers found the spot you so desperately needed, circling the bud. You met his gaze, opening yourself up to him. He lunged forward, taking a nipple into his mouth. You cried out when he tugged at the appendage. His thrusts quickened, the force causing your back to scrape against the ground. 

“Give yourself to me, Enchantress.”

And you did. 

Geta called you his enchantress, but if anyone had magic on their side, it was him. Time seemed to stop as you both plunged headfirst into the heavens. You clung to each other, waves of ecstasy washing over you. Your skin slid against each other, limbs tangled in an orgasmic mess. Warmth filled you as his spendings made a home in your womb. 

He collapsed atop you, head resting on your breasts. You welcomed the added weight, feeling grounded after you’d soared so high. Your heartbeats began to sync as your breathing slowed. Aches began to make themselves known at your back, but you paid little mind. 

“Did you prove your point?” You teased, your voice raspy with latent lust. 

Geta chuckled against you, shifting when you began to play with his hair. 

“I think I did if your backside is any indication,” he quipped, reaching to grab what he could of said backside.

You let him touch and grope you as he pleased, feeling him go soft inside you. Even then, he didn’t remove himself. He was superstitious about such things. Like every emperor before him, he yearned for an heir. He made sure you were aware of that fact. 

“I would not let them harm you, Augustus,” you finally said. 

He stiffened, understanding the meaning behind your words. He raised himself above you, smears of coal painting his face. 

“Out of fear or love?”

“Both.”

He accepted your answer.

“And you? Would you let them harm me?” You bravely pressed. 

He was silent for a moment, taking in your body beneath him. A small curve of his lips was the only indication of a smile. 

“I spend most days ensuring no harm comes to you, my love.”

You cupped his cheek, feeling wayward drops of his seed begin to leak from your depths. 

“Out of fear or love?” You countered.

“Devotion.”

And looking into his eyes, that’s all you needed. Empires and men alike had fallen for less. 

Part Four

[lyonnerileyauthor]

His Golden Scales #2

pt 1 | masterpost | pt 3

cws: captor/captive, dubcon

the golden dragon carries you close to his chest, so you can feel the beating of his huge heart. his wings carry you high, high up above the valley to the crags where no one would ever dare to go.

but it is no nest, no dungeon, no cavern. where he lives, it is a palace, carved inside the mountain.

when he sets you down, you wonder how long you’ll have before you become his meal.

“there’s no use running,” he says, “silly thing with your silly feet.” he gazes around the golden walls. “now it’s time for you to work.”

you will wash the floors and clean the halls until it’s shining once more. “and then,” he says, “perhaps you’ll have a reward.” he licks his lips, and there, emerging from his scales, is something you’ve only seen in dreams. it’s the same beautiful gold as he is, and already leaking from the tip.

you know what he wants, what he’ll take from you. but you have no choice but to get to work.

you clean and clean until every inch of gold and silver is glimmering in the torchlight.

“come,” he says, leading you to the hall where he keeps his treasure trove. with one claw he pushes you down to the piles of goblets and gold and jewels, and unfurls his wings. that scaled cock emerges again as he breathes in your smell. “it’s been many years since I could partake. tonight I will have my fill.”