#Joseph quinn x reader

[megalony]

Like A flower

This is a new Emperor Geta imagine which can be read as a prequel to Maimed My Wife. Thankyou anon for requesting this.

I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

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Summary: Despite traditions and advice from the Senates, Geta can't just sit and wait while his wife is in peril in labour. So he goes to sit with her through the ordeal.

Enjoy.

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"What are you doing?" Geta's tone was an octave deeper than usual, laced with sleep and a hard gritty edge that gave away he had been soundly sleeping just a few minutes ago.

He nudged his head back on the pillow and tiredly peeled an eye open to look up at (Y/n), considering he was laid down and she was sitting up. He noticed that she was propped up in a mountain of pillows in a vain attempt to make herself comfy, but he wasn't sure why she was even awake.

He tried his best to open his eyes properly and look up at his wife.

He wasn't sure what time it was, but he judged from the dreary look in (Y/n)'s eyes and the tiredness written across her face that it was late. The only source of light in their room was the faint glow of the candle resting on the table beside the bed.

As his eyes adjusted to the faint glow in the room, Geta focused on (Y/n) as he slowly pushed himself up so he was sitting beside her.

She was reading a book.

(Y/n) paused, hovering her index finger over the line she had been reading so she didn't lose her place as she looked sheepishly across at her husband.

She could feel an apologetic smile pulling on her lips as she tilted the book down so it was resting on her thighs. It hadn't been (Y/n)'s intention to wake Geta up. She thought reading another chapter might tire her out enough for her to be able to get to sleep, but clearly it wasn't working the way she intended.

Her eyes followed Geta as he found the soft grey feather she always used as a bookmark for whatever novel she had picked up. Geta himself was never one for reading, but he was more than happy for (Y/n) to read passages of her books to him or poems she enjoyed. He found it rather soothing, but it was probably just her voice that enraptured him more than the stories themselves.

He slotted the feather into place so (Y/n) could place the book down on the table now that Geta was awake with her.

"Why are you reading so late?" He whispered while his hand delicately came up to rest beneath her chin, tilting her head in his direction so he could capture her lips in a kiss.

"Couldn't sleep." The words were uttered against Geta's mouth as he practically inhaled each breath (Y/n) tried to take.

She leaned her cheek into his hand and when their lips parted, (Y/n) tilted forward so she could lean against his shoulder.

"You should be resting." Geta curved his right arm around her lower waist and pressed a tired kiss against her temple. But he couldn't refrain from sliding his other hand across to rest on her stomach. It was late at night and the healers had said that (Y/n) would be set to have the baby in the next week or two. This was when (Y/n) was supposed to be resting and sleeping and not doing anything too strenuous.

She wasn't supposed to be sitting up through the night reading and draining herself like this.

Geta continued to brush his fingers over her bump and every now and then he scrunched up the fabric of her gown like he was tempted to rip the material so there was nothing separating him from her stomach.

His lips attached to the top of her head and he breathed in her scent for a few moments as he tried to gather his tired, wandering thoughts. But even as he glanced down at (Y/n), Geta could tell that she was tired. He didn't want to say that to her, it wouldn't be the kindest thing to say to the woman having his child. But she did look tired and it was late into the night.

"The baby won't settle and I can't sleep."

She wanted to. (Y/n) was desperate to lie down and go to sleep, but her back was twinging every few seconds and it didn't get any better when she tried to lie down. Then when she had laid down earlier, the baby kicked up a storm and started wriggling around, making it impossible for (Y/n) to manage any sleep. She thought she may as well try and entertain herself by reading if sleep was going to evade her.

"Well we can't have that, can we?" He murmured into her hair before he moved to lie back down again, his arms still around (Y/n) so she took the hint and laid down with him.

He helped her burrow into the nest of pillows that had slowly started to accumilate on the bed over the last few weeks. Some (Y/n) had requested and others the maids had simply brought and placed on the bed as they thought it might help and make (Y/n) feel better and have more comfort.

Lying on her back didn't help, if anything it added to the pressure and increased the pain so (Y/n) tried to turn and lay on her side. She wriggled and shifted around with her back to Geta and one of the pillows pulled down so she could burrow her face into the soft feathers and silk.

Geta smiled to himself, staying still while (Y/n) shifted every which way to try and get herself comfy. Once she seemed settled, he draped his left arm over her waist with his fingers brushing and drawing patterns over her bump.

He could feel her knees pulling up against her stomach and she shimmied around a few more times, clearly trying to lay in a position that didn't make her back twinge or disturb the baby. He attached his lips to her neck while his fingers danced across her lower abdomen, drawing aimless patterns and nonsense words to try and calm both her and the baby.

He had loved seeing (Y/n)'s shape change over the last few months and feeling their baby move and show how strong they were was like a dream.

Geta felt a sense of pride at the fact that it hadn't taken them long at all to conceive a baby, and this was their first. He knew his own mother had struggled to have a living child, although she succeeded in the end by having twin boys, and surviving the ordeal. But he and (Y/n) were lucky.

Her health hadn't declined at all, if anything (Y/n) was growing stronger each day and their baby was clearly strong and brave. He was hoping that this was a sign, that everything going well meant that when (Y/n) went into childbirth, everything would go smoothly and she and the baby would be fine afterwards.

It was no secret that Geta had been worrying as much as he was celebrating about this baby. He didn't like things going too well because he felt like the Gods were testing him and they would send tragedy down to him when things were going too well.

But as they laid there with his hand on her stomach and his face burrowed into the crook of (Y/n)'s neck, he allowed himself to smile into her skin. He banished the paranoia and panic he felt and tried to bask in the happiness that he was feeling right now.

(Y/n) was sure she heard him muttering something about going to sleep and settling the baby, but she was too exhausted to focus on making out his words. She let herself bask int he feeling of his teeth grazing her neck and his hand gliding all across her stomach.

The memory of the previous night hung at the forefront of (Y/n)'s mind as she slowly sat up in bed.

She could still hear Geta's voice from this morning when he told her to stay in bed and rest. (Y/n) had been close to disagreeing with him but she had been tired enough that all Geta had to do was kiss her temple and nudge her back down on the bed and she complied. She heard him telling the maids to disappear, to leave (Y/n) to rest and that was all she heard before her mind switched off and let her go back to sleep.

But now that she was awake, (Y/n) didn't feel very well. Last night it had been her back and the baby constantly moving that made her feel uneasy and broken. But the very brief twinges (Y/n) had felt last night were now uncomfortable and strenuous.

She had been prepared for this. Her mother and the maids had prepared her for what would happen when she was with child but things had been so much easier than they made it seem. And (Y/n) knew that was because of Geta. No one had expected him to be so doting and worried.

They thought Geta would become distant, that he wouldn't be around (Y/n) as much when she was pregnant. The Senates expected him to retreat and find concubines. The healers expected him to have separate lodgings from (Y/n) while she was pregnant. And no one expected him to be attached to her hip and become fiercely protective over her the way he was.

(Y/n) moved her hand to cradle her temple that was beginning to throb and ache like someone was chipping away at her like she was a statue made of marble.

Her other hand pressed down into the mattress to keep herself sitting upright and to stop from falling back on the bed. If she laid down she might not be able to will herself to get back up again.

"Morning, my lady."

Her head turned to the left and she smiled when she saw Blaire timidly walking into the room. But once she realised the Emperor wasn't here, her demanour relaxed and she seemed to thaw out.

Blaire was one of the maids who served (Y/n) and she had become a friend, someone (Y/n) felt she could relax around and talk to without feeling self conscious or uneasy.

"Morning." (Y/n) did her best to hide the wince from her face when her temple throbbed worse and her stomach tightened.

She moved both hands to the edge of the bed and slowly stood to her feet. It was time to get up, it was well past time to get up when (Y/n) was used to waking with Geta and starting her day after dawn the same as him. Although (Y/n) wasn't sure she would be doing very much today with how awful she was feeling.

"Are you alright?" Blaire stood beside the bed, clearly waiting to be told what she should do in terms of helping (Y/n) dress or making the bed. (Y/n) was never one to let the maids help her dress, not until it started to become difficult with her intricate dresses now she was pregnant.

(Y/n) tried to nod, but she knew she wasn't very convincing and she wasn't sure where she was trying to move to. Whether she was aiming for the closet or the table to fetch a drink, she wasn't too sure.

But three steps away from the bed, a gasp tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips and both her hands moved down to clutch her stomach when it felt like a coil within her had snapped.

Both women looked down to see water trickling down (Y/n)'s legs and creating a puddle on the marbled floor.

A quiet "Oh," left (Y/n)'s lips as her head snapped up to look over at Blaire. So this was why she had been in discomfort last night and why she was feeling so strange and run down.

The baby was coming.

(Y/n) wasn't sure that she was ready for this. This was the moment she had been waiting for and dreading at the same time. If anything went wrong, (Y/n) could lose her baby or quite possibly her life. Things had been going far too smoothly up to now, it felt like a daunting sign that something was bound to go wrong at some point.

She didn't realise Blaire had moved until she felt the young maid holding her arm and lower back as she slowly started to walk (Y/n) back until her knees hit the bed and she sat back down.

"I'll fetch the midwife, my lady."

"T-tell Geta, please?"

Tears were already building up in (Y/n)'s eyes when she thought about her husband and the fact that he wouldn't be anywhere near (Y/n) until after this ordeal was over.

She wanted him to know, (Y/n) wanted Geta to know she was in labour from the very beginning so he could be nearby. He could wait and pray for this to go smoothly. But what (Y/n) wanted most was something that wasn't going to happen. She wanted to have Geta here with her. Having him holding her hand right now would be a great comfort and his presence would be calming to (Y/n).

As Blaire hurried from the room, (Y/n) tilted her head down and wiped her hand beneath her eyes to try in vain to wipe away her tears.

She would have to endure this ordeal on her own.

***

Tears streaked down (Y/n)'s face as she slumped her head back into the pillows that were mounted behind her. She could feel her body trembling like she was laid on blocks of ice but she felt like she was beginning to burn up.

Her hand tightened around Blaire's as the young maid knelt beside her on the bed. She was being encouraging and a good source of support, but she wasn't the person (Y/n) wanted next to her and they both knew it.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, basking in the feeling of the damp cloth that Blaire dabbed at her neck and forehead with the ice cold water she had retrieved not long ago. She tried to scream but it came out rather defeated from the lack of energy and the searing pain.

"H-how much longer?" There was such a pleading tone to (Y/n)’s voice as she looked over at the midwife who pursed her lips.

"Not much longer, Empress."

Somehow (Y/n) didn't believe that. They had been here for hours already. The sun was lowering, getting ready to set behind the sand and darkness would soon envelope them. They had been here for hours, almost a whole day of agony and it didn't ever feel like it was going to be over.

(Y/n) had been prepared for this, but that didn't mean she found it easy to endure the pain. Her only relief was the knowledge that so far, no one seemed panicked. Nothing had gone wrong, the baby was still in the position and moving agonisingly slowly, but everything was going in the right direction. There was no need for intervention which had been a big worry for (Y/n).

When another budding pain coursed through her body and had her screaming out, (Y/n) tried to move. She didn't know what to do with herself but lying down like this wasn't helping.

Her hands flapped about and pressed down into the bed until Blaire helped ease her back up so she was sitting upright. She leaned away from the pillows and pushed forward until she was creased over and her knees were still bent out to the sides. She could barely feel her lower half anymore.

Sobs bubbled past her lips and tears drenched her face as she tried to stop herself from gasping and switch to panting like the midwife had coaxed her to do earlier.

"Would you like to use the birthing chair-"

"No. I want Geta!"

(Y/n) didn't care how feeble and broken she sounded, all she cared about was wanting her husband here beside her. Why wasn't he allowed to be with her? Why couldn't he be here to witness this? If this wasn't a man's place then the Gods wouldn't have made it so that a man was needed to create a child. If this wasn't Geta's place then the Senates shouldn't be so concerned about his offspring. Healers wouldn't be allowed to be in the room if this wasn't a man's place.

(Y/n) didn't want to be doing this alone. She wanted her husband by her side, she wanted his hand in hers and his calming presence beside her and his words hushed in her ear.

What if this didn't end well? What if something happened and (Y/n) passed away? She wanted Geta here in case she was to suffer or this was to be her last moments.

The healers and the midwife had tried to tell Geta that he and (Y/n) should have separate chambers now she was pregnant. They told him that abstaining from sleeping together while she was pregnant was safest for her and the baby and Geta told them that he could abstain without needing to move rooms. He loved his wife and he wasn't leaving her side for anything. So why was this any different?

"This is no place for a man, my lady. That would be most improper, and you are doing splendidly."

If (Y/n) weren't in so much agony she would have held her chin high and told the midwife that she was the Empress. She was of high authority in Rome and she shouldn't be chided like that. She would have told the midwife that she wanted her husband and so he should be brought to her.

But (Y/n) wasn't in the right frame of mind to try and hold herself high and mighty and she didn't have the power within her to argue when she knew it wouldn't do her any good. In this room her status as Empress was demoted and she was simply a woman giving birth. The midwife had taken charge and the power in the room was now hers.

Tilting her head to the left, (Y/n) meekly looked up at Blaire with sorrow in her eyes. "Where is he?" She whispered brokenly.

She has asked for Geta to be informed and (Y/n) knew he had. She knew that he and the Senates would have been informed because the Senates would now be waiting impatiently. They were setting their hopes on a boy. They wanted (Y/n) to produce an heir to truly secure Geta and Caracalla to the throne. A boy would mean they were safe and their line of succession was not to be worried about.

(Y/n) knew when Geta had announced her pregnancy to the Senates that he had snapped at them for 'praising' him for such a swift line of succession. They had only been married three months before (Y/n) became pregnant. Geta had told the Senates that (Y/n) was their Empress and they had no need to act as if giving an heir was her only duty. No one had commented after that.

"In the next room my lady, with the Senates. They asked him to wait down in the hall, but he wouldn't stray from you."

Those words brought a wave of comfort to (Y/n)'s aching, mortified heart that was close to shattering at the pain she was in.

Geta had been told to wait in the great hall or in the drawing room or even in Caracalla's chambers. He wasn't supposed to be so close while the labour was happening, but Geta wouldn't listen. He wasn't going to allow the Senates to drag him to the other side of the palace and be away from his wife.

What if (Y/n) took a turn for the worst? What if she needed him? What if the baby wasn't well when they were born?

Geta had to be as close as possible so he was the first one to hear any news and in case anything went wrong and he had to divert to prayers for the safe delivery of his wife through this ordeal.

He had been praying to Juno for the past eight months, making sure she knew how desperately he wanted her to keep watch over the Empress and give her safe passage through childbirth. Of course Geta had prayed for his child too, but (Y/n) was his priority. He could cope with the loss of a baby, but he couldn't cope with the loss of his heart and soul.

So Geta was in the adjoining room, the study, waiting for any news on his wife who he needed to be close to.

"He's here?" (Y/n) spoke more to herself than to Blaire whose hand she squeezed and pulled towards her chest when a particularly harsh contraction tore at her muscles.

The thought of Geta being so close by was comforting but it was also harming because he wasn't here. He wasn't with her right now when she wanted and needed him. Desperately.

"Ooh… Geta!" Tears streamed down her face as she screamed loudly and allowed her head to hang forward like her neck had broken.

"No more." The words seethed past Geta's lips and he pushed to his feet before anyone realised what was running through his mind.

He couldn't do this.

He couldn't sit out here with all of these men, these imbeciles, waiting for news that was clearly going to take a while. Geta hadn't been persuaded to leave the chamber and move to the hall. He hadn't been persuaded to talk state matters and affairs of conquering and of war. No one could get him to speak. He wanted to sit in silence until the ordeal was over and he could see his wife and baby.

But Geta couldn't sit here any longer. He couldn't listen to the sound of his wife's screams- all of which he had heard since the moment he walked into their chambers. He couldn't hear her sob or scream or writhe in agony. The sounds were muffled but they were distinct and he heard her scream his name. That was the last straw.

She was calling out for him and if Geta didn't heed her wishes and go to her, he would never forgive himself. He would listen to her cries each and every night for the rest of his life and chastise himself for not looking after her when he should have done.

Maybe Juno would spare (Y/n) and their child, maybe the Goddess would look after them if Geta did the same. If he went in there now and comforted (Y/n) and did whatever he could for her, then perhaps Juno would see that he was serious in his prayers and she would listen to him.

After all, Geta was Emperor, he was the closest to God in all of Rome so his prayers had to be listened to. They had to.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he pushed off the sofa, rounding the table as he stormed towards the double doors that led into the bed chamber. He needed to see his wife. He needed to help her and make sure she was alright. She wanted him.

"My Emperor, it's a woman's ordeal, your place is to wait with us for news." Whichever of the Senates reached for his arm clearly realised their grave error when Geta snapped his head to the left and his dark brown eyes burned into their very soul.

"It's my wife, my child, therefore when my wife calls for me, my place is by her side."

Were they all really going to stand there and try to tell him that being with his wife when she was in clear agony was not his place? Who's place was it then to calm her down? The maid? The midwife she barely knew? A healer whose presence would cause more alarm than calmness?

"It's not proper-"

"Do you think it is proper to vex me in this mood, Senator?" The blade strapped to Geta's waist was quickly unsheathed and he held the blade to the Senator's throat with a menacing gleam to his eyes.

He wouldn't stand here and be told how to do things and how improper he was being. If they were going to go against their Emperor then they had to be ready to have their throats slit at his mercy.

No one in the room seemed to know what to do or how to respond. They were beginning to realise that spending their time with the diseased Emperor might be safer for them than here with the enraged Emperor. If Caracalla was in one of his enlightened moods then they would find favour with him.

"All of you get out."

No one needed to be told twice. The Senates didn't want to argue the fact that they should be here by tradition. That it was their place to stay here and await news. They needed to be told whether the succession was a Prince or a Princess. But they could be told the news by a servant. Waiting here was vexing the Emperor and he was no stranger to cutting the throats of those who irritated him.

The moment another scream coursed through the air, Geta turned on his heels and sped towards the chamber doors.

He threw them open with haste, allowing them to resound loud clattering bangs throughout the room that caught everyone's attention. Once he was in the room, Geta hastily shut the doors behind him so no lingering Senate could catch sight of his wife while she was indisposed.

"I'm here, I'm here love."

A loud sob left (Y/n)'s lips when Geta stormed into the room like a whirlwind. Her bleary eyes followed him as Blaire quickly retreated towards the window to make room for the Emperor to take her place on the bed.

Geta sat down on the bed with his thigh touching (Y/n)'s and his right arm quickly bound around her back with his hand cupping the back of her neck. He leaned in to attach his lips to her temple that felt like he was kissing the sun and scorching his lips, but it didn't deter him at all. And he allowed (Y/n) to hastily grab his left hand and clench so tightly he thought his knuckles were going to pop through his skin.

(Y/n) felt like stars were dancing in front of her eyes when Geta sat down beside her. She didn't think he would hear her, or that the Senates would allow him to come in here. Part of her wasn't even sure he would stay with her to begin with. But the fact that he was here caused hundreds of tears to pour down her face which she tucked up against his neck as she leaned into him and openly cried.

She heard him murmur "I'm here," into her temple again while his thumb began to glide up and down the back of her neck rather forcefully, giving her something to focus on instead of the overwhelming agony she was in.

But Geta snapped his eyes down to the midwife who was leaning over the end of the bed. She was frowning at him. Her brows were furrowed deep, her lips were rolled so tightly he couldn't see them and her prominent chin was jutting out and pointing in his direction.

"Sir this is most unbecoming-"

"If you wish to keep that tongue where the Gods intended then you will take care of my wife in my presence."

That was enough to stop the midwife from saying anything else. She did indeed want to keep her tongue and she had the prestige honour of delivering the Prince or Princess. She didn't want to ruin this honour by upsetting the Emperor.

"Another push now."

(Y/n) did as asked, pressing her chin into her chest as she snapped her eyes closed, trying to ignore the pain that was consuming her, but it didn’t work very well. She wanted this to be over, she wanted their baby to be delivered right now so everything could stop and she could find some sense of peace.

(Y/n) jolted at the sudden feeling of the cold washcloth pressing against her thighs but the cold temperature against her skin did feel soothing.

"Blaire, another sheet." The midwife ordered with a certain tone to her voice that Geta couldn’t quite decipher. He narrowed his eyes, leaning over to look at her but his breath got caught in his throat as he realised why she was asking for another sheet. The one beneath (Y/n)’s legs was stained with blood.

The midwife couldn't seem to look at Geta for long before she looked away, scrunching up the sheet and dumping it on the floor with a few used towels. She and Blaire made quick work of placing the new sheet on the bed beneath (Y/n)’s lower half. Geta didn’t know if there was meant to be blood or not, he wasn't equipped or taught in the ways of childbirth, but he suspected that was more blood than the midwife would have liked.

Although he was relieved that when he looked down again, this second sheet didn't seem to be soaked or drenched with blood which meant whatever was happening wasn't dire. The midwife still had things under control, she didn't need to resort to the healer who was waiting in the corner of the room in case anything went wrong and his services were needed.

"Push again Empress, the head’s almost born."

(Y/n) both moaned and screamed at the torture that was tearing through her muscles. Letting out a sharp breath, (Y/n) closed her eyes as she buried her face into Geta's neck, feeling him muttering praise against the top of her head.

(Y/n) started to push again on the next contraction like she was advised but she felt like she was becoming lightheaded. Geta kept his hand entwined with hers and his other hand began to stroke up and down her arm rather than her neck.

With her head tucked beneath his chin against his chest, it allowed Geta to attach his lips to the top of her head. He kept tight hold over her, hushing and murmuring into her hair as he let (Y/n) hold his hand to the point of breaking bones. He didn't care as long as it helped.

His presence beside her was clearly calming because she was no longer sobbing and he was calm too. He wasn't sat fretting, worrying about (Y/n) succumbing to death or becoming ill or deteriorating. Actually watching her like this meant Geta knew her screams were part of the process, not indicating a problem.

He wondered how other people could leave their wives to go through this ordeal alone. How could they be so selfish? With his own father Geta could understand; his father was a cruel man who didn't care for anyone but himself and his greed. His mother had been better off alone with her maids than with her husband.

But this was different. What (Y/n) and Geta had was special, their love was unlike any other and Geta was glad to be here with her. Any other children they had, Geta would be by (Y/n)'s side through it all.

"Almost there now, my love." Geta prayed that the long wait and the hinting signs of good fortune had not been deceiving the couple. He prayed that all would go well now.

"Please, Almighty God m-make it end now." (Y/n) pushed her words through gritted teeth as her free hand crossed over her chest until she could clutch her hand around Geta's arm. She tucked herself into his side and screamed as she tensed up and pushed like her life depended on it.

It felt like she had broken apart. A horrible ringing sounded in her ears, overcoming any other sound in the room. Her body was floating and shaking and tingling all at once. Her vision turned to black and white dots until (Y/n) had to close her eyes to stop herself from groaning and being sick.

"All done, Empress. You've done it."

Geta couldn't help the sigh of relief that left his lips as he pressed a flurry of kisses against (Y/n)'s temple. And he began gliding his fingers up and down her arm, drawing patterns and circles over her flushed skin until she seemed to come back to her senses again.

"There you are, my love." He hushed, pressing a chaste kiss to her ruby red, chapped lips before his eyes moved to the midwife.

He could feel (Y/n)’s hands slowly grasping his arms tightly that were coiled around her frame as her blurring vision fought to find the midwife holding her baby.

An overwhelming sense of dread crept through (Y/n)'s system the longer they waited for the midwife to speak.

Had she produced an heir to the throne? Had she had a son, or was she granted a daughter? Was their baby okay, were they living?

(Y/n) knew the Senates had been counting on her having a son. She knew that if she had a daughter, the Senates might see this as a betrayal. They would say that (Y/n)'s body had failed Geta, that she couldn't be a true Empress until she gave him a son and if she didn't they might just conspire against her. (Y/n) hoped Geta wouldn't see things that way.

She knew he wanted a son to follow the succession. It also meant that if Caracalla had any legitimate children, Geta's child would succeed first because they were first-born. Although it was highly unlikely that Caracalla would have any heirs of his own that were legitimate. But still, an heir to the throne was something that was Geta's and his alone. He wouldn't have to share this victory with his brother like he had to share everything else- apart from his wife.

"Come along little one… let’s have a cry out of you." The midwife’s words were rushed and out of breath.

She was stood at the end of the grand four-poster bed, her arms trembling with the child she knew needed to be alive for the sake of everyone in the room. Everyone in all of Rome, in fact.

"Geta…" (Y/n) could feel bile rising in the back of her throat and her body slowly tried to lean forward but Geta's strong hold wouldn’t let her. He knew if this went downhill then he would have to pin (Y/n) down to prevent her from gaining an injury and from tackling the midwife to get to their baby.

But as tears filled (Y/n)’s eyes and she felt Geta's chest tensing beside her, the sound of a startled but very strong cry shocked the room.

"A girl, Emperor."

Something strange flooded through (Y/n)'s system upon hearing those words and the disappointed tone in the midwife's voice. It felt like her body was changing, turning numb as she sank back into Geta's side.

That was the tone of voice that (Y/n) was expecting the Senates to use if they found out she'd produced a daughter, not a son. But she didn't expect it from the midwife.

It made her heart clench and stutter in her chest about the kind of response she was going to receive from Geta.

Most people, when they heard about the pregnancy, simply assumed and hoped that it would be a boy. Once or twice Geta had referred to the baby as 'the prince'. But most of the time he simply talked about their baby and having an heir, he never specified, but he didn't need to.

He needed a son to secure the succession. Having a girl wouldn't help the succession but a girl did mean marrying into other royal lines and gaining allegiances through marriage.

(Y/n) felt like her heart was beating for everyone in the room with how frantic and hard her organ was overworking itself. Her chest heaved as she tried to gain her breath back while she tilted her head back and looked up at Geta, desperate to gauge his reaction and see whether he was okay or if he was disappointed in her. She hated to disappoint him in anything but if he were truly upset in this moment (Y/n) didn't know how she would survive.

"Geta?" She didn't have the heart to reach out and touch him in fear of what he might say or do, fretting he might get up from the bed and silently leave the room in anguish.

Her arms coiled towards her chest and she suddenly held her breath when Geta leaned forward.

Her eyes watched him curiously as he leaned forward and extended his arms towards the midwife. No words were needed for the midwife to understand what she was being asked. She moved round to the side of the bed and carefully eased the newborn into Geta's tense, waiting arms.

No one expected him to smile.

He encased his arms towards his chest and smiled down upon the life resting in the crook of his elbow. The life he had helped create. The life he had witnessed being brought into the world.

His smile was warm, something softer and kinder than anyone had seen on the seemingly heartless Emperor that many were afraid of. No one thought he could look so lovingly upon anyone but his Empress. But the way he stared down at his daughter was as if the Gods had personally handed him something worth more than its weight in gold.

To him, this little girl was worth everything. More than all of Rome and her conquered lands.

Geta trailed his index finger down his daughter's plump cheek, barely able to tear his eyes away from her until he felt (Y/n)'s cheek delicately press into his bicep. He felt her hands curling around his arm as she leaned into him when it felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

He was happy. (Y/n) wasn't sure how she thought he could have been anything other than delighted in this moment. The Senates and their narrow-mindedness had panicked (Y/n), but sitting here now, seeing her daughter in her husband's arms, it was like nothing she had seen or felt before.

And when Geta leaned down and pressed a longing, searing kiss to her flushed temple, (Y/n) squeezed his bicep and smiled against his skin.

"She's such a precious little thing, like a flower."

[rvmanoffbarnes]

Lingered looks || Joseph Quinn x Actress Reader!

Summary: Joseph and you can feel the tension. What will happen if both of you listen to what the're feeling?

Warning: The next one shot contains explicit content and sex scenes. MDNI.

They say that the eyes say more than words.

Apparently, the gazes between me and Joseph meant something beyond words.

The tension between us could easily be cut with a knife. Joseph was just inches away from me as we walked to the hotel elevator. It had been a busy day after doing interviews for our new movie and meeting some fans.

The elevator doors greet us and Joseph gestures with his hand to let me through first. "After you," he says with a slight smile. I thank him and enter the space, followed by him. The doors close and silence envelops us. It's only a few seconds until the Brit decides to break it.

"Are you tired?" he asks me. I can only nod my head. "It was a lot for one day. Honestly, this is what i hate about being an actress," I joke.

He laughs at that.

"Are you tired?" I ask him, looking at his profile. He has a beard from days ago and I notice that his shaved hair is growing longer every day.

He grimaces and leans against the elevator wall. "I still have a little energy left," he admits, "I have to use it all up before I can let myself go to bed." I raise an eyebrow at his response.

Usually, I do the opposite, even if I have energy left, I decide to go to bed anyway. These last few days, stress has consumed my being, so I opt for the healthy decision of putting aside the activities I had planned for our day off. Tomorrow I would make sure to get as much sleep as possible before going back to work.

"What will you do to spend that energy?" I ask him curiously.

He seems to think about it for a few seconds before turning to look at me, at the same time the doors open.

"I'll see if something comes up" A smile sneaks across his face.

We leave the elevator and he walks next to me with his hands in his pants pockets until he leaves me at the door of the room where I am staying. I stop in front of it and take out the card so I can open the door and get inside to rest for the rest of the night. I keep the card in my hands and neither of us seem to move.

These days I have felt a palpable tension between us, which has only increased every day since we had to share more moments together between the two of us to make the chemistry of our characters much more real. Although I have worked with Joseph before, the director asked us to deepen our relationship so that the friendly connection we had would be reflected in the film. Now, of course, we had to have a couple chemistry. I didn't think beyond the topic; I was an actress and my job was to be able to bring those emotions to life and to the film. However, I have been hearing my heart race every time Joseph and the character he played approached me for a scene or in our daily routine together.

I was almost sure it happened to both of us.

I bite my inner cheek and smile at him.

"Okay. This is it," I say in an attempt to break the silence that surrounds us. Joseph looks at the door and then guides his gaze to me. He nods and licks his lips, leaning his shoulder against the wall.

"Yeah...." he says.

I don't know what I expect exactly. The only thing that is clear to me is that neither of us wants to say goodbye at all. His gaze persists on me and a shine appears in his brown orbits. Joseph clears his throat as if suddenly reacting. He straightens his posture and points to the door with his hand and then puts it back in his pocket. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it," he mentions, "Have a good night, (Y/N)."

I smile. Almost dissapointed. I wonder why.

"Goodnight, Joseph"

He starts to back away and then turns his back on me to walk to his room which is a few doors away from mine. Before I can enter, he turns around and says:

"If you need anything," he begins. I look at him feeling my heart stop for a second "you know where I am."

I swallow and nod my head.

"Same here"

He smiles and waves his hand goodbye. We both go into our respective rooms and I close the door, leaning my back against it. A sigh escapes my lips and my eyes close. Heat invades my cheeks and I run my hand over my forehead. I take my bag off my shoulder and leave it hanging on the coat rack on the wall. Not even 10 seconds pass after I do that and I already hear someone knocking on my door with three firm and urgent knocks.

I open the door and widen my eyes when I see Joseph with a serious expression, which when he sees me changes to one of desire and desperation.

"Actually I do need something" he says.

Before I can ask him what, he kisses my lips fiercely. He grabs my waist with his arms and I allow myself to react to wrap my arms around his neck. In an agile and quick movement he leans his body back, still hugging me, to close the door. He gently pushes me against the wall and explores my mouth with his tongue.

He breaks away for a brief moment to look me in the eyes. He has his dark, eager gaze, his mouth slightly open and then whispers: "I couldn't take this anymore," he admits with heavy breathing.

He brings a hand to my cheek and looks directly at me.

"Joseph..." I say in a whisper. I have a whirlwind of emotions after what just happened.

He shakes his head dejectedly.

"If you don't want me to continue, I'll stop now and go to my room," he says. "It all depends on you."

I lick my lips and take his hand that is on my cheek to slide it around my waist. I smile slightly at him and say:

"Who says I want to stop?" He growls and smiles.

That action I do allows him to continue devouring my mouth as if there were no tomorrow. He pins his body with mine against the wall and spreads my legs with his knee, rubbing his pants against my underwear-covered crotch, which is now a wet mess. It's incredible the ability he has to make me wet in such a short time, just with a fierce kiss. He slides his hands from my waist to my butt to knead it as he wants. This causes me to cry because of the delicious sensation and I cling much more to his body, the word distance disappears as soon as he decides to continue squeezing my cheeks to his liking.

"Mhm...." I moan, clutching at his shirt desperately. I feel ashamed to be in that state so quickly, but after months of tension on the verge, I honestly shouldn't care about it.

He smiles amused and sighs against my lips. "I know we're going too fast, but it's impossible not to enjoy your body and your lips like this," he admits agitatedly.

"Please, Joseph. Don't lie to yourself; we've been wanting this for months," I say firmly and sure of my answer, even though I'm agitated. "To hell with the wait."

Joseph reacts to my words and continues kissing my lips passionately. He lifts the skirt of my dress and massages my ass like he owns it. With more and more lack of control. I venture to unbutton the buttons of his shirt clumsily, but when I manage to do so, he steps away from me for a few seconds and, without taking his eyes off me, takes off his shirt in a hasty movement. This gives me time to start taking off my dress. I lower the strap on one shoulder and then the other, feeling cold as my tits are exposed. I'm not wearing a bra.

"Oh, darling..." he moans.

He takes my waist again and connects his lips with mine. He walks with me until he sits on the edge of the bed and watches me with puppy eyes.

"I want you" he says.

"Then take me," I say.

I settle into his lap and finish lowering the dress with his help. I feel it fall to the ground and I sit back down on Joseph's lap. He looks at me pleadingly for a moment.

"Can...?" He points to my body, to which I nod. The brown-haired man runs his hands slowly over my skin, enjoying the moment. I lean on his shoulders while I'm only wearing my panties. I start kissing his neck at the same time that Joseph raises his hand to my tit, playing with it, while the other holds my waist. I let out a moan, moving closer to him. My hips take on a life of their own and begin to move against his crotch. Joseph curses under his breath and grabs my hips to move them urgently on top of him.

"I need you to tell me if... oh, fuck...." he doesn't stop the movements of my hips on him "I need you to tell me if you want to do it soft or hard."

I lick my lips.

“Fuck me hard, please,” I whimper.

I can't stand the pressure that forms in my lower area. My panties feel so sticky I just want to rip them off. Joseph moans and begins to unbutton his pants, kissing my neck. I stretch it so he can taste my skin better.

I feel his pants and boxers fall to the floor. I look down and see how excited he is. I smile and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The tip of his member is red and dripping precum from the situation. Joseph looks me in the eyes and smiles amused. He lowers his gaze to my lips while with his fingers he moves my panties aside and begins to caress and spread my clitoris.

"So wet. Is it for me?" He asks and I move against his fingers. "Yes, Joseph," I say, throwing my head back. "Please... it's just for you."

Joseph chuckles softly. He inserts three fingers again and again until he sees that I am at his complete disposal. He removes them and I instantly miss the sensation. Joseph licks his fingers clean and I swear the action he does can't look any hotter. He closes his brown eyes and enjoy my taste.

"Delicious," he says with a grimace, "just as I imagined."

I groan when I see it.

He places his hand on my cheek. "Do you want me to take control or would you rather ride me?" ask. So gentlemanly and thoughtful of him. I think about it for a few seconds, but with a mischievous smile I answer: "I want to ride you"

Joseph chuckles.

He lays on the bed with a smirk plastered on his face.

"Go ahead, darling"

"I'm clean," I tell him.

"Me too" he smiles in a sincere tone.

And that's enough for me.

I lower my body until I feel his hard member at my entrance and without thinking twice I get into it. I let out a pleasant whimper at the new sensation and watch as Joseph's face is invaded by pleasure.

"Fuck" he groans.

He grabs my hips and begins to guide me with the movements. I rest my hands on Joseph's chest, feeling the small hairs brush against my fingers.

"Oh Joseph," I stifle a moan.

"That's right, beautiful, take all of me" he pushes his hips against mine.

The obscene sound of our bodies is confused with our moans throughout the room. I'm about to cum. I need a little more stimulation, so I take one of his hands that is imprisoning my hip and guide it to my tit. He seems to understand what I want, so he starts massaging it and playing with my nipple. "So beautiful... oh, god" he says.

I moan. This time i'm moving faster.

"Joseph... i'm gonna cum" i admit.

He barely nods with his eyes closed.

"Yes, beautiful, cum for me" he lifts his body a little and hits deep into my body

"I'm ready too." A few more seconds pass until the climax reaches us. "Fuck!"

I feel all his semen spread in me, at the same time that I cum on top of him.

"Oh god" I try to catch my breath and feel him take me by the waist and gently lay me down next to him. I hug him and he smiles at me, looking into my eyes.

"Hey"

"Hey..." I say with a smile.

The rooms smells like sex and the temperatures is increasing.

"That was... incredible," he mentions. I nod my head.

He caresses my cheek softly and tenderly. "I don't want you to think that this will be a one-night thing," he begins by saying seriously, "I really want to try it with you."

My heart races.

"Only if you want it too," he adds. I kiss him to answer him. Joseph corresponds to me, and as we part I tell him:

"I would love to try it, Joseph."

He smiles and kiss my forehead.

"Joseph?" I ask.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Did you waste that energy left?"

He laughs.

"Yeah. I did"

--------------------------------------------------

Hi! I hope u enjoy this one shot... i'm so bad writing smut.

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror.............Part XII

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: Letha suffers from a rude awakening. Macrinus wants to know what happened at that damned party.

Warnings: violence, death, period-typical sexism, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.4k

Part 12 of 15

[ Part XI ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I'm so sorry. I hope you find a way to enjoy this part. Dove into a smidge of Caracalla's mindset here. I kind of regret not doing it sooner. I have thoughts.

Letha awoke as a firm hand gripped her ankle, ripping her out of the bed harshly. She landed on the floor with a loud smack, bare for all to see. She kicked out at the hand on her ankle, her vision starry, her shoulder throbbing. She could hear Geta shouting, could feel his footsteps pounding onto the marble beside her.

“It is a matter of your safety,” Tegula insisted, pulling her back further towards the door.

“Unhand her!” Geta demanded. She’d never heard him so angry.

Tegula released her ankle and let it fall to the hard floor, the crack of it hitting the floor filling the room. The pain was sharp, making her hiss as she reached for it. 

“You are needed in the atrium, Emperor,” he explained, a hand on Geta’s bare chest pushing him back. “The culprit behind the attempts on your lives has been captured.”

Letha felt a deathly chill wash over her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she realized it was all ending. It was devastating. She and Macrinus would be made an example of. Geta…. She should have told Geta last night, when he’d asked her. She shouldn’t have been so selfish. She could have made him understand, somehow. 

Instead, he would hear of her betrayal from another, and she suspected she would not be able to plead her case. 

“Leave us to dress,” Geta waved him off.

Tegula didn’t leave. “We must hurry, Emperor.”

That gave Geta pause. He looked down to Letha and back to Tegula, but didn’t ask any of the questions swirling around in his head. He picked up his robe and threw it on. 

Tegula kicked Letha’s discarded dress in her direction and she sat up slowly, turning her back to the General as she pulled it on. She hung her head and used her hair as a curtain, unable to look Geta in the eye as the two men waited. 

As she pushed herself up off of the floor, Geta reached out to help her. Tegula pushed his hand away gently, his own hand grasping firmly at her upper arm instead. He hauled her up onto her feet and steered her out of the room, leaving Geta stunned, his protest falling on deaf ears.

Geta followed them through the halls, his fear growing with every step. 

As Tegula turned a corner, the hallway opened up wider into a meeting room. Letha spotted Macrinus immediately. But he was not kneeling, not restrained. No. He stood beside Caracalla and Ancus, a somber look on his face. Another act.

Instead, it was Thraex kneeling, looking like he’d been hauled from his home in the middle of the night, sleep still in his eyes. He was beset by panic, sounds bubbling forth, but no coherent words leaving his lips. He was innocent in this, but Letha knew it wouldn’t matter. Macrinus had achieved his plans despite her. Probably in response to the man he sent being unsuccessful.

Letha was forced to her knees beside Thraex. 

My how things change, and yet, remain the same, she thought bitterly.

“What is the meaning of this, Tegula?” Geta asked. “Have you gone mad?”

“Macrinus spoke with me late this evening and provided evidence of a plot, Emperors, the Senator meant to have you both assassinated.”

“Senator Thraex? I never took you for the type,” Caracalla leered. Thraex looked on the verge of fainting.

Geta looked down at Thraex who began babbling, insisting he wasn’t involved. His eyes darted to Letha, making leaps based on what little information he had. She could see him swallowing, his gaze raking over her repeatedly, as if he couldn’t fathom it, taking in the shade of herself that knelt before him. There was no fight in her at all. 

As if it were true.

“Why have you brought Letha here?” Caracalla asked, voicing what Geta had been thinking furiously. The only thing saving Tegula from his loosened wrath was that he was the only person able to command the Praetorians to stand at their side.

“She was to kill you both as you slept,” Tegula explained. 

It was uncomfortably silent. 

“I wish it wasn’t so, Emperors,” Macrinus frowned, folding his hands together. “It seems she fooled us all.”

Letha wanted to scream, to wail, to acknowledge everything Macrinus was stealing from her. But she couldn’t. It wouldn’t do anything.

“I assure you,” Thraex spoke, pleading, “I had nothing to do with this. I know nothing of this plot, and I certainly wouldn’t wish ill on either of you—”

“Silence,” Geta spoke, his teeth gritted. He turned his attention to Letha, leaning down to fill her sight line. “Tell them it’s not true. That there’s some misunderstanding,” he pleaded, his voice soft. “Just last night, you felled a man to protect me. Tell them.”

Letha looked away from him, feeling the knot forming in her throat. She looked instead to Macrinus. Macrinus appeared almost bereaved. It was a pretty good act. But the way he looked at Letha now, she knew it was over. There was no warmth in his eyes. It was almost scathing. As if he dared her to speak to implicate him.

“Say something,” Geta begged, his eyes wet with unshed tears. She could see the heartbreak in them. It tore her up. “I know you, you wouldn’t—” he stopped himself, looking away from it all, turning his back to them as he squeezed his eyes shut.

You wouldn’t hurt me. He had trusted her. And this was how she rewarded him. Some divine intervention in his life. He was surely cursed by the gods.

Thraex’s eyes darted to the man standing just offside of the twins, desperation plaguing his voice. “Macrinus, please.”

Macrinus didn’t so much as look in his direction, pretending as if he didn’t exist. His eyes were on Geta. Ever the manipulator. 

“I understand you two have grown close,” Macrinus spoke, sidling up beside Geta, placing a hand on his back in comfort. “This must be incredibly difficult for you. This…betrayal,” he soothed, while pouring salt on the wound.

“What proof is there?” Geta asked miserably.

Letha’s chest burned. Whatever they had, it didn’t matter. Even if there truly was nothing, Macrinus would just whip something up to placate them. Even Geta, the most skeptical of all of them, would come around to this set of facts eventually. There was nothing she could say or do to prevent that.

She tuned out their hushed conversation, tried to ignore Thraex trembling beside her. She mourned. She mourned her family, mourned herself, but most of all, she mourned Geta. Her heart twisted as she pictured his teary eyes, the hurt that resided there. He had been so vulnerable with her, so open, just hours ago. She suspected he might never be so open again. Maybe she was the monster after all.

This, this was worse than death. And she knew it was coming, she had just convinced herself she could somehow prevent it. It was inevitable.

“Emperors, please, have I not always supported your endeavors? Even when others did not? I wish you no harm, you must believe me!” Thraex insisted, attempting to rise from his knees. A Praetorian pushed him back down harshly. “It-It is Macrinus, Caesars, that is responsible!” he finally accused.

That drew everyone’s attention.

“Macrinus is the one at the heart of this plot, not me,” he continued. “Is she not his? I only met her once! You know, Emperor Geta! At my party!”

Letha saw recognition in Geta’s eyes. She also saw surprise fill Macrinus’s features as he studied the Emperor. He really didn’t know about their first meeting. She suspected he wouldn’t have brought her to the games if he did. He wouldn’t have kept using her as bait for the twins. She was tainted, turned sour. He just hadn’t smelled it first.

She hoped it ate at him. That he missed something.

It didn’t really matter in the end. He still triumphed, and she was trampled underfoot. There wasn’t a moment spared to hope for a different outcome, a turnabout that would save them. 

Geta held out a hand and Tegula drew his sword, placing the hilt carefully in the Emperor’s palm. Geta pointed it at Thraex as if daring him to continue speaking.

“It is not enough for you to wish for our deaths, you now attempt to cast blame on another, drag this upstanding citizen into your shoddy plot?” Geta let out a disgusted laugh. “You deserve death.”

She imagined the words were spoken to her. She felt she agreed. It would certainly feel better than this.

The sword was swiftly buried in Thraex’s chest, a sickeningly familiar sight. Letha forced her wide eyes down on the floor, falling to her hands and knees as she fought to even her breathing. Her hair fell over her shoulder, blocking the senator from view. The squelch that sounded as the sword was pulled free nearly made her spill her stomach onto the ground. Thraex hit the floor with a wet thud. 

Letha would surely be next. 

She let out a small sob as the blood pool grew from beside her, passing under the curtain of her hair, touching the side of her hand, soaking into the dress she wore. It was still warm.

“I can,” Macrinus offered, his words full of false sympathy. 

Letha’s head shot up. 

Geta stood before her, staring down at her, the bloody blade still in his hand. His face was pulled down into a deep frown, though his eyes were still wet. They shone with a latent fury she had never seen in him before. 

He ignored Macrinus. 

“Speak,” Geta insisted. “I demand it.”

Letha swallowed, the tears falling anyway. 

“What was your role?” he finally asked, accepting that she was involved.

She sucked in a shaky breath, a storm raging inside her. “I was supposed to kill you both,” she finally confirmed. 

Geta squeezed his eyes shut and a tear fell down his cheek as he handed off the sword back to Tegula  so he could wipe at his face. “And you didn’t,” he spoke, his voice cracking. “Why?”

“I realized I didn’t hate either of you at all,” she explained, eyes trained on the back of his head. 

I let myself fall for you.

He turned back around, his lower lip trembling. “Well, how fortunate for ‘Calla and I.”

It felt like a goodbye. 

“Take her,” Geta sighed, turning his back on her. She could see Caracalla peeking around his brother as he hugged him, his eyes shiny too.

“I’m sorry,” she offered, moments before being hauled to her feet, a bruising grip on her arms leading her out of the room.

“She must be scared,” Caracalla commented, watching his brother carefully. 

Since Letha had been dragged out of the room, Geta had become stone cold. Frigid. He still held that same look all these hours later, but now his eyes were dark, darker than usual, resembling someone Caracalla hadn’t been made to think about for a long time. The only thing keeping him in the room was Ancus’s quiet presence by the door.

“What do you care?” Geta asked harshly, his words taking on a derisive tone that threatened to send his brother spiraling.

“Don’t you?” Caracalla accused, pointing an accusatory finger his brother’s way. “You didn’t let her explain.”

“Explain what, ‘Calla? How she wished to cleave our heads from our shoulders?”

Caracalla shook his head, turning away from Geta. “If you believe that, you’re a fool.”

“She admitted to it,” Geta forced out. “What other proof do you need? My head at your feet?”

“No,” Caracalla chuckled. “Not that you haven’t given her ample opportunity, brother,” Caracalla shot back, an accusation in his eyes.

Geta squeezed his eyes shut, turning away from his brother. He reached for the wine, shooting a sharp, dangerous look at the servant who moved to pour it for him. “Leave us,” he ground out. They fled from the room as quickly as they could without breaking into a sprint.

“Ignoring your lack of caution,” Caracalla continued, “She could have killed either of us many times over. And maybe there’s some shred of truth to this plot, but you have to admit her heart wasn’t in it.”

“I’m quite sick of speaking of her. Tomorrow, she will be erased from this earth,” Geta cursed her, draping his hurt in anger. 

“Brother, I knew you were a bit callous with your playthings, but—”

“She’s not a plaything,” he growled, unable to stop himself. 

As the words left him, Caracalla’s eyebrows lifted. “It is worse than I thought.”

Geta watched as Caracalla took the filled glass of wine from his hand and stole a sip, walking leisurely laps as he pondered his poor brother’s predicament. Geta begrudgingly poured himself a new glass.

Before he could conjure up some idea that would remove the scowl from his brother’s face, Caracalla’s pacing was interrupted as Macrinus strode into the room.

He didn’t trust Macrinus.

Dondus didn’t like him, Caracalla reminded himself. That was all the confirmation he needed.

“Emperor Geta,” Macrinus greeted, bowing. “Emperor Caracalla.” Another bow. Smaller than the one he’d offered his brother.

“Thank you again for informing General Tegula so quickly, Macrinus,” Geta offered, a hand going to the man’s shoulder.

“Yes, well, I was so worried she would have already done the dirty deed before I could get here.”

Yes, yes, so worried. What impeccable timing.

“And who informed you of this… plot?” Caracalla asked, eyes fixed on Macrinus.

“Well, my lady, Hyacinthia, she heard word of it from one of Thraex’s staff. As soon as she told me, I brought it to your General’s attention,” Macrinus explained, turning to the smaller of the two brothers.

Caracalla lifted a sceptical brow. “In the middle of the night?”

He noticed a flicker of something, a faltering, but Macrinus corrected it almost immediately. “Well, you see, I only heard about it after we exhausted ourselves, your majesty.”

“Summon her,” Caracalla demanded.

“Caracalla, no,” Geta snapped, drawing his brother’s eye. Macrinus’s too. “Macrinus has done us a great service, we are not going to subject him or his lady to interrogation.”

“Then how will you ever know for sure?”

Geta raised his eyebrows. “Brother, your paranoia is astounding today,” he scolded him openly.

Caracalla glowered at his brother, his frustration blooming uncomfortably, overriding all else. “And you are a blind fool!” 

Macrinus watched the smaller Emperor flee the room, his shadow, the Praetorian, falling into step behind him before they both turned the corner and disappeared from sight. 

A problem, Macrinus noted. One he could deal with later. 

His biggest obstacle stood before him. He knew he needed to approach the wounded man with caution, lest he get bitten himself. Macrinus had to hand it to Letha, she had broken him open so thoroughly. Just a little push and everything would fall just the way he wanted it to.

But first, to deal with Letha.

An unforeseen delay, but one he would weather. If his man had done his job, none of this would’ve been necessary. The sacrifice of Thraex was a necessary evil, he would have been useful in gaining support among the senators. No matter. His goal felt tangible as he watched Geta gulp down his wine.

There was still something nagging at him, though.

What happened at that party?

Macrinus remembered Letha being so flustered and placating after being caught out, but he assumed she might have needed to relieve herself or had gone off in search of some morsel or drink while she had access to it. Not this. And the way Geta looked at her, the first day of the games… He knew then there was something going on, but assumed wrongly that it was only on the part of the Emperor. 

He had completely missed it. And it bothered him more than he wanted it to. By the time he became wise to what might be happening between them, it was too late to pull Letha out. He’d already given her to Geta, in hand and in heart. He just didn’t know it.

“Well,” Macrinus spoke, “you and your brother should now be free of reprisals.”

“Yes, there is that,” Geta nodded, refilling his glass. 

“I am sure she must have felt strongly for you, to stall for so long,” he prodded.

“A great comfort,” Geta replied sarcastically, his voice raw. 

“I think you should rid yourself of her as quickly as possible, before word spreads of your… entanglement,” Macrinus suggested, attempting to navigate a thin line of obedience and cunning.

That caught Geta’s attention. “Tread carefully, Macrinus,” he warned.

He did fuck her, Macrinus mused. 

Macrinus approached Geta, his arms out, a sympathetic look on his face. “I know you are hurt. If I had even an inkling that this was going on, you must know I would have told you.”

The Emperor laid a hand on Macrinus’s shoulder, letting out a weary sigh. “I did not see this coming, I was…”

“Blinded?” Macrinus supplied. “You are far from the first or the last man to suffer such a thing.”

Geta left Macrinus and fell onto a bench along the back wall of the room, careful not to spill his wine. A crutch, for now. “She showed no signs?”

Macrinus shook his head, clasping his hands together before him. “None.”

“She was in your employ, where would she have had occasion to meet with Thraex to form this plot?”

Macrinus wracked his brain. It should have been a simple question to answer, but he was grasping at nothing. “It must have been at the party.”

Geta nodded, eyes cast down to his cup. “Right. The party.” He downed the rest, setting the empty glass on the floor. 

Yes, the accursed party, Macrinus thought. He would never be able to forget it.

“Punishment. What would you do, Macrinus?”

“If you want to make an example of her, there’s an obvious option there. But…” 

“But?” Geta questioned.

Macrinus fought off a smile. “She’s always been a fighter,” he shrugged, “so let her go out fighting.”

Geta sat up, that brilliant anger back in his eyes. “I do not think—”

“It would be a great display of your power, your tolerance of your enemies. A false chance at mercy.” Macrinus watched Geta, waiting for the moment the snare pulled tight.

Geta stared down at the floor, considering the idea before eventually meeting Macrinus’s eyes. “I do have a suggestion.”

“It didn’t have to end this way for you, Letha. You lost your nerve. Or maybe I was wrong about you, and you never had it to begin with.”

The sun would be up soon. With the new morning would surely come her death. She wished she could undo everything. All the hurt she caused. And the last person she wanted to see was Macrinus.

“You thought you’d just get to play Empress? That I wouldn’t go after you? I believe I taught you better than that,” Macrinus spoke, amusement in his expression as he peered down at Letha through the bars of her cell, her enclosure. He kept his distance, well aware of what she could do. But she had no energy for it anymore.

“The Roman people should be so grateful,” she spat, glaring up at him. “Their twins replaced by a man that wants to destroy them all. You’re lying to yourself if you think you’re any better than them.”

Macrinus chuckled to himself, adjusting his white robes. “You have misdirected your hatred, Letha. I am not your enemy. They are the ones responsible for the death of your family, not me.”

“They are not monsters to be slain,” she frowned.

“That’s exactly what they are, Letha. And since you couldn’t do it, I’ll handle it myself.”

“I hope they kill you too,” she spoke, venom dripping from her words.

Macrinus frowned, coming closer. “The fury I saw in you, Letha, that fire has gone out. You’re no different from a common whore, bowing to your baser impulses—”

Macrinus almost couldn’t jump back fast enough. Letha’s fingers snagged one of his many necklaces and pulled harshly, but the clasp gave way before any damage could be done. She threw the chain to the ground.

Macrinus laughed. “Save your energy, princess. Damnatio ad gladium awaits.”

Letha recoiled. Surely not. Not something so… public.

“By the way,” Macrinus continued, “just what did you and Geta get up to at Thraex’s party? I’m just so curious, Letha.” When she didn’t answer him, he grew frustrated. “Just for the inconvenience, I’ll take his head first. You ought to be grateful you won’t live to see it. I’m not a monster.”

A/N: sorry, didn't want to spoil it at the top. Damnatio ad gladium, damnation to the sword, can probably be inferred based on context, but it is a sentence that involves being convicted to die in the arena, fighting until you fell. If you somehow survived, you are supposed to be executed anyway. Sorry about that.

Might be a bit longer in between this part and the next part(s) because I have a lot of family stuff occurring these next few days. I'm hopeful it won't take long for me to finish up the last bits, but the muse is fickle sometimes and I have less time than I planned. Thank you for being patient.

[ Part XIII ]

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY NINTH; side a — cheater - the vamps | e. munson x r

w; does not follow ‘stranger things’ timeline, cheating (not eddie or reader), a fight breaks out (shocker!!!!), best friends to lovers trope, angst, fluff an; i love the vamps ❤️❤️❤️❤️

mixtape here!

Eddie grunts as his foot stumbles over the rug that had been flipped over, grumbling under his breath as he looks back at the offending object. 

You'd run off and leave him once again, looking for James in the crowd of people. 

He used to be only okay with going to parties (because he was making bank), but now it’s exhausting and makes him nauseous when he goes to one. Yet, he could never say no to you…. for whatever reason. 

No. He knows the reason. You would never figure it out though. Especially now that you’re with someone like James. He makes a face when his name mentally passes through his mind, shivering as if he’d been told something disgusting and it leaves some sort of bad taste in his mouth. 

Jogging up the steps, he’s in search of a bathroom. His eyes scope the area, heading towards a door. Opening it up, he stumbles to a stop as his lips part. 

Oooh boy. 

“Eddie?” 

He’s aware again that he’d just walked into something that almost causes him to black out and do something he regrets. James is standing there with cheap, pink lipstick smeared above his upper lip. 

The girl looks away quickly, having the decency to look a tiny bit ashamed. 

“Hey, man,” James chuckles slightly. He’s nervous and Eddie can tell by the way his hands shake when they lift from the girls waist. “That was…I didn’t…I tried pushing her off.” 

Eddie scoffs. “Yet, you looked like you were having the time of your life. Goodbye, James.” He gives him a mock salute, slamming the door behind himself, muffling the pleads that leave James’ mouth. 

He’s quick to jog down the stairs once again, now on the hunt for you. He had to get you out of here before telling you. 

“Eddie!” He stops in his steps, following the sound of your voice. He hears his name once again, this time from James. He’s quick on his feet, grabbing your hand when he finally reaches you. 

“We need to leave. Now.” 

You looked a bit startled from his sudden frazzled state, stumbling but following behind him as he pulled you in between the crowd and towards the front door. You look back when you hear James’ voice call out for Eddie once again. 

“Hey, Eds. Wait for—” 

“I’m not waiting for him unless you want him to get—” Your hand slips from his once he’s outside in the cool air. He quickly turns and glances at you quickly before looking at James. 

“Honey, I was calling out for you guys. Are you leaving?” 

“James—” 

“Eddie told me we needed to leave,” You nod. “I was trying to tell him to wait on you.” 

“Tell her why I wouldn’t want to wait on you, James.” Eddie clenches his jaw. You glance between the two, suddenly confused now by the tension. It makes you slightly uncomfortable, shifting on your feet. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” James shakes his head, a small smirk pulling at his lips. 

Collecting himself, Eddie shakes his head and steps closer, his hand grabbing your wrist. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” 

“Eddie—”

“She’s not going anywhere with you, you freak,” James spits at him, pulling you back. Your brows pinch together, staring up at him as you stumble from his reaction. “You’re so pathetic thinking that she would actually want anything to do with you,” He lets out a condescending laugh. 

“I see the way you act around her. You’re not slick with—” 

Eddie wasn't sure what had happened after that. He was standing one moment, holding his composure well. 

Or…he thought he was. 

His ears are ringing now and his knuckles are throbbing. A small breath leaves his mouth when he’s dragged off of James. “Okay! Alright!” He yanks himself from whoever had a grip on his arm. He stares down at James who had tears slipping down his cheeks, slipping in with the blood. 

His chest heaves as he walks over, trying to talk calming breaths. “Don’t ever talk to me that way again,” He points to him. “Next time you think about cheating on someone, think about what happened, yeah?” 

James’ shaky hand cradles his nose in his hand as his eyes stare up at Eddie who looms over his body. His green eyes drift over to you, gulping slightly when he sees the look on your face. 

“What do you mean?” You finally speak up. 

Eddie rubs his lips together before turning towards you. “I walked in on him kissing some other girl,” His hands rest on his hips.

Man, I really need to learn how to not black out. 

Your eyes drop toward James, brows furrowing together. “I was going to tell you in the van but he just had to get in the way,” James slowly stands to the ground, shirt wrinkled a bit with spots of blood. “Which do you want to go with?” 

Eddie shouldn’t have given you the option to choose who you wanted to leave with. You tend to always give people second chances. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when you step towards him, your arm brushing over his. He nods wordlessly, pulling you away. 

James calls after you, following quickly. Eddie shakes his head and turns, holding his hand up, watching as he stumbles to a stop. “You just don’t get the hint, do you? Your actions have consequences. So next time, you wanna choose something that has your nose broken again as a consequence, think and ask yourself if you enjoyed that feeling.” 

James’ glances back at you and you quickly look away, crossing your arms over your chest. Eddie gives him one last warning look before turning towards you, placing a hand on your back as he leads you towards his van. 

The door squeaks when it opens and you quickly climb in. He shuts the door and rounds the front, quickly getting inside himself and starting it up. 

It’s quiet on the way back to your apartment. Eddie’s also slightly embarrassed, yet, not too much because he’d do that over and over if he truly needed to for you. Once he parks, he waits for you to leave his van without saying a word. 

“Do you wanna come in?” You glance over at him. He looks over at you, nodding slightly. 

“Uh, sure.” He kills the engine before getting out and rushing towards your side. You smile to yourself when he opens your door, slipping out of the van. He shuts it and follows behind you towards the stairs. 

“Sorry. The elevator is down.” 

“Again?” He chuckles a bit. 

“Again.” You nod. He smiles a bit, shaking his head slightly. You dig your keys out of your purse, unlocking the door. Eddie steps in after you, shutting and locking the door behind himself. 

“Sit. I’ll clean up your knuckles.” You motion towards the couch before walking towards your bathroom. He listens and makes his way over, sitting down as he glances down at his hand. He winces a bit.

First-aid in hand, you make your way back and sit next to him on the couch, pulling his hand towards you. It’s silent as you clean away the blood that had dried. 

“Eds?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What James said,” He quickly looks at you before looking away, gulping. “About you being pathetic.” 

“Oh,” He lets out a slight scoff, shrugging a bit. Your grip tightens on his hand. “Hey, it’s fine. I don’t care what he—”

“Especially about the part where I didn’t want anything to do with you,” You cut him off. He looks at you, noticing that you were already looking at him. “I just…I didn’t want something to happen between us and I lost you altogether.” 

“Hey…” He turns towards you as he shakes his head, a small frown on his face. “You could never lose me, okay?” 

You stare at him quietly for a moment, reaching out and cupping his cheeks softly. “Eddie?” 

“Yeah?” He whispers. 

You smile and lean close, nudging your nose against his, looking into his brown eyes. “I love you.” 

He’s quick to grin, leaning close as he presses his lips against yours. It’s not really a kiss, yet you don’t care. You laugh softly when he pulls away, his hand coming to grip the side of your neck softly. 

“Say that again.” 

You press another kiss against his cheek before nodding. “I love you.” You whisper. 

He presses his nose into your cheek softly when his lips press another kiss to your lips — now addicted. “I love you too.” Staring at him lovingly, you nod. 

“I know you do.” 

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @sstar-ggirl — @love-quinn

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, & feedback are welcome & greatly appreciated!

[bcmbiquinn]

https://www.tumblr.com/bcmbiquinn/774846876722855936?source=share

A tickle fic? Pls 🥺

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ hey anon, sorry for taking so long but here it is, hope you enjoy it, even if it’s small

Content warning: Just too adorable, proceed with caution. ♡

The dim glow of the living room lamp casts soft shadows on the walls, the only source of light as you curl up on the couch with Joe, tangled in each other like you were made to fit like this. The movie on the screen is long forgotten, replaced by slow, lingering kisses that have stolen both of your attention. His lips moved slowly against yours, his hand resting on your waist, fingertips drawing lazy circles against your skin.

Joe sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your chest feel warm and light. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss. Everything about him feels gentle, his touch, the warmth of his breath, the way he holds you like he has all the time in the world.

Your fingers slid under the hem of his shirt. But the second your hand brushed against a particular spot near his ribs, he let out the tiniest giggle. A real, genuine, boyish giggle. You pulled back, blinking at him in surprise.

“Wait a second…” a slow grin stretched across your face as realisation dawned.

Joe's eyes widened. “No, don’t even think about it”

But it was too late. Your fingers darted back to his side, experimentally wiggling against his skin, he jolted, a surprised laugh escaping before he clamped his lips shut, shaking his head wildly.

“Babe, babe, no…” he gasps between fits of helpless laughter, squirming and trying to catch your hands. But it’s too late and you’re merciless.

That encouraged you. You climbed over him, straddling his lap as you launched your full attack, tickling his sides, his stomach, anywhere you could reach.

“Oh, this is golden!” You teased, digging your finger into the soft spot near his ribs that seems to be his weak point. His laughter turns breathless, almost wheezy and his hands clamp around your wrist but he’s too busy giggling to fight back properly.

He squirmed beneath you, laughter spilling out in full, uncontrolled bursts. Then…

He snorted.

“You snorted!” You shriek, laughing so hard your own stomach aches.

Joe groans, hiding his face with both hands as you finally let up, still giggling as you fall beside him. His breath is heavy, his face flushed and he’s glaring at you, though the corner of his lips are twitching like he’s trying not to smile.

You continue laughing at him. “Joe snorts when he laughs!!” You teased.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” he mutters.

”I can’t believe you snort when you laugh,” you shoot back, grinning.

“Right. Well, this has been fun,” he says dramatically, reaching for the couch pillow and tossing it at you. “I’m moving out. Leaving the country. Maybe the planet.”

You dodge the pillow easily, still giggling as you cuddle back into his side. “No, you’re not. You love me too much.”

Joseph huffs, but the way his arm wraps around you again says you’re absolutely right. After a beat, he grumbles, “You’re never gonna let this go, are you?”

You grin up at him. “Not a chance.”

He tried to glare at you, but the laughter still twitching at his lips betrayed him. And when you leaned down, pressing a teasing kiss to the tip of his nose before launching back into your tickle attack, he surrendered completely, lost in laughter, in you, in the warmth of this perfect, silly moment.

[pascaloverx]

MESSY

Author's Note: The character Michael does not belong to me, but to the film Hoard (2023). There won't be a summary at this time because I'm unsure if the fanfic will continue. So, if you enjoy this preview, please comment and like. Engage! Thank you for your attention.

PREVIEW

There is a growing desperation within you. Just a few weeks ago, you would never have imagined yourself in this position, but you have run out of options. Your father took a new wife mere months after your mother’s passing, and she had no interest in playing the role of a stepmother. So, he cast you out, leaving you with nowhere to go. "It’s my house," were the last words you heard before being thrown onto the street as if you meant nothing.

Now, you are about to knock on the door of a man named Michael, who is looking for a roommate. He could very well be a lunatic, living in a house that, from what you can tell, is surrounded by garbage and rats. That is not an exaggeration—there is a massive mouse scurrying into the alley beside the house, carrying something in its mouth. But even that won’t stop you from taking what little savings you have and paying to live here.

"Hello?" The man you assume to be Michael opens the door just as you knock, catching you off guard, and you nearly stumble backward. Fortunately, he notices and grabs your hand to steady you. He’s sweaty, and you almost slip from his grip.

"Oh my God, is that a puddle of water?" you ask, realizing your body has lightly brushed against something wet in front of his house.

"Hate to break it to you, but we haven’t had any rain, so it’s probably…" he says casually, implying that whatever you touched wasn’t water, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Great. Now I need a shower," you mutter, straightening up and resisting the urge to strip off your clothes right then and there.

"Did you come here just to ask for a shower?" he asks, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it in front of you. Great. A smoker.

"Who in their right mind would show up at a stranger’s house in the middle of the afternoon just to ask for a shower?" you ask, still debating whether this is worth it. Every instinct is telling you to turn around and leave, but then reality hits—you can’t afford to be picky. The rent is cheap, and, more importantly, you have nowhere else to go.

"I’m actually here about the roommate ad." Michael tilts his head slightly, dragging his gaze over you as if trying to read your entire life story.

"You don’t seem like the kind of person who’d want to live in a place like this—no offense," he says, exhaling smoke through his nose. You hold back the urge to roll your eyes, biting down your irritation.

"When you have no other choice, you can live anywhere. The important thing here is that you have something I need, and I have money to pay for it," you say, stepping closer despite the heavy scent of smoke clinging to him. Michael takes another drag of his cigarette before smirking.

"The way you’re saying that makes it sound like you’re offering me money for something else," he muses, amusement flickering in his eyes. He steps toward you, finishing his cigarette and flicking it to the ground, crushing it under his boot. You scoff, letting out a dry laugh. His self-confidence is astonishing.

"And what exactly do you think I’d be paying you for, other than a place to live?" you counter, keeping your expression unreadable. His smirk deepens. "Come upstairs, and I’ll show you."

The way his brown eyes stay locked on you sends a wave of heat through your body—not from attraction, but from the sheer audacity of his words. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. That’s it.

"I knew this was a mistake," you mutter, grabbing your suitcase and turning to leave. You don't even make it two steps before strong arms lift you off the ground, catching you completely off guard.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" you shout, squirming in his hold, but he doesn’t let go. He’s stronger than he looks, his grip firm yet effortless.

"There are plenty of things wrong with me. It’s my job to keep them hidden from you, and yours to find them out on your own. Now stop squirming—I’ll let you go in a second," he mutters, his voice strained as he maneuvers you into the house with unsettling ease.

You barely have time to process what just happened before your eyes sweep over the interior. A narrow staircase leads to the upper floor, while to the side, the living room sprawls in cluttered disarray. At the back of the house, you spot the kitchen. The air carries a faint, unpleasant odor, and you do your best not to react too strongly as you take in the mess. Michael walks in behind you, dragging your suitcase inside before straightening up.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot. Name’s Michael. I really do need someone to help with the expenses, so it’d be an honor to have you here. There are two bedrooms upstairs, along with the bathroom, which we’ll have to share. Kitchen’s straight ahead. Turn to the side, and you’ll find the living room. Rent’s due at the beginning of every month, and while I’ll try to be the best roommate I can, don’t expect me to change who I am," he says, extending a hand as if sealing an agreement. You hesitate, every part of you still screaming to leave, but the reality of your situation weighs heavier. You have nowhere else to go.

"Fine. I’ll stay. I’ll pay the rent on time, but you should know that I won’t change either. And I refuse to live in a dump," you say, watching as he pulls out yet another cigarette and lights it right in front of you.

Michael smirks, tucking the cigarette between his lips. "Do whatever you want, princess. Cleaning supplies should be around here somewhere. Officially, mi casa es su casa," he says, blowing out smoke as he steps closer, slow and deliberate. You stand your ground, refusing to be intimidated.

"I have somewhere to be, but when I get back, we can talk more. There’s a spare key on the hook behind the door. Since you’re so keen on cleanliness, I’d suggest you start with that shower," he adds with a smirk before giving you a wink and disappearing out the door, leaving you alone in the middle of the mess.

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you�� Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[ange-olras]

I'm freaking out over this deleted scene

[lokis-army-77]

Private Viewing

Camboy!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 6.8k

What happens when your favorite camboy is in your class? You should stop watching his content... or should you? What happens when you are eventually paired together for a project? Everything will be just fine, won't it?

Warning: 18 +. This is pure fucking filth. Spit, masturbation (m and f), use of vibrators and fleshlight, choking, multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f reviving), fingering, voyeurism? Soft!dom Eddie, tell me if I'm missing anything.

Thank you @lesservillain for giving me this wonderful idea. 💗 and @munson-blurbs for figuring out if I should do this for Steve or Eddie and for helping give me a title💗.

Masterlist

Nothing but slick sounds filled your room, the occasional deep moan calling out from your laptop speakers accompanying your own sweet cries. The guy on the screen, Ed as he called himself, or DungeonMaster as he was known on Only Fans and Twitter, was fisting his cock in his heavily ringed hand. He was putting on a show for more than ten thousand viewers but the way he stared down the camera with those dark eyes made you think he was watching you, fucking his hand to the way you were pumping your fingers in and out of your soaking wet pussy. 

You had stumbled upon his Twitter three months ago and he immediately captured your eye. The way his tattoos wrapped around his pale skin, how he wasn’t all lean muscle like the other OF guys, his tummy by no means a six-pack but he still looked strong enough to sweep you off your feet with ease. His moans were heavenly and so was the deep timber of his force as he praised you through the thirty-second video clip. It was all enough to convert you from your usual consumption of smutty books to the infamous Only Fans sight. 

Since then, his streams and videos have become the one and only thing you get off to. And like then, tonight was no exception. 

You were so close to the edge, Ed’s moans spurring you on. Your fingers move at an almost inhuman pace in and out, in and out. 

“Rub that clit for me, baby. Need you to cum.” He groaned, head resting on his shoulder as he continued you pleasure himself. 

“Fuck!” You gasp as you rub your clit with your free hand. Your rhythm is horribly off but it doesn’t matter, you are so close to cumming. So so so close. “Please,” you beg out into your empty room. You aren’t too sure why or what you are pleading for. More friction? More fingers? More words of encouragement from him? Maybe you’re asking to cum? 

It’s like he had heard you through the screen as he moaned out, “That’s a good girl. Just like that. Doing so well for me. You gonna cum baby? Yeah? Me too. Want me to count for you?” He nods his head lazily. “I knew you would baby. Okay. Five.”

You want to cry.

“Four.” 

The strings tugging inside you are becoming taut.

“Three.”

You feel like you’re going to explode. He’s counting too slowly.

“Two.”

The tears are flowing now.

“One.”

You let out a strangled scream.

“Cum baby. Do it, now.”

Your walls clench around your fingers and your legs snap shut, trapping your fingers. Every muscle in your body is shuddering as those strings snap and your release comes out in a stream, wetting your hand and the bed. Your hearing has gone, there’s a ringing in your ears but you can faintly hear Ed cumming as well. 

With watery vision and slow movements, you turn to face your laptop screen just in time to see his tattoo-covered chest painted with milky white ropes of cum. 

When the ringing subsides you hear him say more clearly, “Thata girl. Always make me cum so much.” He takes a towel and wipes off his chest and stomach before adjusting the camera view to the shoulders up. “Get you some rest baby, I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

And then the live is over. 

Slowly, sluggishly, you remove your hands from between your legs and begin the now regular clean-up routine before going to bed. 

…

Three days later, Thursday rolls around, and thus begins the fall semester of your junior year of college. It’s a groggy morning, everyone is tired and very unenthusiastic about having an 8 a.m. advanced music composition class. 

You had struggled to get out of bed at six this morning just to get one of the dorm showers first before they were all taken up. Luckily two of the five were open and you were able to get to class a whole twenty minutes early, even having time to grab coffee at the on-campus Starbucks on the way.

The music building was old and the tables you and your fellow students sat at were even older. It all added to the sleepy ambiance. Your eyes drooped and you yawned every time someone else did, the black coffee you had chugged not doing anything for you. 

You’re only awoken when your professor, a stout old man with a very severe receding hairline, slams open the door to the classroom a little too hard and it hits the brick wall, creating a loud, startling bang. 

He apologizes before making his introduction.  He then gets out a clipboard with a sheet attached and hands it off to a girl in the front row, instructing everyone to fill in their name and school email for his role sheet.

It’s only once you’ve finished and passed the clipboard on, that you notice the guy two seats down from you looks vaguely familiar. You can’t quite put a finger on it and it bugs you. 

His hair is pulled back into a messy bun and his clothes make him look like the alternative guy of your dreams back in high school. He’s got rings on almost every finger and an aura that just screams confidence. 

It begins to become a problem, your inability to place this guy's face. You’ve only taken a handful of notes the entire first hour and thirty minutes into this two-hour class. Your eyes are constantly staring at him no matter how hard you try to make yourself pay attention. 

Then, he raises his hand to answer one of your professor's questions. That’s when it clicks. Your pen falls from your grasp and your mouth forms an O. 

“Oh my fucking god. No. It can’t be.” You think to yourself but just to be sure you take out your phone, turn the brightness and volume down, and hide it under the table. You open Twitter as fast as you can and you don’t even have to look for his user, he’s the first post on the screen. 

Ed @ DungeonMaster86 was boldly displayed above a picture of the guy sitting next to you with his massive dick in his hand. 

It’s a wonder you weren’t caught with how you practically choked on thin air and began furiously looking from your phone to the guy and then back to your phone. 

Your stomach drops. You can’t keep watching his videos, can you? That wouldn’t be right. That would be weird, watching the porn your classmate makes. 

When class is finally called to an end you pack up as quickly as you can and bolt out the door to your next class, hoping that by getting away from Ed, you'd be able to concentrate. Out of sight, out of mind.

That statement turns out to be false when he is in your next class and when you spot him in the student commons talking with another guy. It's like once you made the connection of who he was, he was everywhere.

…

Arriving back at your dorm, you throw your backpack on your desk, snatch your laptop out of it, and struggle to jump up onto your bed. Never had you been so thankful for the single dorm than this moment as your curser hovered over the bookmarked Only Fans page at the top of your screen. No roommate meant no one would see the moral dilemma you were currently losing with yourself. 

‘You know him, it’s wrong to keep watching his videos.”

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him though. The only way he would know you are watching is if you tell him, you aren’t going to tell him, are you?’

‘No…’ 

‘Then it’s okay, it’ll just add an extra element of taboo to his streams. Plus, he’d miss you in the chat.’

You sigh as the devil on your shoulder wins out once again, talking you into something you know you shouldn’t be. But hey, it feels good to be bad. 

Steadily, you click on his bookmarked profile and the first thing to pop up is the live stream that is currently in session. And against your better judgment, you enter the stream.

He’s only just started, people are slowly filtering in. Ed is sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off, and a singular, ringed hand teasing himself through his black jeans. 

You breathe a sigh as he looks into the camera, eyes half-lidded, luring you in. It does the job, because in an instant your fingers are typing out a message in chat. 

Princess23: hi Ed

His eyes flicker as he reads his messages, smiling as he replies to you. "Hi, Princess. How's my girl been?"

There's a bubble of excitement at the fact that he recognizes your username, even if you've been a regular in the chat for months.

Princess23: stressful… you've been distracting me.

The reply to his question is truer than he realizes. 

"Aww, princess, is that so? You've been thinking of me?" He leans back on his free elbow, still groping himself with the other hand.

Princess23: yes. been thinking about your cock, how much I want it in my mouth. 

It's one of the less bold comments you make but it makes you blush all the same, especially now.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck that pretty little mouth? Of yours?"

Princess23: yes please

"Mmm." He hums, fingers now fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans. 

You set your laptop to the side and start to situate yourself. Slowly taking your clothes off one by one. 

Ed replies to a few more comments before announcing that it's time to start.

He leaves the screen for just a moment before coming back with something in his hand. Smirking at the camera he shows it. A flashlight in the shape of a mouth.

"This one’s for you, Princess. Since you need my dick so bad," Ed explains. He sets it on his bed before making a show of taking his jeans and boxers off. 

As you watch, your hands roam your body. Fingers pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipples before trailing down. The light touch over your ribs makes you giggle. Then you rub and scratch at the inside of your thighs. 

Ed's moans are now coming through your speakers, you tilt your head to watch.

"Spit on my cock baby, get it nice and wet for me." He commands before spitting in his own hand and rubbing it on his thick length. 

"Your mouth looks so pretty like this, waiting, drooling for me. Need me to fill it so bad don't you, baby?" 

"Yes." You answer him breathlessly, fingers teasing around your mound. 

You watch and he sits back down on his bed, thighs spread, a hand cupping his balls and the other grabbing the fleshlight. He lets out a long, drawn-out moan when he inserts his cock into the fake mouth. 

"Fuck baby, your mouth feels so perfect." 

You can't help but whine. Allowing your fingers to finally circle your clit. 

The both of you go one like this for a bit. Him fucking the fleshlight and you massaging your clit. But then you need more, more than your hand can give you. So you reach to your bedside table, stretching at an uncomfortable angle to open the drawer and pull out the purple mini wand you kept there.

The vibrations start slow and constant as you press the toy to your clit. It pulls soft, quiet noises from you as you watch your computer screen. Your mind is blank, filled only with the pretty sounds Ed is making, the way his body looks, and the pleasure between your legs.

There are no thoughts. You follow his lead. When his hand speeds up, you kick up the vibrations, when he slows down, you turn the vibrator back to the first level. 

It's a rollercoaster, almost, taking your pleasure for a ride. The stream isn't even done yet when you feel that tight pull in your abdomen. The toy works you up fast. 

So you stop. Taking the toy away and changing positions. On your hands and knees, you hug a pillow to your chest and prop the toy up under you, keeping it standing as you push your clit down onto it. It's not even on and it's making your hips buck in sensitivity.

You turn it back on and immediately feel the slick seeping from your cunt and running down the toy. 

"Oh fuck," you cry.  Your eyes locked on the screen where Ed has also changed positions. 

He's got his own toy lying on the bed and he's laying over it. The way his leg and glute muscles contract as he thrusts into the toy has you memorized. 

He chants, "Baby, baby, baby." Over and over. What you would give to have him chanting your name instead. Like a prearranged falling from his lips, praising you, worshiping you.

The need for him grows and so does the tightness in your core. 

Reaching your hand down you turn the speed up. Your hips buck into the toy and you bury your face in the pillow. You're close.

He’s not far behind. Peering up from your pillow you can see his thrusts are sputtering. Sporadic as he draws close to his end. 

“God dammit, baby. Gonna cum in this perfect mouth of yours. Fuck. Can you swallow it like the good pet you are? Hum? The good pet I know you can be?”

“Yes.” You turn up the vibrator. “Fuck, wanna swallow all of you. Please.” 

The vibrations are becoming too much but you keep the toy pressed into you, hips shaking at the feeling of being overstimulated. 

Without warning, you cum with a guttural cry into your pillow. Body spasming, muscles twitching. You can still hear Ed moaning and the sloppy sounds of his cock fucking the fleshlight. 

With barely any energy you reach down between your heavy body and the bed and turn your toy off. You don’t even bother with your computer, too exhausted and fucked out to exit the stream. You fall asleep to the sounds of your new classmate's self-pleasure. 

…

It’s October now. The semester is halfway over and you’ve still been watching Ed, or Eddie. You learned his actual name in class when your professor called role on him by name the second week. 

Today you are being assigned a partner for the final project. You have your fingers crossed that Eddie won’t be chosen as your partner but as your professor calls out pairs, it seems luck is against you. 

You freeze when your name is called and directly after so is Eddie’s. You groan internally. How the hell are you supposed to do this? You already have trouble concentrating when he sits two seats away, what’s going to happen when he actually interacts with you?

There isn’t much time to think about that as he abruptly moves from his seat to the one directly next to you. 

“Hi.” He says, eyes bright and expectant. “I’m Eddie.” He holds out his hand for you to shake but you just stare at him. He looks at you curiously before waving his hand in front of your face. “Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

You snap out of your stupor and accept his hand, shaking it as you introduce yourself. “Sorry. I was a bit out of it.” You say, trying to play it off as you just staring off into space. 

“No problem.” He smiles. “Uh, do you want to exchange numbers so we can figure out when we can work on this together?” 

“Oh, yeah. Here,” You open your phone and push it to him with the messages app open. “You can text yourself.” 

He does just that, even going as far as putting in his contact name as Eddie with the skull and crossbones emoji beside it. 

“Great. I’ll text you when I’m free. I have work on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes on Saturdays, but other than that I’m usually free.”

You nearly choke when you realize he’s given you his streaming schedule. “I- uh. Okay. Just text me when you can.”

"Sure thing sweetheart." He grins at you before standing, grabbing his things, and heading out of class along with the rest of the students. 

You sit there for a minute, thinking. God, what are you getting yourself into?

…

You both have finally come up with meeting times that work for both of you. Tuesday and Wednesday after seven. Giving you time to get to the school library after the closing shift at your on-campus job. 

It’s been two weeks of working together on this project and it’s been easier than you had originally thought to concentrate on the task at hand and keep your dirty thoughts at bay. 

Right now, you are both sitting in one of the private study rooms looking at Eddie’s computer as he explains why this particular cord progression would fit with the emotions you are trying to convey in your composition. 

You sigh, “Eddie, as much as I love that sound, I really don’t think it fits with the overall composition of the song. It isn’t as emotionally charged as I’d like it to be.”

“Well show me something similar to what you’re wanting.” He rakes his hand through his hair. It’s been a long night for each of you. It seems that every new section of the song you are creating for the project gives you a new challenge to work through together. 

You pull out your phone and Eddie leans over to watch as you begin to type. There is a particular song you are thinking of that has the weight and emotion you are trying to convey with your own music and as you type the first letter of the song, O, the first suggestion that pops up is onlyfans/DungeonMaster. 

Mortified, you slam your phone down on the table. Eddie looks at you with an eyebrow raised. 

“What was that?” He asks.

“What was what?” You answer. 

“Why did you slam your phone down?”

“Oh, I just forgot the title of the song.”

“Right…” He scratches under his chin and then stretches back in his chair. “Why don’t we call it quits for tonight? It’s getting late and we aren’t going to agree on anything if we’re both tired.”

A yawn suddenly comes up out of nowhere and you then realize how tired you actually are. “That sounds good to me.” You agree with Eddie and begin packing up your things. You don’t want to be with him longer than you need to be right now, even if he seemingly didn’t notice his OF user pop up on your phone screen. 

“Bye Eddie.” You wave to him on your way out the door.

Faintly you hear him call out to you, giving a goodbye of his own. "See ya, sweetheart."

… 

After your little slip, you began avoiding Eddie. At least in person, you still tuned into his streams. You bailed on the next three meetups you had planned, helping only through voice notes and text. Eddie said he understood when you said your boss was forcing you to stay late to deep clean. 

It was Thursday now and when you saw him in class he barely looked your way and you wondered if he had seen what you hoped he had not. 

You tried stopping him once your lecture was over, feeling an anxiousness creeping into your mind. Your conscience had been telling you to come clean. To explain your perversion. Let him know you watched him, that you paid to enjoy seeing him fuck into a toy or his hand. 

You called out his name and reached for his arm. "Eddie."

He turns to you. "Hum?"

You take a deep breath to ground yourself. "I wanted to say sorry for not being able to come help with the project."

"It's okay, you said you had work." He replies, unbothered. 

"No, Eddie, I didn't get held back at work. That was a lie."

He doesn't look all too surprised. 

"I've kinda been avoiding you because- well, because of what I think you might have seen on my phone that day."

Eddie stops you there. "Can this wait until later? I've really got some errands to run before work."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry to keep you Ed." You had meant it as a nickname but as it came pushing past your lips it was too late to take it back. You had never heard anyone call him that outside of his onlyfans. 

You watched as his eyes widened at the name and a spark went off behind them. "I'll see you later sweetheart." The smirk he gives you isn't the usual playful one you'd seen him throw before. No, this was sinister, like he knew.

Your heart fell into your stomach as you watched him walk away, leaving you alone.

Tonight as you logged into the stream, it wasn’t to get off. It was to see if he'd show any signs of knowing you might be lurking about among the thousands of viewers.

When the video loads, Eddie is sitting in his desk chair. He's talking to the chat like he always does. There's something different in the atmosphere around him, mischief if you've placed it correctly. 

He keeps replying to comments until the clock reaches 6:10. It's time for the show to begin. 

"Tonight I have a very special treat for you guys." Eddie starts as he reaches over just off camera to his desk. "I've got the wand out." 

The chat erupts. Eddie doesn't bring his vibrator out often, but when he does, you know it's going to be a good show for every party involved. 

"I would also like to say hello to a special quest in the stream tonight." Eddie’s smirk gets bigger and your heart pounds in your chest. "Hi, sweetheart. Hope you enjoy yourself." 

You feel like you've been shot. There's a ringing in your ears and your breathing has stopped. 

He knows. Fuck. He definitely knows. You've never heard him say that pet name on camera. It's always babe or baby when he refers to the collective whole watching the stream. Eddie has only ever used that name with you.

Eddie starts up the vibrator, tracing it over his covered cock. He hums at the feeling, loud and long. 

You clench your thighs together. You tell yourself you should stop watching but you can't bring yourself to. 

'He knows." You argue with yourself.

'But he wants you to watch. Why else would he say his pet name for you? Why else would he say he hopes you enjoy yourself? He knows and he likes it.'

The devil on your shoulder makes sense again and you curse it. 

So, you watch. Intently, you watch. Your eyes never leave the screen. 

Eddie whimpers once he has his cock out of his pants. The tip is a deep purple/red color, showing how worked up he's gotten already.

He lets his head fall back, resting on his chair as he moves the vibrator down to his balls. He presses it into himself before dragging it up his shaft and to the head. 

You feel a wetness seeping into the cotton of your panties and as his legs widen, yours press together more. 

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, sweetheart." Eddie moans, mouth open slack and eyes squeezed shut. 

You can't believe he's saying your pet name and making those noises. You wonder what he's thinking about. How you'd look sucking on his cock? Maybe what it would be like to be pounding into you, watching your cunt suck him in and clench around him. 

Eddie grits his teeth when he turns the speed up. One hand is holding the vibrator just at the frenulum while the other is cupping and squeezing his balls. 

Your thoughts are running wild and your hips have started to rock in search of some kind of friction.

He moves his hand from his balls and begins to tug on his shaft. Deep guttural moans fill the air, and the sound of them turns you on even more. 

It's not long before Eddie is bucking his cock into his hand. You can see his muscles straining in his legs as he does. 

"Fuck fuck fuck- ah fuck sweetheart, you've got me so close. Fuck." His voice is pinched. You can see the exhaustion in the furrow of his eyebrows as he pressed the vibrator over his tip, the change in placement making his hips shudder. “God, I’m gonna cum. The thought of you is gonna make me cum, sweetheart.” 

Hearing his breathy, deep, timber of a voice say that the thought of you was going to do him in had you thinking you might just cum too. No touching required, just Eddie and his beautiful noises. 

In a matter of seconds, Eddie is choking on his words as his balls go taut. He lets out a drawn-out grunt and ropes of cum begin to spurt out over his chest, covering him like a painting. He doesn’t even bother to clean himself up before he looks into the camera and says good night, chuckling when he mentions your particular pet name again. Then, the screen goes dark. 

…

Fridays are slow in the used bookshop you work at. Especially after 4:30. No one had been inside in maybe an hour? Your boss left early, leaving you alone to close down at 6. For the past fifteen minutes, you’ve been putting misplaced books back where they belong, sweeping, and tidying up anything else you see. 

Because of the usual slowness, you have your headphones on. The music isn’t loud but it does drown out the sound of the bell chiming as someone enters the building. You are unaware of the person creeping up behind you until you are suddenly turned around and corralled against the bookshelf. 

You let out an alarmed screech only for your mouth to be covered by a big, warm hand. Your headphones fall to the floor beside you as they are accidentally knocked off your head. You hear his voice then, whispering in your ear. 

“Hi, Sweetheart.” 

“Eddie-” You heave, relieved it wasn’t someone coming to kill you in cold blood.

“Did you enjoy my show last night?” He leans back, caressing a strand of hair away from your face. 

You shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You deny. Even after you had told yourself you would come clean to him, granted that was before you knew he knew your secret. 

“You don’t know, do you? I think you do why else would my account have popped up on your search suggestions the other day?” 

Keeping your mouth shut, you refuse to answer. 

Eddie takes your chin between his fingers and moves your face to the side as he leans into you. His lips tickle the shell of your ear as he speaks again. “So… Which one of my subs are you? Hum?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. 

Eddie tuts. “Don’t get all shy on me. Tell me. Now.” His tone is dominating. It’s one thing to hear it over a computer speaker, it's another when you hear it in person. His presence alone had your knees knocking. 

“I-I,” You can't help but stutter. “It’s Princess23.” You shamefully tell him your user, eyes looking anywhere but his.

He sucks in a breath. “Oh, Princess. That was you?”

He forces you to look at him and you nod your head. 

You hate that he’s making you look him in the eye, but you can see what’s swirling around deep within them. Desire, lust, dominance, but nothing mean. Nothing hurtful. 

As you watch him, you catch the minute changes in his expression. His jaw clenches and his eyes darken, a hunger taking over as he stares you down. 

“I can give you a private show if you want, baby.” He leans back in. “Right here,” He nipps at your ear lobe. “Right now.” 

“Eddie, we can’t… We’re at my work.” 

He looks around you, head swiveling to peer down both ends of the aisle. “It’s fine Sweetheart, no one’s here but us, right?”

“Yes, but-”

He cuts you off with a finger over your lips. 

“Then let me show you why the real thing is so much better than what you’ve seen online.” He doesn’t give you time to think before his lips are on yours. 

They are soft, almost pillow-like as they mold against yours. His tongue slithers its way into your mouth, tasting you, he moans when he does. 

To you, he tastes like menthol cigarettes and black coffee with the faintest hint of weed. It’s intoxicating, and addicting. You’ve only had one taste and now you won't be able to function without him.  

His hand cups your cheek and pulls you closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tugging at his hair. His body keeps you pinned to the shelves and he spreads your legs by inserting one of his own between them.

With him being so much taller than you, it only takes you barely bending your knees for you to make contact with his thigh. You are thankful when he doesn’t stop you from humping his leg. The friction of you rubbing yourself against him has the seam of your pants pressing against your clit. It’s a wonderful pressure that leaves your mind blank. 

When he pulls away, you follow, not wanting his mouth to leave yours. Eddie chuckles when you give a needy whine. 

"It's okay baby, I'll give you what you want." He coos. "But first, since you wanna get yourself off, you've got to make yourself cum on my leg."

You pout. "But Eddie…"

"Ah ah, don't complain sweet girl, you'll only make it take longer. Now get to work."

You do as he says, rolling your hips with purpose against him. He doesn't help you at all, he only provides support and kissed along your jaw every few seconds as he watches you work. 

It's harder than you thought it would be. The layers of denim dulled the sensations yet added to the tension your clit felt as the fabric rubbed against it. 

"Mmm, fuck." You gasp, fingers gripping onto Eddie’s shoulders. "M'so close. Eddie, I'm so close."

He smiles at you and he gives your body gentle touches. "That's it, Princess. Let go. Being such a good girl for me."

You moan loudly at his praise. 

"That right sweet girl, use me to get yourself off. That's it, keep going."

His words are spurring you on, your hips, although losing their rhythm and steadiness, keep going strong. Then, you feel it. That tautness in your tummy and the ache in your bones. You are so close.

"Please, Eddie. Ah- so close. Need more." Your words are short and your hips move faster. 

"What is it, baby? What do you need?" Eddie asks, willing to give you just a little.

"Kiss me again," you beg. 

He obliges. Taking your face in his hands and practically devouring you. 

The canter of your hips stalls as your body shudders against him. A sticky wetness can now be felt,  uncomfortably, between your legs.

"So good for me." He praises.

You can feel how hard he is, his needy cock prominently pressing into your thigh.

"Wanna feel you. Eddie please, I need to feel you." You're practically begging him to fuck you now.

"Yeah, sweet girl? You need me to stretch that pretty pussy on my dick? Make you feel so good, baby." He trailed his kiss down to your neck, stopping only to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. 

You nod frantically. "Yes, yes Eddie. Need you inside me."

Hands rush to unbutton pants, fingers caress bare skin, breaths hitch. You tug at Eddie's pants impatiently as he pulls your own down. The sudden feeling of cold air hitting the pool of slick between your thighs. 

You are both a whirlwind of arms and clothes and a few books falling from their shelf. Eddie’s fingers make their way to your center, exploring between your folds. 

You throw your head back, cracking it on the shelf above. "Ow," You moan out in pain.

"Careful there, Sweetheart." He gives you another kiss and moves his unoccupied hand to cradle your head.

The pain is instantly forgotten when two of his thick fingers circle your clit before pushing into your entrance.

"Mmmm- god." He feels so good inside you, fingers curling into your walls. The wet slick of him moving fills the stagnant air of the bookstore.

"You're sucking me in, baby. Pussy squeezing me so tight." Eddie rests his forehead on yours, his breath mixing with your own. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Gasping in response, you buck your hips up into his hand. "More-"

It doesn't take much convincing for Eddie to pull his hand from between your legs and position his hard length at your entrance. Slowly he slips inside, meeting no resistance with how wet you are. 

Eddie pushes into you, cock stretching you out farther than you think you've ever been before. His one hand rests on the back of your head while the other pushes your shaking hand out of his way as he goes to press it against your neck.

You grasp his arm, nails scratching his skin as he chokes you. 

"Oh- oh, Eddie. Fuck me." You cry, cunt fluttering around him. 

Your words are music to his ears. His pace begins steadily. In and out at a lazy, leisurely speed. Then he picks it up, hips bucking faster and faster. 

He's giving it all to you. Everything you've dreamed of since you saw him on your Twitter all those months ago.

The head of his cock is repeatedly hitting that one spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. You can’t keep yourself up. The feelings coursing through you have your knees buckling and Eddie does a good job at catching your weight. 

He stops his movements to try and situate you. “Come on, baby, gotta stand up.” 

You shake your head. “I can’t, s’too much.” Your heart is pounding in your chest, if you even tried to stand you would just fall again. “There's a couch.” You point to the back of the store. “It’s in the break room.” 

Eddie grunts as he hoists you up in his arms and follows your directions. 

The couch is old and made of leather. It is cold on your skin as Eddie lays you down and you shiver as he rips your pants and underwear from around your ankles. Never would you have ever imagined being naked from the waist down in your work break room. 

In contrast to the cool leather, Eddie’s hands are searing hot. He grips the back of your knees, picking your legs up and spreading you out. You’re almost folded in half. 

“Jesus fucking christ. You. Are. Beautiful.” He enunciated every word. The complement has you keening and clenching around nothing. “Fuck, look at that pretty cunt. She’s gaping for me.” Eddie smiles, eyes flickering to yours before looking back to your most intimate part. 

You let out a wonton gasp when he spits, a glob of it falling right atop your parted slit. Eddie takes a hand away and grabs his cock. He rubs the tip through your folds, giving your clit a heavy tap tap tap before entering you again and grabbing the back of your knee again. 

Eddie wastes no time in pistoning his hips into yours. The new angle gives him free range of movement to fuck you fast and deep. The skin of his thighs makes a sharp slapping sound when he connects with your ass, it sets the rhythm for the song of your shared moans. 

“Pull your shirt up.” He commands and you do as he says. Lifting your shirt up and over your breasts. Eddie lets out an irritated grunt at the sight of your bra. “That too.” He puffs out and you pull it up as far as it will allow. 

Your breasts bounce as Eddie fucks you mercilessly into the couch. His eyes are shamelessly trained on them. “Fucking hell, Princess. Gimmie our hands.” 

You reach out for him and he grabs your wrists, guiding you to hold your legs back like he had been doing. With the newfound freedom of his hands, he extends them out to play with your tits.  He pinches and tugs at your nipples, making you moan in pleasure as he continues his assault. His thrusts become faster, harder, more desperate. You know he's close and you can't take much more either. 

“Eddie… Ah- Eddie-” You babble out his name. You wiggle under his hold and the harsh prodding of his cock into your cervix. The strings of another orgasm are being pulled tight. 

He growls. “I know baby, I know. Fucking cum for me. Cum on my cock.” 

Tears well up in your eyes and begin to overflow. Your body writhes, back bowing, muscles straining. You’re on the precipice. 

Eddie sees how close you are and moves a hand down between your legs, circling his thumb over your slick-covered clit. 

“Oooh- Oh fuck!” You scream. “Shit shit shit shitshitshitshit…. Ah!” 

“Louder.” He moans. “Want the whole town to hear you sweet girl.” 

“Eddie! Oh, I’m there. I’m fucking there.” You cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you let go. A scream erupts from your throat. Even in your ecstasy, you can feel Eddie’s tempo shift. He’s losing speed. 

“Goddammit. I cumming too.” Eddie whimpers, sinking into you fully. His cum fills you up and you can fill you as it runs down your ass as he pulls out. 

Your body is twitching as he moves you to lay more fully on the couch. He doesn’t follow though. No. He sinks to his knees and before your foggy mind can even comprehend it, he attaches his mouth to your pussy.  

You are pliant under his touch, unable to resist. His tongue explores you and you moan in pleasure. He’s lapping up the mixture of his cum and your slick, humming at the taste the whole time. 

You choke back a sob when his tongue flicks repeatedly over your clit before he begins to suck on the already abused bud. “Eddie, please.” Reaching down you tug on his hair but he doesn’t move. “Ed-” He starts shaking his head, burying himself in your pussy. 

Another orgasm is quickly approaching. Your breathing quickens and you can feel your body trembling as he works you up, sending you higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, and your body spasms in pleasure. He doesn't stop, continuing his ministrations until you finally come down from your high once more.

“Christ. You taste so good.” He says as he crawls up your spent body. Draping himself over you he places kiss after tender kiss all over your face. “Did so good for me. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Yeah?” You whisper. 

“Mhum. So proud.” He grins, the light of the room catching in the wetness covering him from nose to chin. 

Eddie cuddles into you more and your eyes close. He’s exhausted you. You both lay there in silence, content in each other's presence. Eddie eventually falls asleep, his breathing slow and steady. You don’t have the heart or the energy to wake him. You stay awake, just barely, still in awe of what happened. 

It feels like hours have gone by when you finally do shake Eddie, calling out to him softly. He stirs, grumbling as he looks up at you. 

“Eds, baby, I need to lock up.” 

He only rests his head back down between your breasts. You shake him again. 

“Eddie.” You say it a bit more sternly. “Get up and I’ll let you take me back to yours.” 

That gets his attention and he’s up and dressing himself in an instant. You on the other hand are slower, feeling the prominent ache between your legs. He has to help you pull your panties and jeans back on. 

He has to help you close the store as well, your legs weak and not trusted to hold up your body weight without crumbling to the ground. 

Never had you thought this was how this would end. Sitting in the passenger seat of your favorite camboy's car as he drives you to his apartment, grinning like the Cheshire cat as you both think of all the fun things you’ll get up to. Round two was bound to be wilder than the first. 

[asvtrials]

𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

Emperor Geta x fem!reader, minors dni!

masterlist

summary: Emperor Geta was a selfish lover. He expected you to give him everything, every thread of your being, body, and soul. Yet he refused to do the same. Why would he? He was the Emperor and you were nothing but his concubine, not too long ago you were a common whore that he just happen to take a liking to, just a vessel for his satisfaction. So why was his mind suddenly screaming for him to kneel before you, to let your thighs straddle his face until he suffocates? warnings/tags: smut, mention of an orgy in the beginning, mention of exhibitionism, generally ancient Rome things, Emperor Geta tries to act unbothered but is smitten for his concubine, facesitting, oral (f! receiving), p in v, kind of rough, sub/dom dynamics (obviously), implied abuse, potentially out of character, not accurate to the Gladiator franchise...

a/n: This man is consuming my thoughts. This is me basically pushing my pussy drunk Geta agenda. I love the idea of Emperor Geta being arrogant and selfish but caving at the idea of hearing her scream and moan as loudly as that woman. 'Mae Columba' means my dove, 'Corculum' means sweetheart. Also, this is my first time writing this man

tags: @teechallas-blog @ladynoonwraith @quuinyoung @ghostinhours @slasherflickchick @marn13s-vilewhispers @munsongirl48 @getas-empress @hillarymurray4 @cleo-2345 @lookingformuses @meganfoxismywife @claa-01 @funsquadgoalzz-blog w/c: 3.3k English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistakes I make. I tried present tense for the first time.

── ୨ৎ

Your thin tunic provides you with little to no warmth, yet you weren't cold even on this chilly night.

Your Emperor's hand runs up and down your right side, his fingers keep grazing your nipple but he is too focused on conversing with Macrinus to notice the impact of his action.

Your eyes wander around the room, from the people who drank, smoked, and laughed, too gone to do anything other than that, to the numerous naked, sweaty bodies intertwined with each other in the most intimate way that was humanly possible.

Yet there was nothing intimate about what you observe. It was primal and carnal, most of them didn't even look like people anymore, the scene becoming too animalistic and raw.

These types of gatherings were rather common in the Palatine and you have gotten used to settings like this one. But this time you couldn't take your eyes off of two people. Two prostitutes amongst the crowd of moving bodies caught your attention.

A woman sitting on top of a man, on his face… The expression of pure bliss she had looks like it was taken out of a vulgar painting, a carefully crafted sculpture depicting the most euphoric moment of one's life. The man's tongue works meticulously on the woman’s cunt making her scream and moan like she was touched by the god's themselves.

The sight was enough for your breath to get caught in your throat. 

That made Emperor Geta turn with a frown, some wine dripping from his full lips. You don’t notice that his eyes travel the path of your gaze, focusing on the same pair as you.

You snap back to reality when his hand gripped your thigh. If you weren't used to his rough touches you would yelp in pain.

When you meet his eyes, there's something behind them that makes you pause. Without a second glance, he turns back to his conversation, leaving you confused. But you don’t miss the way his hand slides further between your legs, almost teasingly.

It wasn't unusual for him to touch you in front of everyone, be it in these types of events or when the gladiator fights bored him to the point where he ordered you to get on your knees and ‘entertain’ him yourself.

But this time, his thumb merely grazes the thin fabric of your tunic between your legs as his hands grip your exposed thigh. Possessively.

Your mind started to race. Did you anger him? Was he upset?

You are in a room filled with naked bodies fucking each other like animals and it never angered him before when you watched. Sometimes you would even comment how ‘sloppy’ their technique was and he would chuckle. So what happened now?

You lean on his side, sliding your hand to his cheek, caressing it gently. He doesn’t react but he doesn’t push you away either. That feels like a win, an opening.

After being his concubine for so long you learned how to behave around him, how to slither your way out of trouble in case you had upset him.

A little touch here, a kiss there, a plea for forgiveness honeyed with praises about how good he is to you along with some dick sucking usually does the trick.

Geta was an emperor but he was also a man with a very big ego. You quickly understood that as much as it is a nuisance it could also become an advantage.

By the time you followed him to his chambers, it was well past midnight.

He had made it a habit to share a bed with you, not even the guards looked surprised anymore.

He walks inside the moment the guards open the heavy doors. He reaches for his golden belt with a heavy sigh but you quickly stop him. “Let me, my Emperor.” You speak, your voice soft. You quickly approach him and meet his stern gaze, waiting for his approval.

Geta lets go of the belt, letting his arms fall to his sides. He looks spent and tired from the long day but you could sense something else frustrating him.

Carefully, you undo his belt, feeling his shoulders relax at the loss of the heavy material. Your eyes travel up his body before finally meeting his gaze through your lashes but you are met with the same cold look from before. 

You take a step back to settle the belt on the table. You aren’t sure if you should approach him again. You expected him to kiss you, to touch you while you were so close but he didn't do either. He just watched you with a raised brow and gritted teeth.

You avert your gaze, focusing on the detailed carvings of the table ignoring the fact that you had seen it a million times before.

You hear his sandals brush against the marble floor, making you shiver. You weren't sure what to expect, he hasn't looked this displeased with you in a long while.

“Mae Columba” ‘My dove’ he says, his voice barely above a whisper but it still held the authority of an Emperor. “Do you know why you wear such lavish cloths?” He asks, not expecting you to answer before continuing, his voice dropping “Why do you smell as good as you smell? Why do golden jewels hang from your ears and wrap around your wrists? Why you aren't passed around my soldiers like a common whore?” 

He was right behind you now, his arms coming to cage you between him and the table. 

His harsh words forced tears to collect on your lash line. You took a deep breath but your voice still quivered as you spoke. “Because you're the Emperor…”

“Because I'm the Emperor.” He repeats softly against your ear, yet there is no softness in his tone. “Then why do you wish for me to become someone else?” 

“I don—” 

“Lies!” He shouts, making you flinch away.

You don't dare to face him, remaining turned to him as his hands start to wander down your sides. “I saw how you looked at those filthy commoners…you were entranced, my dove” 

“My Emperor I—” 

“Have I not done enough for you?” He whispered, but his quiet tone gave you no comfort. His hands moved to your clothed chest, squeezing your breasts mercilessly.

A small whine escapes your lips, your back arching against him. “You gave me everything, my Emperor.” You manage to say through rugged breaths.

He hums pleased. “Clearly not enough since you wish to see me between your legs like a filthy whore.” He murmurs against your ear.

“No!” You yelp, grabbing his forearms after he squeezes your breasts particularly hard. 

Your thighs meet in an attempt to soothe the aching between your legs. “I promise.”

“You promise?” He asks, his tone dripping with disbelief and mockery. 

“Yes! I promise.” You reply quickly, desperation seeping out of your words.

“On the bed.” he commands lowly and you comply without words.

The bed was thrice the size of the bed you used to sleep in, soft with satin sheets and numerous pillows. A bed that an emperor deserved. You weren't sure if you deserved it, yet here you were, lying on the Emperor's sheets like you did many other times.

He looms over your lying figure eyes rolling down every curve of your body like a wolf eyeing a little lamb. His favorite little lamb. 

The one that he never feasts upon but rather chases around until the poor thing is spent and exhausted and pliant for him to bite all he wants.

Geta’s hands find your ankles and he pulls you to him, earning a surprised yelp from you. He crawls to you, entrapping you between his arms once again.

He melts against your mouth, lips moving harshly against yours, refusing to give you a second to breathe. You cry loudly when his teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“My Emperor” you moan against his rough endeavors but he doesn’t stop, you aren’t sure if he even heard you. He was too busy squeezing your already bruising flesh, not even bothering to remove your tunic.

Red liquid escapes from the wound that Geta so eagerly opened. The metallic taste travels to your mouth but he doesn’t seem to mind, and as much as it scares you, neither do you. Instead, you claw at his back breathlessly repeating your words “My Emperor…Let me show you my devotion.”

Geta studies you, his big eyes making him look almost innocent under the dim candlelight.

His lips open to speak his mind, your spit and blood coating them but instead of speaking, he gently caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, smearing the blood.

What are these thoughts? These foolish ideas that plague his mind? His gaze couldn’t deter from your tearful eyes as he let his thumb run down your chin, the faint color of the blood following along.

You were so easy to break, to tear apart and carve as you pleased. He always did just that.

Yet you always came back.

You didn’t have a choice, he wasn’t foolish enough to forget that. But still, you looked at him with a particular dedication that Gate couldn’t quite comprehend. 

Basically, involuntarily he whispers, letting his palm rest on the side of your face “You’ve proven your devotion, corculum. You’ve been so good…” Geta leans closer, his nose pressing your cheek. He breathes in your scent, fighting the urge to squeeze your face with his fingers.

Your breath hitches when he pushes his thumb past your inviting lips and he feels a moan threaten to spill when you sucked on his digit immediately. He couldn’t uncover any thoughts behind your eyes, only lust. Lust for him. Just like he lusted you.

Why is his breath coming out so short, why is his heart threatening to jump from his chest and into your arms? He isn’t even inside you yet and he feels like he can’t think properly.

You weren’t quiet during your shared activities but Geta was always too focused on his own selfish pleasure, rarely caring about yours.

But right now he feels the inexplicable urge to make you scream his name, to make everyone in the palace know, everyone in Rome, the urge to get on his knees and worship you just to get the blessing of your sounds in return.

Oh, you were sent by Venus herself, there was no doubt. There was no other explanation for his crazed thoughts.

The whine that he brings from you when he pulls his hand away burns something deep in his chest. He quickly yanks at his clothes, uncovering his naked, toned body.

Your eyes don’t dare to travel down but you find yourself on your fours, crawling to him. You press your lips to his stomach, tracing his toned body with your lips and tongue softly, teasingly.

A low growl leaves Geta from deep within his throat as he runs his hand through your hair, nearly gently before he grips your locks. He pulls your head back forcing your eyes to meet his, the sudden harshness causing you to freeze.

“You are an enchantress, aren’t you? You have turned me into a madman.” He mutters softly, his tone almost despairing as his blunt nails massage your scalp.

Looking up at him through your lashes you blink, unsure of what to say. Was this an indictment? It sounded more like a statement.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing, my Emperor.” You say softly.

He hums quietly, eyes falling to your legs and he has to swallow hard.

He has seen you like this so many times, and yet you left him speechless every time. From the first time he had bed you, you had left him speechless. Put a spell on him the moment he pushed his cock inside your warm, dripping cunt.

His mind told him to pound you against the mattress as hard as he could, so that every time your core throbbed tomorrow you would remember how vile it was for you to imagine him, your Emperor, between your thighs.

But his body betrayed him. He leans in, his bottom lip grazing your inner thigh.

“I don’t think you realize what you’re doing to me, mae columba” He whispers, so quietly that you could miss it if your senses weren’t so heightened.

He released a quivering breath before pressing his lips on your skin. You gasp at the action, gripping the smooth sheets. The feeling of your flushed skin against his lips was exhilarating, it was the beginning of something that he wasn’t sure he could control. 

Without a second thought, his mouth starts to bruise your thighs fervently, his teeth plunging into your flesh like you were his last meal before the guillotine.

Your moans and cries fill the room and Geta’s heart as he continues to mark your thighs, his intensity matching a starved wolf.

He wanted more. He was insatiable, he was always insatiable.

With a swift movement, he flips the both of you. You yelp in surprise, as you land on his chest, your legs spread apart. 

His head finds the soft mattress but he wouldn’t care even if it was the hard floor. All he could focus on was your clothed core, inches away from his face.

“My Emperor!” You begin. You weren’t sure what to say, how are you even supposed to react to such a scene?

Rome’s Emperor gazing at you between your thighs, looking as famished as ever.

“Quiet.” He growls, his arms coming to wrap around your thighs. His hands slowly travel up your body, dragging your tunic with his fingers revealing more of your skin.

Your naked cunt was inches away from his face, his breath hitting your soaked folds sending a shiver down your spine.

His eyes couldn’t leave your core, mouth watering at the sight. Impatient, you peel off the dress, revealing your naked body.

It was a pattern whenever you were around him. But this time it didn’t make your cheeks burn about being so vulnerable before his ravenous gaze. On the contrary, it made your chest flutter with satisfaction as you lay on top of one of Rome’s brutal Emperors.

No warning was given to you before he harshly pulled you down to him. His tongue lays flat against your pussy, emitting a desperate sound from you. Soon enough he was lost in the feeling of your wetness.  There was no point in fighting your spell anymore, he was already hypnotized. 

Your eyes can’t leave his face. The way he loses himself so eagerly forces your breath to become shallow and desparate.

His tongue laps on your cunt sloppily, and your juices run down his chin though he never wavers, not even for a second. His mouth worked against your folds like he wanted to consume you whole, to drain you of your essence.

“Gods!” You moan loudly, throwing your head back. “My Emperor!” You cry out.

He whimpers against your pussy, he fucking whimpers. You aren’t sure if you can hold on much longer after that. It seems like any fear or shame you had abandoned your body because you start to rock your hips against his face, his nose brushing against clit with every move.

“I can’t take it anymore, my Emperor—” you gasp, your body trembling uncontrollably.

He grabs your waist, his nails digging into your skin possesively. He pulls you even closer to him, if that is even possible, his tongue running over your folds callously.

Your climax came to you like a violent wave, your body shakes violently after your release. Geta doesn’t stop though, his tongue collecting your fluids even if you jolted and whined.

He only stopped when he had nothing else to take. Like always.

You fall to the side, your mouth agape as you pant frenziedly. Geta isn’t looking any better, his slick-covered lips are parted slightly and his chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Gods…” You breathe out.

Geta finally finds his strength again, moving to position himself above you. His burning body pressed against your side, his lips brushing your temple. “Where the gods between your legs, corculum?”

“That’s what it felt like” You whisper and he fought the urge to smirk. 

“Turn around.” He orders lowly, the playfulness draining from his voice.

With all the strength left in you, you comply, turning around to lie on your chest. You gasp when the Emperor effortlessly lifts your thighs off the mattress. 

You whine at the feeling of his hard cock brushing against your dripping cunt. 

With one forceful push he’s inside your tight walls and you scream. Your nails rake at the satin sheets as he grunts at the warmness that envelops his cock. “You always feel so good, my dove. Like you were made for me” He groans, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“P-perhaps I was” You moan, the sound muffled by the sheets, your eyes nearly rolling back.

He sneers lowly. “Always know just what to say. How to bewitch me with your words…”

You yelp when you feel his hand clutch your jaw and pull you backward. Your back slams against his hard chest. He draws his hips back making you whine at the feeling of his dick slipping away before slamming it back inside. He did it again and again until you were crying and clawing at his hand.

“My Emperor!” You cry out and if it wasn’t for his strong hands you would’ve fallen forward.

His cock hits you so deep, so good you can’t help the tears that run down your flushed cheeks and the lewd cries that fall from your lips still they aren’t nearly as lewd as the wet, sloppy sounds that follow after every intense thrust.

His own grunts are so loud against your ear that you swear you can come from the sounds he’s making alone. It was never this intimate with Geta, so close. He usually pushes your head against the pillows and fucks you into the mattress like an animal. You rarely see his face or hear his sounds other than the harsh words he spews at you.

Your back arches at the harshness of his thrusts, and your head falls on his shoulder. His hand slides down to your core. You feel his smirk against your ear when he flicks your clit and you flinch.

“Geta!” You scream his name as you come for a second time for the night, your voice hoarse from all the screaming.

If your brain wasn't mushed from pleasure you would slap a hand over your mouth, bracing yourself for his palm landing on your cheek.

He grabs your face and turns your head to face him. The moment your eyes meet you know there won’t be any repercussions for your defiance. His pupils are so blown to the point where you couldn’t locate the light brown of his iris. He pulls you for a heated kiss and with one last, mind-numbing thurst he spills his seed deep inside you.

He falls forward and pulls you with him. You fall on all your fours, his chest falling flush on your back. You whimper when his cock moves inside your overstimulated pussy with the movement.

Geta’s breath was hot against your shoulder and his hands squeezed your waist occasionally, seemingly without noticing.

“My Emperor,” You breathed out. “Forgiv—”

“Quiet.” He rasped, silencing you immediately.

He threw the both of you to the side, pulling you closer to him by the waist.

That day Geta, with his dick deep inside you, realized two things. That you have probably enchanted him and that he didn’t care one bit. 

Because if being bewitched meant that he would spend his living days between your legs, getting drunk on you, then he would gladly do it.

[keeryhours]

an heir for an emperor - emperor geta

Emperor Geta x Empress! female! reader

Masterlist

Emperor Geta Masterlist

Summary:

The Emperor wants an heir.

part 2 out now!

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), major breeding kink, porn no plot

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N:

This is inspired by a character letter I got that I can’t stop thinking about. If this is historically incorrect I’m so sorry, I’m just horny as hell for this man.

—

It had been three blissful months of marriage with Geta.

The ruthless emperor was something different when he was alone with you. A side of him no one else was privileged to see. He was soft, affectionate, eyes only for you.

He knew you didn’t care for the bloodshed of the games, but he loved having you accompany him all the same. He would distract you when things got to be too much, holding your hand and even turning his attention away from the spectacle to comfort you if you needed it.

He couldn’t show his soft side in public often, but his love and adoration for you was obvious.

You enjoyed the finer things in life. You loved to attend the theatre, the plays and displays of beautiful music. Music was your favorite thing, and you loved to sing. Your singing voice was of the angels, as Geta would say, and oh how he loved to make you sing.

One thing both you and Geta were looking forward to was producing an heir. You had always wanted a family. You had felt the call of motherhood since you were a child, dreaming of the day you would marry and bear children. You hadn’t even fathomed of being an Empress, however.

You came from a rich family, and always knew you would marry highly, but Geta had been unexpected. The second he laid eyes on you, he knew you were to be his. You had no choice in the matter, but you would have chosen him a million times over anyway.

He had planned a romantic weekend getaway for the two of you alone, in one of his villas outside of the city. Leaving Rome in the hands of his brother and the Senate wasn’t ideal, but he wanted the chance to spend time with his beloved without interruption.

“You look divine, Carissima,” Geta remarked in adoration, his hands roaming the fabric of your tunic, gaze hungry. He pulled the fabric higher, lifting it up and over your body. “You will provide me with the most perfect heir.”

Naked before him, your nipples peaked among the cool air on your body, Geta dipping his head to take one of your nipples in his mouth. He sucked on it, tongue running over the sensitive bud. You moaned, hand resting on the back of his head. He moved to the other, giving it equal attention.

He lay you gently down on the bed, before removing his own clothing and moving over top of you. His crown still sat atop his ginger locks, and he looked as regal as ever, bared to you and cock achingly hard, all for you.

“I never imagined I would have such a luminous beauty as my wife,” he hummed, lips trailing along the skin of your neck. “Never could I have imagined a beauty like yours existed. You are sent from the gods themselves.”

“As are you, my beloved,” you said, eyes falling closed at the feeling of your husband’s lips upon your body. “You are more than I ever could have hoped for.”

Geta smiled tenderly, before pressing his lips to yours. You kissed him back eagerly, hands sliding around his shoulders. His skin was warm beneath your palms, your innocent touch making him impossibly harder against your thigh. His tongue slid across your bottom lip, and you let him inside, tongues dancing together.

He rested his weight on one arm while the other roamed the soft skin of your side, making you shiver beneath his touch. “Magnificent,” he remarked purely to himself. “Beautiful.”

He pulled away from you, sitting on his knees as he spread your legs for his view. You took in the visage of your Emperor before you, looking regal as ever as he gazed down at your core like it was his next meal.

“Just a taste, Carissima, before I fill you,” he said, moving down between your legs. You gasped as you felt his tongue against your pussy, licking up to your clit, where he sucked gently, causing your back to arch off the bed.

“Geta-!”

He hummed in appreciation, a smirk felt against you as he continued to devour you, lapping up all your slick like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. You moaned loudly - no one would be able to hear you here, you were in Geta’s private villa far from the bustle of the city. It was the most uninhibited you had felt as you let the proof of how good your Emperor made you feel fill the air.

“That’s it, my love, sing for me,” Geta praised you, before dipping his tongue into your hole, driving you mad. You grabbed onto his hair as you felt your orgasm approaching, needing to hold onto something. Geta chuckled lowly as he grabbed onto your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide for him.

“I’m…I’m…”

“I know, darling, let go for me,” He said, moving back up to pay special attention to your clit once more. The harsh suck he left on the sensitive bud sent you over the edge, and you were cumming hard, grinding against his face as he moaned and eagerly licked up all you gave him.

When he rose from between your legs, his mouth and chin glistened with your wetness. He looked absolutely sinful. He wrapped his hand around his cock, rings glittering on his fingers. He pumped himself a few times as he looked down at your already-wrecked body.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed so deeply, my love. Over and over again until it takes, until I get to see your belly round and full with my heir.”

You wanted that more than anything, the idea making your heart race in your chest. You felt his tip prodding at your entrance, and he leaned over your body again as he pushed inside.

It had only been three months, so you were still getting used to the intrusion of him when you’d lay together like this. You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers digging into the strong muscle of his biceps.

“You can take it, my love. So good for me - gods, so tight and hot.” He began a slow pace, mindful of letting you adjust to the size of him. He groaned beautifully as he began thrusting into you, and you were struck with how lucky you were to see your Emperor like this, so open and vulnerable, face contorted in pleasure because of you.

“Are you ready for me to move faster?” he asked, voice strained from holding back his true desire. The Emperor pleaded with no one, but his eyes told a different story.

“Yes, please,” you breathed, now that the pain has faded you wanted, needed more. “Please, Geta, need you to fill me.”

Geta groaned loudly, hips stuttering against you as he picked up his pace. He was truly fucking you now, left hand gripping your hip to hold you where he wanted you as he pounded into you. “I will do just that, Carissima, fill you so deeply with my heir. I wish to see you, glowing and beautiful with child. I will hold games in your honor.”

He pressed his lips to yours once again, kissing you deeply, showing you just how much he loved you with his body. Between the feeling of his glorious cock pressing deeply inside of you, pressing against that perfect spot he reached every time.

“You are magnificent,” he moaned, regal head thrown back on his shoulders, muscles clenching as he fought off his release. “Divine. Miraculous. All mine.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you writhed beneath his movements, and he moved his free hand to caress the side of your face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, my Emperor,” you said, returning all the affection in his gaze.

“Need to feel you cum for me, my love,” he said, hips picking up speed as his own release approached rapidly. He moved to grip your thigh around his waist, moving into you at a new angle that had you seeing stars.

You cried out as your second orgasm hit, and Geta smiled cockily, knowing he was the only one who could bring you such pleasure, the only one privileged to see you like this, falling apart on his cock for him.

“Oh gods, Geta, yes-!”

“That’s it, my love, let me hear you,” Geta rasped out, his own release hitting him seconds later. “Take me, my beloved, take all of my seed! Gods yes, let me fill you, take it all,” he rambled on as he shot ropes of his hot cum deep inside you, pushing in as deep as possible to not waste a drop.

He stayed buried inside you as you both caught your breath. His strong chest was heaving with his heavy breaths, and he tenderly combed his fingers through your hair, looking at you with such love it made your heart stutter in your chest.

When he pulled out, he looked between your legs, gathering up his release that had spilled out of you with his fingers and pressing it back inside. “Cannot afford to waste a drop, Carissima,” he told you with a smile.

You giggled, totally blissed out from the pleasure he had just provided you. He lay his naked body on the bed next to you, resting his hand on your stomach.

“I truly cannot wait to see you carrying my heir,” he mused quietly, fingers rubbing circles into the skin of your abdomen, as if he were picturing it. “Our child.”

“Neither can I,” you told him, a blissful smile on your face.

“I would do this over and over again, as many times as it takes.”

You laughed, snuggling against the side of your Emperor. “I know you would.” You hummed, fingers trailing over the taut skin of his muscular chest. “I love you.”

“And I you, my beloved.”

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror............Part XIII

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: Geta is starting to realize something isn't right. Letha has to fight for her own protection. Caracalla wishes to save his brother from himself, because he's being Rome's biggest idiot (not so affectionate).

Warnings: violence, death, period-typical sexism, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 13 of 15

[ Part XII ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I think writing action (be it the fun kind or the dangerous kind) is the hardest part. I hope this is even slightly entertaining. Next part might not be the last, I'm still writing so it depends on how long it gets. I would also like for there to be some sort of resolution as well so it doesn't end so abruptly. We'll see. I should really thank one of my favorite bands for putting out a particularly angry song that helped me get in the headspace for this. Thank you for reading.

The Emperor’s box remained empty until moments before the event began, the usual pomp and circumstance of the games abandoned for a dour display of punishment. 

The games held the people’s attention. Watching men fight for a chance at glory, to possibly better themselves, it was entertaining. Tactics could be observed, armor and weapons utilized in new and unique ways. Legends were written by the combatants and their actions daily. Physical prowess could be appreciated and admired.

Fighting desperately in an ultimately futile battle to survive a few short minutes longer didn’t hold much attraction. There was no one to root for, no underdog to champion. No one to bet on beyond who might die first. Only the most voracious Romans attended these events. 

As Geta stared down at the empty arena, he felt ill. Ill at the thought of the previous 24 hours. The visible fear he’d seen in Letha’s eyes as he stood over her made Geta’s stomach twist uncomfortably. Sleep eluded him. He feared what horrors awaited him in his dreams. 

He distrusted people on principle, but for him to be so wrong, let alone twice… It left him reeling. He resisted looking over to Macrinus who had visited upon them this horrible news. Something was off about the man he’d dared call a friend. Ever since delivering Geta’s own death knell, the man lingered nearly everywhere about Palatine Hill. 

As if he were taking over in the absence of Letha.

And what he had said… the party. It was clear to Geta that Macrinus had no clue about the specific nature of his interaction with Letha. He’d clearly made some assumptions, but the idea that Letha had somehow found time to not only speak with Thraex, but concoct a scheme against him and his brother felt impossible. Especially when accounting for the small slip of time in between him dismissing Lyra and stepping out to meet Letha in the hall.

No, there was something else. Something Geta hadn’t quite cracked yet. He had considered visiting the miserable cells where Letha waited for her doom to ask her himself, but he didn’t trust himself. He couldn’t possibly predict what his reaction would be to seeing her again. That scared him.

Caracalla sat in the seat beside him, staring daggers into the side of his head. On the ride over, he’d insisted again that there was something wrong here. And Geta did agree, though he didn’t say as much to his volatile brother. Regardless, none of it changed Letha’s sure guilt. He would not relish today, not by a long shot, but it was necessary. 

And to think, he would’ve sought to marry her.

“Emperor?” Ancus questioned quietly.

Geta glanced over to see Caracalla in close conversation with Ancus, his eyes fixed on his personal guard. What was said, Geta couldn’t make out. But he did notice the way Caracalla’s hand lingered on the Praetorian’s forearm.

“There will be three others,” Ravi warned quietly, wrapping the gauzy fabric strip around her shoulder, beneath her arm, and across her chest, the pressure of it easing the difficulty of moving her arm. “You must be first to get to the sword.”

“Or I definitely die first,” she lamented.

“Or you definitely, probably, will die first,” Ravi agreed, tying off the thick wrapping. “Sorry, princess.”

The mood was deeper than melancholic. Letha pulled up the straps of the plain scrap of cloth she’d been provided, a familiar sight. It still bore Hyacinthia’s signature stitching. 

Letha remembered Hyacinthia insisting to Macrinus upon her arrival that she be provided something more suitable to wear. Within a day of Macrinus’s assent, Letha had been provided with this top and some modified braccae. Though they were discouraged among men, it relieved Letha to be able to wear something more concealing around the stable of gladiators. 

And she treasured it now, eager to get rid of the bloodstained dress.

Ravi broke the uncomfortable silence first. “Did he hurt you?”

Letha played dumb. “Who?”

Ravi sighed. “The tyrant.”

“No,” she answered. “Not at all.”

Perhaps if he’d lived up to his reputation, it wouldn’t be so painful.

Before Ravi could ask any other questions, a Praetorian appeared, standing outside the cell. They could hear Viggo chasing him down, shouting that he wasn’t allowed to be back there and needed to speak with Macrinus.

Ravi bristled beside Letha, but she stood, approaching the cell bars.

“Ancus?”

“Get away from there!” Viggo ordered, finally catching up.

Ancus didn’t bat an eye. “I’m here on orders of your Emperor. It would be in your best interest to leave us.”

Viggo looked for a moment like he might argue before he turned tail and fled, most likely in search of Macrinus.

Ancus returned his attention to the cell and its current occupants. He glanced from Letha to Ravi, then back, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s trustworthy,” she assured him. 

Ravi played it cool, shooting an unbothered smile Ancus’s way, though Letha knew he was brimming with curiosity.

“I was told to deliver this to you. If it is as planned, you may need it.” Ancus reached through the bars, a small bundle wrapped in cloth in his hands. Letha took it, pulling some of the material back to get a peek at what was inside. Letha saw the familiar shape of the dagger she’d used all those nights ago. Someone had kept it.

“Tell Geta I am thankful,” Letha begged.

Ancus frowned. “I’m sorry, my lady. It is Caracalla who has sent me here.” 

It shouldn’t have left her feeling so cold, but it did. Of course. 

“Well, tell him the same.”

Ancus nodded. “I will have an eye on you.” He moved to leave, but came back. “Good luck, Letha.”

She couldn’t say anything in return, just nodded and looked down at the bundle in her hands as he walked away.

“Friends in high places, princess,” Ravi commented. 

She unwrapped the dagger, finding it still coated in dry blood. 

“Well, if you don’t need the sword, I’d say you should definitely go for the shield.”

The sound of one of the large gates on the edge of the arena opening drew Geta’s gaze. His breath caught in his throat at the sight. She had some cobbled-together armor on her shoulders and arms, but little else. Her hair had been braided, circling her head not unlike a crown. She looked nothing like the woman he had come to know.

All the better. It would be easier to watch that way, he supposed. No, no. What a ridiculous notion.

Nothing about this was easy for Geta. He regretted his choice almost as soon as he’d made it. His suggestion was borne of the grievous injury she’d dealt him. Now that the outcome of it stood on the sand below the box, the selection of weapons waiting in the center of the oval, he sat in his seat stewing in dread. 

“You can still put a stop to this madness, brother,” Caracalla reminded him, his voice terse, uncharacteristic. Geta looked over, seeing a conviction he wasn’t used to finding in Caracalla’s eyes. 

“Do not speak to me of madness, brother,” Geta spat back, irritated with Caracalla’s needling ever since he’d formed an opinion on his handling of Letha.

Caracalla’s temper flared. “You cannot even stand to look at her now,” he accused.

Geta reared around to face his brother fully, muscles in his neck tensing as he tempered the volume of his words. “Because I cannot bear it.” 

The sun burned Letha’s skin, as if Apollo himself decided to visit the arena. Her eyes moved over to rest on the Emperors’ box, seeing the two of them sitting there, in conversation with each other, their copper hair shining. Perhaps they were touched by the divine after all. 

Or perhaps the gods were playing a trick, drawing out her pain until she couldn’t bear it any longer. They would send her to her death, despite everything, all thanks to the snake, Macrinus. She got in his way. This would be the consequence.

“Don’t die too quickly, princess,” Viggo jeered from behind the wooden gate, just off to her side. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your lover.”

She didn’t dare look over, focused instead on the gate opening up in front of her. Who, or what, would walk through it? What insurmountable task would she have to deal with? How swift a death could it provide? 

Just one moment and it could all be over. All the heartache, the pain, the vitriol, the rage. It could all disappear if she just let it happen. No matter where she ended up, be it Elysium or the pits of Tartarus, anything would surely be better than this. 

Maybe she would see her family again. Her brother could mock her once again. She could feel her mother’s hand against her cheek. Her father would seize her in a tight hug, telling her she did what she had to do, even if those words didn’t exactly ring true.

The tears welled up, obscuring her vision until she blinked and let them fall onto the sand. She quickly wiped the trails from her cheeks, breathing deeply. 

The man walking out into the arena bore an unmistakable red line across the top of his cheek, just below his temple, and it went all the way to the back of his head. The missing portion of his ear a stark reminder of her fury and how she arrived here. 

General Plautianus. 

They did this on purpose. She wondered if this was Macrinus’s idea, or if Geta had suggested it himself. This was a former general of Rome, not a gladiator. The idea of dying at his hands repulsed her. He had already claimed her father and brother, he couldn’t claim her, too. 

But did she even stand a chance? Her shoulder was still injured, she couldn’t rely on her dominant arm for too much before it grew tired and tender. They had only given her the most basic armor, nothing for her chest or legs. The only weapon she possessed was a dagger. Her dagger. A kind gift from Caracalla. She didn’t think she’d get a chance to properly thank him.

Letha didn’t know how she was supposed to fend off a Roman general. If she had just done what Macrinus tasked her with, none of this would be happening. None of this additional pain would exist. Protecting the twins had earned her no favors, clearly. It all meant nothing. 

He felt nothing. And that was almost worse than the death that awaited her. 

“I should have killed you. I knew there was something off about you,” Plautianus taunted. “You thought you could take revenge? You? You’re as dumb as your brother. Clearly fated to die by my sword. My hand was stayed once, it will not be again,” he promised, flexing his hands, his eyes focusing on the three items at the center of the arena. 

Two other men joined them, standing an equal distance from the items waiting at the center. A gladius, a spear, and a small round shield. That meant someone could be left empty handed. As Ravi had warned her, that couldn’t be her. Still, the idea of rushing to meet all of them in the same place didn’t fill her with confidence, though she didn’t have much choice.

An announcer stepped forward, dressed down compared to the usual games. There was no formal ceremony. It took Letha a moment to even realize they’d been given the go-ahead. The only tell was a flicker of movement from the other prisoners. 

Letha snapped into a sprint, her legs fresh after sitting in the cell for so long. The same could be said of the others, however. She could see them approaching the center just as quickly as she was. She did note that the general seemed slower, his bulk and elaborate armor weighing him down. But he was still fast. She didn’t think it wise to underestimate any of them.

Before Letha could get her fingers around the lip of the circular shield, she was body-checked, knocked to the chalky gravel, and one of the other prisoners hefted it. She scrambled to her feet, grabbing the next thing within reach. The spear.

Surely not the most optimal choice for her stature, it was better than nothing, the sword getting snatched up by the other man, leaving the General with nothing. 

Plautianus approached the group, his eyes raking over the slight build of the man currently holding the gladius. It took him only a moment to dodge the reckless swipe and tackle the man to the ground. He wrenched the sword from his grip and ignored his protests as he plunged the blade into his chest, rising to his feet with an ease that surely frightened those he fought against in battle. 

Three. 

Letha tried to find a good way to grip the spear, the wood rough lacking any wrap or protection for her bare hand. Even having the weapon, her options were slim. Even if she took out the man with the shield somehow, that would leave the General. And she didn’t like those odds.

It seemed Plautianus was similarly assessing his options, and as his gaze fell heavy on the shieldbearer, she knew he’d made a decision. It wasn’t what she would’ve done, had she been in his place, but she was no general, had no tactical prowess. Or maybe he was just saving her for last.

She couldn’t do nothing. Nothing would get her killed.

As Plautianus charged, she almost lost her nerve. He reached the shieldbearer, holding the sword threateningly in his direction. As he swung it overhead, the shieldbearer hefted the round disc high to block his blow. 

Letha moved in.

She jabbed the point of the spear into the back of his knee, as hard as she could. The roar Plautianus let out echoed around the arena. Before she could pull it free and step back, a swipe of the gladius cut through the pole of the spear, sending her on her ass. She got up as quickly as she could, keeping hold of the useless pole just in case.

Stunned by her action, the shieldbearer stood no chance, taking the brunt of Plautianus’s fury as he gutted him. He ripped the shield from the man as he fell, hopping a bit to take pressure off his injured leg as he faced her.

As he stared her down, she felt like she was back on the floor in the entryway to her house, shoved down to her knees. She could picture her brother slumped against the wall, his biting wit still being used to lash out at the Romans standing around them. It did nothing but earn him a few extra kicks to the ribs. But still he sat there, making use of the only tool he had left, right up until her impulsive action got him killed.

“You are the thorn in my side no longer,” Plautianus promised, leveling the sword at her, shield held close to his chest. He did not charge at her, no, he moved with purpose, a significant limp the only sign he’d been injured. It didn’t show in his face or his focus.

There wasn’t anywhere to go. She couldn’t run or hide. There were only the two of them. She was forced into a defensive position after sacrificing the tip of the spear, for all the good it did her now. He would still bear down on her, he still had the sword. 

Plautianus moved quickly, striking like a viper. She brought up the spear’s shaft to attempt to deflect the blow. The sword skated off it and cut a hot slash into her upper arm, thankfully only splitting the skin and not going deeper. Her hand went to the fresh wound and she backed away from the general, trying to pay attention to his movements as he stalked her. 

He moved in swiftly. She chucked the pole at him for lack of anything else. He raised the shield to smack it away, giving her a small opening. She drew the dagger quickly and advanced, ducking under another slash to drive it into his thigh. It had worked, another blow in this war of attrition, but she left herself open, the lip of the shield colliding with the side of her head, the crack of it audible. 

She scrambled back, seeing stars. It was hard to recover from, her stunned state causing her to lose her balance and crash down onto the fine pebbles. The chalky surface stuck to the sweat on her skin. 

Plautianus let out a roar and reached for his bleeding thigh, inspecting the damage done. With a gut-wrenching glare, he abandoned the sword and shield. He wouldn’t need them. 

As she tried to regain her breath, her vision swimming, his foot caught her injured shoulder, knocking her back onto the ground. The small stones bit into her palm as she pushed herself up onto her knees, holding the dagger desperately. Her chest burned as she tried to steady her breathing.

He just kept coming at her. There was only one way this would end. This had been orchestrated since the order was given to claim the lands she came from. Perhaps the gods were here in this arena after all. Putting things into motion in order to amuse themselves later. They must view the people as playthings, acting out plotlines for their entertainment.

It bothered Letha that she might have always been going to die at the hands of General Plautianus. Someone above surely had a penchant for torture, letting her fool herself into thinking there could be anything else but this waiting for her. 

None of it mattered. Not to her outcome. Not to him. 

It was hopeless to try to salvage her feelings now. Let it hurt, let it burn her up. If she was to meet her end here, by his order, within his view, then she could allow herself to feel the sadness of it. It was sharper than any blade. It cut deeper. By that measure, she was already dead. No point in fighting it.

She threw the dagger down onto the sand, abandoning any effort to stand. 

General Plautianus laughed. “Surrender? You’ve been watching too many gladiator matches. There’s no such thing here. The gods don’t intervene to save treasonous whores.”

She watched him turn around and hobble over to where he’d abandoned the sword, something close to happiness in his face as he reclaimed it.

“You put up this fight, all this bluster, but you’re ineffective,” he spoke, gesturing to the scar along the side of his head. “At least you’ve realized that now, and I can put right this wrong.”

Letha would not rise to his taunts.

She waited for the sword to meet her neck, her head bowed low, the careful plait of her hair exposing the back of her neck for the blade. Plautianus was strong, she’d seen him wield that blade before. Her death would be swift. 

She rested her hands on her covered thighs and closed her eyes, letting the breeze blow in the scent of the heat, the stench of Rome. She would soon add to it, a carefully crafted perfume of misery. 

The crowd had gone quiet, their breath bated for the spilling of her blood. She could hear the crunch of the gravel underfoot, could just about picture how close General Plautianus was standing. Would he cleave her head from her shoulders in one blow? Or two?

“Stop!” Geta roared, his voice echoing around the colosseum. The silence stretched, no one sure of what was happening. 

Letha opened her eyes, turning to see Geta leaning out of the box, his chest heaving. 

“Enough,” he spoke, his voice not as loud this time. She could hear the pain in his voice. She didn’t dare let herself indulge in it. It changed nothing. 

“Mercy,” Caracalla agreed, standing beside him.

Letha heard Plautianus scoff, his shoe scuffing the ground. “Mercy?” he spat. “I was promised blood,” he yelled at them. She looked up at him, alarmed, as he began to ready his arm for a swing despite the Emperors’ wishes.

“Ancus!” Caracalla shouted. 

Before she could bring up an arm as if to shield herself from his blade, the shunk of an arrow sounded as it struck Plautianus in the chest, piercing the armor. The sword clattered to the ground. She sat there, shocked, as he sank to his knees right in front of her, his expression one of disbelief as he reached for the arrow lodged in his lung. He choked on blood as his face turned an ugly color. He finally fell back, landing on his side as he continued to claw at the wound. 

The Colosseum filled with uncertain murmuring. Why was she still breathing? Why did their general lay there, dead? Why was Emperor Geta so upset? Why did they intervene?

Letha refused to look up at the box, refused to look for Geta. Refused to let herself hope. She heard the Praetorians before she felt them hauling her to her feet. Despite being carried out of the arena still alive, she felt far from safe. In fact, nothing was certain now. 

What would Macrinus have to say about Geta’s intervention? Was he fuming in the box, wishing to crack the brothers’ skulls together and be done with it? She assumed he wished to see her dead before he enacted the final steps of his plan. Now that it was foiled, the twins weren’t safe, and she was stuck in the belly of the Colosseum, unable to help them. If they would even welcome her help. 

If she somehow got the chance, she would see Macrinus dead. And then, the fates could have her.

[ Part XIV ]

[trulyumai]

Leaving Behind Gold

—Pairing: Emperor Geta / Wife! Reader

—Synopsis: Fed up with Geta's priorities, you attempt to leave his side. Only, Geta isn't ready to let you go, and is ready to get vulnerable to get you to stay.

—Warnings: Slight angst, Geta getting nervous and breaking down.

A/N: I’m only posting geta content are y’all sick of it yet? im sorry in advanced there will be more

The moment you step through the palace halls with your packed satchel, it feels like the air around you is a trap—heavy, stifling, suffused with the weight of the decision you've made. Leaving Geta is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but his obsession with Rome has left no room for you. Your heart clenches as you pass the door to his chambers, but you keep walking, steadying your breath.

He finds you almost immediately.

You hear his voice before you see him, a frantic bark cutting through the quiet corridors. “Where is she?” Servants scatter at the sound of his tone, their whispers falling to silence as his heavy steps echo closer.

Your pulse quickens, and instinct takes over. You veer left, ducking into the library, your sanctuary within the palace—a place where he seldom disturbs you. Slamming the door shut, you throw the latch into place, your chest heaving. The silence presses in around you, broken only by your ragged breaths.

Then comes the pounding.

“Open this door!”

His voice is a snarl, wild and guttural. The sound of his fists against the heavy wood is thunderous, shaking the frame.

“Wife, youre being foolish. Do we really want to cause a scene, hm?”

You press yourself against the far wall, heart racing as you clutch the satchel to your chest. “Go away Geta! You can’t stop me from leaving!”

The words only seem to inflame him further. His pounding grows erratic, each strike like a storm battering the door. “You don’t get to decide such a thing!” he roars. “You’re my wife. You’re mine!”

“Yours?” you spit back, your voice trembling. “I was yours once, but you’ve given every piece of yourself to Rome. There’s nothing left for me!”

There’s a pause, a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the door, and then his voice drops—a low, desperate rasp. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

You hear him press his forehead against the door, his voice cracking. And then it all comes out.  

“I love you, do you hear me? I love you more than anything. More than Rome, more than the gods themselves. You’re the only thing keeping me sane, and if you leave... if you leave...”

The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of his labored breathing. Then his voice returns, hoarse and broken. “I can’t survive without you.”

Your resolve falters, your hand trembling as it rests on the satchel. “Then why do you make me feel like I’m second to everything else?”

He pounds the door again, his desperation boiling over. “Because I’m a fool! A stupid, blind fool who thought Rome would give me purpose—but it’s you. It’s always been you!”

His voice cracks, and you hear him sink to his knees outside the door, his fists slapping weakly against the wood. “Please,” he begs, his tone raw and unrecognizable. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll tear the empire apart if it means keeping you by my side. Just—just open the door. Let me see you.”

Your hand hovers over the latch, your mind warring with your heart. You hear him slump against the door, defeated. “You said you were mine,” he murmurs, barely audible now. “But you’re wrong. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Tears streak your face as you press your forehead against the cool wood. “Then prove it, Geta. Prove that I matter more than Rome.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then his voice, soft but resolute: “I will.”

Your fingers tremble as they slide the latch back. The door creaks, revealing him.

Geta is on his knees, slumped forward, his shoulders shaking. His face is flushed, streaked with tears, his hair disheveled as though he’s been clawing at it in anguish. When his bloodshot eyes find yours, a sound escapes him—a choked, desperate sob that makes your chest tighten. His lips part as though to speak, but they wobble, and no words come.

He’s utterly wrecked.

And it breaks you.

Your satchel falls to the ground, forgotten, as you step toward him. His hands lift weakly, reaching for you, but it’s you who sinks down, wrapping your arms around his trembling form. He freezes for a moment, as though he doesn’t believe it’s real, but then his arms encircle you with crushing strength, pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, over and over, his breath hot against your hair. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a fool.”

His words dissolve into quiet sobs as you clutch him tighter, burying your face in his neck. “I thought I’d lost you.” he murmurs, his voice still unsteady. “I can’t—I… You’re my everything. You and my child, dear wife,  I swear it to you, here and now. Nothing will ever come before my family again. Not Rome, not anything. Just... don’t leave me.”

You pull back just enough to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over his tear-streaked cheeks. His eyes meet yours, wide and shimmering with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before. “I don’t want promises, Geta,” you say softly. “I want you. Not Rome’s Geta. Not the emperor. Just... you.”

“You have me,” he says, his voice breaking as he presses his forehead against yours. “You’ve always had me.”

And in that moment, you believe him.

There’s a pause, before Geta’s voice breaks through the air.

“Do you… think I'll be a good father?” The emperor's gaze lingers on the back wall, not moving or lingering on your now watchful figure.

“I think,” with a soft kiss to his temple the man leans in, intently listening. “You’ll be the father you always wanted to be.” 

Geta hummed, his ringed fingers carrasses your side. “I want to be kind. Nothing like my father. A drunken excuse of a man.” He spat. 

Catching his face in the palms of your hands, you sighed and began to litter his face in little kisses. One on the cheek, two on each brow. 

“Then you shall be, my husband.” 

[songbirdmunson]

18+ only please & thank you (warning: talk of choking)

Give me Eddie that only cums the hardest when you’re bouncing on his dick slowly, absolutely tortuously grinding yourself down against him. His chest is red, his face flushed as he looks up at you, he swears you’re an angel sent straight from heaven to kill him, before he knows it his mouth is saying words that his brain can’t keep up with. “Choke me please.” And you’re so happy to oblige him. Your smaller hand wraps itself around his throat and squeezes until his eyes are rolling back into his head and he’s cumming so deep inside you- it’ll be leaking out of you for days.

[darnell-la]

FRIENDS & CUFFS

summary: y/n has only been curious about Eddie’s handcuffs after they began dating. she wondered why he never used them on her, and at first, long told her she didn’t know anything about that life. she soon found out that Eddie had a lot to teach her.

warnings: quick friends to lovers storyline, making out, fem receiving oral from male, reader weakens after orgasm, slight innocent reader, drug dealer Eddie (not really mentioned), rough sex, bondage (Eddie’s handcuffs/chains), missionary, doggy, no protection, crying, whining, a lot of male noises, pet names, chocking, etc.

note: we haven’t done an Eddie Munson fan fiction in a while. we still love him, so, there will be more. more stranger things in general. you see what I did there? — nevermind.

———

Steve nearly asked Eddie every day since he graduated, when he was going to make a move on y/n. He hated watching the two drink and get close, yet never make a move.

When people would ask them if they were together, or assume, anyone could tell they the nervousness entered the room.

Not too long ago, y/n and Eddie finally made a move. It seemed so perfect how they both leaned in to feel each other’s lips.

“I think we should stop — You’re drunk, and it’s getting late,” Eddie whispered after y/n stopped fake fighting on top of him. “What if I won’t want to sleep just yet?” Y/n asked, a bit shy, but the alcohol in her body, helped her gain confidence.

“You’re drinks, princess, and I’m not. I don’t want you to regret this, and mess our friendship up,” Eddie said, really wanting to taste her, but she was afraid of showing what he’s been wanting to do with her.

“A kiss could never ruin our friendship, Eddie,” y/n said, slightly sounding desperate as her eyes could barely stay open. “Wanna do more than just kiss you, y/n,” Eddie admitted.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at what her best friend said. She thought she was the only one who wanted to experiment with him. She felt nasty, but now, she felt loose.

The two both crashed on each other’s lips, making g out rough but passionate. None of them have kissed like this before. They would’ve never mixed their saliva like this with anyone, but because it’s them, they wanted to do much more.

The night ended with y/n halfway passed out, and Eddie’s face resting on y/n’s thigh, dripping juice from y/n’s throbbing heat. “So good for me — I wanna get used to this,”

Now, the two are dating, happier than ever, but y/n has been curious lately. She didn’t pay much attention when they were just friends, but now that they’re dating, she thought about Eddie’s handcuffs.

Most partners would be jealous, but y/n? She was curious. She thought to herself plenty of times how he would use them on her, and why he hadn’t done it yet. They’ve only been sexual for a short time, but if he were kinky like that, why wouldn’t he mention it?

“You good, sweetheart?” Eddie asked after turning to his girlfriend who seemed to be daydreaming. “Yeah, I was just thinking,” y/n said, not knowing if she should bring this up as a conversation so soon her their relationship.

“What is it? What were you thinking about?” The metalhead asked as he leaned back on his bed, taking his eyes off the weed he was pre-rolling for his rich customers who couldn’t do it on their own.

“So, uh — I noticed the handcuffs, and I was curious,” y/n said as she stared at the cuffs that were basically chains, dangling from a hook in his wall. She knew that had to be for something sexual.

“Hey, y/n, look — I swear on my uncle, I’ve never used them in anyone, and never planned to. I just liked the thought of them near me. I’ve even thought about you in them,” Eddie spoke quietly, a bit embarrassed by his truth.

“Oh, wait, I wasn’t jealous or anything. I just was curious on why you didn’t use them on me yet,” y/n said, making Eddie's eyes widen. For the longest, he had thought y/n was innocent, and she was. She was just open-minded when it came to her boyfriend.

“You’re not ready for that, princess,” Eddie chuckled lightly. “Why not?” Y/n asked, a bit offended as she crossed her arms. “Being restrained means you can’t do anything. I don’t think that it’s a good idea to put you in something like that, knowing you’d wanna get out,”

“What do you mean, want to get out? I can take it,” y/n said, only making the man laugh. “You can’t even take me slow in doggy. What makes you think you can take me deep up front with your pretty hands cuffed?”

Eddie shifted in the bed to cup y/n’s chin, slightly teasing her because they both knew she wasn’t a taker. Especially with his length.

“I-I can take it — It’s not even that bad,” y/n said, making Eddie throw himself back onto his bed with a loud laugh, knowing his uncle wasn’t home to tell him to shut the hell up.

“What!? You’re mean as fuck, you know?” Y/n said as she kept her arms crossed. “Oh, really, baby? I’m sorry, it’s just — You’re a comedian,” Eddie kept laughing, only making y/n roll her eyes.

“C’mon, I’m just pullin’ your tit, baby,” Eddie leaned up to hug y/n, but she moved away. “Babe, don’t start this. I was just kidding,” Eddie tried hugging y/n again, but this time she pushed him away. Of course, not too hard. She was just being dramatic.

“And, that’s why we can’t do what you wanna do. You can’t even handle being picked on a little bit,” Eddie said as he pushed at y/n’s shoulder lightly, slightly feeling bad for what he did.

“Whatever, I’ll be fine,” y/n said, making y/n sigh as he rolled his eyes. “Fine — We can use em, but ion wanna hear none of that cryin', okay?” Eddie jumped off of the bed to get his handcuffs that had dust all over them.

“Really?” Y/n asked, a bit excited, but knowing she wouldn’t be too excited soon. “Ah huh, but only one rule,” Eddie said with a smirk as he untangled the chains. “Yeah?” Y/n innocently asked, not knowing how quick of a turn this would take.

“The only thing stopping me, is our safe word,” before y/n could agree with a smile, Eddie lunged at her, grabbing her quest roughly to cuff them as quick as possible.

“Hey,” y/n said with an eye roll, not knowing he’d get in the mood this fast. “Not a word from you, princess. Let’s see how good you think you can take it,” Eddie said as he placed the chains where they needed to be.

Seeing y/n in this sight, made him harder than he thought he could get. She was always beautiful, but seeing her innocent body slightly retrained, knowing she was actually ready for what was coming, made him want to burst then and there.

“Always thought about tying you up at school. I was a little perv-nerd when it came to you, princess. You always looked and smelled so good — Had to keep myself from throwing you in my van with your hands and legs tied,”

Eddie was in an emotion he couldn’t control. He was either not sure about putting his pretty girl through this, or he was getting too dark to the point he would black out and not remember anything he’d do to her tonight.

“Pretties thighs — Pretties body — Pretties fucking face,” Eddie slightly growled as he gripped y/n’s face. The younger girl whined with huge eyes, feeling her heat get wet.

“I know, baby — Hearts probably rising. Maybe a hint of fear, knowing you can’t get loose — Don’t worry. You know, I’ll take good care of you,”

Eddie quickly began tugging on y/n’s clothes until parts of her showed more than before. She had already had her night dress in, so exposing her bra-covered breast was easy.

“You sure you want this y/n because, fuck — I won’t be able to stop myself,” Eddie warned as he climbed on top of y/n, pulling her dress up as she slightly moved at his cold hands grazing her skin.

“U-Use me — Please,” y/n stuttered, not knowing if she should’ve said it. “What’s the safe word?” Eddie asked in a stern tone. “Red,” y/n said, feeling her heart raise. This was actually happening, and she only had to question him once.

“Good girl,” Eddie grunted as he reached into his jeans to pull himself out. “And, that’s the only thing I wanna hear from you tonight,” Eddie said as he pulled y/n’s panties to the side.

“I-I’ll try,” y/n spoke, making Eddie shake his head with a chuckle. “You’re always doing a terrible job. Just means I’ll have to start off rough,” before anything, Eddie doubly pushed through y/n’s walls, causing her to cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Yeah? You feel that? Feel how deep I am inside of you? I told you doggy would be the only position you could truly handle — This is next level,” Eddie couldn’t stop but grin down at the struggles woman.

“S-So much,” y/n whined low, only making Eddie shush her. “Nah uh, what did I say? Didn’t I say to keep that pretty mouth closed? Hm? — You’re the one who wanted this, so accept the journey,”

Eddie grabbed both sides of y/n’s waist before pushing down onto the mattress. Y/n knew he was positioning himself to fuck her rough. He’s never gone too rough, but she asked for it tonight.

“Hush it up, princess — You wanted it,” Eddie continued saying as he pounded down into y/n, going the deepest he could get at the start of his session. After being handcuffed, there would be no room for taking it slow.

“E-Eddie,” y/n cried out as she pulled one of her restraints. At times, she’d forget that she wouldn’t be able to get out. “Wanna break free? Keep trying, princess — Makes this so much hotter,” Eddie growled with a smile, looking down at the way y/n pulled on the chains.

“This is the tightest you’ve ever been — The way you’re soaking around me, only makes me closer,” Eddie felt himself twitch. He didn’t want to cum this quick, but it didn’t matter. He’s always been able to keep going.

“Eddie- Eddie, you — The condoms. You forgot the condoms,” y/n took forever to say what she was trying to say. “Oh, really? Guess that’s your luck, hm?” Eddie leaned in front of y/n’s face.

Deep down, Eddie felt bad for slipping into her without protection. He had completely forgotten, but he didn’t want to get out of character. He had to somehow make sure y/n was 100% with what was going on.

“Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me. Tell me!” Eddie slightly yelled as he snapped his hips, wanting to keep his work going. He could feel the way she fluttered around him. She was so close.

“Too much, Eds — I’m gonna cum,” y/n made the mistake of telling him how close she was. “And, you want me to stop? When you’re so close? C’mon,” Eddie leaned into y/n’s ear so she could hear his groans better.

The room was filled with wet slaps, whining, growling, and a bunch is cuss words from Eddie. He couldn’t keep himself together. This situation was too much for him. He was going to explode.

“E-Eddie, slow down — Please,” y/n tried begging the man, but he wouldn’t listen. Why would he? She hadn’t used the safe word yet. “Want me to slow down?” Eddie asked as he leaned up.

“Yes, yes,” y/n huffed, surprised he actually slowed down. She had thought he got soft, but little did she know, he was just getting a short break. “Want me to be nicer? Take it easy on you?” He asked as he softly placed his hands around her neck.

“Please-“ y/n was cut off by the grip of his hands. “Then you asked the wrong one to chain you up, sweetheart,” Eddie spat before he began slamming into her, making the young lady cry out instantly.

“E-Eds! C-Can’t anymore — I can’t!” Y/n kicked and arched her back, trying to control herself, but her cunt continued to squeeze around Eddie, only assuring him that he was doing exactly what she wanted. Using her.

“That’s it — Keep struggling — You’re going nowhere, and this isn’t even the beginning — I have so many loads I’ve been wanting to empty into you,” Eddie tightened his grip a bit more to hear her struggle for air.

For a second, Eddie thought he might have been going too far tonight. Quickly handcuffing her, saying mean things, pinning her down, and fucking get rougher than he’s ever done.

The only thing that helped him was her words. She never once came close to the word red. She would’ve said it by now, and she would never come to him later and say she was uncomfortable. Y/n wasn’t like that.

That’s how Eddie knew y/n probably enjoyed this more than him. She loved faking that she needed him to stop. He even saw a small pour from her when he slowed down a few minutes ago.

“C-Cumming — Cunming,” y/n’s body stiffened before she shook. “That’s it- That’s it — Fucking take it,” the older man growled as he pounded her, wanting her juice to splash anywhere it could.

“Ian stoppin’ either, baby — Told you to keep that fucking mouth shut, didn’t I?” Eddie asked, but y/n didn’t answer. Her eyes were landing everywhere but on him. She felt out of it already.

“Didn’t I!?” The man shouted as he shook y/n by her neck to catch her attention. “S-Sorry,” tears streamed from her eyes, upset at herself for not taking it like she swore she could.

Right as Eddie went to assure her that she was fine, she spoke, shocking him.

“I-I’ll be good, I promise. Please cum in me. D-Don’t pull out and punish me,” she cried. “I’ll do anything, Eds, just- Please, use me,”

“Jesus’s H. Christ,” Eddie huffed as he pulled out. He quickly turned his girlfriend around, knowing the chains were long enough for her to be comfortable. He took no time to push back in her, roughly, with a warning.

Y/n wanted to speak out loud to thank him, he she kept quiet. She wanted to be good like she promised.

“You’re just a slut, y/n — A dirty fucking slut, and I knew it from how you dressed at parties — You always got drunk before you sat on my lap, facing me- Dragging that pretty pussy across my clothes cock — Swore you even stained my jeans, once,”

Y/n whined, happy that he noticed his much she wanted him before they got together. Yeah, a bit of embarrassment was felt, but the thought of being caught was what made her close to another orgasm.

“You’re in for a ride with me, princess. Especially after I coat these walls,”

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 | Emperor Geta x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Emperor Geta takes a liking to you but ends up with far more than he bargained for.

author's note | full blame on @hauntedhowlett. also don't look at me and tell me that man doesn't have a mommy kink, he does.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!geta, dom!reader, mentions of spousal/child loss, brief mentions of pregnancy, subtle mommy kink, lactation kink (titty suckin' hell yeah), oral (f receiving), use of sweet boy/good boy, unprotected piv

word count — 4.2k

A widow, a mourning would-be mother—naive amongst your youthful glaze, the softness in your features as you stare down the two brothers from across the long, crowded table. It has only been a fortnight now, but your face proves entirely unsuspecting.

This meeting was about you—not of your late husband, not of legality or current issues to address, but your qualification to have a spot amongst men. Most were unaware of your puppetry with your late husband and his place in the senate—an older man triple your age that had brought you for a price.

Easily to manipulate, easy to convince.

“There is no place here for a mockery like this,” An older gentleman with stringy, greying hair chirped up from his seat, fist tucked under his wrinkled chin, eyes carefully examining your figure, licking his split, dry lips, “she is young—negotiate a price with her father and—”

“He is dead,” You state flatly, a piercing glare shot down the line toward the spoken male, seemingly ticked by the sound of your voice, expecting submissiveness, “And I will assure the price is one you will never afford.”

Caracalla, as aloof as he was, seemed to snicker at that. A high-pitched cackle that slips from his lips as Geta raises a brow, his mouth hidden behind his curled fingers, opposite hand spread out wide on the arm of his throne.

“I am well versed,” You address both of the emperors directly, “Educated—my husband would be displeased to hear me say this, but he was not the smartest man. I have lost more than just him, but I am not here to beg.”

There was no love lost, fortunately. He wasn’t a good or bad man, only a man. He frequented brothels often, voiced his displeasure when you weren’t serving him correctly, and only forced a child upon you because of societal standards. It was distressing, still deep in your own grief as you avoided the deadlocked stares from the surrounding men, praying that one of the two young emperors would have a soft spot, or even a weakness. 

You would find it, if needed. But, Geta’s amusement was a comforting sign. 

The same man, displeased with your presence, grips hard enough at his wooden cane that it starts to crack, “Better yet, force her to work in the brothel. Plenty of use for you there,” His gaze switches from the head of the table to you, nodding his head with a triumphant smirk.

“As I am sure your wife would love to hear about your visits,” There’s a collective tenseness, both of hands gripping the table and men shifting in their seats, eyes flickering back and forth between the volleying conversation, the dueling man’s face going slack, “do not act surprised, you keep company of men with loose lips, be thankful one of them has died with the rest of your pitiful secrets.” 

Geta clears his throat then, sharing a brief moment with his brother as they nod in unison.

“I will consider this,” He begins, tongue swiping along the inside of his bottom lip, “given the suddenness of—”

“Your highness, do not fall victim to her deception, she is—”

“If you value that head of yours,” Geta’s words are biting, quick, “you will not interrupt me when I am speaking.”

He’s highly temperamental, the dagger he’s spent twirling in his hand for the past several minutes tossing lazily against the wood as he flicks a hand up dismissively, “Get out of my sight,” He excuses them all, aside from his finger pulling like it was held on a string to aim in your direction, “you—stay.”

You’ve just resigned yourself to death, surely.

–

The wine is dark, staining his upper lip as he drinks, clunky rings tapping against the glass of his cup as he passes you off a cup of your own. He had his own private quarters, opposite of his brother and hidden down a long, trailing hallway, an office-like room attached to his quarters.

You weren’t going to defy his command as unsettling as it felt, his glittering and colorful robe dragging against the tile floor as you stood silent, a comfortable distance away. 

Your dress was unbearably tight, back straight as an arrow while your shoulders ached, but you didn’t waver, didn’t slouch. Your breasts spilled over the fabric, barely covered by the shawl draped over your shoulders, signs of motherhood that had yet to dissipate. You cleared your throat, shuffling quietly on your feet. 

“I do not like nervousness,” Geta announces, turning his head over his shoulder as he swivels his body to lean against the edge of the desk—the room was clearly unused, aside from now. 

“I am not nervous,” It wasn’t that at all, rather an uncertainty. 

“Drink,” He suggested, nodding his head toward your full glass, “it will help.”

He doesn’t seem to believe you and you defy his order further, traveling toward him to rest the glass against the desk, hands settled at your stomach as you look at him, his eyes carefully tracking your movement as he sloshes the wine around in his mouth, a fingertip trailing the rim before he mirrors your actions.

“G—your highness,” You begin indecisively, “forgive me for sounding…selfish, but is there something you require? Do I serve a purpose being here?”

“What are your current living arrangements?” He asks suddenly, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, tilting his head in question. 

“I am living under the selflessness of a senator’s wife—though, if he knew, it would not be welcomed with open arms,” Geta is aware of your steadfast gaze, rare that you ever looked anywhere but his face, not the usual roaming nervousness he had become acquainted with.

“Ah,” He chuckles, “If I may pry—well, I am…is it—”

The man who had challenged you earlier with a wife too gracious for her own good.

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

Geta contemplates—he wasn’t against you having a voice within his council, aware that it wouldn’t be well-met, but there was a way to ensure safety and submission; he's learned to mold and shape to achieve what he wants at the lift of a finger. It was a mix of power and practiced manipulation. 

“You will relocate here, to the palace,” He informs, “as an extra measure and because I am fond of your…bite,” His mouth upturns in a lazy smirk, “you will be well cared for here, I assure you.”

A man who was far too fond of his toys, you notice the glint in his eyes as soon as his expression morphs. Greed; he could have everything and even that wouldn’t be enough. 

It was only minimally amusing, his confidence. 

And within a few hours and a few snaps of his fingers, you were set up comfortably in your own room, a pleasant conversation with his less than stable brother and the obedient monkey perched on his shoulder—he was endearing, but visibly paranoid. 

You refuse the help of the servants as you attempt to retire for the night, brow furrowed in frustration as you reach unsuccessfully for the tied string of your dress, resilient and stubborn in your unwillingness for help as you curse to yourself, half a second from ripping the fabric in half before the door to your room is opening quietly, creaking on it’s hinges. 

“I assure you, they are here for a reason,” Geta remarks fondly, the faint fire of the candles lit around your room painting him in a warm glow, softening an unusually rigid man, he approaches without a word as you relent, hands curling around the edge of a nearby chair, his hand working methodically along the knotted fabric at your back, a few minutes passing before he’s tugging it loose, a breath of relief slipping beyond your lips.

Geta takes a few steps back, ringed fingers interlocked behind his back as he watches you expectantly, watching quietly as you turn with your arm clutching the fabric to your chest, hair loosened, your face relaxing into a natural scowl.

“Do you require anything of me?” You ask, curious of his lingering presence but not feeling threatened or undermined—shockingly, he seemed unsteady. Unsure. His confidence failed him for the first time in his young life, “If there is…something you would like to address, I will listen.”

“When did you marry?” An odd start, but you answer with ease.

“Fifteen—he promised my family wealth, it was a simple trade. They died not long after. Tuberculosis, or so I was told,” You shift from one bare foot to another as Geta’s lips pull together in a narrow line, “You know, we are not much different.”

That grabs his attention, his eyebrow raising in a silent question as you approach slowly, arms crossed over your chest now, holding the fabric in place, “Coyness is unbecoming, Emperor.”

“Enlighten me,” Geta replies, his restless hands finding their way over the collars of his robe as he tightens it around himself, joining him near the end of your bed—a strange thing to claim; this entire room, yours. 

“If my math proves me right, we are of the same birth year,” You begin, “—those men, your advisors, they severely underestimate you and Caracalla. They are scared of you, yes. But, if given the chance, they would strike you down without a thought,” He turns his head, blinking away a sour expression, feeling particularly bare despite his state of dress.

Your gaze was powerful, intense, even Geta could not handle it.

“I am trying to say that I understand,” You clarify, tilting your head to catch his eyeline, reaching out slowly to provide a comforting touch, hands curling around his wrist, “not that I understand your role and the burden it carries, but being young and overlooked. I have felt that, I still feel it.”

He’s never been approached so openly—though he prefers the proclivity of men who bow down without question, his psyching was always searching for something more. A poor boy without love, or meaningful relations. You offer a soft smile as he turns his head to you.

“You came here for a reason,” You remind him, “—make it clear.”

His eyes follow the steady rise and fall of your chest, your fingers curling over the rough, coarse lining of the dress as it pushes your breasts up, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip in a wordless hunger.

“Did you plan to force yourself upon me?” You ask curiously, his face flushing with embarrassment, “Or, perhaps, hope that I would be charmed by you?”

“It is rare that I am denied,” He explains, like a petulant kid preparing to be denied their favorite toy, “—but, you are not mine.”

“I belong to no one,” You clarify, “I am not a whore, or a servant. We are…equals, yes?”

“Not entirely,” Geta counters, still donning the crown on his head—more subtle than the formal one he wears around, a delicate band of gold leaves adorned with gems, “but, it seems—”

You smirk slightly to yourself as you reach forward with one hand, plucking the band gently from his hair and tossing it aside to the bed, fingertips trailing down to his chin as you tug his face to look at you.

“You need not put on a performance for me,” You comfort him, his features softening as his eyes flicker toward the crown, “it is as simple as just asking, Geta.”

At level ground, it feels more appropriate. If he wanted your head, he would have it.

Eagerness invades his mind, clawing forward as his palms form to your neck, jaw, lips pressing against yours with impatience, a hum of hunger laying in wait in his throat. For a second, you allow it. Indulge in the simplicity of desire that has been long forgotten, sighing fervently against his mouth before you’re taking grip of his robe and forcing him back, his eyes blackened with lust and his mouth open, blinking with confusion.

“Ask me,” You demand him, “I have allowed so many in my life to take, not this. Not you.”

Geta clears his throat hastily, closing his mouth, gathering the immense willpower it took to listen, comply, “May I—may I kiss you?”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face as he lunges forward eagerly once more, held back by your surprisingly powerful grip, unaware of how your dress had shifted down, held up solely by the body contact against Geta, chest to chest.

It was teasing, taunting him with the ability and control you had over him, lips grazing against his testingly as he laughs too, a quiet and joyous noise as you finally let him have it, arms wrapping over his shoulders as his own hands roam down your sides, around your back and down your side, squeezing a hand at your thigh and bringing it up, high enough that it can rest at his hips, his fingers kneading into the exposed skin near the slit of your gown, toying with the delicate skin that he could reach.

You revel in the neediness, an intense feeling of want washing over you, his nose following the lines of your face as they nudge at your chin, forcing your head up as his kisses trail down, spit slicked lips pressing into your skin, bodies separating as you dress falls, as bare as he under his own robe, plump breasts pulling his eyes down, a slow blink and an instant flick up towards your face.

“Seems the effects of motherhood are taking their time to dissipate,” You admit, his fingers twitching at the sight of them, “If that is an issue we can end this he—”

“No,” He growls, “it—sorry, it is not.”

You reach for his hands quietly, his gaze following your direction as you cup them over your breasts, the heavy weight of them in his hands, the gentle squeeze that would otherwise make you wince but instead has your thighs clenching together. Geta was practically salivating at the sight, mesmerized by the fullness and warmth, his thumbs rubbing carefully over your hardened nipples, a small opaque drop of liquid painting his finger.

You grab his thumb suddenly, shoving his hand away at the sight.

“Despite a loss my body continues to provide,” You explain, “ It is not a lot, but it lingers.I have tried…everything to will it away.”

“Why?” Geta asks, looking up at you with newfound curiosity.

“It is not ideal, you see—”

“Who has told you this?” Geta pesters, watching the liquid drip down his finger before he brings it to his mouth, “I see no issue.”

Your nose twitches in uncertainty, his fingers trailing an abstract pattern into the underside of your breasts, around the side, admiring, “I have always been curious,” Geta admits, his voice trailing as you slowly guide yourself to sit on the bed, the emperor following in suit as he kneels against the edge of the mattress between your open thigh, “did he appreciate your body for everything that it was?”

“He was barren,” You admit, “He liked my mouth on his cock and that was all. He did not care for much else or my pleasure at that, he was much too inadequate anyways.”

He doesn’t address the glaringly obvious admittance—a much longer story for another time that neither of you cared for at the moment, “May I?” He asks politely, his hot breath ghosting over your chest as you nod, his mouth latching onto your skin in an instant.

It starts at the center of your chest, face buried between your breasts as he pulls his robe open, aided down by the push of your hands, his alabaster skin contrasting the plum sheets, his knee rising briefly to push into the sheets as you catch a glimpse of his cock, hanging heavily and intimidating in its size, anticipating of the stretch if you allowed him so far. 

His tongue follows a planned path, along the underside of your breasts and around your nipple, grazing over the pebbled skin with the subtle taste of sweetness seeping into his taste buds as his lips wrap around and such, the faintest push of teeth in your skin as his eyes peer up at you, your brow furrowing in delight at the sudden shock to your cunt, nothing like you’ve felt before.

You did not know pleasure like this, a fair trade. It was a shock to the system. 

He’s looking for acknowledgement, trading off to share the same care to the other breasts, his free hand trailing to the side of your face and under your neck, cradling you with a gentle touch as the hand on your breasts curls around and squeezes, sucking gently at your breasts as his head tilts into your comforting touch, your opposite hand turning as you run your knuckles alongside his jaw.

“Sweet boy,” You praise, “is that what you wanted?”

As if he hadn’t been eyeing you the entire meeting, breasts squeezed together as you leaned daringly over the table to argue with your aggressor, quenching the hunger all day with a steady diet of wine and the assorted fruit placed around the palace, always within reach, watching you quietly. 

He nods slightly, distantly, as he’s focused on his current task.

“Geta,” Formalities forgotten by now, his eyes widened as you stare at him, rising on your elbows with a waiting expression, “have you lost your tongue?”

“It would—it would seem I have not,” He chuckles with a knowing smirk, swiping his tongue around your nipple in a circular motion, “I am pleased, yes.”

He shifts his arms around you, curled fists landing in the sheets beside your head, his cock sliding against the inside of your thigh as he settles to his knees, a fresh flush to his chest as he admires your state of nakedness, trailing two wondering fingers from your chest to your pelvic bone, a slow dance in the low light of the room.

You nudge his hand away, “You are eager,” You note with a fond tone, watching as began to lean into you, eager to capture your lips once more, but your fingers are pressing over his lips before they reach their destination, shaking your head in disapproval, “I have ideas for better use of that mouth, Emperor.”

He pulls back with grin, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as you filter your fingers through his ginger hair, curling your hand over the back of his head as he bows, settling on his belly with his cock trapped between the sheets, slowly his nose buries into the coarse curls, his tongue dragging down the seam of your pussy.

Geta can only liken it to a taste of the divine, or the closest he would ever reach, settled between your open legs with a mission to please, to satisfy. And for the first time in his life—serve someone other than himself. Normally he would bark at the informality of things, only allow his given title, a strict instruction of a bowed head and obedience, but he finds himself bending to your rule and dropping to his knees, if you demand.

“You have your wits and sharp tongue,” He hums against your cunt, a delightful noise slipping out as you tug at his hair, “I suggest you put them to good use.”

As he does, you find yourself drifting.

He is precise, thorough—which is not at all expected from a man of his status, or any man, really. They were never concerned with the pleasure of anyone but themselves, but Geta has proven you wrong in many ways as undesirable as his ruling may be. 

You only cared for your life anymore, witnessing how delicate it could be when it came to everyone around you.

He likes to watch, too. It isn’t at all surprising, eager for praise he brings you to a quick and intense, but fleeting orgasm. It swells in your stomach, the heat pooling before it explodes, hearing the satisfied groan as he licks you clean, murmuring a shaky, “Good–good b-boy,” as you force yourself to catch your breath, allowing him to climb his way back up your body with the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, both of you sighing into the shared space as your foreheads meet and Geta was completely at your control, awaiting your next command.

“Are things often like this?” You ask curiously, “Is this what you seek?”

Domination; someone to submit to.

In a daze, he shakes his head, lips parted slightly.

“Do you enjoy that I make you feel this way?”

He smiles, sated, nodding in response.

“I want to feel you,” It was a whispered request, his eyes searching your face—again, even just the nudge of his cock between your folds was enough to make you tense and you find your own fingers drifting between your legs, dipping inside of you as he looks down, mesmerized as you guide his hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around his as you work together in tandem.

When his brow draws together, you guide him inside of you, staving off his impending orgasm.

“Slow,” You instruct, hands traveling to grip his face, nodding his head between your hold, “You are…quite large, I am not used to that,” Geta seems to find a surge of confidence at that, leaning forward greedily to capture your lips, his teeth dragging along the fleshy skin as he angles his and pulls back slowly, entering you at the same pace despite the impatient shake to his body, eager for more, “slow—slow, look at me,”

“You’re obedient,” You praise, “far more than I expected.” 

“My brother likens you to a goddess,” Geta notes, the odd timing sending you into a gentle snort of laughter, “I must say I agree, you are mesmerizing.”

“I prefer Caracalla not be a topic as your cock is buried inside of me,” You retort with a kind smile, his own morphing into a frown of concentration as your knees hike around his hips, encourage him to lean his weight against you as he rocks his hips, a gentle rhythm that is drowned out by the sounds of the city at night.

His itching impatience grows tiresome, gripping desperately at whatever skin he could reach, pitiful moans of pleasure inked into your skin with the silent plea of more—please, more?

“Make me come once more,” You urge him, “and take what you need.”

It was all he needed to hear, taking the opportunity to slip out of you as he guiding you toward your stomach, guiding one knee up toward your chest as he hovered over you, turning your head to face him as he pushed his cock back inside of you, your walls fluttering around him in satisfaction of being filled again. 

There was a perfect view of the sky this way, a small alcove open to the night breeze, stars twinkling against the contrasting colors of midnight, “It is beautiful,” He begins, not admiring the same sight as you, a shakiness to his voice as he pumped his hips at a nearly unbearable pace, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you.

He’s panting into your skin, a feeling you’ve experienced in plenty of other circumstances, with a well-versed ability to separate yourself from your body as men chase their pleasure, but with the emperor, it was a different experience.

A cacophony of small whimpers followed by an utterances of words you’re not sure he or his brother have spoke often, “Please—-please, may I—“

The gravity of the situation flips as you realize your mistake, giving a man with far too much reach and power any type of influence over you, your brain searching for a way to counter his plea as you turn your body, arm wrapping around the back of his neck as he shakes with his impending orgasm.

Words are lost, unable to speak before he’s pulling out of you, the drip of his warm seed coating your skin, the tight grip at your chest loosening in an instant.

Thank the gods, you pray silently. 

“I apologize,” He breathes heavily, bottom lip swollen and red from the mutilation of his teeth, chest flushed bright and burning, “if—if I scared you.”

He uses his discarded robe to clean you up, unthinking of the consequences as he leaned back to stand, fully nude as he extends his hand in wait, beckoning you closer.

“Scared me?” You challenge, curling your hand into his own as he pulls you up, legs bracketing his thighs as your hands come to rest against his abdomen, staring up at the emperor. 

“Your bark is quite frightful,” He admits, “I can only imagine how you would rip me apart had I gone too far,” His words trail, a softening to his voice as he curls his hand around the side of your face, a gentle gesture.

“Would you like that, Geta?” You ask with a creeping suspicion, a smirk spreading across your face, “For me to rip you apart?”

A man of such power, unrestrained and chaotic—shrinks.

Almost too shy to admit it.

“Careful, my lady,” He warns, “I am still a ruler of Rome, such disrespect is—”

“Punishable by death,” You confirm, “but, you promised me safety, yes?”

Geta nods silently, watching the slow crawl of your fingers up his chest before they grab his chin, your thumb smoothing over the dimpled skin, his lips pulling apart in a shaky exhale.

“And I am sure a good boy like you will keep that promise?”