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aggresivemenace · 16 days ago

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Physical intimacy: Do Primarchs allow themselves to show their pleasure, or do they struggle to restrain it?

Lion El'Jonson

"My duty is to please you. Nothing else matters"

For the most part, he hides his own pleasure.

His purpose lies in satisfying his lady, his beloved; his own delight is, in his mind, a distant second.

The sound of your moans - this is his greatest reward.

Fulgrim

"Let me sing for you, in every gasp and cry"

He makes no attempt to restrain himself.

During intimacy, he is unabashedly loud - part of it born from his natural passion and disdain for holding back his emotions, and part of it a deliberate offering, a way to show you just how deeply you satisfy him.

Perturabo

"Even steel must tremble, when touched by loving hand"

He tries to restrain himself, clinging to the image of the cold, commanding Primarch of the Iron Warriors.

Yet his flushed cheeks, his tightly shut eyes, and the soft, unbidden sighs that slip from his lips betray him utterly.

Jaghatai Khan

"Love is simple. You and I - that's all there is"

He shows you exactly how good you make him feel.

His logic is plain: you are his wife; you love each other; your bodies bring mutual joy.

Why, in the name of all the stars, would anyone ever pretend otherwise?

Leman Russ

"If I love you, the whole world will know it"

Restraint is a foreign concept to him.

He doesn't just show his pleasure to you - he shows it to anyone within earshot. He wants them to know how damn gorgeous his wife is.

If the Primarch of the Space Wolves is busy replenishing the population of Fenris with his cherished mate, he’ll make sure the whole planet knows anout it.

Rogal Dorn

"You melt the walls I built around my soul"

He openly savors the pleasure your body brings him.

It may seem strange that this fortress of stone and ice could feel anything at all — but trust me: the Dorn the world sees and the Dorn you know, his beloved wife, are two entirely different men.

With you, he lets the burdens of the outside world fall away, surrendering himself completely to the tenderness of your hands, letting you see - and feel - just how deeply you affect him.

Konrad Curze

"Break me with your kindness - I cannot resist"

At first, he acts brazenly, almost mockingly - as if intimacy were merely another way to assert his dominance over you, to humiliate you (though you both know it's just a game).

He shows no true emotion at first.

But give him time, and pleasure will consume him entirely.

Soon, he'll be moaning, saliva trailing from his chin, and the cruel, cutting words will dissolve into broken cries, lost beneath the ragged sound of his hips colliding with yours.

Sanguinius

"Your touch makes my wings tremble"

He tries to hide it, but every time he fails.

A single glance, a single touch from you is enough to ignite him, and his body responds with breathtaking intensity.

Often, he grows shy of his own loud moans, hiding his face behind his hands - or shielding himself with his snowy wings, peeking at you shyly through the gaps between the feathers.

No matter how much he blushes at his own raw reactions, he never denies how completely you unravel him.

Ferrus Manus

"Hot iron bends easily"

He restrains himself - and he does it well.

But if you straddle him and set a fast, relentless pace, even the Primarch of the Iron Hands struggles to keep his composure.

He would gladly surrender his stoic facade for you, but the habit of control runs deep.

So remember: if you hear grunts, sharp breaths, and muffled moans, know that Ferrus is feeling very good.

Angron

"Hold me - remind me that I can be loved"

He hides it. His instincts scream that showing pleasure is the same as showing weakness.

He longs to surrender, to lose himself in you - but the way his mind is wired won’t allow it.

The best thing you can do for him is to cradle his tense, flushed face in your hands, kiss him gently, and whisper how much you love him, how much pleasure he brings you.

Roboute Guilliman

"With you, I finally remember how to breathe"

He shows you exactly how much he enjoys it.

You love making love to him after a long, grueling day - when the strength of a Primarch still fills his body, but his mind is worn and weary.

He lies back on the bed and closes his eyes as you straddle him, setting a slow, steady rhythm.

He doesn't need to do anything - unless he wishes to reach up and touch you.

Otherwise, he simply surrenders to the feeling, utterly relaxed.

He moans, sighs, and often murmurs how much he loves you, how deeply your touch pleases him.

Mortarion

"Even decaying flesh is soft to touch"

He doesn't hide it - simply because he can't.

By nature, he is deeply sensitive, and even if he wished to restrain himself, he would be helpless to silence the moans that spill from his lips.

Magnus the Red

"You see me - the real me - and you still love"

He praises you and encourages you with every breath.

You see, he is...large. Very large.

Before you, he stands in his true form, untouched by the Warp magic - for you love him as he truly is, natural and unaltered.

Though it can be a struggle to take him fully, he is endlessly patient.

He breathes heavily against your ear, his large, warm hands gliding over your thighs, his fingers brushing your flushed cheeks with tender reverence.

You're doing so well, my sweet...just a little more"

"You're so tight...It feels so good, my love"

Horus Lupercal

"For you, I would burn the stars and call it mercy"

He never hides his feelings - not with you.

In your embrace, he becomes what he was always meant to be: mighty, yet human; powerful, yet tender.

Horus wants to feel you with every part of his being.

His hands hold you tightly, as if he fears losing you, his kisses burning and urgent, filled with an almost painful devotion.

He moans your name, whispers how you drive him mad, how he can never get enough of you.

When he is with you, he forgets anything else - surrendering himself to you, just as he would one day surrender the stars at your feet.

Lorgar Aurelian

"Our love is a sacred flame - pure and holy"

He approaches intimacy with a heart full of reverence, yet weighed down by uncertainty.

At first, he tries to restrain himself, struggling to understand the depth of his own longing - how vital your closeness has become to him.

When he finally yields, his moans are soft, almost prayerful, slipping past his lips in waves of helpless devotion.

Still, shame flickers within him, and he tries again to quiet the storm, only to fail - again and again, drawn back to you.

It falls to you to remind him, in tender whispers, that between a devoted husband and wife, this union is no sin - but a sacred joy, a blessing to be embraced without fear.

Vulkan

"My strength was made to protect you...and to love you"

He doesn't restrain his feelings - on the contrary, he is sincere to the very core.

Every touch from Vulkan is filled with warmth and care; his moans are low and deep, like distant thunder, sweet and meant for your ears only.

He holds you as if you were the most precious treasure in the galaxy, even though his hands could crush mountains.

He whispers how much he loves you, how he trembles with every second spent in your arms - burning with passion, but never hurting you.

Alpharius/Omegon

"Two hearts. One soul. Yours forever"

During intimacy, it becomes especially easy to tell them apart.

Alpharius is more reserved with his emotions - he often buries his face against your neck, squeezing his eyes shut, too shy to let you see his expression.

Omegon, on the other hand, is the talkative one - he loves to praise you with a voice thick with heat and adoration.

"Darling, you're doing so well...taking both of us like you were made for it. Yes, made just for the two of us."

Corvus Corax

"In the silence between our breaths, I am yours"

He doesn't hold back, yet he isn't particularly loud.

He shows his pleasure through heavy breathing and soft, almost inaudible moans - not out of restraint, but simply because he is a quiet soul by nature.

And perhaps, deep down, he wants his sounds to be heard by you alone, his breath brushing against your heated, sensitive skin like a ghost's caress.

BONUS!

The God-Emperor of Mankind

"You are my light amidst endless darkness"

To the world, he is the unshakable master, majesty incarnate.

But in your arms, he lays down his golden crown, becoming only a man who loves his wife beyond measure.

He touches you with hands capable of commanding the stars, yet with a tenderness reserved for you alone.

His moans are rare, heavy, slipping past his lips when he loses himself in you, allowing a weakness he shows to no one else.

To humanity, he is a God.

To you - he is your man: loving, devoted, eternal

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bleedingichorhearts · 17 days ago

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Hii! I see that your request open so can I ask for:

The little goddess was born at the same time as the chaos gods. But she was so weak that they didn't even consider her an equal. From the beginning she tried to please and flatter them to survive but many times she almost killed and was laughed at by the chaos gods made her realize. So she always hid in a corner deep in the warp, afraid that one day the chaos gods would finally bored and killed her.

Until one day she felt a beam of light shining into her hiding place, she realized it was the Emperor of Mankind. He did not despise or hurt her, He did not laugh at her for her weakness, so she ran after that light towards humanity, towards The Emperor. Meanwhile the chaos gods: ??? Where my goddess? We may not like her but she is still ours, now give her back. And big E belike: hehehe she mine now.

Yan!Chaos gods and Yan!Emperor

(This is just my delulu and I actually had a dream about it although I don't remember much🥹)

“Ough! I love this delulu! You are all such trouble makers my goodness. But that’s okay! For tis all cherished delicacies! I have thought about making something like this…” - Ichor

Summary - “You: a little goddess, born too weak to be even considered equal, and thrown to believe that you needed to please the other chaos gods until a certain event makes you realize things that were never true. Hurt, fearful and feeling betrayed, you hide yourself from their eyes, deep in the warp. Staying there until a light overcomes your own shadow. A man of gold appearing within, never mocking you, never pulling you down. It wouldn’t hurt to be by his side… would it?”

TW// Yandere, Neglect, Near Death Experience, Angst.

|°𝕄𝕒��𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

Their words “weak” echo through your mind as you lay their helpless, aching, hurting. Something a divine being like you should have never felt. The pain of war and combat. That was Khornes thing, not yours, but here you are. Laying in your own pool of ichor.

It was nothing of what you expected. You didn’t think you could die, but you could be greatly injured to a point where you’re feeling like you are feeling deaths embrace cradling you. Brushing through the strands of your hair, comforting you in your time of infinite, seeping life.

Again, it was not something you’ve expected, but you should have. You should have known they would just… toss you away like a piece of meat. You should have known with how they didn’t pay attention to you, brushed you off, but at the same time? You had hope. Hope they would change. Hope they would see you for what you’re worth, and it feels like they do change… sometimes.

Slannesh was the most horrible out of it all. Always trying to pull you in with their… strange and ludicrous ways. Always… having something, someone in their lap to empower them. The stench of intimacy staining them and their grounds of their realm. So, you don’t go there often. It wasn’t something you were comfortable with, and you don’t feel like confining much with them.

Khorne was rather chill with you, never really seeing you as a threat as you suppose he doesn’t think you are… worthy enough. He simply just sits upon his bloody skull throne, watching. Only moving when he really needs to. His realm was one that you find yourself wandering as it didn’t smell like the horrors of… sexual attraction, but it did smell of ash and blood. You find yourself in his realm more often than nought though.

Nurgle was… eerily kind to you, but just something about the “grandfather” tips you off. Not to mention that he well… stinks and his realm too. (You don’t ever find yourself there.) He was just… too… him for your tastes. You do like his followers however, they were like cute little insects. You don’t mind their looks, not everything was perfect.

Tzeentch creeps you out, but not as heavily like with Nurgle. Sure his body has like these morphing faces on him, and they just stare at you, seemingly mocking you, but you find a strange comfort when he suddenly appears in any form. It was as if he knows your next move, and you believe he at least gives you something to dream about. Though his realm gives you a massive headache each time you try and give it a go to visit and wander the mystery’s of the realm. So, you don’t get too far before you’re back, hanging around in Khornes’ realm once more. Getting used to the smell of the blood and cruelty.

Despite all of that, your all hopes were diminished on a special time. Your mind finally realizing all the sacrifices that you made to them didn’t even matter. You didn’t matter. Hell, were you even a god? A divine being? You didn’t have any followers yourself. So, how could you be? How could you be if you were laying in your own blood. Thinking of what you have been doing is finally wrong. Thinking the more powerful gods would just rid of you once they get bored enough of your overbearing presence.

It honestly took you a long time to recover your own divinity though. Since you don’t have followers, it makes your regeneration process a lot slower, and you’re not sure how long, but it was long enough that you could have thought about your past mistakes and make your next move to be for yourself for once, and to see if anyone would check up on you, but no-one came. Not a single minion. You were trapped with your own mind before you would get strong enough again to move.

You moved quickly when you could, not wanting to waste your time. You have been simply watching Khornes’ deamons carefully to rule out that one should move quickly if they do not want to be caught. That’s if they were even looking for you. You maybe have been… bullied, but you sure as hell watched what was going on around you and in the realms. Never missing a detail around you as well… you wanted to prove yourself then. Make something of yourself then to earn their acknowledgement.

Yet, now you know. They don’t care about you, but they simply care about themselves. So, in an effort to get time and space to yourself. (Definitely not running away for the fear of being disregarded like a mere tool.) You hide yourself into the depth of the warp. A place that you had somehow found a bit of solstice in as Tzeentch hasn’t even found this part of the deep warp yet. You know him and Khorne could find you if they wanted to, but you have yet to see their dedication on that matter. Have yet to see if anyone came looking for you.

They did not, but this one�� man? God thing has. A human? No, too much of an overpowering presence, but they did look like a human when they go close enough to you without blinding you. You’re almost surprised as this little… being of gold didn’t tower over you as you would have expected such from a presence like him. A god too you thought him as… a tiny one for a divine being like yourself.

You and this little being of gold formed… something between the each other. Your head nodding, and listening to the being that calls himself “The Emperor” while he does the same to you. It was almost… charming. It also felt nice that someone was actually listening to you, acknowledging you. This little being made it feel… a bit worth it.

You talked with the being, and he didn’t judge you. You playfully flicked a whisp of your own power at him, and he didn’t seem at all fazed, at most amused with you, and well… that was amusing to you. You were… you were having harmless fun with this golden man, but… you do worry; have neglected thoughts that he was simply enduring you as well, like the other gods have. Yet, he reassures you, in his own way and words that was not the case. Despite you not talking him to him about anything.

Strange little golden man….

The chaos gods are furious once they found out you had gone out on your own, without telling them anything. Even Tzeentch couldn’t get into your mind when he wanted. It was like… you blocked them out, and let this scoundrel of a so called god in: The Emperor of Mankind.

They give you whispers: Slaanesh begs, pleads. Nurgle promises that he will do better. Khorne is… silent, but you know better, not to take him for granted, and Tzeentch was trying to get into your head like the many times before, like the many times you had let him, and The Emperor? He did non of that. Never was he trying to pled with you, make you feel guilty. He simply left you to choose your place. Ņ̸͠ò̵̢ẗ̷̼́ ̵̛̪ţ̸̄h̵̒ͅa̶̳͐t̶͉͗ ̴̖̓h̵̻̽ë̷̜ ̵̲̒w̴̧͐õ̸̻u̷͖͘l̸̖̍d̶̖͑ ̵̣͘l̷͈̚e̶̗͌t̶̪̎ ̸͖̀y̴͉͌ō̸̖u̶̦͝ ̷̩͌g̸̮̃ỏ̶͈ ̸̤̚b̶̫̿a̸̯̍c̵͓̉k̴̜̂.̷̡̂

He would not allow it. Those pitiful gods lost their chance. Now? He was picking up the pieces of this divine being they had disregarded like mere shards of glass. Infuriating the gods even more when the Emperor seems… close to you; winning your favor.

Chaos runs over the tiny, golden man, but your favor doesn’t weaken. Shielding him and his little creations with your own power that were deemed weak. Oblivious to The Emperors ways, wanting that simplicity of care from someone, and he was giving that to you.

(What the hell Emp? You give a divine being your attention but not your own creations? What the hell man?)

“@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000, @passionofthesith, @insanity6666, @ilovewolvezz.” - Tagged

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colourstreakgryffin · 29 days ago

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Can you do Yandere Qin Shi Huang and Beelzebub with a female S/O who act like Kanao from Demon Slayer.Imagine them finding out her past.

Ah! Beelzebub, hey? He’s brand new here so absolutely love your brain, babes! Yo, also can’t go wrong with Qin. Thank you all for being… somewhat patient with me and my bullshit, hope you enjoy this!

Qin Shi Huang

The last person one would suspect the Emperor of China to gain a fascination over is you, the daughter of the head Goddess of Nature, Demeter. A quiet calm almost emotionless young woman, whose merely serves her mother loyally… but here you are, being given a bouquet of devilwood and peach blossoms by the King himself

Qin Shi Huang isn’t very use to romance, he’s always had, at least, a handful of concubines. Never really a wife… or better, a wife he actually enjoyed but he is definitely considering marrying you. Even if you’re a Greek Goddess, not a issue to him at all

Qin Shi Huang honestly really likes how quiet and caring yet resourceful and reliable you are. It’s comforting to have a lover listen more than talk. Sure, you struggle to express much emotion but he can read your eyes and tell what you’re thinking or that you mean your actions

Whilst the Emperor knows you do care for him, since he earned your love through raw concern and kindness, he did have to fight a bit more to get you to trust him. It’s not that you didn’t… it was just to feel comfortable enough to be open about your past

“Ah. There you are, my lady!”

Qin Shi Huang affectionately coos out, as typical of this blunt King of a lavish empire. He did not bother to simply knock on your Valhalla Temple’s bedroom door, he busted down the walls as if said material was no more than paper. Most would be annoyed, you merely quietly smiled with delight at his enthusiasm and might, that nothing can truly oppose him. He pretty much flops all over you lovingly, arms wrapping around and nuzzling your neck

Inhaling the beautiful scent of a glorious flowerbed, his eyes flutter close from beneath his centipede decored blindfold, hands tracing in a delicate yet soothing manner. Up and down, it causes any stress you may feel deep in your core melts away to melt into the arms of this truly soft toughie

Listening to him silently when he begins detailing all his ‘lavish adventures’ and recalling every drop as if he was writing a script for a long feature film. Something you don’t mind at all, neither does Qin. As he truly lives to have somebody to talk to as simply Qin, not as the mighty first Emperor of China, and the fact you have such interest in the concepts you may not understand makes his heart flip

Oh. How silly he is, at least. He makes your life more entertaining and he makes you feel the emotions you struggled to and he hits your heart in an intimate deep manner no other ever has. So, you’re delighted to sit here like a child being told a story by her parents. Qin makes his stories very interesting

All whilst he gently brushes and grooms your hair, putting back in any flowers that shift out

“Are you ready? Yes? Good! Hope you’re comfortable, Qīn'àide! We have so much to talk about!”

Beelzebub

On the other hand with the God of Flies. Beelzebub isolated himself from everybody, especially possible romance like another woman’s poisonous for him to merely acknowledge, as he could never get over his first love, Lilith. Yet, whilst he didn’t. He never forgot or abandoned Lilith, she will forever be in his heart yet he ended up being weaved into the beautiful floral web of a magnificent yet silent Goddess of Nature, you! By pure accident

And he tried very hard to avoid you, he doesn’t trust himself nor does he even want to exist anymore, he doesn’t need to trail that Devil with any more breadcrumbs it can possibly use against him, so he pretends you are not even in the same universe as him

However, he’s so drawn to you unnaturally that he ends up coming right back to you. You’re quiet, you’re compassionate yet you sadly struggle with your emotions and with having a real identity that he can’t help but feel a close kinship to your situation, which oddly mirrors his own in a less severe way. Beelzebub knows he’d regret it but he does get to know you

Beelzebub can very much tell that your feelings and what you mean, and how you more express yourself in a silent delicate simple way that isn’t so out there, and he can’t help but bounce off his own issues to yours, a piece that helped make him like you more. He surprisingly enjoys being heard

Upon the end of the rather intense vicious round of the young God, Buddha and the unholy demon king Hajun, you quietly sought out the one quiet unwell God you knew had a connection within the absolute disaster this entire situation fell into, looking around with beautiful grass green eyes. Your delicate hands trace on the open doorframe of a familiar lounging space, the raging glowing fire crackling as your beloved Beelzebub calmly tossing paper sheet to paper sheet into the flames, burning away all evidence of his research

You silently step through, curious and wondering what this wild man ever had in mind researching Hajun like this, knowing Beelzebub can sense you since his head tilts slightly. Hand carelessly gripping more of the papers he shifts out from a specific black file. His dull dark eyes light up maybe a little bit, since whilst he wants you to avoid him. He can’t keep you away, just like with Lilith. He returns back to his disposing efforts, giving you wordless permission to come closer

“Did… you do that?”

Your simple vocabulary is enough for Beelzebub, he prefers it this way. A gentle dainty voice that gets straight to the point, his attention split inbetween deleting all his work and acknowledging your presence by his side. He should ignore you… but he can’t, and he can’t bring himself to hurt you, since he knows he has done so much to help you. Despite his suicidal tendencies, you give him a small spark of hope

You’re so beautiful that he almost can’t bear to look at you, as vibrant as freshly bloomed Spring, as lively as the shining sun. You truly fit being the daughter of Demeter, you’re the definition of nature’s luxury. He eventually slips his fingers off the file in his lap to finally look up at you, admitting openly. Knowing you know why he managed to revive Hajun and suspecting you’re unhappy with him

“I suppose it was a bit too obvious, yes?”

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goingmerryfics · 6 months ago

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A really funny reverse on the daddy post: someone asks you to call them daddy and you say “you’re not my dad!”

You're Not My Dad! - Sabo, Usopp, Kid

Content: NSFW & MDNI (not in Usopp’s), sexual situations, unintentional (?) kinkshaming, laughing during sex, Pre-Skip Usopp, Usopp being silly, Usopp’s can be read as platonic

Notes* yeessss thank you sm for this one >:) I took a little bit of creative liberty with this one and did some different characters this time!

Sabo

The sheets are tangled around the bare bodies of the both of you

The room is quiet aside from the soft pants and sounds from the two of you

In this intimate moment, you’re completely enveloped in each other

Sabo leans down, biting at your earlobe. He’s so lost in the moment, lost in you

“Call me Daddy.”

You didn’t believe it at first. Did he just say that? Like for real?

You look him dead in the eyes, have just enough time to ask him what the hell he just said, before you burst out laughing, asking him if that’s his way of asking for a baby, or if he’s just feeling extra spicy today

Sabo looks like he’s going to explode

“Oh, crap, I got a little carried away, I’m sorry!”

It’s kind of hard to continue your coupling after that but you two are laughing pretty hard

Kid

Sex with Kid was a pretty frequent thing as his partner. The guy just has an insatiable appetite for your body

With that, your relationship has dived into quite a few kinks

So as he’s got you pinned, writhing and sighing at his touch, he has no hesitation as he whispers,

“Who’s your daddy?”

It doesn’t throw you off guard so much as it does just kind of… Turn you off a bit?

You really don’t wanna think about your dad in the middle of this

You hardly think about it when you reply along the lines of, bitch, not you!

Of course he stops, thinking for sure that you’re just being bratty before he realizes no, he’s just goofed up here

“Just- Forget it!”

He’s red in the face and just continues touching you, trying to move on from the situation

Usopp

You were sitting nearby, watching him making repairs on the Merry

He was rambling on and on about how he’s fixed ships from 20,000 different pirate ships in the past

An obvious lie, but it’s entertaining to listen to him ramble on about it, making up stories that very well could be turned into truth one day

Maybe not this particular one- Usopp was, by no means, a Shipwright. But he cared for the Merry and he did his best, so you couldn’t fault him for that

Usopp leans back from his task, wiping his forehead and sighing with finality as he finishes

He excitedly gestures to his work. It’s messy, but he prevented a leak and for that you give him a little clap

It’s then that he puts his hands on his hips and proudly puffs out his chest.

“Call me Daddy Usopp!”

You immediately scream out the first thing that comes to mind in response- you’re not my dad!

It makes the both of you laugh out loud, enough to bring tears to both your eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation

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tightjeansjavi · 2 months ago

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Geta is a dumb lil himbo and anyone who disagrees can argue with a wall! Bro thinks calligraphy is a COUNTRY—a fucking country I—

(an idiot with baby cow eyes! Somebody stop him!)

#idc how ooc I have written bro #he is a dumb himbo #it’s a miracle that he has survived as long as he has #he didn’t know virgil so what makes you think bro is gonna know what calligraphy is huh #of course he thinks it’s a country #emperor geta #geta #geta x reader #emperor geta x female reader #my favorite little guy #thank god he has a well educated empress #bro would be toast without her #joseph quinn #joseph quinn characters

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sculptorofcrimson · 1 year ago

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Yandere! Valdor

Valdor, the most loyal, the greatest of the Custodes, a Primarch in all but name. Who else can obsess more than him, whose every function besides loyalty was beaten out? A/N: Playing “fucked up obsessive twinks” on easy mode here, aren’t I? I’m sorry, SCP-XXXX who requested this, but you told me Valdor was a twink, and evil twinks are the best kind of men, so therefore this is your fault! Full throttle ahead, let us be damned together! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Relationships: Valdor/Gn!Reader, mentioned Valdor/Emperor Mentions: @kit-williams would you like some food?

Valdor does not love.

The Custodes simply can not love. Their love perished beneath treachery and fire, ten thousand years ago, and they simply cannot piece the remnants that was a heart back together again.

The Emperor took away their ability to love any but Himself, and what else could be left but a hollow void, an immortality without substances, a heart that beats while it lacks its other half?

There was simply nothing left of him to spare when the Emperor had brought down his claws. His love, his joy, his dreams, all gone, wiped away like sand upon the sea. Leaving behind nothing more than a hollow without sustenance, a phantom vestige of a dream crushed long ago, its corpse entombed within perfected flesh and bone and blood.

He loves no one, not even himself. When the Emperor died ten thousand years ago, he lost his way. He lost his tether to life itself. And for ten thousand years he wandered for the corpse of his master. There was a poem once, a poem so long ago about the loyal dog that stood guard before his master’s bones, who licked the once-petting hand once, and laid down to die.

Valdor’s loyalty is no weaker than that dog’s.

He loves no one, not even himself. But he loves the Emperor. He loves Him, so brokenly, so obsessively, so utterly insane in his adoration, the First Custodian would have let Him tear him apart if He wished.

He loved the Emperor.

And that is why he loves you. He thinks you to be his Emperor. If not Him, then at least a shard.

He doesn’t care who you were, he doesn’t care whether you were once a captain, a Chapter Master, a Thunder Warrior even. He thinks you to be his master, back from the dead, one of His shards caught in life and flesh.

He thinks you’re Him. Or, if not Him, at least a fragment of His former glory.

Valdor calls you his Emperor, his shard, his beloved, he ignores any name you had once in favor of calling you his master. A name is only a word, after all, and you are nothing but his Emperor reborn, in his mind. A guardsman, an Astarte, a Thunder Warrior, you are all mortal beneath his eyes. He only smiles that cold, humorless smile of his when you attempt to correct him, when he brushes off your words with the same cold, humorless disinterest.

Valdor thinks you to be his Emperor. And he doesn't care that you were once someone else, you were not always his beloved, you were not the master he imagined, that you are not the master he built from memories and bones.

You were nothing before his master, he reasons, you will be nothing after his master, and you were his Emperor once upon a time. It is doubtful if he can even know love, if he had not projected his own delusions of his Emperor upon another. Valdor failed Him once and only now the fates have judged him fit enough to protect a shard of Him, one that is so frail compared to himself, so unspeakably mortal, his atonement for the master he failed so long ago.

He failed the Emperor once, and watched Him die. He will not do so again.

Protection. You will never walk free again, never without his cold presence by your side, that effortless, confident stride as he accompanies his master. You will never know the taste of sunlight, the easy voice of another conversationalist before their words taper off into uncertainty, and then fear, beneath the jealous glare of your bodyguard. How their sentences trail off, how Valdor looms like some ancient, murderous harpy, his shadow constantly overcasting yours.

He knows nothing of love, of human emotion. But he knows protection. And he knows obsession.

Valdor is not a passionate man. But he is neither a cruel one either. Of course, Valdor will never raise a spear nor blade against his adoration, to strike his master would certainly mean death, but he will slaughter your loved ones without even horror. He will whisper litanies of loyalty on his knees while his Custodes sink in the knives. He will speak ironclad promises and gilded oaths when they label your soldiers traitors and slaughter them upon the snowfields, when they hail for unity, and hear the blade fall.

He seems to like walks in wintery fields. It reminds him of what he lost long ago, when the Emperor took him atop Ararat, and he enacted His first vengeance upon the Thunder Warriors. He sometimes brings you there, to altitudes higher than even what a Space Marine can withstand, and gathers you beneath his cloak, whispering memories that were never truly yours, asking for your orders, asking for your forgiveness, asking if you can remember what it felt like ten thousand years ago.

(Sometimes, you can nearly believe him when he says you’re a shard. It’s flattering, almost, to be under the eye of the captain-general.)

He can kill. There is nothing left of him if he could not. Nothing but the Emperor’s spear, a sharpened tool meant to kill and to serve, and to be cast away when its function is complete. You have nothing to fear from him, of course, he would rather end himself than raise a blade against his master. But he loves no other. He does not know how to love. And that makes him dangerous. You know it when you gaze into his eyes, you are sure you could imagine him covered in the blood of your loved ones, guardian spear flashing as he hacks through them without even the shadow of hesitation. He will take no fear, no regret, no relief, barely even satisfaction in the grim act, and yet that is somehow more profane than joy in slaughter. Not even a single hint of joy, wild and unfettered in the sheer cruelty, not even a single hint of an ambition for why he would lay such altars of blood before his master’s feet, only simply because He wanted it to be so, and simply because he loved Him.

In his eyes, you are his Emperor. But he does not always obey you. He does not kneel as he would’ve knelt before his master. Because he knows, Valdor knows that to protect Him, to serve Him properly, sometimes he must smother Him for His own good. It’s the twisted rationale of a dog who has lost his master, whose death had rocked him so thoroughly he was willing to kill to save Him again.

Valdor kneels, of course. He’ll kneel before you and speak his words of loyalty, he’ll give you his names one by one if you only ask. Valdor has never considered himself eloquent with words, but he’ll listen to you, he’ll even let you command him as the Emperor would have done. Rank be damned, he cares not if his Emperor had been reborn as a guardsman or an Astartes or even a Thunder Warrior.

But he does not hide his obsession. To obsess is the only way he knows to love, after all. He’ll smother his beloved with his protection, with his adoration. He’ll hack his way to be their only protector, their only bulwark before the madness, the only man they can trust to defend them. Gaze upon his Emperor once, he’ll tear them apart. Love the Emperor more than him, and he’ll bury their bones beneath the snowfields.

And be loved by the Emperor more than him….and he’ll betray them as he had betrayed the Thunder Warriors. He’ll sink in golden knives and golden spears in turned backs without even the hint of remorse, Valdor will remind his beloved that it is he who is the servant, it is he who serves to be praised for his duty. Valdor can take you from your family as the Emperor took him from his, he’ll so effortlessly ensure the utter protection of his new Emperor, all for himself.

No one will protect you more than I, my liege.

It is he who should be the favored servant.

No one can love you more than I, my Emperor.

He’ll croon those litanies of loyalty to you. He’ll whisper those promises of protection, of ambition, he’ll promise you an eternity while standing atop the frozen ashes of your loved ones. He’ll promise you a throne if you don’t cry, if you’ll love him as his master did. He’ll bring you a crown of gold, he’ll strangle the living storm for you, if only you promise to let him protect you, if you promise if you’ll be his Emperor.

You died once. I will not let you do so again, my Emperor.

And his obsession would never be checked, and much less ended by the true power behind the Imperium.

You are his Emperor. In that mind He broke so thoroughly long ago, you are the Emperor, reborn. Heavy is the head that bears the laurel, bloodied is the hand that holds this mad dog’s leash.

It is Valdor who should be the favored servant.

No one will protect you more than I, my liege.

He will protect you.

He will protect you, obsess over you, guard you with the hollow that is a heart. He’ll bring you a throne, a crown, an army, an eternity, if only you promise, if only you’ll be his Emperor.

The Emperor died ten thousand years ago. And in turn, he casted you in His corpse.

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aggresivemenace · 2 months ago

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Oh, to be a Big E's favourite personal serf... [NSFW]

• not much time passed as he started to feel carnal lust towards you

• Emperor didn't even worry that it could be Slaanesh and her another shenanigan.

• this type of yearning was different. Archaic, genuine. The feeling was with Emperor millenniums before the birth of Slaanesh. It had nothing to do with Chaos.

• not about his pleasure but about deep connection, bodily and mentally resting in each other hands, skin to skin.

• he didn't even feel a bit of shame or hesitation after discovering those thoughts.

• it wasn't a surprise at all. You are a beautiful young woman, dressed in clothes he likes, with an adorable pretty smile, willing to be with him, and serve him.

• he wondered how your sweet voice would sound in screams of pleasure while he is turning you in an absolute whimpering mess.

• soft skin with gentle peach fluff under his huge hot hands; touching; grabbing; caressing.

• his crotch burned at the thought alone.

• of course, he understood that traditional sexual intercourse wasn't accessible for you both...you know, because his enormous size.

• he has enough experience to know thousands of different ways to pleasure himself and his woman

• first time he sensed your arousal when you saw his Custodes.

• oh, how did your cheeks blush, how dusky your eyes turned, how slow and deep your breathing was.

• and then came the smell. Sweet, a bit musky.

• it awakened something deep inside his soul. Feeling so old and primitive he barely knew was still with him.

• he was having you, no other options.

#warhammer 40000 #suggestive warhammer #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer x reader #warhammer 40k #god emperor of mankind #god emperor x reader

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cherrysweets-world · 3 months ago

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Eyes of the Gods XII

series masterlist - part eleven

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: You rise to the challenge set before you.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, unhealthy relationships, controlling behavior, threesome, biting, breeding kink, period typical sexism, obsessive/possessive/ relationships, talk of pregnancy, historical inaccuracies, manipulative behavior, jealousy, past domestic/child abuse, unedited - there are many, many historical inaccuracies here so don’t read if that will bother you!

Word Count: 8.1k

Caracalla's room was oddly dark given the time of day. It was as though the sunlight itself was too afraid to enter the emperor's chambers, instead lingering just outside, peeking anxiously in.

The room smelt strongly of blood. You swallowed, almost tasting the iron on your tongue. You stole a quick glance at Geta over your shoulder. He placed a firm hand on the small of your back, steering you further into his brother's room. It was quite clear that he expected you to be the one to deal with him.

This was, after all, your fault.

There, surrounded by shattered pottery and broken ornaments, was Caracalla. There was blood everywhere you looked, smeared throughout the room. It looked as though Mars himself had crushed the entire room in his grip and left only destruction.

Caracalla was on the floor in the centre of it all. One foot was swinging back and forth but the rest of him was entirely still. His gaze was trained steadily on the ceiling and you could hear him muttering something to himself, perhaps a rhyme.

Geta’s hand was still on your back. Even if you wanted to turn back, he would not let you.

You stopped at the edge of the room, where the chaos began. “Caracalla?”

His foot stopped swinging. Slowly, his head turned until he was staring directly at you. His eyes were eerily clear. Once they were trained on you it was hard to fight off the shiver that was trying to claw its way up your spine.

A muscle in his face twitched. Gradually his arm rose from his side until he was holding it out, palm facing you. His fingers curled, beckoning you closer.

Tentatively, you tip-toed your way through the destruction. Caracalla had settled himself in the small amount of space in which there was no glass and you met him there, crouching down beside him. His eyes sparkled like rare jewels, tracking your every move.

You placed your hand in his, trying to ignore the slight quiver in your fingers. His palm was warm, slightly clammy. For a moment he just stared up at you, eyes darting over the planes of your face.

“Caracalla- “you began.

He used your hand to yank you toward him and pull himself up at the same time. Your chests collided with an audible thump and you had barely a moment to register his face buried in the side of your neck before he was biting down. Hard.

You cried out and pushed feebly against his chest. Geta moved somewhere in your periphery but did not come closer. Seconds ticked by like minutes until he finally unclamped his jaw from your neck, leaning back until he could stare up into your sweating face.

“You left,” his lips curled.

You could see your own blood smeared across his lips, his teeth. Your neck throbbed but you did not reach up to touch it.

“I came back,” you said simply.

“Does not matter,” his hand squeezed yours, “the Praetorians would have returned you to us sooner or later. You left.”

“I was afraid,” you told him honestly, “Afraid for any child I might have. Our child. I – I could not see how such a vulnerable thing could survive such a place.”

Caracalla’s lips thinned, his eyes darting over your shoulder before settling back on you. “Our mother and father never cared about such things.”

It was a heavy statement. You had heard things, of course, about the father of the emperors but. . .

“How would you feel?” you pulled his hand down to rest on your stomach. “How would you feel if you knew someone wanted to hurt our child?”

His nostrils flared. “They would burn for even entertaining the thought.”

“I may not be with child,” you admitted, “but, it would only be a matter of time. I was afraid and I – I could not think clearly. As soon as I regained control of my head I returned. I do not intend to leave again.”

Caracalla laughed, the sound raspy and broken. “As though you could.”

His tongue ran over his lips, chasing the flavour of your blood. Geta had crept closer and you could feel him looming over you. You should have felt trapped. Instead, you felt safe.

“I knew you would return,” Caracalla continued, “I prayed to the gods and they heard me.”

You let him take your hand once more, let him place it against his chest. You could feel his heart thudding beneath his clothing. It was as if it wanted to leap right out into your palm.

“I prayed for other things, too,” he murmured, tilting his head.

“What did you pray for?” you whispered.

Caracalla’s hand delved into the folds of his tunic, beneath the neckline. You saw the glint of something gold at his neck and then a pop as it snapped. He pulled out his hand to reveal a ring, gold and glinting, between his fingers.

You blinked repeatedly, half expecting the tiny thing to disappear before your very eyes. Caracalla gripped your hand tightly and pushed the ring down, down, until it was very firmly on your finger.

“The empress of Rome cannot very well abandon her people,” Geta said, “or her husbands.”

The band was thick and engraved with several symbols A winged infant, a pomegranate and studded with tiny jewels; it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. You did not feel worthy.

“How can I -?” bewildered, you looked between the two for answers.

“Officially, you will marry Caracalla,” Geta scowled, “but you are also mine. We know it, you know it.”

Geta still sounded bitter over the fact and it would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t still so confused. Caracalla had lifted your hand to his face and was busy admiring the ring when he wasn’t nipping at your fingertips.

“I meant,” you tried again, “how could you marry me? I am nothing –“

“You have become everything,” Geta interrupted, insistent. “It is only fitting that your position reflects this. As far as anyone knows, you are a Lady.”

That, you doubted. Surely you were not so quiet that no senators would recognise you? And the slaves, the Praetorians, they would talk.

You focused your attention back on Caracalla. There would be time to further question him and Geta on their plans later. You felt as though if you ignored him for too long, Caracalla would be quick to set his teeth to your skin again.

Caracalla tapped the ring. “Do you know why this is the finger that the ring is placed upon?”

“I do not,” you admitted.

“This finger contains the vein of love,” Caracalla eyed you carefully. “Though I am not sure you possess it, so cruel you were in leaving us. Perhaps I should slice it open and see it for myself.”

There was that cruel edge in his voice again. His anger seemed to seep from his pores, drawing guilt from you in return.

“It is there,” you leaned close, “I know it.”

“How?” Caracalla brushed his nose against yours, so close that you could only make out the blue of his eyes.

“When I look at you,” you breathed, “I can feel it. Just there, thrumming against my bones. You make it sing.”

Caracalla eyes were wide, his lips parting. “Show me.”

It was hard to say exactly how you made it to the bed. Geta took the lead and you followed closely behind with Caracalla. You dared not take your eyes off him. You could see the war going on inside of him; that wrath colliding with desire. You knew which side you wanted to win and you were not willing to leave it to chance.

Geta was quiet. You could sense the jealousy brewing in him but he seemed to understand that his brother was barely tethered to reality. You met his eyes as you dropped onto the bed and hoped he could see the emotion in your eyes.

Geta pulled you backwards until your back was flush against his chest and you were settled between his legs. Even with all the clothing in the way you could feel his warmth. He blew air over the bite mark his brother had left behind and you flinched, reminded of the task at hand.

Caracalla stood at the end of the bed, swaying slightly as though drunk. His eyes were heavy as he watched you wriggle out of your clothes until you were bare before him. This was no place for embarrassment or coyness so you shoved both to the side, determined to do what he had asked.

“Come here, please?” you raised your hands.

As though in a trace, Caracalla crawled onto the bed, eyes glued to your face. You knew that if there was so much as a hint of regret or dishonesty that he would lash out. You kept your face open and honest, allowing the very real yearning you were experiencing to seep through.

Geta drew his knees up, allowing more room for his brother who had stopped between your knees. His eyes dipped, searching and hungry, before coming back up on your face.

You leaned forward and carefully took his left hand in yours, bringing it to rest upon your breast. His palm was firm against your nipple, drawing a languid sigh from your lips.

“Can you feel that?” you asked. “My heart?”

“Yes,” he swallowed dryly, “it feels like a bird. So fast.”

“It’s for you.”

You dragged his hands lower, lower, until his fingers were pressed against your cunt. Already you could feel your own arousal starting to leak out. It coated Caracalla’s fingers, making it harder to remember the point you were trying to make.

“This is for me as well?” he asked.

“Yes,” you quivered, allowing one more moment before pulling his hand up to rest on your stomach. “And this. My womb.”

Caracalla’s fingers left tiny smears of wetness as he touched your stomach, jaw going slack. “Yes,” he nodded frantically, enthusiastically, “mine. I will fill it with children, with heirs.”

“As is your right,” you breathed, “as my husband.”

Caracalla choked out a moan, eyes clouded with want. You recognised the feeling in yourself and let your knees fall open, wider, baring yourself to Caracalla and Geta with little shame.

Geta pressed his face into your hair and adjusted himself, grinding his length against your ass. You curled your arm up and around the back of his neck, holding him close as Caracalla tore at his own clothing.

It was a frenzied scene. Limbs knocked against limbs, hair was pulled, teeth were used. Geta slipped his hands beneath your knees to keep your cunt unbarred, his grip tight and unrelenting. You could feel that honey-sweet flutter emerging, working its way through your entire body.

Caracalla’s cock looked painfully hard as he squeezed it in his fist. “My wife,” he said to himself, “I am going to fuck my wife.”

You tilted your hips, hoping to urge him closer. It worked. He pressed a kiss to your lips, tongue flickering into your waiting mouth as he took and took and took. You were all to happy to give. You could taste your own blood in the kiss and it only heightened the intensity of the kiss.

His cock brushed against your inner thigh, then your puffy lips. With only a slight adjustment, Caracalla was sliding all the way home in a motion that was so quick it almost made you shout. Slight pain pinched at your insides but it was soothed by the alluring feeling of fullness, of belonging.

Caracalla looked unsteadily down at where you were joined. The sight was obscene; the swollen folds of your cunt swallowing down the thickness of his cock like you were born for it. He pulled back slowly until just the tip was left. You would’ve squirmed if Geta hadn’t had such a tight grip on you.

“Take her, brother,” Geta commanded, “she returned to us. Reward her.”

“Yes,” Caracalla agreed, “yes. Reward.”

Caracalla’s hips were flush with yours as he pushed in, all the way to the root. You swore to all the gods that you could feel him in your throat. With Caracalla at your front and Geta at your back there was no escaping.

An unsteady pace was set, Caracalla’s hips snapping into yours as he fucked you dizzy. Your head lolled back onto Geta’s shoulder and he nipped at your earlobes, whispering sweet praises and filthy words directly into your ear. His hands slipped around to your breasts, cupping them and swiping across your nipples with his thumbs.

Caracalla’s head found your shoulder once more, face burying into your neck. Geta urged you to relax, let his brother take what he was owed. Caracalla’s tongue lapped at the wound he had created earlier and he moaned at the metallic taste of your blood.

“Everything,” he shuddered, “I want everything.”

Your own orgasm prickled at your insides but you kept it at bay, allowing Caracalla to fuck into you at a near brutal pace. If you were not with child already then you felt quite certain you soon would be.

“I am yours,” you bit out, reaching up to cup his cheek. The coolness of the ring contrasted greatly with the warmth radiating from his red cheeks. “Your wife.”

Caracalla let out a pathetic mewl, hips slamming into yours for one final time as he emptied himself inside you.

You cupped the back of his head and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was difficult to think clearly when you were still so aroused. The thought of Caracalla’s seed inside you was enough to make you feel slightly dazed and delirious.

You cried out as Caracalla slid his softening cock from your cunt. Before any of his seed could spill, he pulled you forward whilst simultaneously lying back until you were draped across his chest. His eyes were wild, cheeks red and slick with sweat. He looked content and you breathed a ragged sigh of relief, letting your cheek press into his chest.

You almost didn’t notice Geta positioning himself behind you until his cock brushed against your ass. You jolted and tried to sit up but Caracalla kept you locked down with his arms until he felt sure you weren’t going to run.

Geta slid his hands under your hips, urging you to your knees. The position was new to you and felt somehow more wanton than before. You knew better than to question them. Your chest began to heave with anticipation, your nipples stimulated by the hairs on Caracalla’s chest. The sensation drove you wild, made you present your cunt as though you were an animal in heat.

“Good girl,” Geta praised, sliding his fingers through the wet mess of you.

You thought that not being able to see might dampen your excitement but, if anything, it made the anticipation all the sweeter. You could hear the erotic sound of him using your wetness to stroke his cock, his breath stuttering out of his chest. Your imagination provided you with countless images; Geta’s hand on his cock, his eyes on your cunt, his head falling back in pleasure.

“Please,” you finally whined, “Geta. Please.”

The head of his cock teased your clit once, twice, until it was almost unbearable. Finally, he allowed himself to be sucked in by your greedy cunt. It was enough to send your orgasm ripping through you, knees going numb against the mattress as you tightened around Geta’s cock.

“Fuck,” he swore. His palm cracked down on the globe of your ass. “Foolish girl, trying to take this away from me.”

“I’m sorry,” you babbled, eyes threatening to roll behind your eyelids. “I’m sorry, Geta, please.”

“Your place is beside us,” he reminded you again, hips slapping against your ass. “Cunt full of cock and belly swollen with child.”

You bit out your eager agreement. If you talked too much you felt as though you were at risk of biting off your own tongue and swallowing it. You remembered that night in the baths with Caracalla, how you had felt as though you would do terrible things if only you could feel this pleasure forever. The thought rose now, burying itself in the forefront of your mind where it could be sure you would not forget it.

Soreness was beginning to spread but it felt delicious, like scratching too hard at an itch that had been bothering you all day. Geta’s hands were fastened at your hips as he fucked you, drawing out sounds you hadn’t even known you were capable of making.

“You are also mine,” Geta rasped. “Do not forget it.”

His palm pressed into the centre of your back as he rode you to his own orgasm, wringing another one out of you with just the pulsing of his cock inside you. Your cunt spasmed around him, urging his seed further inside even as he pulled out of you.

You raised your head unsteadily from Caracalla’s chest, blinking blearily. Caracalla laughed at your expression, reaching down to pinch at your nipples. Geta appeared at your side with a pillow in hand and you were helpless as he pulled you from his brother, arranging you so that you were on your back with the pillow tucked beneath your hips.

“There,” Geta said mildly, “that will help.”

Caracalla curled up at your side like a satisfied cat. Although he seemed tired, he did not close his eyes, nor did Geta on your opposite side.

Your body was already beginning to feel the repercussion of being so thoroughly fucked. You felt as though their fingerprints were surely branded upon your skin. Your body was littered with red marks from teeth and hands and your cunt was beginning to develop a pleasant ache.

“Sleep,” Geta instructed.

“What about you?” you asked.

“We will not until you do,” Geta said, stern. “And I shall remind you now that there are Praetorians outside the door under specific instruction not to allow you to go anywhere.”

“You will tell us if you require something,” Caracalla said, settling a hand onto your stomach. “We heard that it is best you do not move after. It gives the seed a better chance to take root.”

“You are future empress of Rome and mother to our children,” Geta reminded you, staring down at your bare body with firm eyes. “To leave us now would be treason. Sleep, and dream only of us.”

Treason. The very word made you uneasy but not as much as it would have a month ago. You had no intention to betray the emperors.

Your brief time alone had told you where you wanted to be and who you wanted to be with. A cage, perhaps, but gilded it was. It did not feel as difficult as it should have been to settle back into it.

The marriage ceremony was to take place less than two weeks later.

Neither Geta or Caracalla were particularly concerned with how you would be received. They did not believe that anyone would have reason (or the nerve) to question you. This did not deter you from keeping a closer eye on the Praetorians than usual, and seeking eye contact with every slave you passed.

You searched them for malice, judgement, anger. You found none of that, only a quiet acceptance and something like relief. Perhaps that paranoia caused by Macrinus and his hired killer would always be there, stuck to your back, just out of sight but able to whisper in your ear.

Macrinus was dead. Geta had told you after you had woken in the night, sweaty and panicked. You had imagined he was just there, poisoned wine in one had and dagger in the other. He had told you that you must choose. You had woken up before you could.

“I wish I could have been the one to do it,” Caracalla had said, “His corpse is still down there, rotting away. Do you want to see?”

“No,” you had shaken your head, “I believe you.”

Both brothers were kept busy for the majority of the week but that did not mean you were ever left alone. The constant company was grating but you understood that you had brought it upon yourself and so you endured it with a pleasant smile and relaxed demeanor.

Neither of them seemed comfortable unless you were glued to their side. Caracalla seemed intent on continuing to test you, to make sure you were not so much as thinking of leaving them again. He had several outbursts – not at you, but at the Praetorians. Each time he would have a number in his mind, different every time, and if the number of Praetorians outside the door did not match that exact number, then hell would break loose.

Geta took to patrolling the entrances and exits of the palace himself at random times through-out the day. You had woken up at least twice to find his side of the bed empty, leading you to assume that he was conducting his surprise checks at night as well. If he found the level of security unsatisfying, his temper would flare almost as badly as his brother’s.

The first few days you were with at least one of them at all times. It was better that way, calmer. As the days passed by and they could no longer afford to neglect their duties, you were left with dressmakers and the Praetorians, both of whom were issued deadly threats for if you should so much as get pricked by a pin.

That was where you found yourself now. Never had you been so thoroughly measured and fussed about before. The woman talked lowly amongst themselves, occasionally offering you small smiles and tentative compliments as they fluttered around you.

It was conflicting. You did not have the demeanor of a Lady and you were sure they noticed. You did not feel worthy of the attention nor the clothing. But the women treated you as if you were, and you were beginning to realise that that might just be enough to get you through. Like your attacker had said, this was not really about you. It was about the emperors.

Four Praetorians were scattered about the room. One was Consus, from all those weeks ago. The others were unfamiliar to you, but not for long. They were your personally assigned guards. The emperors had decided it was safer for you to have personal guards; less likely anyone would get loose and reckless when they knew anything that happened to you could be traced directly back to them.

Though you also thought that there was perhaps a second reason. You had been selfish that night, deceiving guards and openly lying to them. Even now you had not worked up the courage to ask if anyone had faced any consequences for your actions that night. It had been easier, then, because you did not know them. They may as well have been faceless ghosts for all the care you had.

You would get to know these men. Their lives, their preferences, their families. It would not be so easy to look them in the eye and throw them to the wolves.

Sabina, a woman a few years older than yourself, held up a hairnet for you to touch. “What do you think, my Lady?”

You reached out to run your fingers over the fabric. It was a sunny colour, the colour of freshly cracked yolks. You had seen yellow before but this seemed far richer. Strands of gold were woven into it, causing it to glitter in the sun, adding depth and texture. It was coarse to the touch and would ensure that your hair was kept out of the way.

“It is beautiful,” you smiled, “you possess true talent, Sabine.”

Sabine flushed under your gaze, her mouth opening and closing several times as though she was nervous. “It is an honour to hear such a compliment from the future empress of Rome. I am sure we will flourish under your rule.”

You hoped so. That was, after all, part of the reason why you had returned. And if you could not do anything for Rome, perhaps your child could. Either way, you would offer your home and your husbands everything you had and pray that the fates would grant you a positive outcome.

The room quietened down as the door opened and Geta entered, robe billowing out behind him as he strode directly in. He looked every bit the young god, hair vibrant and glowing, tall and imposing, eyes once again smeared in that familiar kohl.

Without a word, everyone filed out apart from your personal guard. They positioned themselves by the door, just out of earshot, and politely averted their gazes. You remained up on the raised platform, watching as the emperor approached.

Geta gave you an intensely appraising look, eyes zeroing in on the golden hairnet in your hand. It stood out against the white tunic you were wearing. The tunic was thin, allowing for easier measurements, and your nipples peaked at Geta’s attention.

“My brother wanted to see you,” he said, “but I told him that he would have more than enough time to do that in the upcoming days.”

You rolled your lips together. “I am happy to marry Caracalla. Truly. I – I only wonder – “

“Why him?” Geta interrupted. “Why him and not me?”

That was a question you had been pondering over for almost a week. It did not matter, really. You knew that your relationship with both of them meant more than paperwork or titles or the opinion of others. Simple curiosity had kept the question at the forefront of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to shoulder past it.

“You were meant to be for him,” Geta laughed lightly, mockingly. “I am sure he has mentioned it before. I saw the way you comforted him, the way you were kind when you did not have to be, and I thought that it would be beneficial to have another person able to calm him as I can.”

You remembered that night clearly and now, fondly. At the time your own terror had kept you quick and anxious, desperate to squirm out from under the oppressive weight of their attention. Now you flourished under it, craved it almost above all else. The gods likely thought your mercurial nature was amusing.

“Less than a day passed, a single interaction, and I wanted you for myself,” Geta reached up, tracing a careful finger over your lips. “I suppose that it is highly fortunate that my brother and I have always shared.”

“Then how did you decide that Caracalla would be the one to marry me?”

“I love my brother,” Geta said, “and I can see that he needs you. Without you, even with me, he experienced only chaos. I would do anything to ensure that he does not have to endure such madness again. Including this.”

“You do not need me, Geta?” you asked quietly.

His lips parted. “You know the answer, enchantress.”

You had done the right thing in coming back. You felt more confident in your decision than ever and relaxed a little, continuing to watch Geta as he stepped back and shot a quick glance over his shoulder at your guards.

“Our father was an unpleasant man,” he said suddenly, bluntly. “I gathered that yours was not so different.”

“How?” you asked, stunned.

“I asked you about your carving once. I asked if your father had made it,” Geta paused, running his tongue over his lip before continuing. “The venom in your voice when you answered reminded me of how I feel about my own father.”

Images of your younger years rose unbidden, clouding your mind with their turmoil and bitterness. Your father had stolen your mother from you and you felt her loss more keenly now, whilst preparing to be married, than you had in years.

“They are gone,” you said firmly, more to yourself than him. “Both of them.”

Geta nodded, seeming to come back to himself a little bit. You were surprised that he would share such things with you but were appreciative of his honesty. It was difficult to speak about; you knew this from experience. Even on days you tried to forget, the most painful of reminders could sneak up on you like assassins and ply you with vicious memories.

“You are the opposite to him in every way,” Geta murmured. “Kindness to his cruelty. Love to his hate. We intend to keep you by our sides for the rest of our lives and your marriage to my brother will help ensure this.”

Geta left, allowing the dressmakers to return to the room and continue their work. The mood was pleasant and light and you allowed yourself to sink into the attention, offering your opinion when necessary and trying on pieces as they constructed them, trying to ignore the nerves that were scraping at your insides.

In a week, you would be married to a man you had once feared.

In a week, you would be empress of Rome.

The intricacies of the ceremony were decided upon, the clothing complete. You were not sure exactly what had been decided upon until the day arrived.

Looking at yourself now, dressed in the clothing of a future empress, you could not help but admire yourself. You certainly looked the part. Now you believed that it may be possible that no-one would question you.

Your hair shone from a combination of careful brushing and expensive oils. Your skin reflected in a similar way; heavily scented and smoothed with creams and oils. Even your nails had been trimmed and shaped, dead skin filed away until you felt like an entirely different person.

After today, you would be. It was easier to let your past slip from your fingers when they were busy reaching out for something else. That was what you focused on; the future. Not just yours, but Rome’s.

Sabine stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Normally dressing you would be the task of a ladies’ maid but the clothing was so delicate and finely crafted that you hadn’t felt right letting anyone other than its creator touch it. You had also contributed where you could, as it was common for a bride to fashion her wedding clothing, but had quickly found you hadn’t the skill for it and instead stepped back and let Sabine do her work.

That, and you had not yet been assigned any maids. Anyone in such close proximity to you had to have been closely vetted and the emperors already felt on edge with you being surrounded by so many people on your wedding week.

The belt at your waist felt sturdy and impossible to ignore. You lifted up your hand and traced the edges with your fingers. It was for Caracalla to undo. After that, you would be joined once more, but as man and wife.

There was still much that was unknown to you. You were aware of all the usual traditions but also knew that you would not be able to take part in most of them. You had tried to pull answers from Geta and Caracalla several times but they had brushed you off with soft assurances and teasing pinches.

You smoothed your hands over the front of the white toga. The sensation was pleasantly cool despite the heat of the late afternoon.

The streets were abuzz with people. It was no secret that there was to be a wedding. You were aware of the sacrifice offered to the gods, a bull slaughtered, and the sharing of food and drink in the streets below. The mouth-watering scent of roasted meat floated in through the windows. It should have been appealing but your own nerves were stamping out your appetite.

Sabine had retreated to the door and was exchanging quiet words with Consus. Your brows furrowed at the discreet conversation and you tilted your head, hoping to pick up on a word or two.

Sabine returned with a light cloak. It was as dark as night. She looked to you for permission before wrapping it around your shoulders, pulling it close at the front to hide any glimpse of white. The hood was tugged up over the gold of your hairnet. You looked like a secret, concealed and tucked away.

“I shall pray for your good fortune,” Sabine smiled.

Surrounded by your guards, you were led from the palace and to a discreet carriage, empty apart from a driver. It was plain, the type you regularly saw around Rome. You glanced at them for some sort of answer but they only ushered you inside. One joined the driver at the front and the other three slipped in beside you, looking uncomfortable and warm in their uniforms as they tried to settle in.

There was a jolt as the carriage began to move. “Consus,” you tried again, “where am I being taken?”

“The emperors wish for Rome to welcome you as the empress you will be,” he said simply.

His answer was not entirely helpful. With a sigh, you sat back in your seat. When you reached up to remove the hood, Consus shook his head.

So, you were a secret. The lengths that the emperors would go to in order to disguise your past from prying eyes was not unexpected. You looked down at your hands in your lap, slowly unclenching your fists until your hands were open, fingers shaking.

There, you said to yourself, I am letting go.

You rode in the carriage for quite some time. You kept looking to Consus for information but he would not provide it. Eventually the carriage rolled to a stop. When you rose to your feet, Consus stopped you.

“Oh,” you said, hands raising to your cloak. With unsteady fingers, you unwound the ties and gently tugged it off.

The air was warm and soothing, softly curling around your arms as you stepped from the carriage. The sun had begun to set; you had not realised it was quite so late in the day. You were surrounded by fields, all empty. Likely any workers had been removed specifically so you could come here safely. Above you there was an archway, and at it’s peak, a wolf and two suckling children.

“Romulus and Remus,” you said to yourself.

Your own carving had looked almost identical to the one marking the entrance to the city. You wondered if your grandfather had been here, if it was this that had inspired him to make one for his daughter. You paused, searching for a feeling, a sign, that your mother was perhaps with you.

There was another carriage in front of you, only this one was not so plain. Outlined with colourful paints and murals, this was the carriage of a noble. This would be the carriage that would take you back to Rome.

Even with the distance you could still hear the city. You looked at it and thought of the emperors that inhabited it, the emperors who were waiting for you now. You had left Rome the daughter of a murdered woman, a simple kitchen worker, lover to the emperors. You would be entering as the its empress.

The Praetorians seemed to sense the enormity of the moment as they did not rush you, instead allowing you to watch the sun a moment more. Every time you turned or took a step they would tense, ready to detain you. In the end you stood still, admiring the view with an unsettling feeling that this would be the last time you would ever see it exactly like that. The sun would not change, of course, but you would.

An instrument sounded in the distance, the sound of trumpet. They echoed across the fields and reverberated through the city. Your lips parted at the sight of a hundred torches being lit – for you. To guide you into Rome. The Praetorians did not have to tell you that now was the time. You could see it. You could feel it.

You set your shoulders back, trying to emulate the posture you often saw on noblewomen. Consus opened the door and you set forth without pause. The interior of the carriage was more comfortable than the one previously. You kept your body as still as you could, apart from your index finger, which you tapped against your leg.

As the carriage approached the city once more, you peeked anxiously out of the small window. It was mostly shielded by gauzy curtains but you were still able to catch a glimpse of the world outside. The closer you got to the city, the more Praetorians you saw. They lined the roads and were quick to snuff out any fights or eager citizens.

And the people – the sheer amount of them left you reeling. It was a mystery to you that you had been able to sneak out of the city at all. For every Praetorian there was at least five people. They craned their necks to get a glimpse of your carriage, a glimpse of you. Heart pounding, you pressed your back against your seat.

Consus cleared his throat. “Perhaps. . .you might try waving?”

Waving. Yes, you could wave. With an audible gulp, you sat forward once more and raised your hand, hoping the jolting of the carriage would hide its shakiness. If possible, the crowd got louder. People threw their hands up in response, smiling and pointing.

That was how you wanted them. Entertained, content. Anything to avoid their ire. Keep the emperors calm, keep them blithe, and you may just be able to do that. The pressure was quickly mounting but you were determined to shoulder the burden.

The imperial palace loomed over you once more. The crowds thinned out as you arrived, likely for the safety of the emperors and yourself. They were still close enough to see, and you felt them collectively inhale as the carriage rolled to a stop.

Cheers rose as Caracalla emerged from the palace. He flashed his gold-toothed grin, regal and immaculate in his toga virils. A wreath was perched amongst his unruly curls and his toga was embroidered with what looked like golden thread.

Your breath snagged in your throat as he arrived at the door of the carriage, pulled it open and held out his hand. You met his eyes and lifted your hand but did not place it in his. It felt as though your knees were about to collapse right out from underneath you.

“You are certainly playing the part of the unwilling bride,” Caracalla cackled once before a sober expression settled over his features. “Come to me, wife.”

You got to your feet and settled your hand in his. He helped you from the carriage with an eagerness that almost made you forget the hundreds of people that were watching. Would they know that you were one of them?

You looked down at your clothing and then up at the red-headed emperor before you. Perhaps you had not been one of them for quite some time.

Caracalla shuddered at the sight of you in your wedding clothes, blue eyes darting over you as though he could hardly take it in. His hand clenched tightly around yours as he pulled you closer, closer, until your shoulders were brushing.

The crowd was quieter now, murmuring amongst themselves. You dared not even spare them a glance as Caracalla led you up the steps, further into the palace. You thought you saw Geta, grim-faced and jealous, but Caracalla would not allow you to take your eyes off of him.

As you entered the palace, you felt the eyes of the crowd dropping from you one by one. They were replaced by the eyes of the gods, judgemental and amused. You would not be here, if not for them, steered by a hundred tiny choices that could have been different but had led to you being here.

Empress of Rome.

The room Caracalla led you to was not one you had been to before. As always, the door was full of incredibly carvings and details but one in particular stood out. A woman, regal and tall. On one arm was a shield, in the other she held a pomegranate. Juno.

Caracalla tugged you into the room with an insistence you could not ignore. The room was lowly lit and not as big as you were expecting. In it’s centre was a lectus, draped with fabrics and with a pillow at either end. It was clear what was expected of you, but you felt no dread; only the low rumblings of desire beginning to chase away your anxieties.

You gasped as Caracalla whirled, crowding you up against the door and nosing at your jawline. “Hello, wife.”

Wife. Your heart seemed to pause for a moment before resuming. Caracalla’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright and keen. Already his hands were grasping at your arms, your waist, your ass. You could not help but arch into his touch.

“Husband,” you greeted, dusting a kiss across his bitten lips.

He giggled, the sound contrasting with the serious nature of your surroundings. It helped you relax more, melt further into his wandering hands and insistent mouth.

Your mind strayed, latching instead onto the other twin. Geta. Where was he? Although this marriage was happening with his approval it had been clear he was not entirely pleased. His love for his brother was admirable and softened you further.

Caracalla’s mouth found the scarred remnants of the bite mark he had left weeks earlier. His teeth slotted into it perfectly, dragging sweet pain down your spine and into your stomach. You stayed still, allowing him to continue mouthing at the mark.

“You are thinking of him,” he pulled away a little, “I can tell.”

Caracalla pouted and you quickly reached up to cup his cheek with your hand. “You are my husband, Caracalla. Tonight, I will be just yours.”

A pleased grin tugged at the edges of his lips as his hands slid to your upper thighs, urging you to hike one around his waist. Your toga was dragged up, and up, and up until you could feel his arousal pressing against you.

Caracalla’s eyes fluttered. It felt as though the room got hotter as he considered your position and the budding of your arousal that he could no doubt feel. He let your leg drop down to the floor before taking your hands again and almost dragging you to the lectus.

His hands found the knot at your waist. He admired it for only a second before pulling at it almost violently. He tossed it carelessly to the floor before placing his hand on your chest, pushing you down and back until you were laid out on the lectus beneath his greedy gaze.

The position seemed to change something in Caracalla. His hands clenched and unclenched, his jaw working furiously as he stared at you. The torches cast golden light over his face, orange flames caressing his pale skin as the moments stretched on.

“Is this real?” he finally asked, gazing down at you with a yearning so strong it made your eyes water.

“This is real,” you whispered, holding up your hand. Your ring glinted in the light, drawing his attention. “You gave me this, remember?”

Caracalla took your hand, first placing it on his chest before dragging it up to his face. His tongue flickered at your ring finger before he took it into his mouth, sucking at the digit as he palmed at his cock with his spare hand.

You squeezed your thighs together for relief, a whimper escaping your throat before you could catch it. Caracalla bit lightly at your finger before pulling away.

“Tell me you love me,” he breathed, crouching down beside you.

He watched your mouth with searching eyes, desperate hands clutching at your white toga. The arousal was coming off of him in waves, each one threatening to knock you and drag you down with it. It felt like a physical thing, filling the room until you had no choice but to breathe it in.

“I love you, Caracalla,” you answered.

In the quiet of the room, it echoed. You saw the words hit him, saw him soak them up and swallow them down.

“I shall never want for anything ever again,” he rasped, “for you have given me everything.”

When he fell into your arms, it was unbelievably gentle. There was an underlying firmness to his touch that you knew would not allow for protests or pushing away. You held still as he peppered kisses across the planes of your face, as he got acquainted with your body not as a lover, but as a husband.

He took the liberty of freeing you from your clothing before attending to himself. He climbed on top of you, nestled between your thighs as though he belonged there. There was no discomfort or self-consciousness as his hands dragged over your skin, skillful ministrations preparing you to be taken by him.

You could feel yourself, wet and clenching. Caracalla did not tease you; he entered your cunt with a swiftness you had not expected. There was a twinge as you adjusted to his thickness, hands tight around his forearms as he began to pump in and out.

It felt like more the fucking. It felt like something divine, something you had been made for. Like the first gasp of air after being underwater; you could not stop your sounds, could not stop your encouragements as he increased his pace.

“Tell me again,” he pleaded, “tell me.”

“I love you,” you bit out, “Caracalla, my husband, I love you.”

Every time you thought he might be able to spill over the edge he would paise, chest heaving, and lavish attention upon your breasts. Your nipples were stiff under his tongue, between his fingers, and you could already feel the beginnings of bruises on the soft flesh.

It was hard to say when it was really over. Caracalla wrung orgasms from you as though it was his god-given gift, leaving you clenching and shuddering around him as his fingers rubbed tight circles into your swollen clit. He followed you over the pulsing edge several times but did not seem to tire. He seemed determined to make sure you left the room with the beginnings of life budding in your womb.

You were helpless and could do nothing but lie there and allow yourself to be split apart on his cock. Every thrust sent him deeper, his head nudging at a place that made you see stars. Even as you began to squirm and whine, he did not stop, pinning you down with a hot hand between your breasts.

Your orgasm rippled out from that place deep inside you, urging you to lock your ankles around Caracalla’s hips to keep him close as he pumped inside of you. Your eyelids slammed closed involuntarily as your back arched almost painfully up off the lectus, hands scrabbling for purchase as he squeezed you dry.

I must have pleased the gods, you thought, if this is to be my fate.

At some point, after what felt like hours, fatigue reared its head and rose to snatch the both of you down into thick sleep. Whilst drifting you were aware of his warmth on top of you, head resting between your breasts, his hair dusting your chin with every inhale.

You were also aware when the door opened, a familiar figure slipping in. Your eyes slowly opened as Geta approached, staring down at the pair of you whilst twisting at the rings on his fingers. His nostrils flared at the picture the pair of you no doubt painted.

Without a word, you held out your hand and beckoned him closer. Something like relief spread across his pale features as he settled on his knees beside the lectus, lifting your hand to press a reverent kiss on back. Your breath caught in your throat at the gesture.

“Do not neglect me,” he warned you. “Empress.”

“I could not,” you answered honestly.

With careful arrangement and much grumbling from Caracalla, Geta was able to wedge himself on the lectus with both of you. It was a warm tangle of limbs and mouths and always reaching hands. In your mind, it was a true reflection of your union, of your connection to the emperors.

So deeply entwined that even the gods could not tear you apart. You closed your eyes again and let your mind be seduced by sleep.

In the morning, you would take your place beside them both as empress of Rome. You would begin your lessons with tutors, meet senators, sit beside your lovers on a throne of your own. You would look to the people, hold their gaze, and you would not flinch.

Authors Note - please, please let me know your thoughts. This was a beast of a chapter to write and I can’t believe it’s the end!

This was always how I intended to end it. I kinda see this entire fic as a prequel towards the rest of their lives?

If you have questions or thoughts (be kind) do not hesitate to send asks!

Please reblog, comment, like, etc if you enjoyed. Interaction is what keeps me motivated!♥️

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