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sculptorofcrimson · 11 months 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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stellabk · 2 months ago

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I couldn’t sleep last night. May have wrote a Lucius Verus fic. Not a series, just a one off kinda thing…

May post it, may not. What do y’all think?

ALSO LOOK AT THIS FUCKIN PIC

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nczennie · 23 days ago

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full sun.

Pairing: Reader x Haechan AU: Disney, Emperors New Groove Genre: Angst, Fluff Preview: You hum, “Someone must’ve snuck into your room. So either your guards failed you, or it was an inside job.” “Nonsense, I have the best guards in the world.” “And yet here you are.” You snap becoming frustrated, you wanted him to be safe but he was making it difficult. Words: 5.1k

You curse the emperor with every step you take up the hill to the palace. Choosing to ignore the burning in your lungs from the steepness of the walk in order to keep your fast pace.

“Who does he think he is? Ungrateful, privileged,” you trail off as you see the gates of the palace approaching. Everyone in the village knew of the kind of behavior that could be expected of the younger Emperor, but you had never had to deal with it first hand.

Taking a deep breath, you walk towards to two guards standing watch at the gates. Showing them the letter you carried you explained, “I have a meeting with the Emperor.” They spare each other a glance before nodding you in. You hesitate just slightly, not expecting it to be this easy to walk in. You catch sight of another guard by the doors of the palace and make your way over to him. Before you could speak he opens motions for the large palace doors to be opened, “Follow me.” The deepness of his voice causes you to become nervous, finally realizing the situation.

You were going to meet the Emperor for the first time, he was the all-mighty ruler. You may have had your annoyances with him, but the reality that he could do whatever he wanted to you if you angered him lingered heavily in your brain now.

Following the guard down mazes of hallways, you look at the decor around you to distract yourself. Never in your life had you seen anything so extravagant. Gold detailing filled the place from top to bottom in endless depictions of the sun. There was nothing even close to this in the village where all the people lived, and though amazed, your annoyance grew even worse as the apparent money spent on the palace.

The guard finally stops in front of two large doors, unsure of what to do, you stand there until given instruction. Just moments later you jump with a start as the doors open, looking on with horror as an elderly man is escorted out by guards. “You’re up.” Gulping you walk slowly through the doors. Only the sound of your footsteps could be heard, echoing in the emptiness as the only piece of furniture is the large gold throne in the front of the room. Your eyes stay focused on the ground as your afraid to look at him. Was there a proper way to greet him? You’re not sure, you’ve never even seen him before as he is not one to interact with the villagers.

Finally you let your eyes slowly wander to the Emperor, he sits with a bored expression on his face. Head resting against his fist, elbow on the armrest. You knew he was a young Emperor, around your age, since the death of his parents, but looking at him now he seems too young to be ruling an Empire. Perhaps that’s why he’s so bad at it.

“Well?” he finally speaks and you find your annoyance growing in your chest once again.

“I received this letter this morning, regarding purchasing my land.” You state, holding up the letter you found nailed to your door when you woke up. He seems to recall it as he perks up at the mention, sitting up straight, a small smile coming to his face. “Yes, I will pay you 100 gold coins.” He motions for the guards, maybe to get the money but you have no interest.

“No,” you simply state, heart thudding in your chest as you take in the amount of armed guards in the room. There’s a silence that follows, the Emperor obviously shocked at the reluctance. He finally throws his hands up, shaking his head, “What would you require then, 400?”

“It is not a question of gold,” you will your voice to stay firm, “I have no desire to sell my land, no matter the price.”

He blinks slowly at you, “I don’t recall the letter asking for your permission.” He was right. The letter was not an offer, but a demand. Either way, you had to fight it.

“I am the village’s only healer, my home is where I do my work. If you take it from me there goes my home as well as the only place where I can help people.” He huffs, rolling his eyes at you, “With the gold I give you, you can buy a new home. You could even buy a home and a seperate place for your work. Therefore you should be thanking me.”

You become flustered, face burning red, “My land is more than that.” Taking a quick breath to keep you from stumbling, you continue, “All on the land of my home is fields full of growing plants that I use for my work. As I mentioned, I am a healer and I use all of these to make medicine for my patients. Without my land I can’t do as such.”

Maybe you were expecting to strike some sort of cord within the Emperor, but you watched as he merely shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Let me show you what I am planning to do with your land,” he snaps and a person comes wheeling out a 3D diagram with what you assume was your land. The Emperor motions you to come forward so you do, slowly, looking at the 3D model. Your eyebrows furrow, “A community pool?” you question him and he laughs, “Community? No, this pool is for me. I had all the land surveyed and I noticed the land you own is obviously the best spot for me pool. It gets the most sunlight since it is slightly west of the mountains unlike the rest of the town.”

You want to argue with him, of course you know this, how else would you be able to grow all of your medical herbs and plants. But instead you merely stand your ground, “I’m sorry, but I will not sell my land, even if it is the perfect spot for your pool.” The Emperor is quick to glare at you, “500 gold coins is for your final answer, take that or else I’ll-” The young ruler is unable to finish the threat as a woman moves forward to interrupt him, “Now Haechan, let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.” You look at the older woman, slightly doing a double take at her farfetched eye makeup.

Watching on as the Emperor groans, leaning back in his throne you look confused. “Yzma,” he speaks, “We already talked about how much I needed this land for the pool.” She gives a condescending smile to the boy, “I understand, but let’s not scare the girl off,” she turns to smile at you, “The Emperor offers you 500 gold coins for your land, I hope you understand how great that offer is. Now take the night to think it over, yeah? Come back here tomorrow afternoon.”

You want to argue that no matter the amount of time you will not accept any offer, but you worry about the unfinished threat from the Emperor earlier. So instead you nod, bowing at the Emperor before taking your leave.

That night you wander through the fields beside your house, using the light from the moon to help you harvest the peppermint leaves. You’ve spent the day tending to your patients; stitching an arm up, helping a young girl with a fever, and even delivering a baby. It was a busy day that left you little to no time for think about your encounter with the Emperor.

But now in the quietness, you can’t help but stress. You were supposed to return tomorrow with your answer, however you had a feeling it was either agree or they force you out one way or another. Sure with the great amount of money they offered you could relocate, but no place could replace the vast fields of plants and herbs that you used daily or the sentimental value. Even if you were to replant some, your supply would drop drastically. Especially seeing as the Emperor planned to totally demolish the land.

You tredge to the stream, kneeling to pick some chamomile when you notice something floating from the corner of your eye. Turning your full attention to it, you let out a gasp, standing and tumbling across the water to where it washed ashore.

Gulping as you come closer, you notice you were right. It was a human floating in the water. Using all your strength to pull them fully on dry land, you move to flip them over.

“Oh no,” you cry out as you see the face of the young Emperor. You quickly check his pulse, relieved that it was still there but you quickly began pushing down on his chest. Who knew how long he was in the water and how much got into his lungs. “C’mon.” You groan continuing your pulses before leaning to breathe into his mouth, hand covering his nose.

Finally as you pull away for the second time, he jerks coughing, water spilling over his lips. He breathes heavily as you move him to his side but does not fully regain consciousness. Now you must figure out how to drag him back to your house to tend to him there.

The birds chirp in the morning light as you sip your tea, walking back into your house from collecting the newspaper.

‘EMPEROR MISSING’ it reads in large print and you sigh closing the door behind you. Walking to where the young emperor sits in your bed barely noticing your presence he’s so busy eating his breakfast.

He had woken up about an hour ago confused and hungry, but thankfully no sign of memory loss. “Everyone is looking for you.” You say walking beside him and handing him the newspaper. He looks up at you, mouth full of food before grabbing the paper. “Yzma to act as Empress until further notice...” Haechan reads before scoffing. “She’s not even of royal blood, I’ll be back in an hours time.” He states before returning to his food, clearly having no concept of how far the palace was from the town.

“Who is this Yzma anyways?” You ask moving to clear the kitchen. “My advisor.” Haechan states with a full mouth causing you to grimace. “She served on the council for my father so when my parents passed they assigned her to be my advisor until I came of age. But she does all the hard work so I keep her around even now.”

You stay silent, pursing your lips. “Well, that was delicious. I’ll be off to the palace now.” He places his dishes on the nightstand before standing. You rush beside him, unsure of his condition. “You’re just going to go back?” You look at him like he’s crazy but he gives you the same look back. “Of course I am. What else am I to do? Surely not stay here in town.”

Rolling your eyes you ignore the comment. “I mean is it safe? Clearly someone intended to kill you back at the palace and you don’t even know who.” Haechan blinks slowly, as if it just dawned on him how he ended up here in the first place.

“You really think someone did this on purpose?” He says and you raise your eyebrows. “I treated your wound. Someone obviously hit you in the back of the head before dumping you in the stream to die.”

He scratches his cheek and you can’t tell if he’s thinking or zoning out. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything?” You ask him again and he nods. “Like I said I was in my room about to get into bed and that’s the last I remember.”

You hum, “Someone must’ve snuck into your room. So either your guards failed you, or it was an inside job.”

“Nonsense, I have the best guards in the world.”

“And yet here you are.” You snap becoming frustrated, you wanted him to be safe but he was making it difficult. “Well what do you suggest I do?” He throws his hands up. “Is there someone in the palace you trust the most? Maybe we can get you to them and tell them what happened.” You try.

“It has to be Yzma.” He says, “She’s been with me since I was a kid, since my parents passed.” You nod, “Okay, perfect. We’ll find a way to get you to her without anyone else seeing so she can help figure out who did this.”

Haechan nods, licking his lips in determination. “Right, okay. How do we sneak in though if there are guards everywhere?” You take a moment to think. When you walked to the top of the hill yesterday the whole trail was covered with guards. But you remember as a child taking a trip with your grandfather. “We’ll go the back way. There’s a secret trail on the back of the hill we can take. It just might take longer.”

“How long exactly?” He asks with a frown. “A day.”

“What?!” He sounds esaperated, “You wanted me to spend a night outside?” You roll your eyes at him, “You have a head injury, you can’t push yourself that hard. We need to take our time.” He runs his hands over his face before sighing, “Alright, fine. But we need to leave as soon as possible.”

Sighing as you tie your bag up you look at Haechan who looks unamused from where he sits. “Alright, we can head out.” He rolls his eyes, “About time.” You send him a glare as you place the bag on your back, “We have to be prepared, it’s a long journey. We need food, something for shelter, your medicine..” You trail trying to make your point.

You follow the emperor outside, closing your door behind you, placing the note you wrote on your door. It was the only way to let anyone know you’d be out for the day.

Quietly he lets you take the lead and you head further into the lush jungle and towards a tiny trail that rarely sees anyone but animals. You both trek quietly until the boy finally speaks, “Why do you think someone wanted me dead?”

Blinking harshly as you continue your pace, you don’t look back at him. “Well you’re the emperor, they could want power. Or maybe you did something to make them angry.” You say knowing a lot of town people don’t exactly agree with the reckless ruling and spending of the young ruler.

“Nonsense.” He says loudly, “There’s no one who would disagree with me. Except you of course.”

You stop abruptly turning to face him and he nearly stumbles into you, “Excuse me?”

Haechan frowns at you, “Yeah, you won’t willingly give me your land.” You shake your head, “You don’t realize how important my land is.” He merely rolls his eyes so you speak again, “I can’t be the only one who disagrees with you.” You know it’s true, you hear what the people say around town.

“You are. Except two others who I had to have imprisoned but everyone else knows my power and it’s something you should learn too.” You raise your eyebrows and he continues and starts to walk in front of you down the trail, “I am of royal blood, descended from the sun god himself. I was made to rule over this land, over these people. What I say goes and what I say is correct. There is no other way.”

Your cheeks burn with anger and your mind flashes of what would have been if you left him in the stream last night. But you take a deep breath before continuing on the trail.

“Then why do you think someone tried to kill you?” You ask and you see him shrug in front of you. “Don’t know. Can’t think of any reason why.”

It’s been a long day of travel with Haechan, from the humidity and steep hills to Haechans constant whining and insisting on stopping and snacking.

Now the sun was nearly setting but you were more worried about the rumbling of thunder and the dark clouds that were rolling in at an alarming pace. After a particularly close strike of lightning, you look around before dropping your bag to the floor. “We need to set up shelter here.”

The emperor frowns looking around, “You said we would be there in a day. Can’t we keep going?” He looks up, the top of the hill where the palace was at didn’t seem too far.

You don’t even spare him a glace, working on getting one of the tarps out of your bag instead. “No.” You say bluntly, “It’s going to rain- to storm. We need shelter, it’s not safe to keep going now.”

The wind starts to pick up making it more difficult for you to move the tarp the way you want it. You spot a tree branch that nearly reaches the side of the hill where a small ledge pokes out. It seems like the best placement, so you drag it over and start to throw it over the branch.

“I’m not staying here.” Haechan speaks up over the wind and thunder, “I’ll walk the rest of the way myself if I have to.”

“Don’t be stupid!” You call out, blinking as it starts to drizzle. “Bring me some rocks, big ones. We can place them on the ridge to keep the tarp in place.” You grab some string from your bag tying down the edge to the branch.

“Don’t forget who you speak to!” Haechan shouts and you pause to look at him, raining now falling harder. “I am the emperor! I will not take orders from someone like you! If I say we keep going, we keep going!”

You pull the knot tightly, letting the branch snap back up, ignoring Haechan as well as the annoyance growing in your chest. Instead you move to gather rocks, grabbing as much as you can before moving to the tarp again.

“Listen to me!” Haechan shouts again, moving closer, “Why do you insist on disobeying everything I say!” His voice is dark, seeming truly angry now causing you to look at him. “Leave all this, we are going! Now!”

Another clap of thunder rings out and you break. “Look around, we are not going anywhere! You’ll die before you even get to the palace. Stop acting like an incompetent leader and grab the damn rocks!” You scream over the rain.

He freezes staring at you as the rain grows harder. Without another word he grabs the rocks and silently helps you place them on the ridge, keeping the tarp in place.

You both move under the shelter and you pull out a blanket from the bag placing it on the ground and you both sit. The rain and wind continue to roar loudly and you take a small towel you packed. “Let me see your head, I need to reapply your medicine.” You speak.

He hesitates but moves, allowing you to dry and apply the salve to his wound. Once done you both sit quietly again until Haechan finally speaks up. “I’m not as stupid as they say I am you know.”

You keep your gaze on the thread of the blanket you’ve been messing with, suddenly feeling guilty. “I didn’t-” You start but he interrupts.

“A little naive, yes. But you have to realize they only tell me what they want me to hear. I’m not allowed to leave the palace.”

You turn to look at him surprised by this, “Why?”

“I’m the only living heir to the throne, the last blood connected to the sun god. Since the accident with my parents they needed to keep me safe. At least until I have an heir of my own. The blood line could end with me.”

You pause, listening to the rain as you take in your words. You’ve never thought, you you doubt the people in town did either, that Haechan staying cooped up in the palace was anything but his choice.

“Do the people really hate me that much?” He asks and you can hear the sadness radiating from his voice. “They don’t hate you, it’s just...” You stop yourself trying to think of the right words to say. “They’re frustrated Haechan. We see the amount of money being spent on the palace but most of town is struggling to pay for necessities. They just don’t feel like they’re being heard.”

Explaining it as gently as you can, you hope he sees where you’re coming from. Minutes pass of silence, nothing but the rain hitting the tarp could be heard. But the emperor finally speaks again. “I didn’t know people were struggling. They don’t inform me about anything. Yzma says I don’t need to worry about that stuff.”

“Whenever I asked to build something in the palace, they would do it without a question. I guess I just thought if there was a problem with the spending they would have suggested I don’t. I’ve never been told no.” He rants running his hand over his face. “And anytime someone from town would come to see me, they would introduce them in a way that made it seem they were only out for trouble. Like it was weird for them to even be visiting me. I never once considered they really needed my help. Maybe I really am incompetent.”

He sighs and you frown. “We didn’t know, Haechan. No one knows that they made you stay away from the town, we all just figured you thought you were too good for us.” His lips form a pout.

“But I’m sure we can fix that, you can send an announcement to the people and tell them the truth. They’ll surely understand then.” You try to brighten his mood. Suddenly you feel bad for the young emperor who was forced to stay in the palace, not knowing an ounce of truth about his empire in hopes of keeping him safe to continue the bloodline. Perhaps he is misunderstood afterall.

“Maybe you can help me!” Haechan suddenly says brightly, turning to face you. “You probably know the towns people better than anyone else. You can let me know what I can do to fix it!” You look at him hesitantly, “Maybe.” You simply say.

The rain continues for the next couple of hours as you and Haechan lay side by side on the blanket. The temperature as dropped dramatically and you both wordless moved as close as possible to each other to find a source of warmth.

“I hate the rain.” Haechan suddenly says and you try to find his gaze in the dark. “Why?”

“It was raining when I found out about my parents accident.” He says nonchalauntly causing you to gulp. You vaguely remember the incident, both you and the emperor were merely kids then. But you remember the whole town mourning when they announced the emperor and empress has died an accident after visiting the town over.

“I’m sorry,” You say, “Were you close to them?”

“Very much so. I loved them and they loved me. It was the last time I probably felt love. Before I was pushed onto the throne as a child who only wanted his parents back.”

You can imagine a young Haechan sitting in the cold throne room, struggling to understand what was happening. Your stomach turned at the thought and you let yourself reach down to hold his hand giving it a squeeze. He doesn’t pull away.

“Are you close to your family?” He asks.

Swallowing, you answer slowly. “My mother died giving birth to me and my father died a couple years after your parents. He got a sickness from one of his patients and never recovered.”

You think you see him turn to look at you but you can’t quite tell in the dark. “I’m sorry.” He says.

“It’s okay. I was raised by my grandparents. They taught me all about healing and medicine to continue the practice. Unfortunately they both passed a couple of years ago, but they were quite old.”

You feel Haechan squeeze your hand that still rests in his.

“Perhaps we understand each other more than we think.” He says and you both fall asleep to the sound of rain, hands remaining intertwined.

The morning air is crisp but the sky is blue as you and Haechan pack up the shelter you created for the night. Unlike before, he willing helps you fold the tarp and blanket before placing them into your bag.

As you both continue on the trail Haechan talks excitedly about a newspaper he plans on printing. One that would inform the town people of the misunderstanding between them. Of how he had ideas to create a new budget for everyone to use.

The palace was now in view but you both stopped to quickly eat before making it up the last of the hill.

“I don’t think I ever told you thank you.” Haechan looks at you, “For saving my life, for bringing me back. For telling me the truth.”

You smile genuinely at him. “Of course. Thank you for listening.” You say back and he smiles too. “Hopefully with Yzma’s help I can quickly figure out who did this to me and why they did it.” Nodding along you start to worry that bringing him back here would only put him in more danger.

But Haechan doesn’t seems to worried as he goes back to rambling about his future plans. “And of course I’ll see you again when I come to properly buy your land. I’ll actually have the right paperwork.”

Your stomach drops and you look to see if he was joking, “What?” You say and stand to your feet, “You seriously still want to buy my land, after everything?”

He frowns at you, “No, no. You see it won’t be just a pool for me anymore. It’ll be for the community. They’ll see how I can change and spend for them too.” He nods optimistically at you.

Furrowing your eyebrows you feel your face start to burn, “I can’t believe you’re still trying to buy my land after everything that’s happened! I told you I need my land Haechan. It has everything I need for healing, it’s been in my family for generations, it’s the only thing I have left of them! You can’t just take it from me!” You confess feeling tears starting to burn your eyes.

Haechan blinks at you but there’s no time to argue as a group of palace guards come from around the corner. “There!” A lady, Yzma, as you recognize her shouts. “There is the emperor! Take that girl quickly into custody.”

You look at her in shock, “Me?” you ask confused as she makes her way to Haechan and the guards walk towards you.

“Didn’t you hear her!” She says, “She refuses to sell the emperor her land and has taken him in retaliation!”

“No!” You panic as the guards roughly grab you, “That’s not it! Haechan!” You shout trying to look at him as they pull you away but you only see a lost look on his face.

Haechan sits in the large dining room eating a warm meal, only Yzma across from him and some guards posted on the door.

“Thanks for taking over while I was gone.” He says simply, staring at his food. She gives him a familiar smile, “It was my pleasure.”

There’s silence again and Haechan thinks of you. He doesn’t believe you were the one who did this of course, but Yzma refused to release you, saying it wasn’t safe. Haechan insisted on starting an investigation after telling her someone dumped him in a stream but she claimed there was no reason to with you locked up.

Haechan has full power over her as emperor but there was something about her that made her hard to say no to. She has been telling him what to do since his parents passed.

“I’m not that hungry, I’ll head to my room now.” He announces standing from his chair. She nods not looking up at him, “Of course, I’ll send the healer in to look at your head injury.”

Haechan freezes in his place.

When telling her the story of what happened, he merely said he was dumped in the stream. He didn’t once mention the injury on his head.

His stomach fills with dread as he realizes the betrayal. Memories flashing of when he found comfort in the woman when he was a young boy, crying over the death of his parents. Yet after it all, it was she who tried to kill him. All for some power.

“It was you.”

“Thank you! Please enjoy the festivities!” Haechan shouts over the crowd as they cheer for him. You smile, clapping along with the crowd as you stand beside the emperor.

The town was holding a celebration for your healing center, as Haechan has invested in digging waterways in order for easier managing of your crops. Now you didn’t have to do as much work to maintain the fields.

It was one of many steps Haechan as taken in healing his relationship with his people and showing them what he was really capable of. They all adored this new and improved leader and looked up to him and all he’s done.

“Congratulations.” He speaks turning to you with a smug smile. “I know you really just want me to congratulate you.” You tease him and he shrugs, “It would be appreciated.”

You laugh softly, stepping closer, leaning to placing a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. You pull away noticing the reddening of his cheeks as you whisper in his ear, “Congratulations Haechan, and thank you.”

“I don’t know why you’re so shy, we’ve kissed before you know.” You state and he only turns further red. “What? No we haven’t! When?” He’s flustered and confused as you laugh.

“When I saved you of course, I had to give you mouth to mouth to get you breathing again.”

His mouth opens and closes as he thinks. “That-that doesn’t count.” He whines which only causes you to laugh loudly. Continuing to giggle as he grabs your hand to pull you closer, placing his hand gently on your cheek in order to pull you in for a proper first kiss.

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aerkame · 11 months ago

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Prwincess Wookong & The Dark Prince Macaroni

Everyone is having a great princess tea party until things go rogue. Hopefully you can save the day. (Slight Wukong and Macaque x reader)

A pile of books fell to the floor as a heeled shoe stomped onto the table. "As your princess, I demand a fair trial-no-I ORDER you to give me a fair trial!" Princess Wukong brushed down his messy fur with his hand, it was a mess from lack of care, all of these responsibilities as a princess really wore him down.

Placing his teacup down in confusion, MK spoke "I haven't even said anyth-" "Ah bup bup. Not a word from you traitor!" Wukong held his tail to MK's lips to keep him from speaking. "I trusted you as my loyal lady in waiting and here you are, framing me for the murder of my own scholar!" He pointed to a now 'dead' Tang who was lying on the floor slurping away at noodles. "I simply can not stand this heartbreak!" He fell to his knees dramatically, bringing his hands together in the shape of an imaginary knife as he hit his chest with it before falling off the table, bringing everything else with him down to the floor. Pigsy sighed, leaning further into the couch. They were going to have to clean that up later. He looked down at the small child they were babysitting, at least she was entertained enough to stay still and quiet.

Reflexively looking over to you, Wukong gave a wink before continuing his over-the-top acting.

"If...if only there was some brave and noble knight that could take me away from this terrible situation." He brought his hand to his forehead in a woeful display.

Laughter filled the living room as the little girl kicked her feet happily while you had to stop yourself from giggling to stay 'in character'. You stride over to kneel at Princess Wukong's side, holding his hand. "I am here my princess." You smiled down at him, giving the most heartfelt look you could muster. Beaming up at you he continued "Oh my, I must have been blessed by heaven itself to have such a beautiful knight at my side! Please fair knight, take me away from this situation!" You were about to answer when another presence made itself known.

Falling through a shadow behind you, The Dark Prince, Macaroni made himself known. "Not so fast my sweet knight." Your face grew hot as hands were upon your waist within seconds, pulling you away from the princess who was now fuming. "I, Dark Prince...Macaroni...can not let you ruin my plans!" Macaque didn't like the name, but everyone agreed to just go along with what the kid wanted. He twirled your body around to face the kid on the couch "Prepare yourself, for you must face my terrifying dragon if you want to save your princess!" Before anyone could say anything, a green dragon popped out from behind the couch to attack you, pelting you with it's deadly pillow breath, it's cardboard tail flailing around as it moved.

Observing the knight and dragon fighting, Macaque let the smallest of smiles grace his lips... which promptly disappeared when Princess Wukong gave him a small push with his tail, having gotten off the floor to stand near him.

"Oh. Hey 'Prwincess Wookong." Mimicking the way the kid talked, the dark-haired monkey gave a push back, ignoring the small glare aimed at him. Silence fell between the two as the rogue tea party continued on in the background. "I thought I made my intentions clear the other day." Wukong was first to break the silence. "And I never agreed to stop my pursuit." Macaque shot back. Stretching a bit as he picked up a stray pillow, he threw it onto the Monkey King's face chuckling...until it was thrown right back at him. "wha-Hey!"

Looking around the couch area, both you and Mei searched for more pillow ammunition but found none. You looked at MK and the others who were now seated by the TV for help, they pointed to the opposite side of the room where your gaze followed. The two celestial monkeys were now having their own pillow fight, wrestling on the floor once either of them ran out of something to throw. A stray pillow managed to knock off Wukong's plastic tiara, leaving the monkey man offended. "How dare you! That was my favorite tiara-" Another pillow nailed him in the face, cutting off his sentence. "That's your only tiara dumba-" Now it was Macaque's turn to be cut off with a pillow to the face, this time by you.

Sitting up, both monkeys calmed down enough to face you. Wukong stood up to embrace you, nuzzling his face into your side. "Oh my dear knight you have to save me from this terrible, evil, man! I simply can not bare to have my feelings tortured like this!" Before you could answer, another more rougher hand grabbed yours, pulling you into a close hug. Kneeling down in front of you, Macaque smirked at the princess's glare. "Sweet knight, you have bested my dragon and landed a daring hit on me. Truly, no one greater or better suited than you exists to stay by my side. So will you do me the honor of becoming my future queen?" The room went silent, Wukong went ape mode.

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runes-and-men · 8 days ago

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

• first time he notices you is among other serfs.

• they look exhausted and tired, even though they are honoured to serve on Terra and to see the God-Emperor in person.

• you don't even look tired. you are the youngest of them. You wear the same white toga as others, but its laps are adorned with golden small embroidery.

• that time he didn't do anything about it. Just another serf. Who cares? He was having enough work to do. Being an Emperor of Humankind is tough, you know.

• two days later, he saw you again. You were carrying a big glass of wine in your hands, clearly being in a hurry, but still looking so unbothered.

• he studied you a bit closer. You were wearing gold.

• golden little earrings, one thin bracelet, and the same anklet. Your toga was folded this way that it appeared a bit shorter and tighter.

• very unusual for serf, who usually aren't bothered by jewellery, especially during their work.

• you disappeared behind a huge door, haven't even noticed his huge silhouette. He didn't interpret it as a sign of disrespect, he's wise enough to understand that you have work to do.

• he sees you next evening among your little group in the hall again. Some of you were cleaning the floor, some dusting a big eagle figurine on the column.

• and you were just chewing an apple, jabbering about something with another young serf, laughing. He observed.

• it didn't appear that others were mad or even slightly irritated that you didn't work with them. Interesting.

• despite being the most busy man in the whole universe, sometimes Emperor secretly enjoyed prying on sefs and his little dramas, so he watched.

• so, his interest grew quickly. You were a very pretty little thing, but the most surprising thing for him is that you aren't afraid of him. Not a bit! Even experienced serfs have this little tremble in their hands when they work in the same room with him or if he's passing by. And you didn't.

• he talked to you. And your attitude was the same as with fellow serfs: friendly, open, and very slightly sassy. You knew how pretty and adorable you were, so you didn't hesitate to act like it.

• you could sit on the corner of his table, dangling your feet while telling him about some absolutely insignificant thing like your fellow serfs having an affair, they hide from everybody or how you stained your favourite toga with wine last week. And Throne forbids - he enjoyed your voice. You are a little songbird. He didn't care what you were saying, he loved your voice.

• you quickly became his personal serf. Started wearing slightly golden toga with more embroidery. Jewellery with stones like rubies now. You spoke with no other serf now, and they didn't even try to - jealousy.

• you got a small room near the main Emperor's chambers. You were happy to be there and to serve him, to accomplish only delicate and small tasks - just like you deserve.

• as I've already mentioned you were a beautiful young girl - something even a demigod like him would like to see. He enjoyed how your new toga hugs your body, showing him some curves of your body.

• his pretty little thing. His pretty white songbird. He liked how you threw your head back laughing. Liked your hair. Your hands so delicate for the hard work of serf. Oh no, no, no. The only place you belong is the corner of his table while chatting and entertaining him. And maybe later somewhere, much softer and warmer. Maybe.

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

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cherrysweets-world · 12 days 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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