#then you should be open to the Emperor being the same

[puckleberryfinnie]

What Is This Feeling? (pt. 2)

summary: you're the one thing he can't have, but he'll do anything to get you anyway, fem!reader x emperor geta

part one

notes: I wanted to thank each and every one of you for the support you showed on my first attempt at writing this man, it literally means the world to me! here's the second part to that as a little thank you <3 as always, my requests are open, I'd be so honored if any of you sent your ideas my way!

It wasn't that you were truly bored in Rome- there were an infinite amount of things to do. You, however, couldn't entirely enjoy them with the amount of security that seemed to follow your every step. You could go out to the market, sure, but four guards were sure to come with, acting as your shadow with every move you made.

So, much of your time was spent roaming the halls of their residency, a place so giant you never got bored of it as the days went on. There you were considered safe, with no need to be watched every moment.

Much of this time was spent reflecting on all that had happened during your short time so far in Rome. More specifically, someone that had caused things to happen.

Geta was an interesting man, to be sure. It seemed as though he'd made it his duty to personally make you as comfortable as possible while in his empire. This being a duty that usually fell to the hired staff, he wasn't the best at it. Sure, he was perfectly fine at getting you the finest commodities they had to offer- he even made sure your room had been moved to a much more lavish one, though this might've been just because it was closer to his own. But any of the tours he'd offered you resulted in endless amounts of courting attempts on his part.

"These are our fountains- we really should take a swim together, yes?"

"And our apple trees- I'll grab you one right now, princess. You must try one for me."

It's not that you minded. He was quite attractive, you had to admit. There was, of course, the question of his intentions- it would ruin your reputation and that of your home if anything undignified were to happen to you, especially with the way news traveled in a place like this. So you kept that in mind as your friendship grew with him- always keeping a respected distance.

This greatly frustrated Geta. The only barrier he'd expected in the process of getting you was his own people guiding him against it for the sake of his empire, not your own denial.

Any other woman would've accepted the generous offer of his attention and affection. It bothered him deeply that you were different in that regard.

He was never one to back down from a challenge, however. So, when he watched as you walk past his room for what felt like the hundredth time, he followed you down that same hallway, soon catching up to you as he reached your side, placing a gentle hand on your back.

"Darling, it troubles me to see that you're roaming the halls quite so much. There are plenty of places for you to rest instead, places much better suited for your time," he said, leaning against one of the stone walls with a smile. "Might I suggest some leisure time in my quarters?"

"I'm afraid that would be... problematic, Emperor."

He frowned with your direct denial to his proposal. He knew it was true, though. It would be wrong of them to have a secret meeting of any sort in a private room, especially in the manner he was suggesting. In any case, someone of your ranking would want every exhausted detail of the courting process if he truly wanted you to be his.

Well, he did want you in such a way, really. He already knew he'd do anything for you, so what was it to him if you required a more dignified approach to being together? In fact, it might even be amusing if it were for someone like you.

"Well then, might I suggest a dinner? I'm sure my brother would be delighted to act as a chaperone, if that's what you're wishing for."

"That would do nicely, Geta. Thank you."

He smiled devilishly at your use of his name as he brought your hand to his lips with a slow kiss. "Then it's settled. Tonight."

The staff that had been tasked with taking care of you during your stay seemed extra excited about getting you ready for that night's event. Perhaps it was the silk cloth that had been bought for you by Geta himself. Or, if one was thinking more deeply, it was likely the fact that this was a clear sign of courting in their books. They now weren't serving just any other guest, they were serving his potential match. A future empress for their land.

The dining hall that they were eating in reflected the same notion. Everything was somehow even more lavish than it had been before, with new gold plates for every dish, and fancy silverware you'd yet to see during your stay.

And the dishes themselves were even more delicious than they had been- and they seemed more personalized for you.

"Those apples were the ones I mentioned during our tour, princess. And those tarts, I heard they're quite popular in your empire is that right? One of cooks made them upon my request." He'd immediately started rambling when you'd stepped inside the room, unlike his normal, more relaxed way of speaking with you. He paused, however, when he noticed your clothing, a smile spreading on his face. "I knew that fabric would look ravishing on you, darling. I have amazing taste," he said, leaning back in his chair, continuing to take you in as his eyes carefully analyzed every detail of your look.

"Yes, and I'd like to thank you for sending it to me. That was quite kind of you," you smiled, bowing your head slightly before you headed to an empty chair beside Geta. Sure, there were many other empty chairs surrounding the large table, but considering the man had invited you, it seemed only proper to be seated somewhat closer to him. At least that's what you told yourself.

"Don't mention it. Oh, and you already have met my brother, yes? I would like it if you two became better acquainted at some point, and what better time than now?" He gestured to his brother lazily, busy pouring a glass of wine for you with his other hand.

Caracalla, who was sitting opposite to you both, looks slightly confused about you both. His eyes were darting between you both as though he was trying to figure something out. He even looked to his monkey for some sort of guidance.

You, being as polite as possible, sent a small wave his way, bowing your head as usual.

After a while it seemed as though something had clicked for Caracalla, likely figuring that his brother's intentions for you might be more sincere, as bizarre as that would be for Geta. "Yes, I'm sure we'll be very well acquainted. It'll be a pleasure, in any case."

Geta laughed at his brother's remark, knowing he'd figured out what he intended for you and his empire. A long term relationship would be new for someone like him, but he wanted you for as long as he could have you.

"It seems as though the connection between our lands is going well, my lady," he said, taking a sip of his wine before looking over to his brother. "I believe that's just the thing that needs celebration. Don't you, brother?"

Caracalla was far to busy with his monkey, and only noticed he was being addressed after a moment of being stared at by both of his companions in the room. "Ah, yes. I love a party!"

He smiled at his brother's careless response, turning back to you. "Well then, might I suggest some gladiator games held in your empire's honor? It truly seems necessary."

He would show you off to the entire world if he could, but for now a whole empire would do.

definitely was planning on releasing this sooner, hope some of you can still enjoy this <333 again, I just wanted to say just how much it means to me that i got so much support on the first part of this- it truly amazes me and it's definitely something I think about all the time so thank you for doing that for me everyone!! as the abrupt ending suggests, I definitely plan on writing more, let me know if you want to be tagged in that!! (also anon pookie who encouraged me to start writing for him I love you to pieces too fkvljwbefj)

taglist (love you muah muah!):

@princesssunderworld

love ya!!

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

My Headcanon for Why Emps Banned Religion

I have read none of the books with a heavy Emps focus but I have read a lot about them, including various excerpts, and obviously that's enough to qualify me for making headcanons about him. So here's my big theory:

The religion ban had nothing to do with Chaos, and everything to do with the Emperor himself.

Listen. Listen. We have three facts:

The Emperor is a 38,000-year-old psyker created to defend humanity against Chaos who has dealt directly with the gods. There is no way he doesn't understand how they work.

The Emperor made a deal with Chaos but failed to keep his end of the bargain. This bargain allowed him to create the primarchs, but it also empowered him personally.

The Emperor is the entity prophesied to become the Dark King, the fifth Chaos God.

I think the Emperor was trying to prevent his own ascension by banning religion.

Humanity has a fairly strong connection to the Warp; it's slowly evolving into a psyker species. A single, non-psyker human won't have much effect, but if billions and billions of humans believe the same thing, it will affect the Warp.

Now, pause for a moment and think about what it would be like to encounter the Emperor. I don't just mean walking up to the guy and shaking his hand, I mean just seeing him and being in his vicinity. You're gonna get knocked on your ass by the most intense Warp aura you will ever feel in your life. To put things in perspective, in one of the HH books, Lion makes an entire room of men kneel just by walking in the room. The Emperor is exponentially more powerful than any of the primarchs. The dude hangs out with blanks because they're just too weak to hurt him.

A lot of people are going to process that encounter as a religious experience.

Now, obviously the vast majority of the Imperium's population are never going to see the Emperor. But millions and millions of people will still go through this experience. We don't see much of this because the HH series takes place when the Emperor retreats to Terra to work on the Webway. Prior to that, he would have been a public figure--giving speeches, holding triumphs, leading armies, going to summits, etc etc etc. There would be a steady stream of people walking away shaken to the core because they decided to go to a big parade or whatever.

Now, add to that his utopian mission (the Imperium will unify the galaxy and create a golden age of humanity! yay!), the cult of personality, and the fact that some planets really would have greeted the Imperium's arrival with joy...

Look, someone's gonna start a new religion. Maybe multiple someones. And you had better believe it's gonna spread because "huh that there is some kind of divine being" is a pretty understandable response to Big E and his Slightly Less Big Sons.

Thing is, the Big E in question knows about the Dark King prophecy, knows how the warp works, and knows he's as much a Warp entity as he is human. If increasing number of humans believe that he's a god, all that belief is gonna pour into the Warp, and eventually it's gonna affect the very nature of his being. Him, who already has prophecies about a divine ascension floating around. GEE WOW COULD THESE THINGS BE RELATED, WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN NEXT.

The Emperor really, really doesn't want to become a Chaos god. The Emperor is extremely anti-Chaos. So it is absolutely vital that no one starts worshipping him because the risk is too great, and too much is at stake.

The solution? Ban religion.

See, he can't just allow freedom of religion because statistically speaking, someone's gonna start worshipping him. And he can't start a state religion, because that associates his person with the official religion, and then he'll get turned into a saint or a minor god or something. For fucks sake, the Catherics still venerate St. Vladimir and they don't even know what Russia is! Yeah, official religion is straight out. Honestly, the big problem here is the whole tendency to worship giant miracle-working people with overwhelming Warp signatures. That's what really needs to be targeted. A vigorous program of rationality combined with a strict ban on religion will discourage both the practices and the thought processes that lead to Emperor worship. Humanity will learn to trust SCIENCE and FACTS rather than seeking comfort from silly old superstitions. That is definitely how human psychology works.

The downside of this policy is that he cannot acknowledge Chaos. Acknowledging that big spooky supernatural entities with godlike powers exist severely undermines the whole premise. But the aftershocks of Slaanesh's birth have mostly worn off by now, the Warp is pretty quiet these days, and frankly speaking there is so much Weird Shit in the Materium that the occasional daemon can be written off as wacky xenos hijinks. Plus, the general drive away from religion will also drive humanity away from Chaos worship. It's a bit of a gamble to deny Chaos, but all things considered it's a safe one.

So Emps bans religion and starts his totally-not-a-religious Crusade to unify the galaxy and find his sons. Everything is going great! Chaos has barely made a peep and rationality is blossoming on all the human planets. The way things are going, Emps might even get a head start on that Webway--

Uhhhhhhh. That's. That's a nice religion you invented there, newly-found son. You know it's gonna have to go in the trash, right? Atheism is kind of our thing.

what is this what are you writing about

LORGAR WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?

Yeah so Emps flips the fuck out. This is literally what he was trying to avoid, and it is the worst case scenario. Not only has an Emperor-worshipping religion sprung up, but one of his sons--y'know, the insanely charismatic monstrosities with crazy Warp signatures that he made--is the one who started it! This has to be stopped, and it has to be stopped HARD. Breaking Lorgar isn't enough. Emps has to break his religion.

And you know the rest.

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

LINGERING QUESTIONS:

Q: If Emps was so hellbent on preventing a religion from springing up around him, why did he build a cult of personality?

A: He's an authoritarian dick, of course he's going to build a cult of personality. And of course he's going to convince himself that the cult of personality is necessary, and that it won't conflict with his anti-religion agenda. That's how authoritarian dicks think.

Q: Then why was he ready to become the Dark Lord in TEatD II?

A: Damage control. Emps didn't have the power to take on All Of Chaos Wearing Horus. So if he didn't ascend, he'd be consigning humanity to subservience at best to extremely hostile entities. But if he did ascend, then he might still be able protect humanity even as a horrifying Warp monstrosity. The Emperor will always choose the option that (he thinks) is best for humanity even at the cost of himself. But that's a whole other post.

LAST TIME: Emps has a really fucked up sense of time.

NEXT TIME: Why is the Emperor Like That?

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Fall of an Empire

Summary: The fall of an empire began because of the love for a woman.

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Reader (romantic), Emperor Caracalla x Reader (platonic)

A/N: I will be honest, wish I had written this as soon as I left theaters but it's as good as I could make it. 😅

Warning: Major character deaths and some movie spoilers if you haven't seen it yet

Divider credits @saradika

It was never meant for her.

To most onlookers, it became quite obvious that should anything ever happen to the empress, that it would not take long for the twin emperors to descend into madness. The two had a penchant for violence, one that was difficult for them to be ever satisfied and somehow it came to be that Geta, was consumed by the love and affection he held for his wife from the moment their eyes met on the day they were wed.

While Caracalla viewed her with a brotherly love, calling her sister the day they met and appreciating her all the more when she gifted him with his prized monkey Dondas. Her gentle but firm hand was quick to soften the temper of the brothers, there was still a madness that brewed beneath the surface and all knew, it would all turn to ruin should anything befall the young empress.

She shouldn't have been there that day.

Still in the early months, the empress' pregnancy was an open secret amongst everyone in the senate and many were cautious to incur the wrath of their emperors as their protectiveness seemed to reach even greater heights than was the norm. Her recent symptoms had her spending much more time in the royal couples chambers, hiding away to let the nauseousness abate. The same symptom that had kept her from being by the side of her husband and brother by law during the first initial days of games in the colosseum meant to celebrate the conquest of Numidia.

The fateful day had begun like most in its mundanity for the young Emperor Geta and his lovely wife (Y/N), both rousing slowly with the rise of Helios in the sky with their legs tangled together and in a tender warm embrace as they had slept. Geta was careful to cradle his wife in his arms, his hands languidly caressing her small bump that had only recently begun to show in recent weeks.

"How is the little one treating you this morning, beloved?" Geta whispered between soft kisses to her neck.

Stretching tiredly, she cupped his cheek in her hand, "Much better than usual. I think the concoction made by the healer has finally had an effect because I actual feel like joining you and Caracalla today."

"Are you certain?" he asked softly. "There's no need for you to join us if you aren't feeling up to the task. I can come up with another excuse if needed."

"Stop fussing, my love" she giggled. "I truly feel leagues better and the gladiators will be fighting by water today, do you think I would want to miss such a feat?"

His brow creased in uncertainty. He knew that if his wife was truly not up to the task of being by his side that she would make it known. But there was an uneasiness that he couldn't seem to shake off.

He gently untangled himself from their loving embrace, quickly dressing himself in a robe and took strides to the jeweled chest atop of her vanity, clutching the box to his chest and returning to her side. Carefully, Geta helped his wife put on her jewelry and pressing a kiss to her hands or lips for every adornment that he placed on her.

"Your well being is my top priority," he said kneeled by her side. "The moment that you feel anything amiss, we leave. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my love" she conceded with a smile.

Geta wasn't given a chance to say anything more as the doors to their chambers were pushed open by none other than Caracalla. The younger brother giggling in amusement when he stepped in.

"Lovely morrow for a bit of violence and blood, wouldn't you say brother? Will my radiant sister join us at last or has your little parasite incapacitated her once more?"

"I will be with both of you, little brother" (Y/N) said gently. "And please refrain from calling your niece or nephew a parasite, you wouldn't want to upset them before they have even arrived."

Caracalla waved her off and smiled, "The little parasite can complain when they're older. Until then, I can call them whatever I like because they seem to enjoy making you suffer." He leaned down and spoke to the small bump, "You'll be an absolute menace, isn't that right little parasite?"

Geta huffed out in mild annoyance and began to push his brother out of the room, "You can make more complaints about my progeny later. My wife and I are still not dressed."

"Oh, I don't mind staying."

"We will see you in the colosseum brother," Geta said with a shove and closing the doors. When they were shut, he turned back to his wife. "Let us make haste then before he tries to come bother again."

It was chaos below in the arena, the barbarian Hanno had led his group of men into ramming their boat against the opposing side and there was so much to see that it all became difficult to track. Smoke from the flames burning the boat made the task near impossible, but it didn't stop the adrenaline from coursing the veins of the young emperors from the glimpses they could see.

"My love," the empress called to her husband in worry. "They're too close, it's too close. We must leave or take caution, the men and boats are too close."

"Don't make such a fuss, sister" Caracalla said but his gaze stayed on the carnage below. "Things are getting interesting."

Below their sight, Hanno had a crossbow in his hands with the clear intent of killing the General Acacius. The aforementioned man had no chance to warn his empress that was seated in front of him of the gladiators intentions.

It all happened so fast.

It was an accident.

The crossbow was jostled in Hanno's hands as the arrow was let loose and it struck dead center between the two emperors.

And into the empress' chest.

The two men screamed in horror, unused to the violence being so close and it having any true impact to them. Caracalla was hysterical as guards pulled him away; screeching, hitting, and calling for something to be done for his sister. While Geta was enraged as he tried to temper his emotions and pushing the guards aside.

"Everything will be alright, wife" Geta said as he held his wife's hand in his own that trembled. "We will bring the healer and then find the gladiator that is to be dealt with!"

The empress could not respond, choking on her blood as she tried to reach for her husbands face before her final breath left her body.

When she went limp in his grasp, there was no halting the enraged wail from Geta as he lost his beloved bride and unborn child in a single moment.

Nothing could stop the spiral of destruction that followed the demise of the empress.

It was General Acacius' fault as the arrow was meant for him.

It was Lucillas fault for birthing the bastard that did it.

It was their fault

It was THEIR fault

It was Geta's fault.

Or so Caracalla's mind was led to believe as he and his brother sought refuge away from the hordes of people that sought to remove them from their seats of power.

His beloved sister (Y/N) and her little parasite were gone because Geta had failed to protect them.

Dondas and he would soon follow if Geta was permitted to reign alongside him any longer.

With every slash, the voices calmed in Caracalla's mind, and it soothed him to see the same rivers of blood flow down his brother's chest just as he had seen happen to his lovely sister.

Geta although unwilling, was to be reunited with his wife and child.

Caracalla would join them soon enough.

[solspina]

Rating primarchs based on how good of a boyfriend they would be

full send no context

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Horus : 8/10

He’s a nice guy for the most part, very charismatic and though very goal focused he’s also kind and open to those he’s closest to. Outwardly, he’s very straightforward, stern, and absolutely ruthless to his enemies. There’s humanity within him though, and he won’t keep his friendly, loving demeanor away from those who deserve it. Find him at a celebratory event, drunk with Sanguinius, moments in which he’s full of nothing but laughter and love for his brothers and the one who stands beside him. His love language is quality time.

Leman Russ : 4/10 (negotiable)

Though he knows love, it seems to be quite strictly familial. He’s described often as ruthless and barbaric, naive and braggish. If you can put up with things like that, I’m sure he would be a fine boyfriend. Similarly enough though, he’s had many women try to court him all at once, and successfully. I can’t promise his loyalty if someone better looking comes along, as no one ever taught him the importance of that. Outside of the constant, lingering fear of replacement, he can have his caring and understanding moments, occasionally bringing you gifts from crusades and sieges on other planets. Maybe his loyalty to the emperor would apply to his lover too, if you tell him what it means to you. His love language is gift giving.

Ferrus Manus : 7/10

Rage is his fatal flaw if we’re being honest. Not towards you, but towards battle. Toward you I imagine he would be more straightforward and honest, though trustworthy and strong willed to make your relationship work. Loyalty will never ever ever be an issue with him, but it seems like he spends more time with war and battle than he does you. He spends time with you when he can, though, and he truly does care. Points off for his temper. He gave his brothers personalized gifts, and i’m sure he would go through many lengths to do the same for you. His love language is gift giving.

Fulgrim: 6/10

He’s constantly trying to be perfect, and he wants whoever he’s with to be perfect too. A lot of the time, it gets to his head. He can be incredibly ignorant quite often, and isn’t very considerate of your feelings. You’re more of an idol to him, a model. You’re human, so he sees you as perfect, something he and his people should strive to be like. Youre idealized, and under rose tinted lenses, this looks a lot like love… Lots of acts of service and gift giving.

Vulkan : 10/10

The only man you will ever need point blank period. He’s patient, he’s empathetic, he’s kind, he’s humane. He’s incredibly easy to love, and he truly is beloved. The Salamanders love you too, sometimes listening to your commands as if they were his. You’re respected as long as you’re under his arm. He wants to understand the way humans feel, especially understand the reason they wrap their arms around each other and sleep with their bodies entwined at night. His love language is physical touch.

Rogal Dorn : 6/10

He’s incredibly loyal, and also incredibly honest, but his seriousness can get in the way sometimes. You love him, very much, but there are times you get into petty arguments and he has to go consult Horus and Sanguinius for advice on what to do. He’s also very reserved at times, a lot like a single dad who’s just doing his best to keep his job and go about his day. Acts of service would be his love language.

Roboute Guilliman : 9/10

Guilliman is a great boyfriend, a great tactician, a great warrior, all of the above. The only reason i’d take a point off is because I believe he may be a little arrogant at times. He believes that his way is the right way, but he’s usually willing to listen to you and your concerns. He’s incredibly intelligent, very sympathetic and understanding of human trials and concerns, and he’s a lot like we are modern times. I think he would look for comfort in a significant other, and his love language is likely acts of service.

Magnus the Red : 3/10

Another man that I don’t recommend being with. He’s more arrogant than Fulgrim. When I said Guilliman believes his way is the right way, Magnus takes it a step up. He thinks he’s ALWAYS right. He cares, and he means well, but he’s way too much to put up with. Highly manipulative and self absorbed, don’t put yourself in that situation. He values knowledge more than he does you.

Sanguinius : 10/10

Besides the fact he’s a vampire, you’re probably the most safe with him. He genuinely cares for you and your well-being, and sleeping next to him at night with his wing draped over you is an absolute dream in a universe plagued by war. His sons may fall to their bloodthirst when they’re on the home ship, and Sanguinius is fast to wrap himself around his human partner and protect them from any and all harm. You hold him through his sorrow every time a mass of humans or his sons lose their lives, and you watch him kneel to offer you his loyalty and unconditional love rather than you offering it to him. He gives both physical touch and words of affirmation.

Lion El’Jonson : 7/10

Of course he has his moments where he can come off as aloof and paranoid, but that’s for the most part only on the battlefield. Outside, he’s incredibly charming and charismatic, but in a noble way. When his paranoia gets to him after an argument, he seeks out Sanguinius and Horus for advice, wanting nothing more to fix your relationship and solve whatever went wrong. He become more secretive as time goes on, but old habits die hard. I believe he’d offer acts of service.

Perturabo : 6/10

He’s incredibly smart, but finds relating to you and your human tendencies incredibly difficult. His moods can shift and change rapidly and violently, but I believe he means you no true harm. He would never hurt you intentionally, often opting to back away and give himself space, sometimes for days. He never returns to you without a mechanically engineered gift, though, one of his design. Alongside a very gentle hug and a conversation about how you care about him, what he loves. You love him, not for his usefulness to the emperor, but for him. His love language is definitely gift giving.

Mortarion : 8/10

He’s very confused as to why you would choose him. He’s disgusting, an abomination, he hated everything from psykers to his oppressors, what did anything matter if he would be left to the mercy of another oppressor anyways? All thoughts he had until he met you. He was cold and hateful to you at first, untrusting, and yet you showed him kindness. You showed him kindness over and over again. For once, it wasn’t just a one time thing. You’re the only thing in this universe who sees him as more than a warlord, more than the embodiment of death itself, so for you he has a soft spot. He hates the idea of having a human curl up next to him, absorbing his warmth and disease alike… and yet you do. You remind him that his touch is not deadly, and he too is capable of humanity. He will be more considerate of his decisions, because for once, something matters. His love language is physical touch, because he’s been deprived for so long, you’re the only one who allows him that piece of humanity.

Lorgar : 5/10

Does he love you? Does he not? No… He needs you… Maybe he just needs space actually.He loves you, he really does, and by god he tries his best, but when you’re as impulsive and indecisive as he is, it’s hard to know sometimes. If you’re okay with it working 50% of the time, maybe more maybe less, I’m sure you’ll be fine. His love language is… uh… well?

Jaghatai Khan : 7/10

Loyal, decently humble, and a relatively peaceful man. Outside of war, he has potential to be great to you. When war is his focus, however. Expect no attention, he’s a fierce warrior and needs to focus on his allegiance to the emperor, that’s what comes first. You follow very closely after, though! He’s quick to praise you for the things you do well and gently remind you of a better course of action when it comes to the things you don’t do too well. Acts of service enjoyer.

Konrad Curze : 2/10

DO NOT DATE THIS MAN. Konrad is a walking red flag. The self loathing, the anger, the angst, the general belief in humanity as a fallacy. He’s also incredibly violent, and may cause you serious harm if you ever managed to anger him. He’s a primarch, and you’re a human. Don’t you dare piss him off. I don’t know why anyone would realistically want that. Please continue to paint him as mean angry babygirl with a soft spot in your fics though. If you think you can fix him, you can’t. The emperor already tried.

Angron : 4/10

Before his conversion to chaos, Angron would’ve been a great boyfriend if we’re being honest. He was kind, compassionate, encouraging. He loved you when you were enslaved beside him, but once he became a primarch and lost everything, his beloved included, he became one of the most ruthless and cruel people out there until he succumbed to Khorne. He doesn’t remember you. His love language was words of affirmation.

Corvus Corax : 4/10

A very melancholic and depressed primarch. He’s very angsty and honestly a major drag to be around. He and Konrad, i feel like, would be better boyfriends to each other than either of them would be to you. Corvus isn’t as violent as Konrad, but he definitely carries on the hatred, the sorrow, and the bitterness. He’s also very sensitive, so expect to be met with either violence or a breakdown if you try to leave. 2 extra points because you may get to keep your life, his love language is words of affirmation, always followed by self deprecation.

Alpharius Omegon : 7/10

He’s they’re a great boyfriend to be honest, though very secretive, and that raises many questions. You don’t know that there are two of them. It’s a secret, not even one that you’re allowed to know the answer to. Alpharius is obviously the more dominant brother, the one who you think has a soft side. He doesn’t. That’s not him, that’s Omegon. Omegon is much more gentle, quiet, and quite honestly a little more touchy. Why? because you make him feel seen. Alpharius is used to the spotlight, so giving him every ounce of your attention feels like the usual, though he still enjoys it very much. Alpharius expresses love through acts of service and gift giving, while Omegon expresses love through words of affirmation and quality time. They make up for everything the other lacks, as long as you don’t know the massive secret they’re keeping from you…

[songbirdmunson]

Kiss The Rings- Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader

a/n: I struggled with this one heavy, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless! hair pulling, name calling, basic p in v sex, dirty talk, oral (male receiving) reader is just there to be used up, there is consent beforehand of course! 18+ only please! not proofread so if there are mistakes I apologize. feedback is welcome and appreciated! 💞

word-count: 938

Spending your time at the feet of the snarkiest emperor around was not how you pictured your life going, but here you were. Geta was hell bent on everyone knowing you were his. You’d managed to escape once and suffered the consequences, so now you accepted your fate. Maybe you even were starting to like it but you would never let that be known.

“Cmon, you can do so much better than that with that slut mouth, I said, kiss them.” The crazed look in Geta’s eyes made you want to hide and offer yourself up for him at the same time as you sat at his feet. A vile smirk was plastered on his lips as he held his hand out in front of your face. The rings on his fingers were sparkling from the rays of sun peeking through the windows. “Anything for you.” You breathe out, internally rolling your eyes before leaning down and kissing each of his rings.

A sound rumbled out around you, it should’ve been a laugh but it sounded more feral than anything else. “That’s it pet. Look at you, you’re certainly a pathetic creature, sitting on your knees and doing whatever I tell you.” Your face was hot as he degraded you, the words flowing out of his mouth causing a pit to form in your stomach and a wetness between your thighs. “I bet you’d love for me to split you open right now, wouldn’t you?” Everything in you was screaming yes, your heart beating harder as you slowly looked up at him, his eyelids heavy with lust as he scowls down at you.

You slowly open your mouth up for him as he taps the pads of his fingers against your mouth, he slides them in quickly, causing you to gag a little as drool runs around them and down your chin. The salty taste of his skin was the best thing you’d ever tasted, and even though he could be harsh, you would do anything for a taste. “I think we should get some others in here to watch don’t you?” He asks, his fingers fucking your mouth, slowly picking up the pace until they’re going down your throat.

You hum around them, a gargled jumbled mess that made no sense but he knew what you were trying to say. He laughs before slowly pulling his hand away from you, pieces of his clothing slowly falling to the floor below you. “Changed my mind, not today, but maybe if you’re good enough for me I’ll consider letting your favorite general watch you, I know you’d like that.” Before you could say anything he was pulling you up by your arm, his grip around it making your skin sting as he dragged you over to a chair in the room. “Bend over for me, now.” He snarls, pushing down on the middle of your back, your hands gripping onto the arms of the chair so hard you may have splinters later.

“What a good little servant. Tell me you love it baby, tell me you love when your emperor fucks you.” He says, pushing your legs apart and flipping your dress up, he wastes no time before spitting in his hand. He strokes himself a few times quickly, spitting down against your ass and letting it run down to your pussy before he’s thrusting in. The stretch and burn sends your mind into a frenzy. You push your ass back against him as a quiet moan falls from your lips. “I- I love it, love you, love when you fuck me please sir, please.” You babble, his hand twists up in your hair, he pulls on it so hard you’re sure he’s actually pulling some hair out, but you didn’t care. He could feel you pulsing around him at his rough actions.

Loud smacks ring throughout the room as one of Geta’s big hands lands down against your ass, causing you to tense up. “Shhh, you’ll take what’s given to you. That’s for being late meeting me here today, you know better.” He smacks you 6 more times, before he’s roughly pulling his cock out of you. The emptiness you feel sending a bratty whine tumbling from your lips as he turns you around to face him. He makes quick work in pushing you down onto your knees, the dirty floor beneath you rubbing against them uncomfortably. Your heart pounds as he strokes himself in front of your face, sweat beads roll down his tone chest and onto his stomach, the urge to lick him clean overwhelms you entirely. “Open that whore mouth.” You normally hate swallowing, but for him you would do anything.

Your mouth drops open, your tongue lolling out like some sort of dumb puppy as he rubs the head against your tongue. The salty taste of his pre-cum overwhelms you as you smell his skin. He pinches your cheeks together, mumbling about ‘how you’re his favorite hole to fuck.’ Your heartbeat is in your ears, wetness pooling below you as you ache. You knew he wouldn’t take care of you this time because of your disobedience earlier in the day. He moans out a choked sort of sob before his cum is hitting your tongue, running down your throat. He strokes himself a few more times before laughing at the fucked our expression on your face, turning his hand over to look at it before showing it to you.

“Looks like there’s some left behind pet, clean it up.” He demands sticking his hand out to you. “Anything for you sir, anything for you.”

taglist: @littlexdeaths @voyeurmunson @multi-culti-girl @jasminelafleur @jamdoughnutmagician @munsongirly @littleredpartydresson @munsonmuses @pretty-batty @munsonburn3r @punk-in-docs @gri959 @ho-for-joequinn-fics

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[cercandodiscrivere]

Stat vindicta potens | emperor geta x reader.

word count | 2.4k

warnings | 18+, NSFW, concubines, demeaning terms, dark themes (dubious consent, violence, blood, mentions of war), porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | When the twin Emperors had entered the room—filled with musicians and dancers and food you had dared not touch—you had stood as rigid as stone. It had been the same visceral feeling as when you had first seen the Romans approach your home: a deep, clawing desire not to be seen.

Except now, you had to be seen. You were part of the spectacle.

gifs found online.

Stat vindicta potens, et adhuc crudelibus ausis respondet poena.

[Vengeance stands powerful, and still punishment answers to cruel deeds]

There had been no pain.

No.

There had been pain—so much that it constricted your lungs and scratched your throat—but not enough time to feel it.

Once, your father had praised the gods for his wealth, a fortune earned through the trade of fine goods; he had adorned you with corals and pearls, a living testament to his success.

Still adorned with the rich jewels he bought, you had walked into Rome wearing a stola stained with his blood.

You had thought an Emperor would choose his gifts himself—or rather, you had never thought about it at all, not until it was you who had been chosen.

It was a strange way to begin a new life: not through the predictable choices of your father, but through the whims of strangers in a far-off land. Your brothers, dead in battle, had been of no use to you as their wealth crumbled and the last of their possessions were taken. General Acacius had claimed what little was left—and he had gifted you to the Emperors. 

A token of friendship. 

A spoil of war.

Tuis nec parcitur umbris.

[Your shadows are not spared.]

Another servant had dressed you in a woolen tunic and had styled your hair.

You would have to learn how to do it yourself in time, she had warned, but first they had  to gauge your worth — after all, there would be no point in teaching anything to a gift that had no use.

"What should I do?" you had asked her. 

"Serve wine”. 

Dread had filled your loins as soon as you had set your eyes upon the imperial palatium. Shining in the sun, the marble stairs had welcomed you—not like the arms of a mother, but like the open doors of an adorned crypt.

It was then that you had come to understand another truth: General Acacius had been nothing more than a weapon wielded by others. When a sword cuts through your flesh, it’s not the blade you fear, but the pair of hands that guide it.

"How?" you had asked again, but she refused to answer.

Non impune feres: seris venit aspera pœnis retributio. 

[You will not bear it unpunished: a harsh retribution for your crimes will come in time.]

When the twin Emperors had entered the room—filled with musicians and dancers and food you had dared not touch—you had stood as rigid as stone. It had been the same visceral feeling as when you had first seen the Romans approach your home: a deep, clawing desire not to be seen.

Except now, you had to be seen. You were part of the spectacle.

You had served wine before—to your father, your brothers and their guests. You had poured before the same kind of deep red wine: but the hands that had to do it now had changed, and the weight of the eyes on you had pressed harder. 

You had approached your captors carefully, your gaze lowered in deference—but unseen, as they had sat on their adorned thrones, draped in robes of golds and reds, without sparing you a glance.

At the time, you had not known how to tell them apart; both could have been either Geta or Caracalla, as their names had meant nothing to the terror they equally inspired.

The first you poured wine to had ignored the cup, his attention fixed on the man seated to his left. Once, you might have sneered at the lack of a compliment - now, the gift of being nothing to him had washed over you like fresh air (but still stung like a silent mockery). To the man, it had been as though the wine had fallen into his goblet by the gods’ will alone.

Then, you had moved on to his brother — and instead his gaze had lingered, sharp and unwavering. 

"Is there a trick to it?" he had mused, his voice low, almost to himself. You had frozen in place, as still as the statues scattered around the room. For a moment, you had almost believed the Emperor had just asked you how to pour wine — and your gaze had flicked upward, an instinctive mistake. 

His face had surprised you: it was not an imposing man who owned you, not a fierce general or a quiet sage — but a rabid dog, sick and weak in his silks. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed with white, remained unseeing.

"How does one keep something" he had murmured, "when it feels as if it may slip away at any moment?".

But yet again, it had not been you he had been asking. Was it treason to leave an emperor’s question unanswered, when he posed it to the air?

And then, through the suffocating fear, a streak of something darker had twisted in your chest—rage, hot and sudden. You had had men and women alike ingratiating themselves to you, hoping for nought but a smile: and now an ill animal, with his teeth stained in gold and spit and blood, could bite your neck and move on without a thought.

You had measured your words, then. "As the poet says, fortune is like the winds: fickle, but a friend to those who know how to steer."

And if he had truly understood the meaning of your words—that you did not think him a steerer, not a good one—you could have signed your death with feigned servitude. 

But the Emperor (Caracalla, as you would learn later) had just blinked and chuckled. Shrill and sharp, it had not been a laugh born of humor, but something else: as if he had found mirth in you speaking at all, not a thought spared to the words you had used.

He had then drunk from his goblet as if nothing had happened—and yet, seated next to him, his brother had heard and not laughed. 

Emperor Geta’s gaze had lingered on you: no amusement in his eyes, no warmth.

Fatis pendebis, ficta modestia. 

[You will hang by fate, with feigned modesty.]

You once thought an Emperor would choose his gifts himself—and that’s what Geta did with you.

No hope for burning passions, no overwhelming closeness: this time someone thought it fit to have you learn about your role, because a concubine must please more than a servant.

“You’re less talkative than before”.

Emperor Geta lounges on his lectus, cushions surrounding him. In the soft light filtering through the curtains, his ginger curls seem molten gold—a physical extension of his crown, a birthright to power.

Your started your private encounter like you had started the first: not draped in a rough wooden tunic, but still pouring wine into his cup.

You spent more than one night wondering what had caught his attention, and how he must have heard your exchange with his brother: and whether it was the words he understood, or the venom laced in them, the result still has you in his bedchambers.

“I don’t want to spill a drop” you lie.

He observes you pouring his wine as if it were a religious rite. You try not to care: you pour and pour —and by the time the cup is full, you have emptied your head of all the thoughts and the dread that filled you.

“You won’t” he says. It’s endearing, almost like a compliment, but not quite. “Drink with me.”

He’s not asking.

Drinking in front of him (taking a quick gulp that barely registers the taste) feels as much a part of the ritual as the wine he offers: a play to show you what he can give you, should you continue to play his game.

"How does it taste?”. Geta's voice is as soft as a caress: it’s unsettling, how sweet he is choosing to be. 

You stare down at the large goblet you just filled with thick, red liquid: wine, herbs, and honey—the kind you would have enjoyed in another life. "It's great."

"Only the best for us" he says—and you know, by instinct alone, that us means him and his brother. The remark almost makes you raise your goblet in a toast, but you fear it might come across as mocking. All the rage that Caracalla ignited in you, Geta suppresses with dread.

He watches you as you pass the goblet back, because he is always watching.

Your eyes, your chest, your hands. You know you barely look like your old self now—before purple silks and face paints and ornati crines. A shiver escapes you: if you had thought of his brother as a rabid dog, you don’t know how to describe the quiet madness behind Geta’s gaze.

A predatory smile twists his lips, the kind that reveals his teeth and narrows his eyes with a hint of delight. You try not to let any old rage show on your face, knowing he would easily pick it up—but every pass of his eyes screams satisfaction.

His head cocks to the side as he regards you. “Your lips are stained" he observes instead.

When he rises from the lectus, his movements are deliberate. Even in the privacy of his own rooms, servants dismissed and gone, he still carries himself as if an audience is present—so much so, you wonder what kind of untold he feels the need to hide in the presence of a concubine.

Emperor Geta pauses before you, and you let him taste the flavor of the wine off your lips. His kiss is almost too sweet—and his command comes next.

“Undress me”. 

Someone must have started the task, for he wears only a linen tunic; a servant must have helped him with that, while others lit the incense that now thickens the air in the room. It's an oily smell, suffocating—mixing poorly with whatever herbs had been added to the rich wine.

“As you wish, domine”. The term makes his eyes roll toward the drapes above your heads.

You know some concubines call Caracalla Carus as an endearing term. A bold young man had boasted to you how he called him regina once —going into detail about how much the Emperor liked it, though few had believed him.

You dare not try the same with his twin.

After the tunic falls to the ground with a soft thud, you let Geta guide you to sit on his bed. You let him undo the braids in your hair and take your own tunic off your shoulders; the multitude of bracelets and anklets he had his servants put on you stay on.

He does not turn you to face him when lays you down on the bed, as your own nails dig into your palms and his head bows low into your hair. 

You don't say no. You could not say no if you wanted to.

So when your knees are firm on the mattress, and you feel his weight behind you, you take the small liberty of parting your own legs. If he appreciates the gesture, he does not say: with a palm he pushes on your back until your bare chest is touching the linens, his hand sliding slowly back to your hips.

It is not the first time you’ve lain with a man — a stain on your pudicitia that your father would have abhorred, and one that Geta does not even question.

Your sigh is one of relief when you feel him push into you, because this is what you have been waiting for since you had been brought to his bedchambers: not the his little scene with the wine, not his feigned sweetness, not his long stares.

“I suppose that’s all what you wanted” he grunts, his lips caressing your collarbone. His hips trusts into you so hard that the anklets on your legs clash against each other, creating a soft  and clinking sound. 

Tink-tink-tink. You don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. 

The soft kisses he peppers behind your neck are nothing like the way he thrusts into you. As he moves you grip the pillows, the linens, your own arms—whatever you can find to steady yourself.

"This is what you wanted" he continues, his deep breaths coming out fast. “When he gifted you to us”.

Faster, he's going faster. The meaning of his words is not lost on you: that he may have taken your hatred for lust, your insult for a praise. That if Caracalla had shown the same interest he would have left you to him —because you were equally one’s and the other’s. 

But Caracalla hadn’t cared for a servant and her poets; and his twin was not one to let a good gift go to waste.

Your thighs squeeze around him —and even if you command yourself not to say a word, it’s like the small yes escapes on its own. Let him believe whatever he wants; let him give you thought and purpose, as long as he keeps moving. 

He growls his approval — and then he throws himself to the pillows that had been your anchor up until that moment, and pulls you on top of him. 

At this angle and lighting, he looks divine.

Everything about him turns to gold under the sunlight: it serves to remind you of what he is, and what his people allow him to do. You loathe how much you admire the view as you sink down onto him, cataloging all the ways the muscles in his face shift when he is lost in pleasure.

“You were such a good gift to us”. 

Your skin crawls at the praise and you push up on his chest, bringing your hips down quicker and quicker ad quicker. 

The lingering presence of Caracalla in the rooms — even if only through the us Geta keeps referring to—ignites you, and you are furious once again. The heat of it washes over your naked skin, waking you up from your subservient slumber. 

You feel Geta twitch within you as you slam into his hips one final time, his fingers sinking deep into your hips. You cherish that feeling: it’s sobering, for it means tomorrow you will still be alive—not as a servant but something more, the future the three Fates have woven for you clearer and clearer. 

As he comes and grunts, your thoughts wander. 

Geta on his knees, his throat slit. Blood gushing from him, as dark as the wine he had you taste.

Geta scared: you over him, not as an object of pleasure, but as the extension of Nemesis herself.

Geta powerless.

Geta defeated.

Geta enslaved—and it’s with that last thought, with that image, that you come.

Quis dabit exitio tantos, scelerate, triumphos?

[Who will give such triumphs for your destruction, wicked one?]

[gay-dorito-dust]

I don’t believe in god, but I believe that you’re my saviour.

Most likely ooc Geta and inaccuracies galore.

You shouldn’t be allowed to be as near to him as you were in this situation. Emperor Geta was corruption, death, cruelty and inhumane as they come with the sickening grin and pleasure he took from the senseless slaughter of men that he merely viewed as entertainment.

You shouldn’t be anywhere near a man who’s entire being should disgust you greatly to the point where you refuse to be within the same room as him. His hands bore the blood of the innocent but he’d look upon them with a sadistic smile as he demanded for more violence, more madness, more bloodshed to be performed as if his dark soul wasn’t given it’s proper fill.

So why was it you were here within the grandiose gardens that he had made specifically for you to enjoy your morning readings of poetry? Why was it that while his gifts consisted of jewellery that you were expect to wear within the presences of other powerful people, servants and civilians alike; Geta would also buy you books a plenty of your favourite poets, who’s hands weaved words together so seamlessly as though they were spent weaving pure gold in the most desirable clothes in another life.

So why was it that you found yourself staring into his dark eyes, which possessed the ability to be devoid of empathy, but yet gaze upon you with a softness unlike any other as the light made them warm like honey or a thick substance like syrup; gazing at you as though he was seeing you for the first time all over again, as if you weren’t already his to have and to hold in your shared chambers. His hair that was often accompanied by a golden laurel was as fiery and unyielding as he was but in certain angles it looked soft to the touch, and you would know as your fingers would often be buried in it per Geta’s insistence in the privacy of one another, away from prying eyes where it’s just you and Geta.

His temperament flared like a roaring fire, causing everyone within radius of him to flinch or fall silent with immediate effect. Yet with you his fire was more easily managed, with some slight movements where his irrationality got the best of him and you had to leave for the library or the gardens, allowing him the time alone be to air out his anger, only for him to seek you out afterwards with a heaving chest and wild eyes; His hands would soon come to cradle your face and his forehead would press against yours as he finds his calm and composure once more within your presence as he idly stroked your cheeks with his thumb.

Geta draped you in lavish clothes of silk and jewellery crafted from gold and precious stones and or gems to emphasise that you were his and only his, not even his brother was allowed to have space within your heart when he was concerned, only him as your husband was allowed to occupy any and all space that your heart was allowed to have. ‘The gods can take what they please but I won’t let them have you, for you are mine and if I must defy them to keep you in my arms then I shall make myself their enemy for your heart.’ He’d often say as he kisses your forehead with an uncharacteristic tenderness.

‘You promise too much my love.’ You replied as you close your eyes, breathing him in. ‘One might think that you hold genuine affection for me as a person and not property you’ve claimed and see it as weakness.’ You add, only speaking of the truth but Geta’s grip on your face only tightens by a little and his breath fanning your face came out uneven.

‘I’ve always held affection for you, always.’ He rebuttals.

‘No. You were possessive over me and would cut the tongues of other men who dared speak honeyed words towards me.’ You tell him, smiling softly as you opened your eyes to look into his darker ones as they went through a multitude of emotions. ‘You only hold true affection for me now that you see that I can calm the fire within your heart and put those thoughts that poison your head to rest, beyond that I am nothing more than a possession.’

‘No.’ Geta barks but it doesn’t phase you as it would others for his hands still held you softly and lovingly as his he presses his forehead further against yours, eyes glancing down at your lips with temptation eating away at his heart and soul, urging him to close the distance between the two of you and consume you like you’ve consumed him unknowingly. ‘While I may tear out the tongues of others, my heart is only occupied by you, it bleeds you, beats for you- feel for yourself.’ He then brings one of your hands tightly to his chest, allowing you a moment to feel his heart reach out for your palm within him.

‘See?’ He whispers softly, letting go of your hand when he was confident that your hand would stay on his chest, listening to his heart as his hand now crept it’s way under your chin and caressing your jaw. ‘You consume me in ways I cannot fathom and I have grown to become addicted to your sweet words as you read from your poetry book aloud to me, succumbing to your every touch as though you were touching my soul, I want to be a husband you can be proud of and I intend to do so by doing this.’ Before you could ask what he was on about, Geta plants his lips against yours, weaving his lips through yours as he pulls you against him, not allowing for a single bit of space to exist between the two of you.

You hum in delight as you reciprocate the kiss, allowing yourself to be consumed by Geta and his passion, your other hand reaches to grip his shoulder for support when you felt his tongue trail your bottom lip before entering your mouth, causing your legs to become numb as you allowed him to all you were within the kiss with the intention of allowing yourself to indulge in all he was as well.

[renren-006]

Emporor Lucius | Lucius Verus x fem reader

plot: old friends and Lucius coming back into your life as the emperor after being a gladiator. (has a tad bit of similar plot to my other story)

a/n: i wanted another old freinds to lovers story so here it is! please enjoy! let me know of any other story ideas! also thank you so much for the love on my first lucius story> Familiar eyes

The halls of the emperors glowed in the sunlight. They came through the windows and open archways, spilling golden rays onto the marble flooring. Lucius walked the halls like he had done for the past few days, bathing in the light and the revelations of power. He never wanted to be here again, in this position, yet here he was. The events after his fight in Rime and the killing of Macranis led to the people wanting him in power to have a slower position of power in the senate. The issues with the Senate were evident, and Lucius had to fix them before he could trust the people. 

His head hung low as he walked towards those inner gardens. He watched from the corner of the open room as you strolled in. You were doing your duties like you had for the last 20 years, tending to the gardens and animals and small, tedious things that needed care. You knew a new emperor was in the place now, but you had not met him. Lucius purposefully kept it that way once he knew you were still where he had left you. Your life had always been to serve, and Lucious was just happy you had not been harmed. You had the same spirit and carefree smile as he remembered. He left before you could even see his shadow.

You turned once you heard the shuffling of feet, yet Lucius had already gone. The other maids and servants in the palace didn't speak of the new emperor, leaving you wondering who exactly roamed these halls. Since childhood, you had seen many people come and go from these halls; this time, you hoped whoever it was had a kind soul. Those days of your youth were always filled with smiles, running around these exact gardens and through the halls playing with the prince of Rome. How far off those memories felt now, a feeling of emptiness surrounded you again, the suffocating feeling of knowing you'll never be that child and that boy won't be the cause of your smiles anymore. You stood fast, breathing slowly. “Damn you, Lucius,” you spoke before you grabbed your things and left to do another job far from the gardens. 

Lucius plans to prevent you from working for a few weeks, but he can't control everything. It was another day of him roaming the halls and venturing into the gardens. However, this time, you had become more aware of the presence of someone while you were there. As you tended to the flowers in the center bed, you spoke up.

“You know it is creepy to stand in the shadow and watch a girl work,” you said to the air. You waited a while before he stepped further into the room.

“My apologies,” he spoke. The words he said sent shivers down your spine; the embers of something familiar filled your stomach. You turned slowly to see a man standing in a white tunic and many Roman emblems adorning his chest.

“I did not realize you were the emperor,” you said, shocked. “I should not have spoken the way I did”

“No, you had a right I was…I have been standing in these dark corners while you work,” he told you honestly, “Only fair you figured it out”

“Still, I spoke rather harshly,” you told him. As he ventured further into the room, you stood slightly, realizing there was a slight height difference between the two of you. While the revelation was fleeting, one of the most essential things caught your eye. Those eyes that looked towards you stuck another ember of familiarity. “I…have I met you before?”

“You always were too smart for your own good,” he said, laughing a little. “Me and my theatrics of keeping out of your way were pointless if you were to realize who I was anyways”

“You can not be,” you said, walking closer to the man before you. “Lucius?” “Hello, my darling,” he answered. Tears were fast to fall from your eyes as you threw yourself into his arms. The man you thought was dead stood here in your presence once more. Older, wiser, and more handsome than that little boy you knew. 

“Your back,” you said in his arms. He held you close, letting you hold him. You pulled back and looked up at him. “And you grew”

“That was the first thing you noticed?” “No,” you answered horribly. Lucius laughed, knowing you were lying. He nodded his head and stood tall for you. “I can not believe you came back”

“Not my original plan…” he told you, “Had other plans to leave Rome, but it seems I am needed.”

“Hm. Guess we all dream of leaving at one point or another,” you told him. “That was you, right? The gladiator that caused a stir from the people?” “Guilty,” he spoke, “I am like my father in that way.” “Seems your wish of finding out who your father was came true…Maximus," Lucius humped while looking towards the sky above you. You looked u,p seeing some clouds rolling in. “Let us head inside”

Those following weeks or months were filled with Lucius joining you in your morning routine of tending to the garden. Always brings a new story of his life away to tell you, filling your time in the garden with a magical life. Some stories were sad, but you knew he did what he could to tell them to overcome the grief. Lucius found a way to make your simple life filled with life and meaning. He sparked those embers in you that you desperately hoped could be fueled. You looked forward to those moments spent with him, making your day go by and making you excited for the next day to see him again. As more and more time went by, Lucius joined you for other tasks. It was joyous having him around, but sometimes you forgot about your job in favor of admiring the man before you and listening to whatever story about himself or Rome he was telling you. Sometimes, he would find you after senate meetings just to talk to you about how conniving the men in the room are. 

“They undermine me, and whatever I say, some of them look as if my words mean nothing,” he told you as you were in the library working on the catalog. “They…they even insist I must marry to secure Rome even further,” you nodded along.

“Maybe you should,” you spoke absently, “Look at how the emperors did when they did not marry, especially the brothers. Security for Rome is not a bad thing, Lucius.”  The silence after your words grew so intolerable that you were forced to put the book down and look behind you. Lucius' eyes were already in yours. “I say something to upset you? I truly did not mean to”

“Marry me.” Lucious' words did not fully register to you until you had the entire stack of books fall from the table behind you. Somehow, you had stepped back at his words and caused the table to shake. 

“Lucius”

“I am thinking rationally before you tell me I am not,” he said. A few moments passed as he tried to gather his words. “I have come to realize I can not live without you in my life anymore, I need you, y/n”

“Lucius,” you warned, “You realize I have no…prospects. I am nothing in the eyes of the empire; I am a maid to the palace.” “You think I care what Rome thinks of you. I do not. My thoughts and feelings are the only ones that matter,” he told you, stepping closer to you and finally able to grab your hand. “I have not felt love and comfort until I was with you again.”

“I am scared if you choose me, you will realize there are better women to marry.” “Lies,” he said smiling, “You are the only woman in Rome for me.” he leaned down to you, inching closer and closer to you. You stalled momentarily before closing the space, meeting his lips with yours. Those embers inside you turned into a fire. He was for you, and you for him.

[gojoidyll]

There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 2 | A Plan Fails

Summary | You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

Warnings | reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, grammatical errors, etc.

want to be a part of the taglist? then pls go to taglist ^-^

Previous | Fic Masterlist | Next

When you opened your eyes, you noticed how your ceiling didn’t look at all like your room. Not to mention that everything hurt. Which was understandable, you did fall down a long flight of stairs after all in hopes of-

Wait, you can remember everything!?!?!?

Despite the pain, you shot up from the bed. Your hands gripping the sheets as you panicked. You were no actor in one of those fancy plays that you would sneak into every once in a while, and Jing Yuan, as you have heard from others, was a sharp individual. If you wanted to hide something from him, then you would basically have to write to him in letters in hopes that he doesn’t come see your lying face in person.

What am I going to do?!

Looking around, you finally took notice how you were laid up in the infirmary. No one else was around to see your outburst and no one outside was alerted that you were awake, well, until you heard bustling footsteps coming right to the infirmary door.

Even though I don’t have amnesia, I’ll just have to fake it! I’m in no way an actor, but Jing Yuan has barely said two words to me since I got here, so I highly doubt he knows what I look like when I am lying! I’ll just have to take the chance and fake it till I make it!

Hurriedly, you laid back down and tried to straighten out your sheets before closing your eyes. It was a dangerous game that you decided to play, but you wanted out of here. You already threw yourself down the stairs, faking amnesia should be easy compared to that. (Though, you were still a bit angry that the amnesia thing didn’t actually happen…)

And just as you calmed your racing heart and turbulent thoughts, the infirmary door was slammed open, “where is she?!”

You couldn’t stop your eyebrows from furrowing at the sound of Jing Yuan’s voice. You didn’t expect him to be the one to be waltzing in here.

“She’s over here, Your Highness.”

You had to force your eyes from popping open. That voice was unmistakenly Blade’s. But how was he that close to you? Was he in the room this whole time?! Did you just not notice him?!

Jing Yuan walked over to where Blade was, “have you been guarding her this whole time?”

“I have.”

You died a little on the inside. Your soul shriveling up as the seconds passed. This is unbelievable! Out of all the times you don’t notice Blade being in the same room as you and NOW is one of those times.

“Has she woken up at all?”

Jing Yuan turned his gaze to you, and you tried your best not to quiver in your bed. Since Blade most definitely saw you wake up and shoot out of your bed in a panic, then he will definitely tell the Emperor that-

“No, she hasn’t.”

If you weren’t trying to act like you were sleeping, you would have given him the most bewildered look imaginable. Blade. Emperor Jing Yuan’s right-hand man and general. Just lied.

You felt a light yet firm hand caress your face, calloused fingers gently moving strands of hair out of your face, “I see,” Jing Yuan muttered, “well, when she wakes up. Please have someone inform me but stay by her side.”

“Understood.”

You thought that was the end of it, but immediately felt a pair of lips press against your forehead before the presence was gone altogether and you heard a door closed.

“You can open your eyes now, princess.”

Cracking your eyes open you were met with Blade crossing his arms over his chest, “care to explain yourself.”

It wasn’t a question, but more of a demand.

You sat up whilst grabbing your sheets again, “I…I wanted to get out of this arranged marriage. So I thought if I got amnesia then I could leave and go back home.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

You frowned, “terrible. I didn’t get amnesia. Instead, I’m hurting all over. Which reminds me, why did you lie back there? You obviously saw me wake up and panic.”

Blade shrugged, “I wanted to know what you were up to. Besides, I’m not the only one who saw you.”

“What do you mean?”

“During your little staged incident, the one who caught you before you could tumble down even more stairs was Dan Heng.”

“He told me he saw the whole thing. How you perfectly timed the maids, to how you fell, and how you tumbled down the stairs. He said it all looked intentional.”

Dan Heng, also known as Imbibitor Lunae, was even more dangerous than Jing Yuan. He was a high elder and a Vidyadhara. Not much else is known about him, but apparently he is a great strategist who can take down anyone and was praised many times by Jing Yuan himself.

“Great…,” you muttered as you let your head fall. Your eyes staring holes into your hands as you tried to come up with a solution of what to do. Your plan was falling apart before it even began it seemed.

“Great indeed.”

You were brought out of your thoughts when you felt Blade take a hold of your chin, his fingers gripping onto your cheeks as he forcefully made you look up at him. You didn’t even hear him move.

“So since it seems your great plan is falling apart, I and Dan Heng would like to make a deal with you. It’s quite simple that even someone like you would be able to do it.”

You didn’t like where this was going one bit.

taglist

@danae-misfortune @frogsasfrogs @openthenyoor01 @zuhaine @ughlostmyotherac @joyfulnightprincess @thechibifoxcub @ceaether @satanisasofties @thetwinkims @yanrandom @honeybunbunn @superdonkeypatroleggs @ohmyfinggod @baboon-milk333 @zareri @kclremin @rains-mae @vash-yuu @yccoffeesimp @bloomiesty @gilbertisbestboi @moon-taffy @sylockk-m0ndsch3in @leaf1224 @butt44rr @superdark-soul @pinkismyfavcolor @kuraichycoochie @isa-l0v3r @rymrum @its-astrotea-love @unstable-kuro @toki-mekii @angelofdarkness2 @reapersan @junephantom21 @erisfayred @hanabanananana @greyrain23 @justadekusimp @uzxotic @amenoyx@alisstaa @avalordream @unlivingdisaster @pix-stuff @sleepyxion14 @pillows-blankets @anicega @luina85 @doraadventuretips @useless-potatho @snow-mountain @junni-berry @niaainthere @idkjwtrchff @sorachitsuki @dyingsweetmackerel @zenith-of-all-zeniths @rosariymchapter @immahuman @kuki-corrosion @openthenyoor01 @lemonmoonmochi

[joequiinn]

As We Combust | Emperor Geta x Priestess!reader

Summary | The Priestess is the only one who can ever tell Geta what to do...

Warnings & Notes | SMUT, fem reader, both praise AND degradation kink, fingering, oral (fem receiving), sub!Geta, dom!reader, 3rd person pov, historically inaccurate rep of Roman priestesses

Author's Note | idk I frantically wrote this in an hour like I was possessed. The Priestess is a character I've been working on since the trailer dropped - she's meant to be a reader, though in this instance the 3rd person pov sorta suggests she's an oc maybe she'll become that idk. Something about awful, cruel Geta becoming a pathetic sub for a woman speaks to my soul, so we'll be seeing more of these two in the future~~

WC | 1.1k

!!! MINORS DNI !!!

A blaze so high it lights the night / Long fingernails dug in my skin

Yourself so wet invites me in / Our lust increased feeds desire

As we combust, yeah we on fire / I feel you shake so deep inside

Oh scream my name and squeeze me tight / I'll do anything to make you come

“Look at you, being so good for me.” The Priestess praised in a husky tone, rolling her hips in time with the feverish lapping of Geta’s tongue. She watched through hooded eyes, lips parted with heavy breath, while beneath her the Emperor sat atop his knees, mouth ravenous as he licked at her core. The rumble of his moan vibrated against her sensitive nerves, causing her toes to curl as she threw her head back, “Gods, just like that…”

Her fingers pulled roughly at his hair, nails scratching fiercly against his scalp. Another elicit groan sounded from the Emperor, his own pleasure rapidly mounting as the leg hiked over his shoulder began to quiver. As one hand squeezed the soft flesh of the Priestess’s thigh, his other bounced up and down his cock in jerky, aching motions. He was so close now, the beads of precum wetting his fingers each time he squeezed the bright red head of his cock.

But the Priestess wasn’t there yet, and he knew she’d be displeased should his climax arrive before hers.

Practically whining as he extracted his hand from his pulsing cock, Geta brought that same hand to her slick lips, teasing them momentarily, only to have his hair yanked in disapproval - the Priestess wasn’t one to play nice when teased.

“Behave.” She gasped out, rutting her hips with a stutter against his open, drooling mouth. The command drew more desperate sounds from the pathetic Emperor, who promptly did as he was told and inserted two fingers between her folds, curving them once he was knuckles deep. The sound of intense pleasure that escaped the Priestess was a beckoning siren’s song to his ears, a wanton encouragement to bring her to the cliff’s edge. He dexterously sucked her clit while slowly dragging his fingers in and out, in and out, relishing in the sweet taste and quaking thighs of the Priestess now at his mercy.

“Yes, yes--!” Her pitch increased as she gripped his shoulders, nails so sharp that they broke skin. Her hips rolled with more and more fervor, her chest rising and falling in rapid shudders as Geta’s greedy mouth sucked and licked and nipped at her clit. His fingers slid faster and rougher, practically drenched in the Priestess’s desire as his knuckles slapped against her skin again and again and again. His cock was throbbing, desperate for relief, but he knew better - he knew that the Priestess must come first.

His jaw nearly hurt as he kept lapping her up, but the Emperor dared not disrupt his pace - she was so close, and he needed to watch her come. The Priestess’s leg tightened on his shoulder, her pussy clenching around his fingers, and in his need to make her come absolutely undone, Geta slid one more finger between her drenched folds, causing her toes to curl in eager surprise.

“Fuck--!” Her hands roughly grabbed at his hair, tugging as if her life depended on it. Her voice was a sultry, low moan as she instructed, “Look at me.”

A sound of desperation escaped Geta upon hearing her command; he opened his deep brown eyes and tilted his head back just enough to meet the dangerous, lustful gaze of the Priestess. His tongue swirled her clit, watching hungrily as her lower lip quivered, practically drooling on herself as she rolled her hips against his mouth. Sweat glistened down her neck and chest, highlighting the dip of her collarbone, the curve of her breasts - just the sight of the Priestess alone was nearly enough to ruin him, nearly enough for Geta to spill all over his quaking thighs.

The hooking of his fingers at just the right angle finally sent the Priestess over the edge, her pussy clenching selfishly around him, her eyelids fluttering shut as her head shot back; sounds of utter ecstasy leapt from her dangerous, sultry lips, the seductive call daring to beckon the attention of the entire palace.

Geta’s other hand held tightly to her quivering thigh, realizing with a gasp that he was too close, his coil unwinding to the sound of the Priestess’s gasps. His jaw quaked against her center as he withdrew his soaking fingers, roughly clenching his cock in his hand as if he could somehow control himself. But it was too late for the Emperor, the pressure of his squeezing hand sending him to the brink.

As his warm seed spilled out and drenched his already soaking hand, he withdrew his mouth from the Priestess, a near flustered look in his eyes as he watched the cum drip from his fingers and onto the floor, his moans loud and uneven as his chest heaved deeply.

Still riding out her orgasm, the Priestess clung to Geta for balance, her body shaking and shuddering as she saw stars behind her eyes while coming back down to earth. She finally met the Emperor’s gaze, taking a moment to drink in his dark eyes, his full lips, his flushed face; she realized, then, that he was staring back at her in guilty desire.

The Priestess’s eyes slowly crawled from his face to his leaking cock, staring with both satisfaction and disapproval as she eyed the puddle of cum between his legs. As her tongue traced slowly along her lower lip, her sultry gaze returned to Geta’s face, causing him to practically shiver in anticipation, a breathless gasp leaving his mouth.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” The Priestess scolded as she caught her breath, lowering her leg from where it had been resting atop his shoulder, “You know better.”

He nodded quickly, his hair sticky with sweat as he watched the Priestess as if hypnotized. She smiled wickedly, relishing in just how pathetic Geta was for her, and her alone. She delicately but firmly pressed two fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head back as she leaned down, the two of them almost nose-to-nose as she assessed him with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Her teeth were like fangs as she grinned largely and cruelly, looking between his face, his cock, and his mess.

“Clean it up.” Her words were but a hot whisper across his lips, causing the Emperor to shudder as she shoved his face back. She turned to walk from him, her strut slow and sultry as Geta stared at the shiny peach of her ass. She lowered herself into a chair, her stare commanding as ever as she raised a cruel brow, once more looking between him and the puddle of cum he let spill on the floor. She clicked her tongue in reprimand, “Oh, don’t start behaving poorly now. Do as you’re told.”

With a gulp, Geta slowly lowered to the floor, tongue hanging hungrily from between his lips as he dared not break eye contact with the Priestess. Her mouth gaped in intense desire, her eyes a dangerous pair of daggers piercing into his own, “See, you're so, so good for me…”

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part two of five. (part one.) (part three.) (part four.)

summary:

the edge of the blade is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

wc. 3k

tw. blood, death, manipulation, knife kink, blood kind (both heavily hinted at), possessive feyd, political machinations, little canon divergent because the atreides actually attend feyd's bday fight (canon dune part 1 one starts a little after that), please read part one first it will all make sense i promise. shoutout to @kpopnstarwars my most beloved you're going to enjoy this. same goes for you @jaiuneamesolitaiire . also please ask questions about reader/the plot i beg of u i need to get this out of my system

you’re falling.

you see white sands engulf you in their sickly warmth, greedy little grains sinking you in.

you’re falling, and there’s a distant roar ringing in your ears. you’re falling, lifeblood escaping you.

you’ve fallen.

black.

you peel your eyelids open. they feel like sandpaper against your eyes, coarse and rough in all ways wrong.

you dream. again.

the past shifts and twists in front of you, ever changing, desert sand falling through your fingers. the more you cling to it, the less you grasp it.

you let yourself fall in the abyss of memory.

you blink.

you stand by your father’s side, gait proud and regal in a dark dress - a convoluted affair of veils and silver. on your breast, the crest of your family - crimson falcon spreading, spreading. you think of blood blooming on your chest and shift, ever so slightly. the cool press of your blade against your forearm soothes you.

you are in troubled waters, after all. 

geidi prime, home to your house’s sworn enemy, the harkonnen. geidi prime, its black sun sucking life out of its inhabitants, monochrome nightmare.

the flight from caladan was costly enough - you can almost hear hawat’s teeth grinding in discontent. a fortune, wasted on harkonen festivities held in honor of the na-baron’s birthday. yet, you must attend. you, betrothed-to-be to a harkonnen.

you’ve heard whispers. hushed conversations between your mother and father, an assessing gaze from the reverend mother herself. it won’t be the baron himself - too old, too sick to produce the desired offspring.

just any other member of that wretched house won’t do either - you are a duke’s daughter, your bloodline mingling with that of the emperor himself.

in the end, it all comes down to the baron’s nephews. 

rabban - brutal. all furious brawns, minimal intellectual capacity, proficient for slaughter if used well.

na-baron feyd-rautha. utterly psychotic. deadly. precise. cunning. watching.

from his position at the baron’s right flank, he assesses you. you, back impossibly straight, hands folded before you, feet spread wide enough to spring to action should the situation go awry.

you, bowing before them, liquid smooth, a hair short of being disgracious.

you’ve only bowed low enough to respect the intricate harkonnen protocol, not to show deference. not to them.

the baron raises his head from his seat, barely. 

“welcome to geidi prime, duke.”

you suppress a twitch. how utterly informal. 

“thank you, baron.”

a shift in the baron’s entourage.

outrage, barely concealed. rabban looks ready to slit your father’s throat. how dare the atreides scum fail to recognize the honor paid to him and his suite?

they’re being left alive, have the privilege of witnessing their beloved na-baron’s coming of age, and still fail to show the due respect?

you let out a slow, drawn out breath. the ceremony will be held in two days. more than enough time for you and your father to be disposed of. 

your lips quirk up. you speak.

“it is always an honor to be invited to festivities in which the emperor partakes.”

feyd-rautha’s eyes are on you. under geidi prime’s soulless sun, they’re white, depthless. a milky way of depraved harkonnen savagery. he bares his teeth with unbrided hunger. you know it to be a threat - you’ve heard of his harpies. 

you think he’ll consume you whole, with the way his gaze scorches your very soul. 

how delightful.

a pulse. the suspensors. slowly, the baron rises from his seat, gargantuan mass towering above you, shadow stretching and stretching until it encompasses all of you. 

“the flight to geidi prime must have been quite draining.”

a tenth of your wealth. he who controls the spice controls the universe. the harkonnen have had arrakis in an iron hold for eight decades. your jaw ticks. bastard.

“escort them to the guest wing.”

servants surge forward. 

feyd-rautha’s gaze burns, sinks in the exposed skin of your back. 

your dream shifts. twists, turns, has you seated at a banquet table.

a feast.

one day left until feyd-rautha’s coming of age.

the guards don’t know how to hold their tongue. they expect a fight - the grandest thing under the sun. 

the emperor’s here, sitting at your table. from the corner of the eye, you observe. he’s been put at the head of the table, the baron at his right, your father at his left. an attempt at appeasing eons old enemy. a failure. yet... 

there’s an air of satisfaction to the emperor. haden’t you be trained in the bene gesserit way, you would have missed it, the way his eyes glimmer like arrakean spice.

finality sinks in as he takes the first bite, knife slicing open the tender flesh of an unknown poultry.

it looks like a falcon.

you take a bite of your own meat. medium rare, the proper way to consume meat. especially venison. princess irulan watches you, gaze assessing. she, too, has been trained in the way.

you smile at her, finger tracing the rim of your glass, spider-pleasantries networking endlessly. you ask her if she enjoyed your gift - a vocal recorder of the highest quality.

her smile is sincere. in the brutal white lighting of the banquet hall, you find yourself wishing things were different.

“how is your brother?”

you grin. you’re being watched.

“he’s grown. still has his back facing the door.”

she scoffs, amused.

“he’ll learn.”

under the artificial light, your wine looks like freshly spilled blood. 

you take a sip and hum. the alcohol burns, sweet little fire settling low in your chest.

“is the wine to your liking, my lady?"

to your credit, you don’t startle. your shoulders tense, your hand freezes in its motion to lower the glass.

na-baron feyd-rautha is at your side, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. 

“it is, my lord na-baron.”

mine. mine. glacier eyes have you riveted in your seat, needle-like against your throat. mine, mine.

his lady. his to claim, his to wed, his to breed.

you watch lithe fingers curl around his knife and wish you could see him in action. watch the deadly precision he’s so praised for. 

soon. 

twist and shift, until you’re lost in a maze of hallways.

the ceremony is about to start - you can feel the low thrum of thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. shadows pass over you.

it’s cold, this architecture. metal wings stretching, stretching. should you crane your neck, maybe, you’ll watch them disappear in the ceiling. maybe. darkness is a looming cloud - these very walls soak up the light. 

you, yourself, are a shadow. puppet dancing to the whims of whoever holds your strings. bene gesserit. baron vladimir harkonnen. the emperor. 

you feel a storm coming.

you stop. light. an open door. a lone silhouette, porcelain white etched against black. 

feyd-rautha.

he raises his head. sees you. tilts it to the side, lips stretched in a slow grin.

“are you lost, my lady?”

“so it would appear, na-baron.”

a twitch. flicker of annoyance in his eyelid, in the clenching of his jaw, sculpted edge caressed by shadows.

his blade is at your throat before you can make a move. 

time holds its breath. it will snap and bleed raw at your feet, thick rivulets of it.

you will bleed, too.

your lips part, a muted gasp. the edge is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

your heart skips a beat. a droplet of blood trails down your neck, down to your collarbone, down to your breasts. his gaze follows. hungry.

“you’d make quite a mess, na-baron.”

he steps closer. circles you, free hand grazing your hip bone, left bare by your dress. you feel the heat of him. suddenly, you’re acutely aware of his bare chest pressed against you. you suppress a shiver.

“address me properly, my lady.”

he shifts his blade. it presses against your jaw.

“very well, my lord na-baron.”

a pleased hum, like a purr. you tilt your head to the side.

“what will you do, feyd-rautha?”

he turns by a fraction. his lips graze your cheek, a breath away from your mouth. your throat feels dry. they graze there, too, over your carotid, trailing up and up until he’s pressing his cheek to yours, guiding you, helping you see-

carnage.

servants, dressed in white, lying limp on the ground, throat slit with deadly perfection. blood pools on the ground. stretches. oozes from gaping wounds, until it reaches the hem of your dress. 

concubines, three of them - sisters of fate, harpies with broken limbs, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. they’re smiling, teeth like fangs in the dim lighting of the room.

“help me,” he mutters, voice like a plea. “i will guide you.”

“and if i refuse?"

a low chuckle. deep, raspy. you melt a little inside. 

“you’re brave, my little atreides.”

“you wouldn’t be the first to try to kill me and fail, miserably.”

his arm wraps around your middle, pressing you to him. oh, mother, why did you have to wear a backless dress? you feel each ridge of him, the perfection of a trained warrior, muscles taut from countless hours of training - he’d make sculptors weep with the lethal perfection of him.

“ah, the fabled tale. show me, little atreides.”

“say please.”

his fingers dig in your hip, thumb tracing small circles under the silver threads holding the fabric together.

“please.”

slowly, you raise your arm. the fabric of your dress, a convoluted affair of veils and velvet, slides down your skin. inch by inch, until the treacherous, ragged scar stretches along your forearm. he tenses, feyd-rautha. 

“who did this to you?”

“a fool who underestimated me.”

an assassin.

sent to kill you and your brother as you were running around on the beaches of caladan. who took you first, had you pressed against him, blade at your throat - until you sweetly asked him to

unhand you.

he did. your mastery of the voice wasn’t perfect. you faltered. he struck. you bled. 

killed.

words are the weapons of the weak. 

that, you aren’t.

“how may i help you, feyd-rautha?”

twist, turn, until you’re facing him, holding a bowl of paint. thick, petrol black, it clings to your fingers like a lifeline. feyd-rautha’s hand covers yours. guiding you, dipping your fingers in the paint, raising your hand to his torso.

you flush a little. 

he’s warm. so very warm under your touch. the paint is cool on his skin - you watch him shiver, abdominals contracting, and you trail down, down his pectorals, stopping just short of his navel, lingering over the fabric of his tunic. at his side, his fingers twitch, eager.

“more.”

“where?”

his hand reaches for yours. presses it on his chest. you can feel his heart, steady, strong - fluttering, hummingbird flailing in a cage made of ribs. 

you want him, you realize. you want to consume him whole, sink your teeth in him until you can finally taste. 

“where?”

you have to crane your neck to get a look at his face. something like amusement glimmers in his eyes.

he brings your fingers to his lips. 

you blink.

spread the paint, thumb pressing down the plush of his lips. his lips part, suck you in and bite. 

feyd-rautha watches you, tongue darting out to gather the sweet blood trailing down your hand. he presses a kiss to your palm, lips lingering against the callouses of your skin.

you let out something like a whine. the bowl falls. you never hear it reach the ground.

“you’re making quite a mess.”

bastard.

“you’ll make a bigger one if you’re late, my na-baron.”

twist and turn, again, and again, and again. dreams have meanings, and you won’t let this one escape your grasp.

you’re standing above the ground, in the gaping mouth of a harkonnen arena. on and on it stretches, cold metal sparring against the sky, gnawing at its decimated horizon. ink blots the sky. you think of blood pooling in the water. fireworks.

you step inside the lodge. the guards recognise you - duncan idaho flashes a smile, a sharp quirk of his lips. you nod. they part ways. let you join your father, sit by his side and watch.

the fight hasn’t begun yet.

“you look thoughtful, daughter.”

you look away from the immaculate sand and the thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. feyd-rautha.

your father is watching you, gaze austere. you will not conceal, not from him.

“an alliance with the harkonnen would be beneficial, father.”

silence. you watch the subtle twitch of his eyelid, the flexing of his hand. the guards do not hear. you’ve willed it so on your way in. to them, this is only pleasant chatter between father and daughter. harkonnen slander.

“you will not speak of such matters again.”

“the emperor-”

“enough!”

you keep your mouth shut. your father is a stubborn man, blinded by hatred passed down from generation to generation of atreides. as you should be. 

horns blow. doors part, slide up. in comes feyd-rautha harkonnen, prowling on the wretched grounds of his playing ground. your binoculars zoom in on him. on the ease with which he carries himself, on the perfect arch of his neck as he kneels before the baron.

on harkonnen prisoners making their way towards him. undrugged.

you straighten in your seat.

the guards murmur. they too, have noticed the prisoners walking straight, carrying themselves with entirely too much ease. 

“a bold move. what is the baron planning?”

your father. he’s watching too. all of you are, thousands of gazes riveted on the focal point that is the lone silhouette of feyd-rautha harkonnen. 

you rip your gaze away from him and focus on the baron, a few meters above.

his lips part.

show me who you are, my dear nephew.

he’s fast. too fast for them. you relish in it, the fluidity of his movements, the way his hands tenses with each strike of his blades, bare forearms rippling with tension. one body falls. two. it’s barely been a minute since the fight started. 

you cross your legs and watch, enthralled.

by god, does he fight well.

a reptile, slithering around his opponent, assessing him with the cruel knowledge of his supremacy. shadows loom over them, horned beasts ready to pry his opponent away from him should he prove to be in danger. 

you feel more than you hear his outraged snarl.

“back off!”

that poor soul is his to kill. his gaze flickers upwards. up to the guest lodge, up to you. he bares his teeth in a smile, a flash of black against pure white, and strikes. blood splatters on the ground. a gash opens in the side of the prisoner. he stumbles but doesn’t fall. 

no, he’s a fighter that one. lunches forward to pin the na-baron to the ground, wrestling with him, clawing at his arms, hitting every nerve until the baron drops his blades. he’s laughing. he’s getting the life choked out of him and he’s laughing, shifting until his feet find enough leverage to pull him up. 

there’s a blade at his throat. the prisoner pushes and pushes, unstoppable force against immovable object. on he laughs, feyd. your eyes drops to his lips, where you see droplets of drool drip down his chin. you bite your lip.

feyd seizes the blade with his bare hand and twists. you hear the prisoner’s wrist break before you hear him choke on his own scream, coughing out blood. the dagger’s deep in his throat. it’s the only thing keeping him together - one fluid motion and feyd rautha wrenches it out of torn flesh and raises it above.

his gaze finds yours.

the dream shifts. 

a veil unfolds, parts, until you’re walking the burning sands of arrakis. paul atreides, blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, stands before you.

his eyes are blue. 

you freeze.

a litany rises. lisan al gaib. your mother’s handicraft and eons of propaganda from the missionaria protectiva did its job well. here stands the one, scalding wind screaming around the looming silhouette of him. 

bodies. bodies, laying on the ground, thousands and thousands of bodies, hands clutching at scorched earth, parched mouths opened in damnation. hunger. they’re dying in paul’s wake. fate will set the galaxy ablaze. fate will make monsters out of you.

“you know what must be done, sister.”

you do. there’s something a little broken in the way you smile at him, palm cradling his face.

“do you, little mouse?”

he’s tired, paul atreides, usul, muad’ib, lisan al gaib. sanctity doesn’t suit him well. he sees, but his eyes are sunken, his cheeks have hollowed out. there’s an edge to him, too. the bene gesserit were right to fear him.

“don’t lose yourself more than you already have, brother.”

it’s too late. 

a jolt.

your eyes wrench open. 

“welcome back, atreides.”

the baron.

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part 9

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: kind of (?) sub!Feyd, oral sex f receiving (there’s an imbalance in oral sex but I promise reader shows him some love too), p in v, “no hands”

A/N 1.0: Two updates in one week?? I probably should edit this more but I’m just excited to release it hehe

Feyd drags his tongue down your navel, dipping into the divot of your belly button to lick out the poison. You’ve taken to creative methods of your daily dosages, the current which gives you shudders of delight. His tongue is warm and wet, his grin roguish, and his dark eyes sinfully gorgeous; there are certain instances when you can hardly stand to look at him, this being one of them. You honestly don’t know what he will see reflected in your own eyes.

His tongue darts out to capture any residual poison from his lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Fine.” You sit up, pulling your shirt back down. Disappointment is evident on Feyd’s face. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

He pulls you to the edge of the table and nudges open your legs so that he might position himself between them. “They’ll wait.”

“We don’t want to anger them.”

Feyd’s tongue rolls in his cheek. “Don’t we?”

“No.” You hop off the table. “Come on.”

“You haven’t taken your dose yet.”

You fix him with an exasperated look. Feyd pours the measurements into the glass, then into his mouth. His expression is comically triumphant. You roll your eyes as you close the space between you, then press your mouth firmly to his.

His kiss is as dangerous as the poison itself, spilling out from his lips and down his chin, down your chin, coating the inside of your mouth as his tongue pushes into it. You greedily kiss him back, poison forgotten. It’s him that you need the daily dose of, a perilous addiction that would render you sickly without. And he pulls you in like he knows this, that it’s only the poison from his lips that you seek.

You withdraw, breathless and wiping at your chin. “Satisfied?”

“For now.”

Rabban is departing today for a political mission, one that neither you nor Feyd are privy to — to his chagrin. You were both requested by the Baron to attend his send off. As you stride beside Feyd to the thopter hangar, the sight of the Baron seizes you with burning hatred.

He floats next to Rabban, muttering something to him that you can’t hear. Both cease their talking when you arrive. Frankly, you don’t know if you want to tear out their throats or leave them to Feyd’s concubines.

Rabban wordlessly boards the thopter. It will take him to a more secure location to be delivered to a heighliner, from your understanding. As you observe the scene with thinly veiled disgust, you notice a commotion to one side — it’s the same Sardaukar soldier from before, along with a handful of others. Today they’re adorn in the typical Harkonnen armor, distinguishable only by the fuzz of closely shaved hair on their heads.

You grab Feyd’s arm, lean into him. “Who are they?”

“Sardaukar. Though I suspect you already knew that,” he says without tearing his gaze from them. “I don’t know what business they have with my rotten brother.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”

He breaks away from you and storms to the Baron. They share a short, heated exchange, one that has your stomach clenching. How he stood to even be near his uncle bewildered you, though you supposed in some sense that he was unable to completely divorce himself from the man. Feyd was his heir, after all. A fact that the Baron wields over him. Your hands form into fists.

“He said that the Emperor’s soldiers are assisting them in the mission. Something about a shared goal.”

You frown. Both of you stand silently as the soldiers climb into the thopter after Rabban, stirring dust as its wings snap out and then ascend into the rings of smog circling the hangar. The Baron glides toward you both.

“Your brother is a fine soldier,” he rasps, “I know I can rely on him to secure our objective.”

Feyd’s upper lip curls into a snarl. “He has plenty of time to considering he doesn’t have any other obligations.”

“There’s a reason I made you the na-Baron,” the Baron replies coolly. “Your brother has a different fate.”

This response unnerves you. You stare after his bulbous retreating form, then flick your gaze to your husband — Feyd’s entire body is rigid with fury. You wonder briefly if he had spoken to Rabban, and what he said if he did. The more days that have passed since your wedding, the less time you had to spend together.

You were coming up on one month now.

“We dont need to stay here any longer,” you tell him.

Feyd wrenches his arm from your grasp. He snaps, “I have something I need to tend to.”

And then somehow you were left alone in the hanger, a mixture of emotions forming within you. You wanted to chase after Feyd but your better senses warned you not to — he could be volatile like this, and you weren’t really in the mood for a verbal lashing.

Instead you wander the fortress grounds. It’s taken some time, but you’re finally used to the black sun. And the guards no longer believe that you’re an Atreides spy or, at least, any threat. You want to comment on this but it’s a nice freedom, and you nod to them as you pass by. Your aimless stroll is interrupted by a loud yelling, however, drawing you to the massive gates that barricade the fortress from the rest of Giedi Prime.

Before today, you’d never even seen them open.

There’s a crowd of citizens gathered outside, obviously agitated. Guards stall them from entering with their spears, though, to the credit of the citizens, they’re doing a fairly decent job of holding their own. You spot Asha amongst the number of servants aiding in the crowd control.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

“They’re here for their monthly audience with the na-Baron,” Asha explains, “but he’s refusing to meet with them. They aren’t happy.”

She grimaces as an angry shout pierces the air.

“Why is he refusing them?”

Asha casts you a sideways glance. “He’s the na-Baron, he doesn’t need a reason.”

You survey the crowd.

“Tell them that their na-Baroness will receive them.”

“What? Are you sure?” Asha stares at you as if you asked her to behead them all.

“Give me a few minutes, first.” You flash her a smile and then turn back towards where you came from, the clamor of the crowd subsiding.

In your chest, your heart pounds furiously. You didn’t even know Feyd took audience with the citizens, much less what to do with their requests. But you could handle it, you were sure. It was about time that you contributed to the baronship.

Quickly you change into a formal dress and then make your way to the throne room. Your footsteps ring out through the space as you climb the dais steps and take your place on your husband’s throne. It’s to the right of the Baron’s, not quite as grand, and you have half the mind to sit on it before the doors open and the citizens of Giedi Prime spill inside.

The first citizen is a woman, dressed in a worn white dress. Her eyes are sunken. “na-Baroness, we are grateful for you to receive us today.” The woman nervously licks her lips. “I wouldn’t know what to do without my stipend. None of us would.”

Those that can hear her nod their assent.

You do your best not to let your surprise show on your face. You wave a hand. “Of course.”

Most of the citizens are all there for similar reasons: their monthly allowance bestowed upon them by the na-Baron. You learned that families that served in the Harkonnen military received a slightly higher amount, including those retired from it. You were loathed to be impressed by Feyd but you couldn’t help but admire his rule — he was many things, but an excellent na-Baron happened to be one of them. He supported his people in ways that others would not have bothered to.

Of course, not everyone comes to you for money.

You settle a dispute between two neighbors arguing over property lines, and a factory employee declaring unfit working conditions. It rather surprisingly becomes very easy for you to delegate the matters of these people — you found you cared about their problems, making them your own. The crowd had dwindled down quite a bit when you’re faced with two men who can hardly look at each other.

“na-Baroness,” the taller one says. He introduces himself as Anagon.

The other man remains silent.

“We are here today for your gracious judgment,” Anagon continues, unbidden. “You see, this man has forsaken me and my family.”

You examine both men. Anagon is dressed in the style typical of nobles, the other in a simple tunic and pants. He refuses to meet your eyes.

“I see,” you say. “How so?”

“He stole my family’s ceremonial dagger. Straight from my manor!”

The other man finally says, “I didn’t!”

“He deserves the swiftest punishment for his crimes against me,” Anagon continues as if the other man never spoke, “the lower citizens of Giedi Prime must learn their place.”

Anagon’s face falls as you ask the other man, “And what do you say?”

“I-I did find the dagger but —” he raises his voice to be heard over the noble’s protests, “I found it while demolishing the old factory. It-It was buried under the building, lost and forgotten. I fully intended to return it to its owner.”

Anagon hisses, "You did not!"

"You can not know his intentions," you remind him pointedly, then, to the other man, "is this dagger here today? Let me see it."

"My-My name is Res," the man says as he approaches. He offers to you a ceremonial dagger, one that you notice is badly bent out of shape and tarnished. It certainly looks like it’s been buried under a factory.

“Did you know where the dagger was? Answer me truthfully, for I will know if you have lied.”

Anagon shifts his weight. “No, na-Baroness. But it is my family’s ceremonial dagger. It-It was misplaced in the civil war two generations ago.”

You gaze between Anagon and Res. Taking the dagger from the latter, you hand it blade-first to Anagon. “This relic belongs to you. But you must compensate Res for his troubles — you accused him wrongfully. It is not your right to put whoever you see fit into place.”

“Fine. And how do you recommend that I compensate him?” Anagon asks, clearly displeased with your decision.

“You will give him a job under your employ.”

You had sat in on quite a few political meetings with Feyd, and knew the factory that Res spoke of. It had to be demolished and thus left many workers displaced. Anagon, a man you knew only by name until today, was the wealthy head of a series of factories that produced weapons.

Anagon’s jaw flexes. “na-Baroness, there must be another way —”

“You will employ him or I will take that ceremonial dagger and cut your throat with it.”

“She’ll make quick work of it, though,” a familiar rasping voice says. You shift to discover Feyd in the doorway of one of the throne room entrances, the one used for servants. Anagon and Res both stare wide-eyed at him. “You heard her.”

Anagon and Res exchange a glance before the noble mutters something akin to an apology, and promise of employment. Anagon lingers, seemingly for Feyd’s disapproval or your ire, but when neither of you speak, he turns and storms away. Res blinks up at you gratefully.

“Thank you, na-Baroness. You are exceedingly generous and fair.”

You dip your chin. Res takes that as his invitation to leave, smiling softly as he does so.

“That’s it for today,” Feyd announces. “I will receive the rest of you tomorrow.”

The remaining crowd grumbles but filters out of the throne room, leaving you alone with Feyd. He stops on the stairs at the bottom of the dais and gazes up at you. “You belong on a throne.”

Your brows furrow, and you ignore him. “You did not have to intervene, I was managing it quite well.”

“Clearly.”

“Then why did you dismiss them?”

Feyd examines your face. “If a noble claims that a lower-class citizen stole from their house, the citizen would receive death. No questions asked.”

“What?” Outrage shoots through you. “That’s ridiculous. You saw what happened —”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, wife. I am merely stating the truth of the law.”

You bristle. “Do you suggest I call them back here and slaughter the poor man for something that he did not do?”

“While that would be entertaining,” Feyd retorts, “it would demean your decision. The only real danger of it is that the citizens of Giedi Prime will be disappointed if I receive them now.”

“Maybe for good reason,” you sniff. “Why did you desert them today? It is clear to me that these people rely on you.”

A shadow of anger passes over Feyd’s expression. “I was not equipped to handle their problems, which look minor in the face of my own. My emotions would’ve clouded my better judgment.”

“That’s no reason to leave them,” you counter.

“And what do you know of ruling?” Feyd snarls. He advances on you, still towering above you despite your position on the throne. “You played the part of doting daughter to the Duke for all these years. This is your first taste of it. Do not tell me how to rule over my people.”

“Our people,” you dryly correct, “as you married me and thus gave me equal power over them.”

He sneers. “Perhaps a mistake if you think you know more about ruling than me.”

You curb the flare of your irritation, barely, by lifting your chin and looking your husband squarely in the eyes. He is a storm, crackling with dangerous energy, ready to unleash upon you.

And you tell him, “I know plenty of ruling. Get down on your knees, Feyd-Rautha, so I may prove it to you.”

Recognition flickers in his eyes. As much as the beast in him calls to you, the opposite is just as true. You love him like this — wild and beyond your control, fraying at the seams of his sanity. You want to pull on the threads until he unravels completely.

You lean forward slightly. “I said kneel.”

Never breaking eye contact, Feyd sinks to his knees before you.

A heady surge of power crashes over you then, threatens to encompass you, the brightness of the sun after an eclipse. And you are drunk on it, gulping greedily from the golden chalice that it embodies.

“You pretend that I am nothing but a duke’s daughter,” you hiss, “when I am your wife, the wife of the na-Baron. You say I know nothing of rule and yet here you are, submitting to me. How does that speak to your assumptions?”

Feyd says nothing. His gaze burns you.

You continue, unbidden, “I should punish you for your impudence. Tell me, na-Baron, what does your law say of this?”

“It says whatever you would like,” he rasps.

You can see his cock straining against his pants, feel the heat of his desire. And yet he gazes upon you with utter devotion, ready to follow out your orders without hesitation.

“I would like to put that mouth of yours to better use than making false claims.”

Feyd wavers.

“No hands,” you instruct.

You do him the favor of hiking the skirt of your dress up around your hips, then spread your legs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he marvels you. With the slightest indication of your chin, he all but crawls closer to you, breath fanning the sensitive skin of your thighs. He moves as if to brace his hands on either side of you and you press the toe of your heel to his cock.

“No hands,” you repeat, alleviating the pressure on him only once he’s locked his hands behind his back. A frustrated groan rumbles through his chest, eyes flashing. You say, “Continue.”

Your back bows as his cheeks nuzzle up against your thighs, his mouth ghosting over your cunt with perverse refrain. Unwittingly, you snap your hips to meet him — you didn’t tell him to tease you, you wanted him to fuck you with his mouth, with his stupidly plush lips. Feyd’s breathy laugh warms your exposed entrance, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, of the throne itself.

Finally he presses his mouth to your entrance and licks a stripe of your center. You shiver in delight. He drags his tongue through your slick folds, slow and savory, deliberately avoiding your clit. Feyd has no hair for you to anchor yourself so instead you grab the base of his neck and push him closer; there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s strong enough to resist you, but he assents to your touch. Feyd’s tongue spears you, stroking your inner walls before withdrawing and paying attention to your aching bud. His mouth closes over your clit and sucks.

The action sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You hold him to you, giving him no other option but to worship you, his licking and sucking becoming almost lewd, fervent, coating his chin with your wetness as he laps at you.

You pull on the back of his armor. Feyd releases his mouth from your cunt, shoulders heaving from his effort. You behold him like this — yielding to you, slick with your moisture, on his knees — and you feel a pulse of want. It drives you to kiss him, to push your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself. Feyd kisses you back just as passionately, mouth working to devour you, devour every logical thought you might conjure.

“Now,” you say, breathless, “I want you to fuck me right here on your throne, so the next time you doubt my competence you remember this moment.”

Feyd nods eagerly. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, na-Baroness,” he amends, rasping.

You smirk at him, pat his cheek. Feyd remains kneeling as you step from the throne. His body quivers with the slightest hint of his lust, visible to your eye as you circle him from behind. Drinking in his broad shoulders, his tapered waist, the shape of his ass, you swallow, exhilarated by your power and the man before you.

“Sit down. On the throne.”

Feyd obeys. He moves his hands from behind his back to the armrests. There’s a tension in the line of his jaw that tells you it’s taking every ounce of his strength not to touch you.

You set to removing his armor. “Lift,” you instruct and he does as you ask so that you can slide his pants down. His cock springs forth, slapping up against his toned stomach. You trail the backs of your nails up his length, under the curve of his head, and Feyd nearly whimpers at the contact.

You straddle him, and his entire body coils. There’s a tremendous release of endorphins when you finally sink down on his cock, clenching your walls and taking him all in. Feyd groans. You wiggle your hips appreciatively and let yourself adjust. He bucks into you then slightly, which you respond to with an agonizingly slow withdraw, lifting up on your knees so that he’s once more exposed to the cool air. His cock twitches.

“Fuck,” he all but seethes.

You slam back down on him and he howls out. Joining him with a cry of pleasure, his cock piercing you almost painfully, you set a violent, unsteady pace, instincts guiding you to seek out your own orgasm. It washes over you too quickly, stills you as it takes a hold over your senses.

“Please,” Feyd mutters. He grinds against your cunt, eager to keep up the friction.

You hum “Please what?”

“Please let me touch you,” he begs, “please, na-Baroness.”

You pump his cock slowly, lazily, and he grits his teeth in agony. Feyd trembles. “Fine,” you say, his hands on you before you can even finish the word. His touch is electric.

Feyd grabs hold of you, curls his fingers into the dip at your lower spine, and thrusts with you, over and over. He’s the one sitting on the throne but you are the one in charge — holding power over him by the snap of your hips, the way your cunt coaxes out his orgasm, your lips on his neck. And he is all too willing to be the slave to your pleasure, aiding you to orgasm twice more before finally coming inside you.

His thick cum fills you. You moan into the juncture of his shoulder as he wrings his own pleasure from you, shuddering, breath warming the side of your face.

“I-I won’t make that mistake again,” he rasps.

You can’t help but laugh. “Mm, pity. I quite enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it,” Feyd says. His expression turns into one of introspection. “I’ve never…given…myself to someone like that before. Not on purpose.”

Your heart twinges. “I wouldn’t have —”

“No. No apologies. I did it willingly. It was a show of…trust.”

The pain you feel at his behalf melts away to something even more confusing and impossible to name. You don’t say anything as you both adjust yourselves; you, slightly uncomfortable as his cum slides down your thighs, him, looking neither abashed at his admittance nor pleased. Just…content. A look you’ve never noticed before gracing his handsome features.

Unspoken between you, the two of you return to your quarters. Fatigue seizes you. But there’s a tiny bird trapped in your chest that beats its wings against your rib cage — hope. A foolish, tragic brush of promise that you wish to silence.

From your place on the bed, where you collapsed upon arrival, you covertly watch Feyd. He cleaned you, gave you a new dress to wear, and now is ensuring that he’s fit for the view of others. You trace the shape of his body, so achingly familiar to you, hidden mostly under his armor. He catches you staring and lifts a brow, dark eyes glinting.

“Yes, wife?” He turns. “Or should I say, na-Baroness?”

You grin at him.

Sitting on the tip of your tongue, a confession lies, your judgement loosened by this moment of peace between you. You want to tell him about the beating of your heart, the way that he’s properly — unavoidably — invaded your mind, but the opportunity passes as soon as you have the chance to grasp it.

There’s a commotion outside of your quarters.

Feyd beats you to the door, shields you with his body as you both survey the servants pacing back and forth. They seem to be mumbling between each other hastily, worriedly, obviously uncertain about what to do with themselves. You can’t miss their pitying glances.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Feyd’s expression is grave. “I don’t know.” He grabs the arm of one of the passing servants. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“na-Baron!” The servant’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t know, we haven’t been told —”

Suddenly you hear your name being called over the clamor. Asha elbows her way through the servants, face stricken, and grabs you by circling her arms around your neck. “Y/N, I’m so sorry —”

“What? What are you sorry for?”

She holds you at arms length. There are tears in her eyes. “The House of Atreides has fallen.”

A/N 2.0: I’m sorry Leto, you don’t survive in this universe either😭😭😭 Also, part 2 of Feyd and reader solving their disputes with fucking.

For the life of me I can’t remember who but I dedicate this chapter to whoever reblogged Part 7 and added something like “I wish Feyd would fuck away my disbelief and insecurities”. Because same.

Part Ten

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @kpopnstarwars @m-indkiller @dacreshoney @stopeatread

[jess-the-vampire]

Professor Caduceia and Snakely

Checked out the storyboard for the deleted s1 episode "Homesick"

You can read it here : https://t.co/WpZJFWbR48

I just loved these cut villains, one whose design def seemed like it was given to raine when they got cut. (I wonder if the color palette was similar, but we don't have a reference to that so idk)

Thoughts on the cut episode below:

An episode where king and owlbert of all characters bond is kinda neat, especially since it provides owlbert himself a bit more character here.

The opening is def far different from any of the final ones we ever see in the series, in fact it feels like it should be taking place during the episode but it can't be given we see hooty from being sick to not being sick in pretty chronological order?

A focus on the healing coven was nice to see, especially since we never got that in the show itself, and get some idea of their powerset and what they do magic wise.

So Manny was an ambulance driver, and Camila was a nurse in this. People originally assumed camila was a nurse when the show started, and it makes me wonder if that was changed between seasons at some point cause clearly the crew decided to change her profession and it's unclear why.

you can use your palisman as a communicator? and an umbrella? I do think it's so weird that even at the very end of the show, they establish brand new rules for palisman. Like them being able to shapeshift into objects is straight up not explained and just sorta....happens in the show, like i feel like hunter would have no issue hiding flap if this is a thing. (It also kinda makes stringbean's ability slightly less unique) Like this is displayed in these boards, but they kept it even in the show itself, and i think palisman might need a proper rulebook.

On that same note, owlbert uses magic in this board, like we kinda knew palisman could do some magic without a witch, but this is the only time we've seen one use it to fight another witch that wasn't the batqueen. Like owlbert tries to full on blast people in this. I don't know if removing this episode makes this ability less canon in the world itself since they still can do magic in the show, it's just worth noting that palisman, according to this board, CAN fight back, even if they're not incredibly strong it seems. Certainly the kinda thing that makes you think on other episodes tbh.

This episode also brings up the idea that eda actually CAN and DOES bring human food to the BI, which never happens in the show, in fact luz implies she gets to eat very little options there, so this idea seems no longer canon?

The demon hunters at one point don't even seem to recognize owlbert as a palisman, which does not entirely make sense given they seem to be mostly common to the townsfolk, so I'm kinda glad for that plot hole being gone.

Caduceia makes it out like the emperor's coven forced her to teach? and she thought handing over a house demon to belos would get her out of teaching as if it were some kinda punishment or job she was made to do? I have questions

side note, house demons are called rare in this, like they're not common, not sure if this still applies in the final show, but yeah.

there's some very sweet moments in this with luz and eda especially, but also some funny moments, and some jokes that land a little less....i don't think we needed Caduceia to be kissing her snake like that from that angle, even if it was meant to be a little uncomfortable.

one reason i think this episode did get cut? we got a glyph in this

a healing glyph, which has some ties to water based on it's symbol

i'm guessing since they kept the main glyphs element based, a healing glyph would of stuck out and been a bit weird. Like it just heals people, it doesn't produce water despite looking close to the alchemy symbol for water, and well....we already got ice so this would be redundent.

so yeah, this episode introduced a new glyph that saved them in the end so it would of come back in future episodes, but to keep it simple that would mean cutting the entire episode as a whole just to keep the four.

Since they enjoyed Caduceia's design so much, they must've repurposed it for raine somewhere down the line.

very fun insight into a scrapped episode.

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Ten

Summary: Out in the country, feelings are revealed.

Notes/Warnings: 18+ mentions of arousal, dated beliefs in god/s, dated beliefs between men & women. Art/photos of sculptures used in collage are to display & give an example of some possible moments that take place in the chapter.

❤️s, comments, feedback, reblogs are all welcome and appreciated. It’s a longer chapter, but didn’t want to interrupt some of its flow. Thank you for reading! ❤️

There were so many people at the Villa, you were taken aback. So you were grateful for Aelia, at least you knew her. She showed you around while Geta tended to some matters.

Feeling terribly flustered, you found yourself outside. You smiled, spotting a small pond. Gathering your clothes, you sat down beside it. The sun was warm and the grass was soft. Seeing little fish swimming made you smile.

Leaning closer to get a better look at them, you saw your own reflection. You gasped. You had not realized how much of a lady you had become. You wondered, if your mother would recognize you. Did being around the emperor truly do this to you?

“There is the sweetest blossom of Rome. She is near fresh water. Neptune, I pray does not see you and fall in love.”

You blushed and glancing back at the clear, water smiling as a fishes swished by.

“Geta, such honey like words. Be careful we should not upset the gods.”

“I merely hope he realizes my gratitude to have such a blossom such as you.”

Your cheeks remained aflame with his words

“You are in touch with them more than I. Surely, they are aware of your true emotions.”

“I certainly hope so.”

With a soft sound, pushed himself away from the tall tree that had given you shade and he drew close; his clothes brushed you as he knelt near you.

“I already feel the good humors for being here.”

“It is the same for me. Though, I fear I may lose my way in those hallways at least once while we are here.”

You shyly looked away. A chuckle from Geta made your cheeks feel warmer.

“I had to reorient myself as well.”

Your eyes grew as you looked back at him. “Truly?”

He nodded. “Yes, I have some new furniture, works of art that have acquired since I was last here. Accommodations were also made for you.”

“I hope I wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

********

He swallowed, the good humors filled him to brim when he was around you. It made him restless. Made him want to do a great many things.

He slipped his hand into the folds of his clothing. His fingers easily found the small pocket that had been sewn into several of his garments. Usually he carried with him a small leaf, that he would urge Caracalla to chew on when he had one of his fits or just fretted.

Now, it held something different. A little trinket. A bracelet. He had been looking at the jewelry that he had debated wearing at the villa. It was the least he could give you for saving his life.

“Geta, are you alright?”

He rose his eyebrows. “Yes? What? Why do you ask?”

As he glanced at you he could see concern splashed on it.

“You appeared to be elsewhere, you had grown silent.”

“I am good. Very good.” He nodded. He let his fingers brush against the small treasure a final time.

“I have a gift for you.” Geta said softly.

Glancing around, he did not know why, it was not as if he cared for the words or thoughts of others. Drawing closer to you, where you sat by the pond.

“It is not everyday when one takes an active hand in saving my life. I found this treasure.”

He took his closed hand from the folds of his clothes. He opened it. The sun rays happy danced on its accents. It was lovely, gentle like you were. Not has bold as some of the pieces him or Caracalla would wear.

“Oh, Geta. I…I don’t know what to say. Such finery for me.” Your voice shook.

It caused him to inwardly tremble.

“Do you like it?”

“I do. It’s just, by the gods I never even wished.”

“That is why your emperor has bestowed it upon you, not them.”

“Yes. You have.”

“Allow me then to slip it on you.”

You nodded. “Please. I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

Easily he moved the metals as they should. He grazed his thumb over the bracelet.

“I like it. I chose wisely.” He placed your hand back into your lap.

“Oh, it is wonderful.” You brought your hand to your shoulder.

“Very fitting for one who saved me.” He smiled.

He watched as your eyes twinkled, your face became as brilliant as the sun above. His heart raced he wanted to kiss you. He would.

You trembled at the suddenness of it. But then he felt as you melted against him. Your lips responded to his.

Easily, moving just the right way he hung over you as you easily laid back. Your hair became even richer in color as the loose strands from the ribbons laid in abandon against the soft green grass. His heart beat harder as he hung over you, he anchored one of his hands in the soft earth.

Breaking the kiss so he may take a breath and allow you one as well, he smiled as you reached up and your fingers nestled in his hair.

Drawing close to you once more, his nose, his lips grazed your cheek. “You are as lovely as any nymph lucky enough to have caught the eye of a god.” He whispered in your ear. “But tell me dear nymph you will give chase and make me chase you?”

He pulled back so he could look at you as you spoke.

“Only if he wishes it.”

He smiled. “Good. Right now, I do not. I do not wish to live the tale of the mighty Apollo and Daphne.”

As he spoke those words he saw your eyes become watery.

“You know of their story.”

You nodded.

He swallowed. The words came and knot that had been tightening unbeknownst to him loosen ceased to be.

“My dear blossom.” He whispered in your ear. “I have come to care. Perhaps, my elation, my tenderness is from all that transpired. But, I promise to take care of you and devote my affections solely to you. Please do not wither into a tree where all I can do is only admire from afar.”

A tear slipped from one of your eyes. “No, I promise, as long as we can share a tenderness I will not take root and become a mere tree.”

His lips met yours.

********

You felt wonderfully rejuvenated. He had ordered a bath for the two of you. Any of the knots that had held over from the carriage ride were now gone. Now, candles flickered making shadows dance as the two of you lounged and ate.

Occasionally, you couldn’t resist looking at your wrist where the bracelet twinkled. You would not worry about what may or may not happen when you would be seen wearing it.

“How long will we be here at the villa?”

Geta, shrugged. “A few days at the very least. I already feel much better and it’s only been a day.”

You nodded and happily nibbled on the fish that was on your plate. It was fresh, mich fresher than what was served at the Domus in the city. It reminded you of the fresh fish your mother would serve your family.

“It is very different than the city. I had forgotten one can hear bird calls floating on the breeze.”

“They sound different than in the city.”

You nodded once again. “There they only know of their cages.”

“Beautiful cages, I had an artist craft a lovely one.”

“They were lovely and safe in it.”

A rich chuckle came from Geta, you glanced at him.

“Dondas, is also not harassing any of them here.”

You giggled. “Dondas is cute.”

Geta rose an eyebrow. “He’s a menace.”

“At least he makes Caracalla happy.”

“That is true.” He took a sip from his wine. “Speaking of animals, have you ever ridden on a horse?”

You looked off as if you could see the moment. “Only once.”

You still could remember the feel of the animal, how your mother had controlled the straps of rope used to control the animal.

“Oh?”

“The day, I learned how to treat a wound. My mother had snatched me up when she went to retrieve what was needed. I was small enough to ride with her and hold the items.”

“You need to have a real ride.” A pleased look came over him.

You watched as he pressed his lips together, while glancing at his arm. “Should you look at it again?”

“Yes. We don’t want darkness to seep in.”

“I will have them fetch whatever you need.”

*******

“Aelia?” You glanced at the woman who stood by the door. “Do you wish to watch me check on our Sire’s arm?”

“Oh? Yes. This is very fascinating. Never seen anything like it.”

He slipped from the top of his robe. The soft fabric pooled around his waist. His chest, resembling some of the carved statues you had seen in the gardens.

“It may still sting.” You said softly as you met his eyes.

He nodded.

Gently, you peeled back the cloth. It looked good. Not dark. Soon you poured some of the vinegar and clear oil on it to clean it.

Geta hissed.

You glanced at him under your lashes. “It doesn’t hurt too much does it?”

“I do not like it. I will be fine.”

******

You reached up to the broach that was the cause for all of this. Your finger traced the edge of it.

Geta’s and Aelia’s voice were only murmurs to you has you stood by window that led to balcony. Should you undo the clasp that held the fabrics of your clothes together, you wondered.

He had not dismissed you. Did he need you? A flutter excitement filled you. How he had wanted to be you before the party had stolen your breath. Apart of you should be scandalized, you were no harlot despite being his but it had felt so good. you enjoyed being joined with him.

You gasped as a warm hand settled on your stomach and you were pulled close. You’d know his strong frame now anywhere.

“My sire.”

An admonishing sound came from him. He was so close, you could feel the warmth of his breath.

“Geta, my emperor you wish to be this close?”

You turned your head just enough to see the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

“I do.”

You felt as he held you tighter against him. A gasp came from you as his arousal pressed against you. Your heart squeezed. Not in fear but in anticipation.

A soft, low chuckle came from him. “You feel what you have done to me.”

You nodded.

“You have entranced my loins.”

“I have?” You managed. “You have quickened my heart.”

“Oh? Have I?” His voice grew deeper.

You felt as his hand drifted up your torso, which made it beat harder.

“My emperor?” You breathed.

“I want to feel.” His hand then laid where it beat. A soft sound came from him. “I enjoy causing this response in you.”

You trembled as his hand then slipped under the soft fabric that had been wrapped around and draped from you. It was even warmer and softer feeling as it laid against your skin. His rings were a cool contrast.

Lightning then streaked across the ebony sky, and thunder crashed as if drums from all over were struck. Without a thought, a cry of surprise came from within you and turning you nestled against Geta. You easily found his throat and hid your face there. He smelled of honey, fruits. It was very pleasing, it felt right.

You felt as his hand rubbed your back. “My little blossom. Jupiter is just sharing his pleasure with us. From his perch in the sky above, he saw and heard us. He gave us his blessing.”

You didn’t move you. “Even though, I am just a girl who was blessed that you made me yours.” You whispered.

Despite the twinges of worry that prickled you, deep inside the desire to press your lips to his throat grew.

He chuckled. “Jupiter is very pleased. I saw you and made you mine, just as he goes after what he wants.”

The sky once again brightened as lightning streaked across once again, thunder rumbled not long after.

Hearing his words, you felt reassured. Making Jupiter happy was above all. Geta followed close to the mighty Jupiter. You felt such a great honor in all of this.

Following your urges, you pressed your lips to his throat.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @laura-naruto-fan1998 @helsa3942

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

[reulaux]

Yue Qingyuan Fix It Speed Run

After the event of Bingge vs. Bingmei, Yue Qingyuan comes up to ask Luo Binghe.

"So you say Xin Mo can bring you to another universe, at another point of time, where there are the same people as in this universe?"

Luo Binghe nods carefully.

"Do you want to help your shizun in the other universes?"

And so start the dysfunctional team of Yue Qingyuan, Luo Binghe, and Shen Yuan to rescue Xiao Jiu, and by extension, Yue Qi.

If Xiao Jiu and Yue Qi are still slave children, both are bought, freed... Or kidnapped. And brought back to Cang Qiong in Yue Qingyuan's universe where his universe's Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan) settles them down.

If Xiao Jiu is already in the Qiu Household, Yue Qingyuan either buys, lies about Xiao Jiu needing to go with him for some reasons. Or just kidnaps him.

After a few universes, Yue Qingyuan realises kidnapping is the easiest and most reliable way so he sticks to it.

If Yue Qi is locked in the Lingxi Cave, Yue Qingyuan kidnaps frees Yue Qi. It's not like people outside come to check how Yue Qi is doing that often, and they don't have high hope he would survive anyway. His shizun also has all the other future sect leader candidates outside.

If Yue Qi is already out of the cave, he kidnaps takes Yue Qi to meet the many Xiao Jiu back in Qiong Ding in his universe.

If Xiao Jiu is with Wu Yanzi, he kills Wu Yanzi and kidnaps rescues Xiao Jiu to Mu Qingfang in his universe to fix his meridians and feed precious treasures generously provided by Xiao Jiu's future disciple and Demon Emperor.

If both are already in Cang Qiong... He does not quite know what to do, so he stalks observes Xiao Jiu for the time being in case Xiao Jiu needs something.

Meanwhile, Xiao Jiu, who is always annoyed at Yue Qingyua's lurking at the edge of his vision, says his demand is the answer why Yue Qi did not come back to save him. As Yue Qingyuan already sets his mind to provide what any Xiao Jiu needs no matter what, he helplessly confesses he did come back but was too late and was too much of a self loathing coward to utter the truth.

Finally, after this long, it is clear to Yue Qingyuan that what all Shen Qingqiu in all the universes need is the reason why he did not come back, so he sets out to tell every Shen Qingqiu that.

Though, sometimes, in some universe, Xiao Jiu, Yue Qi, or both are already dead, so he makes a proper grave or two, and moves on...

...

If Xiao Jiu is in the Water Prison, he kidnaps him.

If Xiao Jiu is in the Water Prison and already lost a limb, he cries... Kidnaps and drops Xiao Jiu to Mu Qingfang.

If Yue Qingyuan also sees a pile of broken Xuan Su shards next to the limbless Xiao Jiu, he brings those back too.

Soon, both the Qiong Ding Peak and the Qing Jing Peak are full of Xiao Jiu and Yue Qi of various ages. Yue Qingyuan is thinking of creating a thirteenth peak exclusively just for them to live in.

Almost all of the older Xiao Jiu are afraid of Luo Binghe though, so Yue Qingyuan bans Luo Binghe from meeting those Xiao Jiu. It is also another reason why Luo Binghe's duty is limited to opening and closing the portals, aside from the presence of Xin Mo being too glaringly demonic and would complicating the rescues.

Luo Binghe is heartbroken, but he can still play with the other younger Xiao Jiu and his own husband shizun.

...

This morning, Wei Qingwei sees his sect leader drops off another pile of Xuan Su shards. Wan Jian now has a concerning amount of broken Xuan Su. Wei Qingwei should reforge or do something about this many and this powerful swords, right?

"Zhangmen shixiong, really, how many spare Xuan Su swords do you need?!"

The Qian Cao Peak is also packed with so many younger versions of the sect leader with different stages of broken bones, torn tendons, and frayed meridians. Even worse, he gets so many more younger versions of Shen Qingqiu whose injuries range from malnutrition, contusion and laceration wounds, crippled meridians, to limblessness and dying... Who is hissing and biting him whenever he approaches to examine or treat...

At least none of them contracts Without a Cure... How curious... Why is it only his universe's shixiong who is careless when fighting the demons??

From the sect leader's face though, Yue shixiong expects nothing less than the state of completely reattached or regrown limbs, eyes, and tongue. Mu Qingfang wipes his sweat. He surely has to extensively expand and deepen his knowledge about the reconstruction medicine.

Luckily Shen shixiong and Shang shixiong are knowledgeable about many plants, beasts, and treasures that resolve these issues, and Luo shizi easily fetch them from the Demon Realm and the hidden realms.

Mu Qingfang now could have even cured all the crippled victims of the Sower incidence back then. However, with the number of his current patients... Mu Qingfang sighs.

"Zhangmen shixiong, please slow down on your kidnapping rescuing!!"

Later, you can see the War God walking back and forth in front of the entrance of the thirteenth peak.

Irritably, an adult Shen Jiu comes down the stone steps and scowls. "What is it?"

When he sees the fan in Liu Qingge's hand, he comments, "I didn't know a brute has learnt to use a fan."

"It's for you." The brute's face blushes and hands the fan over.

"Oh? Which of me?"

The Bai Zhan Peak Lord seems to be stuck for words. "You... You..."

Shen Jiu scoffs. "Give it to the native Shen Qingqiu. We have enough of our own from Qi ge ." Shen Jiu flicks his sleeve and walks off.

===

Meanwhile, after Luo Bingge goes back to his own universe,

LBG: I want my own kind shizun. I'll find him in another universe. (:

LBG: *slashes to a random universe*

LBG: What? You say Shen Qingqiu was abducted?

LBG: *combs through that whole universe but cannot find shizun*

LBG: It's okay. There'll be another shizun in another universe. (:

LBG: *slashes to another universe*

LBG: ...

LBG: There's no Shen Qingqiu nor Shen Jiu in this universe either?

LBG: ...

LBG: *combs through the whole other universes but still cannot find shizun again and again*

LBG: ...

LBG: Who is hoarding all my shizun?!?! D:<

...

LBG: *slashes back to the SVSSS universe*

LBG: I found a peak full of shizun here!!

SJ et al: *already set up the heaviest and most complex wards against LBH as soon as they're discharged from MQF*

LBG: ...But I can't enter! ):<

SJ et al: *sneer*