#gi writes

Geta was unaware how many hours had passed, but he was unfortunately aware of how many times Senator Thraex had repeated himself in the past five minutes. The older man stumbled over his words and he swallowed thickly, combing his fingers through his hair (lack thereof). Visible sweat pooled along the back of his neck and his eyes darted around the room with visible nervousness. The eldest emperor leaned over towards his brother who wore a bored expression upon his face until Geta whispered something for only his ears and he immediately broke out into a grin, lips curving upwards. They exchanged a hidden glance, brown and blue eyes sparkling like a pair of perfectly carved marbles. 

“Senator Thraex,” Geta said in a smooth drawl, tapping his ringed fingers against the table methodically. He slumped back against the chair for a moment before he leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “Shall we call for a healer? You look…unwell.” 

Silence washed over the senators…and Macrinus? Why was he present? Geta could not remember. He was neither a senator or politician; he was just a wealthy man with a stable of gladiators at his disposal, and yet he somehow charmed his way into the twins' entourage it seemed. 

Caracalla snickered alongside his twin, eyes narrowed on the older man with scrutiny. His head cocked to the side, and he parted his lips as if he were about to speak, but Macrinus cut him off from the opposite end of the table. 

“Forgive the senator, your majesties,” Macrinus bowed his head slightly, dark eyes cast downwards to his clasped hands resting in his lap. “He had a rather late night I’m afraid.” 

“Haven’t we all?” Geta chuckled and his brows raised in amusement. He pushed himself up from his chair a silent signal that this meeting was adjourned, finally. “The hour is late, and as much as the conversation regarding trade routes is the most riveting, I cannot bear to listen to Senator Thraex repeat himself, again.” He was looking directly at Macrinus now, studying him briefly as if he was searching for something…for what he did not know. But something about the man caused him unease. 

Senator Thraex’s face paled and his lips opened and closed rapidly like a gaping fish. He sputtered out an apology, one that was silently brushed off like a pesky gnat on fruit. 

The twins were the first to leave the room, their bodies moving like siamese cats and their Praetorians trailed behind them as they entered the vacant hallway to return to their own quarters. Dondus had made a real nest of Caracalla's hair and chittered softly.

“Brother,” Geta said alongside him, his hands clasped behind his back, brows furrowed, a sign that he was deeply in thought. “Do you know why Macrinus was present this evening?” 

The younger twin shrugged and reached up to fiddle with one of his earrings, rolling the heavy gold between his ringed fingers before releasing it. “I haven’t a clue. Was he…not supposed to be in the meeting?” 

Geta huffed and dropped his hands from behind his back and twisted his rings on his fingers instead. He glanced over his shoulder and past their Praetorians as if he was paranoid someone could be following them. “He had no business being involved. He is not a senator, nor an advisor.” 

“Yes, but he is rich. Rich men always have their way of getting a seat at a table they are not invited to,” Caracalla said with a giggle, nudging his hip against his brothers. “You are so tense, Geta.” 

“I am not tense,” Geta hissed under his breath. “I am exhausted, and I did not expect the discussion of fucking trade routes to last that many hours.” 

“Ah, you are tense!” Caracalla teased and poked him on the shoulder. “Hopefully your empress is in a fair mood when you return to her. Surely she can help you unwind.” 

“Doubtful,” the older twin grumbled. “The most affection I’ll receive from her is practically nonexistent. She always makes me work for it,” he droned. “I should not have to grovel for sex from my wife like I am some common beggar.” 

“Well, had you not foolishly sent your concubines away…” Caracalla trailed off, blue eyes glinting under the torchlights they passed. “You would not have to grovel for your needs to be met. It’s almost as if you like it!”  He gasped, pupils expanding. “She has turned you into a masochist!” 

Geta’s cheeks felt hot and he tucked his chin into his shoulder to hide the blooming redness that spread like a rash from his brother. He could feel the prickling sense of shame creep up the exposed skin along the back of his neck as if his empress were there, alongside him now, whispering against his ear, hot breath fanning his skin and causing goosebumps to appear. 

My whiny, pathetic, little anaticula. 

His breath hitched in his throat at the sound of her enticing voice invading his subconscious. He could even feel the scrape of her nails against his scalp, drawing blood from how hard she would tug on his golden roots. His knees threatened to buckle. The sensation was so strong, so visceral that he blindly reached for his brother's elbow, clamping down harshly. 

“Perhaps you are the one in need of a healer, brother,” Caracalla snickered. “It is like she has bewitched you and casted a spell upon you.” 

“Shut up,” Geta whispered and removed his hand and straightened his posture. “I told you I was exhausted. Don’t read deeper into it. I am well.” His tone said otherwise, but Caracalla made no further comments regarding his brother's crumbling demeanor. 

“Well, rest easy. I, on the other hand, will be having the most delightful evening with my concubines. Tell the empress I wish her a fair evening,” Caracalla said with a wink and parted from his side to return to his own chambers, his Praetorians peeling off from Geta’s. 

The eldest emperor muttered something under his breath, shaking his head and marched forward down the hall. Outside of his and the empress’s chamber he paused behind the door. What version of her would greet him tonight? He wondered. She was always hot and cold; unpredictable. He loved it. He loved her. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

He pushed open the door and addressed his Praetorians with a curt nod before he slipped inside and let the ornate carved wood swing shut behind him. He expected that she would be asleep by now, but their bed was still perfectly made up and untouched. Candles flickered from the bedside tables and he was greeted with the scent of incense burning; frankincense. 

“Empress?” He called for her as he strode further into the room. He was greeted with…nothing. If he wasn’t tense and wound up before now he truly was. If the meeting hadn’t stretched for as long as it had, maybe he would have been calm and thinking sensibly, but that was not the case. 

“I am not in the mood for games tonight,” he muttered to himself and made quick, almost frantic steps around the general area. First going to the attached balcony because he knew she liked to sit and stargaze on clear nights, but she was not there either. He loudly cursed, causing a grouping of birds to scatter at the sound of his booming voice. 

He called for her again as he whipped around on his heel, his footsteps heavy along the marble flooring. Had he taken a moment to breathe and collect himself, he would have noticed that his wife was directly to his left when he first walked into their room…but the emperor did not know the art of collecting oneself from crashing out. 

The empress had been practicing her calligraphy at her little vanity area, and when the emperor strode in, calling for her in that desperate tone of his, she couldn’t help but sit back and watch silently. 

The fool. She mused to herself. 

Had she not revealed herself with the faintest giggle, he would have torn up the entire room to find her. 

“HAVE YOU BEEN THERE THE ENTIRE TIME?!” He screeched from where he stood, bewildered at the sound of her ringing giggle coming from the opposite end of their massive living quarters. His skin was flushed, and his hair appeared disheveled from where he had raked his fingers through it frantically. 

The empress folded her hands to rest against her chin, staring at him unnervingly. “The entire time, yes,” she echoed his words with a curved grin appearing on her lips. Her wedding band winked at him under candlelight almost condescendingly—mockingly. 

“And you thought…to say nothing?” he crossed his arms over his chest, feeling his heartbeat still racing out of his rib cage. “Instead you just sat there and watched me make a fool of myself?” He huffed and dropped his arms and flopped down against the edge of the duvet dramatically. 

She rolled her eyes at his theatrics and set her pen down alongside the parchment and stood up. “I enjoyed watching you lose your mind, husband. It was rather entertaining to watch you turn to a state of panic.” 

He sat up almost immediately from the duvet, umber eyes narrowing at her unnervingly calm appearance. “When I call for you, I expect you to answer,” he said firmly. There he was. All bark and no bite, right on schedule. 

She laughed at this because he was just too predictable when he got into one of these mood swings where he experienced a delusion of grandeur where he actually believed he had a semblance of control over her. 

“What am I, your dog?” She scoffed and walked over to where he was sitting, his thighs falling open naturally at her approach as if on command. 

“You heard me, amica mea. I call for you and you answer. Do we have an understanding?” he said with an arched brow, his stern gaze beginning to falter and weaken when she had come to stand between his spread thighs and leaned down over him, her hands coming to rest against his shoulders. Her touch immediately sent a spark of flames igniting under his finely crafted dress robe. 

“No,” she said coolly, and then she slowly lowered herself into his lap much to his surprise. “Anaticula,” she hummed and moved one of her hands from his shoulders and brought it towards his head. At first he thought the gesture was to comfort him, and he imagined her raking her fingers through his golden tresses, but instead she did the unthinkable; she wretched his laurels from their place upon his head and tossed them to the floor, far from his reach. The crown clattered against the marble, bouncing once before it rolled to the opposite side of the room. “What was that you were saying just now?” 

His mouth ran dry as he watched the symbol of his power discarded in such a deliberate and careless fashion. He should have struck her then and put her in her rightful place, but before he could even raise his hand, she was grabbing his wrists and throwing them above his head, pinning them to the mattress. He could easily overpower her, but he was too stunned to move and it felt as if he was locked under her gaze, frozen and trapped. “I answer when I choose to, husband,” she said just above a whisper. 

“I should reprimand you, wife, for your bold actions,” he snarled through clenched teeth. “How dare you remove my crown. How dare you disrespect me. How dare you not answer when I call for you. How dare you—”

His words were lodged in his throat like an obstruction in his airway when she slipped her freehand down between their bodies where his thighs were still slightly spread beneath her and pushed open the fabric there with no resistance. She was surprised to find him bare beneath her touch—that was more Caracalla’s style. As soon as her nimble fingers were wrapped around him, he whimpered and melted like hot candle wax. She squeezed hard, and in tandem his eyes rolled back into his skull. 

“P-peace, vita mea,” he breathlessly pleaded. Tears began to well when she squeezed harder as if her hand was like a coiling snake constricting around its defenseless prey. Visions of her ripping his precious cock from his body danced behind trembling lids. The scariest part? He knew she was capable of such horrors. 

“Have you no respect for yourself, husband? Did you really sit in a room full of crotchety old senators and your brother with nothing beneath your clothing?” she sneered and leaned over him, the bridge of her nose brushed against his cheek before she pulled back slightly so she could look directly in his eyes. “Oh,” she sighed and sank further into his lap. “You thought tonight would go smoothly, and in your favor, yes?” 

“I-I-” he stumbled over his words, unable to think properly, not with her gripping him like a vice, and her words lashing at him like a whip. 

“You left that meeting thinking that tonight would be the night that you put me in my so-called place, hm? That I will finally submit to you. Am I on the right track?”

“Please—I’m sorry, empress. Forgive me. Please. Please. Please,” he begged, hoping she would be merciful. He would be nothing without his manhood—nothing. Yet, despite his very tangible fear, his body reacted differently. The fear only seemed to electrify him further as blood flowed southwards and he grew thick and heavy in her hand. 

“Oh, my whiny, pathetic, little anaticula,” she cooed, “you’re shaking like a leaf,” she giggled and gradually loosened her grip before she released him from her clutches entirely. “Did you really think that I was about to rip your precious cock from your body? Oh, you poor thing.” 

All he could do was blankly stare up at her and listen to the blood rushing in his ears and his heart pounding in his rib cage. His breathing was unsteady even after she had assured him that she wasn’t about to castrate him. His wrists went limp in her hold and he was positively speechless until she lifted herself from her lap completely. He was released from her possessive grip and he struggled to sit up along his elbows as she started to walk away like nothing had transpired. 

“Where—where are you going?” he found his voice again but barely. “Come here,” he beckoned her as he pulled himself up into an upright position. “Please.” 

“Are you going to be nice?” she answered back and turned around to face him. She was not expecting to be met with what looked like a wounded puppy. She expected he would have found his own fire again and stoked it. No, instead his dark chocolate eyes were glistening as if he were about to cry.  “I swear it, amasiuncula,” he said in the quietest tone he could muster. His eyes flickered down to his lap briefly before returning his focus to her. He didn’t want to jinx his luck (not that he had much to begin with) . He watched her with a hooded gaze as she crossed the short distance between them and situated herself in his lap once more. This time, however, she placed one hand flat against his chest as if she were about to push him down against the duvet again, and the other crept around the crown of his head.

“You’re such a cocktease,” he whispered through clenched teeth when her fingers gripped the root of his hair tight enough to make him wince from the sudden sharp pain blooming in his skull. He hesitantly draped his arms around her waist, yanking her forwards so their bodies were flushed together. “What were you doing that prevented you from answering when I called for you, wife?”

“Calligraphy,” she said with a low hum and gradually loosened her grip around his hair, opting to cradle his jaw instead. Her hand that was pressed flat against his chest slipped under the opening of his robes, feeling his heart skip a beat under her sudden gentle caress. Her fingers splayed against his sternum, nails gently scraping pale skin.

“Calligraphy?...” he echoed and cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Where is that?”

“...What?”

“Calligraphy,” he clarified.

“I don’t understand.”

He huffed in annoyance. “It is a country…is it not?”

“Calligraphy isn’t a country, anaticula,” she laughed. “It’s fancy penmanship,” she explained. Normally his lack of basic education was an embarrassment and nuisance, but she found it oddly endearing for once.

“Oh,” he whispered, nodding. His cheeks were flushed red, like one of the ruby stones on his rings. I should know what calligraphy is. He thought to himself. “Can you…show me?”

“That would require me getting up, husband. Are you positive you want that?” She tapped the side of his jaw with her pointer finger and pressed the tip of her thumbnail against his plush lower lip, watching his pupils dilate from the motion.

“Another time.” he tightened his grip around her waist, letting his freehand sneak upwards against the curve of her spine. He was always needing to be touching her in some way. He craved that skin-to-skin contact. “Will you kiss me…please?”

“That's all you want?” she teased, almost as if she was testing him.

“That’s all I desire from you, Empress. A simple kiss. I have been craving one all day, and the meeting with the senate lasted longer than I expected. All I could think about was you,” he admitted.

“Oh, anaticula,” she murmured with fake sympathy, but he couldn’t tell the difference if it had slapped him across the face. “Why didn’t you say that from the very beginning?” She didn’t wait for him to respond as she slowly closed the gap between them, moving her thumb to his chin so she could properly kiss him. Before their lips could even touch his long lashes were fluttering shut in anticipation. The moment would have been tender had she not sunk her teeth into his lower lip as if she were tearing into a chunk of meat. She bit down on the flesh so hard, she drew blood and he let out a surprise grunt, swiping his tongue across the wound to collect the fresh bead of blood that pooled to the surface. 

“Did you just–did you fucking bite me?!” he asked in bewilderment and pulled his face back slightly, but she was holding his head in place now and he couldn’t escape. “I said I wanted a kiss.” “That was a kiss. Don’t complain or act greedy, husband,” she warned. “Give me another one then,” he challenged and she surged forward, smashing her lips against his in a bruising kiss that had him seeing stars behind his eyes and left him struggling to remember to breathe. When she clamped down on his lip again, the same spot she previously wounded, he did not pull away. Fight fire with fire. He moaned unashamedly into the kiss, silently praying to the gods to let this passion last and not fizzle. He did not want to go to bed with pent up frustrations–god forbid. He pawed at her thin, almost see-through nightdress and went to slip the finely woven straps down her shoulders so more of her skin was exposed, but she grabbed his wrists and pinned them behind his head once more. A frustrated growl clawed its way up from the back of his throat when she asserted herself as the one in control again. “Please,” he begged. “Let me touch you, vita mea. Gods–let me worship you,” he mumbled against their locked lips.

She ignored the desperation behind his words and parted from the kiss much to his dismay. A thin thread of saliva kept them tethered together before it dissipated into the balmy air that surrounded them. She nipped at his chin and jaw, biting down hard enough to leave indents of her teeth in his skin. He squirmed like a worm pierced on a hook. 

His breathless pleas echoed through their chambers, ricocheting off the high marble walls. He never was one to beg—for anything, but she emasculated him as if it was her duty; her purpose. To crush him as if he were some helpless bug. A deity and her devoted worshipper. 

Her lips began their descent down his neck, nipping at the vulnerable skin there. If only he knew how easy it would be for her to tear his throat out with her canines. If only he knew—

“You’ll take what I give you, anaticula, and you will be grateful.” 

“Yes, of course,” he gasped. “I will be grateful—I swear it!”  My desperate, needy, pathetic, little anaticula 

Her lips hovered at his throat, hot breath fanned his skin and sent shivers and a tingling sensation all throughout his body. “You don’t even know what it is that you will be grateful for, husband,” she said, chuckling. It was moments like these where he was truly….pathetic. 

“I—I don’t understand,” he said, confusion laced in his tone. 

“What if what it is that I desire to give you is…death? Will you still be grateful then?” 

Her emotionally charged words and casual delivery of them hung heavy in the air. Suddenly he was silent, forgetting to breathe and a sense of dizziness embedded with fear washed over him. The color seemed to drain from his face and he swallowed hard. His empress watched with great intrigue at the way he grew tense. She could even hear his saliva travel down his throat. 

“Cat got your tongue?” she said in amusement and nuzzled her nose against the thick vein protruding from his neck. “My love, are you the slightest bit aware of  how vulnerable you are for me right now?” 

He shook his head dumbly, feeling his heart begin to race. In tandem, all the blood seemed to rush southwards despite his brain activating into its frantic state of flight. That unfamiliar sense of fear was thrilling in itself. He felt entirely out of control—and he loved it. 

“If I bite you, right here…” she trailed off as she pressed her lips to the same vein she was nuzzling against. “You’ll bleed out. All I have to do is bite hard enough through your flesh to reach this very vital vein, and you will die.” 

His eyes rolled back into his skull and he groaned through clenched teeth. “Fuck,” he said with a choked, nervous laugh, “my brother was right about you. He claimed that you would be the cause of my demise, and you’ll no sooner kill me if I am not cautious, and he was right.” 

“Yet, you seem unafraid, husband,” she said against his skin, biting softly, enough to cause his hardened cock to jump under the thin layers he wore. 

“I am terrified,” he clarified, clearing his throat. “Terrified…and intrigued. How do you know of such things? Tell me what the vital vein in my neck is called. Educate me, I implore you.” 

“It is called the carotid artery. It is vital because it supply’s your brain with oxygenated blood from your heart. Should it be torn, you would inevitably bleed out.”

“Fascinating,” he breathed out, imagining what that must feel like to have one’s throat ripped open by the teeth of another. 

“Are you…well?” she questioned him with caution. 

“Of course I am. I may be frightened by your knowledge on how to kill me, but if you were to, would you not have done it by now? If you loathe me so greatly, then make me bleed. I am at your mercy, empress. Rip my throat open if you so desire,” he said challengingly. 

“You willingly…wish to die?” she pulled her face back from his neck to look him in the eyes. 

“At your hand, yes. I have always pondered what death feels like. I have witnessed so much of it in my short time. Tell me,” he said, humming, his pupils beginning to darken as he licked his lips. “Would the blood spurt, or flow thickly? How long would it take before I would die? Would you swallow the chunk of flesh you’d rip from me?” he said in an excitable tone, his expression manic. 

“Have you been possessed?!”she exclaimed in pure disbelief, laughing and he couldn’t help but laugh with her. 

“By you, always! Heart, body, mind, soul, you have possessed me, amica mea. You have turned me into a mere flesh sack. How enthralling!” he giggled. “Tell me, where else upon my body could you bite me that would be fatal?”

And here I was led to believe that Calla was the more unhinged freak. 

“There are veins in your wrist. Have you ever noticed them?” she reached for his arm and gently turned it over in her palm to expose the thin, intricate veins that were embedded under his skin. She brushed her thumb across them in a slow sweep. 

He watched her with hooded eyes and utter intrigue. “Yes, I have traced them with my own fingers many times before,” he said softly, his eyes flickering upwards to her face before focusing on the movement of her thumb against his wrist. 

“Well, if these veins, right here, were to be cut, you’d also bleed out. Perhaps more slowly than the artery in your neck, but death would come regardless.” she brought that same wrist to her lips and pressed a featherlight kiss in the juncture between the base of his palm and beginning of his wrist. 

“How…do you know all of this? Anatomy was never a lesson my brother and I were taught. Nor have I ever heard of a Roman woman speak of such topics. It makes me wonder…have you ever killed a man with your bare teeth alone, amica mea?” 

She smiled against his skin, pressing another kiss to the inside of his wrist before gently releasing it from her grasp. “That entirely has to do with the fact that Romans prepare their dead entirely differently than we Egyptians do. You know of what the basic human body parts are and their functions, but what lies beneath? You have only ever bared to witness it in the Colosseum.” 

He mulled her words over thoroughly and thoughtfully. “I suppose that is…correct. Will you educate me further, please? I want to know more about your culture. Indulge me,” he said in earnest and grabbed her hands, interlocking their fingers together. 

The empress took her lower lip between her teeth, chewing on the soft skin in contemplation. She did  not expect him to be so interested to learn the rich history and workings of her culture, but the sentiment caused her heart to swell. “Well, when an Egyptian dies, their internal organs are harvested, except the heart as it is considered vital for the afterlife. Then, the body is covered in a natural salt to absorb any remaining moisture. The final step is wrapping the body in linen before it is placed inside of a coffin.” 

He hung onto every word she spoke, his attention was focused solely on her. The city could be on fire and he would not care. 

“Why is the heart considered to be vital for the afterlife?” 

She slowly dropped one of their interlaced hands so she could slip her fingers through the small opening in his robes and place her hand against his heart. “Because, anaticula, in my culture the heart is viewed as the seat of intelligence, memory, and emotions. The weight of a person's heart is judged after death to determine their fate in the afterlife.” 

“Judged?…as in…if the person is deemed to be good or evil?” he cocked his head to the side, his lips parting slightly before closing again.

“Precisely. The heart is weighed against the feather of Ma’at, the goddess of truth and justice. If the heart weighs less than the feather, the deceased is then allowed to enter the afterlife.” 

“And if the heart weighs more than the feather? What lies in the fate of the deceased then?” 

“The heart is devoured by the monster Ammit, and the soul of the deceased is damned for eternity.” 

“Wicked,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Well, when I am to die, I wish to be buried the Egyptian way.” 

“Geta…” she trailed off and slowly dragged her hand to rest against his neck, curving her fingers around his jaw. “Do not speak of such things. What if someone were to—”

“To hear me?” He laughed, shaking his head. “No one is present but you and I. Who is to hear of the words I speak? Besides, I am an emperor. If I wish to be buried a certain way, no one has the authority to speak against it.” 

She pressed a surprise kiss to his lips, feeling his body melt against her as if he was wax from a burning candle. “You need to stop being a romantic,” she mumbled against his lips and slowly lowered his back to rest against the duvet. “You are not supposed to be a romantic.” 

“Are you requesting I stop, or demanding?” He said in a low murmur that sent a warmth flowing straight down to her core. He kissed her back deeply and brought his hand to rest at the small of her back, right where her spine would curve beneath his touch.

“Neither.” 

———-

The following morning started off as any other; the twins in the garden and the sun warming their faces as their many servants attended to them. Breakfast was swiftly prepared for the emperors, and while Caracalla was busy feeding ripened fruit to Dondus, Geta was writing. 

Dear diary, 

Last night I learned many things. First, I learned that my wife can murder me with her teeth alone. I also learned that there is a vital vein in my neck called the carotid artery! If she were to tear my throat open, I would surely bleed out and die. 

I also learned that calligraphy is not a country, and I am a masochist when it comes to her. 

The thought of her being capable of murdering me is enthralling! I imagine my poor father is rolling in his grave at what I have turned into, but damn him! I have never felt more alive in my life and it is all because of her.

Vita Mea. 

She likes it when I kiss and suck here—

“What are you giggling about over there, hm?” Caracalla said from the opposite end of the table, breaking his brother's intense focus. 

“Nothing that would concern you,” the eldest emperor snapped back. 

The parchment was suddenly ripped from where it lay in front of him and now was in the possession of his twin. Caracalla’s wild, manic cackle echoed through the gardens as his eyes skimmed the inked words that had not yet fully dried. “Calligraphy is not…a country,” he snickered. “Gods, did you really think it was, brother?” 

“Give that back, Caracalla!” Geta rose from his seat with a narrowed look at his kin. 

“Where does the empress like to be kissed and sucked, Geta?” Caracalla asked with a wolfish grin. “Pray tell!” 

“NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!” 

“Are you all there in the head?! You find it enthralling that she’s capable of murdering you?!” 

“STOP READING IT OUTLOUD!” Geta yelled, his voice cracking. 

And from the balcony above, unbeknownst to the emperors, the empress watched the two brothers bicker like the spoiled brats they were. 

“Calla, keep reading!” she yelled from above, a pleasant grin playing on her lips. “I’m deeply intrigued to hear more!” 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Geta screeched, flapping his arms like he was a wild bird. “DO NOT ENCOURAGE HIM!”

banner made by the lovely @saradika-graphics

moodboard by yours truly

The air was hot, almost suffocating, and the sun's harsh and unforgiving rays beat down upon Geta’s back mercilessly. Gone are his royal garbs; a sign of his endless power and wealth. His laurels were not present upon his golden ringlets, but his rings remained, glinting in the sunlight. The thin fabric of his tunic clung to his sweat stained skin uncomfortably. There was a nagging tightness building in his throat—likely caused by the bone dry air, or perhaps it was the way that the woman directly across from him; his empress, was observing him like he was her next meal. His wife was a force to be reckoned with and he quickly learned that well into their arranged marriage. 

“Perhaps you would be better suited and flexible if you rid yourself of your clothing, husband,” she lilted teasingly, eyes gleaming and her lips quirked into a grin from where she stood opposite of him. 

“With my Praetorians present?” he snarked. A once soft gaze now darkened and burned in her direction like the blazing sun above. “I am flexible as is. The air—it is suffocating. We should rest,” he suggested calmly and dropped his sword against his thigh. The already heavy blade felt even heavier from his consistent exertion. So much for the people of Rome believing that he was some god.

“Our Praetorians.” she was swift to correct him, her smirk turning into a slight scowl. Her own sword dropped to her side as she approached him, sandals kicking up dusty earth beneath her wake. She walked with a confidence that could not be taught; she was born with it. 

“That’s what I said the first time, wife,” he huffed out a breath, letting his posture relax for a moment as a reprieve. But upon her approach he stiffened, standing tall once more. 

“It is unwise for you to play games when I possess a weapon in my hand, Geta,” she acquiesced, tutting under her breath. The blade glinted like liquid silver under the sun as she rose the very edge of it upwards to his face. The tip of sharpened steel rested under his chin. She leaned in and the playfulness in her eyes was replaced with something serious; something that should have intimidated him. “Do you surrender?” 

The tension was apparent, sizzling and crackling like wild flames from a fire. The taste of it upon his tongue was thrilling in itself. The slight fear of the unknown egged him to continue his own taunting game. 

How far will she take it this time? He mused to himself

“I am an emperor,” he hissed through clenched teeth, umber eyes darkening. He raised his freehand to cast her blade aside. “I will not surrender.” 

She giggled wildly at his attempt to throw her off guard, or to perhaps knock her down a few pegs. Her husband was less of an emperor, and more of a mere boy playing dress up. 

“The bead of sweat dripping from your brow, and the slight quiver of your lips says otherwise.” she leaned in, watching the way his eyes flickered with hidden uncertainty as she slowly and deliberately dragged the edge of the blade to rest against the side of his neck, right against a protruding vein. All it would take to spill his blood was a bit of calculated pressure. She wondered if his blood would bleed gold, like the laurels he wore, or if it would be the darkest shade of crimson. “Surrender,” she whispered. 

The stationed Praetorians had already begun to withdraw their own blades, but one silent raise of the emperor's hand in their direction, had them sheathing their blades with an audible clink.

“Kiss me,” he challenged, dipping his head so that his forehead would come to rest upon hers. That same hand that was previously hovering in the air, came to rest along her exposed lower back, ringed fingers curling against hot skin. 

“Surrender,” she repeated and stepped back, watching in amusement as his body seemed to work on autopilot, or perhaps there was an invisible golden thread that tethered them together. The slightest movement had him trailing her like a wounded, stranded, puppy. 

“Kiss me,” he tightened his grip around her, attempting to hold her in place, but she was swift like a lioness, and he the cowardly lion. 

“Surrender and I will do more than just kiss you, your majesty.” A tempting prospect.

And then he was yanking her towards him, using his own height to his advantage. He could feel the slight sting of the blade scraping against his exposed collarbone, but he paid no mind as their chests flushed tightly together leaving no distance between them. 

“Kiss me,” he demanded. “Your emperor commands you.” 

Her brows rose in amusement at his command. “As you wish, big boy.”

He stalled at her crassness, his mouth felt as dry and coarse as the sand beneath his feet. His mind was spinning, and he imagined it was because of the unforgiving heat, but he knew deep down it was caused by her; always by her. “You are the most vexing, deliciae,” he drawled under his breath. 

For a moment it appeared as if she was giving in, that she was surrendering (finally) when her freehand came to rest upon his smooth jaw, free of any stubble. She brushed her thumb tenderly under his kohl rimmed eyes, watching as his long lashes fluttered shut from her uncharacteristically gentle touch. The moment was fleeting as her hand dropped from his face and snaked between their tightly pressed bodies. It took her no time to find what she was searching for. 

Too easy. She mused. 

His breath hitched from the back of his throat at her sudden touch, and he felt like a man turned to putty in her embrace. His loins were set aflame and his knees threatened to buckle. 

“Please kiss me, Empress,” he begged, not caring how pathetic he sounded.

“Much better, husband.” She pressed a quick peck to his lips, chapped yet pillowy and all hers. And when he attempted to deepen the kiss, she was slipping from his embrace like a serpent, her sword left his skin entirely and she reveled at the sound of a low growl creeping up his throat at her swift departure. 

He raised his sword in her direction, but she was ready, and their blades met in the middle creating an X formation, one that she leaned through the gap at the top of the blades, her throat threatening to scrape sharpened steel, but she was not afraid. 

“You play a dirty game, wife,” he sneered. “Such a cruel, cruel, cruel lover you can be.” 

She pouted, fluttering her lashes to appear innocent. “Me? Cruel? Oh, dear husband, you are so…dramatic.” She giggled, the sound ringing in his ears. Her tone was like saccharine honey; tooth achingly sweet.

“No more games, please. Let me embrace you,” he pleaded, dropping his sword with a heavy thunk into the sand below. 

At the silent gesture of his surrender, she dropped her sword ceremoniously, and immediately invaded his space, looping her arms around his neck and kissing him properly. 

“They do this everyday,” Caracalla chuckled from the shade of a tree nearby, Dondus perched happily upon his shoulder. “They are like two flames,” he said with a shrill giggle. “Hers burns much hotter than my brothers, but shh! Do not allow him to become privy to such things. His ego could never handle such a burning truth.” The small monkey chittered in response, as if he understood the words leaving Caracalla’s mouth. “Is something amusing to you, Antonius?” She pulled away from her husband's embrace, craning her neck to address her brother in law directly. Even from a fair distance, she could make out his rouged painted cheeks turning brighter, almost as red as his fire-tinged hair. “Ignore him,” Geta said snappily in an attempt to draw her attention back to him and him alone. He did not need his twin interfering. He was not yet ready to part from her enticing and rather addictive embrace. Fuck the opium and wine, no vice compared to the one standing before him, or what lay between the Empress of Rome’s thighs.

She pulled away entirely and bent down to grasp the hilt of her sword once more and lifted it from the sand with ease. She admired the craftsmanship that went into forging a blade such as this one. As if it was far more intriguing than her brooding husband standing nearby. “I wasn’t finished with you, wife,” the emperor muttered in annoyance at her deliberate choice to deny him. “Oh,” she mused, grinning, “I was quite finished with you.” she twisted the hilt of the blade, effortlessly twirling it in her grasp as if it weighed nothing. “I am tired,” he sighed. “My limbs ache, and the baths are sounding awfully inviting, yes? Come join me.” “No.” Another wild cackle sung from Caracalla and Geta’s face burned bright red at her unwise decision to deny him, her husband–unless she had so boldly forgotten who he was. “No?” he echoed, eyes narrowing in on her. He ignored his own sword on the ground and stepped towards her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I am requesting you to join me in the baths, and you will obey my request.” “No, I will not. I do not wish to attend the baths with you. I know what you seek of me, and I will not give it so willingly, your majesty. Not after you have so coldly disrespected me.” “Dis–excuse me?!” he exclaimed, marching forward till the tip of her blade rested against his sternum, halting his haste-filled movements. “You heard me, husband. As empress of Rome, I refuse your request.” “Drop your blade, wife. Drop it this instant. You will not defy me. I entertained your little game, but no more. I am your husband, your emperor, and you will fucking attend to me when I request you to.”  She pressed the blade further into his covered chest, challenging him to drive himself through it, as if he actually possessed the humility to die at her hand. “And I am your empress. You cannot command me like one of your compliant subjects. I am not yours to command.” His eyes narrowed further, and the veins in his neck became more prominent as his umber eyes darkened to the same shade of kohl that lined his waterline. “Drop. The. Blade. Now,” he said in a low tone, sending pleasant shivers down her spine. She knew his threat was baseless, that he was like a toddler not getting its way and throwing a tantrum over it. A typical spoiled brat that grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. 

She bowed her head in a submissive motion and slowly the blade lowered till it was dropped completely and fell at her feet, kicking up grains of sand that landed upon her skin that was not covered by the smooth leather of her sandals.

Unbeknownst to him, she had him right where she wanted him. Men, such simple creatures at the core. She walked towards him, head still bowed and her eyes cast towards the ground. He half expected her to fall to her knees and kiss the jeweled rings that hugged his fingers, but instead, she crept around him—her movements like a serpent. 

“My little…anaticula,” she purred and rested her hands against his shoulders, squeezing the tense muscles there. Her lips were at the shell of his ear, her natural scent mixed with perspiration, tension, and flowery perfume oils attacked his senses like a virus. 

“I hate it when you call me that,” he grumbled, turning his head to the side so he could look upon her. 

“But it is accurate,” she giggled, soft and sweet like a siren's song. “You are like a little duckling, Geta.” 

He huffed out a breath, muttering something in latin that she couldn’t quite make out. “Please join me in the baths, deliciae.” 

“No.” She dropped her hands from his shoulders, her presence no longer lingering behind him and she was already walking away. 

“Gods,” he whispered to himself. “Help me.” He shook his head and stumbled after her, ringed fingers grasping her forearm and yanking her back suddenly. She whirled around, chest flushed against him. 

“Not until you apologize,” she said plainly. 

“For what?!” He growled, frustration laced in his tone at her vagueness. What was the reason for him to apologize? If anything, she should be apologizing to him!

“Gods! Have you not listened to a single word that has left my lips?! You disrespected me!” she yelled, shoving at him with everything she had, but he was like marble; solid and unmoving. 

“How have I disrespected you?! Tell me!” he demanded. 

She scoffed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes till they would inevitably get stuck in the back of her skull. “You referred to the Praetorians as yours, and not ours.” 

“You’re still on about that?!” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head as if what she had said was truly something inherently crazy and out of touch with reality. 

“Get on your knees,” she commanded and her authoritative tone, and embolden choice of words threw him off guard just enough that she was able to slip from his steel like embrace, again.

He blinked hard as if he could not believe the words leaving her mouth. “No. I’m not getting on my fucking knees for you.” 

“No?” she tilted her head in a condescending manner, pursing her lips in displeasure. 

“No,” he echoed defiantly. “Nor will I be apologizing for something so…trivial.” 

“You are the biggest spoiled brat I have ever met. I Cannot believe I married such a whiny little boy who can’t endure a little respect for his wife,” she scoffed. “Not as if I am what will continue the future of Rome, hm? What would your father think?” she sneered. “I believe he’d be rather disappointed and embarrassed to find his prodigy son acting in such a manner. And at a simple request? The shame.” 

His face paled and his jaw clenched so tightly, he could feel a dull ache begin to bloom from the tension. Ever-so slowly he began to lower himself on his knees before her, head bowed submissively.

His twin could not believe his eyes at the sight of his kin on his knees, in the sand, as if he were a common beggar on the street. 

“Forgive me, Empress,” he whispered, biting down on the soft flesh of his inner cheek. 

She looked over her shoulder, peering at Caracalla with a knowing grin. “Your brother is all bark and no bite, Calla.” She looked back down at her husband, her left hand coming to rest against the crown of his head possessively. “Look at me, Publius.” 

“Why are you doing this,” he hissed, refusing to look her directly in the eyes. 

“Because I can.” 

He was silent as he tasted a burst of copper along his tongue from gnawing on his cheek too hard. His teeth were stained in claret, the iron taste in his mouth was unsettling, but he swallowed thickly, adams apple bobbing from the motion.

“You’re humiliating me.” 

“That would require humility. You don’t possess that do you? ‘The Great Emperor Publius Septimius Geta,” she mocked, laughing cruelly. “If only the empire could see you now. On your knees. Weak, submissive, and in your true form. Just a little boy playing dress up. A pretend Caesar.”

His claws were sharp, but hers, hers were sharper. She always followed through with intent, and he would fall back into his cowardice. It was like a dance they performed, moving in sync and anticipating one another’s next move. She was cruel, yes, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Her cruelty and mean-heartedness was like an elixir, or a drug, as Caracalla would claim. 

“She’ll be the cause of your demise, brother, she’ll no sooner kill you if you are not cautious,” the younger twin whispered to his brother the night of their wedding, an opulent affair that spared no expense. A marriage arranged by their father before his untimely death to ensure the longevity of the Septimius line that was now binded with Egyptian, royal blood. It was a pairing that the gods approved and expressed joy over by bathing Rome's people in abundant wealth and prosperity. Crops flourished, gold flowed like the Tiber, and Geta was blessed with marrying the most beautiful and alluring woman he would ever meet in his lifetime. 

So, yes, she was cruel, but in her cruelty he knew that if his life were ever in true danger, she’d rip out the very throats of his enemies and spill their blood along the pristine marble floor in his name. She’d gut them, one by one if any harm were to ever fall upon his golden head. And he, well, he would do the same for her. She brought out the violence in him that simmered in his heart like a dormant volcano. She encouraged that side of him, but she never shied away from reminding him of his place beneath her. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Tell me the words I desire to hear from your lips in your native tongue, husband. And look me in the eyes when you speak them,” she said sternly, an edge of softness in her tone, but it was barely noticeable as she tightened her fingers grip around golden tendrils. 

He slowly lifted his head to address her directly, umber eyes softer, more deer like in appearance to their previous blackened look minutes ago. “quod meum est, tuum est semper,” he murmured. (What’s mine is yours, always.) 

banner made by the lovely @saradika-graphics

moodboard by yours truly

The Hills Have Eyes (Dieter Bravo x f!bestfriend reader x oc wife) This is my first ever Dieter (short series?) I truly have no idea how many chapters this one will be but I’m super excited to dive into it because it’s like nothing I’ve never written before 👀 the Hollywood hills truly do have eyes

Past Lives (AU soulmate! Joel x f! soulmate reader) This piece I believe will be my biggest challenge yet! This piece is dedicated to Joel and Gwen and all the past lives they have shared together. I have BIG plans for this and I’m truly excited to see how it ends up turning out

blue jeans n’Texas dreams (pre-outbreak! No outbreak! Joel x f! horseback riding instructor reader) horse dad! Joel has successfully infiltrated everyone’s brains at this point and I have had such an incredible time writing him and the reader and their absolutely tooth achingly adorable relationship 😭 we just wrapped up chapter 11 with a lil angst and there is still SO much to come

That Girl is a Problem (AU street racing! Joel x f! tattoo artist reader) I have three chapters out for this currently but I took a step back from it bc I lost the inspiration and with all the other WIPS I have..😵‍💫 I do plan on revisiting this probably after BIAHD is completed (all 5 parts) this is another series where I have no clue how long it’s going to be, but I have a super thick plot developed for it

Burning in a Hopeless Dream (Post outbreak! Joel x f! OC) This is my longest series to date and I recently announced that it’s going to be a 5 part series (yeah Ik I’m crazy) we’re 4 chapters away from part one being completed and it just keeps going down hill from here unfortunately

Cigarettes and Feelings (Javi Peña x f! reader) This is my Javi Peña series that originally was going to be a one-shot but then I developed and plot and welllll, here we are. There’s two chapters done currently. Javi and the reader have SO much chemistry it’s unreal. I’m so excited to see where this one takes me

Not a Survivalist Girl (Post outbreak! Joel x f! reader) this is my other Joel series that I am writing with my baby, @chaotic-mystery Joel is a real grump in this but him and the reader are on a wholeee other level. The tension between them is so thick, we’re both just sitting here waiting for the chord to snap

Okay, I think that is *all* of them 🤠

And so you found yourself standing in front of the wall mirror in your room, hands braced on the wall either side of it while Spencer slid into you from behind, your eyes fixed on each other in the reflection, both fighting the urge to close your eyes as pleasure chorused through your bodies from your connection. Placing one hand above yours to keep him steady Spence pushed your hair away from your neck and started placing kisses from your ear down your neck and across your shoulder. When his eyes couldn’t meet yours you watched as you moved together, his fingers caressing your clit as his cock slid in and out of your slick cunt, your overstretched belly swaying in time with your movements. You took in your changing body, the thighs that were now thicker, the dark line bisecting your bump, and perhaps the most dramatic change, your nipples which had gone from almost the same tone as the rest of you to a deep dark colour, expanding in width as well as length and currently with small white drops of milk budding from your aroused state.

Kinkmas 2020 by @ineverhaveanynormalfans

marking

spanking

dry humping

boots

public/semi-public

thigh riding

stockings

praise kink

body worship

voice kink

edging

voyeurism

size kink

blowjob

breath play

mirror sex

face sitting

early morning sex

against the wall

masturbation

begging

hand cuffs

role play

striptease

shower sex

biting

eating out

lingerie

possessiveness

watching them get off

When the clock on the mantelpiece turned to midnight you were cosied up beside him, your fingers tracing his jawline as your lips pressed slow searching kisses to his own. ‘Merry Christmas Spence.’ He smiled against your lips, kissing you a few more times before breaking the connection between your lips and resting his forehead against yours. ‘Merry Christmas Y/N. Do you think we can open presents yet?’ He grinned cheekily as you laughed, peppering his cheeks and lips with butterfly kisses so his chuckle joined with yours. ‘I do have something for you actually, if you want?’ Spence pulled back to look at you, his eyes sparkling at the tone of your voice which had deepened a little under the effects of your desire. He nodded and you winked at him, making him laugh loudly again as you stood up in front of him, a hand on his chest to keep him seated.

Standing between his legs as he sat back in the corner of the couch you leaned down and took his bottom lip between your teeth, following the nip with a deep and passionate kiss. Before Spence had time to react with more than a surprised groan you had stood up again and were undoing the buttons of your dark silk blouse, your eyes locked with on his as his gaze travelled from your face to your emerging skin. He smiled when your bra was revealed, a deep red satin that he himself had bought you. The shirt slid from your arms to pool behind you and you worked the zip on the side of your skirt down slowly. Turning so he could see the matching panties you shimmied the skirt down your legs and stepped out of it. Spencer was enthralled with your performance, his hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to keep from touching you, wearing between wanting to feel your soft skin and the seductive feel of your lingerie and not wanting to interrupt your show.