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elryuse · 10 days ago

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Let The World Burn

Kang Hyewon X Male Reader

Tags : Royalty AU, Empress, Yandere, Tyrant, Cold, Fierce, Dangerous Love, Obsession, Maniac, Kingdom Words : 3,183 Words

A Lovely Yandere Commision Work for My Friend @Pizza_anon From Ko-fi. I Hope You Guys Liked it.

The sky over the Imperial capital was a tapestry of silver clouds and blood-red banners. It stretched endlessly, a reminder of who ruled below — Empress Kang Hyewon.

Her name alone could make generals flinch and nobles bow lower than etiquette demanded. Her empire was flawless in its cruelty, immaculate in design. Cities bowed to her. Families bled for her. Her throne was carved from marble and myth, and her empire thrived on obedience.

But even gods have moments of disruption.

It began in a village without a name. A place the Empire only remembered when taxes were due or rebels dared to whisper. It was there — among farmers, filth, and forgotten sons — that she saw you.

You don’t remember the first time she looked at you. But she did.

Mud streaked your arms. The coarse fabric of your shirt clung to your chest as you hauled crates with the ease of someone who had no choice but strength. Your eyes weren’t dulled like the others. They burned with something dangerous: spirit. Resistance. Life.

That was what undid her.

She arrived in a gold carriage with blood-red curtains, guarded by a phalanx of imperial blades. Everyone dropped to their knees. Even the cattle seemed to bow.

Everyone, except you.

You were late. You didn’t know she was coming.

When you did finally appear, dirt-stained and panting from work, you stood still as her cold eyes found yours.

And for the first time in years, Empress Kang Hyewon smiled.

They said you were "recruited." That was the word. A summons, not an arrest.

But everyone knew what it meant. When the Empress herself requested a peasant by name, no one questioned it — they only watched with widened eyes and hushed prayers.

You were bathed in rosewater, dressed in imperial linens, and brought to the palace — a sprawling monument of white stone and crimson silk. A city within a city, filled with paintings of gods and soldiers, with mirrors that never showed your reflection quite right.

You didn’t know why you were there.

No one told you.

You weren’t made to scrub floors or pour wine like the other new servants. Instead, you were given a room — alone. Finer than anything you’d ever slept in, though still far from the luxury of nobles.

Meals were delivered. Robes were tailored. Your hands — once calloused from years of labor — began to heal.

And still, no explanation came.

Until she did.

She entered your room without a word.

No guards. No warning.

Just her.

Empress Kang Hyewon, in a gown that shimmered like ice under moonlight, her crown absent but her presence undeniable.

You stood.

Not out of fear. But something else — a tension that coiled in your chest like fire about to catch.

Her gaze swept over you. Not like a ruler assessing her servant, but like a storm considering a tree: wondering how long until it breaks.

“You didn’t kneel,” she said.

Her voice was silk over steel.

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t know you were—”

“I know,” she interrupted.

Silence followed. Heavy. Sharp.

Then she stepped closer, and your breath hitched.

“You looked me in the eye,” she murmured.

“I didn’t mean to disrespect—”

“But you did.”

She was close now. Close enough to smell the delicate perfume that clung to her skin — something cold, expensive, and floral, like winter blooming.

“But I didn’t mind,” she added softly.

Your heart thundered.

She looked at you like you were prey — not in the way of a hunter, but something worse.

An owner.

A collector.

And then she smiled again — faint, dangerous, beautiful.

“I want to see what you become under my hand.”

The days blurred after that.

You were summoned often, though never for tasks. Not like the others.

Instead, she would have you sit beside her during court, your presence ignored by nobles too terrified to ask. Sometimes, she had you walk with her through the palace gardens, where roses bloomed the color of fresh wounds.

Other times, she’d simply watch you.

Sitting in her private chamber — all velvet and candlelight — as you stood quietly by the wall, unsure what was expected.

It felt like being studied by something ancient.

One night, she broke the silence.

“Do you know what they say about me?” she asked, swirling wine in a glass worth more than your village.

You didn’t answer.

She chuckled. “They say I’m cold. A serpent in human skin. That I slit throats with words alone.”

Her eyes flicked toward you.

“But you,” she whispered, “you don’t look at me like they do.”

You met her gaze. “Should I be afraid?”

A pause.

“No,” she said. “You should be mine.”

They whisper now, the servants.

They speak in corners, behind tapestries, careful not to be heard.

Why does the Empress favor him?

Why does he dine alone, in silence, with silver cutlery?

Why does she smile — actually smile — only when he’s nearby?

No one understands.

Because no one knows.

Not what happens when the sun falls.

Not what begins when the doors to her private wing close behind you.

At night, you go to her chamber.

Not because you are ordered.

But because you are summoned.

Your room always bears a single black ribbon tied around the door handle. That is her signal.

That is the command only you obey.

Her chamber is dark, lit by only a dozen candles and the glow of a hearth.

She sits by the window, in a silk robe that falls off one shoulder like moonlight slipping down a mountain.

“Come here,” she says.

You do.

She doesn’t touch you at first.

Instead, she looks at you — hungry. Not for flesh, but for something deeper. As if she wants to consume your very existence.

Her fingers trail across your jaw.

Rough from labor.

Still not soft enough for court.

“Every man here wears a mask,” she whispers. “But not you.”

You shiver.

“Should I?” you ask.

She steps closer.

“No,” she murmurs, “I want to break you without ever changing you.”

You become her obsession.

And you feel it — in the way her eyes linger, the way her fingers curl possessively into the fabric of your shirt when you part.

She doesn’t ask for loyalty. She assumes it.

She doesn’t demand love. She waits for it to become inevitable.

And part of you hates it.

Hates how the other servants flinch at your presence.

Hates the golden cage you now live in — one carved by power and lust and quiet madness.

But another part…

Another part waits for the ribbon each night.

Another part aches when she doesn’t summon you.

Because as much as she owns you…

You’re beginning to wonder if she’s becoming yours, too.

One night, as rain lashes the palace windows, she pulls you to the edge of her bed.

She looks tired — not physically, but spiritually. The weight of empire etched into her shoulders.

“You could run,” she says suddenly. “No one would stop you.”

You say nothing.

She leans in.

“But you won’t.”

Her hand touches your chest, over your heart.

“I don’t need chains to keep you here,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the smallest crack in her imperial mask. “You’re already bound.”

And for the first time since arriving, you don’t feel like a prisoner.

You feel like a secret.

A dangerous, beautiful secret that even the most powerful woman in the world doesn’t want the world to see.

Because in here, behind locked doors and quiet confessions, Empress Kang Hyewon is not just a ruler.

She is yours.

And you…

You are hers.

The palace was colder now.

Not in temperature, but in tension — the kind that crept down the spine of every noble and servant alike. Whispers followed every footstep. Eyes darted to the shadows with suspicion.

Because something was shifting.

Something dangerous.

And it all began the day she bled.

It started innocently. A diplomatic summit. An annual display of loyalty, where nobles from the outer territories kissed the Empress’s hand and pretended not to plot behind her back.

You were never meant to be there. You weren’t a guard, nor an advisor. Just… her favorite.

But Hyewon brought you anyway.

She didn’t say why. She never did.

You stood just behind her throne — dressed not in servant garb, but a tailored jacket of midnight blue, embroidered subtly with her crest.

The nobles noticed. Of course they did.

Their gazes sliced across your skin, full of poison and envy.

But Hyewon didn’t flinch. She leaned back in her throne and sipped wine, letting her fingers rest lazily on the armrest… just close enough to yours.

“I like the way they hate you,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded. “It makes me feel closer to you.”

You didn’t know how to answer that.

So you said nothing.

But your silence didn’t stop the chaos from erupting.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

A servant — or what everyone thought was a servant — slipped past the outer guard. No one noticed the dagger until it was too close.

You didn’t think. You moved.

Your body collided with hers just as the blade slashed the air. It caught your side, not hers. A blinding jolt of pain flared through your ribs, but you stayed upright, gripping Hyewon tight as guards tackled the would-be assassin.

Blood soaked through your shirt. Your knees buckled.

Her hands cupped your face instantly, shaking.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why did you…”

You didn’t have an answer.

You were just… there. You had to be.

“I don’t know,” you choked, “I just—”

“Shut up,” she snapped, eyes wild, voice cracking. “Shut up and don’t you dare die.”

You didn’t die.

But someone else did.

Many someones, actually.

The rebellion was small, hidden until now — a faction of peasants and defectors who had decided that Empress Kang Hyewon’s reign had lasted long enough. That her cold elegance and ruthless efficiency needed to end.

They made a mistake.

Because they hadn’t considered you.

And worse — they hurt you.

The palace turned red after that.

Not in banners.

In blood.

She didn’t hold court for a week. The nobles trembled in uncertainty. The servants stayed silent.

Because they heard what she did in the dungeons.

One by one, the rebels — and those even suspected of sympathizing — were dragged into the bowels of the palace. Screams echoed against stone and iron. They said she interrogated them herself.

Bare-handed.

Face blank.

Voice low and merciless.

She didn’t ask for names. She ripped them from mouths.

Not because they threatened her empire.

But because they had dared to harm you.

You awoke in a bed far softer than yours.

Bandaged. Bare-chested. Dimly aware of the pain in your side and the pounding of your heart.

Then you heard the chair creak.

She was there.

Hyewon.

Crownless. Sleepless. Her gown was wrinkled — Hyewon, who never allowed a thread out of place. Her eyes were darker than before, ringed with shadows and fury.

You tried to sit up.

She pushed you back down, gentle but firm.

“Don’t,” she said. “You’re not ready.”

You searched her expression. “What happened?”

She stared at you for a long, long time.

Then she said, voice low: “They touched what’s mine.”

Your throat tightened.

“Hyewon…”

“Don’t speak. Just…” Her hand cupped your face. Her thumb brushed your lower lip like she was memorizing it. “You’re mine.”

“I didn’t mean to get in the way,” you murmured. “I just… I couldn’t let them—”

She leaned down suddenly, lips brushing your ear.

“You protected me,” she whispered. “No one’s ever done that before.”

Her voice trembled.

Not with weakness.

With something far worse.

Emotion.

“I’m supposed to protect you,” she said, pulling back. “Not the other way around.”

You swallowed.

“But I’m just—”

“If you ever say that again,” she hissed, “I will burn this palace to the ground with everyone in it. Don’t ever call yourself just anything.”

A silence.

Then she looked away, voice softer. “You bleed for me. I’ll kill for you. That’s balance.”

Rumors spread.

Of course they did.

The boy from the village, bleeding to save the Empress.

Her fury.

Her obsession.

And something new — her fear.

Because for the first time in a decade, she looked vulnerable. Not to war. Not to treason.

But to you.

A week passed.

You recovered.

But something in the palace changed.

Nobles no longer scoffed. They bowed — to you. Shallowly. Bitterly. But still.

And yet… there was someone else.

A nobleman. Lord Seong Minjae.

Young. Handsome. Viper-tongued and rich beyond measure.

He arrived under the guise of support, bringing soldiers and supplies to “aid the crown.” But everyone knew what he wanted:

To marry the Empress.

To steal the throne she held alone.

To eliminate you.

You caught him watching you during court.

Not with curiosity.

But calculation.

One evening, Hyewon summoned you — no ribbon this time. Just two guards who led you to the garden.

She was there. Alone. Lanterns swayed in the breeze.

She didn’t look at you when you arrived.

“Lord Seong asked for my hand,” she said.

You stiffened.

She turned, slowly.

“And I laughed in his face.”

Your heart thudded.

“But he’s dangerous,” she continued, stepping toward you. “Too powerful to dismiss completely. If I reject him outright… it might fracture the court.”

You understood. Politics.

So you asked, “What are you going to do?”

She stopped in front of you.

Her gaze was ice and fire, fury and yearning.

“I’m going to give him exactly what he wants.”

You flinched.

“…You’re going to marry him?”

“No,” she said. “I’m going to give him hope. I’ll play the game.”

She leaned in, lips brushing your neck.

“But I’ll sleep in your bed.”

You shivered.

“And when he finally overplays his hand,” she whispered, “I’ll break him.”

You swallowed hard. “This… this is dangerous.”

“So is love,” she said.

You looked up, heart pounding. “Is that what this is?”

She didn’t answer with words.

She kissed you.

Deep.

Possessive.

Like she was sealing a pact with your soul.

Later that night, as you lay in her arms, her fingers traced the scar on your side.

She whispered against your skin:

“You’re not just a servant.”

Another kiss.

“You’re not just a man.”

Another.

“You’re mine. The only thing in this cursed world that I won’t let the crown take from me.”

You closed your eyes.

And in the dark, you finally admitted to yourself—

You didn’t protect her because you were loyal.

You protected her because you loved her.

And now?

You weren’t sure who was more dangerous:

Her empire.

Or her love.

She changed after the rebellion.

After your blood stained the marble of her throne room.

After you, a boy from a forgotten village, shielded an Empress with your own body — not for duty, not for coin, but something you still couldn’t name.

And after that day, Hyewon was no longer content to rule her empire.

She ruled you.

The transition was slow, then all at once.

She began purging the council — the old, greedy men who once advised her with veiled condescension. One by one, they disappeared. Exiled. Silenced. Or executed publicly under vague charges of “treasonous intention.”

Their crime?

Suggesting she send you away. That you were a “distraction.” That her obsession with a commoner would rot the empire from within.

They were right.

And she killed them anyway.

Then came the reformation.

She rewrote the laws.

Words like "equality" and "nobility" lost their meaning. Ideology became crime. Dissent became blasphemy.

“No one speaks but me,” she declared, draped in crimson velvet before a sea of trembling nobles. “No one thinks but me.”

It sounded like madness.

But no one dared to say it.

Because her gaze was fixed on you, seated beside her throne — no longer behind it.

You wore black, now. Silks you didn’t ask for. Rings you didn’t earn. The people no longer whispered “servant” when they saw you.

They whispered “consort.”

“Beloved.”

“God.”

She built you an army.

An entire division of elite soldiers — all women. Trained from birth. Loyal only to her.

Or rather, to you.

The Crimson Vow, they were called.

Their only purpose: Your protection.

They followed you everywhere. To the garden. To the bath. Even into the library, where you once begged them to give you privacy. They didn’t blink.

One of them said simply, “We would rather die than let a breeze harm you, my Lord.”

You didn't ask for this.

You never wanted this.

But Hyewon never asked what you wanted.

“She’s gone too far,” said Lord Seong, days before he vanished.

“She’s losing herself,” whispered the palace doctor, before he was found hanged in his chambers.

“She’s in love with him,” a maid whispered in the hall.

She was skinned and hung over the palace gates by dawn.

No trial. No mercy.

Just a message:

He is mine.

At night, she held you like glass.

Her voice, soft only for you.

“I didn’t build this empire to rule,” she said once, stroking your jaw as you lay tangled in sheets of silver thread. “I built it so I could protect what I love.”

Her lips pressed against the scar on your side.

“I built it for you.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because part of you loved her, still.

But another part — a colder, quieter part — feared what she’d become.

What you’d made her become.

You turned your face away.

She kissed the back of your neck anyway.

And the world watched.

The once-proud Empire of Aurelia became a land of trembling silence.

Books were burned. Borders closed. Statues of you and her replaced the old gods.

Rebels who still rose were crushed beneath steel boots and ash.

And always, at the heart of it all, stood Empress Kang Hyewon.

Beautiful.

Merciless.

Devoted beyond reason.

She no longer spoke of justice. Or legacy.

Only you.

“Let them call me a tyrant,” she said one morning, overlooking the smoldering remains of a border village that had dared fly a different flag.

Her hand found yours.

“They can hate me.”

She pulled you close, so close your breath caught.

“But if the world burns to keep you safe, then let it burn.”

And in that moment — watching flames lick the sky, feeling her heartbeat race beneath layers of armor and silk — you realized something:

You didn’t know if this was love.

You didn’t know if you should run, scream, or kiss her.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Because Empress Kang Hyewon had made her choice.

And now the world would bleed for it.

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inatungulates · 11 months ago

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Marsh deer Blastocerus dichotomus

With cattle tyrant Machetornis rixosa

Observed by renato4barras, CC BY-NC

#Blastocerus dichotomus #marsh deer #Cervidae #deer #non-ungulate #bird #passerine #Machetornis rixosa #cattle tyrant #South America #Brazil #Mato Grosso

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herpsandbirds · 5 months ago

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Got a couple of questions, hope you don't mind! First; are flycatchers part of the passarine family or are they more related to woodpeckers? are blue jays songbirds or corvids? And what are egrets? Like what family distinction are they? Are they like kingfishers or pipers, or are they more like hornbills?

NEW WORLD FLYCATCHERS

New World Flycatchers are in the family Tyrannidae, in the bird order Passeriformes, yes. They are also called the "Tyrant Flycatchers".

They are closely related to the Tityras, Becards, Cotingas, and Manakins.

Old world Flycatchers in the family Muscicapidae.

Brown-crested Flycatcher (Myiarchus tyrannulus), family Tyrannidae, order Passeriformes, La Lomita Wildlife Photography Ranch, Uvalde, TX, USA

photograph by Laura Lee Baker Barfield

Scissor-tailed Flycatchers (Tyrannus forficatus), male, family Tyrannidae, order Passeriformes, TX, USA

photographs by Mark Watts

White-headed Marsh Tyrant (Arundinicola leucocephala), male, Tyrannidae, Sao Paolo, Brazil

photograph by Dario Sanches

Scarlet Flycatcher or Austral Vermillion Flycatcher (Pyrocephalus rubinus), male, family Tyrannidae, order Passeriformes, Brazil

photograph by Paolo Mauti

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BLUE JAYS

Blue Jays are in the family Corvidae, so they are Corvids.

The Corvids are part of a group within the order Passeriformes called the Oscines (which are often referred to as "songbirds"), so Corvids are Songbirds.

Blue Jays (Cyanocitta cristata) causing a ruckus, family Corvidae, order Passeriformes, Eastern U.S.

photograph by @jocelynandersonphotography

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EGRETS

Egrets are herons, family Ardeidae, order Pelicaniformes. There is not one genus within that family that contains all of the herons that are referred to as "egret", so there is no scientific category within the herons that determines which species are called "egret". There are several species. Many of them are white, but several are not.

Reddish Egret (Egretta rufescens), family Ardeidae, order Pelicaniformes, DeSoto Park, Florida, USA

photograph by MarshBunny

Black Heron aka Black Egret (Egretta ardesiaca), family Ardeidae, order Pelicaniformes, South Africa

Bttm photo - Using its wings to create shade, which may attract some small fish, but also reduces the glare over the water making it easier to find prey.

photograph by Frikkie Bell

Western Cattle Egret (Bubulcus ibis), in breeding colors, family Ardeidae, order Pelicaniformes, Williamson County, TX, USA

photograph by Bryan Cotter

Great Egret (Ardea alba) in full glory w/ breeding plumage, family Ardeidae, order Pelicaniformes, FL, USA

photograph by Mark Watts

#egret #jay #flycatcher #bird #ornithology #animals #nature

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floweryanarchy · 4 months ago

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I find myself curious about Cazador, The Emperor, Dame Alyin, and Dark Urge. What roles do they play in the au. BTW as a Texan and a History nerd I love how your have handled the western setting.

Ayyeee I’m glad ur enjoying the western au, I’m just going off the knowledge I have from RDR2 hehe

I’ll leave the emperors lore for another time or ask because he involves a lot of the main lore that’ll also need to be explained which also ties in Mystra plus Gales sickness. This post would be a mile long. But for the rest of them, here you go!

Dame Aylin: The daughter is Selune and the leader of a secret rebellion movement against the tyrant Ketheric Thorm. Her Mother Selune whereabouts are shrouded in secrecy, a protective act to keep her safe from her sister Shar and her followers. Dame Aylin had been the figurehead, uniting the group rebellion under the name of the “Selunites.” Till one day, a raid that had taken place when awry, the group attempted to aid the citizens of moonrise and take down Ketheric ended horribly, resulting in Aylin being taken prisoner. Most believed she to be dead. Question is what falling out did Ketheric have with Selune that he turned against them.

Cazador Szarr: To the upper class Cazador had made his name into a symbol, he’s a wealthy aristocrat, a patron of the arts and lavishes in the finest luxuries money can offer. To the public he’s seen as a man to be respected, a man who donated money to orphanages, attends operas and galas alike. But beneath the surface, he’s a ruthless monster that runs one of the most powerful drug/crime organizations in Baldurs Gate. A trade that was passed down to him from generations. His chosen seven, referred to only as “The Spawn” are kept on a tight leash that had the unfortunate circumstances of falling into the man’s clutches. They deal in flesh, opium and stolen goods, done simultaneously most of the time. His drug trade is what brings in the most cash, keeping the rich and desperate dependent on his supply. Cazador believes himself to be superior, a man of culture ruling over cattle. As for his “Spawn” he chooses each one carefully, grooming them to be perfect in his own image, as their own identities are stripped away and forced to be dependent on him. His spawn are not free, they are his property. And Astarion was one of his greatest projects.

BHAAL: No one knows where he came from, his most loyal followers knew him to be an ex-preacher, a man of faith that turned to madness. He believes that murder is a sacred act of utter devotion, a holy ritual. It was easy to amass such a cult following, with cold hearted bloody thirsty killer roaming the west just looking for an excuse for unnecessary bloodshed. His followers believe in his words, that the law and civilization are weak when compared to utter chaos. They seek To break down these structures, and begin a new era in the west. One under Bhaals rule.

THE DARK URGE: They were once Bhaals favored, an orphanage child that was groomed into the man’s cult. They were trained only to know blood and carnage and nothing else. Till one day, they went missing, and no one from the cult were able to locate them. Perhaps Orin had played a hand in their disappearance, but all they know is they woke up with a massive headache and a serious case of amnesia.

#Bg3 OutlawsAu #bg3 #bg3 asks #bg3 au

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transformers-spike · 1 month ago

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Aaa I love your take on SG Optimus. Perhaps I could ask, what would your take be on an equivalent of the Orion pax episodes (first 3 eps of s2)? I Imagine SG megatron taking Optimus’s place in that chunk of episodes. And perhaps the reader (unwittingly) gets some more insight into what happened between the two.

goshhh thank you! I'm so happy you like my SG stuff! I try to stir away from most SG interpretations of the characters (I try to keep their core intact while turning this into a "What if the choices they made turned them into horribly broken people?" situation, with the opposite for the Decepticons)

Anyway, this may get a sequel:

“What are you doing here, little one?” Megatron asks, voice rumbling with gentleness you could have never expected from the vicious leader of the Decepticons. “I…” you begin, frozen in the doorway, permafrost spreading up your legs as you struggle to keep your composure in front of the tyrant.

What comes out is an accusation. “You’re here to kill Optimus,” you say with finality.

The monster’s eyes grow wide; blue pits like glistening ocean water hiding the jaws of a bloodthirsty shark.

“What? How dare you accuse me of such a thing!” he demands, hideously scarred face twisting to reveal rows of razor sharp fangs. “Orion-” he cuts himself off, gritting his teeth. “I would rather lay my life down for Optimus than watch any harm come to him!”

Your eyes fall onto the Autobot insignia on his chest. “So what? You think you can paint their symbol on your chassis and act like you’re part of them after all the crimes you’ve committed?”

“Crimes?” he snarls, footsteps ringing in your ears like an earthquake, heart jumping out of your chest, yet unable to run from your incoming murderer.

You do not struggle or call for help when he grabs you.

Eyes squeezed shut, you hear nothing but your heartbeat as you prepare for the worst.

Yet, your bones and organs remain uncrushed.

“I’ve fought for the freedom of enslaved Cybertronians for eight-fragging-vorns before being captured and tortured by my very own supporters! Only to wake up millennia later to discover those very same traitors had decimated our planet!” He huffs, volcanic air blowing in your face. He pauses as though concentrating to regain his composure. “Now prey tell, human,” he continues, slightly less murderous, “what gives you the right to insult me for simply existing in your perimeters?”

That’s not… that’s not right. He’s lying to you, loud and clear. Pretending to be something he’s not in order to lull you into a false sense of security just as he’s done with everyone else. What Optimus is, Megatron is thousands of times worse; a vile dictator hellbent on bleeding each and every planet dry of its resources in a bid to exterminate all Autobots.

Optimus isn’t stupid, he must know what Megatron is trying to do. Or… or maybe he’s seeing through rose-tinted glasses? Maybe he wants to believe it’s Megatronus. But you know it’s not. It can’t be him. It’s a lie. It has to be.

“Go ahead, crush me!” you shout in a sudden burst of confidence. “Crush me and they’ll know all about your lies, Megatron! Your little charade doesn’t work on me! Especially after you’ve slaughtered us like cattle for your twisted little game!”

You expect aggression, you expect him to swelter with rage. Instead, confusion twists his face.

“I did no such thing. Who… who is this Megatron you speak of?

Your throat closes up in shock. “Is… is this part of your sick game?”

Frustration draws a snarl, which quickly recedes as he seems to realize you are just as confused as he is.

“What… what do you remember before ending up here?”

He contemplates your question carefully, debating whether or not to answer you. He makes a gambit.

“Standing before the Council of Elders,” he says in a strangely wistful tone. “Then Orion with his blasters drawn. I could hardly recognize him… he’s changed… so much since his cycles as an archivist. He explained what happened… the war… the lives lost… everything.” Whatever relief the confession brings quickly dissipates, replaced with anger and pain. “Explain yourself, human – or whatever creature you may be. Why did you call me Megatron? And why do you speak as though I am your enemy?”

You brace yourself against his hand, throat dry with dread as you struggle to form an answer.

Eventually, something slips out. Something you wish had never left your mouth. “Optimus lied to you.”

#transformers sg #maccadam #transformers prime #sg tfp #transformers x human #transformers x reader #valveplug #tfp megatron #tfp optimus

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patricianicoloso · 2 months ago

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Suiriri-cavaleiro/Cattle Tyrant

Machetornis rixosa

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irrelevantwriter · 7 months ago

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A Snake & Her Charmer

Pairing: Emperor Geta (Gladiator 2) x Female Reader/You

Warnings: NSFW, Ancient Rome type shit, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, some light dom/sub dynamics, jealous Geta and reader (hubba hubba)

Word Count: 3035

Summary: Part 4. The Empress and her Emperor make it clear they do not like sharing.

A/N: Part four sees our favorite toxic couple up the ante. And it's steamy. As always, there are liberties taken with Ancient Rome. Feedback is that good shit.💗

*Read Part One here

*Read Part Two here

*Read Part Three here

*Masterlist

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

You sat next to your husband, the both of you engaged with the entertainment provided for the evening.

Laughter and music wafted around you, the sounds of people celebrating a steady thrum. Applause broke out as one of the snake charmers kissed her beloved reptile on its scaly mouth. Her form was nearly bare, gold coins clattering every time she moved her hips.

The men were easily amused. And that apparently included your emperor.

Geta laughed, nearly spilling his wine when the snake startled one of the Senators, causing him to let out a less than masculine yelp. You were careful not to roll your eyes at the spectacle, sipping from your own glass.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You turned to your left, following the voice that suddenly appeared at your side.

A man, clothed in an extravagant black and gold robe, smiled down at you. Jewels adorned his ears, gold rings that rivaled your husband’s decorated his hands.

“Macrinus, your highness,” he introduced himself, bowing his head and offering his hand.

You accepted his greeting, smiling as a good empress does. “A pleasure.”

“I did not intend to interrupt your evening. You appeared lost in thought.”

“I would not be a woman if I did not appear lost in thought,” you quipped, enjoying his infectious laughter.

“You are quite clever, Augusta,” Macrinus replied, surely thinking he was delivering a high compliment.

You once again fought the urge to wear your emotions on your face. Chatting within the company of men was a pastime you detested, yet you’d become quite skilled at. It was a blessing and a curse. Much could be learned by letting a man ramble on. Much could be taken away from him when you listened closely. They always revealed themselves eventually. It was how you’d been able to navigate as the Empress of Rome.

“She is a prize, isn’t she?” Your husband’s voice cut in, his words dripping with boyish pride.

“Some would say the only prize,” Macrinus added, his dark eyes taking you in.

“And you are a man who surely knows of worthy prizes, are you not?” Geta asked, winking at the man before you.

Macrinus laughed, the private joke lost on you.

“Macrinus supplies the games with gladiators. He is well-known in that arena. Most of his fighters come out victorious,” Geta supplied, popping a piece of oiled bread into his mouth.

Macrinus had the wherewithal to appear sheepish at the emperor’s words, though you were sure it was for show.

“That is quite an accomplishment,” you acknowledged.

“I cannot take all the credit, your highness. The gladiators do some of the work,” he joked, the men around you laughing.

You politely smiled, turning back to the dancers that now fluttered around the table. Macrinus and Geta spoke of the upcoming games, speaking of men as if they were cattle to exchange. You drowned them out, letting your gaze wander over the many faces that joined you.

A stoic set of dark eyes, eyes that nearly matched your husband’s, peered back at you. General Marcus Acacius nodded in your direction, tilting his glass in a modest toast.

You returned his gesture, breaking eye contact. The words that Geta had spoken to you earlier that day rang in your ears.

Men like that would kill me and take what’s mine in an instant.

You knew that to be true for most of the men that sat with you. It was an unsettling thought. Geta might be a tyrant, but he was a known evil. He did not hide his darkness. Those who went to great lengths to conceal their depravity, those were the people that frightened you.

“Lost in your head again, my love?”

Geta’s breath tickled your ear as he whispered, startling you. He chuckled, causing the wisps of hair at your neck to caress your skin.

His warm hand reached for your hand, his thumb rubbing surprisingly soft circles into the appendage, as if comforting you.

“Preoccupied with thoughts of slumber,” you replied, choosing not to divulge your inner musings.

“My queen desires sleep?”

He looked upon you with a rare glimpse of concern, making your heart quicken. You patted his hand, doing your duty to comfort him.

“Do not worry yourself, Imperator. Today’s festivities have gotten the better of me,” you teased, a knowing look in your eye.

He caught your implication, his mind no doubt conjuring up your time together in your bath just hours before. He smirked, the wine surely influencing his actions as he lunged forward, planting hungry kisses to your neck.

Such a display was considered illicit. Your husband was never one for propriety, but he was still mindful of sharing his weaknesses. That included you.

Your eyes shifted, hoping no one was paying you any attention. Your body, despite your thoughts, came alive at his indecent touch.

“Seductress,” he rasped, his hand wandering amongst the fabric nestled in your lap.

“You mean to become a spectacle for your guests?” You questioned, careful not to blatantly turn down his advances in front of prying eyes.

He laughed, his chest rumbling against you as he pressed into your side. He licked his lips, pulling himself from the hollow of your neck.

“Is my spirited wife becoming timid? That would certainly be a first,” he taunted, shifting away from you.

You’d upset him.

He took a generous swig of his wine, a lone droplet escaping his lips. He wiped it away with a rough hand, lined eyes now focused on the undulating figures of the women that still twirled around the room.

“Imperator, forgive me. I-,”

“You are dismissed. You can retire to your chambers as you wished, wife,” he coolly demanded, his eyes never meeting yours.

The sting of his words made your chest tighten. Anger made itself a home on your tongue, ready to lash out like the serpent that curled itself around the dancer’s arm. You were once again reminded of your status. An empress trained to coil itself around its master. To go against its very nature. Never to strike. Only to look upon. To entertain.

A mere pawn.

“If it is a whore you wish me to become for your men, then I shall be prepared to show them how I make their emperor fall to his knees.”

Geta stiffened beside you, your words having their desired effect. Your voice was low, unheard amongst the noise. But he heard you. Loud and clear.

You stood, gesturing for your maiden to follow. A scent of rose followed you. Laughter erupted at your back. Before long, the celebration would turn to a more salacious show. Whores would be paraded about. And after your outburst you were certain Geta would leave your bed cold that night.

A wise choice.

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

Sleep did not come as easily as you had hoped. You laid awake for what felt like hours, still attempting to calm the storm that brewed within you.

Your husband had angered you. Upset you in such a way that tears nearly sprang to your eyes. He made you out to be some common harlot. Attempting to bed you in front of his guests. The thought turned your blood into lava, molten and unforgiving.

Geta was a boy in so many ways. He felt a constant need to make others jealous of him. Envious. Even blood thirsty. He spoke of possession and coveting. And perhaps that was a result of being a twin. Having to constantly be attached to someone. Never having anything of your own.

It made sense. And yet, you could not grant him mercy for how he’d treated you.

A knock made you sit up, reaching for your bedding to cover yourself. You waited as one of your maidens entered, her steps soft so as not to startle you.

“Your highness, I am so sorry to disturb you. I was not certain you were awake,” she feebly apologized.

“I have not slept. Is there something wrong?”

“The Emperor…he wishes to see you.”

You sighed, feeling sorry for the poor girl that had to suffer through your husband’s late night demands. You were surprised he didn’t rush in on his own.

“I’ll be along in a moment.”

“He is here, your highness,” she gestured to the hallway just outside your door.

You did not hide your annoyance.

“Very well. Thank you.”

She bowed her head, retreating quickly. Not a second later your husband was striding in, an expression of irritation marring his features.

The door slammed, ricocheting off the walls. You tensed, readying yourself for a fight.

“You have not slept?”

His question made you pause. He wore the same clothes he’d had on at dinner. The sight made your stomach turn.

“No,” you answered simply.

He stomped towards you, the stench of wine permeating the air.

“Have you not slept?” You returned, knowing the answer.

Geta shook his head, eyes roving over your chest. He could see through the fabric, even with the low light of candles.

“You made a mockery out of me.”

“And you didn’t of me? Suggesting I play along with your antics in front of the men you say covet me?”

He stepped towards you, leaning in so that you could see the smear of berry stained lips across his cheek. “You do not question me. You do not question your emperor,” he seethed.

“Your attempt at playing a man is foolish,” you sneered, surely sealing your fate.

Silence followed. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, matching your own. You waited, anticipating these moments being your last.

Geta laughed, though no humor could be found. “You still think me unwise to your games, my dear?”

He reached out, snatching your face between his fingers. He squeezed. The force made you hiss in pain.

“Your desire to drive me mad is comical.”

“I do no such thing.”

His grip tightened.

“You lie.” He released you, pushing you onto your back. “Do not move.”

You did as he said, watching as he undressed. With every piece of clothing that fell, arousal seeped into your limbs. You wished you had the capacity to feel shame for it.

“I warned you. I warned you I would break you. Tame you into submission.”

He stood nude before you, cock already hard and leaking. A sight just as pathetic as you.

You flinched when he suddenly grabbed at your night dress, ripping it down the middle. Your nipples peaked once revealed to the frigid air between husband and wife.

“Turn around,” he growled.

You hesitated, not understanding what he was asking.

“On your stomach, wife.”

Anxiety prickled at the base of your neck at his words. You were confused, unsure of what he wanted from you in such a state. But the look in his eyes warned you to proceed with caution.

You reluctantly did as he commanded, feeling the shreds of your gown fall to the floor. You felt a new kind of vulnerability at being exposed this way, unable to see your husband.

The bed moved as he mounted you, manipulating your hips so that they were angled towards him. The heated flesh of his torso met your backside and you struggled not to nuzzle into the touch. Your face was smothered into your pillow, Geta’s figure barely visible from your position.

“You are afraid,” he observed, fingers ghosting over your spine.

“I’m not.”

His cock prodded your entrance, immediately met with a wetness he knew all too well.

“Seems you are quite the opposite,” he revered, the head of him teasing your folds.

You grasped the linens beneath you, forcing your eyes shut when he roughly spread you open.

“I have had many whores this way. I’ve been told it is like taking a spear to the heart,” he lamented, pushing your head further into the softness below you.

“Is your appetite so insatiable that you must have a whore and your wife in one night?” You managed, moaning when his cock nudged your clit.

Geta laughed, mocking you. “You are upset at the notion?”

“I am disgusted.”

Two fingers filled you suddenly, pulling a startled cry from your lips.

“I do not think it is disgust that overtakes you.”

He played within you, feeling your walls desperately trying to grasp at him. You writhed. At his mercy. At his whim.

And as quickly as his touch came, it was gone. You whined at the emptiness, unabashedly pushing back in return.

A hand pulled at your hair, forcing you up. You struggled to steady yourself on your knees, Geta’s chest pressing impossibly tight to your back.

“You’ll be pleased to know that I sought the company of another,” he admitted roughly, mouth teasing the shell of your ear. His hand still gripped your hair, pulling at the scalp. The pain made your hips open, seeking his cock. “But you’ve cursed me for anyone else,” he gritted, jerking your head back against his chest.

“Because no one else matches the flames I have for you. No one else feels as sinful. Tastes as addictive. No one else wants to end my life quite like you, Empress.”

You cried out when he thrust into you, sheathing himself completely. He was unforgiving. Relentless in his pace. Your entire body twisted around him, just like a snake.

His hand made its way to your throat, the other at your hip keeping you locked to him. He grunted and groaned, punishing just as much as he was pleasuring. It felt utterly divine.

Your nails clawed at his arms. He only went harder. And faster. The skin at your back nearly bruising with his force. And he was right. It felt as if he’d speared your heart, air struggling to fill your lungs. You were on the cusp of a madness you’d never felt before.

Without warning, he withdrew. Before you could protest, he forced you to face him, humiliating you even more by pushing your head to his cock. You had only ever taken him into your mouth once. At his insistence. It was an act you weren’t well prepared for.

“Open your mouth. Do as I’ve told you.”

You looked up at him with disdain, but your mouth moved on its own, suckling him. He threw his head back, revealing another set of stains in the shape of another’s mouth. You sucked. Hard.

Geta hissed, grabbing for your hair once again. “Tread carefully, my love.”

He forced himself down your throat. Tears clouded your vision while saliva fell down your chin. He took pleasure from you, using your body as a vessel and nothing more.

“Keep your throat open.”

You defied him, gagging when he pushed you into the thatch of curls at his pelvis.

“Shall I call in a whore to teach you?” He jeered, pulling you up so that you were finally face to face.

Traces of coal ran from his eyes. The cords of his neck pulsing with tension. His skin was flush and dewy with perspiration. His eyes now dangerously empty and dark. He looked completely stricken with hysteria.

You were sure your appearance mirrored his own.

“Only if you call in the General as well,” you retorted, throat burning from his intrusion.

Geta’s lip curled at your suggestion.

“You threaten me?”

“I only propose what you had wanted. To entertain. Does having another man see me in this way not please you, your highness?”

With bravery you did not fully feel, you licked his lips, feeling his jaw loosen. You pebbled kisses to the underside of his chin, feeling his hand beginning to release your hair.

“Does the thought of another man’s hands upon me make you murderous?” You whispered into his flesh, hands roaming his scarless chest.

“Not any more than it makes you, my love.”

He kissed you then. It was all-consuming and messy, lips and teeth clashing in rage and blinding passion. His mouth was just as bruising as his hips had been. He wordlessly eased you back, not following. You went to reach for him, but he gripped your thighs instead, opening you up to him.

He stared down at you, a mixture of hatred and obsession clouding his features. He spread you wide and lined himself up at your folds. You found his wrist and held fast, knowing he was not going to be gentle.

He filled you to the hilt, your entire body moving with the force of it. Each thrust was punctuated, a reminder, as he looked down his nose at you.

His gaze flitted from your face to your breasts, intrigued by the way your eyes squeezed shut and your back arched.

“Look at me.”

You did so reluctantly.

He snapped his hips, cock wedging even further inside you. You threw your head back, his name instinctively falling from your lips.

“You call for me as if I am your savior,” he taunted, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs.

“You are my tormentor,” you gasped, feeling your body begin to tingle in that delicious way you’d come to know.

“I think that suits me much better.”

He harshly rubbed at your clit, forcing your legs to try and close. His body prevented such a thing and you were instead subjected to his torture.

As if you were floating in the ocean, a wave suddenly pulled you under, trapping you beneath her surface. You free floated as pleasure of the richest kind made its way through your body. It held you prisoner, ravaging you without an ounce of sympathy. Tears leaked from your eyes and blood seeped from your lip, teeth digging in. But you barely felt any of it.

Beyond your bliss, Geta soon joined your descent, cock spilling into the flood that welcomed him. He fought through the exhaustion, through your pitiful whimpers and filled you so full it seeped from your walls.

From the look in his eyes, you were certain he had just given himself an heir.

He continued to pump his hips, not willing to waste a drop of his royal seed. Lethargy seized you. A euphoria settled in your bones. You hadn’t a care in the world.

“Sleep, my love. You’ll need it.”

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