Coronation of a Queen
Emperor Geta x Fem!reader
Wordcount 2963
Masterlist Series Masterlist
Warnings: 18+, crazy caracalla, p in v, fluffy wedding cutness
a/n: on a spicey scale this felt like it was three out of five chilis while writing it, as always i suck at warnings tell me if i missed something
dividers by @dividers-are-us
Getting married to an Emperor of Rome was no small thing. The endless planning and the parties that led up to the ceremony were mind-boggling. The Palatium had been celebrating a marriage that hadn’t officially happened for half a year. At each party you found yourself dripping in more jewels and finer silks. None of the jewels or fabrics meant much to you except the ring that once adorned your betrothed’s pinky finger. Some would call it ridiculous for an emperor to give his own jewel as the sponsalia ring of a soon-to-be empress, but the gold band set with a blue stone was all the more special knowing it had once been his.
Now you sat at the head table, trying to enjoy the final celebrations before the wedding tomorrow, dressed in the finest white silks and covered in gold jewelry you could never have dreamed of wearing. As you watched the festivities around you, you suddenly felt the hand of your betrothed resting high on your thigh, hidden by the table.
“Angellus.” Geta lowered his voice, wanting only you to hear. “What troubles you so? Do you not enjoy the festivities thrown in your honor?”
You slid your hand over his so both rested on your thigh. “Of course I do, my love.” You intertwined your fingers with his. “I am just tired. With all the lead-up to our marriage, I’ll admit I’m ready for us to actually be married and for me to call you my husband.”
The softest smile you had ever seen found its way to the fearsome emperor’s face. He lifted your hand from under the table and placed a kiss on the back of it. “I understand all too well, Angellus.” He was about to say more when his troublesome brother threw a wine goblet at a servant and stormed from the room. Geta sighed and rested his forehead against the back of your hand.
“I had hoped he would have warmed to you in these months leading up to tomorrow,” he said, “but that seems to be a dream not meant to come true.”
You caressed the side of his face when he raised his head. “Caracalla has spent much more of his life having you to himself than having to share you with me. He will adjust in time.”
Geta rested his cheek in your palm. “Are you sure?” He looked defeated for a moment.
“We will help him cope. Don’t stress about it now—we’re supposed to be joyous and happy. We’re getting married tomorrow.” Geta turned his head and laid a kiss on your open palm. “And after the marriage ceremony comes the marriage bed, my Angellus.” His eyes darkened at the thought. “I’ve missed you in my bed these months. Preventing a child out of wedlock is important, yes, but at what cost to us?”
You couldn’t help but shake your head and laugh at your soon-to-be husband. “In just hours you won’t have to worry anymore, my love.” The hunger in his eyes did not dissipate.
Without another word he stood from his throne, your hand still clasped in his, and began to lead you out of the still lively banquet. “Geta, we cannot!” you tried to scold him as he guided you into the hallways to find the nearest alcove with a drape covering the entrance.
“Oh, we can, Angellus,” he said as he pulled you into a private space hidden away from the world. You didn’t have a chance to respond before you were backed against the cool stone wall, Geta’s hands on either side of your face, kissing you hotly as if his life depended on it. He swallowed the moan that threatened to echo down the hallway just steps away.
“Quiet, Angellus. We wouldn’t want to cause a scandal mere hours before we are to be wed.” A trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses left a path down your throat. “My sweet, soft Angellus—how am I supposed to resist you? All warm and wanting, waiting for me to love you.”
A ring-clad hand gently gripped your throat and squeezed ever so slightly. “The bedding ceremony will be pointless if any of those foolish senators think I’ll wait till then to bed my wife.” The intense eye contact made you weak at the knees. Geta licked a hot strip up the side of your cheek, and you practically gushed with arousal.
“I am going to devour you, make you scream so loud nobody will ever question that you’re mine.” Your mouths were so close you were not quite kissing but sharing breath.
“Geta,” you breathed into his mouth. He kissed you again before ripping himself away, breathing heavily. “Go,” he ordered.
You didn’t move for a moment, frozen by the heat between you. “My love,” his voice broke a little, “you must go before I lose myself and cannot hold back any longer.” His eyes softened as he lifted the drape that protected you both from the world.
“I will see you on the morrow, my Geta.” You slipped silently down the hallway toward your rooms to begin preparing to marry the man you loved in the morning.
Try as you might, you did not sleep well after your alcove encounter with Geta—it only made you yearn for him more. So when your servants finally entered your room to begin preparations, it was a welcome sight.
“We are here to help you prepare, Domina,” the lead servant said.
With a nod of your head, a whirlwind of preparation began. You were bathed and anointed with the finest oils; your hair was washed and styled into a magnificent bun at the base of your skull, secured with a golden hairpiece that spanned the width of your styled hair, delicate golden chains helping to keep it in place.
The dress made for you was even more magnificent—layers of the finest silks the imperial seamstresses could acquire, with so much golden embroidery it seemed to double the weight of the garment. The neckline appeared to have a necklace sewn into it, with small beads and golden coins that shimmered under the light and gave a soft tinkling sound as you moved, before disappearing behind the silk cape attached to your shoulders.
The last adornment was your veil, made of the most delicate silk, nearly transparent if not for the tiny hand-sewn golden flowers scattered across its expanse.
“Domina, you are ready,” one servant announced, as you were guided to a floor-to-ceiling mirror to take one final look at yourself.
This was it. You had started as a lowly servant, and now you were mere moments away from becoming Empress of Rome—the strongest empire in the world. With the final touch of golden dots painted along your lower lash line, you took a steadying breath and nodded, signaling that you were prepared.
The doors to your chambers opened, and you stepped out for the final time.
The palace hallways were draped with curtains, vases of flowers placed every few feet, as you made your last walk as a servant girl. Surrounded by the finest palace guards, you moved slowly toward the closed doors of the throne room. Trumpets blared, announcing your arrival. Moments later, the crowd inside erupted in cheers—you could only assume Geta had taken his place upon his dais.
The lead guard stepped forward and bowed slightly. “It is time, Domina.”
You nodded once, nerves flaring in your stomach for the first time that day. The guards stepped back, the great doors swung open, and you were met with the most deafening applause you thought you would ever hear. The palace floor was invisible beneath a thick layer of yellow crocus petals, covering what seemed to be the entire expanse.
As you walked slowly up the aisle, the guests on either side tossed more petals, which rained down upon you as they bowed deeply. You hardly noticed anything around you—your beaming smile and shining eyes were only for Geta.
When you began your ascent up the stairs toward the dais, Geta rose from his throne, dressed in golden silken finery to match your own. At the top of the stairs, you curtsied deeply before him.
After you were anointed with oils and blessed by the Pontiffs, a red velvet pillow was brought forth, bearing a smaller, more delicate version of Geta’s own laurels. You dipped your head slightly, and he gently placed the wreath upon your brow.
When you lifted your gaze again, you found nothing but sheer adoration across his face. Taking your hand in his, he raised his voice so that all within the throne room could hear:
“Romans! Your Empress!”
Another deafening roar rose from the crowd. Geta raised your hand and kissed it, his voice lowering to a possessive murmur meant only for you:
“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”
For one brief moment, you shared a private exchange in the midst of the grand ceremony, before you and your Emperor husband turned to walk back down the aisle—this time hand in hand—through the sweet shower of flower petals.
You're barely free of the throne room—the doors slam shut behind you—when Geta means to whisk you away to somewhere more private, but all plans to do so come to a screeching halt.
“Brother. Sister,” Caracalla sneers as he emerges from a side hallway that leads to and from the dais. “May your union be long, prosperous, and as happy as our dear mother and father were. Oh—sister, your parents had a happy union? Oh wait, you don’t even know who they are.” He goads, grinning as he watches anger flare across his brother’s face. “Well, may the feast be better than your elaborate spectacle in there.” With that, he walks away, money in tow.
You turn to face Geta; tension radiates off him. “Do not let him rile you up, husband—especially not today of all days. We are meant to be happy, not fighting your brother.” You place a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Surely you can’t already start ignoring your wife after only minutes of marriage,” you add with a sly smile.
Geta sighs and cups the side of your face. “Surely, after only minutes of marriage, you—dear wife—will not already try to boss your husband around. I am an emperor; I am not supposed to answer to anyone.” He strokes his thumb along your cheek.
“Well, I am an empress now, so maybe sometimes you can answer to me.” You can’t stop the grin that reaches your eyes. “Power-hungry already—what ever shall I do with you, husband?”
“Kiss me, husband.” What begins as a gentle kiss quickly becomes heated. Much to both your dismay, a throat clears behind you, reminding you that you stand in a very public hallway and that your moment of private intimacy has passed.
For an all-powerful emperor, the way he hides his face in the side of your neck beneath your veil is almost comical. He stays there a moment before meeting your eyes again. “You look beautiful, my Angellus.”
“You look handsome, my love.” You share one more heated kiss before allowing yourselves to be led to the celebratory feast, which is no doubt already underway.
Hours later, after countless speeches and many thanks given to the gods and the assembled citizens who celebrate the Emperor and his new Empress, you and Geta have been trading looks for the last hour, trying to make your escape. As the guests of honor, it proves difficult—until the entertainment changes and everyone is distracted by fantastical new tricks. That is when you both manage to slip away.
Darkness has fallen. The hallways are dim and eerily empty; the servants were instructed to be more invisible than usual once the sun went down. Geta removes a torch from the wall with one hand and takes yours with the other as you walk down the corridor, which has been gently strewn with flower petals leading to your rooms. The only souls you encounter on the entire journey are the guards posted at your door, who open it to let you in.
You gasp as Geta leads you inside: thick layers of rose petals cover the floor, candles glow softly, and vases overflow with blooms on every surface. The air is more fragrant than anything you have ever smelled.
When you reach the middle of the room you spin, taking it all in. “Geta,” you whisper, truly speechless.
“A flower for every thought I have had of you, Angellus,” he says softly.
That alone melts your heart. “Do you know how many times I tried to come for you after that first night?” he continues, kissing you tenderly. “How many times I counted the stars to keep my mind off you?” He kisses you again as he guides you toward the bed. “How many excuses I made to avoid having other servants sent to me—”
He kisses you with such passion that it takes your breath away, and you sink down together onto the edge of the bed.
“There is—and there never will be—anyone but you.” You are unable to speak around the lump in your throat, so all you can do is lean forward, press your mouth to his, and hope he understands the depth of your love.
As the kisses and caresses grow more sensual, the practical task of disrobing remains. “You look so beautiful…but how in the gods’ names does one take off such an exquisite gown as this?” he murmurs. You laugh into his mouth and reach up to the brooches that fasten your cape at the shoulders.
“It’s all in the shoulders,” you tell him with a smirk, and begin to undo the pins together.
When one brooch is free and the fabric starts to fall from your frame, the spark in Geta's eye is instant. While you’re not bare yet, he can fondle your breast and duck your nipple through the lesser layers of silk. You reach up to remove his laurels and curly ginger wig so you can see the real him, tossing them both carelessly on a nearby chair. Both of you, with your wandering hands, manage to remove regalia in what has to be record time.
As you lean back on your elbows, you take a moment to openly stare at your husband—his thick arms and toned stomach, with a trail of hair that leads from his navel to the short mound of curly brown hair surrounding his erect and throbbing member. Geta tilts his head, his eyes boring into you.
“See something you like, dear wife?” he asks as he begins to leisurely stroke his shaft.
“Very much so, husband,” you hum. “You claim to be such a master wielding a weapon—” You run a delicate foot up his abdomen and let it rest there, cocking your head to the side and goading him. “So prove it.”
His eyes darken and a sardonic chuckle leaves his mouth. “Oh, Angellus, I’ll show you exactly what I can do with my weapon.” He lifts your foot to drape it over his shoulder and gently kisses the protruding bone before kneeling on the bed, preparing to feast upon you.
“The great Emperor Geta on his knees—what would your empire say?” you tease, trying to get a reaction out of him, and judging by the look on his face, you’re about to succeed.
“Watch yourself, Empress, or the only person here who will be on their knees is you.” He punctuates the sentence by sliding a finger into your already dripping hole.
You arch your back and moan his name as he slowly thrusts his finger inside before adding a second. “Not so ready to try and get a reaction out of me now, are you, Empress?” He starts to twist and move his hand just right, making you squirm beneath him as he hits that spot inside you perfectly.
It’s not long before your legs are shaking, and he leans over you to gallantly swallow your cries. There’s a moment where you’re gasping for breath, not sure you can move at all, before Geta flips you onto all fours. You let out an undignified yelp that turns into a moan as Geta plunges his throbbing cock into your entrance.
“Gods, it’s been so long since I felt your wet heat around me,” he hisses as he inches himself in until his hips are flush with yours. He grabs a fistful of your tousled hair and gently pulls your head back. “Now that you’re mine, I’m gonna fuck a baby into you.”
The pressure of Geta pulling your hair and the fullness of his cock has you screaming like a whore.
“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He roughly slaps your ass cheek with his free hand before leaning over to speak directly into your ear. “My wanton little slut—only my cock can make you act this way. Only my cock will fuck a baby into you. Only my cock will fuck you.” He releases your hair to wrap his hand around your throat and squeeze. “Come on my cock, you emperor’s whore.”
And that’s all it takes for you to come undone. You barely register Geta reaching his peak inside you, only realizing it when you feel the extra wet warmth leaking out around him. As his orgasm wracks his body, Geta doesn’t move right away, leaving only gentle kisses along your spine.
When he softens enough to slide out, you whine at the loss of him. Geta flops onto his back and gathers you in his arms, gently stroking your hair.
“Don’t whine, Angellus—we have all night. I’ll be inside you again.”
You just nuzzle his cheek as you start to doze off, languid and content.
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