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neils1net0rr · 6 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ IMPERIUM & CHAINS [caracalla & geta x reader]

pairing(s): gladiatorii!caracalla x gladiatorii!geta x pregnant!empress!reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ On her return in her homeland, with her children and another one growing in her womb, the Empress expects a moment of peace, a time to remember who she was before Rome. But there were never two husbands like Empress Caracalla and Geta anywhere else in the world. As her old memory resurfaces and the return into her old kingdom begins, she starts asking herself…is this freedom? Or is she just a bird in a golden cage?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ polygamy, extreme possessiveness, captivity, psychological manipulation, implied noncon/dubcon, violence, threats, power imbalance, misogyny, forced pregnancy, gaslighting, emotional abuse, toxic relationship, lemme know if I missed any!

i just watched gladiator ii, and all of the sudden my eddie munson era is back, (so is my obsession with fred hechinger ever since he appeared in fear street 1994)

The imperial carriage rumbled over the bad dirt path, ostentatiously gilded to shine in the noonday sun. Rows of Roman soldiers flanking the route guarded by deep crimson banners. But the Empress felt anything but powerful inside her carriage

Inside the imperial carriage, the air had become still. The rich smell of expensive perfumes, warm wine, and her husbands unmistakable musk conspired to seal her in.

Across from her lay the twin Emperors of Rome, sprawled upon the cushioned seats like lazy gods.

Caracalla, in crimson toga with gold embroidery, rested his feet upon the floor. Sullen, crazed eyes would sometimes flick her way as if watching and expecting something from her—thankfulness or maybe subjection.

In contrast, Geta reclined with easiness, tunic with a looser drape. There was a slow swishing motion to his goblet of wine, and he gazed at the bloody liquid swirling around with keen interest.

The Empress, sitting stiffly in between the two, rested one hand protectively on her bulging belly while the other gripped the silk folds of her dress. Warmth from her children's laughter flowed back into her mind; they were riding ahead of her with heavy guard, separated. One would have thought her comforted by their warmth, but instead, her heart sank deep with the burden of her predicament.

She was going home. And yet, she was never free.

The castle gates swung open, revealing the King waited at the top of the stone steps. Once feared in battle, now an old lion, awaiting the cub's return, flanked by two wolves.

The imperial carriage rolled to a slow, deliberate halt.

The moment she stepped out, her father’s face softened. She barely drew breath before she clambered up the steps, disregarding the indifferent stares of the Roman guards, taking her father’s hands into her own and squeezing him with might.

“Father.”

“My child,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He cupped her face, his eyes flicked down to her belly, then past her to the gilded carriage. The warmth in his expression chilled instantly.

The twins had arrived.

Geta was first out, having in his own right created a suffocating silence in the courtyard, dark eyes sizing everything and everyone present.

Caracalla followed slowly, stretching his limbs as if awakening from a sweet dream, releasing a slight sigh and then glancing toward the King with a grin.

"My lords," began the King, voice firm, with fingers twitching ever so slightly against her hands. "Welcome to my home. Again"

"We are honored," Caracalla purred, ever smooth. He cast a cursory glance around. "Although, I must say, it seems awfully… smaller than I remember."

Geta remained quiet. He stared at the King, the muscles of his jaw taut, as if this entire rendezvous was beneath him. Then he walked past them without a nod and up the steps and into the castle, like a man who owned it.

The grand hall burst into flames under the torches, amid feasting sounds. The servants dashed between the tables pouring goblets of wine and laying platters of food in front of their guests. But the food was warm; everything else was cold with tension.

The Empress sat at the long banquet table between Caracalla and Geta; her children were further down, having an animated conversation with their grandfather. If not for their innocent laughter, she would have completely fallen apart.

"You must let them see the mountains tomorrow," the King said. "The ones beyond the valley, they must know where their mother used to play as a child."

"No," Caracalla responded instantly.

Silence.

The King frowned. "I can assure you they will be quite safe."

"It is not your assurances I am concerned with," said Caracalla. He did not even bother looking up from his plate.

"Forgive my brother," Geta said, putting on a charming smile. "He forgets his manners." He sipped leisurely at this wine. "We simply have too many enemies. Our children—her children—are too precious to us to be taken on an aimless stroll through the wilderness."

The King lowered his goblet slowly. "Precious? They are not commodities."

"Oh, but they are," Caracalla finally raised his head, his gaze fixing on the King. "They are the blood of Rome. And Rome does not share."

The Empress clenched her hands beneath the table. She had known this conversation would eventually happen, but to hear it now, to see their expressions so filled with ownership over not just her but her very own children, made her stomach turn.

Her father exhaled through his nose, wrestling to maintain his composure. But she could see it; the fingers that were twitching against the wood, the way his shoulders stiffened.

"You have stolen my daughter," he said lowly.

A silence that throttled.

Caracalla reclined back in his chair without removing his fingers from the dagger. "No, old man. You gave her to us as a way to soothe your losing war with Persia. We own her."

Geta chuckled. "You should be proud. Your little girl is the Empress of Rome."

Her father turned to her then, his eyes searching. Pleading. "Are you happy?"

She opened her mouth. No sound came out.

Caracalla leaned in close, breath warm against her ear. "Be careful," he whispered just low enough for her to hear. "We wouldn't want father getting any ideas, would we?"

She swallowed hard. "I am… honored to serve Rome."

A lie. And everyone at the table knew it.

High above the castle gardens, the moon cast streaming silver light on the stone pavements and bloomed flowers. The air smelled of damp earth and roses, a scent she had not smelled in a long time. It was completely different from the Rome, where the air was forever heavy with sweat and the metallic pungent tang from bloodshed in the Colosseum.

She walked along the trimmed hedges slowly, her fingers trailing along them. Something unnamable throbbed in her heart; perhaps longing or grief. The familiar feeling of this place, the shelter it once represented, was a cruel illusion now.

She was no longer just a princess of this land.

An Empress of Rome.

And Rome never loosed its hold.

A rustle behind her made her pause, but she did not turn.

"I thought I could find you here."

Deep voice, familiar. Father.

She exhaled, allowing her shoulders to relax slightly. "I needed air."

Footfalls approached, slow but heavy. Then a rough-hewn warm palm settled on her shoulder, and she allowed her moment of sojourn.

Father sighed, grip gentle but firm. "You look tired."

She released a soft, humorless chuckle. "I am always tired."

His hand fell away, and when she turned around, he was looking at her. Like really observing her. They had last met when she was younger, freer. Not a woman weighed down by the crown of Rome and the possessive grip of the twin Emperors.

His gaze fell to her belly. "Another child."

She nodded. "Another."

He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "How many more, my daughter?"

She didn't reply.

Rather, she had her head turned to face the sky, feeling the cool air kiss the skin.

"You could stay," her father said after a long silence.

Lurching of the heart.

Her throat contracted and she forced herself to say the words. "You know that is not possible."

"Is it?" His voice was laced with frustration. "I am still a king. This is still your home. I could—"

"You could do nothing," she interrupted, shaking her head. "You think you could hide me? That they would simply let me go?"

He didn't speak, but the tension of his jaw told her all.

He knew. He knew that Caracalla and Geta would burn this kingdom to the ground before they let her slip through their fingers.

But still, he wouldn't let that go "You do not have to live like that."

She laughed bitterly but softly. "And how do I live, Father?"

"Like a woman in a gilded cage," he said.

She went still.

His voice softened. "You flinch when they touch you. You never look them in the eye for too long. And when you speak, you measure every word, as if your very breath belongs to them."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Because it does."

Father's eyes darkened with wrath, but it was not against her. One step was taken closer to and around him, bearing down with great presence. "I could protect you. I could protect your children. You wouldn't have to go back."

Her lips trembled but quickly sealed them into a firm line.

The thought was dangerous.

So dangerous.

But then, for the first time in years, sparkled hope within her. The idea about staying was intoxicating, living beyond those cold, suffocating walls of Rome with her children, without the constant presence of them.

For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself to think it could happen.

The empress didn't know what she was tensed about. She was just a servant girl, staring with wide eyes and nerves.

"The emperors request you," she said. "Immediately."

Now she was in their quarters, she could feel sweat forming in her palms as the tension in the room was rather tense. She could already sense in her gut that something was wrong.

Geta stood at the window, faced out into the darkness of the courtyard. He did not turn round when she entered, but the tension of his shoulders told her all.

Caracalla sat propped in a cushioned chair with one leg flung over the other, playing languidly with his goblet full of wine. Unlike his brother, he was looking at her directly, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips.

"It took you a while to get here," Geta murmured. "How rude of you."

Saying nothing, she just stood shivering at the door post.

"Tomorrow at dawn, we leave" is all Caracalla said.

Her breath caught.

"Why the sudden change?" she inquired, doctoring her voice to a level, impassive delivery.

Geta wheeled around at that instant, vision tearing through her like a knife. "There is nothing else for us here."

Caracalla sighed, arms crossed, as he tossed his empty goblet elsewhere. "it's too bad. I was just starting to get into the entertainment." He smiled at her, making little effort to hide the glint in his deep-set eyes. "Your father is such a gracious host. But I am left wondering… does he think he can keep you?"

Silence.

The Empress gulped.

Caracalla stepped closer, the air thickened by his presence. "I wonder," he said softly, "is it possible he thinks you want to stay?"

Another of his tests.

She covered her expression, lowered her eyes. "I am the Empress of Rome."

"Yes," Caracalla said darkly, "you are."

It was a quiet chuckle from Geta. "See, brother? No need to worry. Our little Empress knows where she belongs."

Caracalla looked anything but convinced.

His fingers just brushed her wrist, a light touch, but a warning, nonetheless.

"You should sleep," he murmured.

She nodded, turning to go, but before she could step away Caracalla caught her chin between his fingers, jerking her face back up towards him.

"You wouldn't mistake forgetting, would you?" he whispered.

Her heart pounded in her throat.

"No," she whispered.

He held her for just a moment more and then let her go.

Geta saw it all with lazy boredom. As if he was looking at a lecture.

"Good girl,"

And that was her dismissal.

But as she walked, her heart thundered away in her chest. Now they suspected her. Which meant that if she was to escape, it would have to be soon.

Because come morning, she would be on the road back to Rome.

And once she was back within those golden walls, under their ever-watching gaze, so suffocating and smothering, she's surprised she could even breath.

There would be no way out.

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to m

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