#Caracalla

[fan-of-everything]

Rewatching the Gladiator II's videos and falling in love with that cutie all over again

God, let me marry you

[moon-and-seafoam]

Some small fun facts that we have learned about Geta and Caracalla from "Gladiator II":

Geta is the eldest although Caracalla argues that he was conceived first since he came out last (I don't know the logic in this).

They had an abusive father.

They aren't particularly educated. They didn't recognize Lucius' lines from Virgil who was one of the most famous Roman poets.

They attend orgies together and they share their concubines.

They were getting high by using various kind of drugs of that time.

Caracalla is a bi king.

He has also shown to be attracted to Lucilla.

According to Joseph Quinn, Geta knows the fragility of his position and the fact that he doesn't deserve this power but uses means of intimidation to control the people. He's also afraid of trusting others.

Caracalla suffers from syphilis and lead poisoning which in turn have caused him dementia. One of the make up artists confirmed that he also battled acne.

Geta was not unfamiliar with Caracalla's physical abuse against him and he's even calm about it.

Ridley Scott believes that Caracalla was a forceps baby. And that was a dangerous practice back then as it could damage the baby's head.

According to Fred Hechinger, Geta and Caracalla have a need to be "taken care of" and "they want to be held". So they have a desire to be loved.

Days after, Caracalla couldn't remember that he killed his brother.

[sweeteststing]

Ovulation is so bad, i need to fuck them both

[trulyumai]

to love an emperor

—: pairing - caracalla / wife! reader

—: synopsis - Caracalla the disastrous, caracalla the mighty. thousands would cower down and pray in fear of such a man, but you? you offered love and kisses upon the head.

—: warnings - none. pure fluff for the soul.

—: an - is it a little off character? oh yeah. but the man needs more soft love and I am here to provide.

not everyday was caracalla affectionate. he was moody sometimes— angry at you even when someone else had provoked him.

but tonight?

tonight he couldn’t stop adoring you; you had no idea what had gotten into him. caracalla was never this affectionate, at least without jealousy or a beverage involved.

“do you love me?” the man mumbled, it was muffled against your skin. his breath was warm and sticking to you without delay. “of course,” you hummed, slipping fingers into the crown of his head, gently guiding your fingers through the soft and messy locks.

instantly Caracalla folded, the candlelight bounced of his face and illuminated each shadow and crevice with purpose. he was handsome, you certainly couldn’t deny such a fact. his eyes were soft, a light pink and red hue danced around his eyelids as the rest of his skin lay pale and untouched.

his lips were a little chapped, proof of him picking and biting them after todays timeline

“—you?”

Perking up, your mind cleared. You hadn’t even realized you spaced out until the jumbles of his words came to.

“I’m sorry, my love, what was that?”

the man beside you shuddered at such an endearment. He felt so warm, so comfortable in your presence.

“I said, do you know I love you?” Letting out a quiet snicker, a nod was given. “of course, I see it in your eyes, husband.”

Caracalla frowned, confusion blotted his features. “My… eyes?”

Soft fingers glided against his cheek, to which he leaned into trustingly. A thumb traced the underside of his eye, gently tracing random shapes and letters unconsciously.

“Mmh, you look at me the way Dondus looks at his snacks, my love.”

He couldn’t help but let out a bubble of laughter. wrinkles began to form around his eyes from such a joyous action, however his vision never faltered from admiring your blushing face. “I’m serious! You— you do!”

“Angel, what an odd way of phrasing such a thing!” Joining him in the barrage of giggles, you slumped onto him, digging your chin into the crevice of his neck.

“You’re not much of a poet, even I could have thought of better,”

You gasped, with hands now holding you upright on his chest a mischievous glint was caught in Caracallas eyes. “You jest, husband, surely. I’m more of a poet than you could ever be!”

“Oh?” The emperor challenged. Already taking advantage of this new position, both arms wrapped around your waist, prohibiting you from moving even an inch away.

“Mhm! Don’t you remember the last full moon? The festivities— the worshipping I gave—,”

A big, warm hand stopped you from going further, covering the entirety of your mouth and a giggle burst against the skin.

“I am more than aware of such a night, quiet it down before someone hears you.”

Although the walls were thick, and no one would ever think of disturbing such high power; there was celebration below, citizens from far and near joined in tonight’s merriment and Caracalla didn’t need anyone hearing of such a frivolous act between the two of you.

Feeling particularly bold, a light nibble was given to the man. Startled by such a sharp pain, the hand was removed and you were (temporarily), free to do as you pleased. Not sparing even a moment, your lips brushed against Caracallas ear with mischievous purpose. “Don’t you want them to know im yours? Have me scream your name in pleasure—“

“Careful,” The ginger seethed, already shuffling uncomfortably under you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, wife.”

“And who said I couldn’t finish, husband?” Suddenly, a grip was bestowed onto the back of your neck, pushing you forward until your soft lips collided with rougher ones.

Submitting into him, you allowed the pushing and shoving of his tongue, the way his hands pulled at your robes and squeezed each open crevice of skin they could find.

Caracalla quickly pulled back, a string of saliva followed suit and a dazed— hungry look was swimming in his vision.

“Angel?”

Your hands shakily moved across his form, undoing and untying his garments haphazardly.

A wet hum left you, you were so busy with the action you failed to notice his eyes upon you.

And how in love the man looked, felt while beside your side.

His eyes, half lidded and flooded with affection never faltered.

The way you looked in the moonlight, how the silk you were wearing was slowly dragging down your shoulders messily.

Your braids were undone, pulled in every which way from Caracallas hands—and your face?

Gods, there was a reason he called you angel.

No one looked as beautiful as you, and he doubted such a being ever would.

“I love you,” finally the words left him— shoved their way out like spilled wine upon cobblestone.

You smiled, big and wide.

“and I you, my love.”

[whereisyourpippinnow]

Emperors watching the games in the Colosseum.

Gladiator II (2024) dir. Ridley Scott | » requested gifset by @where-the-stars-collide

[belossyy66]

Bro helping bro

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

[anthemias]

Emperor Caracalla ↳ Gladiator II

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods Masterlist - Complete

Pairing - Caracalla x fem!Reader, Geta x fem!Reader, Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary - It takes only once for them to notice you. Nothing will be the same after you have caught the eyes of gods.

Warnings - minors dni, 18+, unedited, blood, background character death, gladiator fighting, dub-con, pining, obsessive affection, historical inaccuracies, mentions of past domestic violence + child abuse, induced vomiting, reader is intoxicated at certain points, threesome, possessive/obsessive/unhealthy relationships and behaviours, attempted murder, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage (not reader’s),more to be added

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

Mood board

Helpful Info

. Caracalla does not have syphilis in this fic - his illness is more so caused by issues at birth

. Questions/asks I have been sent about this fic are tagged with- #eyes of the gods asks - in case you want to read more tidbits and other people’s thoughts

. Lotsss of mentions of pregnancy + breeding kink but we will not actually see the Reader pregnant/giving birth (apart from one-shots) for those who hate pregnancy trope

pictures from radio times article and google

I do not give permission for any of my works to be posted elsewhere

ao3 - cherrysweetswrites

[gaysmex]

I like him, i like the autistic man 💝💖💞🩷❤️🧡💛💚💖💝💘💘💋💌💟💌

[ekkkkey]

there will be games! (chapter I)

summary: Cassandra, a quiet and loyal wife to the much older Senator Tiberius, accidentally attracts the unsettling attention of Emperor Caracalla at a lavish feast hosted by Senator Thraex…

chapter II

chapter III

chapter IV

warnings: 18+ minors dni, noncon, dub-con, when the emperor is a bit insane, he’s cute tho

word count: 9k

«No woman could feel safe if her beauty or name aroused the emperor’s curiosity.»

—Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars (Caligula, Chapter 36)

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

As a proper Roman matron, she trailed behind her husband’s broad back, head lowered, careful not to make unnecessary eye contact. Tiberius—three times her age—had only recently become her husband.

Once a great general, a member of the council, and a close companion of the legendary Maximus, Tiberius was now but a shadow of his former self.

The Senate had broken men far greater than him, and his appointment to the imperial court, along with their move from the provinces, had only deepened his sour temper and disturbed mind.

Her father, once a formidable man in his own right, had grown frail with age, which was why she obediently followed behind her husband. She had been given to his household and now belonged to him, for his success meant her family’s success—her father’s, her sisters’.

That was enough for her. After all, Cassandra had never craved ambition.

And yet, her heart pounded so violently that it seemed to throb in her throat. Fear wrapped around her, squeezing tighter with every step as she stood in the grand halls of Senator Thraex’s villa.

Nervously, she adjusted the folds of her white matron’s gown, smooth and chaste as tradition demanded, her palms damp with anxiety. But as she glanced around, a quiet bitterness stirred in her chest. Tiberius had insisted on white to emphasize her innocence and purity as a young bride, but what good was it when around her swirled women draped in crimson silks and glistening gold?

Her cheeks flushed as she met the gaze of a dark-haired beauty—bare-chested, unashamed. Tiberius noticed, too. She saw his lips curl into a sneer, and the grip on her wrist tightened, pulling her through the crowd.

"Senator!" Tiberius’ demeanor shifted instantly. When necessary, he could be charming—Cassandra knew this well.

"Has Acacius arrived yet?"

She knew better than to intrude on men’s conversations; her husband despised even the suggestion she might show interest. So she remained silent, observing. Senator Thraex, host of the lavish affair, was nothing like Tiberius despite their shared senatorial rank. Thraex was effeminate, painted, adorned in a way that seemed theatrical, and yet Tiberius smiled, nodding politely.

"The general does not attend such gatherings, alas, my friend," Thraex said, blinking theatrically. "But we have no less important guests tonight, Tiberius—the emperors are here!"

Her heart fluttered, a mixture of awe and terror. The emperors! In the midst of mere mortals! But her excitement was not shared by Tiberius, whose features grew harder. Since Marcus Aurelius’ death, no emperor had earned her husband’s respect. Though he was careful not to voice his opinion publicly, in private, his bitter thoughts often bordered on treason.

"Do emperors often grace your home, Thraex?" Tiberius asked coldly, his voice heavy with disdain. Thraex shifted uneasily.

"Well, no, my dear friend. But the return of General Acacius has stirred us all, hasn’t it? All of Rome celebrates—and the emperors, too!"

"It certainly looks expensive," Tiberius remarked bluntly.

"Indeed, but what can one do?" Thraex hastily changed the subject, his eyes landing on Cassandra. "Ah, what a delightful child! Tiberius, do introduce us!"

"My wife, Cassandra. You know her father," Tiberius muttered as Thraex took her hand, pressing a theatrical kiss to her fingers. The senator praised her beauty and virtue while Tiberius, clearly enjoying the flattery, beamed with pride.

"Please, come in, eat, drink—everything here is yours!" Thraex declared before being swept away by a dark-skinned man draped in luxurious robes.

Cassandra craned her neck, intrigued. Such sights were unfamiliar to her. In her homeland, foreigners were slaves, not men of wealth and power.

"A gathering of useless spendthrifts and sycophants," Tiberius muttered under his breath, steering them toward the exit. "Acacius isn’t here; we have no reason to stay."

"Let’s stay a little longer, I beg you," Cassandra found her voice, pleading for a few more moments in the glittering crowd.

She was young and curious, and their new villa in Rome did little to satisfy her curiosity.

Tiberius didn’t have time to answer before the dark-skinned man they had noticed earlier threw an arm around his shoulders.

"Tiberius, you old grouch!" The man laughed, clapping him on the back as if they were old friends. "Leaving already? You bring a young wife and then run off? Afraid someone will steal her?" He winked playfully at Cassandra, making her smile despite herself. His casual demeanor was refreshing.

"Macrinus! What brings you here?" Tiberius asked, his mood softening. To Cassandra’s delight, it seemed they would stay after all. Unlike Thraex, Macrinus appeared to be someone her husband genuinely liked.

As they strolled through the opulent halls, Cassandra’s eyes darted greedily from one decoration to the next, drinking in every detail to hold onto later when the gloom of their villa returned.

"The new fighter is something else, Tiberius," Macrinus said. "I’ll wager my right hand he’ll best Thraex’s gladiator, and the senator will owe me a hefty sum."

A gladiator? Cassandra’s heart sank. Could her husband truly be interested in such gruesome spectacles? Though he was stern, she would never have called him cruel.

"Stand here," Tiberius ordered, pointing to a spot behind him.

Obediently, she stood behind her husband, still listening to Macrinus’s chatter. The hall was already buzzing with the hum of a dozen voices, but even through the noise, a shrill, high-pitched laugh cut through like a blade.

She rose on her toes, straining to see where it came from. A little farther ahead, an even larger crowd had gathered in the center, blocking the source of the laughter. Cassandra craned her neck higher, and finally, she saw them. Her throat went dry instantly.

She had never seen the emperors before, only heard whispers of their youth, debauchery, and cruelty. But even without knowing their faces, she knew. No one else in Rome could look like that.

Red-haired, pale, surrounded by half-naked men and women, they stood out. They had to stand out. People called them twins, but it would be hard to find two people less alike. Only their fiery, curly red hair tied them together.

"Which one is Geta, and which is Caracalla?" she whispered to Tiberius.

"The one in silver is Emperor Geta, and the one in gold is Emperor Caracalla, my lady," Macrinus answered with a smirk, beating her husband to the response. Her excitement at seeing such noble figures must have been plain on her face.

Cassandra continued to study them hungrily, hoping Tiberius wouldn’t scold her later for inappropriate behavior; Geta was taller, broader—it was obvious even though they were seated. Caracalla, on the other hand, was shorter, all smooth lines and delicacy. It was his laugh she had heard.

For a brief moment, she caught Emperor Geta’s bored gaze, but he quickly looked away, his piercing dark eyes utterly uninterested. Caracalla didn’t glance their way at all. His gaze was unfocused, cloudy, as if he were staring straight through the crowd. From this distance, she could see the golden shadows framing his eyelids, making his blue eyes appear even more languid.

At his feet, a man smiled obsequiously up at the emperor, his hand gently stroking the bare knee beneath Caracalla’s toga. Cassandra’s cheeks burned, and she quickly turned away, afraid of being caught staring.

When Senator Thraex solemnly announced the wager with Macrinus, and two men were brought into the hall, everything fell silent, only to erupt into an even louder roar. She didn’t want to watch the fight—soft and gentle, as her father and husband had said, Cassandra hated violence, but now she was in Rome, where blood flowed every time the emperors snapped their fingers.

As if reading her thoughts, Emperor Caracalla lazily stretched his words, playing with them, as if he weren’t talking about human lives at all. Anxiously, she pressed closer to her husband’s shoulder.

"Swords! Bring them swords, and let blood be spilled!" the emperor commanded, sprawling on the couch. His brother didn’t object, only nodded.

And the spectacle began. She tried not to look at the fight, focusing instead on her breathing, attempting to calm herself. The crowd roared in delight, gasping and shouting encouragement to the combatants. The noise became unbearable. People swayed and scattered, dodging sword points or the splinters of a broken table where one man—representing Macrinus—was thrown.

She didn’t notice when the fighters came too close to them, forcing her husband to step awkwardly back, pushing her against the wall. Struggling to keep her balance, she leaned against a small side table, knocking over a porcelain vase. No one paid any attention, not even her husband, who was too absorbed in the spectacle.

A dull pain pierced her hand, and to her surprise, Cassandra realized she’d cut her palm on a shattered piece of the vase.

"A deep cut… it’ll scar," she thought absentmindedly. A shard had sliced across her palm horizontally, blood flowing steadily even as the pain subsided. She wanted to leave, to tell Tiberius about the injury and return to the villa; but then, the hall fell silent, and the air was suddenly heavy with the metallic tang of blood.

Too much blood for one day.

Her stomach churned as the body of a slain gladiator was dragged out by the legs like a sack of grain. Neither the presence of emperors nor the distinguished guests around her brought any comfort- even the bold words of the victor, who dared to argue with Emperor Geta, failed to impress her. All she wanted now was to leave.

She cradled her injured hand like a child, unwilling to stain her white clothing. Tiberius would surely be furious.

If the audacity of the barbarian didn’t move her, her husband and Macrinus were visibly enthralled. Quietly exchanging a few final words, Macrinus left the hall with his gladiator in tow.

"Let’s go. It’s time," Tiberius finally said, still oblivious to her wound.

She pressed her lips together and followed him.

"Senator!" They were stopped again, and this time, simply leaving wasn’t an option.

For a moment, she noticed her husband’s face pale, the hard crease between his brows betraying his fury. Yet when he turned to the voice, he was smiling. Emperor Geta’s smile was equally false.

"We were informed of your return, but seeing you here is truly a gift," his voice was low and smooth. "Surely, you weren’t planning to leave without greeting us?"

Her heart froze as she watched the emperor extend his pale hand, adorned with rings. Tiberius bowed, brushing his lips against one of the jewels. The emperor’s thin smile deepened, while his brother, standing behind, burst into shrill laughter. There was nothing amusing, yet the guests followed suit, grinning along with their ruler.

Caracalla, judging by his expression, barely grasped where he was. He swayed slightly, struggling to remain upright.

"You’ve always been like this, haven’t you? Even back when our father was around," Caracalla rasped, his voice hoarse, his gaze unfocused, and a faint smile curling his lips. "No fun, just work, work!" He laughed again, and the guests eagerly followed suit.

Cassandra felt a wave of fear.

Her husband’s pride was limitless, and even a teasing public remark—though lighthearted—could push him into actions with dangerous consequences, ones that would inevitably affect her.

"Join us, Tiberius," the young emperor taunted, still grinning.

Cassandra caught a flash of gold and soon realized—one of his teeth was gold. The emperor was practically drowning in luxury, and his wide smile proudly revealed the golden tooth. Hardly anyone in the empire could boast such a thing.

"Boys, girls, whoever you like! Let’s see if you’re as serious in bed as you are in politics!"

"Thank you, Caesar, but I am married and loyal to my wife," Tiberius answered with calm dignity.

It felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over her when he mentioned her. Both emperors immediately looked past Tiberius, their gazes landing on her. She had no choice but to step forward.

Brown eyes studied her, more bored than intrigued, and Emperor Geta quickly looked away. Caracalla, however, stared longer. She thought to herself that it must be difficult for him to focus after drinking so much… but no, the piercing blue of his eyes wasn’t fixed on her face. His gaze lingered lower, where her hands clutched desperately at the fabric of her dress.

Distracted, Cassandra glanced down. She’d forgotten about the wound; blood had stained her white gown with a vivid red, the bright scarlet blotch marking the spot where her hand had just rested.

Her eyes darted back to the emperor, only to find him already watching her with a smile. Yet his eyes didn’t match the curve of his lips—they didn’t smile at all. They flicked back and forth between the crimson stain and her face.

She swallowed hard.

Caracalla licked his lips before turning to his brother, unsettlingly silent. Without realizing it, Cassandra stepped back. She didn’t know why she felt afraid, but the fear was instinctive.

A hand settled on her waist, steadying her and pulling her closer. It was Tiberius.

Both emperors broke into identical grins.

"Well then, enjoy your young wife, Tiberius," Geta said, his tone casual, though his words carried a veiled command. His eyes flicked between the two of them as he added, "We’ll expect you tomorrow. At the arena. The fights will be spectacular, and we want the senators there with us." He chuckled softly. "The young lady, too. General Acacius and his wife have already agreed. I think she’ll appreciate the company."

"With pleasure, my emperor," Tiberius replied smoothly, bowing his head.

For once, Cassandra fully shared her husband’s feelings—neither of them wanted to attend.

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

Modesty and loyalty—these were the weapons of a noblewoman, her mother had taught her. But what if her modesty went unappreciated? What if her shy glances and lowered head brought only mockery?

The stands were alive with people eager to witness the bloody spectacle. The air was thick with excitement, buzzing with the restless energy of an audience awaiting carnage. Even the imperial viewing box, where the Praetorians had escorted them, was steeped in that same anticipation.

The moment they entered, Emperor Geta rose from his seat to greet her husband. Cassandra, ever modest, remained quietly in the background. Despite the luxury of the box, there was still too little space, and both emperors ended up uncomfortably close to her. Caracalla, however, didn’t bother to rise. His pale blue eyes stayed fixed on them, watching intently.

In the daylight, she could see him more clearly now: the powdered face, faint red marks scattered across his cheekbones, and vivid orange shadows encircling his eyes. His expression shifted—his gaze cold, almost hostile. Embarrassed, Cassandra quickly looked away, realizing she had stared too long, it seemed he didn’t appreciate being stared at.

Even with her back turned, she could feel his eyes lingering on her, their weight pressing against her like a physical force.

To her surprise and growing discomfort, Emperor Geta addressed her as well. He took her fingers in his cold hand and pressed his lips lightly against them.

"Your wife looks stunning, Tiberius," he praised her, turning to her husband. Cassandra felt a flicker of irritation. None of the men spoke directly to her, as if she were an object rather than a person. She quickly pulled her fingers from his grasp. Geta immediately looked at her, his dark eyes no longer smiling. Cassandra couldn’t help but think that, in that moment, he and his brother looked more alike than ever and she suddenly felt the urge to leave, to hide from the weight of his gaze, from the tightness of his lips and his clenched jaw muscles visibly twitching beneath his pale skin. Had her small gesture really angered him so much?

She never got an answer. Geta returned to his seat beside his brother, turning his attention to General Acacius, who was also in the box. Cassandra sat down next to her husband, right behind the daughter of the late Emperor Marcus Aurelius—Lucilla.

The woman leaned back against the carved chair and quietly spoke to her:

"I know your father, child, a good man. I’m glad to see you here."

Cassandra smiled, flattered. Finally, someone was speaking to her as an equal, especially someone like the beloved daughter of the great emperor. Catching her husband’s approving nod, Cassandra leaned toward the woman, continuing the simple conversation. Here, far from home, it was rare to have such a casual, kind-hearted talk.

The fights were already underway in the arena, and all the attention in the box was focused on the gladiators. Only she and Lucilla were not captivated by the battles. Truth be told, she was trying not to watch the arena at all, instead asking her companion about trivial things that piqued her curiosity.

When Lucilla didn’t answer her question, Cassandra grew puzzled, but then noticed that the woman was staring straight ahead, down at the arena, clearly lost in troubling thoughts. Another dangerous maneuver, and blood spilled across the sand, prompting a roar from the crowd.

Cassandra quickly turned away and caught the gaze of Emperor Caracalla. He was watching them over his shoulder, shifting his eyes from her to Lucilla. The red lips of the Caesar curled into a smile again, this time different—no longer cruel, but genuinely pleased, as if they had done something to please him. Still smiling, Caracalla turned away. Neither Lucilla nor Tiberius noticed the strange look from the young emperor, but she did. It wasn’t angry or annoyed. Maybe she had misjudged him? He seemed almost sweet now, in a way, charming. She immediately shook her head, pushing away the improper thoughts.

After the games, everyone was invited to continue the evening in the imperial palace. To Cassandra’s surprise, Tiberius agreed immediately when he heard that General Acacius would also be present.

The palace was nothing like Senator Thraex’s house. The luxury of the imperial halls made her mouth fall open and left her feeling like a country bumpkin. The guests here were even more distinguished than at the senator’s home, and she felt uncomfortable. Cassandra wanted to find Lucilla, to talk to her, perhaps then the evening would be more enjoyable, but Tiberius stopped her.

"Wait here, I have a little business to take care of."

She had no choice but to stand alone by the lavishly laden table. She didn’t feel like eating or drinking. Tiberius was gone longer and longer, and inside her, frustration began to boil. Some guests stole glances at her, quietly whispering among themselves. The young wife from a fallen house was hardly an important figure, but her husband—he was. Unable to stand it any longer, she quickly stepped out onto the wide balcony, holding her tunic and greedily breathing in the air, leaning against the railing.

The sun was setting behind the horizon, painting Rome before her in red.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?"

She quickly turned at the sound of the male voice. A respectable matron shouldn’t be alone with another man. And then she froze.

Red on red. The fading sun’s rays turned Emperor Caracalla’s red hair to flame, his clothes bled scarlet, and his jewelry shimmered. Too bright, too much red, with only his face pale, lifeless.

"My Emperor," she respectfully lowered her head, completely unsure how to act.

"Where is your husband?" He looked her up and down, examining her slowly, his mouth slightly open, before his gaze lingered on her face, not allowing her a moment to look away.

"I don’t know, Caesar. He promised to return any moment now," she lied.

"He’s been gone a long time, hasn’t he?" He lazily leaned against a column, continuing to observe her, a smirk exposing her lie.

Her cheeks immediately flushed, and she didn’t know what to say. She stood there, hands clasped in front of her. Caracalla didn’t seem cruel or frightening. In fact, she had imagined him differently before this meeting. The emperor was short, delicate, with no sharp angles—only soft, flowing lines accentuated by jewels and fine clothing. She could have sworn that if she got any closer, they’d be the same height. Apparently, this didn’t bother him in the least, as he continued to look at her with that condescending gaze, like she was a foolish child.

"How long have you been married?"

The question was tactless, but he was the emperor, and his questions could not be ignored.

"Six months," she replied reluctantly.

"Are you carrying a child?" His gaze immediately darted to her stomach.

Cassandra felt herself blushing more and more. It was not fitting for her to talk about such things. Moreover, the topic was indeed very painful.

"No. Not yet."

"Why?"

Caracalla approached her slowly, too close for a married woman. She was enveloped by the sweet scent of aromatic oils, powder, and wine. A dizzying mix.

Just as she was about to answer, he spoke again, leaning in too close, taking her hand in his. Gods! Was he flirting with her? What did all this mean? Her face, already red, burned with embarrassment and shame. What if someone saw them? What would they say about her?

Yet, Cassandra could not deny that she enjoyed this attention; it flattered her that the Emperor of Rome himself, the first among equals, showed interest in her. She truly melted...until she heard the next question.

"Does the old senator not fuck you enough? Or can he not do it at all?"

She froze, blinking in shock. What did he say? He looked just as innocent with a soft smile on his face and a curious gaze. Maybe she had misheard?

"I asked, does Senator Tiberius fuck you well?" His thumb pressed into the inner part of her palm, right where she had cut her hand the day before.

His soft white hands turned out to be surprisingly strong and tenacious. Cassandra tried to pull away, to reclaim her hand, but no, the emperor held firm, continuing to press on the wound, turning her hand so he could see the blood welling up from the barely healed cut.

She didn't dare object to him, didn't even dare open her mouth, though the pain was becoming unbearable. With his fingernail, he scraped off the scab, letting a bead of blood form. Cassandra saw how his pupils dilated, filling the blue of his irises with darkness, saw how his nostrils flared. It made her feel vulnerable, unprotected. That brief illusion she had about him shattered. He was cruel and insane, just as they said.

More than anything in the world, she regretted not staying home, safe in her chambers. The anxious realization that she had somehow become the object of his interest made her heart race frantically. Clamping her lips tight, she prayed to the gods for protection. But what use were the gods when here he was, right in front of her – the embodiment of Jupiter himself, father and ruler of Rome. Her lips trembled helplessly, holding back a whimper.

"Doesn't the obedient little bird arouse our stern senator or what? Who's to blame that your womb is still empty?" he purred, running his knuckles over her stomach.

She continued to pray silently for salvation, but who could stand against the Emperor of Rome?

"Brother?" - perhaps only another emperor.

Caracalla's eyes narrowed unkindly, his lips pressed into a line, he was clearly not pleased to see him. Yet he didn't back down, didn't even try to pretend everything was okay. Caracalla still stood inappropriately close, holding her hand in his. What if her husband had walked in? He would hardly have been more frightened by him than by his co-ruling brother. Cassandra swallowed hard.

"Emperor Geta, I…" - her words were ignored as Geta kept his dark eyes fixed on his brother.

"What do you think you're doing?" Emperor Geta whispered, as if fearful they might be overheard. Judging by how he nervously twisted the ring on his finger, Geta was anxious.

"What I said," Caracalla released her hand, giving it one last painful squeeze, but didn't step back, continuing to stand close, "I'm showing attention to the sweet wife of our beloved Senator Tiberius," his lips twisted mockingly.

It became absolutely clear to her why he had turned his attention to her. She was too young to remember those events herself, but from the gossip, Cassandra knew that Tiberius had opposed the boys' appointment as emperors after their father's death. The good relationship between the emperor and the Senate had ended with Marcus Aurelius's death.

"And do you remember what I told you? Or has your memory failed you again?" Caracalla bristled at his brother's words, his brow furrowing. "Why do you never listen to me?"

"And why should I?" The younger emperor's voice was no longer playful or soft, instead, it turned low and hoarse. "Or do you think you're in charge? Do you think I'm your dog?"

She wished she could sink into the ground rather than witness this confrontation. Cassandra took a step back as discreetly as she could, then another, hoping to slip away quietly.

"And who said she minds?" Of course, he noticed her, his blue eyes quickly shifted from his brother to her. Her hand was once again in his tight grip. “Do you mind?”

Oh, how much she minded, but Cassandra knew she couldn’t answer that way. Judging by the angry look in Caracalla’s eyes, she might be thrown right over the balcony.

"To serve the emperor is the highest honor for a Roman citizen," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

"See?" He wrapped his arm around her waist, turning her towards Emperor Geta. "She likes it, so leave us be."

"Go, find your husband," Geta didn't back down, this time addressing her.

"No, she stays!" The hand on her waist tightened, fingers digging into her soft skin. She was hardly that necessary to him, but Caracalla clearly didn't want to yield to his brother.

"You heard me, go, he won't touch you," Geta exhaled wearily, personally approaching them and removing his brother's hands, holding onto her wrist.

Caracalla shot her such a hateful look that she recoiled. Gods, he would kill her! If Geta was his blood, then she was just a worthless simpleton who had rejected an emperor. In terror, she almost ran from the balcony, melting into the crowd. She didn't want to know how the brothers' dispute ended, but she saw four Praetorians enter the balcony just as she left.

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

Thoughts of the emperor's hate-filled gaze didn't leave her even at night, not even when she and her husband lay in bed. How could they, when, as a sign of "friendship and goodwill," the emperors had assigned them quarters right in the palace, insisting that the journey back to their villa was too long?

Here, amidst the gold and silk, she couldn't close her eyes.

Even when her husband was inside her, his hot breath scorching her neck, her mind was elsewhere. It never lasted long and brought her no pleasure. Each time, Cassandra prayed that the seed would take root and these absurd attempts at intimacy would at least pause for a while.

Tiberius, wrapped in a sheet, slept soundly. Her naked body was covered in goosebumps from the cold, but she didn't think to cuddle up to her husband. Knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep, she silently rose from the bed and pulled her husband's short tunic over her head to at least cover her nudity. At home, she could walk around naked, but not here.

The Praetorian at the door didn't surprise her, of course, they had been assigned a guard. Or rather, she had.

"May I go out?" she whispered, trying to appear submissive and innocent, though she was overcome by a strange nervousness and irritability.

He was young, barely older than her, and thus his eyes widened at her appearance, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.

"The Emperor ordered to watch over your safety," the young man whispered back.

The Emperor. One of them. If it was Caracalla, this felt more like intimidation than concern. If it was Geta, then...it became even more frightening, since the protection was presumably from his own brother.

"You can come with me. I can't sleep," she pleaded.

Under the supervision of the Praetorian, Cassandra went out into a small garden located right inside the palace. She had been there during the day, after the clash with the emperor, but now, in the bright moonlight, everything looked different.

Weary, she sat on the edge of a small fountain topped with a marble statue of a naked nymph. The Praetorian stayed at the entrance, still flustered by her appearance, so she unhesitatingly stretched out her bare feet, dipping her toes into the sand.

The peacocks, sleeping nearby, rustled quietly, disturbed by her presence. Her mother had taught her that peacocks were a symbol of Juno, the wise and brave goddess.

"Grant me strength..." she whispered, looking at the moon.

"A strange place you've chosen for prayer, domina," a man's voice mocked from somewhere above.

She jumped up in fright, quickly pulling her hair from her back to her chest to cover herself. Her gaze darted around until it settled on the balcony directly above the garden.

Emperor Geta stood there, leaning on the railing with his arms, his head tilted to one side. For some reason, she couldn’t help but think of an owl, and almost let out a giggle. He looked different from how she remembered him. Without makeup, laurels, or rich clothing, just a red silk robe and unruly red curls. Apparently, he couldn't sleep either.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to disturb you," she said, lowering her head in shame, hoping Geta was as reasonable as he seemed. Although at one point, she had liked Caracalla too.

"Oh, no, the palace is at your disposal," he said, spreading his arms to encompass everything around. She relaxed.

"You are so kind, Caesar."

"It's the least I can do for you after what my brother did today," his voice grew quieter, more serious.

Was he genuinely concerned about what had happened? She lifted her head again, looking at the emperor and giving him a genuine smile this time. Geta smiled back, nervously licking his lips.

“Nothing terrible happened, but thank you… Thank you for your concern.”

He was still smiling, but his gaze had changed, becoming heavier, almost ominous in the light of the moon and torches.

"Yes, nothing happened…yet. But it will. So, I’ll apologize in advance. You’re no street girl, but what can I do? He’s my brother, and I love him."

She felt as if she'd been doused with ice water. Somewhere behind her came an animalistic screech, and in fear, she turned around, spotting a figure in the darkness. The scream continued as the figure approached. Cassandra already knew who it was. Geta turned out to be just like his brother after all.

The source of the unpleasant screeches turned out to be a small pet monkey perched on Emperor Caracalla's shoulder. Unlike his brother, he was still in his formal attire, minus the laurel wreath. Seeing her distorted face, he grinned as if she were greeting him with nothing less than a joyful smile.

Alone, in just a spacious white tunic, barefoot and with her hair loose, she wanted to cry. He wouldn't let her go just like that, she could see it in his face, his smile, his narrowed eyes - the bad thoughts buzzing in his red-haired head. Silently, he handed the noisy monkey, adorned with a gold chain around its neck, to a young slave, who bowed his head and left the garden.

Now she was his monkey. In his eyes, she had no more rights than that pet creature. Put a collar around her neck, attach a chain, and do whatever you want. The real monkey was luckier.

"What a delightful surprise, my dear," the emperor purred, his voice dripping with honey.

Geta watched from the balcony as if this were a spectacle in the Colosseum. Only she wasn't a gladiator. Cassandra stepped back, and he stepped forward. A cat and mouse game, where the cat would surely devour the mouse.

"Today you broke my heart, sweetheart," he said, closing the distance, "and I’m a bit sensitive, you know," with a couple of long strides, he caught up to her. His touch was like fire, his ring-laden hand caressing her cheek, making her freeze. "But I can also be merciful. Those who apologize properly deserve forgiveness, don't they, little bird?"

She swallowed hard. He didn't know her name, she realized. The humiliation was palpable. Caracalla lowered his hand and leaned in. In terror, she expected a kiss, but instead, he rubbed his nose against her cheek like a cat seeking affection. Her heart raced in her chest. She knew no man but her husband, and these intimate, bold touches terrified her. Once again, the scent of aromatic oils and powder invaded her senses, mixed with his hot, ragged breath. Unconsciously, she exhaled heavily in response.

"Please, no," she pleaded with her last shred of hope.

"No what, wifey? Do the work your senator can't? If the Senate fails, the task falls to the emperors, right, brother?" Caracalla laughed, addressing Geta, who was still watching.

"Right," the other emperor answered hoarsely.

"See? It's all fair. Besides, you told me yourself you were eager to serve Rome, didn't you? I am Rome, I am Jupiter," he breathed hotly into her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"I am ready to serve you, truly, but not like this... Please!"

And her plea was a colossal mistake. His eyes turned black, all traces of amusement vanished. He seized her neck roughly, turning her back to him, pressing her against the fountain's edge, pinning her down, his body against hers from behind, whispering with malice:

"By the gods, I was merciful, but you test me," his voice breaking, the grip on her throat tightening, "if you try to resist out of some foolish wish to preserve your chastity, I'll kill you right here, and I'll kill that Praetorian too. Your bodies will lie side by side, accused of debauchery, punished for the insult to your husband. Your death will be a disgrace, your body won't even get a proper burial. Understand?"

This time, she couldn't hold back the tears. What was worse, the shameful violation known only to her or the eternal disgrace that would mark her earthly life? Sobbing, she surrendered, relaxing beneath him, and the grip on her throat loosened.

"There we go, cry if you want, but let’s not make a scene, hm? Or do you want the whole palace to hear about our lovely little meeting?”

She shook her head silently, tears flowing incessantly, shame burning her cheeks, as she felt the emperor press against her from behind. The humiliation was compounded by the fact that Emperor Geta still watched, and at the entrance, she was absolutely sure, Praetorians stood guard.

"Tell me, how does your husband take you? I've always been curious about what that old bastard is like behind closed doors," his tone shifted every moment, now, Caracalla was tender, nuzzling her neck so she felt his gold earring glide through her hair. His lips touched her earlobe, first softly, teasingly, then his teeth took over, sharp and greedy. She gasped, but didn't protest. "Stay silent and I won't be gentle," he warned.

"Listen to him, girl, you might enjoy it," Geta's voice cut through from above.

"So, does he take you from behind, like a bitch in heat?" He thrust against her, testing, grinding into her hips. A soft moan escaped his lips, and to her horror, that sound resonated warmly in her abdomen, spreading lower.

She had stopped crying and now just breathed heavily, feeling him grip her hips as he rubbed against her. She couldn't ignore the hot hardness of his body, especially when one hand pressed down on her lower back, making her arch more. The tunic shamelessly rode up, exposing her thighs.

"So how then? Tell me, dear," he whispered hoarsely, continuing to move.

"He...he's not very tender, and my pleasure doesn't concern him much. I just lie on my back while he does his thing," she blurted out. Why had she said that!? Cassandra immediately bit the inside of her cheek, cursing herself.

"Ah, the Senator doesn't satisfy his lovely young wife? What a waste!" She felt his hot tongue trail down her neck, his grip on her hips tightening, his nails digging into her skin, causing a slight pain as his hand went to her neck, squeezing...and felt a heat between her legs. May the gods curse her! He was a demon, sent to test her, to challenge her will!

"But don’t worry, I’ll take care of that" his whisper broke, his lips finding that tender spot where her neck met her shoulder, deceptively gentle before he kissed her, then Cassandra felt pain. He bit her, quietly growling and pressing his whole body against hers, thrusting his hips once more before he stilled. With her bare skin, she felt the fabric of his tunic dampen. Biting her lip, she dropped her head, trying not to cry again. That slight arousal she had felt receded.

To her tear-stained face, he responded with laughter, reminding her she was just a monkey on a gold leash. That he hadn't taken her today meant nothing. A humiliating slap on her cheek, and a sneering smile were his parting gifts. And in his cold, almost glassy eyes, there was no sign of amusement.

"Tomorrow we have more games, don't forget!" - and she knew Emperor Caracalla spoke not just of the gladiators.

[fan-of-everything]

random screenshots I took when I was watching Youtube videos because my gallery is full of them

[same-rules-applyy]

[sweeteststing]

I'll be crying if you are looking for me

[trulyumai]

Festivities of Saturnalia

pairing: caracalla / wife! reader

description: The Roman’s didn’t have Christmas; however they did have Saturnalia. With plenty of food, wine and presents, the festivities had begun.

warnings: none. so much fluff you’ll be buried in a soft, comforting cloud.

a-n: i love writing for this man so im glad y’all love reading it! enjoooooooy~

you didn’t mind the return of the festivities. Saturnalia; the festival held for the God of Saturn. It usually lasted a week, but with how the twins acted, it went for about two.

tables upon tables were situated in the main temple, almost everyone throughout Rome would show up in custom with vintage wines, aged cheeses and gifts aplenty for their loved ones.

you were no different. with two goblets in your palms and a semi-wrapped present under the meat of your arm, you made your way through the bustling crowd.

cheers and sounds of merriment were all around, a light break in the hustling environment helped you guide seamlessly towards the private section.

Where the emperors section lay tucked into the corner. Candles were spread out by the area, lighting it up beautifully while green foliage surrounded the offered foods.

“Ah, look who it is.” Placing the glasses gently, your thumbs brushed against the wooden table, with lidded eyes you smiled at Geta. “Good merriement to you too, my lord.”

The taller man scoffed, veiny hands smoothed over his mouth, wiping the stain and aroma of a bittersweet wine. His robes were ornate, gold lay about the seams as a white and red scheme took over the vastness of silk.

“Looking for your lover?”

Rolling your eyes, you sat down just beside him. Slumping forward with one arm pressed against a cheek, a sigh escaped quickly. “How’d you know?”

“Like it isn’t obvious,” gesturing to his drink, a servant dipped a bottle forward, filling Geta’s chalice completely.

The woman looked at you expectedly, already inching the beverage towards the empty cup.

“That’s alright,” you smiled, “see if anyone else needs their fill.”

The lady bowed, already on her way to the tables beside your own.

Swirling the marooned stained liquid around, a bored look crossed the emperors face before he spoke again.“So, what did you get my adoring brother? A robe, new rings… perhaps another disgusting pet to lay upon his shoulders?”

A laugh, warm and light broke out of you and Geta joined in smoothly. “No, no Dondus Jr,” nervously you brushed your hair back, little baby hairs escaped the tight braids and already you wanted to fix it.

“I got him something he’s been wanting actually.”

“Oh?” Geta leaned forward, his array of jewelery shined bright against the light. “And what would that be, dear one?”

Glaring jokingly at the ginger, you couldn’t help but return a moody tone back, shoving against his snoopy nature. “Well, wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would, actually—“

“Angel!” Even through such a loud setting, his voice could be distinguished. Cranking your head up, you noticed the wrinkled clothing, the mess of hair placed upon such a pale head.

Your adoring husband.

“Finally,” Geta called out, tone flat and certain.

“I thought you were skipping such celebrations, we almost gave up hope!”

Caracalla, ignoring his brothers pokes, went straight for you. Not having time to stand, you smiled brightly up at the man, already he was placing a kiss upon the crown of your head, and one more on your temple.

Although he looked messy— seemed unfit for such an occasion, the man came with gifts. Two were perched precariously in his hands as a grin overtook his features.

“Angel, you left without me! I told you I had to get ready.”

“We both couldn’t be seen late, my love. It is unbecoming.” A whine, pitched and high left the man’s pouting lips. “Who cares? Not like they’ll say something.”

Caracalla gestured for you to stand and with no fight at all you did just that. Now, with access to a free and warm chair (thanks to you), the emperor crashed down, it was then that Dondus inched their way out from the back of his head, crying out to their owner for such an unexpected action.

“Hello little one,” you cooed, your arm came out for the little creature, to which they took most excitedly.

“Wife,” Caracalla whined. “Come, sit!” Spreading his legs, the twinned emperor made room for your frame.

“Gods,” a look of disgust was thrown your way. “Do you two have to be so touchy all of the time?”

“Yes,”

“Of course!”

The both of you coherently called out as Caracalla brushed his nose upon the smooth skin of your neck, just where the dress dipped down.

“I got you something,” you sung teasingly, your nails climbed their way up his arm until it met with his soft jaw. “You did?!”

“Mhm, well, technically I got you two things but,” leaning in, you had to whisper gently with lips just grazing his ear.

“You’ll have to get the other one tonight,”

Caracalla grunted out, although it sounded more like a muffled moan, his hands dug into your hips and with reddened cheeks he looked anywhere but you.

“Do you want the other one now?” You questioned,brushing past his unruly bangs.

“Yes— please,” already the man knew what present was his and grabbed at with with callous hands.

“Calla— patience!” Interrupted by a laugh you tried to slow the man down, but already the present was unwrapped and the emperors hands stilled.

“You didn’t.”

“I did!”

Geta leaned over the table, the wine in his hand dribbled over the side but it couldn’t be more forgotten.

“Impressive.” His brother spoke, eyeing the gift suspiciously.

It was a small knife, no bigger than a dagger but the ornate design made up for it. With a golden handle, white and yellow jewels go vertically up the sides, to where the silver, shined blade lay on display.

“You— how did you..” His eyes noticed an inscription, on the butt of the blade lay his initials, purposefully dug in with the skill of a smith.

“Happy Saturnalia, my love.” A kiss was placed upon his cheek, smudging a light red upon the man’s skin.

Geta lost interest completely, instead his attention turned towards the citizens bickering in the middle of the hall— pushing and shoving each other while accusations were being thrown. A contented, deep grin entered his face when a punch was thrown, then two.

“Your turn, Angel!” Finally out of his stupor, Caracalla placed a poorly wrapped box in your hands. It was long and small in width, only a fool couldn’t tell what such an item was but you held a look of surprise none the less.

“Mmmmh, what could it be?” Long nails felt there way under the material of the gift, until the top was lifted and removed.

Gods, you really were surprised now.

Shakily, your fingers glided against the stones of the jewelry, you couldn’t believe just how many jeweles lay upon the golden chain.

You were afraid to even remove it.

“Do you like it?” Nervously, your husband chewed at his lips, his palms now itching with sweat placed themselves on either side of you.

Afraid to even touch your figure with such tainted skin.

“I love it! Are you joking? I— I don’t deserve such a gift, my love, I—“

“Angel! What nonsense,” he growled, offended of such an exchange of words. Hastily the man grabbed the necklace, you bit back a worried garble of noises as the cold chain found its way on your neck.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in Rome, you of all people deserve such an item. It was made just for you.” Finishing up, the necklace was placed just right, not too tight but sturdy enough to be placed above your collarbones.

“Thank you, darling,” you mumbled. Caracalla laughed at your embarrassed figure, his long fingers brushed back the hair hiding your face.

“Always so humble, angel. Look at you,” cooing, Caracalla caressed your reddened cheeks and you tried to scold the man, push him away with a gentle shove but it didn’t deter the man one bit.

“And where’s my little gift, brother? I gave you yours already.” Annoyed by the interruption, Caracalla pointed at the other gift beside his goblet.

“Have at it, Dundus picked this one out for you brother.”

“Very funny.” Geta squinted, picking up the box with hesitancy.

….

“It wasn’t a joke, brother.”

[whereisyourpippinnow]

Geta and his concubine watching Hanno's fight

Gladiator II (2024) dir. Ridley Scott | » requested gifset by Anon