#caracalla x you

[causeimhappinesss]

Rome's Devotion (part 9)

Warnings: Emperors Geta & Caracalla are warnings themselves, (slight?) blasphemy, slight non-con/dub-con, misogyny (Ancient Rome, so…)

Pairing: Geta x Christian!reader x Caracalla

Words: 4,7k

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language (I’m french), so you can correct me if you spot some mistakes :)

Masterlist

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The soft scent of lavender and herbs lingers in the air as I close the door behind me. The quiet of the room greets me, the only sound the rustle of my wet nightgown as I step further inside. The bath had been a welcome escape, the heat of the water soothing the tension in my muscles, though my thoughts were never far from the weight of the day. The dinner, the absence of the emperors, and Claudia’s presence instead had all left a strange sense of peace, a calm I wasn’t sure I trusted.

I walk to the bed, the soft fabric of the gown brushing against my skin, my hair still damp, cascading down my back in loose waves. The cool night air that filters in from the balcony feels refreshing against the warmth of my body. Kneeling in front of the bed, I reach for my necklace, the small Ichtus pendant cool against my fingers. My hands are steady, but my mind races, even as I prepare myself for the comfort of the prayer. I bring the necklace close, a silent reassurance that I hold on to, my fingers curling around it as I begin.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…” I murmur, my voice quiet, steady, “…Hallowed be thy name.”

The words come easily, practiced, familiar. The weight of the world doesn’t feel so heavy at this moment. Each breath I take settles my soul a little more, the comfort of the words wrapping around me like a cloak.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.” I close my eyes for a moment, imagining a peace that has always seemed distant, as if the prayer itself could be the key to something more.

“Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever, Amen.”

The words slip from my lips with a gentle ease. They are a request for mercy, for strength, but also for grace, something I feel I need more with each passing day. When the final word hangs in the air, quiet but resolute, I make the sign of the cross. My fingers linger on the necklace for just a moment longer before I let it fall back against my chest. A deep breath escapes me as I stand, my body tired in ways that go beyond just the physical. Exhaustion pools in my limbs, in my mind, but it feels different tonight, probably less overwhelming, less fraught with the turmoil of the day. The prayer managed to calm my mind. Without a sound, I move toward the bed, the softness of the sheets inviting me to rest. The room is silent now, the dim light from the moon casting faint shadows against the stone walls, accompanied by the candles’ light. As I slide under the covers, a sense of relief, a respite I wasn’t expecting, engulfs me. The emperors had not tormented me today. For once, there had been a moment of calm.

I close my eyes, feeling the cool night air on my skin and the weight of the day’s quiet wash over me. The strange peace of the evening lingers, and for the first time in a long while, I drift into sleep without the sting of worry or the sharpness of fear trailing behind me.

The night whispers secrets through the thin curtains of my chamber, the air heavy with the scent of jasmine and the distant echo of the city’s revelry. I lie on my bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin, my mind adrift in the haze of an erotic dream. In the realm of slumber, I am wanton, unshackled by the daylight virtues that bind me.

Caracalla, with his golden wavy hair and eyes like the clearest summer sky, stands before me, an emperor in every sense, yet in my dream, he is mine alone. His pale skin glows with an otherworldly light, his features so angelic that it seems a sin to even gaze upon him. He reaches for me, his hands sure and strong, igniting a fire within my core that I have never known. I’m hot, wet, and aching for his touch. My body responds to his phantom caresses, my hips undulating in search of something to quench the burning desire that courses through my veins. The soft button on my womanhood throbs with anticipation, and I can feel the slickness between my thighs, a testament to the power of my dreams. I flutter my eyelashes and frown.

Gradually, the veil of sleep lifts, and I find myself lying on my side, my night dress up on my hips, the remnants of my dream still lingering. A man’s body is pressed against mine, his torso a warm, solid presence against my back. Panic flutters in my chest as I twitch with fear, but a familiar voice murmurs reassurances in my ear.

“Shh, my sweet [real name], it’s only me, your Emperor…” he whispers, his breath a gentle caress against my neck.

Caracalla.

My heart skips a beat.

For a second, I forget how to breathe.

His hand splayed across my belly, stilling my tremors. I can feel his erection, hard and insistent against my behinds, and despite my initial fear, there is an undeniable thrill that races through me. Something warm spread in my veins, in my whole body, and is poisoning my mind. Heat spreads on my cheeks.

“Please…” I beg, my voice barely above a whisper. “I am a virgin. I can’t give you what you seek.”

His giggles are soft, a sound that sends shivers down my spine and make me bite my lower lip.

“Don’t worry, my dear. I would never take from you what is not freely given. The others can't say the same.”

Somehow, his words apply a balm to my racing heart, and I relax into his embrace, allowing myself to feel the warmth of his skin against mine. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my inner thighs, each touch sending strange jolts straight to my core. I’m embarrassed by how wet I am, but the sensation is too exquisite to resist. I find myself rocking my hips, seeking more of his touch, and he chuckles, clearly pleased with my response.

“You are a temptress!” he teases, his voice thick with desire.

The pleasure builds within me, a tide that threatens to overwhelm my senses. I am too hot, flushed with a need that is as primal as it’s unexpected. I feel as though I’m in heat, an animal driven by instinct and the promise of release. Caracalla’s manhood, slick with my arousal with each slow thrust, slides between my thighs, the head grazing that perfect spot on my womanhood, that strange button. I can’t help but moan, the sound echoing in the quiet of my chamber. We’re both lost in the moment, our bodies moving in sync, driven by a hunger that cannot be denied.

“Gods, you feel incredible…” he groans, his lips trailing kisses along my shoulder. “I want to bury myself inside you, to feel your tight pussy clenching around my dick.”

The thought of it sends a thrill through me, but fear holds me back. At the same time, my eyes widen, I’m horrified by his filthy words.

I have to make this stop… I’m not allowed to accept this…

“No, please, you mustn’t…” I plead, even as my body betrays my words, my hips chasing the friction of his cock against my entrance.

He battles with himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“By the gods, you test my resolve…” he whimpers like me, his forehead pressed against the nape of my neck.

The door to my chamber creaks open, and the sound of footsteps sends a jolt of fear through me. I try to pull away, but the movement only serves to increase the friction of Caracalla’s cock against my warmth, causing me to gasp.

“Brother, I told you not to try anything.” a familiar voice chides.

Caracalla’s twin, his golden hair a shade darker than his brother’s, his eyes the color of rich, fertile earth, looks at us. Caracalla grumbles in response, his grip on me tightening.

“I could not resist. Her beauty, her womanhood, was calling to me, begging for my touch.”

 Geta’s gaze rakes over me, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes in my flushed cheeks and the way my body trembles with need, with a full view on my naked lower half, my half opened thighs, coated with wetness.

It’s a nightmare… It has to be…

“I see that. Her pussy is glistening, swollen with desire. She is ready to give what her body craves.” He comments, his voice a low purr.

I shake my head, my protests weak against the onslaught of sensation.

“No, I can’t!" I insist, even as my hips involuntarily undulate, seeking the release that is just out of reach.

Geta steps closer, his eyes locked on mine, while mines catch the hardness under his golden tunic.

“Do not deny yourself. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is afraid to admit it.”

In the dimly lit room, the scent of desire hung heavy in the air, mingling with the musky aroma of our shared arousal. Geta’s eyes were locked onto mine, his breath hitching as he worked his hand up and down his hard length, his golden curls tumbling around his face.

Caracalla’s lips find the sensitive spot behind my ear, and I can’t help but moan as his cock started to tease my entrance.

“Let go, my sweet [real name]. Surrender to the pleasure…” he whispers, his voice a seductive melody that resonates deep within my soul.

You’re sinning… You have to stop… I keep telling myself.

At this moment, I’m torn between fear and desire, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. As Caracalla’s fingers find my sweet button once more, all thought is driven from my mind, replaced by a singular focus on the exquisite sensations that are building within me.

“Oh… I….”

I almost say the name of Jesus, the son of God, biting my lips before it’s too late.

I gasp, my body tensing as the first waves of something amazing crash over me. Powerful waves slash at me from my intimacy, blunting the rest of my body, like sea foam. My body arches, my toes curl and my fingers clutch Caracalla's arm, while my sex throbs around nothing. Caracalla’s cock throbs in response, his own need clearly etched on his face.

“By the gods, you are magnificent…” Geta murmurs, his eyes dark with lust as he watches his brother and me.

There is no jealousy in his gaze, only a shared appreciation for the beauty of the moment. Caracalla’s control finally snaps, and with a groan, he pulls away from me, his cock slipping from between my thighs. Hot, white ropes of spent spurt from his tip, painting my belly and thighs with the evidence of his desire. Geta approaches the bed, his gaze still fixed on me.

“You have bewitched us both… It feels like the Gods sent you as a gift for their Emperors.” he says, his voice filled with admiration.

“Fuck…” he groaned, his voice thick with lust. “I can’t… I can’t hold back any longer.”

His right hand moved faster, his grip tightening as he chased his release. I could see the tension building in his body, his muscles taut as he teetered on the edge. And then, with a guttural groan, he came, his seed spilling over his hand as his body shuddered with pleasure.

Quickly, I kneel the bed, the weight of what I’ve done pressing down on me, the reality of what happened sinking deep into my bones. As my hands shake, I clasp them together and press them against the cool stone floor. My breath comes fast, uneven. I try to push away the images of their faces, the feel of Caracalla’s skin on mine, but they keep flooding back, overwhelming me.

My heart aches. I have sinned. I have betrayed myself, betrayed my beliefs, betrayed the Lord.

I lift my hands to my face, closing my eyes tight as I press my fingers against my temples. It’s as if I can push the shame away, shove it out of my body, but it only digs in deeper. The pleasure… The heat… It has clouded my mind.

I let them do this. I let them take my dignity.

I think of my prayers, my devotions. They feel so far away now. I’m not who I was before. Not pure. Not worthy. I’m not sure I can even look at myself again.

Lord, forgive me. Please, forgive me.

My voice cracks, the words breaking apart as I whisper the prayer, the only thing that has ever kept me grounded, now sounding like a desperate plea to a distant God. My chest aches as I speak the words I’ve said countless times before, but this time they feel hollow. I don’t deserve forgiveness. I don’t deserve mercy.

I feel dirty. I feel lost. How could I let myself fall into this?

Suddenly, the impulse takes hold of me, like a tidal wave crashing over my mind. I need them to leave. I need to push them away, to reclaim what little dignity I have left. I look up at them, standing too close, their eyes filled with something I can’t quite read, and I open my mouth, my voice breaking as I shout.

“Leave! Leave now!”

My voice is raw, desperate, like a wounded animal trying to claw its way out of a trap. I want them gone, I want this all to stop, but it doesn’t. The reality presses down even harder, and the tears start, hot and unchecked, running down my face. I can’t stop them. I can’t stop anything. I stand, staggering back until I’m pressed against the cold wooden head, my chest heaving with frantic breaths. It’s as if my body doesn’t belong to me anymore, as if I’ve lost control over every part of it. My eyes flicker toward Geta, then to Caracalla, who remains eerily still. Neither of them moves. I want to scream again, but my throat tightens.

“Y/N…” Geta’s voice is soft, but it only makes the sound of my Roman name seem even more painful. His hands are raised, like he’s trying to comfort me, but I can’t let him. I can’t let anyone near me.

“No!” I scream, stepping away from him, pressing myself harder into the stone. My body shakes uncontrollably, like the force of my emotions is pulling me apart. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. The shame is too much. Geta doesn’t approach further, his hands falling to his sides. He looks at me with something like confusion, but I can’t read it through the fog of my own mind. I want him gone. All of them. A soft knock on the door interrupts the tension, and I freeze, every muscle in my body locking up. I feel as if I can’t breathe, as if the air has been sucked from the room.

“Y/N?” Claudia’s voice, filled with both concern and shock, cuts through the silence.

I don’t want to look at her. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. The door opens, and I flinch instinctively. Claudia’s eyes widen as she takes in the sight of the room—Caracalla and I in our undress state, the intimacy of the moment clinging to the air like smoke. Her gaze flicks between the two of us, understanding too much, but she doesn’t say a word. Geta stands closer to my friend, a silent command in his posture.

“Help her. We will leave.”

Claudia’s gaze softens, but she moves quickly, not questioning, not hesitating. She goes to the table and grabs the cloths and water. The noise of the small pitcher fills the room, the gentle sound a stark contrast to the tension in the air.

“I’ll take care of her.” she promises, her voice firm, though there’s a softness beneath it. She shoots a glance at the emperors, her words clipped. Caracalla looks reluctant, his eyes flicking between me and my friend. His lips part, like he’s about to say something, but Geta is already taking him by the arm, pulling him away with his clothes. The door closes with a soft sound, and the room feels smaller, suffocating, but at least they are gone. Claudia hurries over to me, her hands gentle as she takes my face in them, forcing me to meet her gaze.

“What happened?” She whispers, her tone filled with concern, but there’s no judgment. Not yet.

I feel the tears come again, like a flood.

“I… I let them… I let them take something from me. They took a part of my purity.” I sob, my words coming out in broken gasps. “I’ve… betrayed everything. I’ve betrayed Him.”

“Shhh…”

Claudia hushes me softly, her voice a balm against the jagged edges of my pain.

“You haven’t betrayed anyone. You’ve been hurt. But you are not beyond saving.”

I shake my head violently, my hands clutching at her arms as I pull away slightly.

“I’m not pure anymore. I’ve… I’ve let them defile me. I can’t even face Him. How can I?”

She doesn’t pull away. She stays close, her hands never leaving me, her presence steady.

“Your faith is not in your body. It’s in your heart. Don’t let them steal that from you, too.”

She doesn’t really understand, but she tries…

I choke on a sob, the weight of my actions crushing me. The warmth of her hands, her calmness, only makes me feel worse.

“I… I’ve lost it.” I whisper. “I’ve lost everything.”

“No. You still have everything that matters. Your heart, your spirit, your will to be better. You can move forward.”

I feel her hands moving over me as I help her to clean my body, washing away the remnants of what I’ve lost, what they’ve taken. Even if I don’t want her to touch me, I let her.

“Let me help you. You don’t have to be ashamed. Not for this. Not for something that was beyond your control.” She insists again, her voice steady.

The tears won’t stop. They never do.

“I’m so sorry. I keep annoying with all of this…” I whisper over and over, but Claudia doesn’t say anything. She simply continues to clean me, wiping away the remnants of my shame, of my loss.

And I wonder if I can ever forgive myself.

*

I lie in bed, the sheets tangled around me, but I don’t care. The sun spills through the curtains, casting its warm glow across the room, but I hardly notice. My eyes are fixed on the balcony, the vast expanse of Rome unfolding below, the busy streets, the distant sounds of life. I know I should get up. I should play the part they expect of me. But today, I can’t. I won’t. Someone knocks on the door.

“The emperors request your presence for lunch, Y/N.”

Guards.

I turn my face into the pillow, feigning a cough, a groan.

“I am ill.” I whisper, voice rough and weak. “I cannot join them. My head aches terribly.”

After that, the silence comes back. I lie still, waiting for the sound of their retreating footsteps to fade into silence. My heart races, but not from the illness I pretend to have. It’s from something deeper, a gnawing emptiness that grows inside me every time I think about the twins. The men who have claimed pieces of me, pieces I never meant to give away.

I close my eyes, feeling the coolness of the pillow against my skin, and for a moment, I let the tears come. I should be grateful. I should be thrilled by the power I hold here. Many women would do anything to be in my position. They would pray for the attention of the emperors, for the riches, the comfort, the fame. But I don’t want any of it. Not like this. Not when it feels like my soul is being torn in two.

“Lord.” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Please forgive me. I know I have no right to complain. I should be grateful for what I have. But my heart is heavy, and I feel lost. I have failed you. I have betrayed myself.”

I pause, waiting for an answer, though I know the silence will be all I hear. But still, I ask, my voice breaking. “Should I accept their plans, Lord? Should I go along with this? Or should I resist?”

I don’t expect an answer, but something stirs in the air, a shift I can’t quite place. I open my eyes, and that’s when I see it. A white butterfly flutters into the room, its delicate wings moving slowly, almost as though it’s drawn to me. It hovers for a moment, circling once, then gently lands on my chest, just above my heart. Its weight is light, almost imperceptible, but it feels like a message, a sign. I watch it in awe, my breath caught in my throat. It’s so fragile, so pure against the backdrop of the room. The butterfly doesn’t move, doesn’t flutter away. It simply rests there, its wings rising and falling with my breath.

A feeling washes over me then, one I can’t ignore. It’s not just the presence of the butterfly. It’s the sense of something greater, something divine. I feel the weight of it in the pit of my stomach, an understanding that settles deep within me.

This is a message from God.

The thought strikes me with a jolt. I don’t know how I know, but I do. The butterfly is His answer. I don’t have to hear His voice to understand. This is His will. His plan.

The butterfly stays for a moment longer, its wings beating gently against my skin, and then it lifts off, its delicate form disappearing through the open window. I watch it go, my heart racing, a sense of peace mingled with fear. I sit up in bed, the confusion lifting from my mind. I may not understand all of it, but I know now: nothing happens without reason. Even this. Even my place here, even the emperors. It’s all part of His plan. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I have no choice but to follow it. To trust that what has happened, and what will happen, is not by chance. It’s His will. And I must accept it, no matter how unsettling it feels.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, and whisper a prayer of surrender.

*

I wander through the imperial quarters, the stone beneath my bare feet warmed by the midday sun. The air carries the faint scent of burning incense and distant roses, but I find no comfort in it. My body feels heavy, as if weighed down by an invisible burden. Each step is careful, deliberate, my hands clasped before me, my gaze lowered whenever I pass a servant or a guard.

I don’t know why I walk. Perhaps because lying in my chamber suffocates me. Perhaps because I am not yet ready to face them, and yet the walls of my room press in too tightly. I don’t belong here, and I never will. But for now, I am trapped.

The garden calls to me.

Stepping outside, I let the sun warm my skin, but the heat is stifling rather than soothing. The early breath of summer clings to my night-blue stola, the rich fabric a reminder that I am dressed as they expect me to be, as they have adorned me. I move toward the fountain, drawn by the gentle murmur of water cascading over marble.

The basin is pristine, the surface clear enough to reflect the sky above. I lower myself onto the fountain’s edge, the stone cool against my palms, and trail my fingers through the water. The cold soothes the warmth gathering at my throat, but it doesn’t reach the ache within my chest. I close my eyes.

Footsteps.

I know them before I see them. A heaviness settles over me, my body stiffening.

“Y/N.” Geta’s voice is quiet, but firm.

I keep my eyes on the water. My pulse beats in my throat. I say nothing. He steps closer, his shadow casting over me.

“We owe you an apology.”

The words hang between us, fragile yet weighted. My fingers tighten around the fountain’s edge, my knuckles pale against the marble.

Am I dreaming? The Emperors? Apologizing? It sounds like a joke.

Silence.

Geta shifts, exhaling through his nose, as if gathering patience.

“We overstepped. We hurt you. We know.” He sighs.

The admission makes something inside me twist.

Caracalla stands beside him, arms crossed, shoulders tense. He watches me closely, but his expression is guarded. I avoid to meet his beautiful gaze. Geta nudges his brother, forcing him to speak. Caracalla’s jaw tightens. He shifts his weight.

“I thought you wanted it.”

The words strike like a blade, dull yet deep. My breath hitches.

He hesitates, clears his throat and his fingers flex at his sides.

“I thought you had changed your mind. That you enjoyed it.” His voice softens, as if the admission is difficult for him.

My heart pounds against my ribs. I swallow, forcing myself to look at them. The sight of Geta’s quiet remorse and Caracalla’s unreadable stare makes my stomach churn. I wet my lips and nod.

“Thank you, Caesars.” The words feel foreign on my tongue. “I accept your apologies.”

Something flickers in Geta’s gaze, relief mixed with something else. Caracalla exhales, as if he had been holding his breath. The weight in the air lingers, but the moment has passed. A presence shifts behind them and I listen to the whisper of silk. I rise before she speaks, lowering my head in deference.

“Julia Domna.” I say and lower my head as a greeting.

The former empress stands before me, her presence towering despite her graceful stature. Her dark eyes scan me, slow and deliberate, as if measuring my worth. A slight tilt of her head.

“How fortunate you are…” she murmurs, her voice smooth as oil over marble. “For a mere peasant.”

The words cut sharper than any blade. My spine straightens, though I keep my gaze lowered. I know my place. I know better than to respond. As I stay silent, I can feel how the twins stiffen.

“Mother, that was unnecessary.” he replies, his voice polite but firm.

She arches her thin eyebrow, a cold smile on her lips and she adjusts her palla.

“Is it?”

Her gaze lingers on me, something unreadable in her expression. Then, a soft chuckle, a whisper of amusement.

“I see. The past always catches up.”

My stomach turns to ice.

She’s not speaking of me. It’s all about Decima, the woman they loved when they were young boys. Her presence lingers in their hearts, except not for the same reasons. Her name still clings to the walls like an unspoken curse.

Caracalla takes a step forward, irritation tightening his features.

“She has done nothing to deserve your scorn.”

Julia Domna doesn’t reply. Instead, she turns away, her silk robes trailing behind her like shadows Geta follows, murmuring something to her, something I don’t hear. My pulse thrums in my ears. I exhale slowly, pressing my fingers against the fountain’s edge to steady myself.

Caracalla watches me, his fingers twitching at his side. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he turns away from the path Julia Domna took, as if to shake off the weight of her words.

“Come.” he says. “Help me with Dondus.”

I blink at him. “Your monkey?”

He smirks, though the tension lingers in his shoulders.

“She is more pleasant company than most people I know.”

A distraction.

I nod. Anything to chase away the ghost of Julia Domna’s words.

-

Okay, that was the first smut scene! I wanted to go gradually because she would never have agreed to go all the way. She also has regrets, which makes sense, because she has sinned. Now, she has to face her desires and contradictions, brought on by these two perverts. Some people thought they would calm down, but… no. Even if they're endearing, they're assholes able to do anything to get what they want! Even if it means playing with the limits of consent (as stated in the warnings).

So, what do you think? What do you imagine will happen next? I've already started writing it.

Btw, I also wrote this about Fred Hechinger : Where Love Stands

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My AO3: BetrayedWriter

My Instagram: carolinemertz_

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[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.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Geta

I’ve already made something similar for his jealousy/ possessiveness but I like talking about it so much that I wanted to added onto it ngl. That and I went a little longer with this one then the others cuz I love him.

Geta is more possessive than jealous. Simple as.

While sharing everything with Caracalla has it’s downsides, but the fact that he finally had someone to call his own without the expectation to share you, only made Geta all the more hellbent on keeping you with him and reminding others that you were more then taken by him.

He doesn’t take lightly to people looking at you a second longer then they should or in a similar way that he does -it doesn’t end up pretty for them at all- and your left with the burning glare of his against your back as he silently seethes from his throne, his hand clutching the glass in his hand so tightly that you swore it was going to break within his grasp if he wasn’t careful.

Geta’s possessiveness always pushed him into decorating you in the finest clothes, finest jewels and stones across Rome in order to show that you were his and only his, reminding others that they couldn’t have what he was proud to call his and his only. However he was aware that there were men of such nature who believed that it didn’t matter if you were with him or not, you were still the one they set their sights on regardless.

Geta despised men of such nature, he once told you that those kinds of men were those who lacked a mind, lacked the favour of the gods within any vicinity of their lives and should be considered less then men for trying to take you away from him.

So needless to say you’d have to speak soft words into his skin to remind him that he was the emperor, nothing that is his could ever be taken away from him, not even you as you’d knew he would do everything within his power to get you back while making them pay however he saw fit. You scattered kisses across his warm face and caress the backs of his hands, pamper him in soft love and affection before his anger consumed him completely, all the while telling him all that he needed to hear.

‘I’m yours Geta, never theirs. They can wish for the gods to change our fate but they’re to ones who weaves our love into existence in the first place, for the gods knew that there was never a stronger force then you and I.’ You’d say into his skin as you could feel his heart soften beneath your touch.

Geta’s temper was a pain but not one you couldn’t mange, speak reason into him and watch as his hands grasped you possessively, kneading the skin of your hips as he pulls you towards him to press his forehead firmly again yours as his dark eyes looked deeply into your own.

‘The gods can’t take away the bond they’ve made between us, for that would mean to admit a flaw on their part but the gods never make mistakes, they brought us together for a reason and we should make good on that my love for no one can touch us should we stay as we are now.’ You added on as you watched the anger fade from his eyes.

‘You weave words in ways that’ll make poets jealous my love,’ he replied. ‘But I must agree that nothing will ever touch us should we stay as close as we are now, so let’s stay here for a moment longer while I have you with me now to love and to hold.’ He finishes.

‘What about Rome?’ You’d ask.

‘Rome can wait, I on the other hand cannot wait to taste you my dearest heart.’ Geta replied and all thoughts of his jealously left his body as though it was never there.

Caracalla

Dare I saw somehow even worse than Geta?

Caracalla’s jealously stems from inferiority due to always having to share shit with Geta.

So if he were to ever see that someone was within distance of you, it’s not something that ends well for either you nor the person whom Caracalla was convinced was the perpetrator.

The air is still and stiff as Caracalla would immediately take his place by your side, hand griping your side in a possessive manner, that you wouldn’t be surprised if you’ll soon find bruises from his grasp once you were alone. That is if Caracalla allows you to be alone after this one instance where someone got a little too comfortable with the emperor’s spouse.

The person might as well have been killed then and there or taken away to be killed later by the guards. There was nothing you could’ve done to prevent their death as before long Caracalla would be more than likely accusing you of favouring the company of other people over his.

Now you’d have to tread carefully and make sure no weapons were within sight for him to grab, or anything that he could get his hands on really, and press your case to him that that wasn’t true at all and that you loved him with all your heart.

‘Then shall I cut your heart out and see if it still beats for me even when far removed from your body?’ He’d then say and your heart raced but your face remained calm, collected as any other emotion will only make things worse for you.

‘It shall always beat for you no matter whether you cut it from my chest or rest your head again me to heart it closely as it whispers to you my love.’ You then say as you stepped closer to him, all the while watching his every move as though you were waiting for a concealed weapon to make itself know, but it never did.

‘Lies! You favour Geta over me! No better than the others!’ He’d scream, making you stop in your tracks.

‘Why would I favour him when I married you? Caracalla I’m many things but a liar is not one of them, look into my eyes and seek the truth for yourself should words fall short for your reasoning.’ You tell him as you watched him close the distance between the two of you and look you directly in the eyes with a look you’ve never been on the receiving end of. It was scary but you held your ground in hopes that he would see that you were true.

‘You choose me?’ He’d asks softly this time.

‘In every life I have after this one I shall always choose you.’ You said.

‘Even this one?’ He adds.

‘Even this one my love.’ You echoed.

Caracalla smiled and let out the cutest little giggles that you have ever heard from a bloodthirsty emperor as he threw himself into your arms, holding you tight as though he didn’t threatened to steal your heart earlier. ‘Your heart belongs to me, the gods will it so.’ He says in an almost chant as he pressed his head against your chest and closes his eyes. ‘Your heart speaks to me and call me with words of love, devotion and gratitude.’ He then says as you run your hands through his soft but messy hair.

‘As it should.’ You told him.

‘As it should.’ He echoes softly this time as you stood there just holding one another in a moment of peace that you’d never thought would come.

Marcus Acacius

Doesn’t nearly get as jealous as the two emperors, if anything he’s confident of your relationship to endure a few hardships outside of petty jealously.

However this does not mean the general doesn’t feel it tickle his heart whenever he saw that someone was getting a little too close for his liking towards you, but with a strong and protective hand pressed against the small of your back to keep you close to him.

He takes pride in you and how you can easily draw people in much like you did with him when you first met, proving it to be a testimony to the type of person you were and it was something Marcus admired deeply about you with a smitten smile and softened eyes that were always on you, as though he couldn’t tear them away from you even if he was to try. He loves his beloved spouse and nothing will ever change that and he could always find himself falling more and more in love with you at every possible moment.

It warmed his heart to see you talk to the children of Rome or aiding the elderly but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to step in when he saw an unsavoury character encroach on you while you were unaware. Marcus is protective of his beloved and he wasn’t about to let to leave you to be carelessly open to any and all harm that may come your way. The jealously is in no way aimed towards you as you weren’t doing anything to perpetuate the persons delusions that you were reciprocating to their advances.

Yet a flash of his sword and the unimpressed scowl upon his face was more than enough to deter unwarranted company. Marcus would do anything to make sure that you were comfortable as you’d always be a priority for this dedicated man.

So the man is not above getting a little physical should that be the case for your safety.

[multific]

The Scars on Your Neck

Emperor Caracalla x Reader

Summary: It was completely unimaginable what happened. No one expected you to get attacked during your daily walk through the gardens.

Caracalla was furious, demanding answers from your guards immediately and if they don’t give him an answer as fast as he needs them to, he would personally attack them and kill at least one. 

He does not take it lightly that you got hurt, especially since they should have been with you when you were attacked. 

“How did this happen?” He would ask and demand answers. When he wouldn’t get an answer, he would ask his question again but this time yelling at the top of his lungs.

You would be in the room next door getting treated, but you could hear him yelling outside. 

Your husband was in a meeting with the senators and his brother when the news about your attack reached him. He immediately rushed out of the room without any explanation. 

When he reached your shared chambers, he saw your pathetic excuses of guards and that is when the yelling started.

"We were walking with her when she asked us to leave her for a moment. It was not unusual. We turned around but stayed close." one of the remaining two guards explained.

"Not close enough apparently!" 

"You are right, Your Majesty. She was attacked by a servant boy. Had a rope to her neck so we wouldn't hear. She fought, knocked over a vase and that is when we noticed."

"You are absolutely useless! You two will be put in the games and killed!" Caracalla waved with his hand and didn't even hear the men's pleas. 

"Brother?" Geta arrived with worry written on his face. "Was she truly attacked? I will find out who did this. You stay here with her." Geta had a brotherly love towards you. He knew you were the only person able to calm and keep his brother happy.

Caracalla burst through the doors only to see the healer talking to you as you nod.

"Emperor Caracalla. Your wife is-" Caracalla didn't even allow the man to finish as he was already by your side on the bed. He watched you lay there as he grabbed your hand.

"My Love. I will punish whoever did this."

"It was Macrinus." your voice was hoarse, it pained his heart. "The boy told me." you coughed as you grabbed onto the bandage on your neck. 

The vivid images of the boy pulling the rope on your neck as you tried to escape filled your mind. Your hands were shaking and your eyes filled with tears. "He was sent to break you. If he kills me..."

"We will take care of it. Geta will find the boy and then Macrinus. You are safe." he kissed your hand as his own eyes filled with tears. "I will avenge you."

You smiled at him, speaking was too painful.

You didn't sleep much that evening. The images filled your mind.

You only felt safe because you laid in his arms.

You knew he would kill the people responsible. You knew your husband would do anything to keep you safe.

The people responsible were quickly found and killed. 

You got new guards. 

But your husband requested that you always be with him. And you had no objection to that.

Staying with him meant you were safe.

You felt safe.

He always held your hand no matter what.

During the night, when your bandages came off, you looked at your bruised neck.

It was still very purple and the cuts of the fabric were ugly. You got a herbal balm for it, the healer said it will help with the healing. 

You let out a long sigh.

"Does it still hurt?" Caracalla asked from behind you, you turned and looked at him. 

"Only a little, I think the balm helps." you smiled a little.

Caracalla took a step closer and he lifted his hand, allowing the tips of his fingers to touch your bruised neck.

His touch was feather-light. As if he was afraid to hurt you more. Even if the people responsible were dead.

"I was so scared. Sometimes I can still feel the rope tight around my neck. All I could think about was you, My Dear Husband." 

"Even on the verge of death, My Love?"

"Always. I worried with my death madness will take you over. I worried you would be lonely. I worried you would be sad."

"And I would be. Madly sad because I miss you. But you are still here. You are here with me." his hand moved to cup your cheek and you turned to kiss his palm.

"I'm here and I love you, My Emperor."

"And I love you, My Empress."

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @mel-vaz

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[cherrysweets-world]

Invidia

masterlist - part two

Pairing - unrequited Geta x caracalla’s wife!Reader, Caracalla x fem!Reader

Summary- Geta wants what he can't have - his brother's wife.

Warnings - minors dni, intense pining, sexual contact, concubines, brief sex, unedited, can be read as a standalone

Word Count - 1.2k

Geta loved his brother. He knew this. Sometimes Caracalla even knew it too. However, as of late, it had been hard to remember.

The room was crowded and the air was hot and heavy. Some noble was in front of Geta, discussing some plan or other. Normally Geta at least tried to stay engaged, but tonight it was particularly difficult.

Caracalla was having no trouble staying preoccupied. No-one dared even approach his brother, lest they break his good mood. A mood brought on by his delightful new wife, who was currently sat square in Caracalla's lap.

It was unusual for noble women to engage in such openly intimate behaviour. Caracalla's happiness was so rare, though, that they didn't even look twice. If you could keep the young Emperor distracted and engaged in less blood thirsty pursuits then who were they to judge? It had been a peaceful month because of you and Geta could tell everyone, from the servants to counsel men to himself, was grateful for it.

Grateful and bitter, he thought to himself. It was not so long ago that he thought he was the fortunate one. Caracalla had always been resentful that he had been betrothed to a woman when Geta was free to choose for himself. Geta had privately agreed and had thought that he might never marry. It was perhaps the one duty that his brother had taken on so he would not have to.

His sister-in-law laughed loudly, leaning into Caracalla to whisper some secret thing to him. Geta's ears burned and he found himself leaning further toward them, as though he might hear what you had to say.

Caracalla responded with a raspy giggle, hands busying themselves on your thighs. There was nothing sexual about it, really. Just close intimacy, unlike anything either of them had shared with anyone before. Geta squeezed his hands tight, imagining what it would feel like to trace those very same patterns as Caracalla.

He could take it no more. "Senator, please, you must enjoy yourself," he tried to grin, "Rome has earned herself a break, has she not? Please, taste the wine, the food. Perhaps the women?"

The senator gave a full laugh. "Perhaps, Emperor Geta, perhaps."

Geta got to his feet immediately. The senator had hardly had the chance to turn around before Geta was across the room and standing before his brother and you.

"Geta," you said, surprised, "we were just thinking of rescuing you."

Caracalla gave him a look that said he was very much not planning to do that. "My wife is very thoughtful, is she not?"

"She is," Geta responded, hoping for nonchalance. "She is also the Empress of Rome. Do you think it is wise to be groping her like that so publicly? She is not one of your whores."

"Oh, I do not mind," you dismissed his concern, "they all know who I am. And it soothes my Emperor to have me so close."

"It does," Caracalla confirmed. "I cannot say you bring me the same joy, brother. I'm sure there are many others who would love to entertain you."

Geta's jaw worked as he considered this. There was no playfulness in his brother's eyes, he was serious. It was off putting to see him so lucid. How was this fair? Geta was the one who worked hardest to rule over Rome and her subjects. He was the Emperor people came to with their questions and simpering proposals. So why had his brother been blessed with a woman such as you?

He knew he should be more grateful. Caracalla had not had a serious episode since the night he met you. When he did have one it was quickly ended by you. In general he had become much more reasonable and everyone was all the happier for it.

Caracalla seemed especially aware of the blessing the Gods had granted him. He did not find Geta's interest in his wife amusing.

Caracalla did not even know the half of it. Geta had been yearning for you since the night you met. You had caught them both at a vulnerable moment and had comforted them when no one else had or could. How could he not want to be around you? He saw the contentedness you brought his brother and could not help but want that for himself.

Sometimes, at night, when he knew the pair of you were enjoying yourselves together, his thoughts turned a dark path. Caracalla had only been married to you for a month - it was not too late to annul the marriage and take you for himself. Darker still, he thought about sending Caracalla far, far away and telling you that he had died. You would turn to Geta for comfort and -

"Geta," you interrupted his thoughts, "are you well? You seem distracted."

"You are most kind, my sister-in-law," he smiled wearily, "I am. . .tired. I will retire early."

You opened your mouth as if to say something more but Caracalla leaned close, nuzzling your neck and tickling a giggle from you. It was shameful how hard the sound made Geta's cock and he almost grabbed it, right there in front of everyone.

Caracalla stared at him from your neck, blue eyes watchful and knowing. Although he was angry at Geta's wanting, part of him was also satisfied to have something that was finally his and his alone. Even better than it was you.

"We shall retire too," Caracalla said, hands coming up to cup your waist and graze the bottom of your breasts. He was making it no secret exactly what the pair of you would be getting up to and white hot jealousy almost skewered Geta to the spot. He wanted to tear you from his brother's arms but he was well aware had no right.

It was a terrible though, but sometimes Geta wished his brother was sicker again. Maybe then you would have come to him more often, or he would have been able to steal you away without his brother's unusually watchful eye. Something about you made him better, though, more alert. Geta did not want to think of what Caracalla might do if you were taken from him.

Geta stared longingly at the side of your face. You did not look back. Of course you did not. You had no interest in a man who was not your husband, who was not Caracalla. You were a good woman and would never think twice about another man. Geta admired this quality whilst equally resenting it.

He bid you both tonight and turned on his heel, dodging various people on the way out. He selected a concubine, a girl who, if he squinted, almost looked like you and retreated to his chambers.

He fucked her with her face turned into his bedding, imagining it was his brother's wife wrapped around his cock instead. Geta imagined what it would be like if he had been the one to marry you. If he was the one to occupy all your thoughts and attention.

It could be different with you, he thought. Maybe he would be gentle for once. You likely would be. Then again he had seen you flirting with Caracalla and you were not shy. Geta would have to take his time, savour the skin on skin contact with you, savour your noises and looks. It would be unlike how it was with his concubines because it would be you and he had never wanted anything quite so badly. It was to these thoughts that he came.

Still, these fantasies were not enough. He had to know.

Author’s Note - he’s too horny. I think this needs a part two, what do you think?

dividers by @enchanthing

[acehazbin1]

‘I quite like the quiet.’

Paring: Emperor Caracalla x maid!reader

Warnings: no use of Y/n, ranting?

Just fluff/comfort maybe idk man 😭

Chapter two

……………

Caracalla smelt like wine, drugs and sex, things that most would think of when they thought of him. His tunic had little stains all down the bottom has the more intoxicated he got the more disoriented he became.

He was wandering around the palace halls, they echoed his footsteps as it was odd to see him by himself. He was constantly surrounded by concubines, senators, the Praetorian or even just his brother. But there he was in a green tunic decorated with golden designs ruined by stains just walking with a look of distain upon his face.

“What troubles you, Cesar?” a maid whispered out, she was young, on her knees and scrubbing a stain out of the floor. Caracalla looked down, the alcohol in his system made him ignore the fact such a low class was talking to him and responded. “My brother has been getting marriage letters sent to me every other day and I haven't got one… It's not fair.”

His hands gripped his tunic making creases. “Oh.” The maid responded she had overheard the senator talking about how marriage would help decrease wars. She leaned up a bit and asked, “Well have you tried to send out one?”

She knew it was a dumb question he wouldn't want to get married; he was probably just jealous of his brother getting all the attention all the time. His gaze fixated on the floor away from her, “I have…. They all rejected my offers.”

The maid gulped noticing it looked to be a sore topic, his hands gripping his tunic had a few bruises and his skin was painted has a few new scrapes that needed to be covered. She knew about his outbursts, what palace staff didn't? They weren't allowed to mention it at all for fear it might get out but she heard of stories of concubines been throwing out for simply looking at him wrong.

“Maybe they were already courting someone?” She added hopefully, his gaze returned to her, and his throat tightened a bit with frustration. “Women have ignored marriage proposals from different kings at a chance to maybe marry my brother.” His voice snapped angrily.

“And what do I get? Denied, ignored or asked to talk to my brother about them.” Her eyes widened at that, that level of disrespect towards an emperor and he wasn't even that bad. He continued on this rant, “Do they just know me as a bloodthirsty tyrant? What have they heard, who whispered lie after lie?” He ripped his hands off his tunic and ran them through his hair in an attempt to calm himself.

Caracalla looked at the maid as if she knew. She wasn't holding a sponge anymore instead on her knees leaning back as her hands were in front of her in case he tried to throw something in furry. “I haven't an idea, my emperor.”

He signed heavily, kept his hands in his hair slowly pulled his hair back as he moved them. “It's okay now, the Praetorians dealt with them accordingly.” He breathed out. Before she could catch up with her mouth, she had already spoken.

“How?”

His lips formed a smile, his hands now on the back of his neck tapped to keep himself from getting overly excited. “They disrespected an Emperor, the punishment fit their crime.” The maid felt like she was going to throw up, they were rude from what he was saying but imagine being killed for not wanting to marry someone?

She felt disgusted, why did he even need to get married anyway? He wasn't the one to care about peace, they already had enough money and he had concubines for any other matter. “Do you even want to get married?” She had to hide her disgust in her voice.

His smile dropped and his hands lowered as he took a step back leaning on his back leg. His face almost looked a bit… sheepish? “Well yes. It can get a little lonely in the palace.” the word palace was slurred, as she looked confused. “You have concubines?”

Caracalla rolled his eyes at that, “Concubines are paired well for their services but that's all they are there for. None of them cares enough to cuddle after or-” Caracalla stopped himself as his mind went over the things they wouldn't do with him.

Something pulled on her heartstrings, it was weird hearing the emperor want something so basic… so human and can't get it. “You want someone to care for you?” She said to fill in the silence. She earned a little nod from Caracalla.

They both went silent, it was night outside so it was just candlelight shining through the hall. No parties were on tonight just silence. Caracalla moved towards the wall a slid down beside her, she watched him do this. “I quite like the quiet.” She whispers to him.

She knew he couldn't agree, quiet would be an extract antonym for him. Yet he smiled gently at her, his eyes scanning her face. “Yes, it can be nice sometimes…” She nodded scanning his face in return as her hand touched off his, he looked down noticing the placement. “I hope you find a wife.” Her voice was caring something he hadn't heard since the death of his mother.

“Thank you.” It was a low whisper, but they sat there in comfortable silence with each other sometimes making comments. As the sun arose the guards found the Emperor sitting at a wall hunched over with his head on a maid's shoulder who's head landed on his. They both smelt like drink but no one dared to disturb the scene.

[marsmaximoff]

🏛️ emperor caracalla ; headcanons ⋆₊𐕣˚𖤐 ݁｡☽

content warning: fem!reader. mentions of blood, killing and sickness, cheating, possessiveness, toxicity. idk if there’s anything else.

word count: 0.7k

author’s note: first time writing headcanons, so constructive criticism is welcomed. and english is my third language so please bear with me. i apologize for any mistake 🙏🏻 also, i’m unlocking a new obsession, so i needed to write for caracalla asap. i’m gonna write for other fred characters too because that man has me down bad. that’s it! enjoyyy! <3

emperor caracalla is a menace with an insane duality and you know that better than anyone

we have 1) mad ruler with an insatiable thirst for blood

you ALWAYS go to the games

he demands wants you there with him

(not like you have much choice being married to him)

but still, he loves to know you’re there. mostly because he actually enjoys sharing his passion and spending time with you. buuut, also because he REALLY likes to show you off. (you love seeing him all giggly clapping and yelling tho)

and let me tell you, he takes every opportunity to do so. to remind everyone that you’re his. and to brag in front of his pretty much unmarried brother.

i’m talking hand rubbing your thigh when sitting by his side (he does it absentmindedly, it’s genuinely cute), arm around your waist during feasts, sitting on his lap when watching combats, theatre or any sort of entertainment and a ton of PDA.

both of them are possessive, but he is more subtle, not as straightforward

regarding Geta, you two have an… odd relationship. he’s thankful there’s someone else to deal with his brother’s madness. but he’s suspicious of your intentions. tho jealous.

some would even say not only of the marriage itself…

caracalla knows, and absolutely feeds on it. he finally has something that belongs to him and only him

god forbid someone doesn’t get it

Dondus has grown to adore you. you’re like his other parent -he’s adopted you as such.

squeaks at you and happily climbs your arm to rest on your shoulder

loves using your braids as little ladders

and snuggling against your neck too

he’s just so cute can u tell i love him :3

anyways

and 2) sappy child

he follows you around like a puppy

you hate it when he gets overwhelmed, he tends to hide and isolate himself

you end up acting like his mother

gets insecure of his real face and keeps it from you

needs a lot of reassurance

the guards always look for you when he has an outburst

your touch and presence are the only things that ground him

LOVES LOVES LOVES cuddling

clings to you like he needs you to breathe

good luck waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom 💀

play with his hair and he’s GONE

big on pet names

to you is always “my love” “my dear” “my darling” “my wife” “my empress”

emphasis on the “my”

everything’s fine with him but “sweet boy” makes him melt

and obviously “my emperor” cause it makes him feel powerful

and compliments too

spoils and pampers the shit out of you

jewels, clothes, animals, entertainers, you name it

absolutely whipped

loves kissing

now, it can’t all be a fairytale 😞

sometimes you feel like he loves Dondus more than you

and it seems that some men being forced to kill each other brings him more happiness than you ever could

he can switch from sad to angry in a matter of seconds and sometimes his sudden change of tone and expressions startles you

🚩 🚩🚩

being married to a sick man is hard

many palace servants and guards feel bad for you

paranoid

thinks you don’t love him anymore and are going to leave him quite often

obsessive

if you say something that feels ‘off’ to him get ready for an intense interrogation

possessive and extremely jealous

cause why the fuck where you laughing with some random man?

he’d threaten to kill him and would probably get rough with you

hates other people touching you

gets violent

has hurt you before during one of his fits

regrets it afterwards but has a hard time apologizing

would probably be unfaithful. i know, i hate it too 🥲

over all i think he wouldn’t be that bad of a husband, like it could be way worse

and i say he could genuinely love you, it just wouldn’t be the healthiest of loves

but you can try to fix him girl ✨✨

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Bound by Affection

Pairing: Emperor Geta x healer!reader x Emperor Caracalla

Warnings: Fluff, rivalry between siblings,

Authors Note: Hope you enjoy the New Year! Here’s to the start of something amazing!!

Masterlist | Next

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The imperial palace was breathtakingly grand, with halls lined in gold and marble that reflected the power of Rome. But despite its splendor, tension hung heavy in the air as you were escorted to the chamber where both emperors awaited you. You had heard tales of their strained relationship, their rivalry threatening to tear the empire apart. Still, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of them.

The doors creaked open, and your breath hitched.

Geta, the younger of the two, sat leisurely by the window, sunlight casting a golden halo over his chestnut hair. His boyish features were accentuated by the easy smile he sent your way, warm and inviting. Caracalla stood opposite him, dark and brooding by the hearth. His sharp jaw and piercing gaze carried the weight of command, his stance firm and unyielding. They were opposites in every way, and yet, both were undeniably magnetic.

“You’re the healer they’ve sent?” Caracalla’s voice cut through the silence, rough but steady.

You inclined your head. “I am, Emperor Caracalla.”

Geta chuckled softly, the sound like a melody. “Must you always interrogate our guests, brother? You’ll scare them away before they’ve even begun.” He stood, crossing the room to take your hand in his. “Welcome, healer. We are grateful for your presence. Truly.”

His touch was warm, and the sincerity in his tone disarmed you, though you quickly recovered. “Thank you, Emperor Geta. I am here to serve.”

“Then let’s not waste time,” Caracalla interrupted, his tone curt. “We’ve been ill for weeks—fevers, fatigue, and endless headaches. None of the palace physicians have been able to cure us.”

You nodded, setting your satchel on a nearby table. “I’ll do everything I can to help. Please, allow me to examine you both.”

Caracalla was the first to step forward, his intense gaze fixed on you as you worked. Despite his stoic demeanor, you noticed the subtle way his eyes softened whenever your fingers brushed his skin. His strength was palpable, his presence overwhelming, but beneath it all, you sensed a quiet vulnerability.

“Your hands are steady,” he remarked as you checked his pulse. “You don’t seem easily intimidated.”

“I’ve treated soldiers on the battlefield,” you replied calmly. “I’ve learned to remain composed.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “A healer with nerves of steel. Impressive.”

“Don’t frighten her, brother,” Geta chimed in, stepping closer. “She’s here to help, not to endure your interrogation.” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, as though he resented the attention Caracalla was receiving.

As you turned to examine Geta, his demeanor shifted. He was charming, his words laced with compliments meant to put you at ease.

“Your touch is gentle,” he said, his voice soft. “Far better than the clumsy hands of our palace physicians.”

You smiled politely. “Flattery won’t hasten your recovery, Emperor.”

Geta chuckled, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “Perhaps not, but it does make the process more enjoyable, doesn’t it?”

Over the following days, their rivalry became glaringly apparent. Geta would invite you to stroll through the palace gardens, pointing out rare flowers he claimed reminded him of you. Caracalla, not one to be outdone, would seek you out during your quiet moments, engaging you in thoughtful conversation about your craft and the challenges you faced.

One evening, as you prepared a tonic for them, Geta appeared at your side, holding a small bundle of lavender.

“I thought you might appreciate these,” he said, offering them to you with a smile. “A small token of my gratitude.”

You accepted the flowers, their fragrance soothing. “Thank you, Emperor Geta. That’s very kind of you.”

Before you could say more, Caracalla entered the room, his gaze flicking to the flowers in your hands. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing as he approached.

“Have you made progress with the tonic?” he asked, his tone brusque.

“I have,” you replied, sensing the tension between the brothers. “It should help alleviate your symptoms.”

Caracalla nodded, his gaze softening as it lingered on you. “You’ve done more for us in a few days than others have in weeks. You’ve earned my trust, healer.”

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you saw a side of him that was rarely revealed—a man who valued loyalty and respect above all else.

As the weeks passed, the bond between you and the emperors deepened. Their initial rivalry for your attention softened, replaced by a reluctant understanding that they both cared for you in their own way. One night, as you stood on a balcony overlooking the city, they joined you, their presence a comforting warmth against the cool evening air.

“You’ve changed things between us,” Geta said quietly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Caracalla nodded, his expression uncharacteristically calm. “For once, we agree. You’ve become... important to us.”

Your heart swelled at their words, the sincerity in their voices leaving no room for doubt. Though their journey had been fraught with tension, it was clear they were willing to put aside their differences—for you.

——-

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting its silver light over the imperial gardens. You stood amidst the blooming flowers, savoring the quiet. The palace was grand but suffocating at times, with its endless corridors of marble and the weight of its politics pressing down on you. This garden, however, was your haven.

You heard footsteps behind you—two sets. Turning, you found both emperors approaching, their expressions unreadable. They rarely sought you out together, and the sight of them side by side sent a nervous flutter through your chest.

“Your Majesties,” you greeted, bowing slightly.

Geta was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual. “There’s no need for formality tonight. We’ve come not as emperors, but as men seeking your truth.”

Caracalla stepped closer, his piercing gaze locking with yours. “We’ve realized that this... conflict between us is futile. You’ve become too important to lose over petty rivalry.”

Your breath caught as you looked between them. “I don’t understand.”

Geta smiled faintly, though there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “We’ve spoken at length, and for once, we’ve reached an agreement. We both... care for you. Deeply. And we refuse to let our affections drive a wedge between us—or push you away.”

Caracalla’s jaw tightened, his usual stoicism giving way to a rare display of emotion. “It’s unconventional, but we’re willing to share, if you’ll have us both.”

The weight of their words settled over you, and your heart raced. You had known for weeks that their affections ran deeper than mere gratitude, but to hear them speak so openly was overwhelming.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Geta reached for your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “Say you’ll give us a chance. Let us show you how much you mean to us.”

Caracalla’s hand joined his brother’s, his grip firm yet gentle. “We’re not asking for an answer tonight. Just know that our feelings are genuine, and we’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, their sincerity cutting through your uncertainty. You nodded, unable to find the words but knowing that your heart was already leaning toward them.

---

The following days were filled with subtle but meaningful gestures that proved their devotion.

Geta, ever the romantic, would steal moments to sit with you in the gardens, reciting poetry he claimed was inspired by your presence. One afternoon, as you strolled beneath the shade of olive trees, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering.

“You’ve brought light to this palace,” he murmured, his gaze tender. “I never knew how much I needed it until you arrived.”

Caracalla, meanwhile, showed his affection in quieter ways. He would accompany you during your rounds, ensuring you were never without protection in the sprawling palace. When you once mentioned your favorite dish in passing, he had it prepared by the palace chefs and delivered to your chambers.

One evening, as you prepared a tincture in your quarters, Caracalla appeared at your door.

“You work too hard,” he said, his tone gentle as he stepped inside. “Let me help.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I doubt an emperor has much experience with herbs and tonics.”

He smirked, leaning against the table. “True, but I can be a quick learner. Besides, I prefer your company to the endless court meetings.”

His words warmed you, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to truly hope that this unconventional arrangement could succeed.

---

The turning point came during a grand feast held in honor of a Roman victory. You sat between the two emperors, their attention making you the envy of the court. As the night wore on, Geta leaned close, his voice low.

“Come with us,” he whispered, nodding toward a side door that led to the private gardens.

You hesitated, glancing at Caracalla, who gave a subtle nod of agreement. Taking their hands, you allowed them to lead you away from the prying eyes of the court.

In the moonlit garden, they turned to face you, their expressions filled with determination.

“You’ve shown us something we never thought possible,” Geta said, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’ve brought peace to this palace—not just between us, but within ourselves.”

Caracalla stepped closer, his dark eyes locking with yours. “We don’t want to fight anymore—not over power, not over you. We only want you by our sides.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached for their hands, squeezing them tightly. “I care for you both,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I never thought I’d find myself in this position, but I can’t imagine choosing one of you over the other. If you’re willing to share, then so am I.”

Relief and joy filled their faces, and in that moment, the tension that had plagued the palace seemed to melt away. Geta pressed a tender kiss to your hand, while Caracalla cupped your face, his touch reverent.

“You’ll never regret this,” Caracalla vowed, his voice a soft rumble.

Geta nodded, his smile brighter than the stars. “We’ll ensure it.”

Together, the three of you stood beneath the moonlight, bound not by duty or rivalry, but by a love that transcended all expectations.

Next

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[cercandodiscrivere]

Damnatio memoriae | emperor caracalla x reader.

word count | 2k

warnings | 18+, NSFW, concubines, blood, dark themes (implied murder), mental health, porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | “Nothing was ever mine". He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. It’s almost like he’s sing-songing now, words rolling off his tongue. "Until now".

gifs by @fredhechingerdaily

Run. Run.

You are running, but the ground shifts beneath you. Screams tear through the air—familiar voices, distorted, distant.

The road is a river of bodies, writhing, pushing. Those who once praised now promised venegance – praetorians’ swords nothing to the rage.

Smoke curls in the sky, dark and thick. The air is burning with it. You stumble, slipping on something wet—hot, sticky, the scent of iron flooding your senses.

A fire blazes ahead, the orange glow painting the world in shades of red and black.

Blood. So much blood.

It fills your lungs, the sharp and suffocating smell.

Closer. Closer. The crowd surges. You push forward, but something pulls you back.

A hand touches your shoulder. Cold. Wet.

_

You are jolted awake, your eyes snapping open as you sit up in bed, heart racing. The dim light from outside filters in through the window, sending scattered rays of light across the room.

No one from the raging crowd outside has followed you into this room: the hands gripping you belong to someone you know.

Someone familiar.

Caracalla's fingers remain clasped around your shoulder — and even though you know you are awake now, the unsettling feeling remains, a sense of danger that lingers in the air.

The voices in your mind continue chanting: murder, murder, murder.

It takes a moment for you to quiet them down enough to find your voice.

“What happened?”.

His eyes are wide open, bloodshot and vacant: he stares at you and yet he is not seeing you at all. When he answers, his words are a nothing but a jumbled mix of accusations directed at the air behind your back: liar and traitor and ours.

“Are we under attack?”. Traitor, he’s saying. Maybe your dream was not at all a figment of your scared imagination; perhaps, just above your heads, angry individuals are truly storming through the halls.

If that's what's going on, Caracalla does not feel the need to confirm it. He remains as motionless as a statue —  his face just as pale as one — muttering under his breath, lost.

You reach out and grasp his arm, gently shaking him in an attempt to snap him out of his daze. “Are you injuerd?” but even as you are asking, you know he must be: his richly decorated tunic is soaked with blood, sticky and warm against your touch. In the dim light, you can't see the full extent of it, but you can smell the sharp metallic tang. You attempt to shift him closer to the light, feeling a surge of fear rising in your throat.

“Carus?”.

The endearing name falls on deaf ears. It’s just a repetition of traitor and liar and alwayshimhimhim.

He only comes to his senses when you attempt to rise and call a servant for help; then he he grabs your shoulder again, this time  with more force, and pushes you back onto the bed.

“I am fine”. He’s… chuckling.

For a brief moment, you question if this is all just another nightmare. Is Caracalla really in his own bed, sound asleep? Have the ongoing revolts taken such a toll on your sanity that you are now hallucinating him bleeding into your room?

Because there is no way for a man to lose that much blood and laugh as if nothing is wrong.

“Are you… hurt?”.

“Hurt?” he seems taken aback. “No, of course not”.

You take a deep breath as you finally have his attention. "Is it Geta?" you whisper, still concerned. "Is he injured?”.

Caracalla takes a moment to respond, his eyes darting around as if he's trying to gather his thoughts. His lips move, but the words come out in fragments. “He tried to strangle me”.

You stare at him, trying to discern if this is just another one of his warped jests — but there is no hint of humor in his expression. His brows are furrowed, a deep sorrow that animates his eyes again.

And yet, what he says could not be possible; their love for each other is too strong. There is no place where one can exist without the other. A wolf with two heads.

You nod to humor him, in an attempt to keep him focused on your face. “Geta tried to strangle you tonight?”.

“Tonight? No. No!” Caracalla now laughs, his usual mirth returning.

His face is stained in red, too: smalls pecks of blood that dot his cheeks. “Inside the womb”.

He’s rambling,you realize. He most likely fell and hurt himself, and he’s having another one of his episodes.

As you exhale, you feel a sense of calm wash over you.

The world around you is quiet; the concubine’s quarters are too distant from the entrance to hear the clamor of the crowds, but if the threat reached inside the palace halls, you would be able to hear it.

Things are under control. The praetorians have quelled the insurrection — Caracalla’s mind is rebelling on its own.

“I think you need a healer” you finally conclude.

Once again, he shakes his head — frantic now. “You don’t understand. I made it right”.

His hand jerks, digging his fingers into the skin of your shoulder. "Nothing is ever mine" he mumbles, almost as if talking to himself again. “Everything is ours, always”.

You wish you had a sweet and clever comeback; something that would snap him out of his delusions and bring him back to the real world – but you can't make sense of the words coming out of his mouth. His brother is better with this: he knows how to placate his mind, how to soothe the spirits that inhabit it.

“I’ll have a servant call Geta” you suggest — and yet this time it’s not his strength that holds you in place, but the look on his pale face. He’s livid, his usually kind features distorted with pure rage.

His gaze is no longer aimlessly wandering around the small room; his eyes are now dark and focused on you. Just the sight of him causes the hairs on your arms to stand upright.  

"No". His voice becomes more insistent as he continues. "No need. There is no Geta left to call. Don’t you get it?".

His features contort into a strange, almost anguished look as he gazes at you. "He can’t lie now”.

Confusion tightens your chest. "What do you mean? If Geta isn’t here, where is he? Is he—".

"He is fine" Caracalla interjects. The smile that follows is not a reassuring one. "He’s fine. You don’t need him. It’s just you and me now".

A sudden chill runs down your spine. In all the months you have spent as a concubine for the emperors, you have never seen him act so possessive.

While Caracalla is bashful and joyous, Geta often is the assertive one:

the brother who would have you down to your knees for entire nights just to show how superior he was.

Yet – Geta is not here, and his absence now feels unsettling.

"You don’t need him" Caracalla says again, as if he is the one trying to convince the other to see things with reason. "Nothing was ever mine". He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. It’s almost like he’s sing-songing now, words rolling off his tongue. "Until now".

His kiss, fierce and unexpected, feels more like a punch than a passionate gesture. The taste of blood—you are less and less certain this is his blood—lingers on his skin as he holds you tighter, pulling you onto his lap.

“You don't belong to him,” he whispers, pulling away briefly before his mouth crashes back onto yours. His teeth graze your lips, blood spilling in your mouth, mixing with his saliva. It's disturbing and disorienting, but you find yourself enjoying it even more.

“I decide now” he declares, now moving to your neck. He bites down like a dog — a wolf — would do with his prey, leaving bruises where his teeth dig in. You feel the thin fabric of your nightgown rip apart, and the chill of the night air hits your bare skin.

Caracalla's whispers fill the room.

His other hand, the one that is tightly holding onto your shoulder as if you might try to run away at any given moment, starts to palm your chest – and you prefer not to think about the thick, wet substance he’s coating your skin with.

The scent of blood fills your nostrils once more. “Mine”.

His soft whines fill your, an almost pathetic pleading sound. He's pressing himself against your leg, torn between the craving to have you and the need for something else first.

His tongue laps your neck once more before he finally speaks in a low whisper. “Say it” he pants. “Say you are only mine”.

You do. Whether it's true or not, in this moment, you are helpless under his control. “I am yours. Only yours.”

Caracalla is not one for foreplay, but when his cocks enters you, you are ready for it. You always are.

He eagerly begins to push and glances down at you, as if he wants to say something else; however, his gaze remains focused on something lower than your face.

Your breasts – now adorned with dark red lines where his hand had touched you before. The view holds him captive, stealing all of his attention.

His hips don't slow down as he traces patterns on your bare skin with his finger. If anything, the added stimulation only encourages him to move faster.

“You are gorgeous” he purrs. He pulls out and thrusts back in, a hard snap of his hips against yours that has you moaing.

Gods help you, you want to tell him how breathtakingly beautiful he is. How, to you, he has always been as bright as the sun. Radiant.

Yet — he’s consuming you entirely, rendering you speechless: so instead you hold onto his back with all your might and squeeze your thighs around his hips, urging him on. Yours yours only yours.

“No lies” he pants, his breath hot. He pounds into your harder, rougher, as if he has something to prove. His grunts are interrupted by small fits of laugh, delighted and unhinged.

Caracalla is ravenous. It's unusual, and you can't help but feel a bit unnerved – but at the same time you can’t stop the heat rising in your lower stomach. It's as if you're melting under his burning touches.

His mouth opens wide with a loud groan, and his eyelids flutter in ecstasy for a brief moment. You cling to him as you ride the sensation together — hands gripping each other, legs trembling and muscles straining as you hold on to him with all your strength. He keeps calling you mine as he he shakes and shudders in pleasure, his cock emptying inside you.

The world holds its breath, just for a moment, as Caracalla pants heavily against your neck. “You are so good for us” he murmurs, pulling out of you.  

You can feel his warm seed dripping down the inside of your thigh, mingling with the blood: the thought sobers you, right before Caracalla leans in to share one last kiss and moves.

You let him drag your body down next to him on the ground. It’s cold, but you don’t want to move: the man hasn't looked this peaceful in a while.

Caracalla absentmindedly starts playing with your hair, just like he used to do when you first arrived at the palace.

He strokes your skin with tenderness; his gaze returning to its usual soft demeanor.  

It’s him who breakes the silence.

“Tomorrow is going to be a great day”. His voice is calm now, eager.

You can sense that in his mind, he is already living out the grandiose moment that awaits him in the morning.

The blood on his skin has dried in a multitude of dark brown freckles. Some of them splash into his neck and torso; the right side of his body almost entirely stained by it, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.

It’s no matter. Nothing happened, that’s what he told you.

“Geta will be so happy for me”.

[causeimhappinesss]

Rome's devotion (part 1)

Warnings: Emperors Geta & Caracalla are a warning themselves, (slight?) blasphemy, slight non-con/dub-con, misogyny (Ancient Rome, so…)

Pairing: Geta x Christian!reader x Caracalla (tell me which pairing I should focus on, please)

Words: 2,8k

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language (I'm french), so you can correct me if you spot some mistakes :)

Part 2

-

The marble floor chills my knees as I scrub, the rough bristles of my brush rasping against the stone, lifting away the grime left behind by sandaled feet. My fingers are raw, my knuckles cracked from soap and water. The scent of oil and damp stone clings to the air, thick with the lingering aroma of roasted meats and spiced wine from earlier feasts. My back aches, but I do not stop. Stopping means being noticed.

“Y/N.” A voice cuts through the quiet, low and urgent.

I look up. Claudia kneels beside me, her face damp with sweat. Her tunic clings to her skin, her eyes darting about like a frightened hare.

"Lucius is sick. Fever." Her fingers curl around my wrist, gripping hard. "You must serve the Emperors tonight."

I recoil slightly, though I do not pull away completely. My stomach knots.

"Me?"

"Who else?" Her voice is hushed, but sharp. "You know what happens when orders aren’t followed."

I do. I have seen it. The punishments are swift, brutal. I have no choice.

I push myself to my feet, brushing dust from my tunic. The linen is rough against my skin, but that is the least of my worries. My Ichthus pendant shifts beneath the fabric, a small weight against my ribs, its presence both a comfort and a warning.

The Palatine dining room looms before me, impressive and opulent, the doors opened by the Pretorians guards. Braziers with candles cast flickering light over marble columns, their polished surfaces reflecting scenes of conquest and gods in golden relief. The air is thick with incense, a heady mix of myrrh and cinnamon that does little to mask the underlying musk of sweat, wine, tangled with the lingering smoke. Heavy tapestries hang from the walls, their deep reds and golds a sharp contrast to the dull gray of the stone. The long table before me is draped with a rich purple cloth, its surface cluttered with silver platters piled high with meats and fruits, wine flowing freely from golden goblets. The air smells of roasted meats, spices, and the faint musk of sweat and incense. Servants move quietly, their sandals barely making a sound on the cold floor. Every corner of the room feels weighted, heavy with power and the sharp, expectant gaze of those who sit at the head of the table.

Being silent, I step inside, my eyes low, my body tense.

Emperor Geta reclines on a couch draped in deep purple fabric, his golden curls slightly disheveled, his tunic a shimmering blend of silver and dark blue embroidery. Rings weigh down his fingers, glinting in the dim light. Across from him, his brother, Emperor Caracalla, sits more rigid, broader of shoulder, softer in the face. Isn’t ironical from someone with such a reputation? He lifts a cup to his lips without looking at me, his grip tight around the handle, knuckles slightly whitening. His tunic is red, with gold ornaments, the color matching his jewelry.

I step forward, the amphora of wine heavy in my hands. My pulse thuds in my throat as I tilt it carefully, the thick, ruby-red liquid flowing into Geta’s cup. The scent rises—rich, aged, laced with spices I cannot name. A drink I will never taste. My own wine is bitter, watered down, tasting of sour dregs and dust. This wine is liquid gold. Made by the Gods for the gods, as I heard.

Neither brother acknowledges me. Their conversation continues, words slipping between them like the edge of a blade.

“The legions are restless,” Geta says, swirling his cup, watching the wine cling to the sides. “You’ve heard the rumors.”

Caracalla scoffs and lick his lips before he pouts like a child.

“I hear everything. And I crush what needs crushing.”

Geta smirks, taking a sip. “So you say.”

The tension between them crackles like a storm on the horizon. I step back, keeping my hands folded before me, head bowed. I must be invisible. I must be nothing.

The doors open again, and a new tray is carried in. The rich scent of roasted fowl, honeyed dates, and spiced garum fills the air. My stomach twists. The taster, a woman older than me, her hands calloused from years of servitude, steps forward. She does not hesitate. She lifts a knife, slices into the meat, then the vegetables, brings them to her lips. Chews. Swallows.

Caracalla watches her closely, his fingers tapping against his goblet. His gaze is sharp, calculating.

“And?” he asks, his voice like a blade drawn from its sheath.

The taster inclines his head. “It is good, Augustus.”

Caracalla doesn’t respond, only reaching for his knife, playing with it, waiting for the effects of a potential poison to act on its victim. His shoulders remain tense, his eyes never leaving the taster. I glance at the older servant only briefly as she retreats on the side. Her hands do not shake, but I wonder if her heart does.

I stand still, waiting, watching from beneath lowered lashes. The Emperors laugh, their conversation shifting from war to more trivial matters: women, entertainment, the foolishness of senators. Their voices rise and fall, their words edged with cruelty and indulgence. I try not to listen, but their words coil around me, impossible to ignore.

My heart beats against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that doesn’t match the leisurely pace of their meal. My pendant presses into my skin, a silent prayer written in silver.

They do not see me.

I must make sure they never do.

Again, when their cups are empty, I step forward, the amphora of wine heavy in my hands. My pulse thuds in my throat as I tilt it carefully, the thick, ruby-red liquid flowing into Geta’s cup.

A giggle. High, sharp. Caracalla.

My blood turns to ice.

I shiver, my breath catching in my throat. A presence, heavy, scorching like a brand, settles on me. I don’t look. I dare not.

“You. More wine.” Geta’s voice is smooth, languid.

Without a word, I comply, the amphora steady in my hands despite the tightness in my chest. His fingers brush mine as I pour. A slow touch. My pulse pounds, but I keep my expression neutral, my voice low. Unfortunately, I can feel his gaze lingering on me.

Breathe… Just breathe…

“Look at me, woman.”

I hesitate, then lift my eyes on his own his iris, brown, deep as the earth after rain, studying me with something unreadable. He tilts his head.

“I have never seen you before.” He comments with a tone full of curiosity.

He shifts his focus on Emperor Caracalla who smirks, flashing us like thunder his gold tooth.

“Brother? Have you noticed her?”

“A servant? Should I?” he chuckles.

Geta's lips curve slightly before turning back to me. “Your name?”

I wet my lips and clears my voice, bowing my head.

“Y/N, Augustus.”

Caracalla hums and pats his fingers on the wooden table, in a strange rhythm, almost a soothing one. I know better than falling in his trap. I heard the rumors about their behavior, their hysteria, their violence, their anger for blood.

“That’s not your real name. That accent… You are not from Rome, mmmh.”

As a knot tightens in my stomach, I nod. My real name feels foreign on my tongue, yet I speak it, which makes Caracalla giggles and claps in his hands.

“Too complicated. The Roman version suits you better.”

The older twin leans back, satisfied and licks his lips, tilting his head on the side.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since Martius, my Emperor. Two months.”

My reply seems to satisfy them and soon, their focus come back on their plates full of food. The taster still stands, unharmed and the young Emperors begin their meal. As young as terrifying.

At some point, the large doors swing open. Praetorian guards step aside. A flood of silk and painted lips enters. The scent of perfume, heavy and cloying, fills the hall. Laughter, high and lilting, rings against the walls. Women dress so thinly, in clothes way too revealing, fills the place. Their concubines and whores, I realize. Heat rises to my cheeks. The air thickens, pressing against me like a weight.

They are not only Emperors, they are knows as kings of debauchery.

Geta flicks a wrist and slams his cup on the table.

“You may go.”

Caracalla chuckles. “Look how red she is. Shy little thing. Probably a virgin.”

I turn sharply, my heart pounding against my ribs as I slip from the room, leaving before my shame burns me alive.

*

Next day, same hour, same place, I step into the dining room again, heart pounding in my chest. The emperors, Geta and Caracalla, are already seated, their eyes following my every movement. The heavy scent of roasted meats and wine fills the air. I bow my head as I approach them, my hands trembling slightly as I prepare to serve.

“Ah, Y/N,” Geta murmurs, his voice smooth, teasing. “Come closer.”

I glance at him. His dark eyes glimmer with mischief. I swallow hard but approach as ordered. A goblet of wine rests in my hands. I kneel beside him, offering it with a steady arm.

“Not yet,” he says, his smile widening. “First, feed me.”

My breath catches in my throat. I know where this is going. I’m pretty sure he’s done this before to taunt other servants. A cruel game, and I am the unwilling pawn. Unfortunately, he picks a cluster of grapes from the bowl before me and holds it out, his eyes locked on mine with an unsettling intensity. Without a word, I grab one up, bringing it to his lips. The weight of his gaze presses down on me as he opens his mouth and bites into the fruit. My skin prickles. His fingers brush mine, sending a jolt through my body.

What is this? What’s happening…?

The touch is deliberate. I know it’s meant to embarrass me. He licks his lips, slow, tasting the juice, then brushes his lips over my fingers. I shudder. The sensation is enough to make my knees feel weak, but I force myself to remain still. My heart is hammering in my chest and blood boils in my veins. Veins they could slit if they just wanted it, without a single reason.

Caracalla laughs, his voice rich and cruel.

“Look at you, Y/N. So shy, so innocent” he comments, leaning back in his chair, his eyes flickering over me like a predator eyeing prey.

I feel his fingers on my thigh, just above the fabric of my tunic. Heat spreads across my skin. My breath catches, my heart racing. He presses gently, but the touch is enough to make my face burn with shame. I shouldn’t allow any men to touch me this way, inappropriately. I should reserve all of this for my future husband, one day…

Dear Lord, please, don’t hate me. I’m sure you know I don’t have a choice…

“Do you act this way for all men, or just us?” Caracalla keeps asking to make fun of me.

I try to speak, but my throat feels dry. He leans closer, his voice soft, dangerous.

“Are you a virgin, Y/N?”

I don’t answer. A wave of anxiety grips me. My body stiffens. Caracalla’s eyes, usually blue like the sky, are darkening just like the Mediterranean sea during a storm, and I feel his gaze sharpen.

“Answer him,” Geta commands, his voice smooth and insistent.

I hesitate, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The room feels too warm, too tight. Slowly, I nod.

“Yes. I am.”

The brothers exchange a glance, one that sends a chill down my spine. I wish I could disappear, but I hold my ground, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. A quick glance at the other servant, who’s standing nearby, offers me a flicker of comfort. Her eyes tell me to remain calm, though my heart is racing in my chest. Suddenly, Caracalla’s hand lingers on my thigh, his touch softer now, almost gentle. The tenderness doesn’t ease my anxiety. If anything, it makes it worse. I can feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my tunic.

Then, as if their gods are toying with me, there’s a sudden rustling sound. I glance up, startled, as a small monkey, dressed in a brightly colored tunic, clambers onto Caracalla’s shoulder.

“Dondus, my sweet girl” Caracalla says, his voice full of amusement, “I think she likes you, Y/N.”

The monkey’s beady eyes twinkle as it hops from Caracalla’s shoulder to mine. I stiffen, trying not to show my discomfort. The creature sniffs at my hair, its tiny paws brushing against my neck, in a soft manner, almost playful.

But then, Dondus does something unexpected: the cute little creature tugs at my necklace, the Ichthus pendant I wear close to my skin. My breath hitches. Before I can react, the monkey yanks it free, the chain slipping from my neck with ease.

I feel sick. The color drains from my face as the necklace dangles from the monkey’s tiny paws. I try to steady my breath, but the tightness in my chest grows. The Ichthus is all I have left of my family, but it also betrays my faith… A faith I have to hide. Even if those Emperors are not the worst Emperors when it comes to the persecution of Christians, we are still frowned upon, sometimes rejected and condemned in harder ways than regular citizens.

“That’s mine,” I whisper, but the words feel lost in the heavy silence of the room.

Caracalla laughs again, his voice mocking as he watches me. “She’s not even upset, Geta. I think she likes our little Dondus more than you.”

Geta glances at me, his smile widening.

“She’s been so... obedient.”

I don’t know what to say. My throat tightens, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. The warmth from Caracalla’s hand still lingers on my skin. But all I can feel is the emptiness where my necklace once lay.

Dondus hops back onto Caracalla’s shoulder, still holding my necklace in his tiny hand. The little monkey looks up at his master, almost proudly. Caracalla grins, his gaze shifting to the pendant in the creature’s grasp. He reaches out, taking it from Dondus with a flick of his fingers, inspecting it with mock curiosity.

“My, my, my...” he murmurs, his lips curling into a sly smile.

Geta chuckles softly, his voice rich with amusement. “Christian,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery, with a spark of distaste.

As I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, I lower my gaze to the floor, trying to hide the shame that claws at my chest. The pendant is now dangling between Caracalla’s fingers, and I can almost hear the mocking laughter in his silence.

“You wear this?” Caracalla’s voice cuts through the stillness, dripping with mock disbelief. “Tell me, Y/N, what do you think of the gods?”

 “I respect every religion,” I reply, my voice steady, though my heart pounds in my chest. I know where this is going. I swallow hard.

Geta snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “Respect? Is that what Christians are taught? To respect everything?” He leans back in his chair, a knowing look in his eyes.

I meet his gaze, refusing to falter. “Indeed.” I answer quietly.

Caracalla lets out a low chuckle, and I feel his eyes on me, cold and calculating. His fingers stroke the inside of my thigh again, just like the day before. The warmth from his touch spreads through me, but there’s no comfort in it. Only tension.

“Where was your god when you needed him?” Caracalla’s voice is soft, but there's a dangerous edge to it. “Where was he when you had no choice but to come to Rome and serve us?”

The question hangs in the air, and I take a slow, steady breath, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “It’s His will,” I say, my voice calm, though the weight of the words presses on my chest. “My God has a plan for all of us.”

The silence that follows is thick with their amusement. Geta laughs first, a low, taunting sound that makes my skin prickle. Caracalla’s lips curl upward, his fingers still tracing over the curve of my thigh, sending shivers through me. His brother’s laughter fades, but his eyes remain sharp.

“Your god has no power here. Rome has no need for him. Rome’s devotion is the most important.”

He strokes his lips against my neck, making me bite my lower lips.

“You’re ours now. You’ll never escape.”

My heart skips a beat. His words are cold, cruel. I try to push the fear away, but it lingers in my chest, tightening with every passing second.

But then, Geta surprises me. He stands up, his hand outstretched. Before I can react, he pulls me toward him, forcing me to sit on his lap. I freeze, my breath caught in my throat. His fingers slip around my waist, gripping me tightly, and I can’t help the surge of heat that rises in my face. My body stiffens, my mind a whirlwind of confusion.

It’s wrong, and yet… it isn’t.

“Your god won’t help you, Y/N,” Geta whispers, his voice soft and dark. “Not here. Not in Rome. You’re mine now. And your god? He’s powerless against us.”

PART 2

- - -

Okay, this is the first time I've written in English in a long time, and for these characters. I hope it's not too bad! Should I write another part? If so, what would you like to read next?

Who should the reader end up with? Geta? Caracalla? Both?

Let me know <3

My AO3: BetrayedWriter

My Instagram: carolinemertz_

[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.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Based off of an interview where Fred said that Geta and Caracalla just have a need to be held/ be shown affection

Geta likes to think he’s above such tender touches but the moment you caress his cheeks with your fingers before cupping them between your palms, warm and comforting.

He melts and he clings onto this touch for the rest of his life. He’s chasing after it even when your pulling away, his hands tightly grip your wrists but not tight enough to hurt, as he brought your hands back to his cheeks, and lets out a sigh of relief as he closes his eyes to memorise the feel of your skin against his.

This man might as well be rubbing his cheeks against your hands, so much that you’d think he would soon purr like a cat after a while.

Seriously this man will try to fight against the feeling of laying his head on your chest just to listen to your heartbeat, gripping onto the fabric of your bed wear as though you would fade between his fingertips. Geta hates and despises being weak but you’re both alone in your chambers, there was no need to put on for an audience that is now long asleep in their beds.

An emperor is not meant to look weak, to look as though he had an Achilles heel, he was meant to come across as a man closer to the gods then the people he ruled over; a man who’s entire clothing was to make him look like he was on the ascent to godhood. And an emperor certainly shouldn’t be seen laying within the arms of his beloved, silent tears streaming down his face as he realises just how deprived of touch he really was that he’s crumbling the second he’s given it.

Due to his illness the reaction he has towards being held can change within the span of a second.

He could be melting in your hand, then the next he’s biting it with the intention of making you bleed. Caracalla could even be the one to initiate the touch first before suddenly your back is littered is bloodied scratches, before he’s back to cuddling up to you, metaphorically licking your wounds with he looked at you with eyes full of happiness yet uttermost chaos simultaneously.

His illness confuses your tender touches for something much more sinister, so it’s best not to hold and or touch him while he was going through one of those moments where his illness got the better of him, not unless it’s to stop him from causing harm to you or unto himself in the process.

Touch was something Caracalla wanted more then anything, so when he got it he was far more obsessive over it, wanting no one else to experience your touch but himself and if anyone did they would be dealt with bloody and swiftly.

Yet once he is calm and his face is buried deep again your chest, poetically moulding himself into you so that you’d be pretty much cradling his body against yours. His breathing was even and he was a peace for the first time that night as you ran your hand through his hair and down his back, watching over him so that his rest would remain undisturbed by any means necessary. It was the least he deservedx

[multific]

All Real

Emperor Caracalla x Reader

Summary: Driven by madness and manipulated by Macrinus, with a blade in his hand, Caracalla heads to Geta but he finds you instead.

"My Love? What are you doing?" you asked with a worried tone as you noticed the blade in his hand.

"I'm going to kill him. Where is he?"

"Why would you?" but just as you asked you noticed a shadow behind him. "Macrinus... I always knew it."

"She must be sleeping with your brother." you heard him whisper to Caracalla.

His eyes looked foggy and filled with tears. It worried you.

"Is it true?!" Caracalla yelled. 

"If you believe his words, you might as well kill me. I have been nothing but loyal to you, My Love. I have always been there for you and I will continue even if you kill me right now but please I have to ask you to come back to me and realise what is happening here. You are being manipulated." you begged but neither of you moved.

"You lie! You love him!" his hands frailed as he cried and yelled.

"You own my heart and soul. I belong to you, Caracalla. Please, My Love, put the knife down." 

Caracalla's eyes filled with fresh tears but so did yours.

"Please." you begged with a whisper. 

Your sweet voice seemed to break the curse he was under as he turned and stabbed Macrinus in the neck. It all happened so fast.

You watched as he looked at his shaking hands. 

"Wife, I'm so sorry. He... His words- He manipulated me. Oh, look what I have done." his hand reached out to you. Silently begging you to forgive him.

You took a step towards him and allowed him to hug you.

"I told you to always remember when you feel like you are losing it." you reached up and cupped his cheek, your thumb cleaning his tears. "I know Geta threw a drink at you and yelled at you, My Love. But killing him will not fix it all. I'm here to help you."

"I'm sorry." he said it again.

This is when Geta bursts into the room.

"What happened here?" he asked as he looked at the two of you with worry filled eyes. 

"Macrinus attacked me. Caracalla saved me." you explained.

"I will take care of this, go and rest." Geta said.

The two of you retired to your chambers.

"Why didn't you tell him?" your husband asked.

"He doesn't need to know."

"Do you hide things from me too? Things I don't need to know?"

"Of course not. You are my beloved Husband. I do not have anything to hide from you." you took a deep breath before looking at Caracalla. "I won't tell Geta what your true intentions were today because it will not achieve anything but hate. Tomorrow I will speak to the people in hopes of calming them. It will ease your mind as well as Geta's."

"What will you say?"

"I will tell them Lucilla sent Macrinus to kill me. The people will be on our side again."

"I didn't know my wife lied so much."

"To protect you? I would kill. I would lie to the Gods themselves because I love you."

"I'm sorry for doubting you."

"It wasn't you. It was Macrinus playing with your mind. I'm glad he's dead."

"You never liked him."

"But I love you." you said and just as the people outside quieted down, Caracalla embraced you in a feverish kiss.

The two of you spent a night of passion allowing your bodies to become one.

While it was true, you might lie, but you never lied to him. You never faked your love for him.

It was all real.

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief  

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @brevlada24

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[snazzynacho]

NSFW ALPHABET W/ CARACALLA

Read on ao3. Masterlist. Words: 1.9k

(part 2: nsfw alphabet with Geta)

Fandom: Gladiator II. Pairing: Caracalla x reader (I’ve written versions for afab and amab here)

Warnings/tags: 18+ piss kink, pegging, referenced smut, blood kink, spit kink, biting, cock warming. Just very NSFW. 🔞😅

A/N: let’s also pretend he doesn’t have syphilis but still has the same mental struggles. Still new to writing NSFW stuff so bear with me :) I think it’s good 🤷🏻‍♀️

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’d be really sweet. He’s just grateful he has someone who loves him for him. He’d peck kisses all over your face.

He’d like cock warming while he probably falls asleep from the pleasure and tiredness from the day

But if he doesn’t fall asleep straight away, he’d love to be little spoon and you the big spoon

B = Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partners)

Even though he tries not to show it, he is a bit insecure

He has acne on his cheeks and his general mental health issues make him insecure too. But with that being said, he thinks he is attractive, just maybe not the most.

But he has you. You, who love him dearly. I see him not caring whether you’re overweight. In fact, not to be biased, but I think he’d prefer it. This is cliché but there is more of you to love (and touch and tease) that way! (Love handles!)

If you have breasts, whether they’re small or large, they’re still his favourite body part of yours. He just really loves boobs. He loves laying his head on your chest when you snuggle together and nipple play. He also would like to suckle on them while you cuddle.

He also really loves your cunt because he’s horny as hell.

If you’re amab, his favourite part is your cock because, again, he’s a horny bastard. But he also loves your back. Even if you’re not fit, the back muscles really turn him on. (He wants you to fuck him.) also hands. Just HANDS. He wants to be fondled. (🎶“Spit on your hand and stroke my cock at a medium pace,”🎶)

Regardless of gender, his other favourite part of you is your smile and eyes. They’re the first thing he noticed about you and he was immediately obsessed. If you have freckles or multiple moles and sun spots dotting your skin, he really loves them too. He thinks they’re like constellations and he could zone out by tracing them forever. It helps him with his moods. <3

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

He’d looooove cumming all over your pretty body and in your pretty mouth, watching you gobble it down. If you don’t swallow all of it, he’ll use his fingers to shove any cum that dribbled down to your chin back into your mouth. And he’d hold your mouth closed so you have to swallow it all while he giggles devilishly.

He loves the idea of you consuming something of his

He’d also love cumming inside of you, knowing his seed is inside of you. And he watches his seed spill out intently. He does the same with keeping his cock inside of you so his seed has more time inside of you.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’d be up for you pegging him. In fact he will probably straight up ask you after fantasising about it.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s been with many many concubines but that doesn’t always mean he knows what he’s doing

I’d say he loves giving you pleasure but at first you probably had to direct him. Since he loves giving you pleasure he listens as the way your body reacted to him and the erotic noises that escape your mouth turn him on even more

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying)

Any really. He’s just a horny humping animal.

But if he had to choose it’s probably be doggy style because it’s impersonal and so he can really thrust deep and hump frantically and his backshots are insane

He’d also like to watch your face as he fucks you so he’d also really like cowgirl or another position where he can just stare into your eyes with each thrust, completely enamoured.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on his mood. If he wants sex to be romantic and serious then no but if it’s fun and rough, he’d probably be more giggly and giddy.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Bro is hairyyyy which is uncommon for the Roman period. Usually they’d basically wax their entire body.

So, this suggests he doesn’t care and, honestly, fair play to him. (He’s so hot)

He loves it when you run your fingers through his chest hair and past his nipple. Just little touches like that really turn him on.

He also has pubes. He just hates waxing. It hurts and he probably thinks it’s stupid. He wouldn’t care if you had pubes either. In fact, he’d prefer exploring the forest! 😅

Speaking of hair, he loves it when you tug at the hair on his head. Whether it’s during sex or while you cuddle or another time. It’s calming and turns him on during sex. Outside of sex, it reminds him of the way Dondas caresses his hair and that calms him.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? Romantic or rough/dirty.)

If he’s been struggling with his mental health lately, he would prefer more romantic sex

But usually he’d like it rough and if he does start off romantic he’d probably get into it and end up becoming rougher

J = Jack off (Do they masturbate and how often)

Oh, very often.

Remember that scene where Hanno/Lucius is fighting at one of their fancy party’s? You can see him jerk off him the background. Dirty, dirty man. (I love him)

(It’s not in this specific gif but it is during this scene:)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Blood and spit kink. Just knowing you’re becoming one by not just having his cock inside of you but also consuming his spit/blood

He’d also like the feeling of experiencing the pain of being cut, seeing the blood draw out, while experiencing the pleasure from sex. It drives him feral.

Also, biting. Whether it’s you biting him or vice versa, or both at the same time! He just loves leaving bite marks, tracing his teeth marks on your skin. It’s like he’s claimed you, and you claimed him.

Spit. Whether it’s him spitting in your mouth, or using spit as lube. He just looooves it.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere, everywhere. He doesn’t care. When either of you want pleasure, he will never say no

If you’re doing it in a semi-public place such as the baths or the library in the palace and someone sees, he thinks it’s their fault for being there

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Anything can turn him on if he’s in the right mood

Like it’ll be seemingly the most innocent thing, and then suddenly he’ll be fondling you and whispering dirty things into your ear

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Scat, I guess

Or more violent BDSM like hitting you. He has never had someone truly love him so he wouldn’t want to hurt you like that. Plus his trauma from experiencing abuse from his father has impacted him like this.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Caracalla gives head like it’s his job!

If you’re afab he eats you out like he’s starving or like it’ll be his last meal. He sucks at your clit so deliciously. He loves the way he can feel the bundle of nerves become swollen at the pleasure and sensations he’s giving you. And he loves diving down to your cunt, lapping up the juices. His hooked nose feels heavenly as it rubs against your clit too.

He also takes this opportunity to slip in his fingers, feeling the way your walls clench and spasm, and hearing the squelching noises of your juices as he pumps his fingers in and out.

When you eventually orgasm, he loves almost suffocating as your thighs clench around his head as he listens to your moans and screams of pleasure.

If you have a cock, he’ll act equally as famished. He’ll be just as greedy and rough. Licking and sucking at the head, and if yours has a prominent vein, he’ll focus on that so he can watch your squirm in delight.

I feel like he’s too greedy to edge you. He just wants you. Now.

You going down on him is a huge thing to him. He loves it and would be sooo loud. And he’d almost be pulling your hair out, holding your head closer to his cock. He loves watching you almost choke on it, watching the drool slobber out of your mouth. He thinks you’re so hot.

I’d say he loves receiving but he probably loves giving more. He’s just a greedy man who wants his meal!

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s usually quite rough and fast. I picture him like a dog thrusting rabidly against you

But if he has been struggling with his mental health then he may be more slow and sensual. Just wanting to revel in the pleasure and love and take his mind off things.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is horny as hell so he’d be up for anything, anytime.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Like to try new things etc.)

He’s very horny and if you ask him to try something new he’d totally be up for it. If it’s something he seems comfortable with, he’d get extremely excited.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Again, it depends on his mood and what type of sex you both want. But he usually finishes pretty quickly. He just loves you so much and the pleasure is too much to handle. He’d always make sure you orgasm too, if he finished too quickly.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Yes. To all of the above.

So, unfortunately they wouldn’t have vibrators in Ancient Rome but they’d have dildos, for sure. (Freaks)

Like I mentioned earlier, he’d want you to peg him. He’d be whining and moaning the entire time as you find his prostate/g-spot. He’d definitely cum due to that. He’d also probably try to do this on his own when you’re not around but he’d probably fail and get annoyed with himself. 💀

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

I think he’d tease a fair amount but ultimately he just wants to get down to the nasty dirty part and fuck your brains out and watch you orgasm. He doesn’t have time to edge you for ages!

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is VERY loud

Always whining or groaning

He doesn’t care if anyone can hear

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

Piss kink.

Yeah. He so would enjoy pissing in your mouth, or have you do that to him. Just consuming each other’s bodily fluids is so erotic and almost romantic to him.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Oooh boy. So. We already established he’s a hairy guy.

And I also see his cock maybe being a little curved (😩)

I think he’s pretty average. A grower not a shower. But his girth is very much where the pleasure is at.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Again, it depends what mood he is in

But…HIGH

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

It depends on his mood and state of mind but usually he would immediately collapse in pleasure and fall asleep

His cock would probably still be in you. haha.

A/N: Thanks for reading! This is my first NSFW alphabet I’ve written and pretty much the first NSFW thing I’ve written. I hope it’s okay!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

GUYS I FORGOT TO MENTION PERIOD SEX I AM SO LIVID WITH MYSELF

[acehazbin1]

‘Court me.’

Note: Thank you for all your support on Chapter one, Tumblr and A03 have been very supportive!

Tw: no use of Y/n, hand in marriage, Caracalla being in love.

Chapter one chapter three

………………

She was tricky to find, he walked the same route every night at the same time yet it was like she had hid away from him. He didn’t know that she had taken a shift for a sick maid and now was back to her normal routine.

He spoke to his brother about a lady had enchanted him leaving out the fact that she was a maid. His brother was intrigued about this woman demanded that she must me found and rewarded. Caracalla agreed to a gesture of gratitude for her but he couldn’t decide which, flowers? No too simple. A game in her honour? Maybe a woman such as her wouldn’t take a liking towards violence. A ring? Yes, his ring, right off his finger.

He found himself wondering how to gift it to her, in a box explaining it was his or maybe pull it off his finger and hand it to her? But which one of his fingers, maybe she would like a sliver one instead? He wandered around the royal garden not noticing the maid tending to the roses.

She noticed him straight away, her eyes followed as he stared at the rings on his fingers. She was about to speak but felt a knot in her throat. He was drunk that night, surely he talk to countless of other servants about his woes. She was nothing special. Plus her uniform was covered in grass stains, no way to approach an Emperor.

“You there.” A voice called out, the maid turned around to see an unfamiliar guard. “Have you seen a maid who last week on the day of mars was working that very night?” The knight coughed up. She was confused, on the day of mars… wait she was working that night. Did she do something wrong? Was her friend in trouble for not being there.

“I’m sorry that was my doing, I was covering for the normal maid’s shift. If I did anything wrong, I accept the punishment.” She gracefully spoke but the guards looked more astonished that the word hasn’t gotten to her that Emperor Caracalla was looking for that woman. Well her. “You are mistaken, Emperor Caracalla has been wishing for your presence.”

Her eyes widened as the roses fell out her hand, the ones she was dethroning. Her mind was spinning, he requested for her? Did he want to make sure she didn’t tell anyone his secrets? Or worse did he want to get rid of her since she knew?

“Please come this way.” The knight spoke up as he gently took her wrist pulling her in the direction of where Caracalla walked. She almost felt his presence getting closer which each step, she followed the knight blindly just trying to take in that fact Caracalla wanted to see her. “My Emperor.” The knight bowed as he addressed him pulling the maid down with him. Caracalla turned around looking frustrated that the guard interrupted his line of thinking.

“What d-“ Caracalla harsh tone stopped suddenly, his eyes locked with the maid’s. It was the same once’s that persuaded his heart to open up with how calming they were. He nearly chocked on his breath, the knight let go of the maid’s wrist but the maid locked onto his hand. She was scared but after a reassuring tap, she let go.

“I’ve been looking for you ever night since we last spoken.” Caracalla’s voice was breathless. She didn’t dare walk closer to him keeping the distance as his eyes remained fixated on her. “Apologies, your highness-“ “Caracalla please,” The emperor interrupted. He wanted her to call her by his first name. Was this a joke? Did he want her to catch her off guard?

Her eyes scanned his face for anything other than the look of pure desperation for her approval, something she took note of. “Caracalla,” she stopped as the name sounded unfamiliar to her. “I wanted to apologise for my inappropriate behaviour, I was too intrusive on your personal matters.”

His heart nearly melted when she said his name for the first time, it felt so right on her lips. Normally he would hate when anyone would address him other than Emperor but this was different. He wanted her to find little nicknames out of his name, he wanted her to giggle it, to whisper it, to cry it and to scream it. His brain finally clicked what she said into effect after a long second so silence.

“Nonsense, I quite enjoy having your opinions on the matter. In fact I wanted to…” Caracalla looked at his hands, then her noticing there was no jewellery so he could not tell if she was a gold or sliver woman. He pulled off a sliver ring with a blue sapphire in the middle, it wasn’t really his taste but it complimented her. “I wanted to show you my gratitude for that night, you stayed with me. No many have.” He looked away for a second but came closer to put the ring on her finger.

“I-I don’t know what to say.” She whispered shocked, she looked at the ring and back up at him. “Don’t say anything but yes to my question.” Caracalla stared at her, how her hair fell out from her face shaping her pretty face. How her cheeks were tinted pink by his boldness to give a lady such as her stature, a ring that would cost her life wages maybe more.

Her heart nearly stopped when she heard a crunch from beneath her, she looked down to see the emperor kneeling. She had the most powerful man in Rome at her feet as he spoke his heart out to her. “Ever since that night of Mars, I haven’t be able to get the illusion of you out of my mind. You have plague my thoughts of your beauty and your words, teasing me with your smiles. I must have your hand.”

He… He was asking to marry her?

She gasped, no she must be dreaming this couldn’t be right. She couldn’t marry him, well more importantly he couldn’t marry her. He was the Emperor of Rome, she was a mere maid of the imperial palace, this would be nothing but a phase until he found a wife. “I’m afraid I must reject.”

Caracalla heart sank, she was rejecting him? No, no, she couldn’t. She heard his frustration of trying to find a wife, she was the one to whisper soft comfort to him, to hold him. Now she was taking that from him? Did she forget the night they shared together under the pale moonlight?

“I’m afraid you don’t even know my name, I am but a maid to you and the senate. All of Rome would reject our marriage.” The maid spoke in a whisper, outlining the issues. Caracalla’s eyes darkened, “I don’t care what they think, you will be my wife, I want you no one else to grow old with, to rule with, to be with. I know we shared one night but I want many others with you.” His voice was upset as it dragged out certain words.

“I want to learn your name.” Caracalla breathed out finally. “I want to learn everything about you…” His hand reached up to hers with the ring. “Just please.”

The maid felt a pain in her heart, she suddenly was plagued with visions of her in a white wedding dress, talking to Caracalla in court about Roman issues, getting flowers thrown at her by the people and raising Caracalla’s heir. She pulled herself out the delusions, they were so tempting and so close almost as if she could touch them.

“Court me.” Her voice spoke up. It wouldn’t ruin his reputation, it would give her some time to ease through ranks so she could be a respectable bride and give him time to learn her name. His eyes blinked a couple of times before nodding hurriedly.

[marsmaximoff]

🥀; the other side of the coin 𓇢𓆸 𐦍

content warning: wife!reader. angst. cheating. i do not specify which emperor you're with, as the situation applies to both. so feel free to choose the one you prefer. anticlimactic ending, kinda?

word count: 480

author's note: i had this idea in bed, before falling asleep. i've tried to use a fitting english given the time period, but i don’t know if i succeeded. it is my third language so i’m sorry for the mistakes. constructive criticism is welcomed. happy 2025 everyone!!!!! enjoyy 🩷🩵

“are you well?” her tone of voice, caring as it constantly is with me, now carries a hint of worry.

“why? what happened?” lucilla sits by my side on the golden divan. “nothing. just in general.” “do i not look well? is it my eye bags? am i wrinkling?” the last thing i need is having to sit through more of those comments about my sorrowful appearance not meeting my status. ‘for the wife of the emperor must appear graceful, delighted, along with content at all occasions’. a symbol of my luck and my gratitude for it.

“you look beautiful, as always.” “don’t scare me like that.” the question, though inoffensive, had not failed to unease me. “you’re more than a face, you know.” a scoff leaves my mouth, “in this palace?” however, as i dwell on it, i realize the truth of such comment. “i am a face and a body.”

we hold hands, a motherly gesture i am so accustomed to. despite not being her daughter, i cannot think of a single day she has not treated me like one.

“how are you dealing with your husband’s…. lustful tendencies?” she has always been quite an outspoken woman, the query amuses me. “you’re saying that like i didn’t know it before marrying him.” i was warned right at the very beginning, the emperors' carnal nature being one of my first lessons. and yet, “it hurts.” her gaze reveals pity and compassion. “i don’t know why.” oh, but i do. i just hate admitting it. besides, such cravings must be kept to oneself.

the soft caress of her thumbs grounds me. a silent reassurance, an invitation to confide. i decide to take advantage of our solitude and finally pour my heart out. “i guess i wanted my husband to stay loyal to me.” what an absurd thought for an empress. “as childish as it sounds”, i add, aware of my impossible desire. i am conscious of his affection. he loves me, in his own way, that is. at the end of the day, solely one person cannot provide it all. right? it is merely a custom; i am no one to judge.

“i am happy for you.” never jealous. only slightly envious, perhaps. “your relationship with the general looks… real.” memories surround me, and i recall all those times he has come back from his victorious missions with her as his only concern. not the emperors, or the people. not even the following conquests. her alone. meeting his wife after so long. spending time together. “genuine.” the way his eyes sparkle when she is around -as if she were the only woman in the world-, the warmth that envelopes their conversations, and his chivalrous behavior only those who love someone so tenderly have mastered.

“i’m happy there’s at least someone in this damned palace that gets to know true love.”