#emperor Caracalla x reader

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods IX

series masterlist - part eight

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: The emperors isolate you further.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, unhealthy relationships, controlling behavior, period typical sexism, obsessive/possessive/ relationships, dub-con, sex, light bondage, dirty talk, light breeding kink, historical inaccuracies, manipulative behavior, jealousy, mentions of slaves/slavery,

Word Count: 3.5k

The night passed by in a tumble of hot, languid touches and warm skin. It had been a challenge to convince Caracalla to leave the baths and harder still to keep his hands off of you on the way to his rooms.

He had fucked you again once you got there, had you bent over the bed in a rush of still-damp skin and sharp teeth. He had leaned over you until you were pressed into the bed, a weeping mess, and fucked you dizzy.

Afterwards, he had climbed on top of you and licked the tears from your cheeks, muttering possessive words. It was as though he thought you might disappear at any moment and the only way to prevent it was to hold you so tight it almost hurt.

Throughout it all, you could not help but steal glances at the door. This had irritated Caracalla, even with all the talk before of 'ours' and 'us' and he had let you know just how annoyed he was by biting you rather viciously on the back of the neck.

You dabbed the area with the tips of your fingers, inspecting them closely. Last night there had been blood but it seemed to have healed over now. The distant sting of pain send a thrill up your spine that you staunchly ignored.

There had still been no sign of Geta this morning. Caracalla had been practically dragged from bed by a group of well-meaning attendants. It had been a risky move and you kept expecting him to snap at them but he had been suspiciously pliant. One of the attendants had given you a grateful smile once they were done and you had almost shrivelled up with embarrassment.

Three Praetorian guards accompanied you now. Part of you winced and thought it excessive; the other part remembered the glint of the knife as it slashed at your face. Whilst you resented their presence you appreciated the protection they offered and would not complain.

You walked cautiously around the palace, trying to ignore the three shadows at your back. You had forced yourself to get ready that morning and leave Caracalla’s rooms; you did not want to let your fears get the best of you. The longer you stayed locked up in the emperor's rooms, the harder it would be to leave them.

The Praetorians seemed just as on edge. It was possible that more of them had been executed last night for the slip in security. You had not had the heart to ask and it shamed you but you wanted to shove all memories of attack in a box and throw it away.

You paused for a moment, thinking. Then you turned and dipped down a quieter corridor, heading towards a small entrance and an uneven set of stairs, worn by the feet of hundreds of slaves and workers. You teetered at the top, inhaling deeply. Already you could smell fresh baked bread and grain.

A Praetorian reached out and gripped your elbow before you could go down. "Where are you going?"

"To the kitchen," you said slowly. "My friends are there."

The Praetorian seemed to consider this, glancing round at his fellow guards. When neither of them said anything he let you go, leaning back and securing a hand on his weapon.

Satisfied, you took to the stairs. The armor of the guards clanked and shook as the passage got smaller. You dreaded to imagine what people would think but your craving for a familiar face overtook any humiliation that might have convinced you to turn around.

It felt as though years had passed since you had last stood in this place. The walls were startlingly bare, the floor plain and bumpy. You ran your fingertips over the stone, letting it pick at your skin. You wondered who slept in your bed now.

You passed several slaves and offered them friendly smiles which they did not return. That was okay - they were not your friends. They did not know you from before.

Eventually you peered into the kitchen, more nervous than you wanted to let on. To your relief, Alba was at the table, spooning plain porridge into her mouth whilst chatting with the head cook.

"Alba," you called out.

She blinked at you, her spoon dropping into her ceramic bowl with a clatter.

"It is. . .me," you finished lamely.

There was a brief pause in which she just stared at you. Heart hammering, you cringed and made as if to leave.

"Wait," she cried, jumping to her feet.

When she folded you into a hug, you almost cried. The Praetorians shifted uncomfortably.

Alba's hair smelled exactly like the plain oil you all used to use. Her cheek was soft and smooth against yours. You had hardly had time to miss her and now it felt like all of that longing was catching up to you all at once. You shoved all other emotions aside and tried to just be happy and enjoy the moment.

"Look at you," she gushed, pulling back to gaze at your face. "You look beautiful - like a noblewoman!"

"No," you said shyly, pinpricks of guilt threatening to ruin your good mood. "I - I've been eating better, I suppose."

Alba went still, glancing over your shoulder at the Praetorians. "I was so worried," she said, "that your routine would be different from what you were used to. You know?"

"I know," you nodded, "things have been different but I managed to work it out."

That was a gross exaggeration but you did not want to worry your friend further. Palace gossip had probably kept her informed to a certain extent but there was no saying how much of it had been accurate. If it had been Alba that had been taken, you would have assumed she was getting beaten on the daily and subjected to all kinds of abuse.

"Listen," she said, "I have many duties today. Tomorrow, though, I can make time for you. Will you come back?"

You nodded eagerly. "That would be perfect. I will be back."

You left the kitchen reluctantly, pushed forward by the disapproving looks of the Praetorians. You ignored them and practically skipped back up the stairs. Things seemed a little brighter now that you had been able to talk to your friend.

Tomorrow you would discreetly ask her what kind of rumors she had heard. New ones would no doubt sprout now that you had ventured down to the kitchens but you did not care. The link to your old life had been worn thin; talking to your old friend seemed to strengthen it a little.

Night had fallen by the time Caracalla reappeared in his room. He was flustered and irascible, staring at you longingly on the bed with a twisted frown.

"Geta wishes to speak with me," he continued to frown, eyes dipping past your face and further down south.

"I'll go back to my room -" you started.

"No," he interrupted. "You will stay here now. It is night and the Praetorians will be just outside the door."

You picked up on the unspoken words - do not leave. After the attack, you were more than happy to obey. The darkness creeping into the halls was no longer the safe haven it used to be.

The bed felt cold and empty and you tossed and turned until morning, eager to see your friend once more. You dressed quickly, yanking your clothes over your head and stomping into your sandals. The day felt promising and you were determined to keep yourself busy.

As Caracalla had said, there were Praetorians waiting outside the door. You tried to ignore the prickle of anxiety that fluttered around the back of your head. It was easier to tell yourself that they were only there to keep others not - not to also keep you in.

It was morning now, though, and you were more or less free to roam. The air smelled heavy with the promise of a storm. It felt sticky and thick, urging you to pluck at the fabric of your stola and create a small pocket of cool air. Perspiration beaded on the lips of several of the guards; you did not envy the uniform they wore.

Early morning seemed the best time to see Alba, before she got sucked into the grueling tasks of the day. Even if it was just for fifteen minutes, you were thrilled at the idea of sitting with her and catching up.

You glanced at the Praetorians. Of course, you would be limited on exactly what you could say. Still, idle gossip was better than nothing.

You entered the kitchen with a flourish, half-smile formed on your lips. An unfamiliar woman stood at the giant stove, mixing a batch of porridge intended for the staff.

"I apologise for the intrusion," you said, "but I'm looking for a friend. Alba?"

"Don't know an Alba," the woman replied, continuing to stir.

At that moment, one of the Praetorians cleared his throat. Something about the sound sent dread crawling through your veins. You slowly swivelled to face him.

"My apologies," he grimaced, "but all the kitchen staff were sent away last night. There have all been replaced."

Shaking your head, you plucked at your stola once more, feeling the oppressive heat crowd around you. "No. No. I saw her just yesterday."

"She would have been dismissed after that."

You pushed past them, taking the stairs two at a time. There was no questioning who had done it - but why? There was no part of you that could understand, no matter how desperately you tried.

Overcome by dizziness, you fell forward onto the steps. The rough material bit into your palms as you forced yourself to sit, to breathe. The idea that you may have just ruined your friends life was making you physically sick. You placed one hand at the base of your throat, counting as high as you could.

Hysteria threatened to bloom as you sat shaking. It was fortunate you had come down so early in the morning or you would have been in the way of bustling servants and their duties. The Praetorians looked on with a mixture of pity and something you could not name.

You were still trying to calm your breathing when you noticed a pair of feet on the steps level with your shoulder. Geta looked down at you, taking in your shivering form. He was wearing a black toga lined with golden embroidery, a crown of laurels nestled in the waves of his hair. He looked like a young god, triumphant.

He held out his hand and said your name. "Come."

You took it without thinking, letting him pull you to your feet and lead you out of the staircase. Numb, you followed him all the way to the familiar halls closest to his quarters. The angry part of you demanded that you riot, that you pull away from him and scream your frustrations. It was quietened by reason. You let your brain soothe itself as you stumbled after Geta.

As you expected, he took you to his rooms. Neither of you said anything and it remained that way until you dropped your gaze.

You heard the soft scuffs of his sandals on the floor as he approached you, hand coming up to dust over your cheek. "It is not appropriate for a lady to be scurrying about in the kitchens."

You scoffed and pushed his hand away. "A lady? I am the furthest thing - "

"You are what we say you are!" his chest was rising and falling rapidly. "If we say you are a lady, then it is so. If we say you are ours, then it is so. Why do you insist on these little rebellions?"

Geta had an iron-tight grip on your wrist. Your forearm throbbed in protest but he would not let go. He used your arm to pull you closer until you were chest-to-chest. His eyes were wild with emotion and you had to look away to avoid getting sucked in.

"You do not even know," he shook his head, sneering. "I thought that your night with Caracalla might make you think twice about this sort of thing."

Finally, you yanked your arm away, clutching it to your chest. "It was not a rebellion," you spat, "she was my friend. I wanted to see -"

"Are we not enough?"

Your mouth opened and closed for several moments. Geta stared intently at your face, waiting for his answer. When it did not come - for how could you answer such a thing! - he approached you once again, crowding you against the wall.

You stayed perfectly still as he placed his head in the junction between your neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of you. His hair tickled the side of your neck. Anger was still fizzing in the air, or maybe it was the storm outside approaching.

"You forget your place. I am an emperor of Rome," he murmured into your neck, "I am all you need."

You did not flinch away when his hand came up to cup your cheek. His eyes were still frantic as they met yours, his hand warm as it held you in place. His other hand came to rest on your chest, lips twitching when he felt the way your heart thundered against his palm.

Geta kissed you like it was his right. His tongue ran over the seam of your lips until you opened, moaning into the kiss. The heat of the day combined with Geta's mouth made your head swim but you did not pull away. You quivered as his tongue began to fuck your mouth, imitating sex with an intensity that left you reeling.

His hands fisted in the fabric at your waist, pulling you from the wall and directing you until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You tumbled backwards, breathless, delirious.

Geta tore at his own clothes. "Tell me," he commanded, "what did he do to you?"  

"W-what?" you stammered.

"My brother," he hissed, "where did he touch you?"

Flashes of your time with Caracalla made your throat dry, your thighs clench. Geta climbed onto the bed next to you, cock bouncing against his thigh. Your eyes zeroed in on the precum beading at the tip, your tongue subconsciously swiping across your bottom lip.

His hair was darker than his brothers. You could see the light bouncing off of the tiny hairs on his thighs. His cock was red and angry-looking, dripping with clear fluid. Geta swiped his finger across the tip, smearing his pre-cum against your lips, watching as your tongue dipped out to clean it up.

"I can see that you are thinking of him," he said, snatching your hand, "but he is not the one who is here with you now."

Geta wrapped your hand around his cock, groaned as he used you to stroke himself. His chest was hairless and sweat beaded there, rolled down a path that you wanted to trace with your lips.

Without warning, he began to rip at your clothes. You yelped as your breasts were suddenly free, nipples hardening in the warm air of the room. Geta ducked down to tease them, teeth making you hiss and whine.

His hand continued to travel down to your stomach, resting there for several moments. Then he pulled back, gathering strips of clothing to bind your hands and push them above your head. Your cunt clenched as he made the bindings tight, tugging at them to ensure you could not break free.

"Do not move unless I say otherwise," he commanded.

He peeled the rest of your clothes from you as though you were a dessert he was slowly unveiling. You quivered at the intensity of his attention, certain that he could physically see your heart beating beneath your breast.

Geta straddled your lower legs, eyes hungrily taking in every part of you. Gently, he reached out and traced your areola with his finger, eyes scorching as your back arched to meet his touch. Sweat began to gather on your hairline but you hardly noticed - all you could see, feel, smell was him. That heady scent of him that made you insane.

Splaying his hand at the base of your neck, he bent until his mouth was pressed against your sternum. He was whispering things against your skin but you could not make out his words. Gradually he went lower, lower, until his mouth was hovering above your stomach.

"Such a vulnerable area," he mused, "so many vital things here. Kidneys, liver, stomach. Womb."

You gasped as his tongue delved into your belly button. It sent a desperate pang to your core and your hips bucked wantonly, grinding into his stomach. It was difficult to keep your arms above your head but you did not want to displease him.

Geta sat up, fingers trailing through the wet mess you had left on his stomach. He played with it, eyes dropping to your weeping cunt. His finger dug into your thighs as he pulled them further apart, spreading you wide.

"Your body, at least, is honest," he sounded pleased, "slick, swollen, ready to be fucked. A cunt worthy of an emperor."  

You furrowed your brows when Geta settled down next to you. A yelp echoed around the room as he pulled you on top of him, your hands bound in front of you and your cunt leaking against the thick line of his cock. You could not help but tilt your hips, pressing your clit against him and rocking a little.

"Fuck," he swore loudly, "yes, that is - that is what I want. Show me how much you want me."  

He pressed your thigh, urging you to balance on your knees as he lined his cock up with your cunt. Your entire body was shuddering as you held yourself above him, letting him rub himself against the petals of your sex.

Geta's fingers curled into your hips, pushing you down. Sinking onto his cock felt like arriving home to find a warm meal awaiting you. Short pants pushed past your lips as you blinked blearily down at him.

His thumb rubbed a lazy circle on your clit, causing you to jolt and rock forward. Both of you moaned at the change in pressure. It felt as if he was pressing somewhere behind your bellybutton, unrelenting and firm.

It took a moment to get the rhythm, but soon you were rolling down onto him like you had been doing it all your life. His cock stretched you wide, left you mewling and trembling. Geta began to meet you halfway, thrusting up into your cunt as you sank down.

"Feels good?" he panted. "I'll give you this whenever you want, just need to obey."

His thumb continued to torment your clit, pulling away any time you began to tightened and threatened to go over the edge. You were seconds away from erupting into tears, seconds away from begging.

"Tell me it feels good," he bit out, using your bound wrists to pull you down harder and harder.

"F-feels good!"

"What feels good?" he pinched your clit, grinning up at you with a carnal smile. "What feels good, sweet girl?"

"Your cock," you cried out, "inside me. You feel good inside me."  

That was an under exaggeration. You felt thoroughly fucked; like no one else other than the emperors would be able to make you feel like this again. The pair of you dissolved into a frenzy, clenching fingers, bright eyes and slick sounds. You felt certain that Cupid was in the room, ravaging your mind with lust and desire until Geta was all you could stand to think about.

"Such a good girl," he rasped, "taking all of me like that."

You bit out a whimper at the pleasure that wrapped around your middle, pulling tight as you came undone. You jerked in Geta's hold, at the mercy of your own orgasm and unable to move. He pulled out of you and you mourned the loss, but then he was positioning you on your back and plunging into you once more.

He held your ankles on either side of his head, turning to press kisses and soft bites into the flesh there. His eyes burned into yours as he chased his own end, thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated.

He bit down hard on your ankle as he came, hips stuttering into yours as he fucked his cum deeper inside of you. Just when you thought he was going to pull out, he leaned down and secured his arms around you, rolling until you were resting on his heaving chest.

"My hands," you said, holding up your bound wrists.

"Shhh," he pinched your bottom lip, "later."

You could feel him softening inside of you. It was oddly erotic. He groaned when you shifted, squeezing you until you went still. He was still watching you, even as your eyes began to get heavy-lidded and you could not help but rest your head on his chest.

Whatever barrier there was between you two was now long gone, kept at bay by the feeling of his seed leaking out of you. You felt thoroughly owned and Geta's grip on the back of your neck only reinforced that feeling.

Author’s Note - reblogs/comments/notes/asks are all highly motivating to me so please let me know what you think ♥️

The masterlist has been updated with dates you can expect future updates!

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[drownedthemall]

sweetness of her laughter

part 3 - lavender

caracalla x noble!reader x geta

a/n - i hope you enjoy this chapter <3

i'm open to writing some oneshots, so if you have any ideas, feel free to suggest them! i have like zero boundaries, so go wild lmao

3.5k words

summary - caracalla has taken an obvious liking to you, but how does geta feel about you?

they've also invited you to join them in the entertainment hall but how will they react when you try to leave?

The Emperors have just dismissed you and the General. Geta and Caracalla are left lounging in the entertainment hall. The younger brother calls for the cupbearer to refill his goblet. Caracalla breaks the boredom-filled silence with a question. "So, what do you think of her?", he peers forward, trying to gauge his brother's reaction. "Do you like her?" he continues.

Geta, without facing him, responds, "I don't know what it is you see in her, brother." This causes Caracalla to groan, frustrated by his brother’s answer. He leans back in his cushioned seat, pouting, arms crossed.

---

You're awoken by a couple of maids surrounding your bed. This startles you. You sit up. The smooth, silky covers that you had slept in slide off your shoulders and drape around your waist. You catch your breath as you realise where you are and the predicament you're in. They comfort you in a panic, buzzing around like flies, "We're so sorry, Princess, we didn't mean to startle you!"

You raise one of your hands, rubbing your eyes with your palm, "It's fine," you manage to mumble in your sleep-stricken phase.

This calms them. "I've prepared your clothing," one of them explains softly. "Which Emperor Geta picked out," she then adds. This piques your interest momentarily.

The other chimes in, "They await you in the gardens," she mentions with importance in her voice.

All of this information barely registers as you try to desperately get rid of the drowsiness. You acknowledge their chattering with a hum, hoping it will suffice. Thankfully, they catch on, and you hear their footsteps grow quieter as they leave your safe haven.

You sigh as you move from under the covers. Sliding off the bed and placing your bare feet onto the cool flooring. You cringe at the change in temperature. You raise your head to see a subtle blue stola, folded on a chair. Only noticing the colour when your eyes settle on it. You wonder if that's Geta’s favoured colour.

As you dress, you're reminded of your encounter with Caracalla last night. The thought makes you fumble with the material in your hands. You huff, trying to shoo away the memory. Annoyed at yourself for feeling so flustered. They're bloodthirsty, horrible, incompetent Emperors, you jest. You need to stop yourself from feeling this way about them.

---

You leave your chambers, all freshened up and ready for the day. You adorned yourself with your own jewellery, which didn't really fit with the Roman fashion trends. Which wasn't bad; it just made you stand out. If anything, it represents where you're from and reminds you of home. This bestows you with a little bit of comfort as you wander these foreign lands.

The two praetorians lead you to the gardens; one walks behind you, while the other is in front leading the way. They don't muster up any small talk, only fulfilling their assigned roles. This undoubtedly bores you.

The moment you're outside, you can see the sun peak past the columns, feeling the contrast between the stars' warmth and the cool morning breeze. As you enter the gardens, you can hear the fruit tree leaves rustling, noticing the colourful fruit pop out against the green.

As you wander deeper, the praetorians leave you. Amidst the blooming flowers, a table is set up. You see the two Emperors already sitting. They were sat on the same side. You can also hear some bickering between the two, but you can't make out what they're saying. The noises of a squealing monkey don't help with your attempt at eavesdropping. As you get closer, Geta moves his attention to you. Caracalla is visibly annoyed at his brother for ignoring him, but he still turns his head to see who has grabbed his brother’s focus. His annoyance instantly dissipates, eyes softening at the sight of you.

He seems mesmerised by the way the sun enlightens you. How it casts a glow over your hair and jewellery. You stand before them. "Morning, Emperors," you greet them both.

"Please sit." Geta instructs as he motions for the chair opposite them. You do as told.

The table was carved from limestone; it had been plated with a variety of food. From savouries such as cheese, eggs, and bread. To sweet, such as fresh and dried fruit like dates, apricots, and figs. There were cups placed for each of you, with a cupbearer standing away from earshot. None of the Emperors has yet filled their plates; either they had just arrived or they were waiting for you to join. There's a resounding silence between the three of you, with both of them unapologetically staring at you. You think they'd be aware of some social etiquette. You try to avoid their eyes by focusing on the monkey Caracalla is accompanied by. It sits atop his head; you hate to admit how cute the sight is.

"Do you want to hold him?" says the brother in gold. His raspy voice alluded to the fact he awoke not long ago. Before you can respond, "Here," he softly manoeuvres the monkey into your grasp.

You rush to hold out your hands. The cutely dressed primate is perched in your arms. You smile at the way he leans into your touch. You can't help but giggle at the chirping noises it creates. "What's his name?" you ask, glancing upwards at the Emperors. Geta is drinking his wine, while the other is providing you his full attention.

"Dondas," Caracalla answers solemnly. Geta then intervenes, "Have you ever seen one before?" motioning with his cup to the monkey.

You move your gaze to the younger one. "Seen what? ... A monkey?" you redundantly ask, "No, I have not," you answer, letting the monkey return to his owner. “Where I’m from, they wouldn’t last long, so I’ve only heard stories,” you explain.

Geta hums, acknowledging your answer.

"Wine?" Caracalla asks as Dondas perches up on his shoulder.

"Uhm, yes, that would be very ki-"

"Cupbearer!' he shouts, snapping his fingers for more emphasis.

Your cup is filled to the brim with wine. The brothers then soon after start adding food to their plates, and you follow suit.

All that can be heard is the sound of you three eating. Followed by the sounds of the birds residing in the gardens. The eldest brother can be seen sharing pieces of fruit with Dondas. This leaves you smiling at such a sweet gesture. You think this goes unnoticed, but you feel a pair of eyes burning into your skull. These two have such a staring problem, Gods.

"We'd like you to join us in the entertainment hall this afternoon," the one in cool tones states. Making your smile falter slightly. "Of course, I'd be honoured," you politely nod.

He turns his attention to the one in red; his demeanour seems to have become softer. His shoulders slump, letting his guard down. He begins, "Macrinus keeps boasting about his new gladiator." He sips on some wine. “ Have you heard, brother?”, he finishes.

"Yeah! He'll be bringing him today, right?" Caracalla giggles at the thought of what's to come.

---

Surprisingly, the Emperors were the first to leave the table as they had duties to attend to. Whatever they were... You didn't care to pry.

This left you with a couple of hours to spare before your presence was required in the entertainment hall. They emphasised that you were to do whatever you pleased, as long as it was within the palace grounds. This was annoyingly restricting, but you hoped this would be temporary.

You decide to spend your time roaming around the gardens. They were absolutely beautiful; you were fascinated at how the plants differed from the ones you knew of back home. You smelt and admired almost every blooming flower you came across. As you inhale the scent of lavender, you hear some chatter. This intrigues you, and you try to focus on their words.

You see their figures; they were only a few feet away. They were servants by the looks of it, responsible for the upkeep of the garden you're currently in. They had not yet noticed you as they continued gossiping away.

"Can you believe them?" one puffs his chest.

"I know, right? They never leave their chambers this early," the shorter man adds.

"The amount of abuse the other servants had to endure is unbelievable. They were so adamant about having breakfast in the gardens," he rants to the man, going on and on. Enunciating each word. The other man nods in agreement, listening to his complaints.

"So unlike them," he continues.

"I think they want to impress that new foreign lady that's here."

"You think so? I thought, sh-", your foot accidentally scuffs against the gravel; this makes them stop and snap their heads towards the location of the sound.

Their faces pale at the sight of you.

You can't help but laugh at their reaction. You try to soothe them by complimenting their work and the botany surrounding you. You can’t imagine what fear the Emperors have instilled in the servants and maids that work here.

---

You hear of a commotion forming in a part of the palace. It seems people have already started gathering in the hall. This tells you that your time of mindlessly wandering around has ended. A praetorian stands in front of you, declaring that your presence is needed in the entertainment hall. Right on time.

You're relieved to see that the room is not yet full, only a few nobles gathered in some parts of the room. You're guided to where the Emperors are lounging at. They were seated on a creme, cushioned lectus, that had a gold trim and an ornate pattern in the fabric. Caracalla was in his preferred position, slumped over with his legs spread wide open. His togas length falling in-between. You shy away at the sight. While Geta was a lot more modest with his pose. Slouched forward instead, holding the hand of a concubine.

The concubines that surround them are more resigned, keeping to themselves. Which is a stark difference from when you first met the Emperors. Getas ones are still a bit handsy, however.

"We're so glad you're here to join us, Princess", the one in silver declares, speaking for the both of them.

"I'm honoured you've invited me", you politely respond. Fiddling with the bracelets you're wearing.

"Come sit!" Caracalla announces with his arms wide open. He sits up and pats a spot to the left of him. Wanting you to sit beside him.

You smile and head over to where he's sat. As you near the lectus, Geta pulls at your wrist. Forcing you to sit in between the both of them. Caracalla shoots a glare towards his brother. His grip remains on your wrist, but after you've settled he softens and lets go. It seems Caracalla wanted to hog you all for himself. He doesn't say anything but Geta can hear the cogs turning in his head.

"Symmetry," Geta states offhandedly, ignoring his brother’s disgruntled face. You can't help but chuckle at his retort.

"What's funny.", the one in gold grimaces, eyeing you. This throws you off. This is the first time he's talked to you in such a way. "Uh, nothing, Emperor", you stammer.

Geta flat-out ignores the change in his brother’s demeanour and perks up, "Have you ever been to the arena and seen a gladiator fight?" He asks with genuine interest.

"..No, Emperor, I have not". You've had chances to attend but you never did. Having a distaste towards such unnecessary suffering.

"Really??", he muses, leaning in closer to you. "Well, you're really lucky then, you'll be getting front-row seats."

You feel nauseous at the idea. There was only so much blood you could endure. You've seen people die before but... When people are dying for entertainment? That just makes you sick to the stomach.

You smile softly, "That's so generous of you Emperors, I'm thankful for the opportunity", you flatter.

You three quiet. All that can be heard is the chatter of nobles and the sound of light music playing. They both were so close. The lectus was long enough to allow wider spaces between the three of you. However, it seemed they had no care for this.

You can smell Caracalla again, the same way you were able to when he was in your chambers. Caracalla’s mood seems to be the same. Because of this, he's keeping to himself and so is Geta. You're honestly thankful for this. Sparing you some tranquillity for a short while. You innocently ask, without much thought, "Will Acacius be attending this today?"

Geta almost instantly scowls. Noticing that you dropped his title completely. Now both of their moods have gone sour. The somewhat comfortable silence has now turned into a suffocating tension.

Geta shifts in his seat, "No, he's busy fucking Lucilla after being gone for so long.", giving you a half-assed answer.

You feel a pit in your stomach. You regret ever speaking. "Why? You miss him or something?", Caracalla jabs.

"No, no, I just thought that this would be something he would attend" you, answer genuinely believing this.

Caracalla leans forward, and his arm wraps around your waist. His other hand comes to gently move the hair from out of your eyes. You can see the blemishes and scars his skin is littered with, and how the makeup tries to conceal it. His breath ghosts your ear.

"Did you two fuck..?" he barely whispers this, intending it to be heard by others. Desiring to further embarrass you.

You turn red. Your eyes dart all over his face, shocked at such a question. He gasps, a grin appearing on his lips. "What will Lucilla think?" he actually whispers this time.

You shake your head, "I would never..!" you protest plainly, flustered at the accusation.

You can admit to yourself that the General is a good-looking man, but such unsavoury thoughts have never crossed your mind. You were too busy worrying about your fate to even feed those delusions.. or decisions.

You notice Geta scanning your face, they're both amused and smiling at your discomfort. Their moods have improved but only at your expense. You're all three pulled out of your inside joke as a man greets the Emperors. They seemed excited by his presence.

"Macrinus," Geta greets. The man that stood before you three was dressed in a dark toga. The man's appearance seems familiar to you but you can't make out where you’ve seen him before.

"Have you two bet yet?" he enquires with a sly leer.

Caracalla chuckles at his fowardness, "We have trust in your fighter, Macrinus".

"He will not disappoint, Emperors" he insists, nodding to make a point. Geta acknowledges this with a hum, scratching his chin absentmindedly, waiting for him to leave them be.

Macrinus instead, decides to point his attention to you. You were hard to avoid, not only because of your appearance but because you were sandwiched in between the Emperors of Rome.

"Who's this?" he asks, innocently. Inquiring into your background.

They both simultaneously turn to you. They introduce you to him and you make acquaintance, "Pleasure to meet you, Macrinus", you say on cue.

"Likewise, Princess. What brings you to Rome?", he smiles. This continuous questioning has annoyed the brothers. As you're about to respond, Geta intervenes, "Visiting", providing a one-word answer to stop his interrogation.

The people of Rome have no idea that the Emperors are searching for an Empress. The two of them are insistent in trying to keep this hush-hush. Attempting to avoid any disappointed nobles that can’t present their own daughters as bachelorettes. However, your presence has still led to rumours and inquiries into why you’re here. Many are more-so confused about why they had chosen you, you were not a well-known name amongst royals.

This causes Macrinus' confidence to falter. He mutters under his breath. "Well, I hope you enjoy the many pleasures of Rome, Princess," he states before disappearing from their increasing displeasure.

---

As more treasured nobles and rich folk fill the hall, Macrinus is asked to introduce his overly praised fighter.

You notice that the Emperors beside you topple forward, directing all of their attention to what's happening before them. You’re finally free from Caracalla’s grasp.

The man, that is owned by Macrinus, looks tired and vengeful. He looks like that’s what he ran off of, rage. You wonder what led him to be here. You felt pity for him, but you doubt he's the kind of man to appreciate such a sentiment. You assume he's the kind to view it as an insult. 

Caracalla interjects the fight, seemingly annoyed, "Swords!" he declares. "We want swords.", he throws a couple to the ground for them to clamour to. He returns to his seat, placing an arm around your waist, once more.

The violence has just begun and you signal to the cupbearer for a drink, you don't know how much you can endure of this while sober. You hope this gives you some solace.

You wince as the man staggers forward, pouncing on his opponent. You hear gasps amongst the crowd as each slice and pound of a fist makes contact with flesh. You barely pay attention, focusing on Caracalla’s subtle squeezes to your hips, him pulling you closer as the fight escalates. You feel his rings dig into your skin, the cool metal subduing the stress, allowing you to focus on that instead of the fight.

Squelch. The crowd gasps and turns silent. Thud. The man falls to the ground at the hands of the vengeful one. Geta jumps out of the lectus, arms raised.

"Remarkable!!" he shouts, his voice loud, resounding in the hall.

He passes past Macrinus, "Congratulations." he quickly notes.

His breathing is fast and erratic, excitement courses through him. "From where are you?" he demands from the shackled man.

The interaction between the Emperor and the winner is tuned out by your breathing. You watch as the dead man gets dragged out from behind him. Seeing the blood smear and stain the once white marbled floor. You feel nauseous at the sight, gulping down more wine than should be necessary. The deep colour only reminds you of the event that just took place.

You notice that after the bloodied man's poem, he looks at you. None of the brothers see this. Caracalla stumbles from his seat, praising Macrinus for such an amusing show. Leaving you, momentarily.

The winning man is then guided to a healer. He's appointed to play in the upcoming gladiator games. In your now cloudy mind, you wish him luck. Knowing that only death will follow him.

However this isn't the end, you’re told there's more entertainment to come. But, you feel as though this was more than enough excitement for today.

As they return to their lounge area, they sit on either side of you. Instead, you stand with your cup in hand. Caracalla instinctively grabs ahold of the end of your blue stola. You can see their faces contort. "..I don't feel well," you mumble, they await for you to continue. "I feel that I should return to my chambers..", you carefully reason, taking a step from them.

Geta takes your hand in his. You try to pull away, but he only pulls you closer. "Stay," he demands.

You stay quiet at his demand. He forces you into his hold, making you sit in his lap. His scent clouds your senses. The proximity doesn't subdue how nauseous you feel. Caracalla stares at the two of you. You're unable to read his expression, you think that the wine may be at fault for this. You feel Geta’s arms enrapture around your waist. Your arm finds itself naturally behind him, holding onto his shoulder for support.

Caracall tries convincing you in his own twisted way, "It was fun," referencing the brawl that just ended.

Geta adds, "You'll learn to enjoy it", he leans against the lectus, your body is now fully pressed up against his. His words imply that there will be more violence-filled games for you to witness.

This visit doesn't seem as temporary as you had prayed it would be.

---

The evening has come to a close and they're now trudging their way to their chambers. You had still managed to leave early, thank the gods. It wasn't as early as you would've liked but you were pleased either way. Small victories, you jest.

They both walk together through the halls. Geta is then reminded of you as they pass by your room. "I think I do", he declares, his voice echoing against the barren walls.

"What.?", the older one furrows his brows.

"Like her", he continues.

"You think you like her?", Caracalla asks, putting his brother’s sentence together.

"Yes.", he hums.

"Who?", Caracalla asks, scratching his head in an attempt to make sense of who he was talking about. Geta just stays silent, side-eyeing his brother as they reach their own chambers.

taglist - @duckyhowls @himikoquack @lover-rep-fanfic @t6gse370 <3

[sunny0jinkies]

highlight of the night

Begging you for more Caracalla fanfiction pretty please?? Literally no one writes for him ??

I’m so ashamed but can you write Caracalla and fem reader who starts her period, how he’d help her through any pain or discomfort? Also disgustingly good period sex to get rid of cramps if this isn’t too weird?

I just started at work and have no products with me so we die like men in Rome, free bleeding 🩸

Blessed if you do, blessed if you don’t 🙏🏼 ty xx

Bleeding free for love

Emperor Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : +18, smut, hurt/comfort, tiny emotional, kissing, body worship, blood play, period sex, family problems

Summary : When the sun was in the sky at midday, it was the aches and pains that afflicted the goddess of Rome, hot and cold baths hardly seemed to help and hardly any food was right. When her husband has a certain idea to take away her pain and they both could get closer to each other.

info : So finally dear i have finished it i wish you a lot of fun reading and hope you have survived your period well. I had a lot of fun writing this everytime again and wish you lots of fun ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blood had many uses for rituals, animal blood for eating, for painting, blood was something that gave life and could take life it was the most valuable thing known to man because without it you died.

One thing the soldiers in the battles knew as soon as they saw the blood of their opponents they had won, the midwives saw the blood of the mother as a life was born and a dead man would bleed as his head was cut off.

A thing that everyone knew, every child, every man and especially every woman who felt the blood on a day of the month followed by pain and upset.

A natural process that could lead to life according to certain doctors or midwives to whom one went to have herbs and tinctures mixed against the pain, but as death would haunt everyone, so would pain haunt every woman of Rome.

A pain that also commanded the empress in a moment of adversity, from the moment she woke up she had felt on the edge of Olympus.

She loved her husband and her brother-in-law but her smile wanted to smile less and less, everything seemed to interfere and nothing worked her mood was completely controlled by the gods a thing that only disturbed her even more.

At breakfast, her appetite didn't seem to be for anything except for a delicious sweet fruit or honey glazed nuts, but nothing else seemed to appeal to her either, ,,I'm sure it won't be anything bad" she had told Caracalla, who was already giving her a worried look, normally the three of them tasted their way through the whole breakfast and were not so reserved.

At midday in the palace garden she was only in the shade, the sun seemed far too strong, although even Geta and Caracalla were in the sun, ,,Just leave me" she had said more cheekily than necessary when they both wanted to pull her to the table for a game and she had retreated with her servant.

But above all, her stomach pains didn't stop, pains that she feared were something worse and she wanted to turn to a healer after the senate meeting...but the answer came to her with a knowing sigh.

She rose from her seat in the senate to help her brother-in-law's argument, knowing that Caracalla was not fully present in his current state when she felt the first drop and she cursed inwardly.

,,I commend myself, something has come up" she only hastily said to Geta and gave Caracalla a brief smile as she tried to get away from the gazing eyes as quickly as possible.

But while Geta tried to reassure the senate that all was well, it was Caracalla in particular who seemed to snap out of it and looked anxiously after his wife.

Gods must you make me bleed now? she asked the saints and at least the answer was only why her abdomen hurt and why her mood was so different, she had bled once more.

A bleeding that made her go straight to the bathhouse where she washed herself because of course it didn't stop at a drop, she sometimes felt as if she were an animal bleeding to death in its last moments.

It stung and pinched so much, no wine or food seemed to help and the water always seemed too cold, ,,Warm it up once more" she ordered her tone again harsher than she wanted and the servants informed the slaves.

The bath water warmed up again after a few minutes and she sighed as the pain disappeared, at least for a moment, as she tried to concentrate on the rose petals and the scent of avender that came through the flowers floating around her.

A scent that at least helped her with a headache did some good, at least the gods were a little merciful to her because the rest of the day she would be bleeding in her room.

Her feelings were as numerous as the gods and she probably didn't take pleasure in anything, just lying in bed perhaps listening to music to distract her from the pain.

Whatever it was she was going to do it was all better than being around people, she had kept the dinner with Caracalla and Geta as short as possible, ,,I will find a way to take away your pain that is my duty as your husband" her heart tried to cheer her up and gave her a quick kiss.

A kiss that actually made her smile for a moment, it seemed that no matter what situation or how much pain she was in Caracalla always found a way to make her smile, one of the things she appreciated so much about him.

He liked to fight with himself, the madness taking him over more and more from time to time but for her he always tried, ,,And I will accept this as your wife" she replied and gave him a kiss too as Geta only had a pleased look for the two of them, glad that his family didn't stop at madness and blood.

After dinner, everyone retired to their rooms to rest, the day had been exhausting enough and she just wanted to try to sleep, a sleep that was not granted to her, but minutes turned into almost hours in which she turned from left to right and knew that as long as she continued to be stabbed in her abdomen, she would find no rest.

Until the moment she heard a knock on her door and smiled, ,,Are the gods not letting you sleep either?" she heard her husband ask and saw that Caracalla had a small tablet with some things on it.

Sitting up in her bed, she tapped the fur next to her, ,,The honourable ones seem to be stabbing me right now," she replied, but immediately saw her husband get a worried look on his face.

In his state, where he was probably at least a little more aware of his surroundings, it was always better than him having a full-blown seizure and hurting someone else.

Setting the tray down on the bed, he scrambled over to her and placed his hand on her stomach, surprisingly gentle for someone who seemed so worried but at least it had a little ,,The warmth of love" he grinned as he saw her features relax and her hand rest on his.

Maybe it really was the bond between man and woman that could help them, that could ease their pain as she saw some sweet treats on the tray.

Treats they fed each other, the sweetness and warmth actually helping a little, ,,My caring emperor" she murmured to him before giving him a kiss.

A short kiss really, but one that made the blue-eyed man want more, his hand sliding from her belly to her side, letting her know he wanted her, ,,The healers said...a touch of body might help with your pain," he said as they parted, the smell of sweetness mingling slightly with the tang of metal.

She felt the slight shame burning on her cheeks, she knew it was supposed to help when they slept together it always seemed to make no difference, an agreement, a bond could do so much

,,But the blood" she already knew the skins and pillows needed to be cleaned even without the sex through her blood, but Caracalla just smirked, ,,Has an attractive effect on me" he just giggled before he kissed her again.

A kiss as they lay gently on the pillows, hands carelessly taking the clothes from each other's bodies, the room seemed too warm, too heated by their love that burned as his hand went to her breast.

The gods gave her the pain but also the sensitivity something that also struck her lover who looked at her almost proudly, ,,Never be ashamed of our union no blood will keep me from you" he assured her and began to kiss her neck.

The little bites and marks turned her on more than usual, her mind plagued by lust that surfaced between the pain whenever she thought of her husband, an emperor who continued to take care of her body.

His fingers skilfully massaged her breasts, teasing her nipples as he lightly pinched them and she shuddered as she groaned, ,,Mhhh gods you've made a pack with him" she giggled as she saw the amusement of Caracalla as he continued to take care of her body.

Every piece of her had to be loved by him, everything she needed he gave her, praised her, kissed her, bit her, licked her everything he just wanted to be with his wife.

His goddess who loved him so much it was the only right thing to do that he helped her through everything in their life together.

Blood was what he liked in the Coloseum arena, and her blood seemed to act like an aphrodisiac on him, making him lose himself in lust and slight madness.

He finally kissed her belly before running his hands along her thighs and pushing them slightly apart, ,,Your emperor will take away any pain...as sweet reddish as a cherry you are" he compared them and the couple both smiled at the sweet but apt comparison.

A comparison as his hand held hers as she saw him caress himself a little and yet she opened her legs, his hungry expression meeting her slightly pleading one.

The feeling as he was inside her not unfamiliar but pleasing the sounds of the couple mingling as he kissed her again the brief moment of time to geen hung between them.

But now their shared love seemed to diminish, with every thrust he made, every movement, every lustful sound that escaped them both, their love for each other only blossomed more.

His hands went from her hips to her body every now and then, giving it further attention, knowing that it made her feel good when the pain was taken over by the pleasure.

,,Don't stop" she only breathlessly brought out, wrapping her legs around his hips to feel him deeper after a few minutes.

The healers were right love could banish pain and how love could banish it, rarely had she felt him so intimately and arousing it was something a look at her husband told her they should both do more often.

Her hands shakily detached themselves from the fur and scratched along his torso, his grunts letting her know he was the one enjoying the pain, something she gave him more of.

His thrusts increasing whenever she pulled at his light-coloured hair, scratching along his skin, his back streaked with red.

The couple gave themselves to each other, savouring everything and the sounds that echoed off the stone walls as if they were looking at each other from afar.

She heard him stammer ,,I love you" almost sensing that he was close to his climax, a tingling sensation in her stomach that she could only answer with a nod as she pulled him even tighter against her.

The moments passed and the movements became more hurried and intense until the stifled cry was lost in the kiss as the couple shuddered and clung to each other as the climax came over them both.

A moment in which the pain and the blood didn't matter, his care didn't matter, they held each other and only separated after a short moment.

He lay down next to her with a slight grin and put his hand on hers, ,,The gods should honour us like this more often" and the couple had to laugh again when she turned to him and held his hand.

But no more pain plagued her as she gave him a kiss on the forehead and now knew that love could conquer even the pain of blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@cottoncandiescupcakes , @somepallings , @k-yurieee , @qardasngan , @sweeteststing , @songbirdmunson , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs , @bel0ved-heretic

[multific]

A Day of Love in the Gardens

Emperor Caracalla x Reader

Summary: A quiet day with your husband was rare. 

The grand halls of the palace usually stood in quiet, but now were alive with echoes of laughter. 

You stood at the edge of the chamber, your gaze fixed on Emperor Caracalla as he crouched on the polished marble floor. 

It was one of the better days when his illness seemed to disappear as his eyes were clear.

Sitting on his shoulder was Dondus, his mischievous pet monkey, conversing triumphantly while tugging at the golden clasp on Caracalla’s cloak.

“Dondus, you little tyrant,” Caracalla said with mock severity, though the amused smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “Do you find joy in making me look ridiculous?”

Dondus tilted his tiny head, his intelligent eyes gleaming before he leapt from Caracalla’s shoulder toward you. 

With practised ease, you caught him midair, cradling him gently as he snuggled against your neck, his tiny hands grasping at the fabric of your gown.

“Always so dramatic,” you teased Caracalla, stroking Dondus' soft fur. “He’s only after that brooch because it’s shiny.”

“Or because he’s plotting with you to test my patience,” Caracalla said before standing up and brushing off his robes. “Though I must admit, you’ve managed to charm him in a way even I can’t.”

You chuckled, adjusting Dondus in your arms. 

“We both enjoy keeping you on your toes.”

Caracalla stepped closer, his intense gaze softening as he reached out to run a hand gently down Dondus' back. 

“You have a way of enchanting everyone in this palace, even a monkey with an appetite for mischief.” His tone dropped, becoming more tender. “Including me.”

Your breath caught as his fingers brushed yours briefly before he withdrew his hand. 

“You’re flattering me, Emperor Caracalla,” you murmured, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed how much his words meant to you.

“Is it flattery if it’s true?” he asked, his voice low.

Before you could answer, Dondus chirped excitedly, climbing out of your arms and onto Caracalla’s shoulder. Caracalla sighed but didn’t move to stop him, instead tilting his head to rest against his monkey.

“We should take him to the gardens,” you suggested. “He needs to burn off some energy, and the fresh air would do us good too.”

Caracalla nodded.

“Lead the way, My Love.”

The gardens were bright under the golden afternoon sun. 

Dondus darted between trees and bushes, occasionally returning with a leaf or twig, proudly presenting his “treasures” to you.

Of course, you took everything he gave to you so graciously. 

You sat on a stone bench beneath an oak tree, and Caracalla joined you, his arm brushing against yours. 

“I never imagined a day like this,” he admitted, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“A day like what?” you asked, turning to him.

“A day where the world feels... light,” he said, his gaze distant for a moment before focusing on you. “When I’m with you, the weight of the empire and my illness doesn’t seem so crushing.”

Your heart swelled at his confession. 

“You deserve moments like this, Calla. Moments to just be yourself, not the Emperor.”

“And you give me those moments,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’ve brought peace to a heart that has known little of it.”

Before you could respond, Dondus reappeared, clutching a small flower in his tiny hands. With a delighted chatter, he climbed onto your lap, holding the bloom up to you.

“For me?” you asked, accepting the flower with a smile. “You’re too kind, Dondus.”

Caracalla laughed, reaching over to ruffle the monkey’s fur. “It seems I have competition for your affections.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased, leaning closer to Caracalla. “You’ll always have the upper hand. Dondus can’t kiss me, after all.”

Caracalla’s eyes gleamed with amusement and love. 

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice dropping as he closed the distance between you.

His lips brushed yours softly, the kiss warm and tender. 

When you finally pulled away, Dondus chirped, hopping onto Caracalla’s shoulder as if to demand attention.

“Jealous, are we?” Caracalla said with a chuckle, lifting the monkey off his shoulder and placing him gently on the ground.

You laughed, resting your head against Caracalla’s shoulder as Dondus scampered off to climb a nearby tree. 

The three of you stayed in the garden until the sun dipped low.

And as the first stars appeared, Caracalla turned to you, his gaze soft but steady. 

“You’ve given me more than I ever thought I could have," he whispered.

You smiled, your hand intertwining with his. “And I’ll keep giving it to you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

“Forever, then,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms into a tight hug.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

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

[ekkkkey]

there will be games! (chapter III)

…in which we learn that Caracalla doesn’t share his toys

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

warnings: 18+ minors dni, noncon, dub-con, insanity + hard drugs is not the best combo

word count: 3k words

chapter I

chapter II

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

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

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

She had become gaunt, nervous, and irritable. Anxiety and fear had taken over her completely.

Seeing his wife in such a state, Tiberius allowed her to skip the next day of the games, leaving her alone to pace her chambers like a trapped mouse.

Her mind was spinning with questions and panic. Who knew that the emperor had dishonored her? The Praetorians? The servants? Had that slave girl told them why exactly Emperor Caracalla had locked himself in the family altar with her?

But above all, she feared the possibility that the emperor’s seed might take root. If it did, the child she bore would be a constant reminder of her disgrace, tormenting her soul with every passing moment.

Her relief was overwhelming when, the next morning, she woke to a sharp pain in her stomach and saw a bloodstain on the sheets.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Cassandra felt joy—a foolish joy, but joy nonetheless! No matter what the emperor had done to her, the gods had spared her.

The following week passed in solitude. No one bothered her, no one forced her to leave her chambers, attend the games, or endure the feasts. Soon, she’d go home and forget about Caracalla’s wild blue eyes, his hot hands, and the scent of his oils and powders.

But all good things come to an end. As soon as she felt better, Tiberius expected her to play the role of the dutiful wife again. She could still refuse him in bed, but attending the feast was non-negotiable.

"Half the games have already passed. You can’t spend the rest of the time hidden away like a recluse!" His frustration was clear. "Rumors are already spreading about your illness—and about my failure as a husband!"

The anger that flared up inside her at his words was something new.

"Oh, you’ve failed, believe me" she thought furiously. "If you hadn’t, you’d have noticed the bruises on my body or the way another man’s eyes were devouring your wife."

But she said nothing, simply pressed her lips together and let the servants dress her. Now, knowing whose clothes she was wearing, Cassandra felt a strange dread. Why did the emperor insist she wear his late mother’s clothes? Why had he taken her by his father’s ashes? The only answer she could come up with was madness—a madness that seemed to be eating away at the young emperor’s mind.

She wasn’t used to the noise of the crowd anymore. She had forgotten how oppressive it felt, surrounded by the finely dressed nobles.

"Ah, my dear, you look as pale as a ghost. How are you feeling?"

Lucilla was the only one who seemed genuinely concerned for her.

Tiberius had left them alone to join the other senators, and Lucilla gently stroked her cheek, looking into her eyes with concern.

"Has your husband been treating you poorly?" she asked, her voice soft with worry.

For a moment, Cassandra wanted to tell her everything—about the pain, the violence, the fear. But instead, she shook her head.

"It’s fine, I’m just tired. All of this…" She waved her hand toward the noisy crowd in the throne room. "It’s exhausting."

"It really is exhausting," Lucilla agreed with a soft smile. "The palace isn’t what it used to be… I envy you. At least you can leave once the games are over."

Her heart skipped a beat. What if she didn’t leave the palace? What if Emperor Caracalla wouldn’t let her go? What if he dressed her like one of his slaves in sheer silk, seated her at his feet, and put a golden collar on her?

Cassandra shook her head. That couldn’t happen! Even he wouldn’t dare insult a senator and the entire Senate like that. She held on to that hope.

The hall grew noticeably quieter as the crowd dispersed, making way for the emperors. Instantly, she lowered her head, stepping behind Lucilla, not wanting to meet Caracalla’s gaze. Still, there was an undeniable temptation to glance at him from beneath her lashes, not raising her head or showing any interest. And she couldn’t help it—she watched as they entered the hall.

Geta walked to the right, closer to Cassandra. His stride was broad, his lips pressed tightly together, and he nervously licked them from time to time. Dressed in black from head to toe, pale with dark-lined eyes, he looked both sickly and focused. His laurel-crowned hair was the only bright spot in his appearance.

Swallowing a bitter lump in her throat, she turned her gaze to the other emperor. Oh, he was always different—nothing like his brother!

Cassandra held her breath. Purple and gold. Oh, how she despised that gold! His clothes were embroidered with it, his cloak shimmered with changing shades—lavender, blue, and deep crimson—as though it held the twilight itself. His rings gleamed, catching the light with every movement, and a large earring swayed with the rhythm of his slow steps. Unlike his brother, he moved with a leisurely, almost lazy pace, smiling as he looked through the crowd, knowing all eyes were on him.

And though Emperor Geta was serious, much more thoughtful and responsible, what did it matter if everyone had come just to gawk at a spectacle? Caracalla had given them that spectacle. Cassandra overheard a group of girls nearby whispering in admiration. Oh, he knew he was liked by many, that much she was certain. But she didn’t like him. She hated him with every fiber of her being, and all she wished for him was death.

Both emperors took their seats. A young slave boy brought Caracalla his pet—a little dressed-up monkey, who immediately climbed onto the emperor’s shoulder, burying its tiny hands in his red hair. Caracalla laughed, a thin, piercing laugh, giving the pet a grape and removing his laurels, leaving his hair in fiery disarray. The monkey squealed, tossing the bitten grape aside and turning back to play with its master’s hair. Nearby, Emperor Geta grimaced, clearly displeased by the noise.

The hall buzzed with life again, half the guests fawning over the emperors, while the other half entertained themselves, waiting for their turn to approach the rulers of Rome.

Her husband finally returned to her, flustered and silent. He barely paid attention to her, making her follow him like a shadow as they moved from one important guest to another.

While he was talking to another elderly senator she didn’t know, Cassandra lazily scanned the hall.

And there it was, what she feared and secretly longed to see. Pale blue eyes, veiled in gold and pink, met hers. She forgot how to breathe. Caracalla was still sitting on the throne, lazily leaning back with his legs wide apart, his foot rocking gently from side to side, as he stroked the monkey on his shoulder. Cassandra had expected him to break into a cruel smirk, his eyes narrowing to remind her of the shame he had made her endure… But no, he looked away, completely uninterested, as though he hadn’t even recognized her.

It felt like she had been struck, her body trembling uncontrollably. This wasn’t a game—he wasn’t sly or far-sighted enough to torment her like this. He truly barely remembered her. The foolish little bird hadn’t been in his sight for days, and he had forgotten her like some useless trash. And this was far worse than if he had continued his game of being the caring emperor, pretending to be the dutiful husband.

Here she was, standing before him in his mother’s clothes, her body marked with dark bruises he had left, her pride trampled into the dust. She hated him, and he didn’t even care, continuing to listlessly scan the hall.

Tiberius kept talking, and she kept staring at the emperor, wishing she could kill him at that very moment. Then, once again, she caught his gaze, now sharper, more deliberate. It was the same look he had given her before he took her on the altar. Her palms went clammy. She didn’t know what was worse: the indifference or the recognition. What would he do? Would he take her to a private place and talk once more about forgiveness? About the gifts he could give her?

A white hand, adorned with rings and bracelets, rose, and he motioned with his finger. Cassandra froze. Publicly? He was calling her in front of everyone?

She hesitated, unsure of what to do, but then, from behind her, a tall, slender girl in a silk blue dress stepped forward. Caracalla grinned wider, showing his gold tooth.

He wasn’t calling her. Her cheeks burned as she clenched her hands, digging her nails into her palms. Cassandra knew that girl—Antonia, the daughter of Senator Marcus Lecus. They had spoken a few times when her husband and Antonia’s father discussed the gladiator games. She was a noble Roman girl, an enviable bride, and simply a young, beautiful woman. And it was she who obediently settled onto the emperor’s lap, blushing and laughing as Caracalla whispered something in her ear.

Cassandra saw Antonia’s father in the crowd. He looked confused and pale, unable to protest or interrupt what was unfolding before him. She must have worn the same expression: rage, disgust, and revulsion.

"You have a wonderful daughter, Senator," Caracalla burst in laughter, addressing the now-pale man. "So obedient!"

"Thank you, Caesar," the senator replied with a trembling voice, bowing his head as though he truly believed it. "I’m glad you like her."

"Oh, I certainly do!" That cruel laugh came again as his hand slapped the girl’s thigh. What a disgrace.

"I am grateful, my Emperor," the senator continued to babble.

"So why aren’t you smiling?" Caracalla teased. "Have fun, my dear friend, today I’ll give your daughter a truly precious gift." His voice with a hint of taunting amusement, but the underlying meaning was clear: he would violate her in every way possible, then send her back to her father, degraded, miserable, and possibly pregnant. That’s how it had been with Cassandra. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t even remember her name, but for now, he took pleasure in watching the senator’s forced smile.

Emperor Geta, displeased, rose from his seat and approached his brother, whispering something in his ear while holding his shoulder. To humiliate the Senate in front of everyone was too much, even for him.

"This brainless little bastard has completely lost his mind," Tiberius whispered softly beside her. "If that were my daughter, l'd have killed that effeminate little runt."

Her lips twitched. That effeminate little runt had defiled your wife twice, and you hadn’t even noticed. Empty promises from a foolish man. Cassandra couldn’t even recall when she had started to despise her husband so much.

The dark-eyed, beautiful slave who had led her to Caracalla last time approached the emperor with a delicate dish. He inhaled the powder from the dish through his nose, leaned back, and closed his eyes in bliss. Antonia, clearly unaccustomed to this, inhaled the powder next, coughing and rubbing her nose frantically. Caracalla laughed again, stroking her thigh.

Cassandra looked away, feeling both relief and anger at the dishonor. Why hadn’t he chosen someone else from the start? Why had he tormented her so much?

Antonia, who had taken her “honorable” place, had lifted a huge burden from her shoulders. She felt as if she could finally breathe easier. Moving away from her husband, she felt light and free. Inspired, she drank wine, even ate, and chatted with other guests, forgetting the young emperor like a bad dream. He was no longer her problem.

She was engrossed in conversation with a young couple who had come from the provinces for the games. Cassandra hadn’t talked so much in a long time. But then she asked another question, and none of her new acquaintances answered. They stood frozen, staring somewhere behind her.

"Leave us."

No, no, no! The euphoria faded, replaced by trembling. Cassandra turned around. It wasn’t Caracalla, but the trembling didn’t stop.

Emperor Geta studied her carefully, as if seeing her for the first time. His cold fingers lifted her chin, his black eyes scanning her face.

"Where did you get this from?" His fingers slid lower, tracing the edge of her tunic.

"Your brother sent it to me," she replied quietly, trying not to meet his gaze. He, too, was a cause and a witness to her humiliation, though indirectly. She hated him as well.

"Antoninus?" His deep voice faltered.

She almost asked who he meant. Of course, no one ever called Caracalla by his real name. No one but his brother.

"Emperor Caracalla, Caesar, yes."

He continued to study her, not in the same way as his brother of course, but still hardly appropriate, given they were in public.

"Did he say anything to you? Did he do anything?"

She nearly choked on her fury. As if you didn’t see what he did! As if you didn’t stand there and watch the debauchery your own twin brother caused!

"Tell me, domina, why did my brother choose to dress you in the garments of our late mother?" He leaned closer, his voice lowering, growing harsher, as if she had stolen the clothes instead of being forced to wear them. "Let me tell you why. You look just like her, you know? Now I see it clearly—your eyes, your lips, your hair, even the way you furrow your brow." His hand caressed her cheek, the back of his fingers gliding over her skin. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some of the guests watching them, whispering to each other.

It was disgusting. The whole situation made her stomach turn. She reminded them of their deceased mother. And how could Caracalla… How could he do those terrible things to her!?

"My brother seems chaotic, unserious, but he rarely does anything without a reason," he said, nervously licking his lips before flashing her a smile, one that was anything but kind. "There’s always a meaning, a meaning only he and I understand. You know, we shared the same womb, we’ve always been together as long as I can remember, and we share the reins of power, as you know. Everything that’s mine is his, and everything that’s his is mine. Do you understand?"

The realization of what he was hinting at washed over her like a vile shiver. No, no, not this!

"May I leave, Emperor?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Geta was different, after all—he liked being adored, admired, but Cassandra’s face revealed nothing but disgust. The emperor didn’t enjoy such games. His lips twisted, clearly wounded by her rejection, but he nodded nonetheless, stepping back and removing his hand from her face. It was strange how cold Geta’s hands were, while Caracalla’s had felt like fire.

Cassandra didn’t warn her husband; she left the throne room alone, not wanting to stay. The brief moment of joy she had experienced was stolen from her once more. The emperors had ruined her life without even meaning to.

Rushing through the dark corridors lit only by torches, she dreamed of one thing alone—to seclude herself in her chambers and this time, not to emerge until the games were over. Of course, her dreams were not destined to come true. The foolish, childish dreams of insignificant little girls were unheard by the gods. Here, in Rome, wishes were granted only to those who tormented these very little girls.

"Wait, domina," a rough voice called out to her from the darkness.

The owner of the rough voice turned out to be a Praetorian guard. He walked slightly ahead, with three others trailing behind. Tall, strong, clad in armor, they escorted the delicate, short figure. Even in the dim torchlight, he seemed to glow. Purple and gold, the soft clinking of his adornments, and the cold smile on his lips promised nothing good. How could such a delicate appearance conceal such evil?

The Praetorians were imposing, large, but it was only him that she feared—standing just a few steps in front of her, smiling, his hands clasped together.

"Wait outside," Caracalla nodded, and the Praetorians obediently stepped back, taking position on the other side of the arch. They could likely hear every word spoken in the corridor.

"Well, well, hello, birdie" his voice softer than usual, but his eyes growing more wild, "It’s been a while since we’ve had our little talks, hasn’t it? Is my company no longer to your liking?"

"Emperor, I…" What could she say that wouldn’t anger him?

"Or have you found better company, dear? Forgotten all about our sweet love?" He stared at her from under his brows, his lips trembling. He was furious.

Let him kill her! Let him do it, but not torture her! But no, he chose the second option. It was clear he wouldn’t have come after her today like divine retribution if he hadn’t seen her speaking to Geta. Fool, she was such a fool! He could have fucked every woman in Rome, but she had no right to even look at another man. Her husband was the exception, since taking her was a way of humiliating him; Tiberius wasn’t his equal. But his brother was.

"And what, you’re silent now? You were more talkative with Geta. Or am I not skilled enough at conversation?" Without waiting for her answer, he grabs her wrist, pinning her against the wall. His knee pressed between her legs, forcing them slightly apart.

"Your brother asked me about the garments you gave me—that’s all, I swear!"

"Ah, he recognized them, didn’t he?" He clicked his tongue with satisfaction. "He couldn’t have missed them, of course. Yet, you lie. Geta always wants everything that’s mine! Always!" Suddenly his voice took on a petulant tone, as if he were a big, dangerous child, but children don’t behave like this. "But he won’t get anything. No, not you. You’re mine, aren’t you, birdie?"

She stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, unable to summon the strength to answer.

"Answer me!" he barked.

He had never shouted before. Hissed, purred, laughed—yes. But never raised his voice.

"I am yours, Caesar, only yours."

"Everything in Rome is mine. Everything belongs to me. Do you understand?"

"I belong to you," she breathed.

Hearing her words, Caracalla's expression changed, he lifted his chin, clearly pleased. Though he wore no crown, the flickering torchlight turned his bright curls into a fiery halo framing his pale face, making him seem otherworldly, like a vision. A demon, a true demon, ironically possessing such an innocent-looking body.

A lone tear rolled down her face, and Caracalla's darkened eyes immediately followed its path, stepping closer to Cassandra, licking the salty trail with his hot tongue. The sweetness of oils and powders enveloped her again.

"Good," he finally relented, "and yet, you lied. Lying to the Emperor is a grave crime, you know that?"

"Yes, Caesar," she knew the rules, "I must apologize."

"Apologize?” He burst in laughter. “Oh no, my dear. This time, you’ve earned your punishment for such an offense.”

His lips brushed against hers, but there was no kiss—just a dry touch and a hot whisper, mouth to mouth.

"Where have you been these past days?"

"I… I was unwell."

"Why?" he pressed, sensing her hesitation.

"I…I had woman troubles," she admitted, biting her lip and looking away.

The emperor's pale eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he clicked his tongue in disappointment. His hand slid over her body, pausing on her stomach, pressing down.

"What a tragedy! Neither a senator nor an emperor could plant his seed in your womb!" His palm continued to press against her stomach, forcing her to clench her teeth. "Don't you wish to give your husband an heir?"

"I do," she whispered softly.

"Then why does my seed not please you?" He stared directly into her eyes.

Is he joking? Doesn't he understand this is beyond her control?

"You have pleased me in every way, Emperor," she answered quietly.

His hand was suddenly at her throat, his thumb pressing into the hollow between her collarbones, squeezing,

"You lie! You rejected my gift and lied to me again! This time, you will be punished and I will not be merciful. I’ll teach you how to properly accept gifts from an emperor, and when I’m done, whatever’s left of you, sweet little wife, will be sent back to your husband!"

She was almost choking, but he removed his hand, placing it on her shoulder, pressing down.

"On your knees before the emperor," he commanded.

What? Why? She couldn't fathom what he wanted from her, but certainly not here, in this open corridor where anyone could walk in.

The pressure on her shoulder increased.

"I won’t repeat myself," his eyes crazed, the madness in them burning, fueled by the drug’s effect. His cheeks flushed, as if embarrassed, but no, he had never known such feelings.

Obediently, Cassandra dropped to her knees before him, looking up, her lips pressed together, hands resting on her knees, her thighs touching her heels.

His breath quickened, his fingers tracing her cheek.

"A beautiful garment for a beautiful little thing," his voice trembles with anticipation, and she's clueless about what's about to happen. Caracalla ogles her for one last moment before extending his hand.

"Give me your hand, now."

She obediently slips her hand into his... and then, something she never saw coming happens. She knew he'd force himself on her again, but this? This was beyond her wildest nightmares.

"Feel that? You should be flattered," his voice broke into a rasp.

Her breath catches in her throat as he guides her hand, making her feel his hardness through the fabric. She'd never touched a man like that before, not even her husband.

"That’s it, good," the emperor praised, guiding her further.

Every time Cassandra thought it couldn't possibly get worse, it did. Now, in the corridor leading to her shared quarters with her husband, she was on her knees, like a nameless slave, caught up in something so degrading she never could have imagined it.

"Now, hands behind your back. Keep them there until I say otherwise. Disobey, and I’ll see those pretty hands taken away, understood, dear?" His smile is accompanied by a soft thumb stroke over her lower lip.

Shame burns through her as she slowly clasps her hands behind her back. What now? How will he degrade her this time?

His answer comes as his fingers sliding into her hair, initially petting her like a dog, then his grip tightens sharply, yanking her head back.

"Not a sound, sweetheart, or we’ll have an audience," he warns, "And trust me, I don’t mind at all—I’ll finish either way. But you… think twice."

Then comes the punishment. With a sharp, strong yank, he tears her tunic down, the fabric dropping to her waist. She wants to scream, to cover herself, but his threat keeps her hands locked in place, trembling.

"Sit up straight," he's so close, her eyes locked on his feet, but he grabs her hair again, forcing her to meet his gaze. Shame and fear consume her as his hips are now at eye level.

"Again, I’m doing your husband a favor by showing you what he might enjoy," he said with a sly smirk. "When you kneel before him like this, don’t forget to mention who taught you, hmm?"

The emperor lifts his lavish robes and flings his shimmering cloak aside, letting it fall to the floor. He wouldn't...?

"Come on, open your mouth, don’t give me that foolish look," Caracalla drawls, "if your womb won't take me, then your mouth will. Right, Cassandra?"

Her name makes her flinch—and obey.

He wields it shamelessly, not as a courtesy, but to assert his power. She had thought the young emperor didn’t care enough to remember, yet here, in this moment of utter humiliation, he says her name.

Trying not to look at him, Cassandra complies, fighting the urge to close her eyes, knowing it will only make things worse. Her reward is his raspy moan and the taste of him on her tongue. Unlike her, he's not about to remain quiet.

He doesn’t give her any freedom, holding her firmly with his hand tangled in her hair, his voice raspy as he orders her every move. To her surprise, the emperor is intensely responsive, moaning and biting his lip. His hand moves to the back of her head, the cold press of his rings against her skin sending a shiver down her spine. It’s clear he’s losing patience.

She struggles to breathe, choking on air as he takes her mouth roughly, his grip holding her head in place. Tears blur her vision, but she can't pull away, the pressure in her throat building with each passing second. He doesn't relent, pushing into her harder, more violently.

"Look at me, in the eyes," his voice a half-whisper, half-growl, escaping his red lips, "that’s it, good girl," it didn’t sound like praise, but more like mockery.

Her lip splits at the corner, a taste of blood, but it's insignificant now. All emotions have left her. Disgrace. Disgrace. Disgrace.

His grip grows harsher, his breath ragged, his body thrusting forward. She tries to push him away, her hands coming free to press against him, but he doesn't stop. With deep, harsh thrusts, he goes all the way into her throat, pausing, holding her head by the hair, staring into her eyes, another moan escaping his lips.

Cassandra pulls back as soon as he releases her, coughing, tasting him in her mouth, on her lips. She wants to spit it out desperately but is too afraid. How dare she reject his "gifts"?

Tears streaming, lips swollen, a drop of blood at the corner of her mouth, she's still on her knees in the middle of the corridor, her chest bare, her hair disheveled from his rough grip.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asks, already having adjusted his clothes, looking as innocent as if nothing happened.

"As always, Emperor," she can say nothing else. Now, she just wants to end her life. His taste still lingers.

"Then what kind of punishment is this, little bird? Once again, I've been too generous," he shakes his head theatrically, "you were rushing to your chambers, weren't you? Why are you still here? Come on, come on!" He claps his hands, urging her to move.

Shaking, she stands, head bowed.

"And don't forget who you belong to."

"Yours."

His satisfied laughter follows her as she walks away.

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

Hey friends, thank you so much for all the love and support! It’s honestly so unexpected and makes me so happy that so many of you enjoy my Caracalla 💕 The next chapter is almost done, so you won’t have to wait too long! Love you all, muah!

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Patience is a Virtue ⭑ (Domina Mea, Chapter Four)

Masterlist

A/N: Smut finally! We all chant in unison

Pairing: Geta & Caracalla x F!Noble!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, +18 MDNI, Macrinus is a rat fr, tensions rise, both the Emperors patience snaps, teasing, dirty talk, caressing, masturbation (M), making out, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking/breast sucking kink, pure infiltered want, caracalla being upset and pouty :(

Summary: Tension rises as you carry the heavy burden, when you tell the Emperors, they reward you for your good behavior.

Word count: 2.7k

A tingly feeling had spread across your skin, face still painted with a reddish hue, all evidence of the wine you had consumed an meager hour ago. Your eyes felt glossy as you stared at the Praetorians marching over to you, Macrinus was still posted at your side. Nerves and impatience knotted in your stomach, the information you had retrieved tonight was sensitive and you wanted to inform the Emperors immediately.    

“My Lady, come with us, we have been searching for you.” A taller Praetorian said, before he was joined by six others, all were ordered to take you to the palace. The fresh cooler wind of the night cleared your head a bit, something you were quite grateful for. The wine had been so potent, and as it had been your first and only cup, it had a strong effect on you. Macrinus followed you as you were escorted by the guards to Palatine Hill, not speaking a word along the way.

The thought of what you were about to tell the Emperors made your skin cover in goosebumps, you had no idea how they would react to this information, this insurrection. But you knew you had no choice but to tell them, it was your goal after all. From the start Macrinus had been off putting, a little too kind and serving. Now you know why, it was all to gain their trust, to distract them with a new toy so he could manipulate them. You just hoped that Macrinus fell for your trap. 

Upon arrival at the hall near the throne room it was eerily silent, and for a moment you wondered if anyone was there. However when you turned the corner, you were met with those four pairs of familiar eyes. “Where have you been?!” Your father stressed while he walked towards you with long strides, arms open to hold you close. “I’m so sorry-” Your voice got muffled when your face met his shoulder. 

“It’s all right, I was so afraid, but you’re safe- you’re safe.” Acacius whispered, his strong arms almost squeezing the life out of you. “I forgive you- for everything, just please don’t ever just leave again.” He continued. “I promise, I won’t.” You vowed, tears stinging your eyes. Mind now clear, you realised how stupid it had been, to just leave like that. But mistakes were made and now all that could be done is to forgive. 

“She had sought me out, General. For advice, although, perhaps next time it would be better done accompanied- and during the day.” Macrinus spoke up, stepping closer to the Emperors before bowing. “Daughter.” Lucilla murmured before embracing you as well. When she let you go, it was then you noticed the state of the Emperors. 

Geta’s hair was messier, his robes as well, his makeup smeared and distraught. Caracalla did not look much different, both looked like they had been fighting. “Your majesties, I beg for your forgiveness. For just... leaving and not saying a word. I hope you too, can forgive me.” You pleaded, curtseying lowly. “Everyone out.” Geta ordered, he didn’t yell this time. No one opposed him as they all quietly left the room, leaving you with the twins.

“Did- did you try to escape? Our company?” Caracalla croaked. Immediately you rose, “No! No, not at all!” Your voice rose as well while you hurried over to them. “No?” Geta asked, he was clearly not very convinced. “No please, it is nothing like that.” You begged, accidentally getting closer to them then would be considered appropriate. “Then what? Why would you just leave us like that? We had a thousand Praetorians searching for you, we thought that you had been taken- or worse, killed!” Caracalla yelled, his voice breaking more with each word. 

“I cannot speak about it here, I don’t think. It is very sensitive information, where would the most secure and private room here be? Caesar?” You spoke with widened eyes. Geta looked at you as if you had gone as mad as his brother, perhaps he had infected you. “What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?” Geta scoffed. You could feel defeat wash over you but you knew that for the sake of the Emperors, you had to push them.

“Please, Caesar, trust me.” You had a feeling you would be begging even more tonight, but if that was what it took, you would. Caracalla nodded at his brother, Geta looked from his twin to you, and your pretty pleading eyes- and gave in. They did not tell you where you were going, but as you passed doors and wandered through hallways, you could guess. The decorations turned more and more expensive and grand with every step. 

The hallway that led to a dead end was riddled with guards. There was one large gold double door that was opened for the Emperors, you behind them. As you stepped inside, the large bed chamber must belong to Geta, it was neat, organised and a large four-posted bed stood in the middle of the room, all kinds of fabric adorned it. Geta gestured for you to join them in the sitting area of the room, they each sat in a large cushioned chair, while you settled on a settee that matched them. 

“Speak.” Geta said a little too cold and curt for your liking. “The reason why I left so abruptly was not only because of the fight I had with my father, but also because I had to follow my gut. So I followed Macrinus to his estate. And I know it was stupid and ill considered but I was right. From the moment I met him, something about him seemed so sinister and so off putting. So when I had successfully followed him inside, there was a man visiting him. They talked about some plan Macrinus has, a plan to one day rule Rome- he did not give specific details as he didn’t want to involve the man, but he has definitely been plotting.” You rambled as the memories came back to you. 

Geta and Caracalla were speechless, both stared at you intensely. “However, on my way out. I ran into guards, so I lied to them that I was seeking advice from Macrinus so he wouldn’t suspect anything, hopefully that worked-” Geta suddenly interrupted you. “What kind of advice did you speak of?” He asked with narrowed eyes. “A-about you, Caesar. Both of you, I uhm...sort of told him or rather asked him how I could- charm you? All to make him believe that I was there for that of course, to make him think I’m just...a girl with an affection for the Emperors.” You mumbled, it was clear your face was flushing red again.

“Hm.” Was Geta’s only response. Caracalla bit his lower lip. As if they hadn’t heard you talk about the treason you had discovered. “What will happen to him now?” You decided to ask, breaking the ever growing silence. “I want to make sure that I have multiple sources that can confirm...some sort of conspiracy being formed.” Geta spoke while he ran a hand through his hair. “Exactly, for now, we might reward you. For your loyalty and devotion to your Emperors.” Caracalla added.

“I just wish to serve the empire- and my Emperors of course.” You smiled, adjusting the bracelet on your wrist. You were slightly afraid to look at them, even though you wanted to know so badly how they would reward you- how they would maybe touch you. “What do you think, brother?” Caracalla asked, looking to his side. “I agree, you are so very devoted, and you have our ear, and trust. For that we must thank you.” Geta grinned. 

Your heart sped up as Geta then stood from his seat, walking over to you. Caracalla was quick to join him, afraid of missing out. “Has a man ever kissed you?” Geta asked with a lowered voice. “Well yes,” You answered, the brothers both sucked in a breath, trying to hold in their anger, “on my hand. Is...that what you mean?” They almost both released it at the same time too before Caracalla laughed. “No, not quite.” Geta smiled. 

“Let me show you, show you how good we can make you feel.” Caracalla breathed heavily, each word dripping with want. Geta licked his lips, his stare was captivating but terrifying at the same time. You nodded at his words, you could feel your skin grow hot, breathing feeling more laboured. It was then Caracalla lost all resolve and surged forward, pressing his lips hard against yours. His tongue then forced open your lips and you couldn’t help but moan in both surprise and desire. 

Geta joined you on your side, letting his hand roam your body before settling on your breast. Caracalla put one of his hands at the back of your neck to keep you in place while he moved his tongue inside your mouth, he couldn’t help but let out groans of relief. Finally they had you alone, and finally they could take what they wanted. It was then you felt Geta’s mouth in your neck, his warm tongue licking your skin. His mouth sucking the flesh from time to time. 

Caracalla then was forced to come up for air, to which he pawed at your toga. You noticed how he now had a bulge at his groin and wondered if that was because of his excitement. Geta helped his brother with your clothes, unclasping it at the middle while Caracalla worked on the clasps at your shoulders. “What are you going to do?” You almost whimpered out, you still felt the need to know their next moves.

“Geta is going to make you feel very very good, for everything you’ve done for us. And then- perhaps you can make us feel good too. Would you like that?” Caracalla almost heaved out, finally he had undone the clasps and his hand was quick to tug down your toga to reveal your bare chest. Nipples hardening at the cool air that blew through the room. “Fuck.” Caracalla whined. “Gods I need to taste you-” Geta rushed out before he slid off the settee and knelt before you, forcing Caracalla to sit at your other side. 

Lust completely overtook your senses and all you could think about was them, more importantly their hands on you, what they looked like bare and what they would do next. “Please- I want more-” You confessed, forgetting all your manners. Geta chuckled lowly as he spread your legs, lifting up the skirt of your toga slowly as if to not tease you, but himself. Geta could feel how hard he was, something he hadn’t been around anyone but you ever since you met. You did not only just leave their company earlier, you left them aching, with full balls and unmet needs.

Caracalla turned your head to face him again, before he kissed you hungrily once more. It was now his hands that groped at your breasts. “Such, irresistible tits-” He panted between kisses, when he broke off, you could feel Geta’s hands caressing your now bare thighs. “An irresistible cunt too brother- so fucking wet and swollen-” Geta mumbled before he spread your legs further and dove in. A cry left your lips when he licked your folds with his tongue. “Yeah? Does that feel good?” Caracalla teased, still massaging both your mounds. “Perhaps I’ll have a taste of these while my brother feasts on your cunt.” He whispered in your ear.  

You nodded impatiently, you had no words for how Geta was lapping at your pearl. Strings of moans and cries left you, you felt like pushing Geta away while at the same time pulling him closer. Geta whined and shuddered himself, while his mouth sucked and licked at you, not wanting it all to be over too soon. Caracalla couldn’t resist anymore and kissed from your mouth down your neck. Sucking on the skin at your collarbone before he took your left nipple in his mouth.

A loud whine escaped you at the feeling of one brother between your thighs while the other sucked at your breasts. You didn’t even notice how Caracalla was touching himself over his toga, he couldn’t help it- all the excitement and teasing had made him so hard, his own arousal started to leak on his thigh. Caracalla sent vibrations over your skin while he moaned around your nipple, his own stimulation adding to his arousal.

“I can’t- I-” Your back arched and you instinctively gripped Geta’s hair, your breath stuck in your throat as your first orgasm sucked the life out of you. Your soul felt like it was departing with the way Geta did not cease his actions, instead he lapped at you faster. “No! Please-” You choked on air as your legs began to shake, Geta noticed then how overstimulated you were and ended his torment. His own scalp was aching from how you pulled it but he was desperate to feel it again. 

Caracalla was still suckling at your breast, his hand massaging his cock over the fabric covering it. Geta came up to kiss you now your lips had a break from his brother. Pausing before he spoke, “Do you taste yourself on my tongue? Such a delicious cunt you have- all ours- only ours.” Geta rambled. He didn’t even give you time to answer before he resumed kissing you, his tongue now lapping inside your mouth instead. Then Geta moved your hand to his bulge, encouraging you to squeeze it, massage it. He hissed when you did, whispering praises in your ear as you jerked him over his clothes. 

He was about to remove his toga to resume your activities when three heavy and loud knocks pierced the room. “What?!” Geta screamed, making you flinch as his voice penetrated your ear. Caracalla paused his movements too, looking up with ragged breath. “I apologise your majesty but General Acacius is asking for his daughter, he would like to take her home.” An unknown voice explained on the other side of the large doors, probably a Praetorian. “Not now! Fuck off!” Caracalla then screamed. They were both good at that.

“I’m afraid he is insisting, Caesar.” The voice continued. You had almost completely forgotten your father and Lucilla were still somewhere in the palace, waiting for you. “Perhaps, we could- continue... this, when we have more time?” You meekly suggested. Geta looked at his brother who shook his head no, but Geta knew better. He did not want his best General to know yet what he and his twin were doing to his precious daughter, if he decided to send you away or even leave with you, it would ruin everything. 

Geta knew the best course of action was to have you return later, to avoid suspicion and to keep you around. “You will come back later, perhaps tomorrow.” Geta decided, you nodded. “No, no, no! We have not finished yet!” Caracalla almost cried, he finally had you, and now you were being ripped away from him? “Brother, she will come back, now to avoid further suspicion, she should come back tomorrow.” Geta insisted. Caracalla let go of you and sat back with a scoff. 

“I’m sorry Caesar, I will come back, I promise.” You told him sweetly, before making the bold move to kiss him on his cheek. That little goodbye kiss was not enough for him, he turned you and kissed you on your lips before reluctantly letting go. Geta then helped you with your toga while Caracalla definitely pouted next to you, refusing to help. And you knew you were in too deep when Geta finished dressing you, helped you stand and kissed you softly before caressing your cheek and bringing you back to your father...

[baby-im-urs]

to all the people writing for caracalla….

i love you. i cannot get enough of that freaky little ginger

[gorbo-longstocking]

Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter 4

Pairings: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: The emperors’ call upon you to humiliate yourself for their entertainment, and in your anger, you let your tongue loose. The consequences of such an action are not very fun.

Tags: Mentions of period-typical slavery, spit drinking, it’s gross and Caracalla is horny about it for a second, threats of eye trauma, both Geta’s and Caracalla’s anger, medical innaccuracies, very very small implications of past suicidal thoughts and diabolical levels of the ‘I can fix them’ mindset

Word Count: 6.7k Words

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Caracalla did not come to the clinic at the time you had specified. He didn’t come the next day, nor the day after that. You were starting to believe that either he had forgotten, or that he had never intended on returning in the first place. With a sigh, you scooted back your chair, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floor. The noise grated on your ears. A headache from a lack of sleep had begun to pound behind your eyes a day ago, with no sign of letting up. Most people would take that as a sign to rest. You were far too stubborn to be considered ‘most people.’

After the emperors’ physical, you were led to the room where you would be sleeping. It was located not far from the emperors’ own personal chambers in case a medical emergency arose in the night. The room was far too lavish for your tastes, not large by any means, but more than enough room for yourself. With tall ceilings and a balcony overlooking the gardens — an addition that felt wholly unnecessary — you found the bed was a horrid mix of both too firm and too soft. Worst of all, the room was filled with slaves ready to tend to your every need. You quickly, and kindly, informed them you preferred to attend to personal matters on your own. The idea of telling a slave what to do made you viscerally uncomfortable, so you intended to avoid doing it at whatever cost you could manage. As unrealistic as you knew that goal was considering how many slaves were within the palace walls and how commonplace it was in this time period, you intended to stick with it. A part of you wished that your brain would have skipped this part of living in the Roman Empire, but, of course, that would be too much to ask.

While it made sense for your personal quarters to be near both the emperors and the clinic, you wished to be closer to Aelius and Marianus, both of which were stuck bunking with the ever stringent praetorian guard. A part of you felt a bit guilty. Here you were with a room, all to yourself, while they were stuck sleeping with ten men at a time. At least, that was what Aelius had told you. Marianus was still somewhat miffed about you lying to him when you first met, so he wasn’t talking to you. Even after you apologized and tried to explain yourself, all you got was a grunt in response. It was kind of annoying and far too childish for a man you assumed was in his late thirties, early forties, but you digressed.

Right now, it was about ten o'clock in the morning, judging by the position the sun was in outside the grand windows of the — your? — clinic. You had pulled yet another all-nighter. It took time to refresh your memory on ancient medicine and techniques, and it took even more time pouring over texts that were written in a language different from your mother tongue. If you were going to do this, you were going to do it right, even if that meant hunting down the emperors in their own palace to give them some of your, very high quality, if you said so yourself, advice.

Maybe you were looking a gift horse in the mouth here. With the emperors nowhere near you, whether they were uninterested or simply forgotten that you existed, you were free to do as you pleased without fear of retaliation. That would be true if your ever observant self hadn’t noticed that you were being trailed by no less than two praetorians wherever you went. You didn’t know which emperor set them upon you — though, you figured it was Geta — but it meant that you couldn’t look like you were goofing off. Not that you would if you weren’t being trailed, anyway. Perhaps this was a test of sorts. To quantify your work ethic through the eyes of the emperors’ personal guard. You intended to prove your worth the best you could, even if you were sure it didn’t cast a flattering image of your skills as a physician to be carrying armfuls of scrolls and wax tablets on medicine from the archives to pour over the entire night.

First and foremost, you had to find Caracalla and determine his symptoms. Much to what you were sure to be his annoyance, you also had to perform an examination to see if they had worsened as well. If he had come to you when you asked, this wouldn’t have to happen, but he hadn’t. That meant that he did it to himself and you would feel no pity for him, no matter how he whined or threatened.

Then, you would find Geta to check his blood pressure once more. If it was still high, you would prescribe him an hour of relaxation and a half-hour of exercise per day. Along with that, you would like to tell him to limit his consumption of alcohol, however, you feared even uttering the idea he should drink less wine was an executable offense.

Another miserable sigh puffed from your nose as you stood. Your body protested the movement, your bones aching and cracking as you performed a few cursory stretches. There was little you wouldn’t give to shotgun a RedBull right about now. As much as you hated the taste of most energy drinks, they were an age old friend of yours. Until now, in your own dream, where you were denied even the simplest of luxuries. With the heels of your palms, you scrubbed the crust from your eyes before massaging your temples to regain some semblance of awareness. You were thankful it seemed to be spring — when you asked for the date, all you received was a babble of Latin that sounded more like nonsense to you than anything substantial. Thankfully, the word Aprilis was familiar enough for you to understand, at the very least, what season you were in. The idea that it would only get hotter made your skin crawl. It was already sweltering in the afternoon, you didn’t need it to get any worse.

You stared at your cluttered desk. Before you left to search for the emperors, you really should organize yourself a little better. Staring at the pile of scrolls and wax tablets, some in Latin and some containing your own English notes, you shrugged. Whatever. There would be time to clean later. If you delved head first into your own clutter, you would use it as an excuse to avoid your actual duties. As much as the emperors intimidated you, their health was in your hands, and that was something you took very seriously.

Slipping on your anachronistic shoes, you marched out of the clinic with as much energy as your exhausted body could muster. With dark bags under your eyes, a prominent slouch, and dragging feet, you must have looked a sad sight. Definitely not anywhere near how a physician, let alone an imperial one, should carry himself, though you couldn’t bring yourself to care. After today, you would sleep. You had updated your knowledge on herbal remedies enough for you to feel comfortable treating Caracalla’s symptoms, and anything else that arose in the near future.

You let out another yawn as you trekked down the halls. They were both oddly barren and lavish in a strange contrasting way that made your head spin. What little furniture and decorations a room had were all worth more than what you made in a year, which was nothing to sneeze at considering you were a surgical resident. It was strange to see such extravagant busts and tapestries doing little else aside from collecting dust.

Once you finished your necessary tasks for the day — the only one’s being your care for the emperors — you could go to bed.

Surely, they couldn’t be too hard to find.

It wasn’t until three hours passed and you were both drenched in sweat and frustration did you realize how big this stupid palace was. You took a few steadying breaths as you fanned yourself with the collar of your tunic. It was a good thing that you had been provided a few other articles of Roman garb — though your favorite, for sentimental reasons, was the one Aelius gave you — so you could change rather than mildew in the same linen for however long.

You had been through almost the entire palace. Passed the emperors’ chambers, through the slaves quarters, down each and every hall, to the gardens, then the kitchens, there was not a stone you left unturned. Yet, you could not find the emperors. You were miserable and hot, the midday sun shining through almost every window in an attempt to cook you even further. If you found out this was all a game and that the emperors were hiding from you, well, apologies to Aelius and Marianus, but you were going to kill those God forsaken twins yourself.

“Medicus,” A soft voice called out from behind you.

Your frustration made you turn around harsher than you intended, and the woman who had called your name took a nervous step back. In an instant, you schooled your expression into something more pleasant. “I apologize, you startled me, and I find myself in a foul mood. What did you need?”

The woman gave you a small smile, though she kept her eyes cast downwards. “The Caesarēs request your presence.”

Of course, they did. You spend all morning looking for them, only for them to send another to fetch you when it struck their fancy. A part of you recognized that if you had simply asked one of the many people who littered the palace halls where the emperors were, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. The bigger part of you squashed that thought like a bug.

“Lead the way,” You responded.

She returned your smile, meeting your eyes for a mere moment, before turning and leading you away. Much to your unending dismay, it didn’t take long for you to reach the room that the emperors were lounging in. Geta was reclined on a lectus, settled on his side with his back to you as he popped a grape in his mouth. Caracalla, on the other hand, was on his back, facing the door. His smile grew cruel when he laid eyes on you. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he gestured to you, causing Geta to sit up. For once, he seemed pleased to see you.

It put you on edge.

“Alga,” Geta began. There was a flush to his cheeks, visible under his makeup. Next to him was a pitcher of wine, and judging by the glassiness in both emperor’s eyes, it was sure to be half empty. “I see you come when called.”

“Like a dog,” Caracalla piped up with a cackle.

You pursed your lips into a thin line to keep your irritation from showing. After a few nights of very little sleep and half a morning in search of the very two who laid before you, it was hard to keep your annoyance to yourself. It was a good thing that you were good at holding your tongue.

For the most part. “Woof.”

Caracalla found your response to be hilarious, clutching his stomach as he laughed, while Geta took the sarcasm for what it was. His dark eyes narrowed, though his smile was still firmly in place. He looked like he knew something you didn’t. It was frightening enough to make you want to run.

“Come here, doggy, there is a task that we require of you.” Geta held out his hand, motioning with his index and middle finger for you to come closer. Against your better judgement, you obeyed. Caracalla was watching you, expectation and barely contained mirth dancing in his blue eyes.

From a nearby table, Geta grabbed a jewel encrusted cup and held it out for you to take. You wrapped your fingers around the stem, but didn’t look inside. Instead, your gaze flickered between both emperors. A bit of laughter squeaked from between Caracalla’s lips, while in his inebriation, Geta’s own lips quirked upwards as you held the cup in your hand.

“Drink,” Geta ordered.

Any other day, any other moment, you would have been intimidated into obeying without hesitation. This was not one of those days, however. On principle, you refused to look into the cup as you ground out your response through clenched teeth, “Why, Caesar?”

Caracalla snickered, his expression triumphant despite your questioning. It looked like he believed that he had already won. He may very well have. “Because my brother asked you to, Alga. Would you truly deny an emperor such a small request?”

Your own response, that, yes, you would, died on your tongue when Geta smiled. “Our praegustator is currently occupied. We need you to taste what is in that cup for our consumption. You wouldn’t want your emperors poisoned, would you?”

As Geta spoke, Caracalla was trying to hide his laughter behind his hand, his eyes focused on the chalice that you held. Even Geta seemed to have a hard time keeping the mean grin from his face. Horror bubbled in your gut when you realized what exactly this meant. These two drunken schoolchildren had tampered with your drink. It wasn’t as if you could say no. Whatever was in this cup, you would have to swallow. With growing disgust and exasperation, you finally looked down at the cup to see what was inside.

Not even a beat passed before you choked on a gag. It was spit. The cup that Geta gave you, expecting you to drink from, was nearly halfway full of clear, frothy saliva. Unable to stop yourself, you jiggled the cup and watched the liquid wiggle and slosh, far too thick for your liking. Caracalla — and this was Caracalla’s spit, you doubted Geta, for as funny as he seemed to think this was, would debase himself enough to spit into a cup simply to humiliate you — was dehydrated, and you hated your doctorly mind for filing that information for later. Watching you with rapt attention, he was grinning so wide, his teeth were showing.

In the wake of your silence, Geta decided to remind you that he was there. “Our last praegustator did not last long, given his occupation.” He turned to his brother. “What was his name again?”

Caracalla shrugged. “I don’t know, I didn’t care to learn it.”

“You want me… to drink this?” You finally asked, voice distant.

“Of course we do, medicus, why else would we ask you?” Geta said, far more pleasant than you expected, given your hesitation. When you glanced at him, he smirked at you, his eyes shining with victory.

Caracalla circled his wrist. “Go on then, Alga. I promise you that is our finest spirit. You will enjoy it immensely.”

There was nothing to be done about it. You were trapped between a rock and a hard place. Squeezing your eyes shut, you raised the cup to your mouth, and took a sip. Caracalla’s spit was still warm, whether it was from sitting in the sun or because it was fresh from the well, so to speak, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. All that mattered was that it was thick, and warm, and tasted like salt and wine. It was, quite possibly, the most vile thing you had ever put into your mouth. To say it took everything in your power to swallow wouldn’t be an understatement.

A small ‘eugh’ escaped you as you pulled the cup away from your lips. While Geta had the decorum not to laugh in your face — however, not enough to keep the grin from worming onto his features at your obvious disgust — Caracalla did not. He cackled, kicking his legs childishly, all while you forced a smile so as not to glare.

“How did it taste, medicus?” Caracalla managed to ask once he had calmed down.

You set the cup on a nearby table. Not so subtly, Geta picked it up and dumped it out in a nearby plant. With a small smile and an eyebrow twitch, you replied, “Divine, Caesar.”

Whatever reaction you expected from Caracalla given your sarcastic response, it wasn’t what you got. Where you thought he would laugh again, or perhaps snap at you, you watched his flush darken and his pupils dilate, his smile becoming a bit too perverse for your liking.

“Do not fret, Alga, there is always more where that came from.”

The skill at which you ignored Caracalla’s blatant arousal should have been lauded. “Is that all, Caesarēs?”

Geta gave you a small sneer and flicked his wrist to the exit. “Yes, medicus, you have entertained us enough for now. You may go.”

You turned to leave, when you paused, your fists clenched at your sides. They would not win. You would get what you came for, whether they liked it or not. The emperors had just made you drink spit, you refused to let that go unpunished.

“I would like to see you both at the clinic. Tonight,” You said. Your tone was firmer than you intended, but you couldn’t care less at the moment.

Geta blinked in surprise before his features slipped into irritation. “And what is it that makes you believe you can demand anything of us?”

“I am your physician, and it is not a demand, it is a strongly encouraged request,” As you spoke, you kept your gaze on the far wall so as not to be open with your blatant disdain. “Come together or separate, but I expect you both by midnight.”

Geta slowly sat up, his eyes narrowed. “And if we don’t.”

“Nothing will happen,” You replied with what was intended to be a casual shrug. “You will simply have a very angry physician, Caesar. A physician whose duty it is to hold your life in his hands when you are at your most vulnerable, ravaged by sickness or injury.”

“Is that a threat, medicus? It is not wise to threaten your emperors.”

“Of course not.” You turned to Caracalla who was watching the exchange with foggy eyes. “And, if it is of any motivation to you, if you do not come to my clinic tonight, perhaps I will have a conversation with your brother in regards to what we discussed previously. My promise is rendered null in the wake of your health and safety, Emperor Caracalla.” It was a lie, you would tell Geta nothing, but Caracalla didn’t know that. Unable to stand the weight of his glare, you flicked your gaze back to Geta. “That is my number one priority. I cannot perform my duties if neither of you will allow me. Cooperation is all I ask for.”

“It seems our dog has a bit of a bite, brother.” Despite laying, Caracalla tilted his chin to glower at you.

Geta didn’t look amused, though his lips twitched. “Alga Catulus. What a fitting name for a fitting puppy.”

Straightening your back, you refused to back down this time, even as your palms shook. To hide the display of your nerves, you curled your hands behind your back. “I will see you tonight, Caesarēs.”

Before either could respond, you stomped out of the room, the inside of your mouth burning. Neither called for you to stop, merely watched. Their glares burned into the back of your skull.

It wasn’t until the door shut behind you did you clutch your chest, your breathing ragged. Behind your breast, your heart hammered a frantic beat. What the hell had you done? You knew what you did, you challenged the emperors who held your and your friend’s lives in the palms of their hands. Stupidity seemed to be your strong point in comparison to everything else. Not your intelligence or your stubborn generosity, all of that paled when it came to your stupid, traitorous tongue. This was what you got when you didn’t sleep, if you ever got to sleep again.

In an effort to hide, you kept your pace brisk on your way back to your clinic. Once inside, you pressed your back to the wall and covered your face in your hands. A low groan rumbled in your throat as you slid to the floor. This was where you died. Dream or not, surely there would be some terrible consequences in accordance to your demise.

A few tears leaked from behind your eyelids.

You hoped Aelius and Marianus could forgive you.

It wasn’t until the sound of the clinic doors slamming open startled you awake did you realize you had fallen asleep. It was dark now, almost pitch black in your clinic as you had been far too preoccupied sleeping to have any torches lit. You were alone, for once. That, or the praetorians tasked with following you didn't care enough to put on a light. Almost on cue, there was a snap, and, at the hands of another man, the room began to light up. With bleary eyes, you blinked up at the red-haired emperor who had entered your clinic.

Standing in the doorway, was an irate Caracalla. There was something clenched in his fist, his jaw set as he stared down at you.

“I am here now, medicus,” He said, his voice low and raspy. “Are you ready for your examination, or do you intend to continue to sleep on the floor like a dog?”

That was all it took for you to heave yourself to your feet. Playing with your fingers, you tried to look Caracalla in the eyes. You quickly found that you were not above simpering. “Caesar, I want to apologize for how I spoke to you and your brother today. It is not excuse, but I have not been sleeping—”

“You are right.” Caracalla cut you off, his fist clenching even tighter. “It is no excuse.” He moved closer, almost gliding in his long robes. “You promised me you would say nothing to my brother, and yet you threaten me with his knowledge.”

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. It was impossible to stop your hand from shaking. He eyed the offending appendage, a pleased sparkle in his blue eyes, hidden just under his fury. “It was an empty threat. Everything I said was empty. I would never break my promise to you, Caesar.”

“How am I to believe that when you are capable of tossing your word away on a whim?” Caracalla countered. He bared his teeth at you. “My brother was right about you, you are a liar and a snake.”

You took a step back, determined to put some distance between you and Caracalla, only for him to follow with a step of his own. “What is in your hand?”

“You will soon find out,” He said, a small grin twitching onto his face. “On your knees, medicus.”

Unsure if you should obey or not, you remained standing. For far too long, your jaw worked, no sound coming out of your mouth as you fought for what to say. “I— If you had come when I had asked, we would not be here. I thought you would not come to the clinic without incentive, so I lied. Caesar, I apologize.”

Caracalla was not so easily swayed. His voice raised in both pitch and volume, bouncing against the cavernous walls of the clinic. “Kneel before me, medicus! I will make you, if I must!”

“I— I have not broken the promise I made to you. I have not told Emperor Geta a word and I have no intention to,” You said, while slowly lowering yourself onto your knees. “He has not approached you, has he? He is not here, angry with us for hiding information from him, is he?”

Caracalla paused, his closed fist shaking. “No, but he asked me what you were being so vague about, medicus. For hours, he prattled! Your idle threats have piqued my brother’s curiosity.”

“So, he does not know. That is exactly what I am telling you.” By now, your breathing was harsh, coming out in sharp pants. “I have told him nothing, like I swore to you. Even if he threatens my life, I will tell him nothing.”

“What of now? Will you tell Geta that I frightened you tonight?”

“Everything that happens in this clinic is between us, Caesar.”

That answer seemed to calm him. A flicker of disappointment crossed over his face as he took a few steps back and motioned for you to stand. “Never lie to me again, medicus.”

“Never, I— Never again will I lie to you, Emperor Caracalla.” On shaking knees, you forced yourself to stand. The terror coming off of you in waves made him smirk and tilt his head back so he could get a better look at your trembling body. “Caesar, I… Do you know what it means to be a physician?”

“Why would I know what it means to be a physician?” He meandered towards your desk, and glanced at the contents before he set whatever he held in his hand flat on the wood. You didn’t get a chance to see what it was. His attention was back on you within moments. “Stupid questions do not entertain me.”

“It means doing what I can for my patients, no matter the cost. No matter the lie, or the price, or the suffering I endure, none of it matters so long as my patients are healthy and taken care of,” You said. Every few words, your voice would crack, but you kept talking in spite of that. “You and your brother are my patients now. I will never harm you, not only because you are emperors, but because your life is in my hands. E—Everything I do, it is for the people in my care. I cannot help you if you do not allow me to. That is— That is why I lied. That is why I said what I said. All I want is to help you.”

The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Caracalla stared at you from beside your desk, his fingers playing idly with the item that he had placed there. It didn’t seem like he believed you, his doubt almost palpable, even when he left behind whatever it was he was toying with to take your chin between his fingers. His grip was firm, almost painful.

“I want you to prove it to me.”

Unable to meet his gaze, you focused on his nose. He pinched you, harder and harder, until your eyes were on his. “I will, Caesar. I will.”

Finally, he let go, pleased with your deference. “Good. Good.”

You were nervous to turn your back to him, though you knew you had little choice. With the way he was positioned, your desk behind him, you would have to in order to get to your notes. Your legs felt like they were made of jelly as you circled around Caracalla, his predatory stare following you all the while, to grab your wax tablet with the emperors’ information.

When you looked to see what he had placed on your desk, what he had in his hand while you kneeled before him, you swallowed a gasp.

It was a needle.

He had truly intended to make good on your promise.

“I- I, uh—” You stammered as you grabbed your stethoscope. Its familiar weight helped ground you. “Tell me your symptoms, please.”

Caracalla sighed and flopped onto a nearby lectus, the same one where he ate his figs a few days before. “My nose has stopped up and I have a slight cough, along with soreness on the inside of my throat. Whenever I go outside, I am beset by fits of sneezing.”

When you motioned to the collar of your tunic, it took Caracalla a few slow blinks for him to understand what you were asking. Just as clumsy as before, he struggled out of the top half of his clothes, revealing his chest to you again. This time, you noticed a few pimples dotting his skin, almost hidden by the red hair on his pectorals.

“Breathe for me. In and out, as deeply as you can.” As Caracalla obeyed, you listened for the telltale rattle of mucus. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough for it to be uncomfortable. “And these symptoms, are they recurrent? Perhaps during the changing of seasons, particularly spring?”

Surprise made Caracalla’s eyebrows furrow. “How did you know?”

It was just as you expected: seasonal allergies.

“You have…” Pausing, you removed the stethoscope from your ears, letting it hang around your neck, as you fought for a way to explain this. “When the seasons change, flowers bloom, and they release a yellow powder. For some people, when they breathe this powder, it makes them sick.” A bit of anxiety crept into your tone as you reached to press your wrist to Caracalla’s forehead. You waited for him to nod before you pressed your skin against his. He was cool to the touch. You breathed a sigh of relief. “There is no cure. In spite of this, there are ways to manage the symptoms to make it more tolerable. Has your brother not noticed you get sick with the seasons?”

Caracalla groaned and rolled his eyes. “Notice? My brother hardly leaves my side when he believes I have fallen ill. He has this delusion that I will die. We are always together, yet, somehow, he manages to supersede even that with his worry.”

“That sounds very frustrating, Caesar.” A truth. It sounded very annoying to hardly get alone time simply because of allergies.

He grinned down at you, less cruel than you’d seen it, though still at your expense. You were crouching at his feet so you could meet his eyes more comfortably. “See-zer. Even when corrected, you still speak funny.”

“It is hard to remember…” You muttered with a flush. Coughing into your fist, you changed the subject back to what you were most comfortable with: medicine. “Take a hot bath to help clear your sinuses and thin the mucus in your lungs. The more steam, the better. To help with your sore throat, I will make you a drink of chamomile and honey—“

Caracalla cut you off with a beleaguered whine. “And it is sure to taste awful, like all physicians' remedies.”

“No, no, the honey makes it sweet,” You said with a laugh. “I like chamomile, it tastes flowery and gentle. It will help you sleep as well, so be sure to take it at night.” Perhaps some thyme as well, if only to help him cough up some phlegm. It was a natural expectorant and thankfully available in Rome. “If the hot bath does not work, I will use thyme to help clear your lungs.”

Caracalla nodded, finding your explanation acceptable. “That is all?”

“Come to me if your fever worsens, and I am trusting you to do so. If you break this trust, I will find you everyday, multiple times a day, until your symptoms stop.”

There was an odd look in his eyes when he nodded. “Are you done?”

“I am done.” Your joints cracked as you stood, a small smile adorning your face. While Caracalla still frightened you, especially knowing what he intended to do to you when he first arrived, he was still yours to care for. Yours to heal. “That was not so bad?”

“No, I suppose not,” Caracalla relented. He started for the door before he froze, as if remembering something. With hurried steps, he made his way over to your desk, and took the needle back into his closed fist. You fought a shiver.

“See you next time, Caesar.” Somehow, you managed to keep your tone pleasant.

Caracalla looked at you over his shoulder, that strange, unreadable expression on his face once again. “Yes. Yes, next time, medicus. Next time.”

With that, he was gone, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts. You swallowed hard as you stared at the place the needle had been. On instinct, you pressed the tips of your fingers gently against the rim of your eyelid. They were still there. Somehow, you had managed to calm Caracalla’s anger, and, to your horror, you doubted you would be able to do it again.

A sob bubbled from between your lips and you felt white hot shame build in your gut at the weakness. Caracalla didn’t hurt you. He wanted to, but he didn’t, that had to count for something. You dug your nails into your palm. The pain helped ground you as you stuffed your emotions into a box deep inside your chest. All you had to do was never betray Caracalla’s trust and you would keep your eyes. You couldn’t stop the whimper that pulled from your throat. Geta was sure to demand an answer for what you had implied earlier, and once again, you would be trapped. Either Geta’s wrath or Caracalla’s, it was yours to pick.

The answer came to you easier than expected.

Furiously, you scrubbed your face dry and began to organize your desk. Despite the clutter, it was an easy task. Everything had a place, everything had a purpose, and you would see to it that each tablet and scroll would be of use. It was evident now, more than ever, that you had to be at your best. No faltering, no letting your tongue loose, you had to be perfect unless you wanted to suffer dire consequences. It was almost how it was when you lived with your parents and you had managed that for two decades. They expected more from you than these emperors, yet you survived, even when you thought you wouldn’t. You could do it again, for however long this dream lasted.

It wasn’t until you had put away your notes did Geta enter the clinic. Unlike his brother, he didn’t throw open the doors hard enough for them to crack against the walls, but he did enter in a way that was befitting of his status. He swept into your clinic, his gaze hard, growing even harsher when he saw the exhaustion radiating off of you in waves. His jaw set, lips pressed into a firm line.

“Medicus, I demand you tell me what my brother is hiding from me. Now!”

No beating around the bush with either emperor, you realized. You almost wished they weren’t so blunt with their displeasure, it would make navigating this game of emotional chess easier.

Instead of wincing, you managed to confine your anxiety to a minute twitch of your fingers. “I apologize, but I cannot do that, Caesar.”

Geta drew himself up, managing to become even bigger than his elegant robes would allow. The fire in his dark eyes would have frightened you if you hadn’t been threatened with blindness not even ten minutes before.

“And why is that, Alga?” He spit your nickname out like it was a vile poison.

“I promised him that anything I learn about him inside this clinic will stay between us. It is the same promise I offer you,” You kept your voice steady even as your hands trembled by your sides.

“Your promises mean nothing to me.” Geta’s nostrils flared. It was obvious that he didn’t get denied often, and for a foreigner to do so, it was enough to stoke his flaring temper. “I want to know about my brother’s health, and if you deny me again, may the gods have mercy upon you because I will not.”

You wanted to curl up into a ball and die. At least then it would be on your own terms. Letting out a sharp sigh, you ran a hand down your face and hoped being vague wasn’t enough to earn Caracalla’s wrath. “Your brother is fine, Caesar. I have already worked out a regimen for both you and him that will bolster your health. I am too tired for threats from both Caesarēs in one night.”

“Caracalla was upset with you?” Judging from the upwards twitch of his lips, that pleased him. “Considering how long I hounded him for answers, I am not surprised the second I let him go, he came to you. Shall I leave you to lick your wounds, medicus?”

You waved him off and grabbed your sphygmomanometer and stethoscope. “No need, I calmed him down.” Gesturing to the lectus Caracalla was seated on earlier, you herded Geta in its general direction. “Sit, Caesar There is something I must check.”

To your surprise, Geta looked almost impressed as he obliged. “You managed to calm my brother from one of his rages?”

Great. That implied that Caracalla was prone to outbursts. You felt more tired already.

“It was no easy feat,” You muttered. When you held out the sphygmomanometer, Geta eyed the tool with a look of disdain. “Roll up your sleeve, please.”

“Ah, the vice.” He narrowed his eyes at you, but presented his upper arm to you all the same. “I am well aware how difficult Caracalla can be. I have known him my entire life.”

After wrapping the cuff around him, you began to pump, allowing it to tighten around his upper arm. Geta’s eyes bored into you the entire time, almost waiting for you to lash out so he can call for the praetorians nearby to take your head. Of course, that never happened. You placed the end of your stethoscope to his brachial artery and listened.

Once you were done, you let out a small puff of air from your nose. “Still very high, Caesar. That is not good.”

“What exactly are you measuring,” He asked, a single suspicious eyebrow raised.

“How effectively your heart is beating.” Gently, so as not to startle him, you removed the cuff and slid it around your wrist. “You are very stressed, Emperor Geta, and that amount of stress can affect your health. I want you to take one hour a day to relax, without the aid of wine. No thinking about the empire or your brother, this is time I want you to take for yourself and solely for yourself. Along with that, I prescribe you thirty minutes of exercise per day.”

Geta blinked, as if he had been expecting anything but what you said. “No elixirs or remedies?”

“That may come later if this does not help,” You replied. Like before with Caracalla, you were crouched by his side to remain eye level with Geta. “I want you to return once every three days so I may measure your heart. If this regimen does not work, then I will come up with another option.”

Geta covered his arm up with his robes once more. “And if I do not come?”

“Caesar, please help me, help you,” You said with a tired sigh. “Nothing will happen if you do not come. There will be no retaliation or spite in my care, I simply wish to prevent any issues from arising in the future. I take my job very seriously.”

After what felt like hours, he relented. “If I find the time, I will come.”

“Thank you.” You stood to allow him to leave, when you remembered his other issue. “The sore in your mouth, how is it?”

Geta did not turn around as he spoke, “I did as you instructed and it is gone.”

A bit of pride welled in your chest. It wasn’t praise, but it was as close as you would get. Once Geta was gone — and with a flick of his wrist, he left only one praetorian behind — you recorded your notes on his health before tossing the wax tablet haphazardly on your desk. The text was in English, so there was no worry that anyone unsavory would be able to read it.

It was finally time for bed.

A/N: Okay so, funny story. The Caracalla needle scene wasn’t originally planned, it just sort of happened. My fingers took a mind of their own in the Google Docs app and when I awoke from my writing trance, he was ready to make good on sticking a needle in Alga’s eye. And, somehow, it turned out to be one of my favorite scenes. Aside from the spit cup scene, which is actually the first scene I thought of for this fic. Originally, it was going to be wine Caracalla hocked a loogie in, but I needed them to be meaner and grosser. Will there be more spit in the future, in a more blatantly sexual context? Yeah. Just a heads up.

I think this is probably my favorite chapter I’ve written! I’m starting to get into the groove of writing Geta and Caracalla and how I want to characterize them, though I will still have a slight worry they’re OOC. We march on, however! I am having soooooo much fun writing this fic, y’all don’t even know.

Also, sorry Geta lovers, my bias is showing, but the next two chapters will be Caracalla centric. At least according to my plans, who knows, I might get visions of a Geta scene that must come to fruition. We shall see.

As always, comments and feedback are much appreciated!!! They mean so much to me, and I’m going to be so real, they help motivate me to write more. But, ultimately, just reading means the world to me. Thank you so much for sticking around!! <33

Taglist: @snazzynacho @t6gse370 @cherrysweets-world @justlibra

[miragens-para-uma-vitoria]

And for those who want to read about gladiators 2, with my romantic and perverted taste, I recommend these three works that I'm following and that the writers are very receptive and kind.

E para quem quiser ler sobre gladiadores 2, com meu gosto romântico e pervertido, recomendo essas três obras que estou acompanhando e que os escritores são muito receptivos e gentis.

By: @cherrysweets-world

(It's sweet, addictive and very well written)

(É doce, viciante e muito bem escrito)

By: @causeimhappinesss

(For those looking for a Christian reader, this is perfect, very well written and explores something I've never seen written about Geta and Caracalla before.)

(Para quem procura um leitor cristão, este é perfeito, muito bem escrito e explora algo que ainda não havia visto escrito para Geta e Caracalla)

By: @punk-in-docs

(One of my favorites, and I've put the link to my favorite chapter so far, I recommend it to anyone who likes dubcon content, I'm sure you'll like it a lot and fall in love with the whole story)

(Um dos meus favoritos, e coloquei o link para o meu capítulo favorito até agora, recomendo para quem gosta de conteúdo dubcon, tenho certeza que você vai gostar muito e se apaixonar por toda a história)

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/GladiatorII

By: thesecretluminary

(This was presented to me by someone blessed who heard my request for incest between a sister and the twins, it is strong and touches soft and dark souls)

(Isso foi apresentado a mim por alguém abençoado que ouviu meu pedido de incesto entre uma irmã e os gêmeos, é forte e toca almas suaves e sombrias)

[cryobabiess]

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x concubine!reader

Summary: After a public tantrum at a senator's gathering, Geta sends Caracalla's most beloved concubine to comfort his mad brother. Tags: hurt/comfort, slightly NSFW, implied/mentioned sex, Caracalla has serious mommy issues, nipple play, breastfeeding :/ (sorry), short fic, Caracalla is obsessed with your big naturals I guess idk AN: I'm not sure if there's any Otessa Moshfegh enjoyers out there, but this lil mini fic is inspired by Lapvona. Caracalla's man-child vibe reminded me of Merek, so naturally I had to write the most strange and off-putting fic to satisfy my weird-girl impulses. Enjoy, freaks!

Hurt by his brother’s callous words, the divine emperor Caracalla had fled the senator’s banquet in a fit of rage. It only takes a single tense glance from Emperor Geta for you to receive his silent command to follow after his mad brother. It does not take long to find him.

Like always, he hides away under a golden table tucked in the far corner of the throne room. His sniveling echoes off the tall marble walls. You slowly approach his curled up form, as if not to startle a wild hare.

“Caracalla. You must come out now.” You call his name softly.

“I will not.” He croaks through his tears, turning his back towards you. With a sigh, you sink to your knees, extending your open arms towards him.

You wait for Caracalla to find his sense. After a few moments, He finally turns to you to reveal his face—pale, rosy, and wet.

“Has brother sent you to scold me? I am no child!” Spite coats his words. You smile at the absurdity. He could order your head on a pike if he so pleased, but prefers for you to indulge his brooding. A god-king with the whims of a spurned child.

“No, I do not seek to scold, little prince. Come now, so that I may hold you.”

And with that, the emperor crawls to you.

He settles into your arms and you cradle his torso, the luxurious fabric of his ornate robes pooling at your lap. His cheek rests atop your bosom like a newborn babe—he weeps like one too.

“It is unjust! Brother always has the last word, yet I am eldest!” Caracalla laments, his tears wet the bodice of your stola.

You use your free hand to smooth tendrils of copper hair away from his damp face. A tantrum of this magnitude was not uncommon for the young emperor, though you often wondered how a man could display such behaviors at the age of twenty and one. Caracalla was distinctly tender, despite his blood lust. His ego was delicate, easily wounded by Geta’s pragmatism and rigid sensibility.

“He wishes to be rid of me, I know it.” He sniffles, his hand reaching to fiddle with the pendant resting at the base of your neck. You smile softly despite growing weary of this routine.

“Don’t be without reason, mea dulcis. You are invaluable to Rome and all her subjects. Geta speaks without tact when he is cross. You must know this too, hmm?”

Caracalla thinks for a moment, brows knitting together in contemplation.

“He is unkind. It should have been him to suffer in the womb, not I.”

You can’t help but laugh at his juvenile description of his brother's malicious cruelty. Frustration flashes across Caracalla’s face as water threatens to brim his eyes again.

“Peace, my lamb. No more tears.” You coo, using a thumb to swipe away at the wetness—but it is too late. Your laughter invited a new wave of angry tears. He buries his face in your breasts, jeweled fingers dragging down the fabric of your stola. His mouth quickly finds your nipple. You hiss, resisting the urge to pull him away from your flesh.

It brings the emperor great comfort to suckle you. Geta had explained Caracalla’s affliction once before.

“Our own mother denied him her breast; she believed him to be cursed. Perhaps he held on to that trangression. He called for a wet nurse until the age of ten and two. My brother has always suffered from madness, you see.”

You had taken prior notice of this habit. After he fucks you like an animal in heat, he often drifts back to your tit, lazily sucking and nibbling until sleep takes him. You thought nothing of it until emperor Geta revealed it’s cause to you.

And though you had no milk to bear, tranquility came over the man as if he had been fed. Eyes closed and breath even, he plays with a tendril of your hair as he rolls your swollen nipple in his hot mouth—lost in bliss. It is odd, but you pity him. With his lips so flush against you and his expression finally at peace, one could forget the madness, the carnage, the rage.

Sometime later, Caracalla regains his composure, standing straight with his shoulders back, returning to a proud and stately posture. He crudely wipes the spit from his chin with the back of his hand.

“You will attend to me in my chambers tonight.” He commands before returning to the festivities.

[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.”

[the-not-so-silent-back-up]

I guess the main difference between emperor Caracalla and emperor Geta fans is

Caracalla fans: I need to fuck this man senseless

Geta fans: I need this man to fuck me senseless

I know there are also a lot or people who like both but I think this is a difference between both of them.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods Masterlist

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

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

Warnings - minors dni, 18+, unedited, blood, background character death, gladiator fighting, eventual dub-con, pining, obsessive affection, historical inaccuracies, mentions of past domestic violence, vomit, reader is intoxicated at certain points, eventual threesome, possessive/obsessive/unhealthy relationships and behaviours, attempted murder, more to be added

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

7th Feb

11th Feb

14th Feb

Helpful Info

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

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

pictures from radio times article and google

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

ao3 - cherrysweetswrites

[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.

[hislittlesparklejumpropequeen]

As my emperor wishes

Summary: Emperor Geta and his brother Emperor Caracalla get into one of their usual arguments. Emperor Geta sends him a gift as an apology; you. Warnings: vaginal sex, kissing, bodily fluids, blood, creampie, mentions of killing, sex work, prostitution, drinking, oral sex(f receiving) emotional sex Emperor Caracalla x female!reader

Word count:3.7k

Non-canon events

Since the moment he was born, his younger brother, Geta would always push him down, get on his shoulders and collect all the power he could. For Geta, and for everybody ever, he was just a fool. A fool with a wicked smile and rich tastes that could be easily entertained and kept busy with other matters that did not involve any politicking. He did enjoy his time with his companions and wine and gold. But he could always feel the eyes of people on him. Those pitying eyes that saw him as an idiot and nothing more. It was always Geta who got to get everything in the first place. Best fabrics were shown to him, best armours were forged for him, most luscious whores sent to him, and he had the say in senate before him and after him.

He was so deep into this hellhole that he did not know how to get out of it anymore. His brother possessed all the power of Rome while he had to pretend to be busy with more foolish tasks. He took a sip of his wine as the cool wind of Rome brushed his burning skin and made him take a deep breath in. He was feeling the walls closing in on him and crush him in his chambers. He was wide awake in the night as their subjects were already deep in their peaceful sleep. As he was trying to bring his thoughts and mind together to find some tranquility from the voice in his head that kept him awake, the doors of his chambers were knocked. He sighed in annoyance and called out for person to come in. He wondered what stupid matter had occurred in the night so that they were bothering him.

His doors opened and he heard small pair of footsteps enter his bedchambers. Yet footsteps didn’t reach to the balcony that he was at. They stayed near the door and waited for him turn around. His aquamarine eyes looked back in wonder to see who it was. He was expecting one of the servants or guards that he had always seen in the place, yet it was young woman that he had never seen before. She was barely dressed in the soft looking, maroon-coloured fabrics that were wrapped around her body. Her hair was down, so different than the hairstyles that noble women of the Rome would wear, and he would see everyday. She did not have any jewellery or anything particularly that would show wealth and power. She was almost bare in front of his eyes.

“Your majesty.” You said with a soft voice that made him shiver in the chill of the night. “I’ve been sent to you as a gift, by your brother, the emperor Geta as a gratitude of your service to the state of Rome and your support to him.” You spoke out the learned sentences that were especially taught by your master. The smile on your lips made him part his lips and suck in another deep breath.

“Geta sent you?” He asked, echoing your words as he walked into his chambers and went to fill his emptied goblet with wine. You took courage from him not sending you out immediately and being calm, so you slowly started to approach him.

“Yes, your majesty.” He remembered their argument from hours ago where they both used hurtful words to one another. Geta knew him better than anyone so he was skilled in hurting him deep as he could. He knew his weaknesses and his soft spots. All his insecurities that he could not share with anyone, his secrets that he kept to himself and struggles that he could not get over. Geta was clever and he loved mocking him. So, it was not unusual for them to argue and Geta to send a gift as an apology after. He was gifted with whores many times. Pretty girls, pretty boys, common looking ones, exotic ones, well trained ones. Yet when you finally came near him, he looked at you carefully for the first time and he saw something he has never seen before, pure perfection. You looked at him with the gentlest smile he was ever seen, and your eyes were gentler than your smile if it was possible. He looked at your figure, your visible breast and curves that made his heart skip a beat.

“There is no other with you.” He said, realising that it was only you that Geta had sent. You nodded.

“Yes, your majesty. Emperor Geta chose me himself. Specially for you.” You said, your voice quiet, almost whispering as you got closer to him. You realised his knuckles around the goblet had turned white when there was only a step distance between two of you. His shoulder and arms looked tense.

“Why is that?” He raised an eyebrow with your words. Your smile widened when you took the goblet from his hand and took a sip of his wine. The little drop that escaped your lips trailed down your chin to your neck. His eyes followed the little, red drop. His mouth watered at the sight of your exposed neck.

“His majesty will be my first man, if he wishes it to be tonight.” You said when you offered him the goblet back. He took it and pressed his lips exactly on the spot you just drank from. The warmth of your lips was still lingering on the metal. He felt his manhood twitch under his nightgown.

“You never been with a man before?” He asked, almost not believing it. You nodded and saw his eyes shine with excitement and something you could not quite name. Something that look primal, animalistic that made him looked scary for a second. And for the first time since you entered his chambers, he brought his fingers up and touched you by softly caressing your arm with his fingertips. The touch was so light that you barely felt it. Yet he felt the coldness of your skin that was most likely affected by the chill of the night.

“I’m going to be your first.” He spoke to you or to himself, you did not know nor cared. He drank the last bit of wine and tossed the goblet somewhere you could not see. Then took your hand and led you to the enormous bed that was in the middle of the room. The sheets were not tidy, made you think that he had tried to sleep yet failed before you came to his chambers. You wondered what kept him awake. He sat down and looked up to you, his eyes looking shiny under the moonlight. He almost looked innocent.

“How does my emperor want it to be tonight? This servant of his majesty learned everything there is to know.” He bit his bottom lip when you finished talking and waited for his commands. Did he wanted to toss you around and just use you like a hole? Did he wanted to care only about his own satisfaction and listen to your false noises and praises for the whole night? He looked up to you again. The way you looked so beautiful and ethereal while you were looking down at him. Your eyelashes framing your enchanting eyes that were full of softness, your lips curled upwards and looking so kissable. He found it strange that he wanted to kiss you. He had never desired to kiss any of the whores he spent his nights with.

“I wish to-“he stoped and took another deep breath. You gently cupped his cheek and saw his eyelashes shake as you touched him. Your hands felt cooling and comforting on his skin that was on fire.

“I want to make love.” He said and a sigh of relief left his trembling lips. He did not remember the last time he looked so vulnerable in front of someone. He had always tried to smile without any care, pretend to not hear his brother’s cruel words, fuck his way into banquets and brothels, drink his days away.

“As my emperor wishes.” You said and the wrapped fabrics on your shoulders dropped to your feet with one swift move of your fingers. His shining eyes found your breasts, your belly, your loins and lastly your eyes again. He looked like a hungry lion, and you were his meal. The thought made you tingly between your legs. His uniquely pale cheeks were flushed red, and his breaths were quick, raggedy. You wondered if it was you who made him like this or his won infamous ‘madness’?

“Beautiful…” he whispered, his voice coming like a scared child, a broken man. His fingers found your hips and he brought your figure closer to him. His head, his mouth was right next to your womanhood, his warm breath hitting your pubic bone. You felt the force on your knees failing you, yet you managed to stand still. He opened his mouth hesitantly and his pink, shiny tongue touched your skin. The warmth of his mouth made you breathe out in shock. His tongue danced on your pubic bone and went down to your lips. His mouth covered your pussy, his tongue parting your folds and finding your clitoris. The tip of his tongue was playing with you cruelly as his hands were tight and rough on your hips. You cried out, begging him to show you mercy. And all you got back from him was a chuckle that sounded teasing and mocking.

He moaned into your folds when your fingers found his ginger-blonde hair and pushed his head closer to your little heaven. His nose and mouth were almost buried into you, and you wondered if he was out of breath between your legs. He slowly turned his attention to your already leaking hole from your clitoris that was swollen and throbbing. He dipped his tongue into you, collecting all your juices as his nose was stimulating your clitoris. The taste made his dick twitch and pulse painfully. You saw his seed leaking out of his red, tumescent cock that was rock hard.

“Mercy, your majesty, mercy!” You moaned out as he was still eating you like a man starved. He brought his face away and you saw your juices covering half of his face. His eyes were dropped, and he was breathing fast when he looked up to you again. You saw his eyelashes wet from his teary eyes. You did not want to wait any longer. You were so sure that it was going to be about his pleasure tonight when you were sent to him yet the moment he laid his eyes on you, you wanted him to touch you in places no one has ever did before. Your lips finally met for the first time tonight when you positioned yourself on his lap, in his arms.

His mouth captured yourself immediately, his tongue entering trough your lips and finding your own tongue without wasting any second. You tasted yourself on his tongue when he was whimpering and pushing his crotch up to you desperately. Your wetness coated his cock as he was grinding against your folds, moaning into your mouth. His hand grabbed one of your breasts and his burning fingertips played harshly with your nipple, twisting it, pinching it. The closeness made you dizzy, and you felt all the thoughts on your mind disappear in moments. It did not matter that it was an emperor that you were kissing in this moment. You were woman and man, aching, thirsty for one another. You were in your most human form, and no one could ruin this for you.

His lips traced down to your neck when his fingertips found your leaking, clenching hole that was trying to take something in. He started to suck and lick on the sensitive skin of your exposed neck as his fingers were playing with your entrance. Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, nails scratching his back as he slowly entered one finger into you. You heard him hiss into your skin when your walls clenched around his single finger. The feeling was immense. You have tried it yourself before, yet your fingers were nothing compared his single digit that made you breath deep and quick.

“Your majesty!” You cried out when his finger started to pump in and out of you. His motion stopped immediately when the words left your mouth. With that you froze in fear. He looked up to your eyes, your eyes that were teary just like his own, looking at him with hunger and impatience.

“My name is Antoninus.” He whispered to you when he broke the eye contact and pressed his head against yours. You gasped when you felt his tears rolling down his cheeks and drop down to your collarbone. Your body was pressed right against him, feeling his shaky, trembling hands on your hips, feeling his hard cock against your entrance, and hearing him sniff. He was crying like a little boy in your arms. Was he always crying when no one was looking? You wondered. Yet you kept your questions to yourself and cupped his cheek to make him look at you. He looked so human with tears in his eyes, rolling down his face, his raggedy breaths leaving his mouth rapidly and his lips glistening with your shared spit. You smiled softly when your own tears started to spill, because of the tingly, burning sensation in your belly or because of the heaviness in your heart, you did not know.

“I look at you, and I see you.” You whispered, almost afraid of the ears of walls and ground of the palace as you took the head of his cock into you slowly. His eyes widened and he threw his head back with a sob. With that his back was welcomed by the mattress of his bed. In this new position, you took him deeper and deeper into you, almost sending both of you over the edge. And when he was fully seated into you, your toes curled with the stingy, painful yet addictive sensation that was building a pressure in your lower belly. Your spine arched like a cat when his hands found your hips again. He grabbed your folds softly yet still reminding you of his strength and lust.

You waited for a moment to let yourself adjust to his length as he was caressing your skin from your hips to your stomach to your breasts. His fingers collected the small sweat drops between your breasts that escaped the wind of the Roman night that was blasting into his chambers. He looked up to you like you were a goddess. In this moment, with his cock in your wet, tight hole, hair down over your shoulders, nipples hard and hips quivering, looking down at him with those eyes that made his heart skip a beat, you were a true image of Venus.

“By Jupiter!” His voice echoed in his chambers when you started to move, up and down on his cock. He held onto your waist like you were the last thing in the world. Your walls were stretching out to make a room for him in you, making you a crying, moaning mess on him. Your hair bounced on your back as you quickened your pace, the noises of skin slapping on skin filled your ears and the sounds of your wet hole squelching around his throbbing member made you blush. You felt him thrust his hips upwards, trying to not have any moment of his cock out of your heaven and the thought of him being so eager for you made you smile in bliss.

You could feel his balls slapping the skin of your hips as he held you by your waist and made you stop to only continue himself by snapping his hips upwards to your loins with an immense speed that made your eyes roll back into your head. Your clit was burning from the friction of his thick, light brown hair. He looked down at your joined parts and saw the small amount of blood simmering both on your and his skin. He pulled his hips back, ignoring your cries of displeasure for a moment to look at his glistening cock that was covered in your blood, juices, his seed and sweat. The view made his stomach tighten in ecstasy. He collected some of the spent that dripped down to base of cock with his fingertips and brought them to his mouth. Then his tongue licked his fingers clean as he looked deep into your eyes and dived his cock back into you. The scene that took place in front of your eyes was your last kick before your legs shook, noises you never heard from yourself left your mouth and your walls tightened around him painfully. He moaned with you and followed you not long after.

You pushed yourself down as he pushed himself up in the heat of the moment. Your skin and bones crushed into one another, and finally you felt his seed shoot right into you. The warmth and the heaviness of his spent made you clench more and more with the urge to milk him. He threw his head back to catch his breath. You were panting like a dog on top of him, walls still tight around his softening cock that kept twitching in you.

“Come here.” He said with a stupid smile on his face and grabbed your arm to pull you down to him. He planted a long kiss onto your lips as his hands started to caress your back with affection that you would never expect from him. You heard him sigh when you felt the cold breeze on your sweat covered back that his fingers were drawing invisible shapes on.

“It never felt like this before.” He whispered, looking up to the ceiling. You looked up to him, seeing him swallow down few times before he looked back at you. There it was again. That innocent boy. It was like he had two different people in the same body. The one that you had your arms wrapped around and the one that had lips wrapped around his cock as he watched people mutilate one another.

“Rome is ours, palace is ours, throne is ours, crown is ours, power is his, and yet you’re mine.” He turned to you and said, tears filling his eyes again. You blinked few times, not knowing what to say. You could feel his spent drip out of you as he was still in you.

“Sometimes I wish that he never existed.” His voice sounded guilty for feeling that way. They were brothers. They had shared a womb together and came to this world together. Geta was the first alive being he knew. They played together as children, trained with swords together, ran off to a brothel in the middle of the night for the first time together. He remembered the times Geta would take the blame for the things he did even tho he was the younger. Geta had always been braver than him. Smarter in some sense. He did not trust anyone but him. Yet Geta was cruel. Not just to others but to him as well. He wished to go back to times when they loved one another without any doubt.

“I wish he was dead.” He whispered not caring if you head or not. Then rolled over to the side of the bed to and closed his eyes. You looked at his naked back, the scars that were work of your nails were red and looked like they were going to stay there for few more days. His breaths were calm and steady, reassuring you that he was falling asleep.

“Don’t leave.” He whispered when he felt you move beside him. The words made you smile, and you went to kiss his cheek. After a moment of silence, he was defeated by his sleep again. You left the bed quietly and walked to the small table to grab a goblet of wine. After looking at this sleeping naked form for the last time, you sat down at the balcony with your wine.

The night was calm and cold. The sounds of birds that were waking up slowly filled your ears as you drank your wine. You could still feel his hands on you. His seed was dripping down your leg and your hips were burning from the marks he left on your skin. The small, enslaving soreness between your legs sent shivers down your spine, making you shake as the cool wind made its way trough your damp hair. You remembered your conversation with the man who sent you to these chambers earlier in the day.

“The moment you get a chance, slit his throat. With a knife in his room or a piece of glass. Anything.”

Macrinus’s words echoed in your ears. He wanted to get rid of the emperors and it did not matter which one was first to go. Would Caracalla get suspicious of his brother sending him a pretty, untouched girl as an apology? He did not even give a second thought to it. But did you want to do it? Did you want to slit his throat in his sleep when he fell asleep with the euphoria from your cunt? He liked you, it was obvious and if you moved smartly, you could be more than just a one-night whore. Would you be something after killing him and staying loyal to Macrinus that basically bought your master because of his debts? Would you be safe? Would you be respected? Would you be loved and needed?

Yet the man who became your first tonight needed someone to save him. Someone to save him from his brother. You got up and left his chambers like the serpent under the flower.

Next week, Geta was murdered in his chambers after an encounter with a whore. The same whore that you saved from getting beaten up for stealing bread from the imperial kitchens, the one that owed you her life. The one that you saw after leaving your emperor’s chambers and the one that cried and fought against killing emperor Geta. The one that cried of fear for the whole night as you returned to his chambers and slid into his arms.

“Don’t ever leave again.” Caracalla said with a sleepy voice as he buried his face into the crook of your neck and inhaled your scent.

“As my emperor wishes.” You said, remembering the girls frighten face from minutes ago and wrapped your arms around his relaxed shoulders.

[s-lverwing]

DEATH KINK

pairing. emperor caracalla x empress!reader.

summary. Devotion between you and Caracalla is measured in blood.

word count. 1.5k (short one :3)

warnings. dark themes. blood. toxic relationships. slaves and concubines? weird relationship dynamics i guess. character death ? ig (not reader or caracalla dw). english isn’t my first language.

a/n. i don’t remember the scene very clearly so you have to bear with me. wrote this in like two hours so it’s not edited no nothing we die like the twins. please if you enjoyed this leave a comment, reblog, whatever u want 🐛.

It was no surprise that you, the recently crowned Empress, would draw every single gaze whenever you walked into a room; draped in the empire’s most expensive silks, your skin gleamed beneath the weight of Rome’s all gold—rings encircled your fingers, necklaces coiled around your throat and chest. Even when you entered the triclinium, side by side with the Emperors.

As always, you were seated close to Caracalla, always beside Caracalla, but never within his brother’s reach. There, you were often seen as a prize —though inaccessible— and a curse.

The scent of sweat and blood thickened the air as the clash of steel echoed through the hall. You weren’t even paying attention. Caracalla shifted in his throne, restless, predatory, his lips twitching with dark amusement. And maybe Geta did the same.

Then came the gladiators.

“Swords,” Caracalla groaned, his voice slurred. Childlike in its craving. His eyes, hazy with intoxication, shone with a dangerous hunger. “I want swords.”

He let out a mocking laugh, his ringed fingers caressing your leg with a pressure that could only mean he was far from consciousness; his touch heavy and unsteady. Like he was most likely trying not to slip away. The intoxication mixed with his own disease blurred his senses, yet his grip remained intense.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. His need was so raw, so unrestrained. “A fight to the death! No quarter to be offered, or given” you raised your voice as a sadistic thrill dancing in your chest. You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body, the unpredictability of his madness seeping into your bones.

You loved him to death.

It was almost amusing to see how they all believed—how they fantasized—that you, a noble-born girl, now a woman, could ever hope to civilize a creature so deranged and unhinged as Caracalla. Kicked and left alone at such a young age, rotten to the core and probably to his mind too. Citizens whispered among themselves, imagining that love, care, tenderness, could redeem the blood-stained mind of Caracalla. How sweet was their foolishness. Their faces—so full of hope, of pity, such a beautiful lady trapped in such destiny—always crumbled in disbelief every time you spoke, every syllable that escaped your lips reminding them of your control over a man who could burn an empire with but a whim.

They fantasized about you being his tamer, as though you could tame what was never meant to be tamed, and cure what had long been beyond healing. The truth was bittersweet. For what they all failed to understand, or what they would never understand, is that you weren’t a healer of broken things. How could you explain that your heart warmed at the sight of him relishing in violence? His madness now belonged to you, woven into your very soul. And love? Love could never soften the edges of such brutal spirit—it could only feed the fire.

You adapted. You survived. You thrived in the shadows of his cruelty, and the power it gave you. You learned to enjoy and yearn for the taste of blood, the sound of a life taken with a mere word from your lips. You reveled in the control, the pleasure, the satisfaction. It almost wasn’t a mad thing under your eyes. It was an act of love. Even Macrinus, so quick to label you as bloodthirsty, so eager to brand you as a woman gone mad and turned dangerous, could never understand and always shows himself surprised.

The fight started and you had to roll your eyes at Hano’s words. It felt like an intrusion, a stain. It ruined everything for you.

While everyone was enjoying the fight, one of Caracalla’s discarded concubines—a slave you’d thought long forgotten—had dared to reach for the emperor’s knee, his delicate fingers grazing his upper leg with insolent familiarity. Caracalla did not pull away. Instead, his body softened, inviting the touch with ease, indulgent in a way that twisted something sharp and venomous inside your chest.

Jealousy came to you like a big black wave, something sharp and unyielding; carved from the same iron as the swords that painted Rome’s conquered territories red. It lodged itself beneath your skin, festering, until it became as familiar as brething—a constant ache you could neither purge nor embrace fully. It wasn’t simply desire or the hunger for possession. It was something wretched: the need to be the only one Caracalla turned to when the sickness in his mind became too loud to bear. To be the only one he desires and needs every single time. It often felt like a wound that never healed — and it never would.

He was pure chaos wrapped in imperial red—a creature of untamed anger, both cruel and relentless—but he was yours. Not because he loved you in the way poets sang of, nor in ways little girls dreamed of, but because you understood the shadows that devoured him, ones that fed on you both. Your bond was forged in the smothering heat of violence, in whispered commands that condemned lives, in glances exchanged over bloody arenas where human lives were torn apart for sport. It was a language you both spoke so effortlessly, the language of violence.

While Caracalla never promised fidelity, never whispered of devotion. He understood long ago he didn’t need to. Your understanding went beyond mortal vows, or words. You stills remember the first execution that had twisted your stomach, nausea clawing at your throat as the blade struck flesh, severing a life at your own whispered command. It was a slave; a gift from his twin brother Geta. The only thing she had done wrong was to stare for a second longer in Caracalla’s way. He’d found you later, hands still stained with blood, and kissed you like he was trying to consume your bare soul. And you had let him, because surrendering to him just felt right. Dreamy even.

By the second time it happened, for you it was a lot easier. By the third, you no longer turned away. And then Caracalla simply no longer lusted for carnal pleasure outside your marriage. You learned to savor it—the thrill of power, the satisfaction of everyone’s disapproving glances, the realization that you, too, could be merciless. Whispers said that bloodlust, it seemed, could be contagious.

And Caracalla needed you, as you seemed to be made from the same shattered pieces he was. You were forged in the same merciless burning fire, twin flames consuming everything in their path.

“Careful” You whispered as your hand shot out with precise cruelty, striking the boy’s wrist hard enough to sting, though he didn’t knew the true punishment would come later. Your lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile when you saw the concubine’s startled expression, quickly masked by a defiant laugh. Good, you thought. Let him believe he had won something. Let him feel safe.

Later, when the games were done, when the blood-soaked marbled floors had cooled, you went to Caracalla—not to beg, but to demand. You crawled into his lap, as you have done many times, let him bury his hands in your hair, and whisper what you wanted like it was a sacred invocation. Gods’ spoke through you. He easily obliged, giving it to you, not only because of love, but also because your voice was the only one which could still the storm in his head, the way you could channel his fury into something he deemed purposeful.

“Him.” Your voice cut through the cinnamon scent filled air. You didn’t even bother looking at the concubine—his fate was already sealed. Instead, your eyes remained fixed on the faces around you, enjoying the flickers of recognition and fear that bloomed like flowers. A sardonic smile tugged at your lips, as an unspoken reminder of who actually held their lives…

Caracalla was always watching you, always listening, always poised between affection and destruction. The small crowd of concubines and imperial guards, and maybe the citizens too, might have believed Rome’s fate rested in his hands, but you knew better. His power was tempered and magnified by your will.

Without a word, he reached for you, tracing the curve of your jaw as though in reverence—maybe to ask for forgiveness. His lips brushed your forehead. This was his acknowledgment, his devotion in the only way he knew how. You were bound by something the Gods themselves wouldn’t dare name.

He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto his guard. The command that followed was calm, almost indifferent—“His head.”

And when the concubine’s lifeless body was dragged through the dirt at her feet, Caracalla’s dark eyes gleamed with understanding. As he pulled you close, their breath mingled like a shared secret, and you knew you were his. But not because you had tamed him—as no one could. But because you had matched his cruelty with your own, answered his violence with your own form of devotion.

You would eternally consume each other—because love, in its purest yet darkest form, was conquest.

a/n 2: hi again i just love a reader who would match caracalla’s freak 🫦🫦🫦