#emperor caracalla x oc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

archivequinn · 4 days ago

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What's your secret, envoy?

emperor geta x fem!reader

18+ only! MDNI

Summary: Desperation drives you to the gates of the Roman Empire when your brother is dragged away to fight as a gladiator in their blood-soaked arenas. With nothing left to lose, you strike a perilous bargain with the cunning Emperor Geta—your freedom and future in exchange for your brother’s life. But what begins as a desperate ploy turns into a tangled web of intrigue, betrayal, and forbidden ties. You never imagined that the ruthless emperor would become more than an adversary—and that the most dangerous risk of all would be losing him.

Chapter 1: Flare of Fire

You're in the castle. But it's not just any castle. It's the grandest, most magnificent fortress in all of Rome. The walls are made of solid marble, etched with intricate designs and adorned with golden ornaments. The halls echo with the sound of footsteps, and the air is heavy with the scent of incense and wine. Within the castle, there are dozens of rooms, each one more lavish than the last. The main hall features a ceiling painted with scenes of ancient Rome, while the floors are covered in intricate mosaics of animals and mythical creatures. The dining hall is fit for an emperor, with a long, polished table that can seat fifty guests, and a massive fireplace carved from black obsidian. And of course, there are countless bedrooms, each adorned with silken sheets, plush pillows, and tapestries depicting epic battles. The outer walls are twenty feet high and ten feet thick, made of solid quarried from the mountains to the north. It is a place of power and luxury, and only those who are worthy may enter.

You know all this because you've been trying to get in here for a long time. You did a lot of research, reading, talking to countless people, studying drawings, observing.

You close your eyes, reliving a memory of which you can't remember how long ago it was. Surrounded by isolation, so shortly after you lost your family and your brother was captured as a gladiator.

“How harmful can a barn full of straw be?” your friend said. “Straw can't hurt you. It won't harm you. In fact, it helps you to eat, it helps the animals to eat. Right?”

You knew where this was going.

“But what if you are standing in that straw-filled barn with a lighter in your hand, a spark, a little breeze of fire, will turn it into your grave. And these harmless straws will be the cause of your death.”

The straws here were our thoughts. No matter how bad the thoughts were, as long as they remained thoughts, they were harmless. All of us, even those who are not depressed, have thoughts of self-harm from time to time, thoughts of hurting someone else when we are angry. We are human beings and these are our instincts. Our straw.

And what was our fire? To put our thoughts into action.

If you do what you think, that would be your spark. You were holding a lit match in a barn full of straw. It was either going to go out or it was going to fall out of your hand and set the place ablaze.

Emperor Geta is standing in front of you like a violent storm that could cause the apocalypse to break at any moment. “Caracalla?” he growls. When you hear his full and annoyingly calm voice, you are brought out of the memories and back to the present reality, you are really standing in front of him. You're looking at Emperor Geta, a faint sneer curling his lips. “He is my twin, yes. But we do not 'run together', as you put it. We rule the empire together, but that is where our similarities end.” He takes a step towards you, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

“Caracalla is a weakling. A fool who spends his days chasing after servants and slaves, indulging in every vice known to man. I, on the other hand, am a true emperor. Strong, ruthless, and unyielding. My word is law, and any who cross me will suffer the consequences.”

You take a deep breath and the words you've rehearsed for so long dance out of your mouth.

“Your Majesty, I have been sent as an envoy from a distant kingdom to bring you an important message from my king, a message that was given to me to be delivered to you and your twin brother Caracalla, but…”

“No need.” Emperor Geta narrows his eyes suspiciously at your mention of distant kingdom. “It's just me,” he says curtly, “speak your message.” He gestures to a nearby table, and a servant quickly rushes over to pour him a goblet of wine. He takes a long drink, never taking his eyes off you.

You take a few steps and look out from the terrace. You take a deep breath, careful to not let your guard down in the face of his power, to hide how afraid you actually were of him. “It's about the gladiators...”

Emperor Geta raises an eyebrow at your mention of gladiators. “Go on,” he says, taking another sip of wine. “I am listening.”

“You are going to free them.”

A dark chuckle rumbles in Emperor Geta's throat at your proposal. “Free the gladiators?” he repeats incredulously. “What nonsense is this? The gladiators are our property. They exist only to fight for our amusement and profit. To free them would be to throw away a valuable resource, one that has brought us wealth and power beyond measure.” He takes another swig of wine, his eyes flickering with contempt. “Your king must be a fool if he thinks I would ever agree to such a ridiculous proposal.”

“But you have not yet listened to what is being offered to you in return, Your Majesty.”

Emperor Geta sets down his goblet, his gaze fixed on you. “And what do you propose in return?” he asks warily.

“My king will give you what you need most in exchange for freeing all the gladiators. Information. You may be rich enough to get worlds, you may have an army of hundreds of thousands of knights. But how sure are you of their loyalty to you? All of them, really, even the servants who wait on you at night while you sleep, how much do you trust them? I know something very important about the people closest to you, and my lips are sealed.”

Emperor Geta eyes you suspiciously, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne. “What information?” he demands. “And how can I be certain that you will keep your word and not use this knowledge against me?”

“You can't be sure, you have to take some kind of gamble here.” This time you feel like you have the advantage and you grin, but you know that Emperor Geta is very clever.

Emperor Geta regards you skeptically, his expression inscrutable. “Very well,” he says finally. “I will consider your offer.” He stands up from his throne, towering over you like a giant. “But be warned, ” he says, his voice cold and menacing. “If I find out that you are lying to me or attempting to deceive me in any way, you will regret it.”

You fix your eyes on his brown eyes, are you afraid of him? Maybe. But will your fear stop you? No. If he knew that your brother was the one you really wanted to save among the gladiators, and that you were actually a simple villager and not a envoy sent by a king, he would kill you right now. You're sure of it.

But you don't back down, You're almost sure you fooled him by pretending to be noble. “You don't have much time.”

Emperor Geta narrows his eyes at your sense of urgency. “What do you mean?” he says, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

“You must inform me of your decision before tonight's game. That is my king's order.”

Emperor Geta glowers at you, his hand still hovering over the hilt of his sword. “I do not like to be rushed,” he growls. “But fine. I will make my decision before tonight's game.” He turns sharply on his heel and strides back towards his throne. “You may leave now,” he says dismissively, waving a hand in your direction.

As you leave the throne room, you are acutely aware of the weight of Emperor Geta's gaze on your back. You could stand up to him, but you were not stupid enough to get yourself killed. How far beyond your limits could you go to save your brother?

You breathe a sigh of relief as you finally step out into the sunlit courtyard, and make your way towards the edge of the city. As you pass through the bustling streets, your thoughts wander back to your brother, imprisoned in the gladiator pits and forced to fight for his life. You vow to do whatever it takes to save him, even if it means making a deal with the devil himself.

The villagers are ready for the gladiator battle in the evening, everyone goes to the great arena. You look at yourself in the mirror, do your hair, put your pearl crown on your head, the only precious thing your mother left you, and put on the dress you made for yourself from quality and shiny fabrics left over from the dresses you made for some rich noble clients.

It's time to hear the emperor's final decision.

As you approach the throne room, you hear the sounds of muffled voices and clinking glasses coming from inside. You take a deep breath to steady your nerves before knocking on the door. “Enter,” comes Emperor Geta's imperious voice from within.

You push open the door and step into the dimly lit room, your eyes adjusting slowly to the flickering torch light. Emperor Geta is seated at his throne, flanked by his bodyguards and courtiers. He regards you coolly for a moment, before finally speaking.

“I have made my decision,” he says, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. “I will release the gladiators, but only on the condition that you divulge the information you claim to have about those close to me.”

“I'll only say that if it's just you and me in the room, no one else.”

Emperor Geta narrows his eyes suspiciously, studying you intently for a moment before nodding. “Very well,” he says, waving away his attendants and courtiers with a flick of his wrist. Once the room is cleared, he gestures for you to approach.

“Now then,” he says, leaning forward on his throne. “What is this information you claim to have?”

A friend of yours, working in the palace under the emperors' orders, heard something she shouldn't have heard, something that would change the fate of Rome. You kept it a deadly secret in your heart until your brother was captured by them. Now this deadly secret would either be your antidote or your death sentence.

You take a deep breath. “Your brother, Your Majesty. He wants to kill you.”

Emperor Geta's eyes widened in shock at your revelation. “What?” he demands, his voice rising in anger. “Caracalla wants to kill me? How do you know this?”

You can see the fury building in his expression, and for a moment you fear for your safety. But then he seems to regain control of himself, sinking back into his throne with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“If what you say is true,” he says finally, “Then my brother has crossed a line that cannot be forgiven. I will deal with him myself.” He looks up at you with an intense gaze. “I am grateful for your warning, envoy. You have done me a great service.”

“Now will you release the gladiators as you promised?”

Emperor Geta nods slowly, still lost in thought. “Yes,” he says at last. “The gladiators will be released. Consider it a gesture of goodwill from me to you,” He stands up abruptly, his eyes fixed on some distant horizon. “But know this, envoy. If what you have told me is false or if I ever discover that you have betrayed me, there will be consequences. Severe consequences.”

Your heart beats so fast it seems to pierce your ribcage, you didn't think for a moment that it would work, but you had no choice but to take the risk. You had one shot and you won it, gaining Geta's trust is the key that will unlock the door to saving your brother. The only thing you have to do from now on is to do whatever it takes to make sure that the lie you told and who you really are doesn't get out, otherwise there is no chance for you and your brother to be saved.

Geta looks at your face, studying you from head to toe, as if waiting for an answer from you. You feel as if he is looking into your soul, as if he can tell you are lying by the slightest gesture you make or the rhythm of your breathing. “Do you understand what I have said, envoy?” he asks you in a soft but threatening voice. You just nod your head and take a step back to leave.

“I haven't told you that you can leave yet,” he adds, as he takes two steps towards you and closes the distance between you. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifts your head slightly, looking into your eyes, his amber eyes penetrating your soul. “You still haven't told me your name, envoy.”

After taking a deep breath, you open your mouth, but Emperor Geta runs his thumb along your lip. His gaze slides slowly from your eyes to your lips like a sharp knife, and you feel like a lion waiting to hunt its prey, and you are the gazelle he is about to hunt.

“I will continue to call you envoy, you have my word, the gladiators will be released. After you prove that the information you have given me is true.”

You avert your eyes in surprise, this is definitely not what you expected and things are not going the way you wanted. How could you prove any of this? “But that's not what we agreed...” you whisper, surprised at how weak and quiet your voice sounds.

Geta grips your neck with a condescending look, as if he's setting you up with the simplest equation in the world. “What did you expect me to do, kill my brother on the word of a envoy I don't even know where she came from and her king?” He grins as he shakes his head.

“But I have nothing to prove it...” you whisper again, desperately.

“There are other things you can prove.”

You try to figure out if he's playing a game in his sentences again or if he's trying to imply something, you feel like a trapped mouse, you feel your hands freezing cold and sweat running down your forehead. Finally you lift your eyes and meet his eyes. “What kind of things?”

“Your loyalty to me. Can you prove it?” He looks at you with eyes asking something he already knows the answer to.

‘’How can I prove my loyalty to you, Your Majesty?’’ Geta moves closer to you, closing the few inches between you, tightening his grip on your neck and gently running his thumb over your jugular vein, which is pumping blood like crazy. “Everything I say and everything I ask of you, you will do without question or doubt. Every word that leaves my lips will be your seal.’’

You nod timidly, Geta's lips curl upwards, he loosens the hand holding your neck and holds it out for you to kiss. When you grasp his hand with both of yours, the cold metal of his rings against your skin makes you flinch. You gently press your lips to his hand, you can feel the smile on his face grow even bigger.

“Now, you can go. But wait to hear from me. If it's true, you'll get what you want, but remember, if it's not true, I'll get what I want.”

The hours dragged on, the days felt like weeks, even months. Day after day you wait for news from Emperor Geta. And waiting for fear was worse than fear. All this after you had lost your family and were the only one left to save your brother. The day the Roman knights took him captive, you thought all hope was lost. Despair kills a person, but vain hope makes them crawl.

Your friend Atia, who served as a cook in the service of the emperors, brought you news of your brother from time to time. “He was not in the arena today, maybe tomorrow...” Every day you were waiting for bad news from him, and every day you were sinking deeper and deeper.

The news that would brighten your dark hopes, trapped within four walls, came again from Atia. While serving Emperor Caracalla's meal, she overheard a conversation she shouldn't have. It was a conversation about how Macrinus had tried to persuade Emperor Caracalla to assassinate his twin brother Geta and rule the empire alone. Macrinus was very manipulative and clever, he was like water. He could easily take the shape of any situation he found himself in. He was looking for an opportunity to take his place in the Senate, or even to become the new ruler of the Roman empire, and he was playing with Caracalla like a puppet master plays with a puppet. Caracalla was easier to persuade than Geta. Geta was Macrinus' biggest obstacle.

Atia was in the right place at the right time, she could no longer bear the burden of the news she heard that would change the fate of this empire, so she told you. And you had to come up with a plan, a perfect plan, to save your brother in the midst of all this chaos. Whoever you begged for help, people rejected you, saying that dealing with evil twins would get you nowhere.

You were alone, all alone. Every time you remain silent in the face of evil, the goodness of the good diminishes a little more. Because to remain silent in the face of great evil is to be complicit. Sometimes injustice comes because we refuse to give up our comfort. Because we turn a deaf ear to the moans of those who are hurting so that we don't get hurt.

Life is made up of stories. Good stories, bad stories, happy stories, painful stories... And life is not always just one of them. In every story there is as much joy as pain, as much hope as despair, more remedy than despair. You either live these stories and keep them to yourself or you choose to tell them. The news that would change the course of your story came a few days later, Emperor Geta finally wanted to see you.

When you enter his room, you notice that he is standing with his back turned, looking at the gold embroidery on the wall, and you think that his dress and crown look more splendid than ever. But you can't tell if this is because he has grown more powerful in recent days or because you see yourself as less than you really are. The servants close the door after you step inside, and you are startled by the sound of the door slamming.

“You were right,” he says quietly, slurring his words. “Caracalla has a plan to kill me, but it's not his plan. He's just a puppet.” You expect to hear anger in his voice, but it sounds more like frustration. As he turns around and walks back to his throne, his eyes meet yours for a second, and you see the disappointment in his tone in his eyes.

“How did you find out?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“There are still dozens of guards and servants here who are loyal to me. And they are doing the best they can with the job I gave them. Don't forget that everything that is said inside this palace is somehow known to me. Whispers are heard like screams, your small steps shake the ground like earthquakes and my little birds tell me everything.”

You can only nod, a small glimmer of hope rising inside you. If Geta knows what you told him is true, he will keep his promise to you and release the gladiators. But before you can even smile, Emperor Geta sits on his throne and looks you in the eye.

“What I don't understand...” he says, grabs the arm of his throne with his hand and starts rubbing it. “How you and your mysterious king could have gotten this information. There are things that don't fit in what you say, envoy.”

He waits for you to answer for a few seconds, then takes a deep breath and continues. “Your king must have a lot of confidence in you to send you to the distant Roman Empire without bodyguards and knights, or you must be a good enough warrior to defend yourself on your own. It's strange that he wasn't worried about any trouble on the way. You could have been robbed, kidnapped by bandits or captured.”

He emphasizes the tone of a few words mockingly, gnaws his lips for a moment and then draws the sword of the guard standing next to him. The sharp sound of the sword is enough to make your ears prickle, and as Emperor Geta walks towards you you think, “Okay, it's over. Now he's going to slit my throat, he knows everything.”

Sometimes you had to be very unhappy to be happy. Sometimes you had to let yourself go down to see the bottom. And sometimes you had to come close to death to feel alive.

You wish it were painless as you feel the sword pressed against your throat, the last thing you see before you close your eyes are the light brown eyes of Emperor Geta. You can feel the jugular vein in your neck becoming prominent and pumping your blood frantically for your life. Everyone and everything around you is blurring, you can't stop your legs from trembling rapidly, no longer responding to the commands of your brain. And Emperor Geta's hot breath hits your face like a desert breeze. “Tell me, who are you? Who sent you here? Do you work for Macrinus?”

The tears slide down your cheeks, one after the other, skipping down your chin and hitting the floor like bombs, and no matter how hard you swallow, the lump in your throat won't go away. Your mouth dries up and your hands sweat as if you have been without water for days in the desert. Your whole body is burning and freezing at the same time, yet not as cold as the cold, sharp tip of the sword.

“My brother...” you say at last. Emperor Geta frowns, tightening his grip on his sword as he waits for you to continue. “He is my only family, the only one I have left... To save him...” You take great pains to choose the right words. “He was captured, fighting for his life every day among the gladiators and waiting to die every day. I was ready to do anything to save him. If it means I have to die to save him, I will do that too. Please, I may have lied about where I come from or who I am, but what I said was true.”

You get on your knees and take his skirt in your hands and kiss it. “Your Majesty, I beg you, I've already lost everyone, I've lost everything, I can't lose him. I can still smell my mother's scent at home, I can still hear my father's voice. If I lose my brother, I will have no reason to live. Punish me, but let him live.”

Emperor Geta cannot hide the surprise on his face as he looks down at you, obviously not what he wanted or expected to hear. He thought you were a spy, perhaps a collaborator, and he was ready to kill you. But he pauses. “Aren't you afraid? Aren't you afraid to die?” he asks.

“I am afraid, God knows I am terrified. But isn't that what sacrifice requires? If sacrifice was easy, it wouldn't be a real sacrifice.” you say as you wipe your tears on your arms and lift your head up to look into his eyes.

“You are ready to give your life for your brother and my brother is ready to kill me...” he whispers.

His words of sorrow remind you of the words of a frightened child waiting to be loved, behind the mask he actually wears. Geta throws the sword across the room and turns around. “All right, envoy. I'll let you go. Go away with your brother, live the life you want to live.”

“And what about you?” you ask, do you really care about him? He is one of the reasons why your brother is trapped here in the first place, why do you feel sorry for him? Even worse, why do you worry about him?

“I don't know,” he says, as if he's trying to dodge the question. You know he has something in mind, men like Geta always have a backup plan.

“I promised you my loyalty, if there is anything I can do for you...” you say, not sure how to finish the sentence.

Geta looks out, at the great Rome. You see his hand trembling as he holds the curtain. Is he afraid too? Sure, why wouldn't he be? The sword that's just been placed against your neck could at any moment be placed against his by his brother. Wondering if there's poison in every meal he eats, lying in bed at night with no guarantee that a dagger won't suddenly plunge into his heart, that scares the hell out of him.

He says, “Macrinus has to die.”

He closes the curtain and walks slowly towards you. He rubs his thumb gently over the neck where he had just held the sword. “He is the smartest man in Rome. He can easily manipulate anyone, everyone. That's why anyone I send to bring him down can turn on me in an instant. I need someone who can do this for me. Someone who has complete loyalty to me.”

He brings his face closer to yours. “My brother is sick, a child who needs care and affection. I love him, I've always loved him, I can't hurt him. I can never let him be harmed. He's the only family I have left. And I want the head of the person who made him think of killing me.” He slides his hand up your neck and cups your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears under your eyes. He leans down slightly to look into your eyes. “Can I trust you, envoy?” he asks, desperately.

Despair. Fear. The feeling of emptiness and nothingness. These are feelings from which it is difficult to extricate yourself once you are caught in them. It feels like you've fallen into a well with no water in it and you're sitting with your face buried in your knees. It feels like you are the most meaningless being in the world, like you are the only one having a hard time.

You know this feeling because you are this feeling, you have been fighting your worst enemy for weeks, despair. And the person who got you out of it was the same person who got you into it, how ironic could it be? Isn't the antidote to snake venom made from the venom of the snake? Geta was struggling for his life like a wounded and suffering animal. He wants you to lend him a helping hand, but if you take it, the consequences could be dire. You could die trying to carry out his plan, or worse, all your efforts to save your brother will be in vain and you may not be able to save him.

His piercing gaze fixes on you as he leans forward slightly, revealing his striking almond-shaped brown eyes. They are so dark they almost look black, but they hold an intense warmth that draws you in, and there is a subtle golden glow that seems to shimmer in the sunlight.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I will help you.” Your voice sounds confident, but also timid.

Emperor Geta smiles, for the first time. His smile is mesmerizing, revealing perfect white teeth that shimmer in the light. His lips curve up at the corners, crinkling the skin around his eyes and making them sparkle with joy. But most of all, you could see hope in his eyes.

It was the relief of finding someone he could trust, a glimmer of hope that he had found a safe harbor. Maybe he was clinging to you for dear life, he didn't know if he could trust you, but it seemed he had no choice but to do so.

“If you do this for me, I will drown you in gold. As many servants as you want, as many jewels and houses as you want. You will have everything you want for life with your brother, envoy.”

You shake your head and hesitantly raise your hands, place them on his. “Accept this as thanks for saving my brother. And I fulfill my promise of loyalty to you.”

His gaze softens, perhaps for the first time in his life someone is helping him for nothing. Without expectation of power, without expectation of recognition, without wanting to rise to a position of importance. His gaze shifts from her eyes to your lips.

“Where have you been all this time?” he asks, his voice so low and full that only you can hear it. “Are you really want to save me after I've caused you so much pain?”

“You and I... Your Majesty. We're not so different.”

“But you are different. You have something I've never seen before, I can see the courage in your eyes that bursts out in flames. There is no courage without bondage, I saw it in the eyes of all those gladiators. What I see in your eyes is different, there is something I can't make sense of.” Each word makes your heart beat faster, and for a moment you are angry with yourself for being so attracted to him. You realize that despite the great sacrifice you will make for him, he is still an Emperor and you are just a peasant. And you cannot ask for more. When he brings his face closer to give you an unexpected kiss, he makes you feel like you're holding a match in a straw.

‘’And what was our fire? To put our thoughts into action. If you do what you think, that would be your spark. You were holding a lit match in a barn full of straw. It was either going to go out or it was going to fall out of your hand and set the place ablaze.’’

But there was something you didn't know yet. Even if that lit match fell out of your hand and set the straw on fire, someone was about to enter your life to be your rain. And this was none other than Emperor Geta.

ao3 link Let me know if anyone wants to be on the tag list <3

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mmkkzz · 13 days ago

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Here is an idea for a Gladiator 2 fanfiction Lucius Verus/OC. I’m a terrible writer but definitely have some ideas for stories if anyone wants to write this story.

The idea is that the story can be an about girl that is Lucilla’s ward , when her parents died Lucilla took in the girl and raises her from a young age and grew up with Lucius. Lucius being a couple years older than her. Was always a spirited girl that always had a play sword in hand when her and Lucius would pretend to be gladiators like Maximus growing up. From a young age she and Lucius always cared for each deeply. Even though lucilla would ways teach her to be a lady she was always would take any opportunity to learn how to fight. When Lucius is sent away she wanted to go with him but wasn’t able to which both devastated them. As the years went on lucilla remarried to Marcus acacius which became a father figure to her and he thought of the girl as his own and taught her more how to fight and they became close. Taught her everything he knew from hand to hand combat, sword fighting, archery and horse riding. Lucilla taught her everything she knew about being a lady but also learning the art of being a healer as well. But she always missed Lucius as the years go on. As she grew older she became a beauty that didn’t go unnoticed by both the emperors, Marcus has tried to protect her from a marriage with geta. Even though she was at an age that she should have been married by then. Anyways, she would sneak out of the palace a lot to go train with the gladiators that macrinus would purchase. Thats when she reunites with Lucius and it’s like nothing has ever changed even though she can see that he is full of vengeance and grief from what he has been through in his life away in Africa. They start to fall for each other again but it becomes complicated when he finds out that the general he wants revenge on is the father figure of his love. The story will follow the movie. I haven’t seen it yet but idk I think it would be a cool story.

If anyone wants to take on this story be my guest.

#gladiator imagine #gladiator ii #lucius verus x reader #marcus acacius #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator 2 #paul mescal #pedro pascal #gladiator movie #gladiator fanfiction #lucius verus #lucius verus imagine #lucius verus x oc

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dailymonraszkic · 6 days ago

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Watching all the fanfics in the fandom being published and seeing numbers raising is like:

#gladiator ii #fanfiction #pedro pascal #paul mescal #joseph quinn #denzel washington #marcus acacius #lucius verus #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #marcus acacias x reader #lucius verus x oc #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader

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palomahasenteredthechat · 1 day ago

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Scorch

For the Geta girlies

Part II of Burn. Just pure smut. 18+, Minors DNI. M/F. Geta x fem OC

Fulvia lived for the clandestine nights.

Pleasure found in darkness. Geta’s hot breath on her neck. His ringed fingers probing every crevice beneath the fabric of her stola. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands lost in his hair. She had never known a passion like this.

Fulvia had taken to cleaning her own face in the mornings after their coupling in the privacy of her chamber, as the white paint Geta favored would be smeared over her face and chest. Cuts on her back. Stickiness between her thighs.

She had learned to scream into a pillow. To bite his shoulder in ecstasy. She only existed to slake his insatiable thirst for her body.

Fulvia didn’t know if his ardor was fueled because it was forbidden, or because Geta was angry with Caracalla. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to her was the moment when he would appear in her chambers, his dark eyes burning underneath his blackened lids, already tossing his garments to the floor. Fulvia would run to him and he would grasp her and swing her around, his arms gripping her tightly.

Some nights he would take her on the sofa, other times on the floor or against the wall. It didn’t matter. Their passion for each other knew no limits.

Fulvia memorized every line in his body. Every sinew, every corded muscle, every speck of milk white skin. She kissed his fingers and toes, held him to her breasts as he suckled her like a babe. Their bodies gliding over each other. Eyes locked, fingers clasped, tongues and legs entwined. Pleasure and delicious pain.

Her lover. Her emperor. Her Caesar.

For his part, Caracalla appeared oblivious, spending his time with Dondas or with his concubines, drunk and screaming with laughter in the halls. Fulvia knew she was playing with fire; that she needed to couple with Caracalla in case she conceived. But she could barely bring herself to look at her husband. On the few nights where she extended an offer to him to visit her chamber, Caracalla would decline, preferring to spend his time alone at night. Fulvia hid her frustration underneath a dutiful nod, cursing Caracalla under her breath.

Geta would smile his feral smile, his ringed fingers tapping on the table next to his wine. Fulvia found herself staring at them often at dinner, imagining what they would do to her once they were alone.

Tonight, her fingers clutch at the sheets as he takes her roughly from behind. Fulvia can hear him grunt as he thrusts savagely. He plunges so deeply she can barely breathe. Closing her eyes, Fulvia surrenders to the feeling of being filled completely. Geta starts to laugh and Fulvia opens her eyes as he speeds up and finishes. Flipping her over onto her back, her lover dives in between her legs and devours her like a starving man. Fulvia’s fingers find his hair and she pulls as he brings her closer to release; tonight she cannot hold back her screams. The servants, they will hear, she thinks, but it is too late; the pleasure takes her completely.

Geta slowly crawls up her body and kisses her roughly. Fulvia can taste herself on his tongue. She smoothes the sweat from his brow. “You need some wine.”

He smiles, lazy and feral. “I only need you.” He taps the tip of her nose with his finger, his ruby ring glowing in the dim light. “I cannot sleep unless I have you.”

“You have me, my dearest,” whispers Fulvia. “You have every part of me.”

Geta winds himself under the blankets and pulls her closer. “What beautiful children we will make.”

Fulvia wriggles herself under his arm. “Indeed, but Caracalla must play his part, and he is refusing.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Fulvia turns to face Geta. “I don’t know how to make him want to come to me.”

Geta smoothes Fulvia’s tangled hair from her brow. “Imagine not wanting to come to you. My brother is a fool. But don’t worry, I have a plan that may entice him.”

Fulvia’s heart leaps in her chest. “Oh?”

Geta grins widely. “You will have to lose your inhibitions.”

For a moment, Fulvia doesn’t understand. Then she blushes crimson. “Oh.”

“I think you will do quite well,” her lover purrs, his fingers already tracing the hollow of her throat. “I admit, I look forward to seeing you take your pleasures from a woman before I devour you yet again.”

“But if Caracalla-”

“He will be too drunk to remember if he lies with you or not. But it will be enough to convince everyone else.”

“Yes, my Imperator.” Fulvia nods her head. Geta gazes upon her for a long moment.

“Do not fear, my love,” he whispers. “I will protect you.”

#emperor geta #emperor caracalla #gladiator II #geta x fem oc #geta smut #make way for the emperor

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artistinquestion · 4 days ago

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Masterlist

Started: 11-28-24

Last Updated: 11-28-24

Total Works: 6

Gladiator II

Emperor Geta

The Empress of Rome part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

Emperor Caracalla

*Coming soon*

#masterlist #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #oc x canon #emperor geta #emperor geta x oc #fanfiction writer #my writing #my fanfiction #emperor caracalla

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girlwithwolftatoo · 2 days ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Gladiator (Movies - Scott) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Marcus Acacius/Reader, Marcus Acacius/Original Character(s) Characters: Marcus Acacius, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus | Emperor Caracalla, Publius Septimius Geta Additional Tags: Family Issues, Sibling Rivalry, Age Difference, Origin Story, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary:

The fate of general Acacius is sealed. Or maybe, not. Light spoilers from the film.

#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #general acacius #marcus acacius #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x oc

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bonelessghoul · 6 days ago

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In the Shadows of Chains |2|

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female!OC

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: not many I don’t think, just twisted ways of the Emperors and drinking heavily

Summary: In the wake of the Emperor’s interest, Julia downplays its intensity as another festivity pulls in the attendance of Romes elite. But here where distractions are meant to be embraced, Julia finds herself out of her General’s protection and the lions den of the twins.

Note: I hope everyone liked the first part! I’ve had some good response but I’m about just keeping it rolling and letting my thoughts run rampant here so pls keep the feedback and reblogs coming <3

Part One

The intimate gathering was a stark contrast to the prior night. Here, in the heart of Rome’s elite at the top of the hill, the air was heavy with wine and intrigue, a quieter but no less dangerous battlefield. The twins, Geta and Caracalla, lounged at the forefront of the room, their every move commanding attention as women and men alike swarmed their sides. Laughter rippled through the hall, but Julia’s focus remained on the goblet in her hand as it did the night before.

She had welcomed herself to more wine than she ought to, but the buzzing warmth in her chest dulled the edges of her despair. Among the other ladies of status—some already wed, some still entertaining suitors—she found a reprieve from the suffocating gazes of the men who filled the room as they lounged in a small corner.

“And what of the Emperor, Julia?” said Lady Claudia, pulling her attention back into the conversation.

The question cut through the laughter like a blade. Julia froze, her goblet poised halfway to her lips. She realized her friends looked upon her with envy at this and not caution for her safety.

Her friend grinned as she edged on, “Rumor has it his gaze hasn’t left you since the games. Surely that must excite you?”

Julia forced a light laugh, tilting her head with feigned indifference.

“Excite me? No. Terrify me? Perhaps.”

The ladies tittered, but her closest friend, Aurelia, gave her a knowing glance. Julia felt her cheeks warm, and not from the wine, but the simple fact that she should not have said something so bold in the open.

A woman with curls coiled down to her shoulders, Lady Cassia, was the next to entertain their banter as she eagerly leaned forward.

“Oh, come now, Julia. To be chosen by the Emperor himself is an honor few would deny. Or have you already set your sights elsewhere?”

Cassia was married to the son of the Quaestor and had no qualms with her life other than that of the Quaestor himself who made no secret in his admiration for young women. But she wouldn’t bring it up now as the thought of it lingered on the rim of her wine.

Julia’s fingers tightened around the goblet.

“I have. My heart lies with another.”

The declaration silenced the group, their wide eyes flicking to each other. Only Aurelia remained unshaken, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“Who?” Claudia pressed with a gasp, leaning forward.

Julia smiled coyly, taking another sip of wine that bitterly sunk down. “A story for another time, perhaps.”

The ladies groaned in unison, but Aurelia looped her arm through Julia’s, steering the conversation away by putting her head on her dear friends shoulder.

“Leave her be, you vultures. A woman’s heart is her own, after all.” Aurelia chided.

The tension eased, and the group dissolved into laughter once more. Together, they concocted small, playful schemes to amuse themselves: tipping the servants to pour more wine into the goblets of certain guests, rearranging the seating to spark rivalries among the young men, and whispering half-truths to redirect attention toward the other single ladies. It was what they did on nights like these, stemming from the games they played as children.

For a while, Julia felt light—free, even—as though her troubles could be drowned in laughter and wine if she focused on her friends enough. She could still feel the lingering gaze of the Emperor but she later low, staying close to her friends and weaving herself into the folds of their mischief as they scoured the party.

At times, even the General himself fell victim to her strikes. In these more intimate gatherings where not a soul was coherent and there was no talk of politics for once, Julia had a little bit more freedom to grab his hand or steal his own goblet to entice a chase. It was easily unnoticed in the myriad of tunics and curtains drawn about.

Maybe a part of her wanted to test what could be noticed.

But her Marcus resisted and she returned to Aurelia’s side. One minute she’d press a soft kiss to his behind a drape and the other she’d appear on the other end with her arms linked with Aurelia. For once, it felt like old times when her person went unnoticed.

But it wasn’t enough.

As the evening deepened, Geta’s piercing gaze found her, as unyielding as a predator stalking its prey. She pretended not to notice, ducking behind Lady Claudia to refill her goblet. Aurelia nudged her gently.

“Careful, Julia. You’ll only anger him more by hiding.”

“Better his anger than his affections.”

But she wasn’t fast enough. A sharp clap echoed through the hall as Geta stood, silencing the room.

“I fear they may be one in the same.”

The Emperor stood, eyes smeared with the haze of his signature look and fair colored locks damp across his forehead from the heat of alcohol. His clothes barely clung to him from hungry guests but he never failed to keep the valor of his status front and center. He looked sickeningly vile but sluggishly so.

“My dear guests,” he announced, his voice smooth yet sharp, “what is a gathering without entertainment?”

A ripple of unease passed through the room but everyone was focused on him. Everyone knew the kind of entertainment the twins favored. Julia felt her stomach twist as Geta’s eyes landed on her. His lips contorted into an attempt at a smile.

“Lady Julia,” he called, his tone dripping with mockery, “would you do us the honor of assisting in tonight’s amusements since you did so well earlier today?”

The room fell silent. Every eye turned to her. Julia’s breath caught, and her goblet trembled in her hand but she clutched it tight, letting the heat rise to her ears. She could faint? No, she was hardly convincing enough.

“Your Grace,” she began, her voice measured, “I’m afraid I am not well-suited for such a role.”

Geta’s smile widened, the corners of his mouth curling with cruelty like an animals lips peeling back before it pounced its prey. It was a smile that would break at any resistance.

“Nonsense. Surely Rome’s fairest rose would not deny us this simple pleasure?”

She glanced around, her heart pounding. Aurelia reached for her hand, but it was too late. A servant stepped forward, gesturing for her to follow. Reluctantly, Julia rose, forcing her trembling legs to carry her to the center of the room.

Caracalla, who could barely stand straight let alone keep his eyes open, gestured to a nearby soldier, who stepped forward with a tray. On it lay a single dagger, its blade gleaming under the flickering torchlight.

“A simple test of skill,” Caracalla said, picking up the dagger, swinging it back to her with its point nearly brushing her chest. “The lady shall aim for the target at the far wall.”

A murmur swept through the crowd. Julia’s mouth went dry as she glanced at the target—a crude wooden circle painted red had been rolled out from a shadow of the room and she half thought she was dreaming. Geta then appeared in front of her, putting himself between her and the wood with the dagger held out to her.

“And if I miss?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Geta chuckled, his laughter as cold as the blade he extended toward her. “Then the consequences shall entertain us all.”

The room erupted in polite laughter, but the tension was palpable through Caracalla’s unsettling and shrill laugh. Julia swallowed hard, her eyes darting to Aurelia, who shook her head ever so slightly. Her eyes scanned the crowd for Marcus in one swift sweep but she could not find him.

With but no choice to follow, Julia stepped forward and took the dagger. Its weight was unfamiliar in her hand, but she steadied her grip, raising it toward the target. The room held its breath as she drew back her arm and threw.

The blade struck the wall, just shy of the target’s edge.

Geta’s laughter rang out, sharp and triumphant. “So close, yet so far,” he mused.

Before Julia could retreat, he gestured to the soldier again. Another dagger was brought forward, but this time, Geta’s smirk deepened

“Let us raise the stakes. Shall we?”

From the shadows, a small cage was brought forward. Inside, a trembling hare cowered. Julia’s stomach lurched.

“No,” she breathed, shaking her head. But at her refusal, his hand swiftly caught her jaw with a gentle yet stunning force that made her freeze. The clammy fingers that grasped her revolted her and she couldn’t even retreat.

“Come now, Lady Julia. Do you not wish to redeem yourself?” he asked, fingers tracing her jaw.

Her mind raced.

She could hear Aurelia’s voice urging her to refuse, feeling Marcus’s absence like a hollow ache in her chest. But what could she do?

The room was against her, the Emperor’s eyes burning into hers as she watched his pupils swallow his eyes whole with darkness. Even in her drunken state, her heart pulsed with the soul of defiance and she knew she would not hurt an animal. She’d sooner throw the dagger at another person.

But even as she challenged the Emperor, knowing she stood to face even worse consequences, he took his dagger back and tapped it in the air as he turned away.

When everything was contingent on the reaction of the Emperor, she felt her heart beat reverberating through her finger tips at full strength. His eyebrows twitched in thought and Caracalla drunkenly shouted his disapproval while another male servant stroked his hair. She hoped the calmness of the more twisted brother would ease Geta now.

“It seems the hare is too timid a challenge for Lady Julia. Perhaps we should aim higher.” he said to the crowd as faced them.

For a second, she released the breath she was holding in.

Sharply, he turned back around and his gaze pinned her in place, the wine coursing through her veins doing little to calm her.

“Your Grace, I—”

“You.” His voice cut through hers like a whip. “Shall be the target.”

The room gasped in unison. All eyes darted to Julia, their faces pale with unease. Even those accustomed to the twins’ cruel whims were struck by the audacity of this command.

Julia’s breath hitched. Her arms, still trembling from the earlier throw, hung uselessly at her sides in defeat. How could one escape this? The hare was looking at her in the arms of a servant, probably thinking ‘better you than me’ as her own morals took a higher ground.

“Oh, this will be fun!” Caracalla exclaimed, clapping his hands with childlike glee. “Come now, my Lady, don’t be shy!”

Then, she watched as the he took the knife from his brothers hand. Now she truly feared for her life and unfortunately, the Emperor had looked truly delighted.

“Let’s see what the Gods have in store for you, Lady Julia!”

The room buzzed with whispers, but no one dared openly object. Even the other women, bold in their earlier mischief, fell silent, their gazes cast downward.

As Julia’s legs threatened to buckle, a figure stepped forward, his voice steady and commanding. Even when she had barely made it to the wooden target, she was half tempted to run, but the servants hand still clutched her arm. As she watched her feet, vision going blurry, a hum in the air challenged her few senses and before she could register it, Julia’s head abruptly lifted to watch a gleam of silver cross her eyes and split the wood between her and the servants face.

She yelped, jumping out of the grasp of the servant, jumping from the dagger that nearly took her nose and froze in horror.

Caracalla laughed like a child, but Julia’s chest rose and fell with every breath and she looked at him wildly. If her mind had been anymore fogged she would have dug her nails into his neck herself. For a moment, she could only find peace in the dream of doing so.

But Geta merely stood and watched as his brother grabbed another dagger.

When she finally considered running, a figure with a red cape blocked her vision and she almost fell to the floor.

“Your Grace, if you must test your guests, test me.” said General Acacius, not pleading but cockily. “Let them test the very luck that has protected me through battlefields. Why waste such an entertaining moment on a woman with no victories or achievements?”

Gasps rippled through the crowd as Marcus Acacius strode into the circle, his crimson cloak trailing behind him. Julia’s heart raced as their eyes met, his expression calm but unyielding. Oh, he would pay for those words later.

“The lady is far too delicate for such a challenge. Let me take her place.” He insisted, not wavering in his arrogance.

Geta tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“The mighty general, offering himself as a target? How noble.”

Before Marcus could reply, Aurelia stepped forward, her voice light and feigned with excitement.

“Or perhaps I should be the target! A little excitement never hurt anyone, especially when the General challenges the woman’s own victories.”

Her words, delivered with a playful smile and an unsteady balance as she held her wine, threw the room into confusion. The twins exchanged a glance, Caracalla’s glee faltering as he considered the possibilities.

“So many volunteers,” he murmured, rolling his eyes. “How tiresome.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, the tension broke.

“Very well. The games bore me now. Lady Julia, come sit beside me.”

The crowd exhaled collectively, though unease lingered in their eyes. Julia hesitated, her legs heavy with dread but she was too tired to fight her stressor.

“Now, Lady Julia,” he commanded, his tone sharp.

Helpless, Julia moved to the dais where Geta lounged. He patted the armrest of his chair, gesturing for her to sit. She perched stiffly on the edge, her hands clutching her skirts as his fingers brushed against her chin.

“Such a delicate flower,” he mused, tilting her face toward him. His hand reached higher and stroked a strand of her hair. “Perhaps we should water you with more wine.”

He beckoned a servant, who refilled Julia’s goblet to the brim.

“Drink, my dear. You’ve earned it.”

Julia lifted the goblet to her lips, the sharp tang of wine burning her throat. Earned it? What could a girl do to rid her attention of the Emperor? Around her, the twins orchestrated more depraved games: slaves forced into humiliating contests, men of rank made to endure the brothers’ mockery, and the women silenced with forced laughter.

Through it all, Marcus lingered at the edge of the room, his gaze never leaving Julia. His presence was a fragile tether, keeping her grounded even as the world spun out of control.

The wine and the heat of the room conspired against her. Julia’s head swam, her vision blurring as laughter and clinking goblets blurred into a cacophony of noise.

She leaned forward slightly, her breath hitching

“Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I cannot—“

But before she could finish, her stomach churned violently. With a strangled gasp, she turned to the nearest plant, emptying the contents of her stomach in front of the stunned crowd.

The room fell deathly silent and she had now wished that the dagger struck her earlier.

Geta leaned back, his expression unreadable, though his fingers drummed against the armrest. Was this what it took to divert the gaze of the emperor?

“She’s unwell!” Aurelia exclaimed, rushing to Julia’s side. “I should have seen it sooner, the heat baring down upon her all day—she’s been pale all evening.”

Before Geta could respond, she felt Aurelia’s arms as frail as her own drag her away. Even though her stomach felt clearer, her mind spun faster and she was fearful that she couldn’t keep her legs beneath her as her friend pulled her away.

“Aurelia…I can’t do this.” Julia spewed out, sandals shuffling across the marble floors.

“We’re almost there, Julia. No one’s around anymore.” Her friend huffed

“I’ll see her to your chambers,” a voice said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Even with her eyes closed and the pull of her dearest friend, Julia could hear that it was Marcus who had been the distant footsteps trailing behind them. Before she could turn to see him though, the General had swiftly come behind her and lifted her into his arms. But the movement made her stomach churn.

“Marcus…don’t!” Julia groaned, wincing and squeezing her eyes shut.

The cool night air hit Julia’s face as Marcus carried her through the quiet corridors of the villas to where her closest friend resided. She buried her face against his chest, mortified and exhausted.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered in and out of sleep called upon by the wine.

Visions of what had occurred just moments ago flashed across her mind; the dagger, the wine, the grip of Geta’s fingers upon her jaw.

“You shouldn’t have drank so much wine, my love.” Marcus said, his voice playful beyond her closed eyes.

Julia grimaced, her face scrunching against his chest. “You would too if you felt the way I did.”

“Maybe your illness shied him away.” Aurelia said, her voice distant to her ears.

A hopeless grin crossed her face but it faded quickly, the rocking and sloshing movement of his arms reminiscent of the worst kind of sea sickness. The cold air was a relief but not cold enough as sweat beaded her forehead. Before she knew it though, she was in Aurelia’s private quarters judging by the scents of potent rosemary and basil. It was Aurelia’s favorite and a warm reminder of safety.

“Oh, I cannot face the next day. My father will be so embarrassed to hear what I’ve done.” Julia said, the weight of her actions rushing in on her.

The strong arms of her General disappeared beneath her was replaced by the soft sheets of her dear friends guest room. It was once her own room that she now left behind for her husbands. Her eyes opened to see their faces faintly lit by flames across the room and both looked down upon her with a subtle sadness.

Marcus brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering.

“Rest now. We’ll figure this out.”

Aurelia sat beside Julia, offering her a reassuring smile.

“You’re not alone in this, Julia. We’ll protect you.”

For the first time that evening, Julia felt a flicker of hope. Despite the darkness surrounding her, the bonds of love and friendship remained unbroken at last. Her day had been an emotionally challenging one pulling her in a new direction with every shift of the suns shadow. But her hand reached up to Marcus’s, the calluses soft against her cheeks.

“I suppose we will only find out by arriving to the next day.” Julia sighed.

Finally rested and no longer swaying in her belly, Julia could focus her attention upon a new plan. She could hardly put it together but all she could do was dream of her life with Marcus. Even as he sat next to her, determined more than she, her mind drifted to another lifetime with him.

“I will be here that day and the next.” He whispered, stroking the hair off her face.

It’s repetitiveness lulled her to sleep and she dreamt of him the whole night through.

#marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emeperor geta

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tightjeansjavi · 1 month ago

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Et Auream - The Prologue

“The Boy”

A/N: well…🤭 it’s here! I decided to bite the bullet and post the prologue sooner because I am an impulsive Aries after all! This story has taken over my mind body and soul 🫠 just ask @sinsofsummers @penvisions @beardedjoel @corazondebeskar @punkshort & @kenobiwanx (just to name a few moots who have listened to me yap and yap and yap 🥹) it’s an understatement when I say just how I excited I am for this story. I currently have 17 chapters written, and we are only at the halfway point! There is so much more to come 😉

Summary: Marcus Acacius, from a young age was taught to be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate. His mother, Lucia, has kept her son’s true identity hidden from his callous father, Varus. On the eve of Marcus’s 10th birthday, an accident occurs, and when the truth is revealed, Marcus learns firsthand just how cruel the world he was born into could truly be.

word count : 1.6k

Warnings: enslavement, child enslavement, child abuse, domestic abuse, canon typical violence, death of a minor character, language, minors dni! +18

Timeline : Emperor Lucius Septimius Severus - ruled from April 13th 193AD - February 4th 211AD (historical) Succeeded by: Publius Septimius (Geta) born 191AD (birthdate is fictional) & Marcus Aurelius Antonius (Caracalla) born 193AD (birthdate is fictional)

Marcus was born May 17th 193AD (Taurus) 203AD - Marcus is 10 206AD - Marcus is 13 211AD - Marcus is 18 when he meets Geta 216AD - Marcus is 23

Geta was born June 9th 191AD (fictional birthdate, not historical) (Gemini) 203AD - Geta is 12 206AD - Geta is 15 211AD - Geta is 20 when he meets Marcus 216AD - Geta is 25

Caracalla was born October 27th 193AD (fictional birthdate, not historical) (Scorpio) 203AD - Caracalla is 10 206AD - Caracalla is 13 211AD - Caracalla is 18 when he meets Marcus 216AD - Caracalla is 23

Translations : Acacius (Roman, male) - one who is free from evil (innocence) also symbolizes strength, resilience & protection Varus (Roman, male) - bent, crooked Lucia (Roman, female) - light Medicus - physician, doctor Dominus - master

Under the rule of Emperor Septimius Severus May 17th, 193 AD

When Marcus Acacius was born into the world, he did not scream like most babes did. He cooed and babbled, his long lashes opened and revealed the deepest brown eyes, rich in color like the soil that nurtures life. His mother wept as he clung to her breast. She did not shed tears of joy, but tears of sorrow and dread as she had prayed to the gods for a daughter. Not because she wouldn’t have been grateful for a son, but because his father; her Dominus, wanted a daughter, as he already possessed many sons.

She concealed him from the midwives who gave the new mother her much needed privacy after birth. It would only be a matter of time before their Dominus would return home from his travels.

“Marcus.” She whispered, lips gentle and motherly against his soft, fragile forehead. “Marcus Justus Acacius.” She sniffled. “Do you know what your name means, my son? It symbolizes innocence, strength, protection, and resilience. An honorable name for a special boy.” She cradled him close to her chest. “Your father will not love you the way that I will, but you mustn’t let it hurt you, Marcus. You must always be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate.”

Marcus’s true identity was carefully hidden beneath clothing designed for girls, and his hair grew long and lustrous. His mother, Lucia kept him close to her side as she tended to the gardens and helped prepare all the Dominus’s meals. Varus was neither kind nor cold, but he appeared to be pleased with Lucia blessing him with what he believed to be his first daughter. So much so, that he intended to marry her the following year—right before Marcus’s tenth birthday.

Tragedy struck days before the planned wedding date. On the eve of Marcus’s tenth birthday, he suffered an injury falling off of his horse, but that was not the worst of it. While the medicus was examining the injuries Marcus sustained, the truth was discovered that Varus’s daughter was in fact a boy.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Varus booming voice could be heard just outside the cracked doorway of Marcus’s bedroom.

“Sir, I understand that this news is upsetting and the most shocking, but it is true. Your daughter is a fraud, and is in fact a boy.”

“Mother.” Marcus croaked from where he laid with tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I swear, I was being careful! I lost my stirrup and—”

Lucia squeezed her son’s trembling hand firmly and reassuringly. She leaned over, brushing his temple with a soft kiss. “Shh, my son. You have done nothing wrong, Marcus. Accidents happen, and it was only a matter of time before Varus would discover the truth. I am the one who is sorry, my beautiful boy.”

“This is an outrage! My to-be wife has been lying to me all these years?! This is a disgrace, and I will seek to have her severely punished for her crimes of treachery against me!”

“No, mother! You have nothing to be sorry for! You have done everything to protect me, and I am forever grateful. You have taught me to be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate. Remember? It is my fault for being so careless.” He uttered in frustration.

“No, my son. You are but a child. The fault cannot fall on your shoulders. You must continue to be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate. No matter what life throws your way, promise me you will always remain true to your heart and the values I have instilled in you.” She cradled his cheek in her hand, brushing away stray tears and rested her forehead against his. “In this life and the next, you will always be my son.”

The door slammed open to reveal a seething Varus and Marcus never feared for his life more until the man who was half responsible for bringing him into this world looked at him as if he was nothing—not a person with feelings and emotions just like him. No, Varus looked upon his unwanted son as if he were the filth beneath his shoes and the very bane of his existence.

“Varus, please. Let me explain. I beg you to show our son mercy. He is just a boy! A bright, innocent, beautiful, kind boy!” Lucia exclaimed from his bedside, pleading for Varus to be merciful. She stood up quickly from the bedside to try and block Varus from reaching Marcus.

Varus stalked into the room, fury stricken in his irises, and when Lucia dared to place herself in his way, he struck her across the cheek hard enough that she fell against the wall, smacking her head against the stone, falling unconscious from the impact.

Marcus let out a terrified scream, his eyes wide with fear. He yelled his mothers name when Varus reached for the covers and yanked them back from his trembling body.

“She demands I show you mercy, boy.” He said between gritted teeth, malice dripping in his cold tone. He clasped his hand against Marcus’s wounded right shoulder, squeezing it tightly with no remorse.

Marcus let out a pained sound from the back of his throat, clawing desperately at his father’s hand to release him. “Father, please!” He cried, “you’re hurting me!”

“You are no son of mine.” Varus seethed and dragged the young boy from his bed and far away from where his mother laid. Marcus was never given the chance to tell her one last time just how much he loved her, or to say goodbye.

Marcus screamed for his mother till his throat was rubbed raw and he no longer had a voice. The pain in his shoulder weakened him to a state of unconsciousness, and when he woke, he found himself stuffed into an iron cage along the back of a horse-drawn carriage with ten other boys all around his age. His wrists and ankles were shackled in iron, and a collar around his neck signified his ownership to a new Dominus.

Varus had sold Marcus to a slave trader that was well known for training young boys and men to be gladiators for the barbaric games that took place in the Colosseum. Lucia would never see her son again or know of his fate.

To this day, Marcus favors his left side as the injury he sustained to his dominate shoulder never properly healed, and sometimes it still causes him pain, especially after a brutal fight.

Because he was not born with violence in his veins and rage in his heart, Marcus refused to fight even after his new Dominus would beat him, he would not grasp a sword in his palm. This made him an easy target for the other boys to take their rage and frustrations out on. Runt, they would call him. Jabbering at him like squawking crows. Coward. Pathetic. Their insults would ricochet off his body as if he was wearing invisible armor. He remained quiet and reserved till one night he had been pushed to his limits.

“Do you think you’re better than the rest of us, Acacius? Is that why you choose to not fight?” One of the boys questioned him around the dying fire.

“No. I don’t think myself to be better than anyone.” Marcus quietly said under his breath and moved to stand up from where he was sitting, but a hand on his bad shoulder forced him back down.

“Then why don’t you fight, hm? The runt won’t even defend himself!” The boy cackled and his friends joined in.

“Please stop.” Marcus said through gritted teeth.

“I bet your whore of a mother was ashamed that her son turned out to be such a coward! That’s why she sold you off, right? She couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes any longer!” He laughed. “And who could blame her?”

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother as if you knew her!” Marcus roughly brushed the hand from his shoulder and stood up in a fury.

“Your mother was a whore and I bet she died as one too!”

Marcus couldn’t remember the events that transpired moments later. All he could recall was the sound of steel being unsheathed, and seeing red behind his eyes. He was thirteen years of age when he killed for the first time. He plunged his sword so deeply into the boy's gut that it appeared through the other side, dripping in crimson.

Under the new rule of Emperor Publius Septimius (Geta) & Marcus Aurelius Antonius (Caracalla) April, 211 AD

After five years of extensive, unforgiving, and grueling training to become a gladiator, Marcus was taken before the two young emperors who had only just recently succeeded their late father, emperor Septimius Severus, to be observed in training before the next anticipated fight in the Colosseum.

“This one appears promising.” Emperor Geta, twenty years of age, sat alongside his younger brother, Caracalla in his golden throne. “I intend to meet him officially.”

“He is weak. Do you not see the way he favors one side to the other? He is unbalanced, and his opponents will pick their teeth with his bones.” Caracalla said with a jabbing snicker. “He surely won’t survive through a single fight.”

“We shall see.”

When he was approached by the emperors after the training session had wrapped up, Marcus quickly bowed in their regal, commanding presence. He brought his sword to rest against the breastplate of his armor out of respect.

“What do they call you, gladiator?” Geta inquired with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Acacius, sir.”

“And what do you desire most in this life, Acacius?”

Marcus lowered his sword, the edge of the blade dug into the coarse sand below. His emotionless gaze, directed at the eldest emperor, was contrasted by emotionally charged words of a man whose only desire in life was to be free.

“To be a free man.”

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potatoesenpaii · 2 months ago

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"It is man's peculiar duty to love even those who wrong him." - Marcus Aurelius 💛

Art by @tone_mariie 💛

#oc artwork #oc x canon #emperor caracalla #emperor caracalla x oc #gladiator 2 #comission art

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spookynebula · 3 days ago

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I went to see Gladiator II for Geta, and somehow I ended up making a character who becomes the object of Caracalla’s relentless obsession affection. 🤨

#emperor caracalla #caracalla #caracalla x oc

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tightjeansjavi · 1 month ago

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Et Auream - Act I : The Gladiator

A/N: well, here we are! :3 I started writing this chapter back in July, right after the trailer for gladiator ii dropped, and I have since then gutted it completely and rewrote it start to finish 😆 I have to give a HUGE thank you to @sinsofsummers for being one of my many cheerleaders and for betaing. I love you so much pookie 🫶🏻

word count: 3.2k

Summary: It’s been 5 years since the passing of the late emperor Septimius Severus, who was succeeded by his sons, Geta and Caracalla. General Octavius and his forces continue their campaign against the Caledonians, and Acacius, one of the most fierce gladiators that Rome has ever witnessed, feels nothing but bitter resentment towards the emperors.

Pairing | Marcus Acacius x f!oc

Warnings: canon typical violence, brutality, enslavement, domestic abuse, power imbalance, violent punishment, language, alcohol consumption, +18 minors dni! Please let me know if I missed anything.

series masterlist | playlist

Translations: Dominus - Master voluit vivere - he wanted to live Praetorian - bodyguard of a Roman emperor

THE COLOSSEUM - five years after the death of Emperor Septimius Severus April, 216 AD

The thunderous chants from the crowd echoed deafeningly in his eardrums. Steel bars that imprisoned gladiators from the spectators in the Colosseum shook wildly from the crescendo of voices shouting in unison; KILL! KILL! KILL!

A hush fell over the crowd at the emperor’s silent command of a raised hand and thumb leveled to the side.

A man’s life hung in the balance between two young emperors. Caracalla was the younger counterpart by two years to his brother, Geta, and mercy would be granted only if they felt it was earned. But in reality, it depended solely on their moods.

The games were nothing short of barbaric, and the people of Rome loved the thrill of a brutal fight. The suspense, the bloodshed and sacrifice. This was entertainment for the poor and rich, young and old would flock to the Colosseum to watch men, women, and beast fight to the brutal death.

Emperor Geta pointed his thumb downwards, signaling another life ending, and the crowd erupted in deafening applause.

Acacius chanted a silent prayer under his breath to grant the soul whose life had just been snuffed out, safe passage to the afterlife. He flipped his sword in his hand and awaited the gates to open once more.

Geta reclined back on his golden throne with a satisfied grin plastered on his face.

“I expected there to be more blood,” Caracalla muttered alongside him, a pout formed on his thin lips. “He should have been gutted, his innards should have fallen to the ground!” he groaned in disappointment.

“You and your obsession with gore,” Geta responded with a roll of his eyes at his brother’s complaining. He reached for his chalice and brought the rim to his lips, but before he could take a sip, he was stopped by one of his advisors looming at the entrance of the viewing platform.

Cassius, one of Geta’s trusted advisors and a member of the senate, bowed quickly and reached into his tunic and pulled out a sealed scroll; a letter from the general.

“Caesar,” his nasally tone grated Geta’s ears.

“Cassius,” he responded flatly.

“This just arrived. A letter from general Octavius,” Cassius informed him.

Geta carefully tore the ruby colored wax seal off and began to read the written scripture. He had only reached the first sentence when he noticed that Cassius’s presence was still lingering. He waved him off, his eyes stayed glued to the parchment. “You are dismissed.”

Cassius bowed once more and turned on his heel quickly, leaving Geta to read in peace.

“What news does our general bring us today?” Caracalla asked.

Caesar,

Our latest battle was successful, but I have lost a few hundred men, and I myself have been injured, but the medicus assured me that it is not grave. The Caledonians have retreated, but I fear this is only temporary. My age begins to show and my bones grow tired and weak. My men will not continue to follow me if they feel that I am unfit to lead them. Discuss with Caracalla in regard to finding a man worthy enough to succeed my position as general when my inevitable death arrives.

I wish you and your brother fair health and prosperity,

General Octavius

“Our recent battle against the Caledonians was successful, but we have lost a few hundred men. The general was wounded, but not gravely,” Geta recited with a sigh.

Caracalla scoffed and shook his head. “We should abandon the campaign entirely like I had suggested after Father died. We are wasting precious resources and able bodied men, and for what?”

“Abandoning the campaign would disappoint our late father greatly. We promised him that we would not cease our attack until the Caledonians are defeated, brother,” Geta said in a low tone.

“He is dead, Geta. What does a dead man care about a campaign that was a disaster from the start? And now with the general wounded, our soldiers could turn on us at any moment! They will become unpredictable and restless without a leader,” Caracalla seethed.

“General Octavius suggested that you and I find someone worthy to succeed him when he inevitably passes either from injury or old age. I have a man in mind for the position, but you will detest it I am certain.”

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of turning that gladiator scum into a general, brother. If anyone should succeed Octavius, it should be a worthy soldier in his ranks. Acacius is unworthy and unfit for the position,” Caracalla waved his wrist animatedly in disgust. Golden bangles that adorned his arms made a short, sharp, ringing sound from the sudden movement.

“And yet you love to watch him fight. He is one of our strongest and resilient gladiators. He is just as worthy as any soldier. The people love him, Caracalla. I intend to turn him into one of the greatest generals Rome has ever seen,” Geta countered swiftly.

“Of course I love to watch him fight!” Caracalla snapped. “He is one of the best that we have, but he will never be a general as long as I am still breathing.”

Before Geta had the chance to respond with something snarky, his attention was drawn to the start of the next fight.

The sun blinded Acacius’s vision as he stepped out into the arena when the gates were opened. The sun was scorching, and sweat already began to drip down the plane of his brow. His opponent was larger, broader than he was, but Acacius was swift, and able to recover in half the time. The crowd roared his name, stamped their feet and cheered at his entrance. His face was stoic, void of emotion to the wild chanting of his name.

His opponent, however, basked in their cheers like a preening peacock. A thirst for blood is what many of Acacius’s opponents experienced, but he was simply doing what he must do to survive another day. They thought that volunteering to be a gladiator would bring them riches and fame beyond their wildest dreams, until they would meet the cold kiss of his steel in their gut. Maybe he would feel the same swelling pride as they did if he had been given the option to volunteer.

The two gladiators walked to the middle of the arena and faced the viewing platform where the emperor’s and their subjects were seated. Their swords were brought to rest against the breastplate of their armor and they recited the words, “Hail Caesar, those who are about to die salute you!”

In another viewing box below the emperor’s, she was feeling the same level of disgust as Acacius was towards the brutality of the games. And like him, she was forced to participate by her Dominus, Cassius, who was enthralled by the games and even more-so when he knew that the sight of blood and violence nauseated her.

Her name was Aurelia; the golden one, although her life wasn’t very golden at all. She was Senator Cassius’s prized possession, his property till the day that she would inevitably die.

“If you keep your head hidden between your thighs any longer, you’ll miss the entire fight, Aurelia,” Cassius said condescendingly alongside her. His chalice of wine filled to the brim, and nearly spilled down the front of his tunic.

Aurelia bit down on the soft flesh of her inner cheek at his words. She gnawed on it until she tasted copper on her tongue. That is the whole point. Is what she wanted to say, but she remained silent in her distress.

Cassius rolled his eyes, not appreciating the way that she ignored him and he placed his hand around the back of her neck, his fingers slipped into the small space between the iron collar that was fit snug around her neck and tugged harshly, enough for her to wince from the uncomfortable tightness.

“I said,” he snarled against the shell of her ear, “you’ll miss the entire fight, my pet. It will please me if you watch. Do as your Dominus commands,” he released her neck from his unforgiving grip, finally. No one in close proximity to them batted an eye at the mistreatment she experienced.

Aurelia forced herself to watch the brutal fight. The sounds of steel clashing rang in her ears and from the viewing box, she could make out the details on one of the gladiator’s faces. His dark hair was cropped short and curled around the top of his ears. His skin, sun-kissed in gold, was littered with old and new scars traveling up the expanse of his arms.

She could not help but wonder how old he must have been when a sword was thrust into his hands and he was forced to kill another man and the emotional turmoil he must have felt after the adrenaline would inevitably wear off. She found herself gasping with the crowd when his opponent's blade grazed Acacius’s bicep, slicing the skin there just enough that beads of crimson wept through the laceration. Acacius gritted his teeth together, letting out a growl that was nothing short of animalistic and charged forward, his eyes set ablaze with determination.

Caracalla was seen smirking over the rim of his chalice. He was foolish to believe that a minor cut on Acacius’s arm was enough to deter him, but unlike his brother, Geta was locked into the fight. He leaned forward in his seat, his demeanor stiff and rigid.

The shield belonging to Acacius’s opponent was suddenly knocked from his grip, shattering from the sheer force of Acacius’s sword colliding with it. His opponent stumbled back, and dug his heels into the sand to keep himself upright, but without a shield to defend himself, he would have to rely on his strength alone.

Acacius flipped the hilt of his sword in his calloused palm and charged forward again with vigor. The sting from the cut along his bicep, and the dull ache in his shoulder drove him forward. He would not die today, this was certain.

Their swords met again and again until his opponent began to tire and Acacius went in for the kill, and with one swift kick to the abdomen, his opponent fell to the sand with a dull thud.

The crowd cheered, their fists raised towards the heavens as they chanted, “KILL! KILL! KILL!”

Geta rose from his seat and raised his hand above his head, and the crowd fell into a hushed silence at the sight of the emperor's thumb turning to the side.

Acacius could hear the blood that pounded in his ears as he stood towered over his fallen opponent. His brows were pinched together, his armored chest rose and fell rapidly from the energy he exerted.

His opponent awaited his fate, exhaustion written across his bloodstained face.

Acacius saw a boy when he looked into his opponent’s eyes. A frightened boy who isn’t yet ready to die, and he sees himself all those years ago. When the crowd erupted into cheers once more, Acacius did not need to see the Emperor’s hand to know what was being demanded of him. His fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword and he raised it above his head as if he were to bring it down upon his opponent for that final, devastating, fatal blow, but he stopped midway, and threw his sword to the side in defiance.

Aurelia’s eyes widened in shock. Out of every fight that she was forced to attend, never did she witness a gladiator defy an emperor’s demand so boldly. His defiance sent her pounding heart ablaze with a new sense of hope that she had not felt in ages. Acacius the merciful, they chanted.

“Kill him!” Caracalla cried out wildly in protest, his body lurched up from his throne. His shrill tone was like that of a child throwing a tantrum. The eldest emperor did not react, but Acacius could feel Geta’s harsh, disappointed glare burning holes into the back of his skull when he bent down and offered his hand to his fallen opponent who stared up at him in bewilderment.

“Take my hand,” Acacius whispered through the deafening cheers.

Carcalla leaned over to his brother and whispered, “what was that you said earlier about Acacius being worthy to succeed general Octavius?”

Geta could hear the grin appearing through his tone, but the eldest emperor gave no indication that he was unnerved by his brothers jabbing words, or Acacius’s defiance, except for the slight flare of his nostrils, and his left eye twitching, rimmed in darkened makeup.

The defeated opponent reached up with a grunt and clasped his hand around Acacius’s firmly. He lifted him from the ground with ease. When he looked up at the emperor’s viewing box, Geta was no longer standing there and looking down at him and a sinking feeling of dread for what was to come washed over him.

Aurelia watched the way he turned on his heel, his teeth gritted together in pain when his bad shoulder began to flare up and bother him. He subtly leaned his weight to his left side for some reprieve, though temporary. He did not reach down for his sword and walked past it in the direction of the open gates, disappearing behind them a moment later.

She paid no mind to Cassius muttering beside her about how blatant defiance should be punished and ‘rogues’ like Acacius should be terminated as quickly as possible.

Acacius was not even granted the luxury to even attempt to remove his armor when he heard the approach of many heavy footsteps through the corridor. He felt the sharp tip of a spear pierce the side of his neck, and before he had the chance to fight back, a hand harshly clasped down on his bad shoulder and the sudden, sharp pain that felt like a thousand knives were stabbing him at once, sent him falling to his knees.

Geta promenaded through his appointed guards and crouched down to Acacius’s level. His expression was placid, lacking emotion. Internally, he was furious, but he did a good enough job to hide it.

“Look at me, Acacius,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm.

Acacius refused and he let out a sharp cry of agony when the Praetorian guard dug his fingers deeper into his shoulder and he finally drew his gaze from the ground and to the emperor’s hardened stare.

“Are you going to punish me?” he spat.

“No,” Geta said with a slight shake of his head.

“I defied you. I deserve to be punished, so fucking punish me,” he snarled through gritted teeth and the emperor couldn’t help but let his mask fall briefly. A smirk crossed over his lips.

“And do you believe that your deliberate display of defiance will shorten your servitude and grant you your freedom faster than the rest?” He gestured with his hand.

“No,” Acacius said grimly and his eyes lowered their gaze back to the floor.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” Geta demanded.

Acacius glared up at him, his brows were pinched together and his lips were set in a harsh line. “He didn’t deserve to die. He fought just as hard as I did. That is why I chose to spare his life.”

Geta chuckled at this. “And yet, your opponent is out there right now, boasting that he won. Do you think that he is grateful for your mercy?”

“I do not care if he boasts that he won. I saw the fear in his eyes, Geta. He did not want to die. voluit vivere.” (He wanted to live)

“Everyone wants to live, Acacius. But you cannot save every person from their predestined fate,” He sighed and stood up and dropped his hands behind his back. “Do you remember the day that we met?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I asked you what you desired most in this life, and you told me that all you wanted was to be a free man, Acacius. Caracalla believed that you wouldn’t defy the odds that were stacked against you. He claimed that you wouldn't survive your first fight, but you proved him wrong. You showed strength, bravery, and resilience. Your courage has not gone unnoticed, and it is most admirable. I can make you a free man, I can turn your life’s legacy into something great—beyond your wildest dreams, but I require your trust and loyalty.”

Acacius wanted nothing more than to laugh in his face, but he wouldn’t give Geta the satisfaction. Instead, he steeled his expression and despite the pain in his shoulder, he sat up straighter, his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched, “you will never gain my trust and loyalty for as long as I live.”

“I pity you, Acacius. You refuse to see the potential for greatness that you possess. Your hatred for Rome, and the man that tore you from your mother and the life you knew, into a life shackled in servitude, clouds your judgment. I granted you mercy five years ago. I could have casted you aside, let you fend in the streets like some feral beast till your spirit eventually fades, and still you refuse the hand that I am graciously offering you.”

“Mercy?!” Acacius barked out a strained laugh. “That’s what you believe that you granted me?! If you were merciful, you would have freed me! Instead, you have forced me to fight for your own entertainment. The games are a spectacle for the people of Rome. You bring them bloodshed and brutality and they love you for it.”

“They don’t just love me, Acacius. The people of Rome love you. Do you not feel a sense of pride when they chant your name? Acacius the great! Perhaps even the greatest gladiator that Rome has ever seen!” Geta exclaimed.

“I never wanted to be a gladiator. I never wanted to spend my life killing men who share the same circumstances as I. I-I wanted my life to be different. I don’t want greatness. I don’t desire wealth or materialistic pleasures,” He whispered solemnly and Geta imagined a boy, no older than thirteen, and already so broken when he looked at the man kneeling before him.

“Then I implore you to rethink your strategy to gain your freedom. Defy me all you choose, but if you continue down that route, you will either die in that arena, or rot in a cell till you inevitably die. The choice is yours, and for your sake, I hope you choose wisely. Nothing is permanent, Acacius. Remember that.”

“If the gods wish for me to die in the Colosseum, or bound in the chains that you put me in, so be it.”

Geta said nothing more, and he turned on his heel to walk away. His guards awaited his command, but he did not address them. That’s all Acacius could think about when the guards surrounding him took it upon themselves to punish him. His wrists and ankles were shackled in iron, and he didn’t make a sound, or flinch when the crack of a whip rang loudly in his ears as it was brought down against his back and shoulders. His already tarnished tunic had been ripped down the middle, exposing his scarred skin. The pain was soothing, in a morbid fashion. The feeling of his flesh being marred, and blood dripping from the open wounds should have caused him to cry in distress, but he took his punishment in complete and utter silence.

He did not give them the command.

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#Et Auream #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius x oc #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 fanfiction #tw enslavement #tw domestic abuse #tw violence

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tightjeansjavi · 21 days ago

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Et Auream - Act II : Even In The Darkest of Places

A/N: despite the state that our world is currently in, I’m really proud of this chapter and how it has turned out. This was another chapter that I had completed gutted and rewrote from July. As always, a huge thank you to @sinsofsummers for being my beta 💗

word count: 4.8k

Summary: Even in the darkest of places, hope remains.

Pairing | Marcus Acacius x f!oc

Warnings: canon typical violence, enslavement, power imbalance, domestic abuse, language, transactional sex (not between Marcus & oc) misogyny, derogatory language, +18 minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything

series masterlist

SENATOR CASSIUS’S VILLA

“Amalthea, I have never witnessed such an act of defiance!” Aurelia whispered excitedly. The kitchen maid had become one of her dear friends—perhaps even a mother figure to her. She cherished the moments away from Cassius where she could simply be. Amalthea was old and wise, and she served Cassius longer than any of the rest of his servants had. She had taken Aurelia under her wing in every sense.

“It has been many years since a gladiator so boldly defied an emperor,” Amalthea said in disbelief. She was seated at the meager prep table, a basket of freshly plucked peas from the field were waiting to be shucked for Cassius’s dinner later. “Come sit with me, child. Help shuck these peas and tell me more of this brave gladiator.”

Aurelia tore her gaze from the archway window where in the distance she could just make out the city of Rome, and the looming Colosseum. She could still hear Cassius’s voice droning in her ear about how rogues like Acacius should be terminated. With a sigh she walked to the empty seat next to the older woman and sat alongside her. She reached into the basket and pulled out a few pea pods.

“They called him Acacius the merciful, but I fear that he is not receiving the same mercy that he gave his opponent,” she said quietly, her voice laced with genuine concern.

Amalthea reached over the table and gently squeezed her forearm with a saddened smile. “Defiance against an emperor is often met by cruel punishment, Aurelia. Acacius the merciful may not live to see another day,” she said pensively.

Aurelia’s shoulders slumped forward at the thought of Acacius being wrongfully punished for his defiant actions. She knew that this was customary, but it didn’t make it any less morbid.

“I want to go to him,” she said suddenly, surprising not only herself, but Amalthea as well.

“Aurelia,” she warned. “That would be foolish of you, and not to mention extremely dangerous. Our Dominus wouldn’t stand for it either. You and I both know his disdain towards the gladiators all too well.”

“Amalthea, your concern will not go unnoticed, but our Dominus will be at the brothel for hours after dinner. He won’t return till the early morning hours, if at all.” She had wishful thinking in her mind that her abuser would miraculously never return again and she would never have to endure his cruelty for another day.

“Would your intrigue for this gladiator weaken if he had not acted in defiance?” Amalthea said teasingly, a playful lilt in her tone.

“Amalthea!” Aurelia gasped and giggled softly at her teasing. “My admiration for Acacius is not what you’re thinking it is, I swear!” she protested.

The older woman laughed and the corners of her eyes crinkled, showing her own buried youth appearing, even if just for a moment.

“Forgive me, child. I had to ask,” she said softly and reached for another peapod. “I know well enough that once your heart is set on something, there is no deterring you. The Ludus Magnus is no place for a woman, Aurelia.”

“Rome is no place for a woman, and yet, here we are,” Aurelia solemnly reminded her.

Amalthea huffed out a laugh and shook her head with a knowing grin, “I just want you to be careful, Aurelia, but if you’re truly that determined, take Luna from the stables. She will guide you.”

“I knew you would come around eventually,” she winked subtly at the older woman, and the two returned to their fits of giggling as the sun began to slowly make its descent from the heavens.

When dinner was prepared, Cassius requested for Aurelia to present him his meal in his private study and she knew what this entailed, but she had no choice but to obey.

Amalthea gave her a sympathetic look as she placed the tray that contained Cassius’s meal in her awaiting arms and Aurelia wordlessly turned on her heel and walked towards the direction of his private quarters.

Cassius was seated at his desk, hunched over and focused on the parchment laid out in front of him when he heard a soft knock on the other side of the door.

“You may enter,” He said.

Aurelia took a deep breath and quietly pushed the door open while keeping the tray steady in her arms.

“Good evening, Dominus,” she bowed her head slightly before approaching his desk and gently placed the tray down in front of him, careful to not disturb the papers laid out in front of him.

Cassius paid no attention to her and reached blindly for a piece of thigh meat from the perfectly roasted chicken and tore off a chunk with little care when the savory juice dribbled down his chin.

Aurelia assumed that she could take her cue to leave, but as soon as she turned to walk away, Cassius finally acknowledged her presence.

“I did not dismiss you, Aurelia,” he sighed through his nose. “Sit with me,” he commanded.

She steeled her expression, her fists clenched at her sides. She had foolishly hoped that tonight she would not have to endure his unwanted touch.

“Don’t be shy,” He said wryly, and with his freehand he tapped his knuckles along the desk impatiently.

Aurelia moved towards his side, expecting that he had wanted her to sit in his lap, but when he tilted his head to the side and his eyes flickered towards the floor, she slowly lowered herself to her knees.

He placed his hand against the crown of her head and threaded his fingers through the tresses of her mahogany hair and let out a content sigh from the back of his throat.

“That’s better.” He was pleased, but not as much as he would have liked to be. And when he sensed her discomfort, he tightened his grip around her skull, just enough to make her wince from the sensation. “Although, you could be doing more than just sitting there,” he said suggestively, not masking his true intent when he guided her head towards his lap. “It would please me even more if you were so kind as to tend to me with your affections.”

So much for wishful thinking.

—

When Cassius finally left for his evening excursions, Aurelia crept from her chambers and headed down to the stables. Amalthea was waiting for her, unexpectedly, and while she focused on tacking up Luna, Amalthea reminded her of the very real dangers to being out after dark. Aurelia appreciated her concern, but this did not deter or sway her mind to stay within the safety of the villa.

“I will be back before the sunrise, I promise. Cassius won’t even know that I was gone,” Aurelia reassured her as she gracefully swung her leg over the front of the saddle and gathered up the reins in her hands gently.

“I’ll pray to Fortuna for your safe return, and to Salus for the gladiator Acacius. Ride swift and silent and do not let anyone see you. Bona fortuna, Aurelia.”

“Et videbo vos ante solis ortum,” (and I will see you before the sunrise) Aurelia whispered and gently squeezed her heels against Luna’s sides to ease her into a trot down the gentle sloping hill. She used the moon as the only guiding light to where Acacius and the rest of the gladiator’s were imprisoned within the city.

A cloak over her head concealed her identity, and when she neared the Ludus Magnus, she slowed Luna to a walk before she carefully and quietly dismounted in a secluded area. She imagined that the structure would be well guarded, but after investigating the area, she discovered a side entrance that was well hidden by shrubbery.

The interior was dimly lit, with only a few torches providing limited light. As far as she could see, there were no guards keeping watch in the immediate vicinity.

She could hear the crackling of flames from the torches, and the scurrying of rats along the floor, and just as she was turning a corner to head down one of the many corridors, a hand reached through the darkness and clamped down around her mouth. She struggled in its grip as she was forced back against a hard chest.

“Well, well, well,” a darkened voice chuckled against the shell of her ear, holding her captive. “What do we have here?” The voice belonged to a male, one of the guards she had presumed. “A pretty little lamb that has wandered far from her flock? Perhaps the gods have finally answered my prayers!” he cackled gleefully.

Her voice was muffled against his hand as she continued to struggle in his grip. “Un-hand me!” she cried out, but it was useless.

“Absolutely not!” he laughed and with his freehand he blindly searched for the knot to her stola. Her eyes widened in fear, and she bit his hand that held her mouth captive as hard as she could. He let out a surprised yelp, and his hand instinctively loosened around her mouth just enough for her to wriggle out of his grip, but he recovered quickly and shoved her roughly against a nearby wall. “Stupid fucking bitch!” he spat and unsheathed his dagger. “You’ll pay for that,” he snarled and pressed the edge of the blade against her throat. “Been waiting for something pretty to stick my cock into. I’ll give you a real reason to scream, whore.”

“Wait!” she yelled in fear. “If you release me now, I will see to it that you are rewarded!”

He narrowed his eyes, brows pinched together and dragged the tip of his blade down the column of her throat, but he didn’t get very far, not with the iron collar on her neck blocking the path of his blade. There was even a tag dangling in the middle of it, and when he leaned in closer, he could make out the engraved lettering: Si repertus sum, Cassium me senatorem redde. Retribuetur vobis. (If I am found, return me to Senator Cassius. You will be rewarded)

The guard stowed his dagger back into its sheath. “I wonder how well rewarded I will be when I return you to your Dominus,” he mused with a grin.

“You will be rewarded less if you have come to harm me. My Dominus will not take it lightly if there is even a scratch upon me,” Aurelia said boldly.

“Senator Cassius will reward me for what I feel is owed,” he snapped and grabbed her roughly by her forearm.

“Before you return me to him, I have one request,” she winced from his tight grip on her arm. “Must you handle me so roughly? I will go without a fight, I assure you.”

“I don’t believe you’re in the position to be requesting anything of me,” he scoffed and started to drag her towards the exit, but she dug her heels into the ground in an attempt to slow him down.

“Please!” she cried. “It is one simple request,” she pleaded. “I can offer you more than just coin if you agree!”

He sneered at this and loosened his grip around her arm. He turned around and faced her fully. “Is that so?” his eyes trailed down her body, lingering at the gentle swell of her covered breasts, and the curve of her hips. He licked his lips in anticipation. “Perhaps I can be…persuaded.”

She fought the urge to turn her nose up in disgust at the way he was violating her with his eyes alone.“I will give you what you want, and I will not fight it. But in return, you will show me where the gladiator Acacius resides.”

“Acacius?” he questioned with a scoff. His frame towered over her and his eyes held nothing short of malice in them. “What’s a pretty thing like you want him for, hm?”

She refused to make direct eye contact with him and turned her head to the side. “It does not concern you.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “I think it does concern me and unless you want me to make it hurt, I suggest you start talking. Don’t be so naive to think that just because your Dominus would be angered to see his prized whore scuffed up, that I won’t be cruel.”

Aurelia had always found it morbidly fascinating to experience just how quickly men would resort to threatening violent measures if women did not immediately give them what they wanted. She had experienced this exact scenario many times with Cassius, and by now she was numb to the mistreatment and cruelty she endured almost daily. Her heart, nonetheless, would always sink to the pit of her stomach whenever situations like this would arise.

Were all men truly this cruel?

He studied her intently, and when she didn’t respond, he grabbed her chin between two fingers and forced her to look at him. “Do you want to fuck him, is that it?” he questioned her dryly, amusement dripping in his tone.

“I beg your—”

“Oh, don’t act like you’re pure all of sudden. Besides, it was a fair question.You think you’re the only whore that has skipped down here in hopes to lay with a gladiator?” he snorted. “You’ll be met with sheer disappointment m’afraid. I heard a rumor that all of the gladiators were gelded.”

She fought her immediate urge to glare at him and his wild accusations.“I do not wish to lay with him.”

“Sure, sure,” he waved her off dismissively. “That's what they all say.”

“Well, rest assured, that is not why I am here. I just found his act of defiance in the arena today…admirable,” She admitted truthfully.

“Admirable?” he released her chin only to grab her by the waist and yanked her roughly in his grip so her chest collided with his own. “Defying the emperor’s command is admirable? Hm. I’m sure that’s exactly the reason why he was punished for his merciful actions then.”

Her face fell at his words. Was she too late? Was Acacius beaten to death for his defiance? No, he couldn’t be. The guard was just toying with her vulnerability. Acacius was surely alive. He must be.

“Don’t look so sad, whore. Acacius is still breathing. I’ll gladly escort you to his cell, after you complete your end of the deal, of course,” he said with a twisted sneer.

A deal is a deal, after all.

____

Just down the corridor, in a compacted cell, Marcus Acacius laid in filth. His bed, the single form of comfort that he had, was stripped from him, and he was forced to sleep upon the cold, unforgiving floor. His ankles were bound in iron, shackled to the stone wall, and his back was bare. The lacerations on his marred skin had since begun to crust over with dried blood, but he was badly wounded and received no care. His dreams were restless, and images of his mother flashed behind his trembling eyelids.

Let me go home, please. I wish to feel her gentle embrace. To hear her voice. Gods, take me out of my misery, I beg you.

“In this life and the next, you will always be my son, but your time has not yet come, Marcus. There is much life you have left to live. Remember, you must continue to be brave, gentle, just and compassionate. No matter what life throws your way, promise me you will always remain true to your heart and the values I have instilled in you.”

“How can I be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate in a world that is so cold, and has only been cruel to me?”

“You have to believe in your heart that there is goodness left in this world. There is kindness you have yet to experience, my son. Do not close the door on the possibilities of happiness. There is evil, yes, but there is also light in this world, Marcus. There is hope and there is love that dwells even in the darkest of places.”

Her image began to fade from his conscience as his body began to stir and wake at the sound of approaching footsteps, and hushed voices.

“Wait! Please, don’t go! Mother, please!” he called for her in his dreams and his hand reached for her in the darkness, but he grasped nothing but cold, damp air between his calloused fingers.

“Why has no one tended to his wounds?” a soft, feminine voice filtered in through his semi-conscious state.

“The orders were not given,” the guard, who Acacius knew as Cato, said to her in a hushed tone.

“Well, I am giving them. If his wounds are not treated soon, they will fester and he will die of infection,” she whispered in urgency.

“What do I look like to you? A charity service?” Cato laughed, and the sound grated Marcus’s ears.

“Please, just fetch me a pail of water, and do so quickly.”

Cato let out a grumbled sigh and nodded before turning on his heel and walked back the direction they had come from with little urgency in his pace. He was unsure as to why he was so willing and compliant to obey her request, but did little to question it.

Acacius sensed her presence as she knelt on the floor outside of his cell. Who was she? Why had she come? What was her purpose? Questions ran wild in his head.

She was relieved when she could just barely make out the shaky rise and fall of his chest, and the wheeze of labored breaths escaping through his chapped, parted lips. The pale moonlight from a single window in the cell, casted an eerie glow upon his severed and torn back and the stench of death permeated her senses.

He will not die tonight, this is certain. I will save him. She was determined.

“Sir!” she whispered through the stagnant air, not wanting to raise her voice enough to startle him from his rest.

Acacius, however, did not stir from his light slumber, and even when she rattled the steel bars that kept him imprisoned from her, and her from him, between her fists, he laid there, unmoving except for the slight twitch of his hand that was still outstretched, as if he had been reaching for something in the never ending darkness that consumed him.

“Acacius, please! You must—”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his name leaving her lips like a plea, and out of reflex he immediately reached for his sword, forgetting that it was no longer on his person. He was in a daze, feeling delirious from dehydration and the unbearable pain he felt in his pulsing shoulder and in his back from the deep, exposed gashes that marred his beautiful tanned skin.

He let out a grunt as he struggled to pull himself up into an upright position from where he laid on his side. Every muscle and tendon in his body screamed at him to rest, his brain sensed danger until he whipped his head around and his hardened, and disoriented stare landed upon her.

“I mean you no harm, sir. I swear it,” her words were rushed as she wanted to reassure him that he had nothing to fear, not from the likes of her. She didn’t even have the desire to harm a mere fly.

“How do you know my name?” he rasped through clenched teeth. His voice was even deeper than she imagined, with an edge of hardened grit, but she could sense a warmth residing in his tone; hidden but unmistakable.

She opened her mouth to speak and explain herself, but Cato had poor timing and arrived with a pitcher of water and a vial of olive oil.

She tore her gaze from Marcus’s and glanced upwards at Cato with a desperate look in her eyes. “Unlock his cell.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“How am I to tend to his wounds if I am not in there with him?” she retorted.

“Di boni sint,” (Gods be good) Cato muttered under his breath and reached inside of his tunic pulling out a set of bronze keys. Acacius warily watched him from where sat.

The iron bars swung open, making a creaking sound along the hinges, and Marcus scrambled towards the wall till his back was met with cold hardness. His eyes widened with fear, and for a moment he was just a boy again and enduring the cruelty from a father who never wanted him.

“Peace, Acacius,” she said softly and rose to her feet. Her features were illuminated by the torch clasped in Cato’s hand and Marcus felt that the gods themselves were playing a cruel trick upon his already mangled brain. Surely, he was dreaming, for he had never gazed upon a maiden as beautiful as her. Was she even real? Or was she just a sick figment of his imagination? He did not notice the iron collar fastened around her dainty neck, he saw the softness in her eyes, a genuine kindness and warmth in them that he had not experienced for many years. He was awestruck.

“Gods, am I truly being blessed by Venus in the flesh?” he gasped. His eyes widened further before drooping from exhaustion. His mouth was dry, lips cracked and bleeding.

Cato couldn’t help but snicker at his delusions, but he was silenced by a stern look from her and quietly backed off.

“Leave us,” she said firmly, without looking at Cato and he retreated from the open doorway.

“Sir, I’m afraid you are mistaken. I am not the goddess Venus. I’m just…a girl,” she said quietly.

His fear manifested when she crouched down in front of him, the sincerity in her eyes did not fade, and she cautiously outstretched her hand in his direction. “I am here to help you, Acacius.”

His posture stiffened at this. His apprehension was apparent and he glowered in her direction. “I am not requiring your help, girl,” he hissed.

“You are untrusting of me, and I understand why, but if I do not tend to your wounds, they will fester and you will die,” she said soberly.

“Do you think I am not aware?” he scoffed. “Let them fester. Let me die. Why should you care what becomes of me?” he snapped.

She did not flinch or cower from his tone and her hand hovered near his reach, but he still did not acknowledge it. “I cannot allow you to die, Acacius. It is against my morals and nature.”

“Then you must be a figment of my imagination,” he muttered and turned his head to the side to stare at the wall. “Morals don’t exist here, my lady. Only suffering and death. It is only a matter of time,” he said defeatedly.

“I am as real as they come, I assure you.”

He tore his gaze from the nearest wall and looked upon her once more. He eyed her hand suspiciously, and then trailed his gaze across her face and down to her neck. His stare paused at the mark of ownership, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You’re just a slave to the Empire…like me,” he whispered and his hand slowly rose from his side, brushing the brass tag attached to the collar. He expected her to flinch from his touch, but she did not.

He dropped his hand back to his side and sank further against the wall with a deflated sigh. He eyed the pail of water and vial of olive oil alongside her that would be used to cleanse his wounds, if he allowed it. “You have yet to answer my question, my lady. How do you know my name? How did you know where to find me? Who sent you?” he fired off questions that were buzzing in his brain.

“No one sent for me, Acacius. I came here on my own accord after watching you bravely fight in the arena today. That is where I learned of your name.”

“I wouldn’t say I was brave,” he said humbly. He eyed the collar around her neck once more, and despite his guarded demeanor, and his engrained nature to lash out like a wounded animal, his shred of empathy extends to her. “My lady, I mean no disrespect, but the Colosseum is no place for a selfless, kind soul such as yourself. You shouldn’t be exposed to such…brutality,” he trailed off.

“Acacius, I am no lady. I am just—a common whore. My Dominus takes great pleasure in watching you and other Gladiators fight to the death. I’d even say it’s his favorite event.”

“Who is your Dominus?” his question lingered heavily in the stagnant air.

“Senator Cassius.”

“He may have labeled you as a whore, but in my eyes…I see a lady,” he whispered without understanding just how greatly she appreciated that he saw what others did not.

“You are too kind, Acacius. Your words touch me.”

His grim, hardened demeanor quickly returns in the form of a deepened scowl on his face and he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He inhaled a lungful of air, his chest expanding and then deflates as he released the air through his flared nostrils. “You truly should not be here. This is no place for a lady, and if something were to happen to you, I could not protect you. These chains bind me till the morning,” he said quietly and yanked on the chains that bound his ankles to stone for good measure. “You should leave immediately. Leave me to rot here.”

“Acacius, I cannot stomach leaving you here and allowing your wounds to fester. Not when you have done nothing to deserve the punishment you endured. Bravery should not be met with the cruel lash of a whip,” she reached her hand near his shoulder, to brush her fingers against his tarnished skin, but he recoiled from her touch and pressed himself further against the wall. He felt the torn skin on his back wailing for reprieve, but he grits his teeth to mask the pain.

“Bravery?” he seethed through clenched teeth. His pupils seemed to darken under the shallow guise of the pale moonlight. “My acts of mercy upon my opponent made me appear weak. As if my heart wasn’t forged in steel! As if my compassion for humanity means more than the pride I feel when my blade pierces through the hearts of my enemies! I am a gladiator. I was raised as a ruthless fighter as soon as I could grasp a sword!” he exclaimed. The whites of his eyes showed a faux fierceness, but hidden in the depths of brown, there was fear.

“I have the blood of the innocent on my hands. Killing has been ingrained in my being since I was a small boy! My duty and honor lies with the empire, to the Emperors. It is all I have ever known, and all that I will ever know,” he gritted out, but his voice wavered, trembling with each syllable spoken as if he was trying to convince himself that being a gladiator under the Emperor's rule was truly all he’ll ever amount to in life. That he would never know softness, or genuine—real love from another unfortunate soul like his own.

She felt his pain, heard it seep in through his somber tone, and saw it in his anguished expression on his rugged, gold-kissed face. He may have been a bloodthirsty warrior in the Emperor's eyes, but in her own softened gaze, she saw a frightened boy that had been broken, ripped apart by cruel hands. “No,” she said sadly, “You’re just a boy.”

Aurelia and Acacius were two sides of the same coin; slaves to the Empire and forced into a life of endless servitude, bowing at the feet of those born into riches with their fancy silks and golden adornments. Their cruel whips in their dominant hands, and overflowing goblets of wine in the other.

A heavy charged silence simmered in their close proximity. He could hear her heart beating from where he sat and the sharp inhale of breath that she took.

“Please leave me here, my lady,” he said quietly, tone deflated of any emotion. He was giving up, she was certain of it.

“Please, Acacius,” she tried one more time to break through his guarded exterior. “Let me help you.”

His feelings were conflicted, it was written across his face, between the furrow of his brows, the subtle pout of his lips, and the swirl of brown and flecks of gold in his irises. He wanted to fight against the softness inside of him that begged to be released. The part of him that he had buried for so many years. He wanted to fight it tooth and nail, barred teeth and sharpened claws ready to strike at a moment's notice, but he remembered the words his mother had spoken to him.

“There is evil, yes, but there is also light in this world, Marcus.”

Could this unnamed stranger be the light that his mother spoke of? Could she be his purpose? His reason to fight to see another day?

“Marcus,” he whispered, “my name is Marcus.”

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tightjeansjavi · 15 days ago

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Et Auream - Act III : The Girl

A/N: I just want to start off by saying that for this chapter and the next, please heed the warnings. Also, I have included one historical inaccuracy regarding the reasoning for Marcus to tell Aurelia his first name. His reasoning was because only those who were worthy could know a gladiators true identity, and since she is about to save his life, he feels that she is worthy. Historically, roman male citizens had three names: first name, family name and nickname. It would be seen as too intimate or disrespectful to address a male citizen by their first name (typically only if this male citizen was an emperor or someone in power). This is why Geta, Caracalla and others refer to Marcus as Acacius. Aurelia is the only one who has been granted the privilege to call him Marcus (thus far) Thank you to @sinsofsummer for betaing as always <3 word count: 4.9k Summary: Marcus opens up about his past to Aurelia, but does not divulge further than what he is comfortable with. Time is forever fleeting, but he hopes that their meeting will not be a one time occurrence. Pairing | Marcus Acacius x f!oc Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! This chapter includes SA of a minor (not by Marcus) loss of virginity, hyper sexuality as a result of SA, slight stockholm syndrome (if you squint) sexual enslavement, domestic abuse, canon typical violence, angst, misogyny, minor character death, language, +18 minors dni! If I have missed anything, please let me know! series masterlist

When Aurelia was just a little girl, and the world was bright, shiny, and new to her innocent eyes, she begged her parents for a horse of her very own. A beautiful ivory mare, or a sunburnt black stallion. She was too young to understand the pecking order in society, too naive to recognize that her family was not blessed with riches from the gods above. No, her parents were poor common folk; farmers whose only duties were to produce enough crops to feed Rome and her noble pupils. She didn’t understand the means of power, wealth, and status.

Her parents prayed to the gods for their crops to prosper, and the gods answered, but a sacrifice would have to be made. her parents promised that where she was going, she would be rewarded with a thousand horses of all different shades and breeds. Instead, she was met with an iron collar around her delicate neck; a symbol of ownership. She was a slave to a Dominus, stripped down to an object to be bought and used in whatever means he felt necessary, and she had only just flowered.

Her parents abided by the god’s wishes for them to sell their only daughter, and yet, their crops shriveled and dried to dust. It was too late, the damage was already done, and she could never return to the home she once knew.

When Aurelia’s parents sold her off to senator Cassius, she had expected to live her life of servitude in a dingy cell, wearing tattered garments and begging for scraps. No matter how foul and unsettling Cassius was in her eyes, in a twisted way he did treat her better than she had expected. Atleast, she had convinced herself that he had. He ensured her that she would be educated in the arts and literature and all things a proper Roman lady should be taught. For that, she should be grateful, but only bitterness resides when she imagines the life she could be living had her parents not thrown her away so carelessly.

She was granted her own room and bed with silken sheets and a wardrobe with garments of every color. Handcrafted and threaded with the richest fabrics she had ever laid her eyes upon. Cassius prided himself in his appearance and so the same expectations were set upon her.

The first night of her new life, Aurelia found herself helping him undress and sink into the bath that she had prepared for him. He paid no mind to the obvious scald marks appearing on her small hands from the water being too hot for her delicate skin to handle. “You will tend to me in whatever manner I may request of you, Aurelia,” he said sternly, leaving no room for her to protest against his command. “Yes, my Dominus,” she responded quietly, her voice laced with nervousness. He grinned at her displeasure and ignored the fear that lingered in her eyes when he grasped her wrist, smaller than his own, and he dragged her hand beneath the steaming water to wrap around his hardening cock.

“I will make you happy, my pet. Just do as I ask and never fight me,” he hummed in contentment and his head tilting back against the fine porcelain as her wrist moved around his hardened shaft with shaky, insecure and unguided movements.

“Yes, my Dominus.”

He didn’t wait for her to be well adjusted to this new life. He was the type of man who would take as he pleased, no matter the consequences. “You will lay with me tonight in my chambers, Aurelia,” he said from the entryway of the bathing area. A linen towel was secured around his hips, and she took little notice of her hands trembling as she followed him down the dimly lit hallway and to his private quarters. After that night, she was no longer a girl. She was a woman. This was evident from the dry crusted tears that laid like canyons upon her soft cheeks and the blood that stained his linen sheets with the loss of her innocence and youth.

As time went on, the pain subsided little by little. It left her experiencing confused and conflicted feelings. It felt wrong to experience pleasure from the monster, a man that took her away from the only life that she knew. Yet, her body began to crave it; yearned for that forbidden touch and that crescendo of muscles spasming, and her cunt fluttering. She felt like a woman entering her divinity through the arousal of slickness between her thighs and tender breasts; a body graced with curves, swells, dips, ridges, and soft skin.

Like summer turned to fall, and fall to winter, her feelings began to sour; turned bitter like grapes that exceeded their fermentation period. Resentment reared its ugly head the further she strayed from girlhood and entered into womanhood. All those hours of studying had gifted her knowledge that she once did not possess, and she wanted more out of her life. She craved freedom above all. Her anger and resentment towards him manifested and she could no longer keep it at bay. Her youth, stolen from her, but she intended to gain her autonomy back in some form. This angered Cassius greatly that his once perfect, compliant, obedient, pet had begun to unabashedly disobey him. She was his. His property. her mind, body and soul belonged to him, and him only.

“You will never be free from your servitude. No matter how many fruitless hours you spend praying to the gods. You will always belong to me,” he hissed through gritted teeth, towering above her trembling, cowered body that laid upon the cold tile in his chambers.

Her cheek felt hot to the touch where he had struck her, and the tang of copper bursted along her tongue from the torn flesh of her upper lip.

She glared at him through her tears, vision blurred before becoming clear once again. His bedroom chamber was deathly silent. “I belong to no one.”

He swiftly yanked her up by the scruff of her neck dragging her at his will towards the crumpled sheets along his bed. “You will remember my once unconditional kindness after I have fucked the defiance out of you, girl.”

She knew no tenderness from him after that night and was only met with cruelness.

She took solace in Cassius aging faster than most men, but perhaps it was due to the constant stress of losing the bitter war against the Caledonians and being a trusted advisor to Emperor Geta. Any day Cassius could lose his tongue…or his head, and she found herself praying for his death every morning and every night to no avail.

When Cassius was away for days, weeks at a time, she found her freedom and solace through familiar faces. The brothel became her oasis along with its inhabitants. She lay with men, women and indulged in the simple pleasures. Her garments became tattered at her own doing, and she finally felt as if she owned a sliver of her autonomy once more, but she was not yet free.

The Ludus Magnus

“Marcus,” he whispered, “My name is Marcus.”

Time ceased to exist for both the golden one and the gladiator. He had never told a single soul his true birth name that his mother had bestowed him. No one in his twenty three years of life was worthy to know his identity–until he met someone who had shattered his psyche and stitched it back together all in one breath. He did not believe in soulmates–at least, he thought he didn’t. There must have been a reason why his mother came to him in his dreams and spoke the words she did. It made him believe that she was somewhere out there, watching over her son, and doing all that she could to lead him down the right path. Surely, this stranger would be entwined to his fate and him to hers.

“Sir…” her voice wavered, “I am unworthy to know of your birth name.”

Marcus gave her an incredulous look, one with furrowed brows and lips pursed in utter confusion. “What unworthiness do you speak of, my lady?”

“Your birth name is sacred to your creed and identity, is it not? Only those who are closest to a gladiator, such as a family member, or lover is worthy to know of one’s birth name.”

His lips pulled into a small, yet noticeable grin, and for a moment he forgets about the pain from his deep wounds in his back and the pulsing sensation in his shoulder “You are familiar with my creed? Then you speak true. Only a person of worth is granted the knowledge of my birth name, my lady. You are more than worthy. You’re about to save my life after which I will be forever indebted to you.”

“You are not yet out of death’s grasp, Marcus,” she reminded him.

“Then we must not waste another moment, my lady.” Aurelia positioned herself behind him so that she could easily assess the damage that was inflicted to his back and shoulders. The lacerations were deep, and she could only imagine how many times the biting sting of a whip was brought upon him. The tips of her fingers gently brushed an unmarked area of skin with careful tenderness. The scar that resided there was raised, and although it did not cause him pain, he flinched nonetheless. “I…noticed in the arena that you favor your left side,” she said quietly and sat back on her haunches before reaching for the pitcher of water and vial of olive oil. “You are very observant,” he said softly. “Is there a reason as to why you favor it?” He turned his head over his shoulder so that he could observe her briefly, before he faced forward once more. “I suffered an injury when I was just a boy.” She tore a strip of fabric from her stola and dipped it generously into the water. “This will sting,” she warned him preemptively. The soaked strip of fabric descended against one of the lacerations. The cooling touch is soothing, yet the pain intensifies. He lurched forward from the sensation, gnawing on the soft flesh of his cheek so that he would not cry out. “I fell from my horse,” he continues. “How old were you, Marcus?”

He did not immediately respond, and his mind began to drift to that fatal night where his entire world was turned upside down. He inhaled a shaky breath before continuing, “I was nine.” “It was the eve of my tenth birthday–and it was entirely my fault. I should have been more careful, but my own recklessness guided me. All it took was for me to lose my stirrup, and my whole life changed.” “What happened?” “What didn’t happen,” he muttered through clenched teeth. His entire body tensed up, and it had nothing to do with his physical wounds, and all to do with his mental ones. “If I had not fallen from my horse, my father…would still love me.” His words were laced with bitterness, sadness, and guilt at the forefront. “I–I don’t understand,” she whispered in confusion. “Your name,” he said suddenly. He was not yet ready to divulge in something that was deeply personal. “What of it?” “You have yet to tell me.” “Marcus,” she starts. “It is not of importance right now–” “Please,” he begged. “I must know your name, my lady.” “Aurelia,” she concedes in a whisper, “my name is Aurelia.” “Aurelia,” he repeated, testing the way it sounded on his own tongue.

“You do not have to reveal more than you feel comfortable telling me, Marcus,” she reassured him. “You would be the first to hear of my past in its entirety, but I am not ready to revisit it.” “I understand,” she said earnestly. Silence passed between them, the words of her name echoing in his eardrums, Aurelia, the golden one.

She worked methodically on tending to his wounds, and when they are fully cleansed, the pitcher of water faintly reflects a light pinkish hue. “Marcus, did you always want to become a gladiator?” she finally broke through the silence with a question that left him frozen on the spot. “No,” he muttered. “Had I been given the choice, I would have declined it, but the choice was never mine to make. My father–he sold me to a slave trader that was well-known for training gladiators for the Colosseum. The first time I grasped a sword, I was thirteen, and I had no desire to…kill. When I turned eighteen, and had proven myself as a valiant fighter, I was brought before the emperors. My Dominus was reluctant to sell me, at first, but Geta was persistent, and offered more coin than my Dominus had ever seen, and well…here I reside.” “And I presume that your reasoning to defy the emperors in the arena was because of the resentment you hold towards your father?”

“You ask many questions, Aurelia,” he said flatly, but intended for it to come across as lighthearted and teasing.

“I’m—sorry…” she trailed off. “I should not pry,” she bowed her head in shame

He turned around fully so he could face her and when he took in her appearance of shame, he frowned and gently brought the knuckle of his pointer finger to rest beneath her chin.

“Aurelia, do not feel shameful for your curiosity. Your questions do not upset me, my lady. Forgive me if my tone has expressed otherwise. It is…comforting to have someone to confide in. I have never experienced these privileges until tonight.”

She lifted her chin slowly, her eyes meeting his softened gaze in the dim light. “It is a privilege that most do not get to experience in their life.”

“Indeed,” he sighed and slowly dropped his hand from her chin and rested it on his bare knee instead. “I do not know what came over me in the arena today,” he admitted. “I have killed many men before without a second thought…but I saw the fear in his eyes, and I just could not bring myself to kill him.”

“Marcus, to not kill when you have been commanded, takes compassion and bravery. I have never witnessed such an act. It left my Dominus enraged and perplexed. It is the reason that I sought you out this evening. When we returned to our villa, I could not stop thinking of you.”

Heat began to rise to their cheeks in tandem and he swiftly averted his gaze to the wall behind her instead.

“I feared for your safety, and despite knowing the risks of traveling after nightfall, I…had to make sure that you were okay,” she continued.

“Emperor Geta did not command that I would be punished for my defiance,” he said as if he was capable of reading her mind and knew exactly what question was lingering there.

“He did not?” confusion etched across her face at his words. “Who gave the command?”

“Well—I am under the impression that he did not give the command, and his praetorians took it upon themselves to punish me. I imagine that sounds a bit…improbable, but I did not hear him utter the command,” he let out a frustrated breath as he himself could not wrap his mind around what had taken place hours prior.

“That does sound implorable, but I believe you.”

“You said that your Dominus is a Senator, yes?” he interjects.

“Yes, he is,” she confirmed. “He works closely with the emperors, but mostly Geta, or so I have overheard.”

“And you haven’t had the displeasure of acquainting them, have you?” He referred to the emperors.

“No,” she shook her head. “Cassius does not allow me to stray far from his side, or to be in the company of other men. He is unaware that I have left the villa, but he spends his evenings in the brothel for many hours.”

“Be grateful that you have not made their acquaintance, Aurelia. Nothing good comes from either of them,” he said gravely.

She nodded in understanding. “Your wounds will heal with time, Marcus. I have done all that I can to cleanse them. Olive oil contains healing properties. It will keep the wound moist, and repel debris from contaminating the surrounding flesh. If the gods grant you reprieve, you will not face an infection,” she murmured.

“You’re leaving?…”

“I must,” she said regrettably, and slowly rose to her feet. “Cato will still be expecting to return me to my Dominus, but I intend to slip away before he has the chance.”

“Cato will be asleep by now, my lady. He nurses a bottle of wine each evening, and sleeps till late dawn.”

“Regardless, I should leave you to rest,” she insisted.

The likelihood of Marcus ever seeing her again was slim, given the circumstances that they were facing, but something in his heart told him that this would not be a one time occurrence.

“Will I see you again, my lady?” his tone held a sense of hope, something he hadn’t felt in many years.

“If the gods allow it, then yes, you will,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I am grateful to you, Aurelia. If the gods do not allow us to see one another again, I promise I will hold onto your kindness in my heart. Go now, quickly!” he said hurriedly. “Ride fast and swift. I will pray that your travel is perilous, my lady,” he reached for her hand and brought it up to his lips, brushing the soft skin of her knuckles with a farewell kiss.

“Iterum visurus sum, Marcus. Promitto,” (I will see you again, Marcus. I promise) she whispered.

He dropped her hand from his embrace, falling back against the wall in exhaustion, “Adero, te exspectat, auream unum,” (I will be here, waiting for you, golden one)

Palatine Hill

The moon had since risen high in the starry sky when Geta returned to Palatine Hill. His evening had been the most pleasant in the company of a woman that he had intimately gotten to know over the years. Her name was Laveda, and the first time she had made an acquaintance with the young emperor was at a brothel. He would visit her often in his hidden moments of distress, and tonight was no different. The emperor showed up with a hood covering his brassy curls, concealing his identity. She welcomed him between her thighs without a single question leaving her tongue.

The palace was quiet and he had expected that even Caracalla had retired to his quarters for the evening, but this was squashed when he heard a hushed voice coming from the grand triclinium (dining room). He investigated further, driven by curiosity.

“I advise you to cease your squirming,” Caracalla whispered against the ear of a servant girl belonging to Geta. “There will be a severe price to pay if a single drop of wine leaves my cup and does not end up on my tongue,” he warned her.

“Dominus, please,” she whispered in his grip. Her eyes were glassy with tears reflecting the soft glow that was emitted from the many surrounding candles.

“Do you know what happens when you struggle, my dear?” he posed the question in a seemingly non-threatening way, but his tone said otherwise. “I will constrict around you like a snake, and my coils will tighten and tighten till those pretty eyes bulge right from your head!” he cackled manically.

She struggled further, not heeding his warning and all hope seemed lost until she locked eyes with a familiar figure looming in the entryway. “Emperor Geta!” she cried out in relief.

Caracalla scowled and followed her gaze till it too landed on his brother’s displeased look written across his face. “And like a savior dressed in gold, he arrives,” the younger emperor said with an annoyed roll of his eyes, “You have quite the impeccable timing, brother.”

Geta gave her a reassuring nod, and granted her a moment of reprieve. “Why are you antagonizing one of my servants, Caracalla?” he walked further into the room and dragged his ring hand above one of the flickering candles. His eyes locked onto his brother’s in a staredown.

“I have all the authority to antagonize her, Geta. She came to my chambers on your orders, after all. I was actually quite touched at the gesture…until she tried to murder me!” he said dramatically to make a show of it all. He was a wild fan of theatrics and the eldest emperor didn’t bat an eye at his pointed accusation.

“He lies!” the servant wailed and Caracalla swiftly slapped her cheek with the back of his hand to silence her.

“Peace, brother,” Geta said calmly and took the seat across from him. “Your accusations are false. I was…attending business all evening. I would not have the time to confide in one of my own to carry out such a treachery.”

“Ah, business,” Caracalla wiggled his eyebrows suggestively in a light jest. “I even have the weapon she carried that was intended to kill me,” he dangled the small blade in his freehand as proof.

“That could belong to anyone, Caracalla. There is no proof that she was in possession of it. I demand you release her this instant.”

A deep set frown crossed over Caracalla’s features and he drew his attention back to the severant, whose name he wouldn’t even bother to remember. He pointed the edge of the blade against her cheek that felt hot to the touch from the phantom bite of his cruel hand just moments ago. “Can’t you just play into my theatrics for once?” he sighed in disappointment, but his eyes flickered with something truly sadistic and amoral as he drank in the terrified look painted in her irises.

Geta rubbed his temples with his ring clad fingers, the ruby jewel on his left middle finger reflected in the candles glow. “Perhaps if these…theatrics did not involve one of my own servants, I would be more willing to participate.”

“Iocum de omnibus suges, frater,” (you suck the fun out of everything, brother) Caracalla hissed.

“Immo ego, tyranne,” (Indeed I do, tyrant) Geta said coolly.

Caracalla dug the edge of the blade into the softness of her cheek. A bead of blood pooled at the surface of the shallow wound, causing her to whimper from the sudden pain.

“You will play along, Geta. Especially with her life so delicately hanging in my grasp,” he chuckled. “So, what will her fate be, hm? Will you be merciful like Acacius?”

“I will not have you spilling her blood so carelessly. There is no game to play, Caracalla. Now, I will ask you again, release her this instant.”

“Ah. Ah. Ah. That is not how the game is played! Pretend that we are back in the Colosseum and she is begging for her life!” Caracalla said gleefully and dug the edge of the blade further into her cheek. “That’s your cue, girl. Beg for your life and make it believable!”

“Mercy, I beg! Mercy upon me!” she cried out, but Caracalla was unsatisfied with her performance and proceeded to drag the blade down her jaw and to the column of her throat. He leaned in close enough that she could see his pupils dilate and grow darker.

“Your performance is quite…pitiful,” he snickered. “You can do better than that.”

“Caracalla,” Geta said in a warning.

The younger emperor simply waved him off and applied pressure to the edge of the blade against her throat and locked eyes with his brother with a sadistic grin plastered on his thin lips. “Beg for your emperor to be merciful.”

She cried out into the peaceful evening air, begging and pleading for her life to be spared and when Geta arose from his seat, Caracalla’s hand ‘slipped’ and the edge of the blade sliced through her throat fatally. He released her from his grip as she clawed at her neck, blood spurting onto the table below and all over Caracalla’s evening robes, staining golden hues to deep crimson. She made a chilling gurgling sound that emitted from the back of her throat and her body slumped across his lap, twitching before growing still.

“Oops. My hand must have slipped,” Caracalla said with a light sigh that was lacking empathy. He looked down at her deceased body, still warm in his lap with disgust and pushed her to the floor beneath his sandaled feet while she continued to bleed out.

Geta stood unmoving, his left eye twitched, but he did not advance towards his brother. “I quite liked that one,” he muttered under his breath and reached for the empty chalice in front of him. He snapped his fingers once and another servant appeared with a pitcher of wine trembling in her grasp. She quickly poured his wine and was careful to not spill a single drop. Before she could retreat, she felt the cooling touch of his many rings brushing against her skin as he gently grasped her forearm. “Peace, girl. Retire for the evening.”

She bowed quickly and turned on her heel to leave.

“Leave the wine!” Caracalla barked.

The pitcher was carefully set down in the middle of the table and soon the two emperors were alone.

“You’re too soft with them, Geta,” Caracalla muttered over the rim of his chalice.

“No, I just consider all those who serve me to be valuable. I don’t wish to see any of their blood spilled and wasted so carelessly,” he gestured to his dead servant on the floor.

Caracalla glanced down at her deceased form and to disrespect her further, he placed his sandaled foot to rest upon her cheek as if she was his own personal foot rest. “And what of Acacius? Does he still hold a great value to you even after his display of defiance?” he questioned sharply.

“Even in his defiance, Acacius is still valuable. He has always been strong spirited, and I will simply just have to tighten the reins a bit. He will soften to me eventually, but all in due time.”

“That is if he lives much longer,” Caracalla mused and swirled the contents of his chalice with a bored expression.

“He’ll live long enough to vex you, I am certain.”

Caracalla snorted under his breath at this. “And tell me, brother. How do you intend to tame a heart as fierce and defiant as his? How will he suddenly grow loyal to you, hmm? Furthermore, even if your plan is successful, he has no experience on the battlefield and zero strategy. Brute strength will not be enough to sustain our armies.”

“Our armies?” Geta snarled as he leaned over the table, narrowing his eyes at his brother. His upper lip curled in disdain.“You mean, my army?” His tempered demeanor had shredded away, and his claws were unsheathed.

“Your army? The same army that will be wiped off the map if you and I do not reach an agreement? Do you wish to see Rome fall to her enemies, brother? To be stripped of our titles and forced to be slaves for the rest of our miserable lives? You wouldn’t last five seconds having to serve someone outside of yourself,” the younger emperor snapped coldly and the tension brewing between kin could be sliced with the very same blade that was stained with the blood of the innocent.

“An agreement?” Geta snorted at his brother's blatant idiocy. “I will be the reason that Rome remains in power. When Acacius becomes the general of my army and defeats my enemies, you will be eating your words. How foolish are you, truly? Servitude? No, you amentis, (idiot) they will have our heads displayed on spikes for all to see if Rome is to fall.”

“Temper, temper, brother. There is no need to grow restless, we are simply conversing, are we not?” he cackled. “Perhaps your business did not quench your thirst entirely, hm? I cannot say the same for myself,” he subtly gestured to the dead servant. “She met mine quite well. Shame that she had to die…I would have quite enjoyed having her in my bed again. Which of your servants shall I kill next?” he leaned over his half of the table, his eyes dancing with mischief as he took another long sip from his chalice, teeth gleaming in claret over the golden rim.

“My business satisfied me plenty, brother,” Geta responded with a curt nod and rose from his seat.

“Oh, before you go,” Caracalla commenced and leaned back against the plush cushion situated at his lower back, “Perhaps for your next attempt at murdering me, you choose something…” he snapped his fingers as he tried to think of the word, “discreet,” he grinned. “Ah, Yes! Discreet. What about poisoning me?” he suggested. “You could slip something into my drink or food and I would never know.”

“That is the most wicked, Caracalla. I quite enjoy the mental image of seeing you claw at your throat as blood seeps from your eyes. I think that is what I will dream of tonight,” he tipped the rim of his chalice in Caracalla’s direction mockingly.

“And I will dream of cutting your vile tongue out and feeding it to one of your whores,” Caracalla quipped back.

“Indeed,” Geta mused. “Sleep well, brother,” he said with a subtle wink. He downed the rest of his wine before setting the empty chalice along the table, leaving the room without another word leaving his lips.

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