#emperor caracalla x yn

[ginnysgraffiti]

from the poll many people asked for fanfics on the ginger emperors, so here i am :)

this is just a simple headcanon but i hope to find more time to write proper one shots. happy new year <33

&. EMPEROR CARACALLA x yn.

@pecxiebu

how would caracalla kiss you?

you never understood if caracalla's kisses were inexperienced, messy, or if that was simply his way of kissing you.

his way was an unbridled one: you would find his hands everywhere, unable to stay still and hold you firmly. his kisses were the one that left bruises, that made your lips turn swallow and cherry red.

they surely felt rough, always rushed as if he couldn’t decide what to do with you or simply how to taste you. it felt like he was always running out of time, as if he was lost and confused and he had to imprint your taste on his mouth one last time.

submitting to his kisses would mean suffering through his harsh bites to your bottom lip and experience the familiar and smooth taste of blood and iron on your taste buds every time.

understanding or controlling his moods was complicated enough, but his intentions in bed were not so easy as well. he had no other way to take you, and you were often led to wonder if he didn't know other ways to soften or slow down.

it was as if he wanted to reach you through physical contact, as if every missed explanation or every gap left during his psychological outbursts could only reach you when you were in his arms, on his sheets. it was something completely childish and yet captivating. he always had a feverish desire and need to make sure you were with him at that moment.

each kiss was a patch he tried to sew over his outbursts, his senseless screams or when the illness was once again more present than the previous time.

the emperor’s mind often wandered into lustful or sadistic paths, thing you were aware of, but those rare occasions when he was most vulnerable led caracalla to forget, the next morning, why your body was so red or sore.

the nights when his scratches would become caresses, when his kisses seemed like sweet molds that slid in rhythm along your entire body. his need would turn into traumatic and too-familiar-insecurity and in the blink of an eye his body was already shaking above your frame, his sobs filling the room and salty tears leaving goosebumps on your skin.

reason why the following morning you had to cling to silly excuses as to why your mouth was swollen, your lips were bloody and your neck was purple.

caracalla didn’t deserve to find out the truth, or maybe he’d never even understand it anyway. his mood swayed so much between physical obsession and mental instability that there were only few things he remembered, so you might as well make sure that only good memories remained in his mind to compete with his illness, like the rare good nights were he thought you could really, really help him find a shelter, a comfort place and companion to call home.