#emperor geta just one chance please

[munsonmuses]

Emperor Geta x Fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, gladiatorial combat, animalistic tendencies, uhhhg there’s a breeding kink. This was not proofread.

Word Count: 2.3k

Authors Comments: Iiiii was a major Roman Empire nerd as a kid, so if there’s stuff you’re like “that seemed specific” about? I promise you the research was done and I had to consult my notebooks from when I was a teeny tot (like a young teen). And yes, thumbs up signified death because it represented an upturned sword for combat, and the thumbs down signified sparing the loser, by turning your sword down to sheath

The light fabric of the linen chiton you wore felt like chains, the beautiful gold brooches holding it in place and the belt that rested low on your waist like the shackles. Leading you to a life you’d never wanted. To a future you knew you’d loathe so deeply. This wasn’t the life you’d dreamt of as a young woman. Bringing peace to an empire, marrying a man who was made perfectly for you by the gods.

All of these opportunities had been ripped from between your fingers. Your life slipped away the moment you’d heard that Emperor Geta had set his sights on you. He was callous, pompous, the human equivalent of a promenading lion. He thought nothing but the best of himself, and believed he deserved things equally as good. One of those things being you.

Your finger delicately worked on adjusting the raw leather straps of your sandals. The stephane felt like it was weighting your whole body down, veil swishing against your nape, sending chills down your spine. That the earth may swallow you whole in one fell motion was a wishful thought as you carefully examined the large hall.

It was egregious, how much gold one man could have. How many statues of himself an individual could bare to own. Slowly standing from the large chaise you’d been guided too and approaching one. tracing the curve of his nose, the apples of his cheeks. The manic look they’d managed to capture in his marble portrait, captured perfectly within the massive pupils. Scoffing lightly before hearing a laugh from behind you that caused your skin to pebble viciously. Turning around to face him.

The statue somehow didn’t manage to perfectly capture his mania. Pupils so wide they looked almost entirely black. A wolfish grin. His entire body reeked of need and want.

“You, are even more beautiful than Caracalla described…just look at you-“ his hands clamped down on your upper arms. Holding you in place as he hummed. “You’ll do nicely…” he murmured as you quirked a brow lightly.

You prayed that when you asked, he’d give you a different answer than what you’d been prepared for. Not wanting to surrender yourself to matrimony with a man so viciously bloodthirsty and self righteous. “What will I do nicely for, imperator?” You whispered as he let his eyes glaze over your body. Taking in every inch of you before nodding.

“Don’t be silly, you know what I brought you here for. I have chosen you to be my empress. Not Caracalla’s. Strictly my own.” He insisted as he moved a hand up to grip your jaw while humming. “You’ll take to the role with pride. A loving and affectionate empress…and you’ll give me my sons to lead the future of my empire once my time has come. Am I understood?” He questioned as you scoffed lightly to yourself. Fixing your rings and pulling away. Pacing the large floor of the hall as he kept his eyes on you. Ready to pounce if necessary.

“I am marrying you strictly for familial agreement. Through my loyalty for my empire and my dedication to my familial name…it has nothing to do with you.” You murmured as he sucked on his teeth lightly. You weren’t afraid of him, you saw yourself as an independent being, even a possible equal. An equal amount of hatred that matched his levels of obsession. Overall, he was clearly agitated by your lack of throwing yourself at him, the need for you to desperately present yourself to him. Though he wouldn’t push it. To get you out from under Caracalla’s thumb was difficult enough, so he’d take what he could get.

“Your chambers are prepared, you’ll be dressed for our wedding and you’ll smile. You’ll be grateful.” He ordered as you nodded, allowing the two women by the doorway to follow you out as you sighed in frustration to yourself.

These women were terrified to touch you, though they attempted to feebly conceal their terror as you hummed. Hair carefully arranged with an orange veil placed atop. Slipping into the white woven fabric of your wedding tunic, and slipped on orange sandals. Careful with them as you worked on fastening the knot of Hercules around your waist. Nodding slowly as you assessed yourself in the mirror.

It felt like lead lined your stomach as you approached the large garden, eyes meeting with Geta’s own. Your family and his court clearly anxiously awaiting your arrival. Your dowry had been exchanged, and Geta grinned delightedly at the sight of you approaching. Wringing his fingers, rings loudly knocking together as you frowned in mild fury. He was childish and cocky and self absorbed, albeit a bit handsome.

You stopped in front of him as the two of you read over the marriage contract. His eyes constantly flicking up to you as you lifted your metal pen from the inkwell. Scrawling your name with confidence as he followed suit. His hand suddenly clutching your left wrist as your head whipped to look at him. Geta removing the thick red stoned ring upon one of his fingers and slipping it onto one of your own as he hummed contentedly. Clearly awaiting reciprocation for his affections.

You carefully took his face, pressing a pursed lip kiss to his own plush pink lips as he cradled the back of your head and your waist. Satisfied with his win. Cementing your future with your new husband, as empress.

Your wedding was a few months ago, and in that time you’d been growing to know, like, and even love Geta. Although shrouded in cruel mystery, he did have a tender heart when it came to you. Gifting you lavishly, bathing you in riches and praise. You’d never gone to bed on an empty stomach, and you managed to share romantic pleasantries with him regularly.

You sat beside him as you watched a battle in the coliseum. Head perched on your fist in boredom as he smiled wide at you. The folds of your brooches and adornments complimenting the rich purples of your own robes. Your stephane crooked as his hand delicately reached up to adjust it. “Isn’t this delightful my heart?” He whispered eagerly as you scoffed in light amusement. Grinning lightly at him as you kissed his rings lightly.

“It’s alright. Gladiator fights have never…settled my nerves. If anything the bloodsport terrifies me…” you murmured as his own lips pulled into a tight frown. Though unlike usual, he didn’t have a smart or cold comment to make.

You carefully watched the two men fight, though you could barely call them that. Barely older than sixteen a piece as you chewed on your lip. The larger of the two slamming his sword into the smaller boys shield. Reminding you of the kind boys you’d known in your youth who had the whole world in front of them, stolen in war. Your heart heavy at the sight.

Geta’s eyes were trained on you. Noticing the paleness in your face, watering eyes as you left your chair to look over the edge of the balcony at these boys. Heart pounding in your ears as he sighed. He was furious, he was angry…love had “weakened” him, was what Caracalla had lamented before. But in his eyes, it simply made him better for you. Being weak for one’s own wife was impossible.

Your head whipped to look at him as the smaller boy was bloodied and bruised. Whipped to the ground by his foe as Geta stood slowly for the crowd to see.

He lifted his hand slowly, glancing over at you as his thumb rested on its side. He would typically give a thumbs up, signaling the death of the weaker boy…but instead his thumb dropped. The crowd gasping at the young man being spared at the Emperors command.

Geta’s eyes flicked to you one last time. Seeing nothing but adoration in them as he dismissed his co-contributors frustrated muttering, walking off with you to your shared chambers as he hummed in your ear.

“You’re welcome…” he whispered as you rolled your eyes lightly at him. Kissing his cheek lightly as you closed the large doors behind yourself.

With your back to him, you slowly worked on unhooking the brooches of your chiton, letting the fabric pool at your feet as you worked on removing your sandals slowly. Hearing his movements stop, eyes on you as you grinned lightly over your shoulder.

“You have shown such monumental growth…and kindness…and change, my emperor…” you whispered as you stalked towards him. His breath shaky and heavy as he carefully nodded. “I am so amazed by you…” you murmured as he watched your hands making work of the fasteners on his own tunic. It slipping down his shoulders as you smiled.

“I want…to reward you,” you murmured into his ear. Geta was a man who worked on praise, adoration and reward. He needed something for every “accomplishment” he made. This time you’d give him something more.

He let himself be lied back on your massive bed, his cock slowly hardening. Pressed to his stomach. Cheeks and chest flushed as you hummed lightly to yourself. He deserved this, even if it was simple human decency…it was a major turning point for him.

You kissed along his jaw, down his neck, his chest. Lightly nipping at his flushed skin as you worked lower and lower. Pressing kisses down his stomach and licking along the light indentations of his abs before finally paying attention to his desperate cock.

Already twitching lightly, Geta was not a hard man to work up. Lightly pressing warm, open mouthed kisses along his shaft. Tenderly massaging his balls as he whimpered lightly at your ministrations. Following your movements with frantic eyes.

He shivered lightly as he felt your lips lightly wrap around his tip. Lazily sucking and stroking the rest of his shaft lightly. Having used your kisses from earlier as a bit of lubrication. Stroking in time with your slowly bobbing head. Every few moments getting lower and lower. Relishing on the velvety feeling of his thick cock against your tongue. Finally taking your hand away and placing it on his hip. The other taking his right hand and leading it to the back of your head as he trembled lightly. “My heart…please-“ his whisper wasn’t much more than a breath.

The lewd noises of you taking him deep down your throat, slowly sucking while hollowing out your cheeks. Obediently tending to his needs as you groaned desperately against him. Your free hand trailing downward to massage your own clit as he bucked his hips lightly.

“You tease me…” he growled out. “With your desperate hands, your heavenly mouth, your body on full display…you tear me into nothing but tatters of a man…and you relish in my desperation,” he hissed as you pulled your head off.

Stroking his cock lightly as you maintained eye contact with him. Your own blown out with need and want as you continued to tend to your own clit. Sensitive bud twitching under your small, circular motions. Geta’s eyes trained on simply you. Filled with nothing but love and obsession as he growled.

Taking your wrists firmly, he pulled your hands away from both of your own sensitive bodies. Working on lying you back as he pressed his lips to your ear. “You’re a temptress…and you’ll understand just how deeply I want for you…and you’ll give me my sons,” he hissed as he worked one of your legs up around his waist. Keeping one hand on your wrists, pinned above your head as he lined himself up with your wanting cunt. Slowly easing himself into you.

You could feel every vein, every curve. A desperate moan being ripped from you as you arched your back lightly. Geta’s soft laugh and heaving breaths the only other noise you could focus on. His mouth greedily kissing along your soft skin. Nipping at your shoulders and neck. Trailing down to your breasts. Lightly taking your left nipple between his teeth. Sucking and nipping at the sensitive bud while lazily rolling his hips. Breeding you on his terms.

“Fucking…mnghhh…you’re so good~” he mumbled between mouthfuls of greedy kisses. His thrusts short and swift. Though deep enough to give that knot in your stomach a bit of reprieve. Humming contentedly to himself as he watched your lust clouded eyes. “I can’t promise that you’ll be able to do much once im finished…” he murmured as he began to focus on his thrusts.

Deep and swift, pressing deep into your twitching cunt, your wrists finally free of his grasp as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. Holding him close as he fucked deeper into you. “It’s a blessing, to get to carry the future of our empire. Thank me for blessing you…” he growled out as he held your hips firmly. Your moans in time with his thrusts as you struggled to form a single coherent thought.

“Fuck!…thank you, for allow-…allowing me to carry your heirs, and the future of Rome!” Your voice cracked between moans as he laughed lightly. Working on bringing you to your orgasm as he hummed.

Your body felt like it was ablaze, each thrust causing that knot to unravel further and further. Whimpering in desperation and squawking desperately before letting your head fall back. His name spilling past your lips before feeling that knot come undone. Mouth falling open in incoherent babbles as Geta fucked you through your orgasm. Making sure you were thoroughly satisfied and gritting his teeth.

Unable to hold himself back much longer, his thrusts became short and swift before he hilted himself deep within you and came. His own mutters just broken up syllables of your name, trembling arms, and weak kisses along your skin. His body collapsing upon your own as he pressed hot and gentle kisses to your skin.

“I love you…” he murmured, allowing his eyes to close as you lightly combed through his hair. Your own growing heavy as you sighed.

“I love you too…”

[munsonmuses]

He’s so…mean, be mean to me sir

JOSEPH QUINN AS EMPEROR GETA GLADIATOR II TRAILER

[confused-disaster32]

Me omw to crunch down on every ao3 fic I can find about Caracalla and Geta that's either a fix it or set pre gladiator 2 and explores their characters

(Reqs appriciated)

[gutsby]

Bloodline

Pairing: Dark!Marcus Acacius x Reader

Summary: The General needs an heir.

Warnings: 18+. NONCON. FORCED IMPREGNATION. Unprotected p-in-v. Arranged marriage. Throatfucking. Face-slapping. Breeding kink. Praise and degradation. Age gap. Dacryphilia. Fear play. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: Silphium and pennyroyal (or ‘glechium’) were herbs commonly used for contraceptive purposes in ancient Rome.

Word count: 4.4k

You woke up knowing you were fucked.

In more ways than one: today brought your husband home from his latest campaign in Germania, and last week, your only batch of contraceptives was running low. Now, it was gone. You cursed the apothecary who had sworn she would procure your silphium drink before you were to see the General again, but presently, there was nothing more to be done. You had tracked your cycle and knew you were ovulating that week. You just hoped your husband would be too battle-weary and overwrought to seek a place in his bed, between your own legs, tonight.

‘Down’ came the order before the door to your chambers had even closed behind Marcus Acacius later that day.

Down meant he wanted you lying back.

Down meant your thighs had better be spread apart by the time he reached the bed. He wasn’t a patient man.

Down meant your meticulous menstrual contrivances had all been for nothing; you had been married to the General for almost a year, and in that time, you had promised yourself you would never bear him a child. While the only reason for your being forced to wed in the first place was to give him a son, you despised the idea of being the Emperor’s pawn. A vessel for the next awful bloodlusting boy to be born—you had been a present from your uncle Geta to Acacius, and ever since then, you had come to hate them both. You drank your herbal teas daily, without them ever knowing, and you feigned ignorance when, after months and months of the General’s best efforts, you never fell pregnant by him.

Today might very well be the day to change all that, if you had to judge by the look in your husband’s eyes, though.

The harsh, dark irises were alight as he approached you. Their gaze betrayed little more intrigue—or curiosity to know how you had been these last three weeks he was gone—than sheer lust. You could see it in his movements while he peeled his armor apart and drank your body in.

He shrugged the last scrap of metal and fabric away and climbed over you in bed. His motions were graceless, and his body was heavy. He smelled of dirt and blood.

“Wider,” he told you.

Wider your legs spread. He slipped between them, and with an affectionless, rough grip, he grabbed your wrist.

“Touch,” he commanded.

You obeyed that, too. Your fingers were guided to, and wrapped gingerly around, the thick, warm base you had come to know well since marrying Acacius. He pulsed proudly beneath your hand, and the grunt he gave said he was expecting this the whole long while he had been away. You stroked him slowly. Firmly. Contemplating.

“My love—” you started, low.

“Quiet.” Your husband’s voice swiftly supplanted yours.

It bid you to do as you were told, and open your mouth for nothing else but to pleasure the appendage you held.

You knew better than to speak in moments like these. But you also feared, for very good reason, that if you didn’t interject now, you may never get a chance to prevent this dreaded thing. It would only get harder.

He would only get harder.

“Husband,” you tried more warmly, stroking his cock as though you loved him, like weren’t repulsed by the thought of birthing his son. You forced your gaze up, too.

And no sooner had you done that when a hand landed across your face. Your cheek flamed; your skin bristled.

“My sweet wife insists on being heard, does she?” the General broke in, and you could tell it was through teeth, “Does it look like I’ve even begun to fuck you yet, girl?”

You shook your head that it didn’t. Your face stung, and you were about to look away when you felt the same hand that had delivered the last blow take your chin.

The General tilted it back up to his.

You felt him harden even more seeing tears start to well.

“Whatever it is, tell me after. I’ve waited too long for this.”

From his tone, you could tell that meant more than sex.

An heir.

He must have known you were withholding something.

Your hand moved quicker. More nervously. Worrying.

“Allow me to…to use my mouth, then. I-In other ways.” You hated even saying it. Your voice trembled as you did.

Silently, you braced yourself for another hit. Your wrist worked relentlessly, moving up and down the man’s shaft with little more intelligible thought in your head than the fear of being punished by him, when it stopped.

The General halted all movements of your hand. He eyed you once, uncaring, and then shook his head. The next thing you knew, you were being shoved off of the bed.

You never thought you would feel such relief sinking to your knees on the floor. You were good at this—could finish your husband off in under two minutes, easy—and for once, you were happy to feel the man’s fist in your hair. Holding you firm, guiding you fast, and being his normal gruff, callous self to force you onto his cock.

He filled your mouth quickly. Though it might not have meant much to a girl who had never seen, much less sucked, a dick in her life before becoming a wife, Marcus was big. He fit uncomfortably between your lips and stretched your jaw until it ached. At length, you let him move your face up and down, again and again, wetting his shaft with your slick, shiny, delicate strings of saliva. You almost felt grateful to be made to move so fast, so your tongue couldn’t get fully acquainted with his taste. You gagged lightly when he shoved you down to the base. Your eyes rolled back; his belly grazed your nose.

“You look better when I’m in you,” Marcus said coldly.

He dragged your head back, and you inhaled a breath. Your eyes rose to his, and he smiled—he saw tears again.

You blinked and let your expression fall limply, knowing how much he loved seeing you weak. You took the tip between the seam of your lips, and you kissed it once. Then you kissed it again. Your mind grew dizzy with the idea that you might actually get to swallow his load and be left alone the rest of the night if you only kept going.

You opened wider to do just that when next you heard:

“You’ll look better with my child inside you.”

As if galvanized by some sharp, unseen electric current, you wrapped your lips around his head. Fully. You tried enveloping the rest with your mouth, desperate to get your husband’s mind off of putting himself anywhere but at the back of your throat, and you hummed. The man above you gladly pushed himself further. You choked.

And just when you were about to force a breath through your nose, flatten your tongue and prepare to go deeper on the man you disliked most in this world, you felt him coax your gaze up to him. Tears were streaming down your cheeks at this point. You had to blink once or twice to even see him. When you had, you found him beaming.

For once, the General’s gaze was soft as he watched you.

You felt him tug your hair forward, and your lips went with it. Your throat resisted at first, but then it relented. In just a few moments, he was sliding down your throat.

You felt powerless. Your husband seemed to know.

“We’ve been unlucky, haven’t we?” he asked.

Surely, the question was meant to be rhetorical, for you couldn’t move your mouth without gagging on his cock.

Instead, you blinked. More tears flowed down your face.

“Nearly a year of being my wife, and still no child.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve taken him for contrite.

He sounded like he could’ve been forlorn, but the tone he used was too smooth. Slow. His voice was like molasses, almost. And then he moved his hips and sank in deeper. Your throat opened because it had no say in the matter.

You blinked harder, and more tears fell.

Please cum, please cum, please cum—

“I have it on good authority that a girl your age should be as fertile as anything. It shouldn’t take this long to take.”

—just finish, just finish, just finish where you are.

Marcus shifted again, and this time, you couldn’t control the spasm in your throat. You just coughed, and sputtered, and gagged down his length. You jerked your head pathetically under his hold, and just barely were you able to steal a gasp of air. The man loosened up.

And though his touch was less tight, his voice almost soft, and his eyes as bright as they had ever been, the words that followed after struck your senses like a fire.

Practically searing the insides of your skull when it came:

“You wouldn’t happen to know why that is, would you?”

You would’ve liked to swallow, but your esophagus was too chock-full of cock. Your lips were stretched, tongue flattened along his length, and your cheeks were now glistening with tears—from the strain of your husband’s intrusion, for one, and the fear of what he might already know, for another. You felt the head of his cock slide deeper down your wet and velvety channel before carving a path back up. Its ascent was slow. Teasing.

The fingers that were threaded through your hair held your head in place as he withdrew all the way to the tip.

“Answer me, wife.”

When you hesitated, the General slapped you again. His cock fell out of your mouth, and you coughed reflexively.

“I-I-I don’t…I don’t know what—”

“Think harder.”

A hit was shortly delivered to the other side of your face. You flinched, and winced, and right before you tried answering again, you felt your jaw forced open for something else. Rather than being made to let words fill the space, your husband’s cock was thrust in. It went far.

Your mouth was leaking with drool now. You couldn’t contain the spit. If anything, the General seemed to enjoy that as he slid himself further. Then he grunted.

“Why is it I’ve filled you with enough cum to paint the fucking Coliseum, and you still haven’t give me a son?”

You gagged. Your hands flew to his strong, bare thighs to grab the flesh out of habit, and once again, he withdrew.

“Why?!”

“I don’t know!”

Of course you did.

Still, you shook your head and kept your gaze plastered on his, begging for some shred of lenience. If he’d had any within him, you reckoned you weren’t seeing it that day. Before you could stop him, the General forced his way back into your mouth, and shortly down your throat.

“I think you’re a lying—” He jerked his hips once, to stab the very back of that place, “—pathetic fucking whore.”

You tried to whine in protest, but the sound was shortly muffled by his cockhead gliding back and forth in that wet, fleshy passage. Its path was suffocating. Your eyes almost rolled back from how fucking awful he tasted.

Please, please, your nails scratched at his legs like some kind of wordless entreaty. Your gaze was glossy and wet.

You could scarcely muster the strength to meet his own, but when you did, you found your husband smiling back.

He slid out of your mouth, and you could breathe again.

“We’ll try once more,” he said, pulling you up to your feet by your armpits, like he might treat a toy he didn’t like. When you were standing upright between his legs, you felt a shudder pass through your frame, and you tried to hide it. He leaned in: “Why haven’t you given me a son?”

“My body must not be r-ready.”

Wrong answer, apparently.

He slapped you again.

By now, your face was blooming with pain. Your skin stung, and your eyes burned, and you could still feel a trace of his precum trickling down your throat, and you hated him so much. But you had to be stoic. Insensitive.

Inventive.

“Silphium,” you stuttered out, before swallowing the awful tang you sensed and recollecting yourself, barely, “Pennyroyal, too. I hear there are…concoctions that help to make the womb more…more…hospitable, I believe.”

You were lying through your fucking teeth. Knowing your husband was far too dense and war-crazed to have ever consulted an apothecary in his life, and hoping he’d be stupid enough to accept whatever it was you said. When it came to things concerning your health, he rarely cared.

You swallowed hard and for once, felt a little more stable.

Then you were shoved onto the bed again, and any semblance of composure was sucked from your bones. You fell pathetically against the plush, satin covers of maroon and gold and were prone for no more than two seconds before the General started tearing your clothes.

“We’ll see,” he said simply.

He flipped you onto your back, and you writhed without really meaning to. You were operating on pure instinct, feeling a man nearly three times your age moving his hands across your front and ripping fabric left and right. It wasn’t fair. You could hold your tongue if he hit you hard enough, but your muscles fared worse when it came to constraining their natural inclinations. You kicked your feet, you squealed, then you begged him—

“Please, stop! I’m not ready yet! I can’t— I can’t— STOP!”

This was just like your wedding night. Only worse, because you knew exactly what lay in store with harrowing clarity and certainty. The General grinned.

“Pennyroyal, huh?” he sneered, yanking your clothes away while you thrashed and tried to push his hands off, “Is that what my wife needs to be ‘ready’ to bear sons?”

“Yes!”

“Silphium?”

“Please, please.”

There were fresh tears brimming in your eyes when he peeled the last scrap of covering off of your body and shoved you back down. You were shaking, and he was smiling, and as much as you knew the man hated being defied, you reckoned he took pleasure from the chase. Seeing the moisture well up and spill, feeling you crawl back in bed, meet his greedy, calloused hands and beg him over and over again not to make you do it, not now.

You could hardly even see him through your tears, but you felt him. Sensed his lower half forcing its way between your legs and then his member coming to rest on your belly. You squirmed at the feeling of your spit still coating him, and now brushing against you. You sobbed.

“You can’t keep forcing yourself inside me—”

“I can.”

“Won’t make a baby stick if you just—”

“I will.”

You felt betrayed. All your life you’d been force-fed these sunny, sanguine ideals of what motherhood was going to be, and this was all it was? After cherishing that prized thing between your thighs—like virginity were some real gift to be given—for so long, this is who owned it now? The General hadn’t had so much as a fraction of the compassion or patience a wife needed to feel secure. He didn’t treasure you, or care for your pleasure, or do anything to soothe the ache of his repeated intrusions. You couldn’t begin to think what he’d be like as a father.

Presently, he smoothed your hair from your face; not to comfort you any, but to make sure that he could see your expression when he sank himself in. When he took again.

“We’ll have to seek the Emperor’s best,” he murmured.

Your husband gripped one of your knees, and at the same time, held himself. You felt his thick, leaking head trail from your navel to your pubic bone, down exactly where you wanted him least. You tried to protest, but his grasp on your leg only tightened. He pressed you down into the mattress and wiped his cock between your folds.

“This pennyroyal you mention…” Marcus went on.

For some reason, your legs tensed as he said it.

“Or silphium. Whatever it is. Can we get it?”

His tip teased your soft, swollen clit—a place he rarely cared to touch—and, against your will, your body started.

Some minuscule ripple of pleasure there. You swallowed.

“Yes. We can. Please, just—” You glanced down between your body and the General’s then, and the sight nearly sent your head spinning. He looked so big. And cruel. And dripping with precum across your puffy, wet skin.

He knew this act well. You knew this act well enough, but for some reason, you thought your actions aimed at forestalling the inevitable might succeed this time.

You reached for his wrist, and your eyes pleaded with his.

“Don’t do this again,” you whimpered, feeling pathetic.

The General only shook his head, and he held on tighter.

“As your husband, I’ll do this as often as I please. And you’ll learn to like it, if you just stop fighting,” he said.

He found your dripping entrance, like he always did.

“Just let me in. Let me feel her, honey, I deserve it.”

You shook your head, but he pushed on anyway. Your stomach clenched, your walls tensed, and, in spite of your body’s strongest attempts, your husband notched the first inch of himself inside. He let out a happy sigh.

“That’s it. That’s a good wife,” he told you contentedly.

His girth was too much. It was always too much. No matter how slow he went, or how much you tried to prepare yourself, it always hurt. You whimpered at that feeling and had to bite your bottom lip to keep the sound from slipping out. Marcus nodded and kissed your cheek

“Sweet girl. ‘S’all she needed, see? One little inch, or—”

His words were cut short. Then he thrust in all the way.

“—eight, maybe.”

You shrieked and met his palm. It clamped over your lips.

That first stroke was torture. Dragging back was even worse. Re-sheathing himself and making you listen to his wretched grunts and groans of pleasure was pure agony.

“Will the herbs help? Pussy feels plenty ready to me.”

He was mocking you now. Your whines were stifled under his hand and your walls were forced wider for his girth as he sawed back and forth, over and over, without mercy.

“Nod if you want it,” he panted, “Nod if you need that.”

You weren’t sure if he meant the herbs or him. Slowly, and knowing he’d hit you if you didn’t, you nodded.

The General grinned. He didn’t hesitate to speak again.

“Good. Now you can stop soliciting apothecaries behind my back and using these same herbs as contraceptives.”

Your stomach dropped. Your eyes widened, though you knew it was a stupid thing to do when the man’s gaze was practically scorching through your own. You froze.

Your husband wedged his cock even deeper, and you felt him in your cervix—unprotected from any medicine now.

Medicine that he knew about, too, apparently.

You had no choice but to whimper when he kept digging his strong hips into yours, repeatedly, battering that soft, sensitive, defenseless place with his dick like he owned it. You wanted to kick your legs but sensed it was useless. General Acacius would get what he wanted.

What he needed was a son. You could see it in his eyes.

“My stupid, silly wife,” the General chided you, now fucking in deeper than he’d done before. Taunting, “I hope our son gets my brain, or the poor boy’s fucked.”

You wanted to cry. You were still sobbing, but the tears had come with such force before that there didn’t seem to be enough moisture in your body to allow them now. Any wetness, it seemed, was inside your legs, allowing your husband to pound into you with complete abandon.

Skin slapped skin. The man’s breaths grew quicker, more frantic, while your own you wished would halt altogether. His hand moved from your mouth to take your chin in his palm; he looked proud as he drilled your soft, limp body.

“Finish. Please,” you whimpered, all fight extinguished.

You didn’t know what else to say. Your husband had caught you, somehow, and probably knew as well as you that your body would now be forced to accept whatever he gave it. When that warm, throbbing member between your legs had had its fill and the man had decided he’d humiliated you enough, he’d paint your insides white. He’d shoot thick, hot ropes of cum where you’d dreaded him most, and in all likelihood, that seed would take. If not today, then tonight, tomorrow or the next day—there was no clear end in sight until the General had secured the heir he so desperately wanted. What Geta promised.

And you would be a mother, whether you liked it or not.

Every subsequent thrust, grunt, and groan rang hollow to you then. It was like your mind was lost from your body, your brain an open wound, and what was left of you simply splayed on that bed. Unmoving. Unfeeling. Being fucked and filled up without a modicum of concern for your humanity. Or what remained, anyway.

When he was finished and he could feel your body stuffed with his greedy, sticky release, the General leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead.

He seemed more confident than ever as he spoke.

“I can feel my legacy has already been cemented.”

As it turned out, a month was enough.

Within the year, you gave birth to a son.

This was no great shock to you—getting forcefucked every night for five weeks straight would’ve done the trick for any woman in your position, you supposed.

What surprised you most was how gentle the General became after learning you were pregnant with his child. Ever the paragon of paternal affection and husbandly devotion to you from that moment forward, you were convinced the man had been transformed overnight. He never spoke so much as an unkind word to you, or gave a glance that said anything less than that he was in love and elated to help you bring new life into this world. He never forced himself on you in bed. You could sleep again

One morning, you were cradling your baby in your arms. In just a few short weeks, you had already memorized every inch of his soft, sweet face. And you knew from the first you’d never love a single creature more on this earth

When your husband approached, you smiled—beaming.

“How is my son?” came the deep warble of his voice.

You drew the blanket back an inch with just your finger; beneath the soft cloth, the two of you could see that the infant was sleeping peacefully. He made a delicate sound, and you were half-certain you could hear the General’s heart splintering in two along with it. He dropped to his knees beside you, where he leaned in near and let his eyes say all the rest. They were cheery. Wet.

Sometimes, you, too, enjoyed seeing him cry.

You pet his wavy grey locks and gave them a tug.

“Is he exactly as you pictured? Your legacy?” You smiled.

Marcus blinked, letting two warm tears trickle down.

“Better than I could have dreamed him myself.”

That made your heart swell with a still larger ache. This was all your husband had ever wanted—wrapped up in your arms and swaddled with wool. Your son looked like him, too. You could see the General’s appreciation of this every time his eyes fell to the child, and every time his gaze drifted to you. There was admiration. Adoration.

Love, for once.

“Will he be a soldier like his father?” you asked next.

“A much braver one than I ever was.”

“Will he do Emperor Geta proud by this calling?”

Once more, your husband’s eyes flitted from the baby up to you. His look was soft as he reached out for your hand.

“There isn’t a doubt in my mind of that, my love.”

You squeezed his palm. You couldn’t help yourself.

“And will he carry the Acacius family name with pride?”

At that, the General’s hesitation was even shorter than the last. He swiftly confirmed that his son would, indeed, wear his name like a badge of honor. There wasn’t a shred of uncertainty on that front, he assured you.

His smile was so wide you couldn’t help but mirror it.

Even as you slid the knife from in between the folds of your son’s blanket, you were smiling at him all the while.

“And what if he doesn’t?” you asked quietly.

The General’s gaze fell to the blade next.

You thought he might die on the spot.

“What if he bears no name at all?”

The serrated edge now hovered over the baby’s throat. When Marcus jerked toward the thing, instinctively, you only lowered it more. Brought the silver closer to skin.

“Please— You— you can’t— can’t— can’t— please stop.”

He was fumbling for words. You didn’t blame him.

“Your precious legacy is a fragile thing, General.”

And with that, you drew the knife closer.

Your husband let out a strangled noise.

Right when he rose to knock the weapon out of your hand, you took it and flipped it back around to him.

Your first stab was swift. Into his chest.

“My child will never know your name.”

It was clear the injury stunned him.

When you plunged the knife in again, the man let out another sound—this time, a grunt of pain—and you wedged it deeper. You didn’t flinch when his face twisted

“My son will take my name.”

Frankly, with the trauma your blade had already inflicted on his chest, you didn’t expect the General to be able to say a word. Or resist. By the look of horror in his eyes, you could tell he was capable of listening, though.

Now, he would be forced to hear it all.

See his own life taken away from him.

And feel the blade thrust in when you punctured his front for the third and final time. Your eyes were shining now.

Still cradling your child, still holding his gaze, still smiling like this was the single greatest day you’d lived to see.

“Acacius, your bloodline dies with me.”

[munsonmuses]

It inspired me tooooooo greatly so take this little blurb!!!

No skin tone or true appearances are defined, just that the reader is female.

It has not been proofread and I did not check the word count, I was just too excited to write it-

Your life had been nothing more than bathing in lavish riches and drinking in the obsessive affections of your darling husband. Having been delivered as a gift to both emperor, and Geta having traded every last concubine he had in order to keep you to himself. The last two years a phenomenal experience.

You’d just finished your bath. Dabbing perfumed oils behind your ears and along your pulse point, before dusting yourself in a faint powder to prevent sweating in warm Roman summers. It leaving a dusty layer across your skin as you carefully fixed the brooches on your robes and the circlet atop your head as you smiled adoringly at your reflection. You were the crown jewel of the empire, and you’d never forget it.

Slipping on your bangles, you carefully stood and walked onto your massive balcony, cooing adoringly at the lion cub that chased birds about. A gift from Geta a few weeks ago, to celebrate two years of your beautiful marriage. It racing up to you as you struggled to lift the cub into your lap as it excitedly pawed at your face and shoulders.

Your peace was eventually disturbed by footsteps dragging themselves along the marble floors. It wasn’t Geta, and Caracalla wasn’t dumb enough to approach you in your private quarters. Expecting a lady in waiting or any of the servants before locking eyes with a soldier. One of the generals right hands. A man you’d seen at parties and gladiatorial battles, now approaching you with a fury in his eyes.

“Empress…” he murmured, watching your every move as you carefully hummed. Gesturing towards the large bench across from you as he sat slowly. Setting his helmet behind him as he scowled lightly.

“How can I help-“ you were cut off by his own words. “Get your husband to end the war,” he demanded as you carefully quirked a brow. There had always been a bit of an uproar about the necessity of war. How many young men were laying their lives down for a nation that barely seemed to care when they died. Your husband revered as the best thing that had ever happened to Rome and the downfall of the empire all in one breath.

“I do not have that level of power,” you insisted, the cub chewing on your fingers as the man scoffed. “You act as though you cannot sway your husband…long legs, full lips…you’ve already given him a son,” he referenced the infant who Geta had been occupied showing off to his curt, and insinuating you could seduce your husband. The mention of your darling boy enough to enrage you as you got up, turning to walk away before yelping in pain.

His hand was clamped around your wrist. Holding it so very snugly as his fingers dimpled your flesh. The powder being absorbed by the sweat upon his fingertips. Slick with the perspiration caused by stress, heat and rage. “I lost my boy…I lost my everything, and you cannot deny me compensation for my grief-“ he hissed. Shoving you to the ground as your bangles clattered. The lion cub moving to protect you as the man scoffed. Reaching down to grab you before ripping his hand away at the sound of the doors opening, Geta coming in with your golden haired angel of a son on his hip. Brows narrowing as he looked between the two of you.

“What’s the meaning of this…?” He questioned as your eyes flicked from the soldier, to your husband, to your darling boy who was giggling while tugging at his father’s brooches. Swallowing your terror as you shakily stood.

“We were discussing the latest conquest they were sent on…and I collapsed from the heat…” you murmured as you stood slowly, Gets taking your arm delicately and going to adjust your bangles. Noticing the fingerprints on your wrist as his eyes widened.

Wordlessly, he handed you your son. Escorting you out as the doors hinges creaked behind him. Squeaky copper mimicking his own deranged laughter as you hummed contentedly.

Nobody dared to challenge the crown.

so, just had a thot 🤭. Like in the movie The Mummy (if you remember/seen it :)) how Anck-su-namun is covered/painted in gold, (as to tell if anyone else besides the King/Pharaoh has touched her) I feel Geta would do the same to his little and latest play-thing ... he'd be possessive for sure and get all stabby if he were to ever find out if someone .. anyone dared be so bold as to even look or think about touching his property in such a way

Him getting pissed because someone touched what belongs to him would definitely be hot as fuck. I need someone to write this because I have too many wips right now. 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[cherrysweets-world]

Invidia

Pairing - Geta x Caracalla’swifeReader, Caracalla x f!Reader

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

Warnings - minors dni, intense pining, sexual contact, concubines, brief sex, unedited, potential part two

Word Count - 1.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dividers by @enchanthing

[puckleberryfinnie]

What Is This Feeling?

summary: you're the one thing he can't have, but he'll do anything to get you anyway, fem!reader x emperor geta

notes: for (this) request, thank you so much for sending that in again, love you for that! this definitely will not be history or character accurate, but I know most of you are just here for the vibes so here's this for you <3 if anyone wants more of him, you're more than welcome to send something in, make sure to take a look at my holiday event too!

part two is finally here! yippee!

Geta had everything he could ever want- food, clothing, women. Many women. All the divine things of the world were his, and it pleased him to know as such. All of Rome was at his beck and call.

Now, despite his interest in expanding empires to new locations, he'd never found himself interested in the contents of these areas. It seemed illogical, when he had everything he wanted and much, much more already.

As the power of Rome grew, however, the time came for a delegation to be put into place. It would be built in order to generate alliances among other strong empires, much like their own. It wasn't something of much interest of Geta- he'd have to give them an audience at some point, he'd imagined, but any might greater than his own was simply unimaginable in his mind.

It wasn't surprising for the people of your empire to know you'd be headed off along with the rest of the delegation sent to Rome. They knew your adventurous nature, and with your three older brothers limiting your chance of leading one day, there was no true reason for you not to be sent off, if not just for the year you'd be gone. Your father, as emperor, was weary, of course.

"Venturing into harsher lands might calm your restless nature, which is something that must happen as you become an important figure to your people, dear. Besides, you'll be protected under the royal court of Rome in any regard, to be sure."

The trip had been troublesome, despite the amenities offered for a trip of so many noble people. It was truly its length that made it quite so unbearable, being over a week of slow travelling. Upon entering into your destination, however, your opinions on the matter immediately had been washed away by incoming fascination. Your empire had been fantastic in its own ways, of course, but this went beyond every notion of an idea you'd had for it. The streets were filled with excitement, and the people of the streets were beyond respectful, bowing their heads as you passed them.

Your fascination only grew as you came closer to the center of the land. There were buildings, each taller than the last and adorned with the most extraordinary pieces of decoration. Large, open areas housed groups of patricians, you were sure, wearing extravagant clothing that draped over their bodies perfectly. Their jewelry was even more extravagant, to be sure, shiny accessories adorning every finger and neck.

It's not that you weren't used to such lavishness, but your people had been less... open about it, in many regards. It was unlikely to find open rooms with expensive items on display as they had here. It's no matter, though. You'd fit in, to be sure. Your empire had sent you in their finest garments, matching these people's clothing perfectly fine.

The audience with this neighboring empire had been something of great discussion among the court of Rome. With the newest news coming in of the emperor's daughter visiting, the excitement only grew. There were stories, of course, of her people favoring her, for her beauty and kindness was a blessing for them. It intrigued Geta, in some regards. He'd expected old men and boring meetings discussing topics that he was not the least bit interested in. But a woman? He was indefinitely more interested in that.

Him and his brother were leaning lazily against their large thrones, women and men strew across them, vying for their attention. As your party entered, they both stayed in their position, watching disinterestedly, nodding as the people continued to enter.

It was customary that you entered last, in all your glory. You entered gracefully, all heads turned towards you, all in awe of your divine nature. Geta wasn't any exception as he immediately sat up straighter, trying to get a better look at you. As you stopped in front of them, dipping your head in respect, he continued to lean closer, eyes wide as they went over your features carefully.

"Thank you for your gracious invitation, emperors."

As your eyes rose to greet the twins, they immediately met Geta's. His own pair were watching your every movement, a interested glint in them unlike ever you'd ever seen in the eyes of a man. It caught you, making you freeze under his gaze. He slowly pushed off whoever had been on him, getting up as he slowly made his way towards you.

"The pleasure is all our own. I hope you know we've been anxiously awaiting you, my lady."

His eyebrows rose, anticipating your reaction. When you simply smiled, bowing your head once again in recognition before being carted away by your supervisors, he was beyond surprised. Any normal woman would've been flattered and flushing at his words, but you'd walked away with that calming nature still radiating.

His brother wasn't paying much attention, but that wasn't too much of surprise as Geta turned towards him, watching Caracalla place some grapes in his mouth as he looked off to the side. He turned back to your retreating form once more, shouting at you in order to get your attention.

"I hope you enjoy your stay, my lady. I'll be sure to call on you later."

You simply smiled once again, letting out a small laugh. "I'd appreciate that, Emperor. Thank you." You along with the rest of your party exited after a moment, exhausted after your long trip and in need of rest.

After you were long gone, likely softly sleeping in one of their more extravagant guest rooms, as Geta had imagined, he was approached by one of his many advisors, named Claudius. Claudius was one of the more brave council members, who would speak out against the emperors for the benefit of Rome. It was a surprise that his head hadn't been chopped off yet.

"I only want the best for your empire, Your Grace, and with such I must make it known that interacting with the daughter of such a powerful ruler has its risks. If word got out to the Emperor that you were treating her as you would with a common woman, it surely would bring their strong empire's wrath down unto our sacred land."

"You must have no faith in the glory of Rome, Claudius. Any attack on their part would be stopped immediately, you should know this."

"Since we've last spoken their forces have doubled in size, Your Grace. Do what you will, but we need to make sure this alliance goes as it's supposed to."

He was effectively being told 'no,' and he did not enjoy it at all. Everything in his life had been handed to him on a silver platter, so it went against his nature to not take what he wanted- in this case, that being you. His hands were clenched as he walked through the hallways, headed to his sleeping chambers.

You'd been headed back from your light sleep, hoping to find some sort of entertainment when a body had rammed at you at full speed, knocking you to the ground. There was the emperor, looking angrily at the figure underneath him. This angry look slowly faded as he realized it was you, turning into a devilish smile as he slowly pulled himself up, his hands resting on either side of your head.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, my lady. How have you found your stay so far?" He was vibrating with a sort of enticing energy, almost as though he was purring. It was rather strange, but you couldn't bring yourself to move, frozen once again in his gaze.

"Oh- well, this place is magnificent, Your Grace. It's truly wonderful to be here."

"Mm.. well I'm very glad you decided to come, you've made all this alliance work much more... interesting." He finally pulled himself off you, keeping his eyes glued to yours as he reached for your hand to pull you up with him in a sudden movement. "And you must call me Geta, princess." His hand held onto yours, subtly moving a thumb across its surface.

"Of course Y- Geta. And you shall call me by mine, yes?" Your calm nature had been broken, just as he'd hoped it would. His smile only grew at your flustered state.

"If that's what you'd like I'll faithfully oblige, though I do think Princess suits you much better. I'd do anything you asked of me, though, darling." With that he brought your hand to his face, keeping eye contact as he left a kiss on its back side.

To Hell with Rome. He got what he wanted, and he wanted you.

woah ok so I think this is the most I've every written, hopefully it was still a bit interesting for you guys! thank you so much for reading, and let me know if you want more stuff from him or anyone else in Gladiator (the obsession is crazy right noww) (also, wicked themed title to feed into another obsession don’t mind me)

if you guys want any more of this one, please let me know, I can even create a tag list if that interests anyone <3

love ya!!

[anyarose011]

Anya's Totally Bitchin Masterlist

"Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call"

{Angus Tully x Reader} ->The Holdovers

Summary: Being stuck at the snooty, all-boys school your father works at is NOT how you wanted to spend Christmas (especially with Angus Tully...asshole). Still, the Winter of 1970 leading into 1971 is one you will not forget. A stubborn teenager, a professor with a stick up his ass, a woman with a heart of gold, and a mini feminist who's pissed at everyone 99% of the day (yours truly)...what could go wrong?

Tropes/keywords: Academic Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Young Love, Mystery, Hurt/Comfort, Feel Good, CHRISTMAS, and Found Family.

Chapter 1: "Bah, Humbug!" Chapter 2: "You're a Mean One, Miss Hunham" Chapter 3: "Emotional Motion Sickness" Chapter 4: "Too Late to Turn Back Now" Chapter 5: "One More Reason to Control Myself" Chapter 6: "December Never Felt So Wrong" Chapter 7: "Christmas Time is Here" Chapter 8: "The Most 'Wonderful' Time of the Year" Chapter 9: "Dimensions" Chapter 10: Coming Soon

"The Woman at the Well"

{Aemond Targaryen x Reader} -> House of the Dragon: Season 2

Summary: You allowed men to follow you in the dark for a living. One night, a man you never expected (nor wanted) to do so did just that. Over the weeks to come, you become...more acquainted with him. Still, despite how fun it is to dance with dragon fire, one must do their best to remember the chances of being burnt.

Tropes/keywords: Strangers to Friends to Lovers to Strangers (again), Mostly Angst, Little Hurt/Comfort, Somewhat Toxic Love, This story has a happy ending (but not in the way you'd expect)

Chapter 1: "There Must Be Something in the Water" Chapter 2: "Crawling Back to You" Chapter 3: "Nursing on the Poison that Never Stung" Chapter 4: "I Would Not Change it Each Time"

"The Favorite"

{Emperor Geta x Reader x Lucius} -> Gladiator II Summary: Once a lowborn girl of Rome, now a favored slave of Emperor Geta, hope at reclaiming your life comes when the return general Acacius brings Rome to a weeks' worth of entertainment.

Tropes/keywords: Minor Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Marriage of Convenience [Lucius], Slavery/Abuse [Geta], Reader is Sansa Stark coded, Scheming, Action, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, and Reader knows how to play the game [and not at the same time].

Chapter 1: "Et tu, Brute?" Chapter 2: "Agape"

[m0chisenpai]

shooting star

˚｡⋆platonic! emperor geta x black fem!reader x platonic!caracalla

in which you fall into the demented laps of twin emperors all because you chose to be spontaneous

Geta saw you as a blessing from the gods, a sister sent to them from beyond the mortal world they know. With hair nearly as fiery red as the twins he knew you were meant for he and his twin the moment he set eyes on her.

You knew you were anywhere BUT home when Joseph Quinn ws staring at you like you were an enigma, but one thing you knew was any denial that you were the twin emperors sister would surely lead you dead.

So you played the role.

You fell into their arms and played into the tears, how you were in the dark for so long until now. How you fell from the sky into Rome with no family, no memory. And to your luck, and way with words, they recieve you. Caracalla seemed the most convicned wailing like a baby but Geta was calm...almost too calm for your liking.

Gets lays claim upon you and games and festivities are held, festivities which you sit among now. Day….three? Your eyes are heavy and tired, your head aches from the heavy golden laurel and the golden earrings that weight both ears down.

“Sister,” Caracalla calls. “Are you not pleased?”

You quickly shake your head, “no I am. It’s just so….it is more than what I am used to.”

Your cup is refilled at the demand of Caracalla and more servants curl around you with golden plates and bowls filled with meats and fruits that you quickly shoo away.

Caracalla, much to your surprise, demanded you comfortable and cared for. Following your reunion he sends you off to the baths, it is warm and smells of oils and servant girls fill it with roses and flower petals. They scrub at your skin and make quick work on your hair which you hope does not lose its color, and then you are brought out.

The servant girls who clean you are extremely gentle, possibly threatened by the younger ruler.

When Caracalla is the first gaze you see leaving the baths you nearly jump out your skin when he pulls you close. His head buries itself in the crook of your neck and you feel him grasp the back of your robes.

"Imperator her majesty is in-"

"Leave us," his mumbles.

Both women quickly bow and run off to what you assume is where your rooms are. A moment passes, to long for your comfort until he moves from your hold.

"You smell like home again," his eyes are misty and light as his tone.

You can only smile back, half heartedly returning the sentiment. "As do you."

He pulls you to your chambers, his grip firm, almost as though if he lets go you will disappear. Whether for slaughter or not, you felt like cattle before it is sent off. Only you refused to go out like that.

Not when you had a chance for a life of comfort and luxuries at the tips of your fingers. So you squeezed his hand just as tight fearing this would be the last gentle touch you feel.

When you return to your room you are oiled and dressed in red and golden silks ad the women have taken the liberty of braiding your h. The room you’re in has you spinning in slow circles taking in the detail and beauty of it all. The ceilings ornate with carvings and starry paintings.

And the bed, you take a dive into it rolling around with childish squeals. It feels like you are sleeping in clouds. Yeah, you could DEFINITELY get used to this.

“I am pleased our god given sister finds her sleeping arrangements to her satisfaction.” Greta’s presence startles you sitting outside at a table. You quickly sit up, feeling flushed with absolute embarassment for him to see you act out like that.

But you dare to wonder if that is amusement because you are happy, or because he plans to end you once you are too comfortable.

He unnerves you but you do not let your facade break. Though he doesn't have the same illness as his brother, there is a silent madness within. His mind lies with his delusions that the gods so in fact exist. You wonder which is scarier: the ill-minded or the one with grandeur delusions.

“It’s beautiful,” your hands wring at the fronts of your nightgown, "but it is...all so much to comprehend. My head feels dizzy." He holds his arm out to you and you quickly slide off the bed to now stand in front of it.

"Sit, eat."

You follow his request and join him, grateful you are at least a seats width apart. Breads, shucked oysters and oil with bowls of fruits make you want to drool. You suddenly realize just hungry you are. But you carefully reach for the bread, dipping it into the oil.

He carelessly flicks his hand and a servant comes to fil your cups with wine.

"Father had a babe with one of his concubines," ok we're just getting right into it!

"We only know cause caught glimpse for a moment. Father did not claim it, and sent it off to the woods. He had no need for daughters, let alone one from his concubines or whores. He demanded a male heir." He drinks deeply of his wine, dark eyes not moving, watching as you slowly sip from your own glass.

"Is that so?"

He nods, watcing his drink swirl. "But the babe had the most peculiar mark, Caracalla assumed it was killed because it was cursed," you swear you must look like a dog about to crap itself when he casually rests his elbow on the table, dagger in hand. Screwed isn't the word to describe as he uses the dagger to beckon you closer.

You press your eyes shut not giving him the satisfaction of your gaze when you lean forward, nor do you care your hands shake from how tightly you grpand your face is hot from the tears that pool as you feel the blade just beneath your ear....Wait....

Your ear.....

Sweet merciful gods above whoever is up there THANK YOU, whoever is up there you thank them feverishly in your head.

"In the very spot..." Geta breaths out. You dare to open your eyes, and for a moment he looks like a lost child gazing at the bump. The blade falls out his grasp as he lifts a shaky hand to his mouth, "father left you for dead but the gods have brought you back to us."

You had an ugly bump sitting atop the helix of your right ear. Your mom claimed it was there since birth and you grew up hating the thing. You hated it cause it prevented you from getting a piercing there, and got teased for it back in elementary school. But if you could kiss it you would right now.

"It is truly you...." his voice cracks and he's reaching out to you to pull you into a fierce hug. "They have brought you back to us, our sister. Sweet star of Rome. You have returned." His hand runs rub over the back of your head, and all you can think is how gratefuly you are for not paying to have the ugly lump removed.

"Yes...I'm home," you whisper it back stroking a hand up and down his back.

That night you secured your safety. And you intend to keep it that way. Silencing every voice that would try and end your safety in this foreign land.

The host of festivities voice breaks you from your daze with his boisterous voice and sharp clap. “My imperators, our newly crowned Empress of Rome.”

He bows before you three, seated in a large chaise with you sat between the boys. You shine in the gold bands and neckalces you are covered in ans you proudly have your hair pinned up.

“The gods have bestowed upon us a gem of Rome! In recognition of such a gift, out of the ever flowing love our imperators bestow a gift upon her majesty,” slowly you lean forward as two large cages are pulled out covered in red cloths that shake as whatever is beneath smacks and growls reaching a light brown large paw from between the bars.

"No way...." you squeal beneath your hand which covers your grin as you hop up. Perhaps you had one too many glasses but you didn't care now. "You did not!" you exclaim when the men yank the cloths revealing,

"From the northan lands of Africa!" The crowd breaks out in applause at the roaring animals that roar. And all you can do is scream as well jumping like a child in a candy shop. "Tamed by our general, Acacius!"

"A fine pair to begin your own collection, sister," Geta tips his clear glass toward you.

"Perfect for the colosseums as well, I look forward to how they fair against the fresh arrivals of the stables." Caracalla coos as he feeds his beloved Dondus who chitters.

"Oh please do not send them into the colosseum brothers." you quickly fold your hands and look to your smirking brothers.

"What other use would they have? You would use them for your entertainment, yes?"

"Well yes," you now fold your hands behind your back and rock on your heels.

"But for now, to the stables with them both. Please," and you break out the big guns folding your hands beneath your chin and jutting out your bottom lip.

"Oh she wounds me, brother. End her suffering!" Caracalla playfully cries out laying his hand atop his forehead and falling back into the arms of one of his servant boys.

"Pretty please, brother dearest," your voice soft and you go as far to tug on his hand, squeezing it gently. "My heart would break if any other brought harm upon them both."

"If it pleases our sister, then it is so." And he preens at your blinding smile, watching you take off to stand beside the host who bows before you showing you the wild cats.

You would have anything your heart desired. Anything as long as you would remain by their sides. They would bring all the wild cats back if they could see your shining smile for the rest of their days.

[megraen]

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS TOPICS OF RAPE.

Chapter Four - Ploys

WORD COUNT: 6,537

Darius Sextus Residence - Rome 195AD

Fosca was lounging on one of the chairs in the tablinum, enjoying a cup of wine as she glanced into her garden, watching the slaves tend to the plants and trees. She didn’t even look up when one of her slaves approached from the atrium, a second pair of feet padding on the floor behind them.

“Domina Lucia, my lady.” The slave announced, his head bowed. Lucia took the opportunity to sit on the other sofa, lifting the ratty fabric from her head, revealing her well-groomed and styled hair.

Fosca turned her head, her eyes boring into her friend lazily. “I see you look ridiculous again.” She commented, making Lucia crack a smile. The brunette accepted the goblet of wine offered to her, drinking greedily. “I haven’t seen you in over two weeks, my friend. Where have you been locked up?” Fosca asked teasingly, yet her smile dropped when Lucia answered, explaining that Emperor Geta had locked her in her chambers. Fosca groaned dramatically and pinched the space between her eyes. “You are too much trouble.” she hissed, mourning the girl’s foolishness.

Lucia knew she was responsible for her actions and that if she had not snuck out, she wouldn’t have suffered as she did. Yet here she was again, taking some idiotic risks, but she needed to see Fosca. “I need your advice,” Lucia spoke. She practically flinched as the blonde sat up quickly, her eyes locked onto Lucia with a giddiness.

“My advice?” Fosca mewled, brimming with energy. She wasn’t even sure what wisdom Lucia had come to ask of her, but she was more than willing to advise the girl on the best outcome. After all, she was a married and experienced woman, and if Lucia was coming to her rather than Lucilla, the matter was serious.

Lucia nodded. “My mother wishes to marry me off next month. In secret.” She whispered, eyeing off the nearby slaves. Fosca followed her friend’s gaze and quickly ushered the slaves away. This was a private conversation of the utmost importance. “She had arranged three possible suitors, but I dislike each of them greatly.”

“Yet your mother approves of them?” She asked. Fosca’s frown deepened when Lucia nodded. “Well, who are they?” Fosca enquired. There was a good chance she knew them, at least by reputation. In Rome, there were two reputations. One’s public and professional reputation, and the other was the rumoured reputation, where nobles and the rich discussed what you were like behind your back. Being trapped in the Palace of Domitian meant that Lucilla was only exposed to the reputations these men wanted her to see, not their true selves.

“Gennadius Sergianus, Damianus Dorsuo, and Riothamus Pictor.” Lucia listed off the three names. Fosca scowled. She did indeed know of the three men. Gennadius was the eldest son of a senator, who was well known to visit gambling dens and was rumoured to be heavily indebted, with his father’s position keeping him from getting in trouble. Damianus was a merchant who tended to scam the lower class with inflated goods and fake items. The last man, Riothamus, was the second son of a noble family that had survived for many generations. At the same time, they appeared pleasing on the outside, yet Riothamus’s father had had several wives, all ‘dying’ in childbirth when they failed to give him sons.

“No,” Fosca spoke. “Absolutely not. None of them are acceptable choices.” She quickly explained the rumours she’d heard about each man and their families while attending feasts and parties, making Lucia pale. Lucilla had wanted to find a good match for her daughter, but it was clear these men were just as manipulative as the rest.

“Are there no honourable men left in Rome?!” Lucia questioned, rising to her feet and pacing.

“There are,” Fosca spoke. “They just happen to be of the lower class. Doubt your mother or a priest of Jupiter would bless such a union.” The statement was a sad fact that no one would agree to marry a princess of Rome to a commoner. She needed a man of power and influence, someone from the same upper class as her, yet didn’t have the hubris that demanded he control her. “What will you do?” Fosca questioned. Lucia had a tough decision ahead of her, and explaining everything to her mother would cause issues. At this rate, she couldn’t risk marrying again until the following year.

“Either I marry one of those beasts or deal with another year of this suffering.” Lucia gritted out, turning to face Fosca, who was still sitting down patiently. The blonde was staring at her mournfully, pitying the anguish her friend was dealing with. If Fosca could, she would go out there and grab the first suitable nobleman she saw and then drag him back here for Lucia to marry. “I feel like the Gods are just mocking my family after all we had done for Rome. I come from a long line of respectable Emperors, yet now, I feel cursed.” Lucia sighed, dropping down onto the other sofa.

“Maybe it’s a balance?” Fosca suggested, trying to find a reason for it all, even if it was a poor excuse. They were mortals; who were they to decide the choices of the Gods? Not even the priests and fanatics could determine the wants and desires of the Gods. “I must admit, the Gods have a funny way of doing things.” Fosca hissed, her free hand dropping over the flat of her stomach, her mind being haunted by all her failed pregnancies and labours. Lucia’s brows knotted together as she followed her friend’s gesturing, understanding the pain of miscarriages and stillbirths due to her own mother’s suffering at the hands of Emperor Severus.

“I pray the Gods give me a man I can love and a son for you to cherish,” Lucia murmured. The words brought a tear to Fosca’s eyes, and her bottom lip quivered as she tried to maintain a face of dignity in front of her friend. The request was one of many the Gods would receive daily, and with so many worshippers, it made sense that many prayers would go unanswered. Lucia couldn’t fault the Gods for that.

“Has there been any word of the war?” Fosca asked curiously. After five years of Acacius and Darius being away at war, barely any information had been given to the public, only letting them know the war effort was going well. Lucia frowned and shook her head. She hadn’t been allowed to know anything. The Emperors and the Senate withheld any reports that came. Fosca scowled but drowned herself in her wine. The entire Roman Empire waited with bated breath for a successful outcome, as the conquering of Numidia would bring riches and an influx of new slaves to Rome. The return of the soldiers would mean a rise in profit for taverns and brothels, with armouries and blacksmiths forging new weapons and armour for the next war, and there would always be a next war.

Lucia pursed her lips in thought. Any reports would be kept in the twin Emperor’s study, which was guarded at all times due to the sensitive content within, and if not there, possibly Geta’s chambers. She half expected the Emperors to leave reports carelessly scattered around, with the Imperial scribe picking up after them. Drowning the last of her wine, the princess stood sharply, earning a questioning gaze from her friend.

“Something the matter?” Fosca asked, eyeing as the brunette woman covered her hair with fabric, hiding her well-styled locks.

“I’m going to search the Imperial study for reports on the war,” Lucia admitted boldly. Fosca gaped at the woman. Lucia tended to do stupid and reckless things, but this was a new low. Even Fosca knew how dangerous such an action was. She had followed her friend to the entrance of her home, begging her not to, but Lucia’s mind was made up. The princess was getting her answers. Fosca could only stand there, watching Lucia leave toward Palatine Hill.

Lucia had no fear. Acacius had always told her there was nothing to fear, that the world was full of uncertainty and danger, but one must face them head-on. She smiled, remembering how the general inspired her and quelled her heart’s racing, building her confidence.

She successfully snuck back into the Palace through the old escape route, changing back into her usual and regal attire, noting that no one had noticed her hour-long disappearance. It was good that she had kept it short, no longer wafting around the city or visiting the markets. She had adapted her forbidden excursions to hinder anyone noticing her missing long enough for guards to be sent after her. The Emperors never punished her after the kitchen event, as she was still very much within the Palace grounds, and the fault lay with the guards.

Making her way to the Imperial study, Lucia quickly darted back right as she entered the hallway, almost making her presence noticed by the two guards outside the doors. She carefully peeked her head, glad they hadn’t seen her. Needing an excuse to get into the office, Lucia pursed her lips in deep thought. The only ones outside the Emperors, senators, and guards who could enter were slaves, who could be granted access based on Imperial matters. She couldn’t use her disguise; one look at her, and the guards would recognise her.

A sly smile formed over the princess’s lips, and she dashed down to the kitchens, almost barrelling into the door she moved so fast. All the slaves snapped their heads in her direction, eyeing her quizzically.

“Dulcia. I need Dulcia,” Lucia breathed, her heart racing. The slaves looked from Lucia to the slave in question, and Dulcia stared at the princess with a concerned gaze. Dulcia squeaked, just as puzzled as her fellow slaves and even more alarmed about why she would be needed. She was a kitchen hand. All she knew was cooking and preparing meals. “Yes…come…” Lucia ushered for her to come; the slave awkwardly dropped her knife and came around the table, looking back at her fellow slaves in mixed fear. None knew what Lucia had planned for the girl, and often, when a slave was dragged away, it wasn’t good.

“What do you need, Domina?” Dulcia mumbled weakly, her head held low.

“Something bad…” Lucia admitted, making the young woman freeze. Taking her hand, Lucia pulled her along, leading her along the corridors towards the Imperial study. “I need access to the study, and it’s not something that will ever be granted to me, yet if a slave escorts me, it might be overlooked,” Lucia explained, stopping around the corner. They both peeked around, seeing the guards. Dulcia started to freak out, trying to flee to the kitchens, but Lucia stopped her.

“I can’t, Domina. They’ll kill me.” Dulcia stressed. It was a true statement. To be caught in the private chambers belonging to the Emperors without their permission was a death sentence. Lucia hushed the girl, telling her everything would be alright if she did the talking; she just needed to remain calm and escort her, saying yes and nodding when asked the correct questions. Dulcia nodded quickly, taking deep breaths to calm her resolve. Lucia fiddled with the girl’s appearance, fixing her messy brown locks and wiping hints of flour from her face and clothes.

“Ready?” Lucia asked.

“Ready,” Dulcia remarked. She stood tall, taking on a serious face as she started to turn the corner, Lucia following behind her. “I have come to escort Princess Lucia to the Imperial study under the order of our Emperors,” Dulcia spoke firmly, keeping her head held high as she spoke with purpose, just as she had seen Asina do many times. The guards looked down at her, then to Lucia, then back to the slave. They didn’t say or do anything, and for a second, Dulcia flinched, concerned they’d caught onto the ruse, but then they stepped aside. Dulcia felt a rush, a thrill of excitement. She approached the double doors and stood aside for Lucia to enter. As soon as Lucia stepped across the threshold and Dulcia closed the doors, Lucia bolted towards the desk, searching through the pile of scrolls.

“It has to be here…” She hissed.

Dulcia followed her, watching the princess hurriedly look through the scrolls. “What are you looking for?” The slave asked, keeping her voice low.

“A report from my stepfather, general Acacius. I need to know what is happening with the war campaign.” Lucia glanced up, making eye contact with the younger woman. It didn’t take a fool to know the importance of such a document, especially after five years without any news.

“What does it look like?” Dulcia asked, eager to assist. Lucia’s brows burrowed, but then she remembered that due to being a slave, Dulcia couldn’t read nor understand the seals attached to each scroll.

“It will be a red wax seal, with the side profile of a man’s head wearing a helmet,” Lucia advised. The two women began searching through the scrolls scattered throughout the study and darted over the large ornate desk, shelves and tables. The room was a mess, with nothing organised. Lucia didn’t know how anyone could make sense of the scrolls, with many having their seals broken, hinting that the documents had never been opened or read.

“Is this it?” Dulcia asked, offering a scroll she’d found by a small table with a pitcher of wine that had yet to be collected. Lucia took it, fiddling with it as she inspected the broken seal. A wide smile overtook her face; it was indeed the seal she sought. Unfurling it, Lucia’s smile dropped. “What is it? Bad news?” Dulcia enquired, sparing a hasty glance to the door behind them.

Lucia sighed and rolled it back up, dumping it on the desk. “It’s outdated, nearly a year old.” She explained. This was beyond frustrating. If those lazy twins had managed to maintain their responsibilities as Emperors, the study wouldn’t have been in such a state, and Lucia would have been able to find the report. She shook her head, planning on giving up searching the room. There was no chance of the report being here; otherwise, she would have found it by now. “There’s only one other place it could be…” Lucia murmured. “Emperor Geta’s chambers…”

The answer made Dulcia swallow thickly and panic. Just the thought of going anywhere near the Imperial wing of the Palace was terrifying. Only certain slaves had access, and Praetorians guarded it at all times. It was the one place Dulcia was sure she couldn’t trick her way into. Seeing the slave practically shivering in fear, Lucia placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, trying to calm the girl, reassuring her that her aid was no longer required. Lucia would make her way there, with the ploy of speaking to Geta in his chambers to search for the document.

The guards didn’t glance at the two women as they exited and left the study behind. Lucia had instructed the slave to return to the kitchen and tell no one what had transpired, promising that if they were discovered, Lucia would take full responsibility for using Dulcia. Dulcia was shocked by the princess’s kindness, an attribute unknown to the slaves. They were objects, not worthy of respect or care.

Leaving the slave alone in the halls to return to the kitchens, Lucia had made her trek to the Imperial Wing, where the twin’s chambers were housed. Once upon a time, her family had lived in that wing and slept in those rooms. The Praetorians had scrutinised Lucia as she passed but didn’t speak. They wouldn’t act unless ordered. The main hallway was empty, something Lucia hadn’t expected, yet as she walked further in, she stopped, seeing Emperor Geta. He was pacing the halls, his steps rushed and feverish as he played with the rings on his left hand, not noticing the woman as she drew near. Geta was lost in his mind, his thoughts rushing with ill things. Lucia could read it on his face.

“Emperor Geta…?” She dared to speak his name, trying to gain his attention. He didn’t respond or look at her as if she hadn’t spoken. “Emperor Geta.” She repeated his name, reaching out a tentative hand, brushing the bare skin of his arm. His head had snapped to her, and his eyes narrowed as he took her in, his brown orbs darting over her, figuring, trying to decipher why she was there and what she could have possibly wanted. “Is something the matter?” Lucia asked. It was more out of concern for her and her mother’s safety rather than showing him kindness. If there was something that had him distressed, she needed to be worried.

Geta’s eyes darted to the door he had been lingering outside of, and Lucia followed his gaze—Caracalla’s chambers. “My brother…” He began to speak but lost the words, unable to continue.

“Is he ill?” Lucia sputtered. She hadn’t meant for the words to spill from her mouth, yet they had.

Geta shook his head. He was unclear what was wrong. After his brother’s outburst yesterday, Geta had a physician summoned to the Palace to inspect his twin, hoping that whatever was causing Caracalla’s bouts of mania could be cured. “I pray that the physician can answer my brother’s growing…”

“Mania?” Lucia finished for him. Geta sent the woman a sharp look as if saying it aloud would curse them both. “There have been many before him who suffered the same.” Lucia reasoned. Roman had dealt with mad Emperors before. Tiberius, Caligula, Nero, and even Lucia’s uncle, Commodus, were considered madmen whose minds were haunted by dark spirits. Geta’s head dropped. It was a hard truth to swallow, to see his brother, his twin, delving into depths of insanity.

“It must be something else.” Geta excused, refusing to believe it. Until told otherwise, he could not. Lucia frowned. She wanted the man to see reason, that his brother’s mind may not have been his own, but she thought to Lucius. Had it been her brother and twin showing signs of mania, would she have believed it? She would have easily been in denial, too. Geta looked at the young woman beside him, eyeing her again, seeing her mournful expression. “Why offer me words of wisdom?” He questioned her, suspicious, knowing the princess felt no love or respect for him, even if he demanded it of her as Emperor.

There was a slight tick to the corner of her lips. She turned to face an open window that overlooked Rome, the great city seemingly spanning past the horizon. “I had a twin once,” Lucia murmured.

Geta’s brows twitched. He was aware that Lucilla had had a son who had passed away sixteen years ago, taken by an illness at the same time of Commodus’s death, but no other children. “Lucilla’s son?” He asked. Lucia nodded. Geta’s jaw tightened.

“I know what it is like to have someone whom you shared a womb with, to see them suffer and you unable to do anything.” It had been the first time Lucia had ever mentioned her brother aloud in years. She never dared utter his name, not even to her mother, the memory of her twin too painful. “I often find it hard to look at my reflection in the polished metal, seeing his face staring back at me. I ponder the man he would have become. Would he and I still look the same, like you and Caracalla? Or would we have been divided by our genders too much?” There was a playfulness to her words, making a joke of her twin who once upon a time looked so similar when they were younger that none could tell them apart.

Lucia and Lucius had been a cheeky pair, with Lucia once cutting her hair short to match her brother, even stealing his clothes. Their grandfather never caught on to when they’d switched places, with Lucia sitting in on senate meetings with Emperor Marcus Aurelius as he made decisions for the fate of the Roman Empire. All of Rome assumed Lucius was dead, and Lucia preferred it that way. With Lucius deemed deceased, he was safe from the plots and power plays of Rome’s elite, yet it did little to ease the princess’s heartache. She missed her brother and was indeed pained anytime she glanced at her reflection on any surface.

“You have my sympathies,” Geta spoke softly. Lucia looked at him, her brows furrowed, and for a second, she almost believed him, that he indeed felt for her in her time of sorrow. Geta had opened his mouth, ready to speak again, but the pair’s attention was drawn to Caracalla’s chamber doors opening as the physician stepped out. The older man’s face was grim, and it caused Geta to freeze.

“Emperor Geta,” The physician bowed, his eyes glancing briefly at Lucia. He had waited for orders on whether to speak in the woman’s presence, but when Geta did speak otherwise, the man decided to give his diagnosis. “I have inspected Emperor Caracalla’s body and found the source of his ailments. He has a disease of the loins.” He announced.

“Loins…?” Geta murmured, unsure what to make of such a diagnosis.

The physician nodded. “Indeed. It is common among those of high sexual appetites who engage in such activities with other men…” He spoke awkwardly, sparing another glance to Lucia, but the woman didn’t seem affected by the information but blushing or shying away from the talk of hedonist manners. A sexual relationship between men wasn’t shameful, yet it was only distasteful if you were the man being overpowered, as such a notion was that of a woman’s role with sex. “Overtime, the disease can worsen, affecting the mind—”

“Enough.” Geta cut him off sharply. His jaw was trembling. It was the confirmation of Caracalla’s mania that he hoped to avoid.

“What can be done?” Lucia dared to speak, trying to be the voice of reason, for Geta could not, given his sudden whirl of emotions. The physician looked at Lucia. He explained that tonics and curatives from the mixing of rose petals and vinegar would be produced and brought to the Palace and be administered to the man’s cock to halt the spread of the disease. Hearing and discussing Caracalla’s manhood openly was rather confronting, but Lucia put on a brave face. Beside her, Geta was still trembling, his mind struggling to comprehend the information being brought to his ears.

“And it will cure him?” Geta asked eagerly.

The physician grimaced. “His condition is advanced…” He said he would not say anything further, but Geta understood. There was no cure, only curatives to lessen the spread. He turned sharply, pressing his against the window sill and gripping tightly. It was ill news that his brother would live with such a condition till his death, and one that could worsen with time, making Caracalla crazed and uncontrollable. There was an uneasy silence choking the hall as the physician, and Lucia waited on Geta to speak, but the Emperor did not.

Lucia’s lip quivered. She knew Geta could fall into a terrible rage just as easily as his twin, yet the man knew to keep himself calm enough to appear as kingly as possible. Taking a large gulp, Lucia faced the physician. “Arrange the tonics,” She ordered, yet she reached out to stop the old man before he could leave. “Tell no one of what had transpired here,” Lucia whispered harshly, her words causing the physician to look past her to Geta. While the Emperor still hadn’t turned around to give his command, the physician understood all too well. If anyone happened to learn of Emperor Caracalla’s disease, the physician would be held responsible and face severe punishment. The man nodded and quickly darted away.

“The same goes for you, Lucia…” Geta hissed, casting a sideward glance at the woman. Lucia stiffened. She wasn’t foolish enough to share such talks about Caracalla’s health, knowing that only she and the physician knew about it. If it became public knowledge or even reached the ears of the Senate, there would only be two people responsible for sharing it.

“I will not break your confidence,” Lucia promised, even if she didn’t care for him. Geta turned to face her, one hand still gripping the window sill. He doubted her promise, believing she would betray him at any time; after all, she had no reason to trust him after years of acting as her jailer.

His lip twitched as he stepped closer to her. “Why not leak it to Rome, make the Empire see us as weak? Grasp at a single string for your freedom?”

“There will be another after you, and who to say they won’t be worse?” Lucia purposed. It was a fair ponderance. Geta was somewhat lenient with the princess, never harming her, only confining her. His father would have done so much worse if he was still alive, possibly even risking torturing the young woman to keep her in line. Geta ensured Lucilla and Lucia never made public appearances, keeping them within the Palace of Domitian, out of sight of even the senators that graced the Palace’s halls. With nothing more to be said, Lucia left, no longer wishing to be in the Emperor’s presence. She would look for her stepfather’s report another day.

“Lucia.” Geta hissed her name, making her halt. “My brother and I are hosting the Senate this evening to thank them for their hard work. I suggest you behave.” The warning was clear. She was to stay in her chambers and not dare to venture out as the twin Emperors entertained their guests.

“Emperor Geta.” She said his name thickly, bowing, yet the heat in her eyes told him all the anger she felt for him, the sweet moments they had shared just before the physician’s grime news gone between them. Geta’s eyes followed Lucia as she departed, the heart-wrenching tale of her lost twin echoing in the back of his mind. He dared not think of how losing Caracalla would break him, to be unable to gaze upon his reflection out of the fear of being haunted.

Palace of Domitian - Rome 195AD

Lucia sat at the small vanity in her chambers, running a carved bone comb through her long raven locks as she prepared for bed, dressed in a thin, simple cotton chiton. She could hear the music and singers echoing up the halls from the banquet hall and gardens below, a haunting reminder of the feast honouring the Senators of Rome. The opportunity to attend any of the twin Emperors’ feasts or parties had never been given to either Lucia or her mother, and she assumed that if even the chance, Lucilla wouldn’t want her daughter to go, to step into the viper’s den and be surround by those who only sought to use her.

Place her comb aside, taking a moment to study her face in the golden mirror. Lucia turned her head from side to side. While one could easily assume she appreciated her beauty, Lucia studied herself, picturing herself with masculine features to imagine her brother’s face. It was a pitiful daydream.

“Don’t be a fool…” Lucia whispered, shoving the mirror harshly and changing its angle, arching it toward the painted ceiling. Standing up, she moved around her chambers, putting out the candles that illuminated the room in a soft, warm glow. She passed by the silver tray where her evening meal had yet to be collected, and the slaves were too concerned with the feast to remember such a small task, for which she couldn’t blame them.

With only a lit candle left to create light, Lucia carried it over to her bedside table, placing it on the carved wooden table before pulling back the bed covers and slipping under the silken sheets. Despite the noise from below, sleep had taken Lucia quickly, the princess falling into a deep slumber.

Yet Lucia awoke sometime later when darkness continued to blanket the night sky, and the moon’s light glowed in her chambers. Her brows furrowed together in confusion. She could still hear the music from the first floor, but Lucia swore she had listened to the doors to her chambers open and close. Sitting up, Lucia peered around her room, but in the low light, she caught no sight of a figure.

“Hello? Someone there?” She called out, getting no response. Looking at the small diner table, the dinner tray was still present, so it hadn’t been a slave entering her room.

Assuming she’d imagined the sound, Lucia laid back down, closing her eyes as she waited for sleep to take her once more. Then she heard another sound, this time an unfamiliar padding, followed by another and another. Just as she opened her eyes, she saw the man’s face staring down at her in the light of a still-burning candle. He had pressed himself down on top of her, pinning her to the featherbed as she had tried to scramble away. The man shushed her, yet Lucia couldn’t remain calm; there was an unknown man in her room, and he was naked. He reeked of wine and some ghastly perfume.

“Guards! Guards!” Lucia screamed, but none entered her chambers. Trying to still her cries and pleas for help, the man clamped a hand over her mouth, but that had been his mistake. In doing so, he had freed one of her arms. Lucia clawed at his hand over her mouth, her fear heightening when his other hand reached for her skirt, lifting the fabric of her thigh. Lucia reached out, grasping the lit candle and jabbing the flame into his jaw. The man had howled as the hot wax burned his skin, his grip on the princess loosening enough for her to break free.

Lucia rolled from the bed, her bare feet slipping on the tiled floor as she bolted away. The man had hurled himself after her, ordering her to stop, but Lucia’s fear overwhelmed her. She didn’t know what he wanted in that moment, only that he desired to hurt her. She darted for the dining table, her right hand wrapping around the handle of a small blade.

The man’s hands were on her chiton, pulling on the fabric harshly, ripping the dress at one of her shoulders. The sound of the fabric tearing made Lucia’s mind scream, and she turned, stabbing the blade into the man’s arm. He had screamed again from her second assault, gripping the blade and pulling it free from his skin. He had thrown the knife aside, his bloody hands outstretched for her again, but Lucia had acted faster. In his moment of distraction, she grabbed the ceramic pitcher of wine and slammed it into his head, the pottery shattering and drenching them both in wine.

The blow to the head had knocked the man off his feet. Lucia didn’t dare wait a second, her brain telling her to run. She ignored the hiss of pain as she cut the soles of her feet on jagged pieces of the pitcher, dashing from her room.

Lucia gasped at the empty hallway, void of guards. At least one should have stood in the hall, ensuring that Lucia stayed in her chambers and that no one else approached. Had they skirted their duties due to the party?

Her blood froze when she heard the groans and cursing escaping her chambers. She stepped away tentatively, afraid the man would come after her. Guards. She needed guards. Lucia bolted for the stairwell, her mind empty of all caution as she moved for the lower levels, closer to the feast.

There were gasps as Lucia stumbled into the gardens, her sleeping chiton torn and stained with blood and wine. The senators in the gardens stared at her, unsure of what to make of the sight, and those whose wives were beside them shrieked in terror. The screams silenced the music and singing coming from the banquet hall, gaining the attention of those within. The rest of the senators and guests flooded out with the guards, yet it had been Geta and Caracalla flanked by their Praetorians under the suspicion of attack that had taken the sight of Lucia with shock.

She was trembling, leaning against a statue, her feet about to give way from the cuts, when a single senator rushed to her aid, catching the princess. While keeping her stable, he unfurled his white and dark blue toga around his white tunic, covering her form.

“What is the meaning of this?” Geta barked, still taking in the scene, his eyes darting around. Behind him, Caracalla was swaying gently, unaware of the situation.

“I think she was attacked?!” A woman gasped, clinging to her husband. The thought chilled Geta’s blood, and he quickly ordered his soldiers to investigate. If a Roman princess were attacked under his protection, it would cause the peasantry to come for him and his brother. Geta ordered another guard to take Lucia to a side room to keep her safe during this event. The man had nodded, stepping forward and taking Lucia’s limp body in his arms and carrying off to a small room that adjoined the gardens. The Praetorians ushered the rest of the guests back into the banquet hall for the time being, as until they understood what happened, every senator and their wives were under suspicion of being responsible for the attack.

“what’s going on, brother?” Caracalla drawled, swaying slightly beside his twin. Geta gave him a narrowed look.

“Lucia has been attacked.” He hissed, stating the obvious, yet his brother just blinked, the information not yet reaching his mind. Stepping off to the side room that held Lucia, the guard shifts into the defensive, only to relax at the sight of the Emperor. Geta approaches Lucia, whispering her name as he reaches for her. The woman flinched away. She was fully trembling, and her face was stained with tears. The sight was perplexing to Geta. Lucia was always strong and stubborn, even when complicit to their demands, but now, Geta couldn’t even recognise the woman before him. Lucia had been reduced to a scared child.

He whispered her name again, kneeling low before her, making himself look small in her tear-blurred vision. Geta slowly reached for her hands, holding the fabric of the toga close to her body. He hushed her, trying to soothe her as he took a single hand in both hands, his fingers rubbing over her knuckles. Geta felt a sense of familiarity. Lucia reminded him of Caracalla when they were children, facing their father’s wrath over the slightest mistake. The man would scream in their faces and hit them, uncaring if he left them bruised or broken.

“Lucia…what happened…?” Geta asked quietly, needing to hear her tale of events. Beside him, the soldier was listening in, serving as a witness to the woman’s report.

“I was sleeping…he came into my room…pinned me to the bed…he was naked…” Lucia choked out between sobs, the last admittance breaking her further, remembering how close she’d come to being harmed. She launched herself from the stone bench, throwing herself into Geta’s embrace as she clung to his body, needing to feel safe.

Geta’s jaw tightened. “How did you escape…?” He asked, holding her tight to his body, his hand lacing into her hair as she sobbed harder.

“I think…I attacked him…” It had all been a blur. She barely remembers fleeing from her chambers and running into the gardens. Geta turned his head slightly, meeting the guard’s eyes. His brown eyes were hard, burning like molten steel. The guard nodded, understanding the silent order. Geta wanted the culprit found. Now.

The soldier stepped out of the room to ensure the silent demands were met. Geta would not have any failure. Lucia was under his protection. She was his ward, and the notion that someone deemed themselves above such laws to enter her chambers as she slept to rape her was a grave insult. Lucia continued to cling to him as she cried, her hands weaving into the front of his elaborate tunic and her tears dampening the fabric, but Geta didn’t care then. She was a child needing comfort.

His eyes shifted to the door as his twin entered, and Caracalla watched the exchange with a look of confusion. It was a strange sight: his brother kneeling on the ground with a crying woman in his arms.

“What happened…?” Caracalla asked, his brows twitching.

“Rape.” Geta gritted out through clenched teeth. Caracalla eyes widened. Slowly, the younger Emperor’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping in the air, unable to find a response.

Under Roman law, the rape of a free woman was punishable by death, a fate that could either be a simple execution or a long and brutal affair. Even if the twins themselves were lax in their behaviours and responsibilities, they still knew the weight of such offence. If a man truly needed to release his loins, there were plenty of brothels willing to accept his coin or even his household slaves, but a free woman was not to be touched against her wishes. Unwed Roman women knew the importance of their virtue. They chose not to spread their legs before marriage, as even a rumour of them being tainted by a man’s cock before marriage ruined any prospects of finding a powerful and wealthy husband.

“Where is he?! We shall gut him!” Caracalla yelled, rushing around the small space like a monkey trapped in a cage. Geta hissed at him, needing the fool to stop his idiocies. Caracalla paused and looked at his brother in alarm for being scolded. He shifted awkwardly.

An eery atmosphere fell between the two emperors, unnoticed by the crying woman in Geta’s arms, yet when the chamber door opened again, both men turned their heads sharply, almost jumping at the sudden noise.

“We found him in Domina’s chambers,” The guard reported. Geta nodded. He slowly and awkwardly rose to his feet, still holding Lucia to his body. He passed her to the soldier, ordering her to be taken to his chambers and guarded by the Praetorians, but the woman was reluctant to leave his arms. She was hardly about to do anything in her weakened state, only whining and reaching out for Geta as the guard took her away.

“Brother…?” Caracalla mumbled, seemingly forgetting what was already discussed.

“We will send our guests home. Tomorrow, we will hold a trial.” Geta spoke through clenched teeth, pulling at his clothing to adjust it back into place from where it had come dishevelled from Lucia’s hands. A physician would also need to be summoned to see the injuries on Lucia’s feet, and a midwife to inspect if a rape had indeed occurred.

@barcelonaloverf1life @quuinyoung @justnobodynothingmore @sarai-ibn-la-ahad

[kusunogatari-a]

[ SasuHinaMonth Day Twenty-Five: Samurai AU ] [ @sasuhinamonth ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hiashi, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Neji ] [ SasuHina, blood mention ] [ Verse: At The Beginning ]

The dust of the road settled after a light morning rain, his trek south is both quiet and calm. A gentle breeze rolls through the trees that line the mountain road, grasses churning like waves. If it weren’t for the task he’s been assigned, it would be a picturesque day.

But the samurai has work to do.

An estate south of the city - large, rich, and responsible for countless rice paddies - has been suffering raids by unknown bandits. According to his father, it should be something simple for the younger of his two sons to handle on his own. A few honorless thugs stand little chance against a carefully-trained samurai.

Geta silent against the soft soil of the road, Sasuke travels with one hand resting atop one of his blade’s hilts, the other tucked into the gaping front of his top. Dark eyes half-lidded, he’s nonetheless alert despite his lax aura. Sharp senses pique, trained for telling noises and visions. If need be, a swift draw will take him only a moment to bury steel into his foe.

But not yet.

Eventually he’s on the downward slope, and a break in the trees reveals the estate. A large manor sits atop the highest foothill, the rest tapered into terraces, fed by a river that winds between the hills. From this distance, the people tending the rice crops are like little hunched-over ants. It will still be a time before he descends to the lord’s lands. One Hyūga Hiashi, once part of the land’s military, retiring to his rice paddies and rather large clan. A widower, with two daughters...and a branch family that handles most of the labor on his estate.

Being part of a large samurai clan himself, Sasuke knows of established hierarchy...but his own doesn’t operate quite like this. But...it’s not his place to intervene. He’s been hired to defend the lord’s lands. Nothing more.

The sun is high when he arrives, taking the path from the road toward the manor. Those in the paddies straighten to look to him curiously, murmuring to one another, the same word on everyone’s tongues:

Samurai.

Ignoring them, he makes his way to the gate, a runner announcing his presence. Adjusting himself only slightly, he prepares to meet with the clan head.

“Ah, you must be the Uchiha.” Hiashi speaks ahead of himself, hands in his sleeves as he approaches with a small gaggle of underlings. His gaze is hawkish, looking down his nose at the young man despite their rivaled levels of power. Soil-shade locks are greyed at his temples, lines carved into an otherwise-infallible face.

Hand still on his sword hilt, Sasuke ignores the slight and gives a shallow bow. “Hyūga Hiashi-sama.”

The man’s nostrils flare slightly as he sniffs. “...as stated in my letter, I have had issues with thugs ransacking my property. We can discuss the details inside.” An arm brandishes to gesture before tucking back to his sleeves, turning and not waiting for Sasuke’s reply.

Following through the entryway courtyard, Sasuke spares subtle glances at the landscapes. Gardens of both flora and stone are well-kept, attendants seemingly in every corner. All bow, only risking glances to their guest once Hiashi passes.

Tucked away in a corner, nearly so hidden he almost misses her...is one of Hiashi’s daughters. Dainty fingers pluck blooms from obliging plants, arranged into a vase held aloft by yet another lesser Hyūga. She glances up as the procession passes, and for a moment their eyes lock.

Her hair is a curtain of ink, highlighting amethyst in the sunlight and falling to a blade’s edge along the tip of her spine. A lavender-shade kimono is tied with a baby blue obi, silk shining in the light and highlighting doves and clouds soaring across the fabric. Pale skin is without mark, eyes like newly-bloomed lilac. Round-cheeked and doe-eyed, she looks much like one of the ladies of the emperor’s court his father has described after travels to the capital.

He’s never seen a woman so beautiful.

Sasuke, however, is thankfully a level-headed man. He’s entranced only a moment before turning to watch Hiashi’s back as they enter the manor. Something tells him ogling the man’s daughter wouldn’t make the best impression.

It would probably get him chased from the manor by a swarm of naginata-wielding Hyūga.

Within the manor, Hiashi takes him to a table, whereupon a map of his lands is unraveled. Once the party gathers around, he gestures to the paper, a few small figures stood across it to signify the damage. “...we have been been hit mostly from the east. Our crops dismantled, and a store of tools raided and burnt. A watchman was grievously injured when he attempted to confront them. We’ve lost several paddies already to the disruption. Should we lose many more, our profits will be in danger. Whoever has targeted us must be stopped.”

Sasuke studies the diagram carefully. “...what sort of defenses do you have?”

“We have patrols armed with kama. But admittedly...most of my men are not experienced in combat. They are mostly for show, and until now, we’ve not had much trouble.” Hiashi scowls. “...unrest further south has made the people unruly. At first I thought perhaps the poor were looking to steal...but nothing is missing, simply destroyed.”

“...do you have a map of the lands around yours?”

“I do. Why?”

“Are there other rice farms nearby?”

“...not for some miles.”

“Perhaps someone has hired a few bandits to ransack you. Drive you out of business to better theirs. The less rice there is to be sold, the higher the price...and less competition.”

The Hyūga’s brows furrow. “...it may be so. If you can, take a man alive. Attempt to wrest answers from him. But to me, what matters most is that the raids stop. Perhaps a show of force will deter anyone else.”

“Understood. The attacks surely come at night?”

“They do. Once every week or so, but mostly at random. We know not when they will strike...only that they will.”

“I’ll need to stake out the property. Wait for them to arrive.”

“You may rest in the branch quarters. I will have a room cleared for you.”

Remembering the apparent caste system of the clan, Sasuke replies, “...that won’t be necessary. I’ll rest on the engawa. I need to be able to watch and listen, anyway.” He doesn’t want to take what little they appear to have.

“...as you wish. Do you require anything else?”

“No...beyond lodging, food, and water...it’s best you carry on as if I weren’t here.”

Hiashi nods. “Very well. I will have our foreman give you a tour of the estate, as to orient yourself. A meal will be delivered this afternoon to the...engawa.”

Sasuke follows Hiashi’s suggestion, mapping out points of interest...and possible places any bandits may strike next. The afflicted fields - still early in the season - are in the process of being replanted.

“It is even more work for the branch family,” the foreman offers when asked, brow drawn. He looks very much like his uncle, Hiashi - the son of his younger twin, upon his introduction. “And should we fare poorly this season, times will be lean...and it is us who will suffer before the main house.”

“Hn...any other information you can offer?”

“The watchman who was attacked said he could see little of them - it was dark, and his torch dropped when he was struck from behind. His estimate put their numbers at six, maybe eight.” Neji gives him an inquiring glance. “...do you require any help?”

“No. Besides...you don’t need any more injured to care for.” Dark eyes glance to pale. “...you sound assured. Have you combat training?”

“I do. My father, alongside his brother, were both in the army. He died saving my uncle’s life. I took up the practice in his honor. At times, I am called upon to guard Hinata-sama and Hanabi-sama. I am most proficient with a bow.”

“Your cousins…?”

“Yes. Hinata, the elder, and Hanabi, the younger by five years.” As they walk, Neji asks, “What about you, Uchiha-san? Have you siblings?”

“One, an elder brother. I am close only to one of my cousins...for I have many. They too are samurai of high reputation.”

“And yet you were sent alone?”

“I am capable. And they have their own tasks. We are often called upon.”

“I see...the samurai are said to have much influence. The emperor, they claim, is more a figurehead to their power.”

“...you wouldn’t be wrong.” Finding himself feeling rather companionable with the man, Sasuke goes on. “It’s not rare for samurai men to marry women of the court...or even relations of the emperor himself. It’s a tangled web...but I care little for it. I simply prefer to peddle my skills and make myself useful. Politics is more my brother’s game.”

“I must wonder what it would be like. The branch Hyūga have no such options. We are serfs to the main house. I am lucky: among them, I am the highest ranked. But it is still nothing to my uncle or cousins.” He gives a wry smile. “...I am simply the most useful.”

“I would offer you pity, but something tells me you’ve little need of it.”

“You would be right.” As they reach the branch barracks, Neji gestures. “...are you sure you won’t lodge inside with us?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt. And won’t take anything further from you.” Despite decorum, Sasuke gives a polite decline of his head. “Thank you for your help. I think I know the lay of the land well enough, now. All that must be done now...is wait. Please, tell your watchmen to be careful - don’t attempt to fight them. Just make enough ruckus to draw my attention. From there...I’ll handle it.”

“It will be done.”

Settled along the south porch of the branch quarters, Sasuke sits with his back along the wall, eagle eyes watching over the downward slope toward the paddies. As the sun sets, another branch Hyūga brings him plain rice and miso, accompanied by matcha. Accepting with a nod, he eats in silence, still keeping watching eyes over the estate as the sky goes dark.

Along the perimeter, torches blink into being, slowly making rounds in the blanket of night. Flickering between each in an effort to see the first sign of trouble, Sasuke snicks his blade slightly as a sound emerges beside him, half-drawn and ready to strike.

Illuminated by a candle, Hinata stills with wide eyes.

“...what are you doing out here?”

Gaze trapped on his katana, it takes her a moment to look up. “...I brought you something. For luck.”

He nearly scoffs. Luck? “You'll get the both of us in trouble if you're spotted.”

From her sleeve she draws a talisman, holding it out for Sasuke to take and clearly ignoring his warning. Once he does, he draws back his hand to reveal an omamori.

“...it was my mother’s. I know my father is paying you, but…” Her head bows. “...I’m grateful for your help to protect our home. Were you to be hurt for our sakes…”

Considering the trinket for a moment, Sasuke tucks it into his sleeve. “...you don’t have to worry about me, Hinata-sama. But you should get back inside, it’s not -”

He hears the shift of gravel, and without a moment’s consideration, Sasuke springs forward. Arms encircle the heiress, rolling with her as an arrow buries with a thwack into the post she’d been knelt behind. With a draw of his blade he blocks another, pushing her behind him. “Go! Now!”

“But -?”

“NOW!”

“Hinata-sama!” Neji’s voice sounds behind them, insisting she retreat with him as Sasuke readies his stance. Where was the patrol? How did they slip through unnoticed?

A band of eight men encircle him, armed with crude but deadly weapons. “Ah, a samurai…? Seems Hiashi finally sacrificed some coin,” one rumbles.

“I’ll warn you once: stand down, or I’ll cut you down.”

“You might be a samurai...but you’re outnumbered!”

Knees bent and blade slightly lifted in its sheath, Sasuke lets a smirk grow across his lips. “...and you are outclassed…!”

Falling for the insult, two men rush forward...and fall in a spray of blood. With a quick draw of his katana, Sasuke makes clean cuts to their chests, dipping the tip through their backs as they fall to finish them.

“...next…?”

Clearly more cautious now, the remaining five spread out, shifting as they consider their means of attack. Dark eyes flicker between them, watching for openings.

But before any make a move, a bolt strikes one man through the eye, whipping his head back with a cry. The rest panic, Sasuke glancing furtively behind him.

Armed with a bow, Neji already draws another arrow. “I will cover you, samurai!”

Not needing to be told twice, Sasuke takes advantage of the chaos, cutting down another bandit and parrying a second. Four down, four remain. Two take to striking at the Uchiha, the other two making to chase the Hyūga, fumbling to block bolts. One crumbles as a shaft buries in his thigh, a second to the chest laying him flat. Too close to shoot the second, Neji shoulders his bow and draws a kama, twirling fighting style too fast and unpredictable to be countered. When the man’s hand is cleaved from his wrist, a strike to the throat is all it takes to finish him.

Sasuke, in the meantime, disarms one man armed with a club before beheading him in a fountain of crimson. The last, falling to his rear, makes to shimmy back. “Please, master samurai! Mercy!”

Sword at his gullet, Sasuke considers Hiashi’s request to take one alive. “...very well. I’ll grant it.”

The man slackens...before Neji delivers a kick to his head, knocking him out cold.

“...but they won’t.”

By then, Hiashi rushes from the manor yard. “Have you done it?”

“Yes, Hyūga-sama. All but one bandit lay dead. Your foreman has the other tied by the branch quarters.”

He nods stiffly. “...then we may find out who sent them. My thanks, Uchiha-san.”

“It’s not just me you owe your thanks. Neji handled half of them on his own. His skill with the bow is impressive...you chose your foreman well.”

Hiashi’s jaw tightens slightly. “...it appears I have.”

Behind him, the lord’s daughters emerge. Hanabi is shielded from the gore, but Hinata peers to the samurai. They exchange a glance, but no one seems to note her rumpled state.

Neji says nothing.

“...well, I will have this...mess taken care of. Perhaps we can speak of coin in the morning, after you rest?”

“As you wish. I will want to take my leave early. I’ve a long trek home, Hyūga-sama.”

“Of course, of course.” Dismissing them, the clan head retreats, his daughters in tow. Hinata manages one last glance, and Sasuke gives her just a hint of a nod and a smile.

“...do I want to know what Hinata-sama was doing out here?” Neji asks once they leave, murmuring as he closes the distance between them.

“She came to give me this.” Sasuke displays the charm. “...apparently it worked.”

“...I will not tell Hiashi-sama she was here. It will only enrage him. Had anyone else seen you two together, alone after dark?” The Hyūga shakes his head. “...imagine the rumors.”

“I didn’t even touch her,” Sasuke mutters. “...until I had to get her out of the way from those arrows. But I think Hiashi would rather her kimono get dusty than her chest impaled with a bolt.”

“My point is that she should not have been out at all,” Neji retorts. “It is...unbecoming of a lady of her stature.”

“Then tell her that, not me. I did nothing to warrant it!”

The pair stare at one another before the elder sighs. “...Hinata-sama is a shy, unobtrusive person. That she approached a stranger like yourself in such a way is...worryingly out of character for her.”

“I looked at her. Once. It was she who approached me. I did nothing to dishonor her.” Wiping his blade clean on a bandit’s shirt, he asks, “Now, are we going to clear away the bodies, or not? They’re going to draw flies come morning.”

“...very well.”

Sasuke sleeps little once the task is done, washing blood from his skin in the river and replacing his stained garments. Hiashi summons him, giving him the arranged coin.

“Should I ever have need of another samurai...I know which clan to call.”

“We appreciate your patronage, Hyūga-sama.”

With the coin in his sleeve, Sasuke takes his leave, escorted by the foreman to the front gate. “...here.”

Pausing, Neji accepts the omamori. “...I do not think she will want it back.”

“It’s hers, not mine.”

“Is this how you react to every gift? Besides...last night should have been omen enough: you need it.” He holds the trinket back out.

“...fine. I’ll hold onto it for now. But she’ll get it back eventually.”

“You make it sound like a threat.”

“...something like that.” Giving Neji a nod and a smirk, Sasuke leaves the gate behind, heading back toward the pass.

Well...now he has an excuse to see her again.

     Word count: 2929      Cumulative: 33,704      WELP, this ended up like...more than twice as long as usual, but I couldn’t help myself xD I read over the wikipedia page about samurai to try and get a better idea about them...no idea if I wrote this very accurately, but I tried. I also don’t have a verse for this, so...this is my closest stand in, lol      I’m still technically behind and need to do today’s, but ngl...this one wiped me out, and I still have a lot I owe on another blog. So we’ll see if I catch up or not, but I wouldn’t hold my breath, lol      Either way, hope y’all enjoyed! See ya in the next one~