#roman hold my hand ill take you out of there !!!!!

[nandysparadox]

sorry i saw someone talking roman angst and remembered im obsessed with this guy

[cryobabiess]

girldad!geta pleeease!

Filia Divina

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Wife!reader

Tags: childbirth, pregnancy, miscarriage mentioned, implied infanticide, soft!geta (if you squint), historically accurate practices, NOT BETA READ SO IF YOU SEE SOMETHING WONKY NO YOU DIDN’T, good ole fashioned misogyny

AN: Tollere Liberos is in reference to an ancient Roman tradition where a father decides whether or not to accept a newborn as their child. Rejected children were abandoned via ‘expositus’ (aka dead ass just leaving a baby out in the wilderness). So basically girldad!geta but historically accurate lol. Enjoy!

It had only been an hour since you birthed her—a sweet little creature with curls the color of honey and supple skin like the flesh of a ripe plum. With a mighty wail fit to be heard across an empire, she came into the world. Your goddess, Juno, generously granted her the health and strength you prayed for. You rejoiced, though your joy was not shared.

The midwives cleaned your daughter in grave silence, save for the whispers of the politic-men gathered to witness the birth of Rome’s divine son. They huddled together in the far corner of the chamber as your girl laid against her mother’s chest for the first time.

“It cannot be true—look again!” Geta frantically commands the weary doctor. He paces across the marble floor in a state of distress. A litany of expressions troubles his face; disbelief, panic, betrayal.

“My lord, it is not what was desired, but I assure you—the child is female. You have my greatest sorrows.” The doctor mournfully bows his head, knowing better than to look the short tempered prince in the eye.

Geta was persistent, diligently sewing his seed in your womb since your holy union. You passed two of his children as blood, and he held you as you suffered through the pain. He watched your body grow when his efforts succeeded, massaged your taut skin with olive oil, and fed you bread soaked in sweet wine when you felt ill. He even kneeled at Jupiter’s alter to call for the safe delivery of his first son and the health of his wife—All these precautions only to be cruelly slighted.

“The gods have punished me, yet I’ve done nothing but bend to their will.” Geta holds his head in disbelief, his devastation made evident by a deep scowl.

Senator Gracchus tentatively approaches your distraught husband, resting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“My lord, we must atone for our offenses, whatever they may be. It is a grave misfortune indeed, but your bride—“

Rage ignites across Geta’s face as he pulls away from his constituent’s touch.

“Speak tactfully of your empress if you wish to keep your tongue, Senator.” He seethes through a tight jaw. Gracchus relents, his tone softening considerably. He continues slowly and with caution.

“Two winters have passed since your union, and she has yet to bring forth an heir of Rome. Her body has proved inhospitable. The gods have sent a message, and it would be foolish to turn a cheek—you must heed this omen! ”

Geta takes a moment, carefully considering the senator’s plea for reason. He looks back to you, Obsidian eyes gazing down at the linen sheet that obscures your sleeping child.

“I am a conduit of their will. Tollere Liberos will prevail and the gods will decide through me.” Geta turns to you fully. Your heart becomes heavy in your chest as you search your husband’s face for tenderness, but see nothing but solid stone.

In your dreams, you imagined the day Geta approached his first heir as sweet—that he might kiss your reddened cheeks and proudly claim his child. Never did you think the sight of him would cause you to tighten your grip and cower away. He looms over the bed where you lay exhausted and perspiring—like a holy monument.

“Show me the child.”

“My love, I beg you—“

“Your emperor commands it.” Geta callously interrupts.

You unwrap your daughter in your arms, trembling hands moving as gingerly as possible. She shifts in her sleep, curling her precious limbs toward her delicate body, but does not wake. Geta’s eyes widen at the sight of her.

“So it is true. My faithful wife’s womb has betrayed me.” His gaze softens. Something stirs behind it, but you are not sure what.

“If you wish to return her life, then be merciful and do the same with mine.” Your heart twists and aches, your love for your emperor becoming a knife in your rib.

To your shock, Geta reaches out to his daughter, takes her tiny fist in his palm, and runs a thumb over her blushing knuckles. She wraps her hand around her father’s finger with a mighty yawn.

You have seldom seen your restless husband become so still.

“She bears your resemblance.” Geta’s voice is but a whisper. His gaze doesn’t stray from her. It appears his heart aches the same as yours.

“And a head of golden hair.” You can only offer an exhausted smile.

Geta takes his daughter into his arms for the first time.

“The gods have spoken!” He declares to the small gathering of senators. Your emperor raises his girl above the laurels atop his head. Some look on with horror, and others with pride.

“She will have my name! It is done.”

As your daughter’s first weeks pass, Geta’s tenderness only grows. In the lavender hours of dawn, you wake to find him cradling her in the crook of his arm. He speaks to her softly.

“Poor girl, you have wounded your father’s pride. My, what tragedy.”

You smile at the sound of her gentle crooning as your husband assuages her back to sleep.

“A son would belong to Rome—but you, dear Septima, will belong to me.”

[kabuki-writes]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia

chapter: 6 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: The wedding ceremony with Emperor Geta gives you a first glimpse of what you are going to face, once the title 'Empress' crowns you. Meanwhile Caracalla has to deal with the thoughts about his twin owning you now.

warning(s): heavy nsfw & sexual violence | angst | alcohol consumption | drug consumption | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: I am wishing you all a 'Merry Christmas'! Sorry that this chapter took so long, i wanted to finish it faster, but i was ill for quite some time and had no head for writing. No worries though, i am feeling better now! A small reminder: Due to the holidays, the next chapter might take a bit of time.

word count: 3.6k

Gods expected rituals and nothing in Rome was more important, more holy and more strict to certain rules than a wedding - especially the wedding of an Emperor. A whole series of necessaries had to be prepared in advance to this special celebration before the bride and the groom were able to stand in front of the altar. From the preparation of the dowry to the sacrifices made to the gods. It all began with the most formal part: engagement ceremony, where the exchange of promises between the groom and the bride's father hold more significance than the words of the soon-to-be-wed woman. In Roman society, being born a female was still strongly bound to ownership. First the ownership of the father and then the ownership of the husband. And even though rich Roman women had more freedom than others, it was still a life in societal chains.

Now that you sat on the floor to your mother‘s feet, you instantly thought about the eyes of that lamb your family had brought to the temple of Juno as a sacrifice. The innocence in its eyes slaughtered by the dagger of the priest. One Life for another Life - yours. Did Juno have her blessing? How could you know right now.

„Mother…?“, you spoke out as you noticed the shaking hands and the tears in your mother‘s eyes.

She was pale as marble, trying her best to keep her face, but you were well aware of how much it destroyed her and your father to let you go - especially when the arms of your soon-to-be-husband were Emperor Geta. As a daughter, you tried your best to comfort your mother, as much as it hurt you too. Your hands took hers, gently squeezing them, while your eyes found hers. "I shouldn't cry, i know...", she whispered and placed her hand on your cheek through the thin fabric of the flame-coloured veil that covered your face. Your body was clothed in a beautiful white tunica dress, embroidered with golden depictions of different flowers. You were shackled by the amount of jewelry - engagement presents of Emperor Geta for his bride -, expensive golden necklaces and bracelets that should depict the status you will have standing by his side. Although you were no Empress yet, you wore a bridal crown on top of your carefully braided hair. One of woven fragrant herbs and flowers, Rosemary, verbena, marjoram, roses, violets, and lilies, to represent fertility.

"My beautiful daughter, even Venus would envy you now. But i had wished that... that you would not have to marry a man like-"

"Don't", you stopped her, knowing fully well, which name she was about to say and you shook her head. It was meaningless to express any form of sorrow or hatred, even if this wedding was a forced one - a trade for your own life and that of your parents. Terrible or not, it would bring honor to your family and in the end, it would make you Empress. A gift as well as a heavy burden, especially given the man that will be your husband - your Emperor. Geta.

A marriage ceremony always followed specific rules, that were meant to please the gods. A scacrifice in the temples of Juno and Jupiter was mandatory, but soon you'll face another significant part of your wedding. As Romans believed the only bride of value was a virgin who had to be stolen from her family, they simulated the bride being abducted from her family as part of the ceremony. You were able to hear the chants and chattering of the big entourage of guests arriving to you parent's home outside - accompanied by a large amount of Praetorian Guards and the Emperor himself. Usually the large wedding feast and celebration would take place at the bride's family home, but given the significance of an Emperor's wedding and the amount of guests, it was agreed that it would take place in the palace after the procession.

Even if you tried to face it with a stoic mask, your heart pumped against your chest - a mixture of excitement and fear. Your eyes closed for a moment, as you heard the footsteps and voices of the Praetorian soldiers and amongst them Geta's, who was the first to enter the room. You were still facing your mother, holding her hands tight, while tears ran down her face. "I am here to claim my bride", the Emperor called out with a triumphant smile on his face, dressed in a golden, heavy decorated armor and a white groom's toga - a depiction like a god. Unusual for a wedding ceremony, but it was a symbol. A symbol of the power and wealth of the twin's reign, a symbol of his triumph over General Acacius, who had no choice anymore than to give him his most precious belonging - his daughter.

Seeing you there on your knees was a sight we might never forget. Even if your back faced him, he could see your curves under the garment you wore and he immediately thought about the wedding night, which was the highlight in his mind for today. But right now he had to calm himself, as he stepped forward and suddenly took you at the waist to pull you from your crying mother's embrace. "Mother!", you screamed as the groom forced you to go with him, tears dripping down your cheeks under the flame-red veil. The tradition dictated that the bride would cry out in pain to fool the gods of the home that she was taken away, 'stolen' before you would have to walk the procession without the protection of any god until you stepped into the home of the groom.

All of Rome had gathered in the streets to witness the procession of the Emperor's wedding. You stood at his side on a richly decorated chariot carried by two pale-white horses. The big amount of wedding guests accompanied your path by singing the Hymenaeus and carrying a whitehorn torch, a spina alba, to honor the goddess Ceres. Normally you would simply walk to the palace, as it was the core of such a parade, but nothing was normal about an Emperor's wedding and especially not Geta's. He wanted to show-off, he wanted eveyone to know how powerful he was and that he was now marrying the daughter of one of Rome's most successful beloved generals. It was all calculated and everything followed a plan, he viewed as perfect. This union was not only a definite way to get you, it formed an even closer bond between his and his brother's reign and your father's role as a military general. Would he ever betray them again, it will also be a betrayal against you. And another calculated side-effect was the use of Acacius' popularity through a marriage with his daughter.

The masses cheered for you and for the Emperor, they wished you "feliciter" - "good luck" for your marriage, some of them even shouted your name. It felt surreal and you were glad that the veil covered your face, while you bit your tongue. The palace, your new home, on the palatin hill looked even more oppressive than the last time you'd faced it. Your heart was heavy and you could practically feel the stare Geta gave you, but also the one of Caracalla, who followed you two alongside your father and mother as part of the wedding procession. There was something lingering in his eyes, something you didn't notice as you were focused on what lied ahead. Geta leaned towards your ear and whispered.

"Isn't it exciting, my dear...? You will soon be the wife of an Emperor, my wife." He accenturated his last words, almost as if he had to point out that your life center will soon be him and him alone.

"How could i forget. Just as i may never forget the true reason, why i am here. A threat is still a threat", you answered in a low tone, provocative.

But the groom simply chuckled and turned his face towards the cheering masses again, waving to the common folk. He didn't really care about them in any way, but he knew well about the power of such events in the eyes of the plebs. And to accompany this wedding, he'd already ordered games in the collosseum and many festivities around Rome in honor of his special day.

"Let me tell you that i rather enjoy those little outbursts of hatred. I will ask you again, once you enjoy all the privileges an Empress has. I can be a generous man, as long as you're not testing my patience. For now, i simply expect you to smile and show those peasants the beauty of their beloved general's daughter. Let them see that the sun is shining upon them in the presence of Venus."

Words like honey and yet they tasted bitter to you, while his hand was locked on your back, not only to stabilize you on the chariot, but also holding you tightly against his own body. You belonged to him now and he wanted everyone to see that.

_______________________________

“Ubi tu Gaia, Ego Gaius.”

“Ubi tu Gaius, Ego Gaia.”

The words still rang in your head, again and again, even as the music and the chattering of the feast surrounded you. And you still felt the kiss of Geta's lips on yours, even if it was only the beginning. You were considered married now.

Fire and Water. The symbol of life. The moment you stood at the main door of the palace, a matron of honor hold a candle and a bowl of water, as both you and Geta traced your hands over it. He was able to lift your veil at that point, kiss you and carry you over the doorstep - it was that simple in the end. And it had sealed your life forever.

It was necessary and yet the kiss was longer than it should've been as it was the first symbolic union of groom and bride in front of the wedding guests, who cheered and honored them with chanter and congratulations. And even though it was just a kiss on the lips, nothing more, you could practically sense the hunger of Geta, the hunger for more. Of course it had to wait until he got you in his bed the first time, but this would soon become a reality and you didn't know if you were ready for it.

The music and the voices of the people were still a numb background sound as your eyes glanced over the room, while you were sitting right next to your now husband on a lectus, receiving one personal congratulation after another. The palace was richly decorated, even more than the last time you were here for the victory celebrations of your father. Hordes of servants ran around to assure that all the guests had enough of the expensive wine and expansive food, luxuriously presented on a long table with tons of fruits, vegetables, fish as well as expensive, rare meat such as ostrich, peacock and wild deer.

Roman generals, politicians, rich merchants, every patrician from Rome’s upper class had gathered here to celebrate the union between Emperor Geta and his new wife. The wedding gifts ranging from gold, jewelry and silk to exotic animals were piling up in another room, as servants had to walk in and out, every time another guest paid his respect. You gave them your smile and your words of thanks and yet none of it really reached your eyes, as you were still trying to cope with the fact that they now adressed you as 'Empress'. Your eyes went to your parents, which were part of the guests, who participated in the feast and celebrations. But you could clearly see the pain in your father's eyes and the pale face of your mother, who could barely eat something even though she tried to hide her sorrows behind her rehearsed mask of charm and politeness. Their eyes find yours in certain moments and it hurt you the most to see them like this as you knew very well, that your father gave himself the blame for your current situation. But you had already moved on, as it made no sense to cry about the past in any way.

But you were pulled from your thoughts, when it was Emperor Caracalla, who stepped forward to pay his respect to the new wed couple. The twin of Geta with the golden laurel wreath crown on his head was dressed in an ornate that depicted his wealth, expensive embroidered silk in dark blue and purple colors, a stark contrast to his gingerblonde, wild hair. Even though he smiled, you could see that it was a forced one, a bitter smile, hiding his true thoughts. "Brother, i congratulate you and your beautiful wife on your wedding. May the gods bless this union," he spoke out, while Geta already stood up and you followed him.

"Your words mean the most to me, Caracalla. Thank you," his twin answered with a happy smile as he took him into his arms and hugged him tight.

Even though Geta came off as a crual human being sometimes, it was undeniable that he hold nothing but a strong brotherly love for his twin, despite them sharing the power. After Geta, Carcalla turned to you and placed his hands on your cheeks.

"I welcome you to the family," he whispered, before he placed one kiss on each side of your cheek.

It was not an uncommon gesture to do so, especially not as a way to welcome someone in a new household - but Geta's eyes were locked on you two as his brother did so. And you were very aware that something was off in this very moment, as you could feel the slightly trembling fingers of Caracalla on your skin, as if he had to hold himself back. He quickly stepped back, staring into your eyes, while a servant rushed to him, giving the Emperor a small wooden box, carved with all sorts of flowers.

"I thought, ... since you'e now the new Empress of Rome, the only present worth your grace would be a crown that truly underlines your beauty," Caracalla explained and opened the box.

In it was a golden half-round Roman-styled tiara with ornamental decorations, well-crafted with every little detail that catched your eyes. It was stunning, even given all the expensive jewelry with which Geta had hung you, it was still breathtaking. A soft smile appeared on your lips, before you spoke your words.

"This is a wonderful and very generous gift, my Emperor. I thank you dearly". Caracalla's lips shuddered, before he forced an almost innocent smile on them too.

"This tiara is made after my personal request. The artist was assigned to model it after the crown that Empress Poppea wore once. The wife of Emperor Nero. I thought you might like the... historical connotation to it".

Your face grew pale, while you tried your best to keep your smile in place. Geta didn't seemed to realize what his brother meant with that - but you did. You instantly remembered the conversation you had with him at the amphitheater, you remembered the way he looked at you, the desire in his eyes, that was still present in this very moment. And even though his brother did not understand the true meaning behind Caracalla's gift, he did sense the tension that lingered in the air.

"Thank you, brother", he instantly cut the air with his voice, his hands softly taking the tiara out of the box before you could do anything.

Geta positioned himself between you and Caracalla, a very clear symbol that even if he tolerated his brother in your presence and might even be willing to allow him much more freedom than a husband would, it was still Geta, who called you his wife now. You were his. So it was him, who placed the tiara onto your head, where it perfectly fit with the half-bridal hairstyle you wore. His eyes lingered on your face for a moment, before his fingers touched your skin as he pushed one of your straints of hair back in place before leaning down to your ear.

"Just a little more time and then I'll have you all to myself", he whispered, before he turned to his seat again.

There was only one step for this marriage to be fully recognized in the eyes of the gods and it was the wedding night - Geta's prize, which he longed for and Caracalla's hell. The reminder he will not be the first to have you, but his twin.

_______________________________

"Say it! SAY THAT YOU LOVE ME!", he hissed over and over again, pounding harder with each word.

His fingers pressed against the neck of a concubine, while his golden rings tightly pinched into the soft flesh. She wore quite a similar attire than you did today, her hair styled like yours, her face at least reminding Caracalla of you. But that concubine was nothing like you, a dull replacement, a vessel the Emperor needed to get the heat and anger off his mind as he fucked her senseless under the eyes of his entourage of male and female slaves. No one said a word, fear was written in their eyes, because they knew it was one of their owners 'outbursts'. They could see how the young woman tried desperately to get a catch of air, while Caracalla strangled her in his psychotic state, tears running down his cheeks as he did so. Instead of his brother it should've been him to marry you, to fuck you, to love you like you deserved. A goddess amongst the common humans, a Venus. He was Nero and you were his Poppea. At least here in his own chambers, he could play out this fantasy, while the wedding celebration still went on and you were probably on your way to the chambers of his damned twin brother Geta. It needed a lot of sex and a cocktail of ancient drugs to numb his thoughts over this injustice.

"I love you-..., my Emperor", the young woman under him moaned with all the strength that she could find in a situation like that, the fear of losing her life all written on her face.

But those words were the ones Caracalla needed to hear. With a couple of heavy thrusts, he came inside of her, spilling his semen into that concubine like he would've done with you - if he just had the chance. His eyes were still shimmering wet with his tears, while he pulled back, catching his breath for himself in this moment. The young woman layed on the mattress in front of him, still alive, but in a state of bliss and shock, her eyes wet in tears as well. She wasn't able to say something, and even if so, she were not allowed to do anyways. Caracalla's ice-blue eyes stared cold at her naked body, freezing in the moment as he tried to still pretend to himself that it was you laying in front of him. But it wasn't you and it hit his mind now. This woman was just another whore he tried so desperately to numb his thoughts with. Yet the voices in his head grew louder and louder. "Get her out of my sight!", the Emperor ordered.

"I don't want to see this girl ever again. She is nothing compared to her - throw her away, i cannot stand this waste any longer!", he screamed with a hoarse voice, still sobbing.

"Where is Dondus!?"

No one dared to speak up in a situation like that, no one even dared to look at Caracalla. Everything that might anger the young Emperor could end in an immediate death right now. Even the slave that always carried his pet monkey around, simply rushed to the Emperor and handed him over Dondus in silence, before retreating as fast as possible.

"Oh Dondus, all of this is so unfair. Every time i desire something, he has to take it from me. Nothing truly belongs to me and me alone... it is alwas us", he mumbled with a shake in his voice, while he carefully took his monkey and placed him on a pillow as if it was his child.

Caracalla never treated anyone as careful and caring as he treated his pet monkey. In fact, he could be quite cruel, depending on his mood that changed rapidly between weird happiness and irrational anger. This little animal had more importance to him than any human life - well, except for yours of course. And everyone here knew this. The Emperor would never hurt Dondus, but it only took one outburst of hate for a slave or even a patrician to lose their head in an instant.

"I want her, my Poppea ... i cannot stand the thought of not having her...i cannot. I love you her you understand this, Dondus, don't you? No one understands me the way you do. She is an incarnation of Venus."

But Dondus just looked at him with his dark button eyes - how could a monkey understand love? And how could he understand, how much it pain it left in Caracalla.

____________________________

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[snazzynacho]

— Sick Side

Part 1/? Part 2

Emperor Geta x female original character (x Caracalla (one-sided)

Summary: Florentia is betrothed to Geta, but Caracalla is dangerously obsessed with her.

Warnings/tags: 18+ Mentions of STD, mental illness, disease, Forced proximity, forced kissing, referenced/implied past sexual abuse, violent urges, obsessive thoughts, delusions of a disordered mind. No non-con s3x, but it's close. She/her pronouns used. Slight canon divergence. OC is a bit naive and way too nice. Tags may change.

Words: 5k Read on ao3. Masterlist.

A/N: Let’s explore Caracalla’s sick side together (he’s still my babygirl). I initially planned for this to take place in a sort of au/pre-gladiator ii, but then it started making sense to take place during gladiator ii, when Macrinus is being manipulative…so yeah. I've only been able to see the film once so sorry if I get some things wrong. I don't have an editor so sorry if there are typos etc.

Please check the tags before reading.

It is often that Florentia finds herself immersed in the magnificence of the imperial gardens.

She feels it is an honour to walk among the beauty of the statues of the Roman gods and goddesses, and the flowers blooming for all to see. She remembers the Imperial Gardens being talked about with her, before she became wedded to Geta. Everyone has said how wonderful it is, and she can understand why now.

Usually, when she is invited to the palace, Geta’s brother happens to be in the gardens and they walk together when Geta is busy. She likes his company, no more than Geta’s, but he seems sweet. Troubled, but sweet.

Today, they are doing just that.

The air is thick with blooming flowers such as roses and lilies. Caracalla follows a few steps behind her, rambling about nothing in particular, his words spilling out in his usual, disjointed manner.

Caracalla suddenly beams at her, expecting agreement. Having not listened, Florentia does not respond immediately. She does not dislike him, per-sey, but he is so oblivious and his childlike enthusiasm worries her. How is he, Emperor? She knows that his father pleaded with Geta to be Co-Emperors with him, but being in person with the ill emperor is—and she hates to admit it—quite jarring. Her platonic love for him does not diminish, though. Caracalla is going to become her brother-in-law and she will become another one of his carers, as Geta is to him already. Maybe she’s the missing link between them.

“I suppose,” she says, her tone cool, as if she knows what he is talking about.

He nods eagerly, clearly pleased. He believes her lie. “I knew you’d get it. You’re not like the others. You actually understand me.”

Florentia shifts her attention to a butterfly that has fluttered past, its wings reflecting in the sunlight. It lands on a nearby rose, and she absently follows its flight.

“It’s pretty,” she murmurs, more to herself than to him.

“It’s not as pretty as you.” He is serious, his bright blue eyes train on her with an intensity that is both surprising and unsettling.

Florentia blinks, unsure whether to laugh or change the subject in its entirety.

“Yes,” he continues, his gaze softening. “You are like…the sunniest daffodil, the brightest narcissi—though unvain…The smartest rose in the garden. Beautiful, but also clever…A sharp edge to the most elegant sword.”

Florentia is stunned. He is rambling, yet there is an earnestness in his voice, a sweetness beneath. She opens her mouth to respond, but finds herself at a loss.

Caracalla flushes slightly, misinterpreting her silence as disappointment. He feels somewhat dejected. “I…I mean- not that you are weak without a sword, or too harsh like one-”

For the first time, Florentia truly realises that, despite his maddening disease, he is trying. Underneath, there is a sincere man.

Florentia holds his hand carefully. She can feel him trembling. “What you said was beautiful, Caracalla. Don’t go back on your word,”

Caracalla’s eyes widen, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. He has not expected her to respond this way. “You…you think so?” he asks, almost shyly.

“Yes,” she says. “It was…quite sweet.”

His face brightes, a smile grows on his lips. “I knew you’d get it,” he echoed, sounding like a child who had just received praise from a teacher he admired.

Florentia squeezes his hand gently, before letting go carefully. She studies him for a moment, noting the eager light in his eyes, the almost nervous way he was fiddling with the fabric of his toga. Her heart softens. She is so happy to have such a generous brother-in-law already—a new friend.

An orange blur flutters past the corner of her eye. “oh, I think it flew away,” she says sadly.

Caracalla turns to follow her gaze, his expression turning almost boyish. “I’ll catch it!”

He dashes forward, his footsteps heavy on the cobblestones, trying to keep up with the elusive butterfly which seems to take pleasure in taunting him, fluttering away just as he reaches for it, only to settle on a flower just out of his grasp.

“Caracalla!” she giggles as she tries to catch up with him, holding her stola to aid in running.

“I got it! I got it!” he exclaims, lunging forward, arms outstretched. Just as he thinks he has the butterfly cornered, it darts away again, leaving Caracalla grasping at thin air.

Florentia reaches him, catching up with his pursuit. She tries to hold back her laughter, but a chuckle escapes her lips. “You’re scaring it!” she speaks a hint of glee in her voice. “If it wants to fly away, let it. That’s what it does” she calmly says.

Caracalla stands there, slightly out of breath, a dejected expression on his face. “But I wanted to hold it,” he mumbles, his lower lip almost quivering. Florentia cannot help but find him strangely endearing in that moment. He is an emperor, a powerful man, yet he is pouting like a child over a butterfly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she places a tender hand on his shoulder, gently caressing. “I am sure you will soon,”

His breath hitches at her touch, his eyes widening at the unexpected affection. He leans his weight into her hand, soaking up her comfort like a flower in the sun.

“You think so?” he asks, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. For once, he sounds almost insecure and vulnerable.

“Yes, I believe so,”

He smiles, a small, genuine smile, his earlier disappointment forgotten. For a while, he simply stays there, savouring the touch of her hand on his face. It is such a stark contrast to the usual spoilt swagger and boldness he usually displays, it catches Florentia off guard.

“It can sense a great friend, as I have with you!” she beams.

A tinge of uncertainty occurs at the pit of his stomach, but he smiles nonetheless.

“Look! There it is again!” she spots the butterfly up ahead again. “Wait here, it’ll slowly come back” she interlocks her arm with his gently, so he doesn't run after the butterfly and scare it away.

He obeys, keeping absolutely still, almost holding his breath, as the butterfly returns. Florentia's strategy seems to be working. The tiny insect flutters closer, seemingly unbothered by their presence now, drawn in by her gentle coaxing.

Caracalla gapes, wonder in his eyes, as the butterfly lands delicately on a nearby flower.

It then flies back up in front of their faces and then lands somewhere they do not expect…her nose.

The butterfly perches calmly on the tip of her nose, its wings gently flutter. The moment is almost magical, the world around them fades away as they focus on the tiny creature on Florentia’s nose.

Caracalla’s eyes widen in surprise. Pure glee on his expression. A small gasp escapes his lips. He tenses to move, to try and grab the butterfly, but one look from Florentia holds him in place.

“Don’t move!” she whispers tersely.

She cannot stop grinning as she looks cross eyed, staring down at the butterfly. Caracalla chuckles softly, his eyes are glued to the scene before him. He’s seen Florentia smile and laugh plenty of times—at parties the emperor’s have thrown and dinners they've presented, which is where Geta and her first met—but this is different. There is something nearly childlike in her wide, joyous smile, in the way her eyes sparkle with wonder—like he.

He can't resist marvelling at the sight before him: a beautiful woman, standing in a sunlight garden, a butterfly perched delicately on her nose, making her look for all the world like a nymph straight out of mythology. A true goddess.

He is simply a man, sharing a serene moment with a captivating woman.

“You look positively adorable,” he murmurs, barely able to keep a laugh at bay.

Florentia gulps but blushes deeply, as the implications of his words sink in. The butterfly stays on her nose.

He cannot stop himself from stepping closer, unable to tear his eyes away from her smiling face. She looks so happy, so unguarded in that moment, and all he wants is to be closer to her.

“You are… lovely,” his voice low, reverent. Without thinking, he reaches out, his fingers hovering just above her cheek, as if afraid to touch the fragile moment and shatter it.

The butterfly, seemingly unbothered by Caracalla’s movement, remains perched on Florentia’s nose, oblivious to the tension between them. It continues to flutter softly, its wings a flurry of orange, black and white colours.

Caracalla’s hand hovers a moment longer, the desire to touch her is practically overwhelming, but he hesitates. The reality of their situation crashes back into his mind. She is promised to his brother. There are rules, traditions, duties…

Still, he aches to touch her, to feel the softness of her skin under his fingers.

“Florentia,” he whispers, his voice almost hoarse. “I… I…” He does not know what to say. He wants to confess his feelings, and his growing liking for her. But the words seem to catch in his throat, trapped in the knowledge that he should not feel this way, not towards Geta’s betrothed.

The butterfly suddenly flies away, snapping them out of this trance. Caracalla’s outstretched hand drops to his side, the moment lost. Florentia steps back, clearing her throat.

He blinks, suddenly self-conscious, his heart still pounds in his chest. He wants to say something, to bring the magic back, but what can he say? He almost confessed, almost crossed a line he knew he shouldn’t.

Instead, he clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure. “Ah… that was… quite the experience.”

“I’m sorry Caracalla, I do apologise, but I must go.” she abruptly declares.

“What?” Caracalla’s brows furrow as his eyes widen, a pang of panic hitting him in the stomach. “Go? Where? Why?”

He has not expected her to leave so unexpectedly. Just moments ago, she looked so carefree, so happy, and now she was rushing off, her face tight with tension.

“Florentia, wait,” he calls out, reaching for her, a desperate edge to his voice. He cannot let her go, not now, not when he’s just had the smallest taste of the closeness he’s been yearning for.

“It’s uh— a lady thing!” Florentia blurts as she practically sprints away. It is a lie to her but she does not have time to care.

“A… a Lady thing?” Caracalla stands there, dumbfounded, as he watches her hasty retreat. She is obviously flustered, her cheeks rosy and her steps quick. But a ‘Lady thing’? Caracalla did not know much about the female mind, or their struggles, but he did know a thing or two of something they go through every month…

He frowns at the thought of her being in discomfort. He stands there for what feels like ages, hesitating. He listens to the conflicting voices fight in his head. The more primal voice, the one that cannot forget the way her skin had felt under his fingers, the one that craves her touch again, urges him to follow her, to demand answers. But the other part, the rational voice of imperial duty which understands propriety and etiquette, wills him to remain where he is and tells him to let her go, to forget about her and move on.

He is Emperor. He has a reputation to maintain, an image of absolute power and control. Chasing after a woman, especially his Co-Emperor’s—his brother’s—betrothed, is beneath him. Is it not?

Yet, he cannot unsee her soft and joyful face under the butterfly’s touch, like a painting he can admire but cannot touch, for fear of his hands being scolded.

Finally, with a growl of frustration, he spun on his heel and stalks back towards the palace. He will not follow her, not right now. But he will find her, and he will get answers.

As he walks, his head is a tangled mess of unresolved questions, of unfulfilled desires. He cannot shake the persistent image of her face from his mind, the ghost of his fingers on her skin. He wants to deny his feelings, to bury them under the weight of imperial duties, of concubines. But they remain, stubbornly lodged in his heart. Whether he likes it or not, he has found something he has not experienced: a connection, a longing, for a woman he should not even be thinking about.

Caracalla knows this is dangerous territory—a minefield of political intrigue and familial duty. But he has never been one to heed his own instincts, especially when it comes to women and others he desires. He is an Emperor, and he usually gets what he wants. So why not pursue this forbidden desire?

His ill mind is rapidly regurgitating this greedy sequence of craving, need and want. One minute, he is telling himself he needs to stop thinking about her, and the next, he is already inside the palace, his mind still wrestling with these questions.

Every solution he comes up with raises more obstacles. His duty as an emperor, the politics of the empire, the delicate balance of the imperial family… All of it stands in his way, like unconquerable walls. He scowls, his frustration making his steps heavy as he paces the corridors.

And then, a thought occurs to him. A wild, treacherous thought…

What if he removes Geta from the equation?

The idea is almost shocking in its boldness, its audacity. But the more he thinks about it, the more it begins to carve a twisted sort of sense. Geta, his albeit more stronger brother, the one always better than him... He is a hindrance, a thorn in Caracalla’s side. What if he can eliminate the obstacle, and have Florentia all to himself?

He knows such a thought can be seen as treasonous. but then again, who would dare to accuse the emperor? Geta’s vulnerable, sick, brother? Poor poor Caracalla, to be left with such a weight to bore on his back alone...

The idea continues to take root in his mind, its ugliness blossoming into a twisted plan. Kill Geta, claim Florentia, and secure his line of succession. It is rash, it is dangerous, but it is also thrilling.

Rome’s people are already starting to hate Geta. To turn on them. Macrinus says so himself. So what can be worse?

Caracalla allows himself a small sinister smile, his mind already spinning, devising the first steps of the plan. He makes his way deeper into the imperial residence, nodding curtly at the passing guards and slaves. He will need to keep his growing preoccupation hidden, for now. No one can know his intentions, especially his brother. Geta would certainly know something was askew…he has always been annoyingly perceptive.

He eventually reaches his chambers, closing the door behind him. The room was glorious and luxurious, fit for any majesty. Massive, lavish, and impersonal.

He stalks over to a table, his shaky hand immediately reaches for a bottle of alcohol. He pours himself a goblet of red wine, the quality stuff which is normally reserved for high officials and special occasions, but he thinks this is special enough, right? He needs something stronger for today. The liquid is rich and dark. It doesn't quench his thirst for a particular woman, though.

Drinking deeply from the goblet, savouring the bitter taste, he doesn’t realise he has drunk it all until he’s left slurping air. It was certainly a good drink. He feels the wine spreading through his body, warm and invigorating—a dangerous addition to his already unstable state.

He refills his goblet again and slumps onto a plump chair, swishing the dark red liquid around in the golden goblet, watching the swirls and bubbles forming. He leans back in the chair, his mind is still reeling with his decision. He wants Florentia. He wants her with an intensity so strong, that even he is surprised. And if getting her means doing something as reprehensible as killing his own brother, his own flesh and blood, the one he shared a womb with, then so be it.

He will finally have something of his own, and solely his own. He will have Florentia. One way or another, she will be his.

Caracalla entitles himself to bask in thought. He imagines Florentia by his side, in his bed, under his control. No more coy glances, no more stolen moments. Just her, completely his.

He chuckles darkly, how twisted his mind has become.

He pushes himself up from the chair, pacing across the room. He halts when he walks past his large ornate mirror. He turns to face it, studying his reflection. He looks every bit the Emperor: regal, strong, powerful. More, there is something in his bright blue eyes—a madness that has been festering for a long time. It is a look of a man who has incurably lost all tether to the world, cast to inhumane territories, whether he wants or not.

The enormity of what he is planning to do sinks in. It is not just an act of lust or obsession, it is a betrayal of the highest caliber. Killing his own brother, his blood, just to have his wife.

Yet even as he struggles with the magnitude of what he is about to do, his heart still thuds harder in his chest, his blood grows hotter in his veins. He craves Florentia more than he cares about his own brother.

His gaze never tears from himself. It is the look of a man who is willing to do anything to get what he wants.

“Anything,” he mutters to himself, his voice hoarse with determination. “Anything at all…” He wants Florentia, and he will have her. And nothing, not even familial ties or the wrath of the gods, will stand in his way.

The silence of the room is interrupted by a knock on the door. Caracalla snaps out of his thoughts, his eyes narrow in irritation. Who is foolish enough to disturb him when he is in such a brooding mood?

“What?” he barks out, turning from the mirror. He watches as a slave boy - one of the younger ones - timidly pushes open the door, his eyes lower to the floor and his hands quiver by his sides.

“What is it?” Caracalla repeats, his voice gruff. He can already feel his anger rising. He has no patience for this boy’s cowardice. “Speak up when you’re addressing your Emperor!”

The boy gulps visibly, clearly terrified by the thunderous tone of the emperor's voice. As if the God, Jupiter, has possessed him.

The young servant’s voice comes out in a meek whisper. "The…the Lady Florentia is here, Dominus. She…she says she must speak with you. Urgently,”

Caracalla's eyes widen fractionally in surprise. Florentia is here? In his chambers? It is almost too good to be true. But he quickly composes himself, schooling his features into a neutral expression. "Send her in."

The boy nods quickly before scuttling away, the door closing behind him. Caracalla takes a sudden deep breath, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. He is about to be alone, in his room, with Florentia. The very thing he has been craving.

He watches the door expectantly, his hands clenching and unclenching are his sides. Please, he silently prays. Please, come in.

There is a moment of silence, it feels like a century, and then the door swings open. His heart lurches before him. Florentia stands there, silhouetted against the brighter lights of the hallway, her figure in her purple stola, elegant and enticing. Her hair is loose, falling past her shoulders, unbraided unlike it was earlier. Has she arranged it down, especially for him? This enchantress…This Goddess… She might as well be holding his heart in her hands, as that is where it belongs.

Clearly, Caracalla does not see the emotion on her face at first—or rather, unemotion. He's too pre-occupied by the woman he wants in his chambers. Does she feel the same way? Has she heard his plea and come to confess her feelings? Her happy face from earlier is replaced with a tense seriousness he has rarely seen from her.

He stands there transfixed, unsure of what to say.

"Caracalla," Florentia begins softly, her voice cutting through the silence. "May I come in?" Her words come out more like a statement than a question, and Caracalla finds himself nodding “yes” without even thinking, as if under a spell. He watches as she steps fully into the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

This is it. This is the moment…

“What brings you here at this hour, Florentia?" he asks, egging on her feelings for him he thinks she will admit.

He watches as she moves further into the room, her movements graceful but purposeful. She stills, her back to him for a moment, then she turns around. She meets his gaze, her eyes still serious. "We need to talk," she says simply.

Caracalla senses his heart skip a beat at her serious tone. Whatever she has to say, it is clearly important. He tries to keep his features controlled though the urge to reach out and touch her is nearly overwhelming.

“Talk about what?” he questions.

“Please sit with me, Caracalla. I don’t want this to be more difficult than it already is,” she speaks softly, like a parent to a child.

Caracalla frowns, biting his lip, except her soft soothing voice sends shivers down his spine. He feels so conflicted, a mix of dread and anticipation at her request.

Obliging, he settles on a large chaise nearby, gesturing for her to join him. He scrutinises as Florentia settles across from him, sitting straight, her hands tucked in her lap. She is supposed to sit next to me.

For a moment, neither one speaks. The air is thick with tension, each waiting for the other to break the silence first. Finally, Caracalla cannot bear the suspense any longer. “What is it, Florentia?” he asks, his voice gruff. “You say we need to talk. So speak.”

As their eyes lock, he catches a fracture in her serious expression—a flicker of hurt—and it hits him like a punch in the gut.

He tries to steady his features, to keep the turmoil within him at bay. But he can feel his composure slipping. Where is Dondas?

“Flora—” he says, his voice softer now. But she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

“This is difficult enough, Caracalla,” she lets out, her own voice catching slightly. “Please, let me speak. I need to say this.”

He bites back a retort, falling silent. He has never seen her quite like this before…so serious, so vulnerable. It makes him strangely unsettled. He gestures for her to continue, his gaze never leaves her beautiful face.

Florentia takes a deep breath, clearly gathering her thoughts. When she speaks again, her voice has regained its stoic determination.

“Caracalla, I know you have feelings for me. I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you act around me. And I…” She pauses, a flicker of indecision passing over her features. “I cannot reciprocate those feelings.”

Caracalla leans back, his back hits the chase, as if physically blown by her words. He feels the color drain from his face, his mouth suddenly bone-dry. Is she saying what he thinks she is? She cannot be. Florentia…she is his. How can she not want him?

He attempts to speak, but the words are lodged in his throat. All he can manage is a strangled, “what?”

“Caracalla, this does not mean I do not love you, nor care about you.” she leans forward to carefully hold his hands “I do deeply. Just…not in the romantic sense.”

Caracalla senses her grip on his hands, but he cannot bring himself to look at her. Her words echo in his ears, each syllable is a fresh spike in his heart. She is rejecting him. She cares for him, but only as a friend. Not as a lover, not as he wants her to. It is worse than any physical blow he has ever received.

“But… why?” he manages to croak out, the sound pathetically pleading. His mind shows him flashes of all the times they have spent together these past few months. All those walks in the garden, the polite smiles in passing, the shared memories of the feasts he and his co-emperor have put on. How can she not love me?

“Why?…I…Well, because. Because the gods have someone else for you. Your true love. They’re out there somewhere, just not…here,” Florentia tries to tread around the topic carefully, as she squeezes his hands gently and lovingly.

Her words only fuel his disbelief, his confusion. “The gods?” he echoes, his voice thick with skepticism. “They’ve decided for me who I should love? After deciding to give me this disease?!” his nostrils flare as his anger grows, his expression quickly turns sinister. He can no longer control his unrest.

He cannot fathom how the whims of the gods can dictate something as personal and primal as love. Let alone gift him a lifelong struggle with his disease, which is increasingly becoming more deteriorating day by day, Florentia fears. It seems arbitrary, cruel even.

What have I done to deserve this?

“What I mean is…That, I am not the one for you, and whoever that is will love you so much, as you so deserve. I cannot do so, I am sorry Caracalla.“

He laughs mirthlessly, a hollow sound that reverberates around the room. Love him, as he deserved? He does not care about any other love. He wants HER, and no one else!

Caracalla leans closer, gripping her hand now. Tightly. The pain of her rejection is beginning to give way to something else. Kill Geta. Take Florentia.

“That’s not good enough,” he says, his voice now low and dangerous. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you, Florentia.”

“Want?” she careens back, looking at him in an unreadable expression.

“Yes, want!” Caracalla snaps, his patience wearing thin. He rose from the chaise, pacing restlessly back and forth in front of her. “You say the gods have decreed that there is someone else out there for me. But what do the gods know of love? Of desire?” He stops, turning, pleading. “They are immortal, unfeeling. They do not understand the concept of yearning for someone, to desire them with every fibre of your being.”

Florentia swallows harshly. Her mouth goes dry, and her chest feels heavy. She stares at where he was sitting only a moment ago. “I have desired you from the moment I first laid eyes on you,” Caracalla admits, though Florentia has quickly pieced that together after earlier’s event. His voice is quiet but intense. “Your laugh. Your intelligence. Your beauty. You have invaded my every thought. I cannot think, I cannot sleep, and when I do you are in my dreams. You are all I want, all I fantasise about.”

Tears are brimming his blue eyes, threatening to fall. He takes a step towards her, leaning over to look into her eyes. His eyes burn with an intensity that makes her involuntarily bend her neck away from him. “How dare some gods decide that I cannot have you?” he concludes his speech. His breath is hot on her face, and his possessive words start to scare her.

Her lip wobbles, but she keeps it steady. Her tears cannot fall. Not yet. His passion shocks her and if she were in different circumstances, she may have swooned, but, she is not. Florentia is betrothed to his brother, the one she loves. She stands tall, glaring at him “I have a say in this too, you do realise? Not the Gods, ME. If you loved me as much you claim, then you would do anything for me to be happy,”

Her firmness and strength stuns him momentarily. He did expect her to back down, to be overwhelmed by the force of his passion. But there she is, standing strong against him, her eyes blazing with a fire to match his own.

He takes a step closer, their bodies almost touching. “I would do anything to make you happy,” he says. His voice is a hoarse whisper. “Anything at all. You know that,” he repeats. His shaking hands want to reach out for her.

“Then let me go.” she whispers as her hand reaches for his trembling ones, as if reading his mind, which only makes his delusion of her secretly loving him thrive. We are so in sync, as lovers become one.

His breath catches in his throat. Let her go? It is the last thing he wants to do. But her words hold him in a peculiar sort of trance, as if he is physically incapable of disobeying. “I cannot,” he manages, his voice rough, cheeks rosy and wet with tears. “You cannot ask me to do that, Florentia, you are…” He trails off, his eyes search hers desperately. “You are the only person who makes me feel alive. You cannot ask me to give that up.”

“I will still be here for you. We will still walk together in the garden, see each other over meals, be friends…and when I am married—”

He cuts her off, shaking his head as his hands grip hers tightly. “That’s not enough. I want more than that! I want more of you!”

He steps even closer, their bodies are now pressed against each other. He can feel the heat of her, smell the sweet scent of her skin. The nearness only intensified his need, his longing, his hunger.

“Please, Caracalla, I do not know what to say—”

“Do not speak, then.” He cuts her off again, his voice harsh. Then, his lips are on hers, bruising, possessive. He kisses her with desperation and a need that borders on feral.

Her stomach drops, plunging into a deep uneasy feeling. Her eyes widen as his lips are pressing against hers. She whimpers, not in pleasure, but in shock and hurt.

He does not notice her whimper, deafened by the pounding of his own heart, the roaring in his ears. He only feels the softness of her plump lips, the heat of her breath. He presses forward, his hands moving to grip her waist, pulling her closer to him.

Florentia finally comes to terms with what is happening and grips his shoulders, pushing him away. The unexpected resistance snaps him out of his haze of desire. He lifts his head slightly, meeting her gaze with a mix of surprise and irritation. “What are you doing?” he demands, his voice strained. “Why are you pushing me away?”

“I am scared,” she voices subconsciously, her thought spills out of her, her voice wobbily. “You are frightening me,” It is not the first time a man has acted this way around her. Disturbed her. It has never occurred to her that Caracalla could be the one to continue that cycle, until now. Perhaps she has been naive…

She has to flee before it twists into a situation she never wants to experience again.

Caracalla’s gaze softens at her admission. The anger that has flared up at her resistance fades, replaced with a mix of confusion and tenderness. “Scared?” he recites incredulously. “Why? It is only me, Florentia. I am not going to hurt you.”

Florentia motions backwards, looking at him stunned. But Caracalla doesn't quite understand why. He follows her stare, his confusion deepening. He glances behind him, but sees nothing there that would possibly unnerve her. “What is it?” he asks, his brows furrowing, and his leg taunts, wanting to stamp it down like an irritable child. His impatience is returning, his desire for her opposing with his bewilderment.

“You…” she shakes her head, holding one hand on her chest as she braces a sob. “You are…different.” she takes a deep breath and blinks, hoping to see the sweet side of him from earlier rather than the sick side when she opens her eyes again.

Caracalla takes a step back, withdrawing slightly. Her words hit him like a cold splash of water, sobering him. “Different? How?” he asks gruffly.

His heart is still pounding with a mixture of desire and frustration, but her apparent fear is giving him room to think.

Florentia opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out before she practically leaps out of the room. Her legs working faster than her thoughts

He watches her go, confusion and anger warring within him. “Wait...” he manages to let out, but she is already gone. Caracalla is frozen in place, left alone with a whirlwind of emotions. Confusion, desire, hurt, anger—he feels them all intensely. But over everything is the caving feeling of rejection. Florentia was so close, the taste of her still on his lips, yet, she pulled back as if horrified of him. Everyone always sees me as a monster.

He ran a trembling hand through his red hair, his breathing ragged. What has just happened? How did everything go so wrong, so fast? He wants to go after her, to force her to explain why she has run away. But he also fears whatever it is about him that has frightened her.

Feeling restless and agitated, he paces his room again. He tries to tell himself that it was her uncertainty that made her react that way, not disgust or fear but the thought refuses to take root. Every time he reaches for it, it slips through his fingers like smoke while her terrified expression flashes in his mind as clear as day. “I am scared,” The scene replays over and over in his head, analysing every moment. It is like a neverending waking nightmare.

Her flowery scent still lingers in his chambers, and instead of calming him down as it usually does, it is starting to give him a headache, taunting him as if she is still in the room with him. He pictures how the scene could have happened—how it should have proceeded…with Florentia kissing him back, with equal desire and passion. Her hands gliding along his body, his chest. The flutters of his stomach when her hands cradle his cheeks, sliding them down to disrobe him before setting him down on his bed. Then, he feistily tosses her over so he is on top, rips her clothes off, and greedily takes her there and then, feeling how tight and wet she is. All for him.

Gods, he cannot even think straight. His cock reacts to his dirty thoughts which leaves him flustered and irate at the situation. No concubine can cure this.

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

A/N: Comments and reblogs are appreciated. <3

Part 2 has been posted!

THIS WAS TENSE ASF. (it gets worse)

[m1sa-w1sa]

Can you do all the fatui their react to that y/n was hiding traumatised past and that blaming them self and hide it all , and of course they comfort y/n beaxuse they always help the fauti with their problems

(Okie dokie! Coming right up!)

You are mine and I am yours

Pierro

•He probably found out if you told him upfront or he found you crying someplace

•when he told you spit it out he was shocked it would’ve been torture to go through that

•even if he might not be the best he would try everything that he has to make you feel better

•If it you were dating he would hold you close by your waist whispering nothing but sweetness in your ears

•If platonic he would make you a cup of tea or your favorite dish letting you cry on his shoulder

“Everything is alright dear..”

Capitano

•He would know somethings wrong when you started acting distant, maybe slightly sloppy on missions, more sleepy

•If he saw you crying he would quickly ask whats wrong his mask covering his slight worried expression

•If Romantic he would pull you close wrapping you in his coat with him sitting on his lap or just standing with him

•If Platonic he would take you for a walk maybe get you ice cream or something to eat after to make you feel better making sure to check in with you time to time

“You should’ve told me sooner.”

Dottore

•So you guys had little meet ups when your not with the other harbingers but if you miss that meet up he would go find you himself

•If he saw you in your room he would tilt your chin up as you tell him everything

•If romantic he would stay with you laying your head in his lap while doing his paperwork

•If Platonic he would hug you just really that patting your back soothing you slowly

(Your gonna have to know him for a really ling time for him to act like this towards you)

“Your foolish for not saying anything”

Columbina

•If you two were by each other sides alot she would quickly notice your different personality she would confront you

•When you tell her either platonic or romantic she would sing you a soft lullaby with your head on her lap as she would just caress your cheek softly

“Poor little you why didnt you say anything?”

Arlecchino

•Arlecchini works with kids so its noticed rather quickly

•It doesnt just go away lightly Alrecchibo sits and talks to you

•Romantic she would hold you on her lap letting you talk

•Platonic she would make your favorite food or drink

“You know I care..”

Punichella

I think I spelt his name wrong

• I dont really know how to write for him so ill try my best

•He is kinda like the cool grandpa that gives you good advice so im not going ti do a romantic for him

•He would make you tae and sit and chat with you letting you cry on his shoulder

Scaramouche

•Hes more colder than the others but if your with him most of the time hes going to notice

•When he finds out he would make you speak trying to get every single thing off of your chest, If romantic he would sit and cuddle you, kicking out anyone else that comes in

•A little same with Platonic hut your just next to him holding his hand tightly

“Idiot..”

Sandrone

•Again with her going in depth is a little hard for me but anyways!!!

•She would confront you immediately asking you questions about it

•Both romantic or Platonic she would carry you with her on her robot holding your hard caressing the back of your hand with her thumb softly

“Quite stupid to not say something..”

La Signora

•She loves you lots Platonic or Romantic

•she knows what pain feels like same with Scaramouche

•Either Platonic or romantic she would play with your hair brushing it out, doing different styles, adding accessories anything just to clam you down

“Your hair is tangled”

Pantalone

•So when he found out he would be worried for you

•He would ask you to tell him every single thing you like to tell him

•Both Romanic and Platonic he would take you shopping, spoiling your rotten only difference if romantic he would also take you on dates aswell

“Pick anything you like darling..”

Tartaglia

•He has siblings so he also notices quite quickly so he would find you as soon as possible to sit you down to have a chat

•He would cuddle you for maybe more than a hour as you talk patting your back, caressing your hair

•He would spoil you aswell and if romantic he would take you on dates aswell!!

(Finished!! This was fun but also pretty hard to write but i uope u enjoyed!)

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Twenty - One

Summary: Continuation of Geta and reader’s wedding day. Time jump to a few months later.

Warnings/Notes: 18+ only! Long chapter ahead with time jumps. Dated views on marriage…a woman’s place in society…conception…pregnancy. So there is mention of pregnancy & monthly cycle/period. Consensual P in V intercourse, light fingering.

Violence in the arena mentioned (didn’t make it gruesome!) Mention of the Caracalla baths (we were robbed a bath scenes in the movie), Juno: Roman goddess of marriage, Virtus: Roman god of strength.

❤️s, notes, feedback & reblogs are so welcome. 💐 Thank you so much for reading. 🫣 sorry about the delay in posting!🫣

As he did you moved easily down the steps to edge of the royal box. Following his lead, you watched as Geta waved; you did the same.

Shouts, cheers and the sound of the trumpets filled the air.

“And our beloved, Caracalla is also in attendance with his new sister.”

Glancing to your side Caracalla walked up and waved as you had seen him do several times prior. The cheers and shouts once again filled the air.

“The gods, goddesses have bestowed her upon us.”

Geta, wrapped his arm tighter around you and brought you closer to the edge of the royal box, all you could see were people. You inwardly trembled. Glancing at Geta, you saw a huge, smile that was a cross his face.

His name, yours were chanted by the people. You placed a hand on your chest, gently bowing your head. The hard pounding of your heart, made it hard to breathe. It felt as if you had run a great distance.

“Citizens today’s celebration of my marriage,”

Geta rich, deep voice filled your ears and caused all those in attendance to fall silent.

“is tempered. In the midst of our wedding ceremony assailants attempted to steal her away from me, from all of you. They wanted to deliver her to the underworld before she could be welcomed and embraced by Roman.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked over the crowd. He glanced at you before he looked back and continued.

“The punishment for this has got to be swift, severe.”

There were rumbles from the crowd.

“Today,” His voice thundered. “the world will see what happens if you try and take my wife from me.”

He swallowed. “Bring forth the traitors of Rome.”

There was some screeching and grinding of metal as a gate not far off in one of the curves the arena opened.

“From the north gate, Praetorian guards, Faustus and Aelius are escorting the two whom wished to spill the blood of our empress.“

You watched as two Praetorian Guards escorted out Tertia and her conspirator. Just the sight of them made you ill.

More rumbles from the crowd grew. A few boos, and other negative sounds broke through the hum of the people.

“From the south gate, from the stable of Emperor Geta and his brother Caracalla, the undefeated Gylceo the destroyer is delivering the gods and goddesses earthly tools of punishment.”

Another gate clanked and screeched, groaning even as it open. A broad, ruddy faced gladiator holding strong leather straps, walked out of the shadows. You were certain you had seen him a handful of times. You swallowed, at the end of the leather straps was a bear and tiger.

The bear plodded out and took a swipe at the sand creating a small cloud. Cheers and roars of excitement rumbled from the crowds. The tiger had shaken itself off and without not much of a warning, it crouched low and let out a low growl. You held on tighter to Geta.

“You’re safe here blossom.” He murmured softly to you. “Tiger or bear?” He asked softly.

A tremble went through you. “What say you?”

“Tiger or bear for their punishment, your first decision as empress.” He smiled, a twinkle sparkled in his eyes.

You nodded. “Oh, um.” Chewing on your bottom lip, you glanced back into the arena at the two. “Tiger.”

He smiled, nodding. He rose his other hand, he reached into the air before brining his hand down forming a fist.

In voice, clear and robust he shouted.

“The gods feel a tiger, will be there punishment today.”

“The gods will it. The emperor and the empress will it. May the tiger deliver justice today for the laws you have broken.” The herald announced.

You don’t exactly remember if anything else had been said, but soon you found yourself sitting on your very own throne beside Geta’s. The pillow did provide some comfort.

Looking into the arena, one of the Praetorian guards handed the man a wooden shield. It would do little against the ferocity of a tiger. Tertia, immediately fell to her knees she tugged one of the scarlet cloaks. He shook her off, as he began to move away from the two.

Her words, her screams were barely understandable, perhaps you were beyond caring to want to understand. Perhaps, it was words from her native tongue.

“That could have been you.” Caracalla said, in a low voice.

A chill swept over you. You had thought those moments were behind the two of you. A breath later, a loud cheerful giggle came from him.

“But Dundas saw you and I saw you.” His smile was crooked and bright across his face. “And now I am happy that you are my sister.”

You swallowed, “I am grateful you are my brother.” You replied.

A loud roar cut through the air. You looked just as the gladiator released the tiger. He backed up.

Geta stood, his hands on the edge chimera’s head on his throne. His slender fingers taunt on the aged metal that formed that fearsome creature. His rings were brilliant and colorful like a flowers in a garden. You could practically feel his fingers as they took a hold of you. You longed to feel them again.

There was a snarl that cut through the growing heat of the day.

You watched as the tiger sunk backwards and leapt. Instinctively you jumped back, gasping at the metal meeting your back. Your eyes opening wider as you saw the tiger clash with the wooden shield. It shattered.

The crowd immediately erupted in cheers and screams. The tiger was only momentarily thwarted, it shook itself once more but this time, you could see a fury in the beast. Dust and sand plumed around it. You watched as they both turned and ran.

Geta beckoned to you. “Come wife, stand with me. Let us enjoy the spectacle of justice being served.”

“Yes, husband.” Inwardly your stomach knotted. You had never paused and watched. You had only ever heard swords being brandished or distant screams followed by the roars of the beasts or crowds alike.

Caracalla, to your other side stood. “Get them! Kill them.” His screechy, scratchy scream burst from him. “Hunt them down!” Another chuckle bubbled from him.

The tiger nabbed both. But the man you saw wiggle, slide away. He took one swipe at first, there was carnage and she no longer moved. Tiger moved fast and soon did the same to the man. Dark pools began to form in the sand near them. The tiger appeared pleased, he stopped and licked at one of his large paws.

The trumpet sounds filled the thick air. Cheers followed. You swallowed.

“Wine, fruit.” Geta’s tone was sharp.

You tried not empty your glass moments after it was filled but you had at least half, the girl was good. Attentive, you had seen her a few times but had never spoken. She filled it silently.

The herald, easily spoke of justice and now of the celebratory fights. Distantly, some unnamed people escorted their bodies away. Once again you found yourself sitting besides Geta and nibbling one some fruit. You felt calmer.

Gazing down your eyes caught sight of Geta holding his glass. You felt an eagerness to touch him. You were not sure if that was proper.

“Wife, my empress are you well?”

Blinking , you were met with Geta’s face a mixture of concern and something you couldn’t read.

You nodded. “I guess it’s over now.”

He nodded. “Yes.” He gestured to the arena. “You never peaked in there did you?”

You nodded.

“You only risked treason by glancing at me.”

You flushed. “Yes.”

“You will get used to it. Today was a good day. Normally, it gets boring and tedious.” He shrugged, then added in a quieter voice. “I’m glad you risked treason.”

You finally smiled since what had unfolded in the area before you. “I am too.”

******

He held you to his chest as he absently ran his fingers through your strands. A light dew of your passions clung to the two of you, on their first night of emperor and wife.

“You will have to grow accustomed to those sights. There are many fights, I have to oversee, judge and rule over. I will need you by my side.”

“Truly?”

You were as soft and gentle as the flower petals you reminded him of. He gave you a squeeze.

“Yes.” He tilted your face up, to look into your eyes. His thumb caressed your jaw.

“The next few days they will be more entertaining, a few choice battles won by our very own General Acacius and perhaps one or two naumachiaes.”

Your eyes grew. “I never saw those when I came to work in the royal box.”

“Well, not only will they you see them but you can enjoy them from the comfort of our thrones.”

“Can I get an extra pillow?”

A chuckle bubbled from him. “One day being an empress and you already want another pillow.” He caressed your cheek.

“Is that ok?”

“It’s more than ok. It’s expected.”

“Oh.” You smiled, your cheeks growing pink once again.

His thumb grazed the line of your cheeks. “I do believe we made Juno happy today.”

“I think so as well. But Virtus was along side of you today. When you rescued me, I had been so afraid.”

He could feel tremors go through you. He would not tolerate any malady plaguing you.

He eyed the lines and curves of your face. “I will never tolerate that, blossom. No one shall ever cause you any hard, distress.”

He kissed you. A soft muffled sound came from you but you allowed him to easily deepen the kiss. His heart began to beat harder once again.

“Lay back towards that end of the bed,” He gestured to the portion behind you. “I want to see the stars, the great Luna as our passions make us one while pleasure wraps around us as assuredly as our limbs do. I want my wife, Roman’s empress in their magnificent light.”

“Yes.” You replied softly.

He loved watching how you loved. You did like no other. Easily he crawled over and was half on, half off of you. He ran a hand along your soft side.

“The gods blessed us.” He murmured as he kissed you, a soft coming deep within him as he felt your fingers nestle in his strands.

*******

Your heart had quickened, your breath had shortened. Reaching up, you nestled your fingers into his fiery strands. Bliss was all you could feel. The attack, the tiger long forgotten. It was just him and you, this joy reminded you of tales of the joy the gods, goddesses had.

A pleasurable tightening in your stomach once again knotted as he moved to between your legs. Distantly, as new as this all was. You hoped your body tightened and would take his seed. You were eager to give him a child, a future.

“Geta.”

You moaned softly as you took him all in. He was truly a living breathing work of art. He pulled a whimper from you, feeling his fingers gently graze your center. A smile curled his lips.

“Want to feel me again, blossom? Will you part these petals for me once again tonight?”

“Yes, I need you.” You opened legs wider to receive him. How he appeared settling above you, made your heart squeeze.

“I shall no longer deny the two of us.”

Easily, he slid in till once again you were filled by him. You trembled as his fingers tightened their grip on your hip.

“You are exquisite.” His voice hoarse with pleasure.

All you could do was moan, it was an attempt at his name. He knew and the flame in his eyes grew stronger. As he began moving above you, your walls met him, squeezing him just as your legs wrapped around him.

Feeling him pause you opened your eyes not having realized you had closed them.

“Geta?” You were greeted with anger in his eyes you had not expected after the delicateness he had showed.

“Geta?” You repeated.

His lips formed a line, his thumb gave your hip a gentle, a vague caress before his fingertips grazed the still angry mark that had meant to pierce your heart. Your wedding stola had not been strong, he’d be preparing your funeral.

“Never will anyone ever get that close again. The streets will run red with blood before I allow that.” He murmured.

“And you took care of it. People know how you care for me, for their empress.”

It felt weird, saying that aloud about yourself. You had always been simply a young girl who had the wilds of nature under her feet and the sound of waves on occasion filling her hears. You had never thought anything higher than wife would be your title.

“They will learn if they did not today.”

Shifting still deep inside of you, he gripped the sheets that were already rumpled from earlier and it was not long before the two of you gave up to the passions you both felt. Your moans mingled and became one like your bodies.

******

Stirring, the sky was still a deep purple dawn would be upon Rome soon. Realization, came over you that you and Geta were a tangle of sheets and your own limbs. A softness had claimed Geta in his sleep, his hair ruffled and messy; some errant strands stuck to his forehead.

You brushed that aside. “I will love you to my dying day.” You whispered, and pressed a kiss to one of his cheeks. Your new life was ahead of you.

*********

You laid on the carpet of a leopard pelt, at least that is what you thought Geta had called the beast it had come from. It was soft made you forget the stone that was just underneath it. You glanced up at the cool, blue sky. The warmth of summer was drawing to a close. It would not be long before you could not lounge such as this in the gardens.

You had taken Geta’s advice and fully embrace being an empress. You had not been shy when a pillow, a blanket was needed or when you were terribly tired of being pricked by pins when clothes were made for you. Your voice rose a few times.

You were still not terribly demanding, since life had not always been so easy for you. Yet, in the short month, you had just been his mere possession; had made it easier for you to grow accustomed to be served. There still remained moments that still cloyed at you. There was limitations placed upon you that you had not entirely expected. You brought a hand up to rest your cheek as you remembered a moment that reaffirmed your new place in life.

In a cloak, with the hood up you were not completely unmindful of your place; when you ventured out to the markets. You missed the bartering of little possessions and the like. You had gotten a very good back and forth with one of the merchants when a guard arrived, Gallus. The man’s eyes grew and immediately fell to his knees, he pushed forward the beautiful scarf that had caught your eye; he mumbled about allowing you anything else you wished.

Before leaving with the scarf, Gallus was in tow but not before he snatched up an apple and contently took a loud crunching bite.

Aelia greeted you and mumbled of Geta’s ruffled mood before he had come in like a storm cloud.

In the last couple of months, when you did leave; guards remained in your shadow. You did hate upsetting Geta but you did miss the freedom to go and move around as you pleased. Well, at least when had been a good time to do so.

“Empress,” Aelia soft voice broke through your thoughts.

“Aelia.” You sat up, pushing yourself up from the soft fur. “Just like Geta, what did I tell you of this?”

She bowed her head. “I am sorry.”

“I was not long ago as you.”

“The gods have always held you higher.”

You remained silent. You had not felt like you had the particular energy to have this discussion once again with her.

“How are you feeling today?”

“A tiredness is still lingering.”

“Once again would you like me to look at you?”

“I wish my mother was here.”

On soft steps, she drew closer. “I know.”

*******

“This could deliver the distraction to move their attentions away from the empress.”

The senator gently touched a corner of the plans for the baths that Caracalla had been speaking of.

“Only so many battles in the arena will.” The senator continued softly. As he gestured to Caracalla’s plans before him.

Geta paused in his pacing, he slammed a fist down on the table. Dondas, went from one Caracalla’s shoulder to the other.

“They should love their empress, as I do.”

Geta twisted one of his rings, his eyes narrowed as he looked at one of the few senators, that didn’t rankle him like the others. The man remained silent.

“They had said I, Caracalla;”

He gestured to his brother who remained sitting. A pleased, lop sided smile was on his face. He was happy to see that plans had been drawn up.

“Had gone far away from the Roman ideal.”

Geta, mimicked a citizens voice.

“Their empress not terribly long ago had been like one of them; did they forget?”

His lips winkled in his annoyance.

“There are whispers, that it had been a ploy; a story.”

“I do not care to appease them on this manner. I will continue to lavish all the best upon her.”

“What if one chooses to rise up against you because of her?”

Geta turned to the man, he shifted where he stood and looked down. Easily the closed the distance. “They will meet their end in the arena.”

“They wouldn’t dare.” Caracalla’s mouth dipped on one side.“Then maybe we really should move forward with the baths.” Caralla quickly added.

Geta smiled. “Brother, I truly believe you have an idea we can all support. It will be a good distraction since General Acacius is still away and fighting.”

******

The soft fabrics peeled away easily. Her warm, dry fingers drift over your stomach. “I have noticed your appetite has grown. Do you feel the need to eat is greater?”

You nodded. “I have no bled for two months.” You glanced at her and as if for the first time did notice that there was a gentle swell of your stomach.

“That is surely a sign, were you not even told this by your mother?”

"I was only as a child, when she fretted over my brother’s wife.”

You heard her mutter about the plague, that brought their end. “I feel you are mostly certainly with child. Have you not had any nightly visits?”

“I mused they were hopes, wishes of a newly married girl.”

The woman shook her head, easily her fingers placed your clothes back as they were.

“I do not whispers to reach him before you get to speak to him. He will want to know.”

“Now?”

“Before the gathering tonight. Perhaps, it can be something to rise the spirits besides the food and drink.”

“Oh, yes.”

Excitement fluttered in you.

“We will have to create a new alter, one to show my gratitude to Juno and the goddesses to bestowing a child upon me.”

“I will get that in order.”

*****

Going to chambers you sat down on the table that now held some beautiful treasures Geta had been giving you. You smiled as you glanced at the bracelet he first gave you, you would never remove it from your wrist.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998 @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @helsa3942 @marrowfrog00 @misspendragonsworld @therealjomarch @deliciousfestsalad @aspiringwhore @justalittlebitshy @littlemissholy @ruinedbythehobbit @bib200 @yes7686

[nutonmydraco]

✶ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧. . . 📜 .ᐟ

📂 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ includes: matt sturniolo, chris sturniolo, and more. . . [ ON HOLD! ]

🪞fluff / 🧚🏻 smut / 🧷 angst / 🐇 a wattpad original

𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗦 ‧₊˚ 🎞️ | short series

🎟️ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ in which i write a few short series based on iconic romance and rom-com movies we all know and love <3

i. the proposal ✷ matt sturniolo x fem!reader

y/n is an executive editor for a book company in manhattan, new york. while she may be a powerful woman, many of her workers despise her. when y/n learns that she’s going to face deportation and has to return to canada, she does the unthinkable. she lies through her teeth and reveals to her boss that she’s getting married to her assistant, matt sturniolo.

🪞 / 🧷 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon in theatres.

ii. 10 things i hate about you ✷ chris sturniolo x fem!reader

on the first day of school, finn instantly falls for the most popular girl in school; cassie. his plan to ask cassie out is destroyed when he learns that she’s forbidden to date until her ill-tempered, hates-all-men, un-dateable older sister, y/n, does. desperate, finn finds a possible match all over the school for y/n until he comes across the perfect one—the ‘bad boy’ with a bad reputation, chris sturniolo.

🪞 / 🧚🏻 / 🧷 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon in theatres.

iii. to all the boys i’ve loved before ✷ conrad fisher x fem!reader

five times. that’s how many times y/n has fallen in love and for each guy, she’s written a love letter that she keeps hidden in an old box. the letters remain a secret until y/n’s little sister sent all five letters to each guy it was addressed to. y/n was unaware of it until conrad fisher walked up to her one day, the folded paper in his hand. in an attempt to get his ex-girlfriend back, conrad proposes an idea that they should date. well, pretend to.

🪞 / 🧷 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon in theatres.

iv. roman holiday ✷ matt sturniolo x fem!reader

it’s 1953 and princess y/n has arrived in rome, italy. overwhelmed by her suffocating schedule, princess y/n escapes from the palace in the middle of the night and into the cobblestoned streets of rome. lost and frightened, she runs into an american freelance journalist, matt sturniolo, who shows her what it’s like to live a normal life.

🪞 / 🧷 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon in theatres.

v. the parent trap ✷ harry styles x fem!reader

divorced parents. two daughters—twins. after meeting at summer camp, anya and juliette devise a plan to switch identities to give each other a chance to spend time with the parent they’ve missed. if their scheme goes well, they have a chance to bring their mom, y/n, and dad, harry, back together and become a family again.

🪞 / 🧷 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon in theatres.

+ more. . . <3 soon.

𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗧 𝗣𝗘𝗣𝗦𝗜 ‧₊˚ ⛪️ | one shots

🪽₊˚⊹ ━━ in which i write one shots for you! my inbox is open, so if you want to leave a request, feel free to let me know!

NOTE . . . .ᐟ requests that include certain kinks (e.g., piss kink), incest, anal, threesomes, and any other topics i find uncomfortable will be ignored.

i. little black dress ✷ chris sturniolo x fem!reader

❛❛ i wanna see the way you move for me, baby. . . ❞

in an attempt to move on from a brutal breakup with her piece-of-shit boyfriend, y/n gets dolled up for a frat party her friend had begged her to come to. hoping to just forget about it all by getting wasted, y/n is taken by surprise when she meets a frat boy, chris sturniolo, who had his eyes on her and her little black dress from the moment she walked in.

🧚🏻 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon.

one night stand, fratboy!chris, nsfw

ii. only angel ✷ harry styles x fem!reader

❛❛ it turns out she’s a devil in between the sheets. . . ❞

famous popstar, harry styles, is performing at the 2017 victoria’s secret fashion show and he’s more ready than ever. while performing ‘only angel’, harry is captivated when an angel herself, y/n, steps out to walk down the runway. after the show, harry takes it upon himself to ask if he could take her out for dinner—only to end up stumbling into harry’s hotel room to do more french kissing than talking.

🧚🏻 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon.

famous!harry, model!y/n, nsfw

iii. juno ✷ chris sturniolo x fem!reader

❛❛ give me more than just some butterflies. . . ❞

rumors have been going around that famous popstar, y/n, and rapper, chris sturniolo, are dating after months of being spotted together by fans and paparazzis. attending y/n’s show for the first time, chris is taken by surprise by the ‘freaky position’ she does on stage, all while looking at him. of course, fans go insane.

🪞⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon.

singer!y/n, nflplayer!chris, fluff

iv. i can see you ✷ matt sturniolo x fem!reader

❛❛ and i could see you up against the wall with me. . . ❞

y/n has been thinking about this guy in her english class—his hair, his face, his glasses. they’ve never spoken before, but y/n can’t help but develop feelings for him. maybe it’s the way he talks, or walks, or maybe it’s just his face. y/n finally gets the courage to talk to him, lying that she needs help with an assignment but he sees right through her. the only problem is that he’s her professor.

🧚🏻 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon.

professor!matt, student!y/n, older!matt, both are consenting adults, y/n is 21+, nsfw

+ more. . . <3 soon.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗟𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗠𝗬 ‧₊˚ 📰 | series

☁ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ in which i write multiple series filled with angst, fluff, and smut!

i. don’t blame me ✷ chris sturniolo x fem!reader

❛❛ lord, save me, my drug is my baby. . . ❞

y/n has had a secret admirer for months. every morning is the same thing—a note falls out from her locker, talking about her smile, her beauty, her everything. she throws each note away, and never thinks about it again. after being partnered up with chris, the quiet boy, in chemistry class, she forms a genuine bond with him. things begin to change when boys she has ever dated and her enemies were found in the woods, lifeless.

🧷 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon.

obsessed!chris, killer!chris, quiet!chris, nsfw, angst, thriller

ii. sweet relief ✷ matt sturniolo x fem!reader

❛❛ it’s just something only we know. . . ❞

y/n has despised her brother’s best friend for years, but no one seems to know why. every time matt comes over to their house, y/n’s mood turns sour. growing tired of it, her brother, jax, forces y/n and matt to spend time together by leaving them at their family’s beach house. with no choice, the two spend the night together, learning to get along. as unexpected feelings surface, both agree to keep their new understanding a secret from jax—for now.

🪞 / 🧚🏻 / 🧷 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon.

brother’s best friend, enemies to lovers, nsfw, angst

+ more. . . <3 soon.

𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗙𝗔𝗦𝗧 ‧₊˚ 🩹 | fics

⛓️‍💥 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ in which i incorporate my wattpad fics on tumblr and continue them <3 and also make new fics with designated names for oc’s instead of ‘y/n’ !

i. fool’s gold ✷ chris sturniolo x fem!oc

❛❛ i know your love’s not real. . . ❞

bianca sinclair is the new girl in somerville high school. this being her senior year, she vows to not let boys distract her. that is until she meets chris sturniolo, the football player who’s known for also being a player outside of the field. things take a turn when bianca is asked to tutor chris in spanish and they spend more time together outside of school. in attempt to make his ex-girlfriend jealous and hide the fact that he has a tutor, he asks bianca the unthinkable—for her to be his fake girlfriend.

🪞 / 🧷 / 🐇 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon.

fake dating, footballplayer!chris, madison beer fc

ii. the great war ✷ matt sturniolo x fem!oc

❛❛ my hand was the one you reached for. . . ❞

ellsworth, maine became a silent town days after the sturniolo brothers moved in across the street from adelaide westwood. adelaide can’t help but become more curious about the enigmatic boy who smoked more than he talked, matt sturniolo. fear hovers over the town when a series of murder is reported, and she suspects that matt is the killer. surely, he’s hiding something, right? adelaide makes it her mission to unravel the truth matt seems to be secretive about, that is if he is hiding anything at all, before the whole town drowns in a bloodbath. or worse, before she’s next.

🧷 / 🐇 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ━━ coming soon.

thriller, biker!matt, cindy kimberly fc

© . . . all rights reserved. no part of this publication is allowed to be reproduced or copied. i put a lot of my time, effort, and energy into making all of these possible and the last thing i want is for someone to take my hard work, copy it, and claim it as theirs. in other words, plagiarism isn't tolerated.

💌 below are clickable tags i’ve included to make it easier for you to navigate through my page when i start posting more!

ᥫ᭡.

gian <3

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror............Part XIII

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: Geta is starting to realize something isn't right. Letha has to fight for her own protection. Caracalla wishes to save his brother from himself, because he's being Rome's biggest idiot (not so affectionate).

Warnings: violence, death, period-typical sexism, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 13 of 15

[ Part XII ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I think writing action (be it the fun kind or the dangerous kind) is the hardest part. I hope this is even slightly entertaining. Next part might not be the last, I'm still writing so it depends on how long it gets. I would also like for there to be some sort of resolution as well so it doesn't end so abruptly. We'll see. I should really thank one of my favorite bands for putting out a particularly angry song that helped me get in the headspace for this. Thank you for reading.

The Emperor’s box remained empty until moments before the event began, the usual pomp and circumstance of the games abandoned for a dour display of punishment. 

The games held the people’s attention. Watching men fight for a chance at glory, to possibly better themselves, it was entertaining. Tactics could be observed, armor and weapons utilized in new and unique ways. Legends were written by the combatants and their actions daily. Physical prowess could be appreciated and admired.

Fighting desperately in an ultimately futile battle to survive a few short minutes longer didn’t hold much attraction. There was no one to root for, no underdog to champion. No one to bet on beyond who might die first. Only the most voracious Romans attended these events. 

As Geta stared down at the empty arena, he felt ill. Ill at the thought of the previous 24 hours. The visible fear he’d seen in Letha’s eyes as he stood over her made Geta’s stomach twist uncomfortably. Sleep eluded him. He feared what horrors awaited him in his dreams. 

He distrusted people on principle, but for him to be so wrong, let alone twice… It left him reeling. He resisted looking over to Macrinus who had visited upon them this horrible news. Something was off about the man he’d dared call a friend. Ever since delivering Geta’s own death knell, the man lingered nearly everywhere about Palatine Hill. 

As if he were taking over in the absence of Letha.

And what he had said… the party. It was clear to Geta that Macrinus had no clue about the specific nature of his interaction with Letha. He’d clearly made some assumptions, but the idea that Letha had somehow found time to not only speak with Thraex, but concoct a scheme against him and his brother felt impossible. Especially when accounting for the small slip of time in between him dismissing Lyra and stepping out to meet Letha in the hall.

No, there was something else. Something Geta hadn’t quite cracked yet. He had considered visiting the miserable cells where Letha waited for her doom to ask her himself, but he didn’t trust himself. He couldn’t possibly predict what his reaction would be to seeing her again. That scared him.

Caracalla sat in the seat beside him, staring daggers into the side of his head. On the ride over, he’d insisted again that there was something wrong here. And Geta did agree, though he didn’t say as much to his volatile brother. Regardless, none of it changed Letha’s sure guilt. He would not relish today, not by a long shot, but it was necessary. 

And to think, he would’ve sought to marry her.

“Emperor?” Ancus questioned quietly.

Geta glanced over to see Caracalla in close conversation with Ancus, his eyes fixed on his personal guard. What was said, Geta couldn’t make out. But he did notice the way Caracalla’s hand lingered on the Praetorian’s forearm.

“There will be three others,” Ravi warned quietly, wrapping the gauzy fabric strip around her shoulder, beneath her arm, and across her chest, the pressure of it easing the difficulty of moving her arm. “You must be first to get to the sword.”

“Or I definitely die first,” she lamented.

“Or you definitely, probably, will die first,” Ravi agreed, tying off the thick wrapping. “Sorry, princess.”

The mood was deeper than melancholic. Letha pulled up the straps of the plain scrap of cloth she’d been provided, a familiar sight. It still bore Hyacinthia’s signature stitching. 

Letha remembered Hyacinthia insisting to Macrinus upon her arrival that she be provided something more suitable to wear. Within a day of Macrinus’s assent, Letha had been provided with this top and some modified braccae. Though they were discouraged among men, it relieved Letha to be able to wear something more concealing around the stable of gladiators. 

And she treasured it now, eager to get rid of the bloodstained dress.

Ravi broke the uncomfortable silence first. “Did he hurt you?”

Letha played dumb. “Who?”

Ravi sighed. “The tyrant.”

“No,” she answered. “Not at all.”

Perhaps if he’d lived up to his reputation, it wouldn’t be so painful.

Before Ravi could ask any other questions, a Praetorian appeared, standing outside the cell. They could hear Viggo chasing him down, shouting that he wasn’t allowed to be back there and needed to speak with Macrinus.

Ravi bristled beside Letha, but she stood, approaching the cell bars.

“Ancus?”

“Get away from there!” Viggo ordered, finally catching up.

Ancus didn’t bat an eye. “I’m here on orders of your Emperor. It would be in your best interest to leave us.”

Viggo looked for a moment like he might argue before he turned tail and fled, most likely in search of Macrinus.

Ancus returned his attention to the cell and its current occupants. He glanced from Letha to Ravi, then back, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s trustworthy,” she assured him. 

Ravi played it cool, shooting an unbothered smile Ancus’s way, though Letha knew he was brimming with curiosity.

“I was told to deliver this to you. If it is as planned, you may need it.” Ancus reached through the bars, a small bundle wrapped in cloth in his hands. Letha took it, pulling some of the material back to get a peek at what was inside. Letha saw the familiar shape of the dagger she’d used all those nights ago. Someone had kept it.

“Tell Geta I am thankful,” Letha begged.

Ancus frowned. “I’m sorry, my lady. It is Caracalla who has sent me here.” 

It shouldn’t have left her feeling so cold, but it did. Of course. 

“Well, tell him the same.”

Ancus nodded. “I will have an eye on you.” He moved to leave, but came back. “Good luck, Letha.”

She couldn’t say anything in return, just nodded and looked down at the bundle in her hands as he walked away.

“Friends in high places, princess,” Ravi commented. 

She unwrapped the dagger, finding it still coated in dry blood. 

“Well, if you don’t need the sword, I’d say you should definitely go for the shield.”

The sound of one of the large gates on the edge of the arena opening drew Geta’s gaze. His breath caught in his throat at the sight. She had some cobbled-together armor on her shoulders and arms, but little else. Her hair had been braided, circling her head not unlike a crown. She looked nothing like the woman he had come to know.

All the better. It would be easier to watch that way, he supposed. No, no. What a ridiculous notion.

Nothing about this was easy for Geta. He regretted his choice almost as soon as he’d made it. His suggestion was borne of the grievous injury she’d dealt him. Now that the outcome of it stood on the sand below the box, the selection of weapons waiting in the center of the oval, he sat in his seat stewing in dread. 

“You can still put a stop to this madness, brother,” Caracalla reminded him, his voice terse, uncharacteristic. Geta looked over, seeing a conviction he wasn’t used to finding in Caracalla’s eyes. 

“Do not speak to me of madness, brother,” Geta spat back, irritated with Caracalla’s needling ever since he’d formed an opinion on his handling of Letha.

Caracalla’s temper flared. “You cannot even stand to look at her now,” he accused.

Geta reared around to face his brother fully, muscles in his neck tensing as he tempered the volume of his words. “Because I cannot bear it.” 

The sun burned Letha’s skin, as if Apollo himself decided to visit the arena. Her eyes moved over to rest on the Emperors’ box, seeing the two of them sitting there, in conversation with each other, their copper hair shining. Perhaps they were touched by the divine after all. 

Or perhaps the gods were playing a trick, drawing out her pain until she couldn’t bear it any longer. They would send her to her death, despite everything, all thanks to the snake, Macrinus. She got in his way. This would be the consequence.

“Don’t die too quickly, princess,” Viggo jeered from behind the wooden gate, just off to her side. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your lover.”

She didn’t dare look over, focused instead on the gate opening up in front of her. Who, or what, would walk through it? What insurmountable task would she have to deal with? How swift a death could it provide? 

Just one moment and it could all be over. All the heartache, the pain, the vitriol, the rage. It could all disappear if she just let it happen. No matter where she ended up, be it Elysium or the pits of Tartarus, anything would surely be better than this. 

Maybe she would see her family again. Her brother could mock her once again. She could feel her mother’s hand against her cheek. Her father would seize her in a tight hug, telling her she did what she had to do, even if those words didn’t exactly ring true.

The tears welled up, obscuring her vision until she blinked and let them fall onto the sand. She quickly wiped the trails from her cheeks, breathing deeply. 

The man walking out into the arena bore an unmistakable red line across the top of his cheek, just below his temple, and it went all the way to the back of his head. The missing portion of his ear a stark reminder of her fury and how she arrived here. 

General Plautianus. 

They did this on purpose. She wondered if this was Macrinus’s idea, or if Geta had suggested it himself. This was a former general of Rome, not a gladiator. The idea of dying at his hands repulsed her. He had already claimed her father and brother, he couldn’t claim her, too. 

But did she even stand a chance? Her shoulder was still injured, she couldn’t rely on her dominant arm for too much before it grew tired and tender. They had only given her the most basic armor, nothing for her chest or legs. The only weapon she possessed was a dagger. Her dagger. A kind gift from Caracalla. She didn’t think she’d get a chance to properly thank him.

Letha didn’t know how she was supposed to fend off a Roman general. If she had just done what Macrinus tasked her with, none of this would be happening. None of this additional pain would exist. Protecting the twins had earned her no favors, clearly. It all meant nothing. 

He felt nothing. And that was almost worse than the death that awaited her. 

“I should have killed you. I knew there was something off about you,” Plautianus taunted. “You thought you could take revenge? You? You’re as dumb as your brother. Clearly fated to die by my sword. My hand was stayed once, it will not be again,” he promised, flexing his hands, his eyes focusing on the three items at the center of the arena. 

Two other men joined them, standing an equal distance from the items waiting at the center. A gladius, a spear, and a small round shield. That meant someone could be left empty handed. As Ravi had warned her, that couldn’t be her. Still, the idea of rushing to meet all of them in the same place didn’t fill her with confidence, though she didn’t have much choice.

An announcer stepped forward, dressed down compared to the usual games. There was no formal ceremony. It took Letha a moment to even realize they’d been given the go-ahead. The only tell was a flicker of movement from the other prisoners. 

Letha snapped into a sprint, her legs fresh after sitting in the cell for so long. The same could be said of the others, however. She could see them approaching the center just as quickly as she was. She did note that the general seemed slower, his bulk and elaborate armor weighing him down. But he was still fast. She didn’t think it wise to underestimate any of them.

Before Letha could get her fingers around the lip of the circular shield, she was body-checked, knocked to the chalky gravel, and one of the other prisoners hefted it. She scrambled to her feet, grabbing the next thing within reach. The spear.

Surely not the most optimal choice for her stature, it was better than nothing, the sword getting snatched up by the other man, leaving the General with nothing. 

Plautianus approached the group, his eyes raking over the slight build of the man currently holding the gladius. It took him only a moment to dodge the reckless swipe and tackle the man to the ground. He wrenched the sword from his grip and ignored his protests as he plunged the blade into his chest, rising to his feet with an ease that surely frightened those he fought against in battle. 

Three. 

Letha tried to find a good way to grip the spear, the wood rough lacking any wrap or protection for her bare hand. Even having the weapon, her options were slim. Even if she took out the man with the shield somehow, that would leave the General. And she didn’t like those odds.

It seemed Plautianus was similarly assessing his options, and as his gaze fell heavy on the shieldbearer, she knew he’d made a decision. It wasn’t what she would’ve done, had she been in his place, but she was no general, had no tactical prowess. Or maybe he was just saving her for last.

She couldn’t do nothing. Nothing would get her killed.

As Plautianus charged, she almost lost her nerve. He reached the shieldbearer, holding the sword threateningly in his direction. As he swung it overhead, the shieldbearer hefted the round disc high to block his blow. 

Letha moved in.

She jabbed the point of the spear into the back of his knee, as hard as she could. The roar Plautianus let out echoed around the arena. Before she could pull it free and step back, a swipe of the gladius cut through the pole of the spear, sending her on her ass. She got up as quickly as she could, keeping hold of the useless pole just in case.

Stunned by her action, the shieldbearer stood no chance, taking the brunt of Plautianus’s fury as he gutted him. He ripped the shield from the man as he fell, hopping a bit to take pressure off his injured leg as he faced her.

As he stared her down, she felt like she was back on the floor in the entryway to her house, shoved down to her knees. She could picture her brother slumped against the wall, his biting wit still being used to lash out at the Romans standing around them. It did nothing but earn him a few extra kicks to the ribs. But still he sat there, making use of the only tool he had left, right up until her impulsive action got him killed.

“You are the thorn in my side no longer,” Plautianus promised, leveling the sword at her, shield held close to his chest. He did not charge at her, no, he moved with purpose, a significant limp the only sign he’d been injured. It didn’t show in his face or his focus.

There wasn’t anywhere to go. She couldn’t run or hide. There were only the two of them. She was forced into a defensive position after sacrificing the tip of the spear, for all the good it did her now. He would still bear down on her, he still had the sword. 

Plautianus moved quickly, striking like a viper. She brought up the spear’s shaft to attempt to deflect the blow. The sword skated off it and cut a hot slash into her upper arm, thankfully only splitting the skin and not going deeper. Her hand went to the fresh wound and she backed away from the general, trying to pay attention to his movements as he stalked her. 

He moved in swiftly. She chucked the pole at him for lack of anything else. He raised the shield to smack it away, giving her a small opening. She drew the dagger quickly and advanced, ducking under another slash to drive it into his thigh. It had worked, another blow in this war of attrition, but she left herself open, the lip of the shield colliding with the side of her head, the crack of it audible. 

She scrambled back, seeing stars. It was hard to recover from, her stunned state causing her to lose her balance and crash down onto the fine pebbles. The chalky surface stuck to the sweat on her skin. 

Plautianus let out a roar and reached for his bleeding thigh, inspecting the damage done. With a gut-wrenching glare, he abandoned the sword and shield. He wouldn’t need them. 

As she tried to regain her breath, her vision swimming, his foot caught her injured shoulder, knocking her back onto the ground. The small stones bit into her palm as she pushed herself up onto her knees, holding the dagger desperately. Her chest burned as she tried to steady her breathing.

He just kept coming at her. There was only one way this would end. This had been orchestrated since the order was given to claim the lands she came from. Perhaps the gods were here in this arena after all. Putting things into motion in order to amuse themselves later. They must view the people as playthings, acting out plotlines for their entertainment.

It bothered Letha that she might have always been going to die at the hands of General Plautianus. Someone above surely had a penchant for torture, letting her fool herself into thinking there could be anything else but this waiting for her. 

None of it mattered. Not to her outcome. Not to him. 

It was hopeless to try to salvage her feelings now. Let it hurt, let it burn her up. If she was to meet her end here, by his order, within his view, then she could allow herself to feel the sadness of it. It was sharper than any blade. It cut deeper. By that measure, she was already dead. No point in fighting it.

She threw the dagger down onto the sand, abandoning any effort to stand. 

General Plautianus laughed. “Surrender? You’ve been watching too many gladiator matches. There’s no such thing here. The gods don’t intervene to save treasonous whores.”

She watched him turn around and hobble over to where he’d abandoned the sword, something close to happiness in his face as he reclaimed it.

“You put up this fight, all this bluster, but you’re ineffective,” he spoke, gesturing to the scar along the side of his head. “At least you’ve realized that now, and I can put right this wrong.”

Letha would not rise to his taunts.

She waited for the sword to meet her neck, her head bowed low, the careful plait of her hair exposing the back of her neck for the blade. Plautianus was strong, she’d seen him wield that blade before. Her death would be swift. 

She rested her hands on her covered thighs and closed her eyes, letting the breeze blow in the scent of the heat, the stench of Rome. She would soon add to it, a carefully crafted perfume of misery. 

The crowd had gone quiet, their breath bated for the spilling of her blood. She could hear the crunch of the gravel underfoot, could just about picture how close General Plautianus was standing. Would he cleave her head from her shoulders in one blow? Or two?

“Stop!” Geta roared, his voice echoing around the colosseum. The silence stretched, no one sure of what was happening. 

Letha opened her eyes, turning to see Geta leaning out of the box, his chest heaving. 

“Enough,” he spoke, his voice not as loud this time. She could hear the pain in his voice. She didn’t dare let herself indulge in it. It changed nothing. 

“Mercy,” Caracalla agreed, standing beside him.

Letha heard Plautianus scoff, his shoe scuffing the ground. “Mercy?” he spat. “I was promised blood,” he yelled at them. She looked up at him, alarmed, as he began to ready his arm for a swing despite the Emperors’ wishes.

“Ancus!” Caracalla shouted. 

Before she could bring up an arm as if to shield herself from his blade, the shunk of an arrow sounded as it struck Plautianus in the chest, piercing the armor. The sword clattered to the ground. She sat there, shocked, as he sank to his knees right in front of her, his expression one of disbelief as he reached for the arrow lodged in his lung. He choked on blood as his face turned an ugly color. He finally fell back, landing on his side as he continued to claw at the wound. 

The Colosseum filled with uncertain murmuring. Why was she still breathing? Why did their general lay there, dead? Why was Emperor Geta so upset? Why did they intervene?

Letha refused to look up at the box, refused to look for Geta. Refused to let herself hope. She heard the Praetorians before she felt them hauling her to her feet. Despite being carried out of the arena still alive, she felt far from safe. In fact, nothing was certain now. 

What would Macrinus have to say about Geta’s intervention? Was he fuming in the box, wishing to crack the brothers’ skulls together and be done with it? She assumed he wished to see her dead before he enacted the final steps of his plan. Now that it was foiled, the twins weren’t safe, and she was stuck in the belly of the Colosseum, unable to help them. If they would even welcome her help. 

If she somehow got the chance, she would see Macrinus dead. And then, the fates could have her.

[ Part XIV ]

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Vampire x Princess in a tower pt.2

Pt. 1

Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/cherie47467

TW: Love-bombing, non-con, dubcon.

Ever since your transformation into a vampire at the hands of Roman, the two of you have been inseparable. Feasting on the blood of beasts and man, being the most animalistic one could be. Not only that, but the sex has been better than every other fucking before.

"My darling, how about we go home to your kingdom and get some fresh blood?" Roman proposes, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulders. "We can also get some of your things and complete your move-in."

You hold back a moan as his teeth graze your skin and rub your husband's head.

"I think that's a wonderful idea. Besides, I need to get out of this castle," You respond, getting out of the chair and walking to your closet. "Casual or noble casual?"

"Casual. I like seeing you in that white dress with all the ribbons and ruffles. It makes me feel like I'm turning you all over again," Roman answers, not bothering to hide the tent in his pants. "But must you desire to escape my castle so badly? Why can't you stay here forever with me?"

"Roman, I've been cooped up in buildings long enough. I'm a vampire and more capable of exploring the world now. Imagine, I can go to all the village festivities, go to markets, buy food and the best wines!"

Roman glares at you, his purple eyes darkening.

"Roman, why are you looking at me like that? Are you really that bothered by me having fun outside that much?" You say, tying the ribbons on your dress.

"Yes. I mean, what if your former fiance wants you back?" Roman replies, walking towards you and helping you tie the rest of the ribbons.

"My former fiance is somewhere else and married to another. He literally forgot about me in a tower. That's how you found me!"

"Ok, and what if someone else tries to steal you away?! You're a beautiful maiden, and anyone would be eager to steal you away! Why can't you understand how I feel?!"

"You know what if you want to stay inside the castle that badly, you can stay! I'm going back to my kingdom to get my stuff."

You walk away from your lover, not noticing the desperate look on his face. As you venture through the woods to your kingdom, Roman is sending his best bat servants to secretly follow you.

~~~~~~~~~~

You throw the castle doors open, expecting to be met with scrutiny. Instead, the loving arms of your mother and father embrace you.

"My dear daughter, where have you been? We've been looking for you everywhere. I'm so sorry we were deceived by that horrible man!" Your mother weeps, not caring about your fangs. "If we had known he was a crazy cult member, we would've never engaged you to him."

"I'm sorry, cult member? What are you talking about? I thought he wanted me gone so he could marry someone else?" You ask, letting go of your parents.

"No. Turns out he belonged to a cult worshipping a powerful vampire named Roman Beaudelaire, who is centuries old and amassed powers that thrive in the darkness. He left you to die so Roman could find you and make you his wife for eternity. But I see he's already completed that part," Your mother says sorrowfully. "We can go to the royal doctor and return you to normal if you want."

"No way, Roman wouldn't do that. He saved me," You reply, remembering how Roman fed and nursed you back to health.

"Sorry, sweetie," Your father says, showing you a picture of Roman talking with your former fiance, both dressed in dark cloaks.

"I need to see the royal doctors now," You stammer, feeling ill.

Unbeknownst to you, a little bat had heard your conversation and returned to its master. Only to deliver news that Roman would find most dreadful.

~~~~~~~~~~

"She'll be fine after a couple of days. Just make sure she doesn't drink any blood, and her vampirism shouldn't return," The royal doctor says, taking the needle out of your neck.

"Get some rest, sweetheart. We'll bring you dinner later," Your father says, kissing your forehead.

The pain was all you felt as your body acclimated itself to normalcy. The most painful part was feeling your teeth and nails recede back into your gums and nail bed. As you drifted off to sleep, you saw a shadowy figure watching you but thought it was your mind hallucinating due to the medicine. When you awoke, you wandered through the royal gardens, reliving your childhood. After turning a corner in the rose maze, you find the path to your favorite section, the aquatic flora area. The entire area is covered in water with flowers growing everywhere. You enjoy the feeling of water touching your feet as you walk to the giant water lilies until you see your former vampiric lover standing before you. Without a second thought, Roman walks toward you and kisses your lips like he's never touched you before.

"I knew it. You went to the doctor to turn you back into a human again. Why? Why do you believe such lies about me after we spent weeks feasting on the blood of others and each other? I love you. I was saving you from your fiance," Roman questions, holding your shoulders.

"The only thing you "saved" me from was a happy life where I would marry someone else," You reply, shattering Roman's heart.

"Please, you've got to understand. I've been so lonely for all those centuries! I can't be alone again. I need you," Roman pleads, wrapping his arms around so tightly you can't break away.

"Roman, let go!" You exclaim, feeling his fangs on your shoulder. "I don't love you anymore!"

"Please, please don't leave me!" Roman cries, hugging you tighter. "I'll let you explore every part of my castle!"

"Roman-fine! I won't leave you! If-if I have sex with you right here, tonight, will you calm down and leave?" You ask, looking at Roman as his head moves from your chest.

"Of course," Roman replies, kissing your hand.

Roman uses his claws to swipe off the ribbons on your dress, letting the garment fall to the floor and get drenched in water. His eyes scan your body and force you to the ground, kissing your neck before his teeth pierce your skin. As you feel the blood drain from your body, your legs squirm underneath Roman. You feel weak and tap Roman to let him know you've had enough.

"Ro-Roman, please. Please, stop," You whimper, feeling faint.

"A little more, my love. I'm almost done," Roman whispers, kissing your neck and biting a new spot on your neck.

"Please-"

"You will enjoy my fangs."

You feel his power wash over you just like it did the first time in the carriage, and your body relaxes, heating up as you enjoy his touch. You shake with disgust as you see your shaky hand slowly make its way to Roman's head, pushing his fangs deeper into your shoulder. You feel Roman unbuckles his pants, and you see his bloody mouth smile.

"Darling, you look absolutely divine," Roman coos, about to kiss your lips.

Just make sure she doesn't drink any blood-

"No, anywhere else," You say, putting a hand between his lips and yours.

"Darling, don't be afraid. You've already been a vampire once. You know how good it feels," Roman responds, kissing the edges of your lips. "But if you must insist, I shall follow through."

Roman kisses his way down to your thighs, licking your inner thigh. You feel lightheaded, leaning your head back into the cool water, letting Roman enter you. You feel him thrusting, him kissing your chest as he pleasures you.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you and only you," He chants like a spell.

Your senses overwhelm you as the pleasure builds in your body, finally, you feel some peace as your vision goes black in the cool water of the aquatic flora section.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Princess Y/N!" A guard yells, seeing your body lying in the water.

You wake up, your head hurting, and see your naked body covered by Roman's coat. The sun's light makes your skin glisten, almost annoying you as it blinds you.

"Princess Y/N, are you alright?!" The guard yells, picking up your body and wrapping it with the coat.

"I'm fine. Just drop me off in my quarters, and I shall be fine," You reply, clinging to the guard.

The guard does as he's told and places you on your bed. Once the door shuts, Roman comes out from behind it and gives you a lovesick smile.

"I'm sorry I had to end our late-night romance so early. I wanted you to be awake when you experience the ultimate release from my pleasure," Roman says, walking towards your bed. "Now then, how about we return to the gardens tonight to finish where we left off?"

You can only lay in bed as he sits next to you, stroking your body.

"I love you, Y/N. No matter how many times you try to push me away, you know you'll come back to me. You loved being a vampire and being your most authentic and animalistic self. It's just the way things are meant to be. We're destiny," Roman says, kissing your forehead and sliding beneath the bed to cuddle you. "So stop denying me."

[the-kr8tor]

May I have Bitter Orange in a ⭐ bottle please? The start of R and Hobie being handcuffed together before they turned, with R succumbing to the effects of the virus much faster than Hobie due to his spiderpowers, so for a bit he just watches his love become a husk of who they were before he too is a zombie?

*laughs evily* Yessss I've been waiting for a request exactly like this hwjsjwijsjaj hope you like it!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.2k (whoops)

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), description of illness, TW blood, CW injury, TW death, zombie AU, Zombie apocalypse AU. Angst, Hurt/comfort

A prequel to this one shot

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

The air is nice and cool on your face as you walk hand in hand with Hobie in the barren street. There's rows upon rows of abandoned houses, all in different stages of decay from both scavengers trying to survive and time itself proving to be the worst enemy. But it's on your side for now for it has given you infinite time to be with him.

Hobie's hand is suddenly on your scarf, fingers gingerly sliding the fuzzy material up to your chin. He smiles at you, the sun blindingly light behind him. Despite the apocalypse, he still looks just as handsome. He has new shallow scars on his chin where a stubble is slowly growing, hair a bit of a mess but beautiful nonetheless. You've once told him after a lucky find of one whole pound of chocolate pudding that he's apocalypse chic, that he makes the end of the world look good. To which he laughed and shoved a spoonful of chocolate pudding in your mouth. Compared to him you probably look like a mess, you wouldn't know, you've ignored mirrors ever since you ran out of shampoo a few days ago.

“What are you thinkin' ‘bout, gorgeous?” He tugs you closer to him, the crowbar hanging from his backpack clinks against the machete next to it.

“That I really need shampoo, and that you look unfairly handsome in this light.”

Chuckling, he intertwined his fingers around your own. It could mean death for the both of you if the undead suddenly lunges and he doesn't have enough time to take his hand away from you. But he thinks it's alright for him to do, to indulge himself to your touch since the entire place is empty save for a few dead cars and scattered luggages left by people.

“You should see yourself in my eyes, lovie, the greasy hair is doin' a lot for me.”

“Oh yeah? You like it when you pat my head and you get petrol on your hand?”

“We need petrol, d’you think if I bunch up your hair and squeeze it I can collect the oil?”

You nudge him playfully, “you're an ass.”

“Yeah, well, you're stuck with this arse.”

Your mind goes back to your friends and family you've left behind. “Do you think they're okay?”

“'m sure they are, Yuri's got them, and they have Ned, he'll whip them into shape. ‘sides, we're almost at James’, if I was them I'd stay there.” He adjusts his hold on his pack and guitar. “We'll find them.”

You smile, nuzzling his bicep for his own reassurance, knowing that he also worries for them. “You're right. They're probably doing better than us.”

“Yeah,” he pecks the crown of your head. “They're living like kings, I bet.”

You two stop in front of a large house, complete with white marble steps and tall roman columns. “James' dad never had taste, huh?”

Hobie snorts, “his son took all of it. C’mon, then.” He leads you on the porch, trying the door, wishing that it was locked because if it is it means that someone's inside, that they're surviving and waiting for the two of you. To his despair, the door opens without a problem.

Hobie looks back at you having the same expression. “It's okay,” you try to be optimistic, “maybe they left a message for us.”

He nods, “yeah, maybe.” Crossing the abandoned space, he takes his guitar from his back to strum a tune. When he doesn't hear stumbling or any rattling from anywhere inside the house, he continues forward, but his guard is still up. “We might as well get some supplies while we're ‘ere.”

“Yeah, there might be some left in here.” You give him a small smile. “How about we split up? This place is too big, it'll take us forever to comb over this place.”

Hobie considers it for a moment. The place seems pristine except for the furniture and cabinets that are picked clean, so he deems it safe. “Okay, just…” you walk to his side, rubbing his arms, smiling sweetly at him even though he probably doesn't smell the best. “...keep your knife close.”

“I will keep my knife close,” you repeat his words, “and I'll stay alert.” Poking at his chest, you peck the frown off his lips. “And you keep safe.”

He's still apprehensive, but he knows you can hold your own. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you fully, smooching until you're giggling. “We’ll meet back ‘ere in fifteen.”

“Aye, aye, Cap'n!” You mock salute. “Any special requests?”

“Chocolates.”

“I said a request, not wishful thinking.” You tease, he has an urge to kiss you again.

“Towels, the nice fluffy ones.” You slide your hands away from him, to which he already longs for.

“Got it! I bet James has a ton of them.” You wink, knife in hand, walking away from him.

Hobie watches your retreating back, tamping down his anxieties. He searches upstairs, grinning at James' familiar room. His posters and messy floors remain untouched, the bed still looking like it was tossed around by a tornado. He almost cries at the picture frame on the bedside table containing his band's smiling faces plus you who's embracing him.

Turning the frame around, he takes the picture and pockets it to show to you. After rummaging James' room, he takes a few shirts and pants for him and you. He even finds a pair of silk pajamas that he knows you'll love. A piercing scream echoes around the house, he immediately bolts downstairs, heavy footsteps thudding across marble floors.

You're on your back, fighting for your life while the undead on top of you tried to get a chunk out of you. It all stops when Hobie's guitar connects to the corpse's skull in a sickening crunch of metal and bone.

You scramble away, neck and arm in pain. Hobie's wide eyes meet yours just as when the back door bursts open, revealing a whole horde of the undead. Panicking, he yanks you up, holding your hand, running outside to more of the shambling dead.

“Fuck!”

“Hobie!”

“Just hold on!” His hand is tight around yours, you try to run at his pace, panic in your veins, adrenaline in his.

It feels like you've been running forever, Hobie sees an opening hidden in an alley. He can climb on his own without a ladder but you can't. So he leads you towards the empty alley while the rotten, decayed corpses of once human beings run after you at full speed.

Hobie jumps to take down an emergency ladder, without missing a beat, he grabs your waist and throws you on the ladder. You climb, but the pain in your arm gets worse so you're slower but you still try for him.

The undead finally gets to the alley, you don't dare to look down. Once you're on the rooftop, you peek below to see him struggling to get up the ladder, he's halfway with a handful of zombies dangling on his leg.

You scream his name but it's too late, one of the undead has bitten a chunk of his leg as he tries to kick the former human off the ladder where he's desperately trying to climb to. You wish he didn't run out of web fluid, you wish the world didn't end, you wish the throbbing pain on your arm is just muscle spasm, but the warm crimson seeping out of teeth marks says differently.

With a sickly crunch, the zombie falls down the ladder and into the rotten horde. Hobie climbs up quickly back to you, hands immediately grasping on to you.

“Did it get you?!” You yell, still in denial, frantically checking in hopes that his boot saved him. Your heart falls into your stomach at the sight of broken skin, blood staining your fingers where you hold the hem of his trousers away to get a better look. You're frozen on the spot, tears clinging to your lashes. “Hobie,” you gasp, taking off your scarf to make a makeshift tourniquet around and above the bite. “Fuck—!”

“You okay?!” He does the same to you, heaving, ripping off your sleeves like a madman trying to find the secrets hidden in your skin. He prays that he finds none. His eyes widen, terrified, broken hearted, shaking his head, refusing the fact that you're infected. “No,” he shakes his head again, closing the torn up cloth around the slowly rotting wound. “It's just a scratch, love, y-you’re not—”

“Hobie…” you smile bitterly, eyes mirroring his own. He rips the hem of his shirt, using the cloth to wrap it around your arm, just above the wound in an attempt to stop the spread. He ignores the stinging pain on his leg. “Hobie, stop, it's—”

“We can still stop it!” He yells desperately, tying the cloth tightly. “It's just a scratch.”

“Hobie, please.” You hold his trembling hands, “it has been ten minutes.” He refuses, you squeeze his hand weakly, the virus already taking hold. Slowly killing you. “And—” with trembling hands, you show him the gaping bite on your neck, oozing dark decaying blood. He choked on a sob. “B-but there's a chance for you, your abilities might've made you immune—”

“No, if you're goin’, ‘m goin’” He stands up, not giving up on you. “There's a chemist’s ‘ere, maybe if w-we…” he puts on a brave face amidst the impending doom and rotten flesh that stings his nose. “Maybe there's somethin’ there.” Hand reaching down, you smile up at him, orange and pink hues from the sky dancing around your face. “C-can you get up?” His voice breaks, chest heaving. “I can carry you. Don't make me carry you, love.”

You slide your hand onto his own. “Hobie,” your voice is soft above the mindless groaning below. His eyes beg you to move. So you do. “Okay,” with a single word, you bring him hope.

With divided effort, you both make it towards the roof of the pharmacy. He was uncharacteristically silent the whole way, but his hand never left yours. His eyes never met with your wounds that's slowly festering. You feel it inside you, the fever, the virus that's eating at you, spreading throughout your body, gnawing at every bit of your warmth like a seed taking root. Hobie feels it too, he's terrified that you're experiencing it too. It's his worst fears came to life only because he wasn't fast enough.

Opening the creaky door, he hopes that it's devoid of the undead. Like he's not on the brink of eating flesh, he does his usual prep. He strums his guitar softly to attract any walking corpses waiting behind doors, when none comes out, he cracks the door wider. With his torch, he lights up the way. But he doesn't feel your presence behind him.

Looking over his shoulder was a mistake, he finds you hunched over the doorway, groaning quietly, nails clawing at the throbbing wound around your neck. That's the moment he knew that you'd go out before him. For the first time, he curses his gifts.

Slowly, he crosses the distance towards you, shaking hands grasping your shoulders. You're warm, incredibly warm. “Love?” He could cry, but he doesn't want you to see his sorrow.

You sniff, tears streaming down your face from the pain and the tragedy of it all. You've accepted that you were infected, but not him, you'd take the virus from him too if you could. “I'm s-sorry, so fucking sorry. I should've—”

“Oi, none of that, yeah? You're gonna be fine.” He says it to convince himself. “You'll be back on your feet tomorrow and by then we'll see Yuri and the others.” Nodding, he takes you by your arm, careful of making your wounds worse. There's blood sticking to his clothes, seeping through his clammy skin. He hates the fact that it was yours. Bringing you behind the counter, you almost keep over. “I've got you, I've got you.” He says it against your temple like a prayer.

“H-Hobie.” You sob, salty tears marring your pretty face. “I can't— it hurts.” The gnawing feeling gets worse, as if a chainsaw is ripping you apart from the inside. “It's so hot, I–I can't breathe.”

“O-okay, I'll set you down ‘ere, get you comfortable. There's some fever meds over there. It'll help.” His hazel eyes pleads for anyone, anything that'll help you. He helps you sit down, and you immediately lie down on the cold tiles. “Do you want a blanket?”

“N-no,” you're hot and cold at the same time. “I don't know.” You look up at him, he sees the light in your eyes fading. “I don't feel so good, Hobs.”

Hobie could only look away from you, inhaling, exhaling but it doesn't feel like he's breathing right. He kneels down, setting his guitar next to you, palm placed on your forehead. “This is nothing, love.” He tries to smile, but fails. “Remember when you had the flu?” You nod weakly, “you were a fuckin' beast, you beat it on your own in just a few days.”

Even though you feel your heartbeat going faster and then slowing down in a weird rhythm like a heartbeat monitor going haywire, you smile for him. “I was, wasn't I?”

He rubs your bicep, under his touch, he feels your muscle twitch. “Yeah, you still are.”

You chuckle softly, tears sliding down your cheeks and into the cold tiles. “Okay, get me the meds.”

“That's my girl,” laying his forehead atop yours, he hopes that he'll take your pain away with the simple gesture, but it's futile. “I'll be back, I promise.”

“Don’t make me wait.”

Smiling, he squeezes your arm. “Never.” Standing up, he rummages through the entire place for the pills you need. Crouching down to check under the broken shelves, climbing up on the walls to get a bird's eye view, and all the while ignoring his own pain. It's slim pickings, but he manages to find a single bottle of tylenol that has rolled under a shelf, it's not enough, but it'll do.

With a victorious sigh, he quickly makes it to the counter, rounding the corner, he sees you wheezing, catching your breath and with blood leaking out from your eyes and ears. “No, no, no!” He takes you in his arms, making you sit up. “I've got the meds, love. Oi, open your eyes for me.” You crack one eye open tiredly. “That's it, good job.” He almost cries when you smile at him through the thick fog of illness.

“G-good job,” you murmur, he doesn't know if you're delirious or you're congratulating him for finding the medicine.

“Bottoms up.” He brings two pills to your mouth, to which you gladly take. Giving you his canteen, you drink most of it, downing the tepid water. “That's good, see, you're already gettin' better.”

You shake your head weakly, barely opening your eyes. “Thanks to you, Hobie.”

“Yeah, thanks to me.” He tries to joke but it comes out choked when blood still leaks out of your tear ducts. Sitting next to you, he now feels his temperature rise so he takes the same amount of pills as you.

You lay your head on his shoulder, hand shakily reaching towards his own. “I'm sorry.”

He almost breaks down at your apology. “Nothin' to apologize for, love.” Meeting your hand halfway, he intertwined his fingers with yours, you're cold now, frozen under his hold. “D’you want that blanket now?”

“Please,” you wheeze out.

Hobie obliges, taking a thick blanket from his pack and then draping it around you as if it'll protect you from the infection. “There, nice and cozy, eh?”

“Thank you,” he feels your crimson fall down on his collar. “For everything.”

“None of that, Y/N, please. None of that.”

“I still want to talk to you.” Your voice is soft and small. “I still want to stay with you.”

Hobie brings your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle softly. “And we will be, after this—” a sob escapes from him. “After this, we'll be together, yeah? Just like how we talked about.”

“Forever and ever?”

His tears flow freely, “yeah, forever and ever.” After a beat of silence, he fears the worst. “Love?”

You cough, he sighs in relief. “Still here, Hobs, not leaving yet.”

“Not yet,” embracing you, he lays his chin atop your head, you're made comfortable in his hold. Home, you feel like you're back home in his houseboat, watching a shitty romcom while he rambles on about his patrol. You want to be back there again. He wants to be back there again. “Can I say somethin'?”

You hum into his chest, squeezing his hand tighter but your sickness, he barely felt it.

“I don't want to…” he could barely say it. “I don't want to kill you. ‘m sorry, I know we talked about it—”

You lean up, he's met with milky eyes, he knows you can barely see him now. “Then don't, I don't want you to—” you pause, clinging to humanity. “— to feel that before you go.”

Nodding, he kisses your forehead, crying, weeping into your skin. “I couldn't save you, ‘m so fuckin' sorry, love, ‘m so sorry.” He shakes, you gather enough strength to embrace him and bury yourself in his chest, letting his scent waft around you for comfort.

“Don't apologize, nothin' to apologize for.”

He sniffs, peppering your face with heavy weakened kisses. “Oi, don't use my own words against me.”

You smile against the rough leather of his jacket. “Can I say something?”

“Go,” he can practically see the countdown. “We have all the time in the world, love.” There's something warm leaking out of his eyes and ears. He's catching up to you.

You'd laugh but you can feel your life slipping through your fingers. “When we turn, I don't want us to be separated.”

“What do you propose?” He tries to inhale but he could only let out a sickening cough.

“Tie our hands together…really tight.” Your words fade away, but you still hold on.

“I've got rope here, I can do it now.”

“But I'll turn first, Hobie, I-I might—”

“It'll be my honour to be your first meal.”

“I'd laugh if we weren't dying right now.” Eyes too tired to open, you feel the rough rope around your wrist, and the unmistakable sound of a knot getting tied. You smile for the last time when you feel his fingers wrap around your own. “I love you.”

“How's that? Too tight?” He whispers close, he feels you slipping away, “Y/N? Love?” he breaks down when your hand falls limp around his own. “Not yet, please, not yet.” He holds you, rocking you back and forth like a babe needing to be held. Your heart doesn't beat in sync with his anymore. “C’mon, not yet, we still have to find the rest of the band, right?” His eyes cloud over, cold taking root inside his entire body. “Say somethin’, fuck!” He yells with all his might, “I love you, fuck, please wake up.”

Closing his eyes, he wraps you in what's left of his warmth. “Don't go, please.” Hobie pleads and cries until he can no longer breathe the same air as you. His last thoughts were of you.

[megraen]

Chapter Seven - Freedom or Death

WORD COUNT: 6,061

Darius Sextus Residence - Rome 195AD

When Fosca returned home that afternoon, having spent her day with most of Rome’s population at the Colosseum watching executions, she hadn’t expected to be greeted by her husband’s slaves with news that the Roman princess was currently resting in the tablinum. It had been a bewildering notion that Lucia would come here on the day that her attack had been executed. Had it been Fosca, she would have been drinking and celebrating the death of her attacker. Stepping into the tablinum, Fosca’s eyes narrowed on the princess. Lucia was sitting on a lounger, dressed in a simple gown, not in the usual slave’s tunic she would wear when visiting.

“This may be the first I have seen you in something that wasn’t just rags.” Fosca teased, trying to coax a reaction from her friend, yet Lucia didn’t speak; her eyes were downcast at her hands folded in her lap, and the cup of wine sitting at a small table beside her was untouched. Fosca frowned. “You are troubled.” She muttered, sitting beside the raven-haired woman.

“I cannot do this anymore…” Lucia forced out, raising her head to meet Fosca’s gaze. Fosca gasped at what she saw; the usual smiling and teasing woman was gone, and all that remained was a shell of a broken woman with dead eyes. Those once vibrant blues were dull. “Rome is killing me…and if I linger, I will take my life.” It was a bitter desire to admit, leaving even Fosca afraid. Death was only considered acceptable under three rules: to remedy a dishonour, old age, and to avoid forfeit of property. For Lucia to end her life to ease her unhappiness would be seen as a public insult.

“You cannot,” Fosca whispered harshly, cupping the woman’s face. “You must live. For your mother, for Acacius, for me.” She begged.

Lucia looked away shamefully. “I have decided I must leave Rome to be free of it all finally.” She pulled away from her friend’s hold and stood, moving to stand in the doorway to the gardens. Fosca’s eyes were trained on her, watching like a hawk for one ill move.

“Why now?” Fosca questioned. “Your attack was—”

“There will be more.” Lucia cut her off, causing the blonde to gape. How could she possibly know that? What reason did Lucia have to suspect that there would be another attack? Lucia sighed. “Countless Senators approached me before Crito’s execution, stating how they could have protected me. They have no honour, only caring for their desire for power.” Lucia explained, and Fosca shared that sentiment. What man ordered tried to woo a woman as she relived her assault? One without morals. “I am twenty-three years of age, and in a decade, many will argue that I can no longer bear sons; the older I age, the more desperate they will become.” Lucia reasoned, turning back to face her friend.

Fosca was frowning, but she understood. She nodded. “Where will you go?” She asked. The Roman Empire was vast and ever-expanding, and if Lucia truly wished to escape Rome and its clutches, she could travel by road to the north or take a boat to the south or east.

“North. To Germania.” Lucia spoke. This was the fastest path in the Roman Empire. One could hitch a ride on a merchant’s wagon along the Via Aurelia road, and then the. Via Julia Augusta road over the mountains into Germania. Ships that crossed the sea would charge too much coin, and there would be a logbook keeping records. The roads would allow her to vanish with the hundreds of other travellers and merchants who used the roads. Lucia shared this with Fosca. The blonde was impressed with the plan; only she had found some minor issues.

Lucia would be too recognisable with her raven hair and clothes; therefore, her appearance would need to be changed. Fosca quickly summoned two slaves, ordering them to go into the markets before they closed and buy a blonde wig and a low-class travelling chiton. The slaves nodded and left promptly, going to complete their tasks.

“You need not waste your coin on me,” Lucia murmured, her brows furrowing, but Fosca waved her off.

“I’d rather have you alive and happy than knowing you died in despair.” Fosca reasons. “Besides, you won’t even make it one foot outside Rome looking as you do now. You must look not as you do now, and your appearance and beauty are well whispered within the city; I’m sure one would recognise you alone based on tales of your appearance.” She explained, adjusting Lucia’s pinned-back raven hair.

A blonde wig would blend in with her pale skin and blue eyes, dulling her eye-catching features. Dressing her down would also effortlessly make the guards ignore her, as none would expect some lower-class blonde woman to be the missing princess. When her husband had been home, Fosca often sat in when he entertained General Acacius, listening to them discuss war strategies.

Fosca glanced again at the untouched wine and frowned. “Have you eaten anything?” She asked, inspecting Lucia’s figure, trying to determine if she’d lost weight from lack of food or stress. When Lucia shook her head, confirming the blonde’s suspicions, Fosca tutted and ordered a slave to bring them food before getting the princess to sit back down. Fosca spent the rest of her evening soothing Lucia as a mother would a child. She could see with her eyes just how broken Lucia had become, a shell of her former self. In all the years she’d known the dark-haired woman, Lucia had always been strong-willed, capable of surviving anything the men of Rome had thrown at her, yet she could only ignore it for so long before it became too much.

While Fosca had a taste of the upper-class lifestyle as a Second in Command’s wife, with the position to attend parties and events, she wasn’t one of the elites as Lucia was, surrounded by Rome’s most influential and wealthy, such as Emperors and Senators, which decided the fate of the Roman Empire daily. A single choice could either have Rome continuing to prosper or let the great Empire fall into chaos.

The slaves brought trays of food: freshly roasted chicken, grapes, bread, cheeses, olives, fruits and various green vegetables, a selection fit for a guest of Lucia’s station. While Lucia didn’t eat much of the food provided for her, Fosca was just glad to see her eating something. After the meal, Fosca had her friend escorted to a guest chamber to rest, knowing the woman needed a good sleep, with the promise that no one would disturb her.

“Domina…” One of Fosca’s slaves approached her as she rested in her tablinum, sipping on wine after putting Lucia to bed. Fosca glanced up at the slave, a single well-maintained brow rising. She looked at the man, who had served her husband long before she married Darius. Fosca gestured for him to speak. “Are you sure this is wise? To go against the Emperors? It is treason.” He offered the advice, knowing that what his mistress was doing was extremely risky. If discovered, it would mean either exile or death, possibly even being made a slave, with consequences that a woman of Fosca’s breeding wouldn’t be able to survive. It also meant that upon Darius’s return to Rome, he would face punishment for his wife’s actions.

Fosca frowned. “You do not have the right to lecture me on what is right or wrong.” She stated firmly, reminding the man of his position as a slave. His duty was to serve, not provide input on how she conducted her affairs. “Lucia is a Roman citizen who has suffered. Therefore, she has every right to leave.”

“She is the property of the Emperors.” The slave tried to reason, believing that by hiding Lucia, Fosca was offending the Emperors, and he was trying to defend his master’s house. The notion of his words had his mistress seeing red.

“She is the property of her stepfather! General Acacius! Not the Emperors or the Senate!” Fosca barked harshly, slamming down her cup and spilling wine everywhere. The fact that she had to quote the law to a slave was ridiculous. She rose swiftly, turning on the slave. The slave flinched under her gaze, knowing he had indeed crossed a line. “If you even think about telling anyone-a single soul—about this, I will personally cut your throat.” Fosca hissed, sending him away with the flick of her wrist. She was seething as the slave left; her mood and desire for wine soured. Her jaw tightened, and Fosca knew she’d have to rein in her husband’s slaves because if a single one of them decided to talk or, worse, go straight to the Emperor’s to report what she was assisting Lucia with, it would be the end of her entire household, including the slaves. Every last one of them would be held accountable for treason.

Palace of Domitian - Rome 195AD

Geta was fuming. He had seen it as an insult that Lucia had chosen to leave the Colosseum before the end of the games he’d arranged in her honour. All of Rome had come to bear witness to Crito’s execution for the former Senator’s crimes against the princess, yet the moment the man had been killed, she’d left, returning to the Palace. She should have sat patiently and enjoyed the games while being in the public eye for their benefit. He and his brother were in a small, private dining room, enjoying an evening meal with paid female company, yet Geta was pacing, ignoring the women as he raged.

“Calm, brother.” Caracalla drawled. He was annoyed with how this was becoming a repeating occurrence. Lucia would do something, and Geta would always find a reason why it offended him. Caracalla couldn’t understand it. To him, Lucia was nothing more than a pretty face he wouldn’t mind taking into his bed, even if his twin had warned him not to do it, multiple times.

Geta scowled. “How can I be calm when she continues to humiliate us?” He hissed, fiddling with the rings on his left hand. He still hadn’t ceased pacing, and it was starting to drive Caracalla dizzy. The younger twin shook his head, trying to unfocus his eyes. “She couldn’t have just sat there? Obedient and dignified while all of Rome gazed upon her?” Geta sighed, finally ceasing his pacing. “Is that too much to ask?” He looked to his brother, who didn’t seem to care to answer, too engaged in drinking his wine. Geta’s hands clenched. He wanted to smack it from Caracalla’s hand and have his brother listen to him and converse with him. “Brother!” He seethed.

“What?” Caracalla groaned. He slouched back on the lounge he was lying on, the two women sitting with him flinching, scared of what both Emperors would do if they became enraged. “Why must you be so obsessed with her? Just ignore her. Lock her away.” Caracalla stressed, wishing to put an end to the one-sided conversation swiftly.

Geta stared at his twin, his mouth agape. “I am not obsessed with her.”

“You act like she is a brothel girl you keep returning to,” Caracalla spoke as if the notion of returning to the same prostitute was a joke. Caracalla preferred to sample each woman at least once, believing it was better to spread his seed than plant it in the same garden over and over. Geta rolled his eyes and made a sound of disgust.

“Lucia is no prostitute, and I’m NOT obsessed with her.” Geta barked before snorting. Obsessed with Lucia? The notion was laughable. The woman was obsessed with him; otherwise, why would she go out of her way to make his life miserable? Lucia seemed to be a bloodhound for always doing something to make him look bad in front of the Senate and Rome. Her ongoing escapades, blatant disrespect, and ignorance of the Imperial crown made the woman more trouble than she was worth. Had she not been Rome’s beloved princess, Geta would have wrung her little neck himself long ago.

Caracalla stood, picking up a cup of wine that Geta had forgotten and offering it to his brother. “Drink, brother! Be merry! For today was a good day! We saw much blood.” Geta stared down at his twin, fiddling with his rings one last time before accepting the drink. Caracalla smiled as Geta drank greedily, letting the wine dull his mind and distract him from thoughts of Lucia. “That’s the spirit!” Caracalla cheered, slapping his twin on the shoulder and guiding him to the lounge where the two women sat waiting. The men indulged their senses, drinking and feasting on the selections of goods prepared by the kitchen slaves. The brothel girls pawed at their bodies, rubbing the rugged plains of their chests, their fingers massaging their flesh. Geta and Caracalla reminisced about the games at the Colosseum, discussing how entertaining it was to witness the fallen Senator and guards meet their cruel fate, to be ripped apart by a lion for their crimes and offence towards their Emperors.

The twins had always loved the Colosseum, even as young children. Their father instilled in them a love for the violence and gore that occurred during a fight; to witness men slicing at each other’s flesh was a desperation for survival. It was the closest the Emperors would get to experiencing real war, the hype of battle, as they’d been sheltered due to their late father’s position as Emperor. Severus needed to ensure that his line would continue, which meant keeping his sons out of harm’s way. It also meant the twins had never received any formal military training. Geta and Caracalla didn’t understand the hard truths of swords and blood; they never knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a weapon or face someone trying to kill them. Yet, Geta was smart enough to be aware of Rome’s various elite clawing to take the role of Emperor away from the twins.

The other viewing pleasure was Circus Maximus. It wasn’t as violent as watching two men hack and slash each other with swords, but the chariot-racing brought a thrill and excitement. Watching the chariots race around the long curved track, with the chance of chariots banging into one another and sending a man onto the tracks, only to have his body crushed under the hoofs of horses and wheels of chariots. For the twins, it was another opportunity to drink and get high from the thrill of death.

Both men were well intoxicated when one of the slaves had entered the small room, their eyes downcast and fearful. The Emperors paid the man no mind, too busy engaging in drink and the lovely company of the prostitutes. After a few more awkward shifts from the male slave, he stepped forward, speaking to gain the attention of Geta and Caracalla. The twins turned to him with a scornful look, greatly annoyed that their celebration was being interrupted.

“My most sincere apologies, your majesties.” The slave bowed low. “But I bring troubling news.”

“Have the Praetorians handle it,” Caracalla said, brushing the man away, not wanting any Imperial matters to distract them from their pleasure. He looked to the brothel girl sitting next to him, the hand he had cupping her exposed thigh slowly edging up higher beneath her flimsy chiton.

The slave shifted again. “They need only your orders to act. Princess Lucia—”

The sound of a glass shattering cut him off. His eyes widened, and he shrank back as Geta jumped, stepping over the broken cup and wine that pooled on the floor. Just at the mention of that woman, he had his blood heating with rage, throwing his wine aside and storming from the small dining room, ignoring his brother’s protests.

Geta had stormed through the courtyard and up the stairs to Lucia’s chambers, bursting the door open to find the room completely devoid of the raven-haired woman. She was gone. That conniving and infuriating woman was gone. “Praetorians!” He bellowed, gazing at the guards outside the chambers long before he arrived. “Where is she?!” Geta stomped up to them, his eyes ablaze with fury. He listened as the guards blundered out their words, explaining that they’d searched the Palace from top to bottom, even the areas reserved for slaves and forbidden for Lucia to enter, but she was gone entirely.

The news did not sit well with Geta. He turned his gaze toward the windows that overlooked Rome, seeing the darkness blanketing the city. Geta knew she was out there somewhere and deemed the woman beyond foolish. While Rome was somewhat safe during the day, a beautiful woman like Lucia would be a walking meal for any red-blooded man looking for a feast to sink his cock into.

“I want every inch of Rome searched!” Geta barked, facing the Imperial guard. He didn’t care if all of Rome had learned about her disappearance; he just wanted her to return to him immediately. “And bring Lucilla to me! Now!” He started to pace in the small chambers, twirling his rings as he did his best to ignore how his heart raced in his chest. It would be on his and his brother’s heads if anything happened to her. He suspected Lucilla played a part in her daughter’s disappearance, as he refused to believe the woman would have no idea of her daughter’s comings and goings.

Geta turned his attention to the room, pulling open drawers and cabinets as he searched the space. He went through Lucia’s belongings as if a clue to her whereabouts would be revealed to him. None of her possessions seemed to be missing, which meant she had taken nothing with her when she left, not even to trade for coin. Throwing open the wardrobe doors, Geta searched furiously through her clothes, ripping each garment and drawer out and throwing them to the floor.

He paused when he noticed the false wooden bottom of the lowest shelf. Geta breathed deeply, knowing he had found something purposefully hidden from him and all those who served him. Lifting the wood away, he paused at the sight of the pure white chiton dress. Lifting it, he knew without having to see the rest of the items hidden away to come to the obvious conclusion. It was a wedding dress, and the orange veil and knotted belt were inside the compartment.

The sight of the garment pieces had his brows twitching, emotions fighting within him. Geta knew the only reason Lucia would have such items hidden away was for her to marry in secret, and it left him to ponder if she had a secret lover that she was venturing out to see to plan an elopement. Rage overtook Geta, flooding his system at the thought of Lucia marrying some unknown man, an offence to his ego. He wouldn’t let her marry. She was his prisoner, and he wouldn’t risk a potential male heir stealing his crown. Geta hadn’t even realised he’d been pulling at the dress in his hands until he heard the sound of fabric ripping, the white chiton breaking into two pieces.

He stood when Lucilla had finally arrived, the blonde woman staring at Geta with wide, concerned eyes. She remained still as Geta stepped closer, the white gown still in his hands. “You have been misleading us…” Geta spoke darkly. His eyes flickered past the woman, spotting his twin lingering in the doorway. “Lucia was getting married,” Geta spoke more to his twin than to Lucilla. He threw the ripped gown at her feet. At the sight of it, Caracalla trudged forward, picking up the dress with a confused gaze. His eyes then looked to Lucilla, and both men stared her down.

“Who was worthy of such a woman’s hand?” Caracalla drawled, stepping closer to Lucilla, invading her personal space without care. Normally, Geta would advise his twin against it, but he didn’t care. He was too angry to stop Caracalla.

Lucilla remained still, unmoving under their scrutinising stares. “There is no one. I had arranged her wedding attire years ago in the hopes of her future marriage.” She spoke truthfully, defending her daughter against the man’s outlandish claims. Neither men were convinced.

“Then where is she?” Geta hissed, his eyes narrowing. “Because she isn’t here or anywhere within the Palace.” He gestured around the space. His eyes softened when he noticed the shift in Lucilla’s demeanour, the once calm and stoic woman trembling when she learned that her daughter was missing.

“What?” Lucilla quaked, her eyes blown wide. “What do you mean?” She asked. The fear overtook her. How could her daughter not be here? Not be safe within her chambers at this time of night?

“You didn’t know?” Geta asked. Lucilla shook her head. She had no knowledge that her daughter was missing or why. Lucilla clutched at her chest, her heart feeling tight. The twins watched as the woman struggled to breathe, and her eyes darted fearfully. “My lady…?” Geta reached for her tentatively but stepped back, shaking her head. Lucilla began to murmur ‘no’ repeatedly, unable to accept the news of her daughter missing. She rushed from the room without saying anything more, leaving the Emperors dumbfounded. They hadn’t expected such a reaction.

“She seems scared,” Caracalla murmured, blinking. The ripped dress was still in his hands, almost forgotten, as he turned to look at his twin. “Do you think she was involved?”

Geta shook his head. “No.” He began to pace, rubbing at his jaw as he thought. It was evident by Lucilla’s reaction that she hadn’t played a part in her daughter’s disappearance, nor did she know where the young woman was. Geta’s eyes moved to the ripped dress in his brother’s hands, and he knew Lucilla was lying to them. There was no way Lucia would hang onto a wedding dress for so long and have it hidden away unless there was a reason to hide it. The dress was also her current size, which meant it wouldn’t have fit her as a teenager. “But she was planning to marry Lucia under our noses,” Geta said, making his brother frown.

Caracalla looked at the dress in his hands, holding it up. “Well, she can’t marry anyone now.” He spoke proudly, admiring the massive tear in the fabric. It was unwearable in its current state, and the twins doubted that even the best tailors in Rome could fix it. Caracalla tossed the dress to the floor. “What do we do now…?” Caracalla asked his brother, his face blank as he stared in confusion.

“We spread the word that Lucia was kidnapped. Taken against her will.” Geta spoke, nodding his head in agreement with his idea.

Caracalla’s eyes went wide. “Lucia was kidnapped?!” He gasped, shocked that anyone could sneak into the Palace and take the woman away.

Geta shut his eyes, breathing through his nose and fighting the urge to yell at his twin for the man’s stupidity. “It’s what we’re going to tell people. We can’t have Rome knowing that she ran away.” He explained. Caracalla nodded slowly.

“So she wasn’t kidnapped?” Caracalla murmured, still clearly confused. Geta gritted his teeth; the more the man spoke stupidly, the more he needed to lecture Caracalla. The eldest twin knew that his brother’s mind wasn’t as sharp as it once was due to the effect of the disease eating at Caracalla’s manhood, but Geta still questioned how Caracalla couldn’t seem to process a single good thought in his head anymore.

“No. She wasn’t kidnapped.” Geta stated firmly, looking at his twin sharply. Caracalla’s confused expression lingered, but he didn’t ask any more tiring questions, much to Geta’s enjoyment.

Streets of Rome - Rome 195AD

Anyone who passed Lucia and Fosca on the streets of Rome could have assumed the two women were sisters or relatives due to the blonde wig secured neatly at Lucia’s head, her dark locks hidden away. Her dress was simple and basic, made from a rough linen that itched at her skin, but she wouldn’t complain. Lucia was finally getting her wish to flee Rome and never look back, just as she had wanted since Lucius was taken away when the twins were eight.

The two women made their way to the Aurelia gate to pay for Lucia’s passage on a trader wagon out of the city, which bore witness to the increased guards on the streets. They quickly heard the rumours.

The first was that during the night, many known accused rapists had been beaten to death, and their bodies were left naked on the Roman streets with their cocks removed. It had been a shocking discovery, and a vigilante justice brought on by Crito’s death at the Colosseum. It sparked a demand for change in Rome that the public wouldn’t stand for their women being assaulted anymore.

The second rumour struck a chord with Lucia more. The moment she heard the tale, she knew the Emperors had spun it to protect their declining reputation. Princess Lucia, daughter of Rome, had been kidnapped while visiting the temple of Jupiter at Palatine Hill, and the guards assigned to protect her were found dead.

The notion that anyone had dared to kidnap the princess on the day of her attacker’s execution was shocking to the Roman public; many demanded she be found immediately and returned to the safety of the Palace.

“They are eager for the princess’s return.” Fosca grimaced, making sure not to speak to Lucia as she was the ‘kidnapped’ princess. Lucia nodded. Both women understood the urge to imprison her again, as her disappearance posed a threat to the twins’ rule. “A murder outside a temple and a kidnapping…” Fosca tutted, shaking her head.

“Such tragedies bring the lower class together,” Lucia muttered, adjusting the palla draped over her body. She had initially planned to use the simple shawl to cover her head, but didn’t wish to hide the blonde wig. The blonde hair meant the guards would glance over her, yet if she hid her head, it made her a better target to be inspected.

Fosca tutted again, not pleased with the Emperors using the peasants’ outrage to their benefit. She just hoped that it would keep people distracted enough for them not to look too closely at Lucia. “One of my slaves came out before dawn and arranged for a trader to meet with us.” She said, her eyes darting around suspiciously as they neared the gate.

“What have they been told?” Lucia asked.

“That you are my sister, escaping your marriage to an abusive drunk,” Fosca explained, spotting a wagon marked with a red and blue canvas on its side. “They are a husband and wife from up north who came to sell their pottery, so they took pity on you.” She added, guiding Lucia closer to the cart. At the sight of them, an old, greying man stopped fiddling with the fastenings that held a short donkey to the wagon, his eyes narrowing.

“Are you Domina Fosca?” The man asked, looking at the finely dressed woman and then the simple-looking woman beside her. “And her sister?” He raised a brow.

“Yes, I am Fosca. And this is my sister, Rhea.” Fosca spoke. Rhea was the name of one of her female slaves, and right now, it is the only one she thought of giving in place of Lucia. The man continued to stare at them, and for a second, Fosca pondered if he somehow knew that the blonde beside her was the missing princess. The man couldn’t know what the Roman princess looked like, as the portrait that had been made of Lucia to be shown around didn’t capture her face too well. It was a rough drawing, made in haste, but it was useless compared to the Imperial soldiers who knew what Lucia looked like.

“Oh! She’s so tiny!” A female voice spoke, causing Fosca and Lucia to glance at an older woman they assumed was the man’s wife. The older woman stepped closer to Lucia, inspecting her. “So skinny! You look as if you haven’t eaten or slept in days!” She gasped, shaking her head at the sight of the young woman before her. Her husband rolled his eyes and muttered something, returning to ensuring the donkey wouldn’t break free.

“I thank you for taking my sister to safety…” Fosca stated, her words dropping off as she remembered that she hadn’t gotten either couple’s names from her slave.

“Dido.” The older woman smiled. “And that old grump is my husband, Aulus.” Her husband grumbled again behind her, but didn’t retort about the grumpy comment. Aulus and Dido had been married for over forty years, a marriage built from love rather than physical attraction.

“Thank you, Dido, for ensuring my sister’s safety,” Fosca smiled.

Dido waved off the thanks. “If it were one of my daughters in this situation, I’d pray that someone aid her just as we are aiding Rhea! And if I found out that any of my sons were acting in such an ill manner, they’d wish I had never birthed them!” She beamed proudly. “Isn’t that right, husband?” Dido turned to her husband, smiling at the man and looking at him for reassurance. Aulus blinked at his wife, muttering ‘As you say, wife’ under his breath. The old couple took aback both Fosca and Lucia, amazed that the husband allowed himself to be subservient to his wife’s demands, as such a thing was unheard of in Roman society, especially in public.

“You two are quite…” Fosca couldn’t find the words.

Dido laughed. “It happens when you have been married for so long. You two are young women, so I wouldn’t expect you to know. I pray that you and your husband are in love?” She looked at Fosca, smiling, when the blonde nodded. “Good. You’ll understand in time.” Dido advised. She stepped away when her husband called for her, trudging over to the cart and beginning to bicker about the supplies and leftover pottery loaded into the back of the wagon. They had a collection of goods to bring back to their small village at the request of their community. The peasantry outside of Rome had to rely on passing traders or dare to make the long journey to the Capital to acquire goods that couldn’t be produced in their small villages.

Fosca turned to Lucia, cupping the younger woman’s face and bringing their foreheads together in a loving embrace. “You be safe. I want you to live a long, happy life. Find a wonderful man, marry, and have many children.” She whispered sweetly, bringing a smile to both their lips. Lucia nodded swiftly, tears pricking at her eyes. There was a thundering in Lucia’s chest, her heart racing at the possibility of both leaving Rome and saying goodbye to her friend. It was a mix of sorrow and excitement, and owed all to Fosca.

“I pray we meet again,” Lucia murmured back, pulling away from the embrace to meet her friend’s eyes. Fosca shifted, pulling at the metal armband on her left upper arm, removing it and sliding it up Lucia’s arm. “Fosca!” She gasped, trying to jerk he arm back, but her friend stopped her.

“Shush.” Fosca scolded. “You’ll need the money.” She said, tapping the armband. It was an intricate working of metal, containing a latch that, when opened, held coins. Lucia frowned. She didn’t like taking more from the woman, but she understood. Lucia would need money to survive until she could get out of the Empire and find somewhere to settle down.

“Thank you.” Lucia smiled again, embracing Fosca one last time. Fosca held back a mournful look as she watched Aulus assist her friend onto the front of the cart, sitting Lucia between him and his wife. If everything went according to plan, this would be the last time Fosca ever saw the princess and as much as it pained her to watch Lucia leave, Fosca was truly happy for her friend. Fosca had been fortunate to be married to a good and noble man who loved her and to live a life of luxury despite the absence of children, but for Lucia, life had been cruel, depriving her of a worthy husband, freedom and children.

“Be safe!” Fosca yelled out, walking beside the wagon as it began to move. She listed off last-minute advice she had wanted her friend to know. Lucia laughed and waved, knowing how much the blonde woman cared for her.

“Your sister loves you a lot,” Dido commented, a sweet smile on her lips as she admired the way Fosca had lingered behind them, watching the cart travel towards the city gate. Lucia nodded, unable to speak at that moment as the heartache had become too much. The sorrow clenched at her chest, and her eyes pricked with tears, mourning the loss of her only true friend, someone whom she had been able to trust wholly.

Nestling back into her seat, Lucia palmed the long skirt of her dress, trying to distract her mind from the final goodbye with Fosca. Taking a deep breath, she forced her head up proudly, gazing at the towering gates that loomed ahead. While the massive wooden structure was open, countless guards surrounded it, inspecting each cart and wagon leaving and peering at any young female, comparing their face to the crudely drawn image of Lucia they had on the parchment in their hands. Lucia felt a bubbling of fear, knowing that if one guard happened to look at her too long and recognised her, her ploy was all over. She’d be dragged back to the Palace, and worse, Dido and Aulus would be executed, blamed as her kidnappers, even if she dared to defend the old couple.

“searching for the missing princess…” Aulus tutted, shaking his head. There was a scowl on his old, weathered face, and it was because this inspection would delay their journey to the nearest town before nightfall. It wasn’t wise to be out on the roads after dusk, as the bandits came out, hoping to rob any unwise travellers. Dido had murmured a reply, but she felt sorry for the missing princess, believing the tales of the kidnapped young woman.

“Halt,” A single guard ordered, stepping closer to the wagon. He held up the parchment in his hand, comparing the drawing to the three individuals in the cart as other soldiers inspected the back contents. Lucia didn’t dare look away or try to look guilty. She needed to remain impassive to their search, knowing it was how she would remain undetected. After a few minutes of being unable to find anyone stashed away in the back, the guards all stepped away and signalled them through.

Lucia breathed a small sigh of relief, silencing the blood pounding in her ears. Her heart had begun to race as the guard with the drawer stared at her, fearing he would realise it was her, but fate had finally chosen to be kind to her, the guard falling for her disguise. Neither Dido nor Aulus had picked up on Lucia’s fear, either blind or distracted by the guards. Yet when the wagon pulled through the large gates and Lucia saw the rolling green hills and vineyards outside of Rome, an audible gasp left her lips.

“First time seeing what lies beyond Rome?” Dido asked, her eyes gleaming with humour at Lucia’s reaction. Lucia nodded. It was a sight she never thought she’d see, and it was beautiful. Rome was a cramped city of maze-like buildings, which she had hardly seen much of in the few times she’d snuck out, but to see what lay beyond the cold metropolis was extraordinary.

“Is all the world like this?” Lucia asked, her head darting around to take in as much of it as possible. The question had urged a laugh from Aulus, the introverted man finding genuine humour in her innocent and naive pondering.

“From what I’ve seen, yes,” Aulus spoke, his eyes flicking to the woman beside him. “But there is so much more out there. Rome is just a small part of our world.”

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

[ijustreallylikepirates]

DCASE20 !!!

-“this episode has sensitive topics” that’s not concerning at all odd nation cartoons not concerning at all

-TEAM JAKE LETS GO

-yall don’t wanna hear me cheering for Jake rn

-bruh Emily stop dragging Trevor like that

-EMILY WTH ARE YOU DOING

-WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO THROW TREVOR OFF THE CLIFF???

-bruh Emily I can’t like you girl

-Ally and Jake actually getting along what a miracle

-Riya you don’t deserve that fucking breakfast

-NO WHAT

-JAKE TRIED TO KILL HIMSELF???

-POOKIE WHY

-“very sus of you to say Riya” EEWWWWW

-I can’t stand Riya

-TJ I SEE YOU

-WE LOVE YOU TOMJAKE FANKID

-Riya having a tiny fanbase is wild 💀

-Jake having the biggest fanbase is so iconic

-THE JAKE CHEER???

-LET ME GET IN ON THAT

-LET THEM DO THE FUCKING JAKE CHEER OML

-YEAH JAKE WE LOVE YOU

-OH YEAH ROMAN COLOSSEUM

-WE LIVE WE LOVE WE LIE

- LMAO ALLY GETTING CUT OFF WITH THE BAG IM GONE

-AW DEREK REMINISCING ON HIS TIME WITH TREVOR IN SEASON ONE

-TREVEK PARALLEL???

-I’m so normal about them (I’m not)

-NOT TREVOR IN THE FUCKING TREE IM DEAD

-“aw son of a bi…scuit” you’re gay

-I just made up a trevek kiss chant

-yall definitely don’t want to hear it

-FIORE IN A BUN THATS SO CUTE

-“watch it 😡” eat him up girl pls i hate you too but keep humbling him for your dad

-“I love walking across shaky planks 😅😰” LMAOOO

-the romantic tension between Riya and Yul is insane

-YAY

-I LOVE WHEN YUL FALLS DOWN FROM GREAT HEIGHTS

-what happened to Yul’s burn did shit just disappear???

-YEAH JAKE YOU EAT

-Emily

-the sigh that I just sighed rn is insane

-“my nails are getting callouses 😩😡” are you sure you’re straight honey

-no way these two are just fighting like children rn

-this challenge is giving season 1 finale

-THERE WERENT SUPPOSED TO HE SCORPIONS???

-I’m gonna hunt Emily down

-PLEASE

-PLEASE GET RIYA OUT

-THE WAY YUL SCREAMS MAKES ME GIGGLE I CANT DO IT

-ITS SO FUCKING FUNNY

-why are these two still running with their arms up like npcs wtf

-yul why the fuck did you jinx that

-JAKE???

-JAKE ISTG

-TREVOR AND DEREK THE ICONS

-ICONIC DUO

-EW DEREK THAT LAUGH

-Emily go away stop being a bitch for two seconds

-“and I love him” THE GAYS THE SILLIES THE HOMOSEXUALS

-DEREK LOVES HIM TOO HE BLUSHED HE LIKED THAT KISS

-AW YEAH JAKE YOU GOT THIS

-YEAH GRAN EMILY TAKE HER AWAY

-AW WERE TREVOR AND DEREK HOLDING HANDS

-PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GET RIYA OUT

-IM BEGGING PLEASEEEEEE

-Ally you eat

-I love you girl keep slaying

-JAKE NO

-I HAD FAITH IN YOU DUDE

-I BELIEVED IN YOU

-COME ON HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

-JAIDEN I LOVE THEM

-ALLY THANK YOU FOR LOSING YOUR GEMS

-JAKE I BELIEVE IN YOU STILL

-LETS GO JAKE

-WE WONNN

-TREVOR DEREK KISS RN

-AW THEYRE HOLDING HANDS THE SILLIES ILL EXPLODE RN

-KRISTAL YOU BITCH THEY WERE ABOUT TO KISS

I LOVED THIS EPISODE

JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE

TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK

TEAM JAKE COME ON JAKE LETS GO

[stfreekeddie]

Traitorous || An Emperor Geta Fanfic

《21+ || Sexual themes, violence, mentions of abuse》

"I would burn this empire to the ground and bathe in the ashes-"

The breath caught by the Emperor was sharp.

"If it meant I could cradle her face in my blood-covered hands."

8 months earlier...

A tense hand rubbed over his mouth in thought, aware that the very foundation of Rome and everything he and his brother - Caracalla - had built was being threatened. Something; no, someone, was leading a rebellion against their rule. Who? That was the very thing keeping Geta up at night. Tossing, turning, writhing with the idea that he could lose his power. His purpose.

That could not stand to be threatened.

The last month had been a series of small attacks from this rebel group, dwindling the guards of the palace. Chipping away at the barrier that kept the twins safe. Just that alone was enough for concern on behalf of the brothers. If their defenses crumbled under these attacks, what did they have to keep them from succumbing to their fate? Geta's thought was to figure out who the leader of this coup was, eliminate from the top so those who follow would bow without anyone to give their orders. Yes, that would have to be the case. Much like a hive - destroy the queen, and the workers perish. A wry grin now upturned his lips, mentally patting himself on the back for such a strategy. A stroke to his own ego.

"I do not understand why you worry yourself sick, brother."

Caracalla's voice had broken the trance he was unaware of even being in until his eyes refocused, landing on his eldest brother, "We have had riots break out before." Geta's words were edged in hesitation, "But this.. this feels different." The words fell hushed from his lips. Even so, Caracalla looked unphased, "I do not understand how this is any different. We take people and make them guards, we strengthen our forces even it requires the sacrifice of desperate men to fight." His smirk was jeering, something that made Geta narrow his eyes. How could his brother think it was so simple? Of course, his illness did cripple his mind. Perhaps he could chalk it up to such a case. Still, he would be lying to himself and the gods if he said it didn't infuriate him to some degree.

"This threat lingers much thicker than previous conflicts, brother." His words began with heavy tenebrous to his voice, "It is not as simple as seeking lambs for slaughter in the form of roman men desperate for some kind of change or purpose. I sense this holds greater merit." He reaffirmed to Caracalla, "Much greater. One our lives may depend on."

Again, Caracalla was dismissive, illustrating as such with a wave of his bejeweled hand, "Nonsense. Rather you should be focused on the orders of the senate. Did they or did they not say you needed to seek a wife?" The words from his lips were followed by a wicked grin, "And there are many roman women to test the.. eligibility of." A sound that was nothing short of a cackle left him seconds after. The way Geta's brows knitted together was clear he was the furthest from amused at his twin's blase attitude towards this very real situation.

Of course, the senate did make it very clear that Geta was to begin his search for a wife. A woman worthy to bore a child that would one day be his heir. That is, if the empire still stood with this group so hellbent on seeing its downfall. Well, at least the downfall of Caracalla and himself. Geta couldn't help but feel like he was in a race against time. Against a war on his own doorstep. Looming the very threshold he grew to take for granted as safe. The senate still had their demands. Requirements to be met. A wife and an heir was just a necessity in the Emperor duties.

"The last thing I am worried about is the fertility of a woman." Admitting that aloud was foreign on his tongue, but it simply showed just how much this issue was taking his mind away. Tapping into a fear he never truly vocalized. A fear of being powerless. Forgotten. In this case, fear overrode any semblance of lust or that akin to it. Maybe that was the curse of having a mind far more stable than his sibling's though not by much.

A slow but shaky exhale left his parted lips, his jaw setting in a harsh line after, "Very well. If the senate craves the union and legacy of an Emperor, I have no choice but to oblige." Geta conceded much to the protest of his paranoia. The conflict will have to be laid to wait. At least for now.

"I will find myself a suitable bride."

[the-courage-to-heal]

A personal message:

About a month ago I attempted to take my life. I took an overdose of dose of pills intentionally. I want to share the story of what I went through. When I arrived at the hospital a nurse told me I could keep my phone “if I didn’t cause trouble” I called my Mom and softly cried. I was told

“I thought you said you wouldn’t cause any trouble”

 I came to realize trouble meant making any noise. I immediately offered to quiet myself. That wasn’t good enough. I was told that I was not allowed to have access to my cell phone anymore. Despite the fact I apologized for crying, and immediately said I understood and would quiet myself.

The nurse advanced on me and attempted to wrestle my phone from my hands. Apparently you are allowed to physically assault somebody if you are a nurse. I want to emphasize all I did was offer to quiet myself immediately. I apologized for crying. That wasn’t good enough.

By this point I was incredibly triggered. I said I wanted to leave, and for good reason this is obviously not something you can do after attempting suicide. They were right to call in people to restrain me. However, these people would have never been called in if the nurse had shown me a shred a basic human empathy, decency and kindness. she enjoyed inflicting pain upon someone who was vulnerable.

What was wrong was them continuing to restrain me to the point I was severely bruised. I can only document in photographs what was done to me.

I fought at first, but very quickly submitted. A man held my face down into the mattress. I told him I couldn’t breathe. He kept holding my face down until I was hyperventilating, and about to pass out. I kept saying I could not breathe. They didn’t believe me until I was hyperventilating and in the process of suffocating. I was genuinely terrified they were going to suffocate me. Right when I was about to lose consciousness they finally released me.

However, my torture was not done. They tied my hand up above my head. I explained they were tearing muscles. I spent at least 10 minutes sobbing and begging them to tie me up n a way that wouldn’t physically harm my body.

They finally relented when I pointed out that tying a persons head above their arms was a form of torture that the Romans inflicted upon people they crucified. That is what it took for them to stop torturing me. They could have done whatever they wanted to me. 

I heard the same nurse abusing another patient the next morning. She told a man involved in a drunk, driving accident.

“Your problem is at the bottom of a bottle”

I looked at the nurse who was watching over me and said,

“That is cruel, they are mentally ill. Their problem is that their pain is now hurting other people. Not at the bottom of a bottle.”

That is beyond cruel. She might as well have told him to kill himself and make the world a better place by decreasing the surplus population.  I met somebody who is the living embodiment of Ebeneezer Scrooge.

If I learned anything from this experience, it is that strength has to come from within yourself because nobody will give a sh*t if you don’t care about yourself. People use you, and abuse you when you are most vulnerable.

“Help” exists for those who can pay for it. Everyone else is just surplus clogging up the system.

I have not posted a photo of myself for a very long time. I have been overwhelmed. I have neglected this blog. But I want to use my voice so other people can hear what I went through and maybe it will help them to continue going when all hope seems lost. The United States has an appalling system, that punishes the mentally ill. People dealing with suicidal ideation are human beings. They are no less deserving of respect and kindness. The most fragile among us deserve the greatest protection. Not to be feasted on by crows pecking at their corpse. I hope at the very least I have created a safe space with this blog.

[beanghostprincess]

Every time I see your sanuso posts rhghhhgg I love this ship thanks for feeding me content. I just feel like I need to share my thoughts now lol

Sanji having to accept he has feelings for a *man*. In like a "oh fuck this has never happened before what the shit" way cause he's scared and doesn't know what to do and doesn't want to fuck up and it's really hard to accept these feelings for him and just as a part of him.

Also just him spacing out to think "why him of all people" cause Usopp is really just a silly little guy a small silly guy he is so silly and simple AND YET...

While Usopp struggles with his self-image and accepting himself as well. It's not Water 7 bad. But it's there. He's trying his best to become stronger. But he can't help thinking about all the times he might have caused trouble for the crew. And he brushes them off with jokes or excuses. Or if he's genuinely at fault he apologizes. But the feelings are still there. Bottling up.

Sanji somehow figures out, whether just by looking at the sniper who's in a bad mood or by overhearing his drunk/half-asleep thoughts and goes "nuh-uh" and showers him with nice words and maybe a snack to cheer him up and oh my god he is so terrible because it's so hard for him to say "I love you" because it sounds weird and he doesn't want to sound romantic because he's still in denial and tries his best to avoid anything that may be interpreted as anything but platonic which leaves him with lack of much needed words.

And then Usopp notices Sanji's struggle to speak and lets go of his sadness to make fun of the cook (kinda) for his approach and then just easily tell him "Love you too" and give him a big hug and just stay like this for a while. And Sanji being a completely touch starved loser he is just has to prevent himself from hugging Usopp tighter. He doesn't care if sniper takes it the wrong way, he's just genuinely worried he will crush him if he does he knows he might.

And also the fear of telling Usopp when Sanji eventually does come into terms he's in love. Like that's gotta be the most nerve-wracking experience at the time.

Everything goes well tho they hug and hold hands and smooch and do boyfriends stuff and then the crew found One Piece and Luffy became king of pirates and everyone made their dreams come true and everything was good the end.

sanji is just like me fr repressed bitch i love him so much so much so much-

this is so sweet and it captures their characters perfectly!!! i'm actually such a fan of sanji's struggles with saying "i love you" despite one of his love languages being words of affirmation (i mean the first one is obviously acts of service). and also usopp struggling with his self-worth is always something that makes me cry,,,

this is exactly why water 7 is sanuso shippers' roman empire. they're literally perfect.

and i'm glad you like my posts!!! i'm mentally unwell!!! they make me ill!!!! i'm insane <3

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Do it all the Time

(Pleaverse short)

Chapter 10: Plastic Prophylactics

(phone text formatting only available on AO3, please turn off creator workskin if you don't like the texting style and want to read on AO3)

Words: 2,409 Content Warnings: Makeouts Characters: Virgil, Logan Ships: Analogical Rating: M Genre: Nonsense, Fluff Additional Tags: Fake Fangs as Vampire Condoms, PWPWP

“So you’re serious about this,” Virgil asked hesitantly, holding the plastic coffin with a delicate disgust as he held them a safe distance from himself.

“Yes. For my safety. You are a predator of my species, and if we get carried away, I would like the insurance that there will be no consequences that I am unsure I can handle.” Logan nodded, pushing the fangs towards Virgil gently.

“L, I know I bit Roman by accident, but I promise I won’t bite unless you ask me to,” Virgil tried to reassure him, looking at the hollow plastic fangs in the case warily.

“And this lets me ask without any unfortunate venom contact,” Logan pointed out, and Virgil paused, thinking about it. The original intention was to just not bite, but that was tempting. “Is there something that you are not communicating that you are hesitating for?” He asked instead.

“I’m just really not sure if they’ll fit, and I’ve never done anything like this before,” Virgil said quietly. Also kind of grossed out by the idea of covering his fangs for some reason, but that felt irrational.

“The only way to find out if they fit is if you put them on, Virgil,” Logan reminded him calmly, pushing the fangs towards him again.

“Right, yeah,” Virgil muttered and cracked open the case labeled ‘werewolf fangs’, looking at the four little fangs inside of it. He picked out an upper fang and looked at the inside, then slid it over a fang. It didn’t go all the way on because his own fang was longer, but it seemed like it would fit well enough. The same went for the lower, smaller set of fangs. “Do they have to be called werewolf fangs, though?” Virgil joked with a small laugh, and Logan smiled affectionately, passing over the mug of hot water with the molding plastic in it to fit them on.

He helped portion out a little bit of plastic on the fang rim, and Virgil worked it up him gums with a crawling discomfort. Something over his fangs felt profoundly wrong. All four fangs were fitted on over Virgil’s fangs in short order, and Virgil clacked his teeth a few times to make sure they wouldn’t fall off. It took all the molding plastic they had, but they made the ill-fitting fangs stay on.

“How is the fit?” Logan asked, tilting his head to watch.

“Questionable, but probably good enough? If we do this another time, I think just getting a lot more molding plastic and covering them manually will fit tighter,” Virgil answered, talking a little oddly around the thick plastic fangs.

“That didn’t occur to me. I’ll consider that for the future,” Logan stated, looking contemplative for a moment. “I suppose the best way to check the fit is to test them,” he added with a smile, the playfulness leaking slightly into his tone.

Logan leaned in and Virgil smiled back, closing the gap and kissing him, supporting Logan as he came in to press against Virgil. Virgil shifted closer to Logan and wrapped him up in his arms, just trying to ignore the foreign sensation in his mouth in favour of his body heat and soft lips pressing into his own.

They took it slow at first, like they always did. Logan needed time to get comfortable kissing. Logan explained why, but Virgil didn’t really need justification for Logan’s comfort. He liked taking it slow. It was fun to slowly tease and warm someone up. Humans lately seem in such a rush, and forcing them to slow down to enjoy something was fun, too. Though that generally happened more with Roman than Logan.

While they kissed gently, Logan’s hands seemed to relish the feel of Virgil’s clothes. Leather seemed to be one of his favourite things to feel, along with lace. Virgil didn’t have any lace today, just the leather jacket over the hoodie. Logan seemed happy to peruse even just one of his favourites, though. He even tugged at the hoodie pull and ran his thumb along the open zipper. Then his hands slipped inside Virgil’s jacket and played with the distressed shirt. Virgil mostly kept his hands in the same spot, wrapped around his torso and pulling Logan in on his back. Too much motion on Virgil’s part could be overstimulating for Logan, so he waited for Logan’s signal that he was okay with it.

After Logan had felt literally every piece of clothing Virgil wore, he picked a hand on the hoodie at the back of Virgil’s neck and another on the leather jacket and pulled in closer to deepen the kiss. Virgil’s fingers tensed as he tentatively opened his mouth, still feeling off from the gross plastic in his mouth slide along the inside of his lips. Logan hesitated, feeling Virgil tense up and backed away, hands slipping back over Virgil’s body to the front.

Virgil took in a deep breath and softly said, “the plastic is just uncomfortable, livre bien-aimé, it’s not about you.”

Logan’s fingers gripped at the front of Virgil’s jacket, and he looked down, eyes squinting in thought. There was a long pause before he looked up again, eyes landing on Virgil’s lips, where he often looked when they talked. “That is a silly term of endearment,” he stated simply, maybe not ready to talk about it yet.

“Why? You’re my favourite book,” Virgil said, reaching up to stroke Logan’s cheek with his hand. His other hand grabbed the back of Logan, brushing his fingers gently along the skin. Logan had soft hands and soft skin, it was easy to slide across anywhere. “I could read you again and again and never get tired,” he whispered, leaning in softly and humming out a low note. Logan shivered under his fingers and started to loosen up. Virgil approached almost all the way to return to kissing him, letting Logan close the last centimeter to continue.

“Words being written all over someone’s face is a phrase. What are you reading?” Logan asked quietly, staying just as close as they were before.

“The secret evil language of the body,” Virgil joked, pressing his forehead to Logan’s and pushing slightly with his hand. He eased Logan down with the other, and Logan let him push him down to the bed as he spoke.

“Ah. The one language I haven’t mastered,” Logan joked in return. “What does my body say right now?” He asked quietly.

Virgil stopped to listen, feeling the pulse under his fingertips and sweeping his gaze over the body beneath him. “Concerned, curious, a little restless…” Virgil trailed off as his hand slid down Logan’s chest, making Logan’s heart race even faster. “Mostly excited,” Virgil breathed, Logan’s throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Not a traditional sentence, is it,” Logan mused, eyes settled on the sagging neckline of the hoodie dangled above him. “I’m not sure whether that counts as a book.”

“Well, I can turn it into a sentence, but I think that’s a little… excessive.”

“Is that so? Provide an example.”

“Sure.” Virgil grinned evilly. “You would really like my hands wrapped around your body and my lips wrapped around—”

Logan’s face darkened with blood and his eyes widened. “Point taken.” He took a stabilizing breath and reached up to tug at Virgil’s long braid, slipping his fingers between the weave. “What does your body say, then?”

“The same thing it’s always saying.”

“And that is?”

“I would really like to bite you,” Virgil whispered, pressing down on Logan lightly.

Logan’s whole body tensed, the blood pounding under his thin skin. “Sometimes you make it easy to forget you’re a predator,” Logan mumbled playfully. “But it’s fascinating that the idea is enticing to me,” he whispered, reaching his hand back around Virgil’s head and pulling him in for a kiss.

With Logan pinned underneath Virgil’s body, the kiss heated faster than the gentle teasing before. They stayed pressed together, Logan’s hands gripped on a leather belt of the jacket around Virgil’s back, keeping him close. Virgil had one hand holding himself up and another stroking Logan’s chin and neck as they kissed. Logan tentatively opened his mouth once more, and Virgil followed suit. He suppressed the reaction to the fang prophylactics this time, and their tongues met.

Precious minutes passed to the sound of Logan’s pounding heart. They both took their time enjoying the moments passing, at least it seemed that way from the way Logan refused to loosen up his grip. Virgil hummed every time Logan pulled away for air, making his eyes soften each time. Logan seemed to be existing in a pleasant haze, and there were no more flashes of his eyes towards the clock on the wall. Logan even took off his glasses after a few minutes of them getting covered in Virgil’s waterfall of hair.

Virgil flinched back when a fang fell out, the sensation feeling generally something that should be fully illegal. He held up a finger and pulled back while he used his tongue to position the fang covering back into place, and snapped his jaw a few times to test it before returning to kiss Logan, who patiently waited the whole time.

Logan looked at him curiously, and seemed to check the integrity of Virgil’s fangs with his tongue. That was probably a worse sensation than the feeling of the plastic slipping off. To have something press on them and feel nothing. It felt like missing one of his senses. But this was temporary. Hopefully. Virgil gritted through it and focused on enjoying Logan instead, and it didn’t feel like long until he was able to ignore it and lose himself in his boyfriend instead. Actually, they were running out of time until Patton was supposed to swing by.

Thankfully, by the way Logan was wrapped around his neck and kissing him, he didn’t seem bothered by that fact. If he could even tell. He was busy tugging at Virgil’s braid and necking, so being distracted would be understandable.

The next time Logan pulled away to breathe, his eyes fought to focus on Virgil’s mouth again, and through heavy breaths, he let go of Virgil’s braid and hedged his neck to the side on the bed. A second later, he tapped his neck twice and jerked Virgil forward by the hoodie. Virgil fought to keep his control, the smell of Logan’s blood hitting against Virgil’s restraint like a freight train. He stopped breathing, and the sound of Logan’s ragged breath and heart pounding all he could hear. He was so weak, and willing, and…

There was a sound of the bed sheet tearing, and Virgil looked over Logan’s shoulder to see he accidentally dug his nails into Logan’s bed and tore up the sheets. Well, those need replacing. Logan didn’t seem to notice, just tapping at his neck again. Feeling like an idiot for ripping the sheets worked, at least, and Virgil was able to hold back, leaning in to bite Logan gently on the neck. His fangs shifted in the plastic casing, and it seriously felt repulsive. More revulsion than Virgil even realized he could feel at that moment. But the way Logan reacted was the opposite of that, and left him feeling very conflicted.

Logan pushed Virgil back, and Virgil sat up right away, giving him his space. After reaching blindly for his glasses, Logan grabbed his phone and started typing on the screen.

“Everything okay, Logan?” Virgil asked quietly, wondering if maybe it was also a deeply conflicting situation for Logan.

Virgil’s phone pinged, and it pulled it out of his jacket pocket.

‘[🙅‍💬],’ from Logan ’s phone showed up as the latest alert.

Logan must have gone non-verbal, but thankfully not so much he couldn’t even send an emoji.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, was that too much?” Virgil asked, looking Logan over for any obvious problems before looking back down at his phone.

‘[✔][👌💓💦][🧛‍🔥♨],’ alerted on his phone as the next message from Logan with a pitch of transmission.

Virgil stared at them for a moment, trying to pull his brain back from the idea of draining all the delicious blood from Logan’s veins. He smacked himself in the face a few times to try to think it through.

“It was too much, but you liked it, right?” Virgil asked, and Logan nodded to confirm. “But this last bit, you want to cook vampires in a pot or something?”

Logan made a choking sound and shook his head, looking back down at his phone.

‘[🧛‍]=[🔞🥵],’ was Logan’s response a moment later.

“Oh. Well, that message was transmitted with body language already,” Virgil teased, and Logan rolled his eyes. He offered his hand to help Logan sit up, and Logan took it, still keeping his space. “So… you were a little more compatible with the concept than you first thought?” He confirmed.

Logan nodded furiously at that one, grabbing his blanket to wrap himself up. He flung it over his shoulders and leaned back against the wall. He took a breather, eyes closed for a few moments. Then opened up his eyes and smiled at Virgil. Then his eyes seemed to catch the rip in the sheets, and he faced Virgil with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, sorry. What color do you want? I’ll get a new one and wash it before your bedtime, promise,” Virgil offered sheepishly, and a fang fell off in his mouth. Virgil shuddered and ripped another hole in his jeans. He wanted to melt this fucking plastic triangles.

That seemed to earn another odd look from Logan, and he focused on his phone again to see the reply.

‘[🟦],’ came up on his alerts first, probably wanting the same dark blue he currently had, and ‘[👨‍⚕🧣❔],’ arrived on Virgil’s phone a second later from Logan.

“Oh, TV time outside of your schedule? Aren’t we feeling extra naughty today,” Virgil teased, opening up the app to get the sheets delivered. Logan adjusted his glasses and shrugged lightly out the corner of Virgil’s eye. “Sure, let’s watch the doctor. Do you think you could handle cuddling now?”

Logan nodded, and Virgil hopped off the bunk to grab Logan’s laptop off the desk for him to watch Doctor Who on. He climbed back up and sat back against the wall, letting Logan choose where he was comfortable sitting. After Logan set up the show, he leaned on Virgil’s arm, entwining his fingers with his own.