Warnings: smut, abuse of a corpse?, mentions of blood
Divider By: cafekitsune
Author's Note: Long time no see and I've returned with a fic that is neither about Geta or Caracalla. This is very random for this blog but I didn't feel like making yet another side blog just to post this because this may be the only time I write for Sinners. I wrote this because I love freaky, unhinged vampire x vampire pairings and could not find nearly enough for Remmick that could quench my thirst. So I wrote one myself. It's just a short thing, feels a bit rushed, but I'm obsessed with it.
The poor man hadn’t even gone cold yet. She lured him in with the idea of a night of fun, but he certainly couldn’t have imagined this is what would happen. Night of fun for her, not so much for the poor boy.
She was still resting against the man, soaked in his blood, the delicious red liquid running down her chin past her chest. Her mouth drenched and wet and parted in mock innocence as she licked a slow trail up her wrist, cleaning herself lazily like a satisfied spoiled cat. She made a mess like always. She could feel his presence. Her sire. Her obsession. The monster that created her in his own image. He had been watching it all. He stood in the doorway, cloaked in the shadow of night, fangs already bared.
He was watching her still with that wide, hungry stare. The kind that said I want to tear you apart. The kind that always made her smirk. The kind that made her giddy. The kind that filled her with heat.
“You’re mad, aren’t you Remmy?”
A purr. Teasing. She rubbed against the corpse just to twist the knife. “You’re jealous. I felt you watching.”
He didn’t answer. Just dropped to his knees on the bed. Grabbed her waist. Tugged her hips toward him, ruthless, starved, and tore her skirts up to her thighs.
“You’re disgusting,” she giggled, breath catching.
“So are you,” he growled, lining himself up. “You tempt me with it.”
She barely had time to laugh again before he slammed into her, hard and deep, right there on the dead man’s lap. Her back arched, a moan escaping her throat as her blood-slick thighs trembled against the still warm flesh beneath. The poor man is getting his night of fun in a very different kind of way, she would have laughed if she wasn’t so distracted.
Remmick didn’t stop. Didn’t look away. Didn’t care that they were tangled together atop a corpse like animals. Of course he didn’t care. He enjoyed the wickedness as much as her. Morals don’t matter much when you’ve been alive so long.
“Messy little thing,” he rasped in her ear, pounding into her hard enough that she was pressed tightly against the body underneath them. “Always making me lose control.”
“You made me like this,” she gasped in pleasure, biting his shoulder until she tasted his blood this time. “You don’t get to complain now.”
He came with a snarl, fingers digging into her bloodied waist hard enough that she would have bruised if she wasn’t who she was, rutting against her until she cried out and clutched at him like he was her only salvation in this rotted world.
And afterward, panting, trembling, soaked in sex and death, Remmick didn’t even pull out. Just kissed her neck, nibbled at her, and sloppily licked the drying blood that rested there and whispered:
“Let’s find another one. You look so pretty when you’re dripping.”
I need this story. Please, you’re such a great writer 🥺
I wrote a first draft for this fic after I made that post but ended up giving up on it because I was not content with what I had written. But you have motivated me to try again :) If you have any ideas or anything in particular that you would like to see in the story, feel free to message me about it.
Okay so over a month ago, I made this post asking if anyone would be interested in a fic about Geta and Caracalla having an older half-sister. I had written a draft for the fic after I made that post but I'm uncertain about what I have written so far and want to rewrite it. But all my initial inspiration seems to have mostly faded since then and I'm not sure what direction I should go with it.
So I was wondering what are some things you guys would want to see in a fic like this? Any ideas you would want me to explore?
Summary: Sam has returned home and spends the night with his partner.
Warnings: light smut but I don't go super into detail when describing it.
Author's Note: I never expected to write for Warfare but here I am. This one is quite short but hopefully once I think of more ideas I'll be able to write longer fics for him. I also think this is my first kinda smutty fic I've posted on this blog. I didn't make it too explicit because I'm not super experienced when it comes to writing smut. Now I have to go and figure out how to post this on Ao3 since Warfare doesn't seem to have a fandom on there yet lol.
Dividers By: cafekitsune
He hadn’t meant to start anything that night.
Not really.
He was newly returned home. He was tired. Sore. Still trying to remember how to simply relax. To breathe without checking corners. Still healing from his injury. But the second your fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt to rest against his warm skin, he forgot every reason to wait.
He kissed you like a man starved. Not just for your mouth or your skin, but for the way you sighed his name. The way your nails dragged lightly down his skin. The way you looked at him like he hadn’t changed, even though he felt like he had.
You pulled him onto the bed, legs tangled, mouths never quite parting. His hands gripped your hips like he wasn’t sure if you were real or just something his brain had conjured in a fevered moment of hope overseas.
“Missed you,” he rasped against your neck, voice cracking from more than just want. “Didn’t think… fuck, I didn’t think I’d get back to this.”
You cupped his face, kissed his forehead, kissed his lips. “You’re here now,” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Clothes came off slowly, reverently. His gaze never left you, even when his hands were busy memorizing the curves he hadn’t touched in too long. There was hunger in his touch, yes, but more than that, there was awe. Like he couldn’t believe he got to have this again. Got to have you again.
When he slid into you, his breath caught, his forehead pressed to yours as if that closeness could protect him from every memory clawing at the edges of his mind.
He didn’t rush.
Even with weeks and months of wanting and desire behind him, Sam moved like this was sacred. Your sweaty skin touching his. His lips brushed your cheek, your throat, the shell of your ear. And when you whispered his name, just a soft, trembling “Sam”, he shuddered like it broke something open inside him.
You held him through it.
Even as his rhythm faltered with the weight of emotion, even as he buried his face in your neck to catch the tremble in his breath, you never let go. You just clung tighter. Met him with every movement, every desperate kiss.
When it was over, he didn’t move. Just held you, skin pressed to skin, letting the silence wrap around you both.
And when you reached up to gently caress his buzzed hair, he caught your hand in his.
“I don’t want to sleep,” he said hoarsely.
“Why?”
“Because if I wake up and this was a dream, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”
You kissed his chest, right over his heart. “It’s not a dream. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Just like I am now.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just kissed the top of your head, pulled you closer, and let himself believe you.
That night, Sam didn’t sleep because he was exhausted. He slept because he was safe with you in his embrace.
Summary: Geta longs for Caracalla's sweet, obedient wife.
Dividers By: cafekitsune
Author's Note: So this is a pretty short one. This actually came from a longer fic I was working on but I'm unsure if I'm ever going to finish it and so I decided this short piece could work on its own. For background context, Caracalla's wife used to be in his entourage, always following him around with hearts in her eyes. He could do no wrong in her eyes but now they're married and she has to put up with all sorts of things from him. Girly is beyond stressed and sad with his behavior but she was taught to always be obedient to her husband no matter what.
Geta had always noticed her.
Even in those early days, before she wore the title of empress, before the jewels and purple silks, she had lingered in Caracalla’s world as if she were his star-struck shadow. She was so small then, not exactly in stature, but in presence. Quiet. Eager. Eyes always fixed on his brother as though he were Bacchus in the flesh and she a devoted follower.
Geta used to think it was pathetic, how she trailed after Caracalla like some adoring little pet, desperate for affection, laughing at every crude joke, flinching at every outburst but never once pulling away. But now that she was his brother’s wife, now that Geta had seen her cry in secret and hold herself too tightly in her own arms, he couldn’t look at her without feeling that same old thing burn in his chest.
Pity.
Longing.
Possession.
He wasn’t sure where one ended and the other began.
She wasn’t like the women who flirted with him at feasts, all coy glances and knowing smiles. She wasn’t like his favorite concubine, bold in the bedchamber and even bolder in court. She didn’t know how to want things for herself. She didn’t even seem to realize she could.
She had been taught to please. That was all. To be an obedient wife. To smile. To stay quiet when her husband struck the table or barked in rage. To pretend not to notice his frequent coming and goings with concubines right in front of her. To accept any and all of her husband’s transgressions. To ignore how much it wounded her heart. To nod when he told her she was his, even as he disappeared from her bed for nights at a time.
She never defended herself, Geta thought. Because she doesn’t know she’s allowed to.
And gods help him, it stirred something in him.
He didn’t know what it said about himself, what kind of man he was, that her meekness made him ache. That every time she flinched at Caracalla’s anger, Geta wanted to wrap her in furs and lock her away in some secret tower where no one could touch her. Where she wouldn’t have to flinch. Where no one would raise their voice. Where he could keep her like something delicate and breakable and his.
Maybe it was because he’d spent his youth protecting Caracalla. Taking the beatings. Covering for him. Keeping him safe from their father’s fury. Maybe it had made something inside him hungry for soft things. Vulnerable things.
She was all of that. And more.
She was the kind of woman who cried quietly. Who smiled even when her eyes betrayed her. Who never asked for comfort but clung to it like a drowning thing when it was offered.
Geta didn’t touch her.
Not yet.
But the thought of it lingered in him like a fever.
One day, he swore, he would pull her from that quiet torment she lived in. From Caracalla’s chaos. From the way she’d been taught to live with pain as if it were normal. He would teach her she didn’t have to flinch. That she didn’t have to smile through tears because with him there would be no tears.
You asked so I deliver! This is just an idea that popped in my head maybe it would help you write. Please change it up as you like
Maybe a new servant who heard about the fearful emperors but she is shocked to see Caracalla being so cute while feeding dondus. He thinks she’s curious about his monkey and decides to show her how to feed and let dondus. Clueless Caracalla would be so cute :)
Sorry for taking so long to write this but thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy it :)
Unexpected Encounter
Pairing: Emperor Caracalla/Servant!reader
Summary: A new servant has an unexpected encounter with Caracalla and his pet Dondus.
Dividers by: cafekitsune
Author's Note: To anyone else who has sent me a request and I haven't fulfilled it yet, hopefully soon I will have them written <3
The new servant had only been in the service of the emperors for a few weeks, but she had been warned the moment she arrived: "Never speak unless spoken to. Never look the emperors directly in the eye. Never linger in places you do not belong. And above all, stay out of Emperor Caracalla’s way if you value your life and wellbeing."
She had heard the stories of course. She’s sure everyone has. The young rulers were known for their indulgence in revelry, their temperamental moods, and their thirst for bloodshed. Caracalla in particular was said to be the most unpredictable. One moment laughing and joyous, the next demanding someone’s death over something harmless and trivial. Geta was at least said to be a bit more composed than his brother. But the servant had no desire of finding out herself how alike or different the emperors were to each other.
But one night, she was walking through the halls on an errand when she turned a corner and found herself in the same vicinity as one of them.
For a moment, her heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. She must have wandered too far. She had made a mistake.
Caracalla was sitting on the cold marble floor, his tunic slightly rumpled, his red hair an uncombed mess. But he did not look upset, or angry, nor was he relishing someone else’s demise. Instead he was entirely focused on something small and fuzzy perched on his knee. Dondus, the little monkey she had only ever heard about in passing from other servants.
The infamous pet monkey that the emperor dressed in fine clothes and tiny gold ornaments. The monkey that, according to gossip, was perhaps the only living thing Caracalla truly loved, maybe even more than his own brother.
And here was the notorious Emperor Caracalla gently handing pieces of fruits and nuts to his beloved pet. The sight was odd. It felt almost absurd to see the much feared emperor being so tender. She watched as the monkey’s little hands eagerly reached for the snacks.
She went to silently remove herself from his presence before he noticed her but much to her dread she had accidentally knocked into something.
Caracalla’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto her.
The servant froze.
For an agonizing moment she was certain she had made a grave mistake. She had intruded on something private. She had interrupted the emperor’s time with his pet. Would he punish her? Would he have her thrown to the gladiators for sport? Her mind raced with every horror story she had heard.
But then to her utter bewilderment, Caracalla’s lips quirked into something that could only be described as playful. His expression far from the terrifying emperor she had envisioned. His lips curled into a lopsided smile, almost boyish in its amusement.
"Well?" he said. "Are you just going to stare?"
The servant's heart pounded. She should apologize. She should bow and retreat immediately. But her eyes flickered to the monkey, watching as it took a piece of fruit from Caracalla's fingers, its tiny mouth nibbling eagerly.
She must have hesitated too long, because Caracalla tilted his head. "Do you want to feed him?"
Her breath hitched. She could not say no. She did not want to say yes. But she nodded her head nonetheless. What other choice did she have?
He grinned. Grinned. A real, genuine smile that lit up his face in a way she had never imagined possible.
"Come here then," he said, motioning her forward.
Her feet wouldn’t move at first. It was insane to step closer to Emperor Caracalla, the man everyone feared. But there was something in the way he looked at her. Not with malice, not with suspicion, but with amusement, as though he found the situation genuinely entertaining.
Slowly, cautiously, she took a few steps forward.
"Good," he said, satisfied. "Now kneel."
Her knees nearly gave out as she obeyed, sinking onto the marble floor beside him.
He grabbed her wrist. Gently, to her surprise, and pressed a small piece of fruit into her palm. She hated herself for noticing how soft and warm his hand was.
"Hold it like this," he instructed. "Dondus is picky. He won’t eat from just anyone."
The monkey tilted its little head at her, his small beady eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight. Caracalla chuckled. "Go on, he’s waiting" he urged.
With hesitant fingers, she extended the fruit. Dondus sniffed at her hand before yanking the piece from her fingers. The servant blinked, astonished by the ticklish sensation of tiny fingers and soft fur against her skin. The moment his tiny paws touched her, a giggle slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
Caracalla turned to look at her, eyes widening slightly. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
Not a cruel laugh, not a mocking one. Just… laughter. Light, joyful, utterly different from the man who ruled with mercurial moods.
"He likes you," Caracalla said, watching as Dondus nibbled happily. "You should feel honored. He can’t stand Geta."
The thought of Emperor Geta, a man she had only seen from a distance, being shunned by this tiny creature was unexpectedly funny. She tried to suppress her smile, but Caracalla noticed.
His grin widened. "You can pet him, if you want."
She hesitated. Touching the emperor’s pet felt too bold and too inappropriate. But Caracalla nudged her hand forward. "Here," he muttered.
With the lightest touch, she ran her fingers over Dondus’s tiny head. His fur was soft and warm, and he gave a little happy chirp.
Her chest filled with something warm.
"He’s softer than I thought," she admitted quietly.
Caracalla’s smirk softened. "Yes and spoiled." He reached out and ruffled Dondus’s little ears. "He gets whatever he wants, don’t you Dondus?"
Dondus let out a tiny noise of approval, and Caracalla beamed. Beamed.
The servant stared.
This wasn’t the cruel emperor from the whispers. This wasn’t the bloodthirsty ruler demanding people to fight to the death for his amusement.
This was someone else. Someone she didn’t expect. Someone who spoke to a monkey as if it were his closest friend. Someone who could laugh, who could smile softly.
Dondus nuzzled his little head back into her hand, desiring more affection.
Caracalla chuckled at scene. "He truly likes you." There was a hint of delight in his voice, as if he had just uncovered some grand secret. "Most people are too afraid to get close. But you…" He studied her with curious, assessing eyes before flashing another grin. "You're not afraid of my Dondus and he can tell."
She wasn't sure what to say. She had been afraid, not of Dondus, but of him. But now sitting here on the cold marble floor, watching the emperor gently stroke his monkey’s head and looking at her, a stranger, with such fondness, she saw something much more human in the man next to her.
It felt like stepping into a different world.
"Do you have a favorite animal?" Caracalla asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
The question confused her. He was asking her something? She had never imagined an emperor would be interested in what a simple servant liked.
She swallowed before answering, "I… I’ve always liked birds."
Caracalla seemed excited by her answer. "We’ll have to get you a pretty bird then. One that will sing you the most beautiful of songs!"
Her eyes widened, more confused than before and she couldn’t stop herself from giving the undignified response of: "...what?"
He smirked, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. "It will be a gift. A reward for your bravery in facing the fearsome Dondus." He gestured grandly at the tiny creature, who was now climbing onto his shoulder, stuffing his mouth with fruit.
The servant had no idea how to respond. Surely he was joking. But it didn’t feel like an elaborate joke, not with the way he watched her with warmth and enthusiasm in his gaze. Perhaps she was a fool but it felt genuine.
But before she could say anything, a voice called from the hallway.
"Caracalla? What are you doing here?"
Emperor Geta’s voice.
Caracalla groaned, rolling his eyes. "Trying to get away from you," he called back.
The servant nearly choked on her breath. He speaks to his brother like that? She couldn't even imagine herself answering in such a way.
Geta rounded the corner, dressed far more properly than Caracalla, his expression exasperated. His eyes flicked to her, then to his brother, who was still lounging on the floor with his monkey.
"I’ve looked everywhere for you and yet here you are with Dondus again" Geta sighed.
Caracalla grinned, unfazed. "He’s more pleasant company than you."
Geta shook his head and muttered something under his breath. "Come on. We have places to be. And you," he added, glancing at the servant. "Forget whatever nonsense my brother has told you tonight."
The servant nodded quickly, her heart still racing.
Caracalla, meanwhile, leaned in near her and whispered conspiratorially. "Don’t listen to him. My brother is just jealous Dondus doesn’t like him."
Geta sighed loudly and walked away.
The servant hesitated, unsure whether she should leave as well, but Caracalla caught her wrist before she could rise.
His grip was light, but his voice was firm. "You’ll come feed Dondus again tomorrow, won’t you?"
She was taken aback. "You want me to?"
Caracalla’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. "Of course. He likes you. And so do I."
Before she could even process that, he let her go and stood, stretching. "Go on then. But don’t forget."
She hurried away, her heart pounding, her mind spinning.
She had met the fearsome Emperor Caracalla. And somehow he had turned out to be nothing like she expected.
I was reading about how Emperor Septimius Severus had a wife before Julia Domna and how they may or may not have had a daughter and that got me thinking about some fanfiction ideas 🤔
Imagine that Geta and Caracalla had an older half-sister who they're kinda obsessed with because ya know ~mommy and daddy issues~. She was married off at a young age to an older man she didn't want to marry and then her husband eventually dies which allows her to return to the imperial palace to be with her brothers. She feels wronged by the world and makes that everyone else's problem. She doesn't want to fix her brothers, she wants to make them worse pretty much lol. Would anyone be interested in a fic like this?
Summary: Geta desires to give his wife the title of Augusta.
Dividers: cafekitsune
Author's Note: Probably not historically accurate. I read that the wives of emperors were not automatically given the title of Augusta and it inspired me to write this fic. I originally was going to write this fic for Caracalla because I feel like he would want to bestow his wife with every possible title he can give her but I decided it was time for Geta to have another fic written for him lol. Also for anyone who sent me requests, I am still working on them. I've just been a slow writer recently.
The night air was heavy with the scent of burning oil and incense. The festivities happening elsewhere in the palace were still alive with boisterous laughs and drunken voices heard distantly, the spirited sounds echoing throughout the halls. But the chambers of Emperor Geta were quiet. For once.
Geta lay in bed, his arm draped lazily over his wife’s bare waist, his fingers tracing random patterns on her skin. The warmth of the wine still lingered within him, though it was nothing compared to the intoxication of having her so near. He had always enjoyed the comforts of indulgence: wine, feasts, the pleasures of the flesh, but there were few things he truly valued. His brother. And her.
His Empress.
He turned his head slightly, watching her as she lay beside him, her lashes fluttering as she teetered on the edge of sleep. The soft glow of the oil lamps cast golden shadows on her skin. She was beautiful, always had been, but he liked her best like this: bare, undone, her careful words and courtly airs stripped away, leaving behind only the woman who had, against all odds, come to know him better than anyone.
Better than even Caracalla perhaps.
Geta exhaled slowly, shifting so that his lips brushed against her temple. He could feel her pulse beneath his mouth, steady and calm, as if she was still unaware of the weight of what he was about to say.
"I want to make you Augusta," he spoke softly, his voice low, rough with something between affection and ambition.
She stirred, blinking drowsily before tilting her head toward him, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "You’re drunk."
"Not drunk enough that I don’t know what I’m saying."
She pushed herself up slightly, resting on one elbow, her eyes scanning his face for any sign of jest. "Geta…" She hesitated, wary, as though the words were a dream she dared not believe in.
It was of course not unheard of for an emperor’s wife to be granted the title of Augusta. Sometimes the title would even be given to a sister, a mother, or a daughter. Not every wife of an emperor had received it, it was not a title lightly given. Simply being married to an emperor just made her be seen as an imperial consort with no true formal power with an unofficial influence over her husband. The title of Augusta would provide power, political and court influence, an elevation above all other women in Rome. She could even be put on coins. It was a statement that she was not merely the woman he shared his bed with, but the woman he ruled with.
Geta watched her closely, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing against her jaw. "I mean it," he said. "You are my wife. You have stood by my side through everything. It is only right that you are honored as such."
Her lips parted, but for once, no retort came. Instead she let out a soft breath, the weight of his words settling over her. "And Caracalla?"
At that, Geta let out a short, wry laugh, rolling onto his back. "Caracalla will not care," he said. "My brother will be pleased with the celebrations the announcement of your title will bring”
She gave him an unsure look. Caracalla’s moods were unpredictable, but Geta had learned how to navigate them. His brother’s mind was fractured, constantly shifting between violence and childlike joy, a state worsened by the illness that slowly ate away at him.
"You truly believe he won’t oppose it?" she asked, testing him.
Geta sighed. "Even if he does, what will he do? I will not ask his permission. I will give you the title myself."
There was a moment of silence before she finally spoke, her voice softer than usual. "You would do that for me?"
He turned back to her then, his brow furrowing slightly as if the answer should have been obvious. He reached out, pulling her closer so that she was half draped over his chest, her weight grounding him in a way that nothing else could.
"I would do anything for you," he murmured against her hair. "You and my brother are the only people in this world who mean anything to me."
She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, her hand splaying over his chest as though feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. The weight of his promise, of his love, settled between them, unspoken but understood.
Outside their chambers, the palace still roared with life. But within the emperor’s bed, there was only the quiet certainty of a man who had decided what he wanted.
And he would see it done.
I have wife!reader being concerned about Caracalla's reaction because while I think he would normally be happy for his family, I feel like if he was in one of his moods he may occasionally feel even more inferior and even more sidelined.
hi hi i hope you’re having a fab day i loved your most recent works and saw you wanted some requests so here i am i didn’t see any rules posted yet so if anything in this ask makes you uncomfy im very sorry!! but oki okie this is semi inspired by your last geta fic and so i was thinking like Caracalla x like actress reader who comes into town with her acting troop and peforms for the emperors one night when caracalla is in bad mood and readers the only one who can make him laugh while he’s in one of his moods and so geta keeps calling reader back to entertain him and sorta help with his sundowning and caracalla just gets absolutely obsessed with reader and refuses to let them leave and go back with there troop and jsut wants to keep reader all to themselves smut if you do that would be fab but if not that’s okie too!! ~🫐
Thank you for your request and kind words 😊 I hope you enjoy the fic and that it's to your liking. I wrote more than I was planning but actress!reader inspired me.
The Actress
Pairing: Emperor Caracalla/Actress!reader
Summary: Caracalla becomes enthralled by an actress one night and soon becomes completely obsessed with her.
Dividers By: cafekitsune
Author's Note: I refer to actress!reader as a mime actress but "mime" does not mean the modern day mime who wears white face paint and is silent. Mime actors and actresses in ancient Rome were entertainers who did comedy, satirical, or even erotic performances. From what I briefly read, mime actresses were some of the few women allowed to publicly perform and they performed without masks unlike most theater actors. It was a scandalous profession, often equated with sex workers, but they could gain a lot of fame from their work. Empress Theodora was once a popular mime actress before she was empress.
The grand halls of the imperial palace were alive with the sounds of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets. All in attendance were lively and enjoying the night. All except for Caracalla. Geta could feel his brother's restless agitation beside him. Caracalla had been in one of his darker moods, his hair was unkempt from refusing to allow the servants near him, his toga was disheveled from the tussle him and Geta had when Geta attempted to get his brother presentable. Caracalla had not wanted to be there that night. Geta had hoped his brother’s foul mood would be improved by the pleasant evening of revelry, but it seems to only be worsening it. With a sigh, Geta had a servant refill his goblet and he observed his brother. Geta often found himself playing caretaker to Caracalla, whose moods could disrupt everything. Geta never liked his brother being unhappy and he was determined to change his sour mood.
"Bring in the actors," Geta commanded, waving a jeweled hand.
The troupe of actors and actresses quickly stepped before the emperors and bowed. Their costumes were vibrant, their smiles wide and infectious. Yet Caracalla's face remained a mask of irritation, unmoved by them and their antics. But then the mime actress, with her expressive eyes and exaggerated gestures, and her beauty illuminated by the glow of the oil lamps stepped forward. Her voice was melodious as she spoke, delivering lines with such charm and wit that even the spectators who were distracted by aspects of the festivities had leaned forward with interest. She captivated the audience with her presence. She said a jest, a line mocking a pompous senator that everyone secretly despised and gossiped about. And then something remarkable happened.
Caracalla laughed.
It wasn’t a sarcastic, malicious laugh, nor was it a scornful snicker. It was genuine. It was carefree. It was innocent. Geta was immediately intrigued by her effect on his twin. Caracalla was enthralled, his eyes fixed on the actress as if she were the only person in the room. She had done what no one else had been able to accomplish that night or most nights, she lifted his foul mood. No one had managed to make Caracalla laugh like that in a long while and it gave Geta an idea.
After the performance, as the troupe of actors and actresses bowed and the audience erupted in applause, Geta raised his hand and beckoned the mime actress forward. With a curious gleam in her eye, she approached the imperial box. Caracalla watched her excitedly, his eyes bright with newfound interest. Geta leaned forward and asked, “What’s your name, actress?”
She gave her name in a soft and respectful manner, bowing her head gracefully.
“You will stay here in the palace tonight. My brother finds you amusing, and I wish for you to remain and continue to make him laugh,” Geta informed her.
A flicker of surprise passed over her face, but she quickly adapted. “Of course, Caesar,” she said smoothly, her cheery nature shining through. “It would be an honor.” There was no true choice of course. To refuse an emperor was to invite ruin.
Caracalla’s volatile eyes lit up, very pleased by his brother’s proposition. “Yes! You’ll stay here,” he echoed exuberantly. “You’ll stay with me.”
From that moment forward, the actress’s life changed drastically. The acting troupe she had once called family faded away as she found herself the companion of an unpredictable emperor. While others might have rightfully felt caged after being forced into such a situation, she simply went with the flow. Her time on the streets and on stage had gifted her with invaluable adaptability and resilience. She was blessed with the kind of wisdom that comes only from having to survive on her wits alone for so long. Life was a performance after all, and she was an expert at surviving any role thrusted upon her.
Her time as a traveling actress had taught her to read people quickly. She prided herself on her ability to sense danger or opportunity in a mere glance. With Caracalla, these skills became crucial. She learned quickly how to navigate Caracalla’s tempestuous moods. When he was agitated, she knew whether to soothe him or stay quiet. When he sulked, she held him close, whispering soft reassurances, and stroking his hair as if he were a fragile boy rather than the most feared man in Rome. In moments of volatile rage, she knew it was best to step back, leaving him to tire himself out. Yet her greatest tool of all was her charm. No matter how deep Caracalla spiraled into paranoia or rage, he could never resist her when she turned playful. One kiss, one embrace, one timely seduction, and his dark thoughts would vanish into thin air. His volatile temper would melt beneath her touch, and his anger would turn into boyish giggles. It was surprisingly easy to draw Caracalla under the influence of lust. He hungered for affection, craving a closeness he’d never experienced, and she was quite generous with her attention for her emperor.
Caracalla quickly became obsessed with her.
At first, he simply wanted her near. She was to dine with him, to amuse him, to accompany him in the evenings when his mind became clouded. She spoke to him with kindness, soothed him when frustration overtook him, when he was playful she laughed at his jokes even when they made no sense, and indulged his whims with the patience of a mother tending to a difficult child. Caracalla in turn clung to her like he often does with Dondus, refusing to let her out of his sight for too long.
Caracalla would dress his monkey Dondus in tiny outfits, and she would sit beside them, smiling indulgently at the sight. Caracalla laughed at his own games, turning to her, desperate for approval like a child wanting a mother's praise. “Look! I got Dondus a new dress!” he’d say, beaming.
She would laugh sweetly, clapping her hands. “How distinguished he is!”
Caracalla adored her praise, craving her attention. She became his favorite source of comfort. Often, in the twilight hours, Caracalla would grow restless. His moods turning dark, a product of the illness that plagued his troubled mind. He would pace the room, muttering about imaginary plots, threats, and betrayals.
“Geta is against me,” he whispered one night, eyes wild. “Everyone is against me.”
“My emperor,” she said sweetly, lifting her eyes to meet his. “Do not dwell on such dark thoughts.” She approached gently, her touch gentle on his shoulder. “I’m here,” she said soothingly. “And I’ll shield you from them all.” She had learned it didn’t do much good to try and talk sense to him in these moments. If she denied his claims about Geta then he would just rage at her and accuse her of favoring his brother like everyone else does. She knew these thoughts would naturally fade on their own. But she also knew to carefully choose her words because they held the power to heal or destroy.
Caracalla’s tense body relaxed under her touch. He leaned into her embrace, eyes growing soft, vulnerable. “Promise?”
“I promise,” she whispered, gently running her fingers through his red hair as he buried his face against her. “I’ll always be here for you.”
She knew exactly how to calm his fears, to make him feel safe. She’d hold him until his fears subsided, or distract him with whispered words, soft laughter, and kisses that left him breathless, his troubled thoughts wiped clean.
Geta was initially wary of her influence over his brother, but he eventually found himself grateful for her presence. The arrangement made his life easier and lifted a weight off his shoulders and that was enough for him. Geta recognized the power she held over his brother and began to rely on her to keep Caracalla tamed. “Keep him content,” he instructed her privately. “Keep him calm.”
She understood her role and embraced it. After all, things could be worse than being the favored companion of an emperor. She had influence, luxury, and a kind of power she had never dreamed possible for herself. Caracalla frequently gifted her all kinds of extravagant things. She had silk stolas in nearly every color. She had lavish jewels. She held political sway by being a whisper in his ear. And if she had to deal with some erratic moods of his in return then so be it. She thought it was better to be under the protection of an unstable emperor who cherished her than to be accosted by random men like before when she was a simple mime actress with no one to defend her. To the palace staff, senators, and other nobles, she was no longer just a lowly woman in a scandalous profession who warmed the emperor’s bed. She was now a force to be reckoned with, the woman who had the affections of the mercurial emperor.
She became more than just a source of entertainment. She became Caracalla’s heart, his anchor to reality. She could be a mother, a lover, a confidante, or simply the pretty distraction that eased his pain. And in return, Caracalla became obsessed with her, refusing to let her leave his side. Her world became a gilded cage, but she learned to live comfortably as the lovely bird within it.
On one particularly bad night, Caracalla's rage became too much even for her to simply soothe with words. He threw things, smashing vases, wine goblets, everything in his path was being destroyed. His shouts echoing through the palace halls. But she approached when she sensed his anger was cooling down, her arms slipping around his tense form. She pressed soft kisses to his jaw, his neck, his trembling hands.
“Come to bed,” she whispered enticingly, her voice honey sweet. “Let me help you forget it all.”
Caracalla shivered under her touch, his anger silenced by desire. He cupped her face roughly, crashing his lips against hers. And just like that, the world around him ceased to exist. There was only her. Only the taste of her lips, the scent of her skin, and the promise in her eyes.
She had long learned that lust was the quickest way to control him. It was almost effortless the way she could fill his mind with longing. And as Caracalla’s thoughts clouded over, drowned by his desire, he whispered, vulnerable, “You’ll stay with me forever?”
She smiled softly against his lips. “Always.”
And she meant it. There were worse things, after all, than being the possession of an emperor.
I have no idea if I would ever write a part 2 but I do have some ideas for it 🤔 I was reading about Claudia Acte who was the concubine of Emperor Nero and who may or may not have been a mime actress at one point (I only saw it mentioned on one website) but Nero at one point desired to marry her but she came from a lowly background. So Nero had a whole fake genealogy made up for her linking her to royalty and even bribed ex-consuls to be ready to swear to her royal bloodline but this angered his mother and she prevented the whole thing lol. But that just feels like something Caracalla would do with actress!reader and something that Geta would be forced to arrange because he would want to see his brother happy. So if I did write a sequel it would probably be something like that.
Do you guys remember that House of Gucci movie Lady Gaga was in? Well I was reminded of Patrizia Gucci saying "it's better to cry in a Rolls Royce than to be happy on a bicycle" and that's kinda the mindset I was going for with actress!reader. She's been torn away from her acting profession that she enjoyed, and she should be upset about it, especially since she's the object of obsession for an unhinged emperor and has been forced to essentially be his caretaker so Geta can get a break, but hey now she's got all this access to wealth and she has major influence over one of the most important men in the empire so what does it matter if she's often in the path of Caracalla's destruction? When life with Caracalla occasionally gets too rough, she'll just wipe her tears with a silk palla and then get another expensive one made after her tears stain it lol. Her life experiences have made her opportunistic but she does also truly care about Caracalla and does actually love him.
I am in need of some inspiration so anyone can send me some requests and ideas right now if they want to. I don't feel like making a list of request guidelines so request anything you want and I'll just ignore it if I don't like it.
Summary: Caracalla brings his daughter to her first gladiator match.
Author's Note: I don't mention the daughter's age but she's probably in the toddler age range.
~~~~
The sun blazed high over Rome, casting its golden glow over the crowded expanse of the Colosseum. The deafening cheers of the crowd echoed a thunderous sound that seemed to shake the very stones of the arena. Dust and the scent of blood filled the air, and the clash of steel rang out below, where gladiators battled for glory or survival.
In the imperial box, beneath a shaded canopy, sat the ruling family. Caracalla lounged on his golden chair, his eyes bright with excitement. Beside him, his wife reclined gracefully in her seat, dressed in a flowing stola with gold threaded into her hair. But it was the smallest figure between them that held their attention, their little Severa, experiencing her very first gladiator match. Geta had mentioned that perhaps it was too soon for her to attend but Caracalla would hear none of it, too excited at the idea of sharing something he enjoys so much with his daughter.
She was seated between her parents, her tiny hands clutching tightly at her father’s arm, her eyes wide and unsure as they darted from the battling men to the roaring crowd, an unfamiliar sea of faces in the stands. The sounds were so loud, so strange, that her little shoulders trembled, and her bottom lip quivered.
Caracalla, noticing, softened his usual boisterous tone. "What is it little one? Are you frightened?" His voice, warm and oddly tender, but also filled with confusion at the idea of his daughter not enjoying such a show.
Severa's voice was barely a whisper, her eyes wide. "Loud…" she said quietly, her small fingers curling into the fabric of his toga. “It's scary.”
His wife glanced over with a soft smile. “It’s all right little one,” she said smoothly, brushing a stray curl from Severa’s cheek. “No one will harm you. You’re with us.”
Caracalla, ever eager to share his pleasures with his beloved daughter, tried to make her see the thrill. “Look,” he said, pointing to the sands below, “Do you see them? Those men are fighting to be champions. Only one will survive.” His voice carried a child's excitement. “The people cheer for the entertainment they provide. And soon you’ll understand that it’s more than just a fight. It’s a fun game.”
But Severa still didn’t share his enthusiasm or see the appeal. She flinched at the clash of swords, the grunts of pain, and the excitement of the crowd when a gladiator fell and she closed her eyes when blood began soaking the sand. Her tiny hands clutched tighter at her father’s arm, and a fearful whimper escaped her.
His wife’s brow furrowed slightly. “Perhaps she is too young,” she said, her voice touched with concern. Their daughter was always a more sensitive child, easily scared by little things.
But Caracalla, ever the child at heart himself, was undeterred. “No,” he insisted, his arm instinctively curled around the trembling child. “The first time is always the hardest. I cried the first time too.” He said matter of factly.
His wife arched a brow, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You cried?”
A sudden forlorn expression overtook Caracalla for a moment. “Yes and my father called me a disgrace for it.” His voice dropped, and for a brief second there was something despondent about him, something sad and lost in miserable memories. But then it vanished as quickly as it came and was replaced by that familiar boyish charm and smile. “But I learned and Severa will too.”
Severa’s lip wobbled as another roar shook the arena. She turned her face into her father’s chest, her soft voice muffled by his toga. “Don’t like it.”
Caracalla, his excited heart softening, exchanged a glance with his wife. With a sigh of disappointment, he pressed a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head. “All right my little one,” he said, his voice lowering into a rare, protective murmur. “No more. I suppose you don’t have to watch.”
He lifted Severa and sat her on his lap and faced her away from the arena, shielding her from the spectacle. One arm wrapped securely around her small form, and his other hand summoned an attendant. “Bring her something sweet: dates, honey cakes. Whatever she wants.”
His wife watched the exchange and felt a warmth bloom in her chest. “You’re soft for her,” she teased lightly, though there was no mockery in her voice, only a sweet observation.
Caracalla, his lips brushing his daughter’s curls that looked so much like his own color, smirked. “Soft? Perhaps.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “But only for her.”
The rest of the match passed with the emperor’s daughter nestled safely in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest, the terrifying world beyond fading away under his protection. And though Severa’s first visit to the arena had been a frightening experience, she felt safe. Because she was with them: her father, her mother, and that was all she needed.
~~~~
I wrote this fic because I wanted to show Roman parents being like "lol why is our toddler not amused by men getting murdered violently right in front of her??".
I meant to include more uncle Geta in this but he ended up only getting mentioned once because I wanted to keep this a short fic and I wasn't sure how to involve him more in this little scene.
I found the name Severa when I was browsing 'Roman female given names' on Wikipedia. It reminded me of Caracalla's father's name being Septimius Severus and idk why but it kinda feels in character that Caracalla would for some reason name his child after his abusive father. I also almost named her Antonia instead because the real Caracalla took on the name of Marcus Aurelius Severus Antoninus Augustus when he became emperor and I think movie!Caracalla would definitely name his child after himself in some way lol. I did not include her full name in the fic but in my mind it would be something like Septimia Caracallia Severa.
so TLDR: I put too much thought into this Roman name that I will probably only use once unless I decide to write more short stories about Severa
I'm working on a Caracalla/reader/Geta fic that is currently at 9k words. Would you guys prefer it to be posted as just one long fic or separated into different parts?
Summary: A senator informs Geta about the rumors surrounding his wife
Author's Note: This fic consists of pieces I took out from a much longer fic I had written. After reading what I originally wrote I didn't really vibe with the whole thing and so I took out parts I liked best to create this fic. Idk if it's better or worse because things feel a bit rushed in this fic now and not as cohesive as before but it's good enough I think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I was partly inspired by Fire & Blood where it says that some in court found Queen Rhaenys Targaryen suspicious because she spent time with bards and singers and they were sure she must be having an affair on Aegon I. Also the title is from the Elvis song of the same name because it popped into my head while writing this because it's similar to the plot lol.
~~~
The late afternoon sun streamed through the marble arches of the palace, casting shadows across the floor of the Emperor’s private chamber. Emperor Geta paced restlessly, his jaw clenched tight, his fingers twitching. The rumors had come to him this morning, carried by a senator whose words had been carefully chosen, yet laced with venom.
“She is often seen in the company of poets and bards, my Emperor. Some say perhaps too often.”
The words echoed in Geta’s mind as he strode to the balcony. Below him, others strolled about, oblivious to the storm brewing in his heart. He had always known that his wife had a fondness for the arts. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her. The way her eyes lit up when she heard the verses of a poem she thought was interesting, the soft smile that graced her lips during the final notes of a ballad. She was a woman of intelligence and charm. Perfect qualities to be his empress.
But now those very same qualities and interests had become the source of his unrest.
~
Geta finds his wife out in the garden. “I had hoped to speak with you my wife,” he said, his tone polite but firm.
“What troubles you, my love?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she stepped closer to him.
Geta studied her, his gaze lingering on her face, searching for some sign of guilt. But she looked as she always did, serene, composed, and beautiful. “There are whispers in the court,” he began slowly, “that your affection for music and poetry has extended beyond mere appreciation.”
His wife’s eyes widened, and then she laughed softly, a sound like the chiming of bells. “Surely you don’t believe such nonsense.”
“I don’t want to,” Geta admitted, his voice low. “But the court is not kind to a woman who spends her days surrounded by other men, no matter how innocent her intentions.”
Her smile faded, and she placed a hand on his arm. “Geta, these men are poets, musicians and artists. They speak to me about the soul, not the flesh. My heart belongs to you, and only you.”
He wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. But the thought of her laughter, her attention, her admiration being bestowed on another man gnawed at him. “Then why do others speak of you so?” he demanded, his voice rising slightly. “Why do they say you adore Bacchus so much that you have embraced his indulgences?”
His wife stiffened, her hand falling away. “Do you question my virtue?” she asked, insulted that her husband would believe such nonsense about her.
“I question the company you keep!” he snapped, the words sharper than he intended.
She took a step back, her expression conveying her hurt and frustration. “You have always known who I am Geta. I am not a woman content to sit idly in the palace, just simply gossiping my day away. I find joy in the divine chaos of creation. If that makes me suspicious in the eyes of our court then so be it. But I will not apologize for things I did not do.”
Her words hung in the air between them, heavy with emotion. Geta clenched his fists, his anger warring with his love for her. Finally he spoke, his voice softer. “I do not wish to stifle you. But I cannot bear the thought of others questioning your loyalty or your love for me.”
His wife stepped closer, her gaze steady. “Then let me reassure you, my emperor. I am as sure of my love for you as I am about Sol bringing us the sun each morning. But if you doubt me, then tell me what must I do to prove myself?”
He sighed, reaching out to cup her face in his hands. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Let the poets and bards sing their songs without you for once. Let Bacchus have his revelry elsewhere.”
She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. “If it will ease your mind, my dear husband then I will stay.”
Geta pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if to shield her from the whispers that sought to undermine them. But even as he held her, a shadow of doubt lingered, refusing to be banished entirely.
~
The grand halls of the palace echoed with the click of her delicate sandals against the marble floor. The weight of her husband’s arm on her shoulder was both reassuring and suffocating. For the past three days, Geta had not let her out of his sight. Where she went, he followed. Where he could not follow, he sent his guards to watch her every step. It was unlike him, and though his paranoia was silent, she could feel it in the way his fingers tightened around her arm, in the watchful, almost desperate glint in his eyes.
She had tried to comfort him, tried to reassure him of her loyalty, but it seemed no words could pierce through the suspicion that had taken hold of him.
During a feast, Geta watched his wife like a hawk as she entertained a visiting nobleman whose son had written a collection of poems. His wife listened to the man intently, her soft smile never wavering as the man recited a verse.
But Geta saw something else. He saw how the man’s eyes lingered on her, how her laughter seemed to light up the room. His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair, his jaw tightening. Was it admiration? Was it mere courtesy? Or was there something more? The thoughts churned in his mind like a storm, dark and unrelenting.
When the man left, Geta wasted no time. He rose abruptly, crossing the room to where his wife stood.
“You enjoyed his company,” he said, his voice low but laced with accusation.
His wife blinked, startled by his tone. “He was reciting his son’s poetry, my dear husband. That’s all it was.”
“You smiled at him,” Geta pressed, his eyes narrowing. “You laughed.”
“Am I not allowed to smile and laugh?” she asked softly, though there was a tinge of frustration in her voice. “Must I always wear a sour expression to please you?”
His hand shot out, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “You are mine,” he said, his voice trembling - not with anger, but with something deeper, something more fragile. “Your smiles, your laughter, they belong to me and no one else.”
Her eyes softened as she saw the flicker of insecurity behind his harsh words. She reached up, covering his hand with her own. “And they are yours, Geta,” she murmured. “Only yours.”
His grip loosened, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she might vanish. “I will not lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I cannot.”
~
For the next several days, Geta’s wife’s world shrank. Where she once wandered the gardens freely, now her husband walked beside her, his hand resting possessively on her waist. When she visited the library, he went with her. Her gatherings with poets and musicians were no more, replaced by dinners where Geta sat her beside him, his eyes never leaving her.
She tried to be understanding, but his constant scrutiny weighed heavily on her. One evening, as they sat together in their chambers, she finally spoke.
“Geta,” she began, her voice tentative. “Do you not trust me?”
He looked up from the goblet of wine in his hand, his expression guarded. “Of course I trust you, you are my wife,” he said after a long pause. “It is everyone else I do not trust.”
“You cannot keep watch over me forever,” she said.
His jaw tightened. “You are my wife,” he said firmly. “My empress. And I will not risk anyone else taking you from me.”
“Even if it means suffocating me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Geta flinched, as if her words had struck him. He set the goblet down and rose to his feet, pacing the room. “You do not understand,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I have enemies everywhere. We have enemies everywhere. They would use you against me. They would take you from me. Take your love away from me”
“Who could take me when I am yours in both heart and soul?” she asked, rising to stand before him.
He stopped, his gaze meeting hers. For a moment, he looked like a man on the edge of breaking, his carefully constructed armor of intimidation cracking to reveal the fear beneath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But the thought of losing you terrifies me.”
She reached out, cupping his face in her hands. “Geta,” she said softly, “you will not lose me. I love you.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me you will never leave me.”
“I promise,” she said, though her heart ached at the desperation in his voice.
He pulled her into his arms again, holding her as if his life depended on it. She sighed softly, resting her head against his chest. She understood that his possessiveness was not born of cruelty, nor out of a need to stifle her but it was of a fear he could not truly voice, a fear he could not truly reconcile with, and it had consumed him.
And so she stayed, tethered to him by her love for him, hoping that soon his insecurities would ease and he would see that she was his, not because he demanded it, but because she chose it. But she was not sure how much she could take of this suffocating behavior. Of every move of hers and every interaction being heavily watched.
~
She rarely let her frustrations boil to the surface, but this time was different. As she sat across from her husband in their private chambers, the weight of the senator’s venomous words and their impact on her marriage gnawed at her patience. For days and days now, Geta’s suffocating possessiveness had taken over every aspect of her life, and she could no longer bear the thought that this rift between them had been instigated by a man seeking to undermine her, a man seeking to replace her.
She set down her goblet with a sharp clink, her hands trembling, not with fear, but with barely restrained annoyance and anger. “I’ve been thinking, my dear husband,” she began, her voice calm but carrying an obvious edge to it.
Geta glanced up from his seat, his brow furrowing slightly at her tone. “What is it?”
She met his gaze, her eyes blazing with uncharacteristic determination. “The senator who came to you with these baseless rumors. I believe he must be punished.”
Geta blinked, clearly surprised. “Punished? For what?”
“For daring to speak against me,” she replied, her voice firm, slightly exasperated that he did not already know what she spoke of. “For poisoning your mind with lies and causing this… this chaos between us. He sought to undermine your confidence in me, to cast doubt on my loyalty, to possibly destroy my reputation. That is not something we should let go unanswered.”
Geta leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. “You surprise me, wife. I thought you were above petty revenge. You have always counseled me against such rash decisions before”
“This is not petty, nor is it rash!” she shot back, her tone sharpening. “He sought to disgrace me, your wife, your empress. By doing so, he has disgraced you as well. How can you tolerate such audacity?”
Her words struck a nerve. Geta’s insecurities flared, his mind racing as he considered her argument. She was right. The senator’s insinuations had not only called his wife’s loyalty into question but had also implied that Geta was a weak ruler, unable to control his own household. The thought made his blood boil.
“What would you have me do?” he asked, his voice low.
“Demote him. Remove him from his position. Let it be known that you will not tolerate slander against your Empress.”
Geta narrowed his eyes. “And if others see this as an act of weakness? A sign that I am blinded by my love for you?”
“Let them see it as a warning,” she countered. “Let them know that your loyalty to your wife is unwavering and that you will not allow anyone to sow baseless discord in your court.”
Her words appealed to Geta’s pride, and she could see the gears turning in his mind. After a long silence, he nodded slowly. “Very well. The senator will be dealt with. I’ll ensure his removal will be public and soon.”
Relief washed over her, though a part of her felt dissatisfied about simply just having the senator removed from his position. The senator had meddled in her marriage, made her husband watch every move she made for days now, and he deserved to face more severe consequences for it. The senator has a daughter around her age, she felt certain the senator was likely hoping to get her pushed aside to potentially make way for his daughter to get close to Geta, for her to be the next Empress of Rome. Geta’s wife seethed silently at the thought of someone replacing her, of someone attempting to steal her position. She thought about paying Caracalla a visit and informing him of the treacherous senator in their midst. He would certainly give her the dramatic reaction she wants.
Geta rose from his seat, crossing the room to stand before her. He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze softening. “You are right. I should never have allowed his words to poison my mind. You are my empress, my wife. No one will come between us again”
She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch and calming for a moment. “And I will always stand by your side Geta. But we must stand together, against anyone who seeks to divide us.”
Geta kissed her then, fierce and possessive, as if to reaffirm their bond. She let herself melt into the embrace, even as a small voice in the back of her mind wondered if she should push for more to be done about the senator.
~~~~
reader can't take out her frustrations on Geta so she will take it out on the senator who started all of this instead lol
andulkaphoto
discoholicmusic
baratheonpilled
germansingergirl
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
blakekathryn
areudirty
snowghoul
yousharknotpass