Soft Spot II
Paring- Emperor Caracalla x Reader ( x Eventual Geta )
Word count- 7.1k
Warnings - Mentions of slavery and some physical violence
Soft Spot I - Masterlist
A loud, insistent knock at the door jolts you from your slumber, pulling you from the depths of sleep. As you groggily lift your head from the pillow, a warm beam of sunlight streams through the window, piercing your eyes like an unwelcome intruder. The weight of the morning sun makes you suspicious of the time. The sharp sound of the knock—so different from the familiar crow of the rooster echoes through the stillness, instantly confirming your suspicion that you’ve overslept and the day is already unfolding without you.
After last night’s events, sleep had been elusive. Instead, your mind had been plagued with thoughts of the strange man you’d found in the kitchens, leaving you awake until the early hours. When you finally managed to sleep, your dreams were haunted by visions of him.
You had never been so close to a Patrician, and you could never have imagined them to be quite like that. You could smell the expensive oils on his toga and felt his soft hands, which had probably never worked a day in their life, as you led him to the stairs. Still, you hadn’t expected him to be so somber, so lost, and the way he looked at you like you held the world when you reached out to clean his wound echoed through your dreams; he wasn’t at all how you would have imagined someone who could have everything.
You might have continued sleeping, enveloped in those dreams, if it hadn’t been for one of the serving girls for the Dominas upstairs banging on the door to your room, her urgency cutting through the fog of sleep.
You quickly rose from your bed to answer the door. The girl banging on the door had come bearing orders from the Dominas she served, a senator’s wife and her young daughter, who had been occupying the palatium along with a cadre of their equally annoying friends. These women, the wives and daughters of prominent generals and senators, buzzed around the palatium, all vying for a chance to catch the eye of one of Rome’s unmarried emperors.
However, the whispers among the palace slaves suggested that Rome’s emperors found these women more of a nuisance than anything else. Allegedly, they only entertained them to placate the senators and generals, each of whom clung desperately to the hope that their sons or grandsons might one day rise to power. These hopes, whether substantial or not, seemed unshakeable, for the women hadn’t left for some time, always coming up with ideas for more exuberant lunches and picnics, continually inviting the emperors who never attended.
This morning seemed to be no different. They wanted a whole array of baked goods, both savory and sweet, along with a recipe they had received from one of Rome’s newly acquired provinces. The recipe had been translated into Latin, but since you were the only one in the kitchens who possessed the ability to read and write, nothing had been made in your absence. You were left hurriedly putting on your tunic and apron to get to the kitchens as quickly as possible.
As you stepped into the kitchen, you spotted the master of slaves. He was methodically sifting through the pantry, checking the inventory against the records from last night. The tension in the air felt thick as you approached the kitchen entrance, desperately trying to slip by without drawing attention. You knew that being late would only compound your troubles. You knew he would find the cheese with the missing bite, and with nobody to blame, you were sure to earn a punishment of some kind, and you didn’t want another sentence on top of that.
Just as you settled into your usual spot in the kitchen, a sharp voice rang out, “You’re late!” It echoed through the kitchen, causing heads to turn and eye you. Your heart raced, and you braced yourself to start groveling for forgiveness, ready to offer up excuses. However, to your surprise, the master of slaves merely rolled his eyes and said with surprising nonchalance, “Don’t let it happen again,” before turning and striding down the hall with a sense of purpose. This unexpected leniency left you in a state of confusion. You were late, and food was missing, yet you faced no punishment.
You tried to make sense of the situation. The dominus you had encountered in the kitchen could have easily reported what liberties he had taken in the kitchens. But would he genuinely care enough to relay such matters to the Emperors? The thought seemed far-fetched. Even if, by some stroke of divine intervention, they did report it, it didn’t explain why he chose not to punish you. The master of slaves was known to be a bitter little man whose sole joy in life appeared to come from instilling fear in others, finding pleasure in their cowering. And yet, here you were, having escaped his ire completely. The contradiction gnawed at your mind as you resumed your work.
The rest of the day in the kitchens unfolded with an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. Though the tasks at hand proceeded without any incident, the other slaves seemed to regard you with a mixture of disdain and resentment, casting you dirty looks and shoving past you more than they usually did. It was evident that they were angry with you for the special treatment you had received earlier. If one of them had found themselves in the same position, they would undoubtedly have faced harsh punishment, yet you had been spared.
Trying to express that you had no idea why you were receiving special treatment was futile. None of them were willing to engage in any meaningful conversation with you; they only acknowledged you when carrying out your orders or relaying messages and complaints from the patricians upstairs.
This isolation has been a part of your life ever since your aunt assumed the role of headmistress of the kitchens; you had felt the growing distance between yourself and the others. When she passed, her position fell to you, and things only worsened. Any friendships that had once existed seemed to vanish, replaced by an unspoken rule that you were different, someone who couldn’t be trusted, and so you were never invited to play games or drink after dinner was served. You were always left alone to spend the nights in your solitary comfort.
As the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, shadows began to stretch and dance across the worn kitchen floor. You found yourself alone, a solitary figure amidst the remnants of the bustling day, scrubbing diligently at the stubborn grime that clung to the tiles. One by one, the other workers had filtered out, their laughter and chatter gradually fading away, leaving you to contend with the massive kitchen all by yourself.
You could have called out, demanding their return to assist you. But guilt weighed heavily upon you and so you refrained, choosing instead to shoulder the burden alone. The task before you was tedious , yet with each scrub of your brush, you found a strange sense of solace. The fading light outside telling that you would be left to scrub into the night, the kitchen becoming a quiet sanctuary where the rhythm of your efforts kept time with the soft whispers of the evening.
By the time you finish cleaning, the sun has completely disappeared behind the horizon, leaving only a faint glow in the sky. The air is cool and quiet, typical of late evenings. You carefully pack up all the cleaning supplies, your muscles aching from the long hours spent scrubbing and organizing, as you prepare to return to your rooms for the night.
Suddenly, you hear a series of soft thuds resonating from down the hall. The sounds echo eerily in the stillness of the empty corridor. Just as quickly as they appeared, they faded into silence. You take a deep breath, trying not to dwell on the noise. It is late, but still within the hours when slaves could still be returning to their rooms, so you dismiss it and turn your focus back to your tasks.
After placing the last cleaning supplies back in their designated spots in the closet, you make your way back to the kitchens to retrieve your aprons. Looking forward to getting some much-needed rest after a long day, your plans shattering when you turn the corner.
You let out a shrill scream, your heart racing at the sight of the shadowy figure standing ominously in the kitchen. The figure looms just beyond the entrance.
“Shh…shh, don’t scream. You’ll alert the praetorians. It’s me,” the voice pleaded from the shadows; the voice did seem slightly familiar, but not enough to stop your instinctive retreat from the doorway, every instinct screaming that anyone hiding from the praetorians was a threat.
“You don’t remember me?” The voice speaks again, this time laced with a somber tone that only confuses you more. Anxiety coiled tightly in your chest as you replied, “I cannot see you. How am I to remember you?” Your annoyance slipping through, only to be swallowed by immediate regret.
The figure stepped into the moonlight, the silvery glow illuminating every contour of his face and body. Horror twisted your features, an involuntary gasp escaping your lips as recognition seized you—it was the dominus from the night before. His roguish grin widened at your reaction, and he let out a loud, resonant chuckle that sounded raw and horas like he’d been screaming or crying.
Though still tousled and wild, his hair looked marginally neater than the night before, as if he had run his fingers through it in a futile attempt to restore its order. Gone was the crown of laurels; instead, he wore a cascade of heavy gold jewelry glimmered in the dim light, each piece reflecting flickers of gold on the walls. His toga, a luxurious blend of rich red and vibrant gold, seemed to ripple like liquid silk, the fabric so fine it appeared to float around him as if woven from the very clouds you would dream of resting upon.
As he wandered across the kitchen towards you, he moved with surprising grace, far less unsteady than the night before, each step deliberate and confident.
“I… I… I apologize, dominus. I could not see you. I didn’t mean to speak to you in such a disrespectful manner,” you stammered, your words tumbling out in a rush, your eyes glued to the floor, heat flooding your face as mortification crashed over you.
But he was undeterred, closing the space between you with an effortless, almost predatory grace, invading your personal bubble. “I knew you couldn’t forget me,” he declared, a childlike grin painting his face.
He stands so close that the rich, intoxicating scents of the elaborate oils and perfumes he wears envelop you like a warm fog. The sweetness of his aroma lingers in the air, reminiscent of candy, making it hard to think straight. You find yourself fixated on the ground, desperately hoping he’ll lose interest and walk away, but instead, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against a wayward lock of your hair. He twirls it playfully, a sly grin dancing on his lips as he says your name in a teasing, sing-song tone, laughter bubbling just beneath the surface.
Your heart races at his touch, a mix of embarrassment and resistance flooding through you as you concentrate on the ground. You feel his hands glide to your face, his grip firm yet gentle, compelling you to meet his gaze. You have no choice but to look into his eyes, where mischief and curiosity intertwine, leaving you breathless.
“I missed you; did you miss me?” he asks, flashing a toothy grin that catches you off guard. You’re surprised he even remembers your face; most of the patricians treated the slaves like they were invisible, and you expected him to be no different. And the way his words slurred together last night made you think he was going to be far too drunk to recall anything; you assumed you would fade from his memory as quickly as you had appeared. Yet, it seems the gods have a different plan for you.
His hand moves from your chin to stroke your face gently. You watch his expression shift as his fingers glide over the surface of your skin, seemingly lost in the sensation. When his fingers reach your lips, his thumb traces their outline. Suddenly, his expression darkens, and as he presses his thumb against your bottom lip, the tone of his voice shifts from playful to something you can’t quite identify, sending a chill down your spine. “Well, did you?” he asks, his eyes snapping back to yours as you realize you had been so entranced that you completely forgot he asked you a question.
You know exactly what would appease him, yet you can’t bring yourself to say them. You attempt to speak, but the words get lodged in your throat, leaving only a mumble to escape. The dominus doesn’t take kindly to your hesitation; his already darkening expression turns sour. The hand on your face halts its movement, and you shut your eyes, bracing for the inevitable outburst, expecting him to unleash his inner turmoil upon you as so many other dominus had with the serving girls. Yet, the blow never comes. Instead, you sense his silent withdrawal; his breath on your cheek fades away.
When you finally open your eyes, you see him standing a step away, staring at you with flared nostrils. He’s angry; you can tell even before he turns his gaze toward the pots and pans cluttering the table behind him. He swipes at the table with a swift motion, sending everything crashing to the ground. The deafening clang of metal striking stone echoes through the kitchen, and you can’t help but worry that someone might hear. Yet, deep down, you know that no one will come to your aid; nobody checks the kitchens for a thief in the night when you’re the one who will bear the brunt of any imagined wrongdoing.
You watch as he wreaks havoc in the kitchen, hurling everything in his path to the floor. His shouts blend with the clangs of pots, making it impossible to understand his words. He edges closer to the pantry, pots, and pans you might have a chance to tidy up before the master conducts his morning inspections. But if he destroys the food… well, you’d be the one to take the fall. Gathering your courage, you step toward him, careful not to get too close, afraid he might unleash his anger on you. Your gaze stays fixed on the ground as you mumble, “I’m… I’m sorry, Dominus, for upsetting you. I—”
He interrupts, spinning around to face you. “Do I frighten you?”
Quickly shaking your head, you avoid his eyes, though you notice his sandal-clad feet moving nearer. “Look at me,” he demands.
His voice wavers, sounding like a stubborn child. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze and see tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. “Do I scare you?” he asks again. He kicks the pots on the floor when you shake your head, sending them crashing against the walls. “Do not lie to me!” His booming voice reverberates through the room. Any signs of sadness are quickly replaced with his rage. You hesitate, starting to shake your head again, but you stop, fearing further anger. With a shaky breath, you finally speak, “Y-yes, Dominus, you… you did frighten me at first. But the more I’ve seen you, the less I’ve come to fear you.” You cast your eyes down, hoping your honesty will appease him.
You hear him shifting just inches away from you, and before you know it, he’s standing right in front of you, his hands firmly gripping your chin. He tilts your face upward, compelling you to meet his gaze. His eyes scan your features, searching for any hint of deceit, circling you like a predator stalking its prey. With a deep breath, you push aside the rising tide of fear and confront his intense stare, feeling electricity in the air between you.
As your gazes lock, time seems to stretch infinitely, and you resist the impulse to look away. Instead, you force a small smile onto your lips, hoping to mask your unease. This seems to intrigue him; a grin slowly spreads across his face, warmth melting the tension in the air. His hand shifts from your chin, tenderly stroking your hair as if trying to soothe both you and himself.
“I knew I could trust you, my flower,” he whispers in a tone that mixes delight with mischief, punctuated by a soft giggle that invites you to share in his amusement. Then, in a playful, sing-song voice, he adds, “I got you something special, my flower,” before releasing your hair and reaching into the folds of his toga.
With a flourish, he pulls out a glimmering gold necklace adorned with six radiant coins that catch the light, shimmering like stars. You gasp audibly, the sight of the sparkling gold captivating your senses. He erupts into a hearty laugh at your reaction, the sound rich and genuine.
“Do you like it?” he asks the sincerity in his voice contrasting with the playful glimmer in his eyes, waiting for your response with anticipation.
It was the most exquisite and lavish gift anyone had ever presented to you, gleaming with a brilliance that made your heart race. But a knot of anxiety twisted in your stomach—how could you possibly keep something so valuable? Surely, someone would accuse you of theft; no slave dared to own gold like this. You were caught in a dilemma: the prospect of refusing his gift loomed over you like a storm cloud. Just a simple delay in your response had sent him teetering on the brink of chaos, threatening to wreak havoc in the kitchen.
So, you chose your words with great care. “It is the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received; thank you, Dominus, but I cannot accept it. I have nothing to offer in return.” The moment the words left your lips, you could see his smile evaporate, replaced by a fleeting flash of sadness. But before you could fully process the change, he quickly masked it with determination.
“I know what you can give me,” he said, a devilish smirk creeping into place that sent a shiver down your spine. “Do you know how to make ova spongia ex lacte?” He leaned in closer, the mischief in his eyes captivating yet unnerving.
“I… what?” Your mind raced, taken aback by his unexpected request, completely forgetting the need for decorum, but he didn’t seem bothered.
“Last night, you said you were the kitchen headmistress. I assumed that meant you could cook. Or can you not?” He pouted, feigning innocence; here he was, offering you a glimmering golden necklace, and he merely wanted eggs in return. You hadn’t even meant to imply a trade; you were just searching for a way to decline politely. You could hardly fathom that he would ask for something so simple, having expected far more outrageous demands.
“I… I do know how to make it, Dominus,” you replied hesitantly. “But I can’t use the ingredients without permission. Perhaps you could go back upstairs and ask the slave outside your apartments for it, and they could send down an order, and I can—”
He interrupted you, shaking his head fervently. “No, no, no! I want you to make it, and I want to watch you do it,” he insisted, his voice pitching higher in excitement.
“But I cannot use the food unless the orders are sent down. I’ll get in trouble! The food belongs to the emperors! I—” You attempted to protest, but he pressed a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you.
“You don’t need to worry! I’ll tell the emperors myself that I ordered you to make the dish,” he declared, his enthusiasm making him appear almost childlike in his certainty. You open your mouth once more to dispute, but his finger, still lingering against your lips, stops you.
“I’m good friends with the emperors; they won’t mind, I promise.” His voice is playful, yet a hint of mischief dances in his eyes as he grins. His arms reach out to grab your shoulders, the weight of the golden necklace still clasped in his hand pressing against your skin, its coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. You search your mind frantically for a suitable excuse, something that won’t be dismissed with a wave of his hand nor trigger the disappointment etched on his features. But nothing comes to you.
“Alright, if you insist, Dominus. Wait here, and I’ll fetch the ingredients,” you finally manage to say, trying to wiggle free from his grasp. His grip tightens as if afraid to let go. “You’re going to come back, right?” His voice cracks slightly, revealing a hint of vulnerability that tugs at your heart.
“Of course, I will, Dominus, but I can’t cook without the ingredients,” you reassure him, watching his expression shift as your words seem to bring him some comfort. He relaxes his hold, nodding slowly as he retreats into his thoughts, the worry in his eyes fading a little.
Taking a moment for your heart to settle, you start to move toward the pantry. “Wait,” he suddenly calls out just as you’re about to step away. You turn to see him following you, his pace quickening. He reaches out, his hands skillfully draping the gold necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin as he stands behind you, pressing his form against your back.
A rush of nerves dances through you, and you fight the urge to tremble. His hands linger for a moment longer than necessary, warmth radiating from his touch before he pulls back, his gaze now focused on you with an unmistakable intensity. He gently turns you to face him, taking in your appearance with a smile that lights up his face. “Pretty,” he declares, the word hanging in the air like a soft caress.
After a brief moment of silence, he drops his hands from your shoulders. You stand there, unsure of what to do next, as he continues to stare at you, captivated. you decide to just turn back to the pantry, your heart racing as you retrieve the ingredients for his dish, the gold necklace resting lightly against your skin.
As you step out of the pantry with the ingredients in hand, you notice him curiously examining the kitchen, especially staring at the stove as if it’s the strangest contraption he’s ever encountered. You approach him, placing the items on the counter near both him and the stove. Only then does he seem to notice your presence. “How does this work?” he asks, gazing at the stove with a hint of confusion. It suddenly dawns on you that he’s probably never lit a fire or seen a stove in his life. You find it hard to imagine such a simple existence.
“Here, I’ll show you,” you say, grabbing some wood from the nearby baskets. He watches you closely as you return and kneel down to stuff the hearth with wood. “How do you light it?” he asks, his eyes fixed on you. Despite knowing you shouldn’t feel this way, you can’t help but think he seems sweet and genuine. Maybe some of the patricians can be kind; perhaps you don’t need to feel guilty about liking him. After all, it isn’t his fault you’re here and he’s there. It’s not like he has any power over the situation.
You let the smile you’ve been holding back spread across your face. “Watch,” you say, reaching for the flint and steel. He leans in too close to the fire, his eyes widening as the flames start to rise. You gently push him back, anxious that his hair might catch fire, but he seems lost in the flickering flames. You leave him on the floor, captivated, as you stand up to start cooking.
Moving around the kitchen, you gather pots and utensils, finally returning to his side. He rises, standing closely behind you, watching intently as you toss all the ingredients into the bowl. When you crack an egg against the bowl’s edge, he lets out a small laugh, the simple act that you’ve done countless times clearly amusing him.
“Do you want to give it a try?” you ask, waving the egg in front of him. Eagerly, he snatches the egg from your hand and, in his enthusiasm, cracks it against the bowl too forcefully. Some shell pieces tumble into the mixture, and his expression quickly sours. “No, no, I ruined it!” he exclaims, banging his head in frustration, startling you.
You quickly regain your composure and reach out to take his hands. He hesitates but allows you to pull his hands away from his head . “It’s alright, see?” you reassure him, dipping your fingers into the bowl to retrieve the shells. “All better. Want to try again?” you suggest, smiling warmly to lift his spirits.
“I almost ruined it! I ruin everything,” he mumbles, his voice trailing off with a sniffle. You reply, “I don’t think you ruin everything. It’s just a small mistake; it’s your first time here, and I’ll help you.” Taking his hand, you guide it gently to crack the egg again. His face lights up with joy when he accomplishes the perfect crack. “Do you want to mix it?” you offer, handing him the spoon so he can stir.
He eagerly grabs the spoon but then looks at you, a bit lost. “What do I do?” he asks, slightly bewildered. You guide his hands to gently stir the bowl. “Am I doing it right?” he inquires, and you can’t help but chuckle at his lack of coordination, some of the ingredients spilling over the sides. “It’s perfect! We can cook it now,” you say, taking the bowl from him and pouring its contents into the pan. He watches intently as it cooks, fascination etched across his face. You flip the mixture to ensure it cooks evenly on both sides before transferring it to a plate and drizzling honey over the top. “All done! I hope it’s to your liking,” you say, placing the plate on the table.
As you start to clean up, he heads to the bench and unexpectedly grabs your wrist, pulling you to sit beside him while he eats. “Share with me, my flower,” he says, cutting the food into small pieces and offering some to you. You hesitate, wanting to decline and tell him it’s improper, but you sense that wouldn’t stop him. So, you reluctantly reach out for the fork in his hand, but he refuses, holding it up to your mouth instead, insisting he wants to feed you himself. With a resigned sigh, you accept, realizing you’ve come too far to back out now. He grins as you take a bite, then happily goes back to feeding himself.
“You’ve outdone yourself, my flower! It’s delicious!” he exclaims while shoveling the food into his mouth, occasionally stopping to make sure you’re eating too. As he finishes, you reach out to clear his plate, hoping that now he’s eaten, he’ll retreat to his room. Before you can speak, though, he gets up and walks toward the hallway leading to the servants’ quarters. You’re about to call out, telling him he’s going the wrong way and that his stairs are on the other side, but he beats you to it. “Are your rooms down there?” he asks, gazing down the hall.
“Yes, dominus, but it would be most inappropriate if you were to go down there,” you respond, gently taking his hand and leading him away from that hall toward the one with the stairs going up. When he realizes where you’re taking him, he stops in his tracks and tugs at your arm. “I don’t want to go back upstairs. I want to stay down here with you!” he says, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, a pout forming on his lips.
“I wish you could stay, but I have to get to bed. I need to be up at dawn to start cooking and take care of so many other things,” you explain, a swarm of thoughts racing through your mind at the mere idea of the busy day ahead, especially since you’ve already spent so much of the night with him. You begin to walk down the hall, but he remains rooted in place, still pouting. “If you go now, I’ll wait for you in the kitchens tomorrow night,” he says, brightening at the prospect. “Can… can we make something together again?” he asks, looking at you with his soft baby blue eyes.
“We can make whatever you like if you go upstairs.” He pauses for a moment, considering your words before asking, “Do you swear it?” He takes your hand and presses it to his heart. “I swear it,” you reply, noticing how your words seem to calm his nerves. His expression relaxes, and you take a step forward, still holding his hand, leading him down the hall toward the stairwell, just like the night before.
When you reach the bottom of the staircase, he frowns at the stairs above, clearly reluctant to ascend. In a burst of spontaneity, you drop his hand and wrap your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. He tenses for a moment but soon returns the embrace, squeezing you tightly and squeezing all the air from your lungs. You attempt to break free, but he holds on, reluctant to let go. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening, my flower,” he says with a grin, finally releasing you before dashing back up the stairs.
With a rush of adrenaline, you sprint to your rooms after watching him disappear. Once inside, you quickly change from your tunic into your night dress. As you do, your hand brushes against the glimmering golden necklace—his gift. You nearly forgot about it. You unclasp the necklace and carefully place it in a small hole you’ve cut in the mattress, then slide into bed, hoping to get some rest before you have to rise for work again. Somehow, despite the nervous energy churning inside you, sleep finds you.
You wake up extra early to tidy up any remnants left in the kitchens. Even though the mystery man assured you of your safety, you can’t shake off the lingering doubt. You want to minimize any potential fallout, just in case your fears turn out to be valid. When the master of slaves conducts his daily check, there’s no punishment or acknowledgment of your presence. He breezes past you as he exits the pantry, completely dismissing you.
You try not to dwell on it. The dominus had kept his word and did exactly as he promised, but that raises more questions about his identity. He must be a good friend of the Emperor, which makes you wonder who he really is. He had refused to give you a name, not that it would have meant much to you, but he must be someone important to be in the Emperor’s favor. The thought of his identity plagues you throughout the day as you go about your work. As night falls upon the palatium, your nerves only seem to heighten.
After everyone has finished cleaning and left for the evening, you quietly tiptoe back to your room to retrieve the necklace he gave you. You tie it around your neck, tucking it under your tunic. You have a feeling he’ll be happier if you wear it, but you don’t want any of the other slaves passing by in the hall to see it. Making your way to the kitchen, you take a seat at the table and wait for him.
You sit there for what feels like hours, hoping for any sign of him, but none comes. You realize you’ve been a fool; his drunken mind probably forgot about you already. It was silly to think he actually cared—he probably just wanted to get under your dress and grew tired of your dodging. He likely has a gold necklace for every pretty girl who crosses his path. Just as you decide to head back to your room, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Maybe you spoke too soon; perhaps he is coming after all.
You quickly adjust your dress as the footsteps grow louder, echoing through the kitchen. When the figure comes into view, a frown crosses your face. It’s not the mystery man you were hoping for, but one of the stable boys instead. “Gods, Linus, you scared me!” you exclaim, letting out a huff.
“Didn’t mean to frighten you, but I was looking for you,” he replies with a laugh. You roll your eyes at his words. Linus is one of the few other slaves willing to talk to you, mostly because he doesn’t take orders from you, but it’s nice to have someone to chat with, even if he can be a bit annoying.
“Well, what do you want?” you say, sitting back down on the bench with a frown. He joins you, taking a seat beside you. “I was going to invite you to play cards with me and the other stable hands, but you seem upset,” he says, leaning in closer. You roll your eyes again. “I’m not upset,” you insist, crossing your arms.
“All right then, I’ll just leave you here to wallow in your sorrows,” he says, rising to his feet and turning to walk away. You instinctively reach out, grabbing his arm to halt him before he can get too far. “Wait, don’t go,” you plead, a huff escaping your lips as you pull him back down to sit beside you again.
A moment of silence hangs between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. “What… what game are you guys playing?” you finally ask, pondering whether you truly want to spend the rest of your evening in the dimly lit stable, surrounded by the scent of hay and the echoes of distant animal sounds.
“Well, I don’t know its name. It’s one of those games Thaddeus made up, so it’s probably not that fun,” he replies with a chuckle that brings a small smile to your face. There’s an ease between you two despite the circumstances, a comfort that feels both familiar and disarming.
“But you know, I have an idea of a game we can play,” he adds, leaning closer, his voice low and dripping with a teasing allure. The way he draws nearer sends a flutter through you, igniting the memories of the last night together.
You and Linus have been friends for quite some time—or at least, that’s how you would describe it. He would occasionally invite you out to play games and share a few drinks, and, more often than not, he would attempt to seduce you into your own bed. It was a cycle you had grown wary of but somehow still found enticing. His impeccable timing meant he always seemed to appear just when you were feeling low enough to entertain his advances. Tonight was no different.
As you sit together, the warmth of his presence is a welcome distraction from the turmoil swirling in your heart. Linus isn’t all that bad; there’s a charm about him that makes it hard to resist, and perhaps that’s the danger of it all.
He started to lean in, and in that electrifying moment, you let yourself be swept away by the tension building between you. As your lips drew closer, ready to accept his kiss, a sudden noise echoed down the dimly lit hall, causing you to instinctively pull back. You felt a surge of panic, but before you could fully retreat, he quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into his embrace, his lips brushing against your neck. “Did you hear that?” you ask.
You glanced nervously toward the source of the sound, but he was too consumed with his explorations to pay you any mind. “It’s probably just some serving girl coming back to her rooms,” he murmured into your skin, his warm breath sending tingles along your spine. You wanted to believe him, to drown out your worries in his touch, and so you surrendered to the moment, the outside world fading into hushed whispers as your breaths mingled in a dizzying dance.
Just as you allowed yourself to get lost in the sensations, relishing the way his hands roamed your body, you felt a heavy, ringed hand suddenly gripping your arm. In one swift motion, you were yanked away from Linus, your body crashing harshly against the cold, unforgiving stone floor. The sharp thud resonated through the quiet as shock coursed through you; you looked up to see the dominus bent over Linus, beating him bloody. With his ringed hand, the tension in the air crackles as you quickly regain your composure. You scramble to your feet, adrenaline surging through your veins, and rush forward, desperate to intervene. “STOP!” you scream, your voice ringing out with urgency. You reach for his shoulder, hoping to halt his aggression toward Linus, but he remains oblivious to your approach. In a split second of chaos, his elbow swings back and connects hard with your face, sending you reeling backward. The sharp pain radiates through your jaw, and you stumble, trying to regain your balance.
Instinctively, he turns around, his expression shifting from fury to concern as he rushes to your side. “Are you alright, my flower?” he asks, his voice filled with panic and regret. “I didn’t mean to hurt you! You shouldn’t have done that—why did you do that?” His tone wavers, swinging between anger and distress, as he cradles your face with gentle hands, his concern evident in his gaze.
From the corner of your eye, you see Linus rising to his haunches, his expression a mixture of confusion and palpable fear. “My Emperor, I’m sorry, I—” he begins, his voice trembling as he struggles to find the right words. But before he can complete his apology, the dominus voice cuts through the air like a knife, sharp and authoritative. “I DID NOT SAY TO SPEAK!” The raw emotion in his outburst sends a ripple of silence through the room, the tension thick enough to suffocate.
Suddenly, Linus’s words resonate within your mind, echoing like the searing pain from your wound. Horror washes over you as the full weight of realization strikes; the gravity of what he has inadvertently revealed sends you stumbling back, a visceral reaction to the betrayal you’ve just uncovered. The Emperor turns sharply at the sound of your sandals scraping against the cold stone floor, his face contorting into a mask of displeasure as he realizes you’ve overheard the conversation and pieced together the implications of his silence.
“YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING!” he screams at Linus with such fury that it almost feels as though the very walls are shaking. The Emperor kicks at Linus’s cowering form lying on the ground, and you find yourself too consumed by your fear to care about Linus anymore. Desperate to escape the scene unfolding before you, you begin to retreat, cautiously making your way toward the hallway.
Suddenly, you collide with an unexpected barrier—a solid chest. An arm swiftly grabs your shoulder, pushing you forward with an unsettling force. It is only when you hear the ominous clank of armor that the reality strikes you: it’s a praetorian guard. He maneuvers you back into the kitchen, the familiar scents of spices and cooking oil doing little to ease your rising panic. You shut your eyes tightly, unwilling to witness the fate that awaits Linus.
“We apologize for the intrusion, Emperor Caracalla, but we heard shouting and came to ensure your safety,” one of the guards at your side speaks, his tone crisp and formal. Meanwhile, the guard behind you shoves you further inside before his sneer cuts the air. “And we found this one trying to sneak away, my Emperor.” The disdain in his voice is unmistakable, “Don’t push her, you brute. I’ll deal with you myself if I find a single mark on her,” he yells at the man behind you. The guard, whose fingers had been clenched firmly around your shoulder, loosens his grip abruptly, his eyes widening with realization. “I apologize, Emperor. I didn’t know of her importance to you,” he stammers, his voice laced with an unmistakable tremor of fear. You observe the Emperor—the man you now recognize—rolling his eyes at the guard’s clumsy apology.
The Emperor turns his gaze toward you, his expression transforming into one of warmth and concern. With a gentle touch, he brushes his fingers along your cheek, “Don’t worry, my flower. Everything is going to be alright. All these unpleasantness will soon be forgotten,” he reassures you, his voice smooth as silk, wrapping you in a sense of safety despite the chaos surrounding you. With a wicked smile playing upon his lips, he leans in closer, capturing your gaze as he tenderly presses a kiss onto your forehead.
But just as quickly as his warmth envelops you, his expression darkens. He looks past you, his eyes narrowing as he addresses the guards. “You two, take her to my chambers and ensure the slaves gather anything she needs,” he commands, gesturing toward two of the guards standing at attention behind you. The authority in his tone brooks no argument.
“The rest of you will assist me in dealing with him. I’ll be up soon, my flower. Don’t worry,” he says, casting you a look filled with determination and something more menacing, a side of him you’ve never witnessed before. The moment's gravity settles in your stomach, sending an unsettling shiver down your spine.
Before you can fully process his words, the guards forcefully guide you down the hall, their hands firm on your arms. As they lead you up the stairs, the sounds of shouting and the dull thud of blows echo through the corridors, leaving you anxious and confused. You catch glimpses of startled slaves peeking from their doorways, their eyes wide with curiosity and concern as you pass by, propelled forward into the unknown. Only the gods can know what awaits you in the Emperor’s chambers, and with every step, the uncertainty deepens.
Authours note - Part II is here!! i’m so sorry it took me so much longer than I was expecting it to I had the story all planned out but how I wanted to write it was harder to figure out and just general life stress bogging me down with a touch of me just being just very very anxious that part two wouldn't be to yalls likeing but I just powered through and here we are! I'm gonna start writing part 3 tonight in the hope I can get this out much faster this time and I really hope you guys like it. No, there's no geta or smut in this chapter, but we're building to it, I swear!! stick with this slowpoke pretty please and ill take you on a trip also if anyone would like to be added to the taglist let me know!!!
Tag list - @happysparklingshadows @littlemissholy @et-mberg @only4thefics @omg-hellgirl
