Being pregnant with his heir has made Geta more in love with you than he ever could have imagined. He shows you just how much he loves you.
Part 1
Warnings:
Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, pregnancy
Word Count: 1.9k
A/N:
I wasn’t sure if I was going to write for Geta again, but he is actually living in my brain rent free. Another one inspired by my character letters by @miss-bushido, check out her writing and Etsy shop! I did research for this one, but I apologize in advance for historical inaccuracies! This is a part 2 to an heir for an emperor!
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“I think it’s going to be a boy,” Geta mused, hand roaming over the growing expanse of your stomach. “A strong boy. The future of Rome is in your belly, you know that, Carissima?”
“And what if it’s a girl?” you asked, a giggle on your lips bringing a smile to the Emperor’s own.
“Then she shall take after her mother and be the most beautiful in all of Rome,” he said, hand caressing the skin of your belly. “And I’ll have to give you another.”
“Geta!” You playfully scolded, hand swatting at his as he laughed. “Another so soon?”
“Of course, my love. I need an heir. And to see you, swollen with child again so soon…” he leaned forward, pressing kisses to your neck. “Would be a gift. The gods have truly blessed me.”
You hummed, melting into his touch. You were sprawled together on your huge bed, dressed in your bed clothes for the night. His body curled behind yours, hands roaming your body wherever he pleased. Up and over your breasts, pinching at your nipples before moving back to your stomach; then down between your legs, feeling for the wetness he knew would be waiting for him.
“My love…” he whispered seductively against your ear. “Is there something you want?”
You whined, pressing back against him. He knew what you wanted, and he wanted it too. You could feel him already hard against your backside as he dipped his fingers between your folds. He collected your slick on his fingers and brought them to his lips, sucking them clean, tasting your essence. “Divine,” he remarked. “Somehow, you taste even sweeter.”
He lifted your tunic over your body, baring you to the night and his eyes alone. His hands trailed over your soft skin, so beautiful and flawless in his eyes. Perfection sent to him from the gods themselves.
Geta undid his own robe, revealing his glorious body fully naked, cock hard and standing proud as he gazed down at you. “You are so beautiful, Carissima.” His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he drank in your beauty. “Will you sing for me tonight?”
You giggled, knowing he didn’t exactly mean a ballad. “Perhaps if I feel inspired, my Emperor…”
A wicked smile crossed his face as he leaned over you, kissing up your body until he reached your lips. “Oh, how beautiful a melody I could pull from those lips…let me show you.”
He gently moved you onto your side, careful of your stomach. Geta had treated you like you were made of glass since he discovered your pregnancy. He had been overjoyed, but if you thought he was overprotective before, he became a whole different beast with his beloved wife carrying his potential heir.
He consulted the augurs at the beginning of your pregnancy. Since then he has prayed daily to the goddesses of childbirth; Eileithyia, Hera, Juno. He has left them daily offerings at their temples and shrines to ensure the safe delivery of your child.
You always had an entourage with you with your servant staff, but now you had a guard of Praetorians following your every move, as well. Even servants to taste your food before you could eat. Speaking of your food, Geta suddenly insisted on you receiving the healthiest, finest foods in the Empire. He still allowed you your fig cakes, at least.
The only time you got any peace, any time alone, were these cherished nights in bed with your Emperor. When he dropped his cruel and ruthless persona and became your husband. He would take care of you, massage your belly with oils each night. It was your favorite part of the day.
Once you were comfortably laid on your side, Geta moved back behind you, his body spooning against yours. He brushed your hair back over your shoulder, placing kisses against the skin of your back. “Do you remember our wedding night?”
“How could I forget?” You smiled, the memory rushing back to you. It had been less than a year, but felt like a lifetime.
It had been a beautiful ceremony. Everything you could have dreamed of. Your father had been proud to marry his daughter to an Emperor. The augurs had been consulted by Geta himself to ensure propitious omens and favor from the gods. You wore your beautiful white tunica recta, a gorgeous veil atop your head. There had been a delicious cake, as he had heard of your sweet tooth beforehand.
Afterwards, Geta took you to the bridal lectus, where he took you apart piece by piece until you were nothing but writhing pleasure beneath him.
Geta hummed against your back. “Do you remember how I surprised you in your chambers before the ceremony?”
You blushed. Of course you did. It had been such a surprise to find Geta waiting for you in your chambers, you weren’t even supposed to see him before the ceremony. You had been scared at first, you still hardly knew one another and you had heard plenty of stories, but his plans for you had been more than pleasing.
“I simply had to have a taste of my bride to be,” he continued. “It was all I could think about once I saw you for the first time. It plagued me those three months of our betrothal leading up until our ceremony. It was all I could think of when I was alone. Even just touching your hand to place the ring on your finger…” You felt Geta shiver behind you. “Carissima, I was yours, body and soul.”
He reached down to grasp onto your thigh, lifting it up and over his own leg between yours. You felt his thick tip prodding at your entrance, and you sighed, already so responsive for him.
“You’ve been so sensitive since you have been carrying our child,” he remarked as his fingertips traced slowly over your clit, before dipping down to press inside of you. You gasped loudly - you could feel his smirk against your skin. “I absolutely love it.”
You moaned as he pumped his fingers into you a few more times, but you were so wet you really didn’t need any preparation. He removed his fingers, sucking them clean with a groan, before pressing his tip against your pussy once again.
He didn’t ask before he started sinking inside - the Emperor did not ask for permission. But he knew you would have given it over and over again had he asked. Your head fell back against him as he filled you from behind, holding your leg up high to allow him enough room to get as deeply inside as he liked to be.
He bottomed out quickly and began thrusting in and out of your perfect tight heat, groaning deeply against your neck. His fingertips dug into your thigh as he fucked you like you needed to be fucked. He knew your body better than anyone, even yourself.
“Carissima,” he moaned; a weakness in his voice he would never let anyone else witness. It was raspy, desperate for more of the perfect fit of your pussy. He called your name over and over again in your ear, the title never sounding more sinful than it did in that moment.
“You feel so good,” you whined, your hips bucking back to meet his thrusts, to have him fuck you harder. He didn’t like to take you roughly with you in your current state, not like he used to. You missed it desperately. “Please, my Emperor, take me harder.”
Geta groaned loudly at your words, his composure faltering as his sloppy thrusts stuttered. “My beloved,” he said, his raspy voice pained. “Do not say things such as that. You do not know how hard it is to keep my control.”
“Please,” you begged again, back arching as you felt your release beginning to build. “Please, Geta, please fuck me.”
His grip tightened on your thigh and he groaned again, like you were causing him physical pain. He thought to deny you once again, but his primal instincts took over and he began fucking into you fast and hard. The sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room, and you were certain between that and the moans you were both emitting, the entire palace could hear your lovemaking.
“Close,” you whined out, eyes falling closed as your orgasm built faster and faster. You could feel your pussy beginning to clench around his cock, and he felt it too, his hips stuttering again as he neared his own imminent release.
“Sing for me,” he encouraged you, laying your thigh on his leg so he could move his hand between your legs. You cried out loudly as he paid delicious attention to your aching clit, and your orgasm hit you, pussy spasming hard around your Emperor’s thick cock.
“That’s it, Carissima, let all of Rome hear how you sing for me!”
Geta gripped back onto your thigh, fucking into you fast and hard with no rhythm until he finally stilled pressed against you, shooting rope after rope of his seed deep inside you as he let out the most divine moans you’d ever heard.
He rode out both of your releases, shallow thrusts until all of his cum had been spent inside of you. He pulled out, laying on his back next to you as his chest heaved with his breaths. He opened an arm for you, and you laid against him.
These moments of bliss were your absolute favorite. These moments of quiet and peace and love between you and your husband. It was rare for an Emperor to find a true love like this. Rare for a woman to be so lucky in her marriage. You reminded yourself of your fortune often.
You reached up, playing with a lock of his ginger hair. He smiled down at you lovingly, the look on his face one of pure adoration. The truth of it was seen in his eyes, to his very soul.
“The child will be here soon,” Geta said, his hand once again splayed on your large belly. “I have arranged for celebratory games to be held for the next two weeks. I want all of Rome to join in our celebrating the forthcoming birth of our heir.”
You turned to him. “Geta, I’m not sure I should-“
“Shh, my love,” he hushed you. “You do not have to attend, anaticula. I know you do not care for them. And I would rather keep you both safe from harm.”
You smiled gently at your husband. Somehow, he continued to surprise you with how much he loved and cared for you, and now the child in your belly, too. You knew no matter if it was a boy or a girl, Geta would be the perfect father, would love this child fiercely. He would not let harm come to either of you.
“He needs a strong name,” he thought to himself. “Lucius. Septimius. But perhaps we should meet him first? See what kind of personality he will have?”
“We do not yet know if it will be a he,” you teased him, your hand resting on your belly next to his. You felt a small kick beneath your hand and quickly grabbed Geta’s, moving it to that exact spot. After a moment of waiting, a grin spread across the Emperor’s face, pure jubilation evident in his eyes.
“Boy or girl, they’re nice and strong,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “I love you, Carissima.”
You smiled, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you, my beloved.”
Geta rubbed your belly gently, soothing your nausea and pains as you relaxed into him in your large, plush bed. As you began to drift off to sleep in the arms of your Emperor, you heard his quiet voice one last time in your ear.
“Nunc scio quid sit amor. Now I know what love is.”
Summary: It’s your and Emperor Geta’s wedding night…
Warnings: Virgin Reader’s first time, Finger fucking, squirting (if you squint) multiple orgasms, Smut with a little but of fluff/love (nothing TOO soft — can’t let me crazy twink of an emperor get TOO gentle)
A/N: Did I hear someone say we moved on from Geta too fast? Not me, NEVER. Hope you enjoy this one, this is somewhat of a continuation of The Senator’s Daughter (it’s the same reader/character)
You stand in the middle of Geta’s bedchamber, still fully clothed in your heavy wedding gown. Your eyes follow him through your golden veil as he circles you like a hawk. The intensity of his stare always fills you with an equally intense anticipation. The shivers travel over the expanse of your body, touching and teasing each and every nerve ending. There has never been a man you’ve wanted more than you want your dear emperor, now your dear husband, in this moment. The way he makes you feel as he stalks you like you’re his prey is a feeling you hope never leaves you. Your heartbeat moves straight to your center as his eyes study you.
“Take off your gown,” he orders in his raspy baritone.
Disrobing for him comes so easy and quickly for you as you allow your gown to cascade to the floor beneath you. You pull the veil from your hair, leaving your waves cascading down your bare back. He sighs at the sight of you and you grow hot with the flames of your desire. This is the first time you’ve been this bare in front of him. Without explanation, you both know you need to be pure for him. As pure as you can be despite the countless other ways and times you found to pleasure each other.
He approaches you, caressing your hair and bringing his hands to your shoulders. His fingertips dance down your arms, until he is wrapping his arms around your waist. His robe opens slightly as he does and you can feel him grow hard against your back. The grip of his hands is firm and he slides one up your stomach, to cup your breast. He massages it and rolls your nipple between his fingers. The shivers it sends throughout your body is more electric than anything you’d felt from him before. He pulls you impossibly closer to his body and his grip at your waist, inches lower and lower until he is pressing his hands at your mound. He’s breathing hard against your neck and you hear a low growl vibrate from his throat.
“Do you feel what you do to me?” He whispers in your ear
A gasp escapes from your lips as his hand presses at your vulva. He pushes his fingers at your center spreading your essence through your folds. His ministrations are deft and full of purpose as his fingers find your bud. His fingers flick and swirl at it. He pushes his fingers deeper and deeper, as you lean against him moaning as your legs shake beneath you. His touch is relentless and your whole body shakes as your peak takes over. You reach your hand behind his shoulders to grasp him as you make a mess all over his hand with a loud moan.
“My empress,” he growls, gripping you at your waist where he pulls you around to face him.
He pushes your hair from your face and tucks a strand behind your ear. He takes all of you in with a gaze, holding every part of your face in his eyes. His hand glides to the back of your neck, his thumb caressing your face. In his eyes, you see you are everything to him. He pulls you into him, bringing his lips to yours. He always starts slow at first, knowing how much you love to savor the softness and fullness of his lips when he kisses you. You nip at his bottom lip and he responds with a low, gravelly laugh. You smirk back kissing at the ruddy pink of his lower lip where you leave a love bite. The fire you ignite in each other smolders and builds to a bright burn as he kisses you again, using his whole mouth, parting your lips with a push of his tongue.
Needing to feel his skin on yours, you push his robes violently off his shoulders. They’re heavy and he assists in throwing them to the floor to join your own bridal dress. He rushes at you and lifts you in his arms as he kisses you. You wrap your legs around his waist as he moves towards the bed. You loosen your hold on him enough for him to toss you as rough as you’ve always wanted him to. He stands before you unclothed for a few moments and you drink in the vision of his body. He’s lean and his muscles show so markedly in the light of the bedchamber. Too often his beautiful body is covered with layers of opulent fabric. Your breath quickens as you behold his entire body with your eyes, knowing what a gift it is to see him bare just for you. Your eyes move to his throbbing cock. His foreskin fully pulls back from the shaft as his erection seems to grow impossibly hard for you. You need it. You need him.
He dives onto the bed, his tricep muscles flex as he holds himself over you. In an agonizingly slow move pushes his weight down onto you. He covers your lips, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth as he pushes against your body with his. You let out a desperate whine when you feel him throbbing against you. With his right hand he caresses down the length of your body until he’s pressing your thighs apart with a forceful grip and push of his hand.
“I love how your body weeps for me,” he whispers as he explores your still wet folds with his fingers. “It will help with the pain.”
You smile at him, loving him more in those quiet, rare moments of vulnerablity that he saves only for you. You buck your hips towards him with a growl of your own.
“I welcome the pain,” you tell him as you caress up and down his shoulders, “I’ve been craving it for far too long, my dear husband.”
He shakes his head in disbelief as his eyes seem to glow with the knowledge that you are unlike any woman he could possibly dream of. With a tight palm of his cock, he taps your outer folds before he starts to push himself in slowly. You both gasp as he pushes himself in further. You look up at your emperor, the pain dulling as he pauses to give you a few breaths to adjust to his size. He eases himself in further and further, inch by inch, deeper than you knew possible. You whimper in concert with his deep, rough growls and as he undulates his pelvis against you, the pain succumbs to the pleasure. From his beautiful mouth, he releases a long, low moan as you squeeze him inside you.
“You hold me in the tightest sheath,” he sighs, in the deepest, gruffest voice, breathing hard with each thrust.
Your nails dig into his back as he moves within you. His kisses and breaths burn your skin as he moves out and in again and again. You wrap your legs tight around his lithe waist, desperate for every sensation you create together. A slight shift of his hips provides leverage for him to push his thighs against the back of yours. The move spreads your legs wider and he pushes in deeper. You feel like you are floating as shivers move up and down your entire body. Your sweat mixes as each roll of his body into yours heightens each wave pleasure, coaxing you closer and closer to orgasm.
Your moans harmonize into a perfect duet as he seizes each of your wrists and slides your arms over your head. His grip on you is so rough and so possessive that you’re certain that it would leave fingerprints behind. He holds you as a willing hostage beneath him as he drives into you harder and faster. Each ridge of his solid, thick cock hits your most sensitive spots in a way that takes your breath away.
His face is so close to yours and you can feel his hot breath quicken against your skin. The way you quiver around him cannot be contained and you moan, scream, and cry out his name over and over. His thrusts continue coaxing more waves of pleasure until his breath evolves into a moan impossible to suppress as he spills himself into you.
He collapses onto you, your legs and arms still wrapped around him as his cock quivers a final time before he pulls himself from you. He lifts his weight off you, but makes sure to bring you close with a gentle pull of his strong arms. The honeyed brown of his eyes fall over every inch of your body as he brushes tendrils of hair away from your face.
“I am whole now,” he murmurs, his eyes softening with the love that he holds only for you. “The pain, is there much blood?”
His eyes look you up and down as his fingers trace invisible lines from your collar bone to your shoulder. You shake your head to reassure him.
“It’s alright, I’ve already forgotten it,” you whisper, caressing his chiseled jaw before you pull him in for a kiss.
Between kisses to your nose, lips, ears, and neck, he growls in your ear, “Each time will make you feel closer to heaven.”
You shake and shiver at the thought and you press your body against his, “Well then, my dear, dear husband, when shall we try again?”
A smirk builds on his full lips and a low, playful snicker leaves from the back of his throat.
“After a light repast,” he says with a gentle nip of your lower lip, “we can continue til we welcome the sun of a new day.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ IMPERIUM & CHAINS [caracalla & geta x reader]
pairing(s): gladiatorii!caracalla x gladiatorii!geta x pregnant!empress!reader
⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ On her return in her homeland, with her children and another one growing in her womb, the Empress expects a moment of peace, a time to remember who she was before Rome. But there were never two husbands like Empress Caracalla and Geta anywhere else in the world. As her old memory resurfaces and the return into her old kingdom begins, she starts asking herself…is this freedom? Or is she just a bird in a golden cage?
⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ polygamy, extreme possessiveness, captivity, psychological manipulation, implied noncon/dubcon, violence, threats, power imbalance, misogyny, forced pregnancy, gaslighting, emotional abuse, toxic relationship, lemme know if I missed any!
If you don't wanna see my dark stories, please block the tag #madi: dark content
i just watched gladiator ii, and all of the sudden my eddie munson era is back, (so is my obsession with fred hechinger ever since he appeared in fear street 1994)
The imperial carriage rumbled over the bad dirt path, ostentatiously gilded to shine in the noonday sun. Rows of Roman soldiers flanking the route guarded by deep crimson banners. But the Empress felt anything but powerful inside her carriage
Inside the imperial carriage, the air had become still. The rich smell of expensive perfumes, warm wine, and her husbands unmistakable musk conspired to seal her in.
Across from her lay the twin Emperors of Rome, sprawled upon the cushioned seats like lazy gods.
Caracalla, in crimson toga with gold embroidery, rested his feet upon the floor. Sullen, crazed eyes would sometimes flick her way as if watching and expecting something from her—thankfulness or maybe subjection.
In contrast, Geta reclined with easiness, tunic with a looser drape. There was a slow swishing motion to his goblet of wine, and he gazed at the bloody liquid swirling around with keen interest.
The Empress, sitting stiffly in between the two, rested one hand protectively on her bulging belly while the other gripped the silk folds of her dress. Warmth from her children's laughter flowed back into her mind; they were riding ahead of her with heavy guard, separated. One would have thought her comforted by their warmth, but instead, her heart sank deep with the burden of her predicament.
She was going home. And yet, she was never free.
The castle gates swung open, revealing the King waited at the top of the stone steps. Once feared in battle, now an old lion, awaiting the cub's return, flanked by two wolves.
The imperial carriage rolled to a slow, deliberate halt.
The moment she stepped out, her father’s face softened. She barely drew breath before she clambered up the steps, disregarding the indifferent stares of the Roman guards, taking her father’s hands into her own and squeezing him with might.
“Father.”
“My child,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He cupped her face, his eyes flicked down to her belly, then past her to the gilded carriage. The warmth in his expression chilled instantly.
The twins had arrived.
Geta was first out, having in his own right created a suffocating silence in the courtyard, dark eyes sizing everything and everyone present.
Caracalla followed slowly, stretching his limbs as if awakening from a sweet dream, releasing a slight sigh and then glancing toward the King with a grin.
"My lords," began the King, voice firm, with fingers twitching ever so slightly against her hands. "Welcome to my home. Again"
"We are honored," Caracalla purred, ever smooth. He cast a cursory glance around. "Although, I must say, it seems awfully… smaller than I remember."
Geta remained quiet. He stared at the King, the muscles of his jaw taut, as if this entire rendezvous was beneath him. Then he walked past them without a nod and up the steps and into the castle, like a man who owned it.
The grand hall burst into flames under the torches, amid feasting sounds. The servants dashed between the tables pouring goblets of wine and laying platters of food in front of their guests. But the food was warm; everything else was cold with tension.
The Empress sat at the long banquet table between Caracalla and Geta; her children were further down, having an animated conversation with their grandfather. If not for their innocent laughter, she would have completely fallen apart.
"You must let them see the mountains tomorrow," the King said. "The ones beyond the valley, they must know where their mother used to play as a child."
"No," Caracalla responded instantly.
Silence.
The King frowned. "I can assure you they will be quite safe."
"It is not your assurances I am concerned with," said Caracalla. He did not even bother looking up from his plate.
"Forgive my brother," Geta said, putting on a charming smile. "He forgets his manners." He sipped leisurely at this wine. "We simply have too many enemies. Our children—her children—are too precious to us to be taken on an aimless stroll through the wilderness."
The King lowered his goblet slowly. "Precious? They are not commodities."
"Oh, but they are," Caracalla finally raised his head, his gaze fixing on the King. "They are the blood of Rome. And Rome does not share."
The Empress clenched her hands beneath the table. She had known this conversation would eventually happen, but to hear it now, to see their expressions so filled with ownership over not just her but her very own children, made her stomach turn.
Her father exhaled through his nose, wrestling to maintain his composure. But she could see it; the fingers that were twitching against the wood, the way his shoulders stiffened.
"You have stolen my daughter," he said lowly.
A silence that throttled.
Caracalla reclined back in his chair without removing his fingers from the dagger. "No, old man. You gave her to us as a way to soothe your losing war with Persia. We own her."
Geta chuckled. "You should be proud. Your little girl is the Empress of Rome."
Her father turned to her then, his eyes searching. Pleading. "Are you happy?"
She opened her mouth. No sound came out.
Caracalla leaned in close, breath warm against her ear. "Be careful," he whispered just low enough for her to hear. "We wouldn't want father getting any ideas, would we?"
She swallowed hard. "I am… honored to serve Rome."
A lie. And everyone at the table knew it.
High above the castle gardens, the moon cast streaming silver light on the stone pavements and bloomed flowers. The air smelled of damp earth and roses, a scent she had not smelled in a long time. It was completely different from the Rome, where the air was forever heavy with sweat and the metallic pungent tang from bloodshed in the Colosseum.
She walked along the trimmed hedges slowly, her fingers trailing along them. Something unnamable throbbed in her heart; perhaps longing or grief. The familiar feeling of this place, the shelter it once represented, was a cruel illusion now.
She was no longer just a princess of this land.
An Empress of Rome.
And Rome never loosed its hold.
A rustle behind her made her pause, but she did not turn.
"I thought I could find you here."
Deep voice, familiar. Father.
She exhaled, allowing her shoulders to relax slightly. "I needed air."
Footfalls approached, slow but heavy. Then a rough-hewn warm palm settled on her shoulder, and she allowed her moment of sojourn.
Father sighed, grip gentle but firm. "You look tired."
She released a soft, humorless chuckle. "I am always tired."
His hand fell away, and when she turned around, he was looking at her. Like really observing her. They had last met when she was younger, freer. Not a woman weighed down by the crown of Rome and the possessive grip of the twin Emperors.
His gaze fell to her belly. "Another child."
She nodded. "Another."
He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "How many more, my daughter?"
She didn't reply.
Rather, she had her head turned to face the sky, feeling the cool air kiss the skin.
"You could stay," her father said after a long silence.
Lurching of the heart.
Her throat contracted and she forced herself to say the words. "You know that is not possible."
"Is it?" His voice was laced with frustration. "I am still a king. This is still your home. I could—"
"You could do nothing," she interrupted, shaking her head. "You think you could hide me? That they would simply let me go?"
He didn't speak, but the tension of his jaw told her all.
He knew. He knew that Caracalla and Geta would burn this kingdom to the ground before they let her slip through their fingers.
But still, he wouldn't let that go "You do not have to live like that."
She laughed bitterly but softly. "And how do I live, Father?"
"Like a woman in a gilded cage," he said.
She went still.
His voice softened. "You flinch when they touch you. You never look them in the eye for too long. And when you speak, you measure every word, as if your very breath belongs to them."
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Because it does."
Father's eyes darkened with wrath, but it was not against her. One step was taken closer to and around him, bearing down with great presence. "I could protect you. I could protect your children. You wouldn't have to go back."
Her lips trembled but quickly sealed them into a firm line.
The thought was dangerous.
So dangerous.
But then, for the first time in years, sparkled hope within her. The idea about staying was intoxicating, living beyond those cold, suffocating walls of Rome with her children, without the constant presence of them.
For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself to think it could happen.
The empress didn't know what she was tensed about. She was just a servant girl, staring with wide eyes and nerves.
"The emperors request you," she said. "Immediately."
Now she was in their quarters, she could feel sweat forming in her palms as the tension in the room was rather tense. She could already sense in her gut that something was wrong.
Geta stood at the window, faced out into the darkness of the courtyard. He did not turn round when she entered, but the tension of his shoulders told her all.
Caracalla sat propped in a cushioned chair with one leg flung over the other, playing languidly with his goblet full of wine. Unlike his brother, he was looking at her directly, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips.
"It took you a while to get here," Geta murmured. "How rude of you."
Saying nothing, she just stood shivering at the door post.
"Tomorrow at dawn, we leave" is all Caracalla said.
Her breath caught.
"Why the sudden change?" she inquired, doctoring her voice to a level, impassive delivery.
Geta wheeled around at that instant, vision tearing through her like a knife. "There is nothing else for us here."
Caracalla sighed, arms crossed, as he tossed his empty goblet elsewhere. "it's too bad. I was just starting to get into the entertainment." He smiled at her, making little effort to hide the glint in his deep-set eyes. "Your father is such a gracious host. But I am left wondering… does he think he can keep you?"
Silence.
The Empress gulped.
Caracalla stepped closer, the air thickened by his presence. "I wonder," he said softly, "is it possible he thinks you want to stay?"
Another of his tests.
She covered her expression, lowered her eyes. "I am the Empress of Rome."
"Yes," Caracalla said darkly, "you are."
It was a quiet chuckle from Geta. "See, brother? No need to worry. Our little Empress knows where she belongs."
Caracalla looked anything but convinced.
His fingers just brushed her wrist, a light touch, but a warning, nonetheless.
"You should sleep," he murmured.
She nodded, turning to go, but before she could step away Caracalla caught her chin between his fingers, jerking her face back up towards him.
"You wouldn't mistake forgetting, would you?" he whispered.
Her heart pounded in her throat.
"No," she whispered.
He held her for just a moment more and then let her go.
Geta saw it all with lazy boredom. As if he was looking at a lecture.
"Good girl,"
And that was her dismissal.
But as she walked, her heart thundered away in her chest. Now they suspected her. Which meant that if she was to escape, it would have to be soon.
Because come morning, she would be on the road back to Rome.
And once she was back within those golden walls, under their ever-watching gaze, so suffocating and smothering, she's surprised she could even breath.
There would be no way out.
@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to m
🏛 you, a highborn lady of rome, are betrothed to caracalla. this greatly upsets his brother geta, who has found himself fallen in love with you.
WARNING(S) + OTHER INFO: au gladiator 2, unprotected sex, somewhat rough sex, geta being very obsessive / possessive.
geta had learned the art of stillness early in life. in the marble halls of his father’s house, stillness was survival.
tonight it feels like rot.
he stands at the edge of the peristyle garden, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the darkened fountain where moonlight breaks itself into fragments upon the water’s surface. somewhere inside, voices carry — measured, satisfied, final. his mother has spoken. the future has been decided with the same careless precision used to choose a new mosaic or a favored horse.
you.
your name sits in his chest like a blade twisted sideways.
he had known before the words were spoken, had felt it in the way his mother would not meet his eyes, in the way his brother’s mouth curved — not quite a smile, and not quite surprise. ownership, perhaps. or triumph. geta has tasted that same bitterness often enough to recognize it.
still, when the sentence came — she will be wed to caracalla — it had struck with the dull finality of a death knell.
and geta had left before anyone could look too closely at him.
now, alone, he allows himself what rome never seems able to give him : a moment’s respite.
you had not been careless with one another. that was the cruelest part. you had never been a dalliance, never just a warm body hidden behind silk and shadows. you had been chosen. by him. by his heart, against his better judgment, against the empire itself. in quieter moments — your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing idle patterns at his wrist — he had let himself imagine a life that did not feel like a battlefield.
betrothal. legitimacy. a future that was yours.
instead, rome has reached in and torn the thread clean through.
geta closes his eyes, and memory betrays him instantly : the warmth of your skin, the soft certainty with which you always say his name, as though it belongs to you alone. as though it will always be safe in your mouth.
now you, and every beautiful thing that comes with you, will be given to his brother.
caracalla — who takes and breaks and burns everything he touches. who will never see you as geta does. who will never kneel to listen when you speak, never soften his voice for you alone.
the thought makes that same knife twist beneath geta’s ribs.
he turns at the sound of approaching footsteps, already knowing who it will be. he had felt your presence long before he saw you — like a change in the air, like a wound reopening.
geta says your name quietly.
there is so much he cannot say. so much he should not. walls have ears. rome devours weakness.
but when his gaze meets yours, all that discipline fractures.
❝ i am sorry, ❞ he says instead — not for loving you, not for what you have shared, but for the impossible cruelty of it all. for the fact that in a mere fortnight, the world will begin calling you someone else’s.
and though he stands only a few paces away, he has never felt farther from you in his life.
you’ve stopped to make sure you are truly alone. company at this moment would spell disaster for you both.
and then you move.
geta’s apology cracks something open in you, and your body reacts faster than your brain — feet carrying you across the marble stepping stones, breath hitching, his name rising unbidden to your lips. for a heartbeat you forget everything except the simple truth of him standing there alone, waiting for you.
then you see his face.
you stop again, the distance between you suddenly vast.
he is still, as always, carved into a careful composure — but there are fractures in it tonight. his eyes, beneath that ghastly black makeup, are rimmed red, his jaw set too tightly, grief held with the discipline of someone long practiced in swallowing pain whole. and there is something else there too, something that makes your chest seize : fear, perhaps, or the expectation of blame.
you fold your hands together in front of you, fingers twisting.
for a terrible moment, you wonder if he thinks this is your doing. if he believes — even a little — that you should have spoken, refused, clawed fate back with your bare hands. you imagine his disappointment, the quiet withdrawal of his affection, and it hurts almost as much as the betrothal itself.
❝ i — ❞ you start, but you falter.
you notice wet tracks smudging the white smeared onto his face, that makeup he and caracalla are always wearing, the kind you cannot stand. geta is so handsome, you cannot fathom why he paints himself in such tawdry oils.
yet even now, even like this, he is devastating to you.
the realization settles heavily in your chest : nothing has changed where it matters most.
geta watches the hesitation play across your face, and something in him shifts. his shoulders loosen a fraction, as though he has been bracing for a blow that never came. slowly — carefully — he steps closer, closing some of the space but not all of it, as if afraid to frighten you away.
❝ you need not explain, ❞ he says quietly. ❝ i know. ❞
his hand lifts, then pauses in the air between you, fingers flexing once before settling — not on you, but against the stone balustrade beside your arm. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the nearness that has always undone you.
it is an almost-touch. a memory of one.
❝ i would never think you capable of betrayal, ❞ he continues, voice low, steady with effort. ❝ not of me. ❞
the unspoken words hang there : not of us.
for a moment, neither of you moves. the night presses in around you, heavy with jasmine and the distant murmur of rome, indifferent and eternal. you are acutely aware of the line that now exists — not yet marked by law, but already real — a future that no longer belongs to him.
still, he does not step back.
his fingers brush, barely, against the edge of your sleeve — a touch so light it could be mistaken for accident or nothing at all. it is reverent. hesitant. as though he is reminding himself of what this feels like, committing it to memory while he still may.
❝ i do not know how we are meant to stand now, ❞ geta admits softly. ❝ but i know i cannot pretend you are a stranger to me. ❞
his gaze drops, for only a moment, to your hands — close enough to take, yet held so carefully apart.
and in that fragile space between you, everything you were — and everything you are no longer allowed to be — trembles, unresolved.
you inhale, steadying yourself, and then you cross the remaining distance.
not rushing toward him, but not fleeing either.
you step close enough that the hem of your robe brushes his sandals, close enough that the warmth of him presses faintly against you, undeniable. geta stills completely, breath catching in a way he cannot hide, as though even this small defiance of the new order might undo him.
you lower your voice until it is meant only for him.
❝ tonight, ❞ you whisper.
his gaze, so impossibly dark, lifts to yours instantly.
❝ i will be in my quarters. ❞
the words tremble, but they do not falter. you are keenly aware of the garden around you — the open arches, the shadows that might conceal a servant, a guard, any other listening ear. the danger sharpens your resolve.
❝ he won’t come, ❞ you add, softer still. ❝ not yet. caracalla will follow the rules — he always does when they are lain by your mother. ❞
you hate that you know this. hate that it gives you certainty.
your fingers rise, hesitating, then rest lightly against geta’s wrist — you can feel his pulse jumping against his warm skin.
❝ if you wish . . . ❞ you murmur, ❝ come to me. ❞
your thumb brushes once against his skin, a ghost of the intimacy you have shared a hundred times before. then you draw your hand back, deliberately, leaving the choice where it must be.
❝ i will wait. ❞
geta does not answer at once.
the silence stretches, taut as a drawn bowstring. his jaw tightens, chest rising and falling as he weighs the risk — the treason of it, the danger of wanting something rome has already claimed. his gaze searches your face as if committing it to memory, as if deciding whether one last night will be mercy or ruin.
somewhere nearby, a laugh echoes. footsteps. proof that the world is very much awake, and that you are not alone.
you step back then, just enough to put distance between you again, just enough to protect you both.
❝ we should not linger, ❞ you say quietly, though every part of you rebels against the words.
you turn before he can answer, before courage or fear can change either of you, and begin to walk away through the colonnade — slow, unhurried, the picture of propriety.
yet even as you go, you know he is watching.
and he knows exactly where to find you, should he decide that one last act of defiance is worth whatever tomorrow may bring.
-
the night is long without him, the darkness pressing in close ; you feel as though you can’t think, cannot even breathe. the news of the day has drained you, and you think geta won’t come. how could he, possibly?
you’ve found yourself in a right mess with no way out. even if he did materialize at your door, what could he do for you? emperor he may be, but only one of two.
and betrothals in rome are writ in blood.
you are a fool for thinking he would want to spend even one more night with you . . .
there is a soft knock at the door.
your head has just hit the pillow when you quickly sit once more, scrambling out of the mounds of sheets and blankets to hurry to the door.
you crack it only an inch or two, and catch sight of the burnished red robe gilt all in gold that you are so familiar with. you once told geta seeing him in this robe made the pressure come quick and easy between your thighs; of course he would wear it tonight.
yanking him inside by that robe, you run your hands down his chest, fingers catching on the silken material.
❝ geta . . . ❞ you are at a loss for words, however, upset as you are.
you don’t have to wait long for what to say, as geta is pulling you close, insistent lips upon yours, his kisses filled with jealousy and pain and anger. he backs you up to the now closed door, body pressing hard against yours.
❝ mine, ❞ he hisses between love-bitten kisses. ❝ you are mine. not his. ❞
❝ i know, ❞ you sob into his mouth. you cling to him. ❝ help me, geta. help me fix this. ❞
geta breaks the kiss just long enough to take a great, rattling breath against your lips. his forehead meets yours, and his hands tremble as they cradle your face.
❝ i will fix this, ❞ he whispers, voice raw. ❝ i don’t care what rome wants. i don’t care about duty or blood or my brother . . . ❞
he pulls back to look properly at you, his eyes a fierce, golden fire in the dim light of the candles.
❝ we’ll leave tonight. flee to alexandria, greece . . . anywhere beyond their reach. ❞
a beat.
❝ . . . if you’ll have me. ❞
❝ do you mean it? ❞ you press against him, hopeful for the first time since the wedding announcement. ❝ but . . . geta. could we leave tomorrow? at first light? tonight i . . . i want you. it’s been so long. ❞
and if all goes to shit, you really don’t want a month ago to be the last time the two of you made love.
teasingly, you spread the lapels of his beautiful robe and touch his chest.
geta’s breath catches as you glide your hands along his chest. it’s been so long since last he held you . . . he craves your touch. ❝ we’ll leave tomorrow. i promise. ❞
one of his hands finds your hair, the other gripping your waist, pulling you even closer. his lips are at your neck, trailing burning kisses along the sensitive skin there.
❝ tonight, ❞ he manages hoarsely, ❝ tonight i want to remind you . . . who you belong to. ❞
❝ yes, ❞ you hiss, feeling yourself already slick between your thighs. ❝ yes, claim me, geta. i’m yours. ❞
at your words, that possessive fire burns bright in geta’s eyes. he urges you into the hard wood of the door once again, trapping you against it. he captures your lips, kissing you hungrily, tongue demanding entrance so it can touch yours. his hand in your hair tightens, drawing your head back to give him better access as he takes your mouth.
❝ mine, ❞ he murmurs again, into the kiss, hands roaming your body over your thin nightgown. they slide down, gripping your thighs and lifting, wanting to hoist you up to him.
❝ wait. ❞
the word leaves your mouth breathless but firm, cutting through the urgency that has gathered between you like heat.
geta stills instantly.
not in irritation. not in frustration. in obedience — the kind he gives only to you. his hands loosen in your hair, easing their grip, though his forehead remains pressed to yours, his breath still uneven against your lips.
❝ wait, ❞ you repeat more softly, lifting a hand between you, resting it against his chest where you feel his heart beating hard. ❝ please. ❞
for a moment, he looks at you as though you have struck him — nostrils flared, lips parted. want held in check by trust.
he nods once.
you take his hand, threading your fingers through his, and lead him deeper into your chambers — past the bed with its disheveled sheets, past the flickering lamps — to the marble wash basin tucked beneath an arched niche in the wall. you move with quiet purpose ; you are afraid that if you hesitate even once, the night will steal him away.
geta watches you the entire time.
when you reach the basin, you release his hand to pour water from the ewer, testing it with your fingers until steam claws at the air above. you take a linen cloth, dip it into the warmth, wring it out carefully.
only then do you turn back to him.
❝ sit, ❞ you murmur.
another flicker of surprise crosses his face — then he lowers himself onto the edge of the bench beside the basin, shoulders tense, hands braced on his knees like a man awaiting judgment. the candlelight catches the gold threaded through his robe, the dark paint wet around his eyes — grief made visible.
you step between his knees.
slowly. deliberately.
you lift the cloth, hesitating just a moment — giving him time to pull away, to protest — but he does neither. his gaze never leaves yours.
the cloth touches his cheek.
geta inhales sharply.
the warmth loosens the stiff lines of his composure almost at once. you wipe gently, careful around his eyes, where the makeup has mixed with tears he would never admit to shedding. black smears the linen. white fades beneath your touch, revealing the skin you know so well.
❝ there, ❞ you whisper, more to yourself than to him. ❝ you know i never liked this infernal makeup. ❞
a faint sound leaves him — not quite a laugh, not quite a breath. his eyes close as you continue, the careful ritual of it grounding both of you. you clean his other cheek, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. with each pass of the cloth, he seems to soften, the emperor peeling away until only the man remains.
when you reach his mouth, you pause.
your thumb lifts, brushing gently over his lower lip.
geta’s eyes open again — dark, intent, undone.
❝ you’re ruining me, ❞ he murmurs hoarsely.
you smile, small and sad. ❝ that makeup ruins you. now you look better. much more handsome. ❞
when his face is clean, you turn the cloth back to yourself, wiping gently at your own cheeks, your jaw, the places where his kisses left their mark — white smudges against your skin, proof of how quickly control had slipped away from both of you. he watches you with naked hunger now, but there is something else there too. relief. awe.
when you are finished, you set the cloth aside.
the silence between you is different now. quiet. heavy.
you lift his chin with two fingers, forcing him to look at you — really look.
❝ this, ❞ you tell him softly, ❝ is what i will remember. if tomorrow goes wrong. if they take everything from us. ❞
his hand comes up, trembling, to cradle your wrist.
❝ they will not, ❞ he says, fierce again — but tempered now by something steady. ❝ i swear it. ❞
you lean forward, resting your forehead against his. ❝ then prove it. show me how safe we are. ❞
geta stands suddenly, clearly desiring you in the position he tried for earlier. stooping, grabbing you about your thighs so he can lift you.
you gasp at the unexpected movement, arms and legs around him, the tip of his hard cock already pressing into your own wet arousal through your flimsy garments. ❝ geta. do you love me, my emperor? ❞
❝ i burn for you, ❞ geta growls, grinding against you so that the thick heat of him slides through your folds. his breath is ragged, voice trembling with devotion and fire. ❝ you are my heart, my breath, the only truth i’ve ever known. ❞
he captures your lips again — softer this time, aching — before pulling back to get a good look at you.
❝ say it again, amor meus. say you’re mine. ❞
❝ i am yours, geta. take me now. i cannot wait any longer. ❞ we mustn’t, you think, but do not say.
you rut down against him as best you can, caged as you are by his hold.
you can see geta’s restraint slipping with every movement of your body against his. he can barely stand it anymore. he has to have you now, has to remind you — and himself — that you belong to him. with a low growl, he turns, carrying you from the basin to the edge of your bed.
❝ so impatient. ❞ his voice is rough as he lays you down, crawling over you with a possessive gleam in his eyes.
you smile softly, laid out on the bed like a pretty plaything just for him. you reach, rubbing the soft material of his beautiful robe between your fingers. ❝ may i wear this? while you claim me? ❞
a low, possessive hum reverberates in geta’s throat as he watches your fingers toying with the golden edge of the robe. his gaze darkens, burning with desire, but also with something tender beneath it all.
❝ keep it, ❞ he murmurs, peeling it from his shoulders and draping it around you like a sacred offering. the gold-trimmed fabric pools around your body like firelight. ❝ wear it, so no matter where i am, you carry my scent, my mark — my claim. ❞
he leans in, pressing a searing kiss to your collarbone.
❝ and now . . . ❞ his hands slip greedily under the soft cotton of your nightclothes. ❝ i will remind every part of you who makes you tremble. ❞
you gather the robe around you, bringing the edges to your nose so you can smell him. the scent makes you lightheaded. ❝ geta. i want out of this infernal nightgown. i want to wear nothing but your robe as you fuck me. help me? ❞
geta lets out a ragged breath, full of need. ❝ such a demanding little bride. my brother could never handle you, ❞ he teases, eyes blazing as he pins you to the bed with his gaze. in one swift motion, he tugs the robe from your shoulders and then your nightgown up, baring you to him inch by inch.
then he stills . . . just to look. to worship what is truly his.
❝ you are so beautiful, ❞ he whispers, and his eyes drop lower, between your thighs. ❝ and so wet for me already . . . ❞
he leans down, knelt at the edge of your bed as he kisses a slow trail from your hip to your inner thigh before dragging the soft silk of the robe over your skin like an offering.
❝ lie back, ❞ he commands, ❝ and let me show you how an emperor claims what was always meant to be his. ❞
you feel hot all over, intensely in love with geta and the way he touches you. ❝ geta, my love, my emperor, my everything . . . ❞
you squirm in his robe, smelling him all over you, loving the silky feeling of the material against your skin.
you ultimately obey, however, laying back and looking down on him between your legs.
with you laid out before him — his robe covering your exquisite skin, you breathing his scent in so deeply — geta loses what little control he’s still holding onto. your obedience only stokes the possessive fire in him, makes him want to consume you entirely.
he stands once more and the tip of his hard cock brushes at your entrance, teasing, testing . . . but his eyes stay fixed firmly on your face. ❝ you are mine, my dear. ❞
his voice is a raw whisper, nothing but gravel and need. ❝ say it. i need to hear you say it again. ❞
❝ i’m yours. i belong to you and no one else. ❞ your hand finds itself in his hair, petting through his beautiful golden tresses.
his eyes flutter shut at your touch, his breath hitching as your fingers weave through his hair. for a moment, he looks absolutely and inherently reverent . . . wrecked by your touch and your words.
then, with a grunt, he leans forward — and claims your cunt and your mouth in one molten stroke. his hands grip your thighs, pulling you to him, needing more — every breathless moan, every twitch of your body beneath him.
❝ you taste like mine, ❞ he growls against you — a dark promise — before his hips find the rhythm that makes your body arch up to meet him.
gripped in one of your hands is his robe, the other back in his hair, holding him close, kissing him hard. if you let go of him, rome might take him from you, as it has taken so much else.
geta groans into your mouth, desperate and rough. he needs this — needs you, your touch, your scent, your taste. it is all that keeps him going, keeps him grounded as the world tries to take it all away.
his hands are inside the robe, slipping between your skin and the silken material to hold you, arms tight around your body. he starts to pull, tugging you roughly down onto his cock until you have no choice but to steady yourself with one hand on his shoulder and one on the jumbled sheets.
this new position rips a cry from your throat, geta's large cock bullying its way into your warm, silken walls over and over again.
he grins, feral and wild. he loves the sounds you make, loves knowing that he is the only one making you cry out — the only one he wants you to think about, the only name he wants on your lips . . .
geta leans forward and changes your position once again. one hand now pins your wrists to the bed, the other is like a vice at your hip, his knuckles gone white as he presses you forcefully down into the bed, hips snapping voraciously against yours. the sounds are obscene, and neither of you is cognizant of how much noise you’re making, what that might mean for both of you.
❝ i want — ❞ he chokes, and you soothe him with a gentle hand down the valley of his spine.
❝ please, geta. inside. ❞
❝ oh, my love . . . ❞ geta sighs, his eyes darkening again. his breathing has grown harsh, his fingers twitching against your sex-warmed skin. your soft pleading clearly does something to him, makes him feel feverish and very much in control of you.
his hand on your hip is hard, mouth hungry. he presses his lips to yours over and over again in fierce, open-mouthed kisses that brook no argument.
❝ you need me to claim you that badly? beg for it. ❞
you don’t have to be told twice ; you would obey your emperor even if he ordered you to set fire to the palace and everyone in it. ❝ please. pleasepleaseplease finish inside me, geta. i need it. need to know i still belong to you and only you. ❞
❝ gods. ❞ geta snaps, hips stilling as they press snugly to yours, fingers digging bruises into your hips as his body anchors itself in yours.
you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, spraying everything he has to give.
and you take it greedily, coming undone quickly after him, muscles contracting and milking him even as he collapses atop you, both of you sweaty and spent with geta’s head pillowed at your breasts.
his heart thuds against your chest, lips finding the hollow just beneath your clavicle with a reverent tenderness. slowly, his breathing returns to normal.
for a few moments, you simply lie there, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and your own still-frantic panting.
finally, geta lifts his head, gaze finding yours.
that fire is still in his eyes, just smoldering now, a hand possessively at your back, a gentleness to the touch, vulnerability yawning between the two of you.
❝ you . . . ❞ he starts, has to swallow thickly and start over. ❝ you’re alright? ❞
❝ i am always alright with you, geta. you could never hurt me. ❞ your thighs are sore, surely, from the pounding he's given you. but he doesn't need to know that.
geta presses a kiss to your hair and draws the robe more securely around you both, as though fabric alone could hold the world at bay. for a long while, neither of you speaks. the candles gutter low. somewhere beyond the walls, rome breathes and waits.
❝ rest, ❞ he murmurs at last, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against your back. ❝ we leave at first light. ❞
you nod, and geta maneuvers you so that you are on his chest instead, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart — proof that he is real, that this night was not a dream you will wake from alone. fear still coils beneath your ribs, but it no longer rules you. not when he is here. not when tomorrow has a shape, however dangerous.
when sleep finally claims you, it is gentle and comforting. and when dawn comes — pale and inevitable — you wake wrapped in gold and warmth, knowing that whatever the empire demands, geta will make sure you are safe.
part 1 1/2– dulex (the gnat🥀) pt ii: vitiosus + deliciosus
pt iii: frangere me 🥀pt iv: ad caelum vel infernum, tecum sum
emperor Geta x female servant reader || word count: 4.4k || smidge of caracalla x reader
summary: brought to Palatine Hill as a gift from your village to the new Emperors— Caracalla claims you as his own, but Geta has his own plans for you when the moon crests into the sky.
tw: anal, p in v, rough inexperienced sex, oral m receiving, use of the word whore, caracalla is a whiny bitch, geta is fuckboy of the era. i googled a majority of the historical events, timelines, roman names for things, and latin translation— if it’s wrong, oh well. bad at feelings! geta, insane! crybaby! caracalla. idk geta is an unhinged mother fucker but what if he wasn’t so bad?
It had been months and many cycles of the moon ago when you were sent as a token of goodwill, a gift to the new Emperors in exchange for peace for the small village you resided in.
Other Virgines and yourself were taken in the dark ebony of twilight, shackled side by side into the wobbly wagon driven by the village's strongest oxen. You didn’t dare object, instead you held your chin high, awaiting fate as the cart swayed this way and that, heart racing and blood pulsing as your journey to the Palatine Hill began.
Some nights were still spent awake, remembering the crippling fear in your chest as you watched women from your village being gifted to generals as their personal servants.
Some were given to soldiers as a sense of “release.” No better than a common whore being passed from soldier to soldier, fitting their needs. The others were pillaged and picked like grapes from a cluster— and finally you had stood alone, defiance pooling in your eyes, pushing back traitorous tears.
Emperors Geta and Caracalla sat on ruby and gold twin thrones, identical in size and power. The tension between them was palpable— so thick you could reach out and stroke its ugly head. Where Caracalla’s grin was full of mischief, Geta had a snarl curled on his upper lip.
You should have known then. The difference between them.
From where you stood, Geta’s dark eyes looked empty. Every so often they twitched as he spun the rings adorned on his left hand. His eyes rolled when his older brother giggled as the gifts from whatever poor village gave away their ripe, untouched women.
Bare toes standing on the marble floor— unable to even grab shoes before you were heaved into the cart— you felt a heat from dark eyes that you were certain would drive someone mad if they dared look back. Like the boiling flames from hell itself were simmering in the coal of his irises.
Caracalla jumped up, stepping forward from his throne, a wicked sense of evilness piercing from the iciness of his stare. His golden tooth caught the sun’s rays and you nearly vomited as he strode forward, eyeing you like a meal.
A feminine laugh bubbled from his throat, he clasped his hands together, bangles clanking in a sick harmony, a childlike grin spread on his pale face, “she’ll do.”
You remember the first night in his chambers. Caracalla himself was bathed in ivory, same as the stone walls that were covered with flowing draperies. Although it was meant to be beautiful, the air felt choked, tight in your chest as you tried like hell to calm your frazzled nerves.
The same giggle you heard in the throne room all morning now reverberated off the walls. He sat on a chaise lounge in only his dressing robes, sweat dampening his temples, that same damning stare as he slid his tongue over that disgusting gold tooth. Was he nervous? Drunk?
You had thought an emperor of his caliber would be used to this sort of thing. Maybe not.
You had been cleaned by the palace servants, hair untangled and dirt scrubbed from under your nails. Hints of jasmine and honey perfumed from your gown as you tiptoed toward him. You watched as beads of sweat trickled down his brow, and he wiped at them hastily.
“Sit.”
The singular word seemed to give him trouble, as if he had never been in the presence of a woman before.
He was clumsy, unthreading your gown with clammy hands, dragging across your skin like a damp sponge. Your skin crawled under his touch.
His lips were stained with wine, thin and shriveled as he pecked at your skin. When you reached for him, hurrying this task along, he recoiled from your hand, shaking his head, a pained expression on his face as he held your wrist in a death grip.
His eyes squinted shut and he screamed for you to leave. “Out!” “Get out!” Chalices and gold cutlery were tossed in your direction as you sprang for the door.
Throwing open the heavy wood and running smack into the bare chest of the other Emperor. Emperor Geta.
Although younger, he was taller than Caracalla. His chest was more broad, shoulders stretched tight with muscles. The same death-like stare on his face as he shoved you from him, having you stumble onto the stones into a wall. The cords of his neck strained as he took in your appearance.
He didn’t soften his features as you peered up at him with a fear stricken expression. He snarled, flaring his nostrils at the pathetic look of you, practically in rags.
“Ah, and what do we have here? My brother’s whore in tears outside his chamber door. Can’t say I'm the least bit surprised.” He leaned into you, his eyes burning into your skin as he ripped the last of your gown to the floor, leaving you naked before him.
“Tasteful thing, aren't you?” he gloated, pinching your bare nipple between his thumb and forefinger, laughing when you yelped in surprise and tried to cover your decency.
He crowded into you, pushing your further down the hall way until you reached a dead end, his groin pressed into your middle.
“Pathetic.” he sneered, enunciating every syllable the word held. “Every single one of you.” His voice slithered like a snake against your ear, his breathing was forced, almost erratic and strained like he was holding himself back from bashing your skull into the wall.
“Brought in here like some glorious stuffed hog on a spicket, trying to impress the Emperors so your village would be overlooked..” he clicked his tongue and grabbed the nape of your neck, his mouth only an inch from your own, “I don’t miss anything. Even though my sniffling brother may, I do not.”
“Emperor, please.”
“Do not speak!” he shouted loud enough to wake the entire palace, the veins in his neck stood at attention, throbbing, “a whore will never open her mouth to me unless asked, or you are given something to fill it— understood?”
You nodded feebly, a single tear trickling down your cheek. Geta placed the tip of his tongue to your skin catching the salty wetness, “if you can not please my brother, you will please me… otherwise what good are you here?”
He shoved you to your knees, bits of sand biting into your skin as you hit the ground with a thud. His eyes were ablaze as he pulled out his cock. Veiny and impossibly thick, you’d never imagined one to be so large.
Geta stroked himself, already hard and velvet beneath his palm, “open for your Emperor,” he demanded, the same snarl on his lip you noticed earlier today.
You did as you were told, tongue out mouth agape waiting for him to slide against your mouth. Forcing himself inside, he filled it full until the pink head slithered into your throat, his groans vibrating through your bones.
He rocked his hips into your face, panting and groaning some more as you gagged on his length— spit dripping down your bare chest and down his sack.
He spoke nonsense to himself as you tried to breathe, squinting out tears from your eyes as you peered up at him. “The virgin mouth is fuck, yes, too good… impossibly sweet, untouched by another man, fuck, never get enough.”
His large fist gripped your hair, pulling at the root as he bludgeoned himself further into you, fucking your head into the wall surely to leave a bruise or knock you unconscious, he wouldn’t care either way.
“Stupid sniffling Caracalla,” he choked out between thrusts, “incompetent bastard wouldn’t know what to do with a whore if one fell on his cock,” he laughed and scrubbed at his face, reaching with his free hand to press the column of your throat, feeling himself deep beneath his thumb, “lucky for you, I do.”
He came then, loud and shaky, holding you to him until your nose was tickled by his patch of dark pubic hair. He pulled out, leaving a pearl against his slit to rub against your mouth.
“You might belong to Caracalla, but you will bow to me, and you… my sweet rosa, I have plans for you.”
And that was how it started, how every night you would meet with Caracalla only to be summoned by Geta in the corridor upon your dismissal. Spilling secrets of his brother before pleasuring him with your mouth.
In the light of day, you were ignored by him as you catered to Caracalla’s beck and call, and you often wondered if Geta had another servant he preferred during the sunlight hours.
You were a midnight affair, a servant to one Emperor, a secret to the other. Caracalla was a strange man. Your time with him mostly was spent with him whining about the day's woes.
How hard it was to be an emperor, the many expectations he had, the palace wasn’t large enough, his brother was too mean. Night by night his paranoia spread like wildfire, and he became gaunt, refusing to eat thinking Geta poisoned his food, his cheeks began to hallow.
During all those nights he never once gave in to his own sexual temptations, he laid his head in your lap like an infant, whimpering and sniveling. One particular warm night you were sitting on his bed as you did every night before, listening to him sob about his mother and how he felt her attention was elsewhere.
It took a single second of you being unresponsive for his switch to flip. Caracalla raged, flipping over furniture, ripping his draperies from the walls and pulling at his own hair. You were terrified, scared of him for the first time since the night you came to the palace.
Caracalla bound your wrists above your head, and took force between your legs as you silently let him, disassociating from the entire situation, as he kissed a bruise to your collarbone, and scratched your thighs with his bitten fingernails. His inexperience was evident in his approach, in the way his hips held no rhythm, in the way he screeched like a midnight owl when he was close to release.
He repeated the same thing over and over until he spilled against your stomach, a plea to either himself or to the Gods above, I am worthy.
You shook violently, not with pleasure but with fear. You had thought of spitting in his face, but realized death would be your only future if you were to humiliate him during this catastrophic performance of what he would assume to be lust.
Caracalla finished with a sweaty brow, laying down to fall asleep like a babe, an arm wrapped around your middle. A gaudy rouge colored his pale cheeks as drool slipped from his lips.
You felt sick, defiled and disgusting.
You’d rather be fucked by thirty men at once than have to endure that pathetic, cry baby fit from Caracalla. Gently placing his arm on the pillow, you fled.
Missing your village, your family, the man who you were supposed to marry someday, your tears clouded your vision down the winding corridors of the palace. You would have fought to stay behind, should have pleaded to the men that you could be useful to them. This whore’s life isn’t what you had bargained for, death would be swifter— easier than this.
The sweet scent of the balneum made you take a detour to the right, and you sobbed upon seeing the moonlight glint across the soft bathing water.
Desperate to scrub his filth from your skin, the water was barely warm but you couldn’t care less as you sunk deep into the marble stone basin. Scrubbing your skin with anything your fingers could get ahold of. The jasmine soaps the servants washed you with the first time was tucked into its cradle and you slathered until your skin shined like an apparition.
Tears dropped from the apples of your cheeks hitting the massive pool like a rainstorm over the ocean. Caracalla was a coward, a nuisance to Rome, to the Gods themselves. You damned his name as you scrubbed and lathered, repeating feverishly.
For how long Geta stood in the doorway, you weren’t sure. You weren’t where you should have been, and he was irate upon your absolute disrespect of his time. He wanted to shout, plunge his way into the water and drag you out by your hair, bring you to the coliseum and make everyone watch your death against whatever animal he saw fit.
You broke his rules, his laws, his heart raced with anger at the sight of you casually washing yourself. Nobody in the palace bathed in the moonlight, and when he heard commotion from the tepidarium room, he stomped towards it to find whoever the culprit was idiotic enough to disobey. He was alarmed to find you in there. Frantic, shooken up, no doubt from the hands of his flaccid brother.
“The lamb strayed away from the flock, I see.” his voice was like a snake, cool and calm but dripping with acidity that could kill at any given time. Jumping at his voice you nearly shrieked at his sudden appearance.
“The moon has passed the mountains, yet you do not seek me out? Instead I find you here, helping yourself to the royal bathing quarters, as if you deserve such luxuries.”
Your voice trembled, as you climbed from the water, “I wanted… I needed to be clean.”
His eyebrows twisted inward, confusion riddling his features until he stepped further into the room and noticed the marks across your skin. Caracalla’s mark. The marks of an hungry, untrained runt, trying to prove himself to the litter.
Geta’s face boiled with sadistic rage as his eyes scanned down your body, the scratches of an novice beast unable to pleasure a whore. Bruises from a limp man who deserved a knife to his throat.
“Come.” he demanded, not waiting for you to follow as his stalked from the room, tossing a long cloth behind him to your awaiting hands.
—
Water trickled behind you and down the length of your body as you padded on bare feet to catch up with Geta.
This part of the palace was foreign to you, a set of stairs leading to a dark tower that you didn’t know existed, and then you realized why. He was leading you up to his chambers.
Geta and Caracalla lived on opposite ends of the palace, their hatred splitting them apart as far as it could allow.
He thrust open a concealed door and stomped down a few stone stairs leading into his chamber.
It was decorated in hues of deep ruby and scarlets, black linens flanked his walls. His bed was massive, alluring in the dark majesty of its presence. A single candle flickered beside his bed, casting shadows in the deep night.
His hooded eyes seemed to strike with a ripple of psychotic light when he came back to the doorway to pull you inside by your wrist.
Sitting on a lavish wooden chair he leans back, spreading his legs wide, reaching for a wine filled chalice downing it in one gulp, his eyes never leaving you.
“Let me make myself clear,” he stated, “I do not care what Caracalla does in his chambers I never have nor will I now.”
Geta wiped at his chin and set down the glass, his finger rounding the rim, “You came here knowing what your life would hold as an Emperor’s servant or a soldier’s fuck sack. The little amount of freedom you were once born with has vanished, and what a pity that must be…but quite honestly,” he gleamed leaning forward his face warmed by the light, casting shadows of evil on his brows, “I am not a savior to the fucked raw whores of this palace who weep after fulfilling their master’s needs.”
Your eyes casted downward at the patterned marble floor. “I told you the night we met that if you aren’t pleasing my brother or myself, you have no purpose here, did I not?”
Your head shook up and down, knowing every word he said was true.
“I will grant you gratitude where it is due by saying that you have done everything I have asked of you, sharing my brother’s secrets, using your mouth to fill my needs— it is all very pleasing…”
For the first time you look into Geta’s eyes, the shadows inside flicker with the candle light, and you are drawn to them like a moth.
“… however, I find myself enraged thinking of that shriveled weasel dick not taking you to bed in a proper manner. It is not my style to fuck like a lover would—I use women to my needs and that’s it.”
He rubs his jaw, as if the stubble was itching him, suddenly stopping to look at you dead in the eyes as his narrowed to slits, “but you, are a gnat. An annoyance I can not seem to get rid of, and I can’t decide if you are a woman version of the plague or something else…” His eyes glimmer for a second before he shakes his head to clear his mind, “Get on the bed.”
“Emperor?”
His voice boomed as he slammed down his cup, “do not make me say it twice, I find myself to be quite angry when I have to repeat my words.” His throat pulsed in wrath, and his knuckles turned white from his fists being clenched.
You do as you're told, gingerly making your way to the enormous frame and mattress, sitting rigidly. Geta undresses himself, standing bare before you, that glorious length springing freely.
“The difference between Caracalla and myself, is I know how to use my God bless-ed cock to pleasure a woman, and I’m damn good at it.”
He’s on you in a flash, his breath sweet from the wine he had consumed. His body was solid on top of yours, pale skin never exposed to the sun. Enormous shoulders dressed in muscles that were hidden with robes daily. He sniffs loud, taking in your scent you feel his body shiver above you.
His teeth nip at your earlobe, piercing through the flesh releasing a trail of hot blood onto your neck. It’s swiftly lapped away by his tongue, a low groan following as he tastes you.
“If your blood is this sweet I would hate to know how you taste between your legs.”
You squirm beneath him as he bites your lip the same way, his canines piercing your plushy flesh and he moves his mouth over the bites, enjoying the iron-like taste. A flood of wetness rushes to your core and you suddenly feel hot everywhere… something Geta doesn’t miss.
“My brother’s whore is quick to becoming wet.” he says with a chuckle, sweeping his fingers between your folds, his rings collecting your arousal on his knuckles before he pulls them into his mouth, “mmmm leave it to Caracalla to fuck a bitch when she’s drier than a well.”
His mouth assaults your neck. Sweeping circling as he groans into you, his cock rutting against your sex as you pull him further into you, a hand coiled in his golden hair, yanking slightly, a traitorous moan escaping his lips.
Your hips widen to try to sneak the tip of him into your cunt but he only laughs at your attempt.
“Look how desperate you are, pathetic thing… so eager to be filled by a man who knows how to fuck.” He groans when your nails scratch down his back, and he licks his lip to not get too carried away.
That pitiful excuse for a human couldn’t satisfy his own hand, let alone a whore who begs to be brutalized.” You moan his name when he skims blunt nails around the peaks of your nipples, running his palms along your rib cage.
“You're teasing me, Emperor, te necessito.”
The snarl that seems to be a permanent fixture on his face curls on his lip, “begging is a good start, we both know how good you are on your knees, but I like the pity showing in your eyes, as if I’m your God.”
With that final word and title, Geta thrust himself into you, shredding your walls with each delicious inch of his cock buried inside of you. All breath is expunged from your lungs as you stare into the devil’s eyes, a chokehold to your own.
“Ora pro me, Deus meus, pray for me God,” he grunted as he pistoned back into your heat. Your screams filled his chambers, the tower shaking with seduction as he matched your shouts with grunts and moans of his own.
He pawed at your tits, squeezing and claiming every inch of skin he could get his hands on. Your thighs were wrapped around his waist, your hips circling to meet his rhythms. A large hand wrapped tight around your throat, and you licked your lips letting a grin spread against them.
Geta was leaned forward just enough for you to put a hand against his own throat, squeezing as tightly as you could. He wasn’t expecting this, wasn’t expecting someone to match his own sadistic fantasies.. let alone a commoner from a village he didn’t care to know the name of.
His eyes embellished like a dark jewel in a burning hell before he snarled and backhanded your cheek. He had never been more turned on, practically fucking you stupid as the welts from his rings raised on your skin.
“Puella pulchra, pretty girl,” Geta whispered into your ear after flipping you over, his cock wedged between your ass cheeks. “Mea es, mea es, you’re mine; no one else’s.”
His rings bit at your sides as he positioned your ass upwards, leaving his dental records in each cheek before slapping them hard in unison, mocking your yelp as he dribbled spit where he needed it to be.
With no warning he entered your other hole at a bruising pace. You saw black when Geta bottomed out and you swore you were near passing out from the stretch of his giant cock stuffed tight inside of you.
Your pussy throbbed to his commands as he pulled you by your neck with one hand, so your back was leaned against his chest. Thick fingers slotted themselves in the heat of your core until his rings were nestled against your clit. “How dare you let Caracalla have at you first, this cunt is too sweet, too sinful to not be mine.”
Babbling along to everything he said you simply screamed yes over and over, as your head lolled back on his shoulder. You came so hot and bound tight that it flooded his fingers and spread down your legs as he kept pounding inside of you.
“Oh fuck,” Geta grunted, shoving your forward to gain leverage on your hips as he pistoned into you a final time. A great yell breached his throat as his seed flooded your ass, filling it full and spilling over both himself and you, down to the laundered sheets.
You collapsed onto his bed, legs shaking and quaking struggling to catch your breath. Geta fell onto his back beside you, his skin glistening with sweat, his release coated thickly on his softening cock and pasted into the curly hair.
“Dulcis ut rosa,” he murmured with his eyes closed, licking his lips to savor your taste once more.
Tumbling on shaky knees, you lift yourself up just enough to eye his length, wrapping your mouth around his cock, sucking off his spend and yourself from him. Moaning as you devoured him.
He hissed at the contact, reaching out to stroke your cheek with his thumb “you’ve made a fool of me, you wicked thing, I’m nothing but a fool.”
When you were finished, Geta laid in silence beside you. His thumb strumming along his torso his eyes wide staring into the ceiling, deep in thought.
Noticing a decanter of wine you asked if he’d like another glass. “No,” he said, still staring upward, unable to look at you. “I’m tired, leave me now.”
Removing yourself from the bed you find the dressing robe he was wearing when he found you in the bath and slipped it over your shoulders.
Leaving his chambers left you feeling rotten.
It was strange how he looked at you during and after, he was talented just as he said he was, and you knew you’d never forget the night the other Emperor bed you in his sheets. For tomorrow was another day, back to Caracalla and his blubbering whines of the hardships of royalty.
Geta lie awake for hours. Eventually seeking refuge on his balcony staring into the pale ivory moon, silently asking the Gods for answers he himself didn’t know. He had bedded hundreds of women. Every shape, size and color. But you. The little gnat. You had been buzzing in his ears every night since you had gotten to Palatine Hill.
Since the day he laid his eyes on you and scoffed to try to denounce his admiration, Geta silently wished death on Caracalla when he claimed you as his own. His original plan was to spoil the apple from the inside out, use you as a spy to gain information about his deranged brother— but it became more to him, you became more. But why?
The God’s didn’t have the answers tonight, just like they hadn’t the night before, or every dawn since the night you showed up here. Guilt struck him like a bolt from Jupiter’s mighty hand and he pushed it down with the remaining wine he had stashed beside his bed.
The facaded mask he wore these days almost slipped off tonight when you lay beside him. How he wanted to reach out and touch your skin while you laid in euphoric bliss. And he shut you out to avoid something he couldn’t risk. He didn’t know how to love a woman, his love was for war and power, blood and gold— still the gnat buzzed, unrelentless.
Laying in the sex sodden sheets, he knew what his dream would be of tonight. It hadn’t changed in the months of you arriving here: Caracalla dead by his hand, and you, the gnat, sweet as a rose…his empress.
🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀
latin translation:
virgines— virgins
dulcis ut rosa— sweet as a rose
balneum— bathing room
te necessito— i need you
ora pro me deus meus— pray for me my God
puella pulchra— pretty girl
mea es— you’re mine
tagging some moots: @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @etherealxwitch
oh absolutely! hope you enjoy ♡ this is absolute indulgence, btw.
— warnings: implied hypnotism / semi-dubious consent / themes of ownership and servitude / submissive reader / public sex / blood.
drabble requests are paused ! (i gotta catch up with the ones i got already ;-;)
the raucous crowds of the people in attendance of yet another brutal game is not enough to sway your attention away from your emperor geta. he's sat on one of the ornate thrones at the front of the box, appearing as regal as ever in the protection of the shade. your bare knees have made an imprint upon the velvet cushions from where you take your rightful spot beside geta's knee.
he's got a hand in your hair, his ringed fingers stroking through while you rest your cheek upon his thigh, your gaze barely lifting high enough to look above the balcony to catch a glimpse of the action below. but it's no matter for your eyes will always drift up to him. tracing his features with your gaze, your fingers itch to touch him. his pale complexion, his strong jaw, strawberry blond hair.
"is my petal bored?"
the immediate servants nearby tense up, concern for you evident in their eyes. after all, it's been only a month since you've been one of them, a month since geta's eyes landed on you and decided you now belong to him and him alone.
you smile languidly at him, your eyes maintaining a red sheen as you shake your head. "of course not, your majesty. i am very content." he chuckles at your reply, wholly amused. the people around you release a quiet sigh of relief.
geta admires you for a moment before he leans back upon his throne. a confident smirk grows upon his lips, his legs spreading with a pat upon his thigh. you're hungry enough to move, legs unsteady as you rise from the position you've been in for nearly an hour.
something gruesome happens behind you, a gladiator impaling a teammate onto a rhino, but your attention belongs to your emperor. he watches you wobble on your knees before he takes pity, a large hand gripping your waist to guide you upon his thigh.
"you smell divine," he murmurs under his breath. he has your legs thrown over one arm of his seat, a strong arm curling around the back of your waist with his hands splayed possessively along the side of your hips. your robes will wrinkle but neither of you have a care for it, just allowing the slits of your garments to pool between your thighs when they part for geta's wandering hand. "have you gotten sweeter, petal?"
the pad of his finger coaxes your dripping slit to part beneath his touch, teasing your folds before he brings up both his index and middle to suck your slick off. his gaze bores into yours while your lips part in sweet desire, brows furrowing. the red in your eyes bloom. "oh, emperor—" you breathe out.
the people in the stands have no clue in the world but the ambassadors and high ranking officials behind you do, earning you both an audience whether they like it or not. it's the last thing on your mind, however, when geta's got two fingers deep in your waiting cunt while he kisses along your jaw. his teeth graze your skin, not quite breaking skin while he rasps in your ear.
"bare your neck for me, petal."
his breath is uncomfortably cold against the thin skin below your jaw, your blood rising up to bring forth a blush along the side of your neck. to anyone else, it'd be charming. to geta, it's dinner.
"good girl," he croons. soft moans spill from your lips and the high officials around you shift in their tunics. "deep breath now." it's all the warning you have before his canines break skin, flooding his mouth with your sweet blood. it's messy and obscene as a few droplets of blood slide down the column of your throat, staining your tunics red while he adds another finger. he's stretching you out deliciously as he feeds indulgently, lapping up the strays of blood while his wrist pumps deep. slick noises of wet skin against wet skin, his low groans of delight when he drinks you in, fill the silences that pockmark the cheers of the crowd. "let me hear you, sweet girl."
your moans steadily increase in volume, your toes curling in your sandals. one slides off, a leg hanging off the crook of geta's elbow as he bends you back. he drinks more than he usually does, unexpectedly hurtling you to your climax before geta finally gets his mouth away from your neck.
geta admires you with a carnal greed. with your eyes still shut, mouth slightly parted in sweet rapture despite the ravaging he's left of your throat, you're a picture of lust and desire that he can no longer bare to be apart of. already your skin is starting to stitch itself together, a self-satisfied smile curling upon your lips.
"spoiled thing," he chuffs your neck, pulling his soaked fingers from your sopping cunt to lap each digit with his bloody tongue. "sweet thing," he amends.
your resounding giggle, hazy and breathless and besotted, unsettles the officials around you both. women being owned is not a novel idea in rome, but none are as pleased to be property as well as you are. there is an emptiness in your deep eyes now, one bearing resemblance to their terrifying emperor.
Geta who eats you out on his throne.
Geta has taken over my entire mind and this needs to come out or I'll explode actually!
CW : Pussy eating, slight exhibitionism, almost getting caught.
Geta had been showing you the area where he and Caracalla sit during the Gladiator Games. A proud crooked smile on his face. It would be your first time viewing the games from such an angle.
Geta grabbed ahold of your hips and had you sit down in his throne. And when you looked up at him, his eyes flickered with possessiveness. As if you sitting in his throne meant that he owned you.
Geta hummed as he stared at you. His eyes trailing over your stola. "You look good like this, my dear" Geta rumbled.
"I'd hope I look good to you all the time, Geta" you say softly, which makes the emperor chuckle, his hands landing on your knees, rubbing up and down your thighs.
"You know you do" Geta hummed, pushing your stola embroidered with gold thread, up your legs. And you hold the fabric against your lower stomach.
Geta continued to run his hands up and down your thighs, his touch felt as though your blood burned with need. The Emperor always had such an effect on you. His rings sending a shiver down your spine from the chill of them.
"Must you always tease, Geta?"
"Of course I must. I enjoy watching you become desperate for me"
You groaned in frustration at that. Your cunt was throbbing desperately now. Feeling how sticky your panties had become.
You sighed in relief when Geta finally tugged your panties down, his hands grabbing your thighs and spreading them wide open so he'd have all access to what he called, "nectar from the Gods".
you gasped quietly as Geta buried his nose in the tuft of hair on your mound. he always loved smelling your natural scent, despite how flustered it made you.
Then you felt his tongue glide up between your wet folds. Your hips jolting at the contact.
"Geta!" You huffed impatiently. Moaning as Geta began to suck on your clit.
Your hands glided down to his hair, tugged the locks as your hips grind forward into Geta's insatiable mouth. His tongue lapping into you, as if he was stuck in the desert and your cunt was the oasis he'd been praying for.
Geta had eaten you out plenty of times. But this was by far the best. You had the sun shining down on you, Geta's mouth on your pussy, and the thrill of the idea that anyone could see you.
"Emperor?!" a guard called out, you weren't sure from where. But it made you jolt and look down at Geta with wide eyes.
"Geta! Geta, a guard is going to see us!" you whisper in panic.
Geta pulls away, licking his lips. "Then I suggest you come in my mouth before he finds us" he grinned, before diving back in. Making you whimper desperately. Nodding in agreement.
You try to muffle your moans and whimpers as Geta doubles his efforts. Covering your mouth and tipping your head back to rest against the back of the throne.
"Close!" You moan into your hand, just loud enough for Geta to hear.
"Emperor?! Are you up here?! You have a meeting with the council!" The guard called out, just as the coil in your stomach began to rapidly tighten.
Geta then began humming around your clit. Your hand slamming down on the arm rest of the throne as you unexpectedly came.
Your orgasm ripped through you, feeling as though every nerve in your body was alight. Your eyes rolling back.
When you finally came down from the high, Geta had pulled your panties back up and smoothed out your stola. Having stood up as the guard finally found the two of you.
"Ah, Emperor Geta" the guard said as he walked over. "I was worried you would miss your meeting with the council"
"Unfortunately I will be missing the meeting. As you can see, my fairest has tired herself out and I will be joining her in my chambers" Geta said with his usual smug smile. Making you glare at him with a scoff.
-- Platonic/former lover relationship with Emperor Caracalla x Reader
Synopsis: Reader has belonged to Caracalla for as long as she can remember, her job has been to love and serve him in the quiet moments when even the attention of a concubine cannot suffice. She has served the emperor in whatever capacity he desired. Through the years her love for him grew beyond what many would have deemed proper for one in her position of employment, but it was not a romantic love. The presence of disease had stolen the man she'd once given everything to. Left to care for Caracalla in the midst of his break from reality, Emperor Geta and the reader are forced to admit the feelings they've long harbored for one another.
Warnings: SMUT/sexual acts + "cheating" (but not really, Caracalla and reader no longer have that kind of relationship) + alcohol consumption + language (?)
A/N: Well... when I said the crazy emperors had my brain... I wasn't lying. I have not abandoned my Marcus Acacius story... I just needed to get this off my mind. That said, there may be one more part of this depending on how I feel and how this does. I apologize for any mistakes. I wrote this in a couple of hours.
------------------------------
Hovering in the background, you squeezed between the spectators, inching closer to the emperors. The copper-headed pair sat surrounded by their entourage of concubines and common whores whose sole purpose was to entertain, to give in to the whims of the men they served. Your role was not entirely different, and yet, you were to be set apart from the others. Your presence at these events was required, but the emperors would sooner murder than allow the public to view you in the same light as those whose hands roamed their bodies in public. You served a much more intimate purpose. Therefore, you kept your distance, leaving just enough space between yourself and them so that no eyes would wonder and question.
Out of the corner of his eye, Emperor Geta caught your approach. His eyes locked onto you, searching for any sign of anxiety or nerves. He knew without question that you desired to be anywhere but here, and still, he didn't doubt that your loyalty remained strong. Your features were stoney and severe with your attention falling to his brother whose eyes were on the scantly clad man sat before him. The burnt orange of your stola matched the hue his brother famously loved and complimented the bare expanse of skin along the shapely curve of your arms and shoulders. You were positively stunning, every bit the measure of the well-to-do women who adorned their husbands' arms.
Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Geta hesitated for a moment, seeing the weariness behind your eyes. Something troubled you, but given the state of his brother's mental well-being, it was likely as anything that was the cause of your worry. With nothing to be done at the time, he reached for the concubine he’d carted along for the day's festivities. Hauling her close, he let the weight of her hand against his chest, settle the crashing energy that sang through his body, but nothing was a match for the intensity of the fight that erupted amongst the gladiators.
The fight was brutal and quick. The larger man crumpled into a bloody heap, soaking the marble floor in a sea of sickly scarlet. The pool smeared beneath the weight of his body as the guards dragged him out of the room. The grunts and moans of pain were soon replaced by the questioning trill of Emperor Geta. The fight had clearly impressed him. The eloquent sound of poetry rolling off the tongue of the victor caught you as strange, but now was not the time to linger. With the crowd in awe and Geta keyed up, it felt like the appropriate moment to slink back into oblivion.
You maneuvered down a darkened hall, the only light poured in amber waves along the stone from the torches that lined the walls. The walk passed without note, the distant sound of chatter gave way to the echo of your sandaled feet. Each step brought you further from the chaos of the arena and for that you were grateful. No matter how many games you saw, the violence never grew more appealing. You couldn’t blame the emperors for enjoying the joys they were afforded in life, but that did nothing to change your opinion. They could eat, drink, fuck, and enjoy whatever and whomever they desired. Your job was simply to be there when called. No questions or judgment, and that was more than enough for you to handle.
The sudden clomp of footfalls barreling down the corridor sent electricity singing down your spine. Snapping back in their direction, you reached for the blade which sat flush along your thigh. The metal was warm to the touch, the heat of your body having warmed it palpably. No sooner had you freed it of its holster, than a familiar face rounded the corner. Emperor Geta’s pale face glowed oddly in the flickering light, the shadows casting his features in mystery. Sliding your weapon back into place, you stayed rooted to the spot and waited the mere seconds it took for him to close the space between you.
“Where are you going?” His voice was soft as he crowded into your space. His hands flexed at his sides, itching to touch you, to hold you close, but that was a line he couldn’t bring himself to cross, if only for the sake of his brother’s well-being. “My brother… he calls for you.”
Your face dropped to the floor, unable to stand the burn of his molten stare. “I am unwell… my-my head.” The lie was partially rooted in truth. The violence of the fight brought back memories of a long past day that led you to the gates of the palace, in need of a kindness that only those in power could grant you. The simple memory of which brought you real physical pain.
“Have you eaten today? Perhaps some wine and bread could cure what ails you. I have selected the best for our celebration.” A thin smile flashed upon the emperor’s face, pulling the corner of his lips up in a beautiful tilt though the grin didn’t meet his eyes.
“As much as I adore your taste in wine, I do not believe any amount of drink will ease the pain I am feeling. Now if you’ll excuse me, Emperor.” The swish of your stola brushing against your skin sounded as you turned away.
Panic flashed hot forcing Geta to move… to speak. “Wait!” His outstretched hand sat in the space between you for only a moment before dropping back to his side. “He needs you… he’s- he’s struggling. Today is not a good day.”
“I am aware, but he has you.”
“But I am not the one he desires.” Once again, Geta stepped closer, pleading with you to listen. “I fear what he will do, how he will act before the public today without you by his side. Please, for his sake… and for my own. Care for him as only you are able.”
The sheen that pooled in Geta’s eyes was enough to flip your stomach. This cruel and vicious man held his heart wide for those he loved. It was a select few, but those he cared for in that way were not only adored beyond measure but treated with a life only he could provide. There was a true sincerity to it. He held his brother dear despite the many rumors that circulated about the pair. Caracalla had long since been the subject of jokes and cruel speculation. It was true, the illness that plagued his loins had spread to his brain, eating away at the once vibrant and loving man he’d once been. And yet, no matter how much he’d lost to the disease, there was always a thread of his former self there to reel him in and back to reality.
But as of late, that thin connection between reality and fantasy had grown more fragile. It took a delicate hand to keep Caracalla balanced, especially in front of important company and prying eyes. You and Emperor Geta were the cherished few who had the ability to return Caracalla to this world, and increasingly, your loving touch seemed to be the only thing that worked.
“I understand. I will do what is necessary.” You nodded shallowly, acknowledging the favor the emperor had asked of you. “Let us not linger, it is unwise for him to be alone with those vultures you surround yourselves with.”
A flicker of shock at your boldness shot across his features, but he decided against pursuing the thoughts and questions that flooded his mind. Instead, he settled with a simple statement of thanks before guiding you back to his brother.
The murmur of people grew louder with each passing step until it reached a tipping point. Back inside the space you’d fled so quickly, you searched the crowd for Caracalla. It took only seconds to find him, standing beside the table overflowing with treats and wine. Your approach was lost on him, his entire focus settled on selecting the next delicacy. With his stability in question, you knew it would be wise to make your presence known before stepping into the space beside him.
“Emperor Caracalla!” The youthful man turned to find the person who’d spoken, and at the sight of you, an enormous grin erupted from ear to ear across his pockmarked face. “What delicious finds have you discovered for us today?!” The shirtless man who’d accompanied the emperor from before took one look at you and decided he was no longer needed. Relieved of his duty, he retreated to stand with the group of concubines that had formed near the entrance, greeting the guests as they moved to and fro.
“My dear!” Crumbs adorned the corners of his mouth as he held the remnants of a pastry in his hand. “Come! You must try this! It is simply delightful!”
The emperor met you halfway, holding out the last bite for you to take. You could feel the stares that descended upon the pair of you as he held the last bite to your lips. You opened for him, luxuriating in the sweetness that coated your tongue. Caracalla’s eyes gleamed with delight at the sound of your satisfied hum of appreciation unaware of how this interaction would appear to others.
“It was delicious. Thank you for sharing.” You reached for his face and brushed away the flecks of baked dough that clung to his makeuped countenance. Avoiding the open marks that even rouge could not cover, you pushed through the pain to give him the smile he so clearly wanted to see. The boyish wonder in his eyes was catching.
The emperor’s fragile hands settled on your waist. His touch was not that of a lover, but that of a young man desperate for the attention and love he deserved. Holding you close as he spoke. “Where did you go? I’d thought you’d left me.” Caracalla paused for a moment intending to let you speak, but the furrow of your brows kept the words flowing. “Are you all right? Your brow is pinched. You only get that look when you are in pain.”
Tenderly, you swept a stray hair away from his temple. “I am as well as can be expected, and please, forgive me for my momentary absence. The swell of noise during the fight was too much for me to handle. But I am here now. I would never leave you.”
“But you are not well… I can see it here. It is one of your head pains.” The pad of his finger ran between your brows and down the bridge of your nose. “You need not be brave for me. You must rest, there will be many more games for you to enjoy.”
Sensing a pair of knowing eyes upon you, your attention flicked in the direction of Emperor Geta and found him watching just as you’d suspected. Even without words, you knew exactly what he asked. The nearly imperceptible nod of your head assured him that you were going to uphold your promise.
“I appreciate your kindness, Emperor, but my place is here… with you. There will be time for rest later. Besides, I’m sure a steady flow of wine and pastries would do me good.” You forced yourself to smile once more before heading toward the table. “Join me. Tell me what I must try!”
A gleeful laugh bubbled from Caracalla as he followed quickly behind. The pair of you stayed like this, tasting and drinking until it was time to retreat to the Emperors’ box for the games. Focused only on the task at hand, your eyes never ventured into the arena. Rather, you studied the way Caracalla moved, the cadence of his speech, admiring the way his eyes lit up at the clash of swords. Through all this, unbeknownst to you, Geta’s attention split between the violence unfolding before him and yourself. He clung to the sound of your laughter and marked the hazy film that unfocused your gaze the longer the day drug on. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the pain you’d claimed to be ailed by earlier had grown nearly unbearable, and yet your attention never wavered. The dedication you showed his brother filled him with something he couldn’t label. The warmth low in his belly belied just how fully he’d come to care for you.
Night had settled upon the emperors' residence. The halls fluttered with torchlight, but the depths of Geta’s chambers were a murky gray, illuminated only by the moon filtering through curtains that swayed in the breeze. The concubines he’d selected to entertain his needs lay spread out over his bed, their bare skin damp with sweat from the night’s activities. The only sound besides that of their gentle breathing was the rustle of the soldiers posted outside his door. One could never be too careful.
The blissful silence had him drifting into sleep when the sudden thunder of banging upon his door ripped him from the edge of slumber. Sitting bolt upright in bed, he reached for the knife that sat beneath his pillow, ready to defend himself should the need arise. Geta’d barely managed to extricate himself from the pile of limbs he’d been entangled with and don his robes when the frantic call of your voice pleading with his praetorian sent dread running through his limbs. Heavy with worry and lack of sleep, he pushed across the large room and ripped open the door.
The movement was followed by your lithe frame pushing inside his chambers, and what he saw only heightened his fear. Crimson stained your cheek, running down the smooth expanse of your neck before soaking into the luscious fabric of the robe you had wrapped around yourself. He recognized it at once as belonging to Caracalla. The fact that you’d been attending to his brother was not unexpected, but the wound that marred your face was terrifying.
“You’re hurt! Tell me at once who did this to you!?” Geta’s voice shook with the effort it took to maintain his control. Behind him, the stirring of his “guests” went unnoticed. His calloused fingers wiped gently at the oozing cut along the top of your cheek. You’d flinched from the pain, reaching for his wrist to still his ministrations. Frozen in place at the feeling of your touch, he waited barely breathing for your response.
“It’s your brother! He woke in a fit, he… he didn’t recognize me. He tried to- he thou- he thought I was there to kill him. He-”
“He did this to you?!” It wasn’t so much a question to you, but to himself for this was the thing he’d always feared. The day in which even your presence wouldn’t be enough to return him to this world.
“Yes.” You whispered, afraid of what this could mean for the beautiful men you’d come to adore after all this time. The pain in Geta’s eyes at your confusion was crushing. “I am so sorry, Geta.”
“Do not apologize. I will take care of this.” Forced to let go of you, he spoke quickly with his guards before dismissing his guests. The women scrambled for any scrap of clothing they could find and made their hasty exit.
Moving on his command, the soldiers hastened toward Caracalla’s chamber, leaving you behind with Geta. Alone, he grabbed for a chiton that lay draped over the chair beside him. Reaching for you, he pressed the cloth to your cheek applying pressure as he spoke, “Stay here, and keep this on the wound until I return. When I leave, lock the door behind me and open for no one other than myself. Understand?”
“Yes.” A slight nod from him was all he managed before turning to follow his praetorian.
Doing as you were told, you soon moved further into the room. You admired the lived-in feel it maintained despite the solid marble that made up every surface. The bed sat disheveled, clearly the night's adventures had been rather boisterous. Staring at the tangle of sheets, you felt the bile rise in your stomach. You laid no claim upon Geta and yet you couldn’t stop the bubble of envy that stirred in your soul.
The breeze fluttered through the curtains allowing you to peer beyond the protective walls of the palace to the streets of Rome. Even at this late hour, people moved about. Some lit their path with flame while others remained shrouded in darkness, praying they could slither about unnoticed. It took only a few more steps to reach the balcony. Fresh air filled your lungs as you leaned against the entryway, your nerves still buzzing with anxiety. Time slipped by unreliably. Each minute an hour, fraying the last of your resolve into shreds.
Eventually, a soft knock accompanied by Geta’s worn voice pulled you across the room. Petrified to know what had become of the situation, you hesitated before opening the door. The wood groaned under your touch, but it was the tear-streaked face that lay on the other side that nearly stopped your heart.
“What happened?” You inquired, giving Geta space to slip inside his room. The loud thunk of the lock being placed filled the silence before he gathered the strength to speak.
Reaching for the cloth you pressed to your cheek, his voice trembled, the gravel in it even more present. “It is taken care of.” The soft thump of the chiton hitting the floor punctuated his confession. The pit in your stomach was anything but relieved by his answer.
“What does that mean?” You searched for signs of gore along the cuffs of his robes, terrified of what you might find.
“He’s sedated. May the gods right his mind during this sleep.” You watched Geta as he scanned over the now-clotted wound along your cheek. Though you couldn’t see, there was no doubt that deep shades of blue and purple had already begun to bloom alongside where the knife had sliced your skin.
“Come here. We must clean this or risk infection.” He moved toward the nearby table.
“It is alright. I can take care of it myself. There is acetum and honey in Caracalla’s chamber. There is no need to waste your supply or your time. You must be exhausted.” Tired only of pretending, Geta’s sturdy frame crowded your space, backing you gently into the cool expanse of stone next to the doorframe. With nowhere to go, you forced yourself to look him in the eye for the first time since he’d returned from tending to his brother.
Words clawed at the back of your throat, trapped beneath the swell of emotions that burned the bridge of your nose. As if moving on their own accorded, Geta’s sure hands found the curve of your waist and the stained column of your neck. Resting his brow against yours, the warmth of his breath drifted over your face as he spoke. “Stay here... with me. I do not care for the idea of you alone with him. Not after this.”
Geta’s chapped lips brushed over yours, never quite embracing the plush expanse of your mouth, but it was more than enough to send a flush rushing over your skin. Your lungs hitched at the feeling of his mouth falling to the hollow of your neck. He hovered over your body, only catching skin for fractions of a second at a time. Your hands found him, running the length of his chest before dipping inside his robes to trace light lines over the ripple of muscle that lay beneath the surface. Geta’s own lungs caught at the press of your hand low upon his abdomen.
Your whisper at the shell of his ear locked him in place. “I cannot stay, you know this. My place is with him.”
“That is only half the truth and you know it. You feel it the same as I… you belong here… with me. You always have.”
“My contract would say otherwise.” The raw ache in your voice pulled Geta back to look at your face. Silver pools threatened to fall as you continued, “Until your brother passes or frees me from his service, I belong to him and no other. It matters not what I feel for you.”
“You cannot believe that.”
“Then what am I to believe?” Defiantly, you pressed the flat of your palms to his chest and pushed him back further. “He is the emperor of Rome, the same as you. To defy him would mean my death, even you could not overrule that.”
“He would he would never have to know.”
“Secrets move like lightning in this palace. There would be no keeping this from him.” You moved to make your exit, but the firm grip of Geta’s hand on your wrist kept you from fleeing. You whipped to face him, striking with your words like a snake, “My death would be on your hands and I do not want that weighing on your conscience. Not now, too much rests on your shoulders. If you feel for me as you say you do… then you know what we must be to each other. We can have nothing more.”
“I’m tired of waiting, of pretending that I want anyone but you warming my bed. You are what I desire, what I have always desired. Must I continue to lie to appease my brother?”
“Your brother’s time grows short. I will not squander it and neither should you!”
“There are enemies around every corner, there is no promise of tomorrow. Why should I deny myself what I want most?” Swiftly, Geta hauled you close, his lips crashed against yours, devouring the taste of you. With your back against the wall once more, he slotted his thigh between your own, pressing you down upon himself and earning the most glorious moan from your lips. Caution was thrown to the gods as you threaded your fingers through his hair, holding firm to the roots as he palmed your breasts over your robes. The swipe of his thumb over your nipple sent shivers down your spine and sparked a newfound energy in the emperor.
He wanted more, needed more. The sounds of your altered breathing, paired with the dampness pooling along his thigh gave him the permission to keep going. With practiced ease, he untied the knot at your waist, and pushed the oversized robe from your shoulders, exposing you to him.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He smiled against your skin as he spoke. His lips worked a line of fire from the hollow of your neck to your chest. The talented flick of his tongue over your nipple had you gasping for air. It was too much and not enough at the same time. Tiny whimpers from you accompanied his continued journey south. Dropping to his knees, he found himself mesmerized by the feeling of your skin beneath his lips. Calloused hands roamed the broad expanse of your stomach before dropping to explore your thighs.
Geta nipped and sucked at the skin there, leaving marks only he’d know existed. Nearly to where you needed to feel him the most, the emperor pulled back, leaving your skin on fire and your need unfulfilled. A whine ripped from your lungs as your eyes dropped to look at him, and what you found was intoxicating. Geta’s eyes were blown, the rich brown was hidden behind his pupils. Lust had replaced all other emotions.
Your fingers ran through his soft strands in a feeble attempt at guiding him back to you. When you felt him resist, you finally spoke. “Why have you stopped?”
Geta’s strong hands gripped the back of your legs, keeping you steady as he spoke. “Believe me when I say this, I love you. Nothing will stand between us. I vow to protect you until my dying day”
The emperor didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, his mouth returned to you, this time right where you’d wanted him before. The steady pressure of his lips around your sensitive bud would have been enough to bring you over the edge, but the insistent curl of his fingers in your core had you keening. Geta hummed against you adding to the pleasure. It had been far too long since you’d felt the loving touch of another. What existed between you and Caracalla had never made it to this point. For certain, there had been romantic moments, sensual touches, and lust-fueled encounters, but those had long since ceased. Even prior to the onset of his illness things had begun to shift. But the real change had come upon him falling ill. This had brought about a necessary departure from that kind of bond. The disease that stole him from reality also stole him from the urges that all humans felt, leaving you to take care of yourself in those moments for far too long.
But in this room, surrounded by only moonlight, and the man at your feet, you found yourself again. It took only a few more well-placed strokes of his fingers for Geta to bring you over the edge. Sparks tore through your body, causing your muscles to spam and your core to clench in rhythmic waves around his fingers. Carefully, Geta worked you through your release stopping only once he felt your body relax. Unsure of your ability to stay standing on your own, he stood to full height, capturing your lips at once.
You could taste yourself upon his lips, earning him a heady groan. Wanting to hear more of you, he brought his slick-covered fingers to your mouth, running his calloused fingers lips along them before dipping past your lips. The plush heat of your tongue swirling around him, sent his head spinning as he purred in your ear. “Good girl.”
You could feel him hard against your stomach, his own robes were now damp with arousal. The desire to return the favor was overwhelming, and had it not been for his next request, you’d have dropped to your knees just then. Geta smoothly whispered. “Let me take you to bed, even if it’s just for tonight. Let me love you the way you deserve.”
Geta’s wide palms slid over your backside before lifting you gracefully into his arms. Stumbling back to his bed, he lowered you into the expanse of soft sheets that covered the mattress. With you safe and settled, he stepped back and removed his robe. Dropping the burgundy and gold material to the ground, his fist ran the length of his cock, tearing a hiss from between his teeth as he rolled over the throbbing tip.
Geta’s self-control crumbled at the sight of you sprawled out before him. Your hands roamed your own body fluttering over your core and massaging your breasts. With each pass of your fingers, his need to feel you wrapped around him grew too much to bear. Done with waiting, done with watching, the emperor lowered himself on top of you, collecting your slick with his member before easing himself inside. Geta’s strong arms caged you in, blocking out everything but the feeling of you and him together. He searched for your lips, needing to kiss you, but the embrace soon turned into nothing more than swallowing each other's moans. Each roll of his hips brought you closer to the edge once more, even as he clung to the final shred of himself.
“Geta, please…” The pitiful sound of his name tumbling from your lips, accompanied the drag of your nails along his back. Your actions were sure to have left a mark, but it mattered not. With one final pull at the base of his hair, Geta let himself go. You were soon to follow. Your ragged breaths matched with his as he lowered himself further onto you. His weight was heavy against your chest, and yet you knew without it you’d feel exposed. It was exactly what you both needed as you came down from your high.
As your breathing slowed down, the emperor rolled to his side, leaving you empty. You whined at the loss of him, but as if sensing your need, he reached for you, hauling you close. Your face pressed into his chest as your legs tangled. Alone, in his bed, Geta pressed a kiss to your forehead and held you close. For the first time in ages, the world seemed right, as if nothing terrible could happen. He knew that come break of day things would return to normal, but for now, he’d live in this temporary reality.
