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Summary: All husbands must love their wives. The Emperor was no exception.
In the magnificence of Ancient Rome, there existed a love story that defied expectations.
It revolved around Emperor Geta, a notorious figure known for his insatiable thirst for blood in the gladiator games, and his beloved wife, a gentle soul who despised violence.
As the sun cast its golden glow upon the Colosseum, Geta and his wife, you, found yourselves surrounded by a roaring crowd, eagerly awaiting the sensation that unfolded before you.
Gladiator games.
The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of sweat mixed with the metallic smell of blood.
While Geta enjoyed the brutality of the games, you struggled to moderate your own emotions with the darkness of said games.
Amidst the clamour and the rising heat, you felt a wave of sickness washing over you. You were sitting beside Geta, his brother watching from his own chair.
The sight of blood and the overbearing atmosphere became too much for your heart to bear.
Your face paled, and your breathing grew shallow.
As if sensing your distress, Geta turned to you.
With a concerned look, Geta gently took your shaking hand in his own.
He led you away from the frenzy, finding comfort in a secluded corner where the noise of the Colosseum was muted and it was a bit colder.
His voice, soft and soothing, whispered words of comfort and love into her ear.
"My Darling. It is probably way too hot for you, and also the blood. I know how much you dislike it."
"Geta. I'm sorry." you whispered as you finally felt like you could breathe.
"No need for it. I only wished for you to share the same love for the games as I do. But I see it now, this really is not for you."
"I'm truly sorry." Moved by his tenderness, you looked into his eyes, realizing the depth of his affection.
At that moment, Geta sealed his devotion with a tender kiss on your forehead.
It was a gesture that spoke volumes, an affirmation of his love for you.
As the night arrived in Rome, Geta and you retired to your chambers after dinner.
The flickering candlelight danced upon your faces, illuminating the room with a warm glow.
It all filled your heart with such happiness.
You believed, that in this room, you were only a wife and a husband, nothing less, nothing more.
No Rome, no power, no titles.
Just a man and a woman.
Geta, captivated by the beauty and kindness in you, watched you as you peacefully slept.
The Emperor rolled onto his side watched your face in the candlelight as you faced him.
Overwhelmed by the depth of his emotions, he was awestruck by the fortunate turn of fate that had brought you together.
Even if it wasn't fate. It was all him.
His selfish nature declared you as his wife the moment your eyes met his.
But in that moment, he realized that his love for you had transformed him. Softening the edges of his bloodthirsty nature and revealing a gentler side.
With a heart full of appreciation, Geta whispered silent words of adoration into the night.
He vowed to cherish you, to protect you from the darkness that lurked beyond the chambers.
And so, your love story continued to unfold, defying the expectations of a bloodthirsty emperor and his gentle wife.
It was the kind of love that exceeded history.
People the upcoming centuries learned about the brutal Emperor Geta and his beloved wife.
summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)
pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader
contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)
Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.
Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.
You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.
“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”
His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.
He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all.
“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”
So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.
You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.
“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”
“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”
“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”
You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water.
Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.
Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.
This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.
Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls.
They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.
But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him.
It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.
Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.
“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you.
Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.
“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.
Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.
Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura.
You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.
Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.
“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”
He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.
“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”
“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”
“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes.
Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.
He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you.
His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.
It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him.
“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”
Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.
“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”
You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.
“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”
“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”
Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.
He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.
“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”
You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.
“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.
The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now.
Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you.
You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that.
Death is death.
Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath.
The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is.
The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.
“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”
The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.
Marcus nods wordlessly in response.
Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.
“Well… What is it?”
Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”
Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.
He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames.
White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.
The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.
You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.
“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.
Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”
“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”
“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”
Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.
“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”
“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended.
The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now.
You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.
Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way.
There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.
His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.
“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”
“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”
A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”
Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.
Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.
Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.
Geta mistakes your fear.
“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”
Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.
“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”
He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before.
Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.
Geta’s grin widens. “Precisely. Now undress.”
You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame.
Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.
The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.
Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.
“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”
You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs.
Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch.
“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.
“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”
You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.
Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands.
You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath.
You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.
His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.
Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air.
He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.
“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”
You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.
You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in.
“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”
You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.
You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now.
You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.
“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”
The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.
“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”
“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”
Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.
The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.
He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.
But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.
You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.
You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.
“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more.
His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.
“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”
Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward.
Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours.
Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.
The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.
“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…”
Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”
Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.
The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.
“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”
Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor.
Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.
Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.
“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’.
The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.
This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.
Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”
Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.
Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”
When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.
Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.
Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure.
His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.
“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”
He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.
“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”
You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.
Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.
“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”
He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away.
Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.
“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”
Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.
“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”
Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.
“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.
Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver.
“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”
Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.
“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.
“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”
The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.
“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”
summary_ Hanno, the man you loved, was getting married, you left Numidia and when he found you again, you were married to one of the emperors of Rome.
warnings_ historical inaccuracy, vague semi public sex, angst, sexism and misogyny, fluff but angst, a lot of canon divergence bc I said so, FLUFF, no proofread.
notes_ pls listen to mermaids and queen of peace from Florence + The Machine, there’s so many Paul Mescal type of vibe songs
✰ Index (+ fics here)
𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸
The sun burned your skin, often leaving carmine splotches across your shoulders, arms, and neck. But you loved collecting shells and finding pearls to sell. The water was warm as well but soothed the heat of the sun.
Loneliness wasn’t a stranger. Being a kid in the sandy streets all alone, with no family made you judgmental.
It was a fluke that you knew how to speak in Masri, Etruscan, and Latin. With an uncertain origin, you could only guess that you might have come from Egypt or Etruria Padana.
As a teenager, you arrived in Numidia, where you found a job that made you a pioneer in the waters.
Everyone let their hands get wet to fish. But barely, they took the time to dig deeper and for a longer period to collect shells, oysters, and fascinating underwater treasures.
Over the years, you earned the names of “siren” or “sea foam woman”. The children enjoyed your stories of mermaids and sailors in mysterious waters, making you a trustworthy friend to almost everyone in Numidia.
“Imagine the sunset as if someone had splotched pink, orange, and purple over the aquamarine sea,” you say pointing at the shore. “That’s when all of the mermaids swam to the surface and played”
The children giggle and you chuckle, feeling that you shake as doing so, you quickly look down at the sleeping baby in your arms, wondering if you have woken him up. False alarm. Her mother, Nessarea, was a good friend of yours and she trusted you enough to leave her kid as she worked trimming satin in the market.
“But when they looked around, they found a big ship full of sailors. The mermaids got scared and hid…”
“Did the sailors hurt them?” A little girl with braids asked.
“No, dear. The sailors proposed a deal. They would visit the mermaids once a year and take one of them. In exchange, treasures would be given”
“And that’s why you’re here, y/n! You’re a mermaid and the sailors took you!” Soon an adult masculine laugh was mixed with yours, making you frown and look around. Only to find an unmistakable pair of blue eyes looking at you. That makes your smile grow and your heart to warmth.
“I’m not certain about that, little one” The boy makes a pout and at a certain distance you hear a bamboo flute. The sign of mothers calling their children to go home.
“No, y/n. You have to tell us who was the first mermaid to go with the sailors. Or else we’ll assume it was you “
“I’ll keep it a secret for tonight” you finalize, standing up and saying goodbye to each child. You watch them run away, to the village. And it’s only you and the baby in your arms, who started squirming and stretching.
And your dear Hanno.
“Parents will come and complain to you…” he says, remaining seated on a big rock and looking in awe at you.
“Let the children believe in fantasy while they can” you answer, tending the baby and smiling at his tiny hands forming fists. “Soon they’ll understand I am no mermaid”
“Hardly. Every day there’s a sea foam woman on the shore…” you glare at him with disdain, only to laugh again. He made space for you to sit beside him. And for some minutes he would only look at you taking care of the baby.
“How did you know I was here?” You ask eyeing him. Subtly he blushes.
“It isn’t a secret you gather all the children to tell them tells” you chuckle.
“Like a star chases the sun…” you say resting your head on his shoulder. Which he finds lovely. “You always find me, Hanno”
“And I will always will…”
Hanno was a reserved man. You met him years ago when he also arrived in Numidia. He was lonely like you, rarely spoke about his past, and claimed to be centered in the present.
“Here… I brought you something” he said, digging his hand under the pocket of his tunic. He took out a necklace. Made with shells you had collected.
“Hanno… this is beautiful. It must have costed a lot. You shouldn’t…” you almost whisper, holding the piece of art with one hand and looking at it in love.
Just like you were with him.
“It’s a present, y/n. No inquires in the cost”
“Thanks. I truly love it…” he nods, urging you to lift your hair so he can place the necklace around your neck.
You look at the shore again, now almost in complete darkness. But soon you get lost as you feel his calloused fingers in your exposed skin. He was a farmer, with tanned skin, burnt blonde hair, and a beard that made him look like a Roman prince.
It was a mystery the day you fell in love with him. As well as when you would confess it.
“What is he doing?” Hanno asks after putting the necklace around you. You frown confused but soon you understand. The baby in your arms wanted to grab his beard. “Ajay likes you, Hanno”
The man looks carefully at the baby. He wasn’t around children very often. But he enjoyed how well you handled them. It made him want a family. And he often wondered if you wanted the same. With him…
Little Ajay wrapped his tiny hand around Hanno’s finger and it made your heart swell.
“I’m getting a piece of the land where we have the green sprouts” he announces and it makes you squeal in happiness. “Hanno, that’s the most exciting news!”
“I’m having a home” he realized as you were ushering to hug him, slightly sandwiching Ajay.
Hanno bit his tongue, almost saying what he dreamed. Asking if you wanted to be part of his home.
…
When rain fell upon the dry and arid land of Numidia, you felt superstitious, feeling it was a bad omen.
You hadn’t seen Hanno in a couple of days. The last time you saw him he said he would come and visit you. The spring nights you spent together made you realize how in love you were. It was uncertain if Hanno loved you back but you thought it might have been mutual. Because of the way his eyes locked on yours, the way his hands carefully traced some spots on your body, the smiles that felt very personal to you.
Hanno made you feel special. He was your best friend. The person you would sacrifice for and the one who could take out your heart as dramatic as it sounded.
“You’ve waited for him for days, y/n,” Nessarea said, rocking Ajay in her arms as she patted your shoulder. “Are you gonna tell him about the matron?”
“It depends…” you answer, sighing, looking at the valley in front of you. The clothes hanging, waiting to get dry swayed with the warm air.
“On what?”
“I’m telling him I love him. If Hanno loves me back, I will forget about the matron” The old woman from the elite saw you dancing and asked if you knew how to write and read. You knew the minimum because Hanno taught you, but you needed more. She claimed she could educate you, but not in Numidia. She didn’t tell you where.
“You really love him that much?” Nessarea asked.
“So much that I would remain in ignorance just to be with him”
“I would’ve done the same for Calisto” Your friend had lost his husband before Ajay was born. You felt terrible for her, as she had also been in love.
“You can love again, Nessarea. Calisto will always be yours. But you can be happy again, Ajay too…” you say kissing the baby’s head.
When you turn around, you see Hanno walking through the hanging clothes and a smile appears.
“He’s here!” You announce, literally running outside the little hut, straight to his arms.
He accepts your embrace and you hear him chuckling.
“You worried me, Hanno!” you say after breaking the hug, giving him a little punch on his strong chest. “You took so long to come over”
“I’m sorry” he didn’t look as happy as he was when he first saw you. You sensed he even looked nervous. “I’ve been busy”
“Let’s go inside, it’s raining” You take his hand but he doesn’t follow you. Which makes you turn around and look again at him, expectantly.
“I’m getting married to Arishat” the oxygen drained from your lungs. Your smile disappeared and Hanno noticed it. “Her father made the offer last night and I couldn’t say no”
Arishat was a couple of years older than you, the same age as Hanno. Her father was a warrior and they were native from Numidia but they were away for some time. They arrived back a couple of months ago and Hanno started working with his father, where he met the woman.
“You couldn’t say no? Hanno, you can’t marry someone you don’t love”
“I guess I’ll learn to love her. Because it is-….” he was so close to saying that the one he loved was you.
“A matron saw me dancing a couple of days ago. We met and she wants to educate me” The decision was taken, Hanno had decided. Rage filled you, taking a step back, marking the distance between you and the man.
“A matron? Likely a filthy Roman scum” you frown at his words, crossing your arms.
“You’re not happy that I’m getting educated? That I’ll stop being just a woman that gets wet to put a damn piece of bread on that creaky table?” You spat out, pointing at the table that could be seen inside the hut.
“You know it’s not like that, y/n…” Hanno sighed, brushing his hair in exasperation. “You’re perfect just like you are, with the things you do…”
“Well, I want more” Hanno could feel the venom in your voice, he could see the coldness growing in your eyes and the distance you had placed.
You sigh, knowing it’s over. He’s getting married to a strong woman, one that everyone loved and praised along her family, and he would be happy as time passed. If he agreed to marry someone he barely knew was because he didn’t love you as you thought. Just as a friend…
“Congratulations on the engagement,” you say leaning to grab your empty basket, ready to go and collect shells, even in the pouring rain. “I truly hope you’re very happy with her”
“Come back, y/n…” you hear him calling you as your steps grow further. Tears swell in your eyes and you grab the basket even harder, hoping it would dissipate your need to scream in agony. “Please, y/n…”
Your figure slowly disappeared through the meadows, no longer a picture in the valley.
He screamed that he loved you. Hoping you would come back.
But you didn’t.
And hopefully this time he wouldn’t find you.
That night Hanno came back, willing to break the proposal and stay with you, but Nessarea opened the door with teary eyes, revealing you were gone. You promised to keep her and Ajay safe. Hanno found your basket of shells, all of them cracked, and only one of them remained untouched.
He wanted to cry out in desperation. If he would’ve said it when he had you in front of him, if he had chosen better words, if he had run faster, but he kept that cream iridescent shell under his tunic. Promising to hold on to your memory.
…
Promicia was the name of the matron that took you under her wing. After a month by her side, your hair was trimmed, and your skin felt like silk, unburnt. Your body was covered in fine fabrics, and she even arranged to get you a pair of earrings made of gold.
Promicia was cold, even heartless. But she was willing to make you shine just to make her name go even up higher leagues.
And she did it.
She made you forget everything you knew about Numidia. The siren everyone claimed to know actually turned into sea foam, to never be seen again. She washed away, melting away, to overseas.
“Keep your chin up and shoulders straight, girl,” Promicia said coldly. “I want you to look perfect when we arrive at the palace”
“Yes, dominus”
Even when you forgot who you were before arriving in Rome, you constantly remembered Nessarea as well as Ajay.
And Hanno. But as soon as you were reminded that he married, that he already had a home. Your blood boiled, to then succumb into sadness. Hence why you preferred to avoid his memory. Only resulting in pain.
And when Promicia announced that one of the emperors of Rome was interested in you, you had no time to go back to the past.
Your steps were confident as you ascended through the stairs of the most exotic and ostentatious place you’ve ever been to. The guards had luxurious uniforms, the carpets were perfectly handmade and when you reached the top, two red-haired men were standing there.
One was taller, with fine makeup around his eyes and cheekbones. The other had messy hair, a crown with leaves, and a little monkey resting on his shoulder. Their names are Geta and Caracalla.
You wondered which of the two twins was the one that wanted you.
Promicia ushered you to wait behind. She walked towards the twins and knelt, talking in Latin with them. You understood she was saying you came from Egypt, that you could read, write, sing, play the lyre, and dance as well as speak three languages.
You had no desire to fall in love again but if Promicia could secure you would have a shiny future, with power and security, you would give in.
“Come closer, girl…” the old woman called you and you obeyed. “Kneel down in respect of our emperors…”
You do as she says, your cream dress pooling on the floor. You look down, completely nervous but eager to know what will happen.
The fabric with dark blue and embroidered golden details appear in your view. You understand it’s Geta the one that is interested in you.
“Look at me, says” You raise your head slowly, matching his brown eyes. “What do you want?” Emperor Geta asked, his fingers resting on your chin, with his cold rings sending shivers down your spine.
“Mercy I implore…” he smiles at you and it’s evil, but loving at the same time. Like he has found something he could win over his twin brother.
And to you, it meant leaving the sea foam woman behind. A mermaid was taken away from the island, her teeth sharpening, ready to sink in whoever’s men tried to defy her. Even when it was the Roman Empire.
…
The count was lost after the third fig you ate. It was hot and dry and it made you feel irritated.
One day ago Acacius returned to Rome after conquering Numidia. Which led to having a doting husband that was beyond happy.
“Today we’ll see the new gladiators in the celebration and tomorrow the games will begin” Geta announced stepping behind the chair you were sitting at. Your eyes wandered into the mausoleum that was visible from the terrace of the palace, but soon you were distracted by the lips of your husband, leaving a trail of kisses. From your cheek to your neck.
“You’re excited, vita mea,” you say, tilting your head, giving him more space to wander. He pretends to innocently stop his kisses near your cleavage. Making you huff.
“You seem excited too…” he said chuckling, oblivious that you cared for him, but what you enjoyed with him was far from being devoted. “We’re leaving early today, y/n. Just after the entertainment…”
You hated Roman entertainment. You couldn’t feel nor see the thrill of witnessing death, violence, and chaos. But your husband loved it.
It wasn’t perfect, both of you often argued. But you always find a way to make up: with sex.
“Sure, my dear,” you say, turning around to kiss him on the lips. He soon leaves with a giant smile on his face.
Geta was head over heels for you. Sometimes he would use you to show off, especially to his brother.
But he stopped getting involved in orgies or requesting whores just because of you. He was extremely possessive but tender. Always make time for yourself and value your opinion. Which you took advantage of.
Weeks ago, when you learned Geta and Caracalla would send their army to Numidia. You had to beg General Acacius to take a longer route. Only that way your message to Nessarea would arrive in time for her to escape. The General was hesitant but as soon you got naked he changed his mind.
Upon his return, you cherished him with a hot and steamy welcome, sneaking out of the strong grip of your husband.
You wondered if Hanno made it alive. He was always good at self-defense, but if he tried to go against the Roman Empire, he would lose. You even prayed for General Acacius to survive the attack, above your once dear Hanno.
And you had grown fond of Geta. A weak emperor like his brother. Often clueless about what to do with the power they had. Making them a naïve pair. But he was nice to you, treating you like an empress.
You barely looked at the gladiators fighting and tearing the fancy tables filled with food. You hated looking at violence with no point, no reason to be. So you moved away, sneaking through the people to get the side of your husband.
Geta praised the anger of the gladiators. And he was very interested in one brought from Numidia. You heard he was insatiable, biting animals and killing without mercy.
So hearing Geta applauding to the spectacle said man had done, made you roll your eyes as you passed through people that mostly made reverences to you.
You had no desire to look up and see who was the man that had half of Rome intrigued.
Until he started reciting poetry. It made your steps slower, it made you feel cautious and spied on.
“Smooth is the descent, and easy is the way…”
“Psyche followed a path to prove her love to Eros. Like a star chases the sun…” you suddenly gasp. Turning to where the voice came from. You look terrified when you meet the eyes of the gladiator speaking. Saying the story you always loved.
Hanno is there, breathing for air, sweating, with blood dripping. He looks hurt, tired, enraged. But he had eyed you before you did, transmitting some hope and shock to you.
And it didn’t go unnoticed by your husband.
“What nonsense is this poet saying?” Geta asks with anger well hidden, possessively hurrying to grab you by the waist.
“He bit a monkey, he might have caught a disease, Amica mea” you whisper, acting stupid, pretending to be careless and clueless, like you don’t know the bloody man steps away from you was never important to you.
Hanno looks disappointed by your reaction. He stepped back, looking lost.
“Hmm…” Geta is not convinced, but you calm him well enough to let the matter die.
But you are in shambles. As soon as the celebration is over, you send Geta to wait for you in the palace. But you go straight to Macrinus, who was almost gone.
“I would like to talk to your gladiator” he turns around and smiles proudly.
“He put on a show today. How did you like it?” you have to force a smile and pretend to be excited.
“Oh, it was marvelous. I can’t wait to see what he’s doing tomorrow on the first day of the games. Because you’re bringing him, right?” Macrinus nods. “Of course, your highness”
“Good. I wish to see him. The poetry he recited was very touching. I must know where it comes to that charm” Macrinus believes your lie and nods again.
“Of course, follow me…”
…
You ended up in a bathhouse. Macrinus said Hanno was given a private room since he won the fight. Also said he was having a meeting and then would come back for his gladiators. So you didn’t have enough time.
And with four guards that had the order of not letting anyone inside until you came out, you reunited every strength you had to step inside.
A door creaked and soon you heard the sound of water splashing. When you looked up, you pulled your cloak down and finally met the man who had you in crisis.
“Y/n…” his voice echoed, sounding deeper and hypnotizing.
“Why are you here?” Your clumsy steps made you look nervous, which Hanno quickly noticed. “Who sent you to Macrinus?”
“Numidia was conquered” he simply replied, eyeing at you. Realizing how much you had changed. Your once-free hair was trapped in a weird hairstyle and a crown of leaves and flowers. Your dress looked expensive and your skin was in perfect condition. Certainly looks like royalty.
“I know that”
“Perhaps because you formed part of the decision” that makes you frown.
“I’m not involved in the military issues of Rome” you coldly answer.
“You married the emperor?” He asks, mocking you. But you could also play the same game. Even if it didn’t have an effect on him. Or so you thought.
“Where’s your lady?” He looks down, visibly pissed off.
“She didn’t make it...” you cannot feel anything. “Your beloved General commanded her death under the call of your husband and his brother”
“I’m sorry” you lie.
“No, you don’t. You’ve joined their cause. You became empress of an empire that is ruled by violence and blood” You roll your eyes.
“You know who was in my head when the opportunity presented?” You ask sharply, causing Hanno to remain quiet. “Nessarea and Ajay”
Your statement makes the place turn into eternal silence. He is thinking and it makes you anxious.
“I would do anything to go back to that day and say what I actually wanted…” he doesn’t add more details because is not necessary. “And stop you from leaving”
“I wouldn’t be alive” you answer quickly, opting to not pry about what he wanted to say the day you left. You were unable to fight, and if Rome had attacked with you there, you would’ve died or ended up as a whore, servant or slave. “And my friend with her baby neither”
“Where is she?” Hanno asks with curiosity.
“She settled to the north. Where snow falls in the winter and foreign widows are welcome” With honesty, Hanno felt happiness for the woman and his kid. And that made him feel guilty. Because maybe, deep down, under the ostentatious look you carried, there was the sea foam woman he met. Forced to forget who she was.
“I never asked why you knew all that poetry…” Hanno smirks, ending with a sad smile. “You just know half the truth, y/n”
“That’s why you wanted my attention back at the celebration?” Your voice holds a lot of resentment towards him. Hanno can’t say he doesn’t understand why. But he was also mad at you for becoming a full Roman woman.
“I made you a promise. To always find you no matter what” You walk closer, but as soon as you realize he’s naked underwater, you stop and look away, to the stone wall.
“What’s the point? You’re basically a slave and even if you buy your freedom, I married an emperor” his blood boils. His visible hand forms a fist and it makes you question if he was jealous.
“He doesn’t love you” you chuckle, ignoring your previous shame and taking a seat on the edge of the pool. You would see if you could push some of his buttons.
“Oh, he does love me. He treats me like a queen and always asks for my opinion. He kisses me with adoration and fucks me with devotion…” his jaw tenses at your words and you have to hide your grin.
Both of you are killing each other with your looks. He taps his index finger against the warm edge of the pool, angered. And when you least expect it, his arms come out and drag you down into the water, making you gasp in shock.
“You foolish idiot!” He possessively grabs you by the waist and makes you straddle him, colliding with his chest.
Your dress and hair are drenched, you feel heavy but you don’t miss the way he was holding you. And you know it’s sudden but you have to know something.
“Tell me the truth. You’re the missing prince? The son of Lucilla?” you whisper in his lips, he nods, holding your hips in place. “Hanno is not your real name”
“No. My name is Lucius Verus Aurelius” The shock is great, taking you in the curve. “You have to be very careful”
“I don’t care. But I can’t stand looking at you by the arm of that witless man. I don’t want the General touching you, I don’t want that emperor claiming you his” you smirk.
“But I’m not yours…” he leans forward, eyeing you with a deep gaze that makes you shiver.
“You were mine since the day we met” and he kissed you. “I was a fool for not saying how much I loved you”
“What?” You ask, freezing. “What are you saying?”
“That I love you. I always did” he admits proudly, but also slightly shy. “I wanted to make you part of the home I built. Every time I saw you with Ajay and the other kids, I thought of a family with you. I came back after we argued, willing to break my engagement because I wanted to be with you. But you were gone”
It’s too much. You feel the tears rolling down and before you can clean them, Lucius does it.
“Don’t cry, satis. Now I realize it’s all my fault” his broken smile tears your heart, suddenly making you feel disgusted with what you have become. “But is the truth, my dear y/n”
“Damn you, Lucius Verus Aurelius” you curse between sobs, leaning to kiss him again. His hand softly traced your cheek and the other caressed the skin of your hips.
You let him throw the dress to the floor, the heavy wet sound drenching the carpet.
And as Lucius makes love to you, you realize you’ll never let him go. And you’ll hardly see him dying in the arena.
“I’ll come up with something. But we won’t die separated, love” you say before moaning, midway through his deep thrusts.
You realize no one felt the same way he did. No one filled you well enough, no one worshiped you like him.
He rests his forehead against yours, loving the way you looked on top of him, like an actual siren that gave him the luck of a passionate encounter.
Lucius is sure he will win his freedom. He will kill whoever he needs to make you free as well. He has no hopes of seeing you again but he realizes he had you saying his real name like a mantra. And he kisses you, swallowing your loud moan as you came on his cock.
“Gods, I love you, Lucius” you admit sighing, catching your breath and feeling how he spilled his seed deep within your walls.
“I love you too” he admits, kissing your lips with passion, and love and making a mess of saliva. He would’ve wanted to take you under different circumstances. In a bed, in peace, being free…
Soon a guard pokes his head and looks at the floor, keeping his loyal and respectful status clean.
“Your majesty, we must leave now before Emperor Geta suspects…” you sigh, looking back at Lucius.
“Hold on, Bellator meus” Grabbing his chin, trembling at the itchy feeling of his beard, he nods “Promise me to survive”
“Like a star chases the sun. I will always find my way to you, dear y/n” Giving him a quick peck, you get out of the pool. You put on the dress that was almost completely dry again.
“We’ll be together, Lucius” he nods leaning into the edge of the pool. “I know…”
“I’ll come back to see you tomorrow after the games” and with a last look, you reciprocate the smile he gave you and quickly leave the bathhouse.
That night, in his filthy cell, Lucius pleasantly sleeps, with his hand clutching the shell he kept from you. Knowing all of those nights thinking of you and praying to see you again without hope, were worth it.
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—: synopsis - Caracalla the disastrous, caracalla the mighty. thousands would cower down and pray in fear of such a man, but you? you offered love and kisses upon the head.
—: warnings - none. pure fluff for the soul.
—: an - is it a little off character? oh yeah. but the man needs more soft love and I am here to provide.
not everyday was caracalla affectionate. he was moody sometimes— angry at you even when someone else had provoked him.
but tonight?
tonight he couldn’t stop adoring you; you had no idea what had gotten into him. caracalla was never this affectionate, at least without jealousy or a beverage involved.
“do you love me?” the man mumbled, it was muffled against your skin. his breath was warm and sticking to you without delay. “of course,” you hummed, slipping fingers into the crown of his head, gently guiding your fingers through the soft and messy locks.
instantly Caracalla folded, the candlelight bounced of his face and illuminated each shadow and crevice with purpose. he was handsome, you certainly couldn’t deny such a fact. his eyes were soft, a light pink and red hue danced around his eyelids as the rest of his skin lay pale and untouched.
his lips were a little chapped, proof of him picking and biting them after todays timeline
“—you?”
Perking up, your mind cleared. You hadn’t even realized you spaced out until the jumbles of his words came to.
“I’m sorry, my love, what was that?”
the man beside you shuddered at such an endearment. He felt so warm, so comfortable in your presence.
“I said, do you know I love you?” Letting out a quiet snicker, a nod was given. “of course, I see it in your eyes, husband.”
Caracalla frowned, confusion blotted his features. “My… eyes?”
Soft fingers glided against his cheek, to which he leaned into trustingly. A thumb traced the underside of his eye, gently tracing random shapes and letters unconsciously.
“Mmh, you look at me the way Dondus looks at his snacks, my love.”
He couldn’t help but let out a bubble of laughter. wrinkles began to form around his eyes from such a joyous action, however his vision never faltered from admiring your blushing face. “I’m serious! You— you do!”
“Angel, what an odd way of phrasing such a thing!” Joining him in the barrage of giggles, you slumped onto him, digging your chin into the crevice of his neck.
“You’re not much of a poet, even I could have thought of better,”
You gasped, with hands now holding you upright on his chest a mischievous glint was caught in Caracallas eyes. “You jest, husband, surely. I’m more of a poet than you could ever be!”
“Oh?” The emperor challenged. Already taking advantage of this new position, both arms wrapped around your waist, prohibiting you from moving even an inch away.
“Mhm! Don’t you remember the last full moon? The festivities— the worshipping I gave—,”
A big, warm hand stopped you from going further, covering the entirety of your mouth and a giggle burst against the skin.
“I am more than aware of such a night, quiet it down before someone hears you.”
Although the walls were thick, and no one would ever think of disturbing such high power; there was celebration below, citizens from far and near joined in tonight’s merriment and Caracalla didn’t need anyone hearing of such a frivolous act between the two of you.
Feeling particularly bold, a light nibble was given to the man. Startled by such a sharp pain, the hand was removed and you were (temporarily), free to do as you pleased. Not sparing even a moment, your lips brushed against Caracallas ear with mischievous purpose. “Don’t you want them to know im yours? Have me scream your name in pleasure—“
“Careful,” The ginger seethed, already shuffling uncomfortably under you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, wife.”
“And who said I couldn’t finish, husband?” Suddenly, a grip was bestowed onto the back of your neck, pushing you forward until your soft lips collided with rougher ones.
Submitting into him, you allowed the pushing and shoving of his tongue, the way his hands pulled at your robes and squeezed each open crevice of skin they could find.
Caracalla quickly pulled back, a string of saliva followed suit and a dazed— hungry look was swimming in his vision.
“Angel?”
Your hands shakily moved across his form, undoing and untying his garments haphazardly.
A wet hum left you, you were so busy with the action you failed to notice his eyes upon you.
And how in love the man looked, felt while beside your side.
His eyes, half lidded and flooded with affection never faltered.
The way you looked in the moonlight, how the silk you were wearing was slowly dragging down your shoulders messily.
Your braids were undone, pulled in every which way from Caracallas hands—and your face?
Gods, there was a reason he called you angel.
No one looked as beautiful as you, and he doubted such a being ever would.
“I love you,” finally the words left him— shoved their way out like spilled wine upon cobblestone.
Another idea that popped up in my head one day. Sliding this here for later story potential!
You're given to the Gladiator as a prize. A sponsor of theirs believes that relieving pent-up frustrations would better the Gladiator's performance in the arena.
You expect the worse. To be pinned down and used like all the other companions given to these fighters.
But they're...nothing like what you've been told.
They offer you new clothes to cover up the very skimpy costume their sponsors had dressed you up in. The fine silks and cotton swallow you, meant to clothe the Gladiator and not a Human.
Then they give you some of the best food you've ever eaten. Provided by the city so the best fighter is kept in tip-top shape. Nothing like the gruel or cold porridge you're used too.
They keep their distance for a long time. Only ever coming close when their sponser/owner visits and the two of you make a show of The Gladiator being happy with your body.
Any and all touches they give during these times are fleeting and gentle. And after you're both alone again, The Gladiator apologises profusely.
When they go out into arena, you're left alone in their room, listening to the roar of the crowd and wait in tense silence until they return.
Every win, they bring you prizes and pretty things. Anything you want, they demand from their sponsers/owner.
"If my bed-warmer isn't happy, then I'm not happy." They'll growl at those that pay for the Gladiator's luxuries. The only time The Gladiator calls you unsavoury names is around others. Behind closed doors, they'll apologizes and grumbles softly.
"If I start showing I'm soft towards you, they'll use you as bait in the arena. I've seen it too many times."
They're cold and distant most of the time. But they ensure you're comfortable.
"You're better off in here with me than some pig next door." They'd say. And you agreed.
Other Gladiator companions are always bruised or worse. Treated like toys. Your Gladiator is respectful.
All they do ask of you is warmth.
During the colder months, the nights freeze the city in ice and The Gladiator drags you to bed one night. Wrapping themselves around you and promising nothing will happen when you tense up.
"I'm just so fucking cold." They would say.
Your next demand of the sponsors is the best blankets and furs. Because you're cold. And who would refuse The Gladiator's best toy a warm nest?
It sounds better than the sponsors hearing that the big scary Gladiator Monster gets cold easily.
And The Gladiator keeps their promise. While you're both under the covers, wrapped up in the softest blankets and in a cocoon of warmth, their hands never wander.
You do feel their arousal on occasion. But you don't say anything. Because you were praying, they couldn't feel/smell your arousal either on these cold days.
I own none of these characters except Y/N (if you even want to consider her a character)
——————
Y/N stood amongst the opulence of Senator Thraex's grand party, her eyes scanning the lavish surroundings. The twin emperors, were seated in places of honor, their presence commanding the room, while their whores rubbed themselves desperately against their emperors. But it was the sight in the center of the room that captured her attention—two gladiators were about to fight for the evening's entertainment.
“What are they going to do Aelia?” Y/N asked her friend next to her who was coincidentally Senator Thraxe’s young wife, Aelia
“What does it look like, silly, they’re gonna fight!” Aelia said getting excited
Among them was a fierce looking dark haired man, and an older barbaric gladiator known for his fierce reputation. As the fight started, Y/N watched intently. The dark haired man seemed reluctant, trying to stop the other man, but the crowd's demands and the emperor's orders left him no choice. With a heavy heart and a fierce determination, after minutes of fighting, the dark haired man eventually impaled his opponent, the crowd in the room erupting in cheers. Y/N and Aelia giggling as they clapped, finding entertainment in these fights.
“What a spectacular fight” Emperor Geta said as he finished clapping dramatically and walked over in front of the dark haired man.
“What’s your name, slave.”
The silence in the room was deafening, so silent you could hear your guards breathing.
“Hanno is his name, Caesar. He only speaks his native tounge, Caesar” Macrinus the stable master said as he reassured him.
The emperor hummed as if he was thinking of what to say next. Finally, the dark haired slave spoke up.
“The gates of Hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.” He said with a smug look.
“So Hanno is a poet, too” Geta said while chuckling dryly.
“Geta don’t be rude” Caracalla said in a joking manner as he sat up in his seat. All his jewelry clanked as he moved.
For a split second Hanno looked over trying to regain his composure, eyes landing on Y/N
“Can’t wait to see how you are in the arena. Hanno.” Emperor Geta said as he looked at the slave one last time before walking back to his seat
Soon after, the music of the harp started back up. Moved by his internal struggle and the raw power he displayed, Y/N made a swift decision. She turned to her guard and whispered urgently, "I must meet him. Arrange it immediately." The guard nodded and hurried to comply.
______
Soon after, Y/N found herself in the steam-filled bathhouse where Hanno was enjoying his hard-earned reward. He looked up as she entered, jewelry adorning her wrists and her necklace sparkling off the steaming water. His eyes narrowing with suspicion and curiosity. “You’re not supposed to be here" he said, his voice rough and edged with bitterness.
“So he speaks”
Y/N stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "I saw you fight. You did not want to kill him, yet you did. I wanted to meet the man who battles not just with his body, but with his conscience."
Hanno's expression softened slightly, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. "And what do you hope to gain from this meeting? And again why are you here?" His words were still harsh, but there was a hint of something else—perhaps a spark of interest in the boldness of the beautiful lady.
“You heard me the first time” Y/N said, in a challenging tone. She sat down on the ledge of the tub as spoke with a lowered voice. "I want to know where you came from, Hanno. Who you are beyond the fighting. I saw the conflict in your eyes tonight. You're not just a brute for their entertainment."
Hanno's eyes narrowed, though his posture remained relaxed. "You speak with conviction, but words are easy, princess. What makes you think your curiosity will change anything? What makes you think I even want to share my past?"
“You think I’m a princess? So eager to jump to conclusions. Well if it make a difference I’m General Acacius’ daughter. Now you know where I come from” Y/N said trying to read the dark haired man
“You didn’t answer me the first time, why are you here?” Hanno said, eyes darkening as he realized who’s daughter he was talking to
Y/N's lips curved into a smirk. "Because I believe there's more to you than what meets the eye. And because I know what it's like to be trapped by expectations, to have your identity overshadowed by a title. We are not so different, you and I.“ She said as she got up from where she was sitting and got ready to walk out.
“In two days time, when you’re in the arena, win the crowd. They’ll love you” She said smugly before walking out.
______
Two days later, the Colosseum was buzzing with excitement. The gladiator games were set to continue, and the crowd was eager for more bloodshed. The Emperors, Macrinus, General Acacius, Lucilla, and Y/N were all present, watching intently from their seats. All in their noble attire, the emperors gold accessories sparkling in the sunlight.
Hanno and the other gladiators were brought into the arena. As they stood there, Hanno knelt and ran the dirt through his hands, a gesture reminiscent of the late warrior Maximus. This caught Lucilla’s attention, and she recognized Hanno. Y/N, noticing Lucilla’s reaction, leaned in.
“Lucilla, you seem troubled. Are you alright?” Y/N asked with genuine concern.
“I am fine, just... a memory stirred dear,” Lucilla replied, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.
The games commenced with a brutal fervor. Hanno and the other gladiators were pitted against the undefeated gladiator Glyceo, who entered the arena atop his fearsome rhino. The battle was fierce and chaotic, with Glyceo mercilessly slaughtering the other men. The crowd roared with approval as the bodies fell, leaving only Hanno standing against Glyceo.
Y/N nervously started twisting her rings around her fingers, praying to the gods they kept Hanno alive.
Hanno and Glyceo faced each other, the tension palpable. Their fight was intense, each strike filled with raw power. Glyceo managed to knock Hanno to the ground. Geta, watching from above, turned his back looking for someone to help him decide
“Y/N, what do you think we should do with him” Geta asked as the arena waited for an answer
“Caesar, show mercy.” Y/N said in an almost pleading tone. Finding entertainment in these fights. Geta pointed his thumb upwards. Giving Glyceo a chance to spear Hanno
“Mercy is for the weak.”
Hanno, refusing to give up, rose to his feet and continued the fight. With a final, desperate effort, he impaled Glyceo, the champion’s eyes widening in shock as the blade was pulled out of his stomach. The crowd fell silent, holding their breath as they awaited the next move.
Geta, maintaining his cruel demeanor, gave the thumbs-down signal. Hanno, breathing heavily and covered in blood, took two swords and, with a swift, cross-like motion, decapitated Glyceo. The head rolled away as the crowd erupted into a mixture of shock and exhilaration.
Y/n watched intently as Hanno stood victorious, his chest heaving, and his eyes wandered to the Emperors box across the arena. The crowd cheering was deafening. He had won the crowd. In that moment, it was clear that the games were far from over.
Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, knowing that this was only the beginning of a much larger conflict.
______
“Row. Row. Row” The commander said as the gladiators kept rowing, the practice exhausting them, hands aching.
“Ridiculous” Hanno mumbled as the commander walked past him. The commander immediately stopped in his tracks.
“What did you say, slave?”
“I said this is ridiculous” Hanno said staring him down.
“Alright, everyone out. Except you” The commander said.
“You will row until it isn’t ridiculous” the commander said as he grinned evilly as he stood tall, hands behind his back.
“I guess we’ll be here a while then” Hanno said as he started rowing again.
______
After practice, Hanno woke up by a stinging pain in his hand, still seated in the boat. Ravi, the healer, seated in front of him.
"Calm down, Hanno. It is just vinegar" Ravi said, his voice calm and reassuring as he gathered his materials.
As Ravi worked, cleaning and bandaging Hanno's hands, Hanno couldn't help but think about Y/N. The way she had leaned in to speak with Lucilla, the concern in her eyes—it all intrigued him.
"Ravi," Hanno began, wincing slightly as Ravi applied a salve to a particularly deep cut, "Tell me about Y/N."
"Y/N Acacius? General Acacius’ daughter? Why do you want to know?” Ravi said, chuckling as if it was a funny question.
“Well go on.”
Ravi paused for a moment, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “There’s not much to it. She's the general's daughter…. But.. never mind.
“What Ravi?” Hanno said, starting to get annoyed.
“There's more to her than what meets the eye."
Hanno's interest was piqued. "What do you mean?"
Ravi continued, his hands moving deftly over Hanno's wounds. "She's a warrior, trained in the arts of combat. But she stopped fighting after the death of her mother and her father's remarriage. People know she knows how to fight, but not many bother for her hand because they know she’s strong and the general’s daughter—meaning she was taught very well in combat."
Hanno absorbed this information, a newfound interest growing within him. "A warrior who set aside her sword... I didn't expect that."
Ravi smiled slightly. "Few do. But y/n is not one to be underestimated. She carries the weight of her responsibilities with grace and strength. You'd do well to remember that. Why do you want to know though, I thought you hated the General."
As Ravi finished tending to his wounds, Hanno felt a sense of admiration and curiosity about Y/N. He realized that there was much more to her than he had initially thought, and he was determined to learn more about the mysterious women who had captured his attention.
______
Y/N was lounging in the tablinum area, her mind drifting aimlessly as she tried to relax. The events of the day had been intense, and she needed a moment of peace. Just then, Lucilla walked in, her face etched with worry and tension.
"Lucilla, what's wrong?" Y/N asked, sitting up straighter. She had noticed Lucilla's troubled demeanor earlier at the games but hadn't had the chance to ask.
Lucilla hesitated, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. "Y/N, there's something I need to tell you. But if I tell you, you cannot share this to another soul. And right now only your father knows about this.”
“What troubles you?”
“It's about Hanno... or rather, Lucius." Lucilla says as she finds a seat near Y/N
Y/N's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Lucius? What do you mean?"
Taking a deep breath, Lucilla began to explain. "Hanno is actually my son. His real name is Lucius. After my brother Commodus was killed by Maximus, I had to send Lucius away to keep him safe. He was and still is the rightful successor, and I feared for his life."
Y/N listened intently, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together. "So, you sent him away to protect him?"
"Yes," Lucilla nodded, her voice trembling slightly. "Senator Gracchus helped me arrange to meet with Lucius to tell him the truth about his parentage. He is the son of Maximus. But when I told him, he was furious. He ordered me to leave his cell, angry that I had sent him away and blaming Acacius for Arishat’s death."
Y/N's heart ached for Lucilla. She didn’t know who Arishat was or why he was mad at her father, but she had to figure it out"That's a lot for him to take in. What will you do now?"
"I went to your father," Lucilla admitted, her eyes pleading. "I asked him to help Lucius. He needs guidance and support now more than ever."
Y/N reached out, placing a comforting hand on Lucilla's shoulder. "We'll find a way to help him. He's strong, just like you. We'll get through this together."
Lucilla nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Thank you, Y/N. Your support means everything to me."
Together, they sat in the quiet of the tablinum, the weight of their shared burdens palpable but bearable in each other's company.
______
I hope yall liked it! I got a request from someone to make a story for this, so I did it! Now I know it’s not all comely accurate but I’m working with what I got so take it or leave it! There most likely will be a part 2 if this goes how I want it but let me know if y’all even want a pt 2!🩷
