#gladiator geta

[volertile]

you and me always forever

[velveteen-e]

Rip geta you would have loved chunky y2k jewelry

[amphitriteswife]

꧁ ༺mercy༻ ꧂

❦ pairing: Emperor Geta x empress reader

❦ Warnings: Geta yelling at his wife, reader doesn’t get along with Caracalla.

❦ note: i’m so in love with Geta and yes i have other fics with the same name

❦ summary: Emperor Geta wanted to kill Acacius.

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Geta’s eyes focused on the arena. The sight before him made him feel conflicted. Acacius on his knees with his hand raised as a sign of admitting defeat. Hanno looking up at him and waiting for his answer. The crowd themselves had made up their mind. They were switching between calling Hanno the winner and calling out mercy for general Acacius. Geta pressed his lips in a thin line, he gave Lucilla a side eye. She was crying out for the general. Doesn’t she get that it won’t help now? She wanted to kill the emperors of Rome! And now you expect mercy?! How delusional can you be? It’s almost shocking….yes…he would be shocked of he wasn’t so enraged. The crowd’s yelling began to become louder. Geta felt his anger building up? Mercy? Mercy?! Even after the general showed to be a traitor they want mercy?! Geta the rose from his seat. Caracalla told his brother to not show any mercy to the general. Geta gave him a glance and turned to the people. He looked up to the sky and muttered some words to the gods, communicating with them with what he should do. Slowly, Geta extended his hand forward. The crowd went silent, there was a thick atmosphere, the praetorians had lowered their bows. What was happening? Geta turned to his brother who seemed equally confused. The sudden sound of Lucilla gasping brought him back to earth, he felt a hand on his own, turning his thumb to point to the sky.

‘Mercy! Emperor Geta has shown general Acacius mercy!’

The announcement of the master of ceremonies made the crowd wild, people began to chant praises to him, something he longed for yet he feels only rage in a moment he had always dreamed off. He slowly turns his head to see you, his wife who shouldn’t have been here but in northern Africa. His eyes looked at you with rage. His pupils almost shaking with anger, his pale make up almost giving away the redness underneath it. He was livid. You could see the veins in his neck throbbing, Caracalla laughed at his brother’s anger. He found it rather amusing. Lucilla, who was reliefed with neither her son nor husband dying in the games thanked you with tears streaming down his face. Geta pulled his arm away from you and grabbed you by the arm instead.

‘What in tartarus name are you doing?!’

His voice is loud which caused Caracalla to laugh even harder, his brother’s anger is always something he enjoys. No matter who the cause is and what he might to do them. His eyes gleaming with enjoyment as he watched Geta go off in his fit of rage…only for him to stop when you put your hand on his brother’s mouth and leading him out of the colosseum. He quickly marched behind the two of you while Lucilla’s chains were undone by one of the praetorians. Caracalla couldn’t help but snicker, you’re either very brave..or very foolish…or perhaps both.

Back at the palace Geta finally let go of your arm and instead grabbed you by the cleavage of your chiton, his knuckled turning white, his face taking on an even deeper color of red. The make up didn’t help and only made him look more ridiculous. He was yelling so hard that there was spit flying out his mouth (sounds familiar) His eyes almost bulging out his sockets.

‘EMPRESS DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. HE WAS A TRAITOR. TRAITOR OF ME, OF ROME, OF YOU. OF US. HE NEEDED TO DIE.’

‘He was no such thing.’

‘HOW MORE IGNORANT CAN YOU BE! YOU LET THE MAN WHO WANTED TO KILL ME LIVE! DON’T YOU HAVE ANY DECENY? EVEN MACRINUS ADVISED ME TO KILL HIM!’

Your sigh made Geta stop and take a few breaths. He ran a hand trough his hair and then stopped it in front of his eyes. He feels exhausted. Caracalla in the mean time arrived at the palace and laughed once again at Geta’s outburst.

‘That’s quite the scene you made brother.’

Geta ignored his sentence and once again turned to you only to be met by you splashing water in his face and a cloth being thrown into his face.

‘Clean up. And shut your mouth. I just saved you from getting killed by the romans.’

Caracalla cackled at you while Geta grabbed the cloth of his face. He was still seething with rage and spat some insults at you.

‘That’s no way to speak to your wife.’

‘Wife? WIFE?! YOU EMBARRASSED ME!’

Embarrassed? Yes he gets embarrassed easily when he’s in front of his people but is he seriously this stupid? You saved him. The people were cheering for Acacius. After all he was way more loved that the emperor, with valid reasons too. Killing him would cause even more problems, and not to mention that it would show Geta’s insecurity.

‘An emperor knows when to show mercy and when not. An emperor doesn’t rely on someone like Macrinus to help him assure his choices. You should be sure of what to do and how to do it, not seek comfort in Macrinus when the general betrayed you. You’re an idiot.’

‘Brother, are you really taking a lecture from your little wife?’

‘Shut up, you rule with your head up your ass. You can’t even grasp the situation. All you care about is bloodshed and sex.’

Caracalla’s face turned sour at your words. He never liked you. Yes he does always want what his brother had but you? You’re just some useless piece of nothingness. And you have the galls to insult him? Hah! The sudden feeling of a blade being pressed against your neck wasn’t unexpected, Geta on the other hand was shocked and tried to get Caracalla off you.

‘I’ll cut you! You useless bitch!-’

‘Brother get a hold of yourself!’

Geta’s eyes flickered between his brother trying to free himself from his arms, and you not moving with a slight cut on your neck. Why are you so normal about all of this? Why do your eyes not hold any emotions? No fear? No anger? Just nothingness? The sudden sound of two swords clashing against each other made Geta stop, he felt the blade just barely pass him and cluttering onto the floor. Caracalla’s hand was also bleeding which caused him to shriek. Geta’s voice sounded truly angry laced with some concern, yet it was not for you. But for Caracalla.

‘How dare you! Praetorians, take her away!’

You wiped your sword with the cloth you had thrown into Geta’s face earlier, the blood seeping into the cloth. It wasn’t a lot, but it sure was noticeable. You refused for the guards to take you away, their hands were always gentler to you than anyone else. Something Geta had ordered for them to do. You handed your sword to one of them, who already left the rest of the group to take it away. A foreign swords to the romans, it was hard to miss. After all, you were the only one in the empire to yield it. You turned your back and Geta and walked with the guards. Not glancing or even looking his way.

‘You’re a coward. Come and see me if you find the balls and face the reality of the situation.’

The praetorians shared some glances with each other. You had a sharp tongue in contrast to Geta who only opened his mouth to say what others wanted from him. Geta watched you walk out the room and turned to Caracalla.

Back in your room you had gowned yourself in one of the many Geta had work before. He always shared his gowns with you to cover you up. You didn’t feel any guilt, nor any sadness. You did what you had to do. It’s as simple as that. Yes Caracalla is a very touchy subject for Geta. That is true and you don’t get along with him which is also true. An empress stays by the emperor’s side no matter what, she ensures there is no harm coming his way. You saved him, both with the situation regarding general Acacius and the people turning against him. Even if he doesn’t understand it. Sometimes he has to put his pride away to fall into favor. Rome is a difficult empire after all. Its too big, too busy and the emperors don’t make it any better. There are many issues that are arising and many that still aren’t solved. General Acacius did aim for Geta’s head, but then again it is not that it’s not understandable. If you were in his position you probably would’ve done the same. It is a logical decision. But…you’re not in his position…you’re in the position of an empress. Therefore, even if Geta is like this. You still have to remain loyal. It’s simply your principle, your moral. And you’ll stick to it until the end. The sound of soft footsteps made you open your eyes. Your head still turned to look outside. Rome was supposed to be a paradise, yet it is far from what it’s supposed to be. You recognized the footwork, Geta. But you did not turn your head to him, he’s here if he wants to say something. And that’s what he should do. No more pampering from you.

‘Empress…’

‘Ready?’

‘What?’

‘Ready to face what you caused?’

Geta didn’t reply. He doesn’t know if he wants to hear it. He knows it himself, but hearing someone tell him that is another thing. He hates this.

‘I’m sorry’

‘What are you sorry for?’

Geta is silent once again. His mouth opened and closed. He wanted to say something. But what should he say? You ignored his gaping and pressed a fruit against his lips.

‘See, you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. Just saying what you want me to hear from you, your sorry doesn’t mean anything.’

Geta listened to you quietly, he took the fruit from your hands, sitting on the bed and fixing his gown while you stood by the window. His eyes were focusing on you. His face a little somber.

‘You’re naive. You trust Macrinus too fast. Think about it. He was a man who was the slave of the former emperor, he has risen in the status to something more admirable. But, would the same man who was once a slave be loyal to someone of the status who once oppressed him?’

Your words made him contemplate a lot of things…was Macrinus not the man he thought he was?…yes..there is some truth to your words. No man would be willing to serve someone of the same status who hurtl them beyond their core. Beyond their existence. A man who was hurt and got everything stripped away from him would never be loyal to someone who did that to him…Geta’s eyes flickered for a little. He saw him as a friend. Yes, that’s what he said and believed. But it’s one sided. It’s a lie. A lie made up in his own mind that he believed in. Geta cleared his throat…such information is hard to process. But thay didn’t explain why you did what you did regardless the general.

Sensing Geta’s questioning eyes upon you, you turned to him, your gaze meeting his which caused him to look away for a moment.

‘The general was more loved. Killing him would result in greater dispair and rage. The distance between you and the people of Rome would grow even greater. An emperor is close with his people…and more importantly, an emperor can forgive.’

‘You want me to forgive general Acacius?’

‘Yes, not from the emperor to the general. But from a man to another. Who is willing to listen and see reason.’

‘You think he would actually be sorry.’

‘He might not be, but he did it for the people of Rome. You too should do it for Rome. Ofcourse i will prevent anyone for ever wanting to have your pretty little head.’

Geta thought for a moment. Yes..it sounds right. But there are still yet many problems to come. The general might try again, or perhaps there are more who are willing to kill him. Macrinus is still in grey area, he hasn’t tried anything but your reasoning has made him wary. It’s very tiring, to be an emperor. But one must be fit for it. Well…he may not be the right choice, but you make up for it. Moments like these reminds him once again why you’re the empress. Where he lacks you make up for. He may not be capable enough but you sure are. Geta’s eyes once again looked back at yours, standing up from the bed and holding your hand. His thumb rubbed over your knuckles before he placed a soft kiss on them. Everyone usually kissed the hand of an emperor. Yet here he was, the emperor of Rome kissing his empress’ hand. Geta pulled back, still holding onto your hand. He felt a rather warm feeling in his chest, quite different from the concupiscent feeling he usually had around his concubines. This one came out of a place of love and admiration.

‘Do you wish to lay with the emperor tonight, empress?’

[darlingsfandom]

what’s mine is mine !

pairing: emperor geta x fem reader!

summary: Geta has met his match.

tw: public fucking, p in v, unprotected sex, nipple play, jealousy , cream pie! Mention of hairy pussy! That’s not really a warning because hairy pussy is 100% natural and valid ! Not proofread.

Rome, the city of beauty, romance and lust the place you’ve called home since birth has expanded further than anyone could ever imagine including yourself , but over the last few years you’ve been feeling like it’s not what you need anymore. You need more!

The city was busy as always as you walked around on the cobble stones holding the bottom of your tunica with a smile on your face. Everyone knew who you were but never dared to challenge you. They would smile and nod. You were the grand daughter of one of the men in Geta and Caracallas senate and that’s how you found yourself constantly wondering around in the palace drawing the twin emperors attention. It was no shock that the two would fight over you but you never gave them the satisfaction.

As you walked back into the palace after your usual morning stroll you stumbled across Geta standing there looking out at the streets below.

“My Emperor.” You nodded your head before bowing just enough that he could catch a glimpse of your breasts. Geta straightened his posture and held his head high almost looking down at you. You placed your hand over your heart and gave him a gentle smile , but little did he know what was lurking behind your lips.

“And just where have you been?” Geta asked as you went to walk away.

“Out for my morning walk, as I do every morning MY emperor.” You spat on the word my making sure he understood that you meant business. Just like Geta, you were also a selfish, crud human being however you were able to mask the ugliness in a way that no would ever suspect. Geta walked up to you, gripped the side of your throat and made you look into his enraged eyes. His nostrils flared as your eyes softened.

“Try again.” His grip on your neck tightened making you gasp. His ears perked up to the sweet little sound. “Because you know that I know exactly what goes on in my empire.” He spat back at you.

“Fuck you Geta.” You spoke quietly since he had a grip. Geta raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Fuck me? FUCK ME? How dare you! You’re nothing more than a senators grand daughter…”

“Who was birthed from Venus herself! And raised as if Pluto himself was still around! You don’t dare mess with me Geta.” You gritted your teeth before shoving him with what strength you had left. Get scuffed at you before rolled his eyes.

“And you seem to forget that the gods speak to me! I am emperor!”

“That you share with your brother! You could never be an emperor on your own!” You huffed rubbing your throat before you felt your back against the wall as Geta shoved you backwards. His hands quickly gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Now I know you’re a sweet girl, what has you so worked up you dare tip toe the line to disobey me?” His nose rubbed against yours making you soften a little bit. Both of you stood silent looking in each other’s eyes. He could see the temper boiling behind them making him turned on.

“What’s mine is mine Geta! You are mine!” You lunged forward making Geta chuckle until he realized how what you just said was true. “I gave you my virginity many moons ago! Our souls are connected and you can not deny it. The fact I have to even say it like that makes me want to cry. The fact I witnessed you looking at a whore the way you look at me… what if I had looked at Caracalla the way I look at you? You’d have my head cut off in a second!” Anger boiled in your voice as your hands gripped onto his arms making him whimper a little since your nails were digging into his soft flesh.

Geta couldn’t deny what you were saying, he could easily have your head cut off but he also wouldn’t actually hurt a hair on your head. He was secretly soft for you and loved actually making love to you, yes fucking you was just as good but you were more than that, no one else was allowed to touch you the way he did. The issue between the two of you is that you’re both so stubborn but the difference is that you are actually acting upon your feelings for Geta. He stepped back and reached out to stroke your face as if you were made of glass. You titled your cheek into his hand.

“You my beauty, have no reason to be so jealous of such a common whore. I do not love her, she was a sight to look at. You, you’re a goddess and you know that. You are mine and only mine!” Geta ran his thumb over your bottom lip while you felt tears roll down your cherry cheeks.

“Then love me like you meant Geta! No more whores around the palace! No more staring at them until your brain is no longer functioning! If I am yours, then I want you to announce it to the gods themselves !” Your words were heard as Geta grabbed your face and kissed you hard. The kiss was nothing like you’ve felt from him before, it was making your stomach feel full of butterflies and your thighs clench together all at once. His lips moved away from yours so he could place his forehead to yours and look into your eyes.

“My beauty, I will do more than tell them and not just the gods, all of Rome will know who you belong too!” Geta pulled on your hand and took you out to the balcony. The people below stopped what they were doing when the heard the sound of Geta clearing his throat to speak but he did not say a word! You furrowed your eyebrows together in confusion as Geta put his hand on your back, pushed you over the edge enough that everyone got a good look at you and the crowd gasped when they realized it was you. As if the gods were actually watching, the sun poked through the dark clouds and illuminated your figure. Anxiety ran through your veins but your face would never show it.

Silence. Complete silence as Geta stood there holding you close until he opened his mouth.

“I will make this clear as I can so that no man will ever lay a finger upon MY beauty!” His words made you clench around nothing but your cheeks turned even redder by the second. Geta stood behind you , untied your tunica and let it fall exposing your naked body making the crowd gasp. “A true beauty shaped and birthed from Venus herself and she belongs to me. No one shall harm a hair on her head nor shall they try to make love in way to her, if anyone shall try then you will be meeting the gods sooner than you’ve thought.” He placed his hands on your breasts and massaged them slowly, rolling your hardened nipples inbetween his fingers while his lips kissed along your neck making sure to suckle on the delicate skin that made your eyes roll back.

Geta did not care who watched as he ran his fingers down your body until he reached your hips. He moved his lips along your shoulder as he moved his hands to your plushy thighs and spread them apart. His fingers trailed along your hairy folds. A soft moan escaped your lips as his finger slowly slid inside of you. Geta moaned at how wet you already were. The fact that he could easily fuck you in a public place and every other nasty kink you had made him feel proud. His finger slowly moved in and out of you making you bite your bottom lip to which Geta squeezed your cheeks with his free hand and made you open your mouth. You were melting into his touch.

Geta smirked as he leaned in and spit into your mouth making the crowd below you make mixed noises. You swallowed eagerly and Geta county deny how attracted he was to you. Who on earth would allow something like that? But that’s why he was attracted to you. His finger pulled out of your wet cunt and slipped into your mouth. You sucked softly on his finger as he spread open your legs, bent you over the railing and worked on lifting up his on tunic. His cock was leaking with milky pre-cum, the feeling of his wet head rubbing against your hairy folds made you moan around his finger until he pulled it away and wiped it on your cheek. You smiled until you felt the head of his cock pushing inside of you.

“Geta!” You whimpered as he eased into your warm hairy cunt .

“That’s it , tell them who is pleasing you so well!” He gripped onto your hips tightly as he pushed his cock all the way in making you grip the railing until your knuckles turned white. Geta groaned at stretching you out, the way you were mumbling below him made him close his eyes. He waisted no time in bottoming out before he railed you over the railing. The sound of his balls slapping against your wet cunt echoed to the people who were still watching below. A few of those people were also touching their bodies as Geta took no mercy on your cunt. You were a whimpering mess until Geta wrapped his arm around your waist and held you up straight so he could play with your nipples while his cock pounded into your cunt.

Sweat covered your skin as Geta praised how good you feel. His fingers twisted your nipples making you yelp at first before he pulled on them. His lips attacked your neck with kisses while his hand reached down and pressed his finger against your clit to rub it fast. The added pleasure had your knees buckling as your orgasm rushed inside of you.

“Geta , Geta , please , I … oh I feel..”

“I know you do, I can feel how wet you’re getting, how hard you’re squeezing me! Show them! Show them how good you’re feeling, let it go.” Geta whispered into your ear and nibbled on your ear lobe which sent you over the edge.

“GETA!” You cried out as your orgasm ripped through your body, making your knees shake and in a surprise your body was in a state of pleasure that you actually squirted against his cock, soaking him and Geta was beyond pleased. You were the first one to ever orgasm like that for him.

“What a beautiful sight!” He couldn’t hold back his own orgasm and groaned out as his cum shot into your cunt. You could feel him filling you up. The warm sticky liquid dripped down your thighs since he had such a big load. Geta used his fingers to scoop his cum up and shove them into your mouth that was panting. You suckled greedily as Geta stood behind you with a satisfied smirk while the crowd below cheered.

“Let it be known that what’s mine is mine and she is mine!” Geta clapped his hands as he did a loud boom of thunder sounded making him smirk. Geta got exactly what he wanted and so did you. You stood up slowly as he admired the number he did on you. Your neck was covered in purplish marks , cum covered thighs and pupils blown, a true beauty in his mind a beauty that belonged to him.

[angelltheninth]

Emperor Geta Fucks You During a Feast

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, throne sex, mouth fingering, cockwarming, teasing, clit stimulation, name-calling, objectification, cockwarming, power imbalance, creampie, being watched

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Uh... well... you see... there's a good explanation for this. I just haven't thought of it yet.

Your dynamic was simple: when your Emperor wants you. you show up. It doesn't matter if it's morning, night or right now, in the middle of a feast. At least you weren't the only one being fucked in public, but you were the only one being fucked on the throne, definitely catching more attention than the rest.

"But you like it." Geta mocked you as his fingers found and pinched your sensitive clit, causing a ripple of pain and pleasure. "Your cunt is so tight around me. A whore like yourself, greedy, hungry for her Emperor's cock. Where do you get such audacity?" He licked the side of your neck, tasting the salty sweat on your skin.

"I... I'm sorry, when you summoned me I just... ah! Oh! Oh Gods!" You gasped and writhed as you felt his hips rutting against the swell of your ass, his cock pushing even further inside of you, scraping and claiming your inner walls. "Got excited." The confession trembled on your lips.

Emperor Geta cackled loudly, prompting others to do the same, even those who weren't close enough to hear you. His wet fingers trailed up your body, stopping briefly to pinch your nipples before prying your mouth open more, dragging against your tongue and then being shoved roughly down your throat.

His other hand then lowered back between your legs, not leaving your aching clit neglected for longer than a few second. He wouldn't let you rest so easily.

As your hips moved against his hand and your pussy made sloppy, dirty sounds every time his cock moved in and out you felt his lips brush against your ear. "Excited. You should be honored that your Emperor's seed will grace your womb. A common slut like you, that's only good for being fucked and used like a set of holes you are. Be thankful."

"T-Thank you, Emperor Geta!" He flicked your clit in warning, not yet fully satisfied with your words. "Thank you for using me to bring you pleasure! Thank you for letting me serve you! Thank you for giving me your seed, in front of everyone!" Your words triggered a chain reaction, first his cock, pulsing as it shot ropes of cum into you, claiming your cunt and your womb. And second your soft, gummy walls clenching around your Emperor's hard cock, your body going slack against his, your head turned and mouth claimed by his as well.

"My sweet little thing. You pleased me today." He whispered and wrapped his arms possessively around you. "Stay right here. Let's sit back and enjoy the show."

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

[multific]

Empire of Glass

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: He bled in your arms once, and now you’re the only one who makes him feel alive. 

The first time you saw the emperor bleed, you were elbow-deep in bandages and herbs, the metallic scent of blood clinging to your lungs. You were a healer’s apprentice, no one of note. And he was Geta, ruler of Rome, monarch cloaked in silk and smoke.

And yet, he had looked at you as if you were the sun.

He’d been carried into the physician’s chambers half-dead, poisoned by a treacherous senator whose name you’d never be told. 

But his grip on your wrist, weak, had grounded you at that moment. “Don’t let them take me,” he’d whispered to you. 

Not to the gods. Not to the wolves of the senate.

You didn’t.

The palace smelled like rose oil and cold stone. 

You were hidden there now, a secret tucked away in marble corridors. 

The Emperor’s personal ‘shadow physician’ they called you. 

But the title meant nothing. You were there because Geta had asked you to be.

You should have been frightened.

But the emperor was different in private. Quieter. Younger than you'd imagined. 

He read philosophy by firelight. He asked questions no one else dared ask. He looked at you like he was searching for answers in the curve of your mouth.

One evening, while tending to his healing wound, your fingers brushed his bare skin. 

He didn’t pull away.

“I can’t sleep,” he murmured.

“I can brew something-”

“No. That’s not what I mean.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, a confession almost. “I can’t sleep because when I close my eyes, I see you.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

He reached out, gently cupping your wrist like he had that first night. “And if I mean them?”

You looked away. 

You were no empress. You were dirt beneath marble floors. But you felt it, the raw, burning truth in his gaze.

The second attempt came in spring.

A blade, a shadow, a coward in the dark. 

You found Geta bleeding again, not in the physician’s chamber, but your own. He had come looking for you.

He collapsed at your feet.

“No,” you breathed, catching him before he hit the floor. “Not again. Don’t you dare.”

His blood soaked your hands as you worked. Stitching flesh. Sealing muscle. 

Whispering prayers you didn’t believe in anymore.

When he woke, you were sitting beside his bed, tear tracks drying on your cheeks.

“You came back,” he rasped.

“I never left.”

He reached for your hand.

“I have tried to be strong,” he said. “To protect you from what loving me would mean. But I can’t pretend anymore. I am most myself when I am with you.”

You swallowed past the ache in your throat. “They’ll never allow this.”

“Then let them try to stop me.”

You stared at him. The boy beneath the crown. The man who bled like any other. The one who reached for you in the dark.

“You shouldn’t love me,” you said softly.

“But I do.”

And when he leaned forward, lips trembling with hesitation, you met him halfway.

The kiss was soft, reverent, a promise sealed not in blood but breath.

Geta rose before the senate days later with a new decree. 

He no longer hid you in shadows. 

He no longer called you healer, or physician, or anything but the word that echoed in every heartbeat he had left.

Beloved.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[getagirlie]

GETA & CARACALLA - NO TIME TO DIE

[kirikorik]

Dawn over Rome

Emperor Geta / OC (Helena - Acacia's daughter)

Part1! Part2! Part3! Part4...

Summary: "General Acacius has fallen," exclaims Emperor Geta. "But he left us the most precious thing he had—his daughter! The sun of our Rome!" If the road leads to the abyss, only a madman would walk it with submission. But does a prisoner have the right to choose? "In the name of peace, I shall take his daughter as my lawful wife!" Peace is merely a word behind which violence hides. Oaths sworn in blood do not smell of blessing but of a curse. "Smile, my little bird, you are to bear the emperor's child," a warm, sticky whisper. "And remember, your whore of a mother is still alive." She is his. She will be his. Just as the sun belongs to the sky, just as fire devours wood, so too was Helena made to burn for him alone…

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18+!

Warnings: Forced Marriage, Rape, Rough Sex, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Sex Dubious, Consent Mildly Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Vaginal Sex, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, public sex, Sexual Overstimulation, Depression, Angst, Drama, Blood and Violence, Unrequited, Love, Sexual Content, Complicated Relationships, Sexism, Sexual Inexperience, Cruelty, Feelings, Possessive Sex, Pregnancy, Forced Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Breeding.

Dawn

With the first rays of the sun enveloping Rome in golden radiance, the Colosseum awakens to life. The rays flow down the marble walls, spreading over the stones like molten gold. The air is heavy with the scent of blood, dust, and oil from the torches still smoldering after the night's riot.

The crowd hums, its shouts and murmur blending into a single rhythm, like the sea crashing against rocks. Waves of voices break again and again against the walls of the Colosseum, rolling in echoes through the ancient stones, filling every crack, every curve of the stands. The air trembles with tension. The scent of fear, sweat, and sun-heated blood intertwines with the aroma of resinous torches, spilled cheap wine, and the stench of drains. This is the pulse of the city, its thirst, its beastly grin.

Its eternal hunger.

But now comes a moment of silence—fleeting, deceptive. Like a beast, pausing for a moment before the leap. Thousands of heads lean forward at once, catching the breath of power. Some lips are parted in anticipation, others clenched like those of cornered dogs.

Rome smells of decay. Not just of rotten meat and sewage but of human flesh—the sickly-sweet, warm scent of blood seeping into stone, sand, and palace walls. It clings to the skin, penetrates the pores, saturates the hair. Even the haughty patricians, wrapping themselves in fresh togas, cannot escape it. They pour perfumes over it in vain, but Rome always betrays itself.

The life of the Colosseum is the smell of charred flesh, screams, sweat, and the perspiration of fear. It is the fat flies swarming over fresh corpses, settling on dried crimson stains embedded in the stone. It is the crowd roaring, rushing like jackals sensing prey. And the Colosseum feeds them. Feeds them meat, feeds them spectacle, throws the dead under their feet so the people may chew on this pain until nothing remains but bone dust.

It is also taste. The salty tang clinging to the lips. The bitterness of ash covering the stands. The weight of hundreds of breaths, mixed in a single frenzy. The spectacle is the food they consume, flesh and death their bread and wine. They chew these moments, grind destinies, stuff their mouths with another’s agony, not realizing they themselves become part of it.

Beside two elevated thrones, adorned with carvings, golden plates, and lions, stands a girl. Her long honey-golden hair falls over her shoulders, cascading down her back. The wind plays with it like silk ribbons. Her porcelain skin pales, and her green eyes, fixed on the arena—on the very place where her father’s lifeless body had recently lain—fill with tears once more.

She does not move. Only breathes. Raggedly, intermittently, like a fish thrown ashore. Her temples throb, her chest tightens. Dead air. This air is not for breathing; it is for drowning. It fills the lungs with heaviness, makes every movement sluggish, every thought viscous. It seeps inside, settles in the chest, grips the throat like an invisible hand. And no one will be saved. Because there is no fresh air in the Colosseum. Even the wind here smells of death.

General Acacius was a valiant warrior, a defender of Rome, a man whom the people loved and begged to be spared. The Romans pleaded for mercy. But the emperors pronounced their verdict, and the voice of the Gods, as Geta himself said, was inexorable.

"Only the Gods are given the right to decide fates," he whispered before his clenched fist rose into the air, and he lowered his thumb downward. Execute.

Now the people are furious. They shout, they murmur, their voices rumbling like thunder before a storm. But no one will leave. No one will abandon this theater of death. They will watch, even if their hearts tighten with horror. Even if someone clamps their mouth shut, suppressing vomit. They will not look away, because Rome craves spectacle, and blood is its greatest entertainment.

Emperor Geta only smiles. Narrowly, predatorily. Like a beast locked in a cage, who suddenly realized: the cage is not real. This whole crowd belongs to him. Their anger is laughable, their cries pathetic. They will growl, howl, screech, but in the end—they will bow. They always bow, as if he and his brother were Gods.

Lucilla is dead too.

Lucius, Lucilla’s son, perished in the darkness of night. He did not even have time to understand what was happening when the guards found him among the gladiator cages, dead with his throat slit, unarmed. The news reached Helena through her servant, Jnessa, and her heart collapsed at that moment, as if Death itself had whispered her name—within a few hours, the emperors summoned her to service.

Now Helena is alone. The last of those who once lived under the sky of old Rome. And now her life, like her father’s once, hangs by a thin thread, torn by the cruel hands of power.

And his voice, when he begins to speak, sounds as if Jupiter himself is speaking:

"People of Rome!" the emperor exclaims, raising his hands to the rising sun, and the crowd suddenly falls silent. "We hear your anger, your pain. We hear your cry for justice!"

And the crowd regains its noise—Geta only needs to pause for a moment. But he immediately raises his head again with confidence, his eyes gleaming—madness swirls in them, and something else—ancient, primal, as if he is either the conduit of a will or merely a madman allowed to rule by equally insane people.

"But is it not the Gods who are meant to decide the fate of mortals? Are we, mere mortals, able to argue with their will?!" he sweeps his gaze over the ranks of his people, and silence spreads through the Colosseum like dark wine in a silver cup. "General Acacius has fallen, and his blood has washed this land." Others do not hear the fleeting, barely perceptible click—a smirk. But Helena stands too close to ignore the sound. "But the general left us the most precious thing he had—his daughter! The Sun of our Rome!"

Geta pronounces this with relish. He savors the words like a sweet fig, crushing them with his tongue, filling the air with them. "The Sun"—he nearly purrs, like a cat that has caught a bird.

"You wanted blood? You shall have it," his voice rolls across the square. "You seek justice? You shall have it!"

Helena grows cold. Her fingers clench into fists, nails digging into her skin. She knows him. She knows his gaze, knows that crooked, cruel smile. Once, in childhood, he had taken her hand, leading her through the marble corridors of the palace. Back then, his touch was different.

Does he want to kill her? Worse.

"In the name of peace, so that the sacrifice is not in vain," Emperor Geta’s voice cuts through the air like the tip of a dagger, "I shall take the daughter of General Acacius as my lawful wife! In three weeks, at the sunset of the next month, she shall become—Augusta of Rome!"

The crowd gasps. Some begin to shout in fury, others murmur in confusion. The people sway like a great wave that is about to either crash upon the shore or retreat. The anger does not disappear—it transforms. It compresses into bewilderment, into heated debates, into a search for logic in this madness.

Geta slowly raises his hands. Let them see him. Let the sun cast its glow upon his reddish hair, let the purple of his toga, heavy and solemn, be remembered by all. Let this moment remain in their memory—the moment he bent the people of Rome to his will.

He smiles. Calmly. Slightly mockingly. But his eyes are wild, insane.

"I hear your anger," he says, and his voice is full of cold majesty. "Your hearts boil, for blood has been spilled!"

He steps forward, spreads his hands as if revealing the cosmos before them.

"Blood is pain. Blood is sacrifice. Blood is the price we pay for order! I do not deny my deed. But I will not allow the death of the great traitor-general to divide us! I will not allow his name to become mere ashes in the wind!"

Geta pauses, letting the crowd absorb his words. Then he speaks, each syllable echoing:

"For such is the law of fate: what is destroyed must be reunited. The blood of General Acacius’ daughter and mine shall merge into one. His spirit will live in my heirs. I do not reject him—I will make him a part of me, a part of Rome! And let the Sun of the Empire rise above us!"

And then the sound. One voice, foreign, elevated, yet commanding, like a hammer blow. The words flow, penetrate ears, sink into hearts. And then—the first movement. Someone’s fingers nervously clutch the edge of a toga, someone gasps for air, and then... an explosion. A wave of voices crashes over the Colosseum, a roar shatters the air like stones tumbling down a cliff.

A new empress. The daughter of the man whom Geta himself condemned to death.

Helena freezes, feeling her world crumble. And the guards suddenly push her forward, forcing her to step toward the emperor. The fabric of her long blue dress catches on her sandal, and she nearly falls.

Geta yanks her to him. He moves slowly, like a predator playing with its prey. There is something lazy, unhurried in his gait, but beneath it lies sharpness, cunning. He stretches this moment, prolongs it, like a spider savoring the agony of its victim. Geta drinks in the moment, absorbs her fear like wine that gives him strength.

He has already tasted her despair, and now he merely savors it.

Golden fire dances in his eyes. His lips are wet from wine, his breath warm, with a spicy bitterness. He smirks, allowing himself to examine her up close. He watches how tears glisten on her lashes, how her lips tremble. In this, there is power. His power.

The scent of his body is thick, rich. Frankincense, wine, honey, salt, skin—he smells like a feast, like a sacrifice to the gods. His fingers wrap around Helena’s waist, and she feels his strength—rough, insatiable. He holds her as if sinking his teeth into her, as if carving his name into her flesh.

His face is frighteningly close. His lips slide along her temple, hot breath scorching her skin. He grabs Helena tightly under the ribs, like an iron hoop, his fingers digging into her body, forcing her to freeze from the pain. She feels her bones almost crack under his grip.

"You're trembling, meus sol," (my sun) - his voice is low, hissing, like a snake slithering across the sand.

His eyes are burning. The black ring of his dilated pupils blurs the crimson color of his iris, eclipsing it, like night extinguishes day. He looks at Helena too intently, too hungrily — like someone who already considers something his own. Geta inhales the air near her face, as if testing it. And he gets drunk.

She is his. She will be his. Just like the sun belongs to the sky, like fire consumes wood, so Helena was created to burn only for him. For now — unreachable, like the morning light that slides over stones, not allowing itself to be caught. But soon… Soon he will tear her from the heavens and make her burn only for him.

His hand slides across her shoulder, feeling the fabric of the tunic, the crumpled cloth from the struggle that sticks to her body. The thin linen soaked with sweat, clinging to her skin, accentuating the shape of her breasts, the curve of her hips. Geta slowly traces his fingers across the folds.

"Are you afraid? Or angry?"

Helena’s breath catches, but he catches the sound. He catches her fear. He drinks it, savoring it, like sweet Falernian honey. He is used to fear. He has been fed by it since childhood. People fear him. Women fear him. But no one dares to run. Not even her.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she breathes out barely audible.

Helena jerks, but he tightens his grip, pulling her closer, so that there is no space left between their bodies. Beneath him — flesh, alive, alert. She breathes deeper, sensing his essence — meat, vanity, power, which has soaked him through like oil — wool. Geta feels her breath, not moving.

Her wrist is in his palm, and he raises her arm, like proclaiming victory. Her body no longer belongs to her. It belongs to his hands, his strength, his whim. Even the air she breathes seems heated by his breath. Geta holds her tightly, as if afraid she will fall apart under his fingers. Or maybe he wants to hear her crack.

"Glory to the Empire! Glory to Rome!" he exclaims. His hand, gripping Helena’s shoulder, slowly slides down to her thin wrist. The touch is hot, as if he just dipped his fingers in blood.

Cries explode through the air. Helena gasps, tears burning her eyes. Geta bends close to her ear, his breath brushing her skin.

The crowd roars her name, their filthy mouths desecrating his property. They reach out to her, longing to touch, to steal even a drop of her light. Their rotting teeth, sweaty fingers, their hoarse voices… Pitiful, insignificant worms daring to desire his sun! He will burn them from her memory, erase every one who dares to think she does not belong only to him.

Fingers sink into her skin. Her heart beats, but not in flight — in the painful realization that between disgust and something darker runs a thin, shiny, predatory thread.

His eyes glide over her face, tearing it apart with his gaze.

"Fool," he exhales. "You think you can just turn away?"

He touches her cheek with his lips, like a snake testing the air. Slowly, barely perceptibly. But enough for her to feel how repulsive his kiss is. Crimson petals swirl in the air, like drops of spilled blood. Thousands of them, tens of thousands — they fall from the upper tiers, settling on the stones, on the heads, on the shoulders of the gathered. Beneath their feet, they mix with the sand, and it feels like the entire arena is drowning in a crimson sea.

"Smile, my little bird, you are to bear the emperor's child," a warm, sticky whisper. "And remember, your whore of a mother is still alive."

Geta pulls back, but does not leave. He enjoys the moment. He wants to see how fear is born in Helena’s eyes, how it twists inside her, how she fights, resists, only to give in afterward. He wants that taste — the taste of victory, the taste of power, the taste of revenge on her.

Helena lifts her gaze, forces a smile, but her eyes speak otherwise. But from this distance, no one can tell what she's thinking.

Geta tightens his grip on her fingers. He presses the back of her hand to his lips, intertwining their fingers. His eyes — two dark abysses that want to consume her entirely. His fingers slide, feeling the protruding bones. Too fragile. Too brittle. But something about this pleases him. Isn't it beautiful, what can break?

The crowd roars. The Colosseum thirsts for blood once again.

Helena feels his nails digging into her wrist, leaving crescent-shaped marks of pain. He doesn't let go. Even when she tries to break free — he enjoys it. She feels it in how his breath trembles, how his fingers tighten, how he savors this fleeting resistance.

Geta lowers his gaze to her neck. The skin is pale, tender, taut with tension. Already, the marks of his touch are visible. He slowly traces his finger along the line of her shoulder blades, wrapping his hand around her neck from behind. He feels how quickly her heart beats, how it pounds beneath his hand. His lips slowly curl into a grin.

And over this chaos, over the screams and roars, dawn continues to scatter its brilliance. The sun rises higher, its honeyed rays glide over the ancient stones, penetrating every crack, spreading gold over the blue folds. The wind stirs the thin fabric, as if trying to rip it off and carry it away, away from this prison. But is there a glimmer of hope in this light? Or is it just an illusion — a lie before another fall into darkness?

Part1! Part2! Part3! Part4...

I don't know English. Maybe there are a lot of mistakes. ♡♡♡

My AO3^ My Tiktok^

[volertile]

brotherly love

[velveteen-e]

Cw for blood 🩸 !! Spit animatic meme ft. Caracalla and Geta!

[amphitriteswife]

In love with a goddess

Pairing: Emperor Geta x daughter of Venus! Reader

Warnings: mild nsfw

Summary: Emperor Geta pays a visit to the goddess Venus after his many failed attempts at love. Only to meet someone he gad never seen or heard of before.

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Dragging his feet on the steps of the temple, Geta found himself wondering about his every move. He was here to visit the goddess Venus. But he felt ashamed, ashamed for being here. He had prayed to her before but his prayers were unanswered. Perhaps it is because he never bothered to do so before, only worshipping Mars, Jupiter and Fortuna. His prayers were often only meant for others. For the military or the city, for making sure that they conquered more land or resources. His final push for going to the temple were the many rumors about him. Rumors that made him enraged and even made him contemplating cutting out his citizens tongues. But he can’t do that, not when he’s already out of favor with the people of Rome. The rumors made it seem as if he was not worthy of love, spending his time in things as pleasure by having concubines. It wasn’t uncommon for an emperor to have concubines. But it was uncommon for him to still not be wed. He wants to marry someone who knows what they should do, what they want, someone with knowledge of his position, someone equal, someone who can take care of him, someone who can take care of Rome. He felt nervous…the pit in his stomach growing with every step. Although he wouldn’t show it.

In the mits of his thought, Emperor Geta had not realized that he already reached the top of the stairs. The stairs to the temple of the goddess of love, beauty, victory, war and fertility. He turned his head back a little, he had ordered the guards to set off the property to the temple. He can’t have anyone know that the emperor of Rome is seeking help…it’ll make him look weak. The heavy steps of his sandals against the floor filled the temple, his eyes immediately drawn to the big statue in front of him. Lady Venus. Her upper half was not covered. And she was looking down onto him. Emperor Geta felt a little perverted for being here…but he had to, to make a proper prayer. For the first time in his life did he get on his knees and closed his eyes. Right in front of the goddess. He said his prayers and wishes, offering her fresh flowers and honey as well as some pears. He took a few moments to steady his nervous breath before opening his eyes. His gaze once again falling onto the statue of the goddess. He can’t help it, he can’t help but look at her in awe. A soft plump figure with curves. A gentle gaze adoring her face. She looked so soft, as if the statue wasn’t made out of it’s hard material…she looked so motherly…

‘You seem to ogle her Lady Venus quite intensely…Emperor Geta’

Geta cleared his throat and searched the temple with his eyes, trying to find whose voice it belonged to. His eyes scanning over every piece of decoration, pole and tile. His eyes eventually fell onto you, he didn’t seem very impressed with you. A scowl on his face and slight narrowed eyes. No one should’ve been here except for him…did the guards slip up?

‘Do not speak to your emperor that way.’

His voice was rather stern yet you could feel the fact he was off gaurd by your presence. His eyes gliding across your form. He hadn’t seen you before. Were you a priestess of lady Venus? A citizen? A secret female guard? He doesn’t know. Your clothes were rather…revealing. Just like lady Venus your upper half was exposed…well almost. Your breasts were covered with gold jewelry. He raised an eyebrow at that, not many people wore gold unless you were rich or important, or both. Are you one of his concubines or something? Who in the name of Jupiter are you?

‘Who might you be?’

‘Take a guess little Emperor.’

‘Little emperor? You have some balls to call me that. I could have your head for those words’

‘My father wouldn’t let you.’

‘Is that so? There is no one in this empire who is above me.’

‘Mars wouldn’t be happy to know that the Emperor of Rome threatened me.’

Emperor Geta looked at you in disbelief…so you were claiming to be the daughter of Mars and Venus, considering both gods were each other’s partner. Yet it was never stated in the myths that Venus had a daughter. Venus was one of the ancestors of the roman people and only had sons: Cupid and Aeneas. He had never heard of Venus having a daughter. He seemed quite wary of you and your words. He didn’t trust them. Not yet at least. And your claims don’t make any sense.

‘Lady Venus doesn’t have a daughter.’

‘You’re thinking about the roman goddess. Expand your thinking process. I’ll give you a hint. It’s the goddess you stole.’

The realization hit him like a chariot. So you weren’t talking about the Roman gods, but rather the greeks. He should’ve known. You’re Aphrodite’s daughter, not Venus’. But even if he had that figured out. Why were you here? In Venus’ temple bothering him?

‘So you’re a goddess…a greek goddess. Why are you here?’

‘Im both. My name isn’t changed unlike my father’s of my mother’s. Your people just forgot to include me when you stole from the greeks.’

‘Well, we didn’t steal. We just borrowed it…permanently. They shouldn’t have lost against us then….you still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?’

He could feel your hands on his shoulders. His eyes trying their best to restrain him from looking at your body any further. You looked similar to Venus, and he doesn’t want to be enchant by your form or your sweet voice…not by your rather godly, soft and perfect appearance…not at all. Were you seducing him? He doesn’t want to know…but he doesn’t want you to stop either, it feels nice for someone to run their hands on his tense shoulders. He could feel your finger tips gliding across his skin and up to his neck. Your hands were soft. So soft. It made him feel rather weirdly. He could feel the pit of nervousness be replaced by the feeling of fluttering. Swirling around and reaching places he hadn’t thought about. His blood started pumping quite quickly, he could feel the blood circulating to his nether region and grabbed your hand quite roughly.

‘Is it your intention to bed the emperor of Rome?’

‘I wouldn’t say that per se…but your offerings to lady Venus in contrast to your wish is not enough. You need more offerings and worship until she will hear you dear Emperor.’

‘I-fine. I can always give the goddess more if that’s what she desires.’

‘You truly have never been to her to her temple have you?…sex and masturbation is also a form of worship.’

Geta’s jaw dropped. No way. You’re telling him that sex is a sign if worship to the goddess? He can’t help feel exited and worried at the same time. He has only ever been with his concubines. Not a goddess. He can feel your hand softly stroking him through his pants, it made him hitch his breath. A goddess is stroking him. Help. He needs help. His breath started to become even more unevenly, that’s when you cupped him though his pants and he let out a loud startled noise. Geta found himself leaning into your touch, it was erotic yet gentle…a combination he hadn’t experienced before. He could feel your chin on his shoulder, your breath on his ear, slowly moving to kiss the side of his face which made him slightly agape. He didn’t want you to stop…yet you pulled your hand away which caused him to let out a groan out of frustration.

‘Enough worship for today, don’t you think so emperor?’

Your words seemed to stir something within him. He didn’t want to leave. He wants to continue. You can’t just make him interested and intrigued in you and then suddenly decide that you’ll stop because you want to! You can’t! He murmured something under his breath and grabbed your hand, placing it in between the fabrics on his bate chest. You could feel his heart thumping against the palm of your hand. As if it was ready to jump out of his chest at any moment. It was a clear sign of a crush, something that was pretty easy to guess.

‘This is what you do to me goddess….i can’t get enough of you.’

‘How flattering. But the real question is, what are you willing to do to keep me?’

‘Anything.’

‘Anything? Prove it. Give me everything i want.’

‘What do you desire? I am the emperor of Rome, i can give you anything you even glance or think of.’

‘Make me your empress.’

That sentence made him think. You were the child of love, meaning you could give him the love and loyalty he had yearned for so long…the child of war…meaning you have the knowledge he seeks in an empress. You know what it’s like to rule an empire and lead an army. You’re gentle yet firy. You can take him to heaven yet also keep him down to earth. You have a certain charisma to you which adds to your charm and further more…you’re a goddess. You can protect yourself. You can do things he hadn’t seen before. You can be anything. Anything at all. You’re perfect. So perfect. He needs you. He wants you. He desires you. He yearns for you. And you’re here…saying you want to be his empress. Perhaps Venus did answer his prayers. He wants to kiss you so badly.

‘Marry me, my empress.’

[idontknowwwxd]

Hey there, I don’t know if anyone else have noticed this ( I just notice it now ), but in the scene where Acacius is wearing the black hoodie and the torch going to the secret meeting or whatever, there are graffiti on the walls behind him

And I don’t know if I’m imagine it, but I’m pretty sure that this is Caracalla and the little thing next to him is Dondas

I translate it, and the text means:

Idk if that is even interesting to anyone, I just wanted to share it, because honestly this would mean that the citizens themselves were already fed up with them (Geta and Cara)

[darlingsfandom]

It Wasn’t A Tantrum!

Anon: hiii! if you’re still taking requests could you please do something with emperor geta x femdom reader with him being absolutely pathetic and having a degradation kink. i love ur fics btw and i hope ur having a lovely new year! 💗

TW: spit kink, p in v, cream pie, cockwarming, degradation kink! Use of “mommy”!

“Oh my love…” you titled your head slowly while stroking the emperors cheek. Geta stood before you with anger in his eyes, fists balled up and nostrils flared up. “What troubles you?” Your voice was delicate and calming to his ears. Geta looked down at your feet before he laid his head on your breasts. He buried his face in them as you gasped with a small laugh. “Oh love, is that all you need?” Your fingers trailed through his hair after you removed his headwear.

“I am a great emperor.” He mumbled into your breasts.

“Of course you are.” You pulled his face away from your boobs before you took his hand and walked with him into the bedroom. Geta sat on the edge of the bed while you sat down next to him, placed your hand on his thigh and squeezed it making him whine. You pulled open his robe exposing his hardened cock making you go wide eyed. “Is that why you’re throwing a fit?” Your finger tips trailed over the vein in his cock making Geta roll his eyes at you. You arched your eyebrow before squeezing it hard enough that his mouth dropped open.

“I’m not throwing a fit!” He whined as you stroked his cock.

“Oh sweetie, you’re almost in tears because something has upset you and it made your little cock all achy.” You had a fake pout on your lips as you pushed him back on the bed. Geta wanted to yell at you but he loved when you belittled him, however only YOU could do that to him because you also had a soft side with him when the two of you were seen in public. He loved you truly.

Suddenly his thoughts were disrupted when he felt your wet hand around his cock. You had spit in your hand and wrapped around the shaft. Geta laid there whining at how you were gentle yet fast with pumping his cock.

“The gods are you watching you Geta, such a dirty boy getting a handjob from a common whore, what does that say about you?” You spit on the head of his leaking cock to which he grabbed the sheets. He knew better than to touch you when you were in charge. “You are right my love, such a good emperor but a better whore for me.” Geta bucked his hips forward but you slapped his thigh making him halt. “So fucking desperate!” You pulled your hand away and stood in front of him. He watched carefully with lustful eyes as the fabric that framed your curvy body fall to the ground in a swift movement. Your foot landed on the end of the bed exposing your hairy cunt to him. Geta sat up quickly and crawled to you before sitting on his knees on the bed.

Your finger ran under his chin making him look up at you. He waited for you to move, to do something and he whined like a little bitch while starting to hump the bed while you held his chin between your fingers.

“Whore!” You spat on his cheek making him smile at you. “Only whore smiles for spit. You’re such a fucking whore Geta. Using the bed to get yourself off because you can’t touch my wet cunt? Pathetic.” You gripped his chin tighter and tilted his head back which made him open his mouth. You spit down his throat to which he swallowed no problem. You shook your head before letting go of him and placing your hands on your hips.

“Please!” He whined.

“Please? You think one little please is going to get you what you want?” You chuckled.

“Please mommy! Please fuck me!” Geta gripped onto your arm while pleading with his eyes.

“Since you’re so desperate for my cunt…” you pushed him back down on the sheets. A smile spread across his face that warmed your heart. You loved the dynamic between the two of you because it was perfect.

“Yes , I need your cunt.” He spoke up while his fingers ran up your thighs as you sank down on his cock. Both of you let out a sigh when you were sitting all the way down on his stiff cock. You placed your hands on either side of his chest as you pulled yourself up before sliding back down his cock. Geta was in heaven. He loved how your pussy gripped his cock in a way that he can’t explain. The way you took control and used him for your own pleasure but to be fair he did the same when he was in charge.

The sounds of your squelching pussy echoed in the room. Your head hung above his before he pouted for a kiss. You placed your lips on his but only to quickly pull away and place your hand on his throat. Geta loved when you choked him. Your fingers squeezed the sides tightly but not too tightly just enough that he rolled his eyes back with a dumb little look on his face. As you let go of his throat your hands dragged down his chest before gripping it for balance to keep your back straight. His eyes opened carefully to see your tits bouncing the way that he liked.

“So pretty!” He mumbled below you.

Geta grabbed your hands to hold them tightly as he bucked his hips up into you. You locked your fingers into his as your jaw dropped when he thrusted up into you. You moaned out his name while enjoying his cock hit the right spot.

“Oh Geta, that’s it baby. Show me what you can do with that tiny cock sweetheart.” Geta dug his nails into your hands as he thrusted harder up into you making you grin before laying chest to chest and pushing back against his cock. Truth was Geta did have a nice cock , always felt good inside of you but getting him worked up like this always itched that part in your brain.

Geta grunted through his teeth as his forehead started sweating from how fast his cock was thrusting into you. He looked into your eyes making you soften your gaze. The two of you held that gaze while he fucked you making you pin his hands above his head to remind him who’s really in control.

“That’s right, give me it Geta, fuck me like the whore you are baby.” You spit on his lips again making him lick his lips as he felt his balls tighten. He was close and you both knew it. “Aww poor baby can’t even fuck me for a long time ? Just so full cum aren’t you?”

Geta whined as you spoke to him.

“Please my love! I need to fill you up. Please let me cum in you.” His thrusts were sloppy and weak as you sat on his cock.

“I don’t know if you deserve to cum in me, I don’t think you’ve begged enough.” You licked your lips while dragging your nails down his chest with your free hand while the other one still kept his hands above his head.

“Oh please by the power of the gods I am begging you mommy! Please mommy please! Let me cum in your delicious cunt!” Geta was actually yelling with a loud whine to follow.

He hissed as you squeezed his cock with your pussy.

“Cum for me. Do it now or else I won’t let …” and before you could finish, Geta was crying out with a hard grip on your wrist as his thighs shook.

“Oh I love you , I love you!” Geta cried out as he came deep inside of you. You smiled at him with loving eyes as you rode his cock. Geta looked down the best he could to see the wet creamy ring around his cock that you left. Your hands held onto his arms as you came against cock. He sighed happily feeling how you clenched around him while your juices dripped down his cock.

You let go of his hands before your body went limp on top of his. He stayed inside of you as the two of you laid together listening to the sound of your heavy breathing fill the room.

“Are you over your little tantrum sweetheart?” Your finger tips trailed over his chest.

“It wasn’t a tantrum.” He insisted but as much as he wanted to sass you, he knew who was the one really in charge.

[lafiola]

emperor geta x gladiator!reader (male!reader), obsessive behavior, lil bit of gore, english is NOT my first language, MDNI, I was bored-and can't sleep

He was obsessed.

Brute as an animal, but with hands with fingers as thin as a lady's, and slender legs; cuts on the calves that made Geta close his eyes, offended by the atrocious image of the beautiful skin tanned by battle. Heat settled in the pit of his stomach, and during the spectacle he found himself writhing on his throne; seeking to calm the ravenous hunger filling his heart with desperation.

He was madly in love. Obsessively in love.

The Emperor Geta had found in you a wild interest. He thought he had fallen in love with your feisty charms, the grace of your gait, and even with the insight with which you spoke; imposing before the public, reduced to an insect before the masses. Still a savage of muscle and flesh.

Geta was having a terrible time as the victim of your acidic humor—a letter of intense hatred to the highest class of Rome. To those who descended from the Gods. But how could he hate you? How could he hate you even a little? If anything, it was your blood-soaked smile that made his heart beat faster, igniting a sickly flame of longing that made his flesh crawl. Oh, to be drawn to a man as one desires a woman.

He was just so obsessed.

And perhaps what finally exhausted his patience was having you so close and yet so far away. On your knees, tearing the carotid artery out of a man with glassy eyes with your teeth. Needy eyes, pious like a child's; penetrating Geta, who lost himself with desire in his own gaze, equally needy, on you. On you and your legs, your hips, your back—your sticky hands and your crooked smile, your gesture broken in pain and disgust. The emperor had to bite his tongue to keep from whimpering in front of the audience in the room. He had to bite his tongue and taste his own blood, wishing it was at least a little of yours.

Geta wondered if it would be as warm as that vapor escaping between your lips, barely reaching his nostrils when he rushed to congratulate you; ahead of Caracalla, of course. Because everything that was about him had always been his, and perhaps now, for this moment, he could dare to be more selfish than usual. To keep that heat emanating from your body just for him; to concentrate that hatred that filtered through your gaze, accentuating the bulge that burned beneath the emperor's clothes. All that hatred so charming just for him—the attention, your attention.

Geta thought deeply about you every night. How long it would take to tame a beast; and how much longer, after that, to enjoy it without it baring its teeth at him again.

All over you—so madly obsessed, just with you.

[lykhodii]

I will keep your peace like the finest porcelain❤️‍🩹

[kirikorik]

Dawn over Rome

Emperor Geta / OC (Helena)

Part1! Part2 ! Part3...

Summary: “General Acacius has fallen,” exclaims Emperor Geta. “But he left us the most precious thing he had—his daughter! The sun of our Rome!” If the road leads to the abyss, only a madman would walk it with submission. But does a prisoner have the right to choose? “In the name of peace, I shall take his daughter as my lawful wife!” Peace is merely a word behind which violence hides. Oaths sworn in blood do not smell of blessing but of a curse. “Smile, my little bird, you are to bear the emperor's child,” a warm, sticky whisper. “And remember, your whore of a mother is still alive.” She is his. She will be his. Just as the sun belongs to the sky, just as fire devours wood, so too was Helena made to burn for him alone…

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18+!

Warnings: Forced Marriage, Rape, Rough Sex, Possessive Behavior, Obsession,Sex Dubious, Consent Mildly Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Vaginal Sex, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, public sex,Sexual Overstimulation, Depression, Angst, Drama, Blood and Violence, Unrequited, Love, Sexual Content, Complicated Relationships, Sexism, Sexual Inexperience, Cruelty, Feelings, Possessive Sex, Pregnancy, Forced Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Breeding.

Chapter 2

The Day Before the Verdict

The hot Roman air is thick and motionless, saturated with the scents of dust, sweat, and blood. The scent of death. The Colosseum lives and breathes like a beast. Its stone teeth bite into the sky, while within its depths, a crowd seethes, hungry for spectacle.

The hum of voices, laughter, shouts, the clinking of cups, and the hoarse melody of a flute merge into a single rhythm—oppressive, all-pervading. The smell of roasted meat from food vendors mixes with the aroma of rose oil, which the patricians lavishly pour onto their wrists. But even in this whirlpool of scents and sounds, one pierces to the bone—the smell of blood. Raw, heavy, sticky.

Helena steps forward. Her back remains straight, but her heart beats too loudly. A gown of ivory, embroidered with golden threads, flows softly over the marble floor, accentuating her slender figure. A light, transparent cape, perfumed with myrrh and saffron, rests on her shoulders. But even these fragrances cannot mask the stench of decay soaked into the walls.

Beside her walks Lucilla. Her toga, adorned with silver-embroidered eagles, sways gently with each step, and golden bracelets chime on her wrists. Her face remains impassive, but the fingers clutching the fabric betray her tension.

“Smile, child,” she murmurs barely audibly, without turning her head. “Do not let him defeat you before the battle even begins.”

Helena does not answer. She knows who awaits her ahead. For six years, he had been nothing but a name, a shadow in her memory. But now she is here. And he has suddenly become real. Tangible.

Glancing at the floor, Helena suddenly recalled their first meeting…

A secular evening in the imperial palace was noisy: the clinking of glasses and laughter—pure and childish or muffled and adult. The summer air was thickly saturated with the aromas of blooming jasmine, wine vapors, and expensive oils with which the noble guests were anointed. Between the columns, the lights of torches flickered, casting trembling reflections on gilded garments.

While the adults immersed themselves in conversations and conspiracies, the children played in the inner courtyard under the watchful eyes of nannies and guards.

Eight-year-old Geta sat on a bench by the fountain, tense, sullen, pressing his lips together. He felt irritation—nasty, like the stale smell of sweat on a hot day. Children always disgusted him: they were noisy, fussy, intrusive. Their sticky hands, dirty clothes, the way they would cling, tug, try to please. He despised them. All of them, except his brother.

Caracalla sat nearby, accepting attention with pleasure. Both of them were adorned with jewelry like temples on a festive day: gold bracelets, chains, expensive fabrics. Their thick, red hair, like autumn leaves, shone in the firelight.

Parents taught all the children that they had to befriend the emperor's sons, but whom to choose? No one could decide, so they tried to please both at once.

Geta hated it. He noticed how some boys would approach him first, then hurry over to Caracalla, how the girls giggled, flattered, but their glances darted between the brothers.

His brother, already surrounded by several children, spoke loudly, laughed. It was easier for others to befriend Caracalla—to dig in the dirt rather than stare at a sullen face, not to wonder when Geta would grimace at the sight of dirt under children's nails or on their faces. Geta was gloomier, more withdrawn, and everything happening around him annoyed him. He preferred the company of adults, but he never left his brother’s side.

And then he noticed her.

His gaze caught on a small, fragile girl. He had never seen her before. And most importantly—she was not hovering around them, not trying to get his attention, not ingratiating herself. She sat among other girls, weaving a wreath. Boys bustled around her—some, bolder, tugged at her hair, some peered into her bright green eyes, some simply laughed nearby. Her golden strands gleamed even in the twilight. They were bright as the sun, like golden rays on marble. And the girl seemed to them something light, warm, special. But Geta saw that she was completely smeared—her dress stained with grass, her hands dirty, leaves tangled in her hair, and a dark smudge on her cheek—perhaps dirt, perhaps the remains of a sweet fruit.

She laughed, and that laughter cut into his ears.

The emperor’s son watched intently as the girl, tilting her head, twisted stems into neat patterns. He didn’t like that others surrounded her, didn’t like that she laughed—not with him. He was angry at the stranger without understanding why.

And when her wreath was ready, one of the children pushed her forward. Geta watched as she stepped closer and then stopped between him and his brother. She lifted her eyes, deciding—Caracalla, who smiled at her, or Geta, who frowned, watching from under his brows. She lingered on the first, but then, without further hesitation, stepped toward the second.

Geta froze, lips slightly parted.

She chose him.

She did not walk between them, did not try to please both, did not glance at the others. She simply held out the wreath to him, with her small palms.

Geta did not move. His hands remained folded, his face tense. He was not used to children giving him anything. Everything he had, he received because he was the emperor’s son. Because people sought his favor, because they wanted something from him, while he wanted nothing from them.

But the girl, unknown to him before, simply looked at him, asking for nothing. And then something flared in his chest—unpleasant, sticky, like honey dripping behind his collar. And this feeling spread vilely inside him.

She chose him. Only him.

"A gift," the girl said softly.

She was still very small, clearly a few years younger than him. Her height didn’t allow her to reach, so she rose onto her toes and, not waiting for the emperor’s son to take the wreath himself, carefully placed it on his head. Geta caught the scent of fresh flowers and, without noticing, leaned slightly toward her.

"Only for you," the golden-haired girl repeated firmly.

Geta heard one of the adults huff, the servants whisper. But he did not take his eyes off her, struck by the fact that, for the first time in his life, someone had chosen him just like that. Not out of fear, not because of power, not because they had to.

Again, Geta did not know how to react. Something inexplicable boiled in his chest. And the girl suddenly, just as he reached out to help her climb onto the bench—allowing someone to sit beside him for the first time—jumped back and, laughing loudly, dashed back to the children.

"What’s your name?" burst out before he could think.

"Helena!" she called over her shoulder, not stopping.

Her name is light, flame and fire.

Geta watched her, unbelieving. How could this be? She chose him—so now she must stay near! She couldn’t just leave! And jumping up from the bench, he took a step after her—but stopped. Froze.

Helena must stay close now. She must be his.

Geta was used to everything he wanted ending up in his hands. Toys, treats, attention, praise. Everything was for him. He only had to reach out—and he received. But now? Now Helena had smiled at him, given him a wreath, and ran off, as if he were nobody, as if her choice meant nothing.

Geta clenched his fists. This feeling, constricting him from within, was new. Childish, yet fierce, like a child who had suddenly been denied his favorite toy. For the first time in his life, he didn’t get something immediately. And for the first time in his life, he wanted something so badly.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the boy trudged after her, unable to let Helena go. Not understanding, but already feeling—that now, she must belong only to him…

Geta saw her immediately.

He was hiding in the shadows of the massive colonnade, dressed in a purple toga lined with fine fabrics, fastened with golden clasps. His strong arms were crossed over his chest, and his dark eyes, deep as whirlpools, watched her. And when he began to walk, the crowd parted before him, as if fate itself was weaving a path for him.

Helena entered the spacious hall, and the firelight reflected in her golden hair, playing like sparks in her spring-leaf-colored eyes. "The Sun and Joy of the Empire"—that was the name she had earned over the years.

Geta took a step closer. His smile was slow, lazy. But there was something dangerous in it.

"Well, hello, meus sol," his voice was deep, thick, like warm honey. "I have waited for you for so long, my little bird. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you, heard your voice, imagined you before me. And now, at last, you are here. Just as I remember you… even more beautiful."

It is vulgar. It is wrong. This should not be.

But he is the Emperor.

Geta reached out his hand, and before Helena could recoil, he leaned in, his fingertips brushing against her cheek. A light touch—like silken cobwebs, but behind it lay something commanding. He smirked. There was something hungry, dark in his eyes, yet admiring at the same time.

"I thought you would smile at me, as you used to, when you ran to meet me in the garden," a note of disappointment flickered in his voice. Geta leaned in playfully, just a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Did you not miss me? Admit it, little bird, you did, didn’t you?"

Helena jerked away. Her chest rose with anger, her eyes flashed like lightning. She looked at him as if he were a stranger, an enemy.

And suddenly, Geta realized—this was not the girl he remembered. The one who laughed beside him, admired his stories, chased sunbeams on the marble walls—she was left behind in her ancestral home, where she grew up under her father’s wing. But this Helena—this one was different.

She hated him. And she was right to.

"Do not touch me," her voice was as cold as the steel of Roman blades. But then, suddenly, she huffed, curling her lips into a mocking smile. "Or has my Emperor forgotten that he sentenced my father to death?"

She stepped forward sharply, and Geta stopped breathing. He had expected anger, fear—but not this defiance.

"You dragged us into this nightmare. And you think I should be glad to see you? How foolish…"

The Emperor watched her in silence. His lips still held a shadow of a smile, but his eyes darkened, growing heavy like storm clouds over a battlefield. Slowly, he lowered his hand—but he did not look away.

"Your father condemned himself," his voice was firm, almost indifferent. All that remained was the cold certainty that the one who is stronger is always right. "He knew that betrayal is never forgiven. Just like your stepmother. Geta's gaze slid past Elena, cold and uninterested. "Isn't that right, Lucilla?"

The woman remained silent, but her fingers tightened around the fabric of her stepdaughter’s toga. And Geta looked at Helena again. But now his smile grew wider, more poisonous—like a hawk finally closing in on its prey.

"I ordered your whole family to be brought here," he said lazily, as if speaking of something mundane. "So where is your mother, Helena?"

He let out a bitter chuckle, as if he had just remembered something amusing. Though he had never forgotten. He was taunting her, mocking her, humiliating her, avenging even the smallest refusal. The slightest disobedience.

"Ah, yes…" amusement rang in his voice, a sneer played on his lips. "She can only enter this place as a whore. That is, of course, if she hasn’t completely lost her mind already."

Geta stepped forward, towering over Helena.

"Or has she found herself another patron?" the Emperor scoffed, making her skin prickle, her knees tremble, her shoulders tense to keep from shrinking away. "Perhaps she has even taught you how to properly please noble men?"

Helena flinched as if Geta had struck her. Her face twisted in disgust. Anger flared in her chest, scorching her from within. Through clenched teeth, she hissed:

"Do not dare speak of my mother like that!"

Helena stepped forward, dangerously close, nearly colliding with him. In that moment, she did not care who he was. Did not care what Geta could do to her. A storm raged inside her, demanding to tear him apart.

But Geta only smirked.

"My defiant little bird," his voice was almost gentle. "Rage, scream… But you are still here."

He did not retreat.

"Standing before me," his voice dropped lower, barely a whisper, but full of command. "And soon… soon you will understand before whom you must kneel."

His fingers barely brushed against a strand of her hair, but Helena jerked away.

Geta did not blink. Did not flinch.

He simply watched her—with the same hungry, merciless interest as a predator gazing at prey already caught in its snare…

On their last meeting before the breakup, the night enveloped the palace in a sticky darkness, like an old heavy cloak. The air was thick and damp, saturated with the scent of decaying rose petals that had fallen onto the marble floor. Somewhere in the distance, beyond the walls of the chambers, the night song of crickets sounded. But here, in the corridors, everything was too quiet. A silence filled with rare, unsteady breaths, mixed with the nervous echo of bare footsteps against the icy marble.

Geta walked ahead, tightly gripping Helena’s tiny fingers in his palm. Her skin was warm but damp with fear, and when he pulled her harder, her fingers trembled in his grasp. He squeezed her hand so tightly that her thin knuckles turned slightly white. Helena felt that his palm was hot but sweaty—whether from tension or the heat of the summer night, she couldn’t tell. She felt uneasy, but she didn’t try to pull away. Everything inside her tightened as they moved forward. The corridors stretched into long, echoing tunnels, the marble beneath their feet was freezing, and each of her careful steps made a faint slapping sound. Sometimes Helena stumbled, catching her foot on the rough edges of the tiles, but Geta didn’t even slow down, continuing to pull her along. The girl glanced around fearfully, pressing her chin against the hem of her light night tunic.

"Geta..." Her voice broke into a whisper, filled with fear. But he didn’t answer. He only pulled her along more insistently.

His gaze was wild, burning. Expectant. Like a child who had finally gotten hold of the promised toy. They slid like shadows through the dark corridors, hearing only their own breathing and the dull pounding of their hearts. Helena tried to step more quietly, but her bare feet sometimes caught cold droplets of water that had dripped from vases standing against the walls. She shuddered but did not stop. Geta led her forward—persistent, determined.

When they finally stepped into the garden, the air filled with the heavy scent of blooming jasmine. Geta’s father, the emperor himself, sat behind a stone table, thoughtfully pouring wine from one cup to another. The emperor lazily turned the goblet in his hand, letting the dark liquid trickle down the edges, leaving thin red streaks on the marble surface. He didn’t drink—he played with the wine, like a man who was in no hurry. Beside him stood a tray of fruit—overripe figs, split in half, dripped sticky juice onto the silver, while a handful of grapes, already touched by dark spots, looked forgotten.

Opposite him stood General Acacius—stern, upright, his face tense.

Geta and Helena hid behind one of the massive columns, concealed in the dim light. Their breathing became quieter. Geta could feel her trembling beside him, but he didn’t look at Helena. He only looked at his father.

"Geta will become emperor," the ruler’s voice was low, lazy, but there was steel in it. "And he needs a worthy wife. Your daughter. A good match."

"She is only ten!" Acacius exclaimed.

The emperor smirked, taking a lazy sip of wine that stained his lips.

"And my eldest twin is fourteen." He paused. "They can marry when your girl reaches the proper age. Time flies fast, General. You understand what kind of alliance we will create, don’t you?"

Helena felt the ground beneath her feet cease to be solid. The world suddenly became unstable, like a reflection in a pond after a stone was thrown into it. Her thoughts scattered, and each breath came with difficulty, as if the air had turned thick, heavy like honey. The words spoken by her father and the emperor echoed in her mind, their meaning seeping into her heart, leaving cold splinters. This was not a conversation about her—this was a deal. Without her will, without her consent. Her fate, sculpted by foreign hands, now stood before her like a locked door with no way out.

Geta looked pleased, unshaken. He was calm, as if he had known about this all along. But Helena’s world was crumbling. A sharp, tormenting fear rose in her chest—fear of the future, of something inevitable, something she did not want. She had never thought about marriage, much less imagined herself next to Geta. He was her friend...

Her fingers trembled as she instinctively grasped the edge of her nightgown, clutching the thin fabric until her knuckles turned white. Marriage. The word that had once seemed distant suddenly became a nightmare, a trap from which there was no escape.

Her vision darkened. She didn’t know what to say, how to react. She looked at Geta—at his indifferent face with a smirk, at his gaze, which was not cruel but impenetrable. Did he really think this was normal? That her life could be decided so easily, without her consent?

But I... I'm still a child... I’m only... A scream wanted to break free, but her voice refused to obey.

"And yet, I say no."

Geta tensed. His nostrils flared, and his fingers on Helena’s hand clenched so tightly that she let out a thin whimper. He heard her, but he did not loosen his grip.

"Helena... is not suitable," Acacius’s voice was firm, but there was caution in it. "Her mother... is merely—"

"A prostitute," the emperor lazily finished, savoring the taste of the word as if swallowing tart, spoiled wine. "And you want to say she is unworthy of my son?"

Geta didn’t understand. He heard the words but could not grasp their meaning. How can they refuse? How can they say ‘no’ to him?

"Stupid," the emperor waved his hand dismissively. "Elena is beautiful, smart. Her father is my best commander. Don't you want your daughter to become an empress? My son likes your girl, so let this union be beneficial."

"Helena is not a match for the future emperor," Acacius said slowly, his voice becoming firmer. He was defending himself.

And Helena was not breathing. Her heart pounded so hard she heard it in her ears. Her skin burned with heat, then turned cold, covered in goosebumps. A sticky fear rose from her chest, wrapping around her throat.

"Wait..." she exhaled in a whisper, but Geta did not hear. He heard only one thing: rejection. Dirty, humiliating, cutting deep into his soul.

He could not remain silent any longer.

With a sudden jerk, Geta stepped out from behind the column, clenching his fists. His face was ablaze with anger.

"Why?!" His voice was loud, strained, almost childish in its wounded pride. "How dare you?!"

Acacius turned sharply. And at that very moment, he saw his daughter. Helena.

Her eyes were huge, black with terror. Tears ran down her cheeks, dripping onto the collar of her nightgown. She pressed herself against the column, trying to disappear from all of this, but her hand clutched at her shoulder, where red marks from Geta’s fingers were imprinted.

"Helena," her father’s voice became soft, almost frightened. He stepped toward her, but she did not move. Her lips trembled.

"She is mine!" Geta exclaimed even louder.

The Emperor lazily lifted his gaze. The wine in his cup swayed slightly.

"How interesting…" he smirked.

"Emperor," the general bowed his head. "My decision remains unchanged. If you allow…"

Acacius did not wait any longer. Gently but firmly, he took his daughter by the hand and led her out of the garden. They walked in silence until the palace walls hid them from prying eyes. Only then did the general stop, kneeling before her, placing his hands on her small, trembling shoulders.

"Helena…" his voice was low, warm, but tired. "Forgive me. I lied… but only to protect you. You were never supposed to be there. That wretch…"

The girl lifted her eyes to him, and they filled with tears once more. She sobbed, her breath unsteady, her lips quivering.

"You… you said it…" her voice was barely audible. "And I believed you… even though I knew…"

The general carefully clasped her hands in his—firmly, but gently. He lowered his head as if trying to hide his exhaustion and slowly ran his hand through her disheveled hair.

"Sometimes, a lie is the only thing that can save," he spoke slowly, as if weighing every word. "You are always my girl; nothing else matters. Do you understand?"

Helena sobbed louder, burying her face in his shoulder. The general embraced her, sheltering her with his strong arms, as if protecting her from the entire world.

"I am here," he whispered. "And no one will harm you. As long as I live. I promise."

Helena took a deep breath, clutching his clothes tighter in her small fingers. She knew this moment wouldn’t change everything. But in her father’s embrace, the fear receded for just a moment. And that was enough.

A few hours later, they left the palace.

And then, years passed.

Geta rarely saw Helena, but rumors about her spread throughout Rome. He heard them.

She danced like a goddess. She was called the Sun of Rome, its light—for her kindness. They said her laughter was like the chime of spring, that her smile illuminated anyone near her. And she became something he could not have, though long ago, he had decided she belonged to him alone.

But even the sun could not hide from the gazes that followed her everywhere. Geta heard the stories—of her grace, of her gentle voice that could melt even hearts carved from stone. He imagined her—surrounded by hundreds of admirers, flatterers, hungry eyes. Every time he thought of someone else daring to look at her, his fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms, leaving painful marks. He could not allow this to continue.

And because of this, he wanted her even more.

And because of this, his obsession grew, like a black, poisonous flower.

Helena was the only thing he could not take. And the only thing for which he was ready to crush Rome.

I don't know English. Maybe there are a lot of mistakes. ♡♡♡

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