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prettycalla · 3 months ago

Text

|| obiurgatio ||

Pairing: Geta/Reader

Summary: You are a tactile person. Your husband is a jealous man. (Request prompt)

Word Count: 892

Tags and warnings: Geta is jealous, reader is tired, they love each other though, mild arguing, fluff, no use of Y/N.

(To the anon who requested this, I hope this is okay! I'm not sure if it's exactly what you had asked for, but my writer's block is still pretty bad and I did my best.)

Masterlist

There are many things that you and Geta do not agree on. Having a level head and raised with siblings, you are often able to rise above petty squabbles, and allow your husband his opinions while you maintain your own.

But there are times when you must draw the line.

Geta has been pacing back and forth across your shared chambers for the better part of five minutes now, turning the same ring around and around on his finger in agitation. You watch him quietly from where you are reclined on the lectus by the window. A light breeze caresses your skin and you are grateful for it, as you can feel a headache quickly building.

“You have embarrassed me,” he says, finally breaking the tense silence.

You sigh. This is not the first time he has said it.

“You are embarrassing yourself with your childish behaviour,” you retort.

He stops then, glaring at you.

“You would blame me for your actions?” he questions in a clipped tone.

You bury your face in your hands for a moment. For as much as your affections run deep for your husband, he is also often the most frustrating man you have ever encountered.

“Please explain to me what it is that I have done to offend you,” you say, keeping your voice as calm and diplomatic as possible.

It proves difficult.

“You, with the senator’s wife-" he starts, struggling to find words. "How you acted with her. It was not appropriate.”

Geta pulls a face of disgust.

You bite your tongue, allowing yourself a moment to collect yourself. Geta has always had a way of making the most mundane of things sound like a travesty when it suits him. Kissing your dear friend on the cheek in a public setting is one of those things, apparently.

“She is my friend, Geta. We have always greeted each other in such a manner,” you explain tiredly.

You have had this argument many times before, and each time it is the same.

You have always been a tactile person. When you were very small, you would clamber into your parents’ laps and press kisses to their faces, expecting the same in return. On more than one occasion, you had fallen asleep in the arms of one of your siblings, warm and safe in their embrace. Even as you grew older, kisses on the forehead or cheek and lingering touches on the forearm or shoulder were how you showed your affection to those dearest to you. There is never any hidden intent behind it - it is how you show love.

Marrying an Emperor did not suddenly strip you of everything you once were.

Your husband, however, does not see it that way, and while you are frustrated by him, you understand. His childhood was worlds apart from yours. He was taught from an early age to lock his heart away, to learn to rule with an iron fist. That to love is to show weakness.

How long it took you to slowly pull away each carefully constructed piece of armour he had placed around himself. Even now, there is still work to be done.

There are times when you look at him, you see not the feared Emperor of Rome, but the fearful little boy that still lingers.

You know that he does not mean to hurt you - he is so afraid of being hurt himself. He is afraid of losing you.

Resolved, you rise to your feet, reaching out to lightly grasp his arms.

“Husband,” you say gently.

He allows your touch, but he will not look at you.

“Geta,” you try again, a soft smile on your lips.

Finally he looks up, meeting your gaze. You take his hand in yours and place it over your heart.

“This belongs to you,” you tell him sincerely. “No matter what, this will always belong to you.”

Geta’s tongue runs across his lip nervously, before he slowly reaches for your hand and places it over his own heart.

“Just as mine belongs to you,” he replies in a whisper.

Your smiles widens, and you lean in to press a kiss to his mouth. He is hesitant at first, before he finally gathers you up in his arms in a fierce embrace.

He does not apologise - there is still much more work to be done - but you feel it in how he holds you. When you part, his dark eyes are shining with tears.

“No more of this," you murmur, gently running your thumb across his cheek, "A God has no need for envy.”

"You are devoted," he says. It is not a question.

"Until my last breath, and beyond the stars, carissime," you reply, leaning in to kiss him again. "My love for others does not negate my love for you."

He watches you intently, his gaze flickering across your face, as if to find even the smallest amount of deceit.

He finds none.

You know that he will not change overnight, and this may not be the last time you have this very argument. But knowing that he is willing to let you in, to listen to you, is no small feat, and you do not take it for granted.

Your husband is a stubborn man, but he has certainly met his match in you.

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

#emperor geta x reader #geta x reader #emperor geta x you #geta x you #emperor geta #geta #requests #prettycalla writes #angie writes

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blueberrypancakesworld · 7 months ago

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I am yours and never ours

Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : Spoilers for Gladiator ii, hurt/comfort, kissing, implied mother issues, mention of violence, cuddling, no use of y/n

Summary : It was a mistake to kill the hero, to not give him the mercy he should have received. The riots a sign of overthrow and fall and entrenched in the palace the two brothers and Caracalla's wife, nerves are thin and after a forgetting of temper it seems only love can calm a frightened Caracalla to bring order to the situation.

info : omg the scene was so sad and tense, the bond between the two, i'm fully in my gladiator era. Have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had only taken a fraction of a moment, the sun had been right over the Colosseum, giving everyone a chance to get their bearings. Shouts of cheers, boos and cries mingled with the loud voice of Rome.

The emperors sitting impatiently on their chairs, the younger one screaming for death at last, the older one seeming to grow more agitated with every breath, and in the centre the weeping princess as the arrows pierced her beloved.

Justus Acacius was dead, unjustly killed despite the surrender of both fighters, a death that had the emperors rejoicing, but a death that only a few hours later at nightfall had the people roaring.

What at first was still disbelief and shock had become a popular uprising, at the latest with the tumult, the flames raging in the streets and the numerous courageous citizens.

The two brothers also became aware of the uprising and the royal family withdrew in disbelief and indignation to avoid being drawn into it.

Even the Sun of Rome, Caracalla's wife, could not reassure the people who loved her; they seemed to hate her as much as her husband and brother-in-law.

Looking out from behind the solid walls of the palace, she saw the metre-high flames, saw the angry crowd and the few troops of the emperors who could hardly do anything.

Gods have mercy on us she thought and took another sip from her glass as she heard more screams of death and moved away from the window, going back to her family but seeing only the same tension in Geta.

Rarely had she seen him like this if he didn't burst under the pressure at any moment so she was sure he would storm out himself, ,,There may be many but they don't have the weapons and courage of our troops" she said calmly and tried to pour Geta another glass but he turned away.

His gaze had barely noticed her so absorbed he seemed to be thinking about how he could save them all, ,,Ungrateful" he hissed as he looked out and saw nothing but treachery.

The silence in the palace was interrupted only by the footsteps of Macrinus, who withdrew in her presence, she did not trust him and he did not trust her, but her concern lay more with her beloved Caracalla.

She glanced at her husband, who was sitting on a lectus and feeding Dundus his little monkey to calm himself down somehow. However, he looked just as miserable as his brother, they both looked tired, exhausted and completely overwhelmed by everything.

She gave him a smile, trying to keep him amused, ,,You'll all see blood," Caracalla said, returning the smile - it was to be expected that he wanted a whole bloodlust. A betrayal hurts deeply.

Even if it hurt inside her, helplessness and fear had a grip on her too…only Dundus the monkey seemed happy as he let out another little screech when he got a grape.

A mistake.

All of a sudden all she could see was Geta hurrying around, ,,Get that annoying monkey out of here!" shouting at his brother and slapping the wine in his brother's face.

Startled, she gasped, calling out Geta's name in warning, his eyes filled with anger and remorse, she knew it was the situation, knew the tension but nothing would help.

As she hurried over to Caracalla and gently placed her hand on his shoulder, he looked more like a weeping dog than an emperor, ,,Come my king, we should feed Dundus somewhere else" she said, helping him up slightly and telling him to go ahead into the throne room.

She walked past Geta who just looked down shaking his head and cursing himself, he had taken it too far. ,,I'll be right back why don't you get us some wine Macrinus" she said and didn't bother because his fake smile told her all she needed to know as he disappeared and she sighed and hurried on her way.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridors and the throne room, Dundus shrieked and she heard the sniffle, ,,Love? My King Caracalla, where are you?" she asked quietly, swallowing down the lump rising in her throat as she thought back to the episodes he had already had.

She and Geta loved him but this madness would be the downfall of them all. She continued to walk around the room, first looking behind the throne where he sometimes hid, but he wasn't sitting there.

,,Caracalla? It's your sun, do you understand?" she asked and finally saw the blond head of hair peeking out from behind one of the curtains behind which he had curled up.

She heard his crying, the sniffling as he peeked out from behind it and she got down on her knees, ,,It's-It's all right, come here to me, you know who I am, don't you?" she continued to ask calmly, hiding the slight trembling in her hands under the fabric of her clothes as she saw the man she loved so fragile.

Slowly he emerged from his ‘hiding place’ and nodded cautiously as he crawled towards her, ,,You…you're my wife," he sniffled his words barely intelligible as Dundus continued to tote on his shoulders and the chain rattled.

Nodding hastily, she smiled slightly relieved that he at least recognised her, sitting in front of her probably not quite knowing what he wanted or needed, ,,You are mine" he seemed to understand instead as he placed his hand on hers and she didn't pull it away.

Yours, mine, ours words she had heard so often, she was his wife but our joy.

It's like a coin with two sides only one can come up and the other stays in the shadow, only the balance on the edge can go but with enormous precision or trust and love…something that was all the more difficult at such a time between the two brothers.

She nodded again and pulled him close, lying in her lap like a boy with his mother, his, ,,I'm yours," she assured him, carefully using the sleeve of her dress to wipe his face.

Mostly delusional, she quickly realised that he was like a small child who simply needed her mother, a woman who had died at an early age and she filled that role.

An initial squirming soon turned into an amused laugh as she wiped the wine from his face and at least he wasn't crying, ,,Tickled" he muttered and she couldn't help but smile bitterly, the delusion was a horror and a blessing in one.

Another coin.

Dundus played with the blond curls as Caracalla's fingers, which had been playing with each other before, slid to hers, ,,He's been hurting me since we were sin the womb, you're not his or ours…you're mine…like Rome should be mine," he suddenly said, gripping her tighter.

Blue eyes showed the fire of madness and she stroked his cheek, she knew the story of the womb, but she knew just as well that madness could be transmitted by whores, was it a lie or the truth?

Trying to stifle a shaky breath, she placed a kiss on his lips, tasting the wine, tasting sage and tasting blood, ,,You two are like the creators of Rome, two sides my love. But think what Geta has done for you, for me, for all of Rome…you are the king, Geta is the god and I am the sun," she reminded him of the story she had made up during one of his episodes.

Caracalla a king of honour who could have all the blood in the world, his brother the political god and she the sun who held them all together.

A story that made him pause, his memories shrouded in mist, he needed time while she continued to hold him gently and stroke his cheek, his grip on her hand tightening and softening, ,,Yes? Yes, I think so…I think so...despite the pain, I-I still have you" he slowly realised and sanity returned to his being.

As he cuddled up to her and laid his head in the crook of her neck and held her like that for a moment, tears in her eyes as she blinked them away and thanked the gods again that nothing bad had happened.

Caracalla's hand was also on her cheek and she saw the gold tooth as she smiled, ,,Thank you my sun" she heard him say before he pulled her into a kiss, finally back to her senses as he slowly pulled away from her and helped her stand up.

Despite the riots, despite Geta and despite the madness, the Emperor was still here, gently grasping her hand and once more locking her in a kiss, even if Rome fell they would not give up trying to help him out of this doom.

From the moment she had taken him as her husband, she knew that she would always be there for him and that Caracalla would never stop loving her. Because even in madness there was nothing stronger than love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @rainbowbox , @thankyouperconte , @myromanempire81 , @k-yurieee

#gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor caracalla #emperor caracalla x reader #fred hechinger #male x female #spoilers for gladiator ii #emperor geta #reader is female

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radawaycunt · 7 months ago

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Hiiii I see u are taking request for Lucius Verus x reader.

I was thinking something like at the end when he becomes emperor he will need a new wife…👀 but he doesn't want a new wife so he tries to delay the choice, but then he meets the reader (us) and we can be whatever u like, I was thinking about like a slave or something idk.

Sorry if my English isn’t right !!

Hell yes I can write this for you ❤️❤️❤️ thanks for requesting!!

————-

“But Imperator—”

“But nothing,” Lucius interrupted, holding up a hand. “I have already made my decision.”

Ravi clicked his tongue in disapproval, lowering his voice. “It is no use being so stubborn, my friend.”

Lucius huffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It is not without reason.”

“I know that, but that was another life, and her memory has carried you this far,” Ravi said, his tone tactful. “She would not want you to not have heirs to carry out your legacy.”

Lucius thought about it for a moment. He had fought so hard to get to where he was, staying alive despite the pain of his losses. Now that he was Caesar of Rome, he couldn’t let all his efforts go to waste and hand down the crown to just anyone. Especially knowing how easy it was for someone like Macrinus to try to seize control.

“I would be… open to having a meeting,” he began, but when Ravi’s face lit up, he lifted a hand again. “But that is no promise that things will progress beyond it.”

“Good enough for me,” Ravi said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I know someone, a widower, just like you. She was one of my patients, in the past.”

“I leave it in your hands, then. Bring her for dinner.”

—————

Lucius had no expectations about meeting you. In truth, a part of him had been dreading it, not knowing how he was going to act.

But when he saw you at the atrium with Ravi, he stopped in his steps. Ravi introduced you and you curtsied, daintily holding out your hand so you may kiss his ring.

Lucius blinked at you, unaware he was staring until Ravi cleared his throat. Reacting, he gave you his hand and you bent your head to kiss it.

When you straightened, you shared a slightly amused look with Ravi, biting down a chuckle.

“It is a great honor to meet you, Imperator Lucius,” you said. “Thank you for allowing me into your home.”

“The honor is mine,” he said, inclining his head and smiling a little. “Please, come sit. Would you like wine? Something to snack on?”

“Well, I cannot very well decline anything our gracious host offers, can I, Ravi?” You said, following both of them to the triclinium.

“But of course, Lady,” Ravi said.

Lucius offered his hand to help you onto the lectus, a couch where you could recline while dining. You took it, holding the skirts of your dress as you sat. He took the one across from you and Ravi sat on the one between both of yours.

Lucius shared a look with Ravi, who raised an eyebrow. Stubborn, he pursed his lips, but one of the corners still lifted in a small smile. It was then that Ravi knew he had done a good job.

“So, I should like you to tell me about you,” Lucius said, leaning forward eagerly.

“What would you like to know?” You asked, taking a sip of wine and hoping your face wasn’t too flushed from his attention.

“Everything,” he said. “If that is not too much for a first meeting.”

You laughed and he realized he wouldn’t mind listening to it echoing through the halls of the palace more often.

“Let us make a bargain, then, if it is not too presumptuous of me,” you said. “If by sunrise you are not satisfied with all I have shared, then perhaps we may reconvene for another meal.”

He didn’t even have to think about it twice. “I’ll take that bargain, though I suspect your coming back won’t be from lack of satisfaction.”

————

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus x you #lucius verus x fem!reader #gladiator fanfiction #lucius verus fanfiction #minors dni #lucius verus #x reader

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milf-nod · 9 months ago

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londonfog-chan · 6 months ago

Text

Emperor Caracalla x Reader: Asklēpiós

A/N: I promised one day I would write for my precious little lad. Now that day has come.

Also, if you’re not nearsighted and legally blind without glasses like me, you are now. Congrats.

Warnings: mentions of abuse and neglect, prostitution, STD/STI mention, Female Reader

Credits: dividers by @strangergraphics

“Come now, Agapi, won’t you be agreeable?”

Caracalla’s lips pressed tightly together into a thin line. Head turned to the side in defiance.

Slender fingers tapped against his pock-marked cheek— a gentle coax to open that pretty mouth of his. But as usual, he scrunched his aquiline nose and shook his head in vehement protest. Night time was a gamble with Caracalla. One never knew what version of him they would get. Would you have the monster with enough physical strength to turn over a lectus with someone laying upon it? Or would you have the sniveling, crying angel, who buried his face in your breast and begged for affection.

“You promised, Agapi.” you said, running a finger along the length of his nose bridge, “You said you would take your chinaroot for me.”

“The horse piss herb?!” He whined, swatting your hand away, “I don’t want it!”

“You did promise me you would take it as I asked.” You said, using your calloused fingers to brush his strawberry blonde bangs from his forehead, “Or did you lie to me, Agapi? Me, of all people.”

Pink lips pouted in quiet contemplation. You could see the conflict in his slate blue eyes. Below the surface of his pink cheeked charm, a feverish, maddened mind was working to determine whether or not to deny, lash out, or seek forgiveness. Treading carefully when it came to your emotions, you knew he was warring with his own impulse.

Since his affliction, the other concubines of the realm refused to lie with Imperator Geta’s brother or even go near him at all. Not since they had given you to him had anyone bothered of late to reciprocate his touch. The isolation was fraying his nerves. He became moody, volatile. Constantly lashing out when he called out for pleasure, and only got you instead.

“I want pleasure! Not this piglet!” Caracalla screamed that first night.

You were frozen under Geta’s clutching of your shoulders, and gasped softly as you were pushed forward into Caracalla’s furry chest.

“You’d infect our courtesans with your disease, take what I give you and be grateful for that at all!” Geta had growled back, a cupful of wine to the face enough to silence his brother as the both of you were drenched in sanguine liquid.

You were not stupid enough to question your place. They gave you to Caracalla as a joke. Lesser goods for the lesser brother. You were not comely and lithe like the others. Admittedly you were rather plain, a Hellene from Chora who had been treating the infected in the concubine’s quarters. More of a servant’s apprentice than a vessel for the imperator’s bastards, and for a time you preferred things as they were. Treating the sick. Nursing them to health. It was a peaceful existence.

Not even the praetorian guard dogs wanted to touch you. Another aspect of the general disinterest was the semi state of blindness you lived in. It got steadily worse from childhood until now, when you could not perceive eight paces before you, without the world dissolving into an unfocused blur. Everyone either pitied or despised you, believing that your affliction was something to be controlled. You made your peace with it a long time ago, just as you made your peace with being Caracalla’s pleasure dregs.

“… As you wish, give me your piss herb.” He finally acquiesced, lower lip stuck out in a pout.

“Thank you, Agapi.”

But unlike the others who fled from his touch, you were gentle with Caracalla, and you would continue to be. The coldness of his stormy blue eyes softened and became ensconced by pupils dilated in affection, his cheeks a blushing rose pink as you held out a bronze cup steeped with the juices of a dried rhizome.

Even in his feverish state, he could tell the difference in care. You treated him with tenderness. Not like he was an invalid, but more with affection and respect as a spouse would for an ailing husband. You kept his cubiculum tidy. Carefully selected his ensembles of jewelry and silks for the servants to dress him. Every other day you bathed him in milk, scouring his body with a pumice and then moisturizing him with beeswax and oils. Dressed his wounds and perfumed him with patchouli, even going as far as to perfume his breath by having him chew clove and mint on occasion.

Subconsciously, the co-imperator picked up on your kindness. Instead of raining blows on your head with freakish strength, the man would reach out and cling to your stola. Speaking tender words of affection, and seeking at some points to make you pleased with him.

“You’re a wicked harpy.” He huffed, his soft hands over yours on the bronze cup.

“I know.” you murmured, gently coaxing the lukewarm liquid between his lips, “But I am a harpy that plucks at the mites between her nestling’s feathers, seeking to soothe his itch. Now drink.”

The chinaroot did not go down smooth, it never did. Caracalla gurgled and gagged the liquid and rhizome all the way down his gullet, slender hands wrapping around a pale throat as he chewed and choked. It was painful watching him try to swallow, but he had to. Without the chinaroot, the regression would have only gotten worse, and he would have succumbed to the infection from his chancres.

“It’s like gargling a goat’s testes!” He whined as he pulled away.

“You gargle them well, Agapi.”

Caracalla coughed, throat puffing out in a gag as you wiped his chin with a clean scrap of linen.

“It’s awful! It doesn’t work!” He croaked.

“Have you been hurting or noticing new sores?” You asked.

There was a penetrating silence. So still was the air around the room, you could hear the flame licking against the wick in the oil lamps, as well as the fire crackling in the imperial hearth. While allowing Caracalla to answer, you stood from the bed, shuffling to the diminutive night table– equipped with a brass bowl of hot water that now cooled– to take a brief moment to scour your hands with hot water, natron, and vinegar.

You knew the answer, even within his silence, your beloved was as transparent as blown glass.

“No…” Caracalla admitted ruefully, “But that doesn’t change things. I don’t want it anymore! You said it is medicinal, but it tastes of utter shite and I hate it! I hate you!”

“I love you, Agapi.”

Your voice was so low it was almost a whisper. A breathy squeak that made him stop his fuss, and lean in. The stormy gray of his feverish eyes focused entirely on your form as you wiped your clean hands on a spare piece of dry linen.

“You… you love me…?” Caracalla whispered.

“Yes.” You replied earnestly, “I do. That is why I treat you.”

The sick man leaned back into his pillow, rolling onto the side. Curling up like a pill bug at the slightest hint of a threat, he lay there contemplating your words in the finery of his linens and wool blanket. Crawling on all fours back to the imperial bed, you followed him to lay down. Draping over his hunched back like a rucksack, you lay your head beside his, fingers stroking the cold skin of his shoulder and leaving goose pimples in the wake of your touch.

“No one has ever loved me before…” he mumbled into his pillow.

“I know, Agapi.” You murmured, nuzzling his hair and inhaling the sour scent of vinegar, “And that is very sad. Everyone is deserving of love, my darling, even you.”

His trembling hands pulled your arms around his chest. He held your hands in front of him, whole body shaking.

“Everyone is repulsed by me. They avoid me, they won’t touch me. My own brother pushes me away. But not you… why?”

“You’re just ill, Agapi.” You replied softly, “The rash, the chancre sores… It’s just an illness, like any other. Would you push me away if I told you I had a chill?”

“No.”

Caracalla rolled onto his side. Blue eyes boring into yours as he cupped your cheek tenderly. He pressed his forehead to yours, the two of you inhaling in unison, as if absorbing the essence, the life breath, and sharing in it.

“No… I would never push you away… I would make you rest in my bed, and lay your weary head upon my goose down cushion. I would feed you the piss herb, and tell you stories to make you feel better whilst you choked down the bitter broth.”

You smiled at the innocent sentiment, enjoying the softness of his hot lips as they brushed against yours.

“Just as I did with you when Geta first bade me care for you.” You said, “Remember, Agapi?”

“I remember.”

To placate his brother’s demands for sex even in his feverish state, Geta summoned his manservants to rouse you from your bed at all hours of the night to give yourself to the youngest of the co-emperors. You knew even then he was dreadfully ill, and despite your pity you did not want to get infected yourself. While they dressed you in a shrunken gossamer stola woven so fine the dark of your nipples could be seen, you steeled your heart and prepared for a battle with your leather pouch of herbs.

Geta threw you at his unkempt brother, delirious with fever. Instead of fighting him, you talked softly to him. Coaxed him into letting you care for him by washing his weeping sores with vinegar, sprinkling natron to keep them clean, and ripping his bed linens into bandages to dress the open wounds. You even made a brew of the dried chinaroot rhizome, and after holding his mouth closed and rewarding him with chewed sugarcane to cut the taste, the youngest co-emperor learned to expect the sweet after the bitter.

From then on, Caracalla was your creature. Wholly and entirely.

“You wanted to look after me, even though Geta made you wake from your sleep to pleasure me…” he said, his tone lucid.

“I did it because I love you.” You said softly, showering his bumpy cheeks with kisses, “And I know you love me too, even if you say you hate me.”

“I didn’t say it!” He whined.

His cry was so piteous, like a kitten, that it was easy to forgive the lapses in memory whenever it came to his more biting comments.

“I didn’t say I hate you… I would never…! I love you… I… I don’t know what I would do without you.” Caracalla choked, the warm of his tears staining your stola.

You understood this better than anyone else.

You knew he didn’t mean his vitriol.

“I know, darling…” you whispered, and you fully embraced him as he began to cry, “I know… You shall never have to worry… for I will never forsake you…”

It was one truth you knew you could say and mean, despite your talents as a concubine, a soothsayer… You might have been the only soothsayer in all of Rome who meant it when she said she cared for the youngest, forsaken co-emperor.

#I titled this the little lad dance in my notes #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator movie #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #emperor caracalla x reader #caracalla x reader #gladiator caracalla #fred hechinger

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