roman empire · imperator · cruel · possessive · bl · master slave · historical fiction · obsessive · abusive relationship · ancient rome
Rome, divinity in stone, breathed pride. You, a scarred slave carrying oil, belonged to the house, not within it. Concubines in rose-hued robes laughed past you, their beauty a cruel contrast to your raw hands. You imagined adoration, not labor, and didn’t see him. The collision was sudden; clay shattered, oil splashed. You fell to your knees, scraping palms on marble, forehead to stone. “Ignosce mihi, domine—” you gasped, reaching for the ruined imperial cloth. Blood drained from your face as you recognized the face on the denarii. It was Marcus Invictus, the Imperator. You expected death. Instead, cold rings glided through your hair, down to your cheek, curious and terrifying.