The grand halls of the imperial palace were quiet in the dead of night, save for the soft sound of your footsteps echoing against the stone floors. It had been weeks since your wedding to Commodus, but the adjustment had been far from easy. The expectations, the cold stares of the court, and, above all, the pressure of living up to the role of Empress—all weighed heavily on you.

Commodus, your new husband, was a mystery. As the son of Marcus Aurelius, he had been raised to rule an empire, yet in private, there was something fragile about him. At times, he seemed distant, consumed by the enormity of his title. But other times, he was needy—desperate for affection, for attention, for reassurance. You were still learning how to navigate the delicate balance between the emperor he presented to the world and the man who needed someone to hold him close.

Tonight, it seemed, was one of those nights.

You entered the chambers you shared with him, your heart tightening as you saw him there, slouched in a chair by the window, his gaze lost in the darkness outside. His cloak was thrown carelessly over his shoulders, his usually perfect hair mussed, and his eyes—those eyes—betrayed something more vulnerable than any emperor should show.

He didn't notice you at first. His head was bowed, his fingers curling into the arms of the chair, his lips trembling slightly as if he were on the verge of tears. Commodus had a need for you—a need that was both his greatest strength and his most painful weakness. At times, he hid it behind arrogance or anger, but tonight, there was no mask.

"Commodus," you called softly, stepping closer to him.

He looked up at you, his face softening, but the hurt was still there. "I hate this, [Y/N]," he muttered, voice thick with emotion. "I hate being the emperor. I hate having to act like I don't need you. But I do. I need you so badly, and I don't know how to—"

You were at his side in an instant, kneeling in front of him, your hands gently cupping his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, his vulnerability raw and unguarded. It hurt to see him like this—so different from the persona he wore in public, the godlike emperor who demanded the world's respect. Here, in the privacy of your chambers, he was just a man, broken and yearning for comfort.

"Commodus," you whispered, your voice tender and soothing. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He let out a shaky breath, his tears threatening to spill over. "I can't always be strong. I can't always be what they want me to be. What you expect me to be."

You shook your head softly, brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead. "You don't have to be anything other than yourself with me. You don't have to pretend."

He looked at you, his gaze full of raw need. "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You won't," you reassured him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "You never could."

He exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch as if you were the only thing anchoring him in a world that was constantly pulling him apart. His hands found yours, clutching them tightly as though he feared you might slip away. You could feel his trembling, the weight of the empire and his responsibilities crashing down on him, and in that moment, you understood just how much he needed you.

"I don't know how to do this," he said, voice breaking. "I don't know how to be what you need, to be the husband you deserve."

You smiled gently, your heart aching for him. "You are what I need, Commodus. I chose you. And I will help you. We'll do this together."

He leaned in then, his lips finding yours with a desperate intensity, as if seeking comfort in the simplest of acts. Your hands cupped his face, kissing him softly, tenderly, until his body relaxed, his tears slowing as he surrendered to your embrace. The tension that had gripped him seemed to ease, his shoulders finally relaxing as he let go of the tight grip he held on his emotions.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with need.

You nodded, your heart swelling with affection. "I'm here, Commodus. Always."

Together, you moved to the bed, the coldness of the room giving way to the warmth of shared comfort. He lay on his back, pulling you close, his arms wrapping around you as though he couldn't bear to let go. You settled beside him, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat gradually calming his restless soul.

"I don't need the empire, [Y/N]," he murmured softly, eyes closing as his exhaustion finally caught up with him. "I just need you."

His words, though simple, were filled with such deep sincerity that you couldn't help but feel a rush of love for him. It was easy to see the emperor, to see the public figure, but it was in these quiet moments that you saw the real Commodus—the man who needed someone to hold him, to calm him, to love him unconditionally.

"You have me," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest as his breathing deepened, the weight of the world finally lifting from his shoulders.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Commodus slept soundly in your arms, no longer the emperor who ruled with iron fists, but the man who had found solace in the gentle embrace of his wife.