#Anyways I think about it SO SO much it is SUCH a good character study for him GOD QAQ
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shadowtraveled · 7 months ago
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this is a largely meaningless observation but, based on the fleki uniform demonstration comic, mithrun seems to wear the default style of the canary uniform, probably because he has no desire to personalize it or preference for how to do so, etc. when he does seem to pick his own clothes, though, they don’t look super in-line with what we’re shown of elven clothing styles in his region: high collars look like they’re fairly popular with elves in general, but out of uniform he tends to be a lot more covered up than everyone else—long sleeves, long pants, boots rather than sandals, and he dresses that way both prior to getting eaten and after the events of the series. anyway it’s kind of cute that after everything that happened to him, someone cared enough to remember what his clothing preferences used to be.
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brofightiscancelled · 12 days ago
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So if choro hate real…. What’s the current actual ranking of the brothers.
my overall brother ranking is here.... i thought about this a little more deeply and i think if you break down the definition of "i like this character" between "i like rotating this character in my head" and "i get joy from seeing this character in fanart/amv/official illustrations/merch", the rankings are different
rotation ranking: oso > totty >>>> choro >> kara = jyushi = ichi
joy from seeing them ranking: jyushi >>>>>> ichi > oso = kara = totty >>>>>>>> choro
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talentforlying · 9 months ago
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priest: i don't, ah, quite know what to say to you. if you are in such terrible danger, why are you taking it all so calmly? constantine: hmh! i dunno, father. i had a bloke beaten to a pulp earlier this evening. that sound calm to you? priest: you did what...? constantine: i must've been off me bleedin' rocker. i've never done anything like it before in me life, y'know?
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constantine: but there's header gets his guts blown out, and george is stickin' his head in the noose, and helen gets ... jesus, then friggin' sarah bites me head off — ! everything's coming to bits in me hands and it's so easy to just see red and now, shit, they could've killed the tosser for all i know! and now i'm just like the bastards i've hated all me life! kill him! fire him! close them down! piss all over him! screw you, i can do whatever i want! i so much as blink and you're dead, pal! i'm in charge!! ...
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constantine: 'scuse me, father. i'm always like this when i don't get me own way. — hellblazer #81, "rake at the gates of hell pt. 4"
babygirl you are just....so, sooooo offputting. (and grieving, and guilty, and terrified, but yeah: offputting.)
anyway, it's issues like this one that remind me why i kind of hesitate over some of the retcons in the recent spurrier runs, like the one with him now having opened dream's pouch of sand and stolen some before they even met. because like, it's easy enough to look at john constantine now — with 70 years of worst possible choices and unresolved trauma crystallizing underneath his skin to cover up all the soft, hopeful bits where he's used to getting hit — and assign him arbiter of ill intentions, magus of wasted potential, saint of shit choices, but man . . . he was new to this, once. he was still new to this 80 issues in.
80 issues in, and he's not used to losing friends yet; he even has time enough between catastrophes to grieve each individual one. still has enough left to live for at this stage to necessitate running and hiding, instead of bodily throwing himself at the problem like he learns to later, or sitting apathetically by to do nothing except smoke and watch the world fall apart when he finally gives up. fuck, he still apologizes.
and you're telling me this guy, this soppy wet cat motherfucker hiding from the devil in a church basement, so guilty over not knowing what happened to the guy that he paid people (paid chas, so chas could pay people) to attack that the bottle he's holding in this scene isn't even his second or third........this guy's past, more innocent self lied right to the face of DREAM OF THE ENDLESS and got away with it?
hm. i just don't know about all that.
#also this is where my headcanons tag is from <3#( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS.#( visage. ) AND I'M A BASTARD.#( character study. ) A WALKING PLAGUE OF A MAN.#sometimes i just think that. people really like to reduce constantine down to one or two things#and somehow. after 250 issues of putting his life on the line bc he could never really make himself look away from people suffering#the soft sullen guilty person who wants so fucking desperately to be a better man? is never one of those two things#idk man. i think about this issue all the time#if i put these pages side-by-side with his grief in hellblazer 2? with his grief in hellblazer 213? 215? during the empathy virus arc?#it becomes CRYSTAL clear that the guy we know at the end of hellblazer isn't someone the guy who sat vigil for gary lester would recognize#in fact i think he's someone that hellblazer 81 constantine would fucking Hate#ANYway yeah. i don't think he lied to dream about the pouch. i don't think he ever got it open. i don't think that's canon for me#i want him to fucking Earn his asshole nature. the hard way. by making All The Wrong Choices that it took to get him there#he paved that road with good intentions himself but. he also used to remember the ones he started with#idk if i'm making sense but i have had this panel open on my laptop for Two Months now#bc i can never stop thinking about how fucking crushed he is here to realize that he might be exactly as bad a man as sarah said he was#and how little it will surprise him later on to learn that he is Easily capable of So Much Fuckin Worse#and with that your honor the defense rests. our evidence? just. just Look at this fuckin guy#scopophobia /#scopophobia#eye contact /#eye contact tw
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hundredowls · 11 months ago
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silly oc doodle..... ballroom yuri
#ocs#ok so im gonna ramble/complain in the tags for a bit bc i love to complain its mostly not even gonna be relevant to the ocs but anyway ok#yknow that diagram abt art skills thats like ability to see/ability to draw#im at the BAD PART OF IT RN#i wanna draw fanart so bad but then i get annoyed bc the fanart doesnt look as good as the source material GHRG which is a totally#unreasonable thing to think bc source material is drawn by Professionals but you know how it is. Art Hard etc etc complain etc etc#need to do more studies etc etc#i wanna be able to draw really good so i can draw the things i love!!!!! even if its hard and tedious i wanna practise!!!! i love art!!!!!!#dont think about whats easy think about whats fun - bokuto koutarou etc#anyway everyday i am sad i have to sit in front of a desk for 8 hours instead of practising drawing :( i wanna table at a con this year....#but is there even time.....#ANYWAY this is somewhat relevant bc in an effort to be less hard on myself mayhaps i will try draw more oc things so i dont feel pressure#(self imposed)#to make it perfect kjskjkd#or at least not as much#and hopefully get over my brain's tendency to Compare Everything#i have like 3 vague sets of ocs (one less vague than the others ive posted one of the characters from that on my main art blog before sjdks#these two are from the next less vague set there is a plot premise and some side characters too. shdks#i thought abt them a couple months ago but then i watched strictly ballroom w sophie n i was reminded of them again#anyway im not good at coming up w fully fleshed out stories i just like to doodle ppl n think of random connected scenarios sometimes sdjk#i did a mini free online life drawing course in the break n i tried to apply what i learnt here.... i will keep practising when i can.....#well. if u read all the way to the end. hello :) KJASKA#im going to shower....
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orcelito · 1 year ago
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Also remembering that I get to write wolfwood next chapter and I'm a widdle nervous bc this is a Big Moment and I only wrote him a little bit with Sentido and it's been 8 months since then
But im also REALLY excited bc I get to finally (FINALLY) start executing the vashwood concepts I'd thought up at the damned START of this fic
So much relationship development to get to. So much Wolfwood to get to. Very exciting things.
#speculation nation#itnl shit#ive got a pretty solid grasp on wolfwood I Think but also#i think i wanna do some more research into him before i write hin#im gonna need to read more of the manga Anyways.#i need to study his mannerisms and speech patterns and the ways he interacts with the world#because i have a good idea of it already but a lot of my concept of him does exist in fanon#because it's been A Bit since ive actually read the manga.#and i never want to base my writing off of fanon. never ever ever. that's fatal writing error number One.#i pride myself on my rock solid characterizations. for side characters it doesnt matter as much#but the 2nd person in the main pairing? ostensibly the 2nd most important character to the fic?#yeah im not gonna fuckin base him off of what i have in my mind from however much fanfiction.#it's like the difference between accuracy and precision. by following fanon characterizations#someone might be able to be Precise about his characterization. in that they write him consistently and according to common perception.#but fanon very often exists Just to the left of what canon actually is. so it may be precise but not accurate#at least with regard to canon characterizations.#i want my characterization to be both precise And accurate. i want people to read my fic and go 'yeah thats trimax wolfwood'#with vash i do sprinkle in a few of my favorite things from the other versions too. same with the girls.#and maybe i'll do that a bit with wolfwood. but also hes so very different between the 3 iterations#that he might as well be different characters in all of them.#this is first and foremost a trimax fic. so i WILL have trimax wolfwood in it.#i may look up general guides for writing him if theyre around. but tbh i will rely more on my own research probably.#i have my own system for writing anyways. the sliding scales of different qualities that guides my general word choices for dialog#ive explained it before. dont really wanna get into it again.#i need to solidify in my mind where ww exists on the axes of intelligence politeness kindness and formality#among others. while also paying attention for any kind of repeat words or phrases that he likes to use#that i can pepper in to make it Sound Like Him.#thats the key to how i do general dialog lol. it's of course guided by who they are as a person#but word choice is done through the general perception of them along a set of axes. this is how it goes for All my writing.#im. rambling. whoops. anyways im excited for wolfwood. Soon...
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fingertipsmp3 · 5 months ago
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Ughhhhhhh I hate writing and I hate not writing and I hate myself
#nearly bought a digital typewriter today. actually i DID buy a digital typewriter today. officially yes i have bought a digital typewriter.#the money for the digital typewriter has left my account but i have emailed them to cancel the order because i can't in good faith buy#a digital typewriter when i don't fucking WRITE#i thought it might help me get back into it. distraction free and while allowing me to not judge my own writing#and be continuously editing while i write and going 'i'm crap i'm crap i'm crap no one will ever read this and if they do they will think#that i'm garbage and that i should feel bad etc etc etc'#but it's too expensive and i have the feeling i wouldn't even like or use the thing once i got it#because the IDEAS! the ideas aren't coming to me. or rather they are but none of them seem to stick#i feel underconfident in writing any of them#and then i have old projects that i've always wanted to get back to like the tennis romance thing but SO much has changed since i first#started drafting it. like i don't even know if i like the main couple anymore. i kind of want to put both of them with different OCs of min#but it'd switch up the WHOLE story if i had a different cast#in fact most of the problem lies in the fact that i have this long-running bedtime story i tell myself every night with lore#and a massive cast of characters that i switch out depending on who i'm most interested in right now and every so often i incorporate new#themes and ideas and motifs and plot points sometimes based on media i've been watching because it's MY bedtime story and it doesn't matter#if i plagiarise in my own brain. but then obviously i can't plagiarise in real life#and none of my bedtime stories are GOING anywhere. sometimes i only get through a scene or two before i fall asleep#all of which means my bedtime story is not so much a sweeping epic novel but a sitcom with way too many characters#most of which are werewolves to be honest and sometimes for my own wish fulfilment one of them will walk out of my head#and take care of my problems for me by lending me £1million or murdering my best friend's ex. in my mind obviously#so it's like. it's a case of getting in there and annexing off the stuff i think i can use#it's like yeah i've definitely written several romance novels in my head in the process of this but does it matter if they're IN my HEAD#to be honest i feel like my main strength is in creating characters. like i have this one family of werewolves i've been slowly but surely#adding members to since i was like 16. maybe younger? no yeah i think i made the first one when i was 12#they're compelling to ME anyway. i care about them. it's just PLOTS. i can't plot#if a book could just be a lot of dialogue and sex scenes and silly moments and character studies i'd be alright#i also can't describe settings. don't ask me to because i can't#and now i'm just annoyed with myself because i sat down at my laptop to try to write and instead i'm here complaining about how i don't wri#and if i had the digital typewriter... i mean i'd probably still be doing this i'd just no longer have £300#i don't have the £300 anyway. i hope to christ they refund my card i'm a fucking idiot
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illdothehotvoice · 1 year ago
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I hope you all know that the King Papyrus ending literally lives rent free in my head I think about it a lot-
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ereborne · 7 months ago
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Song of the Day: May 14
"Diamond on a Landmine” by Billy Talent
#song of the day#buckle up babes this one's a nice showcase of how my brain retains memories which is to say it's a long path to a close destination#in early 2011 when Leverage's season three had recently wrapped#one of my friends was writing a character study piece for Eliot with a partial focus on his toxic relationship with Damien Moreau#and they made a writing playlist for the fic that included this song#(and also 'Laughing with a Mouth of Blood' by St Vincent. absolutely killer song)#and I like the song but for whatever reason I never looked up anything else by Billy Talent#(I was at the time not spending so much time looking up new music but more just letting it come to me#in 2017 St Vincent came out with 'Los Ageless' and I was like oh I know her!! and I started paying attention to her albums#which is good because then in 2021 she released the Daddy's Home album which has 'Pay Your Way in Pain' /and/ 'The Melting of the Sun'#which are absolutely incredible tracks and my life would've been less without them)#and then today I saw a Call of Duty post with lyrics from Billy Talent's 'Afraid of Heights'#and I didn't recognize the lyrics so I went and pulled up the song as how I do#and as it played I was like. do I know this? no. I know something like this. what is it?#and at first I was convinced I'd just been listening to it but then why couldn't I place it? and then I realized I hadn't heard it recently#but I had been /thinking/ about something /related/ to it--which I had been. sort of. there's a Damien Moreau post queued for tomorrow--#and then in Afraid of Heights the chorus was wrapping up#'you're the only one I'd follow til the end of time / if we fall we fall together baby don't think twice again'#and something clicked and I dragged 'Diamond on a Landmine' up out of the depths of my various-artists folder#it's a great song got an excellent build to it#'alone at last / I can't wait til we're alone at last / all I wanted was a second chance / a second chance / to hold you in my arms at last#and the visual of 'better watch your step / she's a diamond on a landmine' is fantastic#anyway! I made giant scotch eggs with my family's spicy sausage ball mix instead of the normal breading and they're amazing#a good day#two weeks into May already can you imagine
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piglii · 1 year ago
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not that I’m posting about it a lot but I do see why people like Succession so much. I just spent the last half hour hiding my face behind my hands because I didn’t know if I could  physically handle watching what was happening on screen.
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ultfan · 1 year ago
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RANDOM KOMAEDA RAMBLE #1.
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komaeda has pretty abnormal eating habits. he tends to only eat certain foods, most often things high in carbs. these, of course, being pretty common symptoms of bvFTD. it's definitely a behavior that started in his late teens. however, as a side effect of his lymphoma he has a decreased appetite, often feeling full after hardly eating. it's shown both in game and in his art book that it isn't rare for him to just have a single piece of plain toast for breakfast.
i do think that's something that got worse during his time as an ultimate despair. especially when he was working as a servant for the warriors of hope— i remember reading somewhere that they didn't feed him and he messed up their food on purpose because it was the only time he'd be able to eat something. even if it was gross.
in a post-dr2 world i do imagine komaeda would be lucky enough to beat cancer with the proper treatment— which i can't imagine wouldn't be provided to him given all the effort that's gone into the rehabilitation of the remnants. after that point i feel like komaeda would start developing a habit of binge-eating, doing a bit of a 180, and probably gaining a sweet tooth that he didn't have before. that would be something that happens over the last few years of his life as his symptoms get worse. given that he's lived way past his original life expectancy, i think komaeda would probably end up at the later end of the average life expectancy. which would get him to 25-29 at the latest. so he'd have 3-7 years left after the neo world program.
this was just supposed to be about eating habits and then i started talking about his life expectancy... oops.
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shidoukanae · 6 months ago
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Daniel/Ellie sketchpage!!!
Been becoming more and more fond of them as a ship recently and wanted to try drawing the greedy merchant gal and the mischievous do-good dragon guy!!
All the dragon guy/human gal ships in this story are really full of chemistry and these two are no exception. They've barely got any meaningful interactions between them and yet somehow they're still oozing with cute feels between them. Really makes me root for them to become an established relationship, especially since the creator handles both characters really, REALLY well already and i wanna see what they're like when they both reciprocate interest in each other :Dc
#the mighty extra#Daniel#Ellie#this took me like 8 hours total HOW#tumblr please don't eat the quality i promise this looks good in csp#I know Daniel has wings canonically in his dragon form but boi do i not want to draw them#plus my mind keeps thinking of him as a sea-based dragon and i think it's fitting if he's more a drake than a dragon#one that happens to be good at swimming and probs blends into the deeper sea w/ his rocky backside bc of his time spent at sea#really happy Ellie is going down the same route as Helene in that she's like “oh you have feelings for me? so okay anyways about that plot-#like#i cannot understate how much of a smile it puts on my face to see Daniel and Paris so clearly state their interest to their gal LIs#and the girls both just kind of don't even acknowledge such comments bc plot > fawning over their love interest characters#IT'S SO REFRESHING YOU HAVE NO IDEA#ive read so many isekai stories and TME's romance pairings are probably the most memorable ive seen so far???#tho tbf i think the entire named cast is genuinely memorable from the sunk cost Empress lady to the bratty glasses princess who i rly like#probably helps all the gals involved very much have lives outside their LIs and getting closer to said LIs only helps grow their characters#especially in terms of the plot!!#which i utterly ADORE#any time the gals interact with the guys in this story it always comes with some kind of plot revelation attached and i greatly enjoy that~#seriously i need to study this manga it's literally the epitome of how i want to write romance in any of my stories when i do write for it#ik it's not canon (yet) but i rly enjoy the idea of dragons becoming more lovesick for their partners the closer they get to them#and Daniel being lovesick for Ellie is really cute to me ngl so i tried to draw it here
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erb23 · 1 year ago
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I miss [some of the comic characters I read] having civilian friends. Or just a civilian life in general.
If you don't balance out the heroics with them having something to come home to and live through then why are they even putting on a mask to fight for?
#i dunno like i said it isn't every character but it just seems like my current faves have people#who just don't care about that good good work life balance between civvies and hero stuff#though current newly started series are looking up in that aspect#at least B**** D**** or G**** don't have their hooks in my faves anymore though they did a lot of damage#*why would you want to read [characters] doing homework or hanging out with friends* because its interesting#old men literally make writing harder for themselves by limiting scenarios that could do so much to build up and flesh out characters#and then they go out of their way to make the worst decisions imaginable that wipe out nearly 4 years of character development#and then have the audacity to do nothing with their new blank slate and leave others to navigate the mess after.#Anyways giving one man full control over an entire slate of characters and shoving out all the writers that have been making good stories#with them for 4+ years was a dumb decision and soured so many people writing for them and then editorial wonders why they all start working#elsewhere#With all I have to say you'd think I only read American big 2 comics but nah. Everything else is just more consistent or has like 0#fan presence so I'd be the only one talking about stories I like. But at any given time i'm reading 3 different books#and i'm slowly translating a ln the hooked itself in my brain. I'm bad at it but its so fun. Also studying for a certification exam :P
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cheer-nympho · 10 days ago
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Steve was always being brushed off when he asked people to read things aloud for him,
In middle school his assigned partner for their ‘Frankenstein’ project gave him a scornful glare and ignored him when he had asked them to read the passages aloud.
In his sophomore year, he’d turned to ask Robin Buckley to read a old newspaper article about the ‘Wild West’ to him, because he couldn’t make it out through the fonts and weird words. She had fixed him with a cold look but before she could respond, Tammy was tapping his shoulder offering her help.
Then, while studying with Nancy and Barb at lunch, Steve had asked for help reading study cards. His own study cards. The paper was too bright and the squiggles too squiggly. Both of them had looked at him, them each other, clearly trying to decide if it was a joke.
Barb had scoffed under Nancys pointed look and gone back to her own notes. And while Nancy hadn’t read them out for him, she had handed him her own notes on some nice blue and yellow cards. It took him a while, but he could read them. Maybe she thought he hadn’t wrote any.
After that, he went a long time without asking anyone to read him things. Turns out that once you graduate, reading isn’t much of an issue. He’d gotten by just fine by looking at his Archie comics and ignoring the swirling lines of articles surrounding them.
He didn’t need to ask again until Scoops Ahoy. For a cheap, overly themed ice cream parlour there sure was a whole lot of memorising and reading to be done. He couldn’t see the charts properly, couldn’t really make out the dates on the tubs in the freezer. But every time he asked Robin for help, her frown would deepen and deepen until she just snapped. It hadn’t been that mean, really. Just an annoyed yell followed by accusations of being lazy, her not understanding how he managed to graduate, one last comment of him being a ‘bumbling idiot’.
After the Russians, she never said anything like that to him again. And she always did the inventory and lists for him.
It takes until summer, 1987, for anyone to read aloud to Steve. They were laying across Eddie’s new bed in comfortable silence.
Steve had his legs dangling off the edges as Eddie leant back against him, legs pointing up against the wall in a way he swore was actually comfortable. He had been reading a new book called “Spellfire” and he couldn’t seem to put it down.
“Eddie?”
“Hm?”
“What’s your book about?”
“This? Well I…Not sure it’s really your thing, man.”
“Maybe.” He goes back to reading. “I could see if it’s my thing?”
Eddie twists his head sideways to look up at Steve with a slightly confused face. “You wanna borrow it?”
“Was thinking you could read it.” He fiddled with the pocket of his jeans in a hopefully casual and not freaking out way. He didn’t look at Eddie as he waited, but after a few moments he responded.
“Sure. That’s fine, yeah. Want me to start over or go from here?”
“From there is good.”
And it was good, it was really really good. Steve hadn’t been able to read a book since middle school, hadn’t really tried again after that. But as he lay back and let Eddie’s voice wash over him he couldn’t help feeling that he’d been missing out.
Sure, it actually wasn’t really his thing, but the way Eddie read aloud painted such a clear picture that Steve enjoyed it anyway. The other would change his voice slightly for different characters and added emotions into his speaking. If it was a tense moment, he’d go slow and add gaps in just the right places. If it was fast paced he’d speed up and get more and more manic until the action cut off. He felt like he was reading along. Felt like he could see the pages in the book, but also the characters and the dungeon they were combining through.
So, for the first time Steve hadn’t been brushed off. He had probably found the only person he knew who could turn reading a book into a performance. One he would happily be seated for every night.
From then on, new books turned up at the trailer every week, Steve not far behind.
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occudo · 3 months ago
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An incomplete list of TMA fics I adore
-beacuse of this ask
(If you liked the fics I previously recommended/made fanart for, I think you'll gonna like these as well, but you know, read the tags, know what you are going into)
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Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey @cirrus-grey
Time Travel Fix-it! Slow burn! So good! So much sass from future!Jon- I doubt I have to introduce anyone this amazing author, but if you somehow missed them till now, this is your time! I highly recommend all of their other fics as well, for example one of a more recent one, The Stranger I Know Best is also a lovely read.
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enthralling by Prim_the_Amazing @primtheamazing
Vampire!Martin!! I have no words of how much I love this concept, this story, everything about this. I think I'm going to repeat myself through this list, but I also recommend everything else they've written!
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to fill... my heart with music? by godshaper @godshaper so their Martin and Jon design are different from mine, also they made a way better art for this- but still, I wanted to include this really good fic in this list.
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Do It All Anew by inkfingers_mcgee or @crit20art
You know the feeling when you read a book that makes you cry, and after that you recommend it to your friend? Well- there is no reason I mentioned this, I'm just so normal about this fic. Or any other fic from inkfingers_mcgee... like Strange Manner of what I made another fanart way back. Also, check out their art!
Anyway, here is Aamal- she is not going to cause emotional damage.
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And they were sidekicks (oh my god, they were sidekicks) by arthureameslove @arthureameslove
A lighthearted series where Jon and Martin are sidekicks of supervillains- it's just a really fun fic, also recommend everyting from this author - I previously draw fanart here for an other fic of theirs Like a Lighthouse, Call Me Home
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neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well by saintbleeding @saintbleeding
To quote the aurthour: "Post-divorce Jon and Martin in a wedding-based romcom" It's such a comfort read, also has a Tim/Sasha wedding, and lots of cameos! I realised most of these authors I made fanarts for before- like this one for some kind of miraculous bind, this one is oneshot and a bit more serious in tone.
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Give Me the Words by rakel @rakel-on-ao3
"Jon and Martin try to make the most of a bad situation in the Scottish Highlands. The situation is worse than they realised." You know that one post about wanting to write PWP, but it keeps turning into character study? Well, this one comes to my mind each time I see that.
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i wanna find a home (i wanna share it with you) by heartshapedguy @transgenderboobs
So what would have happened if instead of the cot (tm), Jon offered Martin his own flat to stay? There is no way it's going to change their relationship, right? Such a good read, if you want some fluff, I highly recommend it!
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Lucky Stars by magnetarmadda @magnetarmadda
Martin has a lovely family (except his mother) but still, he needs a fake boyfriend, and Jon comes to the rescue. It's one of the first fics I remember reading after I finished the series. It is such a comfort read of mine~
(+enjoy a rare tall Jon from me)
There are so many more fics that also deserve the spotlight, these are just the ones I read multiple times and/or didn't made fanarts for before. If you find something here you like, give them some love! Kudos and comments! They deserve it. (Also, just an extra disclamier some of these are PWP or rated T- just mind the tags)
I tried to link and tag everything, I hope it works.
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ienjoywritingfilth · 4 months ago
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teach me, general
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hi: i wrote this because general acacius is still making me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, about the language, about a n y t h i n g this is just a debauched excuse to think of this man naked and fucking.
You've been promised to another man to save Rome, but you have no desire to become his wife. Marcus Acacius has been assigned to ensure you do not flee before your wedding. Things happen.
trope: enemies to lovers
pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)
warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , Marcus tries to be good but we like him bad, AU as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, allusions (are what whores do for money or candy) to other sex, , i think that's everything.
RATED 18+
wanna see my other stuff?
"I will not play nursemaid to a spoiled child."
Marcus sweeps the scroll from the desk angrily, standing and stalking to the window, his cape fluttering behind him. 
Commander Cassius, an older man and one of The emperor's most trusted advisors stands in the corner, his gnarled hands folded in front of him. 
"She has not been a child for quite some time, General Acacius," the commander replies, a smirk crossing his lined mouth. 
Marcus only makes a scoffing noise at that, refusing to turn around and give the older man the respect he thinks he deserves. 
"She is desperate." the commander adds, walking in Marcus direction. "She is to be wed tomorrow."
"The city talks of nothing else." 
Marcus is sick to death with talk of your marriage to a neighbouring royal family. The marriage means bountiful coin and harvest for Rome. It's a step towards unification and the future. 
But for the last several months it's all he's heard of between battles. The dress, the food, the entertainment. It's all so grating to hear about when he throws himself into daily combats. 
"She has made her feelings on the matter quite clear," the commander says with a gentle exhalation. "There is concern she will flee in the night."
"Why?"
"She has no desire to marry. No interest in continuing the bloodline."
There are rumors of course. That the Prince you've been promised to is dim, that he drinks too much, that he has an eye only for men. It's no wonder you don't look forward to such a union.
"She says she will study at the universities instead," Cassius chuckles. "A silly fantasy. She is a woman after all." 
Marcus is quiet with contemplation. He'd just returned from battle days ago. He was still weary, his patience thin. The poor reception home from his family adds to his bitter mood. 
"But she is wise beyond her years," the commander says. "She has managed escape more than once, as you well know. It was you yourself who retrieved her the night of her eighteenth birthday in the olive grove was it not?" 
Marcus rolls his eyes recalling how you screamed and punched his armour as he dragged you down from the branches, throwing you over his shoulder. You screamed until your voice was hoarse as he carried you home that evening, shouting obscenities in his ear the entire way. 
All because you'd wanted a chance to see the Gladiators. You'd begged your parents and they'd been quite clear that it was no place for you. You'd snuck out anyway, caught by Marcus before you could even get to the Coliseum. 
When he does not reply the older commander stepped forward, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. 
"You have your orders from the Emperor."
Marcus shrugs off the older man's touch, his dark eyes sharp. 
"And why must it be me?'
'"Because, General Acacius, you are the one man that cannot be fooled by her."
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The slave is at the door when Marcus knocks at your bedroom. Their face is covered; their stance cowered when they open the door widely. 
"General Acacius," the quiet voice observes eyes on the ground. Marcus is grim-faced, entering into the room.
"I have been instructed by the Emperor to keep watch tonight."
"I see," the woman nods, her face still tilted respectfully to the floor. "I was just about to fetch her dinner."
Marcus steps further into the lavish room with its bright, white walls and smooth marble floors. 
"Where is she?" 
"She is in her bed," the slave replies bowing even more lowly. 
Marcus' dark eyes move to the bed, seeing the sleeping figure's chest rise and fall through the gauzy curtains that hang on all sides. 
"The sun is not yet set."
"She is overcome. Her wishes for the marriage to be called off have been ignored."
Marcus nods, watching as the slave goes to move past him. Her feet slap the floor slowly, everything in her body suggesting an unhurried dedication to her position. 
She brushes Marcus' sleeve and he sniffs the air, a familiar scent wafting over him. Roses. 
Without warning his large hand darts out, grabbing the slave by the arm and dragging her back into the room before she can leave. The door is slammed shut, her exit blocked. 
"General-"
Marcus says nothing; he simply rips the veil from the woman's face, shaking his head in frustration as your uncovered visage stares unblinking back at him. 
He watches as you sneer, your irritation clear. 
"How did you know?" 
"Rosewater," he replies in a husky murmur. "No slave could afford to bathe in such luxury." 
You pull your elbow from his grasp, furious at being caught. You call out to the girl in your bed. 
"Amilius you are released." 
A taller woman a haggard face and wild hair rolls out of the bed. She is clearly a slave but wears an embroidered toga meant for royalty. 
"You will still be paid," you assure her as she approaches you both, her eyes on the floor. You retrieve the pouch of clattering coin from your locked cabinet, placing its heavy bundle into her shocked hands. 
"It is too much."
"Not at all," you insist. "I thank you for trying. You may keep the clothing as well." 
"You are most welcome." 
The smile the two of you exchange is sweet and Marcus is furious at the sight of it. How dare you think up this scheme and how dare this slave go along with it? 
"You are bold," he says, stepping towards her. "To defy the word of your Emperor and not expect retaliation." 
"She did it only to defend me," you break in, stepping between Marcus and the girl. "To give me a chance at escape."
"Treason," Marcus snarls, his eyes still on the girl behind you. "You will be put on trial."
Amilius shrinks back, her eyes wide. The thought of punishment like this never occurred to her. She simply follows what you tell her, as she always has. 
"I will say I drugged her," you shoot back. "I will be put on trial. I will be sentenced to death. I choose that. Anything is better than a marriage to that self important caenum!"
Your chest heaves with untapped anger. Marcus knows that this is true. You are just stubborn enough to choose death but it would mean only calamity for Rome. 
"Leave us."
Amilius nods and shuffles from the room, closing the door behind her. You watch as Marcus locks it before coming back to you. 
"So they sent the General," you say with a laugh as you remove the slave’s cloak you were wearing. You drop it into a chair before looking at him. "How fearsome a creature I must be if the strongest General in the army is sent to watch me."
"Fearsome I think not. An annoyance to be sure." 
You roll your eyes, going to the table that holds the wine and other spirits. Several chalices are there, empty and ready to be filled. 
"Some wine, General?"
Marcus shakes his head. He would never drink when on such a job. He doesn't trust you. You shrug, pouring two glasses anyway. 
Marcus is surveying your room, quietly taking in all the personal touches. He notices you position your writing desk to the east, to enjoy the midday sun. Your bed is soft and layered with furs to keep away the chill. 
You walk back over to him, holding out the larger chalice to your guest.
"Here." 
You watch as Marcus takes both chalices in hand, swapping the one you poured for him with yours. You go to deny him this but he's already taken a deep pull from his glass, smiling at you when you make no move to do the same.  
"None for you?"
You try to keep your voice even, not wishing to show your hand. 
"I find my thirst rather quenched." 
"Is that so? Or is it that I caught onto your pathetic ploy to drug my wine?" Marcus smirks, taking a deep sip.
You say nothing; you bite the inside of your cheek instead. Marcus digs the blade in a little deeper. 
 "The vial made a rather obvious noise when it hit the rim of the chalice." 
You bite so harshly you draw blood. 
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Its hours later and the fire has been cracking for the better part of the evening since the sun went down. 
Marcus sits on an ornate chair before the fire, his body stoic and broad and strangely intimidating despite his continued silence. He has the chair facing you, not letting you out of his sight for even a moment. 
You sit at your writing desk, hunched over parchment as you write hurriedly. The scratch of the stylus is the only sound in the bedroom. 
Marcus exhales slowly, irritated at needing to be here at all. Knowing his luck, he'll also be forced to be at the royal wedding as well. 
You stand and take a stretch, cracking your back as you arch your spine. The flowing fabric drifts over your body pooling at your feet. Marcus takes note of your head tilted back, eyes closed. He doesn't remember your profile being this striking. He muses it is one that should be etched onto roman coins, remembered by those to come forever after. 
You walk over to him with a tired look in your eyes. 
"It is late," you tell Marcus. 
Marcus doesn't reply. He simply sits there, waiting for you to tire of whatever game you've begun. 
"I thank you for the fire, General." 
"You are most welcome."
He isn't expecting you to walk behind him pretending to stoke the fire. And he can only blame his lack of focus on his extreme lack of sleep. He'd managed none during battle and at home it seemed he was more than a little restless. 
He feels your hand slide the dagger from his hip, realizing too late. You go streaming across the room, your eyes wild when he races after you. 
"Impudice fur!"
"I have stolen nothing," you shoot back at the insult. 
The two of you circle what another in the room like your own miniaturized version of the Gladiator pit. 
"You have stolen years off my life," Marcus growls. "You have turned my hair silver."
You look at the dark hair threaded with grey in parts. 
"You have done that yourself, General, thanks to your love of bloodshed and the battlefield."
Marcus rolls his eyes. "Only a stulte would think my strategy anything other than necessary."
"If you insist," you say rolling your eyes, clearly disbelieving. 
"Return the weapon."
Marcus is strong, he is quick and you will have to submit to him. There is little else to do, aside from throwing yourself out the window behind you. The thought of that horrible childish man being your husband makes you seriously consider it.
You can't help it, thoughts of being his wife, of being tethered to such a man disgusts you. You would more readily marry Marcus Acacius if you had to. At least the man had honour and dignity.
And then all at once the answer is clear to you. You drop the knife onto the floor, hearing it clatter as you spin and throw yourself towards the large open window. 
Your feet slap against the stone floor as you fling yourself towards the open air. The realization that before you die you will know what it is to fly. 
Marcus is on you almost immediately, grabbing you around the middle before you can tumble to outside. He yanks you back, tackling your unwilling body to the ground. He pins your hands to the ground. You attempt to wrench from his grip, squirming under him. 
"Stop these foolish games."
"It is no game," you shout. "It is my life! I will choose if I live or die!" 
All at once Marcus is very aware that you are not the child he once saw in the halls or at events. The child and then teenager he found so grating with her questions that he took to ignoring her. 
"Still yourself."
You wriggle in his grip like a worm. As you do your hips graze his cock and he's shocked to find a stab of arousal hit him. 
It's as if for the first time he sees that you've become a woman. A beautiful one at that, all soft curves and kissable mouth. He stares at the damp plump of your lips and realizes that he's growing hard under his toga. 
He throws himself off of you, hunched over until he gets to the window. You're rubbing your wrists, completely unaware of what happened as you stand, glaring at him. 
"It is what is fated," Marcus barks at you. 
"How easy for you to say!" You scoff disgusted. "Tomorrow I will be the wife of a childish boor who would rather chase cock than spend a moment with me. Rome will be safe for a time, yes, but at the cost of my entire being. And you, General Acacius, will go on living your life free of restraint." 
"I come with my own shackles, believe me."
"And what is that? Too much coin for wine? Too many prostrating followers who blindly obey you?"
"A wife who married me for my title. Two stepsons with the combined intelligence of a pomegranate seed.” Marcus shakes his head. "You act as if everyone may rule their destiny but true freedom is granted to only the few." 
He can see the fight leave your body. 
But he knows you’re still upset. He moves over to your desk, needing a break from your smoldering glare. The parchment you were working on earlier sits there, writing unfinished. Marcus takes a scroll in hand, squinting down at it. 
"What are these?" 
You rush over, your face red as you rip the scroll from his hands. 
"Nothing!"
Seeing your weakness Marcus holds it up out of reach, a childish grin on his face as you leap up, trying to grasp them. But it's no use, he's taller, stronger and you fall back, defeated. 
“Tell me and I will return it to you.”
"They are poems," you mutter exasperatedly, feeling shy.
"Your own?"
"Yes."
"I wonder what about," Marcus says and he reaches into the desk to find several more scrolls. "What dress to wear to the market? How best to complain about having everything?" 
Marcus takes them in hand, a sneer evident in his face as you reach for them again.
“You promised!”
“As you promised your fidelity to the prince.”
“My father promised him. I promised him nothing.”
Marcus lets out a small huff before turning his back to you. You can see him unrolling the scroll, beginning to read.  You watch him, feeling both furious and anxious. These are some of your innermost thoughts that he’s reading.
There is a long bout of silence. You watch his broad shoulders sag, his hand flipping the page over and continuing to read. He does this through several sheets until you can't stand it anymore. 
"Give it here!"
You pause with your hand on his elbow. He's solemn, but that's not what shocks you. It's the tears that he wipes quickly away with his free hand. 
"Are you---"
"No."
You step backwards, your hands falling to your sides. You have known the general since you were a child of thirteen. Over ten years you have been in his company and only now have you seen him lose his composure. 
As a child you were convinced he didn't feel true emotions. He was always this tall, impressively stoic figure. You never spoke to him outside of your father's company. You only heard everyone talk of his skills on the battlefield, of his keen mind. The only time he truly emoted in front of you was when he ripped you from the warm embrace of the olive tree, forcing you back to your boring life. Hissing at you that you were ungrateful for all you'd been given. 
"This is very beautiful," he admits in a voice dragged over sand. "The way you describe death is very," he searches for the word. "Vivid." 
"Thank you," you reply dumbstruck. 
You've never received praise for you writing outside your friends. So to receive it in the form of your current enemy is more than a little shocking. Marcus has no allegiance to you, in fact, his response is so genuine because you know he's fighting against his inner desire to chastise or condemn. 
Seeing this hulk of a man with tears still damp along his waterline has you softening everywhere. He's looking at the pages and then back at you. 
"Have you any others?"
"Yes," you nod.
"All on the same theme?"
"A variety."
"May I see?" 
You walk to your writing table, pulling out the parchment you hide from prying eyes and pass them into his outstretched hands. You wait with your lower lip lodged under your top teeth, your fingers twisting together. You don't know why but you crave to know what he's thinking. 
You don't need to wait very long. 
"It is clear there are limitations to your skills."
He has the familiar arrogant expression on his face as he says this. You bristle sharply at his words and he notices. 
"You write of death, you write of jealousy, you write of fear,"' he says. "All of these you compose with obvious talent, with a voice I feel here." 
He taps the centre of his chest before he holds up some of the pages you laboured on. 
"But these? The poems of love, of desire? They feel false."
You take a moment to digest what he's saying. He's treating you like an equal, as if you're someone who can take the criticism. It propels you to explain instead of running away in embarrassment. 
"People want poetry to transcend them, to deliver them somewhere beautiful. How else to do that other than with poems on such topics?"
He holds up the pages. 
"It clearly does not come naturally."
"It is a challenge at times."
"You write of loss with such acuity," Marcus explains. "Why then do you describe the action between a man and woman so stiffly?"
"I have experience with loss."
Marcus stares at you, surprised.
As the daughter of the emperor he'd just assumed you'd have your fair share of romances. You're a beautiful woman and if you were anyone else but the Emperor's daughter he might have pursued you himself. 
You feel his gaze trained on you and you walk to the fire. The flames reflect in your eyes as Marcus continues to watch you. You swallow your embarrassment and look over your shoulder at him. 
"Will you tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"What I am to expect on my wedding night." 
Marcus lets the scroll fall from his hand onto the stone floor. At the sound of its contact he shakes himself, retrieving them and placing them on your desk. 
"You have not known the touch of a man?"
With cheeks stained in embarrassment you shake your head. 
"I have not. The life of the privileged daughter isn't one that allows for entanglements," you sigh. "I fear for what awaits me."
Marcus thinks of your future husband, a man who doesn't want any part of you. You'll wither on the vine, ripened and juicy and waiting. 
What a waste. 
"I cannot," Marcus says. "I am simply here to ensure you do not flee."
"Perhaps I will not flee if I know what is to occur."
Marcus sighs and strides towards you. You watch as he pulls over one of the chairs you had at the window, placing it across from the chair you sit in before the fire. 
"You will be wed; there will be the wedding celebration with most of Rome at your unity. Then he will take you to his chamber." 
You lick your suddenly dry lips. 
"I am no fool. I know what the day’s events will be, General. I want to know what happens in consummation."
Marcus inhales deeply. He can feel himself growing stiff. You are a delectable thing, forbidden in so many ways. He itches to touch your skin and taste your cunt. 
"He will, he will press his mouth to yours."  
"Show me."
"No."
"Please," you beg, coming to stand closer to him. "Once I know what is to come I will feel more able to conquer this fear I feel."
Marcus debates this as he stares at you. And it's his cock that does the thinking for him when he steps closer to you. 
Marcus sighs heavily through his aquiline nose. You hold your breath as he grips the back of your neck, like you're a bothersome kitten. Holding you there he lowers his face to yours, grazing your lips with his. 
You coo gently at the sensation, your nipples hardening as he wraps his arms around you. He's so broad, so muscular, you feel so vulnerable and yet safe in his arms. 
You cling to him, body immediately wrapping around his, pressing so tightly to him that you feel everything. Your hips roll against his and you shudder pleasantly when you feel his breathing hitch. 
"More," you beg. Marcus groans, his large hands coming to cup and knead your breasts as his tongue invades your mouth. 
He's murdered men, he's plotted army overtaking, and he’s attacked the unarmed, but touching and kissing the virgin daughter of the emperor? This is the most corrupt thing he's ever done. 
And you're so desperate for him, no hesitation in any part of you. You just allow him to plunder your body, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck and then the barely concealed valley of your breasts. 
His hands move around your body, pressing and caressing and skimming until they land at your backside. You kiss him fervently, feeling his palms tug you against his hard cock.
You whimper, eyes rolling back as the two of you grind against one another. It feels so sinfully good to do such a thing. 
"That is enough," Marcus says stiffly, pulling back from you when you make that sound. He looks at your swollen lips and dazed expression. 
"Please, show me everything," you whisper. "Teach me." 
Marcus has a fairly good idea that your wedding night is going to be brief and awful. The least he could do is give you some pleasure before you're thrust into a lifetime of timid touches and non-existent intimacy. 
Just once, a sinful voice whispers. Fuck her just once to see how it feels. 
"I cannot." 
You feel insecurity wind its way around your ribs before tugging brutally. Its clear Marcus does not find you handsome enough to tempt him or he still sees you as a child. In humiliation you turn from him and take a seat before the fire once more. Your shoulder sag as you gaze down at your clasped fingers on your lap. 
You hear Marcus sigh from the window before you sense his approach. He comes to sit in the chair opposite you, his gaze so serious. 
"It would be wrong."
"But I desire it."
"It would be dishonourable." 
"Please," you beg him again, finally raising your head. "My entire life you have been there for me, coming to my aid. And now I turn to you for the final time, General. Please help me." 
"I cannot do it."
"But why?" You demand now, knowing that your patience is wearing thin. "Give me one true reason." 
He lifts his muscular frame out of the chair, crossing until he gets to you. You gaze up the length of him, not flinching when he drops to his knees between your parted thighs. 
Marcus tilts forward until his body nears yours, his hands on either side of your chair arms. His body is so warm, so broad. You fight the urge to touch his chest as his swollen mouth brushes your ear. 
"Because if I were to start, it would take the entirety of the Emperor's army to stop." 
You blink slowly, your eyes trailing over his face and body. Your entire body is fizzy, like lightning is coursing through your veins instead of blood. 
"I would pull you apart," Marcus hums against your skin. "I would draw noises from you that you cannot begin to imagine. I would have you shaking and begging for more and I would continue."
You can't breathe. 
“I would fill you with my seed, marking your womb as mine. I would do it over and over until I was spent, only to do it all again at dawn." 
Marcus groans softly, his dark eyes scanning down your toga to the swell of your breasts. 
"And even then I would not be able to cease," Marcus says as he squeezes your breasts through your toga. "I would train your mouth, your cunt, every hole you possess in the ways of pleasure. All would be mine, nothing left for another." 
You stare at him, unblinking.
"And so you see why I must refrain," he finishes huskily. "Why I cannot give you what you believe you desire."
When did he go from the scowling general to a real man with such a filthy mouth? You’re quivering all over, desperate for him to be even closer. Your eyes drop to his full mouth, aching to feel it again.
"What if that is what I crave? What if I have no desire for you to cease?"
Your fingers go to his, pulling one hand under your toga, leading him up between your silken thighs. Marcus allows it, eyes on you but his hand inching towards your centre. 
"You do not know what you ask."
"Show me, Marcus," you whisper, your mouth nearing his. "Make me yours if only for tonight."
Your lips slot between his, kissing with uncertainty as your hands go to the buttons at his shoulder. His fingers are slowly teasing your entrance as he stares at you. 
You arch as his thumb begins to circle your clit, his long fingers starting to nudge your liquid heat. 
Marcus knows that every inch of you he touches is another year in the pit if he's discovered. You are the most forbidden fruit in Rome. Yet he continues to slide two fingers to the knuckle into your core, curling them as you cry out for him. 
At the sharp sound of your cry he withdraws his fingers, glossy with slick. He stands, needing to clear his head. He feels your confused gaze on his back. 
"I cannot defile you before your wedding," he explains. "Your chastity is of the utmost importance." 
"The slaves tell me of ways to circumvent such an issue," you tell him as the cape he wears falls to the ground. 
He watches you untie his toga, urging it from his body until he stands there in nothing but his gladiator sandals. 
He is truly a sight to behold. Golden, muscled, captivating in the same way blood along knuckles shine in sunlight. You take your time to walk around him, admiring the tight taut of his ass, the breadth of his wide shoulders littered with scars and the curls that tease the bottom of his neck. 
You save his front for last, taking your time to watch the trail of hair move from his navel downward. 
His cock is hard, thick and heavy. It weeps at the tip, already so eager. It hangs there; too large for you to imagine entering you as you reach out and touch it. He hisses at the first point of contact. 
He watches as you carefully touch him, marvelling at the iron of his cock until the silk of his skin. You trace the vein on the underside, trailing it from the base to just below the mushroom head. 
You slide down to your knees, fascinated. Amilius has spoken to you of men when you’ve asked.  She has been married and has a child. You know a bit of what men like but only in theory. You lift your eyes up to see Marcus staring down at you with a heated gaze. Your hands go to his thighs, gently resting there. 
You grin before leaning forward and placing the sweetest peck to the tip of his manhood.  
Marcus growls softly in the back of his throat. His eyes close briefly before opening, looking darker than before. You watch as he takes his cock in hand, gripping it by the base and pulling it towards you. 
You part your lips, ready to take him on your tongue and are surprised when instead he drags the tip along your bottom lip, leaving a trail off pre-cum there. You lick the remnants, curious at the salty taste. He watches you with increasing interest. 
"Irrumabo," Marcus murmurs, his cock tapping against the full of your bottom lip. "Yes?"
You nod, opening your jaw. Marcus smiles, thumb tracing the curve of your mouth. 
"Not tonight," Marcus says as he shakes his head, bringing you to a gentle stand. "Tonight is your pleasure." 
He tugs the gown from your body, letting the silk pool on the ground beside you. You shiver under his gaze, noticing his length which twitches. 
Marcus feels his breath leave him as your nude body is bared to him. You look so innocent there, waiting for him, gazing nervously at him through your lashes. 
"Goddess," Marcus hisses, his hands coming to cup your breasts. "I am a condemned man for even looking at you."
He lowers his head eagerly, nipping and licking your nipples as you cling to him, urging him to take more as you arch your spine. 
"Marcus, please more," you moan. 
Unceremoniously he pushes you back to sit in your chair, your legs splayed in surprise. He drops to his knees, moving your legs to hook over his wide shoulders. You allow this, your body limp and eager to be posed by his strong arms and hands.
He looks up to see you panting, staring down the length of your body at his face between your legs. Without breaking eye contact Marcus dips forward and licks a stripe up the centre of your sex. 
Your eyes immediately shut as pleasure ripples through you. His wide hands grip your creamy thighs, holding them in place as he continues to probe his tongue deeper into your channel. 
Your hands grope the air around you fruitlessly. You don't know what to do with them. Marcus notices and he takes your wrists between his grips, forcing them to card through his hair. 
He goes back to sucking your clit and you feel your hips buck. Your fingers dig into his skull, holding the curls and you understand why he placed them there. 
"Harder," he tells you sharply as he peppers your inner thighs with sweet kisses. You tug harder on his curls and he groans softly in approval. 
You make a shuddering noise of pleasure and it dies in your throat as he pulls back from you. His eyes are stormy as he looks up the length of you to give you a disapproving shake of his head. 
"Silence, cherub. We do not need the guards coming to investigate your shrieks." 
You nod breathlessly, clapping a hand over your mouth as he continues. The sounds are muffled against your palm as he brings his hands to slide under your ass, pulling your sex deeper into his mouth as he consumes you, groaning into your cunt when you cum. 
"Marcus!" 
"Quiet," he reminds you between licks. 
As you sit there in the chair he brings you to a second steady orgasm, revelling in the muffled yips you make when you begin to writhe against his face, coating him in your essence. When your shuddering ends Marcus slowly withdraws his tongue from your cunt, gazing up at you with a dazed look.
"My husband will do this to me?" You pant; your body shiny with perspiration. "It was so pleasant. I felt the sun within my body." 
Marcus remains on his knees, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He gives you a pitying look, knowing full well that your husband to be likely won't see you past your wedding night. 
The thought enrages him as he sits there, cheek against your thigh as you give him that hopeful expression.
"No," Marcus finally admits. "I believe his actions will be more perfunctory." 
You frown.
"How? Show me."
"You ask too much."
"Yes, I do," you admit with no hesitation or embarrassment. 
Marcus gives you a calculating look before standing. You sigh, waiting for him to leave when he crouches down beside your chair, sliding his hands behind your back and under your knees and hoists you into his arms. 
"I will give you what you desire," he tells you gently. "I can deny you nothing." 
"You have denied me much over the years," you remind him with mirth. "When I tried to see the Gladiators fight and you pulled me from that olive tree?"
"And I never heard the end of it. Imagine denying this request? You'd have me hanged."
You give a shy giggle before lacing your fingers behind his neck, your mouth finding his with ease as he carries you to the bed. 
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The two of you lay in the twisted blankets of the bed, bodies gleaming with sweat. Marcus did exactly as he promised. For hours he took you apart, forcing you to come on his fingers, his mouth, his cock. You took him at every turn, eyes shut and your mouth covered by his palm or his lips. 
And now that the dreamy haze bleeds into reality you find yourself frowning. Marcus, with his arms holding your body to his notices immediately. 
"What troubles you?" 
“Tomorrow I will be another man's wife," you say with tears in your eyes. "Rome will be saved for a time but at what cost? I'll never feel pleasure like this again. I'll never have you in my bed again."
Marcus feels a pull behind his ribs, and he leans forward to kiss you gently. You respond, your tears damp on his cheeks.
"Your lessons will continue," Marcus promises, kissing behind your ear. "I will make sure of it." 
"My husband--"
"Will be thankful when you are with child," Marcus tells you in a hush, his hand curving over your stomach. "My child."
Your eyes are luminous. 
"After your wedding night he will not come to your chambers," he promises. "But I will. I will drink the nectar between your legs and I will spill myself down your throat. I will have you everywhere and when we pass in public although there are no words to be uttered you will know I think only of you. That I am yours and you are mine."
He wipes away your tears with his large thumbs before pulling your mouth to his. You fall asleep in his arms, the sensation of his body there to protect you through the night. 
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Marcus stirs the next morning to the sound of birds outside the window; it's cheerful and bright as the sun that hangs high in the sky. 
It feels right that your wedding day should be beautiful when you yourself are so exquisite. 
Marcus feels his cock hardening immediately at memories of last night. Of the sounds you made and the way you felt. He looks forward to a life with you, even if it must be in secret. You are something special, something like freedom.
He cracks open his eye to take in your sleeping face, but your side of the bed is empty. A scroll is there beside him in the empty bed instead, his name written. With a panic in his heart he unrolls it, finding a lock of your hair tied with a ribbon inside. He takes it, pressing his lips against it as he reads the words from your hand. 
Carissamus General. I know that as you read this you will think me a villain, but I promise that my words were true and my body forever yours. Please understand why I could not possibly allow another to touch me. Freedom is for those who take it. I leave you a piece of me in exchange for the piece of you I will carry in my heart. I owe you everything and perhaps in the next life we will have the future you dream of. Until then I wish you the same joy and pleasure you gave me. With all my love, and all that I am. 
Marcus reads the beautiful words over and over. They spin around his skull as he dresses, pulling on his toga and cloak. But instead of anger in his expression he smiles serenely. 
He's always enjoys a good chase. 
1K notes · View notes
quin-ns · 1 year ago
Text
Eventually (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)
Word count: 6.7k
Summary: Coriolanus could appreciate irony, but the one person he desires more than anything wanting nothing to do with him pushes him to new territory
Tags: (18+), cw: noncon, dark!coriolanus, deeply implied stalker!coriolanus, unreliable narrator coriolanus (boy is delusional tbh, no one is doing more mental gymnastics than him), pre-mentor era, obsession, unprotected sex, choking (only for like a second), virginity status undisclosed but as I was writing I began to imagine this being the first time for both of them—it’s not even implied tho, so do with that what you will
A/N: a character as evil as him I couldn’t conceive writing fluff for. he’s bad and guess what I’m not gonna fix him, but I also can’t make him not-hot so… hehe. please read the tags and proceed with caution <3
Misc masterlist + main masterlist
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You wanted nothing to do with him, and that made him crazy.
No, if anything, you were the crazy one. Coriolanus hadn’t done anything but try to be your friend, but you snubbed him without reason.
Coriolanus did a good job at keeping the financial situation of his family a secret. No one knew, and he doubted you were an exception. Yet, it was as if you looked down upon him.
Although, you’d grown fond of Sejanus, so even if you did know, status wasn’t a concern of yours. It was something he admired, yet questioned all at once. There had to be a reason for your dismissal. A reason you couldn’t bring yourself to even offer a smile back. It’s not like he was asking a lot.
It’s not like he wasn’t trying, either. He’d gotten used to trying to make people like him, to see him as better than he was, but it was never this hard. It would’ve been so much simpler if you just told him to his face what your problem was, but whenever he came around, mostly when you were talking to Sejanus—they were friends, it was the perfect excuse—you just went quiet. You’d greet him, make no effort to continue the conversation, then excuse yourself.
All Coriolanus wanted to know was why.
“You’re watching her again,” Clemensia whispered to him, eyes flicking between him and the paper in front of her.
They were class partners, but Coriolanus was beginning to think he spent too much time with her.
“Who?”
Clemensia let out a small chuckle, mocking him. The professor at the front of the class looked up, and Coriolanus quickly looked down at his paper, taking his eyes off of you.
“You’re too obvious,” she muttered, a smirk in her voice. “Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you. Because you stare at her too much.”
She didn’t get a response—it didn’t deserve one. Coriolanus questioned why he ever told her anything. She made him sound like some sort of stalker. Which, for the record, he was not.
His eyes managing to find you frequently wasn’t a crime, and neither was crossing your path. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence most of the time, but it’s not as if he was harming you by watching you. He doubted you noticed anyway.
Seeing you nearly everyday had been enough to keep him sated, but then Sejanus started talking about you. Through no fault of his own, Coriolanus learned things about you. What he came to know made him curious to discover more. Even if you did not seem keen to let him.
Being content with what he had didn’t keep its appeal for long. Not when you were right there, your presence taunting him. Making him want what you would not let him have.
“You just need to talk to her, Coryo,” Tigris told him one evening, when he revealed everything to her. “Not in class and not with Sejanus. Just you. Let her know the real you and I promise she’ll like what she sees.”
Coriolanus took his cousin’s advice to heart. She was much more empathetic than him, she had to be onto something, right?
Everything changed when Coriolanus sat across from you at a study table in the library.
As beautiful as you were from a distance, being up close was something else entirely. He could admire you for hours and never get tired.
You looked up at him, he smiled and said hello just like Tigris advised. The smile you returned seemed forced, and you ignored that he had spoken.
It upset him, but not as much as when you got up and walked out. It was the last straw. Coriolanus was following you into the hall before he could think better of it.
He caught up to you, dropping his hand to your shoulder to make you turn around and face him. When you did, you looked surprised. That wasn’t what made Coriolanus hesitate, but the realization that he had never been this close to you before. Not even sitting across from you compared to touching you.
His heart skipped a beat.
“What do you want?” you questioned, a level of annoyance he thought to be unearned in your voice.
His heart started again.
“Have I done something to you?” Coriolanus confronted you, feeling a familiar sense of agitation creep over him. He had to know. “To make you feel such distaste for me?”
“I don’t dislike you, Coriolanus,” you replied, calmly after recovering from your initial shock. “I’m just… indifferent to you.”
The answer confused him more than it did enrage him. He smothered the latter feeling as he observed you.
“You’re… indifferent,” he stated, not asking. His feet shifted beneath him. It hurt, for some reason. “Why?”
Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly, studying him. It was the same way you’d look at your books when you were struggling with a subject, lingering behind in class or the library until a triumphant smile crossed your face.
Only, that smile never came. Your expression just faded back to normal.
“You shouldn’t put so much weight on what other people think of you,” you advised, stepping closer to him. His breath caught in his chest. You smelled sweet, like flowers. “Especially not someone you don’t even know.”
It was then, he realized, you hadn’t moved closer to him with purpose. You’d been on your way moving past him. His eyes focused on your back as you walked away, figuring out what to say.
“I’d like to know you,” he announced earnestly, verbally trying to pull you back. “If you’d only give me a chance.”
You slowed to a stop, looking over your shoulder. Coriolanus felt as if he was on display as your eyes raked over him, determining for yourself his sincerity.
“You’re friends with Sejanus, aren’t you?” you wondered. It wasn’t what he expected, but Coriolanus nodded. You sighed, which irked him to think it was pity. “If you’d like to join us for lunch I wouldn’t be against that.”
“I’ll see you then,” he said, but you were already turning away. He kept to himself that he had already tried in the past.
His friend was nice. Too nice for his own good, truthfully. It wasn’t as if Sejanus completely abandoned him the moment he befriended you. It was more like he split his time, attending to both friendships. The only thing Coriolanus held against him was that he never tried to reintroduce the two of you. Maybe even put in a good word.
At lunch Coriolanus found you and Sejanus quickly, he knew where you liked to sit.
“Hey, Coryo,” Sejanus greeted, smiling. “About time you decided to join us.”
Coriolanus put on a smile as he sat down. “Well, I would’ve sooner, but I wasn’t sure I was welcome before.”
The comment made you smirk, in on the joke as Coriolanus looked at you.
“Who’s to say you are now?” you sarcastically replied, as if you hadn’t been the one to invite him.
Well, “invite” was being generous, but he still seized the opportunity nonetheless.
“Ignore her, she can’t help herself,” Sejanus said with a chuckle, used to your humor.
This time, when he tried to talk to you, you engaged. In between discussions of classes and assignments, Coriolanus had to dodge your quick wit.
He liked the challenge, and the next day, he went back for more. Even walked right past Clemanisa and Arachne, who tried to invite him to their table with Festus. You were waiting for him.
He noticed you and Sejanus already talking.
When he sat across from you, you raised your brows. “Seeking refuge?”
Before he could ask what you meant, you nodded your head towards the girls he’d left behind.
You knew about his friends?
“You could call it that,” he replied, a smile starting to appear.
You nodded and hummed.
“Well, what are your qualifications?”
“Excuse me?”
“You joke too much, Y/N,” Sejanus lightly scolded you, interrupting whatever path you were going down, which made you laugh. “He’s going to think you don’t like him.”
“He knows I don’t mean anything by it,” you assured, looking at Coriolanus. “I’m just trying to figure him out.”
Your tone was filled with confidence, but your face… Coriolanus wasn’t sure how to place your underlying expression. You had a shield up, he knew that much, but what did that have to do with him? Were you trying to figure out if you could let it down for him? Or something else?
“Of course,” Coriolanus answered, not taking his eyes off of you. “I’m an open book.”
“Are you, now?” You folded your arms on the table. “Your friends love to gossip, and I don’t think I’ve heard that about you.”
“It’s not my fault if they don’t know how to read,” Coriolanus quipped, proud of himself for being so quick.
None of his friends had wronged him, but the joke at their expense was worth it for what followed after.
He made you laugh. Not just smile, but truly laugh. It was exactly what he wanted, and it actually worked. Awe didn't begin to describe how it felt.
Joining your table for lunch became the best part of his day. Sometimes he forgot Sejanus was even there, far too eager to see you. He saw you all the time, of course. Watching you was a habit he had yet to break, but this was different. You were aware of his presence, and he was able to speak to you. It didn’t matter that you still seemed weary, it was enough.
Even if you didn’t like him, you still had conversations with him, so that was something.
Sometimes, if you were deep in a discussion, debating ethics—your favorite topic—it would continue beyond just the table. He’d walk you to class, wanting to hear your voice just a second longer.
“I want to meet this girl,” His grandmother declared one night, after Coriolanus drifted to the topic of you over dinner. He’d been doing it more recently.
Tigris gave him a look, a light frown. There was no way to do that without you coming to his home, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Let Coryo decide that, Grandma‘am,” Tigris insisted, patting the older woman’s shoulder.
“Well, he has feelings for Y/N,” she argued, looking at Coriolanus. He used your name enough that she remembered it. “And she likes him too—doesn’t she?”
Coriolanus gave a tight smile. “Yes, she does.”
Keeping up appearances.
“Well, that settles it, then,” Grandma‘am decided.
“I think it’s time you get to bed,” Tigris intervened, getting their grandmother up from her chair.
Later, when they were alone, Tigris asked him, “Does she even know how you feel about her?” She knew him too well. He took too long to answer. “You should tell her. From what you’ve told us, you two should be together. But it won’t happen unless you make it known how you feel.”
Coriolanus’s dreams were filled with you, as they usually were, but something was different the morning he woke up after the conversation with Tigris.
All he had to do was prove himself to you, and he knew that now.
Coriolanus found you in the library a lot, often pretending to stumble upon you. This time, he didn’t put on a facade.
“I thought I’d find you here,” he acknowledged, sitting down beside you. Often he’d sit across, but he was testing the waters. Seeing if you were put off by the proximity. “Studying for Featherly’s class?”
“I’m terrified for his test,” you confided, rubbing your temples as you hunched down at your book. “I feel like my mind has no room for anything else. I’ve memorized nothing.”
With a sigh, you sat up and pushed the book away.
“I can help you,” Coriolanus insisted, reaching for the book. He read over the page you were on, knowing he’d already perfected the subject. “You should’ve asked for me sooner.”
Maybe it was a little spiteful, but he hadn’t purposely meant it to come out that way. You still noticed it, taking your book back.
“I’m not asking for your help now, Coriolanus,” you muttered, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.
You were the last of his friends to still call him that. Most everyone else called him ‘Coryo’. Not you. But you were stubborn in many ways. This too, apparently.
“I didn’t mean anything against you,” he said lightly, even chuckling a little. It was forced, but he wanted to show he wasn’t being that serious.
Using your own words on you did not have the desired effect.
“Mmmhmmm,” you hummed.
Coriolanus tilted his head down, trying to get you to meet his gaze. You gave in, facing him, looking unamused.
He wanted to wipe that look away, but didn’t know how. If he could just make you like him—
Suddenly, your watch began to beep.
“Test time,” you grumbled, taking back your book and getting up.
Coriolanus followed you down the hall and into class. The tests were already on the desks, waiting. You two were early—he noticed that because of the clock on the wall.
He walked you to your seat and wished you good luck. To his surprise, you offered the same in return. Then, he went to his own. Other students filed in quickly after, professor Featherly being the last to enter the room.
The professor declared, “Begin,” then sat at his desk in the middle of the room and began to read.
The test wasn’t easy, but Coriolanus knew what he was doing. One look around the classroom and he saw that wasn’t the case for most other students. He felt a sense of pride, until his gaze landed on you. You were one row down and four seats to the left. He’d counted before. You were fiddling with your pencil, struggling to come up with what to write down.
While he could’ve been the first to finish, Coriolanus let other students turn their tests in before him. An hour passed by, but it moved quickly.
There were only a few students left when you finally got up. You radiated an anxious energy, much like the others, but Coriolanus didn’t care about the others.
Clemensia stuck her hand up in the air, waiting for the professor to notice her, distracting Coriolanus briefly. When the professor looked up and noticed her, Clemansia got her wish.
Coriolanus considered himself lucky, convincing himself with his own mantra frequently. As he watched you leave your test on Featherly’s desk and rush from the room, he realized how he could help you.
He quickly marked down the rest of his answers, having stalled so he could leave when you did. The professor was making his way away from the desk, while Coriolanus got up and went in the opposite direction.
With a swift, hard kick to the leg, the professor's desk wobbled and papers spilled off on the other side. It looked like an accident.
Featherly looked over his shoulder at the noise.
“Sorry,” Coriolanus apologized, kneeling down behind the desk to collect the papers.
Without anyone watching, he found your test. He had no time to change the written questions, but he made quick work of erasing and re-doing the multiple choice, with his own test and knowledge as reference.
He had to give you credit for getting a decent amount correct, but not enough for a passing grade.
When Coriolanus fixed that, he stacked together the papers and placed them back on the desk and exited.
Everyone was waiting in the hall. Against tradition, the professor graded tests directly after and would call students in to give the results. It was time consuming, and kept everyone on campus after hours, which was against the rules, but perhaps he’d gotten some kind of exception.
You were leaning against the wall opposite of the classroom, talking to some girl from the class—Coriolanus didn’t bother to learn her name. He wanted to go to you, but Sejanus got to him first instead.
“How do you think you did?”
Coriolanus shrugged, looking down at his friend. “Fine, I think.” That was the humble answer, right? “How about you?”
“Not perfect, but I passed.”
Clemensia trotted out then, a confident look on her face.
“What was so important you had to ask during the test?” Coriolanus couldn’t help but wonder. She’d unknowingly helped him, after all.
“Just clarity on a question, wanted to make sure I got it right,” she answered with ease.
“And did you?”
She gave Sejanus a look.
“Yes, of course.”
The last person exited the class, and professor Featherly closed the door. And so the grading began.
One by one, the professor called people in. There was no method to the order, it seemed likely he shuffled the papers or chose which one to grade next at random.
Time passed, Coriolanus didn’t know how much exactly, but it was beginning to get dark outside. Tigris would be worried until he got home, but she’d understand. His studies came first.
Eventually, Coriolanus realized it was dwindling down to be just you and him left. He was lucky today.
The third to last student was in the classroom, leaving you across the hall from one another.
You pressed your lips together before speaking.
“Do you think you did alright?”
The corner of Coriolanus’s lip twitched up at the sound of your voice.
“Yes, I think so,” he answered humbly. “What about you?”
You let out a self deprecating laugh. “When I said I was terrified, I wasn’t being dramatic.” You sighed, accepting your fate. “I’ll have to do perfect on the next one, I guess.”
“I can help you with that,” Coriolanus offered.
The smile he gave you spawned a mirror reaction. He knew he was charming, he had to be, and this time you actually seemed receptive to it.
“Maybe you can.”
The sound of a door opening made Coriolanus turn. Arachne was leaving, a smug look on her face as she thanked the professor.
Then the door closed, and the professor graded another test. There were only two left.
“I wish he wouldn’t do it like this,” you filled the silence. “The others don’t make us wait like this.”
“It builds suspense, I suppose,” Coriolanus mused. “Keeps us on our toes.”
“That’s not something I need right now.”
“At least you have good company,” he noted flirtatiously. He couldn’t help but grin at his own words, especially when you bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling.
“Could be worse, I supposed,” you retorted.
More time passed. The door opened again.
“Coriolanus Snow,” the professor addressed him next. “Your turn.”
As expected, Coriolanus did close to perfect. One answer off. Best in the class.
Back in the hallway, when he was done, Coriolanus waited with you. He didn’t announce he was staying, he just returned to his spot against the wall.
“Don’t keep a girl waiting. How did you do?” you asked, departing from the wall.
Coriolanus wondered where you were going, but then, you stood next to him, leaning back against the wall. There was still an arms length between the two of you, but it was something. You’d gone to him for once.
“You’ll think I’m full of myself if I tell you,” he teased lightly, which made you roll your eyes.
“Maybe I already think that, so just tell me,” you insisted.
The comment made him falter.
“Best in the class,” he divulged.
You almost looked impressed. “Good for you.”
The door opened.
“Y/N L/N, you’re up.”
“Wish me luck,” you said under your breath before following Featherly in.
“Good luck.”
Coriolanus waited for you, just like before. He tapped his foot. The professor didn’t actually go over the answers, he just told you the grade. You’d have no way of knowing what he did for you, but he’d be there to share in your excitement when you discovered how well you’d done.
Or, how well he’d done for you.
Not long later, you and the professor exited the class together.
“Wasn’t expecting you to still be here,” Featherly addressed Coriolanus. “You should get going. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
Then, he left you and Coriolanus alone in the hall, presumably leaving the building.
“So,” Coriolanus began with a smile. “How did you do?”
“He asked if I’d been studying with you. Apparently we had all the same answers,” you told him, crossing your arms. “Except when I asked him to show me my exam—which I did great on, apparently—I saw answers circled that weren’t mine.”
Coriolanus hadn’t expected you to find out so quickly, but a part of him was relieved you did. It meant he got to take credit, and he could show you that he really did want the best for you.
Or, he could always lie.
“You weren scared of failing,” he finally admitted. He offered a sympathetic smile. “So I helped.”
“No, you cheated!” you accused, causing his eyes to go wide. “You’ve implicated us both. If anyone finds out…”
“Don’t be so loud,” he hissed out in a whisper, stepping closer to you. The professor could still be in the building. He doubted anyone else would be. “I just wanted to help you, okay? You needed it, so I—“
“You helped, I get it. But I didn’t ask you to do that for me, Coriolanus. I have never asked you to do anything for me,” you sneered, somewhere between offended and betrayed.
He saw the way you scanned his face—his eyes. The pleading was beginning to seep through.
A wave of realization washed over you before he even opened his mouth.
“You didn’t have to ask me to,” Coriolanus said meaningfully, stepping closer to you. “I wanted to. I wanted to help you.”
You back hit the wall. The hallway was so empty it seemed as if the subtle sound still echoed.
“I’d do anything for you, don’t you get that?”
The sound of a large door closing carried from a distance.
Coriolanus reached for your face, wishing he could take away the concern that riddled your expression. Instead, he brushed a stray piece of hair from your face.
You swallowed. Why did you look so nervous around him? You were friends now, weren’t you? You never looked scared around anyone else. Why him? Why now? His own questions frustrated him.
“We’re not supposed to be on campus after hours,” you said calmly. It was the same tone you used when you first described your indifference to him. Coriolanus thought about that moment a lot. “Featherly already left. We should leave before we get caught.”
The corners of his lips twitched down.
“We’re still talking, though, aren’t we?”
You let out a shallow breath. You had no reason to look as scared as you did.
“I think we’re done.”
Coriolanus thought back to his cousin’s advice. He could’ve followed it better if she’d written it down, perchance.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Coriolanus pondered, smiling to himself at the sight of you. “You caught my eye from the beginning and I—I couldn’t figure out why you wanted nothing to do with me.” You watched him carefully. He wondered if you could sense the dejectedness brewing. “Did you see something in me? Is that it?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted under your breath. “People like you, and you’ve been making an effort to be my friend, so I don’t know what told me to stay away from you, but something did. I’ve tried to ignore it, but I still…” you swallowed. “I don’t know.”
The confession should’ve been a relief. That’s what he imagined it would be. That you would admit the truth, and he could fix whatever misconceptions you had.
Coriolanus did not know what to do with “I don’t know”.
Staring down at you, Coriolanus noticed your back was against the wall. Literally. He hadn’t meant to put you there, but he had.
It got you to listen, didn’t it? He’d gotten an answer?
“Can we start over?” Coriolanus suggested, even throwing in a smile that would charm most anyone. It worked on you before. “We can forget all this mess.”
You blinked. You didn’t believe him.
For most people, he wouldn’t simply let numerous slights go, but for you, if it would fix whatever this was, if it meant the two of you could have a real chance, then he’d overcome his instincts—old and new.
“I’m afraid my memory is too good for that,” you finally said, looking up at him with defiance.
Defying what, was the question. It wasn’t as if you were enemies.
The thought made his jaw clench. He let out a laugh that was sharp. It lacked any sense of humor.
“Why can’t you just accept my apology?”
Your brows arched up, questioning him.
“That was supposed to be an apology?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “But it’s not as if I owe you one.”
“I never said you did. I never said anything. You took it upon yourself to insert yourself into my life and now you are not happy with your place in it. You’ve overstepped, and you need to let me leave.”
Coriolanus frowned.
“You act like I’m keeping you here by force.”
You look up at him, silently telling him you believed he was.
That frustrated him further.
In an act that jarred even him, Coriolanus pressed his palms against your shoulders and pushed you back against the wall when you tried to move away.
“This is force,” he declared sternly, leaning down, making you maintain his gaze.
Everyone liked control, but he hadn’t used it in such a physical way before. It thrilled him in an odd way.
“Get your hands off me.”
“Why should I? You already think so poorly of me, why not let you be right?”
You moved again then, trying to catch him off guard and squirm away. But Coriolanus was quick to shove you back against the wall.
“We can still start over. If you would give me a chance, I think we can be good together.”
He let one hand rise to rest on your cheek. Your skin was so smooth. He inhaled deeply, resolve slipping further as his eyes fell to your lips.
If Coriolanus could just prove it to you, he was sure you’d understand what he meant.
He leaned in cautiously, gauging your reaction. You didn’t flinch away. You tilted your chin up, even. That familiar skip of his heart returned.
Coriolanus’s lips only just brushed against yours before you reacted. He had a second of relief before you brought your knee up, jabbing him in the lower stomach, although he doubted that was where you were aiming. It was still enough of a shock to throw him off his game. He stumbled back, and in a flash, you were gone. You were running down the hall—trying to get away from him, like usual.
Only this time, he didn’t feel like letting you go.
Something he had slowly come to learn was when he wanted something, it wasn’t just going to be handed to him. Vying for the Plinth Prize highlighted that, alongside his childhood.
He caught you easily, hand snapping out like a snake to grip your arm and yank you back to him. You collided with his chest. It was like you weren’t even trying. Not really. Just toying with him.
“Am I a game to you?” Coriolanus hissed into your ear, wrapping you in his arms. “Something for you to play?”
“I haven’t done anything to you! I hardly even know you!” you defended, but it just made him hold you tighter.
“I know you,” he implored, fighting against your squirming. He lost balance and when you fell to the ground, you took him with you. Coriolanus got you onto your back, sitting on your thighs, gripping your wrists in his hands to keep you from swinging at him. You let out panicked breaths, staring up at him. “I know more than you think.”
Something about the position made the front of his pants begin to feel constricting.
“Coriolanus, you’re frightening me,” you enunciated, as if trying to reason with him.
“I’m not being unreasonable,” Coriolanus grit out, working to maintain his composure.
“What?” you questioned, brows pinching together, a deep frown on your face. Confused and scared. Coriolanus used to feel that way. “Just let me go.”
“And then what? You go back to ignoring me? No I can’t… I can’t go back to that. If you just give me a chance I can show you.”
Coriolanus didn’t know what happened next.
Tigris told him it was like he left his own head, sometimes. She said he’d get so caught up, he wouldn’t notice things. At the time he had laughed. If anyone stayed aware, it was him.
It wasn’t that he left his head, but got lost in it. Lost in his own inner monologue to realize what he was doing.
In this case, what he’d done.
Far too busy thinking of ways to convey everything he wanted to say to you, how to make you understand, visualizing your reaction, he’d already acted.
Maybe there were two people living in his mind. One with a conscience, one without. Or perhaps that was just something he used to justify his less than decent actions. An excuse. He’d never let himself know the truth. Not really. Not yet.
What he did know was what he could see. You, beneath him, clothes torn from your body. The only thing left was a shirt. Too much effort, apparently. Your wrists were snatched together in one of his hands.
The power stirred something within him.
One might say he was out of excuses when he reached for the zipper of his pants, but no one else was here, were they?
Your mouth was moving. Speaking. Maybe even yelling. Looking at him, looking around the room. He couldn’t hear a sound but his own heart thumping in his ears paired with his own eager breaths. Was that normal?
He moved, wedging himself between your legs, nudging them apart to make room for himself.
“It’s just us,” Coriolanus spoke, loud enough to hear himself. You flinched. “No one’s here.”
He gripped himself, stroking his cock, lining himself up with your entrance. His patience was running incredibly thin.
Tears pricked in your eyes. You stopped struggling at his words, accepting it for what it was. Good.
“Why are you doing this?”
He heard your voice clearly, that time, despite the strain in your tone.
Coriolanus observed you carefully, squeezing your wrists together in one hand and lovingly caressing your hip with the other.
He finally understood the answer you’d given before. He found it fitting now.
“I don’t know.”
To him, it was the truth.
The moment Coriolanus pressed himself inside of you, it was as if the rest of the world disappeared. After so long of wanting you in every way, shape, or form, this was long overdue.
“You’re perfect for me,” he breathed out. Coriolanus gave a shove of his hips, his gaze falling to your mouth as an unwilling yelp slipped out. “I knew you would be.”
You were tight, too tight, even. Unwelcoming. Yet still, you felt like home.
His hand—the one that was on your hip—drifted between your legs. He found your clit, running his thumb in small circles, trying to ease the pressure you must’ve been feeling.
Coriolanus did not want to hurt you.
He looked into unfocused eyes. Where were you? Were you trying to be somewhere else?
He let your hands go. You didn’t move to slap him or shove him or anything. You were learning.
He leaned over you more, reaching for you face with his now free hand, and ran his thumb over your cheek, encouraging your gaze to actually meet his. He smiled softly when you did. You got more beautiful every second he looked at you. It was even better when he could see you were present.
Coriolanus found himself unable to resist it, so he gave into the urge to press his lips to yours. A real kiss, this time.
Your lips were softer than he’d imagined. You made a noise when his tongue tasted your mouth. His kiss was hungry—aggressive, even. But he’d waited so long he didn’t know how to contain himself.
Your body reacted to his touch. Your bent knees inched up his hips to accommodate him, and your walls were becoming slick, accepting the invasion.
A deep moan escaped him, cock throbbing inside you at the feel. The sound was muffled by his lips pressed to yours, but he still felt vulnerable, giving himself to you in this way.
Coriolanus pulled back from the kiss, only to rest his forehead against yours and breathe out a small puff of air from his lips.
“I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you. Not even the Plinth Prize,” he confessed in a whisper.
“What’s the difference?” You finally spoke, voice wavering. “You have to earn the prize?” The accusing tone felt like a slap.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Coriolanus muttered, eyes boring into yours. “You’ll see.”
He gave you one more searing kiss before moving his hips.
A gasp that morphed into a moan clawed its way up your throat. The sound was like music to his ears. He wanted to hear it again.
He began to move more consistently, finding a pace that suited him. Rough enough to keep you present, but not so harsh as to hurt you. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, even if you were trying to avoid it.
Still figuring you out, Coriolanus found your sweet spot with a hard thrust, causing you to wince. Instinctively, you tried to push him away, just like you had before, not wanting to surrender.
You stilled when you felt his hand. He hardly realized how he’d reacted until he felt your throat bob beneath his palm.
Coriolanus retracted his hand, like your skin and shot a volt through him. His movements slowed to a stop.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized earnestly, brushing the hand through your hair gently. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Your chest heaved as you breathed shaky breaths through your nose. Your lips pressed together in a line.
You weren’t going to dignify him with a response. In a way, he understood.
Coriolanus locked his arms under your body and in a surge of strength, pulled you from the ground and into his lap. He hugged you against him, nuzzling his face into your neck.
“Forgive me,” he requested softly.
You shifted in his lap, adjusting yourself to find comfort in the new position. You did not speak.
He slammed his hips up, forcing a gasp from your lips. That was something, wasn’t it?
You pulled back, and he did it again. And again. And again.
You fell against him, jarred by the change in his movements as he thrust into you. He liked it, feeling you in his lap, your chest against his, leaving you no choice but to hold onto him.
His lips latched onto the skin of your neck as he moved, barring his teeth and nipping the skin. You reacted as if he were venomous, straining away from him, but he’d left his mark.
You could pretend all you wanted that you didn’t like him, but Coriolanus could feel your body reacting to his. He could feel the way your walls squeezed around him, drawing him in, and how your body quivered as he pushed you closer to your edge.
“Just let go,” Coriolanus whispered, holding you tighter. He cradled the back of your head against him as he moved inside of you. Soothing and rough at the same time. “It’s okay, I know you want to.”
“Shut up,” you hissed into his neck, hands finding his chest.
Were you really going to try and get away from him? It was a bit late for that.
Coriolanus moved his hand between your bodies, finding your clit with the pad of his thumb, speeding along the process.
“What was that?” he taunted, feeling your legs start to shake.
A moan tore from your throat as you came around him, body slumping against his as he shoved himself deeper inside you. He wanted to feel your body tensed around him.
“That’s it,” he drawled, pressing his face to the side of your head. He inhaled, letting your scent flood him. Every sense was overwhelmed by you and if anything, it made him hunger for even more.
You became more pliable in your daze, going easily when Coriolanus laid you back down on the cold ground. He planted one hand on the ground near your head, where he held most of his weight, while the other rested on the base of your neck. Not squeezing, just resting. Reminding you of before.
Now that he’d taken care of you, made you realize the pleasure he could inflict upon you, it was his turn. Coriolanus was relentless with the thrust of his cock inside you, stretching you around him, groaning with nearly every movement. You felt so good, he never wanted to leave the warmth of your body.
You shifted beneath him, squirming as the intense feeling. Coriolanus was tempted to drag it out, to watch your face as the pleasure became too much for you to handle.
If it wasn’t for the desire to fill you, to claim you, he would’ve. There would be more times after this, he’d ensure it. He didn’t own a lot, but he treasured the things that he did.
“I can’t let you go, not now.” He meant to keep it inside his head, but the words spilled out. “You’re the only thing I want.”
At that moment, it was true.
Coriolanus gave one final shove of his hips before spilling inside of you. It crashed over him in an unexpected wave. His whole body shivered with pleasure at the feel of your body milking him. You wanted him. Your denial would eventually fade. He was sure of it.
Coriolanus let out a heavy sigh of your name as he watched your face. You’d turned your head, wincing as he filled you to the brim.
“Hey,” Coriolanus said when he finished, voice low. He ran a delicate hand over your face, persuading you to open your eyes. “We’re okay.”
As much as he didn’t want to, Coriolanus withdrew from you. You’d given up fighting against him, so he took the opportunity to help you redress. You were so pliant, it was like dressing a doll.
You rested your arms on your knees when he made you sit up. He wasn’t keeping you from moving from the floor, you chose not to.
Coriolanus watched you cautiously, searching for the same fire in you before, trying to figure out if he’d somehow snuffed it out.
There was a nagging in his gut. It was only for a brief second, but his confidence wavered.
“Can you talk to me?” he pressed, laying a hand on your shoulder and he knelt across from you, pants readjusted.
It was as if nothing happened, but you both knew that was untrue.
“Why should I?” You wrinkled your nose as you focused on the ground.
“Because, I care about you,” Coriolanus replied without thought, gaze softening. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I don’t think you care for me,” you said in a tone so hushed, Coriolanus wasn’t sure if you even meant for him to hear. Then, you met his eyes. The fire had only been dulled, not put out. “I think you’re a liar, Coriolanus Snow.”
His hands fell to clasp yours. He brought one to his lips, pressing a small kiss to the back of your palm. You eyed him as if he were some sort of predator, but he managed a smile nonetheless.
“Let me prove it to you, and you’ll come to learn you’ve been wrong about me all along.”
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