#corilanus x fem! reader

[smolvenger]

Twenty-Seven Wounds (Coriolanus x fem! Reader)

Summary: In ancient times, in a place that calls itself Rome, you find yourself married to the general Caius Martius or Coriolanus. He has fought so many battles he has twenty-seven scars on his body. Scars that he has not shown you yet...

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Mentions of sex but no actual smut, discussions of war, violence. Drunkenness and brief harassment but the asshole is put in his place. Grumpy and Sunshine trope. I do my best to write Caius accurately. But at the end of the day, it's MY indulgent fic and here he's a big tough warmonger who becomes a simp that kisses the ground his cinnamon roll wife walks on. References to the play and to ancient Roman customs and words. A fake kidnapping.

Word Count: 3K

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

“General Martius has asked me for your hand in marriage and I consented,” your father announced.

Your vision went dizzy. You had to sit down. You knew many things about General Caius Martius, otherwise known as Coriolanus since his great victory in the land of Corioles. 

As you sat back down to process the news, you recounted every instance of interaction. You met him in the chariot races. Menenius introduced you to each other- the senator's bald head shining like a crown and his chest as puffed as a peacock's.

"This is the great General Martius! And General- this is the lady Y/N-isn't she one of our city's great beauties, hm?"

"Sir! Uh-I-thank you!" you replied, very flustered and surprised he would say that.

General Martius made no reply. Only a polite greeting.

You talked with him at dinners. The odd banquet or party. Saw him in the audience of the Gladiator fights, plays, or chariot races.

But Caius was no run-of-the-mill man. He was a renowned general in the army and known as the fiercest warrior Rome could wish for. Notoriously ferocious on a battlefield. A man who breathed war. He was also notorious for his arrogance and stubbornness and sometimes his anger. You knew he was sensitive to smells- his nose would often crinkle as he walked by the streets.  You knew his mother, Volumina. You knew he enjoyed the Gladiator fights. Though you sometimes turned away when it got too gruesome. If it was too much, he would escort you out. When you came to chariot races, he would be there.

He was still an incredibly attractive man- dark reddish-blonde hair. Beautiful blue eyes. Tall, broad, and striking. When the betrothal was confirmed, he visited where you stayed. Your father joined your hands together. He held them with a delicacy. He then brought them up and kissed them.

“Y/N…I promise you-I will be an honorable husband. You will be protected. You will want for nothing. And they will revere you as they do for me.”

He brought you a little closer so that your hands became entwined. You were not scared of marrying him. No- what scared you was that you were not scared. What scared you was how badly you wanted to marry him. You should have been frustrated that your father agreed to the match without consulting you. All fathers had complete and total say over their children’s marriages…but you were not angry in the least.

“You will be…gentle to me, Caius?” you asked quietly.

“Yes. Yes, I will,” he replied. He placed another hand over yours.

“Ah! What a pretty picture! Come- let us make an offering to the household gods! Let us pray for a blessing for our Y/N and her warrior groom!” your father announced, rubbing his hands together. 

Your wedding happened not too long after. It seemed your family was in a rush to have a connection to the wealthy and famous general.

After the ceremony at the temple of Hera, all of you sat down at your house to a feast. Caius- no, no longer “General Martius” or “General Coriolanus” but just Caius!- sat down next to you. He leaned back and kept an arm around you, his hand rubbing against the side of your arm.

One guest with more wine in his body than decency spittled something that made your stomach curl in offense. He staggered before your seat and pointed a finger at you. 

“Ah! Where can I get a twin of this pretty nymph like Martius’s? Hm? Her breasts will look even better without her wedding gown over them!”

Before you could say a word, Caius lept to his feet. He ran before the drunkard and yanked him by the collar to his face. 

“You will speak with respect to the wife of a general or you will remain quiet!” he barked at the rude guest. 

The room went quiet. You knew if the impulse struck him, Caius would get out his sword and have the bastard sliced in half. The man began to tremble and utter apologies as a friend of his took him away.

“Everyone…let’s have some music now! Before we close the feast-I think it would soothe everyone!” you announced.

Glancing at the musicians frozen with their lyres, they began to play again. You returned to your seat as did your new husband.

“Would you have be different than I am, Y/N?” he whispered to you.

“You were only protecting me…how could I be angry at you or want you different?” you asked.

You gave him a peck on the cheek. He blinked rapidly. You saw him turn bright red and his frown melted into a tiny smile. 

Right as the feast started to wind down, your heart began to drum in your chest. There was the staged kidnapping- for all of Rome knew that the best bride was a maiden who was unwillingly taken from home. So every consenting bride had to pretend as a ceremony for the end of the celebrations. Put on a show good enough to fool the gods for luck.

Getting up from the table, Caius went to the other end of the room to exit through the door. Your mother put her arms around you. He then stormed in on cue like in a Euripedian tragedy.

“This house has something I want! Give me Y/N or I will kill every being who keeps me from her!” he announced in pretense. 

 You could feel yourself trying not to laugh. Your own mother was trying a forced frown.

“Please- mother- don’t let the General take me!” you wailed dutifully.

He went up with his sword out so others stepped back. Then he sheathed it and looked at you, licking his lips.

“I am here! I claim this woman- she is mine now- for my house and my bed!” he declared. 

He took you easily from your mother’s arms and then slung you over his shoulders. You let out a brief squeal- trying to make your laughter sound like tears.

“Mother! Mother! Help!” you cried out in pretend. Glad no one could see your smile as he carried you out. And especially glad you could still ogle his pert behind from where you were dangling for the rest of the “kidnapping.”

He carried you down the streets over his shoulder. Then when you arrived at his place, he transferred you so that he carried you with an arm over your back and the other supporting your legs. For it was bad luck for a young bride to trip. And he kept you in his arms as he ignored his mother and the slaves greeting him and took you straight to his bedroom without a word. Everyone gave each other a look and then went on with their business. 

Caius’s restraint left him as soon as he entered that room. He set you on your feet and then grabbed you. He kissed you so much you could already feel his tongue inside.

“Gods, you are mine now…” he whispered.

He held you so close. You could feel his heat, his desperation, his need to have you. He kept a hand on your back and kept you close. You were getting wet with each touch of his.

He went down to the belt that held your dress. It was tied in a special knot for today- The knot of chastity. And symbolically, one only your husband was allowed to undo. Your heart raced as he began to touch it, a thumb going over the long threads. 

“Caius…I want you…yes-it’s our wedding night, please…” you heard yourself voice. 

 He pulled and fought at the knot almost so much, that he swore that it wasn’t coming off fast enough.  That he would need a knife. Then he used his thumb to edge it out so it would loosen. With several swift tugs and a grunt of his, he yanked the knot undone and the cloth belt came off. He eagerly found the edges of your clothes.

“Yes…my wife…”

You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him again. He then removed the lower parts of his clothes.

There were slaves playing music in the other room. He preferred some quiet music in the evenings. And tonight was no exception. They were to keep playing. To hear him take his wife- no, you. To hear Your cries of pleasure among the soft strings. They were playing when he led you to his lectus and your marriage was passionately consummated. 

You adjusted to married life surprisingly well. And in private, Caius was not the fearsome dragon some heralded him to be. Yes- he was arrogant and stubborn at his worst. But he could be…persuaded, you discovered. 

“And the peasants were crying that they wanted more grain! Grain from our storages!” he reported to you one day over dinner.

“Well…couldn’t we spare just a little bit, dear husband?” you asked.

A Slave brought you a bowl of dates and then left to refill your wine glasses. 

“For the rabble? No-let them hang!” he dismissed.

He tore a bite of meat from its leg and chewed on it like a bear with prey. But you kept your eyes soft and gave him a smile.

“They’re only hungry. Even I become cross when I am hungry! And we have so much food here. Really, it’s more than I can eat! And there are always so many leftovers…surely….just a little grain could be spared, Caius? It would warm my heart to see so many hungry people be fed…they do not complain without reason…perhaps then they won’t complain about you anymore. Just a little bit of grain, Caius? Please?”

You saw his shoulders start to sag. With a deep sigh, he gestured to one of his slaves

“Tell them that five percent of the grain stored will be gathered and distributed to the protesters,” he said. 

You smiled as you looked down.

He was content to sit quietly beside you in some evenings. You could weave your loom and the man who craved battles would merely go over parchments beside you. His desire was like that of an animal though. It only took a look or a smile from you before he was on you, kissing you, and pulling at your clothes to have them come off. The nights when you both did not make love, he still wanted to touch you. He would pull you onto him to rest your head against his chest. You would permit him to rub your back with his hand and wrap his arms protectively around you. As if not even Zeus himself could get past Caius Martius to the treasure that lay in his arms. He often would touch you gently. Even as you walked past him, he would softly just touch a cloth of your skirt, feeling the fabric slip through his fingers longingly as you had to leave. 

There was one dinner where your mother, Volumina, decided to put you to the test. You knew it. As you sat down on the floor enjoying your food, she turned to you and declared something most people would find offensive.

“Ah! I hope in the next battle that my son will receive another scar! Don’t you, Y/N?”

On one hand, you did not want your husband to suffer. But this was Volumina. Her whole life’s purpose was to create a soldier of her boy. To serve the wars in her own way through what she could do behind the scenes. To see him either victorious or dead was her life’s work. Glory in battle meant glory for her and the Martius family. 

Carefully, you added a reply with a dutiful nod of your head.

“Yes- should the scars not be fatal, I see them as badges of honor. And if they were-I am proud to have a husband willing to give his life for the safety of Rome’s people. And if I must sacrifice him for all our sakes, I will make it,” you replied.

“Ah! What a sweet woman you have for your wife, Caius!” Volumina praised, her stained lips curved into a smile. 

There, the middle ground. It wasn’t that bad. But as she slid aside her plate, her talk turned. She looked at you, dressed in her dark clothes with her dark hair done up. Her smile was still big on her creamy face. 

“Did you know, Y/N, that my son bears a total of twenty-seven scars from battle!?” she asked.

“No-he never told me it was that many,” you said with a quick glance at him.

“Yes! And may Ares bring him twenty-seven more!” Volumina said. 

But you had never seen such scars. 

After a few months, you realized something- you had never seen him bare. That was odd. Most women would tell you of how the first time they saw Octavius Cato’s or so-and-so’s willy they burst into laughter. But even the hundreds of times you made love, Caius kept his shirt on. He preferred to bathe alone, never going into the bathhouses. The times he did bathe, sometimes you heard him groan in pain outside the room. As if the scars were still fresh. He always went behind a screen to dress. In bed, he only wore a toge that had short sleeves. You saw a cut over his shoulder peep out. It looked almost like the crack of an earthquake on the soil. But whenever you tried to nudge it in bed, he would move your hand away, asking you to stop. 

You were still unequal. He had kissed every inch of your bare skin. But you had not even seen it. As frightening as that scratch looked, you had to see more. 

That is, until one night. It was uncomfortably warm. You sweated on your shared lectus, tossing and turning in discomfort.  You turned over to see Caius was still awake. He then rolled over of you confirming to the other that you were not asleep. You slept in your underclothes and he still had that toge. And he was sweating. 

“I think you should undress,” you said. 

He turned around, though you could smell his sweat dripping down.

“It’d be better if I didn’t,” he huffed. 

You touched his shoulder, turning him to face you. 

“Caius…why do you show no one your scars?” you asked.

He swallowed.

“They’re….they’re only when Rome needs to see them. When they lose sight. When they lose respect.” he said. r.

“Am I not part of Rome, too?” you asked.

He paused.

“Yes…yes you are…” he answered.

“You’ve never…bared yourself to me like I have to you,” you commented.

“They’re gruesome. It would…it would have scared you, I thought. You wouldn’t want to sleep beside them…too gruesome…” 

He sat up.

“I’ll sleep somewhere else tonight-you don’t want to look at them,” he announced.

But you stopped his hand and kept him still. 

“Caius…may I see them, please?” you asked.

You gingerly touched his chest, right over the toga he wore to bed. You only saw the scratches around his collarbones.

“Are you afraid?” he asked. 

“No. They’re a part of you…I want to see them…” you urged.

His eyes softened. Then you both sat up in bed.

“Then…then remove it for yourself and see.” he permitted. 

You went to the corner edges of his own robe. He helped you as you lifted it over his head. You then got a candle to see it better.

You knew he was a strong man, but there were so many scratches, lashes, and cuts you could not make out the muscles clearly. There were so many cuts and lashes-they looked so dark across his skin. All over his torso. Then there were the newer ones from the battle at Corioles-they still looked red. You set the candle back down on the table near the bed.

“I understand if you wish not to lie with me anymore…I will make arrangements where-”

“No, you don’t have to!” you interrupted.

For once in his life, Caius Martius Coriolanus closed his mouth and he listened.

“Twenty-seven of them. Twenty-seven times you have been wounded. Twenty-seven times you could have died…and didn’t,” you said.  “Can I touch them?”

“Yes,Y/N, you can…”

You lightly took your hand and felt the bumps and edges. He flinched only slightly, then relaxed into it. You could feel the warmth of the sweltering night on him. 

“Caius…may I kiss them?” you asked.

“Yes…”

You gently kissed the back of your three fingers and pressed them over the lower scars. You knew putting your mouth lower would stir something in him. Now was not the moment…and it seemed he would agree. His breathing was deep as your kissed fingers touched the lower ones. Such chaste, light kisses like a butterfly's wing.

As they moved up to his chest, you peppered one kiss across one. Then another. You paused, your mouth over his skin, his steady pulse shaking from your touch.  

“Each one…you survived. You defeated your enemies…you protected your allies…and you protected me…and you survived, Caius,” you whispered.

He put a hand to touch your cheek and you leaned into it.

“Dulcissima…my sweetest…thank you…”

“Do they hurt right now?” you asked.

His voice smoothed and spoke with such tenderness as you had never heard before. He put an arm around you as you kept kissing them. 

“No…they never felt more relieved…my wife, her kisses have their own little medicine…”

You moved up to his shoulder from the first fresh one from Corioles, sweetly kissing them. His soft voice spoke on and you could feel yourself burst from his words.

“Dearest of my heart…my gift from Hera and Aphrodite themselves…”

You kissed the gash on his upper left arm. Then you lifted up to meet him, his eyes brimming with tears. 

“There…twenty-seven kisses for each scar…”

Then he relaxed, your hand tracing his chest. You blew the candle out to the dark. The room suddenly became cooler. Then you nuzzled into him, settling into him. How warm he felt-so close and so real. His chest moving and falling.

“Caius…why did you want to marry me?” you asked.

“I thought…you would do well, being married to me. You…you’re good to me. You…you smiled when you saw me. You weren’t afraid…” he confessed.

“I was nervous every time you noticed me!” you recalled.

You felt the smile in his voice. His other hand found yours and wrapped itself over your palm. He went on.

“So was I! I hate banquets and parties…but I went to them in case you were there. I watched you squirm at the gladiator fights and look away and wish I could…just take you in my arms and take you away from them. But…then there was the time I was with your father’s…. You said something, and it made me laugh…I laughed! That was…when I knew…when I knew I had to be your husband.”

You looked up at him. His eyes were shiny. But you did not see tears. He swallowed, perhaps looking away made him more honest. You nestled back into him and clung to him. He kept talking.

 “I kept…thinking of you. Of what you would say. I kept going to the market. Every day. Just to see you. Even just a glimpse of you passing by. Just one glimpse-not much. To see you walk up to the bathhouses….”

“And you never went in to see me in there…because of your scars?” you asked.

“I knew you frequented them. I confess- I am a man. As much as I would have loved to see you naked and wet, it meant scaring the others away when I removed my clothes, it would have scared you away…”

You went back to look at him. This time you touched his face, looking directly into his blue eyes. 

You pressed a forehead to his.

“They don’t scare me…not anymore, and you don’t scare me…” you whispered. “Caius…Caius, I love you…”

“Y/N…I…I love you too…”

That evening, as the night settled over a place that called itself Rome, you relaxed into bed with your husband. You wrapped your arms to embrace him and he did not put on his toge to hide his scars. He only held you tight. His scars only barely brushed against you. Badges of war. Badges of honor. Badges of protection. He kissed the top of your head as you both settled into sleep. 

[coriolanussnowslover]

The Ballad of Snakes, Songbirds, and Sorrow.

A Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader FanFiction.

He saw everything in her, so why is he so intrigued by her.

Word Count: 3,621.

*Reader is from a prestigious family in the capital. They have been best friends their whole lives and dating for years now. Cearo means Sorrow. Follows the film loosely, but as canon as possible.

*Warnings: Genral Hunger Games Canon Warnings. Death. Etc. Some Suggestive Themes. Possessive Behavior. Not Proof Read.

Masterlist

Part Two.

The Night after the Reaping

(Y/N) sat with Tirgirs and Grandma’am at the table while Coriolanus paced the dining room in front of her. She tapped her fingers against the table, the tips of them wrapped in gauze from Tirgirs when she arrived with the bloody raw skin picked off around her nails. She knew Coriolanus was having a meltdown about his tribute, sure most everyone was, but all she could think about was Wovey. She looked so small and sweet, reminding her so much of Wilby. She had already cried to Coryo in the back room of the academy while nervously snacked on whatever he grabbed off the buffet on their way out.

“You saw her. She's underfed, unstable.” “The dean said it's not just about winning.” “Everything is about winning! If not the games then the crowd!”

(Y/N) was tuning them out at this point, she knew Coryo needed to win this for their future. She was not about to let him lose everything he fought so desperately for to Highbottom’s distaste for his last name. They needed a spectacle. The capital loves anything showy and daring, and that they could work with. “I wouldn't sing a note for you if I was her.Imagine it was your name they pulled and you were ripped from your home! I’d just wanna know somebody still cared about me.” “She's district, Tigers. She knows we hate her, and she wants us dead.” “Don’t discount her just because she's district, Coryo. You might have more in common with her than you think.” (Y/N) watched the cousins discuss Lucy in front of her.

“Why don't we go meet them tomorrow at the train station Coryo?” They both turned to her, eyes the size of pancakes at her suggestion. “They get here tomorrow, why don't we go there, meet Lucy and Wovey. The Dean said we have to help them win over the capitol hearts, but so do we. What if we show the capital how caring and dedicated to our tributes we are. If we show them we feel something for them, they will too, boosting their incentive to watch the games. Plus we can show them we care about them, like Tirgris said. All I’d want is a friend.”

Coryo walked over to (Y/N) and planted a long kiss on her lips, his smile contagious. “You’re Brilliant (Y/N/N). That's my first lady of Panem.” He pulled her up and dragged her back to his bedroom, grin on his face. She loved when he called her his.

—

They waited hand in hand at the train station, both taking turns squeezing the other's hand in reassurance. Coriolanus had picked her up that morning, both clade in their academy uniforms. She had brought Wovey a scone and a small juice box wrapped in one of the many handkerchiefs her mom had given her years ago. He had a rose pinned to his coat, as did she, and one in his hand for Lucy, a peace offering.

They stood and watched as the tributes were taken off the train one by one, waiting to see their tributes. (Y/N) watched for Wovey as Coriolanus spotted Lucy, dragging (Y/N) by the hand over to her.

“Welcome to the Capitol.” Coryo extended his hand with the rose out to her, his eyes locked on Lucy Grey’s.

“When I was little my mother used to bathe me in buttermilk and rose petals.” (Y/N) watched as Lucy Grey plucked a petal from the rose and ate it. Eyes never breaking contact with Corilanus.

“Tastes like bedtime.” Her thick accent made her seem so kind. Even with the bizarre actions. “You two look like you shouldn't be here.” Lucy snickered a bit. We shouldn't be, (Y/N) thought.

Then (Y/N) spotted Wovey. Breaking her hold on Coriolanus’ hand to walk over to her.

“Hi Wovey!” (Y/N) knew her voice went up an octave, it always did around Wilby. “Welcome to the Capitol! I’m (Y/N) Cearo, your mentor!” Wovey looked at her inquisitively.

“Hello….” (Y/N) smiled at her even wider. She was smaller than Wilby height wise, big eyes looking up at (Y/N) with so much fear.

“Here, I brought this for you.” She crouched down to her height and held out the small package for Wovey, her eyes lighting up immediately at the colorful gift.

“What is it?” She looked between her and the package. “It's a snack, I know you probably haven't had anything since the reaping and so I packed you one of my brother’s favorites! And my boyfriend’s, the other boy in the red over there but don't tell him I said nothing.” She winked at the small girl as she took the little gift from her with a small laugh.

“I promise I won't.” Wovey clutched the snack to her chest, the older boy from eight nudging her along to the truck meant to take them to tribute holding. As Wovey and Lucy got into the truck (Y/N) saw Coriolanus trying to ask the peacekeepers if they could escort their tributes when all the sudden one of the boys ran off.

“Come on.” Coryo grabbed her hand and dragged her onto the back of the truck, both staying turned away from the guards.

“What’s a matter pretty boy, you in the wrong cage?” one of the male tributes taunted. Coryo instinctively pushed me behind him as he turned to look at the tribute addressing him.

“No, this cage is delightful.” Coriolanus tried to sound kind, she assumed, but if anyone didn't know him they might find it condescending, as the other boy did.

She heard the other boy yell and was knocked to the ground as Coriolanus was shoved against the back wall by Reaper.

“Ill kill you right now!” Shouted the boy, Reaper she heard someone call him. “He’ll do it too, Reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven.” “Quiet Dill!” “I say we kill him! Her too.” “I’m in.”

(Y/N) sat on the ground looking at the people around her nervously as they plotted her and her boyfriend;s “Are you okay?” (Y/N) looked up and saw Wovey sitting with her gift on her lap above her and next to her she saw Lucy, who was looking at her shoes, when she suddenly spoke up.

“Y’all got family back home? They’ll kill them if you hurt either of them. Then you.” She locked eyes with (Y/N) for a brief moment, then looked up at Reaper and Coriolanus.

“Besides, he's my mentor. I might need him.” The short red headed girl leaned over Lucy’s lap to get in her face.

“How come you get a mender?” She practically spat in her face.

“Mentor.” (Y/N) spoke up. “You all get one. I’m Wovey’s mentor.” She said from the ground still.

“Oh, and we’ll just trust you, right?” the girl replied back sarcastically.

“We’re just here to help you guys.” Coryo spoke up this time. As he looked between Lucy, her, and the redhead, Coral if (Y/N) remembers correctly from reaping day.

“Why aren't our menders here?” Coral asked, looking also between the four other kids.

“Just not inspired I guess.” Lucy smiled as she looked back down at (Y/N) on the floor, suddenly she felt a little insecure under the gaze of the girl who, even on her way to her death, looked so put together. (Y/N) stood up and dusted herself off, looking at Coryo then down again to Wovey’s toothy grin at her.

Suddenly the truck started to rattle and shake as it tilted upwards.

“Alright, hold on!” Coriolanus grabbed the bar in front of him as he reached for Lucy. (Y/N) reached out and grabbed Wovey along with the district eight boy and then grabbed the seat. (Y/N) was practically clutching Wovey in her lap as the eight boys held her legs,the younger still clutching the gift still to her chest, as they started to slip.

‘Coriolanus!” (Y/N) looked up at him as she screamed. Feeling the boy slip and fall as she still held Wovey. When suddenly the truck reached peak height and all four of them started to fall, all three tumbled down the rocks into the zoo exhibit.

(Y/N) landed first, still holding Wovey surprisingly, then was immediately crashed into by Lucy and Coriolanus.

“Ow…” She held her head as she sat up. “Are you okay?” she looked at Wovey.

“Mmmhmm, so is my gift!” Wovey smiled at the girl, she stood up and tried to offer (Y/N) a hand in getting up.

“(Y/N)! Are you okay!” Coriolanus had pulled himself and lucy up and wiped the dirt off himself. He immediately ran over and picked (Y/N) up off the ground by her armpits and started dusting her off, she felt like a child.

“I’m fine, just a few scratches. Are you two okay.” They locked eyes for a minute as they checked each other over.

“Excuse me! Hello Sir! Hello Ma’am!” (Y/N) and Coriolanus turned towards the voice neither of them could miss from outside the cage bars. Lucky Flickerman. Coriolanus’ neighbor and dear friend of (Y/N)’s family. Great, she thought, more people to tell her dad she was out here. He’s gonna love this one. “Yes you two, in the red! Who are you! And why are you in there with them! We’re live, the capital is watching!”

“Oh great, live television coverage. My dad will love this.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, sweeping off the dust from her outfit. Even Coriolanus looked shaky with the knowledge the capital was watching their performance.. (Y/N) took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.

“Own it.” Lucy said to the two of them, though with the look she was giving him, (Y/N) felt it was more towards Coriolanus then her. Coriolanus locked eyes with her, a smile on his face.

“May I introduce you to my neighbors?” If his grin wasn't enough, the second Coriolanus dropped (Y/N)’s hand in exchange for putting the rose he bought in Lucy’s hair, she felt extremely uncomfortable. The way they looked at each other was interesting for two people who just met, at least in (Y/N)’s opinion. When he proceeded to take Lucy’s hand in his was when (Y/N) started to feel like maybe she was third wheeling her own boyfriend.

“Maybe you can introduce Wovey as well, (Y/N).” Coriolanus looked back at her as he started to walk Lucy over to the cameras. Leaving (Y/N) standing alone. Well with Wovey, but without her boyfriend. Maybe (Y/N) would have thought more about it if it wasn't for the small girl next to her.

“Well, that's something you don't see everyday! They're holding hands! Who are you sir, what are you doing in the cage here?” (Y/N) heard Lucy say as she turned her attention to Wovey, she had almost forgotten her job here.

“Wovey, would you like to say hello to the capital?” (Y/N) crouched down to the small girl’s height. Wovey looked at the cameras and then back to (Y/N).

“Can I open my snack first?” Wovey looked up at her with the biggest eyes.

“Of course, would you like help?” Wovey nodded and (Y/N) gently unwrapped the small package. She handed the scone to Wovey and opened the juice box for her. Wovey looked at the snack and then shoved about half of it into her mouth.

“Don’t choke now!” (Y/N) laughed at the face she was making, cheeks stuffed and face smeared with blueberries. (Y/N) pulled a, less extravagant, handkerchief out of her bag and whipped the girl’s face. “Here, you keep this one for later.” (Y/N) took Wovey’s arm and tied the handkerchief around her wrist in a bow.

“Now isn't that pretty, all the capital will be copying this soon. You’ll be a trendsetter!” Wovey raised her arm to inspect the bracelet as she ate the last of her scone, taking a large sip from her juice box with a smile.

“That was the best thing I have ever eaten. Thank you Miss. (Y/N).” Her toothy grin made (Y/N)’s heart melt.

“Well, are you ready to say hi!” (Y/N) tried not to dwell on the fact this poor girl was probably going to die after she just ate her first scone. She’d have to bring her another one. At the very least. Maybe too. Wovey nodded and took her hand as they walked over to Lucky, Coriolanus, and Lucy.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N) Cearo! How are you? Does your dad know you're in here?” Lucky recognized her right off the bat, she knew he would, they have dinner at the same restaurant every weekend.

“If he didn't before he does now!” She laughed along, playing up a smile as the cameras rolled. “To be fair, no one said I couldn't be here though! Plus I wanted to make sure my tribute, this beautiful young lady here, got the introduction she deserved!” (Y/N) crouched down again to Wovey’s heigh, taking both her hands in her own.

“And who might this be?” Lucky also crouched down and pointed the mic towards them both.

“My name is Wovey and I’m 12 years old.” Wovey spoke shyly, earning aws all around.

“Well Wovey, aren't you just the sweetest thing? And what district are you from?”

“Eight.” Wovey nervously shifted a bit in place with the spotlight on her.

“Well, that's great. For the record I think you both are about to be whisked away.” (Y/N) turned to see the peacekeepers coming to get her and Coriolanus. She turned back towards Wovey as she stood up. She could hear Lucy talking to Coriolanus.

“Be safe, I will bring you some more food soon. I promise.” Wovey nodded and ran over to Bobbin as (Y/N) and Coriolanus were dragged out of the Zoo by the peacekeepers. (Y/N) could hear Lucky closing out his show. Her dad was gonna kill her. — They both got a slap on the wrist for what happened and told to get back to the academy as soon as possible. What was worse punishment was the walk back to the academy. He held her hand, the same one he held hers with. Which was fine, she gets it, or at least she guesses she does. Their future relies on making sure the capital thinks he cares about Lucy, but he didn't have to be so convincing. Although she herself couldn't help but care for Wovey. So she guess she got it, in some way. What she couldn't stand was the smile on his face. He looked so. Happy. Like meeting Lucy Grey Baird was the best thing that's happened to him yet. Did he smile like that with her? Has he smiled at her like that? Of course he has you've talked of marriage and kids. Just last night he held you in his arms, not her. He loves you.

Or at least, that's what (Y/N) was telling herself to feel better.

As they walked into class to take their seats Dean Highbottom spoke up. “You two’s little excursion was in violation of about five different Academy rules, Mr. Snow and Miss. Cearo. Chief amongst them endangering Capital Students.” Coriolanus looked between the class and Dean Higbottom, his face reading one of shock.

“What? Who?” (Y/N) looked down at her shoes. She couldn't think of a single time either of them had been in trouble in class. Especially herself.

“Yourselves. I'm moving for the gamemakers to disqualify you both as mentors.” (Y/N)’s head shot up at that. Wovey.

“That’s not fair!” Her voice spoke before her brain caught up.

“You said we had to get our tributes to perform, not that we had to stay away!” Coriolanus fought back as well.

“I’ll add insubordination as well.” Dean Highbottom added, still not looking at either of them.

“Holding their hands, introducing them to people, guys. You make them look as if we’re one in the same.” Clemmie spoke up next, (Y/N) shooting a look at her from her seat.

“They both didn't show those people anything they didn't already know!” Serjanus spoke up next. The anger in his voice as a previous member of the districts. (Y/N) felt bad for what was happening now.

“I don't need your help, Serjanus.” Coriolanus’ voice sounded angry too. This was all getting out of hand, but he went wrong.

“That the tributes are human beings, just like us.” Serjanus continued even though Coriolanus told him to stop.

“We just wanted to make sure our tributes knew we were there for them.” (Y/N) spoke up now, she knew this fighting was unnecessary but she was in this now too. At least for Wovey’s sake.

“It's because people know, deep down, that winning a war ten years ago doesn't justify starving people’s children, taking away their freedoms, their rights!” Serjanus’ voice was rocky at the end, his feelings on the matter strong. They knew the games were wrong. No one wanted to admit it but him.

“Snow fell down in the cage. It fell down in the cage but it landed.” Dr. Gauls' voice silenced the whole class. “On Stage.” She stepped down to the bleachers to look at the class.

“You're good at Games, Mr. Snow. You too Miss. Cearo.” She smiled at them and (Y/N) felt a shiver down her spine. “Maybe one day you'll be a gamemaker, like me.” (Y/N) knew she should take the praise as an honor, but she felt uneasy in the woman's presence.

“If the games continue at all.” Dean Highbottom replied to her, tapping mindlessly at his paper.

“Oh, they’ll continue. With performances like young Mr. Snow and Miss. Cearo in that zoo.” She stepped down a bit more, turning her attention to Corilanus and (Y/N). “and I came here to ask your star mentors a question.” The class around them started to mummer.

“What are the Hunger Games for?” Dr. Gaul may have said she asked you both, but her stare locked on Coriolanus. Which (Y/N) felt relief for.

“They are to punish the district for their uprising, to commemorate the end of the war.” Coriolansu answered.

“Commemorate the… dull dull dull.” Dr. Gual started. “Punishment can take many forms. Why not drop bombs! Cancel food shipments. Stage executions? Why Games?” She looked around the class now, waiting for an answer from Coriolanus.

“Shouldn't we be asking ourselves whether or not the games are right?” Serjanus spoke up again now. (Y/N) looked at him. He was right, but that's not what the games are for.

“You don't like my games?” Dr. Gaul now turned to Serjanus, eyes wide with interest. “Some of those kids were two years old when the war ended, the oldest of them only eight. The capitol is supposed to be everybody’s government now. It's supposed to protect us all. I don't see how making children fight against each other is protecting anyone!” “That sort of Sympathy may interfere with your mentoring assignment.” “Perhaps the Capital students are ill-suited to be mentoring tributes. Perhaps the game's times have passed.”

“The Hunger Games are a performative way to instill fear.” (Y/N) spoke up now. “After 13 was destroyed they were instilled as a reminder that the people, the rebels, who turn against the capital are against Panem in whole, and the capital will do what it takes to protect Panem.” (Y/N) looked up at Dr. Gaul, waiting for a reaction.

‘Now that's a different take Miss. Cearo. A strong one.” Dr. Gaul’s stare made (Y/N) uncomfortable to say the least, but all eyes were on her now.

“I say performative because theyre a show, you want us to have our tributes perform, you want people to be invested in the games. We were simply trying to push our tribute's popularity ratings by showing the capital who they're watching.”

“Dean Highbottom is wrong.” Now Coriolanus was speaking up. “My classmates too. Serjanus may be onto something though. Maybe we should be viewing those tributes as human beings. I mean you saw those kids at the zoo. They just wanted to get to know Lucy Grey. If we need people, we should be letting them get closer to the tributes before the games. To make the stakes personal. Who will watch the games if they care what happens to the tributes.” (Y/N) was proud of Coriolanus, he would make a great public relations specialist if not president.

“Everyone.” (Y/N) replied. “Everyone loves a good competition. Sports were popular in the old world, and maybe people chose and rooted for specific teams from each sport. Everyone wants someone to root for.”

“Especially if they thought the tribute they cared about had a chance of winning. We need people to invest.” (Y/N) was liking this side of Coriolanus, even if she knew it was just for the Plinth prize.

“Look, I know Lucy Grey may not win in the arena but if you give her a chance, I would bet the Plinth Prize she can win people’s attention.”

“I’d like you to write up a proposal of these thoughts tonight, Mr. Snow.” Dr. Gaul was gleaming at Coriolanus. Yeah, (Y/N) had spoken up too but she was okay with not having Dr. Gaul’s attention on her.

“Wait.” (Y/N) turned to Clems as she now stood up. “You mean you might actually use his ideas?” Now she was just feeling ignored.

“If it helps the ratings, why not.” Dr. Gaul replied with a eerily cheerful tone.

“Coriolanus and I are class partners, Dr. Gaul. We do all our assignments together.” (Y/N) watched as Dr. Gaul laughed at her friend.

“It'll be an interesting test.” She said as she began to walk out of the class.

This will be an interesting experience indeed, (Y/N) thought to herself.

[holdmytesseract]

I never saw Coriolanus, so I had absolutely no idea what was going on, BUT I loved it SO much! 😍 Bestie, that was a wonderful fic! 🥰🧡

Twenty-Seven Wounds (Coriolanus x fem! Reader)

Summary: In ancient times, in a place that calls itself Rome, you find yourself married to the general Caius Martius or Coriolanus. He has fought so many battles he has twenty-seven scars on his body. Scars that he has not shown you yet...

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Mentions of sex but no actual smut, discussions of war, violence. Drunkenness and brief harassment but the asshole is put in his place. Grumpy and Sunshine trope. I do my best to write Caius accurately. But at the end of the day, it's MY indulgent fic and here he's a big tough warmonger who becomes a simp that kisses the ground his cinnamon roll wife walks on. References to the play and to ancient Roman customs and words. A fake kidnapping.

Word Count: 3K

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

“General Martius has asked me for your hand in marriage and I consented,” your father announced.

Your vision went dizzy. You had to sit down. You knew many things about General Caius Martius, otherwise known as Coriolanus since his great victory in the land of Corioles. 

As you sat back down to process the news, you recounted every instance of interaction. You met him in the chariot races. Menenius introduced you to each other- the senator's bald head shining like a crown and his chest as puffed as a peacock's.

"This is the great General Martius! And General- this is the lady Y/N-isn't she one of our city's great beauties, hm?"

"Sir! Uh-I-thank you!" you replied, very flustered and surprised he would say that.

General Martius made no reply. Only a polite greeting.

You talked with him at dinners. The odd banquet or party. Saw him in the audience of the Gladiator fights, plays, or chariot races.

But Caius was no run-of-the-mill man. He was a renowned general in the army and known as the fiercest warrior Rome could wish for. Notoriously ferocious on a battlefield. A man who breathed war. He was also notorious for his arrogance and stubbornness and sometimes his anger. You knew he was sensitive to smells- his nose would often crinkle as he walked by the streets.  You knew his mother, Volumina. You knew he enjoyed the Gladiator fights. Though you sometimes turned away when it got too gruesome. If it was too much, he would escort you out. When you came to chariot races, he would be there.

He was still an incredibly attractive man- dark reddish-blonde hair. Beautiful blue eyes. Tall, broad, and striking. When the betrothal was confirmed, he visited where you stayed. Your father joined your hands together. He held them with a delicacy. He then brought them up and kissed them.

“Y/N…I promise you-I will be an honorable husband. You will be protected. You will want for nothing. And they will revere you as they do for me.”

He brought you a little closer so that your hands became entwined. You were not scared of marrying him. No- what scared you was that you were not scared. What scared you was how badly you wanted to marry him. You should have been frustrated that your father agreed to the match without consulting you. All fathers had complete and total say over their children’s marriages…but you were not angry in the least.

“You will be…gentle to me, Caius?” you asked quietly.

“Yes. Yes, I will,” he replied. He placed another hand over yours.

“Ah! What a pretty picture! Come- let us make an offering to the household gods! Let us pray for a blessing for our Y/N and her warrior groom!” your father announced, rubbing his hands together. 

Your wedding happened not too long after. It seemed your family was in a rush to have a connection to the wealthy and famous general.

After the ceremony at the temple of Hera, all of you sat down at your house to a feast. Caius- no, no longer “General Martius” or “General Coriolanus” but just Caius!- sat down next to you. He leaned back and kept an arm around you, his hand rubbing against the side of your arm.

One guest with more wine in his body than decency spittled something that made your stomach curl in offense. He staggered before your seat and pointed a finger at you. 

“Ah! Where can I get a twin of this pretty nymph like Martius’s? Hm? Her breasts will look even better without her wedding gown over them!”

Before you could say a word, Caius lept to his feet. He ran before the drunkard and yanked him by the collar to his face. 

“You will speak with respect to the wife of a general or you will remain quiet!” he barked at the rude guest. 

The room went quiet. You knew if the impulse struck him, Caius would get out his sword and have the bastard sliced in half. The man began to tremble and utter apologies as a friend of his took him away.

“Everyone…let’s have some music now! Before we close the feast-I think it would soothe everyone!” you announced.

Glancing at the musicians frozen with their lyres, they began to play again. You returned to your seat as did your new husband.

“Would you have be different than I am, Y/N?” he whispered to you.

“You were only protecting me…how could I be angry at you or want you different?” you asked.

You gave him a peck on the cheek. He blinked rapidly. You saw him turn bright red and his frown melted into a tiny smile. 

Right as the feast started to wind down, your heart began to drum in your chest. There was the staged kidnapping- for all of Rome knew that the best bride was a maiden who was unwillingly taken from home. So every consenting bride had to pretend as a ceremony for the end of the celebrations. Put on a show good enough to fool the gods for luck.

Getting up from the table, Caius went to the other end of the room to exit through the door. Your mother put her arms around you. He then stormed in on cue like in a Euripedian tragedy.

“This house has something I want! Give me Y/N or I will kill every being who keeps me from her!” he announced in pretense. 

 You could feel yourself trying not to laugh. Your own mother was trying a forced frown.

“Please- mother- don’t let the General take me!” you wailed dutifully.

He went up with his sword out so others stepped back. Then he sheathed it and looked at you, licking his lips.

“I am here! I claim this woman- she is mine now- for my house and my bed!” he declared. 

He took you easily from your mother’s arms and then slung you over his shoulders. You let out a brief squeal- trying to make your laughter sound like tears.

“Mother! Mother! Help!” you cried out in pretend. Glad no one could see your smile as he carried you out. And especially glad you could still ogle his pert behind from where you were dangling for the rest of the “kidnapping.”

He carried you down the streets over his shoulder. Then when you arrived at his place, he transferred you so that he carried you with an arm over your back and the other supporting your legs. For it was bad luck for a young bride to trip. And he kept you in his arms as he ignored his mother and the slaves greeting him and took you straight to his bedroom without a word. Everyone gave each other a look and then went on with their business. 

Caius’s restraint left him as soon as he entered that room. He set you on your feet and then grabbed you. He kissed you so much you could already feel his tongue inside.

“Gods, you are mine now…” he whispered.

He held you so close. You could feel his heat, his desperation, his need to have you. He kept a hand on your back and kept you close. You were getting wet with each touch of his.

He went down to the belt that held your dress. It was tied in a special knot for today- The knot of chastity. And symbolically, Your heart raced as he began to touch it, a thumb going over the long threads. 

“Caius…I want you…yes-it’s our wedding night, please…” you heard yourself voice. 

 He pulled and fought at the knot almost so much, that he swore that it wasn’t coming off fast enough.  Then a few strings and off it came. That he would need a knife. Then he used his thumb to edge it out so it would loosen. With several swift tugs and a grunt of his, he yanked the knot and the cloth belt off. He eagerly found the edges of your clothes.

“Yes…my wife…”

You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him again. He then removed the lower parts of his clothes.

There were slaves playing music in the other room. He preferred some quiet music in the evenings. And tonight was no exception. They were to keep playing. To hear him take his wife- no, you. To hear Your cries of pleasure among the soft strings. They were playing when he led you to his lectus and your marriage was passionately consummated. 

You adjusted to married life surprisingly well. And in private, Caius was not the fearsome dragon some heralded him to be. Yes- he was arrogant and stubborn at his worst. But he could be…persuaded, you discovered. 

“And the peasants were crying that they wanted more grain! Grain from our storages!” he reported to you one day over dinner.

“Well…couldn’t we spare just a little bit, dear husband?” you asked.

A Slave brought you a bowl of dates and then left to refill your wine glasses. 

“For the rabble? No-let them hang!” he dismissed.

He tore a bite of meat from its leg and chewed on it like a bear with prey. But you kept your eyes soft and gave him a smile.

“They’re only hungry. Even I become cross when I am hungry! And we have so much food here. Really, it’s more than I can eat! And there are always so many leftovers…surely….just a little grain could be spared, Caius? It would warm my heart to see so many hungry people be fed…they do not complain without reason…perhaps then they won’t complain about you anymore. Just a little bit of grain, Caius? Please?”

You saw his shoulders start to sag. With a deep sigh, he gestured to one of his slaves

“Tell them that five percent of the grain stored will be gathered and distributed to the protesters,” he said. 

You smiled as you looked down.

He was content to sit quietly beside you in some evenings. You could weave your loom and the man who craved battles would merely go over parchments beside you. His desire was like that of an animal though. It only took a look or a smile from you before he was on you, kissing you, and pulling at your clothes to have them come off. The nights when you both did not make love, he still wanted to touch you. He would pull you onto him to rest your head against his chest. You would permit him to rub your back with his hand and wrap his arms protectively around you. As if not even Zeus himself could get past Caius Martius to the treasure that lay in his arms. He often would touch you gently. Even as you walked past him, he would softly just touch a cloth of your skirt, feeling the fabric slip through his fingers longingly as you had to leave. 

There was one dinner where your mother, Volumina, decided to put you to the test. You knew it. As you sat down on the floor enjoying your food, she turned to you and declared something most people would find offensive.

“Ah! I hope in the next battle that my son will receive another scar! Don’t you, Y/N?”

On one hand, you did not want your husband to suffer. But this was Volumina. Her whole life’s purpose was to create a soldier of her boy. To serve the wars in her own way through what she could do behind the scenes. To see him either victorious or dead was her life’s work. Glory in battle meant glory for her and the Martius family. 

Carefully, you added a reply with a dutiful nod of your head.

“Yes- should the scars not be fatal, I see them as badges of honor. And if they were-I am proud to have a husband willing to give his life for the safety of Rome’s people. And if I must sacrifice him for all our sakes, I will make it,” you replied.

“Ah! What a sweet woman you have for your wife, Caius!” Volumina praised, her stained lips curved into a smile. 

There, the middle ground. It wasn’t that bad. But as she slid aside her plate, her talk turned. She looked at you, dressed in her dark clothes with her dark hair done up. Her smile was still big on her creamy face. 

“Did you know, Y/N, that my son bears a total of twenty-seven scars from battle!?” she asked.

“No-he never told me it was that many,” you said with a quick glance at him.

“Yes! And may Ares bring him twenty-seven more!” Volumina said. 

But you had never seen such scars. 

After a few months, you realized something- you had never seen him bare. That was odd. Most women would tell you of how the first time they saw Octavius Cato’s or so-and-so’s willy they burst into laughter. But even the hundreds of times you made love, Caius kept his shirt on. He preferred to bathe alone, never going into the bathhouses. The times he did bathe, sometimes you heard him groan in pain outside the room. As if the scars were still fresh. He always went behind a screen to dress. In bed, he only wore a toge that had short sleeves. You saw a cut over his shoulder peep out. It looked almost like the crack of an earthquake on the soil. But whenever you tried to nudge it in bed, he would move your hand away, asking you to stop. 

You were still unequal. He had kissed every inch of your bare skin. But you had not even seen it. As frightening as that scratch looked, you had to see more. 

That is, until one night. It was uncomfortably warm. You sweated on your shared lectus, tossing and turning in discomfort.  You turned over to see Caius was still awake. He then rolled over of you confirming to the other that you were not asleep. You slept in your underclothes and he still had that toge. And he was sweating. 

“I think you should undress,” you said. 

He turned around, though you could smell his sweat dripping down.

“It’d be better if I didn’t,” he huffed. 

You touched his shoulder, turning him to face you. 

“Caius…why do you show no one your scars?” you asked.

He swallowed.

“They’re….they’re only when Rome needs to see them. When they lose sight. When they lose respect.” he said. r.

“Am I not part of Rome, too?” you asked.

He paused.

“Yes…yes you are…” he answered.

“You’ve never…bared yourself to me like I have to you,” you commented.

“They’re gruesome. It would…it would have scared you, I thought. You wouldn’t want to sleep beside them…too gruesome…” 

He sat up.

“I’ll sleep somewhere else tonight-you don’t want to look at them,” he announced.

But you stopped his hand and kept him still. 

“Caius…may I see them, please?” you asked.

You gingerly touched his chest, right over the toga he wore to bed. You only saw the scratches around his collarbones.

“Are you afraid?” he asked. 

“No. They’re a part of you…I want to see them…” you urged.

His eyes softened. Then you both sat up in bed.

“Then…then remove it for yourself and see.” he permitted. 

You went to the corner edges of his own robe. He helped you as you lifted it over his head. You then got a candle to see it better.

You knew he was a strong man, but there were so many scratches, lashes, and cuts you could not make out the muscles clearly. There were so many cuts and lashes-they looked so dark across his skin. All over his torso. Then there were the newer ones from the battle at Corioles-they still looked red. You set the candle back down on the table near the bed.

“I understand if you wish not to lie with me anymore…I will make arrangements where-”

“No, you don’t have to!” you interrupted.

For once in his life, Caius Martius Coriolanus closed his mouth and he listened.

“Twenty-seven of them. Twenty-seven times you have been wounded. Twenty-seven times you could have died…and didn’t,” you said.  “Can I touch them?”

“Yes,Y/N, you can…”

You lightly took your hand and felt the bumps and edges. He flinched only slightly, then relaxed into it. You could feel the warmth of the sweltering night on him. 

“Caius…may I kiss them?” you asked.

“Yes…”

You gently kissed the back of your three fingers and pressed them over the lower scars. You knew putting your mouth lower would stir something in him. Now was not the moment…and it seemed he would agree. His breathing was deep as your kissed fingers touched the lower ones. Such chaste, light kisses like a butterfly's wing.

As they moved up to his chest, you peppered one kiss across one. Then another. You paused, your mouth over his skin, his steady pulse shaking from your touch.  

“Each one…you survived. You defeated your enemies…you protected your allies…and you protected me…and you survived, Caius,” you whispered.

He put a hand to touch your cheek and you leaned into it.

“Dulcissima…my sweetest…thank you…”

“Do they hurt right now?” you asked.

His voice smoothed and spoke with such tenderness as you had never heard before. He put an arm around you as you kept kissing them. 

“No…they never felt more relieved…my wife, her kisses have their own little medicine…”

You moved up to his shoulder from the first fresh one from Corioles, sweetly kissing them. His soft voice spoke on and you could feel yourself burst from his words.

“Dearest of my heart…my gift from Hera and Aphrodite themselves…”

You kissed the gash on his upper left arm. Then you lifted up to meet him, his eyes brimming with tears. 

“There…twenty-seven kisses for each scar…”

Then he relaxed, your hand tracing his chest. You blew the candle out to the dark. The room suddenly became cooler. Then you nuzzled into him, settling into him. How warm he felt-so close and so real. His chest moving and falling.

“Caius…why did you want to marry me?” you asked.

“I thought…you would do well, being married to me. You…you’re good to me. You…you smiled when you saw me. You weren’t afraid…” he confessed.

“I was nervous every time you noticed me!” you recalled.

You felt the smile in his voice. His other hand found yours and wrapped itself over your palm. He went on.

“So was I! I hate banquets and parties…but I went to them in case you were there. I watched you squirm at the gladiator fights and look away and wish I could…just take you in my arms and take you away from them. But…then there was the time I was with your father’s…. You said something, and it made me laugh…I laughed! That was…when I knew…when I knew I had to be your husband.”

You looked up at him. His eyes were shiny. But you did not see tears. He swallowed, perhaps looking away made him more honest. You nestled back into him and clung to him. He kept talking.

 “I kept…thinking of you. Of what you would say. I kept going to the market. Every day. Just to see you. Even just a glimpse of you passing by. Just one glimpse-not much. To see you walk up to the bathhouses….”

“And you never went in to see me in there…because of your scars?” you asked.

“I knew you frequented them. I confess- I am a man. As much as I would have loved to see you naked and wet, it meant scaring the others away when I removed my clothes, it would have scared you away…”

You went back to look at him. This time you touched his face, looking directly into his blue eyes. 

You pressed a forehead to his.

“They don’t scare me…not anymore, and you don’t scare me…” you whispered. “Caius…Caius, I love you…”

“Y/N…I…I love you too…”

That evening, as the night settled over a place that called itself Rome, you relaxed into bed with your husband. You wrapped your arms to embrace him and he did not put on his toge to hide his scars. He only held you tight. His scars only barely brushed against you. Badges of war. Badges of honor. Badges of protection. He kissed the top of your head as you both settled into sleep.