❝ It annoyed me that I could act like such a carefree child, and it made me want to lash out at the weeds, who knew nothing but to grow taller. I wanted to try to be a good girl.
coriolanus snow x fem!oc
academic rivals to lovers
It is a frightening thought, that in one fraction of a moment you can fall in the kind of love that takes a lifetime to get over.
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"What is your problem?" She inquires fervently, her gaze penetrating deep into the boy standing before her. "Just yesterday morning, you were paying me a visit, inquiring whether you should submit my assignment on my behalf. And now today, you act as if I am invisible! I detest being disregarded, Coriolanus."
The boy scans the room restlessly, but upon realizing that no one is within earshot, he settles for a nonchalant stare. "So?" He queries. "I fail to comprehend why it should hold such significance to you. After all, you despise me, do you not?"
Tempest finds herself in a state of utter bewilderment, struggling to articulate her thoughts. The weight of Coriolanus' accusation leaves her speechless, unable to find the right words to express her emotions. It is not surprising that she harbors a deep resentment towards him, as she has openly admitted her disdain for him on numerous occasions. Every aspect of the conceited young man repulses her.
However, despite her intense dislike, she is taken aback by the intensity of her anger when he dismisses her existence without a second thought.
"I asked you a question," he presses. "Do you, or do you not, despise me?"
Tempest is seething with rage. Internally, her fury is simmering, on the verge of overflowing. It was him who disregarded her! Her initial plan was to forcefully bring him into this empty classroom to interrogate him and compel him to plead for her pardon. Therefore, how has Coriolanus managed to reverse the circumstances and place her in a vulnerable position?
"Yes!" She finally answers. "I hate you! I hate you so much!"
"Is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. Stepping closer to her, Tempest instinctively attempts to retreat, only to realize that the desk behind her has trapped her in place. Coriolanus seizes this moment as his chance to advance. "You know what I think, Tempest?"
"I do not care what you think—"
"I think," he cuts her off before she can finish, "that you are deliberately ignoring the very essence that you have tirelessly concealed. That there is something within you that derives from this unmovable facade you display for everyone."
"Is that so?"
"It is," he concedes. "I have spent an extensive amount of time observing you, Tempest. I am well acquainted with your preferences and aversions. I am aware that your hands tremble ever so slightly when faced with a challenge. I know that you absentmindedly toy with the ringlets of your hair when anxiety takes hold. I know you. You are merely a naive little girl, yearning for greatness, yet constantly sabotaging yourself at every turn."
A mere whisper escaped her lips as she uttered, "You possess no knowledge of who I truly am." Their faces were so close, their foreheads almost touching. "Anyways, I did not bring you here to witness your feeble attempts at understanding me."
Curiosity laced his voice as he inquired, "Then what purpose did you have in mind when bringing me to this place, darling?" She longed to avert her gaze from his penetrating eyes, and that endearing nickname caused her stomach to flutter.
"I have come to reprimand you," she muttered, her attention momentarily drawn to his enticing lips. "You exasperate me. To feign friendship only to disregard me is an insult I shall not tolerate. I refuse to be treated like a district girl!"
"Then why do you act like a district girl?" The inquiry ignites within her an intense desire to raise her hand and deliver a resounding slap across his audacious face. How dare he! Her lips part in sheer astonishment at the audacity of his words. "Hand-holding with your tribute. Incessantly inquiring about his well-being. What shall come next? Shall you abscond to District Eleven and frolic in the mire?"
"You possess no understanding," she cautions.
"I possess knowledge of one thing," he nearly smirks. "That you belong to me."
Tempest must suppress the exasperated chuckle that dares to escape her lips. Belong to him? What audacity possesses him to entertain such a notion. Tempest is a woman of great independence, with her own thoughts and emotions. And yet, Coriolanus believes he possesses her? Utterly preposterous.
As Tempest prepares to deliver a brilliantly crafted retort, Coriolanus raises his hand, delicately caressing her face. In response, her lips tighten into a firm line. "My silly little girl," he murmurs, his hand gliding down her cheek and tracing her neck. "You have always known this, haven't you?"
This is the moment when she should correct him, demand that he release his grip. Inform him that she has no desire to ever lay eyes upon his face again. However, with the utmost gentleness, he moves his hand to encircle her throat. Though his touch is not forceful or rough, it feels as though she is gasping for breath.
"Coriolanus," she begins. Perhaps she intends to warn him. However, as his grip on her hand subtly tightens, the words she had intended to speak hastily slip away once again. Sensing her hesitation, he gently prompts her, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Is there something you wish to convey, darling?" he inquires, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress. "But I must warn you, if the words that follow fail to be 'I am yours,' I cannot guarantee that my response will retain the same level of benevolence that I am currently exhibiting."
If someone were to inform Tempest, merely a week ago, that Coriolanus would render her utterly feeble and speechless, she would dismiss such a notion with a hearty chuckle. And rightfully so. This proposition is utterly absurd, is it not? Her long-standing adversary, cornering her and placing her in a vulnerable predicament. He dares to demand that she declare her allegiance to him?
The very idea, it should repulse her. She should laugh. She should express her disbelief at the sheer ludicrousness of it all and retreat swiftly to the sanctuary of the cafeteria. However, she cannot. For she does not find it repulsive, amusing, or absurd in the slightest. In truth, she is almost compelled to concur.
"I am waiting, Tempest," he utters through clenched teeth, drawing her into an embrace that defies all logic. Goodness, their lips hover tantalizingly close, and she can only envision bridging that minuscule distance, purely to savor the sensation. "However, I must confess, patience is not my virtue."
As she prepares to speak, he swiftly admonishes her with a disapproving click of his tongue. "Recall my previous words," he cautions. Instantly, Tempest obediently seals her lips once more.
His fingers gently apply pressure to the sides of her neck, creating a sensation that is strangely comforting. The proximity of his face to hers is so intimate that her attention is solely captivated by the mesmerizing swirls of blue in his eyes. Meanwhile, her stomach churns with an unrelenting flurry of excitement.
Gone are the reservations she once held. The reasons that compelled her to bring him here no longer matter to her in the slightest. She pays no heed to the way he skillfully turned the situation around, seizing control effortlessly. In a rare moment, she finds herself reveling in the sensation of powerlessness.
Finally, she musters the courage to whisper, "I am yours." The words escape her lips like a solemn oath, a declaration of surrender. Before she can fully comprehend the gravity of the moment, his lips descend upon hers, rendering her utterly defenseless to his desires.
