#tom blyth fanart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

francixoxoxo · 9 months ago

Text

⋆.° Swaddled in Silk ୨ৎ

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐓𝐖: 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐫𝐞��𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧, 𝐞𝐭𝐜., 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞!), 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

Little note: reader doesn’t get the abortion not because of pro-life beliefs, but because of personal wishes, this is NOT an anti-abortion sentiment!! Very much pro choice over here!!!!

Mornings tended to be peaceful with Coriolanus.

Your eyes would flutter open, the pale skin of your husband’s bare neck and chest cast in golden morning sunshine the first thing you see. You’d shift, groaning softly at the morning aches and nosing the crook of his neck, grateful he’s a light sleeper when his strong arms wrap tighter around you.

Technically, Coryo had his own room in the Presidential mansion. But he’d admitted to you in soft words late into the night, long ago, that he couldn’t sleep without you.

So you’d wake up in his arms, him holding you close as if somebody would take you from him. You found it endearing, just how possessive Coriolanus was over you. It wasn’t just in the way he held you; it was in the way he made sure you looked and felt your best at every event, so that he hold a hand on your waist and boast his wife’s beauty. It was in the way he spoiled you in just about every aspect, dipping you in diamonds and rubies, keeping your appearance manicured with days at the spa, keeping your every need satisfied, physical or emotional. Doting on you the best he could while running the damn country, loving you like a good husband should.

Except that his love was a bit inconvenient at the moment, as you tried to move from his arms and his grip only tightened. You felt a recognizable bile rising up, a sick feeling taking over your gut. Coriolanus grumbled, his brows drawing and eyes impossibly more blue in the morning as they opened a crack. “Darling..? Where…”

You peeled his arms away from you, and this time Coryo let you go. His expression was twisted in confusion as you jumped to your feet, hand clasped over your mouth as you beelined for the bathroom connected to the bedroom. Oh. He stumbled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and making his way to the bathroom to soothe you. He picked up the pace as he heard you retching.

Coriolanus knelt beside you, gathering up your smooth tresses and holding the hair back from your face in a ponytail. His other hand rubbed your back with a strong palm. “There you go, there you go. Get it out.”

God, you wouldn’t be surprised if you threw up an intestine. It felt like eternity before you got everything out of your system. “Sorry.” You croaked, wincing and sitting back on your calves.

“Why are you sorry? You can’t control it.” Coryo cooed, the hand holding your hair moving to the side of your head and pressing a kiss to your crown. His forehead creased after a moment though, he leaned away to grab you a towel. He watched you wipe your mouth before speaking hesitantly. “My love?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, swallowing hard and grimacing at the sour taste on your tongue.

“Do you think you ate something bad?” Coryo murmured, his voice suddenly dropping to a whisper. You met his eyes. You knew what he was really asking.

You pressed your lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know.” It seemed unlikely, you weren’t one to get sick at a whim. And you’d eaten rather healthy yesterday.

You two had been.. trying. To say the least. Coriolanus was very eager for a family, as were you. Baby fever actually had a strong hold on you. But you hadn’t realized how difficult it would be. Coryo and you went to the best doctor he could get his hands on, and his meticulous nature led to keeping track of your schedule, the windows where you’d be most fertile. You never grew tired of intimacy with him, but every negative test was daunting. Every vitamin and supplement was growing tiring to keep tabs on.

For months this went on. You couldn’t help feeling that you were failing Coriolanus. He wanted a baby so terribly, and your body just wouldn’t seem to work with you. Whispers were beginning to spread around high society women, questioning why a marriage of four years had yet to produce babies. You were questioning it yourself.

“My love, it’s okay.” Coryo had cooed, folding you into his arms the first night you’d cried to him about the cruel gossip about your marriage and your “failings” as a wife. He shook his head passionately, showering you with kisses. “I love you. A baby will come in time.”

You’d sniffled, burying your face and hiding your eyes into his chest. “But why won’t it come now? We’ve been doing everything right, Coryo, at this point it has to be me.”

Coryo sighed, his arms squeezing you tighter. You were perfect in his eyes, whether or not your body was sustaining a baby didn’t matter to him. He loved you regardless, and he told you so. “Just trust me. You’ll get pregnant when time is right for us. I love you, we have plenty of time.” Coriolanus took your chin in his fingers, tilting up your chin to press his lips to your forehead tenderly.

It seemed that the time was finally right for you. A broad smile spread over Coriolanus’ lips, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. You laughed a bit breathlessly.

“I’ll call the doctor.” Coryo cooed, pressing his lips between your brows. He hummed against your forehead, murmuring after a moment, “I love you. You know that?”

“I know.” You breathed, finding his bare arm and squeezing it affectionately as he pulled away. “I love you.”

The moments the words “You’re pregnant, Mrs. Snow,” slipped from the doctors lips, Coriolanus was changing gears.

He was coaxing you into coming with him to buy baby clothes the very next day. The day after that, you discovered that one of the rooms neighboring your bedroom was being renovated into a nursery. Coryo was delighted when a package he sent his secretary for came in, he’d hurried to find you wherever you’d been and showed you a box full of brand new baby toys. Plush bears, rattles, another large box holding a rocking chair; you wondered how your baby would even get around to using it all.

“You’re spoiling it before it’s even born!” You teased one day as he happily presented a soft muslin baby blanket.

“Damn right.” Coryo had smiled broadly, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone, correcting you, “I’m spoiling her.”

“Girls?” You cocked a brow, slipping a hand into his gelled-locks and probably messing up his styling. He didn’t care. “I’m confident it’s a girl, my love. And I live to spoil my girls.”

His attention didn’t only apply to the baby. You were his top priority these days; he took more time away from his work to dote on your every whim. Coryo was holding your hair back every morning you fell ill. He constantly was taking you shopping, making sure that your maternity clothes weren’t frumpy or ugly, but made you feel beautiful. He had the cooking staff preparing every craving you had.

But sooner than later, pregnancy proved itself to be difficult.

No matter what Coryo did, no matter what doctors he called in or what home remedies he found, you just wouldn’t get healthy. You were wasting away before his eyes. Your ribs jutted out from your sides, your face becoming gaunt and hollow. You simply couldn’t stomach food.

Coriolanus had never been more terrified than when a simple common flu had bedridden you for days. Your immune system was so weakened by your pregnancy, and nothing seemed to help. You looked deathly pale, just the sight of you was enough to bring Coryo to tears. Though he never let you see his distress.

But dear God, he couldn’t lose you. You were scaring him, with that resigned glint in your eyes. As if you knew, and were comfortable with dying. Coriolanus was the furthest thing from comfortable.

At night, he’d run his hands along your ribs, his nose brushing yours as he watched your eyes. They’d be peacefully shut, your breathing calm from his soothing touch. Coriolanus’ hand would always end up on your belly, his thumb rubbing along the gentle curve of it under your night slip. You were featherlight nowadays, when you should’ve been full and glowing.

When your dizzy spells became too powerful to handle without laying down, Coryo called in the doctor again. He wanted a baby with you, he didn’t want this. If he knew that this would’ve been so taxing on your body, he never would’ve done this to you.

That’s how he comforted himself as the doctor left the room, leaving you to sit on the chaise at the foot of your bed and Coryo to pace about, his fingers on his lips and his eyes buggy. You’d just been warned.

This baby was life or death. If you gave birth, you might not survive. It was simply a genetic condition in your family. Nothing to be done. Except..

“We’re getting rid of it.” Coriolanus announced firmly, shaking his head. You lifted your face.

You gawked at your husband. “No!” You huffed, eyes darting around to avoid another bout of tears. Your hands were wrung in your lap, squeezing tight to the point of your knuckles paling. “Don’t even suggest it.”

“I’m not suggesting it, I’m telling you. My love, we are not keeping this baby.” Coriolanus stepped closer, standing in front of you. He outstretched his hand to tilt your chin with a finger, his eyes glimmering with something adamant.

You shook your head, grabbing Coryo’s wrist and squeezing. Your brows pinched up at him. “You aren’t serious. You can’t— you can’t force me. It’s my body.”

Your husbands expression melted like ice in a heatwave, his eyes softening. He snuck his hand around to hold yours in a tight grip. “I won’t force you. I..” Coriolanus sighed in exasperation, moving to sit beside you. His tone was earnest and as kind as he could muster. “But I can’t let you do this.”

“It’s our baby, Coryo.” You pleaded, the hand not holding his coming to rest on your belly defensively. How could he contradict himself so greatly, telling you it was your choice while making it sound like his word was final, as always?

“It will kill you.” Coriolanus hissed, suddenly to his wits end with you. His brow creased, his lips pulling over his teeth in a sneer. He shook his head adamantly. “My love, I won’t lose you for—for it.”

You couldn’t help the lump rising in your throat, making breathing suddenly quite a task. “For her.” You corrected him this time.

Coriolanus sighed, letting go of your hand and pushing himself to his feet. He had to loosen his tie, the red article suddenly suffocating. You helplessly watched him pace, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “It would be okay. I’ve already lived, I think she should get a chance.”

The absurdity of your words brought a humorless snort from Coryo’s nose. He shook his head but seemed so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t reply, so you went on. “And you’d have a piece of me, anyway! Coryo, you’d love her so much it’d outweigh whatever grief you’d have, you’d be so happy I went through with it, because you’d get a baby out of—“

Coriolanus was staring at you with wide and buggy eyes, as if you’d suggested he eat you alive. “How dare you say that?” Your husband snapped, stepping towards you with purpose. “How could you think I’d be able to tolerate, let alone love this baby if it killed you?” His nostrils flared in frustration and in his shining sapphire eyes, a wild kind of hurt.

At the sight of the tears welling in Coryo’s eyes, you couldn’t resist reaching for his hands with both of yours. He let you take them, he rubbed his thumbs over the backs of your hands— the ridges of your increasingly apparent bones under his fingers only adding to the wetness in his eyes. “Please.” Coriolanus murmured after a moment, his brows drawing together and creasing his forehead. “Please, my love. We can get a doctor who’ll abort it, no matter what trimester. Please.”

God, he made it sound so easy. Like it was just a procedure. It wasn’t, not to you. You desperately wanted this baby, you couldn’t just wake up to a morning without its life within you.

Perhaps he could see the indecision in your eyes. He squeezed your hands. “Please. I can’t lose you.”

You couldn’t look Coriolanus in the eyes as you shook your head. “I’m keeping it.”

You kept your gaze fixed on his dress shoes, the leather freshly polished and shiny. You didn’t look up to see the way he wiped his eyes with his knuckles, his nostrils flaring and throat bobbing. You only knew that his hands slipped from yours, his footsteps were departing from you, the door falling shut behind him.

Your due date was nearing. Coriolanus took more time to be with you, masterfully hiding the sadness behind his eyes as you mentioned anything baby-related. You thought he’d distance himself.

Completely the opposite. Though every conversation about the baby brought on a nasty argument, Coryo wasn’t too big a fool to know that you needed him right now. Regardless of his constant reminders that you two could simply adopt, you could go the surrogacy route, anything to keep you alive, you denied him. You were determined to give him a baby of his own from your body.

But no matter how many fights he’d resolve by folding you into his arms, cooing an apology and petting your hair, he knew he would never love the baby that’ll take you away from him.

Coriolanus couldn’t bear watching you waste away like this. This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted his wife to be glowing, to be happy and full with his baby— he didn’t want to choose between his child and you. He would choose you, if you let him.

Still. You tried to maintain normalcy.

Maybe it was nature, a maternal instinct implanted deep within you, but you were willing to die for this baby. You couldn’t describe it to Coriolanus if you tried. You felt a strange calm, in the weeks leading up to the baby’s birth. Knowing that one might die, being aware of one’s expiration date, well, it was eye-opening. You took to writing down your thoughts, writing down messages to your daughter. You were still quite certain she was a she, though you were keeping the sex a surprise. Oh, you had so much to tell her!

When you told Coryo about the journal, he’d smiled gently and nodded, humming that it was a darling idea. But he left the room a minute later, coming back with eyes rubbed pink.

You were aware of how much of a toll it was taking on Coryo. But you knew it was best. You knew he deserved a baby. You deserved the pride of giving that life to him, to the world.

One day, you’d been helping your maid with folding your clothes and the towels for your bathroom. You’d insisted you help, especially because you loved to chat with her.

You were laughing with her, listening to a story she was telling. You were listening, until you felt an indescribable pain in your lower half. You’d winced, clutching the towel you’d been folding, looking down at yourself and holding your belly with your other hand.

“Mrs. Snow?” Your maid’s voice was full of concern. “Is it—“

“I don’t know.” You gasped, the pain washing over you like a wave, and leaving just as fast as it had come. “Do you think..”

“I’ll call the doctor.” She rose to her feet hesitantly, eyes wide as if you were a time bomb in her hands. You could almost laugh at her expression.

You nodded. “Don’t rush, it might not be—“ you proved yourself wrong as an immense pain knocked the words from your mouth. You fold over, groaning, and sending your maid bolting for the phone.

You’d certainly underestimated childbirth.

It was absolutely the most painful experience of your life. If you hadn’t been afraid of death up until now, you definitely were now. It was a terrifying pain, a terrifying feeling knowing that while most women were strong enough to withstand such a natural pain, you might not be.

An ambulance came to bring you from the presidential mansion to the hospital. The entire ride, screams and tears filled the tiny vehicle. You’d begged for someone to call Coriolanus, the prospect of doing this without him was daunting and downright petrifying.

When you got to the hospital room, Coryo was there, dress-shirt disheveled and hair ungelled. He’d been working at the office today. You thanked every god out there for him, as he squeezed your hand and smoothed back your hair, doing his very best to hide his fear. Your screams wrung his heart, he made sure to wipe your tears and kiss your sweaty brow.

“You’re doing great, my love.” Coriolanus cooed, letting you squeeze his hand until he was numb. You’d whimpered, the pain subsiding and crashing over you again like an ocean wave.

You’d wailed to kingdom come. “I don’t want to die, Coryo!” You’d groaned. He was grateful you weren’t paying much attention to his face, your eyes on the ceiling, otherwise you would’ve seen the way your pleading broke him.

Coryo squeezed your hand, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “You won’t. You’ll be fine, darling, you’re doing everything right.” He’d promised, voice as assured as he could manage.

Another thing you underestimated was how stupid long the whole ordeal was.

Atleast another hour ticking by meant another hour you were alive. But it also meant another hour of searing pain, the feeling of your body betraying you and ripping itself open, tears wetting your cheeks and wails parting your lips.

Suddenly, it was like all that intense cramping and sharp pains were alleviated in a moment. As if some divine being had graciously lifted you off a bed of nails. Woozily, you lifted your head to see the baby in the nurse’s hands, another nurse cutting the ambilical cord. God, did it look rough, but it was yours. It was beautiful. You immediately reached for your baby, eyes bleary and voice hoarse, “I want to hold it.”

As if anybody would deny the First Lady. Oh, you could bawl as they lowered the baby onto your chest, who was actually bawling and crying. You laughed a bit breathlessly, eyes lifting to Coriolanus. His eyes were wide, bluer than you’d ever seen them, perhaps from the shine to them. But he’d never let his tears escape his eyes, blinking them away to lay a hand on his baby’s head, smiling stupidly.

“I made this.” You breathed, staring down at the little thing. The baby, that you glanced down to find was a girl. Your daughter.

Coriolanus nodded, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. You could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re so strong, my love. So strong.”

“And I’m alive.” You laughed, so focused on your daughter than you didn’t notice Coryo’s sidelong glance to the sheer amount of blood between your legs. He caught the eye of a nurse, who’d given him a curt nod.

Coriolanus let out the breath he’d been holding for the past two months. “I’m infinitely grateful.” He spoke softly, reverently. He was afraid that if he said any more, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Isn’t she pretty?” You sighed, looking up to meet your husband’s eye. Coryo just shook his head, smiling to the point that his eyes crinkled— speaking of which, they were welling up again.

“Beautiful.” He cooed. “What’re we calling her?” Coriolanus said that last bit in a breathy chuckle, squeezing your arm gently as a nurse moved to take the baby to be cleaned. You two had spoken about names before, but never decided on something definite.

You stared after your daughter, your tears drying on your cheeks and the pain twixt your legs fading into the background. Your heart was beating, your chest rising and falling. You were alive. Oh, you went from resigning to never feel the swell of your lungs with air to filling them as much as possible.

“Ruby, I think.” You breathed. A name that Coryo had suggested, long ago, perhaps in the first months of your pregnancy. A broad smile tiptoed across his lips as he smoothed down your hair.

Coryo nosed your cheekbone, not minding the sweat lingering on your skin from the whole ordeal, mumbling against you, “A gem.”

“A gem.” You agreed, turning your cheek to press your lips to his. Oh, how you loved him. Your husband. Your lover. The father of your baby. You know he’ll be the best father— doting, loving, protective..

If the way he clutched onto your arm as you kissed, his eyes and grip betraying his anxiety was any indication of how much he cared for you, how terrified he was to lose you? Then you’d married the right man.

If the way he dutifully fluffed your pillows and got his hands on a sleeping mask was a gesture of his love? You were set for life.

If the way his sapphire eyes shone with admiration, with affection and devotion for your little daughter, swaddled in silk in her crib was a testament to the father Coriolanus would be?

Then Ruby was a lucky little girl. You were certainly a lucky woman.

2K notes · View notes

francixoxoxo · 9 months ago

Text

.𖥔˚ Lay Back, Relax ୨ৎ

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐗 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐫 ��𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞!!

• 𝐓𝐖: 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭/𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱 (𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠) •

Coriolanus strived to be the best husband. He was expecting his marriage to be arranged, and not exactly a loving one at that. He resigned himself to that. There were more important things at hand.

Well, that’s what he thought until you practically fell in his lap. Intelligent, kind, thoughtful. Undeniably and classically beautiful. His true match. It wasn’t just that you were perfect for public image, that mattered less to him that he would have thought. But you were perfect for him, you two fit and complimented each other like dolls in a set.

Coriolanus was sitting at his desk, flipping through a few important political documents and letters. You didn’t mind that he was busy, you were content to lay across the chaise against the wall of his office. You were flipping through a fashion magazine a bit absentmindedly. Your heels were strewn across the floor, your feet up beside you on the red velvet chaise, fashionable dress-shirt unbuttoned and rolled over your forearms to try and get comfortable after a long day.

Your husband didn’t seem to have that privilege. He rubbed his deeply furrowed temple, nostrils flaring as he stuck his silver letter-opener into a new envelope to tear it open. He was in the beginnings of his presidential campaign, rapidly moving up the ranks and leaving only one seat in Panem’s government left to achieve. You knew how passionate he was about his work, and you had to admit you were thrilled by the idea of being the First Lady. But it was taking a toll on your poor Coryo.

You did what you could as his wife to soothe him. Even now, you could see the empty cup of chamomile you’d given him earlier— hidden behind the mountain of unread papers. You knew that this work would pay off in the long run.

Though it didn’t pull at your heart any less when Coriolanus slipped into bed sometimes hours after you retired, pulling you close only after he was sure you were already awake, murmuring weary apologizes and promises.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Coryo would groan into the crook of your neck, holding you loosely and sighing. He’d press a faint kiss to your collarbone, “I got caught up…”

You’d snake your hand around to thread your fingers through his mussed blonde curls, loose just how you liked them. You’d give his scalp a gently scratch, humming groggily, “You deserve some rest.”

He’d grumble affirmatively in reply, but every night became a late one regardless.

Your eyes flicker up to him now, taking a quick break from reading a document to scribble down notes for his reply, which he’d probably write tonight. Coryo could never put things off for the next day, that was his downfall. With a heavy heart, you resigned to the thought that he’d stay up until the latest hours of the night, only coming to lay beside you when his eyes were too bleary to read the print.

The clock was already at eleven, and you couldn’t stand by and Coriolanus stay in this office until it ticked to midnight. Perhaps he felt your concerned eyes peering at him over the magazine, because he lifted his own azure gaze. He let out a sigh through his nose, offering you a weary smile. You returned it silently, watching him look back to his work with a disapproving purse of his lips. You had no choice! You pushed yourself off the chaise, padding barefoot to his desk and standing behind his rolling chair. Coryo lifted his head to look at you, brows furrowed above sleepy eyes. “Darling?”

You draped yourself over the back of the red leather chair, your cheek to his temple and your arms wrapping around his chest. Coryo smiled softly, a large hand coming to rest over your forearm. “It’s late, Coryo.” You cooed, lips ghosting the shell of his ear.

He nodded reluctantly, that smile falling into a dark expression. He sighed through his nose. “I know.”

“Come to bed.” You murmured, nosing his temple and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. You were grateful you hadn’t washed off your day’s makeup off yet, the red lipstick stain on his milky skin satisfying. Filling you with a kind of possessive pride. Not to mention that it was hot, having your shade of lip color on his face as proof that he’d let you stain it.

Coryo protested with a grunt, shaking his head a bit. “No, no… Darling, I have my work cut out for me.” But your lips peppering kisses across his face was breaking his resolve as you stepped beside him, grabbing the armrest of his chair and turning him to face you.

“It’ll still be on your desk tomorrow,” you reminded your husband as you slipped into his lap, legs straddling his hips. Your red acrylic nails (which he paid to have done, of course) threading through the back of his platinum blonde curls as you pressed lipstick stains over his cheeks and forehead, nose and chin. He was wonderfully oblivious.

“Just another hour, and I’ll be done.” Coriolanus protested, though his hands were resting over your hips. He tried to give passing kisses to you, but the task was a bit difficult with the way you kept shifting focus. He craned his neck to allow you access to his neck when you nosed his jawline.

You groaned in frustration, gently scratching his scalp with the hand behind his head. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Exhausted.” He admitted after a moments internal debate. His eyelids had long fluttered shut.

“Poor thing, you’ll stress yourself silver.” You cooed, finally pulling away from him. You examined a few strands of blonde hair for grays.

Coryo only snorted and opened his bright, icy eyes. He stared up at you fondly, a reverent smile on playing at his lips. “I doubt I could. Not a spot on me yet.”

You mirrored his smirk, but shook your head. “Point is, you’re overworked.” Coryo didn’t disagree nor agree, he just gently smoothed a palm over your thigh as you went on. “I think I have just the thing to help you unwind.”

Coriolanus’ eyebrows furrowed, he shook his head a bit. “I don’t think two cups of tea in an hour is very healthy, my darling.” You couldn’t help the giggle bubbling from your lips.

You pushed yourself off his lap, only causing his confused expression to deepen. His hands rested on your hips still. You press a sweet little kiss to his plush lips, though it was only chaste for a few moments before it deepened and his tongue slid past yours. All too soon, you broke the kiss. But only to replace it with something better.

“Darling..“ Coryo protested, his hand moving to your shoulder. “I know you’re tired, you don’t—“

“Let me.” You cut him off, turning your cheek to press a kiss to his wedding band. He was a thoughtful man. He knew that if you got him started, there wasn’t any stopping. But who was he to assume you didn’t want him?

Coriolanus’ eyes were hungry, fixed on you as you sunk to your knees between his lazily spread legs. Slowly, but not hesitantly, you reached for his zipper. “You don’t have to. Say the word, my love, and you can go on to bed.” He cooed, his tone agonizingly gentle, but you heard the strain. Looking up at his handsome features, eyes dark with lust, you knew he was desperate for this.

“I want to.” You replied, hooking your fingers under his waistband and pulling the quality fabric down, along with his suit pants, to his knees. His mouth-watering length sprang out as you did, catching your attention. He was easily seven or eight inches. You carefully but not hesitantly reached for him, wrapping a soft hand around the base of his cock.

Coriolanus inhaled sharply at that, his hips shifting ever so slightly. You couldn’t fight the smirk slipping over your face as you stroked your fist up and he exhaled harshly through his nose. Glancing up at your husband’s expression, his jaw was clenched and his blue eyes already so hazy. It had been too long (maybe a week, far too long for Coriolanus’ standards).

“How often have you thought of this?” You grinned, swiping your thumb over his flushed tip to spread the precum beading there. Coryo is white-knuckling the armrests of his chair, his fingernails divoting the red, upholstered leather. You can tell that he’s stifling any sound.

“You have no idea.” Coryo grunts, tipping his head back against his chair and staring down at you, lips parting. You feel satisfaction knowing these attempts at aloofness will be moot in a few moments.

You leaned forward to press a little kiss to his leaking head, batting those doe eyes up at him and making the heat rise up his neck, goosebumps erupting over his exposed forearms. A low groan escaped his lips, his muscles tense. “Lay back and relax.” You reminded.

Coryo’s hand slipped into your hair as you licked a long stripe up the underside of his shaft, he let out a soft sigh. His hips shifted a bit under your touch. You watched his face carefully, noting every little detail. His long lashes against his cheeks, the slight furrow of his brows, the set of his mouth. Everything you knew and loved.

When you closed your lips around him, lowering your head until your gag reflex protested, you were sure to catch Coriolanus’ moan as it left his lips. The weight of him on your tongue was familiar, warm. He was practically throbbing already— one week and he’s already so desperate for you. His eyes fluttered open, the icy blue of them focused on you. his nails gently scratched your scalp as an encouragement. “You’re so damn pretty.” He mumbled softly, relishing in the sight of you with his cock in your mouth. You hummed, gratified.

Coryo looked like he wanted to say more, but the way you began sucking shut him up. The warm wetness of your mouth and tongue on him was electrifying, it wasn’t long before he was clutching the armrest again. His hips bucked up to your mouth involuntarily and he was tempted to apologize, but the whimper that brought from your lips only made him harder. You were so beautiful from where he was sitting, doe-eyed and all for him.

You were taking it languid, using your hand to reach the inches your mouth couldn’t. It was too slow for his liking, it wasn’t very long until his hand tightened in your hair and he began thrusting his cock upward with purpose. “Fuck, your mouth.. Feel fuckin’ amazing.” Coryo grunted, his own mouth falling open in a gasp.

He wasn’t too rough with you, but enough to show you exactly who was in charge. Enough for you to enjoy it. Your throat burned, tears pricking your eyes and your whines filling his office, mixed with the obscene, wet sound of your saliva mixed with his precome. After hardly a minute of shoving his dick down your throat and grunting praise that didn’t match his actions in the least, Coryo lets out a guttural moan. “Shit, such a good fucking girl. Let me come in your mouth, baby, please— fuck,” You managed to hum affirmatively around his cock, your hand on his thigh squeezing.

With a low and masculine groan, his seed spurted down your throat, hips slowing their jerking into your mouth. His fingers tightened in your hair, though not too painfully. When he finally came down from the high, his head tipping back against the back of his chair and his hand smoothing down your hair he had mussed, your lips left him with a wet pop!

“You’re too good to me.” Coriolanus breathed, his eyes half-lidded and grin lazy when you rose to your feet. You leaned over him with a knee on the chair beside his thigh, kissing his cheek.

“You were supposed to relax and let me do the work.” You giggled, leaving him no choice but to turn his face and capture your lips. He could taste himself on your tongue, though he didn’t mind. He nose bumped yours as he pulled away.

“Mmm, you shouldn’t have to lift a finger, my love.” Coryo cooed, eyes sleepy and adoring. Certainly de-stressed. Whether he was ready for bed was another matter. His large hand moved to your hip, kneading the softness there.

“Let me return the favor.”

403 notes · View notes