#nutmeg!reader

Your copy of yesterday’s meeting notes is being printed. A note on top of his stack of reports to read through.

Good morning, sir. A second note next to his coffee cup. Something akin to a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he took the note into his hand, thumb rubbing over the dried ink before tucking it into a box in his desk. The box was nearly full of small notes; he’d have to get another. The coffee cup warmed his hand as he turned to look out the window, sipping in peaceful silence as the first sprinkles of spring rain set in over the Capital. The snow had cleared out early this year and had been replaced with a terrible chill and rain, but the sun returned when he turned to the sound of the door opening.

“Good morning, sir. Your meeting notes as promised. They’d have been here earlier if the new intern hadn’t tried to break the printer last night. I nearly broke my hand trying to unjam it,” you said as you set down the stack of papers precisely in the corner of his desk. He appreciated how much you respected his order of things.

“I assume your hand is intact?” 

“Yes, thank you. Your lunch with the Secretary of Communications is today, and you have a call with the Head Gamemaker at three. Besides that, I’ve tried to give you time to catch up on reports.” He nodded in response, taking in the sight of your winter clothes with a soft look in his eyes. 

“Thank you. Please ensure you get to lunch today. I would prefer not to find my assistant on the floor when she forgets to eat.” You smiled with a firm nod in return.

“Of course, sir. I’ll be outside if you need me.” A small part of him hated watching you walk away, the same part of him that he forced himself to ignore so fiercely. He noticed the color of your skirt, a deep red, and a part of him wondered if you matched his signature jacket on purpose. It wasn’t entirely unlikely; you often had something red on since your first week, and he knew it couldn’t have been a coincidence. 

When he left for lunch, he found your desk empty and a single note left atop your keyboard.

Enjoy your lunch. I’ll be here when you return. He picked up the note to tuck safely into his jacket pocket, another for his collection. He hadn’t realized how protective he’d be of your notes when you started working for him a year ago, but when he couldn’t find the heart to throw them away, it became a growing issue for the space in his desk. You’d never know, but the note you’d left him on your first day was framed and pristine in the back of one of his drawers. Maybe one day, he’d get the courage to display it on his shelf. 

As promised, you were there when he returned and greeted him with a smile that he swore lit up the room. 

“Good afternoon, sir. How was lunch?” your voice was gentle and caring, a comfort unlike anything he’d heard before.

“Productive. His assistant will be reaching out to set another next month. How was your lunch?” He did his best to ask about you even on his busiest days, and how your eyes shined when he did always made it worth it. You told him about the cafe you stopped into during your break from the office with the same smile that took the breath out of his lungs. 

“Their coffee is quite good as well. Perhaps I could bring you one tomorrow to see if you’d like it over the cafe I’ve been getting your coffee from recently.” There it was again. The care you showed him from the first day you entered the office, never once thinking of anyone else there but him. You were a shark when you wanted to be for him, ready to rearrange anyone else’s schedule for his benefit. But to him, you were nothing more than the perfect kind girl he couldn’t help but be grateful for hiring every day. He enjoyed the fire in your eyes when you’d ramble about one of the interns getting in the way of your job and when you triumphantly announced the success of a hard-to-plan meeting. He was entirely infatuated with you, frowned upon or not. 

His call with the Head Gamemaker ran later than expected, the sun setting in the background from the conference room he had stepped into with another senator to discuss plans for the following year’s games. When he came back to your desk empty, a certain melancholy settled deep in his chest. No note was left for him, an uncommon occurrence, and a slight frown pulled on his features before he stepped into his office to finish the day. He wasn’t upset at you; he had nearly forced you to leave the office on time plenty of times. But a voice in his head still begged you to be there when he was. 

A small box sat on his desk, centered perfectly amongst the papers you had clearly straightened for him before leaving. Tied together with a red bow, he sat down to inspect it closer. He imagined your hands tying it so neatly together, and his fingers brushed against the ribbon as if it could cure the ache in his chest that longed to touch your skin. Undoing the ribbon and setting it aside, he relished in the smile that washed over his face. A sticky note stared up at him from where he had taken off the top of the box.

Happy birthday, Mr. Snow. I hope you had a good day. I’ll see you tomorrow. You hadn’t spoken a word about the day. You were perfectly familiar with his disdain for celebration and refrained from the theatrics you knew would drive him crazy. But when you scouted out the new cafe at lunch, you couldn’t help purchasing one small cupcake, knowing he would never indulge in a whole slice of cake. Lightly iced and small enough for him not to deny the sweet treat, he tore off a piece of the cake and imagined your excitement in leaving the gift for him before you left. 

Half past nine, and Coriolanus swore he had stared at the same ten trees for the last two hours so much that he’d see them in his sleep. He had wanted to spend the day with you after leaving you in bed at the crack of dawn that morning. He’d even spend the day in the garden covered in dirt, and getting bugs in his face, helping you replant some flowers you wanted, if it meant he hadn’t had to leave you sleeping peacefully under your quilt. It was the image of you cuddled into his chest from the night before that he kept in the front of his mind the whole patrol so far. Your hair soft against his bare chest while you traced small figures along his pecs with the tip of your delicate nails. He swore you looked like an angel in those quiet moments. An angel who was somehow stuck so far from the capital where she belonged. It was that image that made him startle so much at the change in the horizon. 

Between the same ten trees he’d been looking at all night, he spotted a figure, soaking wet and dark beneath the moon’s soft glow. A small voice in his head deemed it one of the demonic rebels his grandma’am went on for hours about, but as he raised his gun and headed closer, he could start to make out features he recognized all too well. The demon’s hips formed into the ones he’d held so many times before. Its waist was the one he kept an arm around at all times. The shoulders he thought menacing from a distance formed into the ones he adored kissing when he stirred in the middle of the night. It wasn’t until he got within a few yards that the terrifying eyes illuminated by the light streaming in through the leaves were the final piece in understanding that the figure was actually his angel. But you weren’t peaceful like he had left you this morning. You were trembling, covered in blood, and staring at him with so much fear in your eyes he swore he felt it right to his very core. 

"D-darling?" he stammers as he lowers his gun quickly, slinging it behind his back and checking for any other peacekeepers nearby before rushing to you. He wasn't sure if you had heard him at first, not responding to his call but when he was in front of you, eyes roaming your body in search of whatever wounds had caused such bloodshed, your voice cracked trying to speak.

"Cor-coryo." It was a devastating difference to the soft whisper of his name you had spoken only mere hours ago but he cupped your cheeks, blood be damned, and spoke firmly to get through whatever terrors were racing through your head.

"What happened? Is this your blood? Where are you hurt? Darling, I need you to do your best to tell me what's happened." He only watched how your eyes watered before you let out a sob that pierced the quiet atmosphere around you two. Wrapping his arms around you, he let you bury your face into his chest, effectively muffling your cries from anyone nearby.

"You're okay. I've got you. Let's get you home, okay?" But the second he tried to move you back towards the woods, you fought back, pushing against him and nearly screaming into his chest. He didn't understand. He didn't know why you were bloody or why you were crying or why, for the first time since he met you, your home was clearly the last place you wanted to be. It was an anxiety he didn't quite understand—the thought of not knowing you.

You were something he had memorized like the back of his hand by the end of the first week he'd known you. He had your schedule engraved into his brain like ancient scripture, forever and unmoving. He knew you spent your Mondays at the market trying to sell what extra you had from your garden to spare coins for some bread and other luxuries. He knew you worked a short shift some nights, most often the Tuesdays and Thursdays he would later use his patrol as an excuse to walk you home for, at the Hob. You loved to tend to your garden on the weekends most of all and he'd come visit after training on Fridays and Saturdays to find you covered in the rich soil that he'd then wash off you by jumping into the lake with you in his arms. Yet this night, not a single thing was right.

"Darling, I've got to get you home," he tried to reason with you but the more you pushed back, the more he lost the will to fight you on it, trying to think of alternatives. There were private rooms he could rent as his newly-designated title of Corporal—he had laughed when you told him that Private Snow sounded much better even if he had better benefits as a Corporal. But how to get you into the barracks was a whole different question entirely.

"Okay… Okay. Not going home. Just let me think, baby," he spoke softly, trying to calm you as your pushing slowly morphed into weak pokes against his chest. The idea that came to mind seemed so unchivalrous that he wanted to shame himself for it but the weaker you got in his hold, the more he knew he needed to get you clean one way or another. Soon, several minutes of quiet steps through the edges of the barracks later, he had made it to the crude excuse of an outdoor shower by the training sector, not much more than a hose and a sloped floor to run the dirt off into the sewers.

"This is the best I can do right now, my love. I'm gonna look for any injuries while I wash you off, okay?" When he got no response, your eyes now a bit more distant as you fell into the comfort of having him close and being taken farther from home, he just sighed softly.

"Darling, can you hear me?" he nearly pleaded and yet, he still received no response. It wasn't until he had washed the blood and dirt from your hair with such a tender touch that you finally broke through the fog in your brain enough to tell him even part of what had brought you to him that night.

"Someone broke into the cabin," you whispered. Coriolanus' first instinct was to freeze, but he worried it would startle you out of the clearer state you managed to transition to.

"He… I don't know who he was. But he… Coryo, I had to d-defend myself," you mumbled, unsure if he understood the gravity of your situation. However, Coriolanus immediately knew. The blood was washing away from your body and even with stained clothes, he could make out that you had no injuries serious enough to cause such bloodshed. That only meant the blood had to have come from somewhere else and when you didn't speak for another minute, he softened to reassure you.

"You defended yourself and you came and found me. That's what matters. Nothing else. I'm gonna get you clean right now and we're gonna sleep here tonight." He could see the adrenaline quickly fading as your shoulders slumped. He didn't hate you or reprimand you or even think of turning you in. He took you into his arms after you were finally clean like the rose he thought you were, thorns and all. You hadn't done anything he hadn't already done; in fact, he still considered you far purer than himself.

The next day he'd pay to let you stay in the room at the barracks while he sorted things out for you. You lived far enough from town that he knew, without any tips, the peacekeepers wouldn't find the destruction of your cabin for days. It would give him the perfect opportunity to dispose of the body so you'd never have to see the bloodbath your delicate hands had caused. In a vulgar way, he would spend a moment in awe of your work when he had arrived at the cabin and saw the man dead on the ground. He'd do his best to clean the blood from the floor and the walls before taking you home, telling you that he'd help you repair the damages and request the following night off patrol.

“His assistant would have to be replaced, certainly.”

“Of course, we’ll hire someone else immediately. Someone more competent, perhaps.” A seed of doubt had been planted under your skin with their harsh words. You never backed down from the challenges that being a senator’s assistant had provided you. You were sure you lost more sleep working for Coriolanus than during university, but you also thrived under his employment. Almost two years had passed since you started at your small desk outside his office, and you wouldn’t trade a second of it for the world. 

Days passed as you continued to spiral about the notion of your termination. You watched every potential manager closely, looking for any hint of their doubt in your abilities. But most of all, you wanted to watch Coriolanus. You certainly thought you had proved yourself, and now you feared he could share that same doubt with the others. 

Your desk started to feel like a place of shame with every person who walked by. Did they know something you did not? Were you failing without even realizing it? Surely you’d be gone by the end of the month. Perhaps even the end of the week. That train of thought brought you into Coriolanus’ office without an idea of what consequences might come from your following words. Coriolanus’ head snapped up to the sound of the door shutting, eyes widening at the sight of you standing before him. 

“I think it’s quite unfair that you’d fire me when I’ve worked unbelievably hard for you. Not once have I faltered in my position, even when you and everyone else have challenged me. I know how you like your calendar and coffee and what dry cleaner you prefer. All of these details that another assistant would completely overlook, but that I know by heart.” Coriolanus couldn’t move. He just watched as you ran a hand through your hair, clearly more and more frazzled by the moment. He had no idea what you were talking about. Firing you? He wouldn’t do it even with a gun to his head, truthfully. Yet once you opened the floodgates to the emotions that had grown deep roots in your chest over the last few days, you couldn’t stop what else poured out with it.

“But if that hard work hasn’t meant what I thought it did, then I think it’s only fair to get it off my chest before you fire me, that I think I love you.” He wasn’t breathing. Surely he misheard you, but you continued, “All your stupid mannerisms and likes and dislikes and habits that I have memorized, and they-they aren’t really stupid because they’re you! And I really like you… And your cat that you won’t tell me about! Because I think you like keeping me on the edge of my seat, trying to figure out more of these little personal details about your life that no one else knows. Which fine! Maybe I love it too because loving you is…” Your voice started to falter, realizing what you were confessing, “Loving you is like… a present that I keep getting to unwrap and… and love more and… more.” Your voice trailed off as the anxious feeling in your chest replaced itself with a deep dread.

If you weren’t fired before, you had to be now. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending completely fried as you watched him stare at you from his desk. He could see you starting to shake, the air in the room escaping you as it dawned on you the full severity of your confession. You wanted to defend yourself, defend your role, but you only gave him more reason to fire you. The group by the elevator called you incompetent, and now you swore you could hear them questioning your professionalism in your head as you opened your mouth to speak, and a broken whisper was all that came out.

“Oh god… I’m… I’m sorry.” You turned to leave, but Coriolanus was rushing up from behind his desk to stop you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the door. Your hand–no, your whole arm–was trembling in his hold. The fear in your eyes was something he’d never seen before; you thought your entire life was imploding right in front of your eyes, and to Coriolanus, he thought it might only be the beginning.

“Who made you think I’d ever fire you? Give me a name.” You could barely breathe, tears pooling in your eyes as you shook your head.

“That’s what you’re focusing on from that?” You sounded so breathless, voice breaking as you fought back the tears that were blurring your vision. Even through the fog of tears, you could see the soft smile Coriolanus offered you, moving a hand up to cup your jaw. The feeling of his skin against yours eased some of the tightness of your chest as you gasped for breath, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone.

“Of course not. But I will need a name, and you need to take a deep breath, sweetheart.” He’d never seen you so worked up, so overwhelmed by your own emotions and the thoughts that had made it nearly impossible to sleep. You were having a panic attack; he could see it in the glassy look of your eyes, and he waited patiently for you to take a deeper breath to reassure you, “I love you, too.” 

The force of your next breath nearly made your knees buckle as he pulled you into his chest and smoothed out your hair. He whispered a soft count for you to follow. One, two, three, four… four, three, two, one. Again. It seemed muffled in his hold, but he brought his lips down to your ear to speak more clearly, “Breathe, darling,” while he guided you to the small leather couch in the corner of his office. 

“C-coryo-” you tried to speak as he sat you down with him, letting you press yourself flush to his side before he shushed you softly. 

“I’m here. It’s okay. Try to relax. That was a lot, darling. You’re okay. Just breathe with me,” he whispered, rubbing gently up and down your back to ground you. You were still trembling down to your bones as if caught in the pouring rain in the coldest parts of winter when he pressed his lips to your hair. He couldn’t help his smile when you started to melt into him more, your breaths evening out to match his own. The tension in the room began to dissipate, a new kind of unfamiliar comfort taking its place. Even though you had wanted it for much longer than you’d let yourself admit, it was strange to know he shared the same feelings as you in any capacity. You didn’t get to mull it over long, however, before he tilted your chin up to look at him.

“I don’t tell you about my cat because you asking me questions about her gives me an excuse to ask more about you in return for my vague answers.” Oh. All this time, you thought he was keeping you at an arm's length, and truthfully, he had been trying to bring you in closer.

“You don’t need an excuse to ask me things you want to know. I’ll tell you anything.” A small smile graced Coriolanus’ face again, the room brightening around you two as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. A comfortable silence ensued, the two of you looking at each other, taking in the details of his face. The sharp edge of his jaw, the soft curve of his cheekbone, his full lips. 

“Her name is Juliet… my cat. I’ve had her for three years. Perhaps you were right about the aloof detail but she’s more aloof than me,” he whispered softly. The corners of your mouth tugged up in response; he was letting you learn more about him and it brought a warmth to your chest you weren’t sure you’d ever quite experienced before. 

“That’s sweet. I knew you were a cat person.” He laughed in response.

“You know more about me than anyone.” You felt the room grow smaller around you two as his gaze travelled down to your lips, all the air in your lungs being sucked out under the weight of his stare. Would his lips be as soft as you thought they were? There were an alarming amount of nights, even daydreamed afternoons, that you had considered the thought. What would it be like to kiss Coriolanus Snow? It kept you up at night and distracted you on the weekends. You were hopelessly head over heels for the man and now could believe he might feel the same way in return. 

He caught your eyes on his lips and lost any hesitance he could have had before leaning down to kiss you finally. He smelled like the bottle of bourbon he kept in his office. He tasted like the coffee you had brought him that morning still. You couldn’t help melting into him, wanting to be closer, wanting to feel him against you. All he could think about was the way you leaned into him as he pulled you from his side into his lap. Your thighs caged his as you straddled him, your fingers carding through his hair and loosening his curls. His hands slipped under the fabric of your shirt around your back to press you flush to his chest as you sighed so sweetly against his lips. He could kiss you for the rest of the time. He was sure of that. Now that he’d had a taste, he’d never be able to let you go. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, sweetheart.”

“I was really hoping you were going to kiss me after the Christmas gala,” you whispered in reply.

“I should have. I really should have. You looked so breathtaking that night.” He melted underneath you, remembering the sight of your red dress and the tipsy giggles you had let out around him that night. You smiled against his lips and he swore it was the most addicting feeling in the world. He could hoard you in his penthouse like the most beautiful jewel in the Capital. He’d dress you in the finest things and spoil you beyond belief. But he couldn’t imagine being Senator, let alone President, without you there to assist him either.  

He pulled your head back just so he could look at you again, taking in the sight of your swollen red lips and the blissful look in your eyes that matched his own. He could feel the sticky texture of your lip gloss on his lips and he didn’t think he could let you go. Not that night in his office and surely, never in the future. You were his and he was yours. 

The two of you left the office late that evening, having spent an alarming amount of time just lazily making out, relishing in the loving touch of the other. You woke up that morning in a blissed-out daze, getting dressed and smiling like a fool as you stopped into the cafe for Coriolanus’ coffee. To your surprise, he had beaten you to the office. 

“Good morning,” he smiled as you set down his cup. If you hadn’t already been smiling, you think the pure force of his own would have overwhelmed you. You had seen Coriolanus through many emotions, but this happiness, this joy, was new. You aimed to only increase it as you handed him the reports you had grabbed from your desk.

“Your meetings today are on the lighter side. Another potential manager and a call with the Minister of Defense,” you gave him a moment to look over the papers before adding, “You have a dinner to attend tonight as well.” You smiled as he looked back up to you, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He couldn’t remember there being a dinner on his schedule for the week. 

“Which diplomat wants to speak to me now? Or is a manager trying to woo me?” You felt giddy getting to tell him what you had done. 

“Well, I’m not a politician and I don’t think I need to woo you. But I would like you to take me to dinner tonight. It’s on your calendar. I got us a reservation already.” If he wasn’t charmed by you already, you had shot him like Cupid in that moment, his stomach fluttering against his will. He couldn’t help loving the way you took charge, how you ordered him around as if he wasn’t a Senator, soon to be President. Yet, even as you did, you were never once cruel. He didn’t think you could have a cruel bone in your body. 

“I see. I look forward to it. I still need that manager’s number you told me about yesterday.” 

“What for?” you tried not to sound as dreadful as the pit in your stomach felt at the mention of the people who doubted you so openly. 

“I need to tell them they aren’t getting the job,” he smirked, “You can listen if you'd like. I’m not entertaining anyone’s offers if they have anything negative to say about you.” The butterflies in Coriolanus’ stomach now matched the ones in your whole body. You had known he was protective. You had seen glimpses of the glares he shot the other senators at galas when their glances at you lingered too long. But to hear him voice it, to hear him defend you out loud, was something else entirely as you tried not to smile too wide. 

“Of course, sir. I’ll have it for you soon,” you spoke softly before turning to leave. Just like yesterday, he was standing and rushing around his desk to grab you, pulling you back to him after a quick glance at the closed door and pressing his lips to yours. You were quickly learning just how touch starved he must have been as he gripped your hips to press you closer while you melted into him. Kissing him was intoxicating. You swore you were lightheaded and tipsy as he pulled back to give you air. 

“Wear something red tonight,” he whispered.

“Don’t I always for you?” you smiled back. There was the confirmation he had needed for the last two years. The final piece of the puzzle that made up your partnership; you wore something red every single day since your first week. Today it happened to be your skirt, blood red as his jacket and the pride that shone through him as he toyed with the fabric on your hips was worth having to invest in far more red than you had ever owned before all those months ago. 

“Wear a tie tonight, Coryo,” you whispered back, playing with his collar, smoothing out the fabric against his neck. Hearing you call him the soft nickname nearly made him shiver. If it weren’t for the previous night, the confession you two shared, he was certain he’d be disgusted by the warmth in his chest looking at you. But now he nudges his nose against yours lovingly. 

“Why a tie?”

“You look very handsome with a tie,” you whispered. Coriolanus was all too endeared by the giddy undertone of your voice, matching the smile tugging at your lips as you added, “and I like the idea of tugging on it and dragging you around with me.” That got him to smile in a way he didn’t think he had in years. He could picture it now. Your intoxicating tipsy laugh as you tugged on his tie to kiss him. Your excited eyes as you would watch him give in to you. Him on his knees as you used his tie to drag his face closer-

“You don’t have to drag me. I’ll follow,” he interrupted his own thoughts before pulling you in for another kiss. It took everything in you not to mess up his gelled hair for your own enjoyment of his curls. You wanted to see him as he was and little by little, you were unwrapping him. You only hoped that spending more time with him alone would finish tearing off the precious composed wrapping paper he so proudly displayed to the Capital. You wanted to burrow into his skin and never let go. Perhaps you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you. 

He reluctantly let you go, hands trailing after your hips once you stepped out of his hold. You were unraveling him and he was relishing in the feeling of it. He hadn’t felt so vulnerable in years and yet, there was a comfort in it with you. A knowledge that you had the right interests in your heart. Not the purest perhaps—you were set on him winning the presidency still—but the ones that mattered to him most of all. That was a trust he valued so deeply with you. 

“I like the frame by the way,” you smirked, pointing to his desk as you stepped toward the door, “ I always wondered what you did with all of my little notes when I didn’t see them in the trash.” His gaze followed your direction to the small frame made of dark wood and glass, with a single piece of paper inside. He had come in early to dig it out from deep in his drawer; he didn’t need to hide it anymore. His smile didn’t falter even once you had left the room and he sat back down behind his desk. 

The little yellow piece of framed paper stared at him; the start of something he didn’t know would be so valuable at the time. He was extremely grateful for whatever little voice nagged in his head to hold onto it all that time ago. He could have lost it to the trash forever. But instead, it sat proudly on his desk. A reminder of what shockingly seemed to matter the most to him.

It had been thirty days since everything he knew since that first semester of university was turned upside down. You loved him. You thought of him enough to write it down, even if you never intended for him to see it. He had read the letters seven times over the last thirty days, picking them apart in the darkest hours of the night. He could hear your voice reciting them to him as he tried to focus on his work at the Citadel. Dr. Gaul’s voice instructing him on his next steps toward the presidency was drowned out by the sorrow and longing so evident in your words. Your face was still a blur in his mind, which he tried desperately to mold into a proper picture. He dug through his townhouse to try and find a photo of you, something for his mind to cling to when your voice rang in his ears through all hours of the day. 

Even as he sat across his groomsmen, his third drink of the night already gone, he heard you. He looked out at the dance floor; the mass of bodies moving to the music that vibrated through his bones only did more to remind him of you. He remembered how you loved to dance, having dragged him to enough university parties that he wanted to claw his own eyes out, and yet, he couldn’t bear the thought of you going alone. Maybe, in hindsight, he had always loved you. 

His legs were straight. He was standing. When had he stood? Muffled voices of protest tried to stop him, but he moved without fully realizing it. His feet moved him out of the club and down the street without a second thought. He knew where he was going; his mind tried to stop him, but it was useless. The string around his finger, which he prayed was still tied to yours, was pulling him right to where he knew you still lived. Before he knew it, he knocked on the door and leaned against your townhouse’s stoop railing, the alcohol in his system making it hard to stay standing.

But when the door opened, he stood straight up. You looked just as shocked by the sight of him as he was by the sight of you. You looked the same; time hadn’t been cruel to you or touched you at all. You were the same girl he was sure he had fallen in love with without even realizing it all those years ago. 

“Coriolanus?” His full name cut through his chest as he let out a breath. 

“Hi.” He didn’t know what to say, and even as his brain started to sober up at the sight of you, that was all it managed to supply.

“You’re drunk.” 

“No.” You simply rolled your eyes at him, but it didn’t hold the same playfulness it did so many years ago.

“I don’t want to be,” he tried to mend, but it didn’t ease your anxiousness at the sight of him. Silence fell over the two of you, weighted in your years apart. He realized the blur of you in his head really was just a blur; seeing you again after so long cleared his vision, and he hated that he ever lost track of each of your beautiful details. His mind had sobered enough to come up with the words that had plagued him for weeks. 

“105? You wrote 105 without ever telling me?” You nearly flinched back at the accusation in his voice before replying with even more venom, “What else was I supposed to do? I didn’t fit into your plan of being president, did I? I’d only had to hear plenty of times how Livia would be perfect for that particular endeavor. What did you want me to do?” He knew you were right. He had planned on Livia. He hadn’t planned on you. 

“You could have said something.” 

“And what would you have done?” You stepped out onto the stoop now, “What would you have said, Coriolanus? If I told you I loved you back then-”

“I don’t know! I don’t… I don’t know, but I would have had the chance to do something about it when I realized I loved you too,” his voice grew wary, and you froze at his last words, trying to turn them over in your mind to pick them apart. He took a step toward you, and you let him approach you despite every bone in your body screaming to step back. “You just dumped it on me. I’ve reread them over and over again… and… and now what? I’m supposed just to be a good fiance and marry Livia? How am I supposed to do that when I’ve realized now that I’ve loved you this whole time?” 

You wanted to slap him. You thought that’s what the feeling was, at least. He was being cruel. After everything, he was being mean and leading you on, but when you forced yourself to look him in the eyes, you could see he really meant it. He was in agony, the same agony you saw at university when Gaul had stressed him to the point of not sleeping. You knew him better than anyone; you were sure of it, and you were the one putting him through agony. The same way he had all those years ago. 

“Coriolanus-”

“Please. Just… just call me Coryo. You wrote the last letter to ‘Coryo’. Talk to him,” he pleaded, tentatively reaching a hand forward to hold one of yours. He could feel your hand trembling, and he wanted to erase any unease from your bones. He’d take it all now.

“How do I trust that this isn’t just cold feet… Coryo? After everything, how do you expect me to think this is real?” He couldn’t find an answer; he knew it was an impossible question. He had made you wait too long, and now he risked losing you for good.

“Do you still love me? After 105 letters and nearly ten years? Do you still love me?” You wished you could have said no. It would be easier. If you didn’t love him, it could be over. You intended it to be over 30 days ago with a box of letters, but here he was, his drunken red cheeks starting to pale as the moment sobered him up immensely. 

“I’m supposed to say no.” His hand came up to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him and the anguish in his eyes. 

“I love you. If I’m too late, tell me, and I’ll marry Livia and I’ll suffer the way I made you for so long. But if you still love me, I’ll end it with her tonight. I’ll leave her and I’m yours forever. Livia fits a role. That’s all. It’s a role you could fit beautifully as well. I just never realized it, and I was a fool.” You’d never heard him speak so openly, never so vulnerably. It made your heart yearn for him in a way it hadn’t in years. You could say you didn’t love him. You could send him away; maybe it would be easier that way. But you couldn’t lie. 105 letters and never once had you lied to him. You wouldn’t start now. 

“End it with her… then you take it at my pace. You waited 30 days, but I waited ten years. So you need to-” 

“I’ll wait. However slow you want to go. I’ll wait.” He cupped your face as he nearly pleaded with you, “I’ll wait. I really will… I love you.” You melted into his touch as you whispered back, “I love you too. No matter how hard I’ve tried to stop.” You could tell he wanted to kiss you, and you knew you’d let him if you didn’t step away. It took everything in you to take a step back. 

“Promise me you’ll get home in one piece?” He nodded in reply, looking as sober as he could after what you assumed was enough alcohol for him to mess up his presidential plan just for you. “If you end it with her, tell me. Don’t make me wait around.” You narrowed your eyes at him expectedly as he let you step back past the threshold of your door. 

“I promise you’ll be the first to know.” You nodded in understanding before quietly speaking, “Goodnight, Coryo.” He smiled at the nickname and whispered, “Goodnight, darling.” You let him get down the stoop before you caved, calling out his name and running after him a bit down the street. You slowed down in front of him, suddenly nervous at what you were planning to do, but as if he read your mind, he leaned down and kissed your cheek. He knew your lips were still off limits, and he wouldn’t risk anything with you this time. 

“I won’t hurt you again. Never again, darling. Go get some sleep if you can. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smiled at the soft, reassuring tone he used with you and moved to press a kiss to his cheek, too. 

"Close the door when you leave," he nearly snapped as your tongue teased his length before you wrapped your lips around his swollen tip. His hand came under the table to tug on your hair in warning. It was no use. You wouldn't stop, and it became painfully clear that the intern would not leave so easily.

"I saw that she put this meeting on your calendar that I wanted to ask about-" Coriolanus thought he was going to have to kill the boy as his fingers weaved through your hair and tugged again while you started to work him deeper into your mouth. The desk didn't give you much room, but it was clear you were making what little space you had work as his cock twitched. You felt his fingers tug harder as you pressed your tongue flat to the vein running along the underside of his length, feeling every steady pulse that sent him closer to the edge.

"I'm sure your question could wait until- until she returned," his voice shook as he nudged your thigh with his shoe. Another warning. Another one you refused to listen to, not when you could feel just how badly he needed to cum as you moved his boxers down more to cup his heavy balls. You could hear his dismay as he nearly slammed his elbow down into the desk and snapped at the intern.

"I'm in the middle of something important. Leave." It was blunt, but as you felt his balls tighten in your palm, you knew exactly why. Surely, he didn't want an intern to watch him fall apart under his assistant's touch. When the door finally closed, you took him as far down your throat as you could before you heard the throaty groan he couldn't stop from coming out. You were certain it may have been your favorite sound, the sound that always came seconds before he buried himself as deep as possible and whispered that he was cumming. Like a secret that only you were allowed to hear, a vulnerability he only allowed for your own pleasure.

"Sweetheart-" his voice cut off as you tasted him on your tongue, every twitch of his cock pushing more cum down your throat. His composure fell apart as he melted into his seat with every passing second, the tingling feeling down his legs giving him a kind of bliss he only knew with you. Pushing his chair back, you slowly let him slip from your mouth, licking him clean as you did and smirking as he twitched at the feeling.

"You are impossible," he sighed as he smoothed out your hair.

"You clearly love that about me, but I think I'm quite well-behaved, sir." He huffed at the formality, knowing you could see the way his cock reacted to it while he tried to tuck himself back into his pants.

"Remind me to fire that intern."

"Sweetheart, where are you?" he shouted, groaning as he clutched his side that had taken a serious blow with the detonation. Wiping his eyes, he tripped through the mixture of rock, wood, and broken pieces of your lives together. His eyes caught on a strip of your favorite blanket peeking through it all, the one bright yellow amongst the dark fiery landscape he now stood in. He just had to find you and then the world would shine brighter again all around him. His head whipped around to the sound of your coughing as he finally saw your figure stumbling through the smoke to him.

"Baby! I'm here. Are you okay?" he ran over to you, pushing himself back up when he fell against a section of the wall still standing in all the mess. You had painted it blue with him, told him it was the color of the same beautiful sky you shared every day. Now it was dark with soot and as sickening as the feeling in his chest when he made it to you. Your arms came around him the second he was by you, unsure if they were for comfort or for keeping yourself up with the weakness you felt surging through your whole body.

"Uh huh… Uh huh… I'm- oh," you breathed out as your knees buckled and he caught you before you could fall at all.

"Darling… It's okay. We're okay… Right?" Billy sounded scared and despite the way you felt like falling asleep just by breathing, you tried to reassure him.

"Yeah. I just got… Got knocked by that blast pretty hard." His lips pressed firmly against your head, unknowingly making the throbbing in your head subside for even a second.

"Me too, baby. Think- fuck- think I might have broken a few things. You sure you're doing okay?" He clutched his side again, cursing under his breath, as he tried to help you step forward, hoping to get you out of the destruction. You whimpered in pain as his arm tightened around you in his attempts. The world looked as blurry as you felt; you didn't know a person could feel like this. Every bone in your body ached and breathing was harder than you thought ever possible.

"Y-yeah," you stuttered, trying to help him get you moving, "Let's just… let's get out of here."

"Okay. I've got you. Let's go, baby," he urged you forward, only for you to place a hand flat on his chest to stop him. Your breathing was as erratic as his heartbeat looking down at you and there was an all too familiar dread seeping into his body. He remembered what these moments felt like; he had only hoped he'd never experience them again so soon.

"I just need to… Billy, let me just… catch my…" Your words trailed off as you looked at your free hand. Oh, that's not good, you thought a moment before your body dropped, taking Billy down with you. He managed to support you well enough that he could cushion the fall for your head, not letting it hit the debris beneath you as he leaned over your body.

"What happened, baby?" he tried to keep his voice calm, knowing that showing his fear may only make things worse. A small part of him still was hoping that feeling in his chest was wrong.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you spoke clearer than a moment before but he could see the hidden distress in your features. The way your brows knit closer together than usual and the shiver that racked your body after you tried to take a deep breath.

"Yeah… Yeah, sweetheart, you're okay. What's going on?"

"I just… just have to… let me catch my b-breath." Each breath only made you dizzier. The room spun in the background, Billy becoming the only thing you could focus on.

"Okay, that's okay. Catch your breath, sweetheart. I'm right here. Take your time. We have all the time in the world." He wanted to believe that so badly, but when he looked to your side, holding up his hand from where it sat on the ground, he felt sicker than he had in his whole life. Your blood was on his hands. Now and forever.

"Are- Are you okay?" you tried to ask, voice threatening to break as Billy tried to look around for anyone in the distance that could come to your aid. Finding nothing, his heart dropped to his stomach.

"Billy… what happened?" you pressed, feeling your body grow heavier and sink into the wreckage below. His attention snapped back to you, wiping his hand clean of your blood on his pants before holding your face in both hands and shaking his head.

"Nothing happened. You're okay. We're okay." He wanted you to be calm. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. It shouldn't have been here in the ruins of your shared home. It shouldn't have been covered in dirt and dust. It should have been in your comfortable bed, in your favorite nightgown with his arms securely around you. It should have been a few dozen years from now at least.

"Ch- Charlotte, Billy," you whispered, words starting to slur together. He heard the sound of a horse out in the distance but he couldn't be bothered to look away, keeping his eyes on you.

"What, baby?"

"I wanted to… I was waiting… I didn't know when it would be s-safe," you hiccuped. Billy was hanging on your every word, knowing they would be your last. "It's… it's gonna be a girl. I- I know it and her- Billy, her name is go-gonna be Charlotte." You had to force the words out as you felt the cold run down your thighs as well. Billy felt every bit of his own life get sucked straight from his lungs with the realization of what you were saying, his eyes falling to your stomach as he gasped for air.

"Oh." The tears he had been holding back fell in an instant. It was all too much. Losing you had already been hard enough to wrap his mind around. It was as if his body moved on instinct down to press his lips to your covered midriff, saying hello and goodbye all in one moment that he'd never be able to move on from.

"I just have to… just let me catch my… my breath and then we'll- we'll go." Billy could only nod for a moment, his hands shaking at your sides as he begged his Ma silently to grant you and Charlotte another chance. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Not for a second. He'd never get to see if his baby had your eyes or his.

"Okay… okay, darling. I'm here. I'm right here. Catch your breath. We're okay… we're okay. Just me and you," he forced himself back up to look at you, forcing back more tears as he saw the exhaustion finally take a hold of you. You couldn't hide what you were feeling anymore as your breaths slowed down.

"And… B-billy, and-"

"And Charlotte. It's just us. You and me… and our baby," he choked out. His shaky hands brushed your hair back from your face as he continued to try to soothe you, "Just you and me and Charlotte. Just you and me, baby." He could hear the horse approach closer but he wouldn't look away as your chest came to a still, eyes glazing over.

"Sweetheart… baby, will you look at me?" He had never sounded so young in all of his time with you, falling back in time to the boy he had been when his ma died. His whole body was trembling, desperation weighing him down more and more by the second.

"Darling, just wake up and s-say something… please?" He didn't have to turn to know who arrived when they got down from their horse but he still looked up, locking eyes with Jesse outside the wreckage. He knew. He didn't need to ask Billy for confirmation. Jesse knew just by the way Billy was existing now in front of him that you were gone and it broke his heart. He wouldn't tell Billy for a few hours at least—he'd give him time to be able to breathe again—but he had been riding out to try to stop it. Jesse had known what destruction was coming and he hadn't been fast enough to stop it, feeling like he'd failed Billy all over again.

"Okay, baby… It's okay," Billy breathed as he brought his attention back down to you, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Is this okay?” you asked him, smiling at the tiny sparkle in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide well enough. He nodded before offering his hand to lead you down the steps of your front door and to the car. It was just a kind gesture, his hand out for you, but you swore it lit your skin aflame to touch him so gently. It wasn’t until you were down the stairs and seated next to him in the car that he leaned over to whisper into the shell of your ear, “You look beautiful in that dress,” sending a shiver down your spine.

It was a night of strategy; you were well aware of your role at his side and took it with grace. You easedropped into conversations that likely were not supposed to be overheard while Coriolanus buttered up every politician he could set his sights on. His thumb rubbed small circles into your back over the silky fabric of your dress while you smiled and nodded along with their conversation. To say he was impressed with your ability to take his cues for the night was an understatement. He wanted to hate that he was downright endeared. He hadn’t had to tell you what to do; you just knew it. You knew him.

When the night came to a close, a certain ache entered his chest, the same one that had appeared every night you left the office and the distance between you two lengthened. He thought it was nearly embarrassing how he knew that you coming home with him would have cured it. It wasn’t until you two arrived at your door that he realized the lines he had crossed tonight. His assistant as his date was highly unprofessional to begin with. Driving you from your apartment, his hands never leaving you, talking to you as if a partner rather than an employee… he swore he should hang for the HR crimes he committed. Above all, he walked you home. Waiting for the car would have been tedious and eyes would have lingered on the way you looked in the sleek red fabric around your hips far more than he would have liked that he offered to walk. Standing at the door to your apartment only further reminded him of his offenses until you spoke.

“Do you want to come in for a nightcap?” Silence followed your words, the tension rising more and more with each passing second before you blurted out, “Oh god, that was terribly unprofessional. I’m so sorry, sir.” You fiddled with the doorknob, praying for it to have the apartment swallow you whole in embarrassment until Coriolanus grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“I’d love to, darling.” The softness in his voice should have been alarming but all you could do was smile in appreciation. This man was the same one who kept a drawer full of your sticky notes; you found them a few days ago and hadn’t said a word. He was kind to you and caring in a way you knew he wasn’t with anyone else. One glass of bourbon turned into two and before you knew it, you were nearly stumbling towards the door to see him out once he had his car called. 

“Thank you for the drinks, sir. Both now and at the gala,” your voice remained surprisingly steady; Coriolanus’ presence was enough to sober you up. His broad shoulders were now covered in the stark white of his button down, his jacket hung over his arm after you had apologized for the heat in your apartment. 

“You made the night bearable, darling. But please… call me Coriolanus.” Your face warmed at his request. 

“Coriolanus…” a smirk pulled on his lips, just enough for you to notice as you continued, “Thank you for the invitation. I had always wanted to go to the gala.” You remembered the way you had twirled around your bedroom in your dress. It had been a feat to get on in the first place, having to twist and turn your body in all kinds of directions to get the zipper to fully come up where it was needed. You could only blame the alcohol still coursing through your veins for the way you blurted out, “Will you unzip my dress?”

Silence surrounded the two of you in the entryway. Your cheeks had never felt so hot as you realized what you had just asked your boss to do; surely he’d have you fired for your lack of professionalism in the morning. You’d walk in and find your things in a box on your desk. If you had thought Coriolanus to be a crueler man, he wouldn’t even see you out himself. Instead, he would leave a note by the box telling you your next paycheck will be in the mail and your keys to the building would be revoked. He didn’t reply at first; he simply placed his hands on your hips to turn you around, your back facing him before he brought his hands up to the zipper. 

“Is this the zipper?” his voice was low by your ear, feeling his breath against your neck as he toyed with the small piece of fabric covering the pull tab. You could only nod in response. The air was thick around you as you swore every breath you took had to be careful calculated, as though one extra ounce of air inhaled would scare him away. His fingers trailed along each inch of bare skin he uncovered, smiling to himself at the goosebumps he felt along your spine. He didn’t stop until the zipper was halfway down your back, a respectable distance that he knew you’d be able to unzip the rest of. 

“Coriolanus?” your voice was just a whisper, having felt the way his fingers paused and the pad of his index finger rubbed below your shoulder blade. It was as if he wanted to memorize your skin against his, a thought that haunted his every waking moment once he was home from the office. He hummed in reply, not yet realizing his lingering touch until you spoke his name again.

“You should be able to get the rest from there.” His hands rested on your hips when you turned back to face him, his eyes softening at the sight of your face looking up at him.

“Thank you for a great night, Mr. Snow,” you whispered.

“Coriolanus.”

“I’ve never called you that before tonight, sir.” His hand came up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“When it’s just the two of us, I’d like you to call me Coriolanus. If you’re okay with that.” Your smile brightened the world around him as something sparked in your eyes. 

“Then would you tell me the name of your cat, Coriolanus?” His own smile threatened to shine down on you. You thought that seeing him fully smile might just send a solar flare through Panem. 

“You’ve had a touch too much bourbon, haven’t you?” Your hand moved to smack his chest playfully before your mind could catch up with the reminder that you were being extremely inappropriate with the man you worked for. His fingers melded around your wrist to stop your incessant errors in judgement, keeping your hand flush against his chest. 

“I had enough bourbon to remember that you had white fur on your pants two days ago before you cleaned them fully. You’re not a dog person. I can’t see it. But a cat makes sense for you. A little aloof thing just to match you,” his eyebrow arched in questioning, “You’re very aloof. Too aloof for a dog for sure. So what is his name?”

“Her name,” he stated before opening the door, “Goodnight, darling. I’ll see you in the morning.” You smiled wide at the thought of Coriolanus as the father to some pampered girl cat who was spoiled beyond end. He probably fed her the most high end food the Capital could offer and she slept curled up in some matching pajamas with him. You grabbed his shoulder before he could fully step out of the apartment and outside. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Coriolanus,” you spoke softly as you moved to stand on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He moved slowly to stand outside your door as you smiled and offered him a small wave before closing the door. You waited a moment on the other side of the door, listening to the sheer silence outside before looking through the peep hole. Coriolanus was smiling. You think it may have blinded you if the small window hadn’t shielded you. He stood there, cheeks sore from the now unnatural facial expression until his car pulled up and you swore it looked like he had to force himself to move away from your apartment. 

He felt dirty. Indeed, he had to be sick. You were poisoning him. Perhaps you slipped something in his coffee… you hadn’t; he knew that. He forced his eyes off of your thighs only to catch on your lips instead. Watching the way they moved with each syllable, no sound traveled to his brain. He was pure static, taking in your electric force and frying his own circuits. 

A senator checking out his assistant had to be frowned upon. It was immoral. Despite what all of his peers did in their marriages and the sins they committed, he had to be better than them. He wasn’t married. That fact, the emptiness around his ring finger, didn’t assist him in his current situation one bit. He couldn’t help but be grateful for his desk, hiding the way your presence made him no better than a teenager at the academy. 

“I believe I could cancel that meeting on Friday if you would like to make it to the Senator’s offer for drinks on time,” your voice finally cut through as he met your gaze. He wondered if you could see the way you were killing him; you couldn’t. Had you teased a man like him before? Were you aware that your skirt was making his head spin? His mind raced enough laps around the room that he had lost track of time before you cut in, “Sir?” 

“That sounds perfect.” Did he sound as strained as his pants felt? Was the sweat on his skin simply a cruel joke from his mind to remind him of how he should be ashamed of himself? He shifted in his chair, nodded at you, and grabbed his pen back off the desk. 

“Thank you.” He had to dismiss you before he had half the mind to take that skirt and-

“Of course, sir. I’ll pick up your suit for the gala tomorrow. Do you know who I should send your plus one to?” He was distracted. That had to be the only reason his following words passed his lips.

“I’d like you to attend with me. I assume you have a dress you can find suitable?” Your face warmed, and he swore he’d never forget the sight. It would haunt him late at night in his sheets. You had infected him like a disease, and how could a doctor ever prescribe him a cure for something so pathetic as a desire for his assistant? 

“I will find one, sir. Thank you for the invitation.” You walked out promptly, hiding your face from him, and the meaning of his words dawned on him. He hadn’t taken you to an event before. He also hadn’t ever looked at you as shamefully as he did moments before.