#paprika!reader

“You want a girl? What about an heir?” She looked up at him with curiosity in her eyes and a soft smile, while Coriolanus shook his head.

“I want a little miniature version of you running around.” That made her laugh, her smile widening at the thought of Coriolanus having to chase down a little girl who looked like her. 

“She’d drive you crazy.” 

“Just like her mother. But I’d love every second of it.” They both knew they were being dangerous. It was one thing to meet still after so much time. But it was another to allow themselves the luxury of thinking of a future they’d never see.  

However, the rustling of leaves outside the abandoned cabin woke them from their dream-like bliss. She quickly collected her clothes strewn about the wooden floor while Coriolanus sat up, a heavy weight in his chest. As much as he wanted to call her there just for a moment alone, there had been other reasons he had sent her a note—reasons that felt all too heavy after what they had just done. It was while she was halfway through pulling her pants back up that he whispered. 

“Livia’s pregnant.” 

The world stopped. She froze in her spot. Every breath felt too impossible to take. It was reality setting in. Their bubble was popped all over again. They weren’t two kids in love at university anymore. He was the President of Panem, and she was the thing he needed to destroy, though he knew he’d never have the heart. 

“Oh.” That was all she could muster. Her one love was going to be a father, but it wouldn’t be to her child. Every ounce of color drained from her, and she stumbled while finishing up the button on her pants. Coriolanus was up in an instant, a hand on her arm to stabilize her before she shook it off. 

“That’s why you sent me the note… t-to what? To feel better about that?” He could hear the hurt in her voice and see it in the furrow of her brow as she added, “To rub it in my face that we chose differently?” He immediately pleaded with her, grabbing her hands with a desperate tone. 

“Of course not. I’d never… Dove, I wish I had a better way to tell you. I wanted you to hear it from me, though. Not from whatever whispers you overhear.” Tears brimmed her eyes as she took a deeper breath, and after a moment, she stepped back from him. He could feel the shift between them, the pain and betrayal forming a wall he wouldn’t be able to break back down as she stepped closer to the door, smoothing out her shirt. 

“I…” she started, but the wind carried her voice away before she could finish her sentence. Her following words hurt her just as much as they hurt him. “I would name her Ophelia. Our daughter... She would be Ophelia.” With that, she was gone again, called back to a world he couldn’t ever belong to. Coriolanus stood there, processing every syllable before testing it on his tongue with a whispered, “Ophelia.” 

coriolanus snow knew he should be ashamed of himself, but as his hand worked his length, he couldn't help picturing the curves of his roommate's body when she had stepped out of the shower just a few days ago. he wasn't supposed to walk into the bathroom unannounced, but he had made a grave mistake in doing so because the swell of her breasts as her towel threatened to fall that day kept him up at night. he just needed to get it out of his system; that's why he was hunched over with his hand pressed firmly to the wall as the other worked himself so close to the release he'd been dying for.

picturing her under him. picturing her on her knees. it was easy to forget what she was when he could objectify her like that. he wondered if she'd ever done the same with him. imagining him on his knees with her thighs around his head- oh, he was getting lightheaded just at the thought of worshipping her body like that.

"pretend i'm not here. i just have to fix my hair before class." he froze, his fingers still wrapped almost too tightly around his cock, feeling it throb in his hold. he was dead silent, stiff as a board, as he peeked through the sheer fabric that lined the top of their shower curtain.

she was wearing a camisole, lined in red lace across the same breasts he couldn't stop thinking about. he deserved a special place in hell for what he considered doing while looking at her. she smoothed out her hair and tucked a piece behind her ear before indecisively pulling it back out. her eyes drifted over to his through the curtain and she offered an almost too sweet smile.

"i hope you’re thinking about me when you finish." his cock twitched at her voice before he swore he got even harder at the thought that she knew what he was doing.

Do you think she might be our baby we lost after we separated? I don't know if I believe in that stuff and if I do, there may be a small part of me that resents her for not coming back to us until you were gone. So I think I must come to the conclusion that she isn't so that I can love her with my whole heart as I did you.

I often wonder if things would have changed if we knew you were pregnant before you left. Maybe you would have stayed or maybe I would have the courage to go with you. I can't forget your heartbreak when you told me you had been pregnant. The "had" weighed so heavy between us that it felt like the world tearing us apart all over again. We never talked about it again. Even when we both knew what we were hoping to achieve in that cabin in the woods. What would we have done if we were successful?

I feel so lost without you here. I have to raise our daughter on my own and she needs you.

I need you.

I love you.

Your Coryo

~

My love,

Ophelia smiled today and then she laughed the most beautiful laugh I'd ever heard. I looked around to see if you were there in all honesty. She sounds so much like you. I don't know what I'll do if she truly has your voice. The thought of hearing it again feels worse than the loss of it in a way. Like a taunting reminder of what is missing.

I took her to see you today. She reached out her little hand to greet you and I swore there had never been anything like the feeling I had in that moment. You overwhelm me still to this day. You did when we were just teenagers and it's even more so as adults.

I remember the first time I heard you laugh. It was a startling experience in all honesty. We'd been at each other's throats all week, as we often were when we were still denying the way we wanted each other, and then I slipped on the floor after you had mopped and landed so hard on my ass I'm sure the whole building heard me. But you just laughed. You were tired from exams and studying and you were just completely unfiltered for a moment that I'll remember on my death bed.

She smiles like you. She laughs like you. Darling, our girl needs you. I still need you.

Your Coryo

~

My love,

Ophelia snores. Far worse than you ever did. If you tell me that she gets it from me, I may very well throw something across the room. She sleeps in my room with me and some nights I can't help but lay her down in bed next to me and just watch her. There are nights that breathing feels impossible when I watch her do it. I think I worry I'm taking the air from her by breathing it myself.

I didn't think I'd be a father like this. I knew I wanted to be more than my father was. I knew that when I was younger but I knew it most when we were together and I thought about having a family with you. I still think about it. I wonder what Ophelia would look like in your arms. I wonder if her crying would soothe faster in your hold than mine. I wonder if my heart would survive getting to have the two of you at the same time.

Your Coryo

~

Baby,

I mics miss you. Come home.

Coryo

~

My love,

Ophelia has started to crawl. The horrors I've experienced in light of this development have been unlike anything I've ever experienced before. If we thought Gaul's experiments were terrifying, imagine seeing our daughter find out she can crawl up stairs and promptly trying to throw herself down them moments later. You'd think I was much older than I am due to my risk of a heart attack this last week.

She's as mischievous as you. She gets this rebellious look in her eyes that is without a doubt you. I wonder if you're whispering in her ear the best ways to get me riled up. You know all my buttons so I assume it's only right for you to teach them all to her too.

I've gotten busier as the games get near and I fear that I'll have to give in to finally getting her a nanny instead of taking care of her solely myself. I wish you were here. You'd know what to do.

Your Coryo

~

Baby,

I think seh she said your name this morning. Or tryed tried to. Are you whsipering to her? Will you please whisper to me too?

Coryo

~

My love,

Ophelia turns one year old today.

I don't know what to do. I don't know when this pain will end. She's lived a whole year of her life without knowing you. She'll live so many more years beyond me too.

I'm ashamed at the amount of drunken letters you've received in these last months. But I can't help it. It numbs the pain when she's gone to sleep. I haven't told you before but I moved my office to another room. The room you died in The previous office wasn't good for me anymore. It's locked up and only I have the key. I don't go in there anymore. I don't walk by the hall of it anymore. I can't bare the feeling in my chest when I do.

It's suffocating to live this long without you. It's like walking through fire every day to try to not justify the reasons to join you before my time is up. Ophelia is the reason to stay. As much as I miss you, as much as I hope for death to bring me home to you, I can't imagine leaving her. She can't lose us both. She never even had you to begin with.

Sometimes I wonder how much I truly had you. I know you loved me. I can never doubt that for even a second. But I do think about if our meeting was an accident. Perhaps the stars weren't written in our favor because we were never supposed to cross paths. But the thought of never knowing you, even more than the way that Ophelia never can, it makes me sick to think about.

I've been without you for more than a year but a lifetime without you would kill me just the same.

Come home, baby. Come back to me. I'll dig away the dirt of your grave if you promise to hold my hand as you come back up.

Come meet your daughter. Teach her all your beautiful wisdom about the world. Both in the Capital and outside of it.

Come home. I'm waiting here for you.

Your Coryo

~

Coriolanus stored these letters in a weather proof box by his love's grave. Bringing them to her every morning he could spare a second to see her. The box wasn't small by any means but as he placed his most recent letter inside, he knew he'd have to either store the older letters in his bedroom or get a new box for her. He would end up decided on the former, stacking boxes of letters in the back of his closet that Ophelia would stumble upon when she was much older.

She would be going through his things after his funeral when she dug far enough into the back of his closet to knock a box over, dozens upon dozens of letters pouring out. Some stained with what she very well assumed were tears, some stained with scotch from the drunken nights, and some pristine as if never truly read since their penned date, though she assumed none of them had been.

Ophelia, wounds still fresh from the loss of her father, would sit on his bedroom floor, boxes strewn around her and plenty of tissues, as she read each letter. It was a gift in a way, to see how deeply he had loved someone other than herself. He never loved Livia. She knew that from a decently young age and when Livia had died, it was confirmed more than ever. He did not mourn his wife, but he still mourned his darling rebel.

Ophelia cried reading the love that was clearly stolen from him. His emotions poured into each word and she could feel just how scared and alone he had been. He was a stoic man with her, though caring as ever. She never had to need or want. He provided for her in ways only the president and most adoring father could. But to see the pain he had been in the whole time, to know how badly he had missed someone she never got to meet, it ripped her right in two.

She had buried an empty casket a few weeks prior in the Capital's cemetery and so she did not go there to visit him. She followed the path into the woods from the mansion that she knew like the back of her hand. Past the thick lining of trees into a clearing where one headstone had lived her whole life. Now it had another next to it. Pristine and new still next to the darkened and mossy (despite her best efforts to keep it clean) one.

She laid down between the two graves, tears falling down her face as she held the most recent letter she had found to her chest. He had gotten too old to take them to his love's grave anymore without his daughter's help, but he had still written them almost daily as he became bedridden. His final written words were engraved into Ophelia's mind now.

~

My love,

I'm coming home to you.

“You’d think she was mine, wouldn’t you? I figured she could use the inspiration,” her voice rang through his mind, every bit of him trying to cling to each syllable. His hair had caught her attention from the second he arrived, a splattering of dried dye painting him in splotchy tones of brown. It resembled a memory far in his mind of when she had done the same thing to him many years ago. He could claim it was a mistake when all her clothes came out of the dryer in various tones of red and pink; the teases she received for weeks had been enough to light her afire with ambition to get him back. But her genius idea of doing so had been a dark brown dye in his shampoo, one that splattered itself down his neck and ears and made him look like a proper idiot to Gaul. Now, he sat in front of her with that same dilemma. 

His daughter was true to her namesake, a detail that blissfully went over his wife’s head, every day it seemed. When he stepped out of the shower that morning, wrapping a towel around his waist, and heard his daughter’s soft giggles through the peek in the door she had made, he knew he was in trouble. It wasn’t until he froze in front of the mirror that he understood what had happened. Even then, it was as if he had been transported back in time. It was a strange thing to see a younger version of yourself staring back at you. The crinkles by his eyes disappeared, and the heaviness of years of sorrow faded away. He could have sworn he saw his love behind him laughing at his poor state, and if she had been, he would have scooped her into his arms and held her tighter than he ever had before. 

“She laughed so brightly at the sight of me. It reminded me of you. You didn’t laugh when you had done it back then, at least not to my face, but she had that same shine in her eyes.” His daughter was not the product of the love he thought she would be. His daughter was used as a weapon against him by his wife, a reminder of the life he had chosen. When she announced her pregnancy, it sent him spiraling. He spent a few too many nights in unsavory places along the edge of the capital, trying to correct a mistake he wished he had the strength to undo. His attempts were unsuccessful, and he wasn’t sure what he would have done if they hadn’t been. But when his daughter was born, despite her biological mother, he still saw his true love reflected in her ears. He would pretend she was theirs, even if it were a fool’s game to do so. 

“It took me a month to get the dye out last time. How long do you think it will take now?” he asked her, feeling the wind carry her further from him. She wouldn’t respond. He had imagined her voice before, a comforting reminder of what once was. He tried to cling to her every waking moment, seeing her in the bounce of his daughter’s unruly curls: a surefire sign of his contribution to her existence, but the liveliness his daughter carried was all her. His daughter’s birth had come a month after her passing, a month after he had to bury his girl six feet under in the woods outside the palace. He had brought the swaddled baby to her grave to introduce the two, his two girls meeting in both life and death, and he swore from that moment on, his daughter had a companion at her side that he wished he could reach out and touch one more time.

His head slumped forward to rest on her tombstone, letting her feel the brush of his damaged hair, and a single tear soaked into the earth she rested below before he could stop it. He could pretend the feeling of the wind in his hair was her hands. He could try and convince himself that the sound of his daughter’s laughter drifting towards him was her own. But as his daughter bound up to him with a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers, he pulled himself together.

“How’s mama?” her small voice asked as she set the flowers in front of the stone, allowing Coriolanus to grab her and pull her into his lap. Her mother did not know the nickname her daughter bestowed upon Coriolanus’ old love, but he smiled every time she said it. It was as if he could capture a glimpse of what his life could have been if he had made different priorities- if he had allowed himself to want something better. 

“She’s proud of your little prank, sweetheart.” His words brought a wide smile to her face.

“She said that?” 

Quick looks toward the covered alleyways sent a shock down his spine like he had touched a hot flame and when he could make out your figure amongst the dark, the times that he knew you had followed him, it was a sensation he couldn't deny. Falling for you was inevitable even if you two knew the risks, every step closer to each other felt subsequently like a step toward some unknown cliff. Billy couldn't care about what the impact of falling would do to him when those small moments of weightless flying with you felt so close to the heaven he had imagined everyone strived for.

He cherished the stolen moments you two shared in town, the brushes against each other when he walked close enough to the shade, but it was the moments shared alone at night that he thought of most. They distracted him as he worked and they were engraved into his pillow with each night he tossed and turned without you alongside him. It was those exact thoughts of what you had done the night before that kept him up in his tent now, hand wrapped around his length trying to remember just how perfect you had felt around him.

"Bite me," Billy rasped against your shoulder, desperation heavy in his voice as he gripped your hips harder. You swore he was a man possessed when you rode him. He took you in every way he could think of but he was a mess when you had finally landed on top of him. You never got tired of listening to his groans and whines when you gave him exactly what you wanted because feeling him so deep inside of you… sometimes you swore it was the only thing that made you still feel alive.

He worked his length slowly, trying not to rush himself through the memory as the last embers of the fire outside starting to fade. It left a smoky scent to the air as he closed his eyes and immersed himself in thought.

You smelled like smoke; you always did. He didn't know if it was the way your skin burnt under the sun or the lingering smoke from the cigars often smoked in the alleyways you made your home. But what he did know is it was addicting. Your hips grinded down harder against him, your own moans barely able to be held back.

"Are you sure?" you gasped on a particular hard motion. You loved feeding from Billy; you couldn't help it. His blood tasted different from anyone else you'd ever fed from before and he often teased that it was his "love" seeping through even down to his own blood. You may have smelled like smoke but he tasted it. Warm and earthy and all together so rich that you swore you'd never have to feed again after one taste of it. He filled you up like nobody else could in several ways it turned out.

"I'm sure. Ple- oh fucking hell… please, baby," he begged, his eyes rolling back as you moved your legs around his hips, letting you sink impossibly further onto him.

Billy shivered as he swiped his thumb over his tip, remembering the soft spot deep inside you that the new angle had let him hit and he couldn't find shame in the amount of precum that leaked out as he moaned. His brows furrowed together as he tried to piece together the next moments in his mind. He could remember the bite easily but it was what had occurred seconds before that were now a blur in his tired mind.

You licked the crook of his neck slowly, a tease if he'd ever known one. You nudged your nose against his jaw as you mumbled something incoherent to him. He thought he could make out the word 'love' through the needy fog in his mind. Then he felt it, your teeth scraping against his skin ever so lightly, finding the exact place you wanted him from, before you sunk them in. His cock jumped at the puncture of skin and he gasped with a broken moan.

You didn't move your hips at first, letting him sit as deep as you could take him as you took what you needed and the familiar lightheaded feeling came into the corners of his mind. You wouldn't move again until he tapped your side lightly, your signal that he could feel the intoxicating fading of his mind with the loss of blood, the sensation that made him cum harder than he ever had before any time you two did it. With the tap of his fingers, you stopped pulling blood from his veins, letting your teeth sit stationary in his neck, knowing he loved the sore feeling that it left hours later. That's when you started to move again.

His hand moved faster now, almost desperate to get that same feeling he knew he wouldn't be able to replicate. You had ruined him completely, for anyone else and even for himself. He nearly squirmed at how badly he needed you there with him instead of his own hand.

Curses flew from his mouth as you moved with a fervor you didn't have before. He was always surprised by the energy boost his blood would give you as you moved your hips up, almost completely off of his cock before sinking back down with force and the air was pushed right out of his lungs with a broken groan.

"Baby, I- fucking god, I'm gonna-" You two had already been at it for an hour that it wasn't a shock when you felt him squirm beneath you, his orgasm closer than he originally thought it might be.

Billy's free hand trailed his body hopelessly, needing some other touch to bring him over the edge he was teetering at miserably. He tried to rub at his inner thigh the way you would when his cock was in your mouth, your fangs the sexiest threat he thought he'd ever feel against him in those moments. But it was no use, his hands were too big, too calloused to have the same effect. He traced the V of his hip the way you would when he'd lie down as you rode him, but it was all pointless. Even as he brought a hand slowly up his chest, the desperation in his lower half nearly making him shake, it became all too clear that what he needed was you.

You unhooked your teeth from his neck to scrape the shell of his ear as you whispered, "Cum for me, Billy." And he was nothing if not a good listener when it came to you. He groaned so loud you thought the neighbors might hear as you let him push you down to the hilt of his cock and he trembled under your touch. You licked at the blood still trickling out from the two new puncture wounds that he'd wear for days. They never scarred, some phenomenon you didn't know the logistics of or care to, but he loved the days he got to wear them tucked under his collar. Your claim on him right there for him to see in the mirror every morning.

He froze after stepping into the miniature kitchen they shared, the sight at the table making him cringe at how loud he let the door slam. She had fallen asleep studying, her hair cascading across her textbooks as she rested her head atop her folded arms. He thought she must be testing him, waiting to startle him as he passed, but when he knelt down next to her, he noticed the furrow in her brow, the stress weighing her down, and something inside him softened. 

He couldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable, like thinking she was beautiful or imagining what it would feel like to carry her to his bed and hold her while she rested. But many years later, he’d still remember the way she looked in that moment, like something- someone he could love. It was a nasty virus in his brain, something crawling under his skin and finding purchase, waiting for the right time to burst his seams wide open. He would stay intact tonight as he walked softly across the wood floor to clean up what was left of her cooking and set aside dishes for her to wash in the morning. He wouldn’t do them for her. That was beneath him. He would simply help out. That’s all it was. 

She didn’t move an inch as his soft steps returned to her, reaching over to grab small scraps of paper to mark her spot in her books. He’d hate losing his spot… that’s the only reason he did it. His hand came under her arm as he slid her textbooks out from under her. She was studying the same things he was. However, she always seemed to be a chapter ahead of him, and it was a motivation unlike anything he’d ever known. He didn’t realize that remaining ahead of him motivated her just the same. 

He didn’t mean to do it. It just happened—a malfunction. His fingers carded through her hair as he looked at her sleeping face. Her hair was soft, like a silk he wanted to remember for the rest of his life. She stirred with a deeper breath as her eyes fluttered open, and her tired gaze fell on him. A silence fell over the two of them as she took in the sight of him in front of her. She thought he looked more like the boys from her district with his hair dark. She could excuse the slight crush she had when she allowed herself to forget what he stood for as the offspring of all things terrible in the Capital. 

You hadn’t come from a poor family necessarily. Nothing like the districts, of course. But when Dr. Gaul had approached your father about arranging for you to marry the soon-to-be new President, you knew your family would only see the dollar signs attached to such an agreement. You didn’t mind it, wanting to provide for your family and the thought of finding that “one true love” that the fairytales of your childhood talked about seemed all too unlikely. You knew that Coriolanus would have you taken care of whether or not he loved you. 

You found yourself enjoying his company more than you had expected. His arm wrapped snuggly around your waist at the various events you were asked to attend felt familiar after the first few times. It left you wanting more when you would part at the end of the night. But “more” felt just as out of reach as the fairytale love you used to dream of growing up. That was until Coryo made the request for you to move in a month before the wedding. 

The invitation came as a shock to you, not having expected him to want to spend more time with you than necessary until you two were married. But that didn’t deter the small bit of hope in your chest that he did want just that: more time with you. You pondered over the idea that he was sizing you up in a way, seeing what changes you would make to his routine and finding ways to either adjust or call off the marriage altogether. Though your heart still beat harder at the thought that he could want you with him at all times. 

His penthouse was nicer than any place your family had lived in the capital. You had always been well off but never as much as Coryo so clearly was from the second you arrived. Coriolanus had already shown you to your designated bedroom before heading out to instruct an avox on where to put all of your belongings. Your feet had led you down the hall and into the much larger bedroom before you could stop yourself. His bedroom alone may have been the size of nearly the entire first floor of your parent’s townhouse. The bed took up most of the space, surprisingly; you were almost certain you’d never seen a bed that big before, and suddenly, the idea of laying in it one day with Coryo sent a shiver down your spine. You two wouldn’t have to cramp together by any means. You’d have all the room in the world together. 

His bathroom was a whole other beast of a room to look at. Compared to the small closet of a bathroom you had in your parent’s house, Coryo’s could be considered a mansion with its marble countertops and huge walk-in shower. The grandeur of it all aligned perfectly with his demeanor. You could picture him standing in front of the large mirror for an hour, ensuring that every last strand of hair was perfectly in place before he would be photographed that day. You looked over to the small vanity not far from the sink and pictured yourself sitting there while he groomed himself, watching fondly and still wearing the shirt of his you wore to bed. You weren’t sure where such a vivid imagination had blossomed from in your head, but you found it hard to complain at the warmth it gave you in your chest. 

Your eyes were drawn to the shower head hanging from the ceiling, a rain shower. Your parents said they once had one before needing to change their financial priorities with the addition of children. You let your curiosity get the best of you as you stepped into the shower, the white tiles lit up by a small light just outside the door. The water flowed down on top of you unexpectedly, having not paid attention to where you were when you turned the knob, and you panicked when trying to turn it back didn’t stop it. Coriolanus walked into his bedroom when you weren’t still in your room; his attention immediately pulled to the sound of running water in the other room.

“What are you doing in-” He cut himself off, seeing you trying to twist the knob every which way to get the water to stop before you looked over. A chuckle made its way out of his mouth, unfamiliar but far more comfortable than he had expected it to be, as he saw your hair sticking down to your wet forehead. You looked at him like a deer in headlights, a look he wasn’t unused to after his stint as the gamemaker before switching to politics. But he didn’t want you to look at him like that. He didn’t want you to be afraid of him; he wanted you to feel empowered next to him. He would be sure that you could rule Panem alongside him rather than be a useless trophy he used to win the election. He knew that would just take some semblance of softness to coax out of you; he needed you to be comfortable to reach your full potential as his partner.

So he decided to give you just that as he ran toward the shower, nudging you aside to reach the handle, only to stop as he thought over how to win this small game Dr. Gaul had given him with your arrangement. He didn’t need to love you, although he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in his chest that he just might. He just needed to care about you, something he knew he could do, and show you that he did. Before you could think much about him stopping, he turned you to look at him, water running down his cheeks as his own hair started to soak through. His curls would show when his hair dried, but he couldn’t bother spending the effort to think about that as he cupped your face.

“May I?” he uttered, sounding all too expectant that you’d say yes, but how could you not? Not after so many galas in which he had kept you safe by his side, so many speeches he gave about the way he hoped he’d be able to protect his family as president, and the way that from the moment you entered his penthouse, he ensured you could remember exactly where you were. Maybe your comfort with him wasn’t so much love as it was feeling protected. Maybe protection would be more than enough for you. 

“Yes.” It came out breathless, almost desperate, in a way that made him smirk before pulling you in. He was winning. There wasn’t a fight to be had, but he knew that if there was, he would come out on top, as Snows always did. The moment his lips connected with yours, it was like the world paused for even just a moment. The water fell down his back as he backed you into the wall. You would have thought it would feel like a trap, like a rabbit walking right into the arrow, but rather, you felt quite safe. 

Maybe you two didn’t need love. Maybe you just needed the other in a way that felt as easy as breathing clean air. He needed your gentleness, and you needed his fierceness. Perhaps love would come more naturally later. But until then, you melted into him, lips moving in sync as he kissed you like you were the only air in the room. Like the oxygen in your lungs was his to take, and he convinced himself plenty of times that it was. He was going to be your husband; you were his now, every part of you.

“Coriolanus-” you whined as he pulled away, wanting to get a good look at you. His eyes couldn’t pick a place to land, going from your swollen lips to your eyes to watching the way your chest heaved, trying to catch your breath. He brought a hand up to gently wipe the hair out of your eyes that had moved back down in the commotion of his lips against yours. His lips traveled down your jaw to your neck, just barely kissing the skin as he felt the way your breath stilled at the feeling. When he finally pressed a firmer kiss into the crook of your neck, your back arched off the shower wall, the smallest of moans slipping past your lips. His hand was quick to gently press you back against the wall, softly resting on your ribs, feeling the way you nearly struggled to take each shaky breath.