your coriolanus fluff is unbelievably good and upsettingly scarce. could you write something for him reacting to reader being sick? or to follow off the ballerina theme, maybe she’s gotten injured to the point she has to take a break and is left to follow him around the mansion all day, attached to hip wether he likes it or not and clingier than usual?
thank you :) i love your writing
Oh this is adorable and thank you so much!! That means a lot 🫶🫶
˚✧ ₊ 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 ୨ৎ
When the doctor told you that you had “dancer’ fracture,” you were rightfully upset. Dance wasn’t a chore for you, it was a passion and a pleasure. Now you’d have to stay off your feet for weeks! It wasn’t career ending, but it was certainly boring for you. And oh, so frustrating!
Coriolanus is adamant that you don’t do any more walking than you need. You groan as he reminds you this, guiding you by the elbows back into your shared room, seeing to it that you got back into bed. “I feel fine!”
“It’s certainly not healed, not this quickly.” Coryo shakes his head, sitting on the edge of your bed and rubbing a hand over your stomach gently, mindlessly. “The medicine is making your body forget that it needs rest.” You roll your eyes at that know-it-all attitude of his, laying your hand over his.
“I’m not cancerous.” You pout, hoping the expression breaks through his resolve.
“I’m not a horse with a bad leg.”
“I can walk on my own just fine.”
“I disagree.” Coriolanus has a crooked grin splitting his face now, his eyes crinkling as he shook his head. You groaned again, only bringing him to sneak a hand behind your hair and press a kiss to your forehead.
You put your hands over your eyes as he pulled away, embarrassed of the tears welling in them. “Oh, I feel so lazy!” Coriolanus’ brows draw at the sudden change in your demeanor. He gently lowers your hands from your face with his hands around your wrists. “Lazy? My love, you’re anything but lazy. You work harder than anyone I know.” His voice is sweet and low with honesty, but you still feel utterly helpless.
“I can’t do a thing but sit here!” Your tone was just a bit accusing, Coriolanus presses his lips. He finds a way around to hold both your hands, his eyes flicking twixt both of yours as if the answer to his predicament were in your irises. He nods after a while. “Come sit in my office with me. While I work.”
Your brows furrow as you blink away the tears that almost spilled over. At your little nod, Coriolanus slips his arms under your knees and back, grunting softly as he straightens up. The whole way to his home office, he promises you’ll enjoy it, you’ll learn a bit of politics as it happens, he’ll keep you entertained. Surprisingly, you did enjoy it, watching his colleagues and subordinates come and go from his office.
Between visitors, Coryo came to sit on the edge of the chaise you laid across, rubbing a strong hand over your knee. He'd murmur a sly joke about the politician who'd just left, relishing in your giggle or the scrunch of your nose. He was enjoying your company greatly, even your quiet presence in the room as he worked was a comfort. It was clear he was relieved when you declined his offer to go back to your room, insisting that you'd be bored up there.
You'd been quietly listening to a particular man as he talked with your husband, who wore a dark expression. It was a matter of military spending, peacekeepers in the poorer districts, a few unrelated riots and-- "Perhaps this isn't a matter for feminine ears?" The snob raised an eyebrow at you, his hands giving away his skittish personality. Coriolanus took one glance at you, shaking his head.
In a smooth yet firm tone, your husband told the man, "Whatever it is, she can hear it." His wrung hands rocked a bit on the glass-top desk. Coriolanus didn't entertain his speech for very long after the insult to your intelligence. When he left, he admitted to you with a chuckle and fingers carding through your hair, "He was a dolt, my dear. I don't think his ears were suited to the topic."
Coriolanus told you he had to get his suit tailored, assuming you'd stay home, but you ever-so-sweetly asked to come with. Who was he to deny you? You sat in an upholstered armchair, chatting with the seamstress like you'd known her your whole life. Watching your husband get measured, meeting his eyes in the mirror. You'd never been so clingy as you had when you became injured; even in the car, you were leaning on his shoulder, clasping his hand tightly.
When the day was done, Coryo offered to bring you to bed while he took a nightly walk through the garden. But you very eagerly told him you wanted to come with, and his resolve was thinner than paper with you. Whether he liked it or not, you were trailing after him like a puppy dog. Or, more accurately, you were carried in his arms through the rose garden like a baby who couldn't be left unattended.
"Am I allowed to go to the bathroom alone?" Coriolanus joked, shifting you in his arms. You nosed the collar of his suit, the top few buttons undone now that the clock struck nine PM.
"Mmm, afraid not. I'll be lonely." You hummed, though his chuckle brought giggles out of yourself. Frankly, he didn't mind one bit. Having you around was energizing, a constant reminder of why he worked, what he would get to hold at night.
When you were healed, you insisted Coriolanus come sit in the studio as your instructor helped you get back into the swing of things. You finally had something to do again, no longer depending on your husband for entertainment around the house. He almost missed seeing your face as he worked, searching for your expression when the person across from him said something outrageous, ordering an extra coffee to his office for you. Just when he was going to ask if you could spare an hour for him, you'd pushed the double doors to his study, sprawling yourself out on the chaise and claiming, "I was getting lonely."
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