squoosheez

[squoosheez]

HE WHIMPERS WHEN HES FUCKING YOU

choso gets sensitive easily when he’s pounding you into oblivion, his body flush against yours and trembling. he’s got you spread out for him in missionary, legs wrapped around the small of his back and drawing him impossibly closer.

“more, cho.. fill me up again, please.”

he stops holding his breath, exhaling quickly as his glassy eyes lock onto yours. choso nods, grunting as he adjusts the angle of his hips in an attempt to fuck you deeper.

with stars in your eyes, all your fucked out brain can focus on is just how attractive choso looks, along with how amazing he feels. his soft brown hair tangles around your fingers, sticking to his forehead and flushed cheeks.

“choso, i’m s-so close, baby,” you cry, body twisting beneath him as your cunt clenches uncontrollably.

he slips a large palm beneath your head and cups the crown of your head, pulling you close to him as he leans down, his head at the side of yours.

damp hair brushes against your temple as he groans lowly, chanting your name in a voice that seems to be unraveling.

you rub his back as choso cums, making quiet sounds of pleasure as his cock pulses inside of you, heat filling your whole body.

but he can’t seem to stop himself from whimpering into your ear, needy and mumbling about how he needs some more.

“just one more, p-pretty girl,” choso gasps, “need to see you cum again, please.”

[squoosheez]

Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) - G.S.

Synopsis. Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, pànty-stealer! roommate! Gojo, annoyances-to-lovers, he’s REALLY down bad, vírgin! Gojo, oraI (fem receiving), màle màsturbation, pining, face-sítting, jealousy (his side), fírst times, unprotected, creampíe, teary Gojo, pànty-gagging, HEINOUS things, pet names, aIcohol mentions, swearing.

Word count. 8.6k (whoopsies)

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week hehe <3

“Damn…” you sigh at the glaringly empty drawer, rubbing your eyes as if that would make a difference - maybe even magically materialize a fresh pair of panties in front of you. “It’s the second time this month.”

Or was it the third?

But, alas, standing around in your bedroom on a Sunday night does not give you the answers. Or any extra underwear.

Which is why you find yourself making a beeline for the bathroom - teeth gritted, stomach flipping at how very, very exposed you felt underneath the thin fabric of your shorts. Cursing everything from the building’s rundown old washing machine to Gojo’s stupid smile when he took away your laundry basket.

You could’ve sworn you saw your last pair perched right on top of your pile of old clothes, all flimsy and an obscene red that stood out amongst everything else. 

Seriously, how hard would it have been to lose that thing? Maybe you could bother him into buying a new washing machine for-

“Woah there-” Before you know it, you’re crashing face-first into a wall? Pillows? Gojo - unfairly shirtless. “Now, what’s got your panties in a twist, sweetheart?”

The lack thereof. 

Maybe because you can’t say that, maybe because of what looks - feels - like miles upon miles of milky, sculpted skin, you’re instead settling for an extremely eloquent, “Nothing I uh-” But whatever excuse catches in your chest as you raise your face - still smushed between two large pecs - up, up, up and-

Oh. 

It’s not like you’re seeing something new - far from it, actually, unfortunately for your poor heart.

And at first, you’d thought it was some strange habit - hell, maybe the guy just didn’t like t-shirts. But it was around the fourth or fifth time he’d forgone one that you realized Gojo Satoru was just a tease. A no-good, insufferably smug tease that just loved to catch you ogling him. 

But, well, at least the rent was cheap.

Though, you weren’t exactly complaining about the view either…

Because lo and behold stood the infamous campus sweetheart - you knew about fourteen people who’d kill to see this exact sight. Gojo’s cloudy hair tousled, tiny droplets of water twinkling like diamonds against the bathroom light. Bouncing off his rippling abs, his strong arms circling your waist to stop you from falling backwards. Holding you too fucking close against the white towel slung low on his hips. His skin damp, smelling so delicious-

“Gojo, did you use my body lotion?” 

“Awww–” he whines, finally releasing his grip on you. “You were supposed to admire me some more.”

You scoff, eyes darting over broad shoulders - partially to search for your laundry basket, partially because you really couldn’t handle looking right at a shirtless Gojo Satoru any longer. “As if. Get out if you’re done.”

“Damn, woman. Feisty.” Gojo lets out a deep chuckle - smooth and cocky - when you’re hastily shoving him away from the doorframe. “If you wanted to put your hands on me that bad then you jus’ hafta ask, y’know~”

It was way too late for this. 

“Hilarious.” you deadpan, though you let go of where you were gripping Gojo’s arm like it burned. Immediately stepping behind the bathroom door before he could make you lose whatever’s left of your sanity, “Next time you hog the bathroom m’gonna smash those ugly new sunglasses of yours.”

He’s pressing his foot between that gap in the door to stop you from closing it, “Oi, don’t think I don’t see that glint in your eyes, sweetheart.” Yeah, the glint in your eyes that told you if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under already. Which only makes him grin wider, “You’re telling me you really weren’t checkin’ out the most sought-after man on campus jus’ now?”

Huffing in frustration, you cross your arms, “I don’t see Geto Suguru anywhere.”

“...you take that back right now. I’m the pretty best friend.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Am not. Isn’t that why you’re still single?”

“Th-that’s not- fuckin’ Suguru? Really? Most people would kill for a look of this-” Gojo gestures at his bare torso, and once more you’re reminded that those absolutely awful protein shakes he makes every morning aren’t just for show. “-and you’re getting it daily.”

You reach out a hand, Gojo chest hot underneath your touch. He seizes up instantly, ears tinging red as you muse, “Yeah.” Only to push him fully out the doorway, “I just wish you’d shut up daily, too.”

With that, you’re shutting the door with a resounding slam! Feeling only slightly guilty until you hear Gojo’s squawks of protest from outside, “I really don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist.”

Right. Panties.

Something just a tad more important than recounting exactly how many abs Gojo Satoru had.

You let out a shuddering breath, clamoring to find that spare laundry basket you’d forgotten in here earlier today. Shuffling through through the soft clothes, hoping, praying to find-

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Fuck. 

Somehow, you’re hiding away your body lotion that night.

---

“Now, listen here, sweetheart. I know you look fuckin’ gorgeous in everything but-”

“Satoru.”

“But that-” he whirls around, pointing a long finger accusingly at the boxers you’d improvised into sleep shorts. Spitting venomously, “-that I cannot allow.”

You’re rolling your eyes at your roommate’s theatrics, forking through your pancakes while he monologues to himself more than you. “Why does it even matter? It was just for yesterday.” you mutter. “I didn’t have any clean uh- panties for the night n’ this worked.”

Thankfully, since the fresh laundry this morning, you’d found two more of your panties - courtesy of a very smug Gojo handing off your clothes. Ah, it felt like the universe itself was smiling down on you.

But oh if you thought the great Gojo Satoru was having a breakdown before then you weren’t prepared for when you lifted your gaze off the kitchen table. Only to meet his - eyes wide, a pretty pink blush coloring his cheeks, lips gawking and stuttering around what looked like a silent, “P-panties-”

You raise a brow, “What’s got you this worked up, Gojo?”

“Nothing.” he clears his throat, “Absolutely nothing at all. Panties? I love- er, wait no-”

“B-besides-” you bristle at the way his heavy gaze was now turning to flit between your face and down below. Dangerously. “They’re not even yours so I don’t know why it matters.”

This seems to snap him out of his little reverie, and he’s immediately standing up straighter, brows furrowing. He continues, in a much more serious tone than before, “They’re his?” 

You stab your breakfast with a bit too much vitriol than necessary, looking at Gojo with narrowed eyes, “If you mean the one my ex left behind then yes. Who else?”

Your ex wasn’t good for much - and Gojo seemed especially hostile towards him because of his distaste for your little living situation. But, hey, at least the guy was helping you out at this time. Albeit unknowingly. 

He’s raising his hands in mock-surrender, shuffling back into the kitchen to work on the rest of those “world famous” Gojo pancakes. “Nothing nothing.” he hums, and maybe it was how sleep-deprived you were - running on a few too many assignments due today and a few too little panties - but you think Gojo’s voice has a bit more bite to it than usual. Jaw clenching as he plows on, “Of course that fucker- in my- our apartment, too. Fuck-”

A spatula is suddenly mere inches from your face, Gojo brandishing it in front of you like a weapon as he declares, “We’re going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture today.”

“Gojo, I-”

“We-” he cuts you off, delicately placing another pancake on your plate - a little truce. So close now that it reminds you of last night - you could feel his minty breath on your face, count every long, sultry eyelash of his. “-are going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture n’ I’m paying. That’s final.”

And of course, in true Gojo fashion, you can barely get a word out before he’d immediately ducking out of the kitchen. You almost let your lips curl into a smile, hit with a sudden wave of endearment as you hear Gojo’s long legs padding urgently down the hallway to God-knows-where. Maybe he did know when to be-

Smack!

You jolt as you’re hit with a pair of boxers - fresh ones, thankfully, that you recognized from all the clothes you’d rummaged through last night - plopped unceremoniously onto your lap. Jaw dropping in disbelief when you look up to meet Gojo’s devilish grin. 

“Next time-” he winks, motioning at the fabric you were poking in concern now. “-wear mine.”

The talk of Yaga’s lecture hall that morning was of a pair of burned boxers found right outside your building, everyone speculating what the poor guy had done to have his presumed girlfriend make an example of it like that. 

For you, however, the only thing running through your mind was whether or not you could count properly.

Because surely you remembered it correctly when you counted two new underwear this morning - that gauzy black one and the deep red? Two. Definitely not the singular, sad piece of red fabric laying on your bed after breakfast today? Two. The only one you could find even after scouring through your whole bedroom. 

So where the fuck had that other one gone?

---

(8+ new messages)

Do not answer (roomie)🧿🧿: Hurry up ive been lurking inside that lingerie shop ya told me you liked n’ now the old ladies here look like they wanna eat me alive ＼(º □ º l|l)/

im boooored, gonna stand still n’ start blending in with these mannequins if you dont hurry up istg

Hurry

HURRY

HURRY THEY THINK IM SUSPICIOUS

PLEASE THEYRE GONNA ESCORT ME OUT

┬┴┬┴┤･ω･)ﾉ i literally SEE YOU outside 

BITCH STOP LAUGHING-

No sooner are you letting out a cackle at Gojo’s rapid-fire texts, you’re looking up to see the man himself being walked outside by two security guards. Squabbling heatedly in a way that had them heaving out long sighs - which, honestly, you felt a stab of relatable empathy for.

“-I swear I’m not a creep I’m jus’-” Gojo’s bickering dies on his tongue as he catches the sight of you walking closer to the commotion. Closer. Taking your sweet sweet time, eyes just barely glazing over him before- you’re walking away. “Hey!” he calls out, stopping you in your tracks. “Now, don’t you dare-” Before turning back to his wary escorts, “I’m with her.”

They exchange a look between each other, and no matter how much you’d like to pretend the scene had absolutely nothing to do with you - you’d rather Gojo doesn’t get banned from the mall altogether. 

“He’s right.” you drone out, one hand grabbing Gojo’s, the other forcing his head into an apologetic bow. Hissing to the side so that only he would hear, “Unfortunately.”

The two security guards now seem more amused than anything at your strange dynamic. One of them raises a brow, muttering, “Well…this one’s certainly a handful.” Turning around to head back to their stations, “Ya better keep a tight leash on your boyfriend.”

You sputter, eyes wide, “Oh- he’s not-”

But it’s too late - they’re both swiftly out of earshot, most likely more than happy to hand over the public nuisance off to you. And Gojo’s looking to you with a smug smirk, voice dropping about an octave deeper as he breathes against your ear, “So, gonna take your boyfriend to help out with lingerie shopping, sweetheart?”

Oh. God. 

This was going to be one long day.

“I’m only here because another one of mine disappeared, y’know.” you hiss, rifling through all the options before you. “Which really has me wondering why-”

“H-hey! How about this one?” Gojo interrupts, shoving a lacy set right in front of your face, his voice just a bit louder than what was appropriate. 

You sigh, catching the eyes of a few disapproving older women around you. “No this is-” But running a thumb over the fabric makes you bite back an insult. And for all how brash Gojo was, maybe his panty selection wasn’t awful. It was a flimsy little thing, gauzy and light blue - the type you’d typically wear on a night out. You meet his boyish grin, admitting, “...not bad.”

“See?” he laughs - eyes glinting with delight as he piles on a few more in your basket. “N’ if you’re impressed with that then you’re gonna be proposing to me when you realize it’s exactly your size-”

You quirk a brow, “How do you know my size, Gojo?”

And this makes his body stiffen, large shoulders squaring up, throat bobbing as he answers,“Uh? Experience?”

Oh, right. You’re rolling your eyes, fighting off a weird little stab of irritation. This probably isn’t the first time he’s come here with a girl, anyway. 

And yet, despite however much of an alleged “catch” Gojo was, he’d - perhaps mercifully - never brought anyone over. You don’t know why, but you didn’t really want to question it.

“A-anyway.” Gojo’s airy voice cuts through your thoughts. And he’s plucking up a few more sets of lingerie for you to sort through, “Can’t let these one, two, three- six lovely lil’ things go to waste now, can we?” At your look of confusion, he chuckles, guiding the two of you to the counter now. “Suguru’s holding a party at his place tonight, how would you like to do the honors of being my cute plus one?”

“I’d rather go with Yaga.”

Though, you really can’t say no - not when Gojo’s flashing you that black card as he pays for everything in an instant. Not when all he can prattle about on the way home  is how gorgeous you’d look together at Geto’s party - how you’ll have to beat everyone off of him with a stick (to which you reply that you’d no sooner do that than beat him with a stick.)

Not when he sits outside your bedroom door as you get ready later that night. Insisting on keeping you company even as you slip out of your towel. Looking over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t peeking in before eagerly turning to grab at one of your new set of silky white panties- only, they weren’t there.

Strange. 

“Hey, Gojo…” you call out, looking underneath your blankets for where you might’ve thrown them about after trying them on. Under your bed, in your drawers, anywhere. “-didn’t we buy six sets?”

“Huh? Dunno, I didn’t count. Just wear the blue one.” he whines, ushering you to hurry up from outside. Face burning because shit, this was you and you were inside - still wrapped up in only that sinful little towel. Oh, would the painful death really be worth it if he happened to accidentally look around? “S’pretty and y’know what else?”

Your voice was muffled as you hastily put on your clothes, “What?”

“It matches my eyes.”

Really strange.

---

Thankfully for Gojo, you didn’t go with Yaga to the party - nor did you find your lost pair of panties, sadly, but that wasn’t too much of a concern for him. 

And here he was - one hurried Uber ride and about several billion death threats from you later. Wishing that you’d actually just acted on one of them because fuck at least then he wouldn’t have to be watching from across the room as some bastard from the university basketball team tried to chat you up.

Gojo can’t even hear the way the girls surrounding him were giggling about something or the other, alcohol making his tongue a little heavier, eyes a bit glassier. 

Nothing like the way that other man was drinking in that polite smile on your face. Tilting your head to face forwards and- God, why won’t you just look at him instead?

Would that guy still look at you that way if he knew you were wearing lingerie matching his eyes right now?

“Not gonna entertain your fans?” Geto’s voice rings through his whirlwind thoughts, eyeing down the forgotten crowd in amusement.

“When have I ever?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair in frustration. 

He lets out a knowing laugh, “Yeah, you little vir-” Turning into a coughing fit when Gojo elbows his best friend straight in his stomach. “Anyways.” Geto gestures with his drink in your direction, as if Gojo hadn’t seen - as if it wasn’t the only thing on his mind right now. “Well, your lil’ roomie there seems to be popular, too, huh? Star player of the basketball team n’ all. 

He clicks his tongue, slumping further against the thumping wall. “So? I’m taller, and more handsome.”

“Are you sure ‘bout that?”

“Y-yeah?” he sputters. 

“Well then why aren’t you over there with her?” Geto hums, lips curling. “Looks t’me like even she doesn’t like him that much so why’re you being a pussy over here? Always sneaking around stealing her-” 

“Shut up-” And Gojo knows he’s riling him up, he knows that Geto wants to see a little drama - maybe finally shut up his pining over the one girl he’s wanted for the past year - and couldn’t have. It’s a trap. But Gojo can’t stop his head from snapping between you and his best friend’s sly smirk. Slurring indignantly, “Of course I’m fuckin’ handsome, n’ taller. I’d make a better boyfriend too and-” He trails off at the sight of that loser leaning in - but more importantly that tiny furrow in your brows, your hands on his chest softly keeping him at bay. “-and m’gonna go over there n’ prove it.”

“Ah, that loser’s gonna thank me later.”

And, hell, Gojo could barely even walk. Barely even think straight as he’s parting the stuffy living room, ignoring whatever whispers and titters were following him. 

“I said no-”

“Hey, sweetheart.” you jump when someone - Gojo - creeps up from behind you. Large build hanging off your own when he nuzzles his face into your neck. And you could feel his toothy grin on your skin, “Missed me?”

Your face burns, “I uh-” Angling your face as dignifiedly as possible to face your roommate, “Gojo, are you drunk?”

“Drunk on you, yes.”

“What the-”

The man in front of you pipes up - shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. “Didn’t realize you were taken. My bad.” Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but under the scrutiny of Gojo Satoru. His big arms tightening around your middle - when did they even get there? “I’ll just uh- get out of your way, man.”

“Mhm, by the way,” Gojo puffs up his chest a bit, clearly towering over the other man - ha, take that Suguru. “Nice loss against Kyoto last week, real knee-jerker.” 

You smack Gojo’s chest at his rudeness, to which he only smiles wider. Watching the other man being swiftly handled away by another apologetic member of the basketball team.

“Gojo.”

And before you can react, Gojo’s dragging his pretty plump lips along where that light blue band of your bra was just peeking out, murmuring lowly, “Love it when you scold me like that.” Still refusing to let go of you despite the jealous looks thrown your way, “Let’s go home, my girl.”

Oh, the look on your face was priceless. 

He just wished he could fish out his phone and record, or maybe even tell Geto to take a picture - help him make it his wallpaper. And he did - over fifteen times, in fact, as the two of you helped drag him away from the thrumming party. Geto doesn’t listen, of course, and you neither do you - grumbling out a slew of profanities underneath your breath that makes the Uber driver look at the two of you weird.

And yet, Gojo’s biggest issue right now was trying to climb up these fucking stairs - not when they were trying to run away from him. 

“I swear to God, Gojo-” you huff, chest heaving under the weight of walking - well, more like dragging - your roommate up to your apartment. Knees wobbly - maybe at the intensity of his cologne, maybe at the way his biceps were flexing on your shoulders, probably at how fucking useless he was. Damn lightweight. “You better cover my rent for the next year for this.”

“Of course I will~” his hot breath tickles your ear, “Anything for m’girl. I’ll take care of us forever, don't you worry your pretty lil’ head.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the way your heart clenches - just a little bit. And if you’re slamming open Gojo’s bedroom door with a little more force than necessary, well, at least he’s a bit too impaired to nag at you about it.

He bounces lightly when you throw him on his plush mattress, giggling softly, “You should just join me, y’know. Have a little sleepover.”

“Drop dead.” you monotone, not even daring to look back at him while you shuffle through Gojo’s shirts. Throwing one over your shoulder at him, “N’ wear this, I just know you’ll complain about messing up your favorite button-up tomorrow morning.”

“Aww, you always take care of me so well, my girl~”

That familiar little nickname makes a shiver run down your spine, and it’s all you can do to concentrate on shuffling through Gojo’s drawers in search of his shorts. Absent-mindedly reaching for the lowest drawer and-

“Wait!” 

You jump, whirling around to catch Gojo sitting up ram-rod straight on the bed, eyes wide, hand reaching out as if to stop you. Swallowing thickly, you ask. “Gojo?”

And he jolts - like the very sound of your voice is sending electricity zapping through his veins. Abruptly scrambling off the bed before resting two hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you away from the drawer. “My shorts are uh- in my wardrobe, heh. Sorry about that.”

Furrowing your brows at the sudden twist, you squirm in his grasp to look at the drawer again. Failing - when Gojo keeps his grip steadfast, “Why’re you acting so-” 

“How about we order take out? My treat?”

And that night, tucking yourself into bed, you should be falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You should be caring less about that strange little outburst of Gojo’s inside his room. You should have realized sooner - those light blue panties you’d worn tonight were gone. No longer in your hamper of old clothes.

And there was only one thing to do. 

---

Gojo thinks he shouldn’t - fuck he knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t even want to- well, that last bit was a lie.

Gojo Satoru first met you about a year ago, when you’d come knocking at his door asking about his ad for a roommate. It was more because he was bored inside this big apartment by himself than anything, really, but here you were all gorgeous and sweet, flashing him a smile that was burned into his mind for the rest of the week, at the very minimum. How could he ever say no?

And when you’d taken to walking around the apartment in those slutty lil’ shorts as a way to get back at his perpetual shirtless-ness? Thin panties just peeping out of the low hem? 

God, it was everything he could do to not run to the bathroom with each little glimpse. He was fucked, so very embarrassingly fucked. 

He just never thought it would get to this point - the first time had been an accident, honestly. When your laundry had gotten mixed up with his. Surely he didn’t remember having such a cute pair of pink panties in his closet? And surely it didn’t mean anything if he just-so-happened to stash them away, right?

At least, that’s what Gojo told himself the first time. And the second. And the third. And shit, it was a bit of an addiction now, and within a year of rooming with you, he’d accumulated a drawer stuffed guiltily with exactly what he shouldn’t be having. 

Gojo Satoru - insufferable campus sweetheart, the dreamy first place on everyone’s To-Fuck list - had been hoarding away your pretty panties. Like the pathetic virgin he pretends he isn’t. 

And so here he was - that dirty little drawer flung open, pants pulled down just enough, one hand flat on the flat surface to steady himself, while the other fisted desperately around his swollen cock - and one of your panties. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart.” he’s hissing, body shuddering in lewd little tremors at that torturous drag of fabric down his length. Squeezing at his thick base, moving fast - filthy up, up, up to thumb along the end of his sopping slit. “Feels s’good- too fucking good hngh-”

Such a pretty, wet gasp escapes him when your soaked, absolutely ruined underwear catches on his veins, tangling around his sensitive shaft. And he’s biting his lip, trying not to make a noise when he threads through the mess down below. 

“Oh fuck, yer killin’ me even when you’re ngh- not here.” he breathes unsteadily, weaving the sticky fabric around his long fingers. Tight - just how he knew you would. “S’like you know what you do t’me with these.”

They were your blue ones, this time - the ones from just last night. The ones you were wearing not even a full day ago. And Gojo has them wrapped daintily around his rock-hard cock, stark against the blushing red at his fat head. Already so drenched in precum as he fucks his fist. 

“Y’looked so p-pretty with these, sweetheart.” he groans over the wet fwip! fwip! fwip! Eyes rolling to the back of his head with each long, feverish stroke. “So pretty being mine. Ngh- so pretty in my- fuck.” 

Slam!

He’s hitting his palm facedown on the wood, knees buckling, eyes scrunching shut with pleasure. 

And that ruined, utterly depraved part of Gojo wonders whether next time he should steal your bras too? Have the full set of you proudly wearing his color like some secret little slut for him. 

He’s letting out a ragged little laugh, oh how cute you’d look all confused. Nipples hard through your flimsy excuse of a t-shirt while you looked around for them. While you asked him for help. 

Oh, just the thought of that has Gojo’s red, furious cock beading glossy drops of precum at his tip. Leaking a sinful, slippery sheen down his wrist. “Ah.” he lets out a guttural groan when his angry dick twitches in his hand, falling onto his elbow on the drawer. Not having the strength - or the sanity - to keep himself up anymore. “Look what you’ve-” Gojo’s eyes catch sight of a flash of red inside, sounding so wrecked. “Look what you’ve done.”

And those obscene red panties are snatched up by his free hand in a second, not even a second wasted before Gojo’s bringing them up to his face. 

Fuck. 

“Look what you’ve done. Look how ngh- filthy you’ve made me.” he whines, muffled. Hips fucking up in quick, uncontrollable little thrusts into his closed fist. Voice a pitch higher as he spits out embarrassing little accusations, “How pathetic. Gettin’ fuck- gettin’ off to this? Me of all hah- people like this? Can’t imagine how f-fucking mad you’d be.”  

Would you figure out it was him? Would you look in his drawer again? Teach him a lesson or two about being such a pathetic little pervert for his roommate. 

Maybe - just maybe - if Gojo plays his cards right, gets on his knees and begs for mercy, then you’d let him keep his little treasure. 

He throws his head back in a humorless little laugh when his aching hand slows down to languid, unforgivable tugs. He had time, anyway, your classes ended late today. Torturous - exactly the way he imagines you’d drive him mad. “Heh- wish this was you.”

You’d be so much meaner, pressing down on that little divot at his tip, flicking teasingly like you were trying to fuck out something delicious. You’d be running your nails down his achy veins, running your soft palms around his painful balls. 

You’d whisper, “This all you got, Toru?”

“Oh fuck!” Gojo moans, raspy little sounds of what sounds like your name filtering through the crevices of his fingers, your panties. “Fuck fuck fuck- gonna cum.” he whines. Heavy balls smacking back into his thighs with each thrust into your imaginary hand. How he wished you were here. He’s managing to wrench his eyes open to spy down at his sloppy cock - needing to see how your cute lil’ panties would look painted all white for him. How he wished you- “Gonna-”

Oh. Fuck. 

You. 

“Aw, why stop now, Gojo?”

You’re leaning against Gojo’s open bedroom door, flashing him such a sultry little smirk. Your voice almost a purr when you echo, “I said…” Before taking two long steps to where he stood frozen, “Why stop now?”

Gojo lets the damp fabric held up to his face drop in guilt - yet the other stays firmly wrapped around that hand cock of his still in hand. 

“S-sweetheart what are you- why-” And perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has terrorized this planet, he’s speechless. Worry-bitten lips sagging open stupidly, “I- this is-”

You cut him off, “So you’re the panty thief.” So close now that Gojo’s dick was throbbing at each heave of your chest, the way you were squeezing your thighs together. Eyes sliding down his body to rest at the mangled mess of your all-new panties around his painfully hard cock. “I knew it.”

“I can explain-”

“All those times pretending to help me?” you bat your lashes in a way that makes him gulp. Words dripping with the same tease he’d imagined in daydreams just like this. “When you were the pervert stealing my panties? Are you even ashamed?”

Gojo flushes an innocent pink, excuses tumbling out of those pretty lips immediately. But they sound like lies even to him.

“This- ngh-” he’s rolling his hips forward when you slide a smaller finger down his arm, between his pecs, almost the way down to those tufts of white. “Fuuuck- y-you’re not mad? Are ya the devil herself cuz you’re gonna- ngh- kill me this way.”

Humming, “Class was canceled, but of course - don’t hah- stop on my account, Gojo.”

“Toru.” he’s gasping out, a low moan wrenching out of him when he’s bowing his body into his fist again. Squeezing - almost warningly - at his hilt. “C-call me Toru. Please.”

And fuck he could’ve cum right then and there at that devilish little smile you give him, biting down on your lower lip - inches from his that it felt like you were biting down on his. Maybe you were, shit Gojo didn’t even know right now. 

“Toru.”

That’s all it takes for Gojo’s lips to be crashing onto yours. Biting back a little whimper at the messy clash of teeth, of spit, because one taste of your candied lips and he was already so addicted. 

“Mmpf-” Gojo gasps, chasing hotly after your lips. Eyes half-lidded to watch the snapping of those delicate strings of saliva, “You’re- you’re so-” And he’s way too impatient to get out his words, licking heatedly at the slit of your mouth. Over and over and over-  “As bad as me- ngh-”

“Are ya sure about that?” you grin, cunt clenching at your roommate’s pained grunt when you pull away. “Because look-”

And the both of you are stuck on the way Gojo’s moving again, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like he didn’t even feel the way his leaky tip was smearing along the front of your sinfully short skirt. 

“Can’t help it.” he whines, kissing down your neck. Hips urging forwards to slip up the thigh-length fabric, and when you don’t pull away, Gojo drags your skirt up, up, up with his pulsing length, “You don’t know what you do to me- fuck.”

His jaw falls slack, ogling at the sight of your pretty pussy on full display for him. Already so glossy with your sweet sweet juices, needy between your restless thighs. Bare. 

And this might be the first time he’s seen a cunt in real life but Gojo already knows - he already feels - that she’s gonna be the death of him. 

Sharp teeth nip at your bottom lip, tugging. “What the fuck-” Gojo breathes - more to himself than anything. “What the fuck what the-” Bringing down his free hand to run the pads of his long fingers along your puffy folds, as if to confirm whether this was real. “-fuck! Going out like this? You’re even dirtier than me, huh?.” 

“What can I do?” Sliding your arms around his broad shoulders, palms running along the heated skin. Back arching to grind down on his hand, “Someone stole all my panties.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, because Gojo doesn’t hesitate for even a second before he’s bringing his dripping wet fingers up to his lips. Smoldering eyes looking right into yours when he pops them in his mouth. Sucking them dry. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.”

In a split second, you’re being splayed out on Gojo’s king-sized bed like such a slut. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw. And it happens so fast that you almost think you’re seeing things - but, no, the way you’re bouncing against the silky sheets was real. Your skirt bunching up at your waist was real. 

Gojo’s hazy gaze getting stuck right at the spot between your legs was real. 

“Shiiiit.” he murmurs, low and gravelly, like he’s moving through molasses. Stalking towards your trembling figure as if hypnotized, “Oh, she looks even prettier this way.”

You shuffle in embarrassment, pressing your thighs together, “Toru-”

But he doesn’t hear you, instantly scrambling onto the bed. “No- no no no no no-” Just wrenching your legs apart with his hands. “No, you don’t get to hide th-this from me, you don’ know how long I’ve waited for this. How much I’ve imagined-”

You’re gasping when he runs the tip of his index between your sopping wet slit, coating his fingers in your juices once more. Teasing. “N’ so wet. This all f’me? God, can’t even- ngh-”

“So eager.” you mumble, fingers threading through Gojo’s soft locks to pull him in so close. To drag him towards where you needed him the most. “Why don’t you jus’ shut up- N’ put that big mouth of yours into use somewhere else?”

His eyes widen, words a whisper, “C-can I?” He doesn’t wait for your response before flipping the two of you so easily. Having you toppling precariously on his lap now, “Can I really? Never done this before.”

Never?

It’s not before he lets out a shy huff, that you realize that you said that out loud. “So what? S’that bad?” Two large hands groping and kneading your ass to keep you in place, “Ya didn’t actually ngh- believe all those stories on campus, did ya?”

Squirming at the feeling of his massive girth rubbing up against your swollen folds, “D-doesn’t matter.” You grit out, “You can…”

And no sooner are you seeing Gojo’s megawatt smile, you’re already feeling it between your thighs. Being wrestled up like some glorified ragdoll, dragging your sloppy cunt all the way up to straddle Gojo’s pretty face. 

“So, this is what she ngh- looks like.” he whines, hot breath lapping at your quivering pussy. “Shit, she’s so wet I could almost-” You’re gasping when the man below you simply sticks his awaiting tongue out, admiring your pussy while letting your syrupy sweet slick drip! drip! drip! down his throat. “This all f’me?” 

The only thing you can give him right now is a needy little whine - which makes Gojo kiss the fat of your ass with a sharp smack! Biting his lip at the way it jiggles against his hand, “Tell me, where did my feisty girl go?”

That lewd little nickname has you scoffing in pathetic frustration, your grip searing on his scalp when you force his obscene mouth closer. “Y-you seriously need to-” Pulling, “-shut up, Toru.”

And oh, you’d played right into Gojo’s devilish hands. This was exactly what he wanted - to have his face stuffed between your limp legs, ready mouth meshing messily with the folds of your dripping cunt. “There she is.” he moans, the tip of his tongue slurping up the sloppy dredges of your slick. Carding between your pussy lips, “Oh- fuck there she is. Yeah use me like that- use me.”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute and you wonder how. Because Gojo was lapping at your cunt so feverishly, everywhere - from your inner thighs, to your folds, to just around the circles of your sloppy entrance like he wanted to taste it all. And couldn’t decide where to go first. 

“T-Toru.” you let out a honey sweet mewl of his name when the tip of his nose is rubbing against your clit. “There. Right there-”

Eyes rolling to the back of his head when he easily locates your sensitive nub. Wrapping those ruby lips around your clit to give an experimental suck. 

Shit, he could almost pass out from how heavenly you look on top guiding him. Your entire body jolting with each roll of his hot tongue, giving him such a pretty view of your tits up your silky shirt. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all into his mouth when he toys with your pulsing clit. 

“Oh fuck!” your hips are darting away with each zap of electricity sent down your spine. 

Which, for Gojo - who’s only ever dared to dream up this moment on those lonely nights - isn’t enough. 

“Know m’new to this, sweetheart, but stop bein’ nice n’ fuckin-” He’s pulling on the crease of your waist, dragging you to rest your entire weight on his face - his mouth. “-sit.” You’re keening when Gojo forces you to collapse on his soft tongue, bullying past your puffy folds and into that sloppy ring of muscle. Jus’ barely dipping past the resistance, “I said use me so fuckin’ use me. Don’ care if I can’t breathe - if I fucking suffocate- ngh- m’gonna die if you don’t just sit.”

“Fine.” You cry out when the curve of his tongue is molding into your gummy walls, pushing recklessly past. Not even fucking easing you into it before he’s fucking you on his tongue. Calculated, mean little thrusts in search of all your sweet spots. “No half-assing then, m’kay?”

Though, you had the feeling that he would do anything but. 

“Good, now keep still.” he’s scolding, one hand starting up again in those slow, satisfied tugs on his length. “Please keep still.” And the other dancing between your legs to push a finger inside your snug cunt. “Mmm it’s a tight fit, can feel ya clenching around me. Ngh- always wondered how it’d feel- where that would be.”

Blinking away the haze in your eyes, you look down at where Gojo was already locked on you, “Th-that?”

“That.” he breathes into your cunt, voice reverent as he speeds up. “S’your pussy gonna tell me where your good spot is? Gonna help me ngh- learn?”

And to your embarrassment - and Gojo’s smug satisfaction, it only takes a few more hurried strokes of his tongue before he’s nudging against your g-spot. Both the texture of his tongue and his long, cold fingers curling to assault the poor bundle of nerves. 

Your body bows deeper as if on auto-pilot, “Oh- fuck! You fucking- hngh”

He’s snickering at the way you’re so responsive, cock hard - and only swelling girthier in his fist with each adorable moan falling from your lips. 

“Oh yeah? There? Ya like this?” he moans, “Ya like shutting up the ngh- p-pervert that steals your panties with your cunt?” 

Getting faster. More attuned to his feral need. 

Lips smacking in tempo with those obscene squelches, you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his cheeks hollow. Fingers still so rapid, moving to make out and toy so messily with you clit - untimed, sloppy but fuck did you love it. 

“Y-yes.” you’re shoving his mouth guiltlessly deeper. Letting his long tongue explore every crevice and inch of you. Sloppier. So, so filthy. “Love it- fuck- you’re such a fast fucking learner.”

“I know.”

There was that cocky Gojo Satoru you were used to, lips curling into a strawberry pink smile around your clit - all glossy and sweet with a sheen of your slick. Making such a mess of the lower half of his face, his chin, shit, all the way down to his jaw. 

“M’close-” you choke out at the sight, “M’so fuckin’ close- gonna- gonna cum on your tongue, Toru.”

“Look at you ruining me.” his words hit you hard on your sensitive cunt, sending shockwaves up your arched spine. Obscene little smacks of his lips following your barely-lucid mewls.“Absolutely defiling me. Are ya proud of nghhh fuck- yourself?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a strained, “Yes! Yes yes yes yes- God, m’so close, Toru/ Gonna cum m’gonna-”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming at first, just that you’re riding Gojo’s unfairly pretty face in harsh grinds - just the way he liked it. Jaw grinding against your cunt, chin hitting you with each slutty jerk of your hips, letting you use him all you want to ride through your high. 

And his fingers are digging into your hips, stopping you from pulling away even when you were snow. Even when you’re sobbing in oversensitivity. So painfully good. 

“Ngh- T-Toru–” you’re slurring out, his name thick on your tongue. “M’not gonna cum on your dick if you k-keep hah- acting this way.”

Only then does a pussydrunk Gojo Satoru raise his bleary eyes back up at you. Giving you a strained little grunt of acceptance, before parting ways with your pussy with a lingering, wet kiss on your clit. Barely-audible as he whispers, “Gonna see ya soon.”

You don’t have the time to think about his newfound addiction. Because in all of three seconds, he’s plopping you back down so prettily on his lap. Purposefully feeding your sopping wet slit his weeping red tip. 

“Please.” Gojo’s usually-arrogant grin has fallen into such a pretty pout with one graze of his length sandwiched between your folds. “I did good, right? Please ngh- so I th-think if I made you cum then I get to hah- fuck you how I want.”

And it’s not that you didn’t appreciate it before - but looking at his thick tip pushing up against your cunt right now has you recognizing that shit, Gojo is massive. 

Fat head blushing a pretty reddish, leaking so messily down, down, down those glistening veins at his side and to the creamy ring at his base - from when he’d cum, just from eating you out, you realize with a jolt. His girth so intimidatingly thick, long enough that you know you won’t be walking for a week straight, at least. All throbbing and angry with every second he isn’t buried to the hilt inside your cunt. 

Gojo Satoru is massive. 

“Like what ya see?” he echoes your thoughts, a soaked thumb coming down to pry apart your glossy folds. Grinning at the way your hole was already so needy and clenching around nothing. “Think m’the ngh- perfect size for this pretty pussy?”

Through it all, you find it in yourself to muse, “Only one way to find out. Gonna let me be your first, Toru?”

And then he’s pushing in, shallow, high little gasps bursting from his lips with each inch being bullied into your plush cunt. 

“O-oh fuck-” Gojo can’t stop himself from taking a good look at the way your pussy lips are bulging around him. Jaw dropping at the way your greedy entrance is only sucking him up more and more - trying to bite off more than you can chew with the way he was in so deep but barely even halfway in yet. “S’too good- oh my god- fuck I think m’gonna die. Is it s’pposed to feel th-this good?”

You’re running a hand gingerly through Gojo’s mussed-up hair, smoothing down the sides sticking up where you’d been pulling on it. “S’alright, Toru.” you soothe, letting him grind up into you. Trying to fit more - all of it. “You’ve got it- you’ve hah-”

You let out a pathetic little whine when his tip kisses your cervix, legs flexing around his toned waist. 

“Oh- ohhh fuck-” he’s barely able to string together coherent sentences now. Eyes falling till their half-lidded, body moving before his mind when he pulls yours stuck to his. “S-soo good n’ I haven’t even- oh!” His voice goes a few octaves higher when Gojo finally starts moving. “How can- it feel this good, hng-”

And shit for being inexperienced, he was fucking up into you so mean. Just in short little thrusts up like he was trying to fuck you even deeper - trying to squeeze inside more of himself impossibly. 

“Some- ah- some more, Toru-” 

He listens, and the stretch - fuck. Gojo wasn’t even trying yet, but his girth was already massaging your gummy walls so dizzyingly good. 

“Y-you’re so- ngh-” you graze your lips across his in what can barely be called a kiss. Too messy. Too depraved. “-so deep.” Sliding a hand about midway down your stomach to press down, “Can feel you all the way in here.”

Your words are sticking to Gojo like a second skin, driving him so fucking mad. Hips smacking up into you deep until his heavy balls were slapping your ass, sculpted pelvis crashing into yours.

“Stop talking.“ he spits, “Stop talking stop talking stop- talking.” Each word is punctuated by a desperate, messy stroke. Pushing you further and further up Gojo’s body from the obscene impact. “Stop hah- talking or m’gonna cum.”

He wasn’t lying - you could already feel the twitch of Gojo’ length rubbing up against your hidden sweet spots. The furious throbbing of his veins stretching out your elastic walls. 

And yet you’re still wailing stubbornly, “B-but Toru it feels so good.” Partially truth, partially because when the fuck do you get to see him so utterly wrecked like this. Sanity dancing away from him with each syrupy moan leaving your mouth, “Your cock is too good- ngh- feels-”

“Shut up.”

Gojo can only take that much of your nonsense before he’s stuffing your mean mouth full with a flimsy piece of fabric from somewhere on the bed- no. A strangely familiar pair of panties. 

“Heh, s’much ohhh fuck- better.” he beams with pride when you’re gagging and tearing up so adorably around the light blue fabric. Ramming his cock up harder - stronger, as if daring you to make a little comment about it. “Should’ve ah fuck- known you wouldn’t make it easy f’me.”

As if to prove his point, he gives your ravaged clit a little smack! before teasing and rolling his thumb exactly the way you’d taught him to with his tongue.

And he’s scrambling to sit up, carrying your boneless body with him. 

The new angle has Gojo seeing stars, penetrating your gummy walls deeper, hitting that familiar g-spot he’s mapped out by now. “Here?” he manages to cackle, a big arm wrapping around your waist. “Right here? S’my cock hitting th-that ngh- good spot? Yer pussy is fuuuck so much easier to u-understand than I ah- thought.”

Reeling back to bounce you on his thick cock. Crashing into it again. And again and again and-

Since you can’t snap back - or even beg for more - you only let out muffled little moans through the gag in your mouth. Thighs burning as you push back in pathetic little thrusts to somehow meet Gojo’s mindless cadence.

“Oh yeah?” he drags, leaning back to help you ride him properly. “Yeah yeah do i-it hah- like that. Do it juuuust like that.” A harsh thumb rolls into your clit, making you stutter and grind yourself down messily. “Fuck- Yeah ruin me- ngh- just like that.”

His words were jagged - uneven. Spitting out of his plump lips like he didn’t even know they were every time Gojo’s fat, leaky tip was gliding across your cervix, your g-spot. Leaving possessive little bruises to claim you from the inside out. 

“C-close.” you slur out, not even sure if he could hear over the dull slap of his balls on your ass, and the greedy squelches of your cunt. “More, Toru.”

Yet your sinful, sickly sweet noises have him freezing - if only for a split-second. Pussydrunk eyes going wide, jaw falling slack in such awe. 

But before you can fully appreciate this sight, he’s starting back his depraved thrusts again. Bouncing you harder - faster. Just dragging you along every ridge and bump of his swollen cock. Fingers just a needy blur toying with your poor clit. 

“M-more?” he whines into the crook of your neck, voice breaking at the end. “More. More?” He speaks up, like a mantra. Each word sending you spiraling down Gojo’s merciless cock, Panting, “Ever since you fuck- started rooming w’me, wanted this- wanted you to hah- be my first.” Holding you in such a vice-like grip as he splits you apart on his aching cock. Harder. “You’ve ruined me-” he spits against your lips, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’ know how many times I’ve cum to your pretty panties. Ruined me- ruined me- fuck m’so close- ruined me.” Violent, even. 

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. 

And it’s only taking a few more unsteady jabs into your g-spot before a wave of euphoria is crashing over you. “Hngh-” you spasm in Gojo’s arms, his eyes going wide in wonder when your cunt squeezes him so fucking tight- only to-

“F-fuck!” he whines, connecting your lips to his. Kissing you even with your panties still stuffed into your mouth. And Gojo’s cumming and cumming so hard he doesn’t even think he’s breathing. Intertwining his tongue with yours to muffle his overstimulated moans, wrapping around your sweet slick-soaked panties in the middle. The contrast of his soft tongue with the lazy fabric of your panties only making you milk his poor cock harder. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck- Take it. Take it, my girl.”

You moan incoherently, going insane at the way he was filling you up with long, thick ropes of cum. Fucking deeper and deeper up into you to paint your plushy walls from the inside. 

“S’all I’ve- ngh wanted.” he murmurs throatily, such a fucking mess now. Face flushed, eyes glassy with tears, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth with the way he was sucking lewdly on your tongue. “You’re all I-I’ve ever wanted.”

Shit, he hasn’t cum this hard in his life.

Finally having had enough of shutting up your smart mouth, Gojo slows down to deep little grinds - still moving. Still trying to hold back his moans at that creamy ring around his hilt, at the globs of seed trickling out of your poor overfilled pussy. 

“Hah- Toru-” you whine when he pries away the fabric in your mouth. Shuddering with the swipe of his finger along your clit, “C-could almost ngh- forgive you…”

“The blue one.”

“What?” you’re staring at him in confusion, and Gojo’s fucked-out grin only spreads wider. 

“That was for the b-blue one.” you gasp when his balls suddenly squeeze so painfully underneath you. Cock jerking in interest, “Y’gonna have me make up for that whole drawer full of panties, sweetheart?”

A/N. VIRGIN GOJO BRAIN ROT GOES BRRRRRRRR

Plagiarism not authorized.

[squoosheez]

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) - G.S.

Synopsis. In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, FWḂ! Gojo, slight Sukuna x reader, rough VERY jealous séx, Satoru goes feraI omg, unprotected, FWḂ-to-lovers, thígh riding, fíngering, creampíe, overstím, spítting, implied thréesome, he’s a bit mean and possessive, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. Heheh, hoping y’all have a lovely week coming up <3

“-n’ there’s this really great café downtown with those cupcakes you like-”

“Toru.”

“-I’ll get ya some for that kick you need after a lecture with Yaga. Speaking of Yaga-”

“Toru-”

“-he’s the one in need of a kick. I swear, that man gave me a B on my presentation just because I caught him in the middle of his interpretive dance routine-”

“Satoru!”

At this, Satoru pauses in the middle of buckling up his jeans to throw a grave nod your way. “I know, right?” Promptly sauntering over to pick up his t-shirt from where it had been thrown onto your bedroom floor, “It gave me nightmares for a few days, too. Which is why we should go to that café tomorrow and then…”

You roll your eyes - partially out of frustration, partially out of necessity to rip your stare away from those sculpted shoulders on display. Decorated in angry, red scratches running down, down, down. Somehow, you manage to grit out, “Satoru I have a uh- date.”

And ah, was it a sight to behold - because, perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has wreaked havoc on this planet, he’s stunned into silence. 

Still very groggy from sleep, still very sinfully shirtless standing at the foot of your bed. His kiss-bitten lips fall slack as you plow on, “And it’s just- I can’t make it tomorrow night because he invited me to his party.” 

Party? This was the first time you canceled one of your…appointments with your friend-with-benefits - and it was for some party? Satoru could do parties, too - much better ones than this loser, he’s sure. Ones that would actually warrant you bailing on him.

Shaking away the strange thoughts ringing in his mind, he spits, “Who?” Just about all he could get out now. 

Whoever he was - it was true about the parties. Why would you want to waste any time going to something like that when Satoru was the one known for them on campus. Him and Suku-

“It’s Sukuna.”

“Oh.”

---

It was stupid - it was ridiculous. And you don’t know why Sukuna ever agreed to this scheme, but here you were, glued to his side like his favorite lil’ plaything for the night. 

“What?” you shout for the nth time tonight, scooting closer on the couch. And you see his lips move, yet, to your frustration - despite being seated so flush against you - no sound comes out of them. 

Whatever they say about Sukuna and Satoru’s parties were true - and then some. Because right now, it was so loud you could barely hear yourself think, let alone whatever Sukuna was talking about. Heaving out a sigh, you get ready to give up and suggest joining the thrumming dance floor - before, a large, soft hand glides down to your waist. 

Fingers digging into the plush of your hips as Sukuna yanks you easily to plop down onto his waiting lap. Thighs strong and steady underneath yours, meeting your surprised gaze with his smug one, “This better?”

His hot breath fans the shell of your ear, sending traitorous shivers running along your spine - all the way down to where Sukuna was resting hand right above where your tight dress was hiking up. 

Involuntarily, you find yourself nodding along, “Y-yeah. Much better.”

“Good.”

Fuck, you could feel each and every rumble of his broad chest against yours as he continues the conversation like nothing happened. The faint tap! tap! tap! of Sukuna’s fingers drumming on your squirming hips to the beat of the pounding music. 

And it’s really hard to forget where you are, yet it hits you like a semi-truck - five of them, in fact - when his dark eyes widen at something over your shoulders. The steady beat of his fingers halting abruptly, “Oh?”

You knew what that look meant - knew who it meant. Because, really, there was only ever one person that could command as much attention in such a hazy, packed campus party.

Dipping your head, you hastily ask, “Is he looking over at us?”

To which Sukuna finally tears his gaze away, amusement and something else so dark swirling behind his gaze when he grabs the back of your throat. Whispering against the skin, “More than looking, pretty. Satoru’s planning my funeral and dancing on my grave already.” Moving up, voice dropping to a low, low whisper, “All according to plan, of course. N’ I think…” You jolt as he bites down on your earlobe, hard. “-that we should give him a lil’ show, hm?”

You bite back a soft moan, palms smoothing over Sukuna’s pecs to steady yourself. “And just what did you have in mind?”

“A little bit of this.” he grins, eyes flickering over behind you. “A little bit of that. And some of-” Sukuna chuckles at the way you’re so responsive underneath his touch, bucking when he gives your ass a tight squeeze. Tracing right up, up, up the middle of your spine, “-this.” Lips just inches away from yours now, close. “And you get him as a new boyfriend, and I get killed for taking what I can’t have.”

You feel something soft - fleeting. 

And then immediately Sukuna’s pulling away, those lips that were just barely one yours curling up into such a sly smirk, “Yo, Satoru.”

You stiffen at the name - and the burning hole being stared into your back right now - whipping your head around to be met face-to-face with a towering Satoru. Brows furrowed, biceps rippling when he crosses his arms, lips drawn tight as he hisses through his teeth, “Seems the two of you are having a lot of fun.”

Oh, were you thankful for Sukuna’s sharp mouth right about now. Because while you’re still sitting there with your mouth stupidly agape, he muses, “Mhm, a lot of fun.” Thumbing your face back towards him, “Isn’t that right, pretty?”

Fuck, those were fighting words, ones that had Satoru looming closer - practically sandwiching you between the two men.

“I’m sure she can speak for herself.” he snaps back, slender fingers circling your wrist. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“I dunno, Toru.” And, well, maybe you were an idiot. Maybe you were a mastermind, because you only bat your lashes up at Satoru so deceivingly innocently. “Kuna here-” relishing in the way he flinches at the nickname, “-was jus’ telling me how great of a boyfriend he’d be. Right?”

The other man nods, “Since this pretty lil’ thing is single, thought I might as well take a shot.”

“Please.” Satoru was pulling you closer against him now, irritated huffs prickling waves of goosebumps across your skin. Words venomous, “Some boyfriend he’d be. I’m sure he’d do nothing other than give you weak dick and bore you to death.”

Sukuna scoffs, “Right, because yours is so much better?”

“You really think you have what it takes to satisfy this lil’ minx?”

Both men were gritting their teeth, trapping you between them. People were starting to stare now - some even pulling their phones out to start recording in case of a fight. And before the argument could escalate until that point, you catch Sukuna’s eye. Cutting off whatever next retort was on the tip of his tongue with a short, subtle shake of your head. 

“Well then…” he instead purrs, grinning as if he was in on some inside joke between the two of you - on purpose, of course, just to watch Satoru’s eyes grow harder. “Guess if I’m ‘boring her to death’ then you-” Sukuna gives you a little push, nudging you towards Satoru’s chest. “-can teach her all about fun.”

Before you can react, two strong arms are looping your waist, helping you stand up - and pulling you clean off of Sukuna’s lap. 

You’re hit with Satoru’s expensive, heady cologne - and his chest against your back, rock-hard, chest thumping wildly. You blink up at that uncharacteristically clenched jaw, “Toru?”

Now, you’ve seen him moody, you’ve seen him irritated - but never to this extent. Positively fuming, teeth grit, jolting at the mere sound of your voice as if his whole body was hit with a wave of electricity. Like some hidden, primal part of himself was being poked so dangerously awake when you softly intertwine your fingers with his. All gentle against his almost bruising hold, you question, “Are you alri-”

You don’t get to finish the question, because all it takes is another slow, leering grin flashed at you from Sukuna before Satoru mutters, gravelly. “Excuse us, then. I must have a talk with my woman.”

Starting to walk in long, fast strides upstairs - with you all stumbling and trying to keep up behind him. 

Urgent. Dangerous.

“Extra room’s unlocked, you two!” you hear Sukuna call out after the both of you. And the last sight you see of him is when he mouths a silent “You’re welcome.”. One hand flashing you a thumbs up, the other adjusting the crotch of his pants. “Have fun.”

Satoru only clicks his tongue, moving very purposefully towards where Sukuna’s bedroom was instead.

“Woah- Toru, slow down.” you yelp, out of breath at his ruthless pace. But of course, since this is Satoru, he won’t have it any way other than stopping immediately in his tracks. Turning briefly around to you - only to wrap two arms around your waist, throwing you so easily over his shoulder like some ragdoll. Large palms tugging down the hem of your ass as he continues walking. “Y-you’re so-”

So what? Mean? Jealous? Playing right into your hands?

You don’t even know - nor do you really care, because Satoru finally reaches his destination.

“Fuck- here.” he spits.

Slam!

The door is flung open so hard it almost rattles off its hinges - and you aren’t faring any better. Because no sooner has Satoru stepped inside, he’s throwing you onto the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. 

The mattress dips as he slowly makes his way up to you, your legs quiver at how much he just looked like a man starved - eyes half-lidded and crazed, hair ruffled. Having finally found a full meal in years. Darkly eyeing down the way you’re splayed out like such a slut on the mattress, dress hiking up with each bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“So-” Satoru’s fingers reach out to lazily unbuckle the straps of your heels. Lingering much more than necessary. “-got anything to say?”

You bite your lower lip, holding back a delighted grin while his hands dance up your thigh to fiddle with that garter you knew he’d love. Slow. Agonizingly slow. Cocking your head in faux-confusion, “Hmm, like what?”

“Oh I dunno.” Satoru muses, saccharine sweet. And oh you could tell by his tone that he didn’t like that - didn’t want to like it. Running his fingers feather-light all the way down your legs to fling that useless garter onto the floor. “How about a ‘oh I’m so sorry, Toru, for bailing on you and acting like such a slut with the biggest asshole on campus jus’ to rile you up.’” 

You bristle at his mockingly high tone, oh yeah, your plan worked - hell, maybe too well. 

Teeth clenched, you hiss, “Well what are you gonna do about it, Toru?” Jutting your chin in defiance, “You’re not even my boyfriend. Maybe he jus’ fucks me better than you.”

“Say that again.”

Fuck, it takes you a second to even recognise his voice as your familiar friend-with-benefits. So jagged and raw. 

And yet, you’re still running your mouth - so close to his. Too close. “Maybe he jus’ fucks me be-”

Now, usually you were the one that’d shut up Satoru mid-sentence - this time, however, he’s the one crashing his lips against yours. Swallowing the rest of that sentence in such a messy clash of teeth, and spit, and desperation. 

Pulling ever-so-slightly on your glossy lower lip with his teeth, “Say it again, sweetheart.”

Oh, you knew you shouldn’t. Not one bit. But you do it anyway, letting out a muffled, “He f-”

And again. And again and again and-

Each and every time Satoru’s kissing away your mean little words, a large hang coming up around your throat to thumb apart your lips further. “Open.” he hisses against your mouth, so angry. 

It’s as if on autopilot when you do, bruised lips sagging open. Leaving the perfect lil’ opening for Satoru to spit onto your lolling tongue, once. Twice. Thrice. Until your bleary eyes are snapping open, whining against Satoru’s iron-hold fist when you pathetically try to pull away in embarrassment.

Because shit, let it be known that Gojo Satoru has perfect aim - except for when it comes to you. Letting the steady strip of spit splatter against the side of your mouth, gliding his thumb to smear it all over your lips.

“How cute.” Satoru coos, eyes hooded. He gives your pouty mouth a final, chaste peck, sucking softly on your bottom lip. Chuckling, “Makin�� me almost forget you were locking lips with some other bitch earlier.”

And Satoru has the audacity to laugh - laugh - hoarse, and humorless at the way your jaw drops open in disbelief. Humming into your throat, “Yer right, though, m’not your boyfriend.” He leaves little bite marks down your racing pulse, your collarbone, your tits spilling out of your sinful dress. Eyes just devouring you through his long lashes, “But that doesn’t make you any less mine.”

Sitting back on the mattress, all it takes him is a simple tug on your hips to seat you so prettily on his lap. Your legs trembling around his thick thighs, gasping at the feeling of something so rock-hard right under your clothed pussy. 

“Since ya like riding thighs so much, sweetheart-” Bunching your dress up at your hips, gripping your waist - tight. “-let’s see how you like mine.”

“What- oh ngh- fuck-” you’re gasping when he just starts dragging your sloppy hips down his thigh. Long, harsh movements that don’t even ease you into it. 

“Shit.” Satoru groans at the feeling of your cunt drooling, seeping into his skin already. He’s angling his head to spy on the heavenly view - hooking a finger around your drenched panties. “This damn thing is-” Pulling - tearing. “-in the way.”

You’re gasping when Satoru pulls back to look at you with a content grin, dangling the flimsy fabric around his finger like a badge of honor. “You’re- ngh- buying me a new one.”

“Oh, anything for you.” he’s grazing his teeth along your earlobe, fingers finding their way back on your hips to grind them on his thigh, back and forth. Up and down up and down up and- “Or is that what you wanted me to say?”

And shit Satoru is so mean with the way he gives your ass a sharp smack! Pulling your whiny face closer, grinning sternly against your lips. “Why don’t you ask that new boytoy of yours to buy you some, huh?” 

“B-but-”

“B-b-but-” he mocks, bouncing his knees up and down to get you to slide your cunt down his long thighs faster. Puffy folds spreading so shamefully open - so shamefully good. “You were so happy being such a slut for him before, right?” Just goading on your poor self to huff and puff in a way that made his cock twitch wildly. “So why are you here? With me?”

You’re stubbornly keeping your lips sealed shut to keep yourself from crying out - and oh, Satoru didn’t like that. Almost as much as he didn’t like seeing you giving those beautiful heart-eyes at some other bastard.

“Oh? Playing shy now?” Smack! “What happened to the slut from earlier, huh?” Bouncing his knee faster. The pads of his long fingers sting into your skin, sure to leave bruises for him to admire later - and for some people to take note of. Pulling - drawing your cunt to hump him like a bitch in heat. “Tha’s alright, pretty. I get it.” 

And Satoru - mean, mean Satoru - waits until your features soften in relief, almost letting out a sigh - before dipping a hand down to brush a thumb at your pretty clit. Hard. “Guess I’ll jus’ have to bring her out.”

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl, nails digging into Satoru’s shoulders when he starts to draw frenzied, methodical little circles on your throbbing clit. “S’too- good- oh my god-”

“‘Toru’ works jus’ fine, sweetheart.” 

But oh for how confident Satoru was talking you into insanity, he can’t help but gape in wonder down below him, awe-struck with how sloppy you were. He could see you sweet sweet juices trailing down his palm, that glossy sheen on his thigh. “You’re so dripping wet, pretty. Who’re you this wet for? Me or-” Satoru’s free hand comes up to squish your cheeks together into an embarrassing pout, turning your head to the adjacent wall, where Sukuna had a framed photograph of himself - because of course he did. “-him?”

Fuck, Satoru can’t even be mad at the way he feels your cunt clench in surprise - because the feeling is so heavenly. His pretty girl, getting off on just his thigh.

Hips stuttering as you move faster - sloppier. So, so filthily all the way from around his knee just till where you could feel the curve of his massive erection. 

He doesn’t even have to move your hips for you anymore - you’re moving as if on instinct at this point. And it makes him smirk, “Heh, such a slutty lil’ thing aren’t ya? Gettin’ off on my thigh?” Feeling you push your hips down hard - so hard. Pelvis desperately trying to hit all your sweet spots, “N’ who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a whimpering “Y-you.”

But, of course, that wasn’t enough. And Satoru’s only quirking his fingers just enough on your clit to make you cry out loud. “Yeah tha’s more like it. Louder now - who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

“You-”

“N’ who got you this fucking wet?”

You cry out when Satoru angles his leg up ever-so-slightly to watch gravity slide you faster down his thigh. Clit catching so fucking obscenely along the fabric of his pants. Ruthless.

“F-fuck you, Toru!”

“Mhmmm, thought so.” His hot tongue darts out to catch those big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the unforgiving stimulation. Muscled thighs burning lightly now - faster -  fingers so erratic. Only getting even more so. “Cuz you’re mine aren’t ya?”

You cum so hard - violent, even - that you don’t realize when you are. Just that you’re letting out a broken sob of Satoru’s name while he toys so relentlessly with your clit through your high.

Flashes of white in your vision, your heartbeat in your ears. So good that you’re almost tearing apart his button-up to shreds, hips jerky and sensitive as you your sloppy cunt gushes all over Satoru’s thigh. And, fuck, you’ve never felt so much like such a slut than when you look down to catch the glossy coating all over it. 

One that Satoru swipes thumb at - pooling the syrupy slick on his fingerpad before bringing up to his pretty pink lips and-

Pop! 

“Mmm.” He groans, muffled. “Fuck, you’re so sweet - could taste you forever.” Eyes rolling to the back of his head at your addictive taste, “Almost makes me forget that you didn’t answer my last question.”

And you don’t know what you’re reeling more from - the way that Satoru throws you around so easily, pushing you back until you’re splayed out against the plush mattress, shaky legs on his shoulders, arms around his neck. Or from the realization that shit, you’d been too busy losing your absolute sanity to answer his question. 

“I- I didn’t hear.” you make up an excuse, heels digging into the muscles of Satoru’s shoulders now. “I’m yours, Tor-”

“Now now, don’t try that with me, sweetheart.” Satoru cuts off your flurry of apologies, kissing softly at the ankle beside his neck while he pulls off your dress and bra. You didn’t need those, anyway. “Guess I just hafta prove it to ya, right?”

And fuck was he well and fully intent on proving it to you. Because the words are barely out of his mouth before he’s peeling down his drenched pants - and those unnecessary boxers right along with it, too. 

Satoru hisses when his painfully hard erection smacks against those toned abs, smearing precum in a small, filthy little pool. So so angry with the need to be inside your tight pussy - to prove to you from the inside out that you were his. 

“Ya like what you see?” he notices your fixed stare at his cock. Greedily following the precum beading at his fat, red head, making its way between Satoru’s prominent veins. To those tufts of white way down, down, down- “Hey there.” You’re startled out of your little reverie by two wet fingers being snapped in your face, “As flattered as I am, this is actually my favorite part.”

And fuck you could see why it was.

Because it felt so sinful to watch with bated breath at the way Satoru fists his swollen cock, gliding his weeping tip between your swollen folds. Letting your pretty pussy slobber all over him. Up and down. Again. And again. Teasing. 

“P-please, Toru-” you whine around the fifth time he’s “accidentally” nudging at your poor clit. Hips bucking up in need for more more more- “Enough teasing, jus’ wan’ you ngh- inside me.”

To Satoru, no sweeter words have been spoken. But he still manages to curl his lips into a leering smirk at your fucked-out, needy self. “Funny. Coming from someone who shit- pretty, you’re pussy’s trynna suck me up - who couldn’t wait to bail on me tonight for some other hah- jerk.” He presses his thick tip down on your clit, on purpose. “Would’ve fucked you ngh- real nicely, tonight, y’know? What a shame.” 

You can only watch when he draws his hips back, lining up right with your sloppy hole. “What a shame m’gonna ah- fuck you like the slut you are right now.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s pushing in - to your snug cunt, to your fucking lungs it felt like. 

“Oh- oh fuck, Toru-” you keen, back arching off the bed at the stretch. Satoru’s girth was rubbing up against your gummy walls and stretching them out so good. All the way until all you could feel was the rapid thump! thump! thump! of his throbbing cock pushing between your legs. “God, s’too big-”

“No no no, you don’t get to say that.” Satoru spits into your open mouth, hips jutting forward like some animal in short, shallow grinds to bully himself deeper. “You don’t get to fuck- ngh- act all coy when you brought this upon yourself.” His words come out faster - more slurred. Falling out faster and faster as his hips do, “Not when you decided t-to act like a lil’ slut hah- n’ guess what?”

Whether it was a rhetorical question or not - you weren’t sure. All you know is that you’re mewling up tearily at such a feral Satoru, “W-what?”

To which he only smiles against your lips, hips suddenly going still. Dangerously still. “N’ that means m’gonna fuck you like one.”

Before you can even react, he’s pushing in all in one go. Fuck, it never got easier even after so long. 

“Oh- fuck I can’t take it- all-” you cry helplessly as he keeps pushing past that first ring of resistance. The curve of his cock massaging all those hidden sweet spots inside while he keeps splitting you apart deeper and deeper - not daring to even slow down. Not until Satoru’s well satisfied with the kiss of your bruised cervix against his thick head ,heavy balls smacking against your marked-up ass. 

“See? Knew you could take it, you always do.”

And then he’s moving - not with the slow, persistent determination from before, no. Satoru was so animalistic, bouncing you unapologetically on the mattress. 

Hands keeping your hips still to let him ram his entire cock inside your tight pussy. Over and over and-

“Still don’t think you’re not- fuck- mine, sweetheart?” Satoru runs a hand through his hair to see you better, to drink in the sight of your puffy folds bulging around his cock. Struggling to take in each mean thrust, “Because this seems ngh- reeeeal convincing that you are.”

You scrunch your brows in a pathetic plea, “I-I am yours, Toru- ngh-”

But he only brings his ear closer, “What was th-that? Didn’t hah- hear you-” Hands pushing apart your legs until they burned at the stretch. Until you were so shamefully on display for him, “You hah- need more convincing? Oh, I see.”

“I don’t! Oh- T-ngh”

It’s all you can do to let out teary, broken moans when Satoru rolls his hips harder. So carefully practiced with the way he locates your sweet spot easily. 

“Yeah? You hah- like that?” he groans, words punctuated by a deep, harsh thrust. All hitting the bulls-eye each and every time. “Like me f-fuckin’ you like you’re mine?”

At this point, you’re scrambling at the damp sheets, the headrest, Satoru’s shoulders - just anything and everything to hold onto whatever’s left of your sanity - which seemed to be slipping away with each press of Satoru’s head against your g-spot. 

But it still wasn’t enough.

Languidly, he brings a hand over to pinch your ravaged clit between two fingers. Having you whine so prettily with each roll of his fingertips. “Answer the question, pretty.”

“Yes!” you gasp, feet kicking at the sheer overstimulation. “I love it- ngh shit shit shit- I love it, Toru- love it so much.”

Shit, you might’ve just broken him.

Because while you may have thought that this answer would calm your Satoru down a bit - it only made him snap. Eyes widening, hips stuttering, swollen lips falling into such a fucked-out oh! - he looked like an absolute wreck.

Letting out a low, throaty groan of, “Oh fuck, you’re gonna be the ngh- death of me.” With this, he’s pressing his sweaty forehead onto yours, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs that match his merciless cadence. “Wish they could fuck- see you like this.” Ramming inside you harder - meaner. Giving your clit a light smack! before he starts playing with it once more. “I’d ah- fuck you in front of all those losers that think they have a chance just to show off how good you are f’me. Because you’re fuck fuck fuck- my good girl, right?”

You nod as much as you can, head just spinning with each brush of Satoru’s dick against your sensitive spots. Fingers twirling at your clit just as dizzyingly. Letting your slick glisten all over his wrist - his painfully squeezing balls - all the way up to his abs with how hard he was fucking into your tight pussy.

The both of you were getting so sloppy now. No care or concern for the party still raging on outside, not when your gummy walls were sucking up Satoru’s aching cock like that. 

“No one ngh- can fuck you like this.” Satoru sucks on your lower lip. Ragged, like it pained him to keep talking, but he couldn’t stop anyway. “No one.” Milking you harder and harder like he was high off your sweet moans. More desperate - depraved. “Cuz m’yours.”

And he repeats that - into your lips, into your forehead, down your neck - over and over while you cum so fucking hard all on his swollen cock. Plushy walls squeezing so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your high.

Ripping out strangled, raspy groans with each clench of your slutty cunt, “N’ you’re mine.” You think your vision gets hazy through your climax, and the only thing you can hear are those obscene squelches and Satoru’s voice. Like a mantra, “You’re mine- you’re mine you’re mine you’re mine- fuck you’re mine.”

Not straying too far behind, Satoru cums and he thinks he sees the pearly gates of heaven - with you, such an angel. 

So sweetly whining into his ear when he’s painting your walls white, pumping rope after rope of thick, hot cum into your awaiting pussy.

Blinking back his vision only to eye the way it overspills, dribbling down your slit with each harsh ram of his hips. 

“Wan’ go again-” Satoru groans. Only fucking his seed deeper and deeper and oh- he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t think he could stop with the way you were bringing out each and every single last drop like it was delicious. “F-fuck I needa go again. Swee-”

SLAM!

“Woah, seems the two of you are having a looota fun.”

Still not pulling out, both you and Satoru scramble to cover yourselves up with Sukuna’s now-soaked sheets. Well, mainly cover you up, for Satoru had no shame in staring the other man down. Scoffing out, “The fuck are you fuck- don’ squeeze me so hard, pretty- the fuck are you here for?”

“It’s my room, n’ I had a feeling you’d be here.” Sukuna lets the door shut so agonizingly slow, flashing the two of you a lazy, devilish grin. “Besides - this is my date, after all.”

A/N. Plagiarism of work not authorized.

[squoosheez]

Movie Night

Choso Kamo x Reader

summary: movie night with Choso but replace movie with 𝓯𝓻��𝓪𝓴𝔂 and instead of watching movies you get 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

pairing: Choso Kamo x GN!Reader

warnings: smut & 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 choso

tags: smut , sub!choso , dom!reader , begging , handjobs , making out , first time , needy choso , dirty talk

notes: it’s 5:40 am and I can’t sleep and this is not proofread I’m js a freak for subby cho

word count: 2k

The warmth from your blanket and the smell of fresh popcorn almost put you straight to sleep. It was a Saturday night, and Choso had invited you over for movie night. You accepted, obviously, because who would ever turn down that opportunity?

Definitely not you.

You sat a couple inches away from Choso, giving him a decent amount of space. You were snuggled very tightly in a blanket he provided, and you were focused on the movie.

It wasn’t anything too special, just some romantic drama he had found while browsing Netflix. Nothing too crazy had happened yet, but you could tell that the main characters had some “tension” they were going to resolve. And they did.

After a few minutes of them making out, Choso grabbed the remote and paused the movie. You looked over at him curiously. “Why’d you pause it?” you questioned.

“Have you ever done that before?” he spoke, sounding genuinely curious.

The words took you by surprise a little. You had to restrain yourself from laughing at his abruptness. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

He shifted underneath his blanket, trying to sit up a little more. “I was just wondering..” he replied.

“Yeah? Have you?”

He looked down at the remote in his lap, his face growing red. “No.”

It surprised you. He didn’t strike you as the completely inexperienced type. In fact, you thought of him as quite the opposite. Sometimes he just held himself so confidently, it was hard to imagine him any other way.

“Really? That’s shocking.”

“Is it?” he didn’t seem to believe you.

“Well, yeah. I mean, if you want to, I could teach you how?” It was harmless, right? You were just doing him a favor, making sure his future girlfriend had something to work with.

“Seriously?”

You nodded before pulling the blanket off of you. That’s when it actually processed for Choso. His eyes widened and his face grew even hotter. It was just making out. Friends do it all the time. Right?

It wasn’t long before you were sitting on Choso’s lap. Your legs on each side of him, in a straddling position. You could feel his chest moving up and down from his breathing. His heart beating incredibly fast. You found it cute how nervous he was.

You didn’t want to say too much, in fear that it would make him feel even more embarrassed, but you also wanted to reassure him. To begin, you pulled his chin to yours, placing just a soft kiss on his lips before doing anything too crazy.

His eyes fluttered shut, savoring the short kiss and missing your lips as soon as they parted. Luckily, he was greeted with much better the second time. It was more harsh, your mouth slightly to make room for his tongue. As soon as he realized, he allowed his instincts to take over, filling your mouth with his tongue. He grabbed the back of your head, pulling you closer desperately.

When you pulled away to breathe, you saw how beautiful he looked like this. So focused on you and nothing else. His eyes looked heavy, trying to stay open long enough to look at you, straddled on top of him. Just the sight made him want even more.

“You doing okay, Cho?” you spoke, your voice raspy and slightly out of breath.

He nodded slowly, trying to regain his composure, but it was no use. He clenched his fists at his sides, which brought something to your attention.

You grabbed his wrists, placing his hands on your hips. “Right here, okay? Or you can put them on my thighs if you want.”

His breathing intensified at the sudden movement. He felt so close to you. His hands traveled from your hips down to your thighs, squeezing them gently. The action made you let out a soft giggle.

It wasn’t long before he couldn’t wait any longer. His lips found yours once again, bringing you into the harsh sloppy kiss you had indulged in just a moment ago. This time his hands teased your inner thighs, driving your mind crazy. This was just supposed to be a makeout session, but you weren’t opposed to this leading further.

This time, he was the first to pull away. He gasped for air as your hands trailed up and down his chest. “You.. You’re really good at this.”

You giggled at the compliment. “Yeah? Thank you.”

Choso’s breath hitched when he felt your lips attach to his jaw line, leaving a trail of kisses leading to the side of your neck. You sucked a dark purple hickey on his neck, nipping at the irritated skin.

When you looked up, his head was thrown back. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was slightly open. He looked fucked out from just a few hickeys. So, you quickly started covering his neck. Any visible skin was a target. He let out soft whimpers when it hurt a little more than expected and fuck it sounded delectable.

“Someone’s enjoying this quite a lot,” you teased, moving his chin down to look at you.

He whined in response, his eyes locked on yours. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all.”

He shuddered, his hips rocking upwards in desperation. It wasn’t voluntary, but you definitely noticed it. Since this was a tutoring session, it was only necessary you gave him a turn.

“You wanna try? Marking me up?” you asked, playing with the hem of his t-shirt.

He didn’t quite know how to respond, he had kind of forgotten that this was so that he knew how to make out with girls in the future. To be honest, he didn’t know if he wanted to make out with anyone else after this.

“Yes, please.” he spoke, his voice laced with desperation.

You leaned your head back, giving him easier access to your neck. It took less than three seconds for him to latch onto your neck. He wasted no time sucking soft hickeys all across your neck. He was so lost in the moment, he was pulling your shirt to find more room to mark up. You’d never seen him like this before. Life changing.

Seeing how eager he was drove you insane. Such a fast learner too. He was so happy to listen to whatever you told him, and he was damn good at it too.

“Yeah..” you breathed out, your voice faltering. “Just like that, Cho. You’re doing.. so good for me.”

Choso's hands roamed your body, caressing and squeezing your skin. He loved the way your body reacted to his touch, every shudder and soft gasp that escaped your lips, and it encouraged him to keep going.

He was determined to do this right, to do it well. Your praise fueled the fire in his core, and it showed in the way his mouth worked its way across your neck. "More," he muttered, his voice taking on an eager tone. "Give me more spots."

You giggled once more at his eagerness. Unfortunately, you had run out of spots to give him, and now you had to find a way to cover these in the morning.

“I’m covered, Cho.”

Choso couldn't help but let out a pleased little huff as he watched you admire his handiwork. The sight of so many little marks on your skin, caused by his mouth, sent a rush of satisfaction through him.

His breath hitched when your hands found their way to stomach, his muscles instantly tensing. His own hands came to rest on your hips again, his thumbs rubbing against your sides. "All mine," he repeated, his voice a bit huskier than usual.

You smiled, taking his head in your hands again. It seemed to be the end of your lesson, unfortunately.

“Well, there you go. We made out, ta-da!” you smiled, knowing Choso wasn’t anywhere near satisfied. You had gotten him all worked up, just to leave him hanging.

He whined, “are we done?”

“Mm.. we did cover everything necessary for making out. What comes next is a different lesson,” you said slyly.

“Can I maybe have that lesson too?” he asked, his hands coming to cover his face in embarrassment.

You laugh, moving his hands away from his eyes. “Of course you can.”

You pull him into another heated kiss, this time letting your hands roam further down his torso. You rested one on his lower stomach and the other on the obvious bulge in his pants. His breath hitched, breaking your kiss for a moment. His expressions only fueled your motives.

He whined into this kiss, feeling your hand start to move over his bulge. Choso tried to hold back a shudder, but failed miserably. Your words had his heart pounding in his chest, his mind spiraling with a million different thoughts.

He paused to breathe for a moment as your hand continued to palm him slowly, his body growing hotter by the minute. “Tell me that I’m a good boy, I... need to hear you say it.”

His words caught you off guard, in the best way possible. You had this boy in the palm of your hands, literally. And you could probably make him cum in his pants if you wanted to.

“You’re doing so well for me, Cho. Such a good boy for me, hm?” you snapped the elastic on his pants against his waist as a warning before pulling them down to his thighs.

He bit his lip, feeling exposed, even though it was just his boxers. Your hand reached below his waistband once more, taking him into your hand.

He whined quite loudly, his hips bucking up into your hand. You gave him a few slow strokes and it was enough to have him a whimpering mess underneath you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “Keep talking. Please.” His hips bucked up against yours again, seeking any friction he could find.

Choso let out a choked off moan, his head automatically falling back against the couch cushion. The feeling of your hand wrapped around him was driving him insane and he found himself arching his body into your touch.

“Not gonna... last long,” he managed to huff out, his hands still gripping your hips so tightly it was sure to leave marks of their own. “Not if you... keep... doing that.”

Fuck, he was adorable. He was barely gonna last and you were only jerking him off. You could only imagine how long he’d last inside of you. 2 maybe 3 thrusts? He’d be so embarrassed too, but he’d make up for it. He’d probably be so good with his tongue. His huge fingers would fill you up just as well as his cock. Your mind trailed off as you watched him unravel beneath you.

“Yeah? That’s okay, baby. Let go for me. Be my good boy.” you encouraged, continuing to kiss him all over, your hand speeding up.

Chose groaned again, his whole body quivering at the feeling of your strokes. “Fuck, I...” he panted. He loved the way the nickname sounded spilling from your lips and he wanted to hear you praise him even more. Just a little more.

“I can’t... I, ah… I’m gonna…” He was on the verge of falling apart, on the edge of ecstasy. All he needed was one more push.

“Just like that. My good boy, all mine. My pretty Cho.” you knew that was all it was gonna take. By now, you’d completely forgotten how this all started, but all that could fill your ears was a sharp whine that escaped Choso’s mouth as he reached his climax.

You felt his body tense from underneath me, and you could feel the cum dripping down your fingers. “That’s it.. You did so well for me.”

Choso’s mind went blank, the only word that could pass his lips was your name, over and over again.

He could hardly even keep himself upright, his weight leaning completely against the couch. He trembled faintly, his hands still holding on to you as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“…You got me all… messy.” He choked out, still struggling to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry, baby. You want help getting all cleaned up?” you replied, softly massaging his chest.

He nodded slowly before speaking once more. “Thank you..”

You smiled, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “You’re welcome, Cho.”

[squoosheez]

Me after saying I’ll post and then not posting…

[squoosheez]

Hey my could you please do Ani making you ride him and him talking you through it

guys my age

pairing: dilf!anakin skywalker x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT (DNI IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT!), dom!anakin, sub!reader, riding, unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, praise, age gap, modern!au, anakin is divorced!

a/n: yes i based this title off of this song 🙂‍↕️

"Fuck Anakin..." was all you could stammer out as you were constantly bouncing up and down on your employer's dick, feeling his cock brush against your sensitive folds.

You had been a babysitter for his children for about a year and there had always been a strong sense of sexual tension whenever the two of you were in the same room together. Something in him must have snapped tonight that caused him to aggressively attack your lips with his. He was consuming your mouth as if it was his only source of oxygen, which only fueled the already passionate kiss. Before you knew it, your clothes had been ripped off of your body along with his. leaving the two of you bare on his bed.

"You like this, sweetie? You like being fucked by a man more than twice your age?" Anakin asks you lustfully.

"Mhm!" you yelp out as his lips latch onto your collarbone.

"Such a sweet girl for me...making me feel so good, baby," he praises into your ear like a mantra he could repeat all night long. He continues rocking into you sensually, his pelvis meeting yours.

Sure, you knew he was experienced, but the way he was making you feel was otherworldly. You knew one other thing for sure: his ex-wife was a damn fool for divorcing him.

"I knew you would be tight baby, but shit..." you hear Anakin say with a breathy groan. "Taking me 's well..."

All of a sudden, you feel him finally bottom out inside you, making you expel pornographic moans from your mouth. Anakin gently covers your mouth with one of his large hands.

"As much as I want to hear those pretty sounds pretty girl, we wouldn't want the kids to wake up now, would we?" he tuts, pausing his movements.

"N-No" you stammer.

"Atta girl...knows exactly how to make me proud," he coos.

He resumes his thrusting with those words and your only response is to grab onto his shoulder blades so you wouldn't lose balance. Sounds of skin slapping against skin filled your ears, along with the slick sounds of your arousal smeared all over his cock. All your thoughts were thrown out the window as you became more cock drunk on top of him. You could feel the hot coil start to form deep inside your tummy and knew what was coming. Anakin knew you were close from the way your tight cunt was fluttering around his fat cock.

"Please let me cum," you plead, a glassy look forming in your eyes due to how desperate you were for a release. Anything.

"Youve got it baby, you've got it," he says to you, only making your movements more erratic and hasty. "Just like that..." he continues.

Before you know it, you feel yourself finally unravel around him, throwing your head back as he fucks you through your orgasm. He feels the warmth of your cum splash around his aching dick, which makes Anakin continue to thrust animalistically into you like his life depends on it. Suddenly, he spills his hot, sticky seed into your spent pussy and you swear its the best thing you've ever felt in your entire life. He waits a while before finally pulling out of you and lays beside you on the now ruined sheets.

"Why didn't we do that sooner?" he asks with a look of amusement on his face.

"I have no idea," you reply with a giggle.

tag list: @zapernz @mortalheartache @myheartwillgoon2022 @camiemorgan8 @demieyesore @midnight--raine

[squoosheez]

[squoosheez]

Pulling Strings

Astarion x F! Tav

18+ consensual body control, intimacy aversion/exploration, sub/dom, total control, body caging, restraint, rough sex, p-in-v, vulnerability, crying after sex, aftercare, tenderness

Tav has caught on that her favorite vampire doesn't enjoy touching or being touched by others. But she has a suggestion to possibly help that piques his interest...

Masterlist

-

As Tav talked to the merchant she felt two cold finger taps on her wrist.

She smiled, turning her head to give him a nod, returning to bartering.

The signal that he wanted to initiate their scenario.

After the tiefling party, she had asked if he had actually wanted to bed her. She had her suspicions, and ever forward, had asked plainly.

He tried to dance around an answer, but she knew him too well by then. Eventually relenting, he had said that he had done it out of obligation. Explaining that he needed protection, and bedding her was a fast track to devotion. Or, at least, was supposed to be.

That conversation led into more, delving into his aversion to intimacy and touch itself. Tav was not upset, if anything she wanted to help.

"Well, do you want to be intimate with others?" She offered curiously on one of those late nights they stayed up talking.

"I don't know, maybe?" He scoffed, flicking his hand up in annoyance. "It's something I'm going to have to get over eventually, if I'm ever going to be a functioning member of polite society."

"Not necessarily," Tav mused, taking the wine bottle he offered to her. "There's lots of ways to get around things like that and still be around others."

Her eyes lit up in thought. "You could wear gloves, or even hire an escort to practice with."

He gave her a withering look. "Darling, though I was one in some respects, I'm not going to trust my comfort with a sex worker I don't even know."

He threw his hands up dramatically. "I would much rather have someone like you if there was to be any 'practice' to be had." His pointer and middle fingers curling at the word.

"That's not a bad idea, actually." Tav suggested, tilting her head slightly.

He looked at her, his own head tilting opposite hers. Mouth pursing up to the side in consideration.

"Go on..." He drawled.

"Well, I could be like a puppet. You steer me where you want me and I stay there." She mused, leaning back on her side. "I wouldn't move unless you moved me, something like that."

"Hmm." He lilted. Pausing, seeming about to say something. Then just offered another thoughtful "Hmm..."

"Sleep on it. You don't need to decide now, and I'm fine with whatever you need." Tav shrugged, taking another swig from the bottle.

"If you decide you want to try, just give me a tap." She demonstrated on her wrist, two fingers lightly tapping.

Three nights later, she was at the firepit. Her hands clasped behind her back, leaning over to inspect the soup Gale was excitedly explaining. Two little strikes against the inside of her wrist brought her eyes back up.

She gave him a warm smile and a near imperceptible nod, turning back to Gale to give him her undivided attention about the intricacies of beef broth.

That night, she asked at the entrance of his tent.

"Come in, sweet thing."

"Where do you want me?" She asked, stepping inside. Already leaving her limbs loose and comfortable.

"Here..." He waved his hand at the space next to his bedroll.

She sat down, legs crossed neatly beneath her. Hands resting palm down in her lap. Waiting for his direction.

He hovered across from her at first, uncertain.

"You're in control. I'm your marionette. Move me." She encouraged, turning her wrist face up on her knee. Letting her hand fall open, relaxed.

He looped his fingers around her wrist and lifted experimentally.

True to her word, she kept her arm limp enough for him to puppet. Steering it around in a circle.

This seemed to give him more confidence, pulling her wrist down to the floor of the tent.

She followed, laying her head down. He adjusted her legs into a slight curl on her side. Pulling her arm up into a natural resting position.

He reached behind her and grabbed a small pillow, lifting her head and sliding it beneath.

He came to lay down next to her on his back. A good distance still between them, but not so far as to feel cold.

"Good?" He whispered.

She nodded, settling into the form he had set for her.

He leaned up and blew out the candle.

"Goodnight, darling." He hushed, laying back down in the dark.

That first night, that had been it. Just her laying in the dark next to him. His impressed eyes appraising her the next morning when he found her in the same position he had left her in. Breathing softly in her sleep.

As the nights went on, and as they grew closer outside of this arrangement, he got more curious.

Bringing her closer to him, touching her. Experimenting with angles and positions.

He had explained after that first night that he didn't want her to be entirely still. 'Too much like a corpse...' He had shivered. He still wanted her to interact with him, just in small movements that he could lead.

If he led her hands to his chest, she could circle her fingers softly there. If he led to his ear, she could massage it gently.

And, if at any point he no longer wanted that touch or found it uncomfortable, he would simply lead her hand away.

If he felt he wanted to be done entirely for the night, he would tap her wrist again, and she would get up and go. No questions asked.

Those nights, oddly enough, were the ones she felt closest to him. That he felt safe enough with her to end touch that he had initiated without fear of retaliation.

It was endlessly exciting for her when he found a touch or position that he really enjoyed.

One of his favorites being her chest to his back, leaning into her in a seated position. One of her arms loosely wrapped around his waist, her legs bent at his sides. Her other hand scratching gently along his scalp.

He leaned into her like this, head tilted back, legs nestled between hers. Practically purring as her fingernails traced lines along his scalp.

His hands would rest on her thighs, sometimes still, sometimes trailing back and forth. Her hand around his waist stroking his side softly with her thumb.

He would even fall asleep in this position, head turning into her neck. Occasionally pulling her down to lay with him, but sometimes falling entirely asleep against her chest.

She never moved from anywhere he put her, unless he gave her the signal that he was done for the night.

It even started proving beneficial outside of their little experiment. In battle he would see a blow coming over her shoulder and pull her out of the trajectory. She moved like water with him, they could almost dance through skirmishes together.

Of course, blood drinking came with the territory. He would always ask before he imbibed, and she almost always said yes.

His favored position for that was her sat on his lap, facing him. Legs hooked around his hips, arms draped loosely over his shoulders.

He would slot into that cup, resting the side of his head on her shoulder while he drank. Her hands comfortable on her forearms, her head softly falling against his.

Last night, he had initiated something that had surprised her.

Sitting down across from her in her usual starting position, he had picked up her wrist and led it to his chest. Trailing her fingertips in a dragging motion down the opening of his camp shirt.

Her surprise must have shown on her face as he smiled almost sheepishly at her.

"I'm feeling indulgent tonight." He purred. Lifting her hand to cup his pec gently. "Seems like a good night for exploration."

She smiled, nodding in agreement. Giving his pec one cheeky squeeze.

He continued to lead her hands across his body, pulling her closer to get a better range of movement.

Her puppeted hands sliding up over his hips, across his ribcage, over the curve of his shoulders.

His eyes had grown dark, chest rising and falling a little more strained.

It didn't go beyond that, with him eventually settling her into another favored sleeping position. Her head on his chest, arm draped across his ribcage, one leg curled up on his hip. His hand kneading and circling little figure eights into her thigh.

This was one of her personal favorites. One of the positions where she would often find sleep first. She wondered if he initiated this one so often cause he could tell.

So when night fell, she naturally wondered where tonight would take her.

He had absolutely had one-off tries that he decided didn't work for him, never bringing her back to them again. But his direction of her had been gradually more sensual. Something that made heat settle in her pelvis.

When they settled in for the night, she was surprised when he hadn't started leading her at all. Just running his hands over her body.

This wasn't entirely new, he did have areas of her that he enjoyed touching for tactile reasons. Particularly along her waist, under her ribcage and her upper thighs. He had remarked just how soft her skin was there, and how he was very glad she wasn't ticklish.

But the touch he drug across her now was more insistent. Needful pulls of her hips, her ass. Cupping her breasts.

She didn't move without permission, but her head fell back slightly. Letting out a soft moan.

He pulled up on both of her hands, urging them to his ears. Groaning in the back of his throat when she traced and massaged into them.

His hands pulled her legs open, hooking one up around his hip as he slid forward. Angling in between them, one hand pulling her thigh for leverage as he slowly started to grind into her.

His body pushed her onto her back, fingers digging into her propped thigh. Hand leaving it, his leg sweeping it up and open against him.

He caught her mouth in a kiss, hips fluid against hers. A hardening length pressing down into her.

For the first time, she moved of her own accord. Hand leaving his ear to cup the back of his head.

She realized her transgression and was about to move back, but his hand laced over hers.

"Please," He breathed against her mouth. "Touch me more."

This was the ultimate test, giving her free reign again. Under the suffocating wave of lust, she was determined.

"Are you sure?" She whispered when she could get a breath in.

"Yes, I trust you." He murmured, moving down to her neck.

She used the touches she had learned he enjoyed, fingers trailing along his chest, cupping over the bone of his hip, dipping into the curve of the base of his spine.

He shivered all over when she would stroke these desired places. Eyes fluttering up into his lids.

When her fingers traced the v-line of his hips something snapped in him. Needing control again.

He took hold of her wrists roughly, his legs twisting into hers and encouraging her to flip onto her belly.

She went limp again and followed his unspoken command, chest against the floor of his tent.

Pinning her wrists against her lower back, he hiked her hips up high to meet him with a grunt. In one motion he pulled her dress up over her ass, bunching up at her waist. Pulling her underclothes down roughly to her knees.

She moaned into his pillow, clasping her hands together in unholy prayer.

He unhooked her fingers far enough to slip his own in, curling into her. The rustling of fabric behind her, then the feeling of his cock teasing against her entrance.

There was no more questions, no more clarification. Just his voice low and dangerous behind her.

"You will take me."

She nodded into his pillow, pushing her legs wider for him.

He pushed inside of her without mercy, her cunt stretching deliciously to accommodate him.

She mewled into his pillow, and he fisted her hair into a ponytail. Pulling her head up.

"You will sing for me."

His hips rolled into her in hard thrusts. Rocking her body forward with each strike. It was slow and animalistic. Savoring and vicious.

He pushed her legs back together with his own, her ass seated higher, her cunt tighter around him. He groaned, caging his body over hers, forcing her chest further into the bedroll.

This new angle stroked directly against her g-spot. She moaned out choppy cries with each thrust, pushing her ass up higher into him.

"Is that good, little songbird?" He smiled, biting along her shoulder blades.

"Yes," She shuddered. "Harder, please."

"Fuck," He hissed, losing his composure. Releasing her hand to grip both sides of her hips. Slamming into her ravenously.

Her eyes rolled back into her head, already starting to clench around him. Clasped hands white knuckling.

He could feel she was close, a wide smile crossing his face when he realized she was waiting for his permission.

Teasing her for a little longer, he stayed silent outside of panting with exertion. He wanted to watch her come more undone.

She was writhing in small movements under him, trying to hold back the wave that was cresting. Whimpering in her effort.

Begging was out of the question, this was his call. But she was getting to her breaking point.

As soon as it became unbearable, he spoke.

"Come. Now."

Her whole body shuddered, shoulders arching back into still clasped hands. Release ripping through her from deep in her core, forcing near agonizing pleasure in an arc up from her pelvis. Her voice was entirely out of her control, pleading whines pushing into indignant near shrieks from her throat.

Her cum coated him in a slick veil, pushing out onto his thighs. The sight of it sent him over, the clenching pulls of her cunt further demanding.

He laced his hand back into hers, gripping his fingers into her knuckles. Crying out as his body tremored. His hips sloppy, bracing his other hand on her lower back as he filled her to the brim. Her fingers pulsed reassuringly into his as he fell apart over her. His unrestrained sweet sounds making her heart sing.

He collapsed into her lower back, pushing her clasped hands above him. Pulling them apart to lace into both of his along her sides. Still nestled inside of her. Both of them laying flat on the bedroll now.

He panted hard against her, sending little waves of cool air along her side. He unhooked his fingers high enough to tap twice on her wrist. The signal that he wanted to stop their scenario.

"Do you want me to go?" She hushed, rubbing her thumb inside of his palm.

He shook his head against her lower back, not moving from their joining in the slightest.

She smiled, twisting gently underneath him. Bringing his slack body onto her.

"Come here to me." She purred, bringing his head down to her chest. Running her fingernails in arcs along his scalp, holding him around his waist.

He melted into her, body fully relaxing. Quiet tears falling onto her sternum. His arm holding her side strong against him. His grip almost fearful, as if he was anticipating someone trying to take her from him.

She only hummed softly, a slow tune she had heard in a passing tavern. Fingers leaving her love in lines through his hair.

His breath slowed, eyes fluttering shut, his long lashes tickling her chest. Body warmed and pliant, he fell under her spell. Blessedly asleep.

She smiled, continuing to stroke his curls. She would often stay awake just to hold him like this. It felt sacred, a rite that only she got to partake in. The guardian of his rest.

"Oh, my starlight..." She hushed, kissing the top of his head.

She felt his sleeping smile against her chest. The nightcall of insects her hymn, the high moon her witness. His body her holy duty.

Letting her head turn on his pillow, she allowed herself to fall with him.

~

[squoosheez]

on a whim

aaronhotchner x reader x spencerreid

warnings: nsfw 18+, praise kink, dom!hotch, switch!spencer, switch!reader, petnames, creampie, fingering, d/s undertones, cumplay(?), FILTHYYYYY words on a screen

✿ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̥°̩̥‧̥·̊✿°̩̥‧̥‧̥ ‧̥˚̩̩̥͙·‧̥·̊‧̥✿‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̥°̩̥‧̥·̊✿°̩̥‧̥‧̥ ‧̥˚̩̩̥͙·‧̥·̊‧̥✿°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̥°̩̥‧̥·̊ ✿

you lift an arm to shield your eyes from the onslaught of light coming through your bedroom window, the white lacy curtains doing little to defend you.

looking beside you Hotch looks peaceful for once in his life, his arm lazily wrapped around your waist, turning your head back again to its restful position on Spencer’s chest. You decided not to wake them, knowing this is one of the few times they’ve fully slept through the night.

Your eyes study the bruises and scars on Reid’s chest, battle scars from his days out on the field, until you reached his sternum where numerous bruises in varying shades of pink and red are littered across his contrasting pale skin, scars you’d given him from nights filled with passion.

Nights like yesterdays.

“ooh just like that baby, good boy, treating me so good”

“please can i come please been so good for you”

your eyes wavering from his beautiful face of pure pleasure to Hotch sitting next to you where his cock rested in your hand, his hand coming up to stroke your hair.

“let him cum baby, i know you want him to fill you up like the little cumslut you are”

his hand gripping you hair just that little bit rougher, your moans increasing from his action.

you smile recalling the memory of the three of you ending up in this ‘relationship’ on a drunk whim after a case in Kansas where you and Garcia had to follow the team due to communication issues from the terrible weather.

“what are you smiling about over there” you hear spencer’s deep sleepy morning voice as he looks down at you.

“nothing”

“now that’s not a good answer is it?”

Hotchs arm tightens around you as your head turns to see his normally stoic face with a slight smirk on it.

“sorry sir”

you bashfully respond, blushing at his dominating demeanour that only bought back more memories from last night.

“i think i know Hotch”

Spencer’s loud mouth just had to snitch on you.

God did you hate profilers.

“she’s thinking about the way you were buried in her yesterday fucking her hard while she deepthroated me, as energetic as a fucking bunny.”

“is that right bunny?”

you try to hide your face as it heats up from the petname but spencer only lifts it up looking at you with his big brown doe eyes, a blush almost matching your own.

You realise why when you feel something poking your thigh. Moving your leg to shift position Spencer groans out. Giggling you do it again until Hotchs hand stretches across your thigh stopping you.

“now teasing isn’t nice is it? don’t like when i do it do you baby?”

you shake your head gasping as you feel his hand lower to your exposed inner thighs, slowly caressing upwards but avoiding the place you want to feel his touch the most. You whine out arching yourself against Hotch as you’re sandwiched between the two men’s large frames.

“exactly. no teasing. not now.”

guiding your hips Hotch positions you to straddle Spencer, his throbbing cock swiftly entering you, stretching you out in the process, both your mouths open letting out sinful sounds. Hotch shuffles next to you, hands reaching out to touch your breast, your nipples twisted between his fingertips, the rough stimulation deepening the arch in your back as spencer guides you up and down his dick.

“come for him, soak his dick like the little slut you are” Hotch whispers against your ear his fingers playing with your clit as your moans grow louder the closer you get to climaxing.

Scratching against Spencer’s chest you pulse and tighten around his dick, not long after he’s cumming inside of you with the whiniest moans escaping his mouth.

As your chest heaves up and down you come down from your orgasm leaning against Hotchs hard chest as he strokes your hair. “good girl. did so good for us”

With a dazed smile you turn around pushing Hotch backwards as you lie on your front. His questioning face morphing into pure pleasure as you wrap your mouth around his dick. The thick member making it halfway in before you’re choking around it, a mix of spit and precum dripping onto his balls and you hands.

He almost loses his mind as you slap it against your tongue looking up at him with the most innocent face, like you do in the bullpen when asking a question.

Your moans vibrate around his dick when Spencer begins rubbing your pussy, he’s practically mesmerised at the sight of his cum dripping out of you and dirtying the sheets below. Aiding in making a bigger mess by rubbing it all over you and your inner thighs, only to collect some and push it back into you. His two long slender fingers brushing against the most sensitive parts of you as Hotch grabs onto your hair into a makeshift ponytail and begins face fucking you while muttering words of praise.

With a loud groan he cums into your mouth, the amount of it shocks you with some of it dripping from the corners of your mouth. “that’s a good girl, taking our cum like a good little slut. But you love it don’t you?”

You nod your head swallowing his cum while spencer rubs your clit pushing you over the brink. Coming once more your legs thrash against the bed while Spencer keeps going, leaning over to kiss you where he can taste the remnants of Hotchs cum in you mouth.

The three of you lie down collecting yourselves, ten minutes later Hotchs phone rings and you all know…it’s time to get professional.

✿ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̥°̩̥‧̥·̊✿°̩̥‧̥‧̥ ‧̥˚̩̩̥͙·‧̥·̊‧̥✿‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̥°̩̥‧̥·̊✿°̩̥‧̥‧̥ ‧̥˚̩̩̥͙·‧̥·̊‧̥✿°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̥°̩̥‧̥·̊ ✿

~unedited~

[squoosheez]

literally all of us + him

[squoosheez]

౨ৎ got to love me harder, baby

౨ৎ 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 — jealous!anakin x fem!reader

౨ৎ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 — anakin doesn't make you cum, so then he does again, and again, and again

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 — 1k

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — swearing, insecure anakin, anakin kinda scares reader for a sec, smut ( unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, spanking, oral sex f receiving, fingering, pinching, over stimulation ) think that’s all !

౨ৎ 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 ! — i was possessed by some sort of smut demon and wrote this in a haze in about 30 minutes and i kinda love it. so thank you for requesting this i loved writing it !

part one ( kinda ) part three masterlist

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

“holy shit,” anakin hissed, burying himself deeper inside of you, his hips twitching with the force of his thrusts, the sick squelch of your juices echoing around the room as anakin chased his relief, glasses askew on his face in such a way that it could have been endearing had his cock not been bullying your cervix. “feel so good, baby,” he told you, eyes meeting your, piercing blue stained onyx with lust. 

“ani, just like that, oh my god,” you cried, lifting your hips from the bed to meet his thrusts, grinning at the way anakin gasped, eyes rolling into the back of his head, he was sheened with sweat, golden skin glimmering beneath the dull lamplight, he looked ethereal, lips red and flushed, tongue lolling to the side as he hammered into you, closer, closer… 

“i’m gonna cum,” anakin told you, words babbled, as he sank into you once again, you could feel your own phantom relief curling up your spine, sinking into your core in white hot flashes, but as quickly as it had started it began to ebb away as anakin let go, a cry escaping his lips as he came flooding your gummy walls with thick hot spurts of cum, he continued to thrust for a few moments, fucking you through the oversensitivity before going still and collapsing down atop of you. 

“good boy,” you whispered, brushing your hands through his amber curls, “did so good for me, angel,” you murmured, planting soft kisses along his hairline, the taste of salt lingering on your tongue. 

“you… did you cum?” anakin asked, pulling back, his eyebrow pulled into a firm line, you smiled at him gently, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his pouty lips. “you didn’t… i didn’t feel you?” his lips trembled, tears welling in his pretty blue eyes. 

“it’s okay, ani, i’m okay,” you told him with a reassuring smile but anakin shook his head, he pulled backward, tugging his cock free from your soaking core, looking down at the mix of your juices and his cum spilling from you with glaring hatred. 

“no, you think that's okay?” he growled out, “think it’s okay that i can’t make my girl cum?” he demanded, searching your face for answers but he didn’t seem to find what he was searching for, “you think i’m pathetic don’t you? can’t give you what you need,” you quickly shook your head, pushing yourself upwards on the bed and reaching out, cupping anakin’s cheeks between you palms but he pushed you off, anger flashing in his teary eyes. “don’t,” he ground out, voice trembling.

“anakin, calm down,” you said soothingly, “lots of girls can’t just come from penetrative sex, it's not your fault it was just a bit fast tonight, you always make me feel so good, okay, a one-off doesn’t matter,” you told him, but your words fell upon deaf ears, if anything your words seemed to upset him more as he grasped your shoulders and shoved you back down onto the bed, your head slamming against the pillows, you gasped, looking to anakin with wide eyes but he was gone. you had never seen him look so… feral, his chest was heaving, tears staining his pretty face but he looked mad, more angry than you had ever seen him and you couldn’t help the little burst of panic that flared in your stomach. “ani,” you whispered unsurely. 

“you think i can’t make you cum?” he asked, words like ice as he stared down at you. 

“i didn’t say that,” you argued helplessly but anakin didn’t seem to care what you had to say right now as he grasped your thighs with both hands and wrenched them open, spreading you out before him, his grip was harsh and you were sure if he continued like this he would leave bruises along the delicate skin. 

“i’ll fucking show you,” he muttered and you were unsure if he was even talking to you anymore or himself, but you didn't have time to overthink it as anakin buried himself between your thighs, plunging his face into your cunt and sucking your clit into his mouth, a surprised moan fell from your lips as anakin suckled on the bundle of nerves with vigor. anakin had eaten you out many times before, but usually, it was soft, gentle licks and caresses with his tongue before he delicately entered his fingers into your sopping hole and opened you up for him, but right now, he was fucking devouring you. he switched between sucking on your slit and licking large stripes from your core up to the top. 

it was messy, the sticky sounds of your release coating his tongue and him slurping as he took every little thing your body gave him. it wasn’t long before you came for the first time, completely mesmerised by the sight of anakin between your thighs, and the way he ate you out like a man starved. you thought that was it as you finally came down from your high, body tingling, but anakin didn't pull away, instead, the spill of juices that escaped you seemed to encapture him more, he greedily sunk his tongue into your gummy walls desperate for more. 

“anakin,” you moaned, hands falling to his curls and tugging slightly, trying to pull him away from your sensitive cunt but he yanked your hands away and planted a firm slap on your thigh that had you screaming, pain mixing with pleasure as anakin went down on you. you had never seen him this worked up, so dominant with you, usually he liked your guidance, and whispered words of assurance as he kissed your cunt to release, but right now he was pussy drunk. completely lost in your taste as he went back to your clit, slipping two fingers into your cunt and pumping, a cry fell from your lips as you jerked against him, but anakin didn’t stop, instead curling his fingers inside of you hitting that spot that made your toes curl. “fuck,” you screamed as another orgasm crashed over you, your vision went white and everything around you seemed to spin, but still anakin wasn’t done. 

“anakin, please, i can’t,” you gasped, once again trying to pull him away from your swollen cunt but anakin scowled at you, eyes rasing from your cunt for only a moment and the look he sent you worked almost immediately as you fell silent. he began lapping at your clit, little kitten licks before switching to larger drags of his tongue, his face was soaked, a mess of cum and drool, you whimpered as he began to pump his fingers faster, slipping a third one in to continue the stimulation as he played with your clit. 

“oh my god,” you shouted, “ani, i don’t know if i can cum again,” you hissed as he harshly suckled your clit back between his lips, grazing his teeth over the most sensitive part and you were falling once again. this orgasm even more powerful than the last, it crashed through you, welling in your stomach and coming to a crescendo, and you screamed, tears spilling from your eyes as you thrashed against the pillows, face soaked with sweat and sticking stray hairs to your forehead and temple. 

“ani,” you screamed hoarsely as he once again locked himself between your thighs, arms warped around your ankles like a vice so you couldn’t escape, your hips writhed against him as he suckled your lips, tongue sliding across your sopping hole, slurping and swallowing you whole. you had never felt such intense pleasure in such a short amount of time in your life, your legs were aching, tears spilling down your cheeks as you cried out, begging for him to stop, or never stop, you weren't sure what you wanted. all you knew is that anakin had ruined you for anyone else, he has always been it for you, from the moment you met, but now, you knew you could never leave, not as he sank his tongue back inside of you and pulled one of his hands free to pinch as your clit, it was hard, his blunt nails sinking into the sensitive skin but it was enough to send you spiraling. 

you couldn’t be a hundred percent of what had happened next, all you remembered was tears spilling down your cheeks and screams pouring from your lips as you hit the peak of pleasure and your entire body went rigid, but when you managed to tear your eyes open once again anakin was hovering over you, a bright smile twisted on his cum soaked lips. 

“ani?” you whimpered, sobs ripping from your throat, your entire body was trembling and your legs felt numb, your mind fuzzy from pleasure as you looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“baby,” he crooned, leaning down and pecking your lips, smearing your face with your release. “did so well for me,” he said happily while you could only blink up at him, jaw slacked. “you’ve never cum that hard before have you, sweetie?” he asked and all you could do was shake your head dumbly. “that’s why you need me, always gonna make you feel good, aren’t i?” and you nodded in agreement, completely blissed out as anakin sank down beside you. 

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feel free to send me more horny asks guys i’m home for two weeks for easter and need some entertainment while i’m here ! mwah !

tags: @johnbassplayercutie @anakinscrybaby

[squoosheez]

GUYS IM COOKIN SUM UP I PROMISE…

[squoosheez]

It’s the way I never posted anything soz guys

[squoosheez]

I’m going crazy I’m so sorry I promise I will try and post smth this weekend 🙏

[squoosheez]

I hit a complete dead end w the snow fic I can’t even lie idk where it’s going I might js start something else 😭

[squoosheez]

let me in (don't give in)

warnings/tags: minors DNI, movie/book spoilers probably, capitol!reader, semi unreliable narrator!reader, daddy issues!reader, established!coriolanus, weirdo!coriolanus, obsession, manipulation, minor but effective drugging, power imbalance, abuse of power, forced intimacy, stalking, these tags are not exhaustive word count: 9.7k (LMFAO) summary: Coriolanus’ eyes have always been bigger than his stomach can handle. 

divider by @/cafekitsune I think this might be the most insane run I've done on a character. definitely up there with writing 60k words for rafe lmfao. this is the last of the trifecta of readers that haunted me <3

You remember his face from the Academy orientation video. 

He’s grown in notoriety since then but you have never forgotten the awkward stretching of his fingers nor the misplaced arrogance of his intonations. 

His hair is lighter and cooler in tone, a stark contrast to the waxy yellow he sported in the video. His eyes remain the piercing blue you know them to be. His arrogance is natural now too, an unconscious thing rather than the conscious mask he had to step into as he did in the Academy. 

You tear your attention away from him. Casiphia will be disappointed. She was always fond of how pitiful he looked, especially in his ill-fitting clothes. 

You have no strong opinion on Coriolanus Snow. He is four years your senior so you have never been given the chance to cross paths with him in an academic setting. It mattered not as his influence remained a festering wound in both the Academy and the University. 

As heir to the Plinth fortune, he is considered a dutiful one. You’ve seen glimpses of him around the office. Despite Mr. Plinth’s intentions on allowing Coriolanus the choice of taking over his business or finding his place within the Gamemakers, it is clear Mr. Plinth harbors a shameful relief at Coriolanus’ competency. 

You excuse yourself from the corner you and your peers have secluded yourselves to. You haven’t bothered to engage as you should during this dinner party, more concerned with making an appearance than leaving an impression. You wave off Nerina’s offer to join you with a shake of your head and a smile. The smile drops as soon as your back faces them and you fight the urge to rub at your tired eyes. 

It doesn’t take long for you to find the balcony. The air is chilly but it is a welcome reprieve from the stuffy dining hall of the Byzans home. You search through your pockets and locate your pack of cigarettes and lighter. It is a vice your father has unfortunately passed onto you.

You cover the lighter with your other hand, hissing when you the flame catches the tip of your thumb. Smoking is not something you indulge in often if at all but having so many University alums in the same room makes your skin crawl. 

Leaning over the railing, you look over the city. It is nearly midnight and yet the city is fully lit in preparation for the Victory Tour. 

Human memory is fleeting because how can you have already forgotten what life was like before these Victory Tours? What did the Capitol do before the Hunger Games became the spectacle they now are? 

You take a long drag and hold it in your lungs until it aches fiercely. Then you slowly exhale. You plan on heading out soon seeing as you have accomplished what you needed.

A shoe scuffs the floor behind you. His scent gives him away before his voice.

Roses.

“Oh. I didn’t realize someone was already out here.” 

You turn around. Coriolanus stands behind you, adjusting the cuffs on his jacket. His hairline is slightly sweaty and the dark circles under his eyes are heightened in this shadowed lighting. But you are searching for imperfections so you’re sure everyone else sees him as the composed man he sets out to appear as. 

“I was just about to leave so it’s all yours,” you say with a false sweet smile. 

His eyes flicker to your barely started cigarette. “No, sorry, I interrupted you.” But he makes no move to step back into the home. 

“You can join me. I don’t mind.” The lie is automatic. You can’t imagine Coriolanus wants something from you but then again, there is always something to be gained even from the most insignificant of people. 

He moves forward until he’s near you. With the way he keeps looking at your cigarette, you are tempted to offer him one. But you don’t. He can ask if he wants one so bad.

He wraps his fingers around the railing. “I’ve seen you around Strabo’s office,” he says after a moment. You don’t miss how he purposefully uses Mr. Plinth’s first name. A stupid power play considering everyone knows of the relationship between the two. “Which I must say, I’m surprised by.” 

You know what he’s not saying but you won’t make it easy for Coriolanus. “The pay is surprisingly better than the offer I got from Baycroft,” you shrug, tapping out some of the ashes. 

“Baycroft tends to overpay,” he says thoughtfully. “Strabo isn’t exactly a generous man so it’s a curious thing he went out on such a limb for you.”

You think it’s mighty generous for Mr. Plinth to bankroll the Snow family but what do you know? “Is it though?” you ask. You hold the cigarette daintily between your fingers. His eyes are drawn to the imprint of your lips on the filter.

Your father’s hatred of Strabo Plinth is an ill-kept secret. He’s of the belief no one from the Districts should be able to buy themselves a ticket to the Capitol. New money meant a chance at District citizens supplanting those from the Capitol. Worse yet, if the newcomers could accumulate enough wealth to buy their way in, what would be left for those of old money? Were they to become subservient to those who have only just learned how sweet it is to be drunk on money and power? 

For your father, he knew the Plinths were a rarity. But setting such a precedent is dangerous and must be culled before it begins to infect those stupid enough to think they are of the same caliber as those in the Capitol. 

Your father is old-fashioned to a detrimental fault. The bastard. 

Coriolanus urges you on with a slight jerk of his head. His fingers loosen on the railing. 

“We both get to piss off my dad. I’d say that’s worth more than the salary Mr. Plinth is giving me,” you say, grinning at him. “‘Sides, Mr. Plinth is a decent boss. I have to work twice as hard but it’s better than being fired for answering a question wrong.”

“Your father did that?” Coriolanus asks. He’s not aghast as most are when you reveal that little tidbit of your dad. A frigid curiosity coats his voice. The wheels in his head are turning and not in your favor most likely. 

You count on your fingers. “Yeah. Six times.” Definitely a Father of the Year candidate. 

Most people don’t know this. He told everyone you wished to have multiple industries under your belt before you came back to the family company. You scoff internally at the memory. As if you of all people need the resume boost. 

“I should probably sell his secrets to Mr. Plinth.”

Coriolanus shakes his head. “Your dad would retaliate until nothing is left of Strabo.”

“He could cripple him if he wanted,” you agree. Your father had the means in which to take Mr. Plinth down from the inside if he so wished. But it would be meaningless if your father had to orchestrate his downfall rather than let Mr. Plinth’s luck run out. “But that’s not fun for my dad.”

“Your dad is not nearly as clever as you think.” It’s said as the fact it is. Your father likes the idea of being clever but he is much like a toddler who has found out they can lie. You know of it but you didn’t think Coriolanus knew your father well enough to analyze him to such a degree. 

Now you turn to him fully. He’s angled his body towards you this whole time so he’s already facing you. “You’ve met him,” you realize. And then, “Mr. Plinth was okay with that?” 

He laughs patronizingly. “He’s like a father to me but he’s not my father. And your father has some good ideas sometimes.” His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, a sarcastic leaving him. “He’s also one of our biggest donors so.” Coriolanus shrugs in a what-can-you-do manner. 

It is true your father loves the Hunger Games. Every year he hosts a watch party and celebrates each brutal kill with glee. Once the Games took off in popularity, your father funneled money into the development of the Gamemaker apprentices. The more brutal the Games the better in his eyes. Thankfully, most of the Capitol has a limit to what they can withstand in the name of entertainment. 

You take a drag. The smoke curls into your lungs, blanketing the awkwardness beginning to cement itself within you as Coriolanus lingers. Surely he has better things to do than entertain you. Many came to this dinner in the hopes they could have a chance at gaining Corionlanus’ attention even if for just a moment.

He intercepts your cigarette when you go to take another drag. The cloying scent of roses mixes in with the ashy smell of smoke. It isn’t as unpleasant as one might think. 

You almost ask if he smokes, being under the belief he thinks it below his station, when you catch how his lips wrap around the filter. He’s placed his mouth perfectly over the stain of your lips. 

A knot forms in your stomach.

“Did you win any bets?” he asks. To his credit, he sounds genuinely interested to hear your answer. 

You watch as Coriolanus breathes in the cigarette. The corners of his mouth twitch when it stings and you look to the sky as a mercy. The smoke billows out until it dulls the stars above. “No, I don’t usually bet. Did you?” 

A shadow of your lipstick darkens the center of his lips.“No. It’s considered a conflict of interest,” he says. It’s crossed your mind a couple of times whether or not the Gamemakers rig the Games for a specific outcome. His response neither confirms nor denies your suspicions. “You don’t bet?”

“I’m an unlucky person,” you say simply. 

He drops his voice as if to let you in on a secret. Handing you the cigarette, he says, “I’m no fortune teller but I can say it is a good choice to root for District 1. Usually.”

“No way? Are you allowed to tell me this?” 

Your jaw drops dramatically. But Coriolanus doesn’t know you and he thinks you’re serious for a brief flash of discomfort crosses his face at having to explain to you how the Districts are split in strength. You almost let him but decide to save yourself the condescending lecture. 

You drop the scandalized look to Coriolanus’ relief. “I’ve never won anything when it came to luck and I would really prefer not to try my chances with a tribute,” you say. “It also makes watching the Games with others really annoying.” 

His expression clears. “Sore loser?” he prods, mostly teasing but partly surprised. 

“The sorest,” you confirm. You stub the butt of the cigarette into your wrist. The pain barely registers. “Sometimes, it’s hard to watch the Games all the way through,” you muse. The nicotine is making your head fuzzy. 

“Is it not entertaining enough for you?” Coriolanus asks. The press of his lips is cordial but the unnatural tilt of his head unnerves you. 

You consider how you will answer. As Coriolanus is a part of the Gamemakers, you are sure he has a vested interest in any critiques you may have. In the same breath, he might think you rebellious for not finding the Capitol’s favorite past time as enjoyable as it is supposed to be. Your life is not yet so boring you find a thrill in watching children kill each other. 

“No. I just have a bad attention span,” you say, glancing at him. The tension leaks from his face. “You guys should implement a highlight reel at the end of each night.” You don’t know how anyone spends all day with the Games as their background noise but there have been stranger things. When you worked for your dad, lunches were spent discussing strategies the tributes should be utilizing as if survival wasn’t paramount. You’ll never forget the boos around the office when the 14th games ended with a singular spear to the heart. 

“He couldn’t have bludgeoned him? The axe was right there.” 

Coriolanus hums, interested. “That could work.” His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, disrupting the lipstick you’ve left behind. “It might change the minds of who some people will bet for. Keep some of the tributes fresh in their minds.”

You have to laugh. Of course everything ties back to this. Without sponsors and bettings, the Games can only go so far. Coriolanus certainly found his niche. But even by victors are victories undone. 

“You know what? Just for you, I’ll bet on a tribute for the next Games,” you say, dragging your words out playfully.  

He smiles, ducking his head a bit. It would be endearing if you didn’t find him so starved of something only he knew. Hunger is never a good look on anyone. “You’ll have to let me know the outcome.” 

“Mm, I’ll make sure to ring Dr. Gaul.” 

“Or,” and he sidles up next to you, “You could ring me directly.” 

It will be much too awkward to reject Coriolanus as he expectantly hands you his phone. You type in your number and he calls you the second the contact saves. Your phone vibrates against your thigh. The intensity in his too blue eyes doesn’t lessen until you bring out your phone to show you received his call. 

Your phone feels heavier with the addition to your contact list. Never did you think you’d get Coriolanus Snow’s number. 

Maybe you’ll give it to Casiphia for the right price.  

-

“You didn’t call.” 

Your nearly crack your pen between your teeth. Your manager didn’t notice the discrepancy in the output of equipment in one of the smaller producer buildings and you have been trying to trace where the excess could have gone. The numbers are still running in your head when you look up to see Coriolanus in front of your desk. 

There’s a crease between his brows despite the pleasant smile on his face. It takes you a too long second to understand what he is referencing. 

“Thought the offer was for the next Games?” you say, raising your eyebrows.

His smile strains. “Well, I thought you’d want to discuss strategy.”

“Wouldn’t that be considered a conflict of interest?”

“Mm. You can take it as picking the mind of a strategist rather than a Gamemaker.” 

“Would that hold up in court?” 

At this, Coriolanus laughs. “Ah, maybe you’re right. Especially considering I passed your idea along to the Head Gamemaker and he might think I’m trying to reward you.” 

You click your pen. “What idea?” Were cigarettes going to be used in the donation system for the next Games? 

Coriolanus gives you a long look, a trace of surprised irritation sparking in his eyes. “The highlight reel. It makes sense for us to upload one rather than assume the viewers will seek out whatever they missed. People are busy.” He nods at your bare desk. “Like you.” 

It is almost lunch time and you have finished all of your work for the day. Which is why you’ve taken to look over Criston’s work. Family connections can get you far but they cannot make you a responsible nor smart worker. 

You place your chin on your fist. “I’m glad you recognize how hard of a worker I am.” You wink at him. “Be sure to pass that on to Mr. Plinth.” 

“Where would he be without you?” Coriolanus teases. His mouth opens to say something else but he’s interrupted by the sound of his name. 

“Coryo!” 

Mr. Plinth’s normally emotionless voice warms at the arrival of his pseudo-son. He hugs Coriolanus briefly, hand splayed against his back. Coriolanus returns the hug albeit stiffly. 

You avert your gaze and go back to the report in front of you. The amount of red marks is alarming and with Mr. Plinth so close, you flip over the page. You brace your elbow on the papers and wait for them to leave. 

“Join us.”

Mr. Plinth shoots Coriolanus a strange frown but Coriolanus ignores him and gestures to you. 

“You’re done for the day aren’t you?” 

You click your pen. Coriolanus is an odd man. His questions are never framed as questions. “I would hate to impose,” you decline, waving your hand. 

“You wouldn’t be imposing.”

You look to Mr. Plinth for help. But his eyes are not on you. His frown has gotten deeper, pulling his brows forward until they’re nearly touching. He’s looking at Coriolanus as if he’s never seen him before. 

“It isn’t a bother,” Mr. Plinth says after a moment. “Come.”

And left with no other choice, you take Coriolanus’ proffered hand and follow him out of the building. It may be an insensitive comparison but you liken this to how the tributes feel when they are first released into the arena. 

Certainty echoes your steps but it’s anyone’s guess as to what your body is telling you you are certain about. 

-

Lunch is not the awkward affair you assumed it will be. 

Coriolanus makes sure to loop you into his conversations with Mr. Plinth. And Mr. Plinth finds a way to brag about Coriolanus any chance he gets. It’s sweet except for how grief-stricken it leaves Mr. Plinth. 

“You know, I’m so proud of Coriolanus.” 

You look up from your plate. Mr. Plinth has his fingers and thumb pressed against the corners of his mouth. He’s tired, gaunt shadows making him look older. “To come as far as he has all on his own is incredible.”

You chance a quick peek at Coriolanus. Neither pride nor embarrassment wash over his expression. He continues eating as if Mr. Plinth isn’t doling out praise. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you and Mrs. Plinth helping me out,” Coriolanus says modestly. “Tigris too.” 

The afterthought of his cousin settles uncomfortably in your ears. As if the admission is a sore spot for him, one he hasn’t learned to stop pressing. 

Mr. Plinth waves away his words. “You were the top of your class long before we were involved. Not to mention the—“ Here is where his voice cracks. You avert your eyes, opting to push your food around on the plate as he gathers himself. He is a stoic man but memories of Sejanus disarm him. It’s painful to look at grief to begin with but the moments when you’re reminded that Mr. Plinth was once a father who loved his son above all, you can only suck in a breath and hope your own loss doesn’t show. 

“It is hard to be displeased with someone like Coriolanus,” you interrupt gently. “He’s all the professors and students talked about at the University.” 

The Snow name was tattered but now, hardly anyone can remember a time when the name Coriolanus Snow wasn’t revered. It isn’t a surprise he was a favorite amongst many. 

“Did they?” Coriolanus looks amused at the revelation but unsurprised. 

You spear a potato. “Mm hmm. Your projects were always our examples. Dr. Gaul could do nothing but laude you.” You were infinitely pleased to find out about her passing last year. Good riddance. 

“She was an excessive woman,” Coriolanus says politely. 

You make a face. “I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use.” 

“Oh? You weren’t a fan?” 

Mr. Plinth frowns. “Didn’t she try to recruit you?”

You shudder at the reminder. Her lab is something you wish you could scrub from your brain. “Yeah but it was courtesy. I said no. Clearly.” 

Coriolanus shakes his head, rubbing his hands on his napkin. “It wasn’t courtesy. It was your essay.” 

You turn to him. You knew he was directly beneath her but for Coriolanus to be vetting her future apprentices as well…it startles you to find out how integral he was to this woman so early on in his career. “She told you?” 

Coriolanus dips his chin. “I’m the one who read it and gave it to her.” 

“Wow, she had someone like you doing her grunt work. That’s impressive.” 

Irritation clenches his jaw before he forcefully relaxes. “I was impressed by it. While not a unique understanding of the Games, you were insightful.”

Mr. Plinth looks lost and you do not wish to clear the confusion on his face. Your essay was meant to be seen by the most hateful woman in Panem and then to be discarded. 

You take a sip of your water. Noticeably, none of you have ordered any alcohol. “You’re making me feel embarrassed,” you say without shyness. “If I had known you were reading it, I definitely would’ve written something else.”

“Like?” Coriolanus presses. 

“Probably more of a focus on the Games’ mechanics themselves rather than the tributes. Oh, and I would’ve definitely read it over another time because admittedly, I did not edit the essay before I turned it in.” 

“Mm but that wouldn’t have been as good of an essay,” Coriolanus chides. His eyes are bright. “But it doesn’t matter. You didn’t take the apprenticeship.” 

You laugh. “I would’ve been ill suited so I thought I’d save you guys the grief of firing me.” 

“Lucky us,” Mr. Plinth mutters. 

“You’re telling me you didn’t enjoy cussing my father out when you hired me?” you ask him in disbelief. 

He rolls the memory in his head then nods. “It was a perk,” he admits. 

“It all worked out then, didn’t it?” you say, satisfied. 

Coriolanus stares at you and says with a tight smile, “That it did.” 

Eventually, Mr. Plinth is called in and leaves Coriolanus and you to enjoy the rest of lunch. The heaviness in the air dissipates by his departure. But it is quickly leveled with how off kilter Coriolanus makes you feel. 

“We should head out,” you say. As much as it pains you to decline dessert, you know it is for the best. Continuing to scramble to find things to talk about with Coriolanus will make your head explode. 

He smooths his hands over his slacks. “I’ll call a driver.” 

Coriolanus helps you out of your chair. His hand rests on the small of your back. He’s much larger than you realize and the expanse of his palm makes your stomach flip. He leads you out the door, sliding that same palm to curl his fingers around your hip. The casual intimacy makes you sick. 

The two of you are waiting outside for a minute before a dreadful downpour begins. Rain blurs your vision almost instantaneously and you struggle to blink them away. You take your phone out to look at the weather app. 

“Ugh, it’s going to rain all night. There’s no—” You cut yourself off as you look up. 

Coriolanus stops shielding himself to offer his arms as a pseudo-umbrella over you. The rain cascades from his hair to drip onto his suit. The ends of his hair are beginning to curl and you have the sudden sinking feeling that you find him hotter when disheveled. 

“Oh, there’s the car,” he says, tugging you close to him. You’re too frazzled by your revelation to escape his hold and let him drag you into the car. Your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin. Already a chill begins to cling to you. 

“My house is closer,” Coriolanus says. Without waiting, he tells the driver to reroute. 

“Ah, my place is actually right around—”

The driver takes the opposite turn. 

“Oh.” 

Coriolanus puts his hand to your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” 

You shake it off. “I’m fine, I think. What about you?” 

Undeterred, he brings your hand to his forehead, flatting his one over yours. “Do I feel warm?” 

His eyes are too blue, you think. The sort an apex predator has. 

“A little bit,” you croak but you don’t know if it’s because of your blood heating or because Coriolanus is actually beginning to feel the affects of his rain soaked clothes. 

Thankfully, you arrive at his house and are able to scramble out of the car before he can offer his help. There is a butler waiting outside, warmed towels prepared as soon as you get to the door. 

There’s a flurry of movement as the maids lead you to a room and have you strip off your soggy clothes. You don’t realize just how severely the wet clothes sapped you of your warmth until you’re able to slip into something warm and dry. The maids help to dry your hair, fussing over you until you can feel the blood circulating in the tips of your fingers again. 

It takes you a few minutes to convince the maids you are fine before they take you to the living room. Coriolanus has changed as well, though the dip in his linen shirt has you looking everywhere but at his chest. 

“Thank you,” you say to one of the maids when she straightens your shirt. She nods and quickly leaves. 

Glancing down at yourself, you can’t believe Coriolanus gives you one of his sleeping shirts. You can’t imagine him in something so informal. The soft cotton shorts are Tigris’ you assume but they’re strangely the perfect fit. 

It feels wrong to have on something so casual in front of Coriolanus. An uncomfortable intimacy in the action. 

You pick at the thinning edge as he putters around the room for the remote. A random drama lights up the screen and you recognize it as the penultimate episode of the one you usually keep in the background whenever you’re reading. 

The maid drops off the tea. She won’t meet your eyes and scuttles away as soon as Coriolanus crosses the room to retrieve it from the table. He pours the scalding liquid into the tea cup and adds the correct amount of sugar to your taste. He brings it over to you. His hand darts out to block yours when it looks like the tea will spillover but it manages to stay contained. 

You want to laugh. He took a page out of your playbook. You did the same for Mr. Plinth years ago when he visited your family’s home to make nice with your father. He hated how sweet you were because it cost him the mistake of thinking your father might be reasonable. 

“Thanks,” you say, accepting the tea cup. It’s hot enough the handle is warm. The saucer nearly scalds your skin. 

He pours his own cup before joining you. His thigh is pressed against yours but he keeps his arms to himself. You try to shift to the side but Coriolanus spreads his legs out. 

“I wasn’t expecting the rain to be so bad,” he says. He’s still drying his hair with a towel and you can see the curls beginning to dry on his hairline. The strands are shiny under the light and look soft to the touch. 

You shove your hand underneath your thigh. You take a deep drink from your cup, uncaring of how the liquid practically burns your throat. “It hasn’t rained like this in a while, huh?” 

“Are you warm enough?” he asks. His head turns as if to snap at a maid to bring in another blanket but you cut him off. 

“I’m fine. The tea is helping.” 

He scrutinizes you but accepts your refusal. “Let me know if you start to feel sick.”

“I’ll be fine! The rain can’t get you sick anyway.” 

He uses the back of his hand against your forehead again. His hand is comfortably cool against your skin. “It certainly doesn’t help.” 

You yawn. Your eyes water from the strength of it and you try to blink away your sudden tiredness. “I just need a couple of minutes and I’ll be out of your hair.” 

Coriolanus hums. “There’s no rush. Why don’t you stay for dinner?” 

His face swims in your vision. The blues of his eyes are all you’re able to make out with pinpoint accuracy before you fall asleep. 

You wake up with bleary eyes. A weight is on your shoulder and fine hair tickles your cheek. When you fail to recognize the room, embarrassed panic wells up inside of you. You shoot off the couch, nearly tangling yourself with the blanket placed over you. 

Coriolanus jumps at your sudden movement. His leaned over body topples onto the couch in your absence. He says your name, bewildered. 

“I am so sorry,” you say, horrified. You can’t believe you fell asleep on his couch. “I must’ve been more tired than I thought. Doing nothing really takes a lot out of you, huh?” You try to laugh. It’s strained. Ugh, what an impression to leave. “I should head out.” 

“You can stay the night,” Coriolanus blurts out. His hair is in disarray and there’s a crease mark across his cheek. 

“I’ve already overstayed my welcome. Thank you for letting me,” you pause. “Um. Sleep. And drool all over your very fancy cushions. And for the shirt. I’ll make sure to wash it.” 

“It’s no bother,” he says faintly. His hand is reached out as if to grab you back but then he curls in his fingers and brings his arm to his side. “But at least stay for dinner. Grandma’am has already seen you and she won’t take no as an answer.” 

As if summoned by the mere mention of her name, his grandmother comes into the room. She’s a rush of words and has you following her into the dining room with nary a peep from you. Twenty seconds in her presence and you are already exhausted. 

You give Coriolanus a pleading look but all he does is shrug. He leans down until his lips brush against your ear. “Best to go along with what she wants.” 

You go to pinch him but your arm protests. Grimacing, you adjust your hand until the ache evaporates. You must have slept on your hand wrong if your wrist is this sore.

The twinging pain doesn’t disappear until a few days later. 

-

Somehow, Coriolanus manages to be wherever you are. 

You wonder if he has a job. And then you wonder if Gamemaking is as rigorous as they like you to believe if Coriolanus is able to find himself haunting your routine. 

“Does it really make that much of a difference?” Coriolanus asks. 

You turn the apple in your hand. It’s fragrant but the fruit caves in when you apply the littlest amount of pressure. It won’t do. “Probably not. But to me it does,” you ask, putting the apple down. 

He’s carrying the rest of the ingredients. It bothers him but he has to tolerate it. He’s the one who insisted on joining you when he ran into you in front of the grocery store. You almost turned on your heel when he called out to you. It is unnatural to see Coriolanus grocery shopping for himself. It is beneath him. 

“Tigris was asking if you’d come to dinner tonight.” 

Imperceptibly, your fingers pause as you pick a different apple. The past few weeks, you have found yourself eating dinner at the Snow home more often than not. Coriolanus has a way of forcing your hand. Your dormant social etiquette skills resurface when his expectant eyes turn to you. You can hear your father’s voice in the back of your head berating you for letting the thought of saying no cross your mind when it comes to Coriolanus. 

But enough is enough. It feels as if Coriolanus is in your peripheral vision at all times, waiting for a misstep to take advantage of. 

“I can’t.” 

You take the rest of your groceries from Coriolanus, a meager supply since you are making an apple pie. Or tart. Or galette. You haven’t decided yet and you do not want input from Coriolanus either. 

“Do you have other plans?” he asks, easily matching your pace as you head to the cashier. 

It’s a quick transaction with minimal pleasantries. Usually, you’d be glad for it but right now, you wish the cashier had drawn you into some inane conversation to keep Coriolanus from breathing down your neck as he is. 

“Yeah.” 

He fights to keep his voice casual as he says, “With who?” 

It is so like him to think your rejection must be contingent on something else rather than you do not wish to spend anymore unnecessary time with him. 

You can’t lie because Coriolanus knows your friends. With the stars aligning to bring Coriolanus into every facet of your life, he has joined a few impromptu lunches, promptly charming your friends into asking you to bring Coriolanus around. 

“No one,” you answer honestly. The truth revolts in your mouth, sticking to the roof. 

“Then I’ll eat dinner with you. Tigris won’t miss us too much,” Coriolanus decides. He takes the bags from you as he speaks, holding them with one hand. The childish urge to tug the bags back eats at you. 

His words register. Ice begins to turn your blood into shards underneath your skin. You are hyper aware of how every nerve in your body frays at the thought of Coriolanus in your home. You have managed to avoid letting him visit through a myriad of excuses. Coriolanus’ favorite one is that you prefer his home over most places, chest puffing a bit in pride at your exuberant insistence at spending time there. 

“I think you should eat with Tigris. It has been a while since she’s seen you,” you say. You hope you don’t sound as panicked as you feel. 

“I see her all the time, she won’t mind,” he dismisses. 

Coriolanus takes a left. With no bags to keep you steady, you dig your fingers into the meat of your palms. You shouldn’t be surprised he knows were you live but it horrifies you all the same. 

“You don’t have to Coriolanus. I’ll be fine on my own. You don’t need to force yourself,” you say as you two stand in front of your gate. You don’t want to type in the code nor scan your eyes in front of him. 

He shifts the bags to his other hand. “I’m not forcing myself.” 

You’re forcing me.

You hesitantly go on your tiptoes to scan your eyes and then rapidly press the numbers of your code on the touchpad. Coriolanus doesn’t hide that he’s watching, taking in and memorizing one of your layers of safety. 

Coriolanus isn’t a bad guy. He’s charming and quick-witted to an extent. He’s also guarded and highly suspicious despite how friendly most people perceive him to be. You assume he likes your honesty and your lack of ambition when it comes to Capitol society. You have no desire to win over allies with the name backing you so you are free to flit in and out as you please. You can’t see why else he’d want to be your friend. 

He is not a spineless man but he is unassuming. He has a gift for making other’s believe they think him as wonderful as he is because that is simply who Coriolanus Snow is and not what he has to consciously slip into. You have been around men like him your whole life. You have no more need for the cutthroat. 

It feels like a concession when Coriolanus steps into your home. He takes off his shoes, taking it in. You aren’t embarrassed but it certainly pales in comparison to the opulence of the Snow home. 

His mouth rounds out to say the polite thing. You stop him. “Don’t.” 

“I was just going to say you did a good job,” Coriolanus defends innocently but the curl at the edge of his lips betrays him. “It’s so minimalistic.” He says it like a slur which is likely considering how disdainful Coriolanus is at covert shows of wealth. 

“I love how your glasses are—” He taps the side of the stray glass on top of your foyer table. It rings muddily. “So rustic.” 

“I never took you for annoying,” you say, snatching the glass from the table. You’re lucky he didn’t catch the minor crack on the rim. 

He follows you into the kitchen. His steps falter as he notices how cold your home is. There are no photos outside of the ones the frames came with. Your walls are bare of any personal touches and the decorations are straight from a catalogue. 

“You don’t take me for anything,” Coriolanus says. He’s factual and bland but a hurt anger belies the facade. 

The naked honesty punctures something in your gut. Guilt seeps into the wound like the beginning of an infection. “I don’t know what you mean,” you evade, turning to unpack the groceries he’s placed on the dining table. 

An apple begins to roll off of the table but Coriolanus catches it. He places it next to your hand, warmth emanating off of his chest and to your back. 

“I take you for exactly as you are.” 

Something scratches at the edges of your conscious, a misstep you are overlooking. You have treaded too far but you do not when you took the one step too many.

“I’m a bad friend to have Coriolanus,” you say finally. You turn, a little surprised at how he’s crowded into you. He’s dressed more casually than you’ve ever seen him and it bothers you to think it doesn’t suit him. Coriolanus is not a casual man and the attempt at being one is duplicitous. “I can’t give you what you want.” 

The companionship Coriolanus thinks he will receive from you doesn’t exist. Something went wrong with you along the way. Your broken heart was forced to heal itself around the cracks, suturing the wounds left by your father with what was left of your rotted love. You have nothing to give that Coriolanus can repurpose into something he needs. 

He smiles at you indulgently. “Maybe not now, but I know eventually you will.” 

-

“You’re up for a promotion.” 

Mr. Plinth straightens the papers in front of him with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. He is mirthless as he stares at you. You were half-convinced you were to be fired if it was Mr. Plinth calling you in but a promotion? Criston should be the one informing you of a potential jump in the hierarchy. He is your direct supervisor after all. 

“You’d be working as a VP of this branch.”

You straighten your already straight back. Mr. Plinth is very begrudging in his tolerance of you. You are the needed parts of your father, having the ruthlessness and savviness needed for business, but the rest of you is as different as can be. Mr. Plinth can’t fault you for your father’s sins try as he might and so, a reluctant liking of you is what his pride can afford. But even that allowance won’t allow you to rise the ranks like this. 

You have only been a senior analyst for three months. You still require oversight and handholding on the bigger projects. You are nowhere near where you need to be to take on a role like this. 

“Can I decline?” 

Mr. Plinth nods. “You can.”

“Then I’ll decline.” You wipe your hands off on your skirt, ready to get up from the chair when Mr. Plinth leans back in his cushioned seat, hands resting on his stomach.

“So we’ll be going with the lateral move then,” Mr. Plinth decides. 

“What?” 

“I know you purposefully underperform,” he says, unamused. “And while it is your choice to do so, it is unfortunately out of my hands to keep turning a blind eye to it.”

“You’re the boss, how is it out of your hands?” you gape. Is it really such a crime to want to do an easy job for a cushioned pay and not want to move up the ladder? At his sour mouth, you add on, “Mr. Plinth.” 

He sucks on his teeth, giving you a closed mouth smile. “I looked over Criston’s work.” Your cheek twitches. Oh no. “And it was one thing to see how much of a fucking idiot he is.” Mr. Plinth taps his fingers against his stomach. “But I come to find out you were the one saving his ass. You are doing him no favors by fixing his work behind his back.” 

He spreads his hands out. “So now, here we are. You have clearly outgrown your role as senior analyst but do not wish to advance your career.”

It’s uncomfortable how easily Mr. Plinth can read you. You’d rather be bored at work than working yourself to the bone. While a fucking dumbass who was only hired based off of his name alone, Criston is swamped with a workload you wouldn’t touch for double your salary. Triple might sway you but not too much. 

“I can’t force you to take a promotion, but it also pains me to see you waste away in such an unfulfilling role.”

You mouth the word ‘pains’. You’re about to tease him when Mr. Plinth leans forward. 

“You’re smart. Smarter than your father gives you credit for,” he says without pride. Something haunted hangs in his face, deepening the lines around his eyes. “And I know he is not grooming you as his successor.” 

Your tongue pushes against the back of your molars as you try not to laugh. Is your family really so obvious to those outside of it? That sick bastard wasn’t going to give you a dime of his fortune. A daughter was not in the cards and yet a daughter was what he was dealt. Knowing your father, he’s already written his younger brother into the will as his sole beneficiary. If your father was the man he wanted to believe he was, he’d donate his money. Alas, he cannot stand the thought of his fortune going to anyone but blood so to your greedy uncle it must go. 

“Do you really want to give him the satisfaction of proving him right?” 

You hate that you are swayed by such a cliche ply for spitefulness. But you are a human being before you are a dutiful daughter so the choice is out of your hands. 

-

You regret not arguing with Mr. Plinth. 

He didn’t let you know the lateral move was working under Coriolanus.

“You’re early,” he says when he notices your gobsmacked form outside of his office. Surprise doesn’t color his tone. 

Mr. Plinth made it seem as if he was doing you a favor for your growth but it turns out, it is a favor to Coriolanus. Perhaps he’s noticed his heir’s inclination towards you. 

Fuck, you hate politics. 

“Wanted to make a good impression,” you say, holding your binder closer to your chest.

“You’ve certainly made one on me.”

“Is that why you asked for Mr. Plinth to transfer me?” Your words are sharp. You don’t appreciate being played to Coriolanus’ whims. 

Coriolanus laughs. It leans closer to a scoff but you decide to be generous. “You were decaying working there. You looked like you wanted to kill yourself.” 

“I always look like that.” 

He narrows his eyes at you. “You’re actually upset.” 

You cross your arms over your chest. Coriolanus’ eyes drift to how your cleavage pushes up. Well, at least he isn’t the doll you have the inkling he is. You sigh, setting your things atop your desk. Inside of Coriolanus’ office. 

Technically, you are now a representative of Plinth’s Munitions with the intentions of helping advance the technology used in the Games. Mr. Plinth aims to move his focus from weaponry and investing into new Capitol technology to make the Games bigger and grander. Thanks to Coriolanus, the Games newfound popularity has created an entirely new sector to take advantage of. 

“I’ve never been upset in my life,” you say flatly. 

He doesn’t take your shit. “I thought you’d be—you’d be happy.” 

“Coriolanus, the whole point of me working at Plinth’s was to separate myself from my father. And now, I’ve lost most of my credibility because people are going to think I asked you to go out on a limb for me and convince Mr. Plinth to give me this position.” You bite your cheek and then shake your head. “Look. I’m not upset. Not really.” 

The next family dinner will be insufferable. Your father will get on his usual soapbox of you relying on others instead of yourself unlike him, the self-made billionaire who didn’t care who he crushed to get to the top. 

“Is it so bad to use the connections you have? Why suffer when you are presented with an easier path? There’s nothing wrong with what you do as long as the ends justify the means.” This might be the first time you’ve seen genuine confusion cross his face. 

Coriolanus never ceases to surprise you. It’s a quiet rumbling now but you heard of his family’s poverty before the Plinth’s saved the Snows. An unfortunate circumstance Coriolanus was luckily able to capitalize on. The reminder quiets your tongue. You’d do anything for your pride, even break your own heart. 

But perhaps it is foolish to do things the way you believe will garner you the most respect when even the littlest of things can crumble said respect in an instant. 

“We’re here now so it doesn’t matter,” you say with a careless shrug. “What do you need me to do first?” 

Coriolanus considers you and how your teeth retract as you for once adhere to the lesson of not biting the hand that feeds you. 

“Stay by my side.” 

-

“Aren’t you Snow’s girl?” 

You’re in the midst of searching for more information on nut allergies. You ate an exorbitant amount of baklava the night before and you fear the itchiness in your throat might be related. 

mild vs severe nut all

Your typing is interrupted when a voice gets uncomfortably close to your ear. 

“You’re Snow’s girl, right?” 

You jerk away from the waft of breath. “What?” 

A man with a shit-eating smile has his hand braced against your desk and he’s leaned down to speak quietly to you. “You’re Coriolanus’.”

The certainty in his voice pisses you off but asking for clarification will only serve to prove whatever point he’s making. 

“Is there something you need?” 

“Not particularly. I was hoping Mr. Snow would be in.” He looks around the office and whistles. “Fancy place. Must be nice.” 

The scratching in your throat has abided. Maybe stupidity is the cure for a nut allergy. 

“Do you guys ever…?” 

You erase your search, not looking at him. “Hmm?” 

His clothes rustle as he shifts his weight. “You know. I mean, why else would Mr. Snow keep you in his office?” 

Your head snaps up. “Keep me?” 

“Oh, don’t be so coy.” 

The sound of your name has the both of you turning at the needed interruption. 

“Would you like to join me for lunch?” 

Coriolanus ignores the man. He stands by the entryway patiently. Your words are caught in your throat at the question. You were only able to put off lunches with Coriolanus for so long before he made them mandatory so the question is a dismissal. 

“Mr. Snow! It’s so nice to see you! I was hoping—”

Coriolanus holds his hand out to you. “I have other matters to attend to.” 

The man’s mouth audibly shuts. “Your secretary.” And he looks at you. You keep your expression neutral. “Said you had some time in between—”

“I don’t,” Coriolanus says coolly. He crooks his fingers up and you take his hand. When you go to drop it, he instead intertwines your fingers together. To avoid causing a scene, you let him but you squeeze his fingers until you feel the bones move. 

He doesn’t react. Asshole can’t even give you the satisfaction. 

You usually take lunch with Coriolanus in his office but now he leads you down a back hallway. His steps are controlled but his strides are long and you hurry to keep pace. 

“Who was that?”

A muscle in his cheek twitches. “One of Aristotle’s council.” 

You blink. After Coriolanus, Aristotle Cramus is the most popular candidate for the presidency but the margin between the two is quite large. Coriolanus hasn’t officially announced his campaign but it is all but assumed in the Capitol. 

He uses his back to push open a door which leads into the building’s restaurant. The bustling sounds of the lunch rush soothes you and your shoulders loosen. 

An Avox ushers the two of you to a prepared table. Your usual lunches are already placed atop. 

“Sorry I was late,” he says, wincing. He undoes the napkin and places it on his lap. “The testing presented more difficulties than anticipated.” 

“It’s fine. What are you guys testing this time?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Trackers,” he answer shortly. 

“Trackers?” you repeat.

He cuts into his steak. His gaze flicks to the scar on your wrist from the first night you met him. It takes a second to drag his attention from the burn mark and to your questioning eyes. “It’s in the development stage but so far, it has been a success.”

“Why would the tributes need trackers if they are in the arena? Isn’t the whole point of the arena to keep them contained?” 

Coriolanus chews before speaking. “There were some issues with previous tributes trying to escape before the Games. Better to be cautious than naive.” 

“Are they noticeable?” 

“Hm?”

“The trackers.” 

He smiles to himself. “Not so far.” 

“Will the arena get bigger then? Later on obviously because I’m sure it’ll take some time before you guys can figure out how to have the cameras follow the tributes,” you say, twirling your fork in your pasta. If Coriolanus can manage this, you think his presidency will be all but confirmed by the next Games. “You’re running for president during the next cycle, right?” 

He nods. “I have two years until I’ll have to make an official announcement.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t think you need an official announcement,” you say, not unkindly. He’s the favorite. His youth is his only fault and that is temporary. “Livia’s already starting her campaign as the future Mrs. President Snow.” 

Coriolanus cuts you an unamused look. It’s more a thinning of his lips and a narrowing of his eyes but you give him credit for keeping up appearances. “She is a choice.”

“A good choice,” you say. “Especially if you are planning on being married before your presidency.” 

“I am,” he says slowly. “And I have a better choice in mind.”

Despite your best efforts, Coriolanus has intertwined himself into your life. And you like to think you may know him better than most at this point but perhaps you do not if there is someone he has his eye on. You take a bite from your noodles. His twenty four hours must vary drastically from your twenty four hours. 

There are too many potential candidates to narrow down anything. The man from earlier’s words echo in your mind but you ignore them. 

Coriolanus stops eating. “I’m actually thinking of announcing our engagement soon.”

You’re taken aback. “You’ve already proposed?”

Coriolanus grins. The hunger he’s always carried within seems sated for once. “Not quite.”

He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t ask. May the odds be ever in that poor girl’s favor. 

-

Work dinners are such a bore. 

You’ve managed to avoid most of them but Coriolanus showed up at your house this time. He bequeathed you a bouquet of blood red roses, making a smart quip of bringing some color into your home. The sickly sweet scent of them lingers in your nose despite the long journey to the restaurant. You’re overdressed by Coriolanus’ insistence but as you step into the restaurant, you think you may have been wrong about this being a simple work dinner. 

Your suspicions are further proved when you are led to private room and inside are the upper echelon of the Capitol. 

“Coriolanus,” you whisper urgently. “What are we doing here?”

He speaks out of the corner of his mouth. “You’ll see.” 

Coriolanus flits off to some of his classmates, faces you only recognize because of their prominence in politics. He melds easily into their conversation, laughing in a way that could be considered for Coriolanus when one jerks his head in your direction. 

You give a hesitate wave when multiple sets of eyes turn to you, skin prickling at the knowing smiles on their faces. 

An excited call of your name grabs your attention.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Nerina gushes. “You have to catch me up on everything.”

You haven’t seen her since you graduated the University and you struggle to remember if you spoke more than three words to her during your time there. All you know of her is she married a wealthy business tycoon since graduation and dabbled in daytime television whenever the news cycle was slow. 

Her exclamation draws more people to you. Sweat dampens the back of your neck as you field the increasing amount of questions directed your way. You smile politely and nod intently at the right moments. When not talking about themselves, most ask you about Coriolanus and how exciting it must be to work alongside him. There are a few pointed comments but you dismiss them with ease, laughing away the probing. Your mind is running a million miles per second. The constant repetition of Coriolanus’ name becomes harder and harder to listen to. 

With a quick glance around the room, you count how many political figures you can name. When it becomes more than your two hands can handle, you start to relax. Perhaps Coriolanus is announcing his official bid for the presidency. It’s a curious thing if he’s brought you along as moral support. 

The Plinth’s are noticeably absent which causes a crease in your forehead. 

You aren’t able to dwell too long on their absence for Coriolanus makes his way back to your side. Nerina titters when he touches your elbow and motions towards the table. His hand hovers over the small of your back as you walk over and take your seat, thanking him quietly for pulling your chair out. 

Nerina makes sure to sit across from you and smirks when Coriolanus sits beside you. 

You cross your thigh over the other. The man diagonal from you, Dohyun you believe, lights up when you look his way. 

“You have any updates for us, Coriolanus?” 

Coriolanus settles back in his chair. “About the Games?” he says playfully. The exchange of amused looks between the men has the hair on the back of your neck raising. 

Dohyun chuckles. “Why not?” he says, drinking some champagne. “We’d all love to hear about it.”

Nerina wants to say something. She keeps trying to meet your eyes but whenever you give in and look at her, there is a pinch in between her brows and huffy breaths leave her. 

His hand is placed on your thigh. You don’t register the blatant dismissal of propriety at first because it is inconceivable. 

“We’re hoping to make this the most interesting Games yet,” Coriolanus says with a smile. He gives you a pointed look as he squeezes you. The angle of his arm makes it obvious to anyone looking where his hand lies. 

Nerina can’t look away. 

“Must be nice for the two of you to work together,” Dohyun says. His eyes are gentle as he smiles. 

“It’s definitely a perk,” Coriolanus agrees. 

His fingers dig into your skin. “There’s never a boring day,” you say through gritted teeth. You try shaking off his hand but Coriolanus doesn’t give in. 

“Actually, I asked you all to come here today to announce something special.” His hand rests on your waist. Coriolanus pulls you closer, practically onto his lap. His palm is hot over the fabric of your dress. You look up at him, alarmed at the possessive hold but trying your best to hide it. “We’re engaged.” 

Your complacent smile is frozen. 

And then there are cheers. 

“I knew it!” Dohyun crows. “I told you guys he’d do it this month. Cough it up.” He holds his hand out as a couple of the guys begrudgingly dig into their wallets amongst their congratulations. No one is surprised. Delighted but not surprised.

Nausea sears your throat. Your ears ring so loudly you think Coriolanus must be able to hear it as well. 

“You really dragged it out, huh?” Nerina says, lips curled over her teeth. You read her lips more than you hear her.

Your voice is stuck. A crushing fist clamps over your heart, tightening its hold until you fear you may collapse. 

“You know how hard working my fiancée is,” Coriolanus defends lightly. “She wanted to make sure to tie up all loose ends before we made it official. Right?” 

You don’t know what to do or say. So you default to what you have always been taught because at least you know how to play that game. 

“You know me,” you say through gritted teeth. “Always wanting my ducks in a row.”

“I was so sure it would take another year,” Dante groans. “Mr. Plinth said he was stepping down soon but I didn’t know he meant this soon.” 

The conversation devolves for a moment to discuss Mr. Plinth’s apparent retirement and you turn to Coriolanus. Your smile becomes vicious. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss under your breath. 

Coriolanus maintains his soft happiness. “Don’t act stupid, it’s unbecoming.” 

“Cut the shit,” you threaten. “And get your hands off of me.” 

He grins with his teeth on display. His canines seem unnaturally sharp as they press against his lip. Coriolanus leans in, uncaring of how the group quiets as he towers over you. A chill drags down your spine at the amusement in his eyes. 

“Or what?” he mocks lightly. “Everyone here thinks you’ve got me wrapped around your pretty little finger. You think they’ll respond favorably if you deny me?”

You’ve forgotten before the Plinths, Coriolanus’ preferred choice of currency was social currency. 

“Smile, Mrs. Snow.”

this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!

[squoosheez]

― 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎 (nsfw)

⌯ pairing: coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⌯ warnings: mentions of death, mentions of hanging, smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), nipple play, biting, mutual orgasm, angst ⌯ word count: 5.6k ⌯ summary: coriolanus snow is your best friend, and you know everything there is to know about him, except for one thing. and, when you find out what it is, it shocks you more than anything. ⌯ author’s note: I wrote half of this last night and the last half today and honestly I don't remember a thing. I was fr possessed by the writing demon. so I have only proofread the first half lollll. sorry if it flows oddly because of that. but this is my first coryo fic and I'm excited to post it. I read the book 3 years ago and finally saw the movie a few days ago. anyway, if you enjoy please lmk! please reblog and like to support me (:

divider credit: @arminsumi | @eloquentreverie | @cafekitsune ⌯ masterlist ⌯ taglist form

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ.

You try to remind yourself that people do bad things all the time. Terrible things, even. But it doesn’t make everyone bad or terrible people.

This rings true for your best friend, Coriolanus Snow. It doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s no saint. It’s even more apparent when he returns from District 12. You know immediately something is amiss. He always keeps to himself and only speaks when spoken to or when he feels he has something important to say. But now his words are fewer and farther in between. Coriolanus is patient and thoughtful on the outside but keeps how he truly feels hidden away inside. He can think about how much he wants to eradicate someone while putting a face on. But you can always see right through his poker face. Coriolanus’s silent but deadly demeanor has only intensified since he returned to the Capitol. You know every inch of his brain, his mannerisms and behavior, and how he thinks- so you know he has done something. You just don’t know what. You do know, however, something went down between him and the songbird tribute from 12. Lucy Gray Baird. The girl with dark features, a brilliant smile, and a heavenly voice. The girl that Coriolanus had seemed to have fallen in love with. It was painful to watch, but you pushed through. Coriolanus had told you everything throughout the days before the games. Despite knowing him through and through, you had no idea that Coriolanus never had any romantic feelings toward Lucy Gray. Instead, his feelings were aimed toward someone else. But, for now, you didn’t know this. Coriolanus takes pride in knowing that you don’t, in fact, know everything about him. But he would never let that on.

Coriolanus is meeting with Dean Highbottom tomorrow to return Sejanus’ things to him rather than to the Plinths. Your best friend feels he needs a great way to start the conversation with Highbottom about his experience of District 12, and nothing is better than a small metal box with things that Sejanus cherished. It was definitely going to be a statement. 

“Coryo?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you do?”

Coriolanus tenses up from where he’s standing in his bedroom, tinkering with something out of your sight on his dresser. You’re laying on his bed, flipping through a book of his you’ve read many a time already. Your eyes are burning holes into his back, expectantly waiting for his response. You know he will give you the run around until he has nowhere else to go.

“Care to be more specific, darling?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname he uses for you when he feels he’s in trouble, “No,” you sigh, “Just tell me. What’s bothering you?”

Coriolanus hesitantly turns around, blocking the view of the dresser with his body as he braces himself against it, still not saying anything. You close the book and set it beside you before getting up from his bed and walking over to your best friend. Coriolanus crosses his arms, looking down at you with that plain, empty stare of his. You heavily exhale through your nose, blinking up at him, crossing your own arms mockingly. There’s an intense glaring contest between the two of you for a few moments until Coriolanus eventually folds, pressing his lips together impatiently. 

“Sejanus,” he says, shrugging as his eyes bore into yours.

You closely study his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Sejanus. You know he had been hung for his crimes. It didn’t seem like Sejanus to do something that rebellious, but stranger things had happened.

“What about Sejanus?”

Coriolanus opens his mouth to speak before closing it again. He thinks for a moment, wondering if he should truly tell you. He tells you everything; if he doesn’t, you eventually figure it out alone. Sometimes, he thinks you’re smarter than him, and it scares him. Before Coriolanus can dwell any further, the sharpness of your stare gets to him, “I recorded him.”

Coriolanus’ words bounce around in your head, and slowly, you begin to put the pieces together. That’s when it dawns on you. Coriolanus had inadvertently killed Sejanus. Your face softens, your arms uncrossing and falling to your sides. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you bite your lip.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Coriolanus says, returning to his activity on the dresser.

There’s a pause, silence hanging in the air thickly. He’s right. You don’t have to say anything. And you don’t. Instead, you snake your arms around Coriolanus’ waist, pressing yourself into the curve of his spine. Your cheek presses into his back, and the familiar smell of rose wafts through your nose. It isn’t often the two of you embrace. Neither of you are fans of hugging per se, but there are times when you do wrap up in one another. You feel right now is appropriate- Coriolanus probably had to process his best friend’s death on his own. Both of you have gone to each other about these kinds of things since childhood. 

Coriolanus relaxes at your touch, hanging his head slightly. He almost almost feels a twinge of guilt for not confiding in you. But he knows how smart you are. As mentioned before, you always figure it out in the end. Coriolanus places his hands on top of yours. He still has nightmares about the sound of Sejanus’ neck snapping and the mockingjays calling out his final cry for his friend’s help. Coriolanus doesn’t feel bad for causing the demise of Sejanus, nor does he feel anything about the two people he killed in District 12. He believes that’s just life, that people do bad things because they’re all inherently bad. Coriolanus knows he’s not a good person because of what he’s done, and he doesn’t care. You have to step on others to climb to the top. And Snow always falls on top.

“I know why you did it, Coryo.”

Coriolanus’ head snaps up at that, but he tries to remain cool, “Really? And why is that?”

“You want to succeed more than anything. I know you do,” you pull away, prompting Coriolanus to turn around and face you, “And I know you’d make sacrifices for it. Just like you did for Lucy Gray.”

Coriolanus cringes at the mention of Lucy Gray, and you frown. Coriolanus takes notice of this.

“I never,” he begins to say, but then shakes his head as if to get rid of his train of thought.

“Never what?” you ask.

“Nothing important,” Coriolanus goes to turn around again, but you grab him.

“There’s still something you’re not telling me,” you say accusingly, your fingers wrapped tightly around Coriolanus’ wrist, “And if you don’t say something now, I will find out. And you won’t like it when I do.”

“Is that a threat?” Coriolanus tilts his head, yanking his arm from your grip as he steps closer to you, his breath hitting your face.

Unphased, you simply look up at him, “What if it is?”

Coriolanus scoffs, standing up straight and nodding to himself, deciding to toy with you a little as he casts his eyes down to yours, “Don’t play with me, little one.”

The blonde knows how annoyed you get when he teases you. He only does it if he wants something. In this case, you figure he wants you to leave it alone.

You grit your teeth, “Coryo,” you say threateningly, “I just want to help.”

“You can help by stopping where you are,” Coriolanus growls, not wanting to think about how every time he looked at Lucy Gray, he saw you instead. 

He didn’t want to think about how Lucy Gray was in the arena that night. How he watched the screen like a hawk, waiting with bated breath for it to be over. Or how she sang to him at the cabin, and he wished it were you in his embrace instead. And least of all, Coriolanus didn’t want to think about how Lucy Gray vanished into the woods, never to be seen again. He had lost her, and he didn’t want to lose you, too. But the difference here is that he loves you, not the songbird. Coriolanus has ruined enough in his life, even if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel for him despite his mistakes. He doesn’t want to ruin his lifelong relationship with you and risk not being rewarded for it like everything else. You’re too precious. And despite the darkness and the damning anger constantly brewing inside him, when he looks at you, it all stops for a little while. 

You bite your tongue, inhaling sharply as you take a step back from Coriolanus, “Fine.”

Before he can react, you’re heading for the door. When you walk out of his bedroom, you glance over at the dresser curiously to see what he had been tinkering with and see three small bottles of morphling. A small container of white powder sits next to them. Your eyes flicker up to Coriolanus’ without a word, and he knows you’ve seen. But he also knows you won’t say anything. As quiet as a mouse, you close his bedroom door behind you.

It’s been days since you’ve seen Coriolanus. 

Sleeping has been challenging, and eating is difficult. Your best friend is everywhere you look and go. You see him in everything. Dean Highbottom is dead, and the Capitol is in shambles over it. Immediately after hearing the news, you knew Coriolanus had something to do with it. He and Highbottom had never been on good terms, and now that Coriolanus had the upper hand in the Capitol as a Gamemaker, he could do whatever he saw fit to get to the top. He always has. 

You’re alone in your small apartment, only a lamp providing ambient lighting against the dark rain clouds outside. Curled up on your couch, you’re reading a book you borrowed from Coriolanus long ago. You had loved it so much that he had let you keep it. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve read it, but it brings you a strange form of comfort every time you do. The story's climax is about to happen when there’s a subtle knock on your front door. You heave a sigh, closing the book and getting up from your comfy spot. You grab a robe from the coat closet and wrap yourself in it, not knowing who could be at the door. When you swing the door open, you’re shocked to see Coriolanus.

“What are you-”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, and you look at him with a stunned expression. He’s never been one to apologize.

You brace yourself against the door, arms crossed, as you motion for him to continue.

“I know you only care about me and want to make sure you can be there for me properly,” Coriolanus says, his eyes darting around your face, “And I appreciate that. And you.”

You nod understandingly, standing up straight before widening the entrance for Coriolanus to enter. Carefully, he walks in, and you close the door behind him. Coriolanus is right behind you when you turn around, with a white rose in hand. He snaps half the stem off, taking the other half with the rose and tucking it behind your ear softly. 

“We’re able to grow them again.”

A small smile graces your lips at that. Coriolanus tucks hair behind your other ear, gently tracing your cheekbone with his knuckle. The tender gesture shocks you, but you just stare up at him and watch him study your face.

“I never,” Coriolanus says before pausing momentarily, just as he did the other day.

“I never loved her.”

“What do you mean?” your face scrunches in confusion.

“I never loved Lucy Gray,” Coriolanus shakes his head, bringing his gaze to yours, “I already have love for someone else.”

You try to keep your face as neutral as possible, letting your best friend’s words fully sink into your brain. Coriolanus was in love. If not with Lucy Gray, then who? 

“If you had not told me, I would’ve never known. You could’ve fooled me,” you lightly chuckle, almost unable to look him directly in the eye.

Coriolanus hums, a surprised look on his face, “You, of all people, haven’t figured it out already?”

“Figured out what? That pretending to love Lucy Gray was your big plan to win?”

“Not only that,” Coriolanus says, moving his hand to grasp your chin, “But you still haven’t figured out who it is that I love most in this world. That’s rich coming from you, my dear. It’s the most obvious, and you’ve yet to see it.”

At this point, it’s almost insulting for him to assume you know who he’s in love with. Yes, you can look at his emotionless expressions and know something is off with him. You can tell by his mannerisms when he’s in a good mood or a bad one, and you know by the look in his eye when he’s enthralled with something. But you’ve only ever seen him have that look a few times. So it’s not like you can know for sure this time. You narrow your eyes at him, his hand warm against the skin of your face. His eyes are gleaming with mischief and something else you can’t put your finger on. Then, it clicks. You do see it. You shakily take a step back from Coriolanus, your eyes not leaving his as you accidentally bump into the table by the door. You let it fall pathetically to the floor as the sound of it cracking against the hardwood echoes in the foyer. 

“Whatever game you’re playing now isn’t funny, Coryo,” you mutter, your eyes burning with angry, embarrassed tears.

Coriolanus steps toward you, a smile growing on his usually empty face, “You see it now?”

“I’m not sure what I see,” you say through gritted teeth, fighting hard to blink back your emotion.

Coriolanus lets his smile falter, briefly looking down at his feet before darting his eyes to yours, “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

You shake your head, the rose falling from your hair and to the floor, “Why?” you ask, your voice trembling, “How?”

Your best friend’s hands slowly move from his sides to rest against your hot, angered cheeks, bringing you closer to him, “You see things in me no one else can. You see things in me I can’t even see in myself.”

You don’t say anything, tears now falling from your lashes. Coriolanus quickly brushes them away with his thumbs, “And believe it or not, I can see things too. In you.”

“What things?” you ask, your voice still blanketed in anger and hesitance. 

“I’ve never understood what love looked like until I saw the way you look at me,” Coriolanus’ lips curl into a small smile, a rare occurrence, 

“And how do I look at you?” 

“The same way you look at the children playing in the street,” he says, “And how you look at books and paintings. With this wonder and appreciation, and hope.”

You close your eyes, silently crying, as you realize Coriolanus has never spoken like this before about anything. Not to you or anyone else about anything or anyone else. 

“Look at me,” Coriolanus whispers, and you open your eyes to see him closer to your face than before.

Now you really see it. The thing you couldn’t put your finger on before. That peculiar way Coriolanus stares at you- you only ever see it when he looks at his family or when he thinks of something brilliant. Whenever he smells roses, his blue eyes soften that way, too- joy, comfort, and safety.

Coriolanus watches as realization falls upon you, and your expression becomes more open. He knows you finally see in him what he sees in you- a mutual understanding and feeling of love for one another. Coriolanus never noticed how you looked at him until he saw Lucy Gray look at Maude Ivory or Sejanus when he looked at the bodies of the fallen tributes in the arena. He never had that feeling for anything, he had thought. Coriolanus only knows hunger- for not just food but for power. And he thought that’s all he’d ever feel until he met Lucy Gray and saw you. He saw you fighting for your life in that arena and trusting him even when you probably shouldn’t. Coriolanus watched you save his life. When he lay there in the ruins in agony from his burns, he realized ever since you were children, you had been saving him all along. He wanted to hate you for it like he hates everyone and everything else. But Coriolanus couldn’t. And here you are before him, your face in his hands, the world- his world, in his hands. He loves you, and you love him, and despite everything that’s happened, that’s all that matters to Coriolanus.

The silence in the apartment stings in your ears, and the dim lamp casts shadows of Coriolnaus’ eyelashes on his cheeks. But you don’t move or say anything. You just breathe in the blue of his eyes. You almost don’t notice him tilting his head slightly and brushing his lips against yours. Coriolanus is hesitant, but he knows he needs to feel you in a way he has never done before. You let him press a soft kiss to your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut. His palms still rest on your cheeks, holding you like you’re fragile. As you kiss back, your hands slide between his arms to gently hold his neck. When you open your mouth slightly to gasp for air, Coriolanus slips his tongue inside. A groan bubbles up your throat as he takes control of your embrace.

“How about we continue this elsewhere,” Coriolanus whispers against your lips, and you nod.

A short walk to your bedroom and the closing of the door sends the man into overdrive as he backs you against it. Capturing your lips again, he doesn’t hold back this time. Coriolanus’ hands find themselves on your waist, his fingers pressing into the material of your shirt underneath the robe. Yours creep into his now short hair where it’s just long enough for you to comb through it. An unfiltered passion hangs in the air as the kiss becomes more desperate, your bodies pressed to each other as firmly as possible as your hands begin to explore. Coriolanus pushes your robe off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap as his fingertips slide under your shirt and over your uncovered breasts. You’re fighting for dominance over the kiss as Coriolanus learns the crevices and gaps of your mouth with ease. A moan escapes you when he brushes over your nipples softly, making your attempt at dominating slowly diminish. Now Coriolanus has control over your open-mouthed kiss, but he soon gives it up and opts to leave small kisses along your cheek to your jaw. You breathe heavily as Coriolanus begins kneading at your breasts as he nips along the underside of your jaw, running his tongue over the small reddening spots he’s leaving.

He inhales the smell of your skin, his thumbs flicking your sensitive buds simultaneously as he travels further down the column of your throat. As much as you wish to continue here against the mahogany door, you take an opportunity to break from Coriolanus to grab his wrist and pull it from your shirt. Before he can ask if he’s done something wrong, you walk him to your bed, where you lay down against your pillows. The usually light blue of Coriolanus’ eyes darkens to an unrecognizable shade as he unbuttons his shirt from the edge of the mattress. His lips are agape as he watches you peel off your shirt, revealing your torso to him fully. Climbing over you, Coriolanus wastes no time attacking your lips as he holds himself up effortlessly. His body is far more toned and muscular than it used to be because of the Peacekeeper training. You drink in his almost god-like appearance as he leaves hot kisses on your neck. Coriolanus moves down, resting his body against your thighs to make himself comfortable. He gazes up at you while his kisses slow down around your bare breasts, asking permission to go further. You squirm underneath him, wishing he’d do something already.

“Tell me what you want, dear,” Coriolanus drags his lips against your tender flesh almost tantalizingly.

“You can touch me, Coryo,” you smile, carding your fingers through his blonde hair, “I want you to.”

Coriolanus wastes no time wrapping his warm mouth around your nipple, lapping at it before letting his teeth graze upon it. You shudder at the sensation, humming in contentment when he begins to suckle the skin lightly. Coriolanus’ other hand squeezes your other breast as he works to overstimulate the one he’s currently focused on. Warmth begins pooling in your lower stomach as Coriolanus pulls the sensitive bud with his teeth, making you whimper. He decides he wants to hear that again, so he repeats the action. This time, your hips buck up into Coriolanus's, and he chuckles.

“Easy, now. I want you to enjoy this as much as I am. Be patient, little one,” he says, twisting your nipple between his fingertips to test how sensitive it’s become.

You whimper again, and Coriolanus admires how angry the soft, peaked flesh is from his mouth. Now, he moves on to the other one, and your hips buck into him again. This time, you feel a bulge beginning to grow in his trousers, and a sense of satisfaction fills you. You relish in the fact Coriolanus is getting turned on just by exploring your body. He bites, sucks, and teases your nipple until you’re whimpering and unable to stop moving underneath him. Coriolanus sits up on your thighs, running his palms over your hardened buds before letting his hands roam your stomach and waist, sending shivers through you. His fingers eventually hook themselves beneath the band of your lounge pants, pulling them down while he moves from where he was sitting, to your side. You kick off the pants when they reach your ankles as Coriolanus unfastens his trousers, removing them with his underwear to join the growing pile of clothing. To say your best friend is well-endowed is an understatement. 

“Beautiful,” Coriolanus climbs back onto your legs, letting his hips press against your shins as he settles himself between your legs.

His thumb carefully traces along the growing wet spot on your underwear before barely brushing against your clothed clit, making your hips tremble. 

“So wet already,” Coriolanus says, resting his cheek on your inner thigh, “You’ve probably wanted this for so long, hmm?” His dark eyes meet yours, the mischievous gleam still present despite his enlarged pupils.

“I won’t lie and say I haven’t,” you say shakily, nervous for him to see you completely bare.

“Well,” Coriolanus says, pressing a kiss to your covered clit, “I know I have.”

He then pulls your underwear down enough to have full access to you. He takes a moment to take in the scent of your arousal before spreading your lips to reveal your hardened clit. Coriolanus admires how your body reacts to his touch and craves to find out just how far he can go. He lets his index finger tease across the bundle of nerves before he attaches his mouth to it. The warmth of his tongue against where you need him most provokes a relieved moan from you. Coriolanus tortuously circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, allowing it to flick the bud every few circumferences. He knows how incredibly wet you must be getting, so he gauges just how much by dragging a finger up your slit. Coriolanus groans at the amount of slick that covers his digit, letting it prod at your entrance before slowly pushing in. He can only imagine how soaked it’ll feel around his cock when you’re ready for him. He curls his finger inside you, finding the spongy area of your cunt. Coriolanus fucks into it with his fingertip, lightly grazing it each time, making your hips jump as you cry out. 

“Can you take two?” Coriolanus pulls away from your pussy for a moment, “Oh, who am I kidding? Of course you can take two. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

A high-pitched moan leaves your lips at Coriolanus’ sassy tone and the feeling of two fingers pressing into your g spot. He resumes his assault on your clit as his long fingers scissor and stretch you out deliciously, the burn subsiding with each thrust. They beckon inside you as Coriolanus begins to suck your bud hungrily. His eyes meet yours, and he doesn’t dare break the intense stare as a third finger is easily pushed into your cunt. 

“Doing so good for me,” Coriolanus praises, his free hand busying your clit as he speaks, “You’re going to take my cock just fine.”

A dizzying wave of pleasure washes over you as he fucks you with his fingers at a jarring pace, the sound of your wetness around them filling the room along with your pitiful moans. 

“I need you, Coryo,” you whine, “I need you to make love to me. Need you so bad.”

Coriolanus runs his hand along the skin of your hips soothingly, slowing his fingers before removing them. He licks them clean as he takes in how fucked out you already are. You’re still staring at him with that look only the two of you share. Sitting up, Coriolanus pulls away from you and wraps his hands around your thighs, pulling them apart. He continues holding on to them as he makes his position comfortable before using one hand to grab his length. Coriolanus strokes himself with the precum that’s leaked out, preparing to line up with your entrance. When he does, he pauses.

“You want this?” Coriolanus asks you, his fingers stroking the skin of your inner thighs, “After this, there’s no going back.”

“I don’t want to go back,” you rest your hand upon his chest, “I just want you. All of you.”

Coriolanus patiently pushes himself into you, guiding his length through your wet, velvet walls. You throw your head back into the pillows at the stretch. Even with three of his fingers to prepare you, Coriolanus’ girth is intense. He stops moving to allow you to accommodate his length as well, your tightness squeezing him. When you’ve adjusted, you push yourself further down his shaft and eventually bottom out. The two of you stay like that for a moment, allowing yourselves to get used to being connected this way. Coriolanus leans down, running his hand through your hair as he kisses you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as you can while he begins to move inside you slowly. He pulls out almost all the way before thrusting back in. You pull away from the kiss to catch your breath, your nose pressed to Coriolanus’ as he pulls himself out again to slam his hips to yours. You’re both panting into each other’s mouths, with foreheads flush against one another as Coriolanus picks up a steady rhythm. He steadies himself with his hand pushed into the pillows by your head, his other still lightly gripping your hair. Temporarily removing his hold on your hair, Coriolanus lifts your legs onto his shoulders to get a better angle. He presses your thighs against your chest, his body weight fully on top of you as he thrusts into your weeping cunt even deeper than before. You can’t help but moan loudly, not caring about what your neighbors are hearing. Coriolanus grunts every time his tip hits your cervix just right as sweat beads on his hairline. 

“Taking me like such a good girl,” he gasps as you purposefully clench around him, “My good girl.”

“I like hearing you say that,” you whimper, chasing his lips with yours before capturing them.

Blonde hair sticks to Coriolanus’ forehead as he feels himself getting lost in you like he’s needed to for so long. You’re the only place he doesn’t mind losing himself in because he trusts you. He doesn’t trust anyone but you. You know every inch of his brain and every thought that goes through his head, and now you know every inch of his body and soul, too. And he knows yours. Coriolanus doesn’t wish to know anyone else how he knows you for the rest of his life. 

“I’m so close,” you whisper, focusing on how heavy Coriolnaus’ eyes are as he lifts them to look at you.

“I know,” Coriolanus whispers back, now fucking into you as fast as he can, “I can feel it.”

You bite your lip, moving your legs off his shoulders to spread them apart. Coriolanus pulls away from you to push your knees flat to the bed, letting his weight keep them pinned down. He’s now moving as deep as he can go into your warm and desperate pussy, his hips snapping forward. Your moans have become yelps as Coriolanus hits that spot inside you dead on.

“Right there, don’t stop,” you cry out, your hands holding onto his biceps fervently. 

The sounds in the room are explicit- from the squelching of your ridiculously aroused cunt being fucked, to the slapping of skin, and you and Coriolanus’ screams of pleasure bouncing off the walls. Coriolanus now opts to hold your hips, his fingernails digging into the supple flesh. You move your hands from his arms to your breasts, toying with your nipples as more warmth spreads to your core. Coriolanus uses this opportunity to spur you on even more and begins pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing hard circles into it. You let out an animalistic groan, your legs reflexively moving to snap closed. But Coriolanus quickly pins one down again, not letting up on playing with your hard bud as you approach your orgasm. 

“Oh, Coryo,” you gasp, your back arching as your clit presses harder against his thumb and his cock delves deeper into you.

The most intense orgasm of your life rips through you as Coriolanus loses control of himself, your cunt squeezing around him with a vice grip. He cums with desperate moans as your body convulses underneath him. Both of you ride out your highs, still rutting against each other as the white-hot pleasure eases away into bliss. Catching his breath, Coriolanus carefully pulls out of you with a wince. You absentmindedly motion to your closet, where you keep the washcloths. He returns with one and cleans you up gently before cleaning himself up. As he’s discarding the cloth, you manage to weakly pull the duvet out from the pillows and envelope yourself in it. Coriolanus joins you, delicately wrapping his arms around your body as if he’d break you. He presses his nose into your shoulder, watching your relaxed expression.

“That was intense,” you speak up finally, and Coriolanus nods.

“Making up for lost time,” he says, and you turn around to face him fully.

You press yourself into his chest, wrapping an arm around him as he does the same to you. Staring into his now lighter and calmer blue eyes, you let a smile grace your lips as you can almost read his mind.

“You aren’t going to hurt me, you know,” you say.

Coriolanus’ typical blank, emotionless expression doesn’t give away anything to allude to what he’s thinking, but you know how his thought process goes. He doesn’t say anything; he just stares down at you.

“I know you think you’re some kind of monster for the things you do. And in a way, you are,” you say, “But everyone is, and it doesn’t define you. It won’t unless you allow it to.”

Coriolanus maintains his poker face as he plays with your hair, “You’re the only proof I have that evil isn’t rooted in everyone,” he says, “And I’m still grappling with it.”

“No one is born evil, and you most certainly weren’t, whether you believe that or not,” you rest your hand upon Coriolanus’ cheek, “You can choose to accept that, or you can keep trying to prove you’re evil. But just know that I wouldn’t associate myself with you if I knew you could do terrible things on purpose.”

Coriolanus flinches but realizes you’re right. Yeah, he’s a little fucked up. You know it, he knows it, everyone knows it. But he had a choice at every step of his grand plan to win the Plinth Prize. And he chose to make the negative ones. But here with you at this very moment, he knows those choices weren’t guaranteed to be made. He could’ve chosen to do right and didn’t. However, you are guaranteed. Because he loves you, and you love him. And that’s the only sure thing.

“I love you,” Coriolanus suddenly says without thinking, which isn’t typical of him.

“I love you, too,” you smile.

Despite the darkness that looms inside Coriolanus Snow, you can see something within him that no one else can. And you can’t be sure of how he decides to live his life- whether it’s in a good way or a bad way. But you are sure that as long as you’re with him, whatever decision he makes will be a logical one. Hopefully, that will be enough for Coriolanus in the end.