vampuzzie

[vampuzzie]

Sundress, no panties -Nanami

Synopsis: Nanami agreed to take a half-day for once. You used it to wear a tiny sundress and test his patience. You weren’t wearing panties—and he figures that out very quickly.

cw: Explicit sexual content (18+). Public sex/semi-public setting (car, risk of being seen). No panties/exhibitionism. Dom/sub. Light choking. Spanking. Rough sex/overstimulation. Dirty talk. Creampie. Slight possessiveness & authority play

You knew exactly what you were doing when you slipped into that little floral sundress.

It was barely August and the heat was already sticky, clinging, but you weren’t wearing it for the weather. You wore it because you liked the way it made Nanami look at you—like he was seconds away from throwing all his rules out the window and bending you over the nearest surface.

Thin, white, soft against your skin. Light enough to move with the breeze, short enough to show off your ass. No bra. No panties. 

And Kento Nanami—your very overworked, very tightly wound boyfriend—had no idea what kind of day you had planned for him. At least, not when he picked you up that morning.

His jaw clenched the moment he saw you. He was in his usual three-piece suit, meticulous and pressed, glasses perched on his nose and a to-go coffee in his hand. His eyes skimmed down your body with that cold, unreadable look he got when he was trying very hard not to react. You smiled, all sweet. “Morning.”

“You’re not wearing a coat,” he said flatly.

“It’s warm out.” You leaned into his car, lips pouting as you walked to your side of the car. “Isn’t this dress cute?”

“Mhm,” he murmured as he was helping you into his car, gentlemanly as ever—palm on the small of your back, leaning close, murmuring something soft about dinner reservations and time windows—until his hand dipped a little lower. Until your leg shifted to get in and that dress rode up.

Until he felt bare skin under his palm. His voice dropped immediately. “You forgot something.” “I don’t think I did.” “You’re not wearing any panties.” “And?”

The passenger door slammed. Hard. You bit back a grin as he rounded the car and got in, jaw tight, one big hand gripping the steering wheel, the other flexing slow on his thigh. He didn’t say anything for five minutes. Not until you crossed your legs sweetly and whispered, “Are you mad?”

Nanami didn’t look at you. “Mad isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Oh?” You reached over, letting your fingers trace the seam of his trousers, right along the thick line of his cock already pushing against the fabric. “What word would you use?”

His hand caught your wrist so fast you gasped, he was furious.  “Stop it,” he said sharply. “Sit still and be quiet.”

You smiled, wicked and teasing. “That doesn’t sound like a thank you for the little surprise I planned.”

His eyes cut to you, cold and sharp. “I should pull this car over right now. Stop. It.”

You didn’t stop. You never did. Not when he warned you. Not when he glared at you with that tightly-reined restraint that made your thighs press together in the seat. Not even when he muttered a final, sharp “Enough” through gritted teeth, gripping the wheel so tight the leather creaked. He had to recite tax brackets in his head just to keep from wrecking the car.

Instead, you ran your palm slowly over his thigh, higher and higher until you reached the aching, hard line of his cock straining against his slacks. You gave him a playful little squeeze, and in the same motion, reached into your bag.

“Cupcake?” you asked, all innocent as you unwrapped the little thing you picked up from the bakery. Vanilla bean. A stupid, soft little snack. “I brought one just for you.”

“Don't,” he muttered under his breath. He watched you tear the wrapper with one dainty hand, shimmying in the seat like your bare cunt wasn’t already sticking to the leather.

“Kento,” you murmured, licking a streak of frosting off your thumb, “you want a bite?” You moaned—loud—when your tongue dragged over the tip of your finger, eyes fluttering shut like the taste was orgasmic. Then you bit into it slow, messy, frosting smearing the corner of your mouth. You licked that too. Sucked it off your finger like it was his cock.

“This frosting is so good,” you said, eyes flicking to him while your other hand trailed up his thigh. “C’mon just one bite?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, snatched the half-bitten cupcake out of your mouth without warning, threw it straight out the open window—“Kento!”—frosting streaking his knuckles from the force. He didn’t even blink.

Your lips parted like you might whine, but all that came out was a breathy sound as he raised his frosting-coated fingers to inspect the mess he'd made. Creamy, sticky, speckled with crumbs. His other hand never left the wheel, eyes forward as you—incorrigible, needy—snatched his hand and dragged it to your mouth.

You looked up at him through your lashes as you licked slowly from his knuckle to fingertip.

“Oh, fuck off,” he muttered under his breath—but you caught the twitch of his jaw.

“You’re so mean to me, baby,” you whispered against his knuckles. “You didn’t even want a taste?”

His voice was deadpan. “You’re going to cry later. I hope you know that.”

Your thighs clenched again—god, you were already so fucking wet, sticky between your legs from nothing but teasing him. His fingers were still in your mouth. You made a soft little mmph sound like a slut trying to apologize. 

He made a sharp turn off the main road—too fast—and pulled the car into the back lot of a quiet rest stop. You barely had time to react before the engine cut off, the brake engaged.

And then the car was dead silent. You watched him unbuckle his belt with controlled precision. He wasn’t rushing. Nanami never rushed.

You gulped. “Kento—”

“Get on my lap.”

The words hit like a slap. You blinked. “What—”

“You wanted attention. You want to tease me? Fine. Get on my lap. I’ll let you fuck yourself on my cock in broad daylight. No window tints. No privacy. Go ahead. Let’s see how long that attitude lasts.”

“…someone could see—”

He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you forward, his mouth was right at your ear, voice low. “Get. On. My. Lap.”

He released you just as fast. Sat back. Opened his slacks with one sharp motion and freed his cock—thick, flushed, already leaking, slapping against his stomach with a quiet, heavy thud.

“Take your time,” he said coldly. “You love putting on a show, right?”

You were already crawling into his lap, straddling him, the sticky heat of your cunt dragging over his length as you settled against him. You were so wet he didn’t even need to guide himself in—just one slow press of your hips and he slid inside, inch by inch, deliciously deep.

You gasped as he hissed. His head dropped back against the headrest. “Fuck. Of course you’re this wet.”

You bit your lip, hips trembling. “It’s your fault…” you whined, high-pitched and breathless. He gripped your throat with one hand. “Don’t fucking start,” he snapped. “You’re lucky I’m letting you cum at all.”

You could barely breathe. Not just because of the thick weight of his cock pulsing inside you—but because of the way Kento fucking looked at you. One arm slung across the back of the seat, the other still gripping your throat, palm hot and broad. His glasses had slid down just slightly, exposing the sharp glint of his eyes as he watched you tremble in his lap like some fucked-out little plaything.

“You don’t get to be shy now,” he muttered. “Ride me.”

You whimpered and gripped the collar of his shirt as your hips began to move. Slow at first. Up. Down. Just enough to feel that stretch all over again. Every time you sank down, it felt like too much—too deep. But his grip tightened when you tried to stop. His brows drew together like he was annoyed you weren’t using him properly.

“You tease me all fucking morning,” he growled, “and this is how you ride cock?”

“I’m—” you gasped, “I’m trying—”

“Try harder.”

The slap to your ass was loud and immediate—his palm cracked sharp against the curve of it and you yelped, tightening around him. His cock twitched in response. You barely managed another rise and fall of your hips before your rhythm broke, thighs shaking.

“I can’t—” “Yes, you can.”

He grabbed your hips with both hands and then slammed you down onto his cock so hard you choked on your own breath. “Oh my god—Kento!”

His hips snapped into yours, cock stretching you wide, his hands bruising your waist. He grunted with each thrust, every stroke a punishment.

“This—” thrust. “—is—” thrust. “—what happens—” thrust. “—when you pull that shit with me.” Your eyes were glassy, mouth parted around panting little moans as he forced you to take his cock over and over, faster now, harder—bucking you against him with brute, punishing strength. The squelch of your cunt sucking him back in was filthy. 

He sat back, legs planted, hands locked on your hips, and fucked up into you so hard you saw stars. Your entire body bounced with every brutal thrust—his cock punching against your cervix, the fat head dragging over that swollen, needy spot inside you again and again until your back arched and your mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

Your orgasm crashed over you so violently your body locked up, cunt clamping down around him like a vice. You cried out—high, loud, broken—and Nanami bit your lip as he grunted, hips jerking up once, twice, before he stilled. His cock throbbed deep inside you, spilling hot cum into your pulsing cunt, so much it dripped out the second he pulled you off him.

You collapsed against him, panting, shaking, your sundress hiked up around your waist, legs splayed open across his thighs.

Just your heavy breaths and his low, even ones. His hand stroked your back, then slid lower—over your ass, to your slick thighs, to where his cum was starting to drip onto the seat.

“You made a mess,” he muttered. You mumbled something incoherent against his chest. He sighed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You giggled, barely able to lift your head. “Told you the dress was worth it.”

He shifted, tucking himself back into his slacks with practiced ease, then grabbed a handkerchief from the glovebox and slipped it between your legs.

“Clean up.” You mewled, lifting your hips weakly so he could wipe the mess from your thighs.

“You know,” you whispered, lazy smile spreading over your face, “we never made it to lunch.”

He glanced down at you. “You're not getting anything sweet for the rest of the day.”

You smirked. “Except you.”

His palm landed on your ass again—lighter this time. A warning. “Behave.”

“No promises.”

He closed his eyes like he was praying for strength. “Next time,” he said, voice low, “I’m tying your hands before we get in the car.”

You beamed. “Looking forward to it.”

a/n: SLUTT FOR MY NANAMINNN

[vampuzzie]

satoru and cuddle fucking mwah👅

It was almost 3 a.m. when Satoru Gojo slipped into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight with a soft creak. You shifted slightly at the change, still half-asleep.

He had just gotten back from a week-long mission, and all he wanted was to hold you, kiss you—fuck you. He was aching for it.

Your leg was hiked up, giving him the perfect view of your panties hugging your cunt just right. He couldn’t help but bring his hand up to rub over your clothed slit, the motion almost instinctive, practiced.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he dragged his fingers down your covered folds. He wanted to feel ashamed—pathetic, even—for touching you like this while you slept, but he knew this was your favorite way to wake up when he returned from long missions. He kept up his slow ministrations for a moment before leaning close.

“Sweetheart,” Satoru’s tired voice was warm against your shoulder as he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek. “Wake uppp.”

You couldn’t stop the sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you finally blinked your eyes open.

“Satoru…?” you murmured, rolling onto your side, your back pressing into his chest as you sought his warmth.

“Missed you, pretty girl,” he whispered between kisses along your shoulder. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you while I was gone.”

You turned your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. “Missed you too, ’Toru…”

His lips trailed higher, brushing along the curve of your neck, his breath hot as his hand slipped beneath the thin fabric of your panties.

“Fuck,” he groaned softly against your skin, finally touching you where he wanted. “Been dying for this all week.”

Your sleepy sigh turned into a quiet moan as his fingers teased your folds, his thumb pressing just right over your clit. You shifted your hips against his hand, needing more, even half-awake.

“Already so wet for me,” he whispered, a smug edge in his tired voice. “Knew you missed me too, huh?”

You nodded, pressing back into him, gasping when you felt his cock straining against his sweats—thick and hard, rubbing against the curve of your ass.

“‘Toru…” you breathed, voice breaking on a whimper.

“Yeah, baby, I got you,” he murmured, sliding your panties aside.

A strangled moan escaped you, muffled into the pillow as he bottomed out inside you, his chest pressed tight to your back.

“God, you feel perfect,” he gritted, hips snapping forward in quick, needy thrusts. “Tight little pussy squeezing me like you don’t want me to leave again.”

“Shhh,” he hushed, kissing your shoulder again. Satoru grabbed under your thigh, lifting it slightly so he could slide in deeper, his hips already rolling, sharp with pent-up desperation. “Don’t wake the neighbors now, pretty girl…”

His thrusts were rough, hungry, like he’d been starved for you, each one forcing a broken groan out of him. He kissed and bit along your neck, breathing you in like he could never get close enough.

Your leg hooked high on his hip, spreading you open, the new angle grinding him deeper and pulling a sharp gasp from your lips.

“Too big…” you whimpered, clutching at the sheets.

“Yeah?” he rasped, fucking into you harder. “Stretchin’ you out so good, aren’t I?”

You could only nod, your mouth falling open as a moan slipped out. His hand slid up, squeezing your breast through your shirt, thumb flicking your nipple until your back arched.

“Don’t stop,” you managed, voice broken and thin.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he groaned, hips snapping against you faster, chasing the way your cunt tightened around him. “Been waiting all fuckin’ week for this.”

The wet smack of skin on skin filled the room, your muffled cries tangled with his low curses. He caught your chin, turning your head just enough to steal a messy kiss, swallowing the sounds you couldn’t hold back.

When he pulled away, his eyes were wild, his grin sharp.

“Not lettin’ you go ‘til you’re screaming for me, pretty girl.”

Every thrust had you sliding higher up the mattress, your body trembling from the pace he was setting. His chest was slick against your back, his breath hot and ragged in your ear.

“God—missed this pussy,” he groaned, the words breaking on a low growl as his hips slammed into yours. “Been fucking myself stupid thinking about it all week.”

Your hand clawed at the sheets, your voice barely more than a whimper. “‘Toru… too much…”

He tightened his grip on your hip, dragging you back onto him harder. “No such thing, baby. You take it so fuckin’ good.”

The angle had him hitting deep, your toes curling as heat swelled in your stomach. You gasped, thighs trembling.

“Need to feel you cumming all over me.” His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles that had your moans spilling freely now.

You felt yourself unraveling, your body tightening around him with every thrust. He groaned, biting at your shoulder as his rhythm faltered.

“Shit—gonna lose it—”

You cried out into the pillow, your body shuddering as your orgasm ripped through you, walls fluttering tight around him.

“Fuck, fuck—just like that,” Satoru groaned, his pace breaking, thrusts sloppy as your cunt clenched down hard on him. “You’re milking me, baby—ah, shit, I’m gonna—”

His hips slammed flush to yours, burying himself deep as his release hit. A guttural moan tore from his chest, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled hot and messy, filling you to the brim.

You gasped at the sudden heat, your nails digging into the sheets.

“So full…” you breathed, voice shaking.

“Yeah, you are,” he panted against your skin, his arm tightening around your waist, holding you in place so none of it could slip out. “Fuck—I missed this. Missed you.”

The bed creaked with the last few aftershocks of his hips rolling lazily into you, chasing every drop he could give. He pressed wet kisses to your shoulder, his breath still uneven.

“Mine,” he murmured, nuzzling against your neck, possessive even in his exhaustion. “Always mine.”

[vampuzzie]

IN A BAND 18+MDNI

pairing:guitarist satoru x reader

summary: you and satoru have had some sort of weird relationship for around 2 years, you had known him before his band got famous. He never put a label on you guys but you didn’t see anyone and neither did he. His career was too big for an actual relationship. will you stay or leave him.

(A/N:i don’t know how i feel about this but i thought of it will listening to the town by the weeknd)

You’d known Satoru long before the flashing lights, screaming crowds, and magazine covers—back when his band was playing in shitty, half-empty bars that smelled like cheap beer and cigarettes. That’s where you found him. Or maybe… that’s where he found you.

You’d just ended a year-and-a-half relationship in the ugliest way possible—walking in to find your boyfriend tangled up in your sheets with someone else. The sting hadn’t even settled when Satoru slid onto the barstool beside you that night, blue eyes glinting with something reckless, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. He bought you a drink, his words dripping with boyish charm and the kind of cheesy lines you should’ve rolled your eyes at. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Something about him made it feel like he was the only person in the room who saw you.

That night cracked something open between you, something that never really closed. You don’t regret accepting that drink—not once. Not during the fights that burn hot and loud, not during the weeks when you’re nothing but missed calls and late-night texts now that his band is selling out arenas across the country. If anything, the distance only sharpens it. Because no matter how far he is, he’s still yours. And you know—deep down—he’d burn the whole world just to make sure you stayed his, too.

Satoru’s never put a label on what you are to him, but he’s made it very clear that he doesn’t want you to see anyone else. He doesn’t call you his girlfriend, but he calls you his. He talks about the future he’ll give you, but he’ll show up at your door at 2 a.m fresh off a flight. Looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him breathing.

Even now as you sit in his very expensive bed, in his very expensive penthouse house, half naked and wrapped in his Mulberry silk sheets. You watch him as he slips his boxers on with half lidded eyes. You don’t regret that night you met him in the bar almost 2 years ago.

Even now, sitting in his very expensive bed in his very expensive penthouse, half-naked and tangled in his Mulberry silk sheets, you can’t take your eyes off him. You watch through heavy, half-lidded eyes as he slips his boxers on, every movement slow, deliberate—like he knows you’re looking.

Almost two years have passed since that night in the bar, and you’ve never once regretted it. Not when the fights get loud, not when the distance stretches between tour stops, and not even now—when you know he’ll kiss you like you’re the only thing that matters here, but walk out the door and pretend you’re just another face in the crowd.

Because Satoru Gojo doesn’t hide you out of shame—he hides you because fame is greedy, and he refuses to let the world pick you apart. You’re his, in every way that matters… just not in a way anyone else gets to see.

He catches you staring and that familiar smirk tugs at his lips—the one that always feels like a secret only you get to see. Without a word, he crosses the room, the morning light catching in his messy hair, and slips back into bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, his skin still warm as he pulls the sheets over both of you.

His fingers find your hip, slow and lazy, tracing over bare skin like he’s memorizing it all over again. He presses a kiss to your temple, then another just below your ear, his breath warm against your neck. For a moment, it feels simple—quiet. Just you and him. “miss you when i’m gone baby,”

But even in that stillness, there’s an ache you can’t name. Maybe it’s in the way he holds you a little too tightly, or the way his eyes linger on yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear when he blinks. Whatever it is, you let him keep you close, tangled in silk and sunlight, pretending that this moment could last forever. “..miss you too, toru..”

Satoru had been gone for hours at this point, he went to some bar to play the release of his new album, it was a small gathering just some of his fans and of course the rest of his band.

You’d been scrolling through your phone, trying to ignore the dull ache that had settled somewhere deep inside, but then you saw it—a photo, posted by one of his bandmates.

There she was. A girl pressed against him, arms wrapped around his neck, hand on his chest. The kind of photo that felt too intimate.

Your chest tightened, the sharp sting of jealousy twisting into something darker—obsession wrapped in heartbreak. You didn’t scream or cry. You barely even breathed. Instead, you stared at the screen, your fingers trembling.

you wanted to run, take your things leave him with no explanation but you didn’t, you loved satoru more than anything but this photo might be your ending with him. You couldn’t go through this again.

****

By the time satoru comes through the door it’s almost 3 a.m, your tears have dried for the most part but it’s obvious you’ve been crying, your eyes are puffy, face all red. You’re sitting on a barstool in the kitchen and you can tell he hasn’t noticed you yet.

You watch him toe off his shoes in an almost practiced manner like he’s trying to be quiet. At the sound of your sniffing satoru turns to face you, his smile falls almost immediately-a look of worry painting his face.

He rushes over to you, “What’s wrong baby? are you okay?” His hands coming up to your cheeks and you can’t help the way you flinch away from them. You don’t want him to touch you and that realization hurts him more than anything.

You open your phone the picture, facing it towards him. “what is this satoru?” You hate the way your voice breaks as you speak. “tell me it’s not what it looks like,”

Satoru has always hated seeing you cry, and he hates it even more when you’re crying because of him. He wants to reach out, to touch you, but he holds his hands at his sides instead. “It’s not what it looks like, I promise.”

You shake your head and toss your phone onto the kitchen island, standing to face him. “Then what is it? Because I can’t go through this again.” Your voice rises just a little, trying to sound intimidating, but you know you look more like a kicked cat. “Do you really think I would cheat on you? After everything we’ve been through, that I would hurt you like that?”

“I don’t know what to think, Satoru,” you breathe out, crossing your arms over your chest almost defensively. “You don’t call me your girlfriend in front of anyone. You don’t post about me—I can’t post about you. I’m just your live-in booty call, so I don’t even know if you’d cheat on me.”

Satoru’s shoulders slump, the usual fire in his eyes dimming with regret. “she’s sugurus girlfriend i promise.” He steps closer, voice trembling but steady.

“I never wanted you to feel like you were just a secret, like you weren’t everything to me.” His hand lifts slowly, brushing a stray hair from your face, fingers lingering softly against your cheek. And this time you don’t flinch away “You’re the only one I want—no one else.”

He swallows hard, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. “I know I don’t show it the way you need. I’m scared too—scared that this lifestyle will hurt you,”

His eyes search yours, desperate and honest. “But I swear, I love you. More than anything. And I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that.”

Satoru feels tears welling up in his eyes, his nose burning and cheeks flushed. He reaches out and gently pulls your arms away from your chest. “I’ll tell everyone. I’ll shout it from the rooftops. I’ll take you to every red carpet and every tour I go on. Just please, don’t leave me.”

“I want you to want to do that,” you say softly, “not do it because you think I’ll leave you if you don’t, Satoru.”

He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving yours, his hands squeezing yours tightly. “I do want to do it. I want everyone to know you’re mine, and I’m yours.” His voice is almost pleading.

It’s not often you see Satoru like this—so broken.

Satoru’s grip tightens, his fingers trembling as if afraid you’ll slip away even now. He swallows hard, voice low and rough.

“I’ve never been good at showing how much you mean to me. I hide behind jokes and walls because admitting I’m terrified of losing you feels too damn vulnerable.”

He pulls you close, his forehead resting against yours, breath warm and heavy. His hand trails down your arm, sliding beneath the edge of your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist.

“But I’m done hiding,” he murmurs against your lips. “You deserve to be seen—proudly, loudly. And I want to show you exactly how much you mean to me.”

His mouth captures yours, desperate and claiming, as his hands roam with urgent need—every touch a promise, every kiss a confession.

The ache between you—of hurt and longing—melts into heat, a fierce, aching desire that demands release.

His words are enough to quiet the storm in your head. You hate that you believe him so easily, but he’s always had that effect on you—maybe that’s why you’re perched on the counter now, panties hanging loosely from one ankle, his tongue buried as deep inside you as he can get it.

Your hands tangle in his hair, thighs squeezing around his head as your back arches. “Satoruuu…”

His hands grip your ass, squeezing roughly and pulling you closer against his mouth.

“M’sorry, sweet girl. Love you so much,” he murmurs against your cunt, his voice muffled by you. The words send a shiver straight through you, and you can’t stop the moan that claws its way up your throat.

Satoru groans at the sound, the vibration of it making your thighs twitch around his head. His tongue works you with a maddening rhythm—slow and deep one moment, fast and messy the next—like he can’t decide whether to worship you or ruin you.

One of his hands slides up your spine, splaying across your back to arch you further into him, while the other keeps a punishing grip on your ass, holding you exactly where he wants you. You can feel his breath hot against you between every lick, every sinful drag of his mouth.

“Gimme another one,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to kiss your inner thigh, his lips wet and swollen. “Wanna taste you again.”

You whimper his name, the plea spilling from your lips before you can stop it. He grins against your skin, a flash of smug satisfaction that’s quickly replaced by hungry determination as his mouth seals back over you.

It’s almost too much—his desperation, his need to make you believe him with every flick of his tongue, every groan that rumbles against you.

“gonna cum toru..can’t.. it’s too much” your fingers grip into the edge of the counter, hips trying to buck away from his mouth but it’s no use with the tight grip he has on you.

He hooks his arms under your thighs, dragging you forward until your ass is barely on the edge of the counter. The movement jolts a gasp out of you, and then his mouth is back on you—messy, greedy, like he’s trying to crawl inside and live there. His tongue fucks into you hard, fast, relentless, each stroke dragging broken moans from your lips.

Your hands fist in his hair, pulling, but it only spurs him on. He groans into you, the sound vibrating through your whole body, his eyes flicking up to meet yours—dark, fevered, and locked on your face like he’s memorizing every second.

“Mine,” he growls between licks, the word low and wrecked. “You’re mine—say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, thighs trembling, hips rocking helplessly into his face.

“Louder,” he demands, pulling his mouth away just long enough to slap your thigh, the sting sharp and hot. “I want the whole fucking building to hear who you belong to.”

“I’m yours!” The words rip out of you right as his mouth seals back over your clit, sucking so hard your vision whites out. Your orgasm hits like a shockwave—sharp, consuming—your back bowing and your cry echoing off the walls.

He doesn’t stop, not even when you’re shaking, not even when your nails dig into his scalp. If anything, he dives deeper, drinking you down like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

His tongue lingers in slow, deliberate strokes, drawing out the tremors of your orgasm until you’re shuddering in his hold. He gives your thigh an affectionate squeeze before finally pulling back, his gaze sweeping over your limp form—eyes closed, chest rising and falling in rapid bursts.

Satoru can’t help but grin as he reaches down, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it carelessly aside.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, voice warm, his hands already finding your thighs, rubbing them gently. The grin never leaves his face, his mouth still glossy with your slick—something he makes no move to wipe away.

It takes you a moment to respond, your lashes fluttering as you blink open your eyes to meet his. “Mhm… I’m good.” The cool marble beneath you feels heavenly against your overheated skin, pulling a sigh from your lips.

“Thought I broke you for a second there,” he laughs softly, his thumbs kneading into your thighs before tracing the motion down the length of your legs.

Without a word, his hands slide higher, fingers curling under your ass to drag you toward the edge of the counter. You gasp, instinctively bracing your palms behind you, but he doesn’t stop until you’re right where he wants you—legs open, panties hanging loose around your ankle.

“Satoru—” You barely get his name out before he leans in, kissing you deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue. His hands grip hard, like he’s terrified you might slip away if he lets go.

“Could stare at you like this all night,” he murmurs, lips hovering over yours before he straightens. In one motion, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down his hips until they pool at his ankles.

Your eyes flicker down instinctively, catching the sight of him—thick, flushed, already hard—and you swallow, pulse skipping.

He steps back in between your legs, one big hand cupping your jaw, tilting your face until you’re looking right at him. His voice drops, low and rough. “Gonna fuck you right here. Keep you where you can’t go anywhere.”

Before you can answer, he’s pushing into you—slow but relentless—until he’s seated all the way inside. Your head tilts back against the counter at the feeling of his cock pressing against your walls just right. The stretch stealing the breath from your lungs. Your nails sink into his bare shoulders as you try to steady yourself, one of your hands coming up to grip onto his bicep.

“Fuck—so perfect for me,” he groans, his hands locking around your hips to keep you flush against him.

He starts to move, deep and steady, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the quiet kitchen. His forehead stays pressed to yours, breaths mingling, every thrust hitting so deep it feels like he’s trying to carve himself into you.

“You’re mine,” he says again, the words coming out almost like a prayer, his voice thick with emotion. You can’t help the cry that leaves your throat at a particularly rough thrust. “satoruuuu,”

His pace turns punishing, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the kitchen. Your moans grow louder, tumbling out without control, each one pulling a darker sound from his chest.

Satoru’s grip on your hips is bruising as he drags you to meet every thrust, his teeth grazing along your jaw before sinking into your neck just enough to make you gasp. “Can feel you—fuck—clenching around me,” he groans, his breath hot against your ear.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling when he hits that spot deep inside that makes your vision blur. “Satoru—ah—don’t stop,” you beg, voice cracking, thighs shaking violently against him.

“Not gonna,” he grits out, rutting into you like a man possessed. “Not until you can’t think about anything but me.”

Your nails scrape down his back and he hisses, snapping his hips faster until all you can do is moan his name over and over.

The knot in your stomach pulls tighter with every brutal thrust, your moans spilling freely now, messy and unrestrained. “Satoru—fuck—I’m so close,” you cry, clinging to him like you’ll fall apart without his touch.

He growls low in his throat, one hand snaking between you to press against your clit, rubbing in tight circles that have your back arching. “Cum for me, baby—right here, while I’m inside you,” he pants, eyes locked on yours like he’s willing you to break for him.

The wave hits hard—you clamp down around him, moaning his name like a prayer as your orgasm crashes over you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, thighs trembling violently as he fucks you through it.

Satoru’s pace falters, his hips stuttering before he buries himself deep, groaning your name as he spills inside you. His grip on your hips is desperate, like he’s trying to fuse you to him, forehead pressing against yours as you both pant through the aftershocks.

He stays there for a moment, still pulsing inside you, lips brushing yours as he whispers.

You both lie there for a while, the only sound that can be heard is both of yours and satorus heavy breathing. He moves to rest his head against your shoulder, pressing a sloppy kiss there. “gonna tell everyone your mine sweetheart promise,”

[vampuzzie]

Toji baby trapping you came to me in a dream last night. mdni 18+

Toji couldn’t really pinpoint when it had started.

He wasn’t sure if it was when you were packing Megumi’s lunch for school, doing his laundry, or getting him ready in the mornings. All he knew was that for the past week, he’d been hard as a rock—constantly having to excuse himself under the claim of needing a smoke (which you hated when he actually did), or ducking into the bathroom.

You knew it was working—all the little things. Taking care of Megumi, feeding into that quiet desire Toji never said out loud. But you noticed.

You caught on after the first couple of times

he slipped away. You didn’t even question it when your birth control mysteriously disappeared. You let him play his games—throwing out the condoms, the whole nine yards.

You let him think he was in control.

All Toji knew was that now, with you laid out across the sheets, legs bent to your chest as he drove his cock into your cunt at a ridiculous pace—this would be the time he got you pregnant. “Tojiii…~” you squealed, voice catching as his cock kissed your cervix, your hands gripping the sheets around you.

“fuck baby, wanna get you pregnant,” he finally spoke, his voice breathless and gruff. His big meaty hands squeezing the back of your knees as he pushed them farther towards your ears. He needed to fuck you deeper, needed it to stick this time.

You couldn’t help the small smile that painted your lips but quickly fell as he punctuated his words with a rough thrust of his hips. “you wanna make me a daddy again sweet’art,” You nodded quickly, eyes blinking open to look at him.

“wanna make you a daddy please toji..” Everything about this was so hot, the sweat dripping down his ripped chest, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat, his biceps flexing with every thrust.

Toji couldn’t help the grin that spread across his lips. Guess he never really had to do any of that stuff he just had to make sure you never found out.

“So fucking dirty, doll,” he groaned, leaning over you, his weight pressing your thighs down closer to your chest. His cock bullied deeper into your cunt, the head dragging along your walls just right, making your back arch off the bed.

Your moan was shameless, loud and high-pitched as your walls clenched around him.

“Shit—tight fuckin’ pussy,” he hissed, pulling back just enough to slam forward again, harder this time—his balls slapping against your ass with wet, heavy smacks.

“Gonna pump you so full, baby. Gonna take it all, yeah?” You nodded, blinking up at him through dazed eyes, your mouth parted, breath stuttering. “Want it so bad… wanna be full of you, Toji…”

Your words lit something in him—something feral.

He dropped one hand to your lower stomach, pressing down to feel the way his cock bulged against your skin as he fucked into you. “You feel that?” he growled. “That’s me, all the way up in your guts.”

You whimpered, toes curling, your orgasm building fast and sharp at the base of your spine. He could feel it—knew your body well enough to know when you were close.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice like silk-wrapped sin, “cum on it. Cream all over my cock, baby—wanna feel this pussy milk me dry.”

It only took a few more hard, perfect thrusts before your whole body snapped, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Your cunt spasmed around him, clenching down as you sobbed out his name, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck, fuck—” Toji cursed, hips jerking erratically now, thrusts losing rhythm. He buried himself deep one last time, cock twitching inside you as he spilled everything—hot, thick ropes of cum pouring into your cunt, just like he’d wanted all week.

He stayed there for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His cock still buried deep inside, still twitching, still leaking.

“Bet that took,” he muttered with a breathless laugh. “You feelin’ knocked up already, sweetheart?”

He let your legs fall from his grasp, letting them settle against his waist as he stayed slumped against you. You hummed, hands lazily dragging down his back. “Maybe.”

He leaned down and kissed your neck, slow and open-mouthed, his voice low and possessive in your ear.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not done making sure.”

(hope yall enjoy! also remember my requests are open. give me your feedback🩷)

[vampuzzie]

Pt 3 was so good 😭 you've got me foaming at the mouth. Could I please be tagged if you come out with more parts?

AHHHH im so glad you liked it love🩷 and of course you can!!!

[vampuzzie]

your brothers best friend 18+ pt.3

pairing: brothers best friend simon x reader. (mdni)

warnings: warnings: smut, (mdni), p in v, unprotected sex (use protection guys unless it’s Simon riley), fingering, exhibitionist, public but not that public, spit kink, not very experienced reader, rough, dom simon, squirting, brothers best friend, age gap (readers 20 and simon is 26), missionary, cowgirl, almost caught, he’s a munch.

By the time you had fixed your hair and jeans, simon texted you and said to meet them at the car. Your brother must’ve been making a fool himself or got cut off already.

You quickly made your way out of the pub, your hand coming up to ghost over your lips as you walked. You were glad your brother was drunk or it definitely would’ve been obvious.

When you finally made it out of the pub you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of a drunk johnny leaning completely against Simon. You shook your head at the sight of simon’s glare, a smile on your lips as you opened the backseat for him.

You did your best to help simon get johnny and gaz in the car but he mainly did all the work.

You sat up front with simon. The whole car was spilling with tension that you were grateful your brother couldn’t recognize being so drunk.

Simon’s hands gripped the wheel, knuckles turning white. All he could taste was you on his tongue, he wanted no needed to taste you more-taste you the right way. He hadn’t looked at you the whole way home not even a glance.

You wondered if he regretted it or maybe he was feeling as guilty as you did right now. You couldn’t help the squeeze of your thighs together as you thought back to it. You just wanted to get back home for this night to be over with. The silence was gonna kill you.

****

It hadn’t taken long to get home. The hardest part was getting Johnny up the stairs to his room, and then dragging Gaz to the couch. You were sweating by the time it was all over—you hadn’t worked that hard in a while.

You stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping a cold glass of water. The only light came from the hood above the stove, casting everything else in shadows.

You heard his boots before you saw him.

Simon stepped into the kitchen without a word. Your heart jumped a little at the sight of him—broad shoulders, blood-smeared shirt, jaw clenched like he was still fighting whatever he'd just walked away from.

You turned at the sound, trying—really trying—to look at his face, not his arms or his mouth or that little cut on his cheek you wanted to touch.

“Did you get Johnny in bed?” you asked, quiet.

He gave a grunt, nodding once.

You leaned back a little against the counter, the tension already threading between you both like a live wire. His eyes were locked on you. Not just looking—watching. Careful. Hungry.

The silence stretched. Too long. Too heavy.

You broke first. “Are we gonna talk about earlier?”

Your voice was soft. Careful. Even though the kitchen and living room were divided by a wall, you didn’t know if Gaz was still awake.

Simon didn’t move.

“Do you want to talk about earlier?” he asked finally, voice low and scratchy, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. You hesitated. “I think we need to.” He stepped closer. You didn’t flinch, but your pulse jumped.

“This can’t happen,” he said. Flat. Firm.

Your throat tightened. “It already did.”

His jaw flexed. “Doesn’t mean it should’ve.”

You crossed your arms loosely, more to steady yourself than anything. “You didn’t seem to mind when you had your hands down my pants just an hour ago.”

That got him.

He was on you in a second, one hand tangling in your hair as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was hot—intense—and it felt like he was pouring years of pent-up longing into it.

Simon had never been good with words, so he let the kiss say all the things he couldn’t.

You clutched at his shirt, fisting the fabric just to keep yourself grounded as his mouth moved over yours, rough and needy. His other hand found your hip, gripping hard enough to make you gasp, the sound only spurring him on.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. His voice was low, almost broken.

“I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be touching you.”

But his hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place like he couldn’t stand to let go.

“Then stop,” you whispered.

He huffed out something between a laugh and a growl. “You know I can’t.”

Before you could answer, he kissed you again—deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours, swallowing the soft sound you made. His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head just the way he liked, and it made your stomach knot with heat.

Simon’s hands slid down to the back of your thighs, and in one smooth motion, he lifted you off the ground without even a grunt. Your legs locked around his waist, his mouth still on yours, the kiss controlled but urgent.

He carried you out of the kitchen, steps quiet and deliberate, every movement precise. Gaz was still stretched out on the couch, but you barely caught a glimpse before Simon’s head dipped, his lips brushing your ear.

“Quiet,” he breathed, low and commanding.

The single word made your pulse race.

He climbed the stairs two at a time it seemed like, his steps fast and eager, his hold on you firm, the sound of his boots muted against the wood. Johnny’s door was shut, but the reminder of how close you were to being caught sent a fresh rush of heat through you.

When he reached your room, he shouldered the door open and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound swallowed by the low, tense silence.

Simon crossed the room in a few long strides and stopped at the edge of your bed. He tossed you a bit on your bed, your body bouncing up, the mattress squeaking with the movements.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was over you, bracing himself on one knee as his mouth found your jaw. The first kiss was hot and rough, then another, slower, dragged along the hinge of your jaw before he trailed lower, pressing into the side of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, each exhale uneven, like he’d been holding it in all night.

One of his hands slid under your shirt, calloused fingers splaying wide against your bare skin like he was trying to touch every part of you he could at once. He dragged them upward, his knuckles trailing up your stomach, and between your ribs-slow enough to make your back arch, until his palm was cupping the curve of your tit.

“Tell me to stop,” he pleaded into your neck, his voice low and rough, almost hoarse. His lips brushed over the spot that made you shiver, and you felt his other hand tighten against the mattress beside your head, like it took everything in him not to lose control right then and there.

Your hand rose, cupping the back of his head, fingers tangling in his short blonde strands. “I don’t want you to stop, Simon.”

That was all he needed.

A guttural groan tore from deep in his throat, vibrating against your skin as his hand squeezed your breast over your bra, thumb circling slow and possessive.

“You’re gonna kill me, me luvie,” he

murmured, voice thick with need. His mouth left a trail of hot kisses along your jawline, brushing over your cheek before nipping gently at the shell of your ear.

Before you could say another word, he pressed his mouth to yours again, fierce and claiming, as his hands roamed boldly over your body—no longer holding back.

You reached down, your hands finding the hem of Simon’s shirt. Breaking the kiss, you lifted it over his head. He pulled his hand from your shirt to help you pull his off, fingers tangling together for a moment before releasing.

Your eyes swept over his toned torso. Seeing him any time you joined him and your brother at the pool was one thing, but seeing him now—right here, like this—was something else entirely.

“Simon…” you breathed out, breathless, your hands trailing up his chest, fingertips tracing the hard planes of muscle.

Simon shifted, sitting up on his knees between your legs. His hands came down to tug your shirt over your head next. You almost brought your arms up to cover yourself, but the way he looked at you as he flung your shirt somewhere across the room made you feel more exposed and wanted than ever before.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, sweet’art,” he gruffed, mouth crashing back onto yours. His hands went straight to your jeans, working with an almost practiced motion.

You’d sat up a bit, one hand bracing you on the bed while the other slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, desperate for every inch of him.

Simon’s hands moved faster now, fingers fumbling at the button of your jeans like he couldn’t get them off fast enough. The rough scrape of fabric against skin sounded louder in the tense silence, and both of you swallowed hard, trying to keep quiet.

Your own hands were trembling as you reached to help, pulling the zipper down, breath hitching as his lips trailed hot, desperate kisses down your jaw and neck.

He was desperate—nearly frantic—every movement fueled by months of wanting and holding back.

You could feel the tremble in his fingers as he tugged your jeans lower, and you clenched your thighs around him, the heat pooling low and fierce.

Once he finally got your jeans off he broke the kiss, the only sound in the room that could be heard was both of you panting into each other’s mouths.

In one fluid motion, you found yourself straddling him, hips settling down against his, the heat between you igniting instantly.

It was only now that you really looked at him—really looked at him. His eyes were glossy, lips swollen from all the kisses you’d shared, cheeks and chest dusted with a faint pink flush. He was so devastatingly handsome like this, and for a moment, you almost felt jealous of anyone who’d ever seen him like this before you.

You rocked your hips down against his jean-clad hard-on, a soft gasp slipping from your lips at his sheer size. He felt huge, even with two layers of clothing between you. Simon’s hands came up to palm your ass, guiding your hips against his with a low, muffled groan.

“Beautiful like this,” he murmured, sitting up just enough so your gazes stayed locked.

His hands trailed slowly up your sides, fingers deftly unhooking your bra in quick, practiced movements. You let the straps slide down your arms, tossing the bra aside, breath hitching under the weight of his hungry stare.

Before you could even think of covering yourself, Simon’s hands were already cupping your breasts, squeezing them firmly.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples, the roughness of his palms making you shiver. He didn’t give you time to settle into the feeling before his mouth was on you—hot, hungry, sucking at one breast while his other hand kneaded the other like he couldn’t decide which he wanted more.

You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. Every drag of his tongue, every greedy squeeze sent heat pooling low in your belly.

“Simon—” you breathed, but it came out broken, needy.

Simon flipped you back over, your back hitting the cold sheets once more, goosebumps rising on your arms as you looked up at him.

He was kneeling between your legs, his hands working on his belt as he looked down at you, his chest rising and falling fastly.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the rush of nerves flooding you. You weren’t sure why—maybe it was the intensity in his gaze, or maybe it was because you had a feeling where this was going.

You watched him slide down the bed after throwing his belt somewhere. his hands immediately finding your thighs as he pushed them apart so he can lay on his stomach between them. He presses a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh, his eyes still on yours.

“Simon…” your voice came out soft, unsure.

“Shh,” he murmured, setting your thighs over his shoulders, one of his hands coming up to palm at your breast. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart.”

Simon leans forward, pressing a kiss to the wet spot in the center of your panties. “Wait—I’ve… I’ve never—” you trailed off, heat rising in your cheeks.

His brows knit for a moment before realization hit, and a slow, wicked smirk curved his lips. “No one’s ever gone down on you?” You shook your head, breath shallow.

“then you’re gonna let me show you what you’ve been missing.” his smirk settled into something more hungry but his hands were gentle as he brought them down to grab the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your thighs.

Your hips lift slightly to help him pull them off despite your nervousness. They dangle on one of your ankles. Simon doesn’t waste any time diving in.

the first stroke of his tongue was slow, deliberate—like he was savoring you—and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your lips. It was unfamiliar, overwhelming, but the way his hands held your thighs steady made you feel… safe. Wanted.

When he did it again, a little firmer, your hips twitched, and his low groan vibrated against you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing you as he spoke, “just let me taste you sweet girl.”

Your fingers gripped the sheets, knuckles white, as if you could ground yourself against the rush of sensation. It was still strange, still new, but every time his tongue swept over your clit, the strangeness dulled, replaced by a throbbing need you couldn’t ignore.

Simon’s hands stayed firm on your thighs, holding you open for him, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin to keep you from tensing up. He glanced up at you once, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide, and the sight alone made your stomach flip.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he rasped before diving back in, his tongue moving faster now, hungrier. Simon brought one of his hands down to slowly push finger into you, curling it up as he kept his eyes on you gauging your reaction.

A whimper escaped you before you could swallow it down, and that sound made something in him snap. His grip on your thighs tightened, pulling you closer to his mouth until you could feel every deliberate flick and swirl of his tongue.

“Simon—” your voice caught, your back arching when his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked.

“Mm, that’s it,” he groaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt straight through you. “Don’t hold back. I wanna hear you.” He added another finger, moving them at a faster pace.

You didn’t know if you could stop even if you wanted to. The heat in your stomach was coiling tighter with every drag of his fingers inside you, your breath coming quicker, toes curling. The more you moved, the more he chased you, his pace almost frantic now—like he needed to wring every sound out of you before he let you go.

Your hands slid into his hair without thinking, tugging hard, and he groaned again, the sound almost as desperate as you felt.

“Simon—God—” you gasped, the tension building, cresting, your thighs trembling against his hold.

Simon pulled away almost reluctantly, sitting up in a quick motion, letting your thighs rest around his jean clad hips, and you couldn’t help the broken whine that left your lips at the loss of his tongue on you.

“Want you t’come on my cock this time, luvie.” His fingers slowed inside you, teasing, but it wasn’t the same. Soon enough, he was dragging them out, and almost in the same motion as earlier, bringing them to his mouth to suck your juices off his skin.

You couldn’t help the way you nodded—you didn’t even know what you were agreeing to, too lost in how good he made you feel.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, and the flush that crept up your cheeks was almost embarrassing.

Simon stood from the bed, hastily undoing his jeans, the speed almost laughable if you weren’t so focused on him. The denim hit the floor, followed quickly by his boxers.

Your eyes followed the movement of his hands, the way his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, bobbing with the motion. Your gaze widened instinctively, and Simon let out a low chuckle at the look on your face.

“It’ll fit, sweet’art,” he promised, his voice low and certain.

He climbed back onto the bed, kneeling between your legs, leaning over you to press his mouth to yours—it was different from the others, softer, sweeter, and full of a warmth that almost made your chest ache. But the kiss deepened quickly, his tongue sliding against yours, his need bleeding into every press of his lips.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was rough. “You got a condom?”

You shook your head, still catching your breath. “I’m on the pill.”

His gaze locked on yours for a long moment before that familiar smirk tugged at his lips. “Fuck.. you’re gonna kill me sweet girl.”

Without another word, he shifted closer, the heat of him pressing against you as one hand wrapped around himself, lining up with your entrance.

Without another word, he shifted closer, the heat of him pressing against you as one hand wrapped around himself, lining up with your entrance.

“Y’ready for me, luv?” he murmured, his deep Mancunian drawl almost a growl.

You swallowed, nodding quickly. “Yeah.”

He gave a low chuckle, but there was tension in it. “Gonna be a big stretch, sweetheart… jus’ breathe f’me.”

The blunt head of his cock pressed against you, and your breath caught instantly. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, watching your face like every flicker of expression mattered. The burn was sharp at first, almost too much, your fingers gripping the sheets tight as your thighs tensed.

“Easy,” he soothed, one big hand stroking your hip. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well.”

You gasped, the pressure building as he sank deeper, your body instinctively clenching around him. “Simon—it’s… you’re—”

“Shh, I know, luv,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re takin’ me. Jus’ a bit more.”

When he finally bottomed out, a rough groan tore from his chest, his arms bracing on either side of you. “Bloody hell… tightest thing I’ve ever felt.”

You were breathing hard, eyes wide, every nerve buzzing. He stayed still, letting you adjust, brushing his thumb over your thigh. “Tell me when, yeah?”

After a shaky moment, you nodded, and he smiled faintly—soft, but with a hint of that hunger that had been burning in his eyes all night. “That’s my girl.”

He pulled back slowly, the stretch flaring again before he pushed back in, and this time the sting eased, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that made your toes curl. Your breathing stuttered, and you felt yourself relax just enough for him to move again.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “open up f’me, luv… let me in.”

The rhythm started slow, careful, but every roll of his hips had heat curling low in your stomach. His eyes stayed locked on yours, the weight of his gaze almost as overwhelming as the way he filled you.

A deep groan rumbled from his chest, and he shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe it. “One time’s not gonna be enough with you… not nearly enough.”

Your cheeks flushed hot, your fingers clutching at his shoulders. “Simon—”

He cut you off with a slow, deliberate thrust that had your back arching. “Gonna need you again… and again… ‘til I’ve had my fill.”

The words made your pulse trip, your body clenching around him, and his groan deepened at the sensation. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them up towards your chest.

His pace picked up without either of you meaning for it to, the careful rhythm slipping into something more urgent, like now that he’d started, he couldn’t hold back.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he rasped, hips driving into yours. “Meant to take my cock.”

Every thrust seemed to push the air from your lungs, the stretch still intense but now threaded through with sharp, dizzying pleasure. And from the way Simon was looking at you—hungry, focused—you knew he meant every word.

His pace picked up without either of you meaning for it to, the careful rhythm slipping into something more urgent, like now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

You gasped, but his hand was suddenly at your mouth, palm warm against your lips. “Shh, luv… gotta be quiet,” he whispered, the warning low and rough. “Don’t want your brother hearin’ you, yeah?”

You nodded against his hand, your breath hot and shaky, your pulse hammering in your ears. The idea of someone hearing made your whole body burn, but it didn’t make him slow down—instead, his hips rolled deeper, faster, hitting that spot that made your thighs shake.

The stretch still pulsed through you, but now it was tangled with sharp waves of pleasure, so close together it felt like you could hardly breathe. Every time you tried to whimper, his hand pressed firmer over your mouth, his eyes locking on yours with that hungry, warning look.

“Good girl,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed your ear. “Take it nice ‘n quiet while I fuck you, yeah?”

His thrusts turned quick and deliberate, the bed rocking faintly under you. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, your body tensing as the heat in your stomach started to coil tight.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned through clenched teeth, his voice almost breaking. “One time’s not gonna be enough… not when you feel this fuckin’ good.”

The angle shifted, his hips snapping into yours, and the rhythm was relentless now—fast, purposeful, every stroke driving you higher. Your eyes fluttered shut, your muffled sounds growing desperate against his palm, your whole body trembling as the edge rushed up to meet you. Your hands clawed at his bicep.

The angle shifted again, and it was like he’d found the exact place to wreck you—each thrust slamming into it with unrelenting precision. Your legs tightened around his hips, your body instinctively pulling him closer, needing more.

“Tha’s it,” he rasped, his forehead pressing to yours, breath hot and uneven. “Let go for me, luv. Come on my cock…”

You tried—God, you tried—but the coil inside you snapped hard, pleasure tearing through you in a white-hot rush. Your muffled cry was caught against his palm, your back arching into him as your thighs shook violently around his waist.

Simon’s groan was low and rough against your neck, his hips pressing against yours tightly and that’s when you felt his hot steamy cum flooding your womb. His hips grinding into you through the aftershocks, making your release drag on until you were trembling under him.

When he finally eased his hand from your mouth, you sucked in a sharp breath, your chest rising and falling fast.

“Good girl,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek before pulling back just enough to look at you. That faint smirk was back, but his eyes were still dark and hungry.

And from the heat still thrumming between your legs, you knew he meant it. You turned your head a bit to press a kiss to the side of his head. His hands rubbing your thighs as he breathed against the side of your neck. “you’ve ruined me luvie.”

you laugh against the side of his head, shaking your head. “I think you ruined me si…” You let your hands trail down his back. The weight of everything crashing down against you, you wanted to feel guilty for this but you didn’t you felt more sad that this would probably be the only time it happened-you just wished you knew what simon was thinking.

(it’s finally here!!! hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. Also if you want to be tagged pls make sure you have your age in your bio)

[vampuzzie]

now this is art😩

when you ask your dear friend kyle to help you with your pregnancy, you expect him to donate some sperm, drive you to your ivf appointments, etc etc.

what you don't expect is him to press your knees to your chest one evening, slamming his cock so deep inside of you that you swear you can feel it entering your womb.

"s'fuckin' good for me," he groans, applying more pressure to the back of your thighs, "takin' my cock like a champ, baby," somehow he manages to thrust deeper, a soft whine leaving your lips.

he doesn't stop praising you throughout the whole ordeal, admiration entering one ear then shooting down into your body, pussy squeezing after every phrase.

such a sweet girl. absolutely perfect. gonna be such a good mama.

the way you tighten up at that last bit has kyle gritting his teeth, eyes clenched up before opening to reveal fully dilated pupils, "yeah? you like when i call you that? mama?" the word gets the same physical reaction from you, and kyle grins.

he adjusts himself, chest nearly touching yours as he raises his hips till only the tips insde. then, he slams home.

"can't wait to make you a mama. gonna ruin this cunt every day till it takes. yeah? you want that?" the drag of his cock inside of you is so distracting, addicting. you almost don't answer his question, but the high-pitched mewl he punches out of you is answer enough.

he keeps talking to you, how excited he is to watch your soft belly expand, to see your tits swell up, have your stretchmarks extend.

you hear him say something along the lines of i'll be such a good daddy, mama, jus' you wait, but you blame the cotton in your ears. after all, the only thing you can focus on is the warm feeling of his cum coating your insides and making good on his previous promises.

[vampuzzie]

A little snippet of brothers best friend pt.3 because it’s taking longer for me to write😭 (MDNI)18+

“Tell me to stop,” he pleaded into your neck, his voice low and rough, almost hoarse. His lips brushed over the spot that made you shiver, and you felt his other hand tighten against the mattress beside your head, like it took everything in him not to lose control right then and there.

Your hand rose, cupping the back of his head, fingers tangling in his short blonde strands. “I don’t want you to stop, Simon.”

That was all he needed.

A guttural groan tore from deep in his throat, vibrating against your skin as his hand squeezed your breast over your bra, thumb circling slow and possessive.

“You’re gonna kill me, me luvie,” he

murmured, voice thick with need. His mouth left a trail of hot kisses along your jawline, brushing over your cheek before nipping gently at the shell of your ear.

Before you could say another word, he pressed his mouth to yours again, fierce and claiming, as his hands roamed boldly over your body—no longer holding back.

You reached down, your hands finding the hem of Simon’s shirt. Breaking the kiss, you lifted it over his head. He pulled his hand from your shirt to help you pull his off, fingers tangling together for a moment before releasing.

Your eyes swept over his toned torso. Seeing him any time you joined him and your brother at the pool was one thing, but seeing him now—right here, like this—was something else entirely.

“Simon…” you breathed out, breathless, your hands trailing up his chest, fingertips tracing the hard planes of muscle.

Simon shifted, sitting up on his knees between your legs. His hands came down to tug your shirt over your head next. You almost brought your arms up to cover yourself, but the way he looked at you as he flung your shirt somewhere across the room made you feel more exposed and wanted than ever before.

[vampuzzie]

Me watching yall repost my fics 🤭

[vampuzzie]

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞!𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮/𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: you catch Satoru fresh out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel and he catches you staring. One thing leads to another, and soon he’s got you bent over the kitchen counter.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: size kink, muscle kink, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, pierced dick!satoru (prince albert), kitchen sex, hair pulling, degradation (light), manhandling, dirty talk, praise, unprotected sex

𝐰/𝐜: 2.8k | crossposted on ao3

Your brain short-circuits the moment you round the corner into the hallway and nearly slam into a wall of dripping wet muscle. Satoru’s hands pause from towelling off his hair. He blinks down at you, standing there in nothing but a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips.

You forget how to breathe.

“Yo.” He says casually, like he’s not out here looking like sin incarnate. His skin glistens from the shower, droplets of water sliding down the smooth planes of his chest, past the defined cuts of his abs, gliding down his navel, and lower–

Your eyes snap back up and you can’t stop the flash of heat that pulses down your spine.

Because oh god, he’s built. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, a chest you want to lay on forever. He’s nothing but flawless, with his skin slightly flushed, and the way the light hits his still-damp body makes him look ethereal.

He stretches an arm above his head to rub the towel into the back of his hair and the shift makes the towel at his waist dip even lower. “Everything alright?” He asks with a slight smirk, already clocking how fucked you look. “You’re making a face.”

You glance away from him too quickly, trying to act like you weren’t just seconds from dropping to your knees. “I’m not making a face.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

You want to say “close, but hotter”. Instead, you step to the side and mutter, “Put some damn clothes on.”

But the image has already branded itself into your memory, water trailing down every curve and line like nature itself wanted to map out his body.

He follows you as you make your way to the kitchen. Of course he does.

“Aw, c’mon.” He drawls. “I’m clean, I smell good, I look good. Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy the view.”

You whirl on him, trying desperately to pretend your thighs aren’t clenching. “Satoru.”

He mimics you, saying your name with that playful lilt. He steps closer and you back up until your spine hits the kitchen counter. Big mistake. Because now he’s got you cornered. His towel brushes your thigh, and your breath stutters.

“You know…” he murmurs, voice lowering just enough to make heat spark low in your gut, “if you wanted to stare, you could’ve just asked me to stand still for a bit longer.”

You hate him. You hate how good he smells. You hate how clean and flushed and soft his skin looks and how badly you want to run your hands all over it.

He notices the way your eyes dip again, just for a second, and he grins.

And that’s your downfall. Because the next thing you know, he’s caging you in with a single palm on the counter beside your hip. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’m gonna start thinking you want something.”

“I don’t–” your voice catches, humiliatingly weak. “I don’t want anything.”

He tilts his head. “Nah? ‘Cause you’ve been eye-fucking me ever since you bumped into me.”

“I was just– surprised.” You lie.

“Uh-huh.” He hums, and before you can backpedal, his free hand catches your wrist and guides it slowly toward his chest. “Go ahead.”

“What are you–”

“Touch me.”

Your palm lands against warm, damp skin. Smooth and unmarked. Rock solid underneath. Your fingers twitch. You should pull away. Instead, you splay your hand over his chest, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat.

“See?” He murmurs. “Not so scary.”

You feel drunk.

Your fingertips drag along the faint dip between his pecs. Down the slight rise of his abs. Your other hand joins without thinking, greedy, gliding lower and lower until it’s hovering just above where the towel sits at the base of his hips.

“You’re not stopping me.” You breathe out, throat dry.

“Why would I?” His voice is lower now, rougher. His breath fans over your cheek. “Why would I stop you when you’re panting just from touching me?”

“I’m not panting.” You whisper, even as your chest rises and falls a little too fast.

Satoru laughs softly, and the sound is infuriatingly hot. He leans in until his lips brush your ear. “You’re soaking, aren’t you?”

Your breath catches. He knows. Of course he knows. The bastard always knows.

You want to deny it. You really do. But then he snakes a hand between your thighs and cups your heat over your shorts. You flinch. Not from discomfort, but from embarrassment at how easily his fingers find the wet patch.

“Shit.” He breathes. “Did I do that?”

“Shut up.”

“Don’t be shy now.” His fingers start rubbing slow, lazy circles through the fabric. You’re practically convulsing. “You’re the one dripping on the kitchen floor like a little slut.”

“Satoru!”

“C’mon, lemme help.” He whispers, and then you don’t even get the chance to process what’s happening.

He’s tugging your shorts down, they hit the floor with a dull thud, and then his hands slide down to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise as he lifts you like you weigh nothing onto the counter.

His palms are hot as they slide under your thighs, spreading you wide, exposing your soaked panties, clinging to your cunt like a second skin. He drags his thumbs along the damp fabric, glancing up at you with that shit-eating grin. “This all for me?”

“Satoru–”

He hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear and pulls them down slow, like unwrapping a present. The wet material peels away from your folds, stringy with slick, and the way he moans under his breath makes your skin erupt in goosebumps.

“You’re fuckin’ drooling,” He mutters, almost in awe. “Didn’t even touch you properly yet.”

You brace your hands on the counter behind you, breath caught in your throat as he lifts your leg up onto his shoulder and kisses the inside of your thigh. You feel the heat of his tongue leave a slow, wet stripe up the sensitive skin, just shy of where you need it.

“Please.” you whisper.

He raises an eyebrow. “Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

There’s a glint in his eye. He fucking devours you.

His mouth lands on your pussy like he’s starving, tongue flattening and dragging through your folds with zero hesitation. You choke on your own moan, thighs trembling, fingers scrabbling at the edge of the countertop to ground yourself. He’s messy with it, licking up everything you’ve got like it’s his favourite flavour, tongue flicking over your clit with practiced precision.

Your hips buck.

“Hold still.” He rasps harshly, breath hot and wet against your cunt, “Or I’ll tie you to a fucking chair.”

That shouldn’t be hot. But it is. God, it is.

You glance down to watch him, and instantly regret it, because now your eyes land on his cock. His towel’s long gone. His dick is flushed, heavy, and hanging between his thighs, leaking already, and glinting in the kitchen light is a silver ring at the tip, curved just beneath the head. Your breath catches. A small metal Prince Albert, and you can see how it pulls gently at the sensitive skin as he shifts.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, clutching the counter so hard your knuckles go white.

He hums against your clit, and the vibrations make your legs shake.

“Oh yeah.” He smirks, voice cocky and wrecked. “Bet you’re thinking about how that’s gonna feel inside you, huh?”

You are. You so are.

“You’re disgusting.” You breathe, body trembling from how relentlessly he’s working your cunt, tongue circling your clit with maddening rhythm, nose brushing just right. “You’re such a fucking–”

“You gonna cum, princess?” He cuts you off, lips shiny with your slick. “Gonna fall apart on my face like a needy little slut?”

You hate how fast your orgasm is building. You hate how right he is.

Your body jerks, your thighs clamp around his head as your hips rut up into his mouth. He groans, tongue flicking your clit faster as you cry out.

“Oh f-fuck, Satoru–!” You come hard, gushing against his mouth, voice cracking from the sheer force of it.

He doesn’t stop. He licks you through it, groaning low like he’s getting high off your taste, like he’s addicted. He only pulls away when you’re shaking and twitching, your slick dripping down the insides of your thighs.

When he rises to stand, his face is flushed, lips swollen, chin glistening. He grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tastes better than I imagined.”

“You’ve imagined this?” You pant, still reeling. Your thighs twitch every few seconds, slick dripping down your legs, your hands barely holding your trembling body upright on the kitchen counter.

“Every night since I met you.”

Your eyes fall to his cock again. The metal ring glistens at the tip, and now that it’s right there, so thick and flushed and heavy.

“C’mere.” He says, voice dark. He shifts between your legs, one hand curling around the back of your neck, the other gripping his cock, holding it up. “You wanna touch it?”

You nod before you can think. He drags your hand to his length. The skin is hot and soft, but it’s so hard, twitching in your grip. Your thumb brushes over the piercing and he shudders.

“Sensitive?” You ask, breathless.

His pupils blow wide, and before you can register anything, his hands curl tight around your waist. You can’t even blink before he’s lifting you again, hoisting your slick, spent body up and flipping you around face first against the cool marble.

“Wait, Satoru!” You try to scramble, still delirious from your orgasm, “I just came!”

“Exactly.” He says, crowding up behind you. His cock presses heavy against your ass, and the wet slap of it as it drags against your skin makes your whole body jolt. “You’re wet enough to take me.”

His hands slide up your back, your spine arching instinctively. Your cheek presses against the counter, breathing shallow as he palms your ass with both hands, spreading you wide to look at the absolute mess between your thighs.

“Fuuuuck, look at you.” He moans. “Dripping all over the counter. Bet you’d let me eat you again just like this, wouldn’t you?”

“Satoru, please–”

“Yeah, I know, baby.” He says, voice softening slightly. “I know it’s a lot. But you can take it.”

You barely manage to suck in a breath before he lines himself up, one hand gripping the base of his cock, and slowly starts to press in. The stretch is immediate.

Your pussy clenches, trying to fight it, he’s too thick, too much, and the piercing doesn’t help. That curved little ring dragging over your entrance makes your eyes roll back.

“F-fuck!” You sob, legs shaking.

“Ohh, baby,” He groans, voice ragged. “Feel that? You’re so tight around me– fuck–”

He pushes deeper, relentless, feeding you inch after inch, the weight of him pressing your hips into the counter. It hurts at first, your body overwhelmed from the last organism, but the pain is blindingly good. Your cunt stretches wide around his cock, and the metal pierces through your sensitivity like lightning.

“You feel so fucking good.” He pants. “So warm– fuck, fuck– you’re squeezing the hell outta me.”

“Too much–” You gasp, but your hips are rocking back into him without permission.

He moans and snaps his hips forward, bottoming out in one thrust. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream.

His cock hits so deep you swear it brushes your cervix, the piercing catching just inside and making your nerves scream. The air punches out of your lungs. Your nails scrape against the countertop, desperate for anything to anchor you.

“Oh– oh my god, Satoru!”

“That’s it.” He grunts. “Take it. Be a good girl and take it.”

He starts to move. Slow at first, deep, grinding thrusts that push you forward on the counter, but it doesn’t stay gentle for long. He’s fucking you like he’s mad, hips snapping, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the kitchen.

Your brain is gone.

Your body’s boneless, wrecked, slick smeared across your thighs, cunt so sensitive you’re practically sobbing every time the piercing hits just right. Your vision’s gone hazy. You can barely think.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back, bending over you so his mouth is right beside your ear.

“You’re making a mess, princess.” He mutters. “You gonna cum again just from this? From me splitting you open?”

“Yes– yes, fuck, I’m gonna– oh my god!”

You come again. Harder this time. Your legs seize. Your pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him, and you cry out completely falling apart on the counter.

But he doesn’t stop. He groans and keeps fucking you, pounding you through your orgasm, the overstimulation turning into something else entirely, melting into heat so intense your body doesn’t know how to process it. You can barely speak, voice reduced to whimpers and breathless gasps.

“I’m not stopping ‘til I cum.” He grits out, hand sliding down your front to press right on your overstimulated clit. “So you better hold on.”

You cry out, cunt still clenching from your last orgasm, and now he’s playing with your clit like it’s a fucking button. “I c-can’t– Satoru, I can’t!”

“You can.” He hisses, slamming into you harder, the metal inside you making it feel like he’s splitting you in half. “You’re gonna cum again for me, pretty girl. One more. Give me one more.”

You scream. Writhe. The pleasure is white-hot. Blinding. You’re dripping down your thighs, soaking the counter, unable to stop the way your hips jerk back to meet his thrusts like your body’s not even yours anymore.

And when you cum for the third time, raw, spasming around his cock, you can’t even form words. Just noise. High-pitched and needy and helpless.

Satoru groans, deep and filthy, hips stuttering. “Fuck fuck– you’re gonna make me–”

He pulls you back into him, one hand on your stomach, the other gripping your jaw to turn your face. He kisses you sloppily, messy and desperate as he spills inside you with a shuddering moan, cock twitching, hot cum flooding your pussy.

You feel it. Every. Fucking. Drop.

He thrusts a few more times, slower now, like he’s trying to etch the shape of his cock into your body. Your muscles tremble. And then it’s just silence. Your breath is ragged. His is worse.

He lets go of your jaw, both hands now braced on either side of your hips, chest heaving as he slumps forward, still buried deep inside you.

“…I’m gonna have to wear a towel more often from now on.”

a/n: ayo so this is the first time i've written smut in AGES so dont go all gordon ramsey on me :)

art credits: @3-aem

[vampuzzie]

hiiii guys🩷 i am absolutely open to write for any jjk, DC, Marvel, COD characters! MY ASKS ARE OPEN SO PLEASE SEND SOMETHING PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE🙏 (include if you want it to have smut, angst or fluff:)

____________________________________________

[vampuzzie]

18+ sharing a bed with bsf!gojo

at 2:41 a.m., your best friend barges into your bedroom without so much as a knock, muttering obscenities and toeing off his slippers. the hallway light casts a harsh rectangle across the floor, slicing through the dark. half-awake, momentarily blinded, you squint up at him. backlit in the doorway, gojo satoru looks both ridiculous and divine—six-feet-something of of flushed annoyance, snowy white hair sticking up in chaotic tufts, framed like some petulant archangel in nothing but a pair of boxers.

“my fucking a/c just died,” he announces, tone aggrieved, as if the malfunction itself were a targeted assault on his divine entitlement.

“you can’t sweat it out for one night like the rest of us commoners, huh?”

“it’s inhumane,” he whines, already crossing the room to prod at the unit on your wall. “heat stroke kills, y’know. i read that.”

moments later, the mattress dips beneath added weight as he slots himself behind you with the ease of habit. his thigh wedges itself between yours, tactfully avoiding any overt contact with the more… compromising angles of your anatomy. technically innocent, but nowhere near far enough to qualify as pure.

“why are your thighs so hot. you ovulating?”

“why are you talking.”

he repositions himself slightly, his hips aligning too conveniently against your ass. not pressing, but not not.

“don’t be mean,” he says, voice muffled against your shoulder. “i’m a fragile soul.”

his fingers, predictably warm, slip under your shirt without affectation. you bat at them, half-heartedly—too tired (or so you claim) to really stop him. it’s pro forma at this point. and in true ‘guy best friend’ obnoxious behaviour, satoru responds by moaning in your ear like you’ve wounded him in some erotically profound way. you elbow him in the ribs for it, get a little satisfaction out of the pained grunt he makes.

twenty minutes pass. the room has become an arctic hellscape. your toes curl in protest beneath the blankets, fully committed to the bit of not getting up to adjust the a/c. satoru, of course, only winds himself tighter around you. your limbs are tangled, and you genuinely can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

he’s hard now. fully, and completely without shame. it’s pressed right up against the curve of your ass, no attempt at subtlety. you try to ignore the distinct shape of him, thick and hard where it nestles snugly against your tailbone. you do your best to ignore it—the attempt is noble, really—right up until his thumb starts moving. circular motions under your navel, casual and thoughtless, as if he isn’t already palming around the borders of your self-control.

then his hips rock once, a shallow press that lodges his cock higher between your thighs, thick and warm through both layers of fabric. you bite the inside of your cheek and decide to do the mature thing. instead of telling him to knock it off, you clamp your thighs together, squeezing around the thickening bulge of his cock. not overt. just a silent reminder that:

a.) he’s not slick. and b.) you’re not fucking stupid.

“fuck. my dick’s hard,” he mutters, as if it’s new information.

“cry about it.”

“i will,” he says, nuzzling into the curve of your shoulder with infuriating gentleness, as if his dick isn’t pressing against your ass. “because i’m sensitive. i need to be held.”

you roll your eyes and swat behind you, catching his bicep.

“pervert.” satoru responds, predictably, by grinding against you, like he’s trying to prove a point.

“huh,” he muses, the grin perfectly audible in his voice. “something tells me you love it.”

you do. unfortunately. but you still arch back into him, partly out of spite, mostly because the heat of him is starting to corrode whatever’s left of your higher brain function. he huffs a laugh against your neck.

“mm. what’s this, little squeeze? that for me?”

“you’re hallucinating.”

“you’re grinding on me.”

“says the guy rubbing his boner on me.”

“semantics.”

you sigh—a long-suffering one—and tilt your hips back until the plush of your thighs bracket him properly. the adjustment is minor, but it lines everything up: without preamble, his hand slides down again. the flat of his palm skims your stomach, then dips lower, two slender fingers come to rest right at the edge of your panties, hovering with an almost comical hesitation. a beat passes, as if he’s trying to be polite now, of all times.

so you reach down and lace your fingers through his, and guide him. not under, but over—pressing the backs of his knuckles to the damp cotton stretched over your pussy.

he moans into the crook of your shoulder—not an act of theatrical lewdness, but the real deal. surprised. like he genuinely can’t believe you’re letting him touch you there.

like if you changed your mind, he’d probably curl up and die.

his hips buck forward, unthinking. the weight of his cock slots tighter in the seam between your thighs, thick and burning hot through both your layers.

the angle’s a bit awkward, and you can’t stop smiling.

still, it feels good.

really good.

you start to move first, nudging his cock through the slick mess you’ve made of your thighs. he gets the message fast. his hand starts working in tandem, palm grinding on your mound as his fingers stroke through the soaked fabric, catching the shape of your folds beneath.

you rock back into him while he ruts forward, a lazy little loop of drawn-out, mutual indulgence that gets sloppier the longer it goes. your skin’s hot and buzzing despite the absurd cold of the room. everything’s messy now. slick and sticky where he’s rutting into the curve of your ass, fingers wet with arousal that has long-since seeped through cotton. his palm applying pressure as if coaxing more from you is a matter of necessity.

he doesn’t last long. not like this. the tension breaks with a soft grunt and what feels like a synchronised full-body convulsions that passes through both of you as he finishes, thick spurts of release painting the inside of your thighs, messy and warm.

eventually, he softens. your thighs remain tacky, glossed in a mixture of sweat and come. his breathing evens out, the rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours as the tension slowly drains out of him.

by morning, satoru is feigning innocence, blinking at you through bedhead and sleep-creased cheeks. while his morning wood juts out proudly under his boxers. then, with all the sincerity of a man caught red-handed:

“must’ve been the cold,” he yawns, “you know—thermostat-induced morning wood.”

you check the unit. turns out, the temperature was six degrees below what you usually keep it.

[vampuzzie]

choso has those sleepy eyes.

hooded, heavy-lidded, always looking like he just woke up from the kind of nap that ends with a blunt. but when they’re fixed on you?

your thick body stretched across his sheets, thighs soft and spread, belly rising with every shaky breath— those sleepy eyes turn hungry.

he doesn’t talk much. never really did. but now? now he’s got his face buried between your thighs, nose pressed to your clit, tongue deep and slow and fucking obsessed—and the only sounds in the room are your gasps and the wet, disgusting suck of his mouth as he devours you like it’s instinct.

he doesn’t move fast. choso eats you like a man starved, not greedy.

focused.

like your pussy is the answer to a question he’s been asking for years.

and the way he groans when you clench? filthy. his eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing your belly as he grinds his face deeper into you, like he wants to drown in your sweetness.

"you’re gonna crush me, baby," he mumbles, voice muffled by your thighs. but he doesn’t sound scared. he sounds hopeful.

you whimper, hips jerking, thighs trembling around his head.

he drags his tongue slow—too slow—right up your slit and then just… stays there. mouth hovering. breath hot. staring up at you with those half-lidded eyes like he’s waiting for permission he’s already taken.

"don’t run," he says softly. "you asked for this."

you did. you asked. begged. cried on his lap about how no one ever took their time with you—how guys always skipped the good part.

so now?

he’s proving a point.

he slides two thick fingers in—easy, like your pussy was made to be opened by him—and drops a long string of spit on your clit, licks again. deeper. messier. slower.

you moan loud, hand flying to his hair.

"yeah," he groans, voice gravel-thick. "don’t fight it. lemme make you come on my tongue."

and when you do—loud, broken, legs shaking so hard you accidentally do try to close them— he grips your thighs and pulls you open wider.

“nah,” he rasps, sleepy eyes glowing. “i’m not done yet.”

[vampuzzie]

Toji baby trapping you came to me in a dream last night. mdni 18+

Toji couldn’t really pinpoint when it had started.

He wasn’t sure if it was when you were packing Megumi’s lunch for school, doing his laundry, or getting him ready in the mornings. All he knew was that for the past week, he’d been hard as a rock—constantly having to excuse himself under the claim of needing a smoke (which you hated when he actually did), or ducking into the bathroom.

You knew it was working—all the little things. Taking care of Megumi, feeding into that quiet desire Toji never said out loud. But you noticed.

You caught on after the first couple of times

he slipped away. You didn’t even question it when your birth control mysteriously disappeared. You let him play his games—throwing out the condoms, the whole nine yards.

You let him think he was in control.

All Toji knew was that now, with you laid out across the sheets, legs bent to your chest as he drove his cock into your cunt at a ridiculous pace—this would be the time he got you pregnant. “Tojiii…~” you squealed, voice catching as his cock kissed your cervix, your hands gripping the sheets around you.

“fuck baby, wanna get you pregnant,” he finally spoke, his voice breathless and gruff. His big meaty hands squeezing the back of your knees as he pushed them farther towards your ears. He needed to fuck you deeper, needed it to stick this time.

You couldn’t help the small smile that painted your lips but quickly fell as he punctuated his words with a rough thrust of his hips. “you wanna make me a daddy again sweet’art,” You nodded quickly, eyes blinking open to look at him.

“wanna make you a daddy please toji..” Everything about this was so hot, the sweat dripping down his ripped chest, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat, his biceps flexing with every thrust.

Toji couldn’t help the grin that spread across his lips. Guess he never really had to do any of that stuff he just had to make sure you never found out.

“So fucking dirty, doll,” he groaned, leaning over you, his weight pressing your thighs down closer to your chest. His cock bullied deeper into your cunt, the head dragging along your walls just right, making your back arch off the bed.

Your moan was shameless, loud and high-pitched as your walls clenched around him.

“Shit—tight fuckin’ pussy,” he hissed, pulling back just enough to slam forward again, harder this time—his balls slapping against your ass with wet, heavy smacks.

“Gonna pump you so full, baby. Gonna take it all, yeah?” You nodded, blinking up at him through dazed eyes, your mouth parted, breath stuttering. “Want it so bad… wanna be full of you, Toji…”

Your words lit something in him—something feral.

He dropped one hand to your lower stomach, pressing down to feel the way his cock bulged against your skin as he fucked into you. “You feel that?” he growled. “That’s me, all the way up in your guts.”

You whimpered, toes curling, your orgasm building fast and sharp at the base of your spine. He could feel it—knew your body well enough to know when you were close.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice like silk-wrapped sin, “cum on it. Cream all over my cock, baby—wanna feel this pussy milk me dry.”

It only took a few more hard, perfect thrusts before your whole body snapped, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Your cunt spasmed around him, clenching down as you sobbed out his name, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck, fuck—” Toji cursed, hips jerking erratically now, thrusts losing rhythm. He buried himself deep one last time, cock twitching inside you as he spilled everything—hot, thick ropes of cum pouring into your cunt, just like he’d wanted all week.

He stayed there for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His cock still buried deep inside, still twitching, still leaking.

“Bet that took,” he muttered with a breathless laugh. “You feelin’ knocked up already, sweetheart?”

He let your legs fall from his grasp, letting them settle against his waist as he stayed slumped against you. You hummed, hands lazily dragging down his back. “Maybe.”

He leaned down and kissed your neck, slow and open-mouthed, his voice low and possessive in your ear.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not done making sure.”

(hope yall enjoy! also remember my requests are open. give me your feedback🩷)

[vampuzzie]

Thank you for taking requests!! Can I ask for a fantasy au knight!Jason x reader where the reader is a witch/knows magic? Sorry if it sounds confusing. English is not my first language

Knight!jason todd x Witch!reader pt.1

summary: you find an injured knight in the forest and your life changes for the better and for the worst. What you thought was gonna be a good deed in the shape of a man happened to be the love of your life but he had to choose between the oath he made to the kingdom-to his king and love.

warnings: smut (mdni), angst, unprotected pinv sex, fingering, masturbation (m and f), thigh riding, jason’s a yearner fr, not accurate witchcraft or victorian times, slowish burn, sort of friends to lovers.

He was the last thing you expected to find on your trip into the forest to gather Hypericum perforatum.

You had stumbled upon an injured knight slumped against a tree, his sword still clutched in his hand. There was no telling how he’d ended up all the way out here—especially not with a gash that deep in his thigh. The castle was at least a day’s journey away.

You were surprised he was even still alive. But if he stayed there, he wouldn’t be for much longer. You could’ve left him—let the infection take him. Any other witch would have. But something about him gave you pause. Maybe it was the J-shaped scar on his cheek. You weren’t sure.

Carefully, you pried the sword from his grasp, your eyes flicking up to make sure he hadn’t stirred. It was unlikely, especially if he had a fever. Still, you moved quickly, wrapping the sword in a thick cloth and securing it to your bag.

It had taken you until sunset to drag him back to your cottage. The armor made him heavy, but judging by the size of his meaty hands, you figured he was a giant of a man even without it.

There was still no explanation for how he’d ended up like that—wounded and alone, a full day’s ride from the kingdom, no horse, no fellow knights in sight. It didn’t make sense.

With a tired groan, you dropped into the chair beside the bed he now occupied. Sweat clung to your skin, your limbs aching from the effort. You hadn’t worked this hard in ages. Stripping him of his armor had been the worst part—he’d been like dead weight the entire time.

His wound was cleaned and bandaged as tightly as you could manage, treated with yarrow for the bleeding and fever, and witch hazel for its antiseptic and anti-inflammatory properties.

Now all you could do was wait—and hope he woke up.

It was barely past dawn when you heard the sound—sharp and sudden.

You jolted awake, your spine aching from the way you’d slept curled in the chair. Your eyes flew to the bed just in time to see him sitting up, reaching instinctively toward his hip, a motion that looked more like muscle memory than conscious thought. You wanted to sigh in relief—he was alive.

You stood slowly, hands raised to show you meant no harm.

“Easy. You’re safe,” you said calmly.

He didn’t look convinced. He gripped the edge of the bed, clearly trying to gauge how much strength he still had. But on that leg, he wouldn’t be doing much moving.

“Who are you?” he asked, his gaze dropping to the bandaged wound. One hand hovered uncertainly above it.

“I’m Y/N. I found you not far from here—half-dead against a tree.”

His eyes flicked up sharply. “A witch.”

“A witch who saved your life, just saying,” you replied, raising a brow as you stood from the chair. You turned to grab a small jar of rosemary from the shelf—it would help with pain and inflammation. There was no way he wasn’t in agony.

You stood an arm’s length from the bed, holding the jar out to him.

“It’ll help with the pain. You can chew on it.”

It was a surprise the infection hadn’t taken him—hadn’t taken his leg. A surprise he’d even woken up this quickly.

But then again, what good was a witch if she couldn’t do the unthinkable?

You saw the hesitation in his eyes. He wanted to take it—needed to—but he didn’t trust you. Just because you hadn’t killed him when you found him didn’t mean you wouldn’t change your mind.

With a frustrated shake of your head, you tossed the jar onto the bed.

“If I meant you harm, I would’ve left you bleeding out under that tree. Any other witch would’ve.”

Your tone was clipped, the irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

There was a pause. Then, quietly—“Then why didn’t you?” You froze, shoulders tensing at the question. Why had you saved him?

You kept your back to him, your thoughts racing too fast to catch. But in the end, the only thing you could manage was—“I don’t know why.”

You kept your back to him, pretending to fuss with the jars of flowers and herbs on the shelf. He had no witty response this time.

“Your leg will take a fortnight to heal,” you said finally, still sorting stems and glass, “hopefully quicker with the plants I used.”

When you turned to face him, he was still watching you—skeptical, guarded. What would it take for him to trust you?

“A fortnight?” he echoed, voice rough and still thick with sleep. “I can’t stay here that long. I have to get back…”

You tossed a few logs into the fireplace, shaking your head. The chill of autumn shifting into winter was already creeping into the cottage. “Well, have fun trying to go anywhere on that leg.”

You folded your arms, watching as he tried—unsuccessfully—to push himself up from the bed. He barely moved. He wouldn’t be getting far, not even if he tried to force it. He was lucky to have the leg at all; a few more hours out there, and he wouldn’t have.

“If you’re going to be staying here,” you said, leveling your gaze at him, “you could at least tell me your name.”

He sat in silence, staring at you for a moment. He seemed to weigh his options, but maybe you were right—if you’d meant him harm, he’d already be dead.

“…Jason.”

“Jason,” you repeated, and he hated how easily his name rolled off your tongue. No one had spoken to him like that in years—with kindness. Not even when he deserved it.

Idiot.

You stood there for a beat, eyes locked. Something shifted, but neither of you moved.

“Well, Jason,” you said finally, “you should get some rest if you want to be out of here as quickly as possible.”

You turned to start blowing out the candles scattered across the cottage. One by one, soft glows faded into smoke.

“…Thank… you.” His voice was barely audible.

You turned the moment the words left his lips. It sounded like it had taken everything in him to say it.

“You’re welcome,” you said with a faint smile, then turned again—heading toward your room.

Maybe having him here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

*****

The next few days passed in a blur of routine, just as the sun dipped low behind the trees, you checked on his wound. you changed the bandages with practiced hands and offered him a different infusion of yarrow, comfrey, and St. John’s wort each time. Jason didn’t speak much—just the occasional small talk—but he seemed to be warming up to you, slowly. You figured that was better than nothing.

Jason didn’t talk much, but his silence had shifted—less wary, more thoughtful. There was a softness now, hidden beneath the gruffness, and the edges of his suspicion had started to dull. “You certain this isn’t some slow-working poison?” he muttered one night, eyeing the steaming cup in your hands as you approached.

You gave him a look. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t waste herbs on you. I’d have pushed you deeper into the forest and let the wolves do the rest.”

He huffed a quiet laugh as he took the cup, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. “Right. Forgot I’m under the care of such a gentle soul.”

You smirked. “drink it knight,” You watched him take a sip, his face scrunching up in slight disgust and you couldn’t help the small laugh that left your lips. “it tastes like something scraped off the bottom of a boot,”

“That’s how you know it’s working,”

He leaned back against the pillow, eyes fixed on you over the rim of the cup. “You always this mouthy?”

You crossed your arms, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “Only when a stranger bleeds all over my floor and steals my bed.”

Jason let out a low chuckle. “Didn’t realize I was such a burden.”

You tilted your head, gaze lingering just a second too long, shrugging a bit. “Didn’t say it was all bad.”

You looked away from him at the grin that painted his lips, how did he mange to look good all roughed up, dirty and dried blood staining himself and your bed.

A/N: this is my first time writing an au like this so i’m sorry if it sucks. but i read a couple of others like this and even googled so much that’s why it took me so long to get it out😭 also i will make you another part i just felt bad and i had this sitting in drafts🩷

[vampuzzie]

Your brothers best friend 18+

pairing: simon riley x johnnys little sister. pt.2

warnings: smut, (mdni), p in v, unprotected sex (use protection guys unless it’s Simon riley), fingering, exhibitionist, public but not that public, doggy, spit kink, not very experienced reader, rough, dom simon, squirting, brothers best friend, age gap (readers 20 and simon is 26), missionary, cowgirl, almost caught, he’s a munch.

word count:2k+

It had been a few days since that night in the kitchen, and you tried hard not to think anything of it—but with all the lingering stares and the barely-there touches every time he passed you, it was safe to say you’d thought about it a lot. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud.

You shook your head, like you could shake 33the thoughts loose, and looked back down at the laptop in your lap. You were supposed to be on break—supposed to be having fun—but so far, all you’d managed was schoolwork.

And almost like he could read your mind, there was a knock on your door.

You didn’t need to check. You knew it was him.

You froze, holding still in the silence, hoping maybe if you stayed quiet long enough, he’d go away.

“I know you’re in there,” came his voice—low, gruff, and too damn deep as it bled through the door. You sighed, sitting there a second longer before finally giving in. “You can come in,” you called out, hating how your voice pitched up at the end.

The door creaked open, and you held your breath as Simon stepped inside. You straightened your spine as he shut the door behind him with a soft click.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little rougher this time.

It took you a beat to answer. Your eyes had already scanned his frame—the way the shirt clung to his chest, stretched tight around his biceps, and the way his jeans fit way too well around his thighs. Stop it.

“Schoolwork,” you blurted, forcing your eyes away from him and motioning vaguely to the laptop on your lap.

Simon hummed in response. “Figured y’were.” You nodded, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him. “Me and Johnny are heading to the pub. Thought maybe you’d wanna come—get outta this room for a bit,” he said casually. His gaze dragged across your form, lingering just a second too long on the curve of your tank top and how it hugged your chest. It was quick—but not quick enough. Long enough to commit to memory.

Your brother was going to kill him.

You considered it for a moment. Truth be told, you did need to get out of this house. And more truth? You needed to get laid. That’s all it was, right? All the long stares and completely inappropriate thoughts about your older brother’s best friend? Just hormones. Just being horny. That’s what you told yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll go. Could be fun,” you said with a shrug.

Simon nodded. “Alright. We’re about ta’ leave, so don’t take forever getting ready—like you usually do.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned, opened the door, and left as quickly as he’d come. You could’ve sworn you saw the hint of a smirk on his face before he disappeared.

Johnny had already shouted at you four times before you were finally ready. You’d kept it simple: loose-fitting jeans, a light pink babydoll top, and a pair of white Adidas. You hadn’t brought much from your dorm—especially not going-out clothes—because you hadn’t really planned on going anywhere.

Now here you were.

Just your luck, you were crammed into the backseat with Simon while one of their shared friends took the front with your brother. You were pressed up against the door, doing your best to make yourself as small as possible. Of course, Simon had taken the middle seat—manspreading with his arm casually thrown behind your shoulders like it belonged there.

You were almost certain he was doing it on purpose. Like he knew about your stupid little crush and was going out of his way to make you suffer.

“There’s a whole seat over there, just saying,” you muttered, turning your head to look at him, your chin tilting up just slightly.

Simon let out a low chuckle at your words, his hand giving your shoulder a light squeeze.

You could almost feel the way his chest shook with laughter, with how close the two of you were.

Simon leaned in just a touch, his breath warm against your ear. “And miss sitting next to you? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“What, enjoying your company?” he said, his tone feigning innocence. “Guilty as charged.”

“You’re such a menace.”

He let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You keep callin’ me names, but you haven’t told me to piss off yet.”

You glanced over at him, eyebrow raised. “Yet.”

“Ah,” Simon grinned, “so there’s hope.” You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged to your lips at his words.

****

The ride didn’t last much longer, thank God. You weren’t sure how much more thigh-to-thigh contact and casual shoulder grazes you could take before you said something you’d regret. Or did something.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the pub, headlights cutting through the cool night air. The Fox was written in faded gold lettering above the old wooden door, the windows glowing amber with warmth and chatter spilling out from inside.

Johnny and his friend Gaz-whose name you had learned on the ride to the pub were both out of the car before you could even reach for the door handle. You shook your head at the sight of them, hand going to open the door but of course Simon’s hand beat you to it.

“thanks,” You nodded to him as you stepped out of the car, “course luv,” you blamed the chilly Manchester breeze causing goosebumps to rise on your arms and not Simon’s words.

You quickly made your way to the pub door, following behind your brother. You couldn’t handle the tension between you and simon, maybe you were imagining it, you weren’t his type-you had seen the girls he’s dated over the years-very opposite to you.

Simon was hot on your heel, his eyes flicking down to your ass. You glanced behind you, were you seeing things was simon looking at your ass no way, right?

Johnny and his friend-gaz-were already sat at a booth. You quickly made your way over there, you needed a drink right about now. You slid into the booth and of course simon slides in right after you, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder.

You listen to johnny and gaz talk, nodding along to their stories and glancing over at Simon when he would every so often add along to whatever johnny was talking about.

You sip on the not so great beer they had ordered as you listen. Simon’s arm draped across the top of the booth behind you.

You shifted in your seat as you looked down at your beer, the condensation making a ring on the table every time you picked it up to take a small sip from it, your face crunching up in disgust.

“I’m gonna go get another drink, does anyone want anything?” You ask as you stand, nudging simon to get up with your foot. “more beer,” johnny said, his face already shiny with a pink hue. You shook your head, a small laugh leaving your lips.

Simon sliding out of the booth.

You slid out of the booth after him, dusting off your shirt a bit as you turn to look at simon as he sits back down. “do you want anything simon?” You smile a bit.

He looked up at you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Nah, I’m alright. Thanks, love.”

You nodded and turned toward the bar, slipping through the crowd. It was warm, loud—bodies pressed close, the buzz of conversation mixing with the music and clink of pint glasses.

You were only a few steps from the counter when someone stepped into your path.

“Hey there,” a voice said smoothly.

You looked up to see a guy—mid-twenties, broad-shouldered, confident. His grin was easy, pint already in hand. “Did it hurt?”

You blinked. “What?”

He chuckled. “When you fell from heaven.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, head tilting as you gave him a look. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, still grinning. “Cheesy works sometimes. Can I get you a drink?”

You hesitated for a beat. You weren’t trying to flirt, not really—but it was harmless, right?

“Sure,” you said, more out of politeness than anything. “I was headed that way anyway.”

Back at the booth, Simon’s fingers drummed quietly against his glass, eyes flicking toward the bar—and not just once. He didn’t say anything, didn’t lean forward or scowl. But he noticed. Noticed the way the guy leaned in when he talked to you, how your smile lingered a little longer than usual.

Simon tried to tell himself he was just looking out for you that guy could be a dickhead who couldn’t take no for answer but deep down he knew it was more than that, and when you glanced back to the booth eyes landing on simon to find he was already looking at you, you knew.

You looked back toward the man in front of you, nodding along to whatever he was saying. His name was Eren—attractive, broad in all the right places. Apparently, you had a thing for big guys.

He was easy to talk to, confident but not cocky. And the longer the conversation dragged on, the closer he’d moved, his hand eventually finding its way to your hip as you sipped the drink he’d bought you—thankfully, not a beer this time. He was charming, and polite enough, but the truth was you couldn’t stop comparing him.

He wasn’t Simon.

Even his touch was different—gentler. Softer. Too soft.

You didn’t notice Simon approaching until you felt the shift in the air—like a storm cloud had moved in behind you. His presence was undeniable. Heavy. Sharp.

“Can I help you, mate?” Eren asked, voice suddenly guarded.

Simon didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. He towered over the guy, not by much, but enough to make the difference feel significant. The way he stood—broad shoulders squared, jaw tight, eyes locked like a loaded weapon—made him look twice as dangerous.

His voice was low. Controlled. Deadly.
“Fuck off… mate.”

He didn’t wait for a reaction. His hand wrapped around your arm—firm, not painful, but with purpose—and he pulled you away from the bar. “Simon—what the fuck was that?” you hissed, trying to yank your arm from his grip, but he didn’t let go.

He didn’t answer. Not even a glance. Just stalked forward, dragging you with him as the crowd parted like it could sense better than you what was coming.

“Simon!” you snapped again, louder this time.

He only stopped once you were in the narrow hallway by the bathrooms—dimly lit, quiet except for the muffled bass of the music from inside. A few people passed behind you, barely sparing a glance.

Simon let go of your arm and turned to face you, eyes dark.

“What the fuck was that for?” you demanded, your voice sharp now. “You can’t just drag me away like that,”

He didn’t speak at first. Just stared at you. You could see it in his face—the clenched jaw, the twitch in his brow, the way his hands curled slightly at his sides like he was holding something back.

“You were lettin’ him put his fuckin’ hands on you,” he finally said, voice low, tight.

“He wasn’t doing anything—”

“His was touching you like you were his.”

You stared at him, breath catching in your chest. “And so what? You don’t get to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped. Too fast. Too harsh. Then he exhaled, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t,” you shot back. “Because you don’t get to act like that. Not when you’ve spent the last week pretending none of this—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you “—means anything.”

He stepped in closer, his voice a low rasp. “It can’t mean anything.” Your stomach twisted.

“Because of Johnny?” you said, quieter now. Bitter. “Because I’m his sister?”

Simon didn’t answer right away, but you saw it—plain as day. The guilt. The want. The war happening behind his eyes.

“I don’t wanna ruin our friendship,” he said finally, like it physically pained him to get the words out.

You laughed, dry and humorless. “Then don’t.”

You turned to walk away.

But his hand caught yours—not rough, not forceful, just there—and his voice came again, lower this time. Almost a whisper.

“But that doesn’t mean I want to see someone else touching you.” You stopped.

Slowly, you turned back, heart hammering against your ribs. “Then what do you want, Simon?”

He stared at you, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling.

“I want you,” he said—quiet, raw, like it physically hurt to admit. “I just don’t know what the fuck to do about it.” You stared up at him, jaw clenched tight. That confession should’ve meant something—should’ve been enough—but all it did was piss you off. Because it wasn’t a decision. It was a stall. A game. And you were tired of playing.

“Well, until you figure it out, Simon?” Your voice came out low, steady. “Keep me out of it.” You yanked your hand from his and turned to walk away. You didn’t trust yourself to look back. You didn’t know what else to say—but you knew you wanted to hit him. Or kiss him. Or both. You didn’t make it three steps.

Simon’s hand came up behind you, sliding to the back of your neck—not rough, but firm—and before you could snap at him again, he pulled you back into him, his mouth crashing down onto yours.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t careful.

It was heat and frustration and weeks of stolen glances and things left unsaid exploding all at once. You gasped into the kiss, your hands flying up to brace against his chest. He’d pulled down the balaclava when you weren’t looking—somewhere between dragging you away and trying not to lose his mind.

His lips moved against yours like he was starving. Like he was trying to make up for every second he hadn’t touched you. His grip at the back of your neck tightened, keeping you close, his other hand finding your waist, dragging you flush against him.

You kissed him back just as hard, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt. There was nothing gentle about it. It was messy and hot and unhinged—months of tension boiling over into teeth and tongue and breathless gasps between kisses.

His body pressed you back into the wall, the cool surface doing nothing to calm the heat crawling up your spine. His mouth broke from yours just long enough to suck in a breath—his eyes dark, chest rising hard with every inhale—before diving back in, lips parting yours with an urgency that made your knees buckle.

You moaned into the kiss, one of your hands sliding up to the back of his neck, the other curling around the fabric of his shirt like you needed to hold onto something or fall apart entirely. And still, he kissed you like he couldn’t stop. Like he wouldn’t stop. Like this was the only way he could tell you the truth without saying it out loud.

It wasn’t sweet. It was everything he wasn’t supposed to want.

And he wanted it so fucking bad.

Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt as Simon’s hand slid down, teasing the front of your jeans. His fingers skimmed your lower abdomen, just under the waistband, lighting up every nerve with each brush of his skin.

Every time he touched you, it felt like fire.

And with just one kiss, he’d had you soaking your favorite pair of panties.

Pathetic. But at this point, you were too far gone to care.

Simon pulled back slightly, both of you panting, a string of spit still connecting your lips. His voice was rough when he spoke.

“Let me show you how I feel, luv.”

You shivered, eyes fluttering closed, hands still fisted in his shirt. “There’s people, Simon,” you whispered, blinking your eyes open, glancing past him toward the hallway.

“There’s nobody, sweet’art.” His lips were red, his voice deeper now—possessive, like he already had you. “Trust me. I’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good.”

His mouth found your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck, sucking a mark into your skin before nipping just hard enough to make your breath hitch. You nodded, helplessly. His hand dipped past the waistband of your jeans, slipping into your soaked panties. His thumb pressed firmly over your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles as two fingers slid through your slick folds.

He paused for a second, grinning against your throat. “Christ, baby… you’re drippin’. Was this me—or that prick at the bar?”

You whimpered, hips rocking into his hand. “You… it’s you…”

He let out a quiet, dark chuckle. “That’s right. Knew it.”

Then he slid two fingers inside you—deep, slow, curling them just right. Your head dropped to his shoulder with a soft moan as he pumped his fingers, his thumb never leaving your clit. It was too much and not enough all at once.

And then—his phone buzzed in his back pocket.

You barely registered it through the haze.

He cursed under his breath, glanced at the screen, then pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yeah?”

You froze—except his fingers didn’t. He didn’t stop. Not even a little.

If anything, he picked up the pace, curling deeper inside you, rubbing slow, devastating circles over your clit while he talked like nothing was happening.

“Where the fuck are you? I can’t find y/n” Johnny’s voice came through the line, loud enough that you could hear it. Simon’s eyes stayed locked on yours. “Went out for a smoke i’m sure she’s around somewhere,” he said smoothly, voice steady. “One sec, I’ll be there in a minute.”

You bit your lip, trying not to moan as his fingers thrust harder, his thumb never relenting. Your hands dug into his shoulders, your entire body trembling with how close you were.

Johnny’s voice crackled again. “Alright, hurry up.”

Simon ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket—his fingers still buried inside you, fucking up into you with steady pressure.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, leaning in close, lips brushing your ear. “Be quick for me. Gotta get back before he notices you’re missing.” You couldn’t hold back the whine that tore from your throat. Your body clenched around his fingers, the heat low in your stomach burning hotter, tighter.

“Almost there, aren’t you?” he whispered. “So fuckin’ pretty like this. So close you can’t think straight.”

You nodded, lips parted, your hips moving with his hand now, chasing the friction. His mouth moved back to your neck, biting gently, then soothing it with his tongue as your body tensed.

And then you broke.

You came hard around his fingers, jaw slack, a soft cry caught in your throat as you gripped him tight and fell apart against him. Simon kissed your jaw, working you through it, his fingers slowing only when your body had finished pulsing around him.

He finally pulled his hand free, tugging your panties back into place and adjusting your jeans like nothing had happened.

Except everything had.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes never leaving yours.

“This isn’t over,” he said again—quiet and firm, like a promise.

Then, without another word, he fixed your shirt for you, pressed one final kiss to your jaw, and turned toward the main room.

And you?

You were left against the wall, breathless, undone—heart pounding, thighs shaking, and your brother waiting just outside.

(it’s finally out AHHHH. i hope it was worth the wait and there will be another part not sure when it will be out. Bear with me yall i have plans for this story. it won’t let me tag anyone so i hope you all find your way back to this story. I LOVE YALL AND THANKS SO MUCH FIR THE SUPOORT OK THE LAST PART)

[vampuzzie]

do u talk about politics on this blog?

fuck trump fuck musk fuck meta fuck billionaires. fuck that one billionaire who got shot in the back in plain daylight. pro choice. pro dei. pro healthcare for all. free palestine. fuck racists fuck terfs fuck homophobes fuck transphobes. housing, food, clean water for all. proper care for disabled proper care for elderly proper care for children proper care for people who are alive and want to keep living. fair wages for all. pro farmers pro teachers pro future. and fuck ai.

oh and anti christian nationalism. anti fascist. anti censorship 🕺