#rs: never be parted

[tls123]

This flute… I've never seen you hold it before.

[skitskatdacat63]

Every time I read Fernando cursing in fic, I can only think about this clip and then my brain short-circuits

[lgbtlunaverse]

I don't think we talk about xiyao exes to lovers enough. I understand that in canon the "breakup" ended with death and imo it was never going to end any other way (I have a lot of feelings about how jgy is doomed from the start) but even in aus where survival is an option I barely ever see their full potential realized. The fact that there is this heartbreaking gap that is between them now, and yet that, despite it all, they can't stop loving each other. When you have drama this good, why is the conflict relegated to outside threats and we end up with little to no exploration of internal strife, of the fact that these guys have been living a domestic lie for a decade (I cannot stress this enough, the amount of parralels between xiyao and jgy's marriage to qin su are staggering.)

And let me be clear I will NEVER begrudge anyone their hurt/comfort and wanting their faves who are denied happiness and peace at every turn to find it. god knows I need that sometimes. Or even the less healthy but so emotionally devastating fics where the caring isn't good, and it doesn't fix anything- might only make things worse, actually- and xichen ends up recreating his father's fate. I love all of those things. But. Man. This divorce was over 11 years in the making it should take AT LEAST that long to resolve. What do you do when the person you trusted the most lied to you for years? What do you do when the only person who's ever believed in you loses that faith so completely they'd hurt you over a lie without hesitation? I need me some xiyao who try to get over each other for 20 years and fail. I need them to meet after not seeing each other for years and have it hurt like no time has passed at all. I need arguments where no one raises their voice but that feel like a screaming match anyway. Do you see my vision?? Do you see what we could have?

(if fics that do exacly this are out there, recs are of course welcome)

[luna-the-cretar]

Okay, I don’t know how I didn’t know this growing up, but I swear to fucking god, half of the male townies were either voiced by the guy who voices Mordecai (who I learned is also the guy who made the show, so it’s kinda like an Alex Hirsch situation) or the guy who voices Muscle Man. If not for the entire show, then at least for the first 3 or so seasons.

And like, I get it. It’s a large cast, and an even larger amount of random one-off townies (I mean, fuck man, the show is 8 seasons long with like 250 total episodes or something). And obviously they probably didn’t have the budget to get a million different voice actors just to voice the townies. I just think it’s funny that I NEVER NOTICED as a kid, even tho it’s blatantly obvious sometimes lol.

[boxwinebaddie]

*jk vc* wE AHYR sO CRIMSAHN BAHCK awHN bABEY!!! ;) <3 xX

[fitzrove]

Rant in the tags... I am insufferable

[aqqleshiqqing-archive]

y'know as much as i see ruby as my son (and I still do) truth is outside of being a selfshipper I actually do kin ruby - and thought id stay to be a ruby kin but my selfshipping tendencies got the better of me LMAO

[rinbylin]

ms. and mr. sara farley i now pronounce you woman and husband‼️‼️😌❤️🚬🗣️

[tls123]

thirty-one days of jiujiu(ly) — 2024 edition // day twenty-seven + with bonus siblings ! + find the 2022 edition here

[dowsingcode]

you dont even fucking understand how crazy i am about those two. ok.

[yume-holic]

listening 2 part of that madness on loop

[allthatjazz416]

Osamu NSFW 🌹

"Kiss the cook" A Miya Osamu TIMESKIP fic Tags: Fem!Reader! Creampie! Squirting! Spanking! A lil nipple play! Manhandling! Brief!Cockwarming! Implied!Breedingkink! Praisekink! Dom!Osamu! Sub!Reader! Established RS! Cockdrunk! Cunnulingus! MarriedCouple! LovingDominance! Word Count: 2.9k Note: MDNI! Porn with like a lil plot. Inspired by this header lol which divider crdts: @/cursed-carmine

The smell hits you first.

Garlic. Onion. A little soy sauce. It hits like a warm hug the second you step through the door, bags in hand and shoes half-off. You sigh, stretching your arms over your head, sore from work but already relaxing because he’s home. And he’s cooking.

You round the corner and find him there—in a loose gray shirt, apron tied around his hips, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a skillet.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says without turning around, voice casual, warm. “You’re home early.”

“I missed you,” you hum.

He laughs softly under his breath. “Didn’t even text me.”

You walk up behind him and snake your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. He’s warm. Solid. Smelling like salt and dinner and Osamu.

“Wanted to surprise you,” you murmur, nosing at the back of his neck. “Smells amazing.”

“Y’better be talkin’ about the food,” he teases.

You smile. “You know I’m not.”

He goes still when you kiss just below his ear, and stay there. His knuckles tighten on the spoon. You know that look—that tiny shift in his stance. He’s trying not to react. So you push it.

Your fingers dip under the hem of his apron. His cock’s not hard yet, but he shifts when you press your palm over his waistband, groaning low in his chest.

“…Now, sweetheart,” he warns, gently, “you start that and I’ll burn the whole damn thing.”

“Then maybe you should turn the stove off.”

He snorts, but it’s breathless. He does turn it off. And the second he sets the spoon down, you spin him around, eyes already on his mouth.

Osamu tastes like soy and garlic and the tiniest hint of sake when you kiss him. He kisses like he cooks—slow and sure, knowing exactly what he’s doing. His hands find your waist. Then your hips. Then your ass.

“Been wantin’ you all day,” he mutters against your lips. “Got this picture in my head of you bent over the kitchen counter in nothin’ but a smile—”

“That so?” you whisper, tongue flicking the corner of his mouth. “Think you can make it happen?”

He doesn’t answer.

He grabs your thighs, lifts you like you weigh nothing, and sets you on the counter in one smooth motion.  You blink—pulse quickening—not expecting him to actually drop to his knees. He never does this without teasing first. Without dragging it out. But this time—

He kneels. Right there on the kitchen floor.

“Samu—!” your hands reach for the edge of the counter, breath catching. “I’ve been out all day, I’m probably all sweaty down there—”

“Good,” he growls, spreading your thighs. “I wanna taste all of it.” eyes locked on your soaked cunt. “Fuck, look at you.”

You freeze, pulse hammering in your throat. Heat crawls up your chest. You weren’t expecting this—weren’t expecting him to want you like this, right now, raw and unfiltered. Part of you hesitates, skin flushed and prickling with the awareness of the day still clinging to you.

But the way he looks at you—hungry, reverent, fucking possessed—melts every ounce of self-consciousness. He wants you. Just like this.

Your breath catches again, this time for a different reason. You relax back into your elbows, thighs falling open.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Okay…”

He spreads your thighs, hooks them over his shoulders, and drags his tongue through your slit like he’s starving.

And god—he doesn’t stop.

Osamu eats pussy like it’s his job. Like you’re his last meal. He licks up your folds, slow and wet and filthy, then swirls his tongue around your clit until your thighs twitch. His hands keep you open, thumbs pressing into your hips just enough to bruise. You pant, moan, try to grind down—but he pins you there.

“Stay still,” he growls, voice low against your core. “Lemme take my time.”

His mouth seals around your clit and sucks. You yelp, clapping a hand over your mouth. He hums into you, sending vibrations straight through your cunt.

“Osamu—fuck, that—ah—”

“You’re already drippin’, sweetheart,” he groans. “This little pussy missed me?”

You nod helplessly, hips twitching. “Y-yeah… I missed your mouth…”

He groans into your cunt, like that does something to him. And then he gets meaner. Hungrier. His fingers come next—one thick finger pushing inside while his tongue works circles around your clit. Then another. Curling just right.

You feel it building—hot and tight in your belly, your thighs clenching, every muscle on edge. But just when you’re about to tip over—

He stops.

You whine, loudly. “Samu!”

He smirks up at you, fingers still buried deep, glistening mouth pressed to your thigh.

“You were close, huh?” he teases, curling his fingers just enough to make your body jump. “You gonna cum all over the counter for me?”

“Please,” you whimper. “Please don’t tease me—need it so bad—”

He grins, slow and filthy.

“Say it again.”

“Need your mouth,” you gasp, hands fisting in his hair. “Need to cum for you, Osamu—fuck, please—”

He goes in.

Tongue on your clit, fingers curling hard and fast—right there, over and over—and the pressure snaps.

Your back arches. You scream, thighs clamping around his head as you squirt hard, soaking his mouth, his chin, the front of his apron.

You’re gasping, shaking, crying out—helpless against the wave of overstimulation.

Osamu groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever felt, grinding his face into you like he wants more.

“Fuckin’ love makin’ you squirt,” he pants. “You always make a mess for me, don’t you?”

You’re still shaking when he stands—licking his fingers like he’s tasting your orgasm, his cock hard as granite behind his sweats. His mouth and chin are slick—glistening with you.

Then he grabs your face.

Big, calloused fingers wrap under your jaw, thumb pressing just under your lips as he tilts your face up to his. His eyes are dark. Hungry.

“Open.”

You do.

He kisses you—filthy. Deep and slow, no warning. His tongue pushes past your lips and you taste yourself, still dripping from his mouth. He groans into the kiss, hand gripping your chin like he owns you.

“That's you,” he growls, pulling back just enough to pant against your mouth. “So fuckin’ sweet. I could live off this cunt.”

You whimper, clenching around nothing. He must feel the heat radiating off you because he grins, smug and slow and dangerous.

Then his hand slides down. Between your legs. He cups your pussy—still wet, still messy—and moans into your cheek.

“Still so fuckin’ wet,” he mutters, grinding his palm against your clit. “Y’gonna let me fuck you now, sweetheart? Let me fill you up?”

You nod. Fast. Breathless. “Yes. Please.”

“Not beggin’ pretty enough,” he growls, licking into your neck, one hand gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. “Want you to ask me. Like a good girl.”

You whimper, arching your back, rubbing against him. “Please fuck me, Samu. Wanna feel your cock. Wanna feel you inside.”

“Where, sweetheart?” he presses, cock hard against your thigh now, rubbing through the front of his sweats. “Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside,” you pant, eyes fluttering. “Need you to finish inside me.”

He lets out a sound—deep, dark, filthy. Then he hooks one arm around your waist and lifts you, making you yelp. Not rushed, not rough—just strong, decisive, possessive.

“Counter’s too small,” he mutters against your neck. “Need more room to fuck you proper.”

He carries you across the kitchen and lays you back on the table like you’re made of something precious and his. The wood is cool against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body as he looms over you, staring down at you like you’re his next course.

His eyes drop to your chest, still hidden under your shirt, and he growls low—like he’s just remembered what else he’s starving for.

“Lift your arms, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tugging your shirt up and off. “Wanna see all of you.”

He palms your breasts with both hands, rough but reverent, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they harden under his touch. You arch up with a soft gasp, and he groans—low and filthy, cock twitching against your thigh.

“Fuck, these tits,” he mutters, bending to mouth at one nipple, sucking slow and deep until it makes your toes curl. “I missed these, too. God, you make me crazy.”

He bites—just enough to make you yelp—then soothes it with a slow lick. His hands never leave your body, one still cupping your breast while the other slides down, trailing heat along your side.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters, tugging his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring free—thick and flushed and already leaking, “and I’m not gonna be able to take my time.”

“Then don’t,” you whisper, hips lifting, legs parting. “Samu, I need it.”

He groans, low and hungry, and steps in closer—running his cock through your folds, dragging it over your clit, tapping it against your soaked entrance just to hear the obscene slick of your arousal.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re drippin’—you this messy just from gettin’ eaten out?”

You whine, squirming. “M’still sensitive—”

“I know.” His smirk is slow. Dangerous. “That’s why I’m gonna make it worse.”

He strokes his cock once—twice—then presses the blunt head to your entrance.

But he doesn’t push in.

Not yet.

His hand slides up your chest, under your shirt, up your neck. Grips your chin.

“Kiss me.”

You do, panting into his mouth as he leans over you—his tongue slow, dragging, dirty. He kisses you like he owns every part of you.. Like you belong to him.

Then—only then—he starts to push in.

“Just a little,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let me feel that squeeze…”

You moan, loud and helpless, as he sinks in—slow, steady, inch by inch.

“Big,” you gasp. “You’re so—fuck—you’re so big…”

“That’s right,” he growls. “Wanna feel me stretch you out. Wanna ruin this pussy nice and slow.”

He stops halfway in. Just stops—and starts grinding.

Not thrusting. Just deep, tight circles of his hips, the thick weight of his cock rubbing right against the spot that makes your toes curl. Your hands fly up, clinging to his shoulders, his apron still bunched around his waist.

You whimper. “Samu—need all of you—please—”

“I know, baby,” he mutters, cock twitching inside you. “You’re takin’ me so well. Almost there…”

Another inch. Another grind. He watches your face—eats every gasp, every twitch of your lips, like he’s feasting on your need.

And then he bottoms out.

All of him. Buried to the hilt.

You both moan.

You swear you see stars for a second.

“God, I feel so full—”

“That’s ‘cause you are, baby,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “Look at me. Let me see your face when I fuck you.”

He pulls out just a little—then thrusts back in.

Deep.

Slow.

Like he wants to mold your insides to his shape.

He does it again. And again. Each thrust deeper than the last, each one building that low, aching heat between your legs. You wrap your arms around him, thighs trembling, biting back moans that only make him grin.

“You love this,” he growls. “Love bein’ fucked like this, huh?”

“Yes,” you whimper, tears pricking your eyes. “Love your cock—fuck—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t.

His thrusts stay deep, slow, and dirty. Every inch of him feels like it’s made to ruin you—hot and thick, dragging against your sweet spot with a precision that makes you clench down and moan his name like it’s the only word you remember.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, leaning over you, his chest pressed to your back. “You hear that? That’s your pussy talkin’ to me.”

He’s right.

It’s wet—obscene. Every thrust sounds like filth, slick and messy, your cunt fluttering greedily around him. You gasp as his hips press flush to your ass, his cock buried to the hilt, and he stays there—grinding. Deep and slow. Like he’s savoring how tight you are around him.

“God, I can’t get deep enough like this,” he growls, pulling out slow. “Turn over for me, baby—lemme see that ass.”

You moan, dizzy with need, and roll over—cheek pressed to the table, arms braced, legs trembling as he slips back in.

Then—

Smack.

You yelp, jumping slightly as his hand lands hard on your ass. The sound echoes through the kitchen. Your cunt clenches around him.

“There she is,” he growls, rubbing the sting in with a big, warm hand. “Always gets tighter when I spank you.”

“Samu,” you moan, shivering. “Again—”

Another smack.

You whimper, arching your back, presenting for him like a good girl.

“You’re filthy,” he pants, fucking into you again—slow and thick. “Come home from work all sweet and polite, then turn into a cockdrunk mess the second I get you on the table.”

“I missed you,” you breathe, voice trembling. “Missed your cock. Missed this.”

“Yeah?” His hand slides up your spine, fingers winding into your hair to gently tug your head back so he can kiss the side of your face. “This pussy miss me, baby?”

You whine—high, needy—grinding back into him. “So much.”

He groans into your skin, then pulls out slow—just the tip inside—and slams back in, hard enough to make the table creak beneath you.

You cry out, nearly folding over the wood, but he catches your hips.

“That’s it,” he grits, rutting into you again, hips smacking loud and sharp. “Let me fuck it better.”

His thrusts pick up, sloppy now—wet and deep, the sound of skin on skin echoing in your little kitchen, obscene and delicious. He’s panting into your neck, hands bruising on your hips, buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s touching your fucking soul.

“You love this, huh?” he growls. “Love comin’ home and gettin’ fucked dumb like this?”

“Yes—yes, baby, I love it—”

“You were so fuckin’ sweet walkin’ out the door this morning, actin’ all innocent in that cute little work outfit,” he pants, one hand coming down again—smack—harder this time, making you jerk forward with a cry. “Bet you were thinkin’ about my cock the whole damn day.”

You nod frantically, gasping. “Wanted your cock all day—”

“Should’ve told me,” he growls, grinding deep. “I’d’ve bent you over this table before you even get your keys.”

You moan, loud and unfiltered, your thighs shaking again.

His pace doesn’t let up. He keeps fucking into you like he owns it—your body, your cunt, your sounds. His cock drives in deep, again and again, that perfect spot hit over and over until your vision starts to blur.

You’re soaked. Gushing around him. So wet it’s dripping off your thighs onto the floor, messy and hot and loud. You feel another orgasm building fast—sharper this time, tighter, like a spring wound to the breaking point.

“Fuck—Samu—I’m gonna—”

“You gonna squirt again for me, baby?” he groans, thrusting harder. “So fuckin’ greedy tonight—”

He slips a hand between your legs, thumb rubbing your clit in tight circles, fucking you through it—hard and fast, like he wants to feel you fall apart again.

And you do.

You break with a scream—back arching, mouth open, body going rigid before you gush, helpless and messy, your juices spilling around him in hot waves. You feel it spray out, feel the slap of it against his thighs, the flood between your legs soaking the front of the counter.

Osamu groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Look at you,” he pants, never stopping. “So fuckin’ wet, baby—fuck—feel that? You’re milkin’ my cock—fuckin’ made for it—”

You’re limp. Wrecked. But he’s still going.

You moan, weakly now, every thrust sending aftershocks through your nerves. And you feel him twitch inside you, cock hard and pulsing, hips starting to stutter.

“Tell me where you want it,” he grits, hand clutching your waist. “Tell me where to finish.”

“In me,” you whimper, “Osamu—inside—wanna feel it. Wanna keep it in—”

“Fuck—fuck—”  he grits out, voice cracking.

He slams in deep and stays, hips locking against yours as he cums with a growl—low and broken and possessive. You feel it fill you, thick and hot, pumping inside until it leaks around his cock and drips down your thighs, mixing with everything else you’ve spilled.

And still, he doesn’t pull out.

He bends over you, chest to your back, both of you trembling. He kisses your shoulder. Your cheek. Your neck.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice soft now, tender against your ear.

You nod, still panting. “I’m so full…”

He grins, slow and wicked, cupping your mound with one big hand, with his cock plunged in to keep it all in. “Damn right you are.”

And then he laughs—soft and low, one hand sliding up your spine to stroke your hair.

“I ever tell you how much I love it when my wife comes home to me?”

You laugh, exhausted. Wrecked. Soaked in love and slick and everything that’s his.

“Only every time you fuck me like this.”

[ipushhimback]

we were drunk, it happens part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

pairing: lando norris x verstappen!reader warnings: none? words: 2.2k

summary: lando and Y/N meet at a dinner with other drivers. they were drunk and landed in bed but what happens when her brother max finds out

there will probably be a part 2 bc i have many ideas!

this is my first f1 x reader fanfic i have ever written so please be kind

Y/N has never really liked Formula 1 which surprised everyone she told that as she was no one other than Max Verstappen’s little sister. She of course knew the basics and has watched some of the Grands Prix, but she has never enjoyed being there.

But one Friday evening that changed. Her brother had told her that he had been invited to a dinner with some other drivers, and they were allowed to bring a +1 and because Kelly wasn’t in Monaco that week, he asked Y/N to come with him.

At first, she was reluctant but eventually she agreed. But now she was standing in front of her mirror and wasn’t sure what to wear. What clothes do people wear when they are at a dinner with literal multimillionaires? An hour (and a long call with Kelly) later she was dressed in a simple black dress with a split on the right side, her curled hair falling over her shoulders perfectly.

She felt a bit weird as she stepped down the stairs to her kitchen where she drank a glass of water while waiting for her brother to pick her up, as she had a feeling that she would be absolutely underdressed at the dinner.

Only a few minutes later she heard the doorbell and opened the door to find Max standing in front of her in dark blue jeans and a white button-up shirt.

“Hey, are you ready?”, he asked as he pulled her in a quick hug.

“No. Not really but let’s go. How many people are gonna be at the dinner?” Y/N was a bit worried as she hated to be around too many people – rich and arrogant people in particular as she had experienced that enough when she was still a kid, and her dad had always invited other rich people to their home.

“I only know that Charles will be there, and he will probably bring his girlfriend, Alex. I am sure you’ll like her. Also, Lando is probably going to be there as well as Carlos and his girlfriend Rebecca. George is also going to be there and that means his girlfriend will be there as well, Carmen. And probably the other drivers will be there as well, but I am not sure because George has planned it all.” Max paused to look at his little sister. “If you feel uncomfortable at any point we can just go. But I am sure you will get along just fine with everyone.”

Y/N just nodded as she sat down in the passenger seat of Max’ car. An Audi RS Q3 he always said was perfect for everyday tasks but Y/N knew he mostly had that car so he could easily drive around with his whole family. Kelly, Penelope and their future baby. Even though nobody knew about the pregnancy yet, not even their parents as Max and Kelly wanted to keep that to themselves for as long as possible.

Only a few minutes later they arrived at a nice and expensive looking restaurant where they stopped in the parking lot.

They stepped in the building where they were greeted by a waitress almost immediately. He brought them to a separated room where some people were already sitting around a big table.

“Hi guys. This is Y/N, my sister. She was kind enough to join me today. Y/N, you already know Charles, Carlos, Lando and Oscar? And there is the back we have Lewis, Checo, Yuki, Pierre, Fernando and Franco”, Max introduced her while his sister tried to continue smiling even though she just wants to be at home and watch on of her favorite tv shows.

“Yes, I do. It is really nice to meet y’all. Where can I sit?”, she asked as she didn’t want to be standing there being stared at by everyone.

A young woman pointed to the chair right next to hers and opposite three other women, who looked just as good. “You can sit here. I am Lily by the way. Oscar’s girlfriend. And that’s Alex, Charles’ girlfriend and Rebecca. She is Carlos’ girlfriend. And there we have Carmen who is here with George. So, you are Max’ sister?”

Y/N was a bit taken aback by the kindness of Lily. She didn’t think that anyone of the WAGs would be like that. She thought they would be more arrogant. More… reserved. Like she used to know them. But Lily and also the others seemed different.

“Uhm… Yeah, I am. He brought me here because Kelly’s abroad.” Y/N took a sip of the glass of water that was placed in front of her by one of the waitresses.

“Oh, that’s sad I was looking forward to finally meeting her, but it is nice that you are here! Max talks about you a lot. It feels like he loves you more than he loves Kelly”, Alex said laughing.

“That’s because he does,” Y/N said and was scared that the others wouldn’t get her little joke when they didn’t react but sighed relived when they started laughing.

They continued chatting a bit, but Y/N just had eyes for one person in the room. Lando. She had seen him before. Of course. But now that she saw him up closer, she couldn’t help but admire his looks. His curls were a nice brown color and couldn’t curl more. His eyes were a pretty blue that looked even better with him wearing this blue hoodie right now.

When Lando looked in her direction, she immediately looked away and grabbed her wine glass. No feelings for arrogant multimillionaires. She didn’t want, nor did she need that in her life.

 ***

The next morning Y/N woke up with the worst headache existing.

She opened her eyes and regretted it right away when the bright sunlight blended her.

She definitely made a big mistake drinking so much alcohol the day before.

It wasn’t until then that she noticed something warm next to her. A body. Not anyone’s body, she realized when she looked to the right. Lando.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This can’t be real.

But no. This wasn’t a dream, she quickly noticed when she wanted to get up and couldn’t find her clothes from the day before.

She got up and went to her closet in the exact moment she heard the doorbell ring. Now she remembered why she even woke up in the first place.

Y/N took a hoodie and sweatpants which she put on quickly before going downstairs to open the door.

“Hey! Wow, you look even worse than yesterday when you left”, Max said, only a second after Y/N had opened the door.

“Thanks”, she groaned. “What are you even doing here so early?”

“It is 1 pm. And I wanted to give you your purse. You forgot it in the car yesterday. Now, are you gonna offer your big brother a coffee as a thank you?”, Max asked and before Y/N could stop him he pushed her to the side and went straight to her kitchen.

“That’s not a good idea. I wanted to take a shower and then I have an appointment at- “, she couldn’t even finish the sentence when she heard her bedroom door open and heard footsteps on the stairs.

Only seconds later, Lando stepped in the kitchen, his hair tousled and only wearing his boxer briefs.

“Hey, Y/N do you- “, he immediately stopped when he spotted Max leaning on the counter. “Oh fuck.”

He immediately turned around and ran upstairs, figuring out that the following conversation shouldn’t happen with him just in his underwear.  

“Lando! You fucking bastard. You slept with my sister?!” Max pushed himself off the counter to run after the Brit while Y/N just stood there, unable to react. And honestly, she didn’t even want to react. If she had the choice she would just go outside and hide somewhere to not be involved in the situation, but she knew that wouldn’t really work longer than a couple hours, so she could also just get it over with now.

“Max! Stop! Let Lando at least get dressed so he doesn’t have to talk to you about all that in just his underwear.”

“He fucking slept with you! I don’t care if he is wearing anything! Lando let me in you can’t lock yourself in the bedroom forever!”

Knowing she can’t convince Max to go downstairs she made her way upstairs.

“Max. Go downstairs and calm down. We were drunk. I also made the decision yesterday to sleep with him. So go downstairs, while Lando gets dressed, make a cup of coffee and wait.” Y/N glared at her brother, and it finally seemed to convince him.

“Fine. But you will both come to me immediately after he got dressed.” Reluctantly, the Dutch made his way to do what Y/N told him to do.

When Max was gone Y/N knocked at the wooden door.

“Lando. It’s me. Let me in.” Only a moment later, the Brit opened the door and peeked outside.

“Is he gone?”, he practically whispered.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at how scared he looked. “Yes, he is. Now let me in because we have to talk about what we say to make sure Max doesn’t insult you even more.”

“How about we don’t say anything and just hide in here? I am scared of him, Y/N. I can’t go out there again. He will kill me because I slept with you! His little sister!”

“Lando. You know we can’t do that. We will go out there and tell him that we were drunk, and it won’t happen again. It was a one-time thing, and that’s- “, Y/N wanted to say more but was interrupted by Lando.

“What if it wasn’t.” The woman just stared at Lando for a couple seconds, suddenly frozen in place.

“Sorry?”

“What if- what if I want to do it again? Listen. We had fun together, didn’t we? So why don’t we continue with it? No feelings, of course. Max would kill us. Just fun.”

Y/N took her time to proceed what Lando had just said. They did, in fact, have fun. But it didn’t change the fact that it was stupid. But she couldn’t help it. She did like last night. It was one of the best nights of her life.

Lando had known exactly what to do. He touched her in all the right places, he was demanding yet gentle. Rough but soft. It was everything. It was almost intoxicating how he touched her – made her feel seen. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. But then, what do we tell my brother?”

“Either the truth or we lie and say it won’t happen again. He doesn’t necessarily have to find out, does he? I am for the second option. Less of a risk to be killed, you know? But I think we should just see where the conversation takes us.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Ok”, she nodded. “Then let’s do that.”

Together they went downstairs. Max’ face was as red as a tomato since he was still mad at Lando. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that Lando wasn’t the only guilty one. His sister also decided to sleep with Lando, but it was easier to be mad at a colleague – even – than his little, innocent (or so he had thought) sister.

“So. Anyone here who wants to explain what happened yesterday?”, Max asked with an annoyed, maybe even hurt, look on his face.

“Max. I promise nothing bad has happened. Lando and I, we were drunk. It happens. I am 22 years old. I am pretty sure you know that what happened yesterday, has happened before. Just with other people. So, please. Don’t be mad at Lando for what happened. It was my decision as much as it was his.”

Y/N felt Lando standing next to her. He looked at Max calmly, trying to deescalate a potential argument, by just not saying anything. The Brit knew it was the smartest thing he could do in the moment.

“I know that it is normal what happened. But, Y/N, you also have to understand my point of view. He is a colleague. A rival of mine. And to be honest, he is not known for being the guy for long term relationships. I simply don’t want you to get hurt. And definitely not that you will have a broken heart because of him.” Max looked seriously concerned, protective.

“I won’t, Max. I promise. And even if he did break my heart, I would tell you right away so you can kill him on your own as soon as possible.”

The blonde man laughs while nodding. He stepped forward and wrapped Y/N up in his arms.

“Ok. I just want you to be happy. Do whatever you want just don’t tell me about it”, he mumbles in his sister’s hair before releasing her from his hug and turning around.

“I will go now. See you. Bye!”

Lando and Y/N flopped on the couch after saying their goodbyes and just a single minute later, Lando’s phone made a sound that signaled an incoming message.

If you hurt her, you are dead, just so you know. – Max

[ohimsummer]

JUST LONELY, BUT SO FREAKY ft. SUGURU GETO

— minors dni, suguru x fem! reader, slight religious talk, established rs, satoru cameo, spanking, dryhumping, lots of kissing, fingering, take a shot every time I say ‘ass’

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ sequel to LOWKEY, SHE’S SO SWEET

wc 2.3k

One peck. A second. Then another, and another. Geto can’t help the grin that forms under your barrage of affection, kisses peppered all over his jaw, cheeks, and nose. His hands rub over your plump waist, pull you closer into him as you giggle at the red tint starting to wash over his cheeks. You readjust, elbow sinking into his mattress, to sit up for a slightly better angle of attack, another low, mischievous laugh flowing between your teeth.

“Enjoying yourself?,” he asks, closes his eyes as you plant a kiss to his forehead.

“Someone definitely is.,” you tease and throw a leg over his hip, shuffling closer to destroy any spare inches between you two. “But yes, I suppose I do like kissing a pretty face.”

“You and me both.” And Geto presses soft lips to your own. He lingers for a second to stare into the hues of your eyes, narrowed beneath the upturn of your smile, before layering the corners of your mouth in a quick succession of kisses. A small wave of giggles bubbles up at his affections, ones that mix with quiet moans as Geto soon trails lower, down to your neck and collarbone.

“Suguru, that tickles.,” you pant into his hair, angling your neck for more. “Silly.”

He only hums in return, nibbles on an especially sensitive part of your neck and you feel him smile as you squirm next to him. Your whine of ‘Suguru!’ goes unanswered, only prompting him to grab you by the hips to straddle him. His hair splays out in a halo on satin pillows, giving Geto a heavenly look akin to a god—your god—alluring eyes never leaving your own.

“This is a pretty precarious position for you, isn’t it?,” you lower yourself to lay on his chest. Playful fingers thread through the dark locks of his hair.

“Hm? How so?” His eyes never leave yours, a game of chicken.

“Ohh, I don’t knoww.”

Suguru seems unbothered when you grind your pelvis against his; even through his sweats, you can feel the thick outline of his cock under your pussy, which is only growing wetter by the second. The splash of red on Suguru’s cheeks spreads further when you lean forward to plant another kiss on his chin, rubbing your body up and down his own. Your hands are eager to touch him, ducking underneath the hem of his sweats to rub at his v-line, teasing the edge of his boxers before you’re trailing them up and over his toned torso again. You feel your boyfriend tense as you give a cheeky jiggle of your ass, but before you can tease further, he lands a resounding smack! on your rear.

Jaw going slack, you sit up immediately, pressing yourself into his lap and mildly registering the faint hardness beneath you. “Naughty!”

“Behave.,” he says, eyeing the incoming pout on your face. Both brows shoot up as you give another small, tentative wiggle, and Geto raises a hand to hover over your behind. “You want another one?”

The fact that you don’t reply immediately, and instead turn to study the threatening hand above your ass pushes Geto to question you. “You gotta think about it, love? Don’t tell me this is turning you on.”

You finally snap around to look at him. “Wha–? It is no—!” Another smack forces a surprised moan from your lips, and Suguru rubs over the sore spot of your flesh. “You’re so mea–“ A squeeze, which prompts your yelp. “Suguru!”

He thinks this might be his hardest battle yet, fighting back the grin tugging at his lips. One hand kneads at the globe of your ass, the other moving to the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss. Geto gives you another brief peck on the mouth, shortly taking in the sight of your plump lips before guiding them to his, eager tongue swiping over your bottom lip. You make a show of denying access for him and Geto gives a low grunt, a warning as he nips at you again.

This time, you part your mouth further to let him aside, allowing Geto to slip his tongue into the warm bay of your mouth, massaging it against your own. He feels so good, you feel so good, the way he can feel your stiff nipples poking at his bare chest through the fabric of your (his) shirt, your slow, leisurely ruts against the bulge in his briefs.

“Feel good, darling?” He breaks away to murmur teasingly against your lips. A low snort from him in reply to your absentminded ‘mhm’. “Yeah, I can tell, you’re soaking straight through to my dick.”

Your eyes snap open at that comment, brows raised and you pull away, but not too far. “You liar! I am not.”

“Oh?” His fingers dart below the hem of your shorts, brushing your bare pussy since apparently you’re not wearing any panties beneath. “Dirty girl. Let’s see then.”

You sit upright again to watch Geto’s hand disappear beneath your bottoms, hole involuntarily clenching as his fingers slip between your folds. Fingers run along the expanse of your pussy, coating his digits in wetness as he prods at your entrance before brushing a finger against your clit. He watches, waits, stalls and you decide to take matters into your own hands when you press down onto his idle finger.

“Needy.,” Geto chuckles. “Must be going too slow for you, doll. Couldn’t wait, hm?”

“No.,” and you brace hands atop his chest, descending until noses are brushing and you’re lost in a calm storm of purple. “Please touch me, Sugu, please. Stuff your fingers in your pussy, I want it.”

And he wants to edge you a little longer—you’re so cute with a river of tears down your cheeks and a wrenching grip on his shoulders, like you want to tear straight through him if he keeps toying with you any further. But Suguru’s dick also strains against his pants at your dirty words. You know just what to do and say to get him riled up, fluttering your lashes at him so sweetly, grazing your lips on his in such a tantalizing way as you’re begging him to fuck your pussy up—you might as well be the apple in the Garden.

You pull away just as Geto leans in for a kiss, but your little fun is short-lived as he gives a pinch to your clit, forcing a sharp whine out of you. His fingers are languid on the swollen nub, circling it and drawing sloppy, obscene noises from your soaking pussy. He engulfs your lips in a heated kiss, swallowing your moans and hand keeping pace with the grind of your hips. ‘Suguru…feels s’good’ you mewl into his mouth, pressing closer to him and nails leaving angry marks on his broad shoulders.

Geto relaxes into your hand, one you’ve moved to cup his cheek, and loves the gentle caress of your thumb on his skin. He places a kiss on your wrist, any skin his adoration may reach. His palm knocks against your aching bud, fishing out whines from the depths of your throat. Suguru chases your lips whenever you break away to whimper his name— it’s like a prayer in the clouds, an exposure of your desire.

The kiss is magnetizing, but you barely find it in you to catch your breath, blinks slow and heart pounding beneath your heaving chest. Geto’s tongue darts over his lips, fingers still circling your clit to draw pretty little sounds from you that make his head spin. ‘Oh…f–fuck..!’ Your head tilts back, still fucking into the palm of his hand. Frustration and arousal boil in the pit of your stomach, because you want more. Your boyfriend’s an expert with his fingers, but you wish he’d put them inside you already, get rid of this empty feeling in your cunt. Geto can clearly tell what you want by the adorable frown on your lips, but he’s given you enough mercy for today, and he wants to hear you say it.

“Suguru, ah!” He runs a hand up to tweak your nipple, prompting a loud moan from you. “D-don’t, G–od! Again, again!”

“Not so loud, love.,” he chuckles, but makes no move to stifle the lustful sounds, nor stop his assault on your pussy. “You want to wake them up?”

Them being his roommates, but honestly, you really can’t find it in you to care, not with the way he’s still massaging your clit. His fingers grow restless, gripping at your tit before running to sink into the fatty flesh of your ass again. The sentence goes straight through one ear and out the other, barely registering a single word besides ‘want’ and you can’t wait any longer, you beg for him.

“Please put your fingers inside me, Sugu, fuck, fuck—!” Your eyes roll back, lids clenching shut.

The heavy hand on your behind controls the rut of your hips. His dick aches beneath his sweats, the only relief being the grinding pressure of your ass against his drooling length that stains his pants. Geto slides a finger lower, replacing his index with his thumb, teasing over your slick entrance, coaxing a finger inside. Your movements slow, and your mouth falls open. A choked whine escapes you, and your walls squeeze around Geto’s intruding finger, inviting him inside with intent to keep him there. ‘Oh, Suguru!’, you moan out. He gives your ass another smack, squeezing your cheeks. Head growing foggy at the desperate thought of your walls milking his cock.

Geto doesn’t give you time to adjust, stuffing another finger in, and another until you’re stretched out on three, large digits, forcing their way amidst your wet, cushiony walls to rub at that spongy spot — the one that makes stars burst behind your eyes and flashes of white cross your vision. His bruising grip on your ass doesn’t let up unless it’s to layer another smack on the sore skin. The mixture of pain and pleasure has you clutching, spasming around him, whining Suguru’s name as your legs grow tired. You lean back to rub at his hardened dick, and he hisses as you jerk him off through his pants.

“Ah, fuck, good girl, just—, shit, just like that.,” he praises you as his own release approaches.

You squeeze his tip and, with loud gasps, you’re both cumming together. Cum gushes out around Suguru’s fingers, into his palm, his own seed tainting the fabric of his boxers and seeping straight through to his sweats. With stuttered breaths, you collapse on top of him, and Geto gives your ass one last squeeze before wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you tight. He drags his fingers out of you, panting as he eyes your orgasm dripping between his fingers, and he raises the hand in the air. Your eyes jolt open at the pain of a hard slap to your ass, sending ripples through the flesh, but you’re so tired all you can do is half-heartedly pound a fist on his chest.

“Asshole.” The insult comes out a breathy huff. “You play so much.”

He gives you a smile, one that could never allow you to be truly annoyed with him. “See, if I was really an asshole, I wouldn’t be about to get up and start a shower for us.”

“You’re still an asshole for leaving me here to be cold.,” you fire back.

“Even if it’s just a few minutes?”

“Minutes, years, it all feels the same when I’m suffering from lack of your presence.”

You let Suguru slip out of your grasp, with much hesitation, and he quietly goes out the door. “I’ll be back, ya sappy lil’ drama queen. Try not to suffer too much without me, yeah?”

He grins at the sassy poke out of your tongue, treading quietly down the hallway towards the nearest bathroom. It’s dark, save for a small glow of light beneath the door of the room nearest his, Satoru’s bedroom. As he passes, he spots his best friend on the bed, transfixed on a movie displayed on his laptop. He leaves him be, continuing down a few more feet until he’s in the bathroom, and adjusts the water before making his way back to you.

“You still alive in here?,” Geto whispers to the lump beneath his sheets.

“Barely.” Your voice is muffled, hand flailing out until you find Suguru’s warm one and interlace your fingers. “Carry me, please?”

“Of course, darling.”

Morning arrives and, surprisingly, Gojo is first to step foot outside his room. He’s usually second to wake up, third if Shoko hasn’t spent the night drinking. It’s a little lonely, being by himself with only the noise of milk and cereal being poured into a porcelain bowl. That is, until someone else arrives.

“Suguru!,” he rasps a greeting to the other man, who’s shirtless and sporting scratch marks all over his arms and back. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Like a rock.” Or maybe a pebble, Geto had a tendency to awake once or twice in the night. But after the…activities you and him had gotten up to last night, he slept a little better in your arms.

“Must have been nice.” Gojo muffles out a sentence through bites of cereal. “I barely got any sleep, you and your company were making so much noise.” Suguru narrows his eyes, leaning against the table as Gojo continues. “Where is she anyway, don’t tell me your one night stand left before you even woke up?”

Before Suguru can respond, an insult on the tip of his tongue, there’s a small shuffling that catches his ear. As it grows louder, Gojo notices as well, and both men’s eyes widen when you come stumbling into view, using a fist to rub sleep from your eyes.

Suguru’s shirt still hangs loose on your frame. “Are you an asshole in your dreams, too? Just 24/7, Gojo?”

He watches, mouth agape, as you scoot over to Suguru, teetering against his shoulder and letting out a big yawn. Geto stabilizes you with an arm around your waist, embracing you in a side hug and resting a chin on the crown of your head. Suguru looks back to Gojo, whose spoonful of cereal hovers over the bowl.

“Nope. She’s right here.”

tagz: @anthoosies @apatauaia @b-b-b-my-b-f-f @getouolgy @sataraxia @leilalilox @babytoshiii @sugu-love @akumicchi @sugojosgf @k-cris @soraya-daydreams @triviahct @reiluvr @venzlenes @sttoru @bubblez-blop @luvvmae @ciggyy @starlightanyaaa @staryukis

[yunwangja]

⋆｡°✩ unrecognized, part 2 °｡⋆

kenma kozume x fem!reader

after kenma catches you off guard with a casual confession, he acts like nothing happened - which leaves you frustrated, and end up doing something you were never good at.

➤ masterlist | third

genre: fluff, slow burn, lighthearted romance

tags: kenma x fem!reader, univ setting, fluffy, pining!! yearning!!!

notes: might be ooc! this is now less introspective and more just some fluffy fluff and my bestie theme, pining <3 we're just exploring how yn and kenma will develop their rs teehee i hope you guys like it! I HOPE I CARRIED AHHHH

you think you’re going crazy. no—scratch that. you are out of your mind.

why are you doing this? sitting here, fumbling with controls, trying to play a game you know absolutely nothing about? and for what?

“how do you… do this…” you mutter, squinting at the screen. you move your character forward—only to be eliminated again.

the screen fades to black. game over.

you groan and throw yourself onto the couch. “why am i even doing this?”

laughter erupts from the call.

“yn, you’ve never cared about games before,” one of your friends says, amused. “why the sudden interest?”

you scramble for an excuse. “just… thought i’d learn something new.”

a lie.

the real reason is too embarrassing to say aloud. because ever since that night—since kenma casually dropped those words, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.

not that you’ve actually spoken to him since. no, after that moment, he went right back to being his quiet, unreadable self. like nothing even happened.

it’s fine that he wasn’t talking to you, though. you were to scared to talk to him again, fearing that he would say another thing that would take you off guard.

but—why wasn’t he talking to you?

you hate how it bothers you. now, you notice everything about him. everything he does, how he moves, how he speaks.

the way he stretches his neck when he’s listening to music, how his fingers tap against his leg when he’s focused, how his smirks are the closest thing to a laugh when someone cracks a joke.

god. and this man thinks you’re pretty.

it’s driving you crazy. you hate it. why.

then, last night, at a hangout, you saw him playing a game with some of your friends—headset on, gaze locked onto the screen, completely immersed.

and for some reason, that led you here. fumbling with controls, losing every round, questioning every life decision that brought you to this moment.

you really didn’t know why you decided to do this. really.

“yeah, right,” your friend teases. “you totally just had fomo when we played the other night.”

you open your mouth to argue when someone suddenly says—

“oh, wait, kenma’s joining.”

your stomach drops.

what.

you sit up, gripping your keyboard like it’s a lifeline. no, no, no— you are not ready for this.

“are you guys already playing?” kenma’s voice comes through your headset.

you hear rustling as if he’s adjusting his mic.

you panic. “uh—i mean, i can go—”

“no, of course not,” your friend cuts in. “play with us.”

you curse internally. there’s no escape.

a few seconds later, a new player joins the squad. it's him, you assume. then—

“hey.”

kenma’s voice is smooth, casual.

“oh, yn’s here?” he realizes.

you let out a nervous laugh. “yeah. um. sorry, i wanted to try it out.”

he chuckles. and god, you wish you didn’t notice how nice it sounded. “i see. that’s cute.”

your brain short-circuits.

you are so done.

the game starts, and as expected—you are a complete disaster.

this game is fast. too fast. there are bullets flying, enemies flanking, and you can barely aim without accidentally looking at the sky.

meanwhile, kenma is a menace. his movements are calculated, precise—he barely speaks, but he doesn’t need to. he takes down enemies effortlessly, revives teammates without hesitation, and somehow keeps the whole team afloat.

you, on the other hand, are a burden.

by some miracle (or kenma hard-carrying), you win.

but you don’t feel like celebrating. you bury your face in shame. “i’m so bad at this.”

kenma hums. “good round.” you bet he’s just saying that. “another one?” he asks.

before you can respond, your friend stretches with a yawn. “ah, sorry, i’ve been playing all day. i’m worn out.”

relief floods you—until they add, “but you can play with yn, kenma. she says she wants to learn.”

betrayal.

pure, utter betrayal.

you sit there, eyes wide, screaming internally. no. do not leave me here.

“uh—no, it’s fine! i can just play again next ti—”

“sure,” kenma interrupts smoothly. “let’s go, yn. i can guide you through.”

you slam your face into your hands. why is this happening.

but you have no choice. your friends leave the call, and the next match loads.

and, well—you are still terrible.

kenma is patient, though. he keeps his voice calm, telling you where to go, when to shoot. sometimes he makes small sounds—an approving hum when you survive longer than expected, a soft chuckle when you mess up in a way that’s too bad to ignore.

you still die. a lot.

“where are you?” he asks.

“i—i don’t know—”

“turn left.”

you turn right.

“no, other left.”

you die. again.

by the end of the round, you let out a groan, collapsing onto your desk. “i hate this game.”

kenma laughs. laughs. he never does that. well, at least for as long as you knew him.

“don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”

you sigh dramatically. “i’m deleting it later.”

he chuckles. “please don’t. but why’d you want to play in the first place, anyway?” asking the same thing your friend did earlier.

you freeze.

“nothing,” you mumble. “just wanted to play, too.”

kenma hums, unconvinced. “i doubt it. from your perspective, this game would look difficult.” a pause. then, teasingly, “you couldn’t even do roblox parkour.”

your mouth falls open. “you know about that?!”

he laughs again. “of course. i like you, remember?”

your heart stops.

you grip your keyboard mouse tighter. stop being like this, kenma kozume.

you take a shaky breath. “well, erase that from your memory.”

“mm. no can do.”

oh.

oh, hell.

why did he say it like that? he has no idea what he’s doing to you. no idea.

or worse, he does.

but then, his voice softens. “i still don’t believe you, though. tell me why you really wanted to play.”

he nudges you, but you hesitate. your grip tightens.

“…well. fine.”

he waits. you squeeze your eyes shut, embracing yourself for what you were about to say.

“youweren’ttalkingtome.”

kenma blinks. “what?”

you exhale sharply. “you weren’t talking to me.”

thank god it was just the two of you on the call. if anyone else had been here, you’d never live this down.

silence. then—

“oh.” a pause. then, suddenly— “wait, what?”

he bursts into laughter.

“you did all of this… just to talk to me?”

“you weren’t doing anything!” you blurt, hating how defensive you sound. “it’s not fair that we had that conversation and you just pretended that nothing happened.”

kenma hums in amusement. “so you missed me?” why can you feel him smirking from across the screen?

you wish you could throw something at him.

“shut up.”

he laughs again, soft but exasperated. “oh god, yn,” he says. “what am i going to do with you…”

“what?” you snap, a little too quick, a little too defensive.

he chuckles, “where are you right now?”

“what? why?”

“just answer.”

you hesitate before answering. “…my dorm. why?”

“can i come over?”

your heart nearly stops.

your breath catches, pulse hammering in your ears. “w-what?”

“let me rephrase that,” kenma says, tone gentle. “do you want me to come over?”

you swallow thickly.

your fingers tremble. fuck it.

“hurry, then."

[locomoqo]

just one night

— samuel seo x reader

details: NSFW under the cut, fem bodied reader, p in v (samuel puts you in full nelson), cunnilingus, nipple play, possessive sex, he slaps your kitty, mirror sex, slight exhibitionism, public sex (?), unprotected, toxic rs

A/N: this is for all my ppl who rq'd samuel smut and also i kindaaa went overboard (2.4k wc) with this bc i was listening to house of cards and a bunch of the weeknd songs🥸

You and Samuel's relationship, to put it lightly, had always been a roller coaster. Sure, you had your happy moments, but they never lasted long before you were fighting over something. And when you weren't fighting, you both became ghosts to each other—minimal interactions, going to bed with your backs turned. You tried to end things multiple times, and Samuel let it happen. Because one thing Samuel knew for certain was that you'd always come back.

The first time you broke up with him, he was desperate—begging you to come back, and you did. After that, though, it became a routine. He no longer took the breakups seriously, knowing that with enough sweet words and pleading, you'd always return.

But this time was different.

This time, he miscalculated. He didn't take the breakup seriously, and that was his mistake, because this time you stood firm. No amount of texts, missed calls, or even the bouquets he sent to your door swayed you. You stayed gone. And it took him a while to realize you meant it this time.

So he tried to move on. He cut contact, tried to distract himself. But the truth was, he hadn't moved on at all.

Curiosity got the better of him after a few months, and he found out you were seeing someone else. What's that saying again? Oh, right—curiosity killed the cat.

That was what brought him here, to this crowded club. Samuel wasn’t here to meet new people—well, maybe that was part of it—but the real reason was to drown his sorrows. He knew he looked pathetic, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t like he could just start beating some random person to release all his pent-up frustration.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be so affected by this. He should have moved on by now, yet just seeing your face in his mind was enough to send him right back to square one.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone sit down beside him, but he didn’t pay it any mind.

"Hi there," a voice said, and it was a voice he knew all too well. His eyes slowly shifted from the bottle of soju in front of him to you, sitting right next to him. He was speechless. Maybe he’d already had too much to drink.

"Don’t look at me like that. Is there something wrong with my face?" you said with a friendly smile. Too friendly.

“You…” Samuel breathed out.

“Me?” you asked casually, glancing down at the menu in your hand.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice gruff. “I’m with my friends,” you replied. With your friends, Samuel repeated silently in his head. Was the guy you were seeing here too? Is that why you were acting so composed while he sat there looking like a washed-up loser?

Samuel ran a hand through his messy hair, then reached for another bottle. “I’ll pay,” he suddenly said when he saw you about to order a drink. You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If you say so,” you hummed, not passing up the opportunity.

Samuel’s thoughts were a mess. He couldn’t quite settle on what he wanted to say to you. It was like there were too many emotions swirling in his head, all fighting for dominance.

“…And what are you doing here?” you asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Just wanted to relax,” he replied. A half-truth.

“Didn’t know clubs were your thing,” you said, watching him down the rest of his drink.

“They’re not,” he responded bluntly. You noticed the sharpness in his tone and decided to drop it.

A few moments of silence passed before he finally asked, “So… what have you been up to?”

“You know, the usual,” you said as your drink arrived.

Samuel couldn’t help but look at you. His heart felt heavier with each glance. You both talked for a bit, exchanging stories about what had been going on in your lives. It was almost surreal, sitting here, talking like this after everything. "And what about that guy you're seeing? Is he with you tonight?" Samuel asked, trying to sound indifferent but not quite succeeding. You froze for a moment, awkwardly tracing the rim of your glass. "Oh… uh, no. He’s, um, busy," you mumbled.

Samuel stared ahead, but a smirk tugged at his lips. He knew that look, that tone—a sign of trouble. "Too busy for you?" he asked, tilting his head, testing the waters. You nodded, still focused on your glass, completely missing the way Samuel was watching you now, like a predator who had just spotted an opening.

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with faux surprise. "That’s a shame. I thought you two were doing well."

You could hear the mockery in his voice. “Samuel—” you started.

"I had a feeling he wasn’t good enough for you," he interrupted, his eyes really meeting yours for the first time that night. "Don’t," you said, your voice carrying a warning that wasn’t as firm as you intended it to be.

Samuel leaned in, his hand lightly brushing against your arm before he gripped your wrist, pulling you closer. "Tell me I’m wrong," he challenged, his voice low. "Tell me you don’t miss me. Tell me you don’t miss us."

Your eyes flicked between his hand on your wrist and his face. You bit your lip, glancing elsewhere, unable to meet his intense gaze. "We broke up for a reason," you muttered, more as a reminder to yourself than to him. He grinned, leaning even closer until his lips were just inches from yours. "People make mistakes. Doesn’t mean we can’t fix them."

Your breath hitched as you looked up at him. There was hesitation in your eyes, but there was something else there too. Something dangerous. That same fire that once burned between you two was beginning to ignite again.

Samuel could see it in the way your eyes trailed over his features.

He leaned in even further, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can make you forget about him," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "Just give me one night."

Your breath was shaky as you exhaled, and in that moment, he knew he had you. You didn’t say a word, but the way your fingers curled into his shirt and pulled him closer was all the confirmation he needed.

Just like that, you were lured in, caught in the hunter’s trap once again. 

But you could hardly care about that now, could you? Not when his tongue is tangled with yours in a passionate kiss. The bathroom is dark and, surprisingly, fragrant.

Samuel hoists you onto the counter, his hands sliding up your thighs, bunching your dress around your hips as he positions himself between your legs. His hands roam your body, alternating between groping and kneading, desperate to feel as much of you as he can. He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down your neck, sucking and leaving marks on your collarbone.

It’s as if he’s been starved of touch, and you’re the first to offer it to him. In a way, that’s exactly how it feels, considering how much he’s buried himself in work just to try and forget. “Missed you so much, princess,” he murmurs against your skin, continuing his descent.

He pulls down the front of your dress—along with your bra—to take one of your breasts into his mouth. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you sigh in pleasure, his mouth on one breast while he kneads the other. His hand slides down to your waist, tugging your underwear off in one swift motion.

Samuel pulls back for a moment, your hardened nipple glistening with saliva in the dim light. He drags you closer to the edge of the counter before dropping to his knees, pressing his face between your thighs. Your legs instinctively close around his head at the sudden rush of contact, and he pinches your thigh lightly in response. A gasp escapes your lips as he begins devouring you like a man starved. His thoughts are singular: He’s missed you, your taste, the way you feel, and the sound of your moans, even if they’re muffled by your hand.

“No one’s going to hear. Put your hand down,” he orders, his voice rough. It’s not a suggestion; it’s a command. But since when have you ever listened to him? You shake your head, and he rolls his eyes.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters before diving back in, tongue plunging into you. Flicking, sliding, and pressing that soft muscle against your core until your mind starts to blur. The room seems to fade into nothingness.

The only thing you’re aware of is the soft, warm slide of his tongue, the pressure he applies in just the right spots, and the ragged sound of his breathing as he loses himself in the moment. His hands grip your thighs firmly, grounding you, yet the way his mouth works against you sends your mind spinning, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Sammy—! Sammy, ’m gonna—” You choke out, teetering on the edge of release, your body trembling under the intensity. Your body arches involuntarily, your breath catching in your throat. A warmth floods through your veins, a mix of anticipation and inevitability as you teeter on the brink. Your hands grasp for anything—his hair, the countertop—desperately seeking an anchor as your mind goes blank, overwhelmed by sensation.

He doesn’t let up, continuing his relentless attack on your body. No, he plans to make you cum twice—maybe even three times—on his tongue before he even considers fucking you. And when he does, it won’t be in this tasteless club bathroom. Oh no. He’s going to take you home, or maybe to a nearby hotel, where he can have you all to himself.

This place isn’t worthy of what he has in mind.

The thing is, you’re still hesitant. Samuel would’ve let it slide—he would’ve—if he hadn’t caught the way you kept glancing at your boyfriend’s messages. Something in him snapped.

You were worried about that guy when Samuel was right there? Yeah, forget the nice guy act. He’s going to make sure you forget all about that boy tonight. He’ll make sure you’re so utterly consumed by him that you won’t even remember anyone else’s name but his.

���Eyes on the mirror,” he growls, his voice thick with authority as he grips your jaw, forcing your gaze forward. His fingers press against your cheek, making sure you watch—making sure you see. You can see yourself, spread so sinfully wide as he thrusts his cock into you.

Your knees are pulled back towards your chest, his strong arms wrapped securely around your thighs, his feet planted firmly on the bed. Your hands cling weakly to his strong arms as he pounds into you, every brutal thrust making your body tremble, tears forming in your eyes, and drool pooling at the corner of your lips.

“You’re drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he rasps, fingers pressing harder into your cheeks. “The nerve you’ve got—” Plap! “to still be texting—” Plap! “that guy, after what we did in that bathroom?” The wet slap of skin meeting skin punctuates each word, echoing through the room. “Didn’t mean to—jus’—ah! I wanted t’check my—” you sob, unable to finish your sentence. “Your notifications?” he spits out, finishing for you. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I know you’re still thinking about him.” His voice is venomous, and you can only shake your head in a weak attempt to deny it.

Irritation flares in him, and he goes harder, his pace relentless. You can’t do anything but moan and whimper, your nails digging into the inked skin of his forearms. The bed creaks beneath you as he takes you harder, faster, as if punishing you for daring to think of anyone but him. Each punishing thrust sends him deep, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over again, the hard press of his hips making your whole body rock. 

“I’m gonna ruin this pussy for him,” he growls into your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as if to mark you, to brand you as his. “Fucking ruin it f’anyone. You’ll be mine. You hear me? All. Fucking. Mine.” His fingers release your face to give your clit a sharp slap, the line between pleasure and pain dissolves completely.

The sting sparks through you, making you whimper, but you can’t even register the pain anymore—not when the pleasure has you teetering on the edge of something overwhelming. The sound of your voice, broken and breathless as you cry out his name, drives him to push you closer to your breaking point

You can barely think, let alone speak. Only nodding in compliance, your body wracked with orgasm after orgasm, your walls spasming around him as you come undone again and again. 

Suddenly, the sound of a phone ringing cuts through the haze. Was it yours or Samuel’s? A quick glance tells you everything—it’s yours. Samuel’s eyes follow yours to see your boyfriend’s name flashing across the screen. His expression shifts from displeasure to something far more wicked, a twisted smirk spreading across his lips.

“Go on, answer it,” he whispers in your ear.

“But—” you try to protest, but one sharp look from him silences you. That look, the one that always makes heat pool between your legs. Reluctantly, you reach for your phone.

“Hello?” you manage to say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. Samuel watches you, his possessive gaze locked on your face, savoring every second of your struggle. For a moment, he slows his thrusts, allowing you to speak—just long enough to give you a false sense of control. Then, with one brutal motion, he drives himself deeper into you, hitting that spot inside you that makes your mind go blank. 

You nearly choke on a gasp, but you stifle it with your hand. You glance at Samuel, only to be met with his smug, shit-eating grin. Another brutal thrust, and suddenly, he’s back to his relentless pace, dragging his cock in and out of you with such savage intensity that you can’t hold back anymore.

You bite down on your lip, eyes squeezed shut as tears of pleasure stream down your cheeks, your phone slipping from your grasp.

Samuel catches it effortlessly, pressing it to his ear. “Too bad you’re not here to see her like this. But don’t worry—I’m taking good care of her,” he taunts, his voice laced with a dark satisfaction. The panicked voice on the other end makes him chuckle before he ends the call, setting your phone to ‘do not disturb' and tossing it aside.

The night isn’t over. Not by a long shot.