#loveee her so bad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tangerinearchive · 4 days ago

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crying in the club | mv1

pairing: max verstappen x norris!reader

summary: how should one react when their boyfriend wins the world championship at the same time their brother loses it?

max my four time world champion!!!

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 481,017 others!

yourusername: the sun will shine on you soon baby brother!! this season was tough but you got through it ♡♡ i love you forever (world champions are overrated anyways 😉)

view comments below!

user1: you are the strongest soldier here

user2: you are the reason i survived this season

user2: everytime i wanted to throw up, i thought about how you were doing, and thought you must’ve been doing much worse, thank you!

user3: youre finally free from all this ‘champion battle’ talk 🍾

user4: you running back in forth from redbull to mclaren made my night

user5: it’s even funnier how her body language would change, in the mclaren garage she would be all gloomy but once she ran back to redbull it was arms up partying

lewishamilton: i wouldn’t say alll world championships are overrated

yourusername: shut up lewis hamilton 7x world champion, arguably the best f1 driver in existence, kind, humble, handsome and—would you like do go on a date with me?

maxverstappen1: excuse me?

yourusername: i don’t know what happened max, i was i insulting him and next thing i knew i wanted him on my lap

lewishamilton: i feel…odd

yourusername: good odd or bad odd

lewishamilton: i can’t tell…

yourusername: come over to the redbull garage to find out 😼

landonorris: genuinely, what the fuck is going on?

maxverstappen1: i don’t know, so i’ve decided to ignore it

landonorris: ignoring what ever that was, thank you 🧡

yourusername: say it

landonorris: say what

yourusername: say ‘i love you’ you emotionally stunted gremlin

landonorris: i don’t…

yourusername: say it lando

maxverstappen1: yeah cmon lando, say it

landonorris: too like both of you or?..

maxverstappen1: yes, tell your brother in law that you love him

landonorris: okay first, you’re not my brother in law, second, i don’t feel very comfortable right now

yourusername: say it with me lando, “i loveee youuu”

landonorris: guys…

yourusername: SAY IT

maxverstappen: CMON LANDO SAY IT

yourusername: SAY IT

landonorris: OK I LOVE YOU GUYS

user6: is this the peer pressure my school always warned me about?

user7: no…that was just, sad.

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 761,018 others!

yourusername: THATS MY FOUR TIME WORLD CHAMPION!!! THIS IS FOR ALL THE BUMS WHO SAID HE WAS NOTHING BUT A PRETTY MAN IN A FAST CAR, NOW WHAT????? NOBODY COMPARES TO MAX FUCKING VERSTAPPEN. AND YOU ALL BETTER REMEMBER THAT.

view comments below!

user8: now it’s time to hit the club

yourusername: i’ll be crying in the club, thank you very much

user9: crying for lando, partying for max, it’s perfect

user10: you are the perfect amount of supportive to both lando and max

maxverstappen1: ik houd van je 💙

yourusername: @/landonorris

landonorris: i don’t speak dutch??

yourusername: he just told me he loved me loser

landonorris: o-kay?

yourusername: gosh you are so emotionally unintelligent, it makes me sick

landonorris: i just lost the world championship please be kind to me

yourusername: im your sister which basically means i lost the championship too, yet i still tell you i love you?

landonorris: THATS NOT HOW THAT WORKS

yourusername: I LOVE YOU LANDO

landonorris: LEAVE ME ALONE

maxverstappen1: we should get married in vegas

yourusername: oh my god, yes. but no elvis because he freaks me out

maxverstappen1: CHARLES SHOULD MARRY US

charles_leclerc: guys…i would be honored

yourusername: i don’t know max, i have a feeling you’ll run away with him and leave me at the alter

maxverstappen1: yeah…that probably will happen 😔, it’s okay, lando can marry us!!!

landonorris: what the fuck is today

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 month ago

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diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway.

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist.

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes.

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved.

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table.

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops.

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go.

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying.

He bites his lip thoughtfully.

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat.

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone.

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step.

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods.

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently.

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down.

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU.

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass.

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk.

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light.

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful.

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks.

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier.

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it.

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one.

It slowly fades, and you sigh.

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm.

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself.

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there.

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff.

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure.

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone.

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve.

“Oh,” you murmur.

A moment passes.

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat.

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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hoshigray · 6 months ago

Note

Hi hi LOVEEE YOUR WORKK

The way you write kinda touches my heart, and tingles my brain a little too

Especially your jjk fics!!!

Do you mind if I request a kind of angst smut fic of reader leaving home to blow off some steam after having a heated argument with any JJK man and he comes out to find her and resolve 😼😼🤭 it in the car?

Thank you for reading thisss 🫶

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: awww, ty for liking my stuff!! i was supposed to release a sugu fic today (but didn't, yikes, lmao), so imma make this sugu~

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - angst + reconciliation - sex in a public area; car out in the neighborhood - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping and licking) - feedbag position - oral (f! receiving) - pet names (angel, baby, pretty thing, my love, pumpkin, sweetheart) - implied insertion at the end - mention of spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k

“…”

“Y/n, what are you doing?.”

“You can’t see I’m taking a walk?”

“Please just get inside the car.”

“Leave me alone, Geto!”

Geto winces at the use of his family name. Oh fuck, they really are mad at me…

You were walking on the pavement, your anger exhibited through your feet, stomping as you traveled down the concrete floor in the supposed quiet neighborhood. Unfortunately, you weren’t alone; your boyfriend drove slowly to match your speed and speak with you.

Why were you angry? Why don’t you ask the fucking asshat following you in that car of his? The two of you had a terrible argument not too long ago, and you’re sure the neighbors of your complex must’ve heard the audible insults and blows you two threw at each other for almost an hour. You hadn’t expected things to be blown out of proportion – it’s not unusual for people in relationships to argue. However, if your partner insidiously says something that he knows will tip you off the scales, are you not inclined to exit the apartment to blow off some steam before you choke him to death and have a murder charge on your record?

“Baby, c’mon, you can’t just keep walking on the sidewalk like this.”

So here you are, out for an evening stroll meant to calm you down, yet it’s doing the opposite since a certain someone is trailing alongside you.

You suck your teeth, “Geto, go home! Why are you even following me?”

The tall black-haired man ducks down for you to see him from the driver’s window. “Because I feel bad!”

“Good!” You bark. “Good that you feel bad; feel nothing but bad, so just leave me be.”

“You know I can’t do that; look how dark out it’s getting!” It was around nine in the evening. The sun had just finished setting, so its shine was dwindling, and the twilight was mere minutes away from transitioning to dusk. “You can’t be walking out alone; just get in the car.”

“Hmph, absolutely not,” you can feel the crease of your furrowed brows worsening. “I’m heading to get homemade ice cream from that place I like; it’s the only thing that can put my mind at ease right now, and seeing your face and hearing your voice isn’t doing anything good for my mood right now.”

The flat line of Geto’s lips is pressed harder, guilt swelling in the pitch of his gut like no other. “…I’ll take you to the place. Just hop in.”

“I’d rather get shot.” Apparently, your boyfriend doesn’t get the ‘don’t want to hear or see you’ part you stressed about literally seconds ago.

“That’s what I don’t want! Do you have any idea how long the walk is?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m very aware, and you’re slowing me down with all this chat.”

“Yeah, but you won’t get to that place until around ten o’clock,” he argues. And then that’s another hour and a half walking back; you’d probably be back home by midnight!”

You couldn’t lie; hearing him be so concerned about you and your safety made you feel a little warm from the early summer breeze touching the exposed skin of the halter top. However, a part of your stubbornness refused to stand down. And yet the more you looked towards you, the further it felt like you’d reach your destination. He’s right; you wouldn’t make it home in time. Plus, it’s getting darker by the second, the comforting blue hue of the sky being absorbed by the bright, dominant moon.

Once you come to an abrupt stop, Geto nearly forgets to hit the brakes, and your figure stands motionless and silent. Then, you move towards the door behind the driver’s side, opening the door to sit in the backseat. You beat Geto to the punch, breaking the silence, “Don’t talk, just drive.”

A soft, relieved sigh leaves the onyx-headed man, but he notices you avoiding the rearview mirror, where purple eyes flicker to try to see you. “…Is this really necessary?”

“What is?”

“You sitting in the backseat?”

“What does it matter to you? I’m in the car, aren’t I?”

“What the hell am I, you Uber? Get in the front.”

“No. You said you’d drive me, so do that, and don’t make me angrier than I already am.”

You thought you won the round when you didn’t hear a remark from your companion. Yet, that wasn’t the case because the man opened and closed his door, walked around the car to open the door to the other side of the backseat, and it takes everything in your power not to pop a vessel when he takes a seat. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’m very serious,” he closes the door.

“Are you deaf? I said I don’t wanna talk to you.”

“And are you blind; can’t you see me trying to make this work—“

“Work?” Oh, how you wanted to burn this car up. “You should’ve thought about that when you said what you said back there.” You didn’t know if it was right to say that—That sounded mean, was it mean?—yet it came from a place of hurt that he caused.

Your words strike deep into Geto, but he still speaks his mind. “Y/n, please…Can you at least look at me?” You don’t move a muscle. “I’m your boyfriend, so can you at least look at my face and not push me—“

“Yeah, you are my boyfriend,” malice in your tone. “And you’re doing a pretty terrible job as of today.”

“Y/n—“

“God!” Now, you finally turn to him with vexation scorching your pupils. “I just want to be left alone–away from you, alright! What part of that don’t you get?! Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Because I’m sorry!”

Your lips nearly quiver at the snap of those three words, eyes on the brink of shedding tears. Nonetheless, your face returns to the front. “Bullshit…H-Hey, let go!”

“I told you, I’m being very serious!” Geto brings you in for an embrace, and your resistance is hushed down as he keeps talking. “Look, I…I’m sorry. What I said back there…I didn’t mean for it to hurt you like it did, baby. You said something before that made me angry and…” his hold on you gets tighter; you notice even if you’re busy hearing every word from his mouth. “I didn’t think what I said would make you leave, and I got scared.” His mellow voice delves into a hushed tone. “So fucking scared…I’m sorry, Y/n. Just…don’t leave me out like that, okay…”

And with that, the remnant of your irritation ceased. The hotness of your blood subsides to a calm flow, your body easing into the hug as his apology repeats in your mind. You couldn’t think about your argument before; you just can’t, not with an apology like this when you can feel and hear him be genuine and vulnerable. You wanted to be angry with him–you tried– but the more you forced the outrage, the more you kept burrowing your head into his chest and your hands wrapped around his slim figure.

“You’re such a dick, do you know that?” Doing everything you can not to cry since his face is nestled in the crook of your neck. “And…I’m sorry for saying stuff that made you mad at me, too.”

“Guess we’re both dicks, huh.” A joke meant to make you giggle, but he doesn’t sense the jerk of your shoulders. “Hey, I’m sorry. You forgive me?”

“Sure,” you murmur. “After you get me that ice cream.” Your jest made him chuckle instead.

“Mmm, on it,” your breath stops at the kiss on your temple. “But, before that,” he lifts his head, violet eyes examining your expression. “Don’t you think I should also have a little something?”

His question confuses you until you feel the grasp of his hand sneak inside your jeans, and the bare flesh of your ass meets the mild cold of his fingertips. “Suguru, what are you—“

“Compensation,” he kisses your neck, and you gasp at another rough knead on your asscheek.

“Oh, that’s bull…Mmm.”

“Oh? So you can have ice cream to forgive me, but I can’t have anything?” The hand is then lifted out to move to the front, his gingers pressing on the part of your panties that cover your groin. “Well, aren’t you selfish.”

You couldn’t question his logic with his digits now motioning up and down your concealed cunt, your legs spreading apart as Geto’s forearm pushed them aside for easier access. “Hahhh, Sugu…Mmmnn, not here…”

“Mmm? Why not?” He says with faux shock, gently having you lay on your back as he spreads your legs further. His hand still fingers your underwear, only fueling a wet spot to protrude more and more. “It’s dark out, and no one’s driving around here.”

“That’s not—Mmmm!” A thumb presses down on your clit; how cruel to sneak that attack on you. “Ohh, fuck…”

Geto kisses you, gradually unraveling your erotic senses with every peck he places on your lips with his soft ones. And his lips don’t rest there, laying kisses to your chin, your collarbone, and lifting your shirt to expose your abdomen for him to kiss and suck the skin of your tummy and navel. All the while, his fore and middle fingers keep pushing into your chasm as your hips buck subtly.

Another minute of pleasing you with his hand goes by, your wetness becoming more and more evident as his digits did the work in having you wet for him. “Look at you,” he’d say cooly. “Making a mess, such a dirty, pretty thing you are.”

“Sugu, stop, you’re making me—Oooh…” he slips his middle finger inside your panties to insert you. And then, his thumb dances around your clitoris, evoking the shaky moans to leave you. “Ahhh! Noo, don’t move like…”

A snicker leaves his lips. “What? You like it when I tease you like this, don’t you, pumpkin?” He pushes your underwear out of the way and continues to finger you. “You’re gripping on my finger like crazy.”

“Shhtoop, your fingers,” your hand finds his wrist yet does nothing to stop him. “If you keep going, I-I’ll…Hooohh…”Your eyelids suddenly feel heavy, closing them to conceal your vision. However, that only enhances the use of your other senses, indulging in the sense of touch as Geto plays with your pussy.

Even if you didn’t finish your sentence, Geto takes the initiative and removes his hand to lick the fingers. “Oh, my love,” he coos while rolling up your underwear to stay on your inner leg after removing your jeans. In the meantime, the man brings your hips up and rests your legs on his shoulders. “That’s exactly what I want from you…”

Your eyes snap open at the contact of something wet yet firm, sliding across your wet folds, your body jolting at the sensation of it nestling between your labia. And the flick of his tongue on your clit nearly has you choke. “Suguu, no, don’t—Ahaann!”

Any attempts to squirm out of his hold don’t seem manageable now that you two are in the backseat of the car; his hands firmly keep you stable and still as his face ventures closer to your genitalia. Tiny moans get louder and louder with every lick of his tongue cleaning your slit of your essence; ironic as more of your fluids seep out as he does so.

Your hand grabs hold of tuffs of his raven hair, but that only eggs him on to keep going. Pushing his tongue into your entrance, he fucks you with the wet muscle and has your body writhe and crying for him. As the space gets hotter, you wouldn’t be surprised to find fog starting to cloud the windows. But that would probably be for the best as you wouldn’t want people on this road to know what you two were doing, nor hear the squelches from the commotion.

“Ohhhshit, shiiiit,” your head pounding like crazy, you couldn’t think straight, and the walls of your cunt keep clamping onto the tongue that swirls around and has you wailing. “Ooooh,hoooh, Sugu’, I’m gonna—It’s coming…! I’m…Aiishhh!”

“Go ahead, angel,” he says before licking your clit erratically, using his middle finger to fuck your release out. “Let it out for me, baby.”

With how fast he’s sucking and licking your delicate bud and his digit rubbing on your velvety texture, how can you not come? You scream aloud at the wave that crashes on your body, your hips jerking on their own as the trembles of your orgasm rock your entire frame.

Geto keeps you steady, taking in your release with his mouth. He groans at the taste of you on his tongue, his fingers kneading your waist as if to relax your body for him as you ride out your high because of him. Quivering legs get less apparent with every buck, and once your breathing returns to an average pace, he places you back down.

“Good job, sweetie,” he bends to kiss your cheek as he unbuckles his pants to expose his briefs that harbor a tent. “You tasted too good to resist; wanna feel you all on me…”

“You…” you grab for his cheek to pinch. “I better get my ice cream tonight, Geto Suguru.”

Your soft threat has him chuckling. “Will do, baby,” and you succumb to a kiss.

If the windows hadn’t fogged up already, they sure were going to now.

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weirdmageddon · 1 year ago

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i love these tags this person is so right

actually, can you imagine if dave was raised by B1 roxy?

i wanna get into this actually

(ok i had to spend a few hours rewriting this because IT DIDNT FUCKING SAVE AFTER FIVE HOURS OF WRITING WHEN MY COMPUTER UPDATED WHILE I WAS AFK so it would mean a lot to show this post some appreciation. i LOVEEE hearing what other people have to say)

even though these things mom does are presented in an extravagant, kitsch, jokey way, her intentions always came from a place of sincerity. she is simply Funnie

but rose reads too far into it and assumes things that aren't there, that her mother is passive-aggressively feigning interest in rose's interests simply because the things she does are so extra. "why do all of this if not to mock me"

im telling you right now if dave lived in this household he wouldn't assume antagonism, he'd go,

don’t forget who LITERALLY patented tangible jpeg artifacts as their post-scratch adult self and scattered shitty scummed up statue of liberties all over the planet. theres no way some of that overboard artful shit wasnt post-ironic / circling back around to genuine funny sincerity

dave's natural state is funny sincerity like roxy. he's had the natural capacity for this type of humor from the start and this is the direction he goes towards when he grows out of his brother's shadow by the end of the comic. dave and roxy share an earnest “so bad its good” type of humor

(lots more under the cut; the length of this meta analysis just got unwieldly with all the pictures and whatnot)

despite the alcoholism, roxy is a supportive mother. she's not the ideal guardian but hells of a lot more supportive of her kid than bro is. if she knew dave's interests she would totally indulge in them with some over the top silly goofy haha shit as a genuine gesture simply because she loves him

rose isn't too keen on it though. but she is more similar to dirk in her natural state of thinking of overthinking shit and assuming the worst, like the tags said

and yes dave got the sweet cuddly yet sometimes backhanded ouppy gene from roxy, probably even moreso lol

roxy's even said rose "sounds like girl dirk"

side tangent here, but this is something i wanna talk about.

i dont think bro should ever be in custody of children ever but if theres anyone who would be up to the task it's rose probably. i know she'd be able to keep up with him. not only does she have a defined personality (dave is more malleable and absorbs his environment like a sponge), if anyone can pick apart B1 dirk's batshit brain and probably be right on the money it's her. lil cal has been pumping patriarchal nonsense into bro's head and rose would be able to bring the fucking facts to the table without losing her own and being a living example of a badass little girl. i also don't think bro would try to force masculine roles onto rose like he did with dave, seeing as she is a girl, so she would actually have more of a leg up and get some passes that dave was never afforded. and rose wouldn't stand idly and accept any bullshit; she is no doormat. and i think this would earn bro's respect

but anyway, from this, couldn't we conclude roxy "sounds like girl dave"?

yeah okay. we havent even gotten into their penchant for funny typos or misspeaks, deliberate or otherwise

so, dave's environment

the sentiment "god you hope you can be as good as your bro at this some day" might have been genuine at the time when he idolized bro but of course he's not able to express that in any sort of sincere fashion because he's in dirk's fucking household. and this level 10 irony shit isnt doing dave any favors

his role models were the Internet and a vague idea of what Bro was like. So he built up his facade based on irony–not the literary definition of irony, as Rose might be quick to point out, but a popular concept of irony based on the idea that things that didn’t make sense actually made sense in some roundabout way. As a master of irony, Dave probably reasoned, he could see in a way other people couldn’t why a world that was scary and didn’t make sense really did make sense, and could therefore convince those people that he was superior to them. And he would wield his knowledge to maintain the appearance of superiority by calling everything ironic and pretending he didn’t care about things that didn’t make sense, and he would use walls of vaguely rhyming words to keep everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t discover his insecurities (source)

roxy's style is the embodiment of post-irony. being raised by mom lalonde would be like being raised by joel vinesauce ok

what can i say ….. (getting meta about this actually, hussie got these jpeg wizard wallpapers from a spyware website. link takes some time to load because internet archive)

rose is quick to read post-irony as actually being a joke/insincere, which in bro's case would be true. but i believe dave's natural instinct, outside of the influence of bro, is to read post-irony as genuine, which is exactly how mom serves it. we see this as early as act 3 from him; he understands her motives better than rose does herself:

and in act 6 intermission 2 i think it's pretty clear

but the thing is, it's always genuine from her. dave wouldn't have to second guess it because he's not one to naturally second guess someone's sincerity; that was learned due to his bro being virtually unassailable

there two types of ironies at play here:

seems like a joke, is actually genuine (roxy)

doesnt seem like a joke, is actually a joke (dirk)

you can make the argument that the second is is more psychologically destructive because it makes you question the reality of what is genuine sentiment and what isn't. dave never knew what was genuine and what was irony so he just sort of existed in this sincerity-ironic limbo and always did the opposite of what he genuinely felt on principle even if it always did originate from a genuine place.

"it just a joke bro i was just being ironic i dont actually x" is so much more trust-breaking and psychologically damaging than "wait are you being serious" / "i am being so fucking fr rn davy gravy" / "ok thats actually pretty fucking awesome. giant ass wizard statue" / "RIGHT"

how much about dave would change do you think? his character arc would be completely different for one thing, i think he'd have it good aside from mom's alcohol issues. he'd be left with the sweet and funny parts of him that we see at the end of the comic. the fake coolguy stuff is out, but this remains. this is dave in his element and we see it as early as act 1

he'd probably have no shades growing up in the lalonde residence* either cause those were given to him by bro straight out of the crater as an extension of his own cool image. and john gave dave ben stiller’s aviators for his 13th birthday to replace them so he could “spread his wings”

dave said he was wearing them for the ironies but i kind of doubt it. maybe post-irony but there was some reacharound to it being genuine because dave never put those pointy anime shades on his face again.

*though... it’s kind of hard to imagine him without his shades at all? B2 dave still got stiller’s shades from stiller himself so maybe getting them is a universal constant. i can imagine mom getting him them as a birthday gift cause shes pretty wealthy and probably could buy it out in an auction. but also itd be cool if john still gave him it as a gift

dave is actually a lot more genuine and easy to read than he lets on even when grappling with his upbringing with B1 dirk (again, see this post). this can be seen all throughout he comic but a good example is the evolution of thoughts about his interest in the preserved dead things in his room:

if B1 roxy was dave's guardian he probably WOULD have pursued paleontology because she wouldve indulged him in it and probably find it cool and worthwhile to pursue, instead of allowing dave to flounder under ironic detachment, being poisoned by irony to the point of gaslighting himself into believing he doesnt actually believe he thinks this shit is cool. even if it was indulged in this such a way; a superficially kitsch and ironic appearing presentation, it comes from a genuine place and inspires genuine interest. just read the comments.

basically, i think if B1 roxy raised dave, their relationship would have a surface level appearance of being bizarre or over-the-top but they’d have an unsaid mutual understanding that it’s completely in earnest and just build on each other's funny and absurd gestures of affection. rather than seeing it as one-upping each other, it'd more like collaboration of some silly bullshit that you take a step back and look at full and just say, "fucking incredible"

speaking of paleontology, mom had the proto-ectobiology lab. maybe they'd be able to use the equipment to appearify paradox ghost imprints of the dead shit to create paradox clones of things from the cambrian era??? sounds like a fun mother son bonding activity. and theyd actually put the sciencey shit in the household to use

oh god i know exactly the kinds of music shed listen too also growing up as a teen in the 80s. she on that (post)-punk/art rock/new wave/new romantic mtv stuff. XTC shit fr. this is a B-52S HOUSEHOLD. maybe the associates for the campy melodramatic flair. so he gets to keep the record on his shirt cause he is an enjoyer of the shit in her vinyl collection. dave would still gravitate towards musical expression and music itself but of more variety outside of just rap, with an 80s-90s, even 70s flavor due to mom’s influence. see this for perhaps a glimpse. she probably visited new york city a lot for business trips and because the music scene was cool as hell around that time, imports came straight from jfk airport, she probably got in on that a bit and have remnants in the form of vinyls and cassettes. in this way she could be distributing void to dave (influencing him with forgotten / presently irrelevant music). now he can REALLY rave about bands none of his friends have heard of. “hey davy grvay watcha listenin to” (he holds up vinyl cover) “omg snakefinger”

btw dave lalonde would look like this to me

#homestuck #homestuck meta #dave strider #mom lalonde #roxy lalonde #hs #strilonde guardian swap

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