#yeah he’s gonna go if he has the time off | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satorena · 13 hours ago

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#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation!

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

#rena☆star.#geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto suguru x you #jjk smut #jjk oneshot #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto oneshot

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grimmsbride · 1 day ago

Text

▒ ❀ ̭͡⠀ ❛ SOME ENCOURAGEMENT. NAM-GYU / PLAYER 124

nam-gyu attempts to recruit beloved, timid reader into thanos’s world. all it takes is a little encouragement.

𖥔 ࣪˖ NOTES, writing smut on company time is actually hilarious, idk why i got this idea during work. but anywho — i hope you enjoy, i tried my hand at his character. as always please ignore any grammar mistakes or typos.

Imagine Nam-Gyu attempting to recruit someone without the advice of his beloved purple-haired leader. Surprising, right? Despite his own issues with inferiority; the ex-club worker just seems to follow behind Thanos like a hungry puppy desperate for a bone— or drugs, for that matter. But no, just this once, Nam-Gyu takes the lead. The numbers are growing closer and even more scarce, fear lacing people’s minds and causing them to hit that dreaded X button. Thanos’s World’s dream is to continue the games to pay off their debts, right?— so it only made sense for Nam-Gyu to turn an X over to the O side.

He couldn’t just pick anyone. Someone far too strong-willed would definitely tell him no, and someone far too weak would just be a curse rather than a blessing.

Who to choose.. Who to choose..

Soon enough the man’s eyes are locking on to you— a contestant he has seen around, yet hasn’t heard much from. Not only were you easy on the eyes but you just seemed like the perfect person to shape into a worthy teammate.

Within minutes he’s approaching you, an easy-going smile in place as your name falls from his lips. Nam-Gyu had heard it said before by someone close to you, another random that he hadn’t bother to think about.

“Yes..?” Your words are slow, lips pursing as you take in the man before you. You were beyond nervous; this was the lackey of that purple-haired lunatic after all. Watching the two fight on the very first day was enough to tell you to avoid them at all costs. Yet here you were, a few feet away from one of them, under his gaze that trailed over you like a pretty piece of jewelry behind a display case.

You couldn’t help but bring your hands closer to yourself, teeth dragging across your cheek nervously.

From your head to your toes, Nam-Gyu’s eyes soon landed on that big red patch residing just under your bosom. With a breathy chuckle he reached over, allowing a single finger to press and trace the X.

“You wanna get out of the games that bad, huh? You voted X twice already.”

Your eyes flicked down to his hand, before traveling back to his face. “Yeah well..” You dragged slowly, watching that harsh gaze return to your features.

“I—I want to get rid of my debts.. but putting my life on the line for it just seems..” You hoped you got your words across perfectly, even without continuing your sentence. Sure, it was hard being hounded for your debts, but death looming over your head just didn’t seem worth it.

Still, Nam-Gyu only shook his head at you, a sigh full of pity escaping his lips.

“Well, that’s where you’re messing up.” Nam-Gyu hummed, stepping just a bit closer, finger still tracing that damned patch. Your attention kept flicking between his face and finger, wondering why exactly warmth was pooling throughout your entire body.

“Worrying too much about dying is what’s gonna get you killed, not anything else.”

Your eyebrows knitted close, a look of confusion plastered across your face. Worrying seemed like the right way to keep yourself alive.. right? Not worrying just seemed, well— stupid. Not that you would say that to his face, obviously.

“I have to disagree..”

Just barely did you hear the sound of the man sucking his teeth, watching the way his face turned to the side, clearly searching for his next few words. You debated on walking away from this conversation, it was clear what his objective was. And whether ordered by Thanos or not, you didn’t really want to know— nor figure out.

Yet for some reason you were practically glued to the spot, blinking up at him and waiting oh, so patiently for his next spiel. And as you watched his face turn back to you, your breath got caught in your throat.

“Okay then.. worry all you want, but you wouldn’t you want someone to look out for you?” Nam-Gyu’s other hand was reaching to your patch at this point, using both thumbs to trace it. “Being on this side, there’s no unity.. it’s every person for themself.”

The two of you locked eyes, a sickeningly sweet smile crossing his face.

“Come with us, and we’ll look after you. I’ll personally see to it too.”

Slowly did your teeth sink into your bottom lip, struggling to maintain the eye contact that he seemed so keen on keeping. The only thing you could hear was your racing heart and the gentle sounds of his thumbs sliding across that red patch. His words were.. tempting. You wondered if he rehearsed what to say, like a video game with multiple endings; did he have it all figured out before he even walked over? Was he so prepared to convert you, using every rejection you had as some silly obstacles the man easily hobbled over?

So caught up in your thoughts, you hardly realized Nam-Gyu had gotten even closer until his breath fanned across your ear in a simple;

I’ll let you think it over, let’s talk again later..

When you thought of later, you initially believed in thirty mins or so. Maybe this time he would bring over his beloved leader to really get the point across. But no, later seemed to be during lights out; when you all should be sleeping, tucked away in the rare bliss these murderous games brought.

And the only talking that was happening was the soft words Nam-Gyu continued to whisper into your ear and the even softer moans of passion that slipped from your swollen lips.

See, Nam-Gyu wasn’t an idiot despite what Thanos seems to think. Quickly he caught on to two things whilst speaking to you.

The first being, you were quite cute when nervous. And two, you just loved looking at his hands.

So what better way to really stretch his point across but using his beloved fingers to stretch you open just how he liked?

“Should have done this from the start, look how cooperative you’re being..” The smile on Nam-Gyu’s face was permanent at this point, the corner of his mouth twitching with each pitiful moan you released. His rings were tossed lazily to the side, his bare fingers now pushing into your sloppy cunt so perfectly. Longer then your own, they pushed and prodded; opening you up and rubbing against your soaked walls. With each breath you were clenching, causing the smile on his face to only grow deeper.

“Scared of dying but not of some stranger finger-fucking you, huh? What a joke.”

You wanted to tell him off, how he was so mean and so wrong. But you couldn’t, not with how your mind was getting complete lost from his movements. Your teeth were grinding into your bottom lip, a metallic taste filling your mouth as time progressed. Deep moans thundered from your throat, muffled by your harsh biting. You couldn’t imagine having your little recruitment interrupted by some poor contestant just trying to get some rest.

But with the way Nam-Gyu was practically ruining you, it didn’t seem he cared much either way. He was so hellbent on coaxing you, his lips right against your ear as that damned thumb came and circled your swollen bud.

“I told you I’d look after you right, where’s my thank you?”

Your eyes widened the moment his free hand rose, pushing at your cheeks and basically forcing your lips to part. The sound you let out was a strangled mix of a moan and gasp, quickly clasping your own hand against your mouth.

Nam-Gyu chuckled on his breath, thrusting a third finger into your wet cunt as he spoke; “What? You scared of the other contestants realizing how much of a slut you are? Shouldn’t worry too much; this messy cunt is making enough noise for you.”

Your eyes were meeting the back of your skull, so fucking mean he was— yet you couldn’t help but enjoy the attention. His digits were curling inside, brushing across that special spot that caused you to shake. Your thighs were clenching harshly around his arm, rushed breaths escaping as your chest rose and fell.

“Th—thank you.. fuck— please…!” You whimpered as softly as you possibly could, glossy eyes staring up at the man. You felt accomplished the moment he drew closer, feeling the cold metal of his chain brush against your heated skin before a gentle kiss was pressed right against your cheek.

“What a good girl.. You wanna come, hm?” The hand was lowering to your throat, fingers simply wrapping around it yet not squeezing. Nam-Gyu watched in pure enjoyment at the way your head tossed back and forth in a rushed nod; how needy you were for him. What a palpable little thing, is what he thought.

“I can make that happen, you just gotta do something for me.”

More words, whispered, tempting; drifting right into your ear and hitting the same pleasurable spots right between your legs. Speaking of, you felt your peak drawing closer; a tight band resting deep in your tummy— ready to burst.

You knew what he wanted, you weren’t an idiot nor were you too fucked out to forget. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you an orgasm wasn’t worth pressing that cursed button.

Yet, for now, you weren’t thinking with your brain, but with your pussy instead.

“P—please let me join! I’ll press the button— I promise!” Another whisper-yell escaped you, desperation clinging to every word as they fled those pretty lips.

With that final confirmation Nam-Gyu was quickening the pace of his fingers, eating up the way your body convulsed, a lost look invading your eyes as you came undone. Your essence trickled down his fingers all the way to his wrist, a sticky residue that he would make sure you clean up later.

For now.. his hand rose from your throat to instead cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb right under your eye so tenderly— so sweetly.

“I knew you could do it.. just needed some encouragement, right?”

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steveseddie · 3 days ago

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helping hand

read on ao3

According to Wayne, Eddie can sleep through anything.

It’s why he was late to school pretty much every day. That and the fact that he didn’t give a shit about it– but mostly because he always slept through his alarm clock.

But the thing is that to sleep through anything he needs to be asleep to begin with. And right now he can’t fall asleep because Steve hasn’t stopped tossing and turning in the past hour.

When Eddie comes close to falling asleep for what feels like the hundredth time only for Steve to twist around again, he can’t help but let out a frustrated sigh.

Steve freezes as he’s fixing the blanket around him. “Um, did I wake you?” he asks in a tiny voice.

“I’d have to be asleep for you to wake me up, big boy.”

Running his hands down his face, Steve groans. “Shit, sorry, man.”

“‘S fine, Stevie.” He gives Steve a sidelong glance. Thanks to the moonlight filtering through the window he can see that he’s frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just– Can’t sleep.”

“I got that much, dude,” Eddie says with a snort. He hesitates, biting his lip nervously. “Um, is it because of me?”

It might’ve been Steve who suggested they shared his bed tonight, but maybe he changed his mind or maybe he only did it because he was trying to be polite and he expected Eddie to turn down the offer–

Steve frantically shakes his head. “No! No–”

Eddie isn’t convinced. “Are you sure? Because I can go–”

“No,” Steve says, more firmly this time. “Eddie, I promise, I’m just restless, s’all.”

Eddie relaxes. “Okay, yeah, I get that. It happens to me a lot, especially after– you know.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs in sympathy. “So what do you do? When it happens?”

“Uh–” Eddie hesitates, a little worried that answering truthfully might make sharing a bed a bit awkward. Oh fuck it, he thinks. It was Steve who asked. “I usually just– you know, jerk off.”

Steve inhales sharply. He lets out a tiny, “Oh.”

And there’s the awkwardness.

Before Eddie can offer to take the couch again, Steve asks, “Does that, um– does that work for you?”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “Oh, like a charm. Makes me sleep like a baby.”

“I could use some of that,” Steve sighs longingly.

Eddie agrees– he’s noticed the black smudges under Steve’s eyes. “Well, I could, uh– go to the bathroom for a while if you want to–”

Steve sputters. “I’m not gonna ask you to go to the bathroom so I can jerk off!”

“Fine, then you can go to the bathroom. I’ll cover my ears, I promise,” Eddie says, trying to act casual but the truth is that if Steve actually took him up on the offer, Eddie’s brain would melt out of his ears just from knowing Steve is jerking off in the next room.

“Jesus, how loud do you think I am, man?” Steve asks with an incredulous laugh.

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t know, it’s not like I’ve given it much thought.” He has given it plenty of thought actually but Steve doesn’t need to know that. “Just trying to be helpful here, Stevie.”

“There’s something else you could do if you want to help,” Steve whispers after a short silence. He sounds strangely shy, nervous. He can’t possibly mean–

“Steve,” Eddie says, trying to keep his voice leveled. “Are you asking me to get you off?”

There’s a short moment where Steve doesn’t say anything and Eddie worries that he just made things even more awkward by assuming that’s what he meant, but before he can spiral he hears Steve’s soft reply. “Maybe.”

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” Eddie mutters out loud though mostly to himself but Steve hears it anyway and lets out a panicked yelp.

“Christ, you know what? That was stupid.”

“Steve–”

But Steve ignores him, rolling on his side, away from Eddie, and as far as he can without falling off the bed. “Forget I said anything, you don’t have to–”

“I want to!” Eddie blurts out, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Uh, if– if it will help you.”

“Eddie, I can’t ask you to do that,” Steve says, still facing away from Eddie.

“I’m offering,” he says. This isn’t the kind of thing that happens to him and it definitely won’t be happening twice but he wants it– God, does he want it– so he moves closer, putting his hand on Steve’s waist, hearing his sharp intake of breath. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

Steve’s entire body shudders. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Please, Eddie.”

Oh, shit.

Just the thought of doing this is enough to make Eddie’s blood rush downward, making his dick half hard so he’s careful to keep his hips angled away from Steve’s back as he scoots closer to him, moving his hand from Steve’s waist to his lower stomach, feeling his skin erupt in goosebumps beneath his touch.

“I got you, Stevie,” he whispers, fingers moving down, playing with Steve’s happy trail. He’s already panting and Eddie still hasn’t even touched him.

Jesus fucking Christ, he needs to touch him.

He slides his hand lower until his knuckles bump against Steve’s cock over his boxers. “You’re already half hard, sweetheart? Is this what was actually keeping you up?”

Steve lets out a low moan. He didn’t ask Eddie for a running commentary, just a helping hand, but Eddie can’t stop himself. He’s a loud guy through and through, so unless Steve tells him to shut up, he’ll keep running his mouth. Steve seems to be into it anyway.

He lazily strokes Steve’s cock over his boxers to get him to full hardness. Fuck, he’s big, Eddie thinks. He can’t wait to feel Steve’s hot skin–

“Can I touch you?” Eddie whispers into his ear.

“Yes, yeah,” Steve agrees quickly.

So Eddie slips his hand inside Steve’s boxers, sighing happily when he wraps his fingers around his hard length.

The touch makes Steve throw his head back with a groan, almost smashing it against Eddie’s nose. Thankfully he doesn’t, even though not even a bloody nose would make Eddie give up the chance to get Steve off.

However he does prop himself up with the arm he isn’t using to touch Steve so his head rests against Eddie’s shoulder so as to not risk an injury– and because it allows him to peer over Steve’s shoulder and watch how his hand looks wrapped around his cock.

And God the sight gets Eddie to full hardness, making his mouth water.

He starts stroking him slowly, gathering the precum from the tip and smearing it down and around Steve’s cock but it’s not enough.

When he lets go entirely, Steve whines, hips thrusting forward, chasing after Eddie’s touch.

Eddie shushes him gently. “‘M not going anywhere, sweetheart. Here, spit,” he says, holding his hand close to Steve’s mouth. He does as he’s told without hesitation. Eddie can’t stop himself from kissing Steve’s nape. “Good boy.”

“Oh, G-god,” Steve moans brokenly. It trails off into a high-pitched whine when Eddie wraps his hand around him again, the slide of his hand smoother now from Steve’s spit.

He pumps him loosely. “Better?”

“Y–yeah,” Steve manages, panting now.

The elastic of his boxers makes Eddie’s movements a little clumsy but Steve fixes it by jerkily shoving them down. While doing that, his ass presses back against Eddie’s front and there’s no way for him to hide that he’s fully hard in his own boxers.

But instead of shoving Eddie away or calling him out on it, Steve groans and shuffles back until Eddie’s chest presses against his back and Eddie’s cock is nestled against Steve’s now naked ass.

“Fucking– fuck,” Eddie chokes out, momentarily stopping his hand so he can get his breathing over control.

“Eddie–” Steve whines, his hips twitching and fucking his cock into Eddie’s fist. It pushes his ass back against Eddie’s crotch, which does little to help Eddie focus.

“‘M here, baby,” Eddie whispers, his teeth clamped over his lip. Steve’s hips are still moving–

But he starts stroking him again, reminding himself that this is about Steve.

“Oh God, yes,” he moans loudly.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be loud,” Eddie mutters in awe.

Steve lets out a choked laugh. “I thought– I thought you didn’t give it much– oh fuck, much thought.”

“I fucking lied,” Eddie admits with a scoff.

“I– I lied too,” Steve says, his breath coming faster when Eddie tightens his grip. “You were the reason, fuck– the reason why I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking, oh God– thinking about how I wanted to be doing this instead.”

Something hot burns in Eddie’s stomach. “Well, sweetheart. All you had to do was ask.”

“Can– can I ask for something else?” Steve says shyly despite him currently grinding his ass against Eddie in an obscene way.

“Anything.”

“Fuck my thighs?” He asks, twisting his neck so he can look at Eddie, his eyes half-lidded, his pupils blown wide.

Eddie is pretty sure his brain momentarily short circuits.

When he doesn’t reply right away, Steve blindly reaches behind him, his hand connecting with Eddie’s hip. He clumsily tugs on his boxers, trying to get them off.

It snaps Eddie out of it. “Yes, yeah, fucking– yeah,” he mutters, momentarily letting go of Steve so he can shove his boxers down, his cock springing free and slapping against his stomach.

He gives himself a few strokes– to take the edge off and to spread the precum along his length until his cock is wet and shiny.

“Come here,” Steve says and Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice. He shuffles closer, angling the head of his dick forward, lining it up so it slides between Steve’s thighs.

And when it does, they both moan loudly at the same time.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths then reaches for Steve’s cock. The inside of Steve’s thighs is so warm and soft and he knows he’s not gonna last long, but he’ll make sure to make Steve come.

He makes sure his grip is tighter this time, his movements faster. He times them with his own thrusts, his cock sliding wetly in and out Steve’s meaty thighs.

“You feel fucking perfect, Steve,” Eddie groans, pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder blade. The praise makes Steve whimper, his cock pulsing in Eddie’s hand. “You gonna come, sweetheart?”

Breathing coming faster, Steve manages, “Yeah– yeah. So fuckin’ close.”

“Me too, baby,” he admits. It doesn’t surprise him, he’s currently experiencing the hottest moment of his entire existence.

The closer he gets, the more his movements turn clumsier, more desperate– desperate to come, to make Steve come.

It’s when Eddie gives Steve’s shoulder a playful little bite at the same time that he twists his hand on the upstroke that Steve’s back arches and he moans loud and shaky as his cock pulses hotly into his hand.

Steve’s noises as he comes and the way his thighs tighten around Eddie’s cock are enough to bring him over the edge after only a few more thrusts and he paints Steve’s legs with cum.

They lay like that for a few seconds, catching their breath. Eddie starts to drift off, feeling tired and floaty.

“So you think you can fall asleep now?” He asks, breaking the silence.

Steve lets out a soft little giggle. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Eddie grins triumphantly. “Happy to be of service, Your Majesty,” he says with a twist of his cum-covered hand.

Steve’s nose wrinkles as his eyes land on it, but there’s a trace of fond amusement in the look he throws at Eddie over his shoulder. He grabs a handful of tissues from his nightstand and uses them to clean Eddie’s hand and himself before they both shove their boxers back on and get back under the covers.

Eddie rolls to his side. “Before you fall asleep and because I know it’ll keep me up if I don’t ask– was that like, just a hookup or do you like, like me?” He grimaces, burying his face into a pillow. “God, I sound like a twelve year old.”

Steve laughs, but not unkindly. “I like you, Eddie,” he says, and when Eddie lifts his head to look at him, Steve leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Now let’s sleep and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Smiling, Eddie nods. That’s fine by him.

Steve turns around, facing away again and Eddie wraps his arm around him, burrowing his face into the back of his neck.

They’re both asleep in a matter of seconds.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddiebingo2025 #steddiebingo12daysofchristmas #stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #monse writes #plaid divider for steve's plaid sheets that the boys are messing up in this fic

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hrnngsoup · 3 days ago

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Oh maaan. Oh man this is anti-honey vegan levels of ignorant. Look yeah it's gonna be unpopular opinions, and I am NOT saying there are no abusive-towards-dogs cops out there, but no, k9 forces are not generally abusive.

Here's some facts:

K9 units serve much more jobs than just take-downs. Ever had a recently missing kid? A good police force will call on a k9 unit, which you can give them a piece of fabric or toy to sniff, and then that good doggo will track that kid down. Many, MANY children, seniors, and other people who are lost with mental disabilities have been sucessfully found this way.

Another job they do? Drug sniffing. And yes, I know there have been nasty rumours about cops just training a dog to Mark on a person's bag on command, but besides the trash cops that exist, the drug sniffing training is ACTUALLY very specific and fun for the dogs. I've seen a lot of people over at twitter say they are good at fact checking, feel free to fact check what I just said with unbiased sources.

Most K9's are not just murked when they are retired. This was another rumour. A lot of them are retire with their owners, who form deep personal bonds with them, or are adopted out, in the case of the officer not being able to take care of them... like when the officer has died. The only exceptions are when k9's unfortunately develop the common health problems that german shepherds as a breed are privy to, and their quality of life massively decreases.

K9's are not just "stored" at a precinct in crates or something. They go home with their officers most of the time with only a few job-related exceptions.

It's not actually true that every person who gets taken down by a canine are maimed. Most of the time, it's "hold/release", which still needs stitches, but not even near a maim. but I guess these very common events aren't really covered in media much because they are less sensational....

Calling k9 units on anyone who is not actively fleeing a crime and/or armed is not a thing that happens often. That's a huge waste of money, time, and what, do you think they start off arrests with a k9 unit? No! (Exceptions: when someone has felonies on their record, has been known to be aggressive in past arrests/chases, or have commited grand theft auto)

While this one is only anecdotal, I have never with my own two eyes seen a unit abuse their dog. I have seen many of them baby talk the shit out of their doggos or give them probably too many treats, and well, if you want to see that, I recommend police cam vids. One of my relatives which was a k9 unit absolutely adored her k9, Duke, and she had him for many years after they retired- and Duke was happy and healthy until he passed naturally. A lot of people don't realize that if a k9 unit abused or hurt their dogs, and the other cops saw.... they would be considered the shit under their shoe for the whole precinct.

Now let's talk about why they're necessary in a healthy police force

Ever hear of the terms meth heads, crackheads, etc? These groups of people, if they decide to do crime, are INCREDIBLY dangerous. Drugs of a certain hardcore variety LITERALLY change your brain composition. These are the kind of people that can, and will, run out naked with two steak knives and try to stab anyone around them "because they looked at me funny"... if they are even capable of reason and clear speech in a drug-induced rage. Many do not even feel pain at this stage. There are two ways to stop someone in this state. Gunfire. Or a k9 unit. The good thing about using a k9 is that they are fast, much faster than humans- and that helps reduce the amount of injuries and deaths that occur when something goes wrong.

Humans are instinctually wired to be afraid of dogs. A lot of violence from... really, anyone, is severely diminished when even the threat of a k9 unit being called happens, and when you're facing someone who's weilding a machete, that fricking means something.

Look. I can understand being incensed at anyone who does treat their dogs badly. I am too. But you have to inform yourself on what the facts are, and everything I have said is factual unless someone can prove me wrong which, okay, then i will retract what someone proved me wrong about.

Banning a very important, very life-saving part of a healthy police force is a BAD idea. Note i said healthy police force... there are a lot of UNHEALTHY, CORRUPT police forces that needs from the bottom up reform.

All banning k9 units will do is increase crime and the collateral damage from it, make us lose non-take down services they provide which is VERY important to missing persons cases... and probably increase the amount of german shepherds put down in shelters, ultimately doing much more harm than good.

All k9 dogs are abused hands down if you post any pro k9 stuff on my dash you’re unfollowed I don’t care if we’ve been mutuals for years, you can claim to be anti-cop or a leftist or whatever but if you post k9 dogs with like “a good doggo! A good boy!” fuck off, if I lose followers over this then good riddance

#k9 unit #i normally dont write essays here but. here we go.#police #if you dont care to fact check yourself you're just as bad as the people you hate for the same reason btw #and closing anons after this one because if someone wants to debate they better be brave enough to use their own account for it #police reform

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withleeknow · 2 days ago

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wishful thinking. (08)

chapter eight: ships in the night

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; i’ve been told this is the angstiest chapter yet saur yk you’ve been warned, mentions of past seggsy times, oc is self-deprecating self-sabotaging, oc has an anxiety attack in this one, erhm just Big Sad overall methinks, also could've been more edited but i am a godless monster word count: 7.2k note: wt is backkkkkk!! and it's the penultimate chapter omg :( lowkey nervous about how this is gonna be perceived bc i feel like my brand is Sad™️ and i haven't properly written anything Sad™️ in a WHILE. but yeah, wt8 is yours now have funnn. also ty chessica @matchannie for proofreading!!

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Sorry, I know that comment wasn’t funny Just wanted you to love me, but I didn’t go about it right Sometimes the best advice that I can give Is to bite my lip and listen with my big fat mouth shut tight

big fat mouth - Arlie

You don’t think you can ever forget the look on his face, the hurt in his eyes when the words had tumbled out of your mouth in a panicked frenzy. The regret was immediate, but so was the damage.

Saying things you didn’t mean, watching Minho so utterly defeated that it kills you, and the deafening silence after he had walked away from you on heavy footsteps – you can’t describe how it all felt that night. It’s just… sinking, and sinking, and sinking; endlessly spiraling in an ocean of your own guilt and despair. It’s true what they say – misery loves company.

Distractions don’t work, because whenever that overwhelming dread eases by even a fraction, you’re once again reminded by the bracelet that’s wrapped around your wrist with the tiny dove charm hanging on the side. Neither of you paid it any mind the other night, that much is clear.

You know you should return it to him eventually; it’s never belonged to you and it never will. But every time you go to take it off, you can’t bring yourself to simply undo the clasp and hide the bracelet somewhere you can’t see. It lets you delude yourself into thinking that you haven’t lost him even after what you said, even after you stomped on his heart and left it bleeding where you stood.

You’d been upset, thinking that you were the only one falling, terrified that you’d crash headfirst into the cold, hard ground because there’d be nobody to catch you. And yet, when Minho told you he loved you, it provided you no relief at all. The fear magnified tenfold, taking over you until you couldn’t see straight, until it consumed you whole.

Home is something you find, and you’ve found it in him. Your sun and your spring and your home, and everything good that you can ever name.

All your life, something is always missing, an empty space that you never learned how to fill. Like when you exit a room and there’s a nagging feeling in your gut telling you that you’ve forgotten something even though all of your belongings are accounted for. Like when you lose your favorite ring, one that’s a little too loose but beloved anyway, slipping over your knuckle without your permission and disappearing forever, and you keep running your fingers over where the golden band used to be until you come to terms with the fact that it’s never coming back and you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning the loss of that familiarity.

You’ve always looked for things you lost in places you’ve never been.

You just want to go home, but you know you’ll only ruin it in the end.

The problem has never been Minho or anybody else. It’s you, and how there’s something intrinsically wrong with you. You paint the ending before there’s even a beginning. You’d rather run and hide than let yourself feel anything, because if there’s happiness then there’s going to be hurt inevitably.

You don’t want him to wake up one day and look at you like you’re a stranger, to realize that he’s wasted his time and effort, that you just weren’t worth it after all.

It’s funny how, when you’re a child, time seems to move so quickly. One minute, you’re four, maybe five years old, and your mother is refusing to speak to you because she thinks you ruined one of her bags, a large scratch running along the otherwise smooth leather surface like it’s been met with a pair of scissors or simply accumulated on her way to work and she hadn’t noticed until she got home and you happened to be in the vicinity of her anger; the next, she’s letting you relish in all your favorite desserts, cavities be damned.

One minute, you’re being rushed to the hospital with a bad case of food poisoning, your parents staring down at you as if you’re actually about to die; the next, you’re already at home, watching cartoons that you couldn’t understand but you like anyway because they’re full of pretty colors and princesses and fairies.

You don’t remember how your mother came to forgive you for the bag even though it wasn’t your fault, or what the hospital felt like or if what the doctors and nurses did to make you feel better even hurt. You only know that you wish to return to a smaller version of yourself whose memories you can’t even recall, return to a time in which you once so desperately wanted to escape from.

Now, when you’re hurt, time doesn’t pass in a blink of an eye like it used to. It stands still, sucks you down a vortex and makes you feel everything.

No one ever really warns you about growing pains, that they’re unavoidable no matter how hard you try to avoid them, that they can last a lifetime because you never really stop growing, and it never really seems to ache any less.

Hyunjin: Attachment: 1 Image. Hyunjin: i sent this one in Hyunjin: u??

You’d almost forgotten about the exhibition until Hyunjin had sent you those texts. Even though you’re not one to neglect deadlines, you suppose it’s fairly reasonable that this one in particular had slipped your mind. You haven’t really been able to wrap your head around that many things after all.

Every semester, yours and Hyunjin’s department rents out a gallery near campus for a whole week to showcase students’ works. It’s nothing exclusive, nothing like a competition where they pit a couple hundred kids against each other just for a spot at a fancy art gallery. Almost anyone in the Faculty of Arts can register before the submission deadline, and you suppose that’s another reason why you’d overlooked it so easily – because you didn’t earn it. It didn’t feel special. It was just another meaningless event to attend.

Regardless, you spent a chunk of an afternoon pondering your selection though it didn’t matter that much, almost two hours dedicated to picking out paintings you realized you didn’t love. Some you even turned out to hate, even though you could remember the pride radiating from you the moments the canvas had felt the last brush stroke. Maybe the glamor eventually wore off, the momentary high that coursed through you when you’d shown your finished works to your professors and peers, and received showers of praise in return.

The piece you chose in the end wasn’t your favorite by any means, but it was one of the only pieces you could still bear to look at without nitpicking too much. It was a painting of the waters, and you’ve always loved the waters.

You could recall the day you went to the promenade by yourself with a need to be away from everyone and everything, and an overshirt that was too light to combat the September evening chill as summer transitioned into fall. You watched the sky slowly darken after the sun had disappeared from view, watched as the buildings on the other side of the river lit up one by one until they made up for the light that retired for the day.

The thin layers made you shiver – the consequence of your poor choice in clothing that night – but there was something about sitting by the waterfront after dark, kicking pebbles around underneath your feet, and the gentle caress of the wind on your face and your hair that made the cold feel welcoming. You always thought the city was more beautiful at night, more calming amidst all of its perpetual chaos. It made you feel like you were inside a dream long forgotten, took you back to a north star that you left to gather dust on an abandoned shelf.

You could recall wanting to dive into that dream again, a dream in which you could chase a perfect version of you that would never exist and find light at the end of the tunnel, instead of returning to the reality where you always wound up suffocating in darkness. You wanted to be free, free from the noise and free from your own life despite one simple truth that you knew all too well – that you could run but never from yourself.

When you were young, it’s the moon that used to follow you everywhere. As you get older, it’s all of the things that keep you up at night.

You could recall your phone buzzing to life in your bag with Minho’s name on the screen, like a sign from the universe saying “Hey, this one’s for you. Don’t drown. You have a lighthouse.” and it was as though he could sense that you were falling, like someone had tied your heart to a rock and threw it into the very river in front of you to sink to the bottom. Your friends often said he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to you. Maybe there was some truth in that.

His voice pulled you out of it, even though he only called to ask if you wanted to come over and eat the boatload of food his mom had sent. He made you want to disappear a little less and in that moment, it was enough.

You left your hiding place to go to him, to lose yourself in stupid jokes and not-too-sweet desserts even if it was only for a couple hours. And when you returned home that night, everything spilled onto the canvas just from memory alone, from the feeling that you were desperately clinging onto with your shaking hands.

You always thought you could only run away to places. You didn’t know people could be escapes too, and somewhere along the way, that was what Minho became to you — your treasured escape, your new hiding place.

You manage to avoid everyone – with the exception of Hyunjin; you do have to see him in class after all – over the two and a half weeks leading up to the exhibition, drumming up excuse after excuse to bail whenever any of them asks to grab a bite together or just to simply hang out. If they saw you, they’d notice your puffy eyes and ask if you’ve been crying. They would ask why, and you can’t find in yourself to make up a lie believable enough for that kind of question.

You think Hyunjin has noticed. He’s a bit of an idiot sometimes, but he’s not stupid and he’s still blessed with the gift of sight. He doesn’t mention anything though, despite you showing up to almost every class with puffy eyelids. You suppose you’re grateful for that.

Minho hasn’t talked to you at all since that night. Doesn’t ask you how your project’s going, doesn’t ask you about the exhibition, barely even speaks in the group chat, not even a boring comment about the weather. What were you expecting anyway? You get it, you do.

But despite the silence, you never doubted that he would show up to the exhibition. If not for you, then he would be there to support Hyunjin.

The only person who really has an inkling that something is wrong is Jess, when you were getting ready together earlier tonight and she helped you conceal your puffy eyes. She’d tiptoed around the question before settling on asking “Everything okay?” — simple, easy, quickly dismissible if you didn’t feel like sharing.

You didn’t, and she dropped the subject because there was no point in badgering you for answers anyway.

Chan picked the both of you up afterward, and Jess didn’t have to explain anything to him when she slipped into the backseat with you instead of riding next to her boyfriend.

Now here you are, standing in a room full of your friends and peers, wearing a black dress that Jess helped you choose, and Minho is nowhere to be found. You’d spent all day pacing around, anxious at the mere thought of seeing him and even talking to him. What you hadn’t anticipated was the disappointment, the unbearable feeling in the pit of your stomach in response to his absence. You can’t tell which is worse; maybe every moment without him all sucks the same.

When Hyunjin starts whining and takes out his phone to spam Minho’s messages demanding his location (you’re thankful that it didn’t have to come to you), all he receives in return is a measly “Running late.”

And that’s it. A mere text is enough to satiate everyone’s curiosity. Well, everyone but Hyunjin, because he’s still a nagging drama queen.

Minho is running late, and to anyone else, it’s the most normal thing in the world.

But to you… it means something beyond that. Because this was him. This was your Minho. Your Minho who’s never been known for his tardiness, who’s never once broken a promise, who’s always there for you no matter what.

All you know right now is his absence, and it makes you sink.

You sink, and then you wait. Not a lot to be done about it.

You slip away to a quiet spot, a vacant hallway, to be by yourself while everyone is out there wandering around and gorging themselves on the free food and drinks. You shouldn’t be with them anyway. All you need is to wallow in peace and not be the black cloud hanging over everybody’s heads.

There’s something so incredibly lonely in the act of waiting. Waiting to board a plane, waiting in line at the grocery store. Waiting for a phone call or text message that you know won’t come, waiting for a person whom you can only hope would show up. At the end of the day, that’s what waiting is, isn’t it? It’s wanting. It’s hoping, and if there’s one thing you know about hope, it’s that it’s dangerous.

You wonder if this is how Minho felt all this time, waiting on a girl who’s always prepared to leave. You wonder if, that night, he had expected you to reciprocate his feelings. You did. You do, and a part of you wanted to tell him that you loved him too. The words were there, and yet…

It’s true that you love him, and it’s true that you don’t want to. If hope is dangerous then love is fucking terrifying.

He’d been so patient with you, so awfully gentle and quiet in the chasm of his waiting that you mistook the tenderness for everything except for what it actually was – love. Or perhaps you did know. Maybe deep down, you knew that you would’ve loved him back with everything you had, with every fiber of your being. That you would’ve let him be the only one to ever really know you, and it felt like a fear greater than you could bear.

In the end, did you lose him? Can you lose something you never had? It wasn’t a love that you let slip away; it was a what if.

You’re in a room with people who love you and yet, all you can think about is Minho. You miss him so much that it feels like someone has spliced you in two, that it physically makes you ache every second that he isn’t with you. As selfish as it sounds, you want him to walk through the door and you want everything to be okay again. You want to be back in a bubble with just the two of you and a locked box filled with words unsaid. You thought you could stay in that bubble forever, where it was safe and you could pretend that you were happy, and maybe you really were happy with him. But all things — good or bad — must come to an end. The bubble burst, and this was the real world.

You want to undo your cruelty, want him to take back his sincerity. You want an ocean of distance between you and him, you want to pull him as close as humanly possible. All your wants are contradictions. You’re a paradox of puzzle pieces that never seem to fit together.

You want to tell him that it hurts. Want him to make it better because he’s the only one who can make it better.

But miracles rarely happen and there are no shooting stars in sight. Minho was the closest thing you got to a shooting star, burning across your night sky for just a brief moment. Blink and you could miss it. Blink and you did miss him.

Your fingers find his contact in your phone before you could stop yourself, and soon enough, you’re pressing the call button. It’s like drunk dialling, only you aren’t intoxicated. Or maybe you are; maybe you’re under the influence of his absence and how much it stings.

You don’t know why you’re calling him, don’t know what to even say when he picks up.

Thankfully, you don’t have to wonder for long.

“Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. Please leave your message after the tone,” comes the automated voice on the other end.

For some reason, you don’t hang up. You wait for the beep, then you wait some more. It’s not until ten seconds later that you find your voice, the only thing to come out of your mouth is a quiet Hey.

You clear your throat, rub the sweaty palm of your free hand on your dress. “Hey,” you try again. “It’s… me. I’m at the gallery with everyone. Uhm, they’re all waiting for you. Are you on your way? Are you stuck in traffic? Or did you forget it was today? Hyunjin is trying really hard not to blow up your phone–” You pause to chuckle dryly. “But you know it would mean a lot to him to have you here. It… it’d mean a lot to me too if you were here. I don’t know, I assumed you’d come. I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. I just…” Another pause. This time, it’s so that you could take a breath. “Listen, Minho, I didn’t mean what I said to you. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m sorry that I hurt you, I don’t have any excuse for that. You deserve better than me. It’s going to pass, you know? I’m sorry if you’ve wasted your time on me, but… you’re going to find someone else, and you’re going to get over it. I’m sorry I fucked everything up. It’s fine if you never want to talk to me again, just please don’t let it get between you and our fr–”

The line beeps again. “To replay the message, press 1. To save the message, press 2. To delete the message, press 3.”

You purse your lips together. There’s still a lump in your throat and no peace to be made. It’s like drunk dialling, only you pull yourself together at the very last second. Your thumb hovers over the dial pad on your phone until you eventually end up on 3, because your cowardice will always triumph in the end. Back to square one. Everything’s still the same as it was five minutes ago.

You force your legs to move, like how you'd force yourself to get up and eat and drink water and shower and be a person these days. When you round the corner, you bump against something solid. A person. The collision isn’t hard enough to knock you backward; they weren’t moving, they’d only been standing still.

You look up at Seungmin, who merely blinks at you. You don’t know how long he’s been here, if he heard anything at all. You swallow once, considering whether you should just play dumb and gauge his reaction or ask point blank if you’ve been caught. He beats you to the decision though.

“You and Minho,” Seungmin says, a bit hesitant, like the topic is weird to bring up. “You’re the girl.”

A deer in headlights, you are. A pathetic one at that, too.

But even then, you’re not panicked, not really. You’re just sad, and the truth was bound to come out eventually.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you say.

The discarded voicemail that he overheard, the dejection written all over your face, the silence from both you and Minho recently — it’s obvious to pretty much everyone, and Seungmin is smarter than most.

He opens his mouth and shuts it again like he’s choosing his words. The Seungmin-esque blank stare melting away to make space for some pity, then a question, “Is there anything left to tell?”

You escape to the empty garden in the back where there were a few lonely chairs set up, so you could have some privacy to talk. Despite everything, it feels like you’ve got a little breathing space, just being able to share this with someone. To not have to carry it all on your own. You’re glad that it was Seungmin who found out first. You have a feeling that he would understand, at least to some degree. You’re relieved, even when the first question that he asks is, “So, how did you fuck it up?”

“Why do you just automatically assume it was me?” You’re mildly offended, even though he’s right.

“Between you and Minho, I’d bet on you.” Seungmin shrugs. “You spook easily.”

“I deeply resent that notion.”

He turns to look at you, no trace of any teasing. “Can you prove me wrong?”

But you can’t, and it tells him as much when you avert his eyes in favor of the ground, where you kick at a lonesome pebble sitting among the grass. It lands somewhere between the green blades, lost in the shadows that cast over parts of the garden that are poorly lit.

“So what happened?” he asks, turning away again to stare out at the empty space. You like to think of it as him giving you some elbow room, to ease the pressure of being scrutinized. And as much as you appreciate it, it still takes you another brief moment before you can formulate a coherent sentence, another minute of twiddling your fingers in your lap.

You tell Seungmin about your first night with Minho – not the details, of course; that would be weird and it’s none of his business. Just that it happened, how you both let it keep happening over the past few months while nobody suspected a thing.

Seungmin nods solemnly, like he’s putting together the missing pieces.

“Did you ever notice anything?” you ask.

“I mean… not about you hooking up, but we thought you’d end up together eventually.” He shrugs. “We always kinda assumed that you two would become those people who make a pact to get married if you’re still single by 40 or 50, if you didn’t get together before then. It makes sense. You and Minho just sort of make sense.”

“Oh,” you say. Your heart swoops. Hearing it from Seungmin makes you sad. Not the same brand of sadness that you’ve been wearing lately though. A different kind, the kind of sadness that’s a little numbing and makes it difficult to breathe. “Well, sorry to disappoint everyone but I don’t think any of it is gonna happen anymore.”

“So… how did it happen?” Seungmin asks again, mimicking explosions with his hands.

You let him off easy without a punch in the shoulder, because you just really don’t have the energy for it right now. “Minho wanted something more,” you tell your friend, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, then with the necklace charm resting on your collarbone. “And I just… I don’t know. I guess I freaked. I… said some awful stuff to him.”

Seungmin hums a sound of acknowledgement. He looks like he’s thinking about it, about you and Minho and what it means. “Classic,” he chuckles after a brief moment, mostly to himself. Maybe he’s thinking about what it means beyond just the pair of you too.

You side-eye him. “You’d know all about it, wouldn’t you?”

He shoots the glance back at you. “What are you trying to say here?”

You remember her, the only girl that Seungmin has ever hinted at liking. He never admitted it out loud to any of you, but you could all see it.

You only used to see her in passing at house parties, and even then, it wasn’t Seungmin nor her who brought the other one around. They would show up separately with their own group, mingle for a while, find each other after a couple of drinks before they disappeared to god-knows-where for the rest of the night. Sometimes, Changbin or Hyunjin would catch them before they could sneak off and insist that Seungmin let everyone get to know his friend.

These brief interactions are all you have with her, meaningless small talk for a few minutes before Seungmin’s patience ran thin and he whisked her away like they’d both intended. You liked her; she was nice, and she was really pretty. You liked her even though you didn’t know her, because she was the one person who Seungmin cared about enough to keep away from prying eyes. A secret shared only between the two of them, a bubble in which only they existed.

The last time you saw her with him must’ve been at least three months ago, maybe even longer. No one really knows what happened, just that she stopped showing up to parties, and Seungmin never brought it up again. You all assumed whatever he had going on with her had run its course, though it doesn’t really stop Hyunjin and Jisung from mentioning her every now and again just to tease him.

“I seem to recall a Halloween party last year and a certain someone was in a bee costume and–”

“Fine,” Seungmin interjects, rolling his eyes. “Fine, we can form our own dumbass club. Happy?”

You laugh a little, even though the whole thing isn’t very funny. Your shared experience is nothing to take pride in.

“So how did you blow it up?” you ask.

He gives you a sour glare before his eyes soften. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and in his silence you find that you and him are more similar in ways that you’ve never cared enough to admit before. This sadness that you carry, you have a feeling that he knows it all too well.

“Like I said, classic,” Seungmin tells you. “She wanted something more. I freaked. I ghosted her.”

A mirror. Two sides of the same stupid coin.

You lean back against your seat. “Did you like her?”

It takes a beat, but his answer comes out as an honest, “Yeah, I liked her. Liked her too much.”

“Why did you do that to her then?”

“Why did you do that to Minho?” Seungmin deadpans, but he doesn’t seem to want a response from you. He just sighs, wistfully adding, “I’ve thought about it a lot. It’s scary to be wanted because it means someone’s putting you on a pedestal, and when you’re on a pedestal, the more it’ll hurt if you fall off. The more they’re counting on you to not let them down, the easier it is to fuck it all up. People like us, we’re flight risks. We can’t help it. We think it’s better to just leave before we can do any real damage. When you said whatever terrible shit you said to Minho, that was the first thing you thought about, right? To be cruel? That’s what I did too. Such a fucking stupid knee-jerk reaction.”

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, completely still.

Then Seungmin turns to you, and for the first time in all the years that you’ve known him, he’s looking at you, really looking at you. No snarky side-eye, no playful faux glare. Just a strange and unfamiliar sincerity, like he’s asking you to fix what he couldn’t, undo the cruelty that he never bothered apologizing for.

“Minho would understand, you know? If you’d just talk to him,” Seungmin says. “You made a mistake in the heat of the moment. But you want to have something real with him, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me about this and beating yourself up over it.”

“I told you. That ship sailed.” And you’re standing up for no apparent reason other than the fact that you’re suddenly restless, your stomach twisting in knots out of nowhere. “He’s not even here. He didn’t even show up tonight. I think that’s saying enough.”

Your friend rises to his feet too, probably because he thinks it’s weird to be the only one sitting now while you’re upset and pacing about. It’s not until Seungmin takes a step closer that you realize you’re shaking a little.

“Hey, you good?” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I talked to Minho yesterday. He said he’d come. Maybe something came up or he just–”

Hyunjin’s voice interrupts Seungmin in the middle of his sentence, the excited squeal carrying itself from all the way inside the gallery to the back garden through the door left ajar. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, maybe there’s a reason why people say it. It’s laughable, really.

You and Seungmin both turn your attention to the brief commotion indoors, where you see Hyunjin smiling so big that his eyes have crinkled into crescent moons, where he’s standing with his arm thrown around Minho and shaking him by the shoulders.

These days, it’s easy to pretend that time is standing still. You don’t even know if time is even passing at all; you’re just looking at him, dressed in a black blazer and some dress pants. Casual but he looks good. He always does.

You watch as he says something to Hyunjin that seems to calm the latter down a bit, at least enough for Minho to quickly scan the room, searching. You watch as his eyes sweep through all the people gathered inside, not stopping until they land on you, finding you on the other side of the glass door. Even in this terrible lighting, not entirely visible you assume, he sees you.

There was a conversation you had with Minho some time ago, when you two were sprawled out on your couch munching on strawberry Peperos and not paying attention to the movie that was playing on your TV, when he asked how you wanted your life to be at 40.

You knew what the boring answer was – you wanted your life to be stable, and you told him as much. Isn’t stability always the goal? Maybe a lame corporate job if the whole starving-artist-who-makes-it-big-overnight dream didn’t pan out. A cat and a dog named Mochi and Mocha, if you could afford two pets at once. An apartment that you owned, with framed pictures of everything you loved scattered all over the place, and stupidly cute fairy lights that you often see on Pinterest, and an unfathomable amount of plushies that your inner child was never indulged in. A peaceful and quiet life, at least to some extent.

The honest answer, the one that you didn’t tell him, was you wanted to not live with regret.

But as you lock eyes with him, for a split second there, you know that you will.

About twenty years down the line, when you look back on your life and think of this chapter, you’ll think about a boy who loved you and whom you loved. How you broke both of your hearts trying to protect your own. You’ll wonder if he’s married, if he has kids, if he still reminisces about the girl he used to love when he was young. If he’s happy and if his dreams came true. If the sadness you caused yourself was worth it, if the pain meant anything at all. If you could go back in time and undo everything, would you?

You’ll get over it eventually – surely you will; heartbreak isn’t the end of the world – but you’ll live with the grief of what could’ve been if you weren’t afraid. You’ll be left to mourn the road not taken, your almost but never was.

You’re the one who moves first, when it starts to become a struggle just to breathe. You stumble away from Minho’s line of sight, until you find a wall that you can rest against.

Seungmin is quick to follow. “Hey, woah, are you okay?”

Your hands alternate between balling themselves into tight fists and attempting in vain to grab at the flat surface of the concrete. There are no words that you can form to answer him. Only your ragged breathing and your pathetic effort to take in some air through your mouth.

“Okay, shit, uhm,” Seungmin sputters. “Hang on.”

Then he’s taking off. You don’t know how long he’s gone for, where he’s gone off to, and frankly, you can’t really bring yourself to care. Your hands abandon the wall in favor of your dress, something that you can actually hold onto. Your trembling fingers clutch the hem of your dress like they’re pretending it’s a lifeline, bunching and twisting the fabric in your sweaty palms. Hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t at all.

Even over the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you could hear new footsteps coming out into the empty garden. Rushed at first, then they stop for a brief moment. You know who it is before he even approaches you.

Damn that Kim Seungmin.

The familiar scent of his cologne greets you before his voice. You spent hours and hours enveloped in this scent until it was dulled by sweat from the activities you were engaged in, if it wasn’t already softened by the kisses you would leave all over his skin.

When he calls your name, it comes out so soft, like you never broke his heart in the first place and that night was only a figment of your twisted imagination. He sounds so gentle, yet it sends you further down the crippling spiral. You don’t deserve him; maybe you never did, despite what Seungmin tried to put through your head earlier.

“I’m fine.” But you know your appearance has already betrayed your words. The first thing you say to him in weeks, and it’s a lie. You’re still leaning against the wall with your arms wrapped tightly around your trembling frame and your eyes squeezed shut. It’s a pitiful sight. Even more so when it registers in your brain that it’s Minho of all people who’s witnessing it.

He doesn’t say anything else, only lets out a sigh, and then his hand is on your body, a warm palm touching the small of your back out of habit before he moves it upward to rub between your shoulder blades. “Can you breathe?”

His question makes you all too aware that there’s something gnawing inside of your chest, makes you think for a second there that you’re going to die though you know that you won’t. You shake your head with your eyes still closed, your breathing coming out more ragged by the second. You can’t even bear to look at him and absorb the worry in his eyes; you’re sure you’ll only cry if you do, and it’s the last thing you need right now.

But it turns out that seeing Minho’s face isn’t the only thing that can bring you to tears. When you feel him tug at your arms, his warmth on your bare skin, you start crying anyway and that makes it even harder to breathe. There’s not a single ounce of resistance in your body, your limbs obeying him easily when they untangle themselves around your waist to fall by your sides as he pulls you into his chest, with one hand over your sternum and his thumb rubbing back and forth. He’s careful about it too, like he’s handling broken pieces of something that used to be beautiful.

“You’re okay,” he says, but you’ve got your face pressed into the crook of his neck and your tears are staining the collar of his shirt. “You’re gonna be fine. Just… listen to me.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to speak next.

“Name three things you can see,” he says. “You don’t have to say it out loud. Just think about it.”

You open your eyes finally, angling your head until most of your vision isn’t obstructed by the proximity of his body. Minho tightens his arm around you, and you blink away some of the tears.

Your black heels that your mom got you for your birthday a while ago.

The grass, darkened green and damp.

Him.

“Three things you can hear.”

Light chatter coming from inside the gallery.

Cars passing by on the adjacent street.

Him, the sound of his breathing.

“Three things you can touch.”

The soft material of your dress against your skin.

The bracelet, hugging your wrist, weighing you down like an anchor.

And… him.

Him, him, him.

You don’t know what reason Minho makes up to excuse you for the rest of night, but you don’t bother asking. There’s really no space left in your head to think about it twice, to care about leaving your friends or feel guilty about Hyunjin because he was so excited about today. It’s too much; all you want is to go home, get away from here.

Minho calls you both an Uber back to your place. During the entire ride, he doesn’t say a word and neither do you. And even though you mostly opt for looking out the window at the other cars and houses and people passing by, every now and then you could feel his eyes on you from the other side of the backseat.

When you arrive, he keeps a hand on the small of your back as you make your way up the stairs. When you unlock the door, you leave it open so he could follow you inside. You suppose that one is a force of habit. You’re not used to shutting the door in his face. At least, not in the literal sense anyway.

Then it returns, that gnawing feeling. A feeling far too colossal for your body to house. It sits somewhere inside your ribcage, sharp and desperate, with claws trying to dig its way out. And for the first time in maybe ever, you understand what it truly means to want something this badly. You love him, and it hurts. You love him even though it hurts.

Minho moves around the place while you remain frozen in the middle of your own apartment, as if he’s the one who lives here and you’re just visiting for the night. You let him take off your makeup (with a wipe; you’re going to hate yourself in the morning), let him help you change into clothes that you can sleep in, even let him tuck you into bed like you’re a helpless child. If he notices the bracelet on you, he doesn’t say anything. Everything is done in silence.

You don’t look him in the eye. You don’t think you can handle what you’ll find there.

But you do reach for his hand when he tries to leave now that there’s nothing left for him to do here. There’s not a single thought behind your action, just a need to have him near.

“Can you…?”

You aren’t brave enough to finish the question, your voice trailing off and the words dissipating like smoke after a lonely cigarette drag. You’re being selfish right now, you’re awfully aware of this.

Minho doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even let out a single sigh. For a second there, you think he’s about to leave you here, cold and alone, just like you had done to him. It would be nothing less than what you deserve.

But then he’s shrugging off his blazer and your heart is in your throat. When he slips into bed beside you, something hurts, the kind of ache that spreads all across your chest and makes your lungs burn.

Earlier tonight, he could’ve walked away and let you be somebody else’s burden. Your friends were all there, it’s not like they would’ve left you stranded.

You’re not really sure what to think. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hate you, but maybe it’s just enough confirmation that he doesn’t hate you more than he loves you.

You break the deafening stretch of silence with a whisper, “I’m sorry.” You don’t know what the apology is for. Are you sorry for that night, for the things you said to him? Are you sorry that you’re only yourself, that he just had to go ahead and fall for you of all people? Sorry that you’re too much of a coward and a lost cause to love him right? You don’t know, but it feels appropriate to apologize. You owe him that much.

“Don’t…” Minho says after a while. “You don’t have to do that.”

The familiar sensation returns – the one that stings the back of your eyes, burns your nostrils and makes you all choked up. You try to hold your breath and will it away, but the first tear spills without your permission, and you can’t help the shaky inhale – close to a gasp and followed by a sniffle – that punctuates your lungs when they start protesting against the sudden lack of oxygen.

You grip the sheets so hard you think you could rip through the fabric and dig into your own palm. It’s a pathetic feeling, like a strange kind of embarrassment that you can’t quite describe. The room is deadly quiet; you know there’s no way he didn’t catch the noise.

You hear Minho shift from where he lays behind you, some rustling when he moves against the duvet and the mattress. “Don’t cry,” he sighs. And it’s still so gentle. You’ve never known him to be anything but gentle.

You bite the inside of your cheek, blinking some of the tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… don’t cry.” It sounds like he’s holding something back but you aren’t sure. “Don’t cry. Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning, if you want.”

You sniffle some more, and maybe that makes Minho think he still needs to appease you even further. He reaches out finally, to brush a comforting hand against your arm. “Go to sleep. Promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You don’t know if you want to talk in the morning, because there’s nothing for you to say. All you really have is what he’s already heard – I’m sorry, like an utterly broken record. But you want him to stay even if it’s only for the morning. Even if all he’ll get is silence at best and choked up breaths at worst. Your last-ditch attempt at grasping straws, a futile effort to chase running water.

“Okay,” you tell him, and neither of you says anything afterward. The tears keep falling for a while, and at some point it tires you out enough to slip into a dreamless sleep.

When you open your eyes hours later, the sun is already up. The clock on your phone reads 7:06AM and the first thing you register is an uncomfortable dryness in your throat. Behind you, the bed is still warm. You can actually feel it underneath your fingertips when you reach out, the warmth dwindling from the side of the bed that’s been left vacant. Minho has never broken a promise to you before.

He’s gone, and you sink again.

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babybearnation · 2 days ago

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now i've read all of the books beside your bed

⎇f1 drivers x gn!reader - you're a bookworm (reactions) ⎇contains: alex albon, arthur leclerc, charles leclerc, dino beganovic, george russell, zhou guanyu, kimi antonelli, lance stroll, lando norris, liam lawson, logan sargeant, max verstappen, mick schumacher, ollie bearman, oscar piastri, paul aron, pierre gasly, yuki tsunoda ⎇author's note: im a massive bookworm so this was fun!! some of these are inspired by this post from the lovely @thekoalapastriesbakery (kofi for long fics) ⎇content warnings: n/a ⎇word count: 3k

alex albon:

alex thinks it's pretty cool that you're a reader. your collection may overwhelm him at first (how many fucking books??) but he comes to love it because you love it and isn't that all that matters? he'll try and read some of the books you suggest, but he's just not interested at all in reading. he prefers to go fast.

when you start tearing your luggage apart, he's pretty confused. it's not until you turn to him and tell him you forgot the sequel to the book you're reading that he starts to understand. he'll find the nearest bookstore and take you to it when he can, happily buying you the next book in the series.

alex is gonna be a bit grumpy if you ignore him because you're reading. what book could possibly be more interesting than him? he tries to protest and you just shush him. when he sees how close you are to the end of the book, however, he'll accept it and just not-so-patiently wait for you to finish up.

arthur leclerc:

arthur does not understand what is so exciting about reading. he's constantly chasing that thrill of going fast and fast and faster even still, so he doesn't understand what's so enchanting about reading books. he's got shitty imagination (twins) so he just can't do it. but he'll admire you and your dedication to reading.

uh oh. you forgot the sequel. arthur realised before you did after you'd sent him to get you book #2. he doesn't find it, he finds #3. he has to shyly confess what happened and you are just horrified because what are you supposed to do now? and then he remembers the fact that bookstores exist and he's running off to go and get book 2 to make you happy again.

as outlined above, he doesn't understand why people read. so now that you're reading and ignoring him because of it? nuh uh. no can do. he won't allow it. he'll snatch the book from your hands and keep moving it until you snap and demand he give it back because you have one chapter left. he can wait that, surely? no, no he can't.

charles leclerc:

charles is a bit more understanding of why people like to read but he still personally doesn't like it. he loves watching you read though, because he thinks you look so peaceful and calm and happy. if you start crying though, charles will panic and offer you a hot drink in the hopes of calming you down.

you might've forgotten to bring the sequel on holiday, but charles didn't. he'd spotted the book last second and tucked it into his carry on, already anticipating the moment he'd get to sweep in and play hero. so when you start going through your bags, trying to find book 2 because book 1 ended on a cliffhanger, he triumphantly pulls it out of his bag for you. yeah, he's a bit dramatic.

charles loves watching you read (unless you're crying) so if you ignore him whilst reading, he's not gonna be too bothered about it. he'll sit there and watch you read, maybe pulling out his phone to wait until you notice his presence and answer him. he's really not bothered.

dino beganovic:

the first time dino saw you reading, he honestly didn't know what to think. he's gotten used to it now but that first time.. you read?? why? when you explain to him all the reasons you love reading, he soon finds himself falling in love with it and he'll start carrying one or two books with him when he goes to races.

you're reading the end of this book to dino in between free practice and qualifying and you get to the end and you're ready to start book 2... and it's not there. it's not in your bag. it's not in his bag. it's gone. dino, thinking fast, decides to buy the ebook and read it to you. yeah, that's a new thing you two do now.

dino will not care if you ignore him when you're reading. if it's urgent or he needs to leave, then yeah, he'll be upset, but if it's just a normal, everyday question? he's not bothered. in fact, he's abandoning his question to instead cuddle up to you and (attempt) to read over your shoulder.

george russell:

george will read the occasional thing here and there, but it's nothing compared to how much you read. he loves getting book recs from you even if it takes him for-fucking-ever to read them because he's so busy. he just wants to (try and) stay up to date with your reading!

george definitely packs extra books for you when you go on holiday just in case. so when he spots the abandoned sequel, he'll pack it for you. you won't even realise you almost left it because he'll slip it into your bag before you can notice it's gone.

he might get a bit annoyed if you ignore him because you're reading but when you finish up the book and wordlessly hand it to him, he'll quickly understand why. the book was so entrancing and now he has to read. and then he reads it and oh, he's ignoring you now. whoops?

zhou guanyu:

he loves the peace that reading can bring and he thinks you'll be the exact same and then he sees you launching a book across the room and quickly realises, no, not all reading can be peaceful. you'll have to explain the plot to him so he can understand why you threw the book otherwise he's gonna be so confused.

it's a nightmare. book 2 ends on a cliffhanger and there's no fucking book 3 in your suitcase. you could've sworn you packed it. you tear through all your luggage and end up having to call guanyu (who's out picking up food for you two) because you can't find it. turns out you did pack it... in his suitcase. oops?

guanyu gets it. he really does. sometimes books or other forms of media are just so enrapturing and intense that you can't help but zone out everything else and only focus on what you're consuming. if its urgent, he might gently push your book down, but he's not too bothered about it otherwise.

kimi antonelli:

he may be incredibly smart and have an insane memory, but this man hates reading. when he discovers you love reading, he's actually not that surprised. he'll use his excellent memory to help prevent you from forgetting any details if you're reading a sequel ages after you read the first book.

when kimi comes back from showering to find both of your suitcases completely torn apart, he's a bit confused. what did you forget to pack? when you share that you forgot the sequel to your book, he decides that you and him will find the nearest bookstore to go and buy a second copy because he's refusing to let you be grumpy over the cliffhanger lol.

yeah, no, kimi ain't letting you ignore him for no book. he has no qualms about tearing a book out of your hand until you answer his question. if he just wants your attention, well, good luck. he's stubborn and won't let you have your book back until he's content.

lance stroll:

he may not be into reading but he really likes listening to you recap the stories and books you read because he finds them so interesting. eventually, he'll end up shyly asking you to read to him because you are the best storyteller ever so he wants to consume all books through you.

you're on holiday, somewhere nice and warm, and the book ends and... there's no book 2. you'd left it at home. lance, noticing your lowkey grumpy nature about this, decides to take you to a bookstore so you can buy another copy of the sequel. you can also buy some other books in the process because he doesn't want you to run out of reading material.

lance will be a bit grumpy if you ignore him whilst you're reading only because you could be reading to him and you're not. he'll push his face into your view as he pouts and you'll very quickly learn that he wants you to read to him. he ends up hearing random handfuls of chapters from different books every now and then because he falls asleep sometimes.

lando norris:

if you think this man reads, i have news for you. he doesn't. he really doesn't understand how you like reading, to be honest. if he catches you reading f1 romances? he's demanding to know how accurate they are. the first time he found a book in your bed (it jabbed his rabs), he almost burned it (that's a half joke).

when you pout at lando and tell him you forgot the sequel to the book you've been reading all holiday, he'll aww at you and hug you, but he's celebrating the second your back is turned because now he can have all your attention. lando keeps you so busy and distracted, you forget about the book until you get home and see it on your shelf.

oh come on, you and me both know this man isn't letting you ignore him in favour of reading. the amount of time he's snatched books from your hands and flung them across the room is insane (he always replaces any books he damages though). the only way to placate him is to offer to read to him because he loves your voice so much.

liam lawson:

he might read the occasional comic book series or something like that, but full novels aren't really his forte. he very quickly learns how passionate you are about books and reading, however, and he starts to come to love and appreciate the conversations you two will have about whatever book you're currently reading.

liam is gonna be clueless on what to do when you're on holiday and you tell him you forgot to pack the sequel to the book you were reading. you're not sure you'll be able to find the book in any local shops so you reluctantly admit defeat. but don't worry, liam will cheer you up with silly theories about what happens in book 2.

honestly, liam won't care if you ignore him whilst you're reading. he understands what reading means to you and he knows how easy it is for books to capture your full attention so he'll just carry on as he was before. if he really needs you, however, he'll offer a snack as a peace offering when he interrupts you.

logan sargeant:

he's not really interested in reading but he loves listening to you talk about books. he retains absolutely no information about which series is which and who is who, but he knows your faves and he's always willing to listen to you vent about a shitty read, so that's always fun.

logan pulls the puppiest of puppy eyes when you tell him you forgot to pack the second book in the series you're reading. he isn't sure what to do and he's about to apologise and offer something else for you to do, but then he remembers the wonder of ebooks and offers to buy that for you. up to you what you say, tbh!

logan isn't too bothered about being ignored whilst you're reading. if he has a question, he'll ask you it, but if he just wants attention, he'll choose to cuddle up to you instead of taking you away from your book. he's always content to just be in your company!

max verstappen:

this man has publicly admitted he's only read like... 4 books in his life. he's honestly positive that you won't change that. and you don't, but he does learn more and more about books and sometimes references books you've told him about without realising. it's cute.

max is stressed because you're stressed because you forgot the final book in the trilogy you were reading. he's not sure how because the whole thing came in a box so why didn't you just bring the box but soon enough he's seeking out the nearest book store to get you a replacement.

yeah, no, you're not allowed to ignore him in favour of reading. if he's feeling really needy, that book is taking flying lessons. he once accidentally threw one out the window and, in return, you told some of the other drivers about it. he's never lived it down.

mick schumacher:

he probably enjoys a good book here and there so when he discovers you're a bookworm, he's happily asking you for recommendations. he may not read as much as you, but he does truly admire that you have something so enchanting in common.

darling angel baby mick schumacher would never let you forget a single book behind, even if you're just going to his parents' house for the weekend. not a single chance in hell you've forgotten. if you've somehow miraculously forgotten it, he's buying you a second copy before you can even tell him not to.

mick doesn't mind you ignoring him whilst you're reading. he gets it. he might sometimes ask you to read to him, but most of the time he'll just snatch up his own book and come join you. spending time with you is one of his favourite things, no matter how you two pass the time.

ollie bearman:

this boy don't read. he's too chaotic for that. he might listen to you talk about books occasionally, but honestly, he has no interest. you owning a large amount of books will leave him totally stunned and he'll constantly pull random books off your shelf to ask if you've read them.

ollie is terrified. you'd just finished crying over the ending of the 2nd book and then you burst into tears all over again because you didn't have the third book. he isn't sure what to do and eventually decides on offering you a different book he's "interested in" in the hopes it'll take your mind off of the missing third book.

contrary to the above, ollie isn't all that bothered about you ignoring him in favour of reading. he sees you looking cozy with a book in your hands and his first (and only) thought is: that's the perfect napping spot. yeah, nine times out of ten, your reading session is very briefly interrupted by a sleepy bear sliding into your lap. enjoy!

oscar piastri:

i think oscar would try and read but he'd never get very far and he'd end up leaving a trail of unfinished books behind him. when he finds out you're a reader, however, he tries to use that as motivation. it doesn't work but he's very supportive of your hobby nonetheless!

oscar just sighs and googles the nearest bookstore when you come to him complaining about forgetting to pack the sequel to the latest book you read. he knew you'd forgotten something so he'd already been prepared to have to rebuy something. to him, this is very tame.

isn't bothered at all that you're choosing reading over him. he'll either take this as an opportunity to nap (cuddled up to you, of course) or he'll ask you to read to him. you might have to play catch up if you're in the middle of a book or ask him to wait for you to start the next one, but he's really not that bothered.

paul aron:

another member of the might occasionally read gang. paul prefers watching stuff to reading, but a good book can easily capture his attention. he loves listening to you talk about books and if you ever want to lend him a book, he will read it cover to cover, even if he hates it, because you gave it to him.

paul isn't sure what to do when you tell him you forgot to bring the sequel of a book with you on holiday. you don't want to buy another copy because what's the point, but you're also dying to know what happens next. paul eventually decides to get the ebook for you and hopes you can make some progress with that version of the book.

this is where paul gets into his baby girl side. you're not allowed to ignore him, that's just rude. he won't tear the book away like some of the other drivers would, but he's definitely gonna call your name over and over until you answer him. it's annoying, sure, but it works 100% of the time.

pierre gasly:

he's not really a reader but the first time he discovered you were, he asked you to read to him and now he's obsessed with books... only if you narrate them. it's a bit silly and he'll never tell anyone lest he be teased horrifically for it, but he's a biiiiit sappy.

another one who knows instantly to find the nearest bookstore and get you a replacement copy when you tell him you forgot to pack the sequel to the book you're reading. he'll even offer to let you get a few more books as well to avoid this issue happening again. it's charming, really.

you're his personal audiobook narrator, remember? you physically cannot ignore him whilst you're reading. he will push his way into your personal bubble and impatiently wait for you to read the book to him. again, it's a bit silly, but you go along with it because you still get to read at the end of the day.

yuki tsunoda:

yuki's probably read a few manga here and there whilst growing up, but he's not really a novel reader. if you read manga, he might ask to borrow your favourites, but he'll let you keep the long, wordy books to yourself. feel free to read him to sleep though!

when you tell yuki you've forgotten the sequel to the book you just finished reading, he's a bit awkward. does he offer to buy you another copy? or does he try and push you towards reading something else? by the time he's made a decision, you're already halfway through your next book.

you're not allowed to ignore yuki ever, let alone when you're reading. he'll bully his way onto your lap and pout at you until you put the book down and give him a sufficient enough amount of kisses. its over 100 kisses btw so i hope you weren't in the middle of a chapter!

#ᵔᴥᵔ fics #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 reactions #f1 reactions #formula 1 headcanons #f1 headcanons #formula 2 #f2 #formula 2 x reader #f2 x reader #babybearnation

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wheels-of-despair · 3 days ago

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I'm Gonna Love You Forever Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie gets some upsetting news and has to hide out at Evil Woman's house for a little while… it's an angsty one, kids. Contains: Fear and nightmares, bed-wetting and blood, childhood trauma and abuse, comfort and reassurance, a declaration of love. Words: 3.7k

A thwap comes from your right.

You glance over and chuckle. Eddie is lying next to you on your bed, on his stomach, and his face is planted in the middle of the history textbook he's supposed to be reading.

"Are you absorbing the necessary information better that way?" you ask, turning your attention back to a battered classroom-issued paperback.

"No," he grunts. "Need a break."

"I understand. You've been reading for a whole," you check your watch, "three minutes."

He groans.

"Finish this chapter and we'll take a break."

He groans louder, head still in his book. And then the phone rings. His head pops up. "It's Wayne, he says I gotta come home right now, can't study any more."

"Shut up," you laugh, smacking his denim-clad ass with your book as you get up and go to answer the phone.

Your brother already has it. You stand in the hallway with your arms crossed, waiting for either a hand-off or a dismissal. He covers the mouthpiece with his hand.

"Eddie's uncle wants to talk to him," he says lowly. You nod, hold up a finger, and return to your room.

"You're in luck, Munson; it really is Wayne."

Instead of looking relieved, Eddie looks concerned. It's understandable; Wayne never calls here. Eddie scrambles out of bed and skids into the hallway on his socked feet.

You sit on the bed and open your book, but don't absorb a single word... because you can hear Eddie's side of the conversation.

"What? Why? No. No. I can't. I'll stay at Rick's or something. I'll let you know. Bye."

It's tense. It's rushed. Something is definitely wrong. You toss your book aside when he hurries back into your bedroom. He closes your door and leans against it, face even paler than usual.

"You okay?" you ask, knowing the answer.

His lip begins to tremble. His eyes start to well. You're off the bed and wrapping your arms are around him in an instant. He squeezes you and buries his face in your neck.

"What happened? Is Wayne okay?"

Eddie sounds like he's starting to hyperventilate, so you guide him toward the bed. You get him to sit, then kneel on the floor in front of him and hold his hands in yours. He's hunched over; his eyes are scrunched tight, his face looking a little green.

"Breathe, baby. It's gonna be okay. Just breathe."

He squeezes your hands until you begin losing feeling in your fingers, but you don't let go. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. Eventually, his breathing slows and he releases his death grip on your hands.

"My dad's out."

You've been dating Eddie Munson for more than six months, and he's barely mentioned his father. You never asked about his parents; you figured if he wanted you to know, he'd tell you. And he did, occasionally. You'd gathered that neither of them were the nurturing type. You knew they were alcoholics. You knew Eddie's mother died when he was 7, and that he came to live with Wayne when he was 8. Everything else was something of a mystery that you figured he'd reveal in time, when he was ready.

Eddie takes a shuddering breath and begins: "He was supposed to be doing 15 years. It's only been 12. He showed up at the trailer a little while ago. Wayne says he wants to see me." Tears fall when he shakes his head. "I can't."

"Baby, you don't have to," you tell him softly. He closes his eyes. "Eddie, you don't have to see him if you don't want to. You're a grown-up. He can't make you do anything." He covers his face with his hands, and you move upward to wrap your arms around him again.

"I don't want to go home," he whimpers.

"So stay with me."

"Yeah, I bet your mom would love that," he says sarcastically, pulling back and swiping at his eyes.

"She literally went to court to fight my dad when we said we didn't want to see him anymore. She'll understand."

"I don't know how long it'll be 'til he fucks off."

"That's okay."

"What if she says no?"

"She won't," you say confidently.

You don't know what his father did to him, or why he was locked up, or why Eddie is so scared, but you know one thing: if that old man comes near the boy you love, it'll be the last thing he ever does.

You move your books to the floor and lie down on the bed together. Eddie buries his face in your chest and lets you hold him tight. You lie there in silence, gently playing with his hair, until you hear your mom come home from work.

"Be right back," you whisper with a kiss to the top of his head.

When you return to your room, Eddie is curled into a ball on his side, hugging your pillow. He looks up at you with fearful, red-rimmed eyes. You ease back onto the bed, lying down to face him, and reach out to tuck his shaggy hair behind his ear.

"Mom talked to Wayne," you tell him quietly. "He thinks staying here for a few days is a good idea, too. Said he'd bring you some stuff on his way to work. Is that okay? Will you stay?"

"Do you really want me?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Of course I do," you smile. You gaze into his big brown eyes and feel your heart swell. "I'd keep you with me all the time if I could." You kiss his the tip of his nose. "Oh, and Mom says she's making lasagna for dinner, in honor of getting our very own Garfield."

He snorts.

Eddie follows you into the kitchen when it's time for dinner like he usually does. He stays to eat with you several times a week anyway, so nothing feels at all out of the ordinary.

Until he nearly jumps out of his skin when someone knocks at the door. You place a hand on his leg under the table when your mom goes to answer it.

You both let out a quiet sigh of relief when you see Wayne step inside. He follows your mom into the kitchen, carrying a brown grocery bag and Eddie's Sweetheart.

"Can you spare a few minutes for dinner, Wayne?" your mom asks.

"No, ma'am, just came to drop off some stuff for the boy on my way to work."

Eddie gets up to take his things from his uncle.

"Talk to you outside for a minute?" Wayne asks.

"Yeah." Eddie sets his bag and other lover aside and follows Wayne outside. You stare at the door nervously while your mom packs a meal in Tupperware for Wayne to take with him.

When they return, Eddie looks shy, like a kid who's been coached on how to thank relatives for a gift he didn't really want. He takes his seat, and Wayne hovers in the doorway.

"Thank you again for takin' him in, ma'am. He gives you any trouble, you give me a call."

You smirk. Eddie blushes furiously and refuses to look in your direction.

Your mom laughs warmly. "Please. Eddie's never any trouble. We're always happy to have him." She hands the Tupperware container to Wayne. "Take this."

"Ma'am, I--"

"Take it." You're pleased to see that the Don't Argue With Me Voice works on grown-ups too.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Now Eddie's the one smirking, and Wayne's the one blushing.

"Alright," Wayne rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, "I gotta get goin'. Thank you again, ma'am. Call if you need anything. And you?" Eddie looks up to see his uncle pointing at him. "Be good."

Eddie nods, and Wayne leaves with his Tupperware meal.

The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, and afterwards, you and Eddie pick up the Wayne-delivered goods and return to your room to pretend to finish your homework.

"Where can I…?" Eddie spins around in the middle of your room, looking for a safe place to stash Sweetheart.

"Anywhere you want," you smile, placing his bag of clothes in your desk chair and dropping onto the bed. "Mi casa es… Sweetheart's casa?"

He settles her in a corner, then comes to join you on the edge of the bed. He lets out a sigh that it seems like he's been holding for hours. You wrap an arm around his back and rest your chin on his shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He leans against you. "Wayne thinks he'll fuck off in a few days. Most of his old buddies are either dead or locked up. He's staying at the shitty motel by the laundromat. Wayne says he'll probably go back to my grandma's when he runs out of money."

"You have a grandma?" you ask.

Eddie waits a beat.

"That's what you got out of that?"

"You've never mentioned her."

He shrugs, making your head bob with his shoulder. "Didn't like my mom. Didn't like me. Don't know much about her."

"What's Wayne think about him being back?"

"Same thing I do. Wish he'd get hit by a fuckin' truck."

You're rubbing your hand up and down his back when a voice calls from the hall.

"I'm watching Dawn of the Dead, if you losers wanna quit sucking face long enough to enjoy some real entertainment."

You lift your head from Eddie's shoulder. "Wanna?"

"Does it mean I don't have to finish my history homework?" he asks hopefully.

"I was gonna skim the chapter and summarize for you anyway."

"Fuck yeah," he grins.

You head to the living room, get comfortable on the couch, and lose yourselves in zombieland for the next two hours. Not what you would've picked for a soothing distraction from a horrifying reality, but it seems to work for Eddie.

He seems calmer as you get ready for bed. You stand together at the bathroom sink to brush your teeth, letting the toothpaste dribble out of your mouths and growling like zombies at each other in the mirror.

This is, of course, when your mother walks by to say goodnight: When you've both got toothpaste dripping off your chins.

"I don't even want to know," she shakes her head, trying and failing to conceal her smile. "Everything's locked up, I'm going to bed." She doesn't usually announce that everything's locked up, but you appreciate her trying to pass it off as normal for Eddie's benefit.

"G'night," you both gurgle through your foam-filled mouths. She lightly smacks her own forehead with her palm and walks away laughing. You lean forward to spit and grin at each other in the mirror.

Once the lights are off and you're in bed, Eddie practically crawls on top of you. You hold him tight and stroke his hair, finding that one spot on his scalp that's been known to knock him out. It works. You hope his dreams are much happier than his reality as you begin to drift off to the sound of his steady breathing.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck."

You open your eyes to a strange chant and suddenly remember that Eddie is supposed to be with you. You can't feel him. You roll out of bed and turn on the lamp. He's kneeling on the mattress, hair a mess.

"Turn around," he orders. "Don't look."

"Eddie, what's going on?"

"Turn around!"

You're in such a panic, you can't just turn your back on him. Your eyes drift from his frantic eyes to the wet spot he's trying to shield with his body. When your eyes meet his again, he crumbles.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," he cries.

"Babe, it's okay," you begin.

"I'm so fucking sorry, just let me get my shit and I'll go," he continues.

"Eddie, would you stop?"

"I wish I was fucking dead, I'm so fuc--"

"Eddie! Stop!" Your sharp tone scares him enough to make him stop rambling.

You step toward a corner of the bed and pull the sheet back to reveal what's underneath.

"Look. Mattress pad. Easy fix. By morning, we can pretend it never happened."

He looks from the white corner of the fabric to you, and then back again. His mouth opens and closes several times.

You lean against your dresser and speak softly, resisting the urge to close the distance and embarrass him further. "You're aware that I hemorrhage for a significant amount of time every month, right?"

He nods.

"Sometimes I bleed through. My last mattress looked like such a murder scene, Mom was afraid to transport it across state lines. It's not a big deal. I go through this all the time."

He sniffs.

"Why don't you go hop in the shower? Just put your clothes in the hamper, and I'll throw a load of laundry in."

He starts to protest.

"Nobody'll suspect a thing," you cut him off before he can even begin. "I go through this at least once a month. It's practically expected of me. Nobody'll know."

He looks downward, and you let him consider his options.

"Can you turn around?" he asks quietly.

"Yep."

You turn your back and hear him rustling through his paper bag, and then hear the door open and close. You strip the sheets - only the bottom sheet had any traces of his shame - and ball them up.

You weren't lying; this does happen occasionally. Perhaps not as often as you implied, but enough that nobody would raise an eyebrow at the washing machine going at 3 am. You clean the spot on the mattress pad, change the sheets, re-make the bed, and grab clean pajamas. You'll throw your current ones in with the load, to support your 'It Was Me' story, should anyone question it. (They won't, but it would probably make Eddie feel better.)

"Did any get on you?" He'd crept back into your room so quietly, you hadn't even noticed him. He's eyeing the fresh stack of pajamas you've placed on top of the dresser.

"Nope," you smile, turning around. "Figured we could do with a complete re-set. I'll be right back."

You grab the sheets in one hand and your pajamas in the other, and head to the bathroom to collect Eddie's clothes.

Four minutes later, you return to your room. Eddie is sitting on the floor, leaning against your dresser, his knees to his chest. You sit next to him, but not close enough to touch him. Not yet.

"Please don't beat yourself up over this," you beg. "It's not a big deal."

"Fucking embarrassing."

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

He doesn't respond. You stretch your legs out in front of you, cross your ankles, and get comfortable.

"You know I'm gonna marry you one of these days, right?"

Still nothing.

"What do you reckon our life expectancy is? I figure we've got what, maybe 50 years ahead of us? That's a lot of time."

You place your hand on the floor between you, palm up, to see if he'll take it. He doesn't.

"I'm gonna love you forever," you inform him. "Sickness, health, weird haircuts, awful tattoos, all that jazz. I will love you if you suddenly develop a fondness for Madonna or disco dancing. I'll even love you if you become that guy who brings an acoustic guitar to parties and expects everyone to sit around and listen to him. Actually, maybe not with that one. Please don't be that guy." You pause, hoping for a laugh. When it doesn't come, you clear your throat and continue. "Point is, there's almost nothing that could make me stop loving you. This, right here? Doesn't change a thing. I fucking love you. Get used to it."

He lets it sink in, and then he sighs. Finally, he reaches for your hand. Your fingers lace together. You look over at him, and he slowly meets your eye.

"I fucking love you too."

"You better, Munson," you wink.

He smiles a tiny smile.

"Ready to go back to bed?"

He hesitates and asks, "Can I go out and smoke first?"

"Baby, you're a refugee, not a prisoner. You don't have to ask permission to leave."

"Right," he groans, hauling himself off the floor. He holds out his hands to help you up, and you take them.

"Do you want company, or do you need a minute?" you ask once you're standing.

He shrugs, looking at the floor.

"Because that's okay," you smile, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face.

"What's okay?"

"Needing a minute," you explain. "I just announced my intention to lock you down forever. We're probably gonna occasionally need a minute to ourselves."

"You can come with me," he whispers, kissing your forehead.

You follow him to the back door, put on your jackets and shove your feet into your shoes, and step out into the darkness. You sit next to each other on the porch steps, resting your head on his shoulder and huddling together for warmth as Eddie smokes in silence. It's pretty peaceful out tonight. The black sky is cloudless and dotted with stars. The air feels clean and crisp. Eddie's body provides just enough heat that you're not too bothered by the cold.

He seems calmer after he smokes his cigarette down to the butt, but he uses the tip to light another. It's going to be a long night. You press your fingers between your thighs, starting to feel the chill set in.

"You know the Speedway just this side of the county line?"

A run-down gas station with a cracked parking lot and a flickering neon sign comes to mind. Yeah. You know of it, but you've never been in. Gareth had suggested dropping in for snacks once when you passed by, but Eddie had said everything in there was overpriced and kept driving. You hadn't thought anything of it at the time; you and Eddie are 7-Eleven people, after all.

"Yeah," you whisper.

Eddie pauses so long, you wonder if he's reconsidering telling you whatever he was about to reveal.

"We were on a beer run," he says eventually. "Dad was already hammered. Ran over our mailbox and took out the neighbor's trash can on the way out. Swerved all over the road. I used to think it was fun, riding like that, but looking back I'm surprised nobody died." Eddie stops to take a long drag. "I stuck a pack of Sno-Balls under my shirt while Dad was paying for his beer. You know, those pink coconut cakes?" He glances at you for confirmation, and you nod. "The thought of those things makes me sick now. But when you're that hungry, they look fuckin' amazing. Anyway, the cashier spotted me and said something. Dad's face… I mean, it was already red from the drinking. But it looked like his head was going to explode. Eyes poppin' out of his head, vein throbbing in his neck. He grabbed me by the hair and just started whalin' on me, right there in the middle of the store. I heard people yelling, but I… I kinda just scrunched my eyes shut and waited for it to be over, like I always did. And then when I opened them again, Hop had the old man pinned to the floor."

Eddie sniffles and drags his sleeve across his face.

"I know you've never seen my dad, but he's not a big guy. Hopper could've fucking demolished him. But Hop had a busted lip. Blood just dripping out of his mouth and onto the old man. Sometimes I wonder… if maybe Hop let him get a swing in just 'cause he knew that's what it would take to finally put him away. And it did. He got 15 years for assaulting a cop."

A tear streaks down your cheek, and a smile tugs at your lips.

"Took three guys to haul Dad off. Still kicking and screaming. At me, at Hop, I dunno. But Hopper's the one who took me to Wayne's. Bought me a hot dog to eat on the way, and I think it might've been the best fucking thing I've ever eaten. Even with the sore jaw the old man gave me for getting caught. He always said to never trust a cop, but Hop… he's saved my ass more than once. I guess…" Eddie stubs out cigarette #2 and chuckles. "I guess if you have to leave me for somebody, Hop's a decent choice."

You knock your knee against his, lifting your head off his shoulder to look at him. His eyes are shiny and tear-filled in the moonlight. Is it a crime to think he's beautiful like this?

"What can I say?" you grin. "I've got great taste in men."

Eddie snorts, shakes his head, and stands. He offers you his hands, and you take them and let him help you off the steps. When you stand, he pulls you in for a hug.

"Thanks," he mumbles into your hair. "For tonight. For everything."

You feel like something needs to be said, but you can't find the right words. Instead, you hold him tight and kiss the side of his neck. He melts into you. You stand there, stuck together on your back porch, until a shiver rips through your body.

"Jeez, make us stand outside in the cold all night and get sick, why don't ya," Eddie grumbles, pulling away and putting his hands on your shoulders. He turns you around and pushes you toward the door. "Get inside where it's warm, you crazy woman. You've gotta take care of me for the next 50 years, you don't get to check out early."

You laugh quietly and let him push you inside. You silently shed your jackets and shoes and return to your bedroom, snuggling into your clean sheets and holding onto each other for warmth.

Four days later, Wayne stopped by to tell Eddie that his old man was back in jail where he belonged. Unable to resist the sight of the bar across the street from the shitty motel he was staying in, he'd wandered over, drank too much, and picked a fight with the guy on the stool next to him...

Who happened to be an off-duty Indiana State Trooper, visiting Hawkins to have a drink with an old friend named Jim Hopper.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman

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jinlin-at-the-moon · 3 hours ago

Text

gonna be a bit nitpicky about the last reblog above, but what is tumblr for if not discussions, so...! i feel like many forget to take into account that airplane didn't originally set up binghe as a stallion protagonist of any kind - in fact, in the original outline, luo binghe never had any romantic interests at all, which is a VERY interesting tidbit that i wish more people would remember, because what the hell was the original outline is something that keeps me up at night.

THAT BEING SAID: personally, i do like to go with the interpretation that airplane was fully aware of his own sexuality, because it kind of makes the whole pidw-as-a-stallion-novel thing more tragic given luo binghe is... well, kind of airplane's self insert in many ways. and, honestly, he probably created the commentary aspect of it that is so clear to us as the readers unintentionally - at least at first; honestly he might have leaned into the irony of it all later imo, given his own seeming awareness of how utterly sad everything he writes is (because let's all face it as a community - given what we know of the original draft, airplane shooting towards the sky was a pure whump writer before he got forced into writing bad het porn for money. this is fascinating to me for other reasons, but i've already gone way off topic for this post, so uhm. another time on that maybe).

also, on the original post- i personally see binghe in general as pansexual-but-severely-demiromantic adjacent, given that, like.... i really don't think one could have sex with That Many Women without feeling something, and i also feel like it would be kind of dishonest to completely disregard him being anything but gay-or-straight when he did, in fact, in the end sleep with all those women and marry them. i do still think airplane's gay though, actually, because binghe's eventual sexuality meta-reflecting airplane's need-money-to-survive based writing decisions is deeply interesting to me- but all this leads back to the demiromanticism that op has already mentioned, in that it's likely bingge never formed a deep enough connection with anyone to truly fall in love the same way binghe had a shot to in his own life. (i'm honestly also of the take that bingge doesn't actually fall in love with shen qingqiu in the bingge vs bingmei extra, but AGAIN that would be material for an orginal post and not a reblog that's already full of me yapping for far too long.) so. yeah, he's just really fucking sad in any universe huh

you know I am willing to give luo binghe massive amounts of shit for being totally deranged because he is such a dick but also like, his very favorite person in the world did open their relationship by abusing him for actual years and then just turn on a dime and start spoiling him

and since he never got an explanation for any of that, even before he got thrown off a cliff into hell he had to choose between rejecting one of three positive personal relationships he'd experienced in his entire life (and the only one where he was getting as much support as he needed) or structuring his understanding of personal interaction so that history was actually cool and okay somehow, and like

literally anyone in that situation would have come out with some fucked-up norms about relationships and boundaries. i can only blame him so much for not knowing where lines ought to happen! his dataset is fucked.

#🐠#svsss #svsss meta #fishy meta #if anyone actually reads me YAPPIN thank u for the indulgence

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burreauxwrites · 2 days ago

Text

“LOATHING” - (joe burrow x oc)

CHAPTER THREE - “thru the phone”

word count: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ (MDNI)! perv!joe, a wet dream happens, joe has a voice kink, jerking off, over the phone stuff…joe is just really horny this chapter 😭

winnie sighs as she walks into her physics class, spotting a seat next to joe and getting her things out. she had been pushed and almost trampled by all the tall students roaming the halls. it was annoying, but thankfully, she made it.

“god, winnie,” joe snickers, looking at winnie’s disheveled and frustrated appearance, “you look like you just woke up.”

“well. i did. but also, people roam the halls with no sense of awareness,” she groans, putting her book on top of her desk, “or urgency.”

joe chuckles, knowing that winnie hates getting to her classes. even when they were in middle school together, winnie struggled with transitioning between classes.

“yeah? well, that’s the life of a student for you.” he nudges her shoulder, getting a small smile from her.

oddly enough, there’s something about winnie. he’s not sure if it's the fact that she styles her hair, or if she does a bit of makeup, or if it’s her fidgeting. maybe it’s the small pout she does when focusing. but she looks…pretty. really pretty.

joe watches as kaori continues getting her things out, deciding to take a brief moment to speak up.

“hey…you got a volleyball game today, right?”

winnie looks at joe, nodding with a smile. “mhm…why?”

joe grins, raising an eyebrow. “i’m gonna come and watch.”

her gaze softens. truth be told, she really did want joe to be there. she would never say that part out loud, of course. that’s straight up embarrassing. but hearing that he’ll be attending the game did make her heart swell with joy.

“really?” she asks, leaning back in her seat, “i’ll hold you to that.”

“trust me. i’ll always be around if it means i’m supporting you.” joe affirms, his eyes gleaming with a specific fondness to them.

for a moment, a brief moment, the both of them were locking eyes. they may have been looking at each other for longer than necessary, but they couldn’t look away. it’s like they were magnetized.

the bell rings, interrupting their moment. despite this, they share a brief smile, their faces both being bright red.

———————

winnie was warming up with the team as more and more people filled the gym. saying she was nervous would be an understatement. nonetheless, she’s aware of what she needs to do. after all, she finally made the team! this was the exact moment that she’s been waiting for.

as she practices hitting and serving the ball, she notices joe walk in with his friends, ja’marr and justin. his hair is styled with a few curls against his forehead, and he is wearing a sweatshirt with some black joggers. though his outfit is simple, winnie finds it…attractive?

no. snap out of it winnie. now is not the time to be ogling your friend.

as she continues warming up, her friend alina noticed her staring.

“winnie,” she asks, “you don’t happen to like joe, do you?”

with a pause, winnie holds the ball, looking at alina in shock; she wasn’t expecting that question from her.

“no. we’re just friends. why?”

alina rolls her eyes, “just friends my ass.”

in an exasperated sigh, winnie serves the ball over the net. “we are! we go way back. we had a falling out, but we rekindled our friendship.”

“and? i just saw the way you looked at him.”

huh. she did? winnie didn’t think she was that obvious. nonetheless she shrugs. “i mean. it’s normal to find your friend good looking.”

“well,” alina pauses, looking at joe for a minute before looking back at winnie, “you do know that you’ll have to deal with emma, right? she’s crazy obsessed with joe.”

she scowls a little at that. that was a very true statement. winnie isn’t dumb; she’s aware of the fact that many women are attracted to joe on campus. and sometimes, he plays into their attraction. it was something she never ever understood, but she just knew that it was something that he did.

as far as emma goes, she stops at nothing when it comes to getting what she wants. she’d beg, borrow, steal, lie…whatever it takes. but winnie doesn’t get why that bothers her so much. her and joe are only friends, so even if emma does want joe, she shouldn’t care…right?

with a small shrug of her shoulders, winnie speaks, “she can have him.”

alina scoffs, knowing that winnie is putting up a front. she doesn’t press on the subject anymore though.

meanwhile, in the stands, joe was…struggling. ja’marr and justin were laughing about something, probably a dumb instagram post or video. but he couldn’t help but focus on winnie as she warms up.

the way her hair is tied back and her stare is so focused. it’s attractive to joe. but even worse (or better), it was something about those shorts she was wearing. they hugged her curves in the best way possible, leaving nothing to his imagination.

in a way, joe felt guilty for being the perv he was being. this is his friend he’s thinking about. but with winnie looking the way she does? he’s a goner.

“joe…? joe!”

snapping from his thoughts, joe looks at justin and ja’marr. “huh…?”

“you good? you were staring hella hard at winnie,” justin chuckles.

“eh. can’t say i blame him.” ja’marr shrugs, causing joe to slap his hand against his chest roughly.

“i was not staring.” joe denies, shaking his head and folding his arms.

justin puts his hands up. “i’m not judging, man. i mean, she does look pretty good from here.”

joe huffs, waving their words off. “okay, guys that’s enough. i was looking for a very brief moment.”

and as if on cue, justin and ja’marr share a glance at each other. without words, they seem to agree that joe isn’t being smooth like he thinks he is.

———————

their hands were all over each other’s bodies, their lips floating across the other’s skin. the feeling of winnie’s nails dragging along joe’s arms made him shiver, his spine tingling from the excitement and pleasure.

“god…joe,” winnie gasps, straddling joe’s lap as the two sit on his bed.

joe chuckles, his hand on her hip slowly drifting down to her panty-clad core and rubbing very small circles. just small enough to suffice, but still be a tease. and the sensation makes her legs jolt slightly, her lips slightly parted as a breathy “oh, fuck” leaves them.

“you have no idea what it does to me, seeing you in your cute little skirts and stuff,” he whispers, watching as winnie begins to grind against his hand slightly, “or…maybe you do have an idea.”

he takes his free hand, cupping her breast gently under her bra. a soft hum of approval at the soft, supple skin, his thumb massaging her nipple. “the way you act so innocent and nonchalant…but you and i both know what you want.”

winnie’s body trembles at joe’s teasing words and touches, her mind cloudy with nothing but thoughts of him. thoughts about his hands and his lips, thoughts of his eyes piercing into her.

“joe…please,” winnie mewls, looking at joe with a dazed, love drunk look.

“please what?” joe, smirks, leaning in towards winnie’s ear, “if you want me to fuck you, then you better say it loud and clear.”

and with that, winnie wastes no time, nodding and looking at joe, “yes…yes, please, joe! i-i want…need you to fuck me so bad,” she begs, her breath hitching with every pinch and touch joe leaves on her sensitive frame.

“alright, princess. but only because you asked so nicely.”

as joe hooks his fingers around winnie’s underwear-

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

joe shoots up from his bed, looking over at his clock on his nightstand and groaning. he slams his hand on it, turning it off and rubbing his hands over his eyes. he looks down and…

holy shit.

whatever that dream was, it did a number on him. he groans, looking at his morning wood in frustration. having a wet dream about your friend and now having to deal with a boner because of it was not on his bucket list.

he looks down and notices that winnie is calling. and so, he picks up the phone.

“hey, winnie…what’s up?” he asks, still drowsy and annoyed from his dream.

“not much, just…wanted to talk to you. i know we have a physics test soon and i was wondering if we could go over some stuff?”

of course, winnie was up early. studying. but she sounds so pretty and charming, like usual. it pisses joe of to no end, but it also…arouses him.

“sure,” joe nods, his hand slowly, oh so slowly moving down his body, “care to tell me what you remember so far?”

“yeah,” winnie answers, and joe can hear her rummaging through some notes, “so, we’re going over thermodynamics…”

joe would occasionally nod and go along as winnie spoke, hooked on every word she’d say. and he knows that this would be a perverted thing to do, but he can’t help it. not when winnie sounds so perfect.

his hand gently wrapped around his cock, and he swipes some of the pre-cum off the tip. he lets out a small groan as winnie continued going over her notes, stroking his length. the reality of what he’s doing causes his cheeks to turn red, but he doesn’t feel like stopping; he’s too entranced by her to stop. and plus he needs to release some tension from that wet dream.

“there are four different thermodynamic processes, and-”

“fuck…” joe moans, perhaps too loudly. because there’s a moment of lingering silence. “um-”

“joe…are you…jerking off?”

shit. he’s been caught. he can’t lie. winnie isn’t that dumb. she may be a virgin, but she’s not stupid.

“um…yeah?”

“oh…” winnie murmurs, though she doesn’t sound disgusted. rather…intrigued? she eventually speaks, “uh…so should i keep speaking, or…?”

“god, yes…keep talking,” joe nods, sounding a bit desperate, not that he cares.

though joe couldn’t see it, winnie’s cheeks were dusted over with a slight pink shade. she’s never had anyone be aroused by her voice, but it feels…nice? and besides, it’s joe.

“okay…so as i was saying, there’s four thermodynamic processes…”

soon enough, winnie could hear joe’s heavy breathing through her phone. the way he mumbled out small hums and curses made the hair on her body stand up. the thought if having such an effect on someone was a different, but good feeling. even if it was just a friend.

with a loud groan, joe finally comes, riding out his orgasm as spurts of cum land on his stomach and wrist. once he finished, he sighs, resting against his pillow.

“so…you good now?” winnie asks, waiting for joe’s response.

“yeah,” he pants out, “i am…thanks for helping out with that, baby.”

baby…? the name caused winnie’s heart to thump, and she didn’t know how to respond, other than a small “you’re welcome.”

joe looks at his phone, his eyes widening. “shit. i’m supposed to meet justin and ja’marr for breakfast,” he says, quickly sitting up and using some tissue to wipe himself off. “i’ll talk with you soon, okay, winwin?”

“okay…bye!” winnie replies, to which joe bids his farewell too, and hangs up.

as for winnie, she sits on her bed with her notes. her face is warm and her legs clenched together.

it seems like she too has her own little problem now.

we are so back guys :]

#joe burrow #joe burrow fic #bengals #cincinnati bengals #joe brrr #joe burrow x oc #joey b #joe burrow lsu #joey burrow #nfl #joe burrow bengals #lsu joe #lsu!joe

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ptergwen · 20 hours ago

Note

hiii

so this might me dirty but hear me out

It has gotten to me that mans come can meddle w the woman’s dna

so with this as an inspiration, and I know it’s kinda cliche but

stark!reader suddenly having spider senses or smh (not pregnancy)

oh and it’s for Tom Holland spider man

have an amazing dayy

a parker thing

ask box | taglist | blurb masterlist | main masterlist

w/c: ?

warnings: smut (p in v unprotected, lowkey dom!peter and reader), swearing

a/n: jump scare if you didn't see my post lmao i'm back y'all! i missed u guys and missed writing lots so i’ll be here from time to time again :) i had so much fun with this req thank you for the idea! much love to u all <3

you catch yourself dozing off and jerk your head up instinctively. one short, loud snore passes your lips as you do so, eyes opening wide. you blink your tired eyes a few times as you readjust to the harsh lighting.

ugh, you fell asleep in the lab, something you always chastise peter and your dad for doing. they're notorious for their long hours spent messing around with stark tech. you've lost count of how many times you've woken up to an empty spot in bed where your boyfriend should be, instead finding him fast asleep surrounded by cups of coffee and a delirious tony still on the grind.

tonight, you're the stark who's in the lab past their bedtime. you had the day to yourself and decided to use your free time to upgrade your suit. it had had a few hiccups during the team's last mission, so you wanted to work on it before the next one. what was supposed to be a few minor tweaks turned into a whole day of tweaking.

you scoff at yourself and wipe some drool that crusted onto your chin. oddly enough, you almost instantly refocus on the screen in front of you. it's been like this for most of the day. you're way more concentrated than usual for some reason, more aware. you figure it's because peter has been out on patrol and couldn't distract you.

"are you finished for the night, boss? you aren't usually here this late."

"i know, but i’m gonna stay a little longer. i’ll be done soon...i think."

friday dims the lights directly overhead so they aren't as harsh. you smile.

"thanks, fri."

you sit up in your seat, scooting in closer to the screen displaying your suit. you carefully look over the prototype and pick up a pen to write yourself some notes. when you go to put down the pen, it sticks to your palm. you shake your hand to try to get it off. it stays stuck.

"huh."

you use your other hand to pry the pen off of you.

"weird."

first you have heightened senses, now you're sticky. if you didn't have ordinary stark dna, you'd think you were part arachnid like peter.

you're not sure why, but you suddenly stand up and turn towards the main doors to the lab. they slide open a few seconds later. peter walks inside, spider suit on and mask off. he pads over to you with a soft smile.

"there you are. friday said i could find you down here."

peter pecks your lips and envelopes you in a hug. you sign contentedly, face nuzzled into his neck and arms winding around him.

"yeah, she's probably sick of me. i've been down here all day."

"you're really locked in, huh? how's the suit coming along?"

peter's fingers rub up and down your back ever so lightly. just the small touch practically sends shivers down your spine.

"good. fixed everything and double checked, then triple checked. started adding some new stuff, too."

"new features? like what?"

"you know the one i was telling you about..."

you trail off as peter's hands slide down to your ass. he pulls you in closer to himself, letting his hands rest there. you peek up at him, heart speeding up.

"go on, i’m listening."

peter gives your ass a gentle squeeze. it's an innocent gesture, really, but your senses are going crazy right now and you can't help but to get turned on. you always tease peter about how easily he's turned on. if this is what it feels like for him, now you understand.

"hm, i'm bored of talking about the suit. tell me about patrol."

"it was good! got a lot of action today. i mean, i guess that's not good 'cause that means there's more crime and stuff, but y'know. anyway..."

you stare at peter's lips, but don't listen to a word he's saying. it's the first time today you can't focus. he's pressed right up against you in his damned tight spider suit, and his hands are still on your ass, and you're so hypersensitive and hyper aware. all you can think about is how bad you need him.

"y/n? you okay?"

peter must have noticed you spacing out.

your gaze flicks between his eyes and lips before your own lips wordlessly capture his in a searing kiss. peter lets out a breathy chuckle, caught a bit off guard by your abruptness. he deepens the kiss for a moment, then pulls back with a look of amusement. you bite back a cheeky smile.

"horny."

peter's features form a smirk.

"i got you, baby."

he kisses you again. his tongue tangles with yours, a sigh passing your lips. peter lifts you up, grip becoming firmer on your ass. you wrap your legs around his waist. he kisses down your neck until he finds a spot he wants to mark. you tilt your head to the side so he has more access. peter's lips suck roughly on your skin, teeth nipping at it playfully. you let out a shaky breath.

peter presses one last kiss to what's sure to become a hickey to soothe it. you tilt his chin up towards you again, lips smashing into his, holding him in place by the back of his head. he carries you to the nearest table while your intertwined lips move desperately against each other's. you sneak a hand down to the bulge in his suit, earning a groan.

"one sec, lemme get this off."

peter sets you down on the table and quickly strips off his spider suit. you take your own clothes off and toss them aside, left only in your bra and panties. peter comes to stand between your legs. he slips your panties to the side, middle finger collecting your wetness as he kisses you again. his finger slides into you with ease and begins to pump. you moan into the kiss, tugging at his hair.

"already so wet, baby. don't even have to get you warmed up."

peter's finger curls inside you, cockiness evident in his tone and on his features. you tug on some hair at the nape of his neck.

"stop teasing, parker."

"can't take it when the roles are reversed, stark?"

something takes over you in that moment, the same something that's been coursing through your veins all day. you grab both of peter's hands and hold them in place above his head. your grip is tight around his wrists, too tight for him to break free of it. a noise almost like a growl escapes you.

"shut up and fuck me, or i’ll fuck you."

peter meets your wild eyes, his pupils equally as dilated.

"do it."

you promptly pull peter up to the table with you. you push him back so he lies down, pinning his arms down at his sides. his chest rises and falls, breathless.

"woah, what's gotten into you today? not that i’m complaining, but, woah."

"i know, right? i thought you were supposed to have super strength."

peter grabs you by your hips and sits up, seating you in his lap. you wiggle your hips in his grasp, but he digs his fingers into your sides so you can't move. peter's voice drops low.

"what was that?"

you breathe out a low laugh.

"nothing."

you dip your head down to press your forehead to peter's. he smiles, satisfied with your answer. you wrap your hand around his hard cock and stroke him. peter's lips ghost over yours, his breathing heavy.

"wanna feel you, y/n/n."

peter slides his hands up to your waist so you can move again. you smile knowingly. you slip off your panties before you reposition yourself, your legs on either side of him. you line up peter's cock with your entrance.

"wanna feel you too, pete."

you lower yourself down onto peter. you both let out little sighs and moans as he fills you up.

he always feels so good inside you, but this time is even better, even more intense.

you arch your back to find the right angle, shifting backwards a bit. once you're both comfortable, you begin to roll your hips. peter exhales a breath he was holding, lifting his hips up to help you out. your movements are slow, fluid. peter supports you by the small of your back, eyes hooded and lips parted for air.

"fuck, i'm not gonna last long."

"me neither."

he kisses you, softly but with so much passion. you let your eyes flutter closed and kiss back. you place your feet flat on the table for more stability and straighten your back, starting to bounce on his cock.

"y/n..."

peter's voice comes out almost like a whine. you chuckle at that.

"i know."

you grab onto peter's shoulders for more support as you move, up and down, back and forth. peter leaves sloppy kisses along the side of your neck. the once quiet lab is now filled with both of your moans and the sounds of your wetness every time his cock thrusts into you. you're both so close, and you can hardly hold out any longer.

peter grabs your hips to stop your movements. he takes over, thrusting up into you at the same delicious pace, only he's the one in control. you let out a series of short, high pitched moans, head thrown back as peter's cock hits the right spot in you over and over again.

"that's it, y/n/n. sound so pretty, baby."

peter half speaks and half groans. you reply with your own noise of content, squeezing yourself around his cock as you reach your high. peter is close to his.

"god, fuck."

he's panting. his thrusts speed up a bit until his hips stop moving altogether. he pushes deeper into you with one final moan, his cum filling you up, making you feel warm inside. you both recently agreed he could finish in you; it's a new level of intimacy.

"fuck, baby. woah."

you bury your face in peter's neck in response. you try to catch your breath, falling forward into his arms.

"oh my god, pete. that was..."

"yeah."

peter hugs your waist. he slowly pulls out of you, making you wince at the new emptiness.

"sorry."

he peppers tender kisses to the side of your head. you remove your face from his neck.

"it's okay."

you ruffle peter's hair with a tired smile. he kisses your cheek, smiling back. you give him another peck on his lips. you yawn, today's and tonight's activities catching up with you once again.

"aw, you tired?"

"mhm. you must be, too, spidey."

"exhausted. let's get cleaned up, then we'll go to bed?"

"sounds perfect."

peter helps you down from the table. you quickly step into your panties in case any cum leaks out of you. he picks his suit up off the floor.

"okay, that was insanely good. i mean, it always is, but something was different. i wonder what it was."

peter shimmies into his suit so his lower half is covered. you're putting on the rest of your clothes.

"i don't know, i’ve just been super on my shit today. really focused and stuff."

"explains why you were so locked in on your suit."

"that might just be a stark thing. actually, it's a parker thing too."

you poke peter's chest playfully. you collect some of your things from your work area, some miscellaneous supplies sticking to your palms as you do.

"why does this keep happening?"

peter watches curiously as you huff and shake paper clips off your palms.

"funny, that reminds me of when i first got my powers. took me a while to figure out how to control it, being sticky."

"uh huh. did you spill web fluid last time you were down here or something?"

"i don't think so, but it would have dissolved by now if i did. i haven't been in the lab for a couple days."

"oh. maybe it was someone else."

peter quirks a brow.

"i don't see any web fluid over there, y/n/n."

you turn to face peter.

"so why am i sticky?"

between this, your strength, and your heightened senses, peter puts it together. you have powers.

his spider powers.

"that might also be a parker thing. more specifically, a spider-man thing."

"you don't mean... no."

if peter is saying what you think he's saying, that confirms what you had thought earlier.

"uh, yeah."

peter crosses over to you. your eyebrows knit together.

"we must share some dna."

"but how? that wouldn't be possible unless we were, like, related... ew! please don't tell me we're fucking related!"

"baby, baby." peter laughs softly, taking one of your hands in his. "stop freaking out."

"you should be freaking out too! you were just inside me, peter, fucking me raw! you came in me!"

"exactly."

peter's voice is way too calm for your liking.

"exactly? what do you mean 'exactly'?"

"think about it. sperm is made up of dna."

"so what?"

"well, i wasn't born with this dna. it got mutated by the spider bite. so no, we're definitely not related."

you tentatively soften your gaze, allowing peter to lace his fingers through yours.

"since i got my powers from the mutation, i guess you got them too when i started finishing in you."

you gasp, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

"you mean you mutated my dna? you have radioactive cum?"

"something like that. you're not mad?"

you toy with peter's fingers, looping an arm around his neck.

"nah, it's kind of cool now that i know what it is. you're gonna have to teach me how to use the powers, though."

"of course." peter returns your smile. "now that you've got new powers, you gotta rebrand. maybe you could call yourself spider-woman."

"you'd like that, wouldn't you? come up with something more original."

peter's arms wrap around your middle, smile growing into a toothy grin.

"you could also use mrs. parker. it's gonna be your name someday, anyways."

you put your other arm around peter's neck with a laugh.

"mrs. parker, i like that."

(too lazy to use tags lmao)

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