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skelly-words · 8 months ago

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Stuck on a Desert Island (Bring Your Tentacle To Work Pt. 4)

idk why my brain's been so empty lately this took me a year, anyway... this is for u bae @ellieangelbee (also an ask that i accidentally deleted but it was prob you too)

this is so weird and random, but i wrote it with my whole heart

tags/warning- monster fucking, non-con, aphrodisiacs, feat. random coworker (f/f), it's algae/slime stuff, idk i'm being creative

wc- 1.5k

You've been hiking for hours, trudging behind your coworker through the beachy forest. The two of you walk along a postcard coastline somewhere in the Virgin Islands.

You knew it was gonna be an 'adventure.' That's what your boss, Amelia, had called it when pitching the idea to you two. 'The adventure of a lifetime.' Experimenting with alien life was difficult and risky, but if you managed to find a useful botanical specimen... For now, you can only dream of the cushy office and generous 401k plan.

So you're hiking in 90 degree weather and humidity that makes it feel like you're drowning on dry land. Your shorts stick and chafe against your inner thighs. Every few steps you're stretching the spandex back down only for it to bunch up again. Your coworker walks a few paces ahead. A line of sweat drags down the back of her tank top as she flips through a book to identify native flora.

It's nearly sunset when you stumble upon something new. A couple moonpools reflect the golden sky. Luminescent algae grows out from the pools, covering the entire rock interior of the cool cave. Near the pools, the glowing green algae is most dense, thinning to a sparse lawn of polyps at the edges of the organism.

"What is it?"

You watch her set her satchel down. She pulls out a few containers to gather samples. You quickly kneel near in the mouth of the cave to help her. The ocean is at your backs and the open maw ahead is lined with the blue-green glow of algae.

"I dunno. We're just surveying the area. This is..." She trails off and drops the specimen jar. "Does something smell to you?"

You both take a deep inhale and shuffle forward toward the fragrant pools. The algae is slippery and you have to crawl on hands and knees. The goo coats your skin, getting everywhere, making your clothes cling uncomfortably. And there's still that funny smell. It gets more distinct the closer you are to the pools, but stays light on the air. When you sit by the edge of the moonpool, you can almost taste it. Cacao butter, Brazil nuts, toasted coconut. Your coworker catches your shoulder before you can lean in.

"Wait. We don't know what it is, right?" She sounds far away even though her breath bats against the back of your ear. "Lemme try first."

You watch her dip a hand into the pool. First up to her wrist, then elbow, and finally reaching down and pulling up a handful of the sandy bottom. It drips from her hand, making waves of light ripple through the algae wherever it lands. It looks beautiful, almost hypnotizing.

"Wow," you mumble as the water trickles from her fingers.

Your hand dips into the water next. Dribbles run from your fingertips at first, handprints on the ground as your crawl around the edge of the pool. It's even more humid in the cave and the temperature rises as the setting sun centers itself in the opening.

You take another deep breath, trying to shake the fogginess, finally being hit by the exhaustion of the hike. The air is so thick with that scent of sweet oil. You lean down and splash water over your face, letting it run down your neck and chest. Your nipples perk up under your tank top as the icy water hits you.

"Let's just..." You trail off, almost forgetting what you meant to say. "Let's just get samples and..."

You look toward your coworker, trying to remember her name, what company you work for, the point of collecting samples. The shorts you're wearing need to come off. They're so itchy. All of your clothes makes your skin crawl, and your companion feels the same way as the layers start to peel away. The space between you narrows with the shifting floor. The spongy floor dips slightly and you slide together into the divot.

The slime coming off the algae gathers at the bottom and along the sides so every movement inches you closer. Your ass hits the floor with a splash and the liquid coats you thickly, tingling on your bare skin. You want to cry out in disgust and tell your friend to get it off, but you still can't remember what to call her or what the hell the two of you are doing. Plus, she's also covered in the stuff, more and more so as she tries to drag herself out of the small pit in the algae.

"We're stuck." She comes to rest against you at the bottom. Her legs tangle up with yours, scrunched into a pretzel in front of you. Her butt sticks up like she's trying to show you the mess of slick she's collected between her legs. You can tell the viscous blue slime from the needy stuff dribbling out of her pussy. Your fingers drag through her slit. It’s so wet. Strings of slick stick to your fingers as she jerks away.

"Where are we?" She asks, flipping to face you.

"Um, who are we?" Your hand drifts up to your mouth and you taste you dirty digits.

"We, uh- well, I- I'm..." The other girl opens her legs to slide closer to you and the walls grow around you. Her arms wrap you into a hug and a leg slips over your hips to pull your bodies flush.

The touch makes you feel complete, so soothed and comforted. Tendrils begin to sprout, thin and wiry and wrapping around you. They twist together, one over the other, into vines that snake over your body. Your wet cunt presses against hers when the appendages yank your legs apart. The puddle of goo squishes when you shift and grind together, humping against each other as the aphrodisiac in the slime makes your clit pulse harder.

She groans, trying to lift herself off the bottom of the pit as the floor swells. Peaks begin to rise out of the gummy algae to bump at your holes. Her efforts to get up force you to sit back harder on the lumps. They stretch and stiffen in your pussy. Both of them worm their way up to your cervix before swelling up to full size.

You can hardly take being spread this wide. Your friend rubs her engorged clit against yours. She grinds on the tentacles stuffing you full and makes them press deeper. The bumpy texture distracts her from the tendrils shoving into her until they start to expand. One pushes into her tight pussy and the other fucks her ass open. She takes it so well, latching onto your nipple to muffle her moans.

"I'm c-cu-" Your hips buck up involuntarily as you cum as you grasp blindly at the slippery walls. Your cunny is too full, clenching weakly around the two limbs. One of them jumps inside you, twitching and vibrating. A load of thick cum empties out of it as the tendril shrinks back to its original size.

The glowing goo coats your folds as she drags her puffy mound up and down. She tries to talk around your tit, "I'm so- g-gonna"

More of the thin sprouts work their way inside your puckered ass and spent cunt. Her hand reaches down, spreading her glistening lips apart. She pinches her clit between two fingers as you jump against her. The excited tentacles swell and burst inside you. Your eyes roll back, hips lifting helplessly into the air to meet her carefully guided rhythm.

Her teeth catch on your nipple as she talks. "They're kissing. I'm making them kiss." She goes back to sucking on the hard bud and using her free hand on the other one. She mewls at the sight of your cute clits sliding together. Yours throbs and pulses as she picks up speed. The thick bed of tentacles between you makes it impossible to push your bodies together and she humps you harder, making sure her sloppy cunt presses to yours as she squirts. You moan while her lips drool around you, spurts cum on you, only adding to the shallow pool surrounding your tangled bodies.

The pulse on your clit makes you spill over the edge. A milky ring of cream forms around the vines of algae stuffed inside you. It mixes to a blue cream as you ride them, smearing the juices together.

Your friend has a swell in her stomach. You watch it change as the appendages empty and fill inside of her. There must be at least a dozen in you. If you could see over where she's playing with you, you'd see a matching bulge in your tummy. They feel especially good when they buzz, right before implanting that thick seed.

Her pussy twitches and cums again, this time releasing only a small dribble of piss. It mixes into the slick dripping down your thighs. The puddle just gets deeper. You slosh in it to grind your slutty cunts together because you can't help it. You need more, another release. The spongy tentacles take their turns keeping you full. They’ve made you into a perfect toy, just like your friend. Both of you take at least ten in each gaping hole. And that should be enough. But your hands can’t stay off each other. You pinch and toy with her pink nipples while she massages your cunt. She knows exactly how to make you squirt now, after spending so much time with her hand between your legs. And it's never too much. Every time the overstimulation starts to hurt or your but feels sore, one of the vines jumps and ejaculates. The soothing jelly fixes it up and you're back to being fucked brainless.

You have no idea how you got here, but why would you leave?

A/N- I think this is a fitting close to this series. tysm for 700. maybe vore bc they might've been digested, idk.

#skel writes tentacles #?#is this still tentacles?#monster fucker #monster smut #terato #teratophillia #tentacle smut #tentacular #nsft tentacles #tentacles

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fr04k1e · 26 days ago

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GIGIS WORLD AU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AUGH

AAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH its not even fully done yet i still have like 4 other characters to make but honestly i might scrap or put this project on hiatus i have no motivation to work on it anymore sobs

i will give you guys the ideas i had for the characters i didnt end up making though, and the idea i had for the toon handlers.

Flutter - Gardener, works in the garden and grows/collects seasonings for the kitchen and decoration for the casino customers/staff

R&D - Casino Hosts, working directly with customers to make sure they want to return to the casino and ensuring they have a good experience.

Looey - A comedian/magician on the stage in the disco, a solo preformer. Magician by day and comedian during after hours

Pebble - A security dog working within every part of the casino, with his loud bark he can alert other security of unwanted guests, and using his sharp teeth he can hold them down long enough to deal with them.

Cosmo - A chef in the kitchen, working along with shrimpo. He specializes in pastries, but can also cook other, more healthy foods if needed.

ok thats about it for the toons i didnt end up getting to design. ill ramble more about the actual lore here if anyone cares about that LOL. keep in mind i got like almost nowhere with this so its very VERY vauge and unfinished also im not a good writer whoops

' the basic idea is that the casino had been running fine up untill they had faced a lawsuit, causing them to shut down everything and abandon the casino. Since the toons had been made specifically for the casino they had just been left in there to handle themselves. Eventually, one of the toons had grown curious and decided to tear down one of the machines. After ripping open the back of the machine, black ooze leaked out and covered the bottom of their feet. Not thinking much of it and assuming it was just oil of some kind, they continued, getting the liquid all over their hands and face, along with their legs. After tearing open the machine, they had found little to nothing of interest and left to get themselves cleaned up. However, when they tried to wipe the goo off, it wouldnt budge and instead had covered more of their body. After a short while, they began to feel hollow on the inside and an ache in their bones, what happened afterwards had become contagious and slowly began to infect the whole casino. '

TOON HANDLERS!! they have a whole new purpose here. They work mostly as managers for the toons, each handler has their own line of work and toons to keep track of and train, only 4 have designs tho lol. IGNORE the reindeer names i couldnt think of anything else ok

ok so IN ORDER

Harvey - the bartender, he works with Rodger, Dandy and Sprout. often exhausted, but not rude by any means. mostly quiet and closed off

Prancer - the director, works with Glisten, Poppy, Boxten, Shelly and Looey. a jumpy cheery fella, mostly looking to have fun and trying to be as positive as she can be. bigender monarch

Doner - the (old) director/beauty worker, used to work with Glisten, Poppy, Boxten, Shelly and Teagan, but had been fired after a long time working there due to extreme mistreatment of his toons. although he was closed off, he never seemed to be too angry or aggressive towards other handlers, but when a toon would mess up or act out he would become ruthless without the other handlers knowledge.

Rudolf - the chef, works with Shrimpo, Cosmo and Flutter. a happy and cocky chef who tries his best to make his job entertaining and teaches his toons in more extreme fun ways.

there SHOULDVE been way more but as i said before i dont have motivation to work on this anymore lmao. also glisten canonically has BPD in this my #bpdwarrior

TAG ME IN FANART OR IF YOU DECIDE TO EXTEND THIS AU A LITTLE BIT!! ID LOVE TO SEE IT my twitter is @d1spatches and my tiktok is @0tt3rpaw

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wannaeatramyeon · 7 months ago

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Lookism: I can fix him (no really I can)

G/N. Gun, DG, Sammy, Jakey, Ryuhei, Goo, Vin

You didn't roll up your sleeves, ready to fix the men that came into your life. As if you were some amber or red flag magnet, and you had ample time and energy and patience to sort out their issues. Somehow though, it happened anyway. Slowly. Little by little.

With yourself more of a dubious observer more than anything.

Only a fool would invite someone like Gun into their life and not expect troubles. The pitch black eyes are already an obvious omen.

Except. Gun has second thoughts around you. Peaks of humanity showing through his cracks. Fun for Gun used to be fights and bloodshed. Letting his demons out fully. He can never be completely tamed but he realises there's joy, a bone-deep peace, in other things too.

Namely, your company.

James plays his cards to his chest. As James Lee, as Diego Kang, as whoever he may be in the future.

Hides his intention and true character with a detached, arrogant smile. Buries into himself further with his shiny k-pop persona, not letting anyone see his authentic self.

Your touch first cracked his well polished veneer. Your words and keen eyes, astute and observant, blew the gap wide open.

He realises there's no more hiding with you.

Samuel doesn't lack motivation or discipline with most areas of his life. When it comes to his mental health though, it's sorely lacking. Though, delusional and lacking introspection, he never realised it was a problem until you.

He notices your smile dimming during the beginning of his spirals. Feels your absences as he plummets to rock bottom. Craves you with every part of his being as he soars into mania.

Your worried looks and trembling bottom lip gives him the final push he needs to want to improve.

Being Gapryong's son is a part of who Jake is, irrefutable and undeniable. As much as he likes to convince himself he is nothing like his dad, he has fortunately taken all his best traits and foregone the worst.

However. It takes someone like you to come along, that loves all the parts of him-

(Son of the legend of the Pre-generation, the Boss of Big Deal... And the quietest part, the part of him dimmed and muted through the challenges of life, simply Jake Kim, where he can be as he wants to be.)

-For him to finally accept all parts of himself too.

When Ryuhei crushes, falls, obsesses, he finds it hard to fit the whole image of someone in his head.

All their imperfections and flaws and faults are non-existent in his mind. Which sounds harmless and sweet at first thought, but he could never truly connect with anyone if he is only able to see his own perception of them.

But then you showed him all sides of you, forced him to acknowledge the good with the bad, experience the troughs with the peaks.

Until, over time, he fully sees every facet of you.

Being with Goo is like trying to domesticate a wild animal.

He has glimpses of docility assuming he is well fed and well entertained, though he is still likely to bite the hand that feeds at any moment. Of course, only someone used to getting his way would continue being this... deranged.

You take no prisoners. Uncompromising in the way you should be treated, respected, until Goo has no choice but to also fall in line if he wants to keep you by his side.

Vin keeps himself barbed and prickly. Masks his true feelings, his own insecurities, with jokes and insults. Has made more people cry than he can remember and ignores any guilt with a shrug of his shoulders.

He's not a sociopath. It's just that he's been this way for so long he doesn't know how to be anything else.

You cut through the bullshit, give him no judgement for who he is, how he looks, but how he acts.

His jokes are still rude. Insults still mean. But there's no longer any cruelty.

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koiiiji · 4 months ago

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lookism x teaching them your language

author’s note ; someone here is specially for @imtomiee 💋 also correct me if i used some words wrong way!!

tw ; swearing words on different languages! fluff

GOO KIM — RUSSIAN

evening air was cool, but the vibe in the room was anything but. you were lounging on the couch with Goo, your legs tangled together in a comfortable mess, a playful banter going back and forth as it often did when the two of you were together. Goo, ever the curious one, had recently taken an interest in learning a few words from your native language—russian.

of course, knowing Goo, it wasn’t the polite phrases he wanted to learn.

“so, what’s the next one?” Goo asked, his signature smirk plastered on his face as he leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. you raised an eyebrow, thinking for a moment before deciding to go all in. “alright - alright, how about this one — poshel nahui.”

Goo’s eyes widened slightly, intrigued by the sound of the words. he tried repeating it, stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables. “po…poshel nahui?”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his attempt. “gosh, babe, you’re doing such a great job,” you teased, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “you sure you don’t know russian? or maybe in a previous life been russian?”

Goo’s grin widened, clearly pleased with your praise. “really? what does it mean?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. you tilted your head, giving him a sly smile. “it’s like… sending someone on the dick.”

Goo’s eyes lit up with amusement, and he laughed, the sound rich and warm in the small space. “but i don’t want anyone else except you on my dick!” he declared, his tone both playful and his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. you rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him away, though you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “it’s not necessarily yours, hun,” you quipped, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “you can send them on Gun’s dick.”

the smirk that spread across Goo’s face was devilish, and he let out a low chuckle, clearly entertained by the idea. “oh, i’m definitely using that one,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in to capture your lips in a brief, but heated kiss.

PARK JUNGUN — ARABIC

you and Jungun were lounging on the couch, both scrolling through delivery apps, the familiar debate simmering just below the surface.

“how about we order Italian tonight?” you suggested, your mouth watering at the thought of creamy risotto and cheesy pizza. Jungun’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back with a sly grin. “italian? seriously? we just had that last week. i want sushi,” he declared, his tone dripping with playful arrogance.

you crossed your arms, feeling a familiar annoyance bubble up. “but sushi is so… predictable! italian has variety, flavor, and soul! plus, you can’t deny that a good lasagna is perfect comfort food.”

he chuckled, shaking his head dismissively. “comfort food? you mean your heavy, cheesy dishes that weigh you down? sushi is light and refreshing. it’s an experience, not just a meal.”

“an experience that costs a fortune! at least with Italian, you get value for your money. you can’t tell me sushi is worth the price when half of it is just rice!” you could feel your cheeks flush, but you refused to back down. “rice is the foundation of life! and sushi is an art form — i can’t believe you’re comparing it to some pasta dish,” he shot back, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “you’re just being stubborn because you can’t appreciate the finer things.”

“finer things? like overpriced fish that’s raw? you’re just being defensive because you’re japanese!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “admit it, you’re biased!”

“bias? me? i just have better taste!” he retorted, a smirk plastered on his face. “you’ll come around one day; i’ll make sure of it.”

“yeah, right! you’re impossible!” you rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “you’re like a child throwing a tantrum over his favorite toy.”

“child? at least i know what i want, unlike you, who can’t make up her mind!” he shot back, leaning closer, his arrogance palpable.“make up my mind? this is about you being stubborn! you’ll never admit when you’re wrong!” you felt your heart race, both from the argument and the undeniable chemistry between you. he leaned back, arms crossed, a smug look on his face. “and you’ll be the one begging for sushi sooner or later. just wait.”

“okay, how about a compromise?” you proposed, trying to mediate the escalating tension. “let’s do Italian tonight, and sushi tomorrow. you’ll still get your fix!”

for a moment Gun pretended to ponder. “hmm, let me think… nope! i’m not settling for anything less than sushi tonight.” you sighed dramatically, an amused smile creeping onto your lips. “you’re the absolute worst, you know that?”

“stubborn? no, i’m just determined,” Gun replied, his arrogance unwavering. after a few more rounds of playful banter, you finally relented, knowing how stubborn he could be. “fine! we’ll have sushi tonight, but only because i can’t deal with your arrogance any longer.”

“yeah, that’s right” he exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out his phone to place the order.

as the two of you settled back on the couch, the tension dissolved, and a comfortable silence fell between you, you found yourself leaning against him, his warmth comforting. you felt a rush of affection and couldn’t help but murmur into his shoulder, “ya5rab baito sho habito” Jungun pulled back slightly, a confused look on his face. “bitch, tf you just said?”

with a calm smile, you leaned your head against his shoulder and whispered, “literal translation: may your house get ruined i love you.”

he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “you’re impossible!” but he tightened his embrace around you, pulling you closer.

“sometimes, you can be so stubborn,” you teased, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye.

“and yet, you love me for it,” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips. “of course i do,” you shot back, your heart full as you nestled deeper into his warmth.

JIN HOBIN — GERMAN

it was just another chaotic day at school, the halls buzzing with the usual chatter of students. Hobin strode through the corridors, his presence commanding attention. he was used to the whispers and glances, but today, something else caught his eye.

in a quiet corner, you sat on a bench, phone pressed to your ear, animatedly talking to a friend. as you hung up, Hobin approached, curiosity piqued. “hey, what were you talking about?”

you looked up, slightly flustered. “just my friend. nothing important.” he smirked, leaning against the wall. “you speak german, huh?”

“yeah,” you replied, trying to downplay it.

“cool. can you teach me some swear words?” he asked, his tone teasing. you shrugged, playing along. “sure. like ‘Verdammtes Miststück.’” [fair-DAM-tes MIST-shtook]

Hobin raised an eyebrow. “what does that mean?”

“it means ‘damn jerk,’” you explained, a small smile creeping onto your face. “damn, that’s spicy,” he laughed. “i might have to start using that.”

just then, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. you stood up, ready to head to class. but as you walked away, something clicked in Hobin’s mind. he suddenly remembered that phrase — that phrase. the memories flooded back, taking him by surprise.

“wait!” he yelled, sprinting after you. “bitch, you called ME that name??” you turned around, feigning innocence. “what? i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“don’t play dumb! you always called me that when we were enemies!” his voice was a mix of disbelief and playful frustration. “you used it all the time!”

you shrugged, trying to suppress a grin. “i really don’t remember.”

“seriously?” he exclaimed, a smirk forming on his lips. “you were always throwing that word around at me! you can’t just forget that!”

“maybe i just didn’t like you,” you shot back, trying to keep a straight face.

“come on! admit it!” Hobin insisted, laughter bubbling up despite himself. “admit what?” you teased, enjoying the banter. “that i cursed at my rival? sounds a bit dramatic.”

“dramatic? you were practically a german swearing machine!” he laughed, shaking his head. “i can’t believe i’m just now connecting the dots.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his animated reaction, feeling a thrill at the memories of your rivalry. “well, maybe i did. but you know what? it’s not like I’m going to do it again.”

Hobin stepped closer, his expression playful yet intense. “oh, I’m counting on it. you’re just too fun to mess with.”

with that, he gave you a wink and turned to leave, a confident swagger in his step. you watched him go, heart racing. it was strange how easily the tension from those rivalry days transformed into something more intriguing, something that hinted at new beginnings. as you walked to class, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this playful back-and-forth was just the start of something.

RYOHEI KURODA — ENGLISH

you were curled up on the couch, engrossed in your book, when your adorably clueless boyfriend, flopped down beside you with a dramatic sigh.

“y/n! teach me english!” he whined, resting his head on your shoulder. you sighed, trying to focus on your reading. “Ryohei, we’ve been at this for hours. you need to practice more!”

“but i want to learn from you! you’re the best teacher!” he clung to your arm, his eyes wide and pleading.

after 5 minutes of him being annoying you finally, you gave in, exasperated but amused. “alright, fine! but i’m teaching you something cool.” you leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “say ‘bastard.’ it’s a fun word!”

“bas-tard,” he repeated like a child who just reached to something that was once forbidden, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“good! just don’t overdo it, okay?” you warned, chuckling.

later that day, Ryohei strolled into work, his confidence soaring. he spotted Eugene, who was busy with paperwork. with playful boldness, Ryohei called out, “hey, you bastard!”

Eugene blinked, stunned, while Ryohei burst into laughter, clearly unfazed by the shocked expression on his boss's face.

you could only imagine the chaos that would ensue. mortified yet secretly amused, you buried your face in your hands. Ryohei might be a handful, but he sure knew how to make life interesting — and you loved him for it.

bonus ; later that day Ryohei was feeling bold again. he spotted Kenta and, with a playful grin, shouted, “bastard!”

Kenta’s expression dropped, and he looked genuinely upset. “Ryohei, that’s not cool,” he said quietly. Ryohei’s smile faded as he felt a pang of guilt, especially since Kenta was usually so quiet. Ryohei took a deep breath and approached him.

“Magami, what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone sincere.

Kenta shrugged, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s just... i know english better than you, and it was disrespectful.”

Ryohei’s heart sank at his words. “brooo wdym im really sorry. i didn’t mean to upset you,” he whined, shaking Kenta’s shoulder.you stepped in, sensing the tension. “how about we all go get milkshakes? it’ll be on me..”

SEO SEONGEUN — POLISH

smooth purr of Seongeun’s Rolls-Royce filled the quiet atmosphere as he drove through the city, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel while the other hung over the gear shift. you sat beside him, gazing out the window, trying to keep yourself occupied while Seongeun focused on the road. you had been living in Korea for a while now, and while your korean was pretty good, there were still moments where your native polish slipped out, especially when you were irritated or frustrated.

however, it had been one of those days, and your mood was already on edge. the final straw was when your phone buzzed with an annoying notification about the broken coffee machine back at home. you groaned, rubbing your temples in frustration as the stream of oolish curses tumbled from your lips.

“ja pierdolę...” you muttered, trying not to dwell on your frustration.

without taking his eyes off the road, Seongeun raised an eyebrow, his tone casual but curious. “what do you mean babe?”

you blinked, glancing over at him. “what?”

he briefly glanced at you with a smirk before focusing back on the road. “the stuff you always mumble when you're annoyed. you’ve been doing it for weeks, and I don’t get it.”

you flushed a little, realizing he’d been picking up on your muttered polish rants this whole time. “oh! that... yeah, i tend to mutter in polish when i’m emotional. it’s like a habit.”

Seongeun’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, but there was an amused glint in his eye. “and what exactly are you saying?” a small smile tugged at your lips. “you wanna learn some polish, babe?” you teased, poking his arm. he scoffed lightly but couldn’t hide his smirk. “i’m just curious. what do you say when you’re pissed?”

you hesitated, suddenly feeling shy about explaining. “well... i usually say ‘ja pierdolę’ or ‘kurwa mać.’” your cheeks flushed deeper as you tried to explain. “the first one means ‘fuck it,’ like when something goes wrong. and the second one… um... direct translation means... uh... ‘fuck your mother.’” you winced slightly, knowing how it sounded out of context.

Seongeun let out a low laugh, shaking his head “yeah, fuck that bitch. so what about the translation?”

you chuckled softly, your hand covering your mouth as you tried to find the words. “baby, i just told you! it doesn’t mean that literally. it’s more like saying ‘FUCK IT!!’ but with extra aggression.”

Seongeun laughed again, his deep voice rumbling through the car as he reached over to squeeze your knee affectionately. “gotcha, babe. polish frustrations... i get it.”

just as you relaxed, a mischievous glint appeared in Seongeun’s eyes. “so, what’s the deal with that beaver stuff? do you guys have beef with beavers or something? how do you say it? bo-bober? bober kurva?”

you stared at him for a moment, utterly blindsided by his sudden question. then, it hit you, and you couldn’t help but let out a snicker. your heart swelled with pride at his attempt.

“babe...” You blinked dramatically, pretending to wipe away proud slavic tear. “you’re trying to get it right. i’m so proud of you!”

he smirked, his gaze still fixed on the road, though you could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. “whatever makes you happy, baby. but seriously, tell me more about this beaver meme.”

#[ ~ koi.talks🗣]#lookism #lookism imagines #lookism fic #lookism imagine #webtoon lookism #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #x reader #webtoon #headcanon #kim goo x reder #lookism kim joon goo #lookism goo #kim goo #goo kim

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senselessviolets · 2 months ago

Text

“stay soft”

Roman Roy x Fem. Reader

Rating E (Smut)

Word Count: 3.3k

AO3 Link

WARNINGS:

Mommy kink, smut, some plot, this man has MOMMY ISSUES™️, gentle femdom, titplay, breast sucking, so much dirty talk, Roman gets called “baby” a lot, no PIV, no uses of Y/N

Author's Notes:

The people have spoken—y’all want Roman being fucking babied in bed so that’s what the fuck I did and I have zero regrets. Totally gave up in the end but school’s been incredibly draining for me so I’m proud of myself for even getting THIS out.

[Gif creds: I forget. if it’s yours, lemme know!!]

Summary:

You are an equally wealthy childhood friend of the Roys and Roman in particular. After years of little to no contact with him, he and you decide to finally act on the mutual attraction you both share in the most ‘Roman way’ you can think of.

“Okay, but like if we…fuckin’...if we fuckin’ do this, I will want…some things. But I’m not g’na fuckin’ beg or anything…call you mommy, ‘goo goo ga ga’…none of that shit. I will want you…to be there…and I will want you to ‘not be there’...if you catch my drift. I-I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ word or a single moan. I don’t want—I just don’t want it, okay. And this might sound bad—even though I’ve definitely said worse—but you would be just a-a means for me,” a voicemail blears in your ear as you are made aware of the four calls you missed in your slumber, “‘Kay? I dunno. Think it over. It’s not fuckin’ life or death. Until it is. And I kill you. And hide the body and burn the evidence…kidding! ‘Kay, love you, kidding, ‘kay, bye!”

This was uncharted territory for you both.

You and Roman and the other Roy children were longtime family friends. Like Stewy Hosseni or a lesser example Ray Kennedy. What that meant was your incredibly loaded dad gave Logan Roy an ungodly sum of money in the nineties and had managed to stay on his good side ever since. At their status, that’s what qualified as ‘friendship’. Everything was a transaction at the end of the day. Like you suspected Logan and Caroline had bought their way into their kids’ hearts, to even be in the same room as these titans—to breathe the same air—you had to beg, steal, or borrow. Fortunately, you hailed from less-than-humble beginnings; your father being an incredibly successful venture capitalist-turned-philanthropist and your mother the heiress of a billion-dollar publishing company.

But it was all just details.

You were eternally grateful to be an only child, imagining an existence where you and your progeny were destined to forever claw at each other's throats—all for whatever scraps your parents were generous enough to leave you.

Unfortunate. ‘Pitiful’ felt more accurate. Every hollow soiree and vapid function served as a reminder. These were not your people. And they never would be. And yet—

“Heya! Well, you look less miserable than usual. Lemme guess, you finally ditched Loser What’s-His-Face and have taken up my longstanding advice of giving lesbianism a try,”

“Hi, Roman. No, I’ve actually been reminiscing about our younger years together. Remember the time you threw up in your mouth before presenting me my corsage the night of the winter formal? Seventh grade? Ring a bell?”

“That was because it only dawned upon me then that I would be getting Cody Keener’s sloppy seconds,” he answers, “I just couldn’t cope with that, I’m sorry,”

You slug him in the arm and he reacts overdramatically, as if someone stuck him with the pointy end of a knife. Onlookers included none other than Frank Vernon, Hugo Baker, and a close friend of your mom’s, Michelle Anne. This time, you and Roman had crossed paths at your father’s 70th birthday party. It was held at your parents’ penthouse on the Upper East Side and attracted a decent crowd. Faces you’d sworn you met pass you by as strangers come up to you, recounting memories of you who were only this tall. It was always a discombobulating experience but you continued to frolic and mingle nonetheless.

In truth, this little ‘reunion’ was nothing but a facade.

You and Roman had been talking for weeks now after years of no contact with one another. Brief texts turned into prolonged phone calls which by the end of the night became one-sided, pathetic voicemails expressing some sort of yearning for the other. It was becoming all-consuming and quite frankly, exhausting. And now it had finally come to blows.

There was a plan, there were contingencies (of course, there were) but above all—there was transparency. And that was something you could hold onto. Oh, the many men who lied their way into your bed. And then here comes Roman, who’d made it abundantly clear he’d rather inhale glass than have you worm your way into his. So this scheme would not transpire at his place or yours.

It would be occurring in a Central Park Suite at The Carlyle—just a quick jaunt from your parents’ place. He deigned to be a gentleman and handled the reservations as well as your transportation because you had to already be there. You were going to be lying on the bed, in some satiny sleepwear. No lingerie, no hosiery—nothing that could be construed as ‘sexy’. You were to look mundane, average, and bored.

Roman would enter and you would be still and let him do as he pleased. While you’d had this endeavor nailed to a T, you’d be lying if you said the prospect of him going off-script—doing things rougher, harder, doors off the hinges, letting his darker impulses get the better of him—didn’t make your knees buckle a bit.

So once the candles had been blown, the birthday wishes made, and goodbyes were said—you were to slide into his black Range Rover SV while his secondary chauffeur Crispin brought you to your destination. In your duffel was your change of clothes and a few other goodies. It had crossed your mind—once, twice how exceedingly easy it would be to bail right about now. Crispin could drop you off on the side of the road like some floozy and then your personal chauffeur could pick you up and drive you back to your cozy brownstone for a mundane evening spent by yourself—alone. That was the part that struck a pang in your stomach. That was the truly unbearable part. That, and the heat between your thighs which was starting to become really inconvenient.

…

Now was not the time to get cold feet.

You had already slid your sequin cocktail dress off and exchanged it for your satin sleepwear. Like the pretty kept thing he’d instructed you to be, you lay flat across the plush hotel mattress, awaiting his arrival, legs swinging to and fro like an eager teenage girl.

Maybe he’d be the one to pussy out.

At least then you’d have yet another thing to hold over his head for the foreseeable future. In your phone’s front-facing camera, you inspected the makeup you’d done earlier that evening for the party and it still seemed sufficient. Your lips seemed a bit drab. You roll off the bed and I sift through the contents of your bag, searching for the mauve lip color you’d brought along. Dabbing it onto the purse of your mouth while gazing into the mirror of the room’s modest vanity—you begin to lose track.

This isn’t it and you know it.

You know it.

So fucking do something about it.

Examining the time on the wall clock, you decide to hastily shake off your striped satin pj set and tear through your duffel for the sheer lace slip and matching long gloves. Not liking the unkemptness of your long hair at this particular moment, you palm your bag for one of the chignon French hairpins that had sunk their way to the bottom—a go-to for you since your younger years. The best you can muster is a half-up, loose, more-than-messy low bun because suddenly, a knock on the door can be heard. Your heart leaps into your throat and you shove your duffel bag into the armoire in a hurried panic. The click of the hotel room’s keycard lock comes next and you spring to the door as to be the one to open it. You and Roman meet each other’s gaze through the crack of the half-open door, you two beam down at your hands, enclosed over both sides of the handle. He is very noticeably startled, not expecting you to answer the door.

“C-Come on in,” you stutter, gesturing into the hotel suite with a gloved hand.

Roman’s mouth goes dry. It is not all that often the family jester is able to be truly caught off-guard. This absolutely was one of those times. He shuffles into the room with tepid steps and doesn’t turn around to face you until he hears the door click shut. With a blank, nonchalant expression—he shrugs, prompting you to provide some sort of explanation. Of which, you do not possess.

“What?” you say.

“What’s…all of that about?”

“Yeah, sorry…wasn’t really feeling the pajamas tonight. I opted for something I felt was a little more fitting. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,”

He definitely fucking does mind actually. But any frustration at being caught unawares expresses itself in the form of big beautiful hazel eyes beaming at you with fear and uncertainty. His lips are parted, unable to form the words he can’t even begin to think of at this particular moment.

“So…,”

“...so…?”

“So…lay down,” you finally say.

Roman is able to briefly channel the smarmy assholeishness he usually hones with a sarcastic scoff and smirk. He shakes his head to himself before his gaze finds the floor.

“...I’m sorry, maybe you just didn’t hear me right the first time,” you say, crossing over until you are eye-to-eye with him and your competing breaths can be felt, “...or maybe I should’ve been a bit more specific.”

You lean in until your lips brush the outer shell of his right ear and he stops breathing.

“Roman. Lay the fuck down on that bed. Now.”

He quickly scrambles onto the bed, resting on his back while slightly sitting up. There is a tentative eagerness in his demeanor as if the last hints of resistance in his muscles had yet to dissipate.

“Good. Now can you unbutton your shirt by yourself or do you need my help?”

“...I-I-I need your help,” he mindlessly babbles, “P-Please. Please, can you help me?”

You click your tongue at his wanton request, attempting to maintain your composure. It was after the first ‘please’ that you knew you were going to willingly give everything in you to this man right then and there.

The safeguards? Fuck the safeguards.

The time for self-preservation was about five or so minutes ago before his knuckles had rapped gently on the heavy wooden door. Without breaking eye contact, you straddle him effortlessly, both knees on either side of his hips. You aren’t certain because all the blood had flooded to your ears and you were unable to hear much over the thumping of your own heartbeat but you swear you hear a quiet ‘oh god’ slip out of him. Your fingers find the buttons on his grey button-down and your wrists noticeably begin to shake as they undo them.

For fuck’s sake.

Up until this point, you had conjured the impression that you were the one in control here and that there was nothing he could say or do otherwise. But now the true vulnerability of the situation had begun to set in. The playing field had been leveled.

His fingers enrapture yours and he steadies your grasp as you both work to unbutton his shirt. Roman swallows, anxiously. You get more than half of the way there before he gives up and presses his face firmly to yours.

It’s a declarative kiss.

It’s long-lasting and when the two of you eventually break it—you know there’s no going back. Those hands of his, wracked with nerves, find their way to your hips. He slowly drags the lacey fabric up so your upper thighs are exposed. Once you can feel the soft flesh of your hips exposed to the cold air, you grab his wrists and he freezes.

“Ah-ah-ah, I don’t think I remember saying you could do that,”

“I-I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t—I’m sorry,”

“So many apologies, they just keep on coming,”

“I’m…,” he deeply exhales out of his nose.

“You’re what? Wait, lemme guess,” you goad, “Sorry?”

He bobs his head up and down, face full of embarrassment.

“Hm…think I’m a little sick and tired of those ‘sorrys’, sweetie. You and that mouth of yours. Oh, that fuckin’ mouth of yours. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of headaches it’s caused me in what, the two decades I’ve known you? What are we gonna finally do about that mouth?”

Roman looks up to you, hanging onto your every last word.

“I-I don’t know, j-just tell me what to do. I can make it up to you, I-I promise,”

You genuinely take a moment to mull it over, though the growing hardness pressing against your most intimate place admittedly was making it hard to think.

“...I think…we need to find another use for that mouth of yours—something to keep it busy, hm? How does that sound, my sweet baby?”

You swear his face goes pale as he assumes you mean your cunt. While the thought had crossed your mind (many, many times in fact), knowing Roman—you know that would be too much. And that you would lose him forever somewhere along the way and you didn’t even want to begin to think about that.

You tilt your head, staring longingly at that poor little boyish face of his. Your clothed index finger traces its way slowly from the exposed flesh of his tummy, up to his ribs, across his collarbone, along his Adam’s apple, over his bearded chin— finally stopping at his pinkish bottom lip. You pull it down, making him pout for you.

“Open for me,” you utter softly.

Roman obeys, his tongue moving upwards in his mouth when he swallows. You continue to tease around his mouth torturously, the lace creating a delicious friction against his beard. The heat of his pants against your lone finger makes you stir inside.

“Now, close your eyes—mouth still open,”

He noticeably resists before relenting, his eyes flutter closed. You drop one of the spaghetti straps of the slip off of your shoulder, exposing yourself. Your nipple pebbles in the cool air conditioning of the room. You awkwardly lean your torso inwards, inching your breast closer to his mouth. For a brief second, his eyes flick open, taking in the scene. Catching your drift instantly, he swallows as much of the soft flesh as his mouth will allow, moaning into it. The most obscene sucking sounds soon fill the room. Roman whimpers into your skin, letting his head fall limp against your chest. You wrap your arms around his neck, cradling his head. His brown fluff of hair is too tempting for your hands to not tangle themselves in.

“There, you go…you’re so good. You’re so good for me, aren’t you? Yeah?” you sigh, tilting your head backward.

You swear you can feel your hips gyrating on their own. Roman’s fingers have ensnared themselves onto the flimsy fabric of your slip, gripping it so tight you think it might tear. Not that you’d give a shit if it did.

“Y’know what I think? I think you act the way you do all the fucking time because you’re just waiting for someone to come and put you in your place, is that right? Yeah? You’re a brat ‘cause you want someone to do this to you? Hm?”

He releases your nipple and an almost pornographic line of spit drools from his mouth. Roman’s lips are plump and rosy, kiss-bruised and swollen. You find out just how warm they’ve become when his wet mouth comes to meet your own in a kiss so messy, you know you’ll touch yourself thinking about it later.

“I-Is this good? A-Am I being a good boy for you?”

“Mm-hm, you’re being a very good boy for me. My good boy. Mommy’s good boy, right?”

“Yes, fuck, yes—” he sobs, moving onto your other breast.

His voice is shrill and wrought with desperation. You only ever heard it get this high-pitched when he was making a mocking impression of you or some other woman. And now here he was, making these noises all on his own. The edge of his bottom teeth catches your nipple in just the right away. You squeal, jolting upwards in his lap and laughing at the surprise sensation. He soothes the sensitive skin with the flat of his tongue immediately after.

“That’s it. There’s my boy, there’s my sweet baby boy,”

All of the sudden, his hands leave your slip and fly to the buckle of his belt. Roman undoes his zipper and shimmies down his slacks enough to pull his dick out. He jerks it quickly with his eyes wound tightly shut in an attempt to get himself completely hard.

“M-Mommy, c-can I see ‘it’? P-Please, god!” Roman begs out.

Your current position leaves his cock hidden by the hem of your slip. All you can see is the silhouette of his fist in the fabric pumping up and down speedily—relentlessly. He could easily just lift the skirt himself and look at your bare pussy, just as he hungrily wants but he doesn’t.

He waits. He waits for you to give him permission.

“See what, sweet boy? Say it, use your words for me. You’re a big boy, you can do it. I know you can,”

Your hands cup his face and you rest your forehead on his. The skin is taught and slick with sweat. A vein above his brow becomes visible as he strains into his own palm.

“What do you want, Roman?” you reiterate, trying to regain his attention.

“Fff-fuck! Your p-pussy, I wanna see y-your pussy!”

“All together. Say it all together. Say ‘Mommy, can I please see your pretty pussy?’”

“Mommy, can I please see your pretty pussy?”

His eyes finally open and they aim downwards, expectantly.

“Is that all you want, pretty boy?”

“N-N-yes!”

“Is that all you want?”

“No! No, I wanna cum, I-I wanna f-f-finish! W-Wanna finish on it,” he whines.

“All together, baby…”

“Mommy, can I please finish on your pretty pussy?! Please!”

It’s on the last syllable of his sentence that he erupts. Only as he’s cumming is he able to look at your cunt. You swiftly move the fabric up and his load catches the edge of it, the rest of it coating your exposed pussy. Roman falls backwards limp onto the pillow and you roll off of him and the bed and onto your jelly-like legs. The two of you don’t look at each other, occupying opposite sides of the room while you make yourselves decent. You shed your stained garment, using it to wipe your cunt clean. You fling it onto the hotel carpet and don’t think twice about it.

“Mind if I…borrow that…for a bit?” a weak voice croaks from across the suite.

You turn your head and smirk, still topless.

“All yours.”

Briefly, you catch a glimpse of Roman from behind, buttoning up his shirt. You pull up your dress, sweatier than before when you had taken it off. You expected there to be a palpable shift between the two of you, had everything gone according to plan. You figured the next RECNY ball that was just around the corner might be a bit awkward but it was nothing a few sarcastic quips and some alcohol couldn’t fix.

“My guy’s still waiting out front, so that’s my not-so-stealthy getaway. I can have Crispin pull around in twenty if I guess, I dunno, you wanted to shower the stank off of y…”

Roman’s words trail off as he becomes caught up in the sight of you; your cocktail dress zipped up halfway, your hair in an even messier updo than before, one heel on with the other remaining to be seen. It left him dumbfounded, feeling impulsive, like he could leave everything behind then and there and things might turn out alright.

“Um…d’you maybe wanna just come with me…I dunno. Back at my place, I mean. And don’t make it into…it’s not a thing. Th-This is not a thing. But, yeah, we could order in whatever you, you could stay over, I-I got spare rooms–”

“Roman—”

“—it-its not like a big deal or anything, y’know? This isn’t, this wasn’t ‘a thing’. Fuckin’ labels and everything, I m—”

“Roman! That all sounds fine; I just would like to exit one of the nicest hotels in the damn city not looking like a two-bit whore, yeah? Come and zip me up,”

“I mean, if you ask me—I think it’s a rather fitting look,” he says, echoing your previous words.

“ROMAN!”

“Alright, fuck, fine!”

End.

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inkk-tv · 14 days ago

Text

[ ꜰᴏᴏᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘᴜʙ ɢᴏʟꜰ : ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ]

Chris plants his forehead on the table, taking a deep breath as he watches the astro turf. He’s well gone, but Lucy and Arthur, who is now just drawing shapes on the inside of her forearm, aren’t much better off. “You two are going to bankrupt me.”

“We’ll put the fund towards a muzzle.” Lucy says off handedly, swiping the marker, and Arthur’s hand to draw a three-by-three grid on his skin.

in which: Chris attempts to not have another life crisis during a pub golf video and is failing miserably.

3.7k words [ part one ] [ masterlist ] [ part three, coming soon... ]

[oc x arthurtv x chrismd]

[warnings: Excessive drinking, sexual innuendos and light sexual content]

Chris is torn.

Logically, he knows football pub golf is a content gold mine. It could easily be one of the best videos of the year, especially with the team line ups. On the other hand, the last time Chris filmed a pub golf for Chip's channel some eight months ago, it ended with him so fucked he'd uprooted his entire life twenty four hours later.

Mid to late twenties was not a good time to have a sexuality crisis - and Chris speaks from experience. Why it took 11 drinks and joking that he'd shag his best mate for space hopper-ing over a bollard to realise he genuinely wanted to snog him silly, Chris isn't sure.

In retrospect, he'd probably fancied Arthur way back in sixth form, sitting with him in every class, dragging the poor bloke to join his football team. The biting should have been a hint. 'Cuteness aggression', as a session of hungover googling informed him, is horribly common. Chris was so torn up about it all that he talks it over with Shannon the night after, when he's not sure if the urge to vomit is from nerves, guilt or the hangover.

He tries to tell her that it doesn't have to change things, that he still loves her. But she still calls it off.

He can't really be mad at her for that, so it's amicable. The two of them weren't built to last much longer anyway; if marriage was in the cards, Shannon wouldn't get snippy anytime her mother brought it up and Chris wouldn't feel nauseous every time he saw an advert for rings. If they were destined for 'forever', talk of marriage wouldn't sound like an expiration date.

Chris spends a couple of months sorting out all his shit and takes a long hard look at his own feelings.

Everyone is sort of weird about the break-up. For a while they all sort of act like it's temporary. Once he puts out a statement though, his friends take that as confirmation that it's actually over. Arthur -Hill not TV- and George take him out drinking a few times as self declared experts in heartbreak and the single life. Their ventures have the three of them planning to move in together when their leases expire in October. Harry corrals him onto a few dating apps and Chris humours him because how is he supposed to tell the guy that women are the last thing on his mind and that he's head over heels (and possibly in love with) one of their mates, who is noticeably a bloke.

At least this time the pub golf is for his channel, so if there's another earth-shattering life crisis, he can edit it out at the least. Save himself the embarrassment of seeing the clip every few weeks on TikTok. Luckily, Chris is not the kind of man who loses all impulse control when faced with a couple of pints.

He is admittedly two shots up already and they've only just settled at hole four. If anything's going to set their team back, it's this. Chris knows the moment he sees Jamie, his production assistant, walk out with a tray of wine-glasses all of which were bordering on over-filled with rosé.

"Oh god," Lucy groans, her head pitching forwards to thud onto the table. Jamie just smiles as he places the three glasses around the halo of blonde hair. Her next complaint comes out muffled. "Why wine? I can't do wine."

"Come on, Luce." Chris grabs her shoulders to drag her back up straight, shaking them a few times for good measure. "Where's all that team spirit gone?"

"Come on En-ga-land, Score some fucking goals." She quotes, putting on the thick northern accent for it.

Seeing as Chris is a little too far gone to keep explaining the rules at each pub without hurling insults at his friends, Jamie's the one who does it this round, citing that each drink must be fed by a teammate.

"I got a great trick for this one," There's a bit of a slur to Arthur's words, but that could just be him and not the alcohol. Then again, he did do a shot when they got to the pub ‘for fun’ which will most definitely bite them in the arse. "We hold hands and squeeze depending on ho-"

Arthur hiccups halfway through his sentence and it's enough to get a snort out of Chris and devolve Lucy into giggles as he continues. " -how, how much you want."

Chris goes first, and Arthur’s hand is warm in his own as he pours the wine into his mouth.

Although, when it’s Arthur’s turn and Lucy grabs the wine glass off the table, she frowns. “You’re too tall for this.”

There's not that much of a gap between them with her heels factored in but it's enough that to get her arm up and angle the glass right, it would certainly be uncomfortable for Lucy.

“Come on, tip toes surely.” Arthur says, but she’s already got a hand on his shoulder.

“On your knees, Television.” She says it so calmly, pressing lightly on his shoulder- not enough to push Arthur down, Chris knows he’s stronger than he looks, but he goes anyway.

Something that’s horribly aroused stirs in Chris’s stomach, watching Arthur drop to his knees in front of Lucy, mouth open as she leans down just slightly to press the glass against his lips. He grips her wrist instead of her hand and swallows every mouthful of pretty pink rosé so eagerly that there’s evidence of it left on her skin, little crescent indented where his nails had dug in.

It’s awfully sobering to realise that Chris might actually have to fight a semi while filming.

There’s been jokes about it, in the past few years as his content has matured along with his audience and those sorts of comments were left in the final cut. But Christ, watching Arthur lick his lips clean of wine, not even moving to stand until Lucy pulls him to his feet by the hand, that’s enough to make anyone sexually attracted to men a little off kilter.

He’s never really had the ‘awkward boners’ at least not since his teenage years. Chris is pretty sure it’s something to do with the messy ball of crossed wires that is his sexuality, the fact he never really gets a hard on for someone he’s not head over heels for but he’s not really put much time into untangling that.

Although, he might need to do that soon.

Something about the way Arthur looks at her, as if from the moment she put her hand on him, she was everything- the centre of his universe.

Not that Chris can really blame him. Lucy’s always been captivating like that. He’s not a moron, Lucy’s attractive, objectively. She’s cute, green eyes, light tan to her skin that’s more from sunshine than genetics, and blonde hair that's half pulled back with a white ribbon, a couple strands falling in front of her face. Round cheeks that push up towards her eyes when she smiles, a little tip up to the end of her nose. She’s got the kind of features that would make Chris pause on those stupid dating apps he only swipes though when Harry’s looking over his shoulder.

Arthur yields so easily for her, blinking at her with those brown eyes and chewing his bottom lip a little, hands still messily entwined together as Harry makes a poor sex joke.

It’s an orbit that Chris has watched many men tumble into before, the gravitational pull of Lucy Bell. There’s something about the way she carries herself, a confidence that makes eyes drawn to her. On night outs, there’s mixed reactions. George and Arthur Hill love it, girls are more than happy to chat and linger at their table, eased in the risk of approaching a bunch of men in a club by the presence of a woman like Lucy.

He thinks about all the dickheads he’s seen try and fail to make a pass on her, as Chris picks up the final glass of rosé.

Lucy has, and will continue to, drink Chris under the table, but she is under or just about five foot six. And There's only so many miracles a liver that size can facilitate. Maybe she’s a little further finished than he thought, because when he holds the wine glass up to her, and clasps their palms together, she just isn’t taking it like she was earlier.

“Come on Luce, down in one.” He murmurs, “You got it.”

A little dribble of it runs down her chin and into the curve of her throat, but no one calls her on it and Lucy is left gagging on the taste of rosé that she’d downed. She’s squeezing his hands tight as she recoils and pulls a face. Chris rubs her back and gives it a couple of pats as she leans into his side. “I hate rosé.”

Arthur reappears with three glasses of water, precariously balanced in his hands and he deposits one in front of each of them. It’s the best drink Chris has been given all day and he can’t help the words that slip out. “Oh my god I love you.”

No one blinks at it though, not Arthur, not Chris. He’s said it before, there’s no reason for anyone to think it means anything more than it used to.

Lucy doesn’t bat an eye, just gives Arthur this awfully soft look before guzzling down half the glass in one go. Until Stephen drops a balled up napkin on the floor and kicks it between her feet, nutmegging her.

Honestly, Chris had sort of forgotten about writing that rule into the video and he sort of feels bad now. Lucy’s probably going to be the only victim of it for the afternoon, because everyone else is far enough gone that they’re a little fuzzy on the rules too.

She and Stephen do shots of baby guinness together (because apparently he just wanted to?) and Chris has to stare into his water glass, tracing patterns on the condensation with his thumb so he doesn’t stare at Arthur and imagine him at the foot of his bed, on his knees for Chris. Complacent and content.

Chris kind of wants to curl in on himself.

Beside him, Arthur’s hand slips down from Chris’ shoulder and along his back, stepping around both him and Lucy, hand slipping to her waist and along the curve of it as he ducks back inside the pub.

There’s jeers from the German team and Cal follows Arthur inside to make sure he’s not chundering in the bathroom.

“Chris, I’m not gonna lie,” Lucy leans into whisper, “I don’t think I’ll be standing by the end of this video.”

She looks utterly gone. Her eyes are wide, and there’s a little sheen to the column of her neck, maybe from the wine she’d dribbled or the haste to skull the water she was handed. This close, he can see the lines of her makeup, where the eyeliner is a little shaky right at her lash line and the few eyelashes that are clumpy with mascara.

It’s the drunkest he’s seen her in a while, and she’s probably only one drink off of ‘cartwheel Lucy’- the stage of intoxication where she feels the urge to display her impressive coordination that she, annoyingly, never loses no matter how much alcohol she’s ingested.

Chris tips his head forwards and bites her deltoid. Teeth sinking softly into the fabric of her jersey until he can just feel the solidness of her shoulder underneath. Lucy startels, a little, whines then swats at Chris until he retreats half a step.

She looks at the bite mark on her pristine England Jersey, wiping at Chris’ spit as she scoffs and scrunches her nose up a little. "I’m going to catch diseases off you at this rate.”

There’s about half a second where he considers making an STD joke, but there’s a camera sitting on them and it feels a little disrespectful to suggest something like that.

Lucy frowns down at the black line on the inside of her wrist. “Where’s Arthur, I need a tally mark.”

And the man of the hour is dragged from the Pub’s entrance, clinging to Cal, looking significantly more gone than he had five minutes ago. The wine must have been hitting hard.

Supposedly, there was no puke, but for the antics Arthur received a red card, putting the English team even further down the hole they’re stuck in. It doesn’t help that the other team all get their drinks down in one.

Not that Chris was really paying attention, he was too busy watching Arthur poke at Cal, enjoying pressing his buttons.

“How many holes do we have left?” He asks once he’s settled back into his stool.

Chris snorts. “Me after five drinks on a saturday night, am I right?”

Arthur holds his hand up for a high five, but Chris has his arms crossed and his brain is working a little slow to catch it before the palm is descending into a playful smack on his face. He grabs Arthur's hand with both of his and licks a fat stripe up his palm, tongue feeling the roughness of calluses from the gym and the faint taste of beer.

The reaction is immediate. “Noooo!”

Arthur recoils and wipes his hand of spit on Chris’ jersey.

Lord, Chris must be so much further gone than he thought, because he just devolves into giggles, even after fully licking his best mate’s hand. It’s only when Jess, his production manager, starts herding them down the footpath to the next pub that Chris finally gets a handle on his giggles.

Somehow, when they make it to Pub number five, everyone- including his own employees- goads Chris into climbing the tree opposite it. Which earns them two points deducted, so they’ve almost worked off the red card from Arthur’s endeavours with a toilet bowl at the second pub.

The Vodka Oranges are, mercifully, only one standard drink. Although, Lucy’s still looking a little queasy at the prospect of downing it. “I hope this doesn’t have pulp.”

Arthur frowns and holds his drink up in the light to get a better look. “I don’t think so.”

“If there’s pulp I might actually throw up. I can’t do the texture.”

“Can’t say I’m a big fan either.” The downwards tilt of Arthur’s lips is painfully cute and Chris kind of wants to lean over and bite at him, but he’s not supposed to be doing that today. Instead he huddles them closer together, like was in the plan for pub five and they have their half-time strategy meeting.

“If either of you puke, I swear to god I will never forgive you.” Chris says, focusing very hard on not slurring his words. “We can’t lose to Stephen Tries. He already carries this channel enough.”

“Come on- I’ve done plenty.” Arthur complains. “I got Harry three shots deeper.”

Admittedly, an impressive feat, but it’s still about thirty less shots than Harry WroeToShaw needs to start feeling the effects of Alcohol and far from enough to recover from all the penalty points he’s been earning. Chris tuts “Only one of us has climbed a tree so I really think that you guys need to step up to the plate at this point.”

The pair just stare at him, and for a moment, Chris sort of loses the plot in Arthur’s eyes. “You’ve got very nice eyes.”

They are. A nice dark brown that sort of looks like pots of honey, mesmerising while Chris blinks into them, with a sort of depth that makes it impossibly easy to sink into them. He’s better at it now, remembering to look away, but the alcohol’s got him a little slower to catch it.

“Christ, they are nice eyes.” Lucy agrees leaning in to get a better look at Arthur, who’s blushing a little from the attention, then towards Chris. “You’ve got good eyes too.”

Arthur nods eagerly. “He does have lovely eyes.”

“Lucy, your eyes are great.” Chris pivots, hoping to save his brain from malfunctioning, onto Lucy, planting a hand on her shoulder to lean in close and study her eyes.

They’re more green than blue, wide as she processes how close he’s gotten to her. He’s heard people say the grass is greener on the other side, but looking at Lucy’s eyes, it might just be true. It’s almost like staring at the overgrown grass of his childhood football pitch, some streaks a little darker than others, and the underlying feeling that there’s something to be found there, if one cared to look a little deeper than surface level.

“Oh, they are.” Arthur agrees, squinting a little as he peers at her.

All three of them have completely lost the whole ‘strategy meeting’ plot that was supposed to be their halftime regroup and by the time Chris untangles himself from their eyes, it’s time to down the vodka oranges that have been sweating condensation down their wrists.

Cal corrals both teams into a cheers and miraculously, everyone manages to get it down in one.

Thankfully, they’d figured people would be a bit gone by pub five, so a nice lengthy walk proceeds pub six.

Chris just about hangs off Arthur the whole time, who at first is a little distracted by texting George Clarkey in an attempt to convey how ‘sober’ he is, but eventually slings his arm over Chris’ shoulder and lets him stay there. He tries to not stir things, lest he be shoved away, instead basking in the bloody amazing smell of Arthur cologne as it mixes with his deodorant. Chris couldn’t name what either of them smell like, but it’s a scent that’s so uniquely Arthur he wouldn’t be able to associate it with anything else.

“George says he’s gonna come pick me up from the last pub.” He declares, shoving his phone into Chris’ face. It’s a little too close to read, but he squints and tries anyway. Arthur only gives him a few seconds before pulling the screen back and pocketing it.

At one point in their walk, Chris bites at his wrist where it hangs next to his face but it’s not enough to chase him off.

“Next pub golf, it’s twenty quid per bite.” Arthur grimaces, whipping the back of his hand of spit down the front of Chris’ jersey. “Lucy had the right idea.”

“I think you owe her a tally mark. Maybe.” Chris frowns, trying to recall if they’d added the last nip.

“Luce!” He calls. “Did we add the last tally? From Pub four with the rosé?”

She’s about ten meters ahead, tangled up with Stephen as he tries to wrangle her into some kind of hug or headlock, it’s a little unclear which. For a moment the pair of them freeze, and Lucy does that little frown and nose scrunch she does whenever she thinks particularly hard on something. “No!”

Then she kicks Stephen’s sneaker and he bowles over, caught off guard.

“Yellow card! Yellow card!” Arthur shouts, pointing so obnoxiously that Chris almost wants to tell him it’s rude. “Ref, that’s diving!”

Cal dishes out a Yellow card and Stephen goes back to trying to deck Lucy, via bowling her knees out from under her. But by the time they make it to pub six, he’s managed to weasel a piggy back out of her and the two of them pause by the gate to point out where ‘live music: ChrisMD Diss-Track cover band’ is written in neat print of the blackboard.

The two of them are gone, and it’s probably lucky that Lucy isn’t the kind of drunk that gets clumsy, otherwise the two of them would never have managed to make it through the beer garden benches without knocking into one. Arthur isn’t as lucky, knocking his shin against one on his way over to the tables his production team has claimed.

“Ow.” He whines as Chris gets his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, shaking him until they’re at the seats and he’s shoving him off in fake annoyance. “Get off you leach.”

He digs the pen out of his shorts pocket, and bites the cap off, keeping it wedged between his teeth as he calls out to Lucy. Her name comes out muffled around the cap but she deposits Stephen and collapses next to Arthur, who grabs her wrist. There’s an awful lot of concentration on his face for something as simple as drawing a line.

“We’ll put the fund towards a muzzle.” Lucy says off handedly, swiping the marker, and Arthur’s hand to draw a three-by-three grid on his skin.

They fall into their own little bubble as they start up a series of naughts and crosses games. Chris has to kick them under the table to gain their attention when Cal starts explaining the pub-quiz rules. The aim was to guess the cocktail themed pun based on the footballer’s name.

Chris wasn’t expecting greatness to begin with. He knows his footballers, but Arthur and Lucy don’t really know them by name and face- unless they play for the teams they support. There’s a much higher chance of a Man United player showing up than a Brighton player, so Lucy might be completely out of her depth.

They manage to break even only because the German team are shouting out the footballer’s names and failing to relate it back to a cocktail, so the three of them can steal the point out from under them By the end of it, they’re left with a martini, a strawberry daiquiri and a rum punch.

Chris gets the easy way out and is handed the martini, Lucy recoils once she finishes her rum punch, a shiver racking her spine and Arthur struggles to drink his daiquiri that is filled with ice, though a piss-weak paper straw.

But it’s down in one for all of them, even the other team.

As he hauls himself to his feet, the gin hits him like a truck. Enough that he stumbles half a step back. Chris knows, as he catches the worried look his production team are giving him, that his hope of ending the afternoon without puking, was a lost cause.

[ part one ] [ masterlist ] [ part three, coming soon... ]

ink note: part two! poor christopher's got it bad. this is our last chris chapter for a while, so pray for the poor lad.

[ if you would like to be added to the fic's tag list, let me know in an ask and you'll be tagged when each chapter goes up :) ]

#arthurtv #arthurtv fics #arthurtv x oc #arthurtv x chrismd #arthur frederick #arthur frederick x oc #arthur frederick fics #chrismd #chrismd x oc #chrismd fics #chrismd x arthurtv x oc #chris dixon #chris dixon fics #chris dixon x oc

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lotus-n-l0ve · 6 months ago

Note

dear Lotus! i saw your request open, so can i have alphabetical smut with Gun? thank you and have a good day ♡︎

GUN PARK A-Z SMUT HEADCANONS

— Gun Park x Female Reader

Like A User, Baby, I'm Addicted To It.

*⁠.✧ SYNOPSIS : A-Z alphabetical smut headcanons of Gun.

*⁠.⁠✧ WARNINGS & TAGS : Smut, kinks, explicit acts, vulgar language, 1.3k words.

*⁠.⁠✧ NOTE FROM LOTUS : Why do I have so many requests for Gun 😭. That man has this whole fandom on chokehold, doesn't he? You have a good day too 💕

*⁠.⁠✧ — NAVIGATION // LOOKISM MASTERLIST

DON'T PRESS [KEEP READING] IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE. MINORS DNI, IF YOU DO THEN IT'S YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.

A = Aftercare [What they’re like after sex]

Aftercare? What's that? Before meeting you he used to fuck and disappear. Only after you two became serious is when he found out about aftercare when you used to take care of him after sex. Over time it was him who did the aftercare for you. After all, he was the man in the relationship .

After sex he would clean you up, dress you in one of his comfortable hoodies and cuddle you to sleep. He secretly didn't want you to think that he is with you just for sex.

B = Body Part [Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s]

Jake's favourite of his dick. No question asked.

He doesn't really have any particular favourite body part of you. But if he were to choose then it would be your titts. He likes to fondle with them like soft balls.

C = Cum [Anything to do with cum basically…]

Gun scoups up cum leaking down your clit before fucking it back in you. He would do that again and again till you are so full of his stuff that you can't even function.

D = Dirty Secret [Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs]

Gun steals your panties. He always keeps one with himself. When you are not there he would wrap it around his cock pump it till the panty is all covered in his cum.

E = Experience [How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?]

Gun has plenty of experience. He's had random hookups here and there. Even had frequented brothels (dragged by Goo).

F = Favourite Position [This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual]

He would have you lying flat on the bed, pillows stuffed under your lower back so that he hit every corner with his dick. He hits your weak spot with each thrust. His hips rutting against your thighs. His hands holding your waist so that you don't slip off.

G = Goofy [Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc]

This monster of a man can be goofy but you would rather have him serious because when he is goofy, he is no less than Satan himself. His face scares the daylight out of you. Though you get used to it over time.

H = Hair [How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.]

He is bushy down there. He doesn't like shaving as such. Though he does have it trimmed time to time.

I = Intimacy [How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…]

If you are a quick fuck then expect a lot of degradation. A lot. By the time you are done you would be questioning your dignity as to why you thought it would be a good idea to hook up with him.

If you two are serious then that man is simply whipped for you. He doesn't show it but he is. When you are being intimate he would praise you throughout the time. He still does have a degradation kink but he would still control himself to not hurt you.

J = Jack Off [Masturbation headcanon]

He prefers the real thing. Which is you. But in case he can't have you, he will have to use his imagination and think of his hand to be your mouth. Later when he does get his hands on you, you will have problems walking the next day.

K = Kink [One or more of their kinks]

Man has lots of kink. Some of them being degradation, voyeurism, little bit bondage, power play, primal sex. He likes to hit it raw.

L = Location [Favourite places to do the do]

He has no shame so he can get on with it anywhere. 89% of the lookism verse has seen him jerking off or being intimate at some point of their life.

M = Motivation [What turns them on, gets them going]

Turning him on is a job that no one can accomplish. Other than that cunning smile and sparkling eyes of yours. The way you make sure to swing your hips sideways a little extra when you know he's watching you make a huge dent appear on his trousers.

N = NO [Something they wouldn't do, turn offs]

There is nothing on this earth that this man won't do. Nothing can turn him off. Well, other than Goo’s mouth I guess.

O = Oral [Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc]

He prefers receiving orals. Having you hide under the table, kneeling between his legs as you play with his dick. Licking, kissing with so much intensity has his toes curled inside those expensive boots of his.

P = Pace [Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.]

Gun is fast and rough. He fucks like he has limited time before he can't anymore. Most of the time your body will be covered in bruises, hickeys, bites and hand marks.

Once in a blue, he would make slow and sensual love to you. Not fuck but love. He would whisper sweet nothings in your ears as he penetrated into your needy pussy.

Q = Quickie [Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, etc.]

Gun doesn't like quickes. It just isn't his thing.

R = Risk [Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Etc.]

Risk is his other name. He is up for anything. Shibari, exhibition kink, blood play, knife play, wax play. Man is ready to try anything with you.

S = Stamina [How many rounds can they for? How long do they last? Etc.]

He can go for hours, days without break. You sometimes worry about his enemies. He is this terrifying in bed then how horrifying he is to his enemies.

T = Toy [Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?]

He would use toys. He would have you cuff you to the bed, legs spread wide and he would sit between them, necked. He would then use the vibrator to get off in front of you while you are fighting for even the slightest touch.

U = Unfair [how much they like to tease]

He is half and half. He sometimes likes to tease you. So much that you at the end start crying how much you want him to rail you. When he is not teasing you that means he spent the whole day thinking about you and your pussy.

V = Volume [How loud they are, what sounds they make]

He is not too loud but he moans and he isn't ashamed of it. He wants you to know how good you make him feel. He would moan and grunt a lot along with praising you for taking him so well.

W = Wild Card [Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice]

Gun fantasizes about threesome or foursome. How you would look with all your whole stuffed at ones. When you are getting fucked from the front and the back at the same time. He wants to overstimulate you. But then the thought of another man touching you sends him in a possessive mode.

X = X-Ray [Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words]

Gun is long and thick (enough to stretch your pussy beyond her limit) and veiny. When he is deep in you, you could feel veins rubbing your walls. He would have his dick tattooed if he could.

Y = Yearning [How high is their sex drive?]

His sex drive is 'high'. He is not stopping till you beg him to stop. He will fill you up like a cum slut. By the end you would be trembling and begging him to stop.

Z = ZZZ [… How quickly they fall asleep afterwards]

He falls asleep pretty past. All day he works under Charles and deals with rowdy, mentally fucked up teenagers and then having sex with you, he wants a good sound sleep to gain his energy back.

LIKED IT? THEN PLEASE LEAVE A LIKE, REBLOG & COMMENT. IT WOULD MEAN A LOT AND FOLLOW ME FOR MORE LIKE THESE. THANK YOU ♡

#🪷 writes #lookism fic #gun imagines #park jong gun #gun park #gun x reader #gun park x reader #park gun #lookism #lookism x you

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icarusredwings · 3 months ago

Text

Thinking about select mutism Wade and how fucking freaked out Logan gets about it. Like Wade got home 30 minutes ago and hasn't said a damn word to him. He's walking around all quiet and almost shy?? Avoiding eye contact but staring directly at them when in the same room. As if watching to see if theyll get up and hurt him or some crazy thing like that.

It gets to the point that when he goes to his room, (attempts) to lock the door (hes literally the one who broke it) and just curls up in the corner of the bed with the entire blanket over top of him.

Logan just kinda peeks in all confused, assumes that he's in pain, and asks to see if he can help at all. "Hey... do you want your pills? Or.. a bath? Are you hungry? Want a puke bowl? Or a hot water bottle?" As he goes through the list in his head of what to offer, Wade is silent the entire time.

".....Wade?"

"...."

"Are you asleep already?"

Under the blanket, he can tell that he's shaking his head no.

"... are you alright?"

"...."

"Did something happen?"

"...."

"...Do you want a hug?"

Another shake of the head.

This is what makes Logan worried. The fact that he didn't want held, a bath, or anything. It concerns him to the point he calls Vanessa (for like the billionth time)

If anything, the phone call makes him feel worse as Vanessa tells him how Wade was first like this after the experiments. How he didn't say anyrhing to her for months and if he was doing that again, he should go interogate who ever he was with to find out what triggered such a big step back in his progress.

"Its so fucking weird he just..."

"Stares at you? Yeah. It creeped me out."

"So now what do I do? With him, I mean? He just shakes his head. He dosn't even want me to touch him."

"Oooh... wait... you haven't looked at the calander, have you?"

"That matters?"

"Logan.. It's scout week."

"What?"

"During this time of year the scouts camp out at central park. It's just something they do.. he probably saw them and thought..."

"Oh.."

"Yeaah... Look, im really busy with work, too. So you're on your own. Just try to keep away. Bring him food. Make sure he's drinking something good for him. Once inawhile ask if he wants to do something. He might try to sleep in a closet. Let him. Trying to force him into a bed will be worse but maybe if you put his stuffies on the couch he'll choose there instead." She mutters, someone calling for her in the background, a manager of some type.

"Okay. Got it."

"Oh and logan?"

"What?"

"You got this."

"Heh. Right... wish someone told you that?"

"No duh. Bye."

And so he does, bringing wade a cup of water and a sandwich. It breaks his heart to see him flinch away and burry himself in the corner like this, watching his every step with such wide eyes.

"Hey.. i uh.. I brought you this." He outs the food down and Wade stares at him.

".. do.. do you wanna come watch a cowboy movie with me..?"

He shakes his head, starting to smell even more anxious with how long Logan lingered around the room. His head lowers, his hand staying by the special pillow. The one that had his baby knife under. Seeing him like this made him feel terrible. As of he himself caused it though he knew it wasn't true.

"Right.. uhm. Well... if you want too.. ill be out here. And.. Ill save you a seat. Okay?"

The tinyist nod.

Just as he was about to leave, he saw the baby doll in her crib, stepping closer to it only to be able to practically hear his heartbeat quicken.

Stopping, he turns. "Hey, Wade? Do you think... I can take Emily? You know.. erm.. daddy daughter time? Right?" He had said it wrong on purpose, hoping Wade would correct him.

"...."

He only looked as if he really wanted to say something, but didn't dare. He shook his head, getting up and quickly coming to 'rescue' the child, sprinting over to snatch her from the cradle only to flinch away, wide eyed and scared.

Logans chest snaps into a thousand pieces. He didn't know what wade was thinking but he had a goos feeling... did.. he really think he would do that to Evelyn? How badly did he think of him to do such a thing?

"Oh...... alright.. erm. W-well bye then." He said, holding back tears as he left, trying to remember that he couldn't be upset with wade for protecting her. He did the right thing afterall.. he just wish he wouldn't protect her from him.

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threepandas · 5 months ago

Text

Eve: Part 2

Prev: <-

He had clothes for me. And It would not have been so unsettling, had they been less... precise. Less flattering. Fit less perfectly. But they DID. A sundress, in a flattering cut. A lovely color for my skin tone. The sort of thing a man who wore only variations of the same outfits? Day in and day out? Definitely researched.

At least I had fucking underwear now.

Even if I still couldn't move under my own power, farther then an inch or so.

He didn't even have the decency to dress me like a doll. Fondly but with some detachment. A bit of distance I could cling too. No, I was the paralyzed toddler, to be cradled and cooed over as he manhandled me. Praises as though I DONE anything. Kisses pressed to bio-gel wet hair and skin.

Weren't I SUCH a good girl? Letting him do as he pleases. Unable to stop him. Weak as the newborn I was. Fuck. The echoes of pain still howled along my near weeping nerve endings. Begging for rest. For the finest pain medication cocktails money can buy. Anything.

Instead I got this.

Clingy hands and the near bitter cold of a lab.

A lab coat was pulled onto me next. It didn't match my little dress up outfit. But? At least it was WARM. Thank god. Already, the goo was making my clothes stick to me. Sucking away my heat. Leaving my... my EVERYTHING feeling gross and sticky. I wanted a shower. Not to be dressed up.

But I had a feeling I wouldn't be getting what I wanted.

"There we are~ All nice and covered up. We'll get you cleaned up soon, sweetheart. Daddy promises." The madman who held me hummed. His face tucked against my gel filthy hair as his hand rubbed up and down my limp arm, as though trying to draw warmth to it. A mockery of caring. This was possession. "Now let's get out of here, hmm?"

Scooped up like a princess, I felt more like a toy too be carted around.

I was carried, for the first time, from the lab that had been all I'd known.

I wish he'd left me there. Forgotten I even existed. Instead, I got to see firsthand, EXACTLY what he had done. And... and I knew... KNEW that none of those dead around me were innocent. They all had hand in atrocities, either directly or by compliance. Inaction. But.... but did they deserve this? Indiscriminate execution?

He didn't even glance down, as he strolled through the carnage he had made.

Too the elevators, where he casually kicked the corpse blocking the door, out of the way, before steeping inside. We rode in near silence. Just me, him, and the corpses of three security gaurds and a scientist. He was humming. Soft but pleased, as though the day had turned out surprisingly well.

He had to rest me on a hood, when we reached the carpark. So he could dig out his keys. I was swept up again. Though not carried far. Fancy. Good to know being a morally bankrupt, weirdly clingy, DEEPLY fucking cracked, mad scientist pays well... I guess...

Placed down on another hood while he...

Are you kidding me?

With a near skip in his step, I watch as my "father" strolls to the trunk of his car. Pops it open. Pulls out a FUCKING KIT. An honest to God duffle bag. Several unopened plastic carseat covers. How... how LONG has he been PLANNING this?!

Numbly, I watch as he preps his front seat for me. Both protecting the upholstery while somehow making an honest to God nest of comfort for his little passenger princess. There are layers. The motions look practiced. I... I feel like I'm in a fever dream.

He does realize I'm technically a science experiment, right?

We are... for lack of a better plot device, absconding in the night? He's not PICKING ME UP FROM THE HOSPITAL. He's kidnapping me! Stealing me!! What the ACTUAL FUCK?!

I don't ask. Know BETTER then to ask. I remember that much. You don't argue with crazy. You smile, nod, and quietly get the FUCK out of there at the first possible chance. Placate don't escalate. If the madman wants to play "happy family"? Suuuuuure, "Daddy". Of COURSE.

That's EXACTLY what'll do...

You know, right up until I can fucking RUN again.

Then peace out, bitchcakes. You can take your nuttypuffs and SHOVE IT. I am sore, cold, and YOU are the one who kept pumping me full of drugs! They HURT. A LOT. I know for a FACT the world's probably gonna end. In that weirdly symbolic anime way, where there's giant hands and faces or whatever, so? Screw you!

Noooooot that I SAY that.

Because, again, we do not provoke the crazy man with a gun.

And a PLAN apparently. Dooooon't LIKE that he has "A Plan". In fact, would Prefer Not. But I'm not getting what I want today. I'm getting lifted and put, like a precious if sickly child, into the little car nest he's made for me and tucked in. Watching as he rounds the car to slide protectors over his own seat as well.

Well... at least he's self AWARE of all the blood.

He starts the car. Turns on the heater, a few taps of the console screen has music beginning to play and my seat leaning back. He leans over to grab my seat belt, as though this were all perfectly normal, pressing a soft kiss to my temple as he gets me situated.

There are straight jackets less containing.

I am trapped. Bundled by blankets, wrapped and pressed in on all sides, pillows and fancy little comforts I never wanted or asked for. All to then be strapped down by a seat belt I can't even REACH.

Great.

Just... Great.

He leaves the car running. Keys hanging, tormenting me really, in the ignition. If only I could FUCKING MOVE. I watch as he gets out. Walks back towards the elevator. He seems to think we apparently have all the time in the world. And really, according to time on the console? We kinda fucking DO.

It's barely mid-day.

Not... not even lunch.

Somehow that makes it worse. It shouldn't. I know it shouldn't. Death and massacre can happen at any time. But... the fact that he so cheerfully killed each and every one of his co-workers? Massacred everyone in the fucking building but me? In broad daylight? Makes it... worse.

It feels like the sort of horror that should only happen during dark, moonless, nights. Someplace dark. Where you expect the wickedness of man against man, the inhumanity of so called civilized people. Not... daylight. Beneath the cheerful rays under which children play and people fall in love, life bustles around. It should be for LIVING.

It's a bias.

A naive thought.

Foolish of me to hold...

And yet? I still had it. Still found myself shocked. Guess I can be glad? That my innocence has not been COMPLETELY lost to this place. That there is still good in me. I seem to still assume the best of people, foolish as that is. How very dangerous.

My "father" is back. Wheeling boxes and boxes of hard drives. Lock boxes of things unknown. First the trunk, then the back seat. The car is stuffed. Every secret this place ever held it seemed. He's talking them. His grin has teeth. Is giddy and MEAN.

Looting the corpses of his enemies agrees with him, it seems.

The last trip is for his briefcase. A small pile of file folders. He's nearly dancing. Does a little twirl as he passes the front of the car, a slide to reach the door. Humming a showtime I don't recognize.

"Ah~ I've waited for this moment for YEARS~! Ha Ha!" Teeth flash and catch the low light of the carpark's emergency lighting, his eyes practically glow with a manic schadenfreude. "Oh my sweet Eve, you have NO idea how much I've been looking forward to the day I get to steal you away~ BURN this cesspit to the ground. And best of all? Finally get my hands on all this research! Put it to actual USE for once! No more filthy Adams. No more trying to fix the worthless and damned! Just us. Just Eden."

Well THATS not fucking ominou-...

Wait.

WHAT.

Eden. As in EDEN Eden? End game Eden? Super mega doom project Eden? Seemly perfect garden of bliss build upon horrors, that you think have to face Plot Relevant, "get one of several endings", Moral Quandary EDEN??? THAT ONE!? Oh, MOTHER FUCKER. Please tell me Crazy Daddy Pants isn't one of the Architects of the apocalypse.

I do NOT want to be ground zero for that. NOR in the Protagonist's way!

He buckles up. Pulls out of his spot. Casual as anything. The world is blinding, after a life spent inside. A depressing cyberpunk hellcity crowds the world around us. Somehow both choking the world of all color, even as it splashes itself with gaudy and neon like some sort of radioactive oil spill.

Clambering over each other like a bucket of crabs, dragging everyone else down as they claw at what's left of the sky.

A full city of Babel.

Yet? Even as I remember, lay witness, to this oh so familiar set dressing? Limp in my creator's car, as he drives. Smoothly navigating chaotic traffic worse then anything I could ever remember? My mind was faster then it had been. Processed information FASTER then I could ever have imagined.

I... I experienced time differently, I think.

It was... flexible? Slowing and speeding, depending on if I... not "concentrated"? But "payed attention"? I guess? Wanted to know. It felt almost like flexing something, yet there was no... flexing? Feeling? It was strange.

Yet...

Yet, with it...

I SAW.

A food cart. Owner sneaking a bedraggled man a few extra peice when he glanced away. Young parents, swinging their child between them. He is the center of their world. A first date. They are both widows, old grief still clings, but cautiously... they are ready to try again. There is SO MUCH. Lives and lives and LIVES.

The city is ugly, cruel, but the people are not.

They are not props in someone else's play.

The traffic dies off, as we get closer and closer to opulence. As brutalism shifts to a blend of art nouveau and art deco. Bits of greenery, kept like trophies to be displayed. I am somehow... unsurprised, when my creator pulls us into the garage of one of the more expensive but barren looking houses.

It is the sort of place that makes show room's seem warm.

Because, at least, show rooms TRY to mimic hospitality and warmth. A lived in quality. They, at least, SUGGEST that the dwelling they represent could one day be a home. This? This place hold no such illusions. This house would prefer itself to be a lab. Be left alone. The walls somehow radiating a disgust of you.

It is unbearably cold.

Scooped up again. The blankets have dried against my skin in places. So he merely takes them with, rather then (apparently) risk my poor hyper durable yet still sensitive skin. He's made me a living tank. Through agony after agony, day by day, yet NOW? Now I am treated like spun glass.

Carried into the house... and God, in the GARAGE was bad? This is somehow worse. I feel like tracking in a single speck of dirt would somehow get me treated to a summary execution. Literally. That nothing resides here but nutrient paste and room temperature, triple filtered water. A place where the color beige is treading dangerously close to being "too much".

Isn't this a form of torture? I'm pretty sure this was a form of torture, locking people in rooms designed like this.

Up the stairs, down a near barren hallway. The paintings probably came the house. They scream "generic and inoffensive". Where are we..? WHY are we going to the master bedroom? I do not WANT to be alone in a bedroom with you, my dude. Shit. FUCK!

I wriggle. I can twitch my feet a bit more now, but not by much.

"Shhhh, my perfection, I know. Being so filthy must be unbearable. But don't worry, Daddy's here. We're almost there." He croons at me, almost in the exact tone one uses to sooth a fussy toddler. I pray to God this isn't a sex thing. It's already weird, I don't know HOW weird I can tolerate before I snap. "Daddy's gonna get you all cleaned up, okay? Then you can take a nap while he pack everything to go. We're going on a little road trip to our new home. Growing girls need clean air and flowers, after all."

Oooooh fuck.

Fuck, he DOES plan to take me to Eden.

Ooooh ho hooo, I am gonna DIE die. Like... super mega death. Class A with sparkles Death. Eden is a seemingly utopian dream garden. A cottage core painting brought to life. Problem is? It's built on the back of endless suffering. Cruelty and blood, atrocity and hell itself made real.

You could like in heaven... so long as you ignored what it cost others.

Destroying Eden is what triggers the Apocalypse. Because it's BUILT INTO THE PLANET. Like a massive tumor. A parasite. Killing an already dying world even FASTER. But? Again. If you wanted to get YOURS and damn the rest? Beautiful beyond measure.

His bathroom is exactly the sort of rich person nonsense I expected from a house this size. Too much space. I get set down on a bench. Because THAT'S normal to just.. fucking have. How the hell does it not MOLD? No, wait, concentrate. I do NOT want this man bathing me! Yes, he's seen me naked. A lot. But that wasn't touching! No touchy!

He comes back with a pitcher.

And I discover that I am saved. Bio-gel is incredibly water soluble. He pours water over where the blankets stick to me to free me. Has removed his shoes and watch. Everything, really, that can't afford to get wet. I find out why? When he carries me straight into a walk in shower.

Fully dressed.

....at least he's respecting my boundaries?

Never VOICED them, though. So I have no idea what this is. Washing off the blood maybe? We don't stay long. Or, rather, I don't stay long. Just long enough to remove most of the gel. Then I am swept off to a fancy jacuzzi tub. Oooooh, bubbles. Warm water. Warm and comfy, massaging wat jet lined seat. Blergle....

I think my brain is melting out.

Waaaarm soup. Bubbles. Cook my muscles until I am noodle. Leave me, I wanna die here.

I am utterly blissed out. Boneless. No longer even TRYING to keep track of my surroundings. The indulgent chuckle from above me? Should probably worry about that. But on the OTHER hand... what if I just continued to doze off, here, in what is clearly heaven's water filled embrace? Hands gather my hair. Gently begin to work what smells like fancy shampoo into it.

Spa day?

My sleepy brain says it's probably spa day or something. This is nice~

By the time everything is done, my limbs are heavy and boneless. Relaxed. At least, I'm PRETTY sure that's why I can't move so good. Mmmm, sleepy. Warm now. I list to the side, only to be caught gently. The guy helping me, helps me change. Comfy new clothes. Hair ready for sleep. Even carries me to a big ol bed. Tucks me in. How nice...

I'm forgetting something...

Feels important. But I'm TIRED. I'll deal with it in the morning.

"Ah~ my perfect girl, I can't wait to give you EVERYTHING." Whispers a voice, like a confession, before a kiss is pressed to my temple. "You were made to be loved. Adored. The perfect child meant for a perfect world. I can not wait to finally bring you HOME. God's mistake was making Adam."

"All I need, is Eve."

#threepandas #yandere #yandere x reader #yanblr #reader insert #yanderecore #sci fi yandere #bad end eve #bad end eve au #tw gore #tw religious themes #tw heresy #what can i say #man has a literal god complex #he's an anime scifi otome game mad scientist #they take bible concepts and put them in a blender for ease of excuse making and sick new abominations #yandere otome #yandere otome isekai #captured reader

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withahappyrefrain · 1 year ago

Text

Gin & Tonics (and Parking Spots)

Summary: In which Venus finally meets the infamous Dagger Squad. The fourth installment of the Parking Spots universe

Warnings: Language, Venus being Venus, Jake being lovesick, suggestive language, Venus has an actual name but it's only used twice

A sea of khaki that reeked of testosterone everywhere one turned.

It was Venus' worst nightmare.

She made her way past the crowd of people, avoiding the stares. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know she stuck out like a sore thumb. A "civilian" is what Jake called it.

Apparently "not a soldier" was too simple for the military. And "wasn't coerced by a recruiter to sell my soul to the US government" was too long.

"If you get there before me or Javy, just sit by Penny. She's the owner. You'll like her a lot."

Venus rolled her eyes at her fiancé, "I like anyone who can make a good drink, Jake."

Jake smiled before pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, “Y’know what I mean. She’ll look out for you.”

“What can I get you my dear?” Venus looked up to find an older woman behind the bar.

Her green eyes looked kind. She suddenly understood what Jake meant.

“I’ll just take a gin and tonic,” She shrugged her shoulders, trying her best to appear indifferent, undeterred by the borderline lewd stares. When getting ready, she thought the yellow dress would be a great choice for meeting Jake’s friends. Not too formal, not too informal. It was flattering, but not too revealing. She even put thought into her hair, opting to style it in waves rather than the natural curls that Jake adored.

“You wore that on our first date,” Jake said softly, a smile gracing his face.

She lowered the hanger in surprise, “You remember that?”

“Of course,” he reached a hand out to cup one side of her sweet face, “How could I forget?”

She didn’t account for the fact she would be alone for a bit. No, she was far too busy freaking out about meeting her fiance’s friends for the first time.

Fuck.

“They’re gonna love you V.”

Perhaps if she had some experience of being in a serious relationship and meeting their friends, anxiety wouldn’t be coursing through her body. She had met a few friends of the person she was dating before, but it was usually at a party where after introductions, she was left alone to her own devices.

The idea that someone would want to introduce her to other parts of their life, to become a part of them, was new. That they thought she was important enough to do so. Family? Sure. That was a given. But friends? The people you willingly chose to spend time with?

A whole different ballpark. Though in this case, perhaps turmac was more fitting.

“Since you’re new, I’m going to need to see your ID hun,” The woman, presumably Penny, said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Of course," She held her head high as pulled her driver's license from her wallet, ignoring the stares, trying to play off her hands shaking.

If they wanted her to move, they could fucking ask.

The bartender, who had to be Penny, looked at the ID, a soft smile forming, “Well Danica, I can see why Jake calls you Venus.”

“You…. know who I am?” Great, there was already a preconceived idea of who she was. Before she even had a chance, her fate was sealed.

What was she known as? The girl who yelled at Jake in a parking lot? The girl who threw bread rolls at him?

Penny continued to smile, “Of course! Jake is always excited to show me the latest picture he’s taken of you. The flowers you two got from the farmer’s market are beautiful by the way.”

Heat rushed to her face while recalling last weekend’s adventures. Jake insisted on taking her picture by the flower stand. It was strange at first-still was-how his Instagram that had once been only thirst traps workout pictures were now full of her and their adventures together.

As much fun as it was going through the older posts and giving him hell about it, she loved looking at the newer photos, the ones that showed their journey together.

“He’s a good photographer, I’ll give him that,” A small smile began to form on Venus' face, her shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Don’t give him too much. He needs to be kept on his toes,” Penny laughed in agreement, “I’m Penny by the way. So where is the man of the hour?"

Penny handed her a gin and tonic as she explained, "Had a last minute meeting with Simpson. He should be coming soon, as is the rest of the squad from my understanding."

Penny raised an eyebrow, "So you finally get to meet them! They have been dying to meet you. Been asking Jake about it for months."

The grip on her drink tightened.

Jake had a reputation. And with that reputation, came preconceived notions of what kind of girl he would date.

Venus was not what people thought of when it came to Jake's ideal type. While his family adored her, they all admitted they were surprised when Jake first called to tell them about the woman he met in a parking lot. Hell, even her family was surprised when she described him. They still adored him, loved him, and insisted on serving a traditionally prepared lechon at the engagement party.

But friends were a whole different breed. One willingly chose to spend time with them. Friends were honest, and more often than not, their opinion was highly valued.

She had learned that the hard way.

"I mean, she's nice but do you see it going anywhere? I don't."

"She's really not your type, man."

"She's kind of a bitch."

A soft hand gently laid on top of hers, breaking Venus out of her thoughts. Was it motherly instinct or was her anxiety that plainly written across her face?

She found Penny smiling, "They're so excited to meet you. They already adore you and ask about you constantly."

They were looking forward to meeting you, she repeated in her head. That means they want to meet you. Adore is such a specific word, Penny wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true.

She clung onto Penny's words. They were nuggets of truth, a shield against the negative thoughts that clouded her brain. The evidence that those shitty experiences were in the past, that the situation she was in now was entirely different, was better.

Her therapist would be so proud.

A more relaxed, genuine smile appeared on Venus’ face, the first one she could recall occurring since pulling into the parking lot of the Hard Deck.

“I look forward to meeting everyone. I’ll take another gin and tonic when you get a chance!”

“I got it covered Penny,” a smooth voice said. She turned around, half expecting (moreso hoping) to see Jake, despite the lack of Texan drawl.

When she turned around, there was no tall blonde with sparkling emerald green eyes and a smile so white, she could see it from outer space.

Instead, a Hawaiin shirt so ugly that no Dad at a BBQ would go near greeted her.

Her lips formed a tight line, her eyes narrowing. It was the same look she wore when dealing with annoying patients or annoying men.

“Welcome to the Hard Deck,” The man said with a wink. His eyes were nice, but the caterpillar that occupied the space between his nose and upper lip was what she noticed first.

She recognized him immediately. Jake had given her plenty of information so she could recognize members of the dagger squad.

Bold of him to assume she would just go up to them. But maybe she could have some fun with this.

Penny gave her a look, one that silently asked Should I tell him? Venus just shook her head, turning back to face the infamous Bradley Bradshaw.

“How do you know it’s my first time?” She asked coyly with a raised eyebrow before bringing the drink back to her lips.

“With a face like that? I wouldn't be able to forget ya." Did he also get his pickup lines from the eighties, in addition to his shirts?

Bradlet leaned against the railing of the bar, bending slightly so they were at eye level, “So what brings you here? Besides fate.”

Her eyes could not roll any harder. How many more lines would it take before he started singing Jerry Lewis?

“Well, after hearing about it so much, I just had to see the mustache in person,” She responded, moving her drink to her left hand.

If there had to be a sound that best represented Bradley’s face, it was a record scratch. The best he could respond with was a very confused “Excuse me?”

“I’ll give you credit, you pull off the look pretty well, despite it consisting of a pornstache and clothes from the part of the eighties that even Stranger Things won’t touch.”

“It’s not….it’s not a pornstache.”

A darked haired woman clad in a khaki uniform nearby snorted.

Venus grinned, “It is absolutely a pornstache. But some people are into that. I don’t get it, but good for you Rooster.”

Bradley's eyes knitted together in confusion,“Do I…..do I know you?”

"I would hope you know of me. According to Javy, Jake talks about me a lot. Anyways, we should become best friends. Jake’s reaction will be hilarious.”

It was then Bradley finally looked down, seeing the huge emerald ring on her left hand.

And that's when it hit Bradley Bradshaw like a fucking train.

"You're Venus?!"

It was much louder than she would have liked, the statement causing several people to look at her with curious stares.

Just play it cool, they all work for the military, you actually do important shit, she told herself over and over again.

“In the flesh!" She flashed a smile before taking a huge sip of her drink, trying to ignore the fact that another pilot was now approaching her.

She was going to need another drink to get through this.

"You're Hangman's girl? The one who told him to fuck off when you first met him?"The dark haired woman asked, practically shoving Bradley out of the way.

The infamous Venus shrugged, "I didn't exactly tell him to fuck off. I told him it made no sense why he could fly million-dollar jets but was a shit driver. Phoenix?"

Natasha nodded, “Glad he’s no longer hiding you. I’ve been telling him to bring you around ever since he arrived late to a debriefing with hearts in his eyes as he talked about a woman who referred to him as Hangnail.”

The comment brough relief. At least one person liked her, at least one person wanted to get to know her.

Natasha grabbed her arm, “Come on. The rest of the gang is going to lose their minds when they learn you’re finally here.”

Through the throngs of pilots, Natasha led her to a table filled with other men who all looked vaguely familiar. The tight lipped smile remained on her face as she straightened her shoulders, ready to face the (multiple) men of the hour.

“Hey guys, guess who I met?”

“V! You made it!” Before she could say anything, a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, picking her up.

“Javy, I swear to God if you don’t put me down-” She couldn’t help but laugh. Just like with Jake, Javy had become the older brother Venus never knew she wanted.

Knowing Javy would be there was what made her feel comfortable enough to arrive without Jake. Winning over your fiancé's best friend was quite the confidence boost.

Maybe it was the fact he actually made an effort to get to know her. Maybe it was the fact he took all her digs about the Saints in stride. But with Jake, the three of them had become a trio and she didn't mind at all.

"Hey guys! This is Danica! Aka Venus, aka the one who got Jake to settle down!"

"You really know how to build suspense Coyote," Nat deadpanned before taking a seat next to Bob. Javy lowered her down, her feet returning to the ground.

"You're Venus? The one he proposed to after eight months of dating?" A man with shining brown eyes and energy that could best be described as a golden retriever asked.

Her features softened as she looked down at her emerald ring, "When you know, you know. I also take it you're Mickey?"

"Wow, I guess Hangman talks about us more than we thought," Mickey joked, earning the chuckles from others.

She looked back up, that signature smirk having returned, "We're also having a long engagement, that was my compromise."

"That's not what he said," Phoenix scoffed, recalling the different potential venues Jake had already shown her.

She continued fidgeting with her engagement ring. It wasn’t a matter of Venus being unfamiliar to having all eyes on her. But with Jake's friends, it was different. Another layer of being official that she wasn’t used to.

"Well, you deserve all the drinks for being able to put up with Bagman,” Mickey commented, as if he sensed her nerves.

“Bagman?” she asked, a mischievous glint forming in her big eyes.

"It's what we call him when we feel he hasn't earned being called his proper name, which I'm sure as you know, is most of the time," A man with glasses and a thin lopsided smile that was sweeter than sugar explained.

Her eyes light up, "Oh, I am definitely using that. Also, are you Bob?"

Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to the bespectacled WSO, “You’re so cute! I’m adopting you.” For added effect, she placed a hand on each of Bob’s cheeks.

“Does that mean Bagman is my dad?" Bob asked with an almost grimace.

"Yeah, but I'll make sure he chills out," She reassured him with a soft smile.

“Wait, she’s actually nice?” Reuben whispered to Natasha and Bradley, “The way Jake describes her-”

“Look, if she can find redeemable qualities in Bagman of all people, she must have a lot going for her,” Natasha interjected.

As time passed, Venus found herself more and more at ease with the group. Despite having heard so much, they still took the time to ask questions, to get to know her. They wouldn’t only talk about Jake (not that she wanted them to), and they actually tried to include her in the conversation, despite her lack of knowledge about their field.

It was different. It was nice.

Once drinks got low, Venus offered to go get the next round. Bradley followed her, still apologizing for the flirting earlier.

She chuckled, “It’s totally fine. In fact, I think it’s hilarious that you and Bagman have a similar type,” Her eyes narrowed, “Which by the way, I know plenty of cute, spitfire nurses who are single.”

Bradley’s face turned bright red, “I’m uh-I don’t need any help with-”

“Look, I already plan to find Bob's future wife, might as well find yours while I’m at it. There are people out there who are into what you call a mustache,” She shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t get it, but I’m willing to find them for you.”

It was the way she mixed sweetness with snark that confused Bradley, as well as everyone else.

“Can I ask you something?” Bradley finally asked.

“I’m not going to tell you his dick size,” A devious smirk adorned her face, causing her to resemble the image the squad had conjured in their minds when Jake first told them how the ‘future Mrs. Seresin’ referred to him as a knockoff Ken doll.

“That’s not what-”

“But I will say-”

“Please don’t.”

“You could have named him Hungman and it still would have been accurate.”

“I really, really don’t need to hear this.” Bradley’s face was now bright red, whereas the woman next to him casually ordered the next round of beers and a lemon seltzer for Bob with a grin on her face.

“You’re telling me the men in the navy don’t talk about their dick sizes? Least of all, the person whose call sign means cock?”

“It’s a bird-”

“That also means cock.”

Bradley stared at her, quite frankly afraid that if he said another word, he'd have to hear about Hangman’s dick.

She stared right back, able to hold off the impromptu staring contest for a few moments before erupting into a fit of giggles.

When Jake first rambled on about the beautiful woman he had met at a coffee shop, who he insisted was his future wife, Bradley (and everyone else) thought the blonde pilot had lost his damn mind.

But after seeing her truly smile, Bradley could understand why Jake became so smitten.

“How….do you two work?” It was an honest question. Javy asked the same thing the first time he went out with you and Jake. She even wondered about it herself when they first got together.

She shrugged, fingers fiddling with Jake’s class ring that was on a silver chain around her neck, “We just….do. He calms me down. I remind him sometimes it’s better to be quiet and just listen. We both make each other smile and laugh. It’s nice. More than nice. It’s wonderful.”

Bradley noticed what she was fiddling with, "So that’s where it went.”

“He has a ring of mine that he wears with his dog tags. We traded before he went on deployment.” She shrugged again, as if to suggest it wasn’t a big deal.

The soft smile on her face suggested the exact opposite.

Bradley grinned, “Do you know he also wears one of your hair ties around his wrist?”

Her smile only continued to grow, "He says the more pieces he has of me on him, the luckier he is in the sky."

Truthfully, Venus wasn't sure what to expect when she began dating Jake. Certainly not him being such a romantic. It was strange at first. Why would someone go through so much effort to bring flowers, to make dinner reservations, to plan dates when they already had you?

When Jake scoffed at the very idea of not needing to impress it was the first time she truly reflected on previous relationships and just how shitty they were.

"Baby, they were awful," Jake pressed a chaste kiss to her shoulder, "You deserve so much more than what you've gotten."

A hand on your shoulder broke you out of your thoughts.

"I think I just saw that Jeep Wrangler you love so much just pulled up," Natasha teased.

She rolled your eyes, despite a small smile remaining as you shook your head, "I hate that fucking car."

"I'm glad someone else agr-"

"Bradshaw, don't get me started on your car choices." Her eyes narrowed as she shot him a look.

Only she got to insult that hideous car.

Bradley promptly closed his mouth, not wanting to face her infamous wrath.

He was still reeling from the Pornstache comment.

So instead, he simply helped her carry the round of drinks back to the rest of the squad.

"So Venus, what does the woman who made Jake Seresin lovesick do?" Payback asked.

"I'm a level three neonatal nurse at the local hospital," she explained, "Which is partly why it's been so hard to meet y'all. My schedule can be pretty irregular."

The table was quiet as they processed this new piece of information. When they first heard about her, they couldn't help but imagine a cutthroat business woman, a manager, a consultant.

Not a nurse. Particularly one who dealt with children.

"So you um, you-"

She set her glass down with force, "I do not play with babies and change diapers all day. My job is to keep premature babies alive and ensure they're able to go home with their family and live as healthy of a life as possible."

Her voice was tense, no doubt due to past dismissive comments regarding her job.

Bob shifted closer to her, "I think that's amazing. One of my sister's kids was born at 28 weeks and she still swears to this day that if it weren't for y'all, she would not have been able to keep it together."

Her shoulders visibly relaxed as a smile formed on her face, "I like you Bob. I'm going to keep you."

Mickey spoke up, "Hey, wait a second. My girlfriend Cielo and I have already put in a request to adopt Bob."

She put an arm around Bob's shoulder, shaking her head, "Nah, I call dibs."

"We knew him first!" If one didn’t see the gleam of playfulness that laced Mickey’s amber eyes, his tone would sound completely defensive.

Bob finally spoke up, "Just a friendly reminder that I'm thirty one years old."

She turned to the soft spoken WSO, "Which is why I am determined to find you your Missus."

"Get in line, Cielo and I have been working on that."

Natasha snorted, "We've all been working on that."

Bob signed, putting a palm to his face.

"Hey V, I think your man just walked in." Maybe it was fate, maybe the universe took pity on Bob.

But when Venus looked up upon hearing Reuben's words, her heart skipped a beat.

There he was.

Jake was over at the bar, waiting for Penny to take notice of him. No doubt ordering gin and tonic, along with a basket of fries for Venus. He always made sure she had something to snack on.

"Wanna see something?" She asked the gang.

Without waiting, she put two fingers to her mouth, a loud whistle coming out. The noise caught the attention of several people, including a blonde man with eyes greener than the emerald that adorned her engagement ring.

When Jake's eyes met hers, her heart skipped a beat. His eyes lit up, a smile overtaking his face.

"Hi loverboy," she called out with a wave. Oh she tried to smirk, try to play it off as if she was indifferent to the sight of her fiancé.

But Danica's eyes told a different story.

"Venus!" Jake called out, getting even more attention. Not that he noticed. He was too busy practically shoving folks out of the way to get to the table.

Maybe she picked up her pace to meet Jake. Maybe Jake knocked a drink over as his hands placed themselves underneath her thighs, allowing him to pick her up in one swoop.

It’s not like either of them were paying attention.

—-----------------------------------------

To say Jake Seresin was annoyed was an understatement.

His day had started out so well. He got to wake up not on base in a small, old twin bed, but instead in the arms of his fiancé.

Then he had to go to work.

Jake loved his job. He was damn good at it- one of the best, in fact. He enjoyed being at work, which was something many couldn't say.

But not when his job caused him to be late, unable to be with the woman he loved, especially on a night where she needed him the most.

Normally, she would have already met his friends before Jake proposed to her. But thanks to the nature of his job, which involved spur-of-the-moment missions, he had done things a bit backwards.

If it weren't for the nature of his job, Venus could have met the squad back when she only had the title of girlfriend.

Sure, she still would have put pressure on herself, as was in her nature. But decidedly less pressure.

Jake wanted to be there for her, to reassure her that she was in fact, the most incredible person he had ever met and that his friends would see that immediately. To put a hand on her shoulder whenever he saw that smile begin to fade, self doubt creeping into her mind.

Which was why he was all but running into the Hard Deck. His meeting with Cyclone lasted much longer than intended. Normally Jake wasn’t super concerned about showing up late to the Hard Deck, but today was the worst day it could happen.

Deep in his heart, he knew she would be just fine. At worst, she wouldn’t approach the squad until Javy arrived and would stick by Penny.

Jake just wanted her to feel comfortable, to feel at ease. He wanted to support her, like any decent husband would.

So yeah, maybe he was taking advantage of his status, knowing that no one would say anything if he pushed past them without a single excuse me. Jake knew his great grandmother was rolling in her grave, but he hoped Mimi would understand all in due time.

“Hey Penny, have you happened to see an absolute goddess with an affinity for gin and tonics?” Jake asked once he arrived at the front of the bar, ignoring the glares.

Penny simply smiled, "I think your friends found her. She was also pretty low on her beverage last time I saw her."

"Well, we can't have that. I'll take a Miller Light, along with a Gin and tonic with a basket of fries." Jake recalled that she had texted him around two that she was on her lunch break. He doubted she had much time, if any, to eat when she got home from work.

Order fries first, then find the love of his life.

If only the bar wasn't slammed.

He was trying his best not to be impatient. It wasn't Penny's fault, the Hard Deck was always like this when a new class arrived to base.

But damn was it frustrating. The minutes seemed to tick away. Jake looked around, unable to spot his fiancé amidst the sea of khaki.

Until he heard that whistle.

He looked around, Bradshaw finally moving his bigass head to reveal the person that made his heart soar.

She was sitting with the rest of the gang, smiling. She looked at ease, as if she had always been a part of this crew.

Jake knew this was possible, that she had it in herself to open up and connect, rather than sit at the bar and wait for him to come.

But sometimes she forgets that she can.

So when Jake doesn't need to remind her, he can't help but beam.

"Hi loverboy!" His heart fluttered when she sent him a wink, along with her smirk that he fell in love with the first time he saw (it also made him hard but that's neither here nor there).

So yes, he did gently push some people out of the way to get to the table. And he did knock a drink over when he went to pick her up. But in Jake's defense, he hadn't seen her since seven-thirty in the morning and it was only Bradley's drink.

"Hi baby," He said as he pressed his lips to her cheek.

She rolled her eyes, though the smile still remained on her face, "You act like you haven't seen me in forever."

"Because I haven't," Jake murmured against her skin, "It's been ten hours."

"Ten hours?" She repeated, her tone teasing, "You're incorrigible."

"I don't know what that means, but thanks V," He said before pressing his lips against hers.

Before Jake, she wasn't used to PDA. It wasn't a matter of not desiring it, she did. But none of her past relationships were into it, so it wasn't something she pursued.

And then she met Jake. Jake, who would just grab her hand without saying anything. Jake, whose natural inclination was to wrap his arms around her. Jake, who would make the effort to kiss her, even if he was just passing by to get a drink or to unload the dishwasher.

She liked it. She couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face as his lips moved to her nose, then forehead.

"Can you put me down? You're looking a little desperate GI Joe," She teased, quickly placing a chaste kiss on his jawline.

"You like it," He whispered in her ear, gently setting her back down.

"Debatable," She rolled her eyes, trying to fight back a smile as Jake pressed another kiss against her cheek.

"Debatable?" He questioned, "The ring on your left hand says otherwise sweetheart."

Venus looked down at the ring, "I guess."

"You guess?" Jake hummed, his arms now wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on top of her head.

The noise and chatter of the Hard Deck slipped away when she looked up, meeting his emerald eyes. She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back a lovesick smile.

It was no use, as it came out anyway.

"Oh my God they're adorable," Bradley whispered to Natasha, stunned.

"What the hell is happening?" Natasha whispered back, equally as stunned.

"I think they're…in love?" Mickey didn't sound too sure of himself, if at all.

"Of course they are, is it not obvious?" Bob practically scoffed.

"Careful," Natasha teased, elbowing Bob playfully, "Think she still wants to adopt you. Remember who your dad would be."

—------

The rest of the night wasn't anything unusual, save for Natasha, Bradley, Mickey, and Bob asking Venus questions while Jake, Javy, and Reuben played a round of pool.

"So he listens when you tell him to shut up? Like deadass?" Mickey asked.

She raised an eyebrow, "He listens to me regardless of what I say."

"I don't believe it," Bradley started, "We can barely get him to listen to us and-"

"Hey Jake?" Venus called out, remaining in her seat.

Jake looked up from the angling his pool cue, his eyes lightening up when they met hers, "What's up darling?"

"Do you think Sammy and Jess deserved to win Love Island?" Bradley couldn't help but scoff at Venus' question, there was no way-

"Jess did, because she had the best personality of that season and was actually likable. She would have won regardless of who she coupled up with," Jake explained as he briefly looked back to his aim, "Unfortunately she was stuck on Sammy, who did not deserve to win, dude's a fuckboy if I've ever seen one. Is your drink empty?"

The squad wasn't sure what was more shocking, the fact Jake had been able to make a perfect shot without looking again, or how focused he was on another person's needs.

Venus, oblivious to this confusion, raised her empty drink, "I am! Can you get me another gin and tonic please?"

Jake immediately set his pool stick down, ignoring the confused cries of Javy and Reuben as he went to Venus to give her a kiss on the cheek and pick up her glass.

"What did you just do?" Mickey asked as soon as Jake headed over to the bar.

Venus shrugged, "I asked him for another drink. I got his last drink, it's only fair."

"But he was in a middle of a game-"

"The less you think about it, the less confused you'll be," Javy explained, cutting off Reuben.

Javy had long since learned that Jake's focus was now all things Venus. He was pretty sure once Venus became pregnant, she would be able to pry Jake away from a Texas football game.

"How do you get him to listen to you?" Bradley asked, stunned.

"I love her," Jake scoffed because wasn't it obvious? The only people who didn't seem confused by all this were Javy and Bob.

Jake now understood why Venus wanted to adopt the bespectacled WSO.

"So what are we? Chopped liver?" Natasha remarked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"He just loves y'all a little less," Venus teased, taking her drink from Jake's hands.

Bradley scoffed, "Dude, I was your bunkmate."

"Yeah but did you give him blowjobs frequently?" Venus asked, unaffected by the number of aviators who nearly choked on their drinks. Jake could feel the tops of cheek heat up.

"Well, depended on-" Bradley started, much to the delightful shrieks of Natasha, Javy, and Reuben.

"Alright, it's time for us to go pick a new song," Jake stated loudly, practically pushing his fiancé to the jukebox.

"You're finishing that story later!" Venus called out, pointing to Bradley.

"Only if you convince him not to play Free Rider!" Bradley called back.

Jake dragged away his fiancé, who was now laughing at the antics of his coworkers.

He couldn't help but smile at the sight. She was beautiful like this; eyes squinting, cheeks round as she smiled, skin glowing, not having a care in the world.

Jake would do anything to keep that smile on her face.

"I get to pick," She said, taking the quarter out of Jake's hand.

"Why do you get to pick?" Jake teased before placing a kiss against her temple.

"Because it's my first time here," she started, because wasn't it obvious? "Plus, I want Bradshaw to finish the story."

"You're really about to give Bradshaw what he wants?" Jake put his hand over his heart, "V, that's the most offensive thing you've said to me."

Venus simply raised an eyebrow as she scoffed, "That's the most offensive thing I've said to you? Compared to all the other stuff? Compared to what I said when we first met?"

"I thought it was charming," Jake was completely sincere, which Venus didn't know if she should find that cute or concerning.

"I think you liked being called a Ken doll," she muttered, looking through the list of songs.

Jake wrapped his arms around her waist, nestling his head on her shoulder, "I liked the woman who called me a Ken doll. So much so, I plan to marry her."

Her teeth tugged her bottom lip, a tall-tale sign that she was flustered. She didn't blush, but Jake had learned the signs; she would bite her lip, her lashes would flutter. Her hand that wasn't pressing buttons on the jukebox drummed against the machine, looking for something to do.

"I love you," he whispered. The declaration made her head turn, allowing Jake to steal a kiss.

"Could have just asked."

"Where's the fun in that?" He pressed his lips against a heated cheek, leaving tiny kisses.

Her eyes softened upon looking up at Jake, "How did the meeting go?"

He squeezed the soft flesh of her hip, "Cyclone thinks I have a decent shot at the instructor position. And that I would be a good fit."

The statement caused her eyes to light up. Jake could see that she was trying to hold herself back, trying not to get her hopes up.

"So he'll write you a letter of recommendation?"

He grinned, showing off his pristinely (and blindingly) white teeth, "Him and Mav."

"We stan a short king." She said it half in jest, purely to see Jake's brows knit together in confusion, the five year age difference showing.

"Is that a Tik Tok reference?"

She stifled a giggle as she shook her head, "No. But you're getting there!"

"You make me feel so old," Jake sighed. He thought he was doing so well, until Venus informed him that Instagram reels were just Tik Tok videos shown two weeks later.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, "So you think you have a shot at it? The position?"

Before meeting her, Jake would have scoffed at the suggestion he wouldn't get something. He knows who he is, what he's capable of.

But he doesn't want to let her down. To disappoint her. They both know what this position would entail; permanence. Not having to be deployed on missions. Not having to be away from her for months at a time. The ability to settle down with her.

"I think so. Cyclone says I have the track record to prove I know the material and I now have the temperance to show I can teach it well."

She grinned, "that's the most polite way to say you're no longer a cocky asshole."

Jake wiggled his eyebrows, eliciting another soft giggle from her.

"Are you sure you're okay with this? If you get the position?" She asked, biting her bottom lip in an attempt to hide her nerves.

When Jake first brought up the idea of applying to the instructor position, she thought he was joking. Why would someone give up the chance to travel around the world, playing the role of a real life superhero?

But then he kept bringing it up, announcing he was going to apply. When questioned, Jake said it was simple.

"Getting that job means I get to stay here, with you."

That's what he said then and it's what he said now.

"Besides," he added, "the chances of me becoming an ace are low. I'm more than happy to be the only one with two confirmed kills in my generation."

Venus' eyes narrowed at him and without breaking eye contact, she pressed a button on the Jukebox.

The notes of Queen's I Want to Break Free filled the Hard Deck, which was followed by the sounds of the squad clapping and thanking Venus.

"Babe!" Jake nearly whined, putting his hand on his heart, "Really?!"

"Oh please, you absolutely deserve that." Venus stated before walking towards the bar.

Jake all but ran after her, grabbing her closest hand.

"So is now a bad time to tell you that today I parked within the lines?"

Venus stopped, her eyes slowly turning towards her fiancé, "Both lines?"

Jake nodded, a proud, albeit cocky smirk adorning his face.

She took a step forward, her face now inches apart from Jake's.

"You know," her voice was low, "If you want me to fuck you, you can just ask."

Jake visibly gulped, the smirk fading as heat rushed to his face, "I mean I, uh, I always want you to-"

"Did you take a picture of it? Your parking job?" She rested her chin on Jake's head, wrapping her arms around his waist. To others, the gesture was very sweet.

But Jake could see the desire in her eyes and it was making his knees weak.

"It's um, how I parked outside of here-"

"I want to see it. And then I want to go home and fuck you," with that, she was walking towards the door, her fingers hooking themselves around one of Jake's belt loops to ensure he followed.

Not that he needed encouragement, he was already trailing right behind her.

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