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joelscruff · 1 year

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fic #tlou fic #*#fic: feelings on fire

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eiightysixbaby · 1 year

Text

sunscreen and chlorine

word count: 3.5k

pairing: lifeguard!eddie x fem!reader

summary: things get steamy during an unbearably hot day at the hawkins pool.

cw: 18+ MINORS DNI - SMUT. oral (m receiving), sexual innuendos with a popsicle, sex in a public place, unprotected p in v, creampie, billy is mentioned in this lol. lmk if i forgot any!

author’s note: lifeguard!eddie has been invading my brain for days so here, have this.

It was hot. So, so unbelievably hot. The kind of heat where you step outside and feel like you can’t breathe for a second, where the air feels thick and heavy and sweat clings to your skin relentlessly. There was no breeze, none at all, just stagnant heat lingering. Naturally, just about everyone in Hawkins was at the community pool, dying for a way to cool down. Bare feet walking on hot pavement, vibrant swimsuits almost blinding in the sun. Brightly colored beach balls being tossed around in the water as screams and splashes rang out. Eddie sat perched in his lifeguard chair, bright red swim trunks covering his bottom half, stopping a little bit above his knees. A black tank top rested on his torso, clinging tight to modest muscles. Even in the blistering summer, Eddie wasn’t one to parade around with his shirt off. Much unlike Billy, who would take any chance he could get to be wearing as little clothing as possible, showing off his biceps to the suburban mothers who’d fawn over him. Bored women who married boring men that they felt close to nothing for, all for the sake of having that nuclear family, now dying to relive their teenage years. Eddie would occasionally throw scandalous remarks their way when they’d whistle at him, but for the most part he didn’t bite.

Eddie was honest to god sweltering, to put it lightly. The shade from the umbrella attached to the chair provided little comfort for him, but at least it kept most of his skin from receiving direct sun exposure. He’d already applied sunscreen several times, rubbing the white cream all over just to sweat it off a half hour later, and then repeat the process. His pale skin was unforgiving in the summer months, quick to turn an angry red if Eddie wasn’t careful about being in the sun. There’d been one too many occasions where he’d sat perched on the kitchen counter after hot summer days, Wayne rubbing aloe on his stinging skin. Sometimes Eddie isn’t sure why he chose to have a job that required him to be exposed to the elements so often, but hey, it pays the bills.

He peered through his sunglasses at all of the patrons in the pool, wishing he could feel the cool water on himself. His hair was pulled back into a low bun, keeping the heavy curls from making his neck too warm. He kept himself occupied any way he could, blowing his whistle at kids who insisted on running around the pool grounds despite several signs warning not to, laughing to himself when they’d slow to a walk, staring up at him with guilty eyes. Sat high on his perch, his eyes scanned over the various suspects down below - teenage girls sprawled out on towels, pretending like they weren’t absolutely miserable in the sun as they tanned their skin, Jason Carver walking towards the pool with Chrissy Cunningham over his shoulders, laughing in protest about the water being too cold, Billy flirting excessively with anything with a pulse instead of watching the pool. Eddie huffed a sigh, for as busy a day as it was, there was very little for him to actually do. Not that he wanted to have to, you know, save somebody from drowning today or something, but he was just bored. Ninety-five percent of the town’s population had to be here today, and yet none of his friends were around to keep him entertained. He was hot, he was cranky, and he just wanted to go home and unwind. Needed to smoke a joint, maybe rub one out, and go the fuck to sleep.

After yelling at some teenager to stop dunking unsuspecting people under the water, he resumed his people watching. His whistle sat loosely in his mouth, Eddie absentmindedly fidgeting with the silver metal between his teeth, whispers of that shrill chirping sound fighting their way out of the object every time he’d exhale too hard. Pulling his sunglasses off and tucking them on top of his head, his brown eyes roamed over the grounds until they landed on you. He recognized you, remembers you from high school though you two were never close. A pretty thing - you always have been - sprawled across a lounge chair, one leg crossed over the other casually. Water droplets dried on your skin, and the ends of your hair were wet, indicating your recent swim. You had a popsicle pressed between your lips, sticky red juice melting down your hand, the heat affecting the sweet ice too fast for you to keep up with. He doesn’t fully realize how hard he’s been staring until your eyes catch his, and you cock an eyebrow at him. He feels his cheeks heat up, for once from something other than the sun, and is about to just scamper down from his chair and into a hole in the ground before you wave at him, fingers delicately wiggling his way.

He gives you a casual wave back, fully catching the smile that you try to cover with your hand. Your eyes are unwavering on his thin frame, taking in his pale skin that’s littered here and there with tattoos. Gaze pausing on the soft muscles in his arms, trailing down to the fabric of his swim trunks, bunched up just below the waistband, concealing the rest of him that you’d very much like to see. You notice that he doesn’t stop looking at you, either. Eddie shamelessly lets his eyes rake up your legs, the vibrant pink of your bathing suit complimenting the rest of you. He swears his heart almost stops when he meets your eyes again, noticing the sultry look in them as you slowly push your popsicle past your lips once more. It almost completely disappears in your mouth before you pull it out, excruciatingly slowly. You lick it from bottom to top, tongue flat against the strawberry flavored treat, eyes never leaving Eddie’s.

He feels his cock twitch slightly in his swim trunks, suddenly finding it incredibly hard to focus on doing his job. You knew what you were doing, and you weren’t about to back down from what Eddie could tell. The dense heat was getting to his head, his brain turning to mush as he watched you. Juice from the popsicle slowly trickled down your chin until you wiped it with your fingers, proceeding to stick the index and middle in your mouth, sucking the sweet syrup off. Eddie shifts in his seat, subtly adjusting the fabric of his swim trunks, trying to conceal the bulge growing beneath them. You notice the awkward movement, lips twisting into a smirk as your mouth resumes its work on your popsicle. By the time you’ve consumed the entirety of the cold treat, pulling the last bit off the stick with your teeth and letting it melt in your mouth, Eddie is uncomfortably hard. He’s pulled the bright red rescue tube that was once secured at the side of the lifeguard chair over his lap, which wouldn’t seem like a calculated maneuver to anyone except you. You know the effect you’ve had on him, and he knows you’re enjoying it. Now that you’re done putting on a little show for him, he’s not sure what to do next. Was that it? Seductively eat your popsicle for him and it’s over, resume his shift as normal? He couldn’t exactly shout across the way at you to ask for your number - or at least, he didn’t want to make an absolute buffoon of himself trying.

He didn’t have to deliberate for long before he caught you jerking your head to the side, eyes following in the direction of the changing rooms and showers. You stood slowly from your chair, making sure he got the hint, before walking towards the big blue door to the women’s changing rooms. He couldn’t help but admire the way your ass looked as you walked away from where he was perched, soft flesh peeking out around the fabric of your bathing suit bottoms. Eddie was fully aware of the fact that fooling around with you at his place of employment in the middle of his shift was probably not a wise idea, but fuck it. He couldn’t hold off any longer. Gangly legs climbed down the steps of the lifeguard post until his feet hit the pavement below, almost immediately protesting at the heat coming from the concrete. He walked quickly in the direction you had led him, pulling his shirt over his head and bunching it in front of him to conceal the horrendously obvious tent in his pants. He approached Billy who gave him a questioning look.

“Cover for me for a few, man,” Eddie said quietly, for only Billy to hear, shoving the rescue tube at the shorter man for him to take.

“What?” Billy asked, stumbling back ever so slightly as Eddie presses the red safety equipment into his chest.

“Just fucking cover for me,” his voice was firm, and he walked away before Billy could say another word. The other man huffed an annoyed sigh as he headed for the lifeguard chair.

Eddie stepped cautiously into the changing rooms, not wanting to startle any unsuspecting pool patrons, but was pleasantly surprised when the only person he found inside was you. You leaned against a wall nonchalantly, twisting a lock of your hair around your fingers, smiling warmly at him.

“Hey, handsome. Decided to join me?” your voice is playful as you eye him up and down.

“That little show you put on sure was something, sweetheart,” Eddie says lowly, stalking slowly towards you.

“Just wanted to get you all worked up for the real deal,” you smirk at him, and he swallows a lump in his throat.

“Give me one sec,” he says quickly, turning on his heel.

Eddie heads back towards the door, grabbing the maintenance sign that sits in the corner. It reads, ‘Sorry! Temporarily closed for cleaning. We apologize for the inconvenience. -Hawkins Community Pool Staff’. He posts it on the outside of the door, letting the heavy metal swing closed behind him. Best to cover all of his bases here, he certainly doesn’t want any kids getting scarred for life today.

“We don’t exactly want an audience, now do we?” he asks as he walks slowly back towards you.

“No, no I guess not,” you reply, index finger bent with the nail between your teeth, a nervous habit shining through your casual demeanor.

Eddie stands mere inches away from you, breath fanning your face every time he exhales. He finds it hard to contain himself, wants nothing more than to have his hands on you. He steps even closer, looking down at you, loose strands of hair falling from his bun. He discarded the shirt he’d been holding onto the floor, and you find your eyes trailing down to his crotch, the slight bulge beneath the brightly colored fabric looking ever so appealing. His big brown eyes watch you intently, searching for any signs of your discomfort.

“You sure you want this?” he asks, voice steady.

“Yeah, ‘m sure. I’ve secretly been wanting you since we were fucking eighteen, so,” you laugh lightly, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Shit, you could’ve been teasing me with popsicles this whole time?” Eddie jokes, reaching his hands out and letting them gently rest on your hips.

You’re quiet, just admiring the soft freckles on his face and the warm brown of his eyes and those full pink lips. Eddie notices the way your eyes linger on his mouth, and his lips curl into a wicked grin.

“What’re you looking at me like that for, honey? Need something?” Eddie asks, teasing, his face so deliciously close to yours.

“Think I’m in serious need of mouth to mouth…” you say, trying to tease him back but your voice is breathy.

In an instant he’s swept you into a kiss. He groans softly as your hands climb up the back of his neck, tugging on his hair where it meets his scalp. His head is swirling, still fuzzy from the early July heat and now from the feel of your soft lips on his. You smell like sunscreen and chlorine, taste like artificial strawberry flavoring. Your lips are passionate yet gentle in their movements against his, and he wants to melt onto the floor for someone to mop up later. The kiss deepens rapidly before Eddie finally has to break away, the temperature in the large room growing to be unbearable. You read his mind before he can even say anything, and pull him into a shower stall, turning the water on to a comfortably cool temperature. You close the curtain behind you, and when you turn back to face him you drop to your knees, hands grabbing at the soft fabric of his swim shorts.

Eddie feels like he’s floating, like the scorching day got to his head and he’s having some weird fever dream hallucination. The feeling of your fingers ghosting over his happy trail and hooking under the waistband of his shorts brings him back down to earth. He sucks in a sharp breath as you tug the swim trunks down, his cock springing free a couple inches from your face. You’re mesmerized at the sight in front of you. He was big, longer than most you’ve seen but less thick. His cock seemed to stare you directly in the face, flushed pink tip leaking pre cum. A small patch of dark curls rested at the base, and his heavy balls hung low beneath. You lick your lips, cool water from the shower falling in small streams over his shoulders and down his chest. The smooth tile floor is hard against your knees, you’re sure they’ll be bruised and sore tomorrow. You grab the base of him, tapping the tip of his cock on your tongue a few times, looking up at him with wide doe eyes. Eddie hisses, grabbing fistfuls of your hair with his hands.

“Don’t be a tease, honey,” he growls down at you, and you look at him innocently.

“Me? Never,” you reply, taking the head of his cock in your mouth in one swift movement.

He inhales abruptly, then lets out a sigh as you slowly bob your head on his cock, adjusting to the warm feeling of your mouth. You take him as deep as you can, his tip hitting the back of your throat, making you gag around him. Eddie groans in response to this, pulling tighter on your hair, silently begging for you to do it again. You oblige, letting the head of his cock abuse your throat, mouth wide open for him.

“Fuck, baby, feels so fucking good,” Eddie’s voice is deeper than before, his eyes dark as they watch your movements.

You lean down further, sucking his balls into your mouth, letting your tongue roll over the stretchy skin. He genuinely yelps, surprised at the contact, eyes squeezed shut. You smile to yourself before sucking them into your mouth once again, Eddie’s whines and whimpers echoing throughout the walls of the building. You bring a hand up to toy with his balls as you redirect your mouth’s attention to the swollen tip of his cock, practically pleading for you to take it past your lips. Eddie’s in shambles as you lick and suck his sensitive head, cleaning the salty pre cum off with your tongue. You take him fully into your mouth again without warning, eliciting moans and curses as he steadies himself with one hand on the shower wall. The contrast between the cold water hitting his back and the sticky humid air tickling the skin of his chest made his head spin, the warmth of your mouth engulfing him only adding to the varying sensations. He feels himself inching closer and closer towards release, and he abruptly grabs your chin and pulls you gently off of him.

“Can I fuck you, baby? Need to be inside that pussy,” he’s trying to maintain his composure but the words come out like a whine, like he’s desperate for you.

You nod as you look up at him, admiring the water droplets that fall from his bangs and the tip of his nose, pussy throbbing between your thighs as his cock rests inches from your face.

“Use your words, pretty thing. Tell me I can fuck you,” Eddie coaxes you, pulling you to stand in front of him

“Yes, Eddie, please. Want you to fuck me,” your eyes are pleading and it makes his cock twitch.

He wraps his arms around to your backside, signaling for you to jump. He holds you securely, back now pressed against one of the shower walls, your legs wrapped around his waist. His lips are on yours instantly, tongue exploring the inside of your mouth with fervor as you whimper for him. His mouth travels down, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Hot tongue licking your sticky skin, the faint taste of sweat lingering. He pushes the wet fabric of your swimsuit bottoms to the side, lining himself up with your entrance. He kisses you deeply as you feel him slide into you, stretching you open just for him, velvety walls snug around his cock. He groans into your mouth, pushing himself slowly in to the hilt, and your nails claw at his back in desperation. The stretch is so good your toes curl, your body begging and screaming for more.

“P-please, Eddie, oh my god,” you whine, Eddie’s lips now attacking your neck.

“What, honey? What do you need?” Eddie purrs, big hands squeezing the soft flesh of your ass.

“Need you to move, fuck me rough Eddie, please,” you beg him, clinging to him like a vice.

He gets his bearings on the slippery floor before rutting up into you, slick sounds of wet skin on wet skin bouncing around the shower stall. Eddie gasps as his cock fills you once more, every thrust reaching so deep, his thick fingers pressing into your smooth skin as he supports your weight. You can hear faint screams and laughter from the pool outside, and the reminder of the way no one on the outside knows what Eddie’s doing to you in here makes you dizzy with desire. Eddie’s grunting with every snap of his hips, hair frizzy and bangs sticking to his forehead, a panting mess as he fucks you like his life depends on it. You’re sure your lower back will be sore after this, every jolt to your body ramming you against the wall, but you’re too drunk on Eddie to care. The way your legs are wrapped around him opens you up for his cock to hit the perfect spot inside of you, and you’re screaming his name as he pounds relentlessly into your sopping cunt.

“Yeah? Feels good, baby? You like having my cock deep inside you?” Eddie rasps into your ear, hips moving at an unforgiving pace.

The friction against your clit as his body moves against yours paired with the way his cock hits your favorite spot inside of you has you approaching your release rapidly, your body aching to let go. Eddie’s close, too, moaning out strings of curse words and praise as your walls suck him in.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey, where do you want it?” he asks breathlessly, brown eyes blown wide as they search your face.

“Inside, need it inside,” you choke the words out, so blissed out it’s hard to speak.

Eddie picks up his pace, hips stuttering as he lets himself go. You feel his cock twitch, warmth spreading inside you as he pumps you full of his cum. Your orgasm hits you the second you feel him fill you, clenching around his already spent cock, milking him for everything he’s got. Eddie presses his forehead to yours, releasing the harsh grip on your hips as he gently sets you down. Your legs tremble, cum leaking out of you and dripping down the insides of your thighs. You rinse them off with the water from the shower head, before turning it off.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Eddie pants, pulling his swim trunks up before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“When do you get off work? Maybe you could come over after,” your voice is shy as you suggest it.

“I’m the closing guard tonight, actually. Sooo… I could totally get fired for this, but if you wanted to come back here around 8pm after lock up, I could give you some, y’know, private swimming lessons,” he smirks, cheeks turning a slight shade of pink.

“Count me in, baby. I think I’m gonna be needing lessons weekly, though…” you trail off, heavy lidded eyes looking at him as you twirl his hair around your fingers.

“I can work with that,” Eddie grins, pulling you into a kiss.

As the heat of the day eventually fades into a hazy nightfall, Hawkins residents slowly filing out of the pool and returning home, Eddie thinks of nothing but you. Billy almost slugged him for leaving him in charge for so long, but in Eddie’s book it was worth it. Sure enough, at 8pm on the dot, you saunter towards the gate to the pool. In your left hand was another popsicle.

Eddie was sure you’d be the death of him tonight.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #lifeguard!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic

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chaotic-minds-think-alike · 1 year

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Biiig image hopefully it like translates well but oughhg vultures,, Info/hcs about them below: (warning- long/wordy post)

General information:

Their entire lifecycle is based off bugs and thus they go through instars or larval stages of growth before they eventually cocoon and pupate and finally emerge as fully fledged adults

Through some strange modifications to their genetic and biological code, the ancients were able to make them grow their own biomechanical components through ingesting inorganic and organic material

Much more detailed under a microscope, their biomechanical structures are layered as if they were 3D printed on, but include interwoven organic components such as nerves and blood vessels

Vultures are opportunistic and will even result to cannibalism

Hatchling / 1st Instar:

multiple hatchlings will hatch all at once in a single clutch and immediately fight each other, eventually killing and consuming the loser, thus resulting in only a few grubs surviving

Nutrients gained from their siblings and material eaten from the environment around them is used to form the headpiece as quickly as possible

the modified head is used as its primary defense in the larval stage, calling adult vultures in hopes that it'll deter it's attacker- though the vultures that do arrive are most likely not the parents and will eat the grub at any given chance

5th Instar:

By now the grub has eaten as much nutrients as it could and will soon undergo pupation

The grub's first four legs have elongated to aid in travel as they will seek refuge in high perches where they will hide away and cocoon

They are swift and hard to spot in this stage because of their grime covered coat

Pupation / Near emergence:

After spinning its cocoon, the silk hardens and thickens into a tough ball

The silk is woven in with specific nutrients that promote plant growth to further hide the cocoon

After an undetermined amount of time, the cocoon gradually expands as the pupa grows into the adult form; the expansion leaves translucent areas where the silk is thin

Adult Vulture:

The engines and mask are a result of a mixture of bone-like material and metal-like material and are very hard to break

They are aware of how strong their own mask is so they stray from fighting each other, only ever attacking another vulture if they've lost their mask; this is an instinctive behavior both driven by their opportunistic nature and seeing a maskless vulture as sick or injured

As with the majority of creatures, the skin of a vulture is smooth and porous, but instead has patches of hair-like protrusions

Through a mysterious process, vultures are able to synthesize various chemicals to aid in flight, namely helium gas, which is pumped into the feathers

This process brings toxic byproducts: chlorine and iodine gas, which is forcefully expelled alongside the helium through the engines and out of the creature

A vulture's engines are raised occasionally to allow more airflow and a faster exchange of gas as standalone they accumulate these chemicals regardless of exertion

The feathers of a vulture are akin to swim bladders and are inflated with helium gas to allow the creature to fly, the feathers retain their flat shape but the skin is expanded and shows the true colors of the wings, when deflated the feathers are black in color

When on the ground, the feathers of a vulture are deflated and much tougher, their wings will curl into "fists" as they walk, occasionally extending their wings to grab ahold of things with their prolegs

Previously as a grub, they had 4 developed legs before they pupate, the mid legs turned into a pair of weak grabbing arms, mainly used to preen the creature

The grub's last pair of legs became fat reserves

The jaws of a vulture are pretty animal-like and only have a top and bottom jaw, they also have pedipalps which are used to preen, grab, and feel things

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King Vulture:

Unknown as to how they originated, bear slightly different genetic coding compared to normal vultures, namely noticed with the mysterious brand on their masks

the vulture is larger to accommodate a second pair of lungs solely used to power the harpoon mechanism

The harpoon is shot via a swift expulsion of air similar to a sneeze, through the cables that they stiffen and expand, sending the harpoon flying at dangerous speeds

Relaxation of the cables allows them to slowly retract back on their own

#myart #rainworld #design #concept #rainworld vulture #vulture #king vulture #bugs #insect #rainworldbuilding

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williamsonarssnal · 2 days

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𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | LW (parte.2)

SILVER SPRING ⸻ leah williamson x swimmer! reader.

Warning: making amends, feeling a bit angsty, Leah is the reader's true love, mentions original character. English isn't my first language!

Childhood memories flooded Y/N's mind as she sank deeper into the pool's depths. Her first touch of the water, the sensation of freedom and weightlessness, like a fish swimming in its own sea. The conquest of the first gold medal, the taste of victory and the joy of representing her country, the national anthem echoing in her ears. The unconditional love of her first pet, a Golden Retriever named Toby, who accompanied her on all her adventures, licking her face with affection after each game. The butterflies in her stomach during the first kiss at a school event, the promise of a future full of romance, whispering secrets under the moonlight. The declaration of love for Leah, the sincerity and vulnerability that united their hearts, sealing a pact of eternal love. The games with Marvin, her new furry companion, the walks in the open air, exploring new places together, the unshakeable friendship between dog and owner. The first words "I love you" whispered to Leah, the confirmation of a unique and true love, a melody that echoed in her soul.

The images mixed, forming a kaleidoscope of happy and unforgettable moments. With each desperate stroke, Y/N approached the surface, seeking light and life. The pain in her calf was excruciating, like knives piercing her muscles, but her willpower drove her to fight against death, the memory of her dreams and everything she loved most pushing her upwards.

Suddenly, a hand gripped her arm firmly, like a ray of hope cutting through the darkness. Y/N felt a strong pull and then her feet touched the bottom of the pool. She coughed up water and air, opening her eyes with difficulty, her vision blurred by the chlorinated water. A blurred figure was leaning over her, offering her support, a guardian angel appearing out of nowhere.

"Calm down, Y/N, you're safe," said the soft, familiar voice, like a balm to her soul.

Y/N blinked a few times, trying to focus her vision. The figure approached, revealing the face of one of her teammates, Emily, the swimmer who always encouraged her in training, the friend who listened to her in difficult times.

"Emily?" Y/N asked, still dazed, her mind processing what had happened. "What happened?"

"You had a bad cramp and started to sink," Emily explained, with concern in her eyes. "I was in the other lane and saw you right away. Thank goodness I was here."

"You had a strong cramp and started to sink," Emily explained, with concern in her eyes. "I was in the other lane and saw you right away. Thank God I was there." Y/N looked at Emily with gratitude, tears welling up in her eyes. "You saved me," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion. "I don't know what would have happened without you."

Emily smiled gently, a smile that conveyed compassion and friendship. "Of course, Y/N. We're teammates, we're family."

Helped by Emily, Y/N got out of the pool, her muscles trembling with cold and emotion. The memories of her near death were still fresh in her mind, the image of sinking into the depths haunted her, but the gratitude for being saved flooded her.

"Thank you, Emily," Y/N said with a choked voice, hugging her tightly. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Emily hugged her back, a warm hug that conveyed security and support. "No need to thank me, friend. I would do anything for you."

Y/N felt safe and protected in Emily's arms, as if she were in a safe harbor after a storm. The fear and anguish that had gripped her moments before began to dissipate, replaced by a feeling of peace and gratitude.

"Are you okay?" Emily asked again, concerned about Y/N's condition.

Y/N nodded, still shaking a little. "Yes, I'm better now. I just need to rest a bit."

Emily helped her up and took her to the locker room, walking side by side down the wet hallway. In the locker room, Y/N changed clothes and sat on a bench, still trying to process everything that had happened.

"Are you going to be okay?"

Y/N looked at Emily, her eyes still full of tears, but with a more serene expression. "I don't know, Emily," she confessed, her voice full of uncertainty. "I almost lost my life today. It made me think a lot about what really matters."

Emily sat down next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "I understand, Y/N," she said with compassion. "It was a scary time. It's natural that you're questioning everything now." She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I've always put swimming first," she continued, her voice choked with emotion. "I trained relentlessly, sacrificing everything for my dream. But today, when I saw myself sinking in the pool, I realized that none of it matters if I'm not here to enjoy life with the people I love."

Emily looked at her intently, her eyes full of understanding. "You're right, Y/N," she said. "Life is much more than just achievements. It's about the moments we spend with the people we love, the feelings we share, and the experiences we have."

Y/N wiped her tears with the back of her hand, taking a deep breath. "I need to talk to Leah," she said, her voice determined. "I need to tell her how I feel, how much she means to me."

Emily smiled at her, an encouraging smile. "It's the right thing to do, Y/N," she said. "Communicate your feelings, don't leave anything unspoken."

Y/N stood up and hugged Emily tightly. "Thank you for everything, Emily," she said with gratitude. "You saved me today, and not just from the pool."

Emily hugged her back, squeezing her in her arms. "BFFs forever, Y/N," she said with a sincere smile.

Emily drove Y/N home in silence while the swimmer pondered her friend's words and the uncertain future that lay ahead. Her near-death experience had made her question everything, her priorities, her dreams, her feelings for Leah.

When they arrived home, Y/N thanked Emily again for her help and support, promising to keep her updated on what happened with Leah. Emily hugged her warmly and got out of the car, driving back to her own house, hoping that Y/N would find the happiness she so desperately desired.

Y/N walked into the house, her hesitant steps leading her to the living room. Marvin, the golden retriever she shared with Leah, greeted her with an excited bark, wagging his tail frantically. She knelt down beside him, stroking his soft head and feeling the comfort of his presence.

"Hey, boy," she said in a tired voice. "I missed you."

Marvin licked her face enthusiastically, as if happy to have her back home. Y/N got up and walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. As she drank, she looked at the phone on the counter, knowing she needed to call Leah and explain everything that had happened.

But with each passing second, her hesitation grew. What would she say? How would Leah react? What if she wasn't ready to talk? Y/N felt trapped between the desire to confess her feelings and the fear of rejection.

Suddenly, a noise at the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned and saw Leah standing there, her eyes full of concern. Marvin barked again, jumping for joy at seeing his other owner had returned.

"Leah!" Y/N exclaimed, surprised by the presence of the English player. "What are you doing here?"

Leah approached her, her eyes fixed on her face. "I know what happened at the pool," she said in a firm voice. "Emily called me and told me everything."

Y/N felt her heart pounding in her chest. "And… what do you mean by that?" she asked, trying to stay calm.

Leah took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. "Y/N, I love you," she said, her voice soft and sincere. "And I was so scared of losing you."

Leah's words hit Y/N like a lightning bolt, causing all her doubts and fears to dissipate instantly. She couldn't believe that Leah also loved her, even with her obsession with swimming and her difficulty balancing the sport with a relationship.

"Leah," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "I love you too. More than you imagine."

Leah smiled, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "So what does that mean?" she asked, reaching out her hand to Y/N.

Y/N looked at her hand and then into her eyes. She knew it was time to make a decision, to choose between her dream and her love. But in that moment, looking at Leah, she knew what really mattered.

With a radiant smile, she took Leah's hand and squeezed it tightly. "It means we're together," she said, her voice full of determination. "We'll find a way to make everything work, because the love we feel for each other is more important than anything else."

Leah pulled her into a tight hug, and the two surrendered to the happiness of finally being able to be together without fear or resentment. Marvin barked again, wagging his tail excitedly, as if celebrating the union of his mistresses.

Informal translation:

"Woah, Leah!" Y/N exclaimed, taken aback by the English player's sudden appearance. "What brings you here?"

Leah closed in on her, her gaze fixated on Y/N's face. "I'm aware of the pool incident," she stated firmly. "Emily filled me in on everything."

Y/N's heart pounded like a drum in her chest. "And what exactly do you mean by that?" she inquired, attempting to maintain composure.

Leah inhaled deeply and met S/n's eyes. "Y/N, I've got feelings for you," she confessed, her voice soft and genuine. "And I was terrified of losing you."

Leah's words struck Y/N like a bolt of lightning, instantly dispelling all her doubts and worries. She couldn't fathom that Leah reciprocated her feelings, despite her unwavering dedication to swimming and the challenges of balancing a relationship with her sport.

"Leah," she began, her voice trembling with emotion. "I feel the same way about you. More than words can express."

Leah's lips curved into a smile, her eyes sparkling with joy. "So, what does that mean for us?" she asked, extending her hand towards Y/N.

Y/N glanced at Leah's hand and then back into her eyes. She knew she had a decision to make, to choose between her dream and her love. But in that moment, gazing at Leah, she realized what truly mattered.

With a radiant grin, she grasped Leah's hand and squeezed it tightly. "It means we're a couple," she declared, her voice filled with determination. "We'll figure out a way to make it work, because our love for each other surpasses anything else."

Leah pulled her into a warm embrace, and they surrendered to the bliss of finally being together without any fear or resentment. Marvin barked once more, wagging his tail enthusiastically, as if celebrating the union of his beloved owners.

tagged: @woso-obsessed

sorry for the errors! x

#leah williamson #woso #woso x reader #arsenal #lesbian #sapphic #wlw #wlw love #woso imagine

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theambitiouswoman · 8 months

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Water 101 💦

The quality of drinking water can vary based on several factors, it's source, treatment, and the presence of contaminants.

Best Waters to Drink:

Spring Water: Sourced from a natural spring and is typically free from harmful additives and contaminants. It also contains beneficial minerals.

Purified Water: This is water that has been filtered to remove any contaminants. Methods like reverse osmosis, distillation, and carbon filtering can be used.

Filtered Tap Water: Using a good quality water filter can remove many of the contaminants found in regular tap water.

Bottled Water: While many people prefer bottled water for its taste and convenience, it's essential to choose brands known for their quality and sustainable sourcing.

Mineral Water: This is water that contains at least 250 parts per million total dissolved solids (TDS), which are minerals and trace elements. It can be beneficial for health due to the minerals it contains.

Worst Waters to Drink:

Unfiltered Tap Water: In some areas, tap water can contain contaminants like lead, chlorine, fluoride, and other harmful substances.

Distilled Water: While it's free from contaminants, distilled water lacks essential minerals. Drinking it exclusively can lead to mineral deficiencies.

Standing Water: Water from ponds, lakes, or puddles can be contaminated with bacteria, parasites, and viruses.

Water from Plastic Bottles Left in the Sun: The heat can cause chemicals from the plastic to leach into the water.

Untrusted Bottled Water: Some brands may not adhere to stringent purification standards, leading to potential contamination.

Quite a few brands actually combine their water bottles with non pure/non filtered water. However, there are several brands that are recognized for their commitment to providing pure water.

Fiji Water: Sourced from an underground aquifer in the remote Yaqara Valley of Viti Levu in Fiji, this water is naturally filtered and contains minerals like silica, magnesium, and calcium.

Acqua Panna: Sourced from a spring in Tuscany, Italy. The water takes a 14-year journey through the underground rock formations to reach the surface, which naturally filters and purifies it. It has a balanced mineral composition and a naturally alkaline pH.

Evian: Originating from the French Alps, Evian water is naturally filtered through rock and sand before being bottled. It's known for its balanced mineral content.

SmartWater: This brand uses a process called vapor distillation to purify its water. After distillation, it adds back a blend of electrolytes for taste.

Voss: Sourced from an underground aquifer in southern Norway, Voss water is protected from pollutants and is naturally low in minerals.

Penta: This brand claims to use a 13-step purification process, resulting in ultra-purified water.

Icelandic Glacial: Originating from the Ölfus Spring in Iceland, this water is naturally filtered through layers of volcanic rock, resulting in a low mineral content.

Essentia: This brand uses a proprietary process to purify its water, and then infuses it with electrolytes for taste. It's known for its high pH, which is alkaline.

Pure Life (Nestlé): Sourced from carefully selected springs, this water undergoes a multi-step purification process and is enhanced with minerals for taste.

Make sure that any water you drink, whether from a bottle or tap, is stored and handled properly to prevent contamination.

#health and wellness #healthy living #health #drink water #water #healthy lifestyle #health tips #health and nutrition #wellness #health is wealth

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waitimcomingtoo · 6 months

Text

SLUT!

chapter four: they took the crown but it’s all all right

series masterlist

In the morning, Peter was the first to wake up. He was wondering why he hadn’t heard the sound of Neds ten different alarms going off until he opened his eyes. He saw the glow in the dark stars on your ceiling and remembered he was in your dorm. He sat up and little and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes just as you were waking up. You sat up and scrunched your nose in disgust.

“We smell like the locker room at a public pool.” You said, making Peter laugh through his yawn.

“Yeah. We probably should’ve showered the chlorine off before going to bed.”

“Yes. We should have. But it was nice to wake up to some company nonetheless.” You smiled sleepily and leaned in to kiss him.

“Sorry. Morning breath.” He said once you pulled away.

“It’s okay. It was worth it.” You laughed before getting out of your bed. Peter watched you move around your room as you collected some things with a sleepy smile on his face. He could not believe he had just woken up in a girls bed after falling asleep beside her. He’d never been this close with a girl so to know you trusted him enough to be around him in your pajamas and messy hair meant a lot to him. He’d finally found someone he connected with and he was so glad it was you.

“I’ll be right back. I’m gonna shower really quick. You stay here.” You said and kissed him one last time before leaving. You came back shortly with wet hair hanging around your face.

“What time is your first class?” Peter asked as he stood up from the bed.

“10. You?”

“I don’t have anything until 1.” He replied.

“Do you want to meet up after class?” You asked and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Always.” Peter scoffed playfully. You grinned and pecked his lips one last time before leaving your dorm room together. You left the building and heading towards Peters dorm so that he could shower before class. As soon as you left your dorm lobby, you saw Brad Davis on his way to an early morning practice. He looked between you and Peter and faked a loud laugh.

“Oh, no way.” Brad laughed obnoxiously. “What do we have here?”

“God damn it.” You groaned. “Why are you everywhere? How small is this stupid campus?”

“Wow, Y/n. Can’t say I’m surprised to see you on a walk of shame.” Brad said and looked you up and down judgmentally.

“It’s not a walk of shame. I’m literally just walking out of my own dorm.” You pointed out.

“Yeah. With this guy. What happened? You ran through all the athletes so you had to start banging the nerds?” Brad asked and gestured to Peter.

“What did you just say to her?” Peter snapped as he stepped between you and Brad. You raised your eyebrows in surprise at the sight of your sweet, innocent Peter raising his voice at someone. Even Brad was intimidated by Peters tone and took a step back.

“What did she tell you? That she’ll sleep with you if you do her homework? That’s her move, you know. That’s what she does with every guy. So don’t go thinking you’re special.” Brad said with less confidence this time.

“Brad, you have no place calling me a slut. You have ten times the amount of bodies I do. And aren’t you the one responsible for giving half the rowing team the clap?” You asked him, making his eyes darken. He stepped up to you and you felt anxiety build up in the pit of your stomach.

“You better watch it, skank. At least I don’t whore myself out to any guy-“

“That’s enough.” Peter cut Brad off as he stepped between the two of you.

“Dude, who do you think you are? Don’t touch me.” Brad laughed in Peters face and tried to push past him to get to you.

“No, you’re not gonna get near her. I don’t like the way you talk to and about my girlfriend. So back up.” Peter said as he gently but firmly pushed Brad back a little. Brad looked furious at first until he processed what Peter had said. He looked at you and realized you and Peter were holding hands, making his face crumble.

“Girlfriend? Is this guy serious? You’re not actually dating, are you?” Brad asked you and sounded genuinely hurt.

“We are. We started off as friends and fell for each other. You’d know a little something about falling for a friend, wouldn’t you? Only in this case, I liked him back.” You replied. Brad narrowed his eyes at you and Peter could tell that really hurt him to hear. Instead of Brad retaliating with more insults, he just shrugged.

“Whatever.” He scoffed and bumped your shoulder as he walked away.

“And you wonder why I didn’t want you.” You called after him.

“SLUT!” Brad loudly shouted in response. People turned their heads to look not at the guy shouting in the morning, but at the girl he was shouting at. You felt hot tears of embarrassment well in your eyes and pulled Peter by the hand until you were in the boys dorm lobby. You sat down and put your face in your hands and rubbed them uo and down. Peter sat beside you and put his hand on your back to comfort you. You wiped your face off the stray tears that had fallen and laughed sadly.

“Do you know how many times I’ve been called that word? I don’t know why it still hurts me. I should be used to it by now.”

“Well, it’s like getting punched in the face. No matter how many times it happens, it’s always gonna hurt.” Peter replied, making you laugh more genuinely this time.

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience. Have you been punched in the face many times?” You asked him with a raised eyebrow.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Peter answered, making you laugh once again. Peter once again demonstrated his way of easing the pain of the words they threw at you.

“Why does Brad hate you so much?” Peter asked once you were calmed down. You sighed and looked at Peter, knowing it was time he heard the full story.

“Brad and I used to be friends. He was my first friend at college, actually. We had the same schedule freshman year so I saw him everyday. Then we started hanging out on weekends. That’s when you know you’ve crossed over from college friends to actual friends.“

“Really? I can’t imagine you being friends with a guy like that.”

“Believe it or not, he used to be a really good friend.”

“Seriously? Brad was?” Peter scoffed in disbelief.

“I know. I wouldn’t believe it either. But he wasn’t always like the way he is now.”

“Well what happened between you guys to make him act like that?”

“It happened over time. Brad had a huge crush on me freshman year. I didn’t know that until much later. He used to he really nice and funny but once he joined the basketball team, it was game over. He was still friendly to me over text but when his teammates were around, he was someone else.” You began but then stopped. You were picking at your nails again and Peter could tell you were remembering something you didn’t want to remember.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Peter said softly and put his hand over yours.

“I do, though.” You told him. “It’s my story. And if I don’t tell you, someone else will. And it will be all wrong. I need to tell you exactly what happened.”

“So tell me.” Peter said kindly, making you sigh again.

“I went to one of Brad’s games one night because he invited me. It was at some point in the middle of the basketball season and he hadn’t been playing very well lately. I knew it was really stressing him out so I went to cheer for him. I thought it would make him feel better, you know? Anyway, we were talking on a court after the game and his teammates came up to us. They asked if I was his girlfriend and started to tease us, which I pretty much expected. But then one of them asked me if I hadn’t “put out” in a while and that’s why Brad was so distracted during the games.”

“What? Who said that to you?” Peter asked as his nose scrunched in disdain.

“Some senior.” You shrugged. “He’s graduated now. I don’t even remember his name.”

“Yes you do.” Peter could tell.

“Jackson.” You admitted and gave Peter a sheepish smile.

“Always a J name.” Peter grumbled and slapped his hand on the table. You laughed softly but your smile slowly faded as you remembered that day.

“I was 17. That guy was like 22. Everyone laughed. I was mortified.” You said quietly.

“Of course you were. Who wouldn’t be? What kind of weirdo would say that to a 17 year old girl they had just met? And what did Brad say?”

“He said, “yeah, look what you’re doing to my game”, and smacked my ass.” You recalled. Peters eyebrows went up and he looked over his shoulder out the window to see Brad. He was laughing with some guys out in the middle of campus, putting a feeling of rage inside Peter. Brad got to walk around campus and laugh with his friends while you had to walk fast to avoid getting harassed. He felt angry that Brad had put his hands on you. He felt angry that no one stood up for you. He felt angry that you were innocent in the situation but you had been the one that became an outcast because of it.

“What happened after that?” Peter asked as he turned back to you. He could tell from the look in your eyes that you were still in that moment, still in the gym when it all went down.

“After that, he laughed. Then they all laughed. At me. Brad was looking at me and I knew he instantly regretted it, but he didn’t say anything so I didn’t say anything either. But I didn’t even know what to say. I was totally frozen. I wanted to stick up for myself but they were all older and I was alone in the gym with them. I was worried if I fired back, they’d make me pay for it.”

“I’m sorry you ever had to feel that way.” Peter frowned as he eyebrows knit together. He’d been bullied plenty of times himself, but he never had to worry about sexual violence in the way you did.

“Brad was different after that. I forgave him and we didn’t talk about it because I didn’t know any better at the time. But then he started to be like that all the time. He would make fun of me in front of them to get a laugh and then shoot me a text later saying he hoped I didn’t “take offense” to it. He wouldn’t defend me if his friends made a comment about my body or my appearance and eventually, he started doing the same.”

“That seems more like the Brad I know.” Peter mumbled and thought back to his high school days of watching Brad tease the girls on the cheerleading team with jokes that made them deeply uncomfortable.

“Trust me. He’s way worse than whatever you saw in high school. It’s like there’s no rules in college. There’s no principle to report to so people like Brad can get away with way more. He and his friends get to say whatever they want to me and nobody stops them.”

“I’ve seen it. It’s frustrating for me to watch so I can’t even imagine how it feels for you to be the one experiencing it.”

“It feels terrible. And hopeless. And overwhelming. All things he never has to feel.”

“What was he talking that day about when he called you a homie hopper?” Peter wondered.

“Ah, yes. He does love to throw that term around. He’s been throwing that at me for three years now. That’s where I get my reputation.” You smiled tightly. “Towards the end of freshman year, Brad asked me out. I said no, obviously, and he got mad when I rejected him. I guess he thought that despite the way he treated me and what he let our friendship become, I’d still be interested in him? I don’t know. But he got so mad at me because I guess he felt embarrassed. I wounded his manhood or whatever.”

“God forbid.” Peter rolled his eyes.

“I know, right? So to get back at me, he told his friends we hooked up but that I couldn’t get him off. Then his friends naturally started telling people I was bad in bed. And when people asked how they knew that, they’d say they had slept with me too and that it was a horrible experience. Gwen’s boyfriend, the one I told you about, is Harry. He told her that I slept with him, which never even happened, and now she hates me. She told my team and they spread it even more. So suddenly, I was 18 and my whole school thought I had slept my way through the basketball team and left them all dissatisfied. Meanwhile, I’d never even had my first kiss. But once a rumor like that gets around, no one cares about the truth. The truth wasn’t nearly as interesting. And it just gave way to all other kinds of rumors. People said I had all these diseases and stole all these boyfriends. They would whisper about me behind my back and eventually they started saying things to my face. Boys hated me. Girls hated me. No one wanted to be my friend. I couldn’t walk to class without someone yelling “slut” at me. It replaced my name my whole sophmore year. I’ve been a total pariah ever since. It’s not as bad now but my reputation stuck. I’ll always be the campus slut.”

Peter felt his heart sink when he heard the very words Ned had used to describe you the first time Peter talked about you. He knew it was bad, but he didn’t know it was that bad. He reached forward to wipe your tears and you smiled softly at him.

“Why didn’t you tell everyone that those boys were lying?” Peter wondered.

“You don’t think I tried? I tried to clear my name but women aren’t exactly known for being believed in situations like this. Or, any situation, actually. Me being a slut was the far more interesting story. So that’s what everyone chose to believe. I can’t shake this reputation until I graduate. They’ll always call me a slut.” You shrugged at your accepted fate.

“I’d never call you that.” Peter assured you as he put his hands on top of yours. You smiled and put your hand on top of Peters

“I know you wouldn’t.” You nodded. “Being with you makes me feel brand new. You’re the first guy who’s ever liked me for me, not because of what you think you can get from me. You make it all easier to bear. All the names they call me fade to nothing when I look at you.”

Peter put his hand on your cheek and brought your face closer to his so he could look into your eyes.

“None of them deserve you. They never did.” He said very seriously.

“They don’t.” You agreed. “But I think you do.”

Your conversation was interrupted by the laughter of some boys nearby. You looked over and saw a mixture of some of Brads friends and other boys who you had never actually spoken to but still liked to throw insults at you whenever they got the chance. They were looking at you and Peter and laughed amongst themselves. Instead of getting upset, you turned to Peter and leaned in to kiss him to show them that you didn’t care anymore. Peter pulled back slightly before your lips could touch and you felt your heart sink.

“You don’t want to be seen with me?” You asked quietly.

“It’s not that. It’s not that at all.” Peter quickly assured you. “I just don’t want to make things any worse for you by being seen with me. If those boys see us, won’t they call you a slut?”

Your eyes flicked back to the guys, who were all still staring with amused faces. Being seen with a boy would definitely fuel their war towards you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore.

“They might.” You agreed. “But you know what? It might be worth it for once.”

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