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vavandeveresfan · 3 months

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Holy shit, the New York Times is FINALLY interviewing and listening to detransistioners.

The tide is turning.

Opinion by Pamela Paul

As Kids, They Thought They Were Trans. They No Longer Do.

Feb. 2, 2024

Grace Powell was 12 or 13 when she discovered she could be a boy.

Growing up in a relatively conservative community in Grand Rapids, Mich., Powell, like many teenagers, didn’t feel comfortable in her own skin. She was unpopular and frequently bullied. Puberty made everything worse. She suffered from depression and was in and out of therapy.

“I felt so detached from my body, and the way it was developing felt hostile to me,” Powell told me. It was classic gender dysphoria, a feeling of discomfort with your sex.

Reading about transgender people online, Powell believed that the reason she didn’t feel comfortable in her body was that she was in the wrong body. Transitioning seemed like the obvious solution. The narrative she had heard and absorbed was that if you don’t transition, you’ll kill yourself.

At 17, desperate to begin hormone therapy, Powell broke the news to her parents. They sent her to a gender specialist to make sure she was serious. In the fall of her senior year of high school, she started cross-sex hormones. She had a double mastectomy the summer before college, then went off as a transgender man named Grayson to Sarah Lawrence College, where she was paired with a male roommate on a men’s floor. At 5-foot-3, she felt she came across as a very effeminate gay man.

At no point during her medical or surgical transition, Powell says, did anyone ask her about the reasons behind her gender dysphoria or her depression. At no point was she asked about her sexual orientation. And at no point was she asked about any previous trauma, and so neither the therapists nor the doctors ever learned that she’d been sexually abused as a child.

“I wish there had been more open conversations,” Powell, now 23 and detransitioned, told me. “But I was told there is one cure and one thing to do if this is your problem, and this will help you.”

Progressives often portray the heated debate over childhood transgender care as a clash between those who are trying to help growing numbers of children express what they believe their genders to be and conservative politicians who won’t let kids be themselves.

But right-wing demagogues are not the only ones who have inflamed this debate. Transgender activists have pushed their own ideological extremism, especially by pressing for a treatment orthodoxy that has faced increased scrutiny in recent years. Under that model of care, clinicians are expected to affirm a young person’s assertion of gender identity and even provide medical treatment before, or even without, exploring other possible sources of distress.

Many who think there needs to be a more cautious approach — including well-meaning liberal parents, doctors and people who have undergone gender transition and subsequently regretted their procedures — have been attacked as anti-trans and intimidated into silencing their concerns.

And while Donald Trump denounces “left-wing gender insanity” and many trans activists describe any opposition as transphobic, parents in America’s vast ideological middle can find little dispassionate discussion of the genuine risks or trade-offs involved in what proponents call gender-affirming care.

Powell’s story shows how easy it is for young people to get caught up by the pull of ideology in this atmosphere.

“What should be a medical and psychological issue has been morphed into a political one,” Powell lamented during our conversation. “It’s a mess.”

A New and Growing Group of Patients

Many transgender adults are happy with their transitions and, whether they began to transition as adults or adolescents, feel it was life changing, even lifesaving. The small but rapidly growing number of children who express gender dysphoria and who transition at an early age, according to clinicians, is a recent and more controversial phenomenon.

Laura Edwards-Leeper, the founding psychologist of the first pediatric gender clinic in the United States, said that when she started her practice in 2007, most of her patients had longstanding and deep-seated gender dysphoria. Transitioning clearly made sense for almost all of them, and any mental health issues they had were generally resolved through gender transition.

“But that is just not the case anymore,” she told me recently. While she doesn’t regret transitioning the earlier cohort of patients and opposes government bans on transgender medical care, she said, “As far as I can tell, there are no professional organizations who are stepping in to regulate what’s going on.”

Most of her patients now, she said, have no history of childhood gender dysphoria. Others refer to this phenomenon, with some controversy, as rapid onset gender dysphoria, in which adolescents, particularly tween and teenage girls, express gender dysphoria despite never having done so when they were younger. Frequently, they have mental health issues unrelated to gender. While professional associations say there is a lack of quality research on rapid onset gender dysphoria, several researchers have documented the phenomenon, and many health care providers have seen evidence of it in their practices.

“The population has changed drastically,” said Edwards-Leeper, a former head of the Child and Adolescent Committee for the World Professional Association for Transgender Health, the organization responsible for setting gender transition guidelines for medical professionals.

For these young people, she told me, “you have to take time to really assess what’s going on and hear the timeline and get the parents’ perspective in order to create an individualized treatment plan. Many providers are completely missing that step.”

Yet those health care professionals and scientists who do not think clinicians should automatically agree to a young person’s self-diagnosis are often afraid to speak out. A report commissioned by the National Health Service about Britain’s Tavistock gender clinic, which, until it was ordered to be shut down, was the country’s only health center dedicated to gender identity, noted that “primary and secondary care staff have told us that they feel under pressure to adopt an unquestioning affirmative approach and that this is at odds with the standard process of clinical assessment and diagnosis that they have been trained to undertake in all other clinical encounters.”

Of the dozens of students she’s trained as psychologists, Edwards-Leeper said, few still seem to be providing gender-related care. While her students have left the field for various reasons, “some have told me that they didn’t feel they could continue because of the pushback, the accusations of being transphobic, from being pro-assessment and wanting a more thorough process,” she said.

They have good reasons to be wary. Stephanie Winn, a licensed marriage and family therapist in Oregon, was trained in gender-affirming care and treated multiple transgender patients. But in 2020, after coming across detransition videos online, she began to doubt the gender-affirming model. In 2021 she spoke out in favor of approaching gender dysphoria in a more considered way, urging others in the field to pay attention to detransitioners, people who no longer consider themselves transgender after undergoing medical or surgical interventions. She has since been attacked by transgender activists. Some threatened to send complaints to her licensing board saying that she was trying to make trans kids change their minds through conversion therapy.

In April 2022, the Oregon Board of Licensed Professional Counselors and Therapists told Winn that she was under investigation. Her case was ultimately dismissed, but Winn no longer treats minors and practices only online, where many of her patients are worried parents of trans-identifying children.

“I don’t feel safe having a location where people can find me,” she said.

Detransitioners say that only conservative media outlets seem interested in telling their stories, which has left them open to attacks as hapless tools of the right, something that frustrated and dismayed every detransitioner I interviewed. These are people who were once the trans-identified kids that so many organizations say they’re trying to protect — but when they change their minds, they say, they feel abandoned.

Most parents and clinicians are simply trying to do what they think is best for the children involved. But parents with qualms about the current model of care are frustrated by what they see as a lack of options.

Parents told me it was a struggle to balance the desire to compassionately support a child with gender dysphoria while seeking the best psychological and medical care. Many believed their kids were gay or dealing with an array of complicated issues. But all said they felt compelled by gender clinicians, doctors, schools and social pressure to accede to their child’s declared gender identity even if they had serious doubts. They feared it would tear apart their family if they didn’t unquestioningly support social transition and medical treatment. All asked to speak anonymously, so desperate were they to maintain or repair any relationship with their children, some of whom were currently estranged.

Several of those who questioned their child’s self-diagnosis told me it had ruined their relationship. A few parents said simply, “I feel like I’ve lost my daughter.”

One mother described a meeting with 12 other parents in a support group for relatives of trans-identified youth where all of the participants described their children as autistic or otherwise neurodivergent. To all questions, the woman running the meeting replied, “Just let them transition.” The mother left in shock. How would hormones help a child with obsessive-compulsive disorder or depression? she wondered.

Some parents have found refuge in anonymous online support groups. There, people share tips on finding caregivers who will explore the causes of their children’s distress or tend to their overall emotional and developmental health and well-being without automatically acceding to their children’s self-diagnosis.

Many parents of kids who consider themselves trans say their children were introduced to transgender influencers on YouTube or TikTok, a phenomenon intensified for some by the isolation and online cocoon of Covid. Others say their kids learned these ideas in the classroom, as early as elementary school, often in child-friendly ways through curriculums supplied by trans rights organizations, with concepts like the gender unicorn or the Genderbread person.

‘Do You Want a Dead Son or a Live Daughter?’

After Kathleen’s 15-year-old son, whom she described as an obsessive child, abruptly told his parents he was trans, the doctor who was going to assess whether he had A.D.H.D. referred him instead to someone who specialized in both A.D.H.D. and gender. Kathleen, who asked to be identified only by her first name to protect her son’s privacy, assumed that the specialist would do some kind of evaluation or assessment. That was not the case.

The meeting was brief and began on a shocking note. “In front of my son, the therapist said, ‘Do you want a dead son or a live daughter?’” Kathleen recounted.

Parents are routinely warned that to pursue any path outside of agreeing with a child’s self-declared gender identity is to put a gender dysphoric youth at risk for suicide, which feels to many people like emotional blackmail. Proponents of the gender-affirming model have cited studies showing an association between that standard of care and a lower risk of suicide. But those studies were found to have methodological flaws or have been deemed not entirely conclusive. A survey of studies on the psychological effects of cross-sex hormones, published three years ago in The Journal of the Endocrine Society, the professional organization for hormone specialists, found it “could not draw any conclusions about death by suicide.” In a letter to The Wall Street Journal last year, 21 experts from nine countries said that survey was one reason they believed there was “no reliable evidence to suggest that hormonal transition is an effective suicide prevention measure.”

Moreover, the incidence of suicidal thoughts and attempts among gender dysphoric youth is complicated by the high incidence of accompanying conditions, such as autism spectrum disorder. As one systematic overview put it, “Children with gender dysphoria often experience a range of psychiatric comorbidities, with a high prevalence of mood and anxiety disorders, trauma, eating disorders and autism spectrum conditions, suicidality and self-harm.”

But rather than being treated as patients who deserve unbiased professional help, children with gender dysphoria often become political pawns.

Conservative lawmakers are working to ban access to gender care for minors and occasionally for adults as well. On the other side, however, many medical and mental health practitioners feel their hands have been tied by activist pressure and organizational capture. They say that it has become difficult to practice responsible mental health care or medicine for these young people.

Pediatricians, psychologists and other clinicians who dissent from this orthodoxy, believing that it is not based on reliable evidence, feel frustrated by their professional organizations. The American Psychological Association, American Psychiatric Association and the American Academy of Pediatrics have wholeheartedly backed the gender-affirming model.

In 2021, Aaron Kimberly, a 50-year-old trans man and registered nurse, left the clinic in British Columbia where his job focused on the intake and assessment of gender-dysphoric youth. Kimberly received a comprehensive screening when he embarked on his own successful transition at age 33, which resolved the gender dysphoria he experienced from an early age.

But when the gender-affirming model was introduced at his clinic, he was instructed to support the initiation of hormone treatment for incoming patients regardless of whether they had complex mental problems, experiences with trauma or were otherwise “severely unwell,” Kimberly said. When he referred patients for further mental health care rather than immediate hormone treatment, he said he was accused of what they called gatekeeping and had to change jobs.

“I realized something had gone totally off the rails,” Kimberly, who subsequently founded the Gender Dysphoria Alliance and the L.G.B.T. Courage Coalition to advocate better gender care, told me.

Gay men and women often told me they fear that same-sex-attracted kids, especially effeminate boys and tomboy girls who are gender nonconforming, will be transitioned during a normal phase of childhood and before sexual maturation — and that gender ideology can mask and even abet homophobia.

As one detransitioned man, now in a gay relationship, put it, “I was a gay man pumped up to look like a woman and dated a lesbian who was pumped up to look like a man. If that’s not conversion therapy, I don’t know what is.”

“I transitioned because I didn’t want to be gay,” Kasey Emerick, a 23-year-old woman and detransitioner from Pennsylvania, told me. Raised in a conservative Christian church, she said, “I believed homosexuality was a sin.”

When she was 15, Emerick confessed her homosexuality to her mother. Her mother attributed her sexual orientation to trauma — Emerick’s father was convicted of raping and assaulting her repeatedly when she was between the ages of 4 and 7 — but after catching Emerick texting with another girl at age 16, she took away her phone. When Emerick melted down, her mother admitted her to a psychiatric hospital. While there, Emerick told herself, “If I was a boy, none of this would have happened.”

In May 2017, Emerick began searching “gender” online and encountered trans advocacy websites. After realizing she could “pick the other side,” she told her mother, “I’m sick of being called a dyke and not a real girl.” If she were a man, she’d be free to pursue relationships with women.

That September, she and her mother met with a licensed professional counselor for the first of two 90-minute consultations. She told the counselor that she had wished to be a Boy Scout rather than a Girl Scout. She said she didn’t like being gay or a butch lesbian. She also told the counselor that she had suffered from anxiety, depression and suicidal ideation. The clinic recommended testosterone, which was prescribed by a nearby L.G.B.T.Q. health clinic. Shortly thereafter, she was also diagnosed with A.D.H.D. She developed panic attacks. At age 17, she was cleared for a double mastectomy.

“I’m thinking, ‘Oh my God, I’m having my breasts removed. I’m 17. I’m too young for this,’” she recalled. But she went ahead with the operation.

“Transition felt like a way to control something when I couldn’t control anything in my life,” Emerick explained. But after living as a trans man for five years, Emerick realized her mental health symptoms were only getting worse. In the fall of 2022, she came out as a detransitioner on Twitter and was immediately attacked. Transgender influencers told her she was bald and ugly. She received multiple threats.

“I thought my life was over,” she said. “I realized that I had lived a lie for over five years.”

Today Emerick’s voice, permanently altered by testosterone, is that of a man. When she tells people she’s a detransitioner, they ask when she plans to stop taking T and live as a woman. “I’ve been off it for a year,” she replies.

Once, after she recounted her story to a therapist, the therapist tried to reassure her. If it’s any consolation, the therapist remarked, “I would never have guessed that you were once a trans woman.” Emerick replied, “Wait, what sex do you think I am?”

To the trans activist dictum that children know their gender best, it is important to add something all parents know from experience: Children change their minds all the time. One mother told me that after her teenage son desisted — pulled back from a trans identity before any irreversible medical procedures — he explained, “I was just rebelling. I look at it like a subculture, like being goth.”

“The job of children and adolescents is to experiment and explore where they fit into the world, and a big part of that exploration, especially during adolescence, is around their sense of identity,” Sasha Ayad, a licensed professional counselor based in Phoenix, told me. “Children at that age often present with a great deal of certainty and urgency about who they believe they are at the time and things they would like to do in order to enact that sense of identity.”

Ayad, a co-author of “When Kids Say They’re Trans: A Guide for Thoughtful Parents,” advises parents to be wary of the gender affirmation model. “We’ve always known that adolescents are particularly malleable in relationship to their peers and their social context and that exploration is often an attempt to navigate difficulties of that stage, such as puberty, coming to terms with the responsibilities and complications of young adulthood, romance and solidifying their sexual orientation,” she told me. For providing this kind of exploratory approach in her own practice with gender dysphoric youth, Ayad has had her license challenged twice, both times by adults who were not her patients. Both times, the charges were dismissed.

Studies show that around eight in 10 cases of childhood gender dysphoria resolve themselves by puberty and 30 percent of people on hormone therapy discontinue its use within four years, though the effects, including infertility, are often irreversible.

Proponents of early social transition and medical interventions for gender dysphoric youth cite a 2022 study showing that 98 percent of children who took both puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones continued treatment for short periods, and another study that tracked 317 children who socially transitioned between the ages of 3 and 12, which found that 94 percent of them still identified as transgender five years later. But such early interventions may cement children’s self-conceptions without giving them time to think or sexually mature.

‘The Process of Transition Didn’t Make Me Feel Better’

At the end of her freshman year of college, Grace Powell, horrifically depressed, began dissociating, feeling detached from her body and from reality, which had never happened to her before. Ultimately, she said, “the process of transition didn’t make me feel better. It magnified what I found was wrong with myself.”

“I expected it to change everything, but I was just me, with a slightly deeper voice,” she added. “It took me two years to start detransitioning and living as Grace again.”

She tried in vain to find a therapist who would treat her underlying issues, but they kept asking her: How do you want to be seen? Do you want to be nonbinary? Powell wanted to talk about her trauma, not her identity or her gender presentation. She ended up getting online therapy from a former employee of the Tavistock clinic in Britain. This therapist, a woman who has broken from the gender-affirming model, talked Grace through what she sees as her failure to launch and her efforts to reset. The therapist asked questions like: Who is Grace? What do you want from your life? For the first time, Powell felt someone was seeing and helping her as a person, not simply looking to slot her into an identity category.

Many detransitioners say they face ostracism and silencing because of the toxic politics around transgender issues.

“It is extraordinarily frustrating to feel that something I am is inherently political,” Powell told me. “I’ve been accused multiple times that I’m some right-winger who’s making a fake narrative to discredit transgender people, which is just crazy.”

While she believes there are people who benefit from transitioning, “I wish more people would understand that there’s not a one-size-fits-all solution,” she said. “I wish we could have that conversation.”

In a recent study in The Archives of Sexual Behavior, about 40 young detransitioners out of 78 surveyed said they had suffered from rapid onset gender dysphoria. Trans activists have fought hard to suppress any discussion of rapid onset gender dysphoria, despite evidence that the condition is real. In its guide for journalists, the activist organization GLAAD warns the media against using the term, as it is not “a formal condition or diagnosis.” Human Rights Campaign, another activist group, calls it “a right-wing theory.” A group of professional organizations put out a statement urging clinicians to eliminate the term from use.

Nobody knows how many young people desist after social, medical or surgical transitions. Trans activists often cite low regret rates for gender transition, along with low figures for detransition. But those studies, which often rely on self-reported cases to gender clinics, likely understate the actual numbers. None of the seven detransitioners I interviewed, for instance, even considered reporting back to the gender clinics that prescribed them medication they now consider to have been a mistake. Nor did they know any other detransitioners who had done so.

As Americans furiously debate the basis of transgender care, a number of advances in understanding have taken place in Europe, where the early Dutch studies that became the underpinning of gender-affirming care have been broadly questioned and criticized. Unlike some of the current population of gender dysphoric youth, the Dutch study participants had no serious psychological conditions. Those studies were riddled with methodological flaws and weaknesses. There was no evidence that any intervention was lifesaving. There was no long-term follow-up with any of the study’s 55 participants or the 15 who dropped out. A British effort to replicate the study said that it “identified no changes in psychological function” and that more studies were needed.

In countries like Sweden, Norway, France, the Netherlands and Britain — long considered exemplars of gender progress — medical professionals have recognized that early research on medical interventions for childhood gender dysphoria was either faulty or incomplete. Last month, the World Health Organization, in explaining why it is developing “a guideline on the health of trans and gender diverse people,” said it will cover only adults because “the evidence base for children and adolescents is limited and variable regarding the longer-term outcomes of gender-affirming care for children and adolescents.”

But in America, and Canada, the results of those widely criticized Dutch studies are falsely presented to the public as settled science.

Other countries have recently halted or limited the medical and surgical treatment of gender dysphoric youth, pending further study. Britain’s Tavistock clinic was ordered to be shut down next month, after a National Health Service-commissioned investigation found deficiencies in service and “a lack of consensus and open discussion about the nature of gender dysphoria and therefore about the appropriate clinical response.”

Meanwhile, the American medical establishment has hunkered down, stuck in an outdated model of gender affirmation. The American Academy of Pediatrics only recently agreed to conduct more research in response to yearslong efforts by dissenting experts, including Dr. Julia Mason, a self-described “bleeding-heart liberal.”

The larger threat to transgender people comes from Republicans who wish to deny them rights and protections. But the doctrinal rigidity of the progressive wing of the Democratic Party is disappointing, frustrating and counterproductive.

“I was always a liberal Democrat,” one woman whose son desisted after social transition and hormone therapy told me. “Now I feel politically homeless.”

She noted that the Biden administration has “unequivocally” supported gender-affirming care for minors, in cases in which it deems it “medically appropriate and necessary.” Rachel Levine, the assistant secretary for health at the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, told NPR in 2022 that “there is no argument among medical professionals — pediatricians, pediatric endocrinologists, adolescent medicine physicians, adolescent psychiatrists, psychologists, et cetera — about the value and the importance of gender-affirming care.”

Of course, politics should not influence medical practice, whether the issue is birth control, abortion or gender medicine. But unfortunately, politics has gotten in the way of progress. Last year The Economist published a thorough investigation into America’s approach to gender medicine. Zanny Minton Beddoes, the editor, put the issue into political context. “If you look internationally at countries in Europe, the U.K. included, their medical establishments are much more concerned,” Beddoes told Vanity Fair. “But here — in part because this has become wrapped up in the culture wars where you have, you know, crazy extremes from the Republican right — if you want to be an upstanding liberal, you feel like you can’t say anything.”

Some people are trying to open up that dialogue, or at least provide outlets for kids and families to seek a more therapeutic approach to gender dysphoria.

Paul Garcia-Ryan is a psychotherapist in New York who cares for kids and families seeking holistic, exploratory care for gender dysphoria. He is also a detransitioner who from ages 15 to 30 fully believed he was a woman.

Garcia-Ryan is gay, but as a boy, he said, “it was much less threatening to my psyche to think that I was a straight girl born into the wrong body — that I had a medical condition that could be tended to.” When he visited a clinic at 15, the clinician immediately affirmed he was female, and rather than explore the reasons for his mental distress, simply confirmed Garcia-Ryan’s belief that he was not meant to be a man.

Once in college, he began medically transitioning and eventually had surgery on his genitals. Severe medical complications from both the surgery and hormone medication led him to reconsider what he had done, and to detransition. He also reconsidered the basis of gender affirmation, which, as a licensed clinical social worker at a gender clinic, he had been trained in and provided to clients.

“You’re made to believe these slogans,” he said. “Evidence-based, lifesaving care, safe and effective, medically necessary, the science is settled — and none of that is evidence based.”

Garcia-Ryan, 32, is now the board president of Therapy First, an organization that supports therapists who do not agree with the gender affirmation model. He thinks transition can help some people manage the symptoms of gender dysphoria but no longer believes anyone under 25 should socially, medically or surgically transition without exploratory psychotherapy first.

“When a professional affirms a gender identity for a younger person, what they are doing is implementing a psychological intervention that narrows a person’s sense of self and closes off their options for considering what’s possible for them,” Garcia-Ryan told me.

Instead of promoting unproven treatments for children, which surveys show many Americans are uncomfortable with, transgender activists would be more effective if they focused on a shared agenda. Most Americans across the political spectrum can agree on the need for legal protections for transgender adults. They would also probably support additional research on the needs of young people reporting gender dysphoria so that kids could get the best treatment possible.

A shift in this direction would model tolerance and acceptance. It would prioritize compassion over demonization. It would require rising above culture-war politics and returning to reason. It would be the most humane path forward. And it would be the right thing to do.

*~*~*~*~*~*

For those who want tor ead more by those fighting the cancellation forquestioning, read:

Graham Lineham, who's been fighting since the beginning and paid the price, but is not seeing things turn around.

The Glinner Update, Grahan Linehan's Substack.

Kellie-Jay Keen @ThePosieParker, who's been physically attacked for organizing events for women demanding women-only spaces.

REDUXX, Feminst news & opinion.

Gays Against Groomers @againstgrmrs, A nonprofit of gay people and others within the community against the sexualization, indoctrination and medicalization of children under the guise of "LGBTQIA+"

#detransitioners #detransition #gender critical #New York Times #gays #lesbians #trans #trans insanity #long post #article #detrans #transgender #post trans #desisted

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strangersmunsons · 9 months

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read 'em and weep

you and Eddie meet at the library. he’s smitten.

Contains: Eddie x Reader, bookworm!reader, lovesick!Eddie, reader gives Eddie book recommendations. No mention of reader’s physical appearance, no use of y/n. Warnings: brief mention of loneliness & negligence in Eddie’s childhood. Word Count: ~2.2k it's my hope to make this a little series! i think eddie is def a bookish guy - no lord of the rings quoting, metal head dungeon master hates reading. he would certainly be open to any fantasy/horror recs you had for him! <3

Indiana. 1989.

Hawkins Library sees a lot of action in the summer.

They offer a wide variety of youth programs to keep the local kids busy and the parents sane while school is out. One of the main events is Saturday Story Time, a beloved weekly staple that you have recently been tasked with putting on.

It’s simple. You gather a number of books, usually with a common theme, and then read a select few to the children who had signed up for the day. Most of the kids in attendance are no older than six or so, with some parents even pulling up chairs to the back so they can sit with infants cradled in their arms. The older ones sit criss-cross-applesauce on carpet squares in front of you, their chubby faces alight with giggles as you recount each silly, fantastical story with all the spirit you can muster.

And then there’s always an accompanying arts and crafts project, of course. If you read The Very Hungry Caterpillar then, naturally, you have to make little googly-eyed caterpillars out of popsicle sticks and colorful pom-poms. You don’t make the rules.

If trouble occurs during Story Time, it’s usually in this phase. (Giving paste to toddlers is always a gamble – you never know what they’re gonna do with that.)

And on this particular morning, it’s been chaos from start to finish. A whopping eighteen kids had signed up, and you stretched yourself pretty thin trying to attend to everyone.

One of the babies spit up directly onto the little girl sitting in front of him and his mother. Someone slipped on their carpet square and fell harshly to the floor, earning a bruised elbow that you gently fussed over. You wrangled a pair of twins who fought bitterly over a bottle of Elmer’s glue. There were three individual running-with-scissors-scares and, finally, you spent a good ten minutes soothing one sobbing child with whom there was nothing apparently wrong with, and that you suspected was just in need of a good cry.

So yeah, it was basically pandemonium.

But eventually, to your great relief, things wound down. The audience dispersed, with their handmade goods clutched in sticky fists, and went to peruse the glossy line of picture books you put out for display. Within the next hour or two, everyone traded the cool darkness of the library for buttery sunshine, and all was quiet again. You waved cheerfully to the last parent-child duo as they made their exit, promising them that there’d be a fun activity next weekend too.

You love these storytime sessions, you really do, but sheesh. Sometimes they run you ragged. With the havoc of the morning finally over, and the promise of lunch in your near future, you try to shake off the weariness, and instead take it upon yourself to clean up the disorganized mess someone’s made of the horror section.

You’re going about your work, tongue poking out in concentration as you strain to reach the really high shelves, when you notice someone standing in your peripheral vision. You turn and glance at him, or at least, what you can see of him. He’s half-hidden by the shelf behind you, but you catch sight of brown hair and denim.

A pale face appears on a craned neck from around the corner. His dark eyes meet yours, widen slightly when he sees that you’ve caught him lurking, and he abruptly disappears again.

You purse your lips to hide your smile. This isn’t uncommon; such moments often occur when you’re cleaning up a section of books someone is hoping to sift through. In a small act of kindness, you move over to the neighboring shelf and look for something to busy yourself with; trying to give the guy a chance to browse without having to ask you to step aside.

He doesn’t emerge. You wait, expecting to sense him passing by you, but no dice. It’s amusing to think that someone might be frightened to approach you (You? Really?) but you can’t help feeling sorry that you were in his way.

The rest of your shift is rather uneventful. At the end of the day, you punch out and head home, the stranger behind the shelf forgotten.

When you come back to work on Monday, it’s much quieter than the last morning you’d been in. You greet your coworkers and set up shop at the front desk, opening up a book of your own to pass the time until someone needed assistance.

You’ve been reading for about half an hour when the big double doors open up for the day’s first visitor, the sound echoing loudly in the silent, spacious room. You look up in interest, ready to greet the person with a warm smile.

“Good morning!” you softly call out as he comes into view. He walks slowly towards you, shoes scuffing the checkered tile with each step. As he comes nearer, you can see that he’s biting his lip, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture oozing self-consciousness. He only makes eye contact with you for a second before his gaze flits away again.

He’s pretty conspicuous-looking to be approaching the desk with such hesitance, you think. He has dark hair that hangs in slightly-scraggly curls down to his chest, and huge dark eyes. The pale skin of his arms, sticking out from within a denim vest/Judas Priest t-shirt combo, are littered with tattoos.

He pauses a few feet away from you, like he’s debating whether he wants to stop and chat, or to simply veer off towards the bookshelves and start browsing. Ultimately he decides to shuffle forward, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Hi there. What can I do for you?” you ask, voice gentle but encouraging.

He looks down and rests a hand on the desk, absentmindedly tracing the wood pattern with his thumb. “Um, yes.” He doesn’t offer anything else.

There’s a pregnant pause, both of you digesting the fact that what you had asked was not a yes or no question.

He tries again. “I…am in need…of some new reading material.”

You nod gravely, expression serious. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Did you have anything specific in mind?”

He begins to rock lightly back and forth on his feet, contemplating. “I like fantasy, especially Tolkien. I read a lot of horror, too, and sometimes sci-fi. If you had any suggestions for me, that’d be great.”

“Oh, we can certainly find you something,” you reassure him, already flipping through a mental rolodex of your favorite books in those genres. “Here, come with me.”

You stand and move around the desk to meet him, beckoning for him to follow.

Eddie watches you run a delicate hand over the spines of the books, keenly aware of the clammy sweat that’s flooding his own palms. Be cool, Munson.

“So,” you begin, a gleam of excitement in your eyes, “you like fantasy. Do you read Le Guin?”

Eddie nods eagerly, hair bouncing slightly with the movement. “Oh yeah, I’ve read the Earthsea trilogy.”

“Have you read any of The Hainish Cycle books?”

“I haven’t read those ones, no.”

You pull out two slim paperbacks from the row, holding each one out for him so he can study the covers. “These ones are science fiction, and they’re pretty good. You might like Rocannon’s World since it’s similar to a fantasy novel, but personally I think Left Hand of Darkness is the best.” You suddenly pause, and look around furtively, like you were checking to make sure that you two are really alone. You even put a hand up to the side of your mouth, as though shielding the conversation from eavesdroppers.

“Honestly,” you lower your voice like you’re admitting something scandalous, “I even liked it better than Earthsea.”

“No!” Eddie immediately matches your whispered, gossipy tone and lets his jaw drop, pretending to be aghast.

“Yes!” you insist, seemingly delighted by his willingness to play along. Eddie’s heart soars.

“I guess I can’t refute that until I read it, huh? What’s it about?” he asked, taking it from your hand.

“An envoy is visiting this frozen alien planet, and he’s trying to convince them to join this intergalactic coalition that he represents, but they’re making it like, really difficult for him. Also, gender doesn’t exist, and there’s political turmoil stemming from border disputes.”

“...oh. Cool.”

The next half-hour passes in this fashion. Your soft, mild demeanor is aglow with enthusiasm as you pull out book after book, giving him an off-the-cuff elevator pitch for each. Eddie can practically feel the cartoon hearts swirling around his head, bright pink and red bubbles that are almost certainly going to appear out of thin air and give him away.

He can’t put his finger on what it is, precisely, that’s pulling him in so deeply, drawing him towards you like a magnet with an opposite pole. Maybe it’s the tender way you talk about each book, the love and care that’s so tangible in your sweet voice, the way you speak about them as though they’re your old friends. Perhaps they are.

It’s not an unfamiliar concept to Eddie. A childhood steeped in loneliness and poverty, instability and dysfunction, neglect from his volatile and unreliable parents…yeah, he gets it. The wanting, the longing, the dire need to escape to someplace that doesn’t exist, some place where things were better and didn’t hurt, a dreamworld that would be kinder to a scrawny little boy with unwashed hair and a mean father.

The closest he ever came to it was when he lost himself between the yellowed and dog-eared pages of the few, precious books he owned.

So he listens to you chatter away with chest-aching tenderness, already thinking that he could listen to you like this for hours and be glad for it.

“You love fantasy, but you’ve never read The Last Unicorn?”

Eddie gives you an apologetic half-shrug, no longer able to keep the goofy, besotted grin from unfurling across his face. “Never got around to it, I guess.”

“It makes me cry. You have to take it,” you tell him with pleading eyes, adding it to the top of the growing pile in his arms before he can refuse. Not that he ever would. How could he, when you look at him like that?

“You cry at this one, really?” He looks curiously at the artwork on the front, an innocent picture of the pale horned creature. “But it’s so unassuming…”

“Don’t be fooled, it’ll get you. Take it,” you repeat.

Eddie shifts the stack of books to cradle it in one arm, so he can raise the other at you in a salute. “Yes, ma’am. And when I’m finished with it, I’ll give you a full report on the emotional damage it caused me.”

This makes you giggle, lips turned up in a gorgeous smile, and Eddie knows he’s a goner.

Back at the front, you resume your previous positions at the desk. Him in front and you behind, this time separated by a short pile of books.

You hold your hand out. “Card, please, sir.” Polite and professional, but with a little sparkle in your eye that lets Eddie hope for a moment that his time with you this morning was more pleasure than business.

He fumbles with his wallet, slipping out his library card and slotting it between his index and middle fingers, extending it for you to take. His chunky silver rings catch the light.

You accept the offering. “Thank you” – you quickly read the messy signature at the bottom – “Edward.” You look back at him with a grin.

He cringes, face scrunching in embarrassment. “Oh God. Call me Eddie, please.”

The scanner gives a little chirp! as you begin the checkout process, nodding. “Will do, Eddie.” His name sounds like a song when you say it, one he never wants to stop listening to.

You finish scanning his books, and slide a receipt into the jacket of the novel on top (which just so happens to be Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love). Instead of sliding the stack towards him, you keep both hands clasped on the cover, hesitating. You bite your lip, an unconscious imitation of himself earlier. “Listen….”

Eddie straightens up a little, stomach flipping like a coin. “Yeah?”

You bow your head. “I’m sorry if I talked too much. It’s just – most people who come in don’t actually ask me for recommendations, and I got excited,” you admit quietly, looking sheepish.

“Don’t apologize,” Eddie says without missing a beat. “I appreciate it. I really enjoyed it, actually,” he adds, eager to quell your anxiety. “I liked talking with you.” More than you know.

“O-oh,” you stutter, taken aback. “I liked talking with you, too.”

Eddie nods, smiling slightly. “Would you like to…talk again?” He flushes scarlet and coughs. Smooth. “I just mean, when I finish these” – he motions towards the day’s finds – “we have to discuss them, right? You helped me pick ‘em out, after all.”

“Of course. You have to let me know what you think.”

His smile gets bigger. “So we’ll reconvene?”

“We’ll reconvene,” you chuckle.

“Awesome. Looking forward to it.” He sweeps up his books, and gives you a little wave. “Thanks again, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

And he can hardly wait. It looks like he’s got a lot of reading to do…

thanks for reading!!! <3 edit: this is now a series! Read Ch. 2-> Here!

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x bookworm!reader #stranger things fanfiction

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remlionheart · 2 months

Text

“You came.”

“You called.”

✧˚ · .MDNI 18+✧˚ · .

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ WHEWWWW. I had no idea when I first started writing this just how much it was going to suck me in. Sweet/toxic!Megumi had my brain doing fuckin' wheelies. All characters are aged up. 21+. Fem!reader x Megumi. AU where Megumi was raised by Toji and is navigating adulthood while still carrying around those old parental wounds. Hurt comfort / angst / smut. porn with a plot. praise kink girlies, this is for you. 3.6k words. super proud of this, lemme know whatcha think. luv you <3 ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It’d been 4 months since the last time Megumi had seen you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He’d woken up in what used to be your apartment with the taste of liquor from the night before still lingering on his tongue and unwanted snippets of your latest fight still ringing in his ears. He rolled over to see you curled up on your side, as far away from him as you could possibly get while still sharing the same bed. He ran a hand over his face, regret and nausea churning in his stomach while more flashbacks of the argument that had caused the divide between you smashed through his mind.

His footsteps were heavy as he made his way into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He turned the water up as hot as it would go before stripping out of his boxers. He wanted to sweat out the guilt he felt. Wanted to burn away the insults you’d both thrown at each other. Wanted to focus on anything else besides the way he’d made you cry.

He winced when the water made contact with his skin. It was scalding, fanning across his back with vengeance. But it was vengeance that he felt he deserved.

“Why?” His eyes closed, remembering how hard you were trying to keep yourself together despite the obvious pain that was plaguing your small body. The way your lip had quivered and the way your arms had protectively wrapped around your stomach when you looked up at him. “Why can’t you ever just tell me what’s going on with you?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to.

God, he wanted to. To open up. To tell you all of the fucked-up things that went on in his head. To voice his insecurities so that maybe they’d finally stop repeating on the same never-ending loop that they had been stuck on his whole life. To tell you that he didn’t think he was enough. To tell you that he was scared to lose you. That it was something he thought about nearly every day.

But it wasn’t that easy. He was only capable of doing what he knew, and he had absolutely no fucking idea how to deal with his own vulnerability. Let alone express it in a way that wasn't damaging to both of you.

Being raised by Toji had been like taking a master class in emotional avoidance and Megumi was very much his father’s prodigy.

He knew how to argue. He knew how to deflect. He knew how to win a fight. He knew how to manipulate a conversation so that he never had to say more than he wanted to. And he didn’t just know how to do these things, he excelled at them.

It was why he had always been so reserved. It was why he’d beat up all those kids in middle school just for looking at him. It was why at 21, rather than saying “I’m sorry” to resolve an ongoing issue with his girlfriend, he’d opted for, “Then fucking leave" instead.

He stepped out of the shower with red welts decorating his back and sweat dripping down his face. He wiped the steam away from the mirror to reveal blood-shot eyes as he wrapped a towel around his waist. His midnight hair was unusually straight and flat, pressed loosely against his forehead.

He let out an exhale, trading in his introspection for detachment when he heard the bathroom door open.

You observed him quietly, noting his reddened skin and his apparent discomfort at seeing you.

Your head tilted slightly, looking over his clenched jaw and the way his shoulders never truly relaxed. It hurt to see him and it hurt even worse to not see him, but as he stared back at you through hooded eyes, you realized that you had wasted so much time searching for softness in a place you’d never find it.

Megumi Fushiguro was beautifully broken. An intricate stained-glass mural that had been shattered by undeserving hands. Mesmerizing to look at but much too rigid to touch. And though he shined perfectly in the right lighting, your mangled fingertips were begging you to finally put the pieces down.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s nothing...” You shook your head, taking in his sharp edges for what you assumed would be the last time. “You just look like him… that’s all.”

His chest tightened, a rare, visible crack forming in his usual cold demeanor as he stared back at you. He’d been able to avoid everything he didn’t want to deal with in life, everything – until he met you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A pint of whiskey loomed back at him from his nightstand as he ran a hand through his spiked hair, lethargically watching the ceiling fan spin above him.

His vision was hazy, his body tired from training all day. He wanted to sleep. Wanted to close his eyes and drift off for a few hours, but he knew his mind wasn’t going to grant him that mercy.

So, he drank.

Light rain tapped against his window as he held the bottle to his lips, letting a comforting burn travel down his throat while he pulled his phone out from under his pillow.

You had become a ghost in his life after that morning. A memory that he kept buried so far down, he’d almost partially convinced himself that you were actually gone. You were a late-night whisper that he’d ignore. A song on the radio that he’d immediately turn off. A stabbing, fleeting thought he’d learned to block out on his way home from work.

He had given up going to his favorite restaurants and shops in fear that you might be there. He had cut all ties with Nobara since you guys were so close, not wanting to hear anything about you. He had isolated himself to work and his apartment, not allowing himself the chance to accidentally bump into you.

He’d taken so many precautions. Did everything he possibly could to not see you. And yet, he was gradually starting to realize that maybe it’d all been in vain. That even with how much his life had changed, he was still somehow doing the exact same thing he’d done when he was with you.

After all this time, he was still running.

With one last swig, he finished off his pint and grabbed his phone again, not allotting himself enough time to backpedal.

Dialing your number was like muscle memory even with how long it'd been since he'd done it. He wasn't sure what he was going to say if you answered. He definitely wasn't sure what he was going to say tomorrow if you didn't answer. All he knew was that he was finally done avoiding you.

“Megumi…?” your voice was warm, familiar, static against his ear.

“You’re up late.”

There was a pause followed by a reluctant, “Yeah… so are you.”

He mentally kicked himself as an unsure silence settled between the two of you. He had so many things he needed to say but quickly realized that he couldn’t say any of them now that he was here.

His feelings were heavy and important and way too repressed to be spilled out over a late-night phone call. “I know it’s raining, and whatever but…” He cleared his throat. “Are you busy…?”

“Right now?” He couldn’t help but smirk at your snarky, half-hearted laugh. “I mean, it’s 1:30 in the morning. So, no. Not really.”

“Good. Come over.”

“Wait a minute, you can’t just –”

But he already had.

He ended the call, abruptly cutting off your flimsy attempt at protesting him before sending you a text with his address and standing up to dig a black t-shirt out of his closet.

His apartment was damn near spotless aside from some empty whiskey bottles littering his nightstand, but he still made compulsive laps back and forth from his bedroom to his kitchen as he threw them away and cracked a couple of windows open to let some fresh air in. It was an odd feeling, knowing that you were going to be standing in the one place that didn’t remind him of you.

He checked his phone while heading into the bathroom. You hadn't said anything, but he knew you well enough to know that you were probably only minutes away by now.

He ran contemplative fingers through his hair, making sure each spike was pointed and curled up to his satisfaction. He hated to admit it, but your words had been haunting his reflection since the morning they left your mouth. He had become painfully aware of how much his eyes, his mannerisms, his facial structure all resembled the man he didn't want to become.

His past may have already been accounted for but as he heard the knock at his front door, he finally began to see something different in the mirror that once taunted him. He watched his stare soften and his shoulders loosen. He noted how much tension his body had let go of at just the thought of you. He was about to let his guard down in the biggest way possible and instead of having a visceral reaction, he felt ready.

With one last glance at himself, he let out a decisive breath and headed down the hall. The future was in his hands and even if he did have his father's features, he knew his grasp was much steadier.

You were in an oversized grey hoodie with your hair thrown into a loose side-bun, your shorts just barely visible and your skin damp from the rain.

Neither one of you said anything, both too busy studying the person in front of you to bother with words. Your eyes trailed over him with warranted skepticism, an internal battle between logic and emotion arising the longer you looked at him.

He could see it; he could feel it - the way you wanted to trust him but couldn't.

"You came." he finally said, his voice gentler than you remembered it being.

You shrugged, almost embarrassed by your own honesty.

"You called."

The two of you exchanged the same somber smile before he nodded for you to follow him.

The smell of his cologne mixed with spring air swirled around you as you walked into his room. His walls were covered in art - framed line work, oil paintings, black and grey portraits. Everything was strategically placed and organized. His bed made neatly with white sheets and a black duvet. It was all very him.

He leaned against the wall in front of you as you took a seat on the edge of his mattress.

“How’ve you been?”

It should've been an easy question and under different circumstances, it probably would've been.

But it was late and you were on his bed and he looked beautiful and you wished he didn't and the weight of the situation was suddenly hitting you all at once.

“I've been alright.” You lied, repositioning yourself. "Just busy with classes and stuff. What about you...?"

He watched the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shorts. The way you shifted your weight as you dangled one leg off of the bed and held the other against your chest.

“Quit.”

You paused, your gaze reluctantly returning to his. “Quit what?”

“Being nervous.” He pushed himself away from the wall and sat down next to you, heeding his own advice. “I just have some stuff I need to say, that's all."

You gave him a slow nod, letting go of the loose piece of thread.

His legs were spread slightly, his elbows resting on his thighs and his chin in his hands as he looked over at you. "You were right."

He had officially gained your attention with that one simple admission.

"I do need to open up more, it's just -" He took a breath, determination flickering through his eyes. "It's just fucking hard, you know? But that's not an excuse. I'm sorry. Truly. I'm sorry for everything I did to you while we were together. I should've said it the last time I saw you. I should've said it months before that. I should've just said it at least a hundred times. But I didn't, so I'm saying it now." His hand was warm as he carefully reached for yours. "I shouldn't have shut you out like I did. You're... the one person I never wanted to push away... I love you."

It felt as though all of the oxygen had been stripped from the room, your heart forgetting how to beat while you looked back at him in awe. Your thoughts were everywhere. The war of logic versus emotion still violently raging on.

His fingers laced into yours and you let them. His grasp felt safe and secure. His eyes were full of a sense of patience and vulnerability that you didn't think you'd ever seen before.

"Don't let him do this to you again." Nobara had warned you on your drive over here. "He might care about you. Hell, he might even really love you, but he doesn't know how and you can't keep making that your problem over and over again. It's not fair."

"Look..." Your breathing was uneven, your voice giving away your internal struggle no matter how hard you tried to conceal it. "I forgive you, but we... can't. I mean, we can't just keep doing this over and over. It's... not fair." It had held so much more conviction when it came from your best friend, but it was the best you could manage.

His hand disappeared from yours, wandering up to your cheek to catch tears that you didn't even realize had fallen. "Okay..." he conceded.

His tone was despondent, but his touch was soft. Light fingertips glided along your jawline, his face only centimeters apart from yours. "Then we won't."

"We won't." You repeated back to him, trying desperately to ignore the way his exhale fanned felicitously across your lips.

"Because..." You swallowed hard, watching his gaze drift carefully across your face. "We shouldn't."

He shook his head in agreement. "Absolutely shouldn't." He whispered, his hand trailing up to the back of your neck.

"And..." Emotion was putting up the fight of its life, your pupils widening as you stared back at him. "I deserve better."

"So much better." he echoed, leaning in closer, his mouth just barely grazing yours. "You deserve the fucking world."

Your body was betraying every bit of your sentiment, your breath hitching in your throat while his fingers tangled into your hair. "Megumi... you can't..."

"I'm not." his voice was like honey, his lips still ghosting yours. "All you have to do is pull away." His other hand began to slide delicately up your thigh, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. "Pull away and I'll walk you back to your car. We'll act like none of this ever happened."

"Megumi, please." It was a whimper. A pathetic plea that held no real merit. You weren't sure if you were begging for him to touch you or not touch you.

"I won't call you again. Won't see you again." His nails began to dig into the tenderness your inner thigh, his eyes still locked fiercely with yours. "I'll leave you alone for good this time... That's what you want, right?"

Wetness seeped between your legs as he kept on toying with the opening of your shorts. The warmth of his hand so infuriatingly close to where you wanted it and where it shouldn't be. Your already weak resolve was crumbling.

"Tell me to stop."

His forehead pressed against yours, opposite hand still holding your neck in place. "Tell me." He tried again, but all of your words had been stolen by the feeling of his palm roaming up towards your center.

With only a thin layer of fabric separating his fingers from you, he slowly began to spread you apart. If he hadn't been able to see your desperation before, he could certainly feel it now.

He watched every last bit of composure you had vanish as he started to draw soft, heavenly circles around your clit. Drowning in the little yelps and whines that you were trying so hard to bite back.

"Tell me to fucking stop."

There was suddenly no logic left in your brain. No one in control. No way to fight the way he was making you feel. You were a needy, pining mess and your body was practically groveling for him.

You finally let your lips catch his, shamelessly moaning against him while his grip tightened in your hair. "Don't -" You let out between heady breaths. "Don't stop. Please don't ever stop."

You were lost somewhere between his feral ocean eyes and the way his tongue swirled around yours.

He pulled the fabric to the side, plunging two unexpected fingers inside of you, smirking at the surprised squeal it'd gained him.

"Oh, that's my girl." He groaned, watching your eyes double in size.

Your walls were swallowing him, clenching around him shamelessly while more uncontrollable noises filled the room.

His thumb brushed against your clit, rubbing back and forth with precision as his fingers continued to slam into you. The three of them working together in perfect synchronicity. "There you go, that’s it.”

It had been so long. You knew it wouldn't take much, but you still felt pathetic when you realized you were already there. "Megumi- 'm -"

It almost caught both of you off guard how little it took. Your eyes snapped shut, your bottom lip lodged between your teeth as you soaked him. Your hips were thrusting, your pussy unapologetically dripping all over his hand while you mewled and writhed against him.

"Poor thing. Has it really been that long?"

It was somehow sweet, the way he mocked you.

His movements became more urgent, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you to your feet so that he could help you out of your clothes. Your hoodie went first, your nipples hardening as you stood in front of him.

"So fucking pretty." He praised, still sitting on the edge of the bed. His hands were warm against your waist, tugging off your shorts and underwear in one swift motion, admiring the shiny slick glistening off of your cunt.

He took a moment to look you over, quietly memorizing every inch before his own pants were tossed aside.

Your legs straddled him as he guided you on top of him, his hands placed firmly on your hips. You drew in a shallow breath, watching him rub his tip against you, wetting himself with your cum before lining his cock up with your entrance.

You slowly lowered yourself onto him, basking in that familiar, heavenly stretch he always provided you with.

“Fuuuck.”

You weren’t sure which one of you had said it, too drunk off of the way he filled you to care.

His hands were still guiding you. Uppp and dowwwnnn, not quite letting you take the full thing just yet but still giving you plenty to keep you satisfied.

You watched his reaction to the way you rode him, smiled when you noticed his eyes starting to roll back. You were grinding against him, drawing out the prettiest sounds from him with your hands clasped behind his neck.

“You’re s’fucking…” he grunted, his words suddenly harder to get out. “tight… Jesus Christ, baby. You really didn’t fuck anyone else for 4 months, did you?”

It wasn’t like you had been trying to hide it, but it was still irritating that your body sold you out before you even had the chance to have that conversation with him.

You shook your head sheepishly, a faint warmth decorating your cheeks. “Didn’t -” he was pulling you down further this time, purposefully going deeper as he watched you struggle to form a proper setence. “Didn’t - want… t- to…”

“Didn’t want anyone else inside of you, huh?” His tone was breathy, condescending almost as he continued to maneuver you to his liking. “Didn’t want anyone else to fill up this tight fucking cunt besides me, is that it baby?”

You shook your head again, this time a bit more feverishly while he continued to force your weight down onto him. Your ass now smacking against his thighs with each pump into you.

“I -” you moaned, unable to hold it together the further down you went. “I just want you. O - only you.”

He kissed you, his tongue gently parting your lips as he slowly eased you down onto his length. “I love you.” He whispered.

You tried to say it back but it was lost entirely by the way he thrusted upward without warning and slammed every last blissful inch of himself into you.

Your eyebrows knitted together, your mouth dropping open at the feeling of his tip hitting your cervix. You were a dizzy, pouty, leaky mess, looking at him with stars in your eyes as he smirked back at you. "You’re okay, baby. You can take it.”

He had you tilted at just the right angle, lined up beautifully with your g-spot. You were taking in all you could, hips hungrily rocking back and forth against him.

"You're doing so good. Just like that."

You were practically delirious, already teetering on the verge of climax when his thumb found your clit again, creating more featherlight circles and more delicious, hopeless yelps from you.

"Megumi," his name practically echoed across the room, your walls starting to smother him. "I - fuck, baby ‘m -" You tried to bury your face into his shoulder, but he wouldn't let you. His free hand was quickly under your chin, forcing your attention back on him.

"Look at me." his voice was low but thoughtful, his fingers still working relentlessly against you. "Let me fucking see it."

It was enough to break you. To have you suddenly spasming around him as you soaked him. He didn’t stop though no matter how much you squirmed against him. No matter how incredibly loud your cries became. He continued to stretch you, bullying himself into you while still teasing your clit until you were both absolutely shaking.

His lips crashed into yours, hand tangled back into your hair when you felt him start to twitch inside you, filling you up as he groaned against your mouth.

“I love you.” You whispered this time, earning an exhausted smile from him.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, admiring the mess he’d made out of you before kissing you again, lavishly this time as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

It was all so natural, so right. As if no time had passed at all between you two. And maybe you were biased because of where you were currently sitting, but his once rough edges looked pretty smooth from this angle.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

#jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #jjk x reader #jjk smut #fushiguro megumi #jjk megumi #megumi smut #megumi x angst #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi smut #jjk x you #toxic!megmi #jjk fanfic

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lipstickmarks · 2 months

Text

Steven to the Rescue

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem!reader Category: Hurt/comfort, fluff, domestic fluff Warnings: none Content: Hurt/comfort, fluff, domestic fluff, kissing, making out in public, reader has a terrible horrible no good very bad week and steven is there for her, Steven’s love languages are acts of service and physical touch, reader getting princess treatment, reader is kinda corporate girlie coded, steven being smooth, steven can cook, steven might be slightly ooc bc he is my silly putty and i am bending him to my will

Steven loved his job. He loved going into work everyday to consume any and all things related to egyptology. It’s what makes him able to withstand the abuse from Donna– which is lessened now that he’s been promoted to tour guide and she technically isn’t his supervisor anymore. But today, he simply does not want to go.

He’s been watching you pace around his kitchen nervously for the past five minutes, checking your phone, watch, and laptop in quick succession. It had been… a less than stellar week for you.

Firstly, your job has been stressing you out by offloading duties onto you that weren’t in your job description because someone else had quit unexpectedly. Then, there was an error with your bank and your paycheck wasn’t deposited so you had to wait an extra 3 days to pay your bills. On top of it all, your phone service provider was having some sort of nationwide glitch so you barely had any service.

Not only did you have twice the workload but you weren’t getting any of your work emails on time. Plus, you had to be in constant contact with the bank to sort out their issue. It’s why you’d come over to Steven’s flat before work, to use his internet and hopefully get a better signal. Plus, you two wanted to see each other.

Steven had made some cranberry muffins and vegan egg bites for the two of you but your plate remained untouched while you paced around, waiting for a bar.

“Love,” Steven murmured, reaching out to grab your elbow. You looked up from the laptop you were cradling in your arms and Steven nearly sighed out loud at the sight of your eyes. Beautiful, but so so tired. The universe has been running his favorite person ragged and it hurt him to see you so downtrodden by life. “You really should eat something before work.”

You sighed and sat down your devices, trading them for a muffin. Steven cracked a smile at how your demeanor visibly changed once you took a bite. You always swore Steven put some kind of happy elixir into his food because it never failed to bring your spirits up. You gobbled up one muffin and reached for another.

“Thank you for breakfast.”

Steven leaned over and kissed the side of your forehead.

“You’re welcome, darling. Hate to see you so out of sorts.”

With you finally eating, Steven finished getting dressed. He had to go into work earlier than you did so he let you stay and finish doing what you needed to do. Before he left, he wrapped his arms around you and gave you a soft kiss.

“I’m off then, darling. You’ll be okay here?”

You gave him a reassuring nod as you swallowed a bite.

“Yeah, I’m gonna finish up in a little bit. I have a feeling today is going to be better.”

Steven beamed at you. He kissed you once, twice, three times and he knew if we went for a fourth, he’d cave and stay home with you.

“Right, I’d better get going before I lose my job again.” But Steven made no move to leave. He was staring at you with that dreamy look, the one that had been perpetually fixed on his face ever since you two started dating two months ago. Steven was the perfect boyfriend. Gentle, thoughtful, and he adored you so much.

“Go,” You told him. “I’ll be fine, really.”

Steven gave you one last squeeze before walking out the door.

—----------

Steven was finishing up a tour with a school field trip and he was buzzing from how well it went. Usually, preteens were their own unique breed of nasty– making inappropriate noises, laughing obnoxiously, and just generally being awful but a boy and girl had been asking tons of insightful questions, spurring Steven on and letting him flex his breadth of knowledge. And if there was any snark, the teacher shut it down expeditiously so Steven could continue.

It was probably the best tour he’d given since he started working there.

Plus, earlier in the morning, the curator had pulled him aside and said they were looking for someone to give virtual tours that they could record and post online. If he got it, it would mean a pay bump and more benefits.

Things were finally going his way!

The group was just starting to shuffle off for lunch when Steven spotted you, standing off to the side of the museum entrance. His whole face broke out into a grin and his heart skipped a beat, but that elation faded when he saw your eyes.

You had been crying.

As soon as everyone was gone, Steven crossed the room to you. You both reached for each other. His hands fell to your hips and you clutched his bicep.

“Love, what’s happened?”

You tried to smile but your eyes were bloodshot and puffy. You were holding back tears and you looked like you were on the precipice of a complete breakdown. Like if someone pricked you with a sewing needle, you’d pop.

When you spoke, it came out small and broken.

“I tried to call you but my phone—” Your voice died on the word and Steven’s grip tightened around you.

“Darling?”

“I came to ask for a favor. My apartment… they called me while I was at work. A pipe burst.” Your lip quivered. “All my stuff is ruined.”

Steven’s eyes widened.

“No.”

You nodded, fat tears spilling down your cheeks.

“They said it’s gonna take three weeks to fix it.” You started wringing your hands nervously and took a steadying breath before you spoke again. “I was hoping I could stay with you.”

Steven’s answer is an immediate yes.

“Absolutely, love. Anything you need.”

He couldn’t stand it anymore and he pulled you into a tight hug. Your head fell lamely against his chest and he felt your tears soaking through his shirt but he didn’t mind. Not one bit. You peered up at him, face hot and flushed with tears.

“You’re sure it won’t be a problem? We haven’t been dating that long and I don’t want it to be…” You floundered, searching for the right word but Steven knew exactly what you meant. He caught your hand with his and brought it up to kiss the back of it.

“It won’t be. It'll be like a slumber party, yeah? We’ll bake cookies and watch films. It’ll be fun.”

You nodded but Steven could tell you weren’t convinced. After the week you’d been having, what reason did you have to believe anything else was going to go right for you? You looked like you were a single moment away from shattering entirely.

“Do you want to leave now? I can take the rest of the day off. I can find someone to cover my afternoon tours.”

You shook your head and wiped your eyes.

“No. No, I have to go back to work. We have an important meeting.” You sniffed. Steven’s heart broke seeing you like this. You just looked so defeated.

Steven thought hard for a moment. How could he make this better for you? How could he lighten your load?

“How about this? I’ll pick you up after work. We’ll stop by your flat and get anything we need and then we’ll go back to mine, hm?” He brushed the falling hair out of your eyes. “We’ll get a takeaway, watch your favorite show, I’ll even let you braid my hair if you like.”

You chuckled a bit.

“Can we get dessert?”

Steven kissed your forehead.

“Anything you want, love.”

You nodded and a genuine smile returned to your face.

“Alright, well I better get back. I’m on my lunch break and it’s gonna take me 15 minutes to get back across town.”

Steven stopped you before you could leave.

“Darling, have you eaten lunch?”

You looked sheepish when you shook your head. Steven wouldn’t be having that. Wordlessly, he laced your fingertips with his and lead you down to the employee lockers. He opened up his where the only contents were a book of Egyptology, his spare glasses, a Tawaret funko pop, his lunch box, and a picture of you taped to the inside.

He pulled out his lunchbox and placed it in your arms.

“Steven, no.” You gasped. “I can’t take your lunch.”

You took his lunch.

No matter how much protesting you did, Steven insisted, waving off your concerns with a promise that he would get something from a food truck at lunch. He hailed a taxi for you before you could argue any further.

“Steven, I don’t have cab fare.” You said with wide eyes as the taxi pulled up. “Remember? My bank–”

He pulled out his own wallet and handed the driver his bank card.

“Can’t have my beautiful girlfriend going across town on public transport. Someone might steal you away from me.”

You flushed. Your stomach was doing happy flips from feeling so taken care of. Steven took his card back from the driver and tucked it away. You were full on crying now as you wrapped your arms around him and weeped into his chest.

“It’s alright, love.” He murmured in your ear.

You pulled back to kiss him. It was eager and much too sloppy to do in broad daylight on the steps of his place of work but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Thank you for going to all this trouble for me.” You mumbled as you pulled away.

“It’s no trouble at all, love.” He opened up the cab food for you and didn’t shut it until you were inside. “I’ll pick you up at your office at the end of the day, okay?”

You nodded and Steven leaned his head through the window to give you one last kiss.

“Last chance to play hooky with me for the rest of the day?”

You giggled and shook your head.

“Tempting, but no. I’ve got to go be a grownup.”

Steven smiled at you and mouthed a silent “okay.” He stepped back onto the curb and once the road was clear, your cab pulled out into the street.

Once Steven was out of view, you opened up his lunchbox. He had a habit of overpacking in case he was stuck on the bus for a while and needed a snack, which came in handry because you were starving. You ate his sandwich, chips, soda, half a bag of grapes, and a cookie.

At a red light, your driver turned back to you.

“Your boyfriend is so sweet!” She swooned.

“You don’t know the half of it.” You giggled. “This is his lunch.”

She gasped.

“Shut up! That is so cute! Oh my gosh, you’re so lucky.”

You grinned.

“Yeah. I am.”

—-----------

The rest of the afternoon went painfully slow for you.Thankfully, you got so busy with work that you temporarily forgot you were broke, without a phone, and temporarily homeless.

When it was finally time to go, you headed toward the front desk, intending to use the landline to call Steven but when you stepped into the hall, he was already there. You had to do a double take at first because you thought you might have been dreaming or seeing things. But no, this was real life.

Steven Grant, your nerdy, sweet, perfect boyfriend was chatting to your office receptionist with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“I never realized the museum was free! I always thought it cost money, that’s why I haven’t brought my kids.” The receptionist said, embroiled in a conversation with Steven.

“Loads of people think that, actually but yeah it’s free entry. It only costs money for tours. Though, if you’re bringing your little ones, I can’t recommend the tours enough. You get loads of extra information that just reading the pamphlets won’t give you. Not to toot my own horn but I give a pretty educational tour if I do say so myself.” Steven said with a relaxed smile. Ever since he’d been promoted to tour guide, he’s been so much more sure of himself. He’s still the goofy, sweet, bumbling nerd he always has been but the constant exposure to his passion has cushioned him in a cozy little bubble of Egyptology, vegan baking, and you. How could he not feel content?

“I think I’ll take them next weekend.” The receptionist said as you arrived at the desk. “I’d like a tour with you as well.” She looked up from scribbling the museum information on a Post-It note and saw you. “Oh, here you are, darling! Does this sweet man belong to you?”

Just as she asked, Steven held out the bouquet to you. Red roses, pink tulips, white calla lilies, and some hydrangeas to fill it out.

“He does.” Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. You took the bouquet from Steven and smelled the flowers. Steven gently pulled your purse strap off of your shoulder and took his lunch box out of your hands, holding them both and holding his free hand out for you.

“Are you ready, love? The cab’s waiting.”

Do not cry. Do not cry in your place of work. Do not cry because your boyfriend is being so sweet and you’ve never felt this cared for in your life.

To avoid your voice coming out high and squeaky, you nodded and took his outstretched hand. Bidding goodbye to the receptionist, he led you out the doors and into the cab, leading you home.

*****

It feels strange.

You’re not sure why. You’ve spent the night at Steven’s flat before, had dinner, read books, spent all night in his bed, but this felt different.

You were standing in Steven’s bathroom, hair damp from your shower. The second you got back to his flat, you’d made a beeline to the shower, eager to scrub all of your misfortune off. And you felt so strange, so out of place.

It was a little more intimate knowing that you’d be here for three entire weeks, which put a decent amount of pressure on a fairly new relationship. You and Steven would be seeing each other in undesirable states, have to give each other space, and somehow maintain the dynamic of your relationship despite these new circumstances.

You unloaded the grocery bag of toiletries that you picked up from your flat on the way here. Thankfully your hygiene essentials and skincare weren’t damaged. The same couldn’t be said for your clothes, though.

At least it was the weekend and you didn’t have to worry about outfits for work. You could just lounge around in the sweater and boxers Steven had given you, or nothing if you preferred. Steven certainly wouldn’t mind.

“Love?” Steven’s voice came through the bathroom door. “The food just got here. I’ll queue up a movie for us.”

“Alright.” You called out. “Be out in a minute.”

“Take your time, darling.”

What on Earth did you do to deserve that wonderful, wonderful man?

After changing, you stepped out into the living room where Steven had arranged the takeout boxes, poured you a glass of wine, and queued up “Tangled” on the TV.

“Steven…” You plopped down on the couch next to him. “We could’ve cooked, you didn’t have to order out for me. I don’t want you going to any trouble for me.”

Steven looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes that only love could be the catalyst for. He took your chin between his fingers and angled your face to meet his lips in a sweet, slow kiss.

“Darling, why would it be any trouble to care for you?”

And just like that, as quickly as a match burns out, all of your anxieties and apprehension faded away. You didn’t feel out of place in Steven’s flat or mistreated by the universe. Here, in Steven’s arms, you only felt loved.

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight #mr. knight #marvel #steven grant x you #oscar isaac #steven grant imagine #steven grant fanfiction

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loonylupinblack3 · 6 days

Note

Could you do fic for Mark Webber with wife reader? Just her being their children to the paddock and everyone quickly gushed over the kids. Both Lando and Oscar act like big brothers to them and felt very protective of the Webber's family. Would absolutely do everything the kids asked them to. So, there was chaos every time she brought them to the garage. But everyone wouldn't trade them for anything. Just something fluff and cute. Tag me later!! Thanks:)()

Pairing: Mark Webber x Reader

Warnings: extremely vague suggestive content

Summary: Mark brings you and your kids to the grand prix

A/N: was very fun to write this request, hope you enjoy <3

You fixed your son’s hat, turning it the right way and giving it a slight pat. Ever the moody nine year old your son Connor scowled up at you, batting your hand away.

“Now, is that the sort of way you treat your mother?” came your husband’s voice, accompanied with an arm around your waist.

You smiled as your husband finally finished getting ready and as your five year old daughter waddled behind him, ever the follower. Wherever Mark went, Lily went with him. You knelt down and picked your daughter up, the girl giggling and hugging your neck.

“Ready to go?” you asked your family, though it was Mark who answered, nodding his head and putting his hand on the small of your back, leading you outside to the car.

You buckled in Lily, Connor insisting he could do his seatbelt himself, and got into the passenger seat as Mark started the car. Lily was full of questions about her first grand prix event, a constant stream of words leaving her mouth at all times.

You answered them the best you could, though some of them were quite….. Unique questions.

“What if a dinosaur went on track during the race?” Lily asked, kicking her feet. “Would the race stop? Would people die?”

Lily looked a bit too cheerful at her words. Connor rolled his eyes at his sister.

“That wouldn’t happen, dinosaurs went extinct ages ago.”

You smiled at your son through the mirror. “Someone’s been doing their research.”

Connor smiled, puffing his chest out slightly. His early defiance was forgotten and he was looking quite pleased that you’d noticed his education on dinosaurs.

“I learnt it at school. Also, did you know….”

You listened intently as your son explained his learnings of space, smiling at his excited rambling. Mark’s hand moved to your thigh, resting there comfortably. Your smile widened. You’d known Mark a long time, and during that time you’d figured out whenever Mark was happy he’d touch you. Like he felt contentment and touching you just mirrored his feelings. Like touching you was the icing on the cake, the perfect addition to his perfect feeling.

You looked at Mark with a smile. He noticed your gaze and smiled back, squeezing your thigh gently.

“Also Mum,” Connor continued, “when we get to the race can we have a hot chocolate?”

Lily gasped. “Please Mum!”

You sighed at your children’s antics, and you knew sugar would just hype them up and then have them crash down, but how could you say no to them?

“We’ll see,” you conceded, which was basically a yes.

You arrived at the circuit, parking in the VIP car park Connor was all too excited to talk about as you walked to the grid. You held his hand as you walked, something Connor had complained about at the start but you were insistent. It was a crowded place and you didn’t want to lose him.

Mark was holding Lily, the girl curled up in her father’s arms. You smiled at the sight before listening to Connor, paying him the attention he expected from you as he swung your arms back and forth, chattering about his latest discovery.

Hefting Lily to one arm, Mark took your free hand and together your family walked into the paddock, receiving the sudden flash of cameras as people tried to get your attention. You held your son closer, feeling his hand squeeze yours in panic, though unfortunately he was used to this. You could see Mark doing the same thing for Lily, letting the girl hide her face into the crook of his neck.

When you’d passed the paparazzi, entering the VIP section of the grid where they didn’t have access too, Mark gently put Lily down and you let go of Connor’s hand, trusting the two of them to walk freely.

Mark held onto your hand more tightly, tugging you closer to him. You laughed, shaking your head, and Mark grinned, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your head.

“Oscar! Oscar!”

Lily started bolting forward, making your eyes widen and an immediate reaction to run after her seize you, but when your brain understood what she was saying your gaze travelled further and found the Australian driver grinning, arms out for your daughter.

Connor was quick to follow, running after his sister, and you and Mark shared a wry grin before walking after them. Lando appeared next to you from who knows where, giving you a tight hug.

“There’s my favourite F1 wag,” he murmured into your ear.

You laughed and hugged him back. “It’s good to see you too, Lando.”

The two of you pulled back just as Lily noticed Lando, letting a dramatic gasp leave her lips before she was running after him, Connor hot on her heels. You smiled, watching your two kids embrace Lando as Mark greeted Oscar, squeezing his shoulder.

As they talked you kept an eye on your kids, making sure they didn’t overwhelm Lando with their questions and chatter. The young Mclaren driver seemed to be doing just fine however, enjoying the conversation almost as much as the kids themselves.

Oscar walked over to you and you tore your gaze away from your children, instead focusing on your other child that Mark and you had practically adopted. Oscar gave you a grin and hugged you tightly, his figure towering over you slightly.

“Thanks for coming,” he murmured into your hair.

You pulled back, giving him a fond smile. “Of course. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

A faint blush spread across Oscar’s cheeks and you grinned, letting him go. Mark immediately replaced him, hand snaking to your waist and pulling you to his side.

“Mum! Mum!” Connor asked, running up to you. “Lando said he’d take us to the Mclaren garage. Can we go? Please.”

You smiled and nodded. “We can all go.”

Your kids let out a cheer and trailed behind Lando and Oscar who’d joined them, the two Mclaren drivers listening to your chattering children as they led them to the garage.

“How about you and me disappear somewhere?” Mark whispered into your ear, a devious grin on his face. “Lando and Oscar can mind the kids for a while.”

You turned to your husband and smirked, hands wrapping around his neck. “What did you have in mind?”

#mark webber #mark webber x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #mark webber fanfic #mark webber fanfiction #mclaren #oscar piastri #lando norris #husband!markwebber #formula one

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babybluebex · 1 year

Note

oh please for a blurb im obsessed with super innocent reader and pervy eddie? if you’re comfy with it of course. thank u <3

ooh yes i love this trope so much, thanks for sending it in! cw innocent!reader, dubcon, coercion, trading sexual favors (nudity) for drugs

"Luckily for you, princess, pretty faces work on me. How about $15?"

You shifted slightly on the old wooden bench, chewing your bottom lip. You had never bought weed from Eddie Munson before— you had never bought weed before, period, but your friends had convinced you to be the one to see the deal through that day. You didn't smoke when your friends did, you didn't drink when they did, you hardly partook in any of their nasty habits, but you loved your friends, and you would do anything for them, so you agreed to be the one to buy the weed for that Friday night.

"I dunno," you mumbled. "I, umm, don't wanna rip you off or anything..."

"$15 for this much is pretty cheap," Eddie started, swinging around the plastic sandwich baggie full of the little green buds. "Why have I never seen you before, though? Like, I see you around school, but here you are, suddenly buying my weed and robbing me blind while doing it."

"Oh," you started, and your fingers twirled in your pink skirt. "Umm, my-my friends wanted me to buy it today. S-Said, umm, that you'd like me and give me a good deal."

You didn't miss the way that the older boy's eyes swept your frame, from your precious white sweater to your pristine white sneakers and socks and cute little pink skirt that matched your backpack. You knew that maybe it was a little childish to like pink so much, and, sure, people made fun of you, but you never saw anything wrong with it. But Eddie wasn't looking at you like he wanted to bully you; he was looking at you oddly, in a way that nobody had ever looked at you. Your tummy did a flip, and you wriggled again uncomfortably.

"Well, princess, I sure do like you," Eddie said. "I've liked you for a while. But I can't just part with this much weed for $15, I could hardly do it for $25, and even pretty girls like you should know that much."

"They only gave me $15," you said, your voice wobbling, and Eddie pouted. "Please, Eds, I-I'll do whatever you want, just don't—" You sighed. "I don't wanna go back to them and tell them you wouldn't sell to me. That's so embarrassing."

"It is embarrassing, princess," Eddie agreed. "Your friends don't seem very nice... But I'm nice. How about this, you can do one thing for me, and I'll let you off with all of this for that 15, how does that sound?"

You nodded quickly. "Anything," you said. "I-I'll do your homework or something, I'll do anything."

"Come stand over here," Eddie said, beckoning you across the picnic table with a single finger. He pointed to where he wanted you to stand, right in front of him, almost between his knees, and you did it, settling yourself as close to him as you could. "Lift up your shirt."

"Huh?" you asked, your mind going blank.

"I know you've got a pretty rack under that sweater," Eddie told you. "Probably have on a little pink bra, huh?"

"What's a rack?" you asked softly, and Eddie's eyes went wide, almost like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Do you really not know..." Eddie started. "Oh, you sweet thing. Sweet little princess... Your tits, baby. Show me your tits and I'll give you that weed."

"My tits...?" you repeated, looking down at your body. You knew what tits were, and you could figure out what Eddie meant by "rack", and your leg shook as you tugged at your sweater. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, sweetheart," Eddie said, reaching forward and pressing his hands to your waist. "I'm positive. Just a quick peek under your sweater, and I'll be happy."

You gulped, and you muttered, "Does that mean you're my boyfriend?"

"Excuse me?" Eddie asked sharply, and you felt silly for even asking.

"I mean, girls only show their tits to their boyfriends," you started. "And I'm going to show you my tits, so that means... Right?"

"Sure, baby, sure," Eddie said quickly. "Sure, I'll be your boyfriend or whatever. C'mon, lunch period's almost over, and I'll get in trouble if I'm late to O'Donnell's again. You don't want your boyfriend to get in trouble, do you?"

"No," you said, shaking your head. Finally, your hands grabbed at the bottom of your sweater, and you lifted it up to your chin, exposing your chest to Eddie. His eyes were wide as he took in the sight of you, your tits straining with each breath against your bra, and he leaned forward a little bit, almost like he wanted to press his face between them. He stopped himself before he got too close, though, and he sighed.

"Look at those," he said. "Jesus Christ, you've got some nice tits, baby. Thank you for showing me." He sat quiet for a moment, getting an eyeful of you, and he only snapped out of his trance when, distantly, the bell for the end of lunch period began to ring. "Here, take this and go, don't worry about the cash. I'll call you sometime."

Eddie hastily shoved the sandwich baggie of weed into your hand, and you dropped your shirt as your heart soared. "Oh, thank you, Eddie!" you exclaimed, and you threw your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Hey, princess?" Eddie started as you shoved the baggie into your backpack, and you looked at him with perfect doe eyes. "Don't tell your friends how you got that weed. That's the sorta thing only boyfriends and girlfriends talk about, okay? They'll call you mean names if they knew what you did."

"Okay," you said quickly; you didn't want your friends to make more fun of you than they already did. "You said you'll call me?"

"Sure will, princess," Eddie said, flipping shut his lunchbox. "Expect it tonight."

#bex answers #anon ask #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson x reader #bex's drabbles #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #tw innocent reader

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joshlmbrt · 3 months

Text

Beautiful Boy. truck driver!dad! e. munson x mom!reader.

w; this one is long - i apologize, r is intended as a female but i try to be nondescript as best as i could ( i use the pronouns she/her BUT you can always change if you’d like <3 ), i don’t know much about soccer so pls ignore how i absolutely demolish it, mentions of cheating - not eddie, jason is mean - as always - but this time it’s uncalled for, chance is non-verbal, little injury, eddie absolutely loses it in front of parents and kids - but it’s needed honestly, eddie’s self-deprecating thoughts, fluff ending

thank you @reidsbtch & @officerrrfriendly for beta reading !!! i love u both.

an; thought about this little idea and i love the idea of truck driver!eddie so im continuing the alt au! i hope you guys love him just as much as i do 🧸 (if u seen the post ab me taking a small break - no u didn’t … jk, after this i won’t post for a while </3 just wanted to post this.)

Eddie hated being around people.

Not just people. But people he knew and went to school with - the ones that called him a freak.

Although, Eddie had found you and he was the first one out of anyone - when he finally put his mind to it and graduated - to get married.

So, everyone who made fun of him, suck it!

“Hun, can you get his duffel bag out, please?” You slip out of the car, opening the back door. Sometimes he missed his van - the one you despised and desperately told him to trade in for this mini van - but then he realizes how much it actually came in handy.

You hold Chance’s hand when he hops out of the car, kneeling down and tying his shoes. Whenever Eddie would tie them, he would immediately walk away and find you, wordlessly holding his foot out - Eddie never got them tight enough. They would always untie in the middle of the game.

“You’re gonna do so good, baby! I just know it.” You switch to tie the other shoe. Eddie circles around the car after locking it, placing a hand on Chance’s head.

“Absolutely. He’s a Munson.” He smirks down at the boy. It took a little time for Eddie to realize that being a part of the Munson Bloodline wasn’t all bad like people had made him believe.

Sometimes they would lose - but in the long run, they somehow always win in the end.

His win - you and Chance.

There’s a whistle that had been directed towards the small group of you, Chance, and himself. It caused Eddie to look up quickly. It wasn’t the type of whistle to catch someone’s attention that you had been friends with for a while - no - it was a whistle little boys did when they seen a woman they thought was pretty.

“Oh, my bad.” The smirk was familiar and made Eddie’s blood run hot.

Jason Carver.

Divorced three times and had two kids (They both are the same age - you can be sure what had happened there and why they both are the same age) . He's married again, but she’s at the car getting the chairs out and small cooler with capri-sun’s for the little tots and beer for Jason.

It wasn’t allowed, but it was Jason Carver, and sometimes someone’s privilege was so blindingly noticeable.

You peek up at Eddie, watching as his jaw clenches. “Eds,” You say. “Eddie,” He finally looks down at you. You shake your head. “He’s not worth it. Don’t waste your breath.”

He can distinctly hear Julia - his new wife who was most likely about to hit him with divorce papers - complain as she shoves the chairs into his arms. His eyes peek up, watching as they both walk away. He only nods, looking back down at you.

“Breathe, Eds.”

And suddenly, he could breathe again. There was a shudder to the first breath he took - but it felt nice. Rather than holding it in anger until he passed out.

You give him a small smile before fixing Chance’s green shirt. You press a quick kiss to his forehead, standing and holding a hand out for him. He immediately slips his hand into yours, following you towards the field.

Eddie glances around, scratching at his neck when he passes a group of people who peaked in high school - better known as the basketball and football team.

There were a couple of them that were fine - not as rude. And he was sure that the whispers he heard wasn’t about him in particular, but there’s some side of him that feels as if the hushed conversation was about him - or worse, his little mini me.

Chance had been quiet. He doesn’t know why or if it will ever change - a part of him hopes it does because he wants to hear his tiny voice. But if it never changed, Eddie would still love him either way.

And if anyone - including a kid - said anything about it, he’s not afraid to go to jail after knocking out some teeth and lose his job over it.

He drops the duffel bag, kneeling down in front of Chance. “Remember what I told you?” He tilts his head. “This is supposed to be fun, just remember that.”

Chance smiles and nods. He looked grown - the tooth that he had lost making a slow comeback.

“Now, go get them, Champ.” He stands, clapping as he runs to meet the rest of his team.

You peek over at him, smiling softly with a fluttering heart and pink cheeks. He peeks over at you, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows and crossing his arms over his chest, lifting a brow at you.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He chuckles a bit nervously. He still gets a bit nervous when you stare at him like you’re falling in love all over again - which you are, even more than before.

Of course, Eddie’s had relationships - even situationships - and even if they didn’t last that long, he always felt confident in the relationship, never boyish and giggly to where he could swing his feet like a school girl.

But with you, he feels shy, excited, nervous, and loved.

You shrug, slipping your arms around his, resting your chin on his bicep. “I just think you’re so handsome.”

He flushes and suddenly feels hot in the cool air. “Even with this scuff.”

“Especially with the scuff,” You grin. “And I thought I wouldn’t like your haircut, but I do.”

“I’m glad,” He nods, leaning over and pressing one, two, three pecks against your forehead. “It was just getting in the way when I would roll the windows down to smoke,” His scruff tickles against your forehead. “Especially when I would forget or loose the rubber band.”

You nod a bit and lift up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m going to go get the mini cooler out of the car.”

“I can do that.”

“No, I got it. Stay here and make sure no one gets our spot.”

He smirks. “Yeah, because you’ll end up feeling bad for someone and move.”

You roll your eyes and pat his bottom before walking off. He smiles and turns back, watching as they Hawkins and the other team - Defenders - give high-fives before the game starts.

“So, Munson,” He feels someone brush up against his side, his nails dig into his skin that was covered by his black sweatshirt. “How’s the married life?”

“You mean the same married life I’ve been in for 5 years now?” Eddie rocks on his heels. He doesn’t know if that would help, but he’s hoping it does so he doesn’t cause a scene in front of all the kids and parents who already judge him enough even if he’s not that same, hyperactive person anymore.

“It’s wonderful. How about your third wife? Or… is it the fourth?” He wonders out loud. Jason chuckles, blue eyes turning to stare daggers into the side of his face. “Or do you already have the fourth one picked out?”

“You’re such a-”

“Hi, Mr. Carver,” You cut the conversation short. You didn’t like Jason at all, but it’s better to kill him with kindness than to egg him on with words. “Seems like James and Aj are getting the hang of soccer.”

He watches as you bend at the waist, Eddie moving slightly to cover where ever his eyes might land, pinky circling into the belt loop of your jeans.

Jason rolls his eyes at that, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Learned from the best,” He nods. “What about Chance? Since… Eddie’s gone most of the time.”

“Dustin, Lucas, or Steve comes and practices with him. Jonathan does sometimes as well, and Robin,” You shrug. “He has a bunch of people who help him.”

“I bet it gets lonely sometimes.” Eddie’s ears ring when he hears the words and the whistle blow.

“What?”

“You know… When Eddie’s gone. How many days is he gone?”

You lift a brow, eyes staying on Chance’s jersey. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You step closer when you feel Eddie’s finger tug on the belt loop of your jeans.

“Well… I could keep you company sometime, you know,” He tilts his head. “It’s not okay for Chance to have a father that disappears a couple of days and then pops back up for a day.” There’s a pause. You both were going to ignore him.

Jason is the type of guy who wouldn’t back out of an argument until there’s a physical altercation between him and whoever falls into his trap. Eddie knows this because it’s happened before.

Jason wouldn’t stop pestering him - and the next day after seeing his father on the news for a physical altercation, breaking-an-entering, DUI, and Drug Holding, it only made it worse.

“Looks like you might actually have something to look forward too - seeing your Daddy behind bars when you get locked up with him.”

He can’t remember when his fist went flying and when it broke Jason’s nose, but after that, Jason would say something’s and Eddie would retaliate with words.

Jason would back down because he remembered the pain that the rings had caused and the cracking noise he had heard.

But now, he didn’t seem to remember what that felt like - and maybe he needed to be reminded.

“Maybe that’s why he’s a bit slow.” Especially now when he said those words. Jason Carver officially sealed his fate.

“What did you just say?” Eddie turns to him.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Jason shrugs. But he did. “Just… you know, he doesn’t talk. He’s not that smart with his-”

“You don't want to finish that sentence, Carver,” Eddie grits out. There’s a hot flash that keeps going down his whole body, the feeling of breaking that nose again, ruining the nose job he had to have because of his rings. “You remember what happened before. I’d hate to ruin the nose job you had to have in 10th grade. Then you’d have to spend another thousand just to get it busted again.”

Jason’s brows shoot up, a small teasing smirk on his face. He notices some parents’ eyes looking at them. Eddie’s voice had raised a smidge and he didn’t even notice.

“Is that a threat, Munson?”

“Try promise, Carver,” His eyes narrow at him. “You peaked in high school and can’t let it go. You even work there.”

Jason’s jaw clenches at that. “I didn’t-”

“You did,” Eddie cuts him off. There’s a small smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips knowing he’s got under his skin now. “You just don’t want to admit it. And it’s honestly sad. So, what you’re going to do right now is turn around, walk away from my wife, and stop talking about my son. Because it won’t be pretty if you don’t.”

“Eddie.” Your hand grips his arm. He looks at you and shakes his head before looking at Jason.

Jason clicks his tongue, darting his eyes out at the field as he nods a bit. You look between the two. “Alright… I’ll let you win this one,” He hums, hands on his hips. “Because at least my kid isn’t a freak.”

Eddie flinches at the word, fist clenching at the usage and who it was shot at. He wouldn’t have minded if it was meant towards himself, but his kid? One who couldn’t even defend himself?

His hands land on his chest, pushing him away. Jason stumbles on his Nike’s. “Carver, I mean it. Walk away before you say something you’ll regret. I’m so close to beating you into the ground.”

Jason stares at him and he believes him. Eddie’s staring at him with eyes that were dark, his hands balled into fists at his side - so tight that his knuckles were white.

Jason’s eyes glances over at you. And just because he needs to get in the last words so his ego isn’t hurt and knocked down a couple of steps, “Call me if you ever get lonely, babygirl.” His lips pucker and smack together before he gives Eddie one last grin, turning around.

Eddie almost swings at the back of his head to knock him off guard, his arm raising. You grab his arm, pulling it down quickly. “Not worth it,” You say, hand resting between his shoulder blades. “He’s not worth going to jail, Eds.”

Eddie watches as he makes his way towards Julia, plopping down into his fold out chair. He grabs the can, taking a gulp and wiping at the corner of his mouth where some had slipped. His blue eyes turn and meet Eddie’s, a small smile that curls at his lips.

“Just one punch?”

“No,” You turn him towards you. “He’s just trying to get a raise out of you and it’s working - don’t let him win this time like he always does.”

Eddie glances around, eyes meeting with some of the parents that quickly look away. His eyes then connect with yours and suddenly he feels his inside soften and his face slowly release its tension, the lines disappearing from his face.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

You shake your head, giving him a small smile. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

He opens his mouth but is cut off by the whistle, eyes cutting over to the field. He sees number 8 sitting on the ground, his heart dropping.

His mind was wondering else where and his son is hurt.

He’s walking out onto the field before his mind even registers what his feet are doing and kneeling down. Chance had tears rolling down his cheeks, his small hands covering his knee.

“Hey, Champ,” His heart breaks at the sight of his watery eyes when they quickly dart up at him before looking back down at his hands. He flinches when he feels your hand on his back, rubbing up and down. “Can mommy and I take a look?” He whispers.

He feels a bit claustrophobic when he feels the two coaches looming over his shoulders along with the small kids staring at him.

Chance nods slightly, removing his hands from his knee. Eddie’s hand reaches out and holds his leg, looking at the scratches. “Looks like you just need a quick wipe and bandaid.”

Chance sniffs and slowly stands, bending his leg.

“You wanna wait til we get home? I accidentally forgot the first aid at home.” The little boy nods, sniffling again.

Eddie reaches up and wipes away his tears softly. “You’re so brave. I’m proud of you.”

This causes Chance to smile, cheeks lifting a bit. Eddie gives him a swift peck to the top of his head before standing. “Go get ‘em.” Chance nods quickly.

Eddie grabs your hand, walking off the field and standing on the sidelines again. You lean your head on his shoulder.

“Eds?” He hums a bit. “I love you.”

He smiles a bit, nodding. “I love you.”

⭒

Eddie plops down on the bed, rubbing at his face. Chance’s knee was taken care of, a fresh shower, some nuggets, then he was out like a light when his little head hit the pillow.

Eddie feels like he could pass out when his own head hits the pillow, but there’s a feeling that keeps tugging at his chest.

He doesn’t know if it’s anger, sadness, or confusion.

anger because he couldn’t put Jason Carver into place like he absolutely wanted to. Anger because he missed half of Chance’s game because of him.

Sadness because Chance has to deal with people already laughing at him - it’s much worse when a grown up does it.

Confusion because he doesn’t know what he did in wrong his life to deserve what people say about him and his family.

Eddie always felt like he was nice enough - not judging others and including them in a conversation when he felt as if they weren’t being heard or he noticed the look on their face when they felt left out of the conversation.

And there’s a constant nagging in his mind that he always hears in his subconscious.

You’re not cut out to be a father - you’re going to go downhill soon.

And the worse part about it, he actually believes he’s going to go down hill. His father once was a nice man, caring. Then Wayne said when his mom got sick, he turned bitter and mean.

And the worse part about that was she got sick when she was pregnant with Eddie. So that bitterness was because of Eddie.

Edward Munson - the person who caused people to feel bitter when he showed his face. The person who only seemed to give people bad luck when he showed up.

Sarah, his mother who was a soft person with kind words, should’ve saved herself. Not him. She should be here. Then maybe his dad would’ve been okay.

Everyone would’ve been okay.

“Babe?” He blinks, glancing at you. He didn’t realize that you had finished getting ready for bed and had snuggled under the covers. He hums slightly. You frown, lifting your hand and wiping at the tears that he didn’t realize had fallen.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on in your mind?” Your thumb traces over his cheekbone. You pay attention to the scar he has nearing his eye. He shakes his head a bit, lip quivering.

He’s afraid that if he talks, it will cause him to sob, then if he sobs, he’ll wake up Chance. He’s already had a rough day today and he needed his sleep.

You frown and move closer to him, pressing a kiss next to his eye, they flutter closer. “Whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t true,” You whisper. “I know you and I know that you’re very hard on yourself - and you shouldn’t be. You know why?”

He turns his head to stare at you, shaking his head a bit.

Your hand splays out against his cheek. “Because you, Eddie, are the absolute best person I know with the biggest heart. And I’m so proud of how far you’ve come and achieved.”

He smiles, although it’s a bit shaky. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You shrug, nudging your nose against his softly. “Just being the absolute best version of you.”

🎸 eddie tags; @lavendermunson, @hazydespair, @whisperingwillowxox

thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, requests, likes, & feedback is always welcomed, encouraged, & deeply appreciated. 🧸

#cherry writes ✿#dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #dad!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #joseph quinn x reader

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wiliowisp · 8 months

Text

Heatwave ❦

Word Count ➻ 2.5k

Pairings ➻ Sebastian Sallow x fem!MC

Warnings ➻ NSFW 18+ ONLY

Tags ➻ third person POV, smut, face-sitting, giving head, penetration, sub!sebastian, aged up characters, married characters

A/N ➻ every day i fight for my place in heaven. this is the first smut ive ever written in my many adult years of life and also possibly the easiest thing ive written. funny that. hopefully u wonderful, sinful lot will enjoy <3

୧ send me prompts! i may write them! ୨

Summary:

A heatwave has descended upon Sebastian and MC's happily married life. The warmth unties the strings of restraint and allows, often hidden, layers to be peeled away...

The heat of the August sun bore through the windows of their home like thick honey, making everything stick. She sat at the table, hands melting into the wood, a cup of water sweating in front of her. England had not known heat like this in years; the Daily Prophet had warned of winds carrying hot air from Africa but she didn’t think that it would swell the atmosphere the way it had.

Over the last few days, she had steadily reduced the layers of clothing that she normally donned. The corset went first; stuffy, abysmal thing. Then the petticoat, three layers under a skirt was simply too much. The chemise got traded out for the more contemporary brassiere, a thin lacy thing that was all but transparent under the sheen of sweat that she’d been drenched in these past few days. Her skirts got shorter and her patience thinner. She wanted to wring herself out like a towel.

Luckily, the only person who had seen her in such a state of impropriety was her husband and school sweetheart, Sebastian Sallow. They had been confined to their remote cottage in the highlands, sweating their souls away as the sun reaped across the country. Sebastian wasn’t bothered by her state of undress, they’d been married for almost five years and together for much longer—he had seen her in much more vulnerable states.

However, she had noticed his growing restlessness of late. They scarcely touched due to the heat; where they would usually be wrapped around each other in bed, they erected a boundary in the centre of it, loathe to touch each other’s skin and boil in the scorching nighttime fever. Now, she had developed a bronze tint to her skin, all the way down to her legs, her face flush with a sunny glow. Sebastian’s eyes had noticed this. He had noticed the layers slowly peel away, and the way the fabric stuck to her flesh, lathed along it like a tongue.

The tension was thick in the air like rope. Sebastian did nothing to pursue her though, either by the heat sapping him of his virility or simply some form of chivalry. The rope tightened.

She had noticed him too of course—that was her husband after all. He was shirtless most days, a tan settling into his chest like varnish on a prized painting. His freckles darkened, set alight like sparks on his skin, the tone he had built from his career as a curse-breaker brought out in the daylight. A god cut in the stone.

When he entered the room, then, clad in a white cotton shirt, she was almost disappointed. He strode over to the sink, pouring himself his own water, and chugging it. His throat bobbed, adam’s apple prominent as the liquid ran down his chin and neck.

“I don’t think I can take another day of this,” he gasped.

“It’s not supposed to last much longer—we can go for another swim in the lake today?” she offered.

Sebastian took his wife in, his eyes dragging across her sweat-slick collarbones and jaw. “Maybe.”

The rope tightened.

He put down his glass and the sound seemed to shake the foundations. His eyes did not leave her. After what seemed like a fraught but quick internal battle, he stepped over to her, hand sliding along her shoulders. His fingers slipped the shoulder off her loose blouse, revealing more of her glowing skin. His breath stuttered. Then, Sebastian leant over, ghosting his lips over her clavicle, tasting salt on the tongue, as he kissed a trail up to her throat.

“You don’t know…how difficult it has been,” he whispered, “to keep my hands off you.”

She tilted her head, offering her neck to him, as his kisses got sloppier, more desperate. He used his hand to force her eyes upon him and she knew that look instantly.

It’s not often Sebastian gets like this. Sex usually had him taking the lead, it was hot, heady and banal—as she liked it. Sometimes, though, Sebastian would get this glazed look in his eyes, when his desperation had mounted to a point he no longer knew what to do with himself. Most times, he was a half-full cup, the empty half allowed him some sense and reason, and he was able to control his desires. When left too long, his cup became full, there was no room for anything else except wild, desperate want.

Right now, that need was etched into his expression. Sebastian’s eyebrows were pinched in a silent plea and his eyes were glassy; once he had started he no longer knew how to contain the water in his cup. The heedless want that pulsed through his senses until all they could perceive was her.

She maintained her composure. There was a delicacy to moments like these.

“Why is that?”

A frantic half-whine escaped his throat. “Because—because you’ve been practically naked in front of me all week and I—Merlin it’s so hot,” he was exasperated and whiny, and words failed him at times like these. Which made it all the more fun.

“What do you want, love?”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered between hers, he swallowed dryly. “So many things.”

His wife rose from her chair, levelling herself against him, bringing their faces closer. It’s not often Sebastian gets like this. But it’s so fun when he does.

She slipped her fingers under his shirt, running them up his flushed skin and around his waist. She pulled him closer, pressing his front to hers. He bit back a moan as the pressure met his hardening cock.

“Use your words, Seb,” she goaded, breath dancing across his cheeks.

He swallowed around nothing again. “I want your mouth on me.”

She surged forward, capturing his lips between hers. He responded immediately, an airy groan leaving his teeth as he gripped her hips and parted his mouth. She slid her tongue along the inseam of his lips, teasing him. Sebastian backed her into the table, arching her back slightly as he devoured her lips. Hunger stalked his every movement, his hips rutting into hers mindlessly as his hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head so he could kiss her more deeply, lose himself more entirely.

She pushed him away. “You wanted my mouth there?” she asked innocently.

He tried to kiss her again, but she dodged. He tried again. She dodged. Sebastian’s head slumped into her shoulder.

“Please,” he whined.

“Please, what?”

“Please put your mouth on my cock,” he begged her, pressing more wet kisses into her collarbone.

His wife grinned, trying to bite back the smile and regain composure. “Maybe,” she mused, “come with me.”

Sebastian was led easily, trailing behind her like a puppy in a way that warmed her abdomen. The heat persisted, whilst the sweat had her baby hairs sticking to her hairline, as well as Sebastian’s chestnut curls going slick around his ears. But a new fever had started to pool low in her gut, one that begged for satiation.

Now in the bedroom, she wasted no time ridding Sebastian of his shirt, peeling it off him as it clung to the perspiration. He kept trying to kiss her as she did so, which she swatted away while he petulantly whined. To shut him up, she ducked and licked a stripe up one of his nipples.

“Aah—!”

Then she licked the moan right out of his mouth. They kissed sloppily once more, Sebastian’s hunger disarming him of any prowess as his hands roved desperately over her clothed figure. When he was like this, Sebastian became putty in her hands. Despite her smaller stature, she manoeuvred them to the bed, separating their lips with a wet sound and pushing him onto his back.

He fixed his gaze on her. Leveraging his raptured attention, she reached under her skirt and slipped out of her underwear, watching as his eyes followed the lacy material when she dropped it to the floor. He was panting.

She climbed atop him, kissing him once more, before levelling her gaze with his. “First, you’re going to use your mouth on me, then maybe we’ll see about you.”

Sebastian readily nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yes, yes please,” he panted.

His wife smiled, something softer, fonder, before her expression settled back into her role. She shuffled up his body, Sebastian’s hands already greedily grabbing the meat of her thighs from under her skirt, dragging her towards his eager mouth.

Before even settling, he began, dragging a long stroke of his tongue across her cunt, a throaty moan leaving him as he tastes the sweetness coming out of her core. Like sugar. Sebastian forcefully urged her to settle more of her weight on him, wanting to feel her pressing against his nose. The last vestiges of sense in him commented how dying like this would probably be the best way to go ever. His wife sat, with a strangled moan, as his mouth sucked around the bundle of nerves that set her alight.

Obscene, wet sounds filled the room as Sebastian ate her like a man starved, coupled with the mingled moans of himself and his wife, her hips rocking back and forth against his tongue. The pool in her abdomen had now grown into a tidal wave that surged, pulsed. It’s crest rearing.

“Oh, fuck Sebastian,” she purred.

Spurred by his wife’s pleasure, Sebastian reached a hand towards his throbbing cock, palming it through his trousers, unable to help himself.

“You’re doing so good,” she rasped, “love, keep going.”

Sebastian rubbed the tip of his tongue against that sweet spot in tandem with the movements of his hand, shameful whines leaving his throat. His wife keened, her lithe body arching, head thrown back, a guttural moan leaving her throat as she came. Sebastian moaned in tandem, running the flat of his tongue across the seam of her cunt, feeling her pulse around him.

She panted—breath leaving her lungs like sap—and rolled off of her husband.

“C’mere,” she breathed.

Sebastian obeyed. She took his mouth into hers, eagerly licking the remains of her pleasure from him, savouring the wet slide of their lips. He was all but inconsolable at this point, wet patch at the front of his trousers, dick still painfully hard in its confines.

“Please,” he mewled, devouring the air of his lover.

She obliged him, taking charge once more, crawling over his supine body to suck bruises into his neck. Sebastian clutched her, a whimpering mess at the victim of his wife’s whims. Slowly, her mouth carved a path down his body, leaving wet kisses over his chest and nipples, before following the trail of hair at his sternum.

She undid the buttons on his trousers, shucking them over his waist and taking his cock in hand. Sebastian breathed heavily, watching her with undivided focus. She opened her mouth, sliding her tongue up the length of him, to his wet tip. Sebastian’s head thumped back onto the bed, a wanton moan escaping his throat. She licked him a few times more, savouring the salty taste of his skin, before swallowing him.

Sebastian’s hands flew to her scalp, gripping her hair, urging her mouth deeper. She began slow, tantalisingly dragging her mouth up and down his length, before bobbing in earnest. Sebastian’s resolve fissured as his hips met her movements, thrusting into the heat of her mouth. Stuttered whimpers left him, punctuating the movement of his hips. His throat was dry from the heat and how his pleasure worked his voice raw but in the wet cavern of his wife’s mouth he found it difficult to care.

His climax reared, any stamina drained from him after the restraint he displayed the past days, now completely abandoned.

“Ah, love—so good—m’ gonna—”

Before he could even utter the words, his wife pulled off his cock with a wet pop. Sebastian’s brows furrowed.

Quickly, she began pulling her sweat-soaked blouse from her body. Sebastian got the idea. He sat up, helping her out of her clothes. They kissed desperately in-between, his wife’s inhibitions being held together by a thread, as she hastily undressed.

Now naked, Sebastian couldn’t help but admire her, his own lust shelved momentarily while he worshipped the divine figure he was somehow married to.

“You’ll have time for that later, love,” she teased, “now sit back against the pillows.”

He situated himself at the head of the bed, cock wet and red against his stomach. His wife climbed atop him, hovering over his length. She took him in hand, lining them up, before sinking down.

They moaned in tandem, his hands gripping her waist like a lifeline while he fought off his climax right there and then.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she breathed.

Sebastian replied with a broken moan, the tight heat of his lover distracting him from all sensations other than that rapture. Then she started moving.

Slow tentative rolls of her hips that undid Sebastian like a bow. He groaned, latching his mouth to her throat and leaving searing bruises. His wife clutched his head to her, her pace on his cock increasing with each roll. He wanted his hands everywhere. He wanted his mouth everywhere. Having to settle for the bud of her nipple, causing his lover to cry out in pleasure.

He started rutting his hips back into her, chasing the crest of pleasure he’d denied himself for so long. Losing all sense, losing all reason.

“Please—ah—please, I’m so close,” he keened.

His wife only increased her pace, all but bouncing on his length, torturing him divinely. More staccato whimpers left his abused throat, not caring how undignified he sounded. He was so close.

Sebastian sealed their lips, stiffened, and came. His release pulsed out of him, come seeping into his wife’s core as he groaned into her mouth. His dick throbbed, climax milking all his frustration dry, letting it drain him. When their mouths separated, he pulled her onto his chest and panted.

They remained like that for some time, his softening member seated inside her while they regained their breath. She placed a kiss on his chest and carefully pulled him out, before rolling next to him.

Finally able to think, Sebastian took in the sight of his wife, haloed in post-coital bliss. Sweat coated every inch of her skin, making her shine under the daylight. He reached a hand out to stroke across her cheek, his fingers coming away sticky.

“Better?” she asked.

“Better.”

A thunderclap broke their reverie. They turned to the window, finding the scene beyond submerged in a grey cloak. His wife crawled off the bed and stalked to the window, he got up to follow. Sure enough, as they peered through the threshold, a thick cover of rain descended over the highlands, coating everything in a petrichor hush.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sebastian remarked, “I think we broke the heatwave.”

She giggled, a sound like birdsong, and overcome with affection he bent down and kissed her by the open window, the cool air caressing their hot skin.

“I think we did.”

#i want people to know i had the lords prayer typed out at the top of my doc whilst i was writing this #willow writes #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut

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whorekneecentral · 4 months

Text

Holiday Greetings

Virgil Van Dijk x Fem!Reader

Warnings: holiday postcards bring together friends, old friends reconnect, falling out with family, virgil never gave up on the friendship, mentions of bad relationships, surprise visits, old habits die hard, wet dreams, sharing a bed, making dreams a reality, oral (m!receiving), sub!virg vibes for like 0.2 seconds, penetrative sex (p in v), choking, using of the word 'whore' in a sexual context, sweetness from the big man at the end.

Word Count: 2,934

Author's Note: again, so sorry for posting this late but y'all know the big man is my babyyyyy so hopefully you guys like this one as much as I do!

merry smutmas series

You send your old friend a Christmas card every year and when he sees that a certain someone was no longer in the picture, he pays you a long overdue visit.

The world works in funny ways; the red string theory and what not, you find the people that were meant to be in your lives one way or another.

He just happened to always be your person.

You and Virgil were old friends, you grew up down the street from each other; your families were always interlinked, the two of you attached at the hip - from school to Virgil's football matches around the corner from the houses, you were together.

At 18, you upped and left Holland without so much as a warning; all Virgil received was a letter in the mail, letting him know that something had happened with your family and you could no longer stay there. He tried to get you to come home, telling you that his mom would be more than happy to have you with them, which was true but you assured him you'd be fine.

He never gave up, asking you again when he signed with the Celtic and then again when he was with Southampton and Liverpool.

Despite you not taking him up on his offers to move in, you always kept in contact with Virgil; you didn’t talk often, a happy birthday message or a message of congrats when things went well for his career.

You never fully settled until recently, moving from job to job, place to place. For a while, you didn't have an address, bouncing from Belgium to Germany and then Spain before you finally settled in Switzerland.

Regardless of your lack of address, you and Virgil kept up your tradition of sending holiday postcards. It was your yearly catch-up, but you and Virgil would send a card back-and-forth and write a little message on the back of it.

For the last few years, there has been an addition to your cards; first it was your puppy, Sammy and then over the last 3 years, your boyfriend, John.

Virgil had never personally met John, but based on your type in men, he could tell that John was no good for you. The first card he got with him in it, you were happy, smiling but as the years went on, there was still a smile but he knew you well enough to know you weren’t you.

This year's card arrived early, the first week of December rather than the week before Christmas. Liverpool was wrapping up for the holidays as they'd be going on winter break. Virgil was pleasantly surprised to see that it was just you and Sammy on the card this year. He flipped it over to see what you had written on the back.

Dear Virg,

I don't have much to report this year; turned a year older, got a promotion and I bought a new car - yes I still have the old one, I cannot bring myself to trade/sell it.

I see that you've made some big moves, congratulations skipper! Proud doesn't begin to cover it and you know that I always said you'd make it big.

Hope all is well with you.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Yours always,

Y/n.

Virgil smiles, your words and card tucked safely back into the envelope it came in as he took his laptop out to look up something; flights to Switzerland.

He had some time between the end of the season and his return to Holland for the holidays. What better way to spend the time than to visit his favourite person in the world?

It had been years since he last saw you; frankly he hadn't seen you since you left all those years again but nothing's changed between you two. You were still y/n and Virgil - attached at the hip as always.

Switzerland was even colder as he expected it to be. Despite coming from cold, cold England, Virgil still felt as if he was underdressed.

The car parked at the curb as he checks the return address on your holiday card and the address he had put into google maps. Assuring himself he was at the right place, he got out and grabbed his bags, walking to the porch.

Christmas had always been your favourite holiday so to see your house decked out in decorations, lights and garland wasn't a big shocker. The little plaid doggie bed by the door was an assurance that he was in the right place - you had sent him a picture of Sammy in the same spot when you first adopted him.

Virgil shook off the nerves, knocking on the door. A part of him wanted to run away but another part of him couldn't wait to see you.

Sammy must have made it to the door before you, barking to alert you that someone was at the door. He could hear your voice, "shut your big mouth! I heard it!" You tell the dog, scooting him out of the way to open the door.

"He- what the fuck?" You passed, shocked to see who was at your front door.

"Is that how you greet everyone who comes to your house?" He asked you, a big smile on his face.

You laughed, setting your coffee mug on the entryway table, not saying anything but pulling Virgil into a bone crushing hug; it felt the same as it did all those years ago, it felt like home - he felt like home.

You stepped aside. "Please, come in. Make yourself at home."

Sammy runs over, jumping on Virgil. The man reached down to say hello to the dog, scratching behind his ear. You shut the door, noticing his bags. "Where are you staying?"

He glances at you, the same sly look on his face that you'd seen a million times before. "I was hoping I could stay here?"

You laughed, nodding. "Yeah, of course." You pulled Sammy away from Virgil for a minute, letting him take off his coat and walk into the house a bit more. "What the hell are you doing in Switzerland?" You asked him, sitting on the couch.

Virgil shrugged, joining you on the couch, "I came to see you, seemed like the right time to pay you a visit."

Just as well as Virgil knows you, you know him. You're certain he pieced together your break up and that's why he's here.

"You know you don't need to look after me, Virg. I'm not 15, I'm a big girl." You glance at your friend.

Virgil nods, his hand patting your thigh, "I'm not looking after you, y/n. I'm visiting my friend."

"Well in that case, how about dinner? My treat."

"Oh I'm the footballer and I don't have to pay for dinner? I should come visit more often." He jokes as you reach over his lap to the side table to get your phone.

It was as if no time had passed; you and Virgil comfortable in each other's space as if you were in your childhood bedrooms, giggling about the rumours at school or rerunning the tackles Virgil made on the pitch.

You settled on what to eat for dinner; a local place that made the best pizza on the planet, based on the fact that Virgil ate half the box, you'd say he agrees with your statement.

At some point throughout the night, you two shifted from spot to spot, just chatting about life. From the dining room table to the kitchen and finally back on the couch.

It was rather domestic and so easy for you two to slip into this little routine, even though Virgil had only been there for the evening. You're leaning on him, his arm over your shoulder with Sammy curled up on the other side of him, a movie playing quietly as you continued chatting.

"So do you like it?" You look at him and he nods. "Being captain is the dream come true. It's a great team, the place is so.. I don't think there's a word to explain how special it is to me and the guys.. we've got a fantastic team both on and off the pitch."

"That was such a PR response." You teased, laughing. Virgil smiles, pinching your shoulder softly.

"I'm going home after this, back to Breda. I'm there until new years and then it's back to Liverpool."

"That's nice," you smiled, "tell your mom I say hello."

Virgil laughs. "You can tell her yourself, she always tells me that you two are friends on Facebook."

"Don't diss your mom, dude! You're just hating because your mom is cooler than you and she gets to have me on Facebook and not you."

"I don't have Facebook, I'm not 67 years old."

"You shouldn't hate when you've got a big ass head like that."

"Shut up!" He laughed, smacking your arm softly. He sighs, glancing at you, "you should come home, it'd be nice to go home, no?"

"I.. I can't." You tell him, turning your attention back to the tv.

"Why not? It's been years, y/n. I'm sure your family wants to see you and so much has changed, don't you wanna see our home?"

"I can't, Virg. Not after what happened."

His brows furrowed, leaning back a bit to fully look at you. "What did happen, y/n? You never told me."

You shake your head, things were said that couldn't be taken back - none of which were your fault but no one ever seemed to care. Your family never reached out to apologize so you never did too.

Virgil looks at you, your silence was an answer in itself but he can't help but wonder what went wrong. He had asked his mom, knowing your mom and his were close, they often chatted and still do to this day but his mom never told him anything. She'd often remind him that if he doesn't know, it's because he's not meant to know.

He can't help but feel sad; not only for you but for him, for what could have been if you two had maybe gotten together, if maybe you had never left home.

You quietly get up, excusing yourself and heading up to your room. Virgil hadn't been your place before but in the short time he has been there, he figured out where things went. It was like a second home to him, he took it upon himself to clean up and take Sammy out before coming back in and locking up.

He makes his way up the stairs and knocks on the first door to the right, the same room that you occupied when you were at home.

Suppose old habits die hard.

"Y/n?" He knocks on the door, peeking into the room. "Can I come in?"

You nod, lying on your bed. Virgil lets himself in and sits next to you on the bed. You're on your side, your back to the man as you feel the weight of the mattress shift, his hand passing through your hair gently. You roll, now facing him and curling into his side.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into the silence of the room. "I didn't to upset you when I said-"

"You didn't," you cut him off. "It's just.. complicated is all."

Virgil shifts, now lying next to you and you move to rest your head on his chest. The two of you cuddled against one another, comfortably relaxing as you'd done a million times before when you were teenagers.

You're not sure when the minutes turned into hours but you had both fallen asleep.

The sound of Virgil's voice woke you from your slumber. You thought you heard him say something but when you glanced at the man, he was still fast asleep. You just assumed he was asleep and settled back into bed.

A few moments later, he makes a sound - a soft whimper.

You open your eyes to check on him again, trying to see if something was wrong and yet, he was still sleeping. You figured he was just dreaming.

You see make out his silhouette on the bed, the blanket tossed over Virgil as he shifted in his sleep. You can hear him mumble, you shake him softly. “Virg, you okay?” You ask when he groans. He rubs his eyes, confused for a moment.

“Y/n? What are you doing ?” He hadn’t realized the blanket had slipped down when he sat up. You glance down and you instantly look away. “Oh uh, sorry.”

He was confused for a moment, he looked down and he pulled the blanket back up, his cheeks red and shy. “Sorry! I didn’t realize-”

“It’s okay,” you glance at him. “It happens. I didn't mean to wake you, it's just.. I heard my name and you were, well, groaning." You trailed off, Virgil's cheek burning hot as he looked anywhere but at you.

It takes you a second but you connect the dots. Between the hard cock hidden away under the blanket and the avoidance of his glance, you realized why he was calling your name.

“Oh,” you breathe, “um, if you want.. I can help you with that if you want.”

Virgil seemed shocked by your offer, his eyes widened. "What?"

"I mean, it was obvious you were dreaming of me, Virg. It's not like I haven't seen you naked before," you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah but.. this is different."

Your hand rests on his thigh, “not really, I'm just helping you with it.”

Virgil shifts in the bed, suddenly feeling a bit shy and he can’t help but think about what you’d look like on your knees, looking up at him. He nods, “oh-okay.”

“Yeah?” You ask, looking at him. Virgil nods once more, slowly moving the blanket off his lap. You shift to lay between his legs, pulling his cock out of his boxers.

He watches as your lips wrap around his cock, tongue running over the tip. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling it away from your face as you lean down all the way, taking all of him into your mouth.

Your cheeks hollow around him, Virgil's hips buck at the feeling. A half smile playing on your lips when you glance up at him. You can see the red on his cheeks, the way his eyes follow you every move, watching as your head bobbed up and down, your cheeks hallowed around him.

It had been months, if not longer since he’d been with anyone like this; every time he even dared touch himself, you were the thought on his mind. It was like he was a teenager again, crushing on you and just wishing you'd make the first move because as confident as he was on the pitch, he was far too shy to make the move on you.

He'd be lying if he said he never imagined what it would feel like, what you would look like, how you'd make him feel.

It didn’t take long; your hand sliding up his torso and your lips wrapped around him, tongue pressed to the underside of his cock. Virgil's hips buck once more, you can feel him at the back of your throat.

He pushes you off of him, your brows furrow. "What? Something wrong?" You asked him, your tongue passing over your bottom lip, tasting him.

The sight of that alone makes his cock twitch.

"I wanna feel you," he whispers and you can't help the smile on your face.

You let Virgil pull you up for a kiss, tasting himself on your lips as he undressed you. Slowly, a pile of clothes ends up on the floor and you're on all fours. The man's behind you and your back arches, the curve of your spine evident when he drags his finger along it.

Virgil pushes into you, his name falling from your lips. “God, please Virg, like that,” the words tumble out, begging him for more as he fucks you.

His hands squeezing your hips, nails digging into your flesh. Your hand reaching under you, fingers barely reaching to rub your clit.

He pulls you up, his arm wrapped around your neck, your back pressed to his chest. His fingers dig into the side of your neck for a moment, squeezing you a bit.

The two of you facing the mirror in your room, “look pretty girl,” he whispers into your ear, “look how pretty you looked all fucked out.”

Your eyes open, looking at the screen in front of you. his eyes meet yours, and you smile. “You’re such a whore,” he hums, chuckling.

Between the angle you were at and his hand sliding down to rub on your clit, your head drops back onto his shoulder, begging him to let you cum.

Your eyes find him in the mirror and you don’t even have to say anything, he knows exactly what you’re saying.

“Shh, it’s okay sweetheart, I know.” He tells you, thrusts getting sloppier by the second.

The two of you in sync, Virgil's chest pressed to your back as you came down from your orgasm. He peppered kisses all over your back, rubbing your side softly. He leans to press a kiss to your neck before pulling out slowly.

You're flat on your stomach, catching your breath when Virgil moves off of you and shifts to next to you. His arm rests over your back, rubbing your skin soft. "You okay?" He asks quietly.

Glancing at him, you smile. "Perfect."

Virgil smiles, leaning over to kiss you.

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haruhey · 4 months

Text

Wish I Never Met You

check out my masterlist!

Word count: 4k

Fluff | Angst | Thank you @weretheones and @normanplusdaryl for betaing <3

You’re part of Daryl’s past, but you could also be his future.

A bad day leads the two of you to each other.

Whoever said it’s better to love and lose Never loved and lost you

Daryl barely made it through sophomore year.

In all honesty, he was impressed he even got to junior year. When Merle left at the tail end of spring, he - in all of his younger brother naïveté - thought he would come back before the semester ended, taking him from the dump they called a house and from that asshole they had the unfortunate pleasure of calling their old man.

But July came and went, then August, and by the time the new school year rolled around, Daryl stopped waiting for him - just shouldered his backpack and went to school because where the fuck else was he supposed to go?

He gave the whole school thing two weeks. It was enough time to mark off attendance - to lay low before he traded his backpack for his crossbow and started hunting for that weird butcher shop three blocks down to make some money - and he had intended on following it.

Intended, being the right word, because the plan went to shit the second Mr. American History started pairing people up for those dumb, mandatory, biweekly collaborative projects.

Intended, because it just had to be you he was paired with, didn't it? His stupid classroom crush he tried so hard to stop thinking about?

He remembers seeing you for the first time in some math class in sophomore year, and he’d, in his hormone-ruled, bored-out-of-his-mind teenage brain, spent the better half of the period just looking at you. He never worked up the courage to say anything about it to anyone, but you were the prettiest thing he’d seen in his 16 years on Earth, and he hated the way you made his hands all clammy.

Even years later, he looks back on the months he spent being your friend, and he still feels that crushingly familiar clench of his chest.

Maybe it wormed its way almost permanently into him those weeks he first sat next to you in American History. It was a compulory course and both you and he hated it. The teacher - Durand, but Daryl took to calling him Dickhead and Deranged just to see which would make you roll your eyes the hardest - was a notorious douchebag, round glasses over a nose that was entirely too big to stay on his face and three strands of gray hair that seemed to be holding onto his head by spite alone.

He never seemed to take Daryl seriously, even though Daryl knew more than double the amount of history you did. You could pick his brain for hours about the pirates and the Sumerians and the Cherokee and their legends, and he’d let you, despite the glare that marked over his face for anyone else.

In exchange, you let him pick your brain, too. Over the piece of apple pie the two of you would share on the rare occasion you’d both scraped together enough to figure it would be worth buying, he asked about your future. He tried picturing himself with you through it all despite knowing there was nothing for him outside of this shithole town, and he listened to you talk.

He could listen to you talk for hours.

You had big dreams, considering you came from the same place he did, but he had faith you could do it. He knew you could, and even looped his pinky with yours, your thumb pressed up against his while he promised to make it to graduation. He had to watch you toss your cap and flip the bird at 4 years of hell, didn’t he?

But then winter came, and with the Christmas break rounding the corner, Merle came back too, peeling into the dirt road in front of the Dixon dump and taking Daryl along with him. You remember coming back when the second semester started, the same room that had once been used for History now a Government class, and you had hoped to suffer through it together.

You made it through one school week until you’d started asking around.

Nobody got themselves involved with the Dixons - with their surly tempers and their permanent scowls, but you’d gotten into the habit of ignoring those words when you were with Daryl - so when no answers turned up, you weren’t really surprised.

You figured he must have finally gotten his out from his old man.

It was only at graduation that you’d found out what happened to him, overhearing one of the principals talking about how both of Will Dixon’s sons had run away from home and how he’d drunkenly bragged about finally beating sense into them, and, though you knew it was selfish, as the ceremony ticked on, you still hoped Daryl would come back in time to watch your cap toss.

He never did.

When he finally did come back to Georgia, it was a little over a full year later. The old lady that ran the diner the two of you hung around after school had told him that you got a scholarship offer in May - some bigshot school out west - and that you’d packed your bags and left in August.

You weren’t set to come back until the year ended in April, and he wasn’t planning on staying.

He wasn’t planning on making staying anywhere a habit, and, in the blink of an eye, twenty years passed.

A second blink and the world fell.

Everything changed so quickly that it truly did feel like an instant as minuscule as a blink - the dinosaurs had the meteor, and life before them had the ice age - and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a breath before a new age flooded in.

It seems like everything he thought about was about the future. Some of it he would have considered trivial before - when the next meal would come, when the next time he’s going to fill his canteen is and where the next source of freshwater is - but, in this blip of time, he hesitates to call it that.

Sometimes, when he went out on his bike or shouldered his crossbow and slipped his knives into his holsters, he thought about how Li’l Asskicker and Carl would grow up - how they would never really get to be kids in the same way Rick probably wanted them to be - and almost nothing he did felt trivial anymore.

It scared him, he guesses - how much he cared about those kids and how much everyone else did, too.

He wished someone cared about him like that when he was younger.

It was good, though, this pressure. Daryl was never really one to half-ass anything in the first place, but with the intake of Woodbury and the Council’s decision to start bringing people in, there was a new drive to care. It rippled through the prison, and he liked it, being a part of something bigger than himself.

He felt like someone new.

Someone that mattered - that did good - instead of being some asshole with a bigger asshole for a brother.

At least, he did until he saw you.

Two weeks after taking in the people of Woodbury - with one week spent out recruiting and another spent in the infirmary because they’d met some less than friendly people who definitely did not fit the recruitment criteria - he saw you from around the corner, an all too familiar face helping Carol with meal prep in the courtyard.

He didn’t eat lunch that day, and to say he avoided you was an understatement.

There was something about you that brought back feelings he would have rather left in the past. You reminded him of when he was a teenager, stuck in his shitty hometown with his piece of shit old man and no way out. But at the same time, you reminded him of those nights spent down at the creek, skipping stones and staring at the stars, that comforting lack of second-guessing because he knew he was, for the first time in his life, in the company of someone who actually wanted to spend time with him.

You reminded him of that diner with the warm apple pie, and he never could forget the first time his heart ever beat against his ribs like it was too big for his chest.

But, most of all, you reminded him of first love and his broken promise - of a future he could never have had.

Daryl hated it, being confronted with his past like that.

So yeah, maybe he did revert back to his old ways of hiding and just trying not to think about his problems, and yeah, maybe he did take one too many runs back to back so he wouldn’t have to keep fighting the urge to look for you despite simultaneously being scared shitless at the thought of talking to you, but it was successful in staying away from you, and that’s all he cared about.

Or, well, he thought it was.

Because, though it’s been nearly two decades since you’d thought about high school - with it long since becoming college, and college into adulthood - it’s crossed your mind more than you’d liked to admit lately. It’s an odd feeling, an ill-fitting nostalgia creeping through the holes of your blanket-covered cell bars, but it was oddly comforting. You never thought you’d ever think of that place as comforting, but maybe it wasn’t high school that you found yourself chasing in the dead of night.

It was him.

Daryl never really knew how popular he was - here, and back then, when those minutes before and after gym class divulged into shushed remarks about his looks and half-serious confessions of crushes muttered to the secrecy of the changeroom’s four walls - but you did. You were always on the other side of it, silent in your agreement.

Woodbury - or, well, ex-Woodbury - was no different.

He’s a far cry from that scrawny little kid you split your lunch with all those years ago, but there's still the linger of boyish handsomeness to him that made your cheeks heat when you thought about him too long. There was no mistaking him for anyone else, but that subdued, ultraviolet warmth you’d grown familiar with was gone from his eyes.

He’s not seventeen anymore, flipping his uncut hair from his face as he taught you how to skip stones and catch fireflies, but you wanted to talk to him all the same. There’s not much left from the old world - let alone much that you could have considered good, or wanted to remember - but he’s one of the few things you’d cared enough about to keep safe from the pulling tide that faded your memories.

He made that shitty town more bearable, even if it was for those few months. Gritting your teeth and enduring had become tiring until he’d grimaced at that first History Inquiry project and made you laugh with the annoyed upturn of his lip.

You’d planned on thanking him at graduation, but he’d left months before then.

You’d planned on a lot of things to be frank, but there’s no reason to linger in the past when now is a shell of what then was.

There’s even less of a reason when now feels heavier than then ever was.

Today would have marked ten days without incident, a first foray into the monumental double digits until the sun had set behind the return of the run crew’s RV and Beth was forced to flip the number back to zero.

It’s been four hours since they came back - a quarter of the group gone from the unfriendlies they’d met, another dealing with the aftermaths of the encounter and one more made up from those the crew’s recruited - and it’s the first time in those four hours that you’ve left the dingy wing of the infirmary.

You didn’t hate it in there. Far from it, actually, with Hershel and the others being half-decent company and seeing the work you did benefiting people, but the infirmary, especially on days when the crews rounded back, meant the stinging smell of blood and death lingered no matter how much you scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. It stuck to every crevice on your body, and it permeated. Guilted you for not trying hard enough and not knowing enough.

On days like this, everywhere you went seemed too small and too unforgiving, and you’re not sure if you can stand tossing and turning in your bunk. The night sky is a friendlier sight than your ceiling, and the view from the abandoned watchtower is a hell of a lot better than the tiny, barred-up window at the corner of your cell.

If you’re lucky enough, maybe sleep will steal you for a couple of hours before the sun comes up. At least enough to make it through the next day.

You have faith it will - you can already feel the first wave of exhaustion pull at your bones.

Taking a breath, you press your hands into your pockets after pushing the door to the Prison open and slipping out. Autumn is beginning to seep through the cracks of summer and the nights are starting to get colder, but your jacket should be enough until you climb up and find sanctuary in the sleeping bag you’d left there three days ago.

It doesn’t take long to reach the door - if you jig the knob to the right before twisting and skip the third step from the top, the trek upwards is close to silent - but when you open it, the creak yields, at first, an expletive before the annoyed voice tears through the quiet.

“I already told ya I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout-”

The volume of him makes you take a step back, the sound of a man making your body lock up for just a second before you recognize the mess of hair atop his head and the wings stitched on the back of his vest, and you make quick work getting to him, crossing the platform in a single stride.

“Daryl?”

And he’s quick to realize the person speaking to him isn’t Carol like he’d thought. Though he really really really hopes it’s not you, the familiarity of your voice leaves little room for speculation, even before he turns his head and - for the first time in a long time - really, really looks at you.

“Oh.”

His heart beats in his ears and locks his throat before he can muster up anything else to say, and for a second, you wonder if you should introduce yourself to him.

“Sorry, I, uh, wasn’t expectin’ no one to be here.”

But the knowing upturn of his eyebrows - his apology, and the way he scoots himself over to make room for you the same way he did in those library reading nooks - tells you you don’t need to, and your shoes slide against the concrete as you drop down to a sit.

He remembers you, too, the sweat of his hands too obvious with the fact, even though he wishes he didn’t.

He wishes there wasn’t a familiarity in the way you sidle your body against his, swinging your legs underneath the railing and over the balcony, and he wishes he couldn’t feel the heat coming off of you.

He wishes it didn’t wrap him up like the warm rays of sun, and he fights down a smile at the fact that you always were so bright. He wishes he didn’t remember you like that - glossed over in a blinding, yellow hue.

Daryl wishes he never remembered you like sunshine - he wishes he didn’t still.

Picking up the glass next to him - just to occupy himself and bide the time until his nervousness hopefully washes away into general apathy - he takes a sip before setting it down and taking a pull of the cigarette in his other hand.

The smoke is slow to fill his lungs, but he welcomes it anyways, holding it there as the nicotine-drawn buzz settles in his brain, and then he breathes it out, angling his head up and away from you.

You never liked it, the Malboros he’d swiped from his old man that he’d keep tucked in the smallest pocket of his worn-down backpack, but you’d told him one night, not unlike the one you’re both trying to find solace in right now, that you were scared of what his father might do if he found out.

Then you slipped in the obviousness of his health, just to break the tension of vulnerability, but it hit Daryl like a truck, the fact that he’d never had someone think about him like that before - like they actually cared.

“Heard your brain cells can rot if you do that.”

He raises an eyebrow at you only to be met with a small smile playing at your lips and the slightest bit of a sparkle in your eye, and the taste still lingering on his tongue reminds him of what he’s been doing. The glass is half full with the room-temperature whiskey he’d tried to make himself feel better with after stitching up his own wounds, and there’s ash from his smoking gathered beside one of the railing's poles, and despite the knowing you’re probably right, he sighs, waving your concern away.

“Ain’t worried. Don’t got a lotta them anyways.”

The cigarette between his fingers is lit still, and he takes another drag before the grayed end of it crumbles to the floor, fighting the upward tug of his cheeks at the sound of your amused huff and your quick response.

“That’s why you gotta take care of the ones you still have, Daryl.”

Scoffing, he tilts the edge of the glass towards you, holding it out for you until you take it from him, and he tries not to think about how the tips of his fingers burn when they brush up against yours. It’s not as sweet, the innocence of a teenage crush long since faded into the dull pang of expired love and loss, but it rushes through him all the same.

He would have offered you a cigarette, too, but you’ve never been one to pick up habits that bad.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you then, the sky offering a serenity the two of you are less than strangers to, and you wince from the liquor when you finally take a sip. It’s nothing like the moonshine he’d smuggled from his dad’s stash - it went down a hell of a lot smoother than you remember that shit going - but your tolerance has taken a nosedive since weekends unwinding and inter-departmental parties had ended.

Besides, the only places you could get alcohol back in Woodbury were way above your paygrade.

Placing the cup back onto the concrete, you steal a glance at Daryl, spending just a second studying the curve of his nose and the jut of his cheekbone. He’s more handsome than he’s ever been, and you can feel the heat rush up your neck before you blink away the thought.

Get a hold of yourself.

But you can’t, not when he’s so close, and you’re not sure if it’s wholly unselfish, what makes you drop your eyes down from his face, but you do, and you realize why he was so on edge when he heard the door open.

He’s fidgeting. Ever since he put out his cigarette, he’s restless and can’t quite figure out what to do with his hands in the same way he was when you’d asked him why he never wanted to go home back in the school library, and it sends you back, too, a familiar pit growing in your stomach. It’s like he’s that kid again, scared of telling you - or, well, people - things that hurt because his stupid brother and dad drilled into him that he’s less of a man for even feeling hurt in the first place, and it’s equal parts infuriating and concerning.

You can tell that the gears are turning in your head as you try to piece him together; a run crew came back just today, and you haven't seen him in a little while. It doesn’t take a genius to make the connection - especially with everyone’s propensity to talk about how Daryl brought them in - and though you might regret it, you decide to pry.

Not pry, just ask.

Conversation used to flow so easily between the two of you. Were you naïve to hope it would again?

“Bad day?”

It’s small, your voice, teetering in the air with its uncertainty, but Daryl doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he glances down at the space between you, wrapping his fingers around the highball before meeting your gaze, and he bites the inside of his cheek, weighing the option of telling you or not.

“Jus’ tired is all.”

And though he hesitates those first few words, your eyes are so kind - so genuinely caring - that he can’t stop himself from saying more.

That was what he was scared of.

Why hasn’t he let you go?

“Sick’a fuckin’ losin’ people.”

The frustration when he speaks is palpable, and you’re not sure if it’s bravery or stupidity that makes you move - maybe it’s both, culminating in your own desire that someone would finally see through your crippling bravado and offer you a hug or something - but your hand snakes out to grab his before you even think, shaking it slightly in the strength of your squeeze.

Then he freezes, and for a second, you think you must have overstepped - that he’s going to push you away and yell at you and leave - but he doesn’t. He just takes a breath, the heft of it rising his shoulders then dropping it as he squeezes your hand back harder, a silent thank you in the press of his fingers against yours.

But still, he lets go, afraid the warmth in his chest might make him do something he regrets, and you chew at the dried skin of your lip, thinking about the right thing to say.

Fuck, you could never navigate things like this - it got better as you got older, sure, but words always seemed to fall short when it came to you and him - and when you finally settle on something, half of you wonders if it was just because you thought it better than nothing.

“I feel you.”

Because what else are you supposed to say? That it’s going to be alright and that he shouldn’t blame himself because it's so blatant he is? It’s thin ice you’re walking on, the fear of sounding patronizing drowning out the spark of hope you want to light him with, because you remember the man he was. He’s never had anyone fighting in his corner, and you’re not callow enough to think he thinks of you as something - someone - different.

But he does. He does think of you as someone different, and he wants to say more, but he doesn't know where he stands with you, or with himself. If he says what he’s thinking - that he feels like it is his fault and that he’s not sure if he could ever stop feeling like that. That he’s scared shitless and like it’s some big joke that people actually look up to him for things - wouldn’t that make it feel too real?

So he doesn’t. He just tips the lip of the glass against his and takes another sip to make sure his mouth is occupied, staring down at the bottom ridge of it until you speak again, and he’s helpless to do anything but look at you.

“At least it’s beautiful out tonight.”

He’s sent back to twenty years ago then - the scrawny redneck you’d somehow deemed good enough to be your friend forcing his old habits back to the him of the present - and he can’t help the squeaked little noise of a response. Words have always been hard for him, too. They’re hard for him to think of and even harder for him to form, and it’s made worse by the fact it’s almost like he’s back at 16, convinced that you’re too pretty to talk to.

“Yeah.”

And though you hear his hum of agreement, he never looks away from you, admiring the curve of your familiar smile and the rise of your cheekbones.

The lurch of his heart comes back then - the same beat against his ribs that he hated all those decades ago - and it’s stark then, the realization you’ve never really left him.

“Ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.”

Pressing his lip to the edge of the glass once more, he welcomes the burn of whiskey when you smile at the moonlit horizon, and he watches as you lean your chin against your arms.

You’re beautiful - more beautiful than all the colours in the star-speckled sky - and he could stare for hours.

#haruwrites #daryldixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon angst #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead oneshot #twd

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yet-another-haven-of-dollya · 4 months

Note

can i ask advice ;; drawing wise ? how did you start to anatomy but also w stylization? did you bruteforce by studying every bone muscle etc in art school?

hmm...

First, you must distinguish between two completely different concepts: gesture and anatomy. The stylization and dynamic you often see me doing with my dancing practice is "Gesture". This is an excellent tutorial by Proko about gestures. I practiced gestures very soon when I started drawing, simply because I wanted to draw dynamically, lucky for me it was the right thing to do. This was the main reason why I'm so fast at sketching.

This is my gesture practice, 1 min, 2 min, and 5 min sketch. It's about the flow of the body and which direction each part is going, use "sharp and coherent lines". I practice until it becomes a "natural reflex", a habit when I look at people's interactions.

This below is something I drew 3 years ago (my anatomy was not good sorry), notice how I use many many coherent lines? At the thigh, shin, arm stretching,... all the bigger areas? That's the remaining of gestures.

It goes without saying. Try to find the flow of gestures, even for the hair or clothes. Heh, I drew this 4 years ago, how nostalgic.

You can see how I just create the flow with Lya's hair and body movement in the dancing pics too. Like with Kylar's pic her body is straight up one quite hard mass from head to toe. You know she's leaning forward, seemingly wanting to abandon Kylar with a "pathetic loser like you? With me?" attitude (ouchie sorry Kylar nation). While in Sydney's pic she seems much more relaxed and enjoys how her body parts seem to loosen and more in sync with Sydney's movements. Her hip and legs sway more, and her hair also sways back at Sydney's body, hinting that her moves are relatively close to his body. I don't think I have enough vocabulary to describe, gestures are always just "feelings" to me. If people see what I want to show, that's the success for me.

I know many self-learners started by finding random tutorials that have muscle breakdown or box-like proportions to try and mimic. Mimic is good, drawing is mimicking and remembering what you saw, but without good gesture practice, many people tend to make anatomy very stiff.

Then, you start to apply anatomy to the gestures you've practiced. One way to do it is by learning about muscle position first, and then trying to apply it to a figure, or a model. This is my homework and it's HORRIBLY WRONG IN MANY WAYS. My teacher fixed it for me but I don't have the after with me right now, so take this as an example of how to do the apply thing, DO NOT USE IT AS MUSCLE REF it's very wrong.

In my opinion bone structure is not strictly needed like muscles. Bones are for muscles to hang onto. You only need to remember some important "landmarks" like the collarbone, elbow joint, anterior pelvis, knee, and ankle,… to hang the important muscles to it. After you're familiar with muscles and gestures, you can start to stylize. Applying your knowledge to animated characters with cartoonish design is one great way. THESE HOMEWORKS OF MINE ARE STILL WRONG but ye hope you get the idea. I'm still struggling with anatomy.

One of my all-time fav are AFK ARENA artists and what they do for the game. Aki as the main artist, Kuri Huang, and another artist I suddenly forgor the name as home screen illust. I recommend researching their works if you want a direction on how to stylize your character with great dynamic gestures and shapes.

And

As much as I hate to say this, I was particularly considered a failure, a stone-head, who couldn't be changed for the better when I was still in art school - uni. My chosen major was digital graphic design, not specified in drawing but in designing, that's one thing I regret. I traded 5 years of my youth for doing the things I don't want to do. That's why the moment I graduated, I immediately went and signed up for an advanced art class specified in drawing. I'd be lying if I said the uni didn't teach me anything about drawing. They did, but almost everything I learned during 5 years of uni was self-learning from outer sources. I encourage self-learning the most when I talk with younger artists. Proko is a very trusted source to learn from, go to their YouTube channel, and you might figure out something too.

#dollya ask #not a drawing tutorial just my personal experiences

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

Note

So Me and my boyfriend have been dating since highschool Jr year. It's been a while since then, I'm in trade school and he works at McDonald's. Lately, he's been working very late, for two weeks straight and I understand he's been busy but it feels like he was ignoring me Because the times he was "working" were more than 8-hour long shifts. This cycle kept repeating for 2 weeks and during these 2 weeks, I would express to him that I felt ignored and neglected since he barely had been speaking to me. I was lucky if I got 10 texts a day at most. Which compared to before was very little. I would tell him how I felt and he would apologize saying "sorry babe didn't mean to make you feel that way" and then he would turn around and ignore me again in the same day or the day after. This started to wear on me and it felt like I was being brushed off each time. And this Thursday it all came to a head. For context I suffer from bpd, and being ignored triggers me, I am working on the issue and trying to be better but these past 2 weeks it feels like he was just doing the one thing I asked him not to do, over and over again. And he didn't communicate very well to me, if he was stressed with work or having issues at home I would have understood if he briefly explained. But he didn't I would ask him over and over again if he was okay and he'd just brush me off and say he's fine.

This last thrusday though he did the same thing, from Thursday 9 am to 7. He was "working" and only sent me 4 texts that day. I asked him what was up and why he won't communicate with me and he ignored me MORE. And I had enough and just blew up, I told him that how he was treating me isn't fair, and it's making me unhappy and I feel negelcted and not loved, I told him I felt like he was pushing me away and for what reason I'm not sure. I was fed up and told him if he wanted to break up we could but if he didn't he should call me to work things out. He didn't call me and ignored me more. I took a few hours to myself and then I texted him to explain more, and kind of apologize. I told him that I didn't mean to be so explosive with my anger but I still feel like my dwellings were valid and I explained to him that he just went cold on me for two weeks and didn't explain anything to me. And it feels like I cannot reach him anymore, and that I don't want to break up and work on things if I made him unhappy. But it wasn't fair for him to go cold on me like that. I told him I loved him but there's only so much I can take and I needed space, He once again ignored me. This time going silent for 3 days completely.

I texted him like a day later asking if we could speak the following day. Nothing. I asked him the next day if we could meet to the same day, ignored again. I was worried about him so I texted him again the next day asking if he was at least okay and he ignored me for a couple of hours, before saying he was fine and he's not ready to talk. I respected that and told him I understand and to text when he was ready. I also apologized to him and told him that i was truly sorry for how i acted and that he didnt deserve that. He lied again and said he had work that day (it was Sunday, before the fight happened he told me he ONLY had Sunday off, I'm pretty sure it's illegal to have someone working for 7 days straight) I didn't call him out on this because I was scared I'd upset him more so I just told him I loved him and to have a good day at work.

He ignored me, again.

Please be so honest, am I the asshole? I feel like the asshole for blowing up on him and I know it was wrong for me to do that to him but I just felt stuck and emotionally stuck after being hurt by him almost daily and telling him so only to get ignored. On my end this feels shitty, and I do wish I could take back what happened but I can't. I also feel this is unfair, everytime My feelings get hurt and I express them he doesn't go to the same lengths to Apologize or make it up to me or even make a long term change, but when I hurt his feelings he acts like this and acts like I just committed some war crime against him. Maybe im being unfair but I feel unheard. I'm afraid this may be the end of our relationship and i dont want that.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ghostieyanyan · 6 months

Note

Yandere! Kalim x reader, but yandere but they're bad at their jobs au. Like one minute Kalim act all sadistic and dark then the next thing when reader asked if he wants some pets he went to his usual happy sunshine puppy that demands pets

yes~~ presious baby boi just wants love but he so spoil x3

what i also like to think about with yandere kalim is that he knows right and wrong but its so water down for him that "he just cant help it ^^

For fun, im making this into a modern mafia au ^^

~Just trying to help~

Yan!Boss!Kalim x Worker!mc

Warnings: power dymanmic, mafia mention, violence mention, nsfw hints, death?, manipulation

~~~~~

The Asim, they are known for their wealth and their trades. They're a super big powerful family with a lot of people (both loyal and not loyal) under them. They kind of give "untouchable kings" vibes. Theyre still really nice to their "people", you just don't see them a lot, or at all really. The only way to really "talk to them" is by talking to someone in their circle but there are layers into that circle. some people thinks that their family is shady, like the rich people act is a persona to hide something but no one really has proof.

But you really don't have to worry about that. You have your own stuff to worry about, like living expenses. You were basically living on the streets, barely living. You did side jobs to get by. maybe you'll clean or maybe you'll babysit. when you were a kid, you always wanted to help people. But with your home life, money, you couldn't really get to your dreams even if you tried. you stopped school pretty early and its a little too late for you to get back into it. plus what school will accept you. you lived in a community where rich gets richer and medium class becomes poor... I guess that's where you are, what your luck...

you were heading to your next "job" place. you had to clean for a really sweet old couple, the Wrights. They couldn't afford much either but they try to help you whenever they can. Example, you clean places that they cant reach, in exchange they give you dinner, as much as they can. you always wish them good health. they are too sweet for this unfair world.

you were lost in your head, enjoying the memories and conversation you had with them. But when you to their place, you see 3 grown men towering over Mr. Wright.

"please understand.. we aren't here for trouble but your son does owe us some money. were just here to collect."

"please.. we havent seen our son in months. hes not here."

"come on, blue carb! i wanna go home! if you dont tell us-"

"Floyd, we aren't here for threats."

"hmm..? oh my... what do we have here?"

the light hair man turn to you with a very scary smile. You didnt have time to take even a step when one of the men grabs you by the arm. he had teal hair with a black stirp. he had awful smile that showed off his sharp teeth.. the smile looked every threatening..

"were just here to talk about business, why dont you scram shrimpy."

you started to tremble and turned to Mr. Wright. he gave you a weak smile and moved his hand like to shoo you away.

"go on dear. it'll be okay."

you gulped in terror but you dug your heels into the ground. if you didn't, who knew what these shady guys would do to this kind old couple.

"h-he.. said he hasn't seen his son! n-ow get out of here before i call the police!!"

"..."

".."

"..."

everyone got quiet.. no one moved.. the men seem stun by your outburst. the man, that was holding you, didn't seem to like your outburst and gripped your arm, harder. it hurts..!

"tck.. im getting really annoyed, shrimpy... Should break your arm to show you-"

"actually Floyd, i have a better idea."

the light hair man walks up to you and hands you a card.

"i am Azul Ashengrotto. i run a cafe called the Mostro Lounge and Mr. Wright's son has owe us a pretty penny~"

The way he spoke gave you chills. You hated it. it was too sweet when you knew that the words he spoke are laced with poison.

"What if-..."

You had to take a long deep breath, you're risking a lot for even thinking this... but you had to. you were the only able person to protected these people who gave you more than you've asked.

"what if... i worked for you..? i'll work for you, pay off the owe money and you'll have to leave Mr. and Mrs. Wright alone! Deal..?"

the light hair man pauses.. then smiled. he put his hand out for a handshake.

"Its a Deal."

when you took his hand, that was it. you had to say goodbye to your home away from home. you gave mr.wright a smile and left with the strange men...

~~~

the next few weeks you learned what they did, kind of, and what they needed of you. they didn't tell you 100% of everything but you were supposed to be their servant, or an errand boy, or something like that?

the job wasn't bad at all. you cleaned, get anything they need, run things for them. sometimes they call you for... personal reasons. In exchange you get 3 meals a day and a comfortable room. which honestly, you weren't complaining. before, you would have one meal a day and even sleep on either a hard floor or a gross mattress. At this rate, after you finish paying off the Wright's debt, you might just stay here.

sometimes the job brings pretty scary people that show up out of nowhere. they often had big weapons to their side, some would have the weapons ready and loaded. Jade, Floyd, or Azul often gets you out of the way and most times tell you to cover your ears and close your eyes. sometimes they have you clean up their messes after these scary men... "leave." you knew better but you cant really say or do anything about it so.. you just don't question it.

after a month, you thought you get used to your new home life now but- you accidentally ran into someone or someone ran into you.

"oh my-! are you okay? im so sorry!! i-"

"no no! its okay. i should have been more careful."

the mysterious man helped you up. he had bright red eyes and white white that complement his dark skin every nicely. he had a black dress shirt and a red suit with gold accents, red dress pants to match. when he helped you up, you notice he's hands are really soft. big contrast to your hands.

"I'm sorry again."

he was about to run away but stopped and sheepishly turn and smile at you. it kind of reminded you of a happy teenage.

"actually... do you know where the Mostro lounge is? i... i think im lost. hehe." he scratched the back of his head. the embrassement on his face was slowly growing on you because he kept smiling.

it was kinda weird to see someone around here with such a bright smile..? like an genuine smile or maybe hes just a good actor or something..? you cant say.

"oh.. its a left then a right." you poked.

"kk! thank you~"

he turned and ran away again. you were about to leave but he stopped you again.

"can you actually walk with me there..? i asked directions before and got lost.. hehe~ pretty please?"

with his charming smile, you couldnt help but smile back.

"okay, follow me."

during your walk there, he asked a few question. they were harmless questions, enough. favorite colors? favorite food? favorite animals? where have you been? favorite places to go? etc.

when you got there a tall man with dark skin and long beautiful black hair rushed to your side, well more like to the other man.

He had the same outfit as the white hair man but they both wore it differently. which wasnt a bad thing. it compliment their personalities. Like jade, floyd, and azul do with their suits too.

"Kalim! where have you been?! we just left the elavoter and you were gone from my sights?! why did you-?"

"oh ya! i saw this pretty ocean theme pillows and i wanted to get some but you had my wallet hehe~ so... can i get them? they be perfect for-!"

"no. ugh..."

you felt really uncomfortable... it was like a mother scolding her kid... the black hair man looked at you. you shifted your feet uncomfortably.

"who are you? i dont remember you from our last visit?"

you raise your hands up and backed up slightly. people here are either very suspicious, they often come to see azul for his deals, or naive soul, that came for the ocean-like atmosphere.

"im just a-"

two arms snaked around you. you started to freak out. this is how you die--!!!

"shrimpy!! where's my drink~~? ive asked it for about... like 10 minutes ago~~~"

Oh! its just Floyd. he practicely moaned in your ear. it was a lot to get used to Floyd's mood swings. but you learn to avoid him when hes upset or just do want he says and not say too much. if he tries to tease you, he often gets bored and wonders to do who knows what.

"oh! hi sea snake! hi sea otter!"

"Floyd.. for the last time, stop calling us-

"hi Floyd!! haha!"

the white hair man jumped up and join the hug! you were getting crushed between these two... you were patting their backs in a way to say "okay thank you but-- that enough..!!! im dying! let me go!"

"jamil! Kalim! its great that you made it! a bit late but- i cant say im suprised."

"tsk.. hello jade... azul..."

the dark hair man, pulled the white hair man off you. it helped but Floyd is still squeezing you like he was trying to kill you, not literally... hopefully.

"ah.. its seems that you met our new hire. Jamil, Kalim, this is (mc)."

you, trying your best with the situation youre in with floyd right now, bowed your head as jade introduced you.

"hehe. we found shrimpy when we were at the Wright's place."

"did you get the money..?"

"no~ they were being stubborn but (mc) offer to pay off the money that was owed so i cant complain too much."

azul spoke and rubbed your head like a kid. you didnt like how they were talking about you like you werent there. or rather, talking about the Wrights like they were bad.. but you held your tongue. you didnt want to get them mad... especially when floyd is still holding you.

"ohh.. poor (mc). dont worry, well protect you from those mean people. im kalim, Kalim al-asim!"

"Kalim!"

"and thats jamil, Jamil Viper."

"Kalim! dont give our names to strangers! you dont even know them-"

"Well then~ we'll just have to just spend time with them!"

Kalim.. Kalim al-asim.... an Al-Asim.. Al-Asim! This smiling ray of sunlight is an Asim??

apparently your face paled because Kalim reached for your face and held your face into his hands. he gave you a giggle and smiled as he massage your cheeks in his hands.

"hehe youre so cute. after our meeting with Azul, i want to hangout with you on your break. when is it? hmm?"

you turned to Azul, he nodded his head in approval.

"i-its.. its in 2 hours from now.. sir.."

"hehe.. no need to talk so formal. just call me Kalim. And okay, on your break, meet me by the front door of the Mostro lounge, kk?

"y-yes.. kalim.."

he gave you a smile and all the 5 men started to head to Azul VIP room..

what did you get yourself into....

~~~

You've been spending a lot of your time with kalim as of late. To the point where you felt guilty for leaving work.. but you'd feel more guilty for saying no to kalim. You tried once. It was one too many.

You initially wanted to keep some distance. But with kalim's smile and charisma, you couldn't say no. Kalim always found a way to have lots of fun and he will always include you too.

Every time you came back to the Mostro lounge, floyd gives you a stink eye and a "why wasn't i invited~?" whine. Jade gives you his creepy smile and does a weird thing by leaning in and asking "did anything exciting happened~?", whatever that means. Azul doesn't seem upset at all. It made you anxious. Is he marking down your pay when you're out with kalim..? You checked your accounts and you were still getting payed for your work but.. you didn't do any work..?

You decide to talk to azul about it. You didn't want something like this be in the air, with someone as slimy as azul.. and with money no least!!

You knocked.

"Um.. azul..? Are you busy?"

You peeked through the door of Azul's office, and they vip room.

"... no. What do you need..?

he was working on some papers and he looked.. unpleased.

"I.. ill ask later."

You tried to take your leave befor-

"You wanted to ask about your pay..?"

You slowly turn to him. His face hasn't changed from that unpleased expression.

"Y-yes sir.."

Azul sighed, lend back into his chair, took off his glasses and rubbed his face as he let's out another sigh.

"Kalim is... renting you."

What..?

"And he also requested for you to still get payed because, his words.. 'they're still working.'"

He started to stare at you. You didn't think he meant it to look intimidating, because he can't see you, he doesnt have his glasses on. But it still was very unpleasant.

You were at lost of words. Kalim al-asim... is renting you..? You weren't mad but you weren't happy too. Spending time with kalim is really fun and his personality is really refreshing. But being told you were 'rented out' feels.. dehumanizing. But with your life, you can really feel anything else..

"Is that all..?"

"Yes sir.."

"Good, you may leave."

You bowed your head and left, making sure to close the door softly behind you.

What do you do now..?

~~~

Now after every visit from kalim, the moment becomes a little sour. He's paying azul to spent time with you, but why? He's an al-asim. He could get anything he wants right? Why would he spend time with a common rat like you..?

What are you to him?

"(Mc)? You okay?"

You looked up and kalim was really close to you! You jolted and lean back

"I-im okay! Its just.. work. Heh.. work just be exhausting and im just.. I'm okay!"

You smiles, you didn't notice that kalim stopped smiling.. he was still looking at you but just not smiles. it would have scared you to your core if it wasnt for you trying to change the topic by looking at the scenery. A minute past and his smile came back, brighter.

"Why don't you come with me then?"

"huh..?"

"You could live in the al-asim estate and you don't have to lift the finger! Serverts will come to your every beckon call and you get to live.. like an Asim."

As you were staring at him, lost of words, he gently took your hand. You didnt even noticed it until he pulled your hands to his lips and kissed it.

"K-kalim! I-"

Before you could finish your sentence, he stood in front of you and got on one knee.

You felt sick

"(Mc)... "

You felt dizzy

"Will you-"

This has to be a dream!!!

"Be mine?"

He sweet innocent smile made you feel sick. How can can someone so dangerous be so naive?!? You bearly knew him! He bears knew you!!

"I.. i-i have to go!!"

You ran off, back to Mostro Lounge, back to your room, leaving a sad otter left on one knee..

~~~

You were in your room for 3 days..

You weren't payed for those days but you didnt care..

You felt sick and a little guilty. Kalim looked so sad when you left him. Maybe when you see him again... you could apologize and explain yourself..? By the seven! Would he still be mad at you? Will he order for you to be erased??

You felt nausea.

You needed to get some water.

Luckily it was night time, you wouldn't likely run into floyd, jade, or azul.. maybe?

You walked through the dark halls, only using your memories and the walls to guide you.

You were lost in thought and didn't realize a figure coming up behind you. By the time you did noticed, the figure quickly over powered you and you were imbraced into darkness.

~~~~

[Before the proposal]

"Azul!!? how much does the Wrights owe!?"

Kalim bursted into Azul's office, with a tired Jamil following behind.

"ah! K-Kalim! you know you have to make an ap-"

"i know i know! this is important though!!"

Kalim rushes up to Azul's desk, slamming his hands down on to the desk and leaned over to Azul. he was like a jumping dog..

"i want to ask (mc) to marry me!!"

everyone froze and even jade and Floyd, they were walking by, looked at Kalim like he was crazy.

"Kalim! I know your father has told you about being an Al-Asim and your responsibility to your family and making an hair but not like this!!"

"come on, Jamil~ they're perfect~ they're sweet and kind. they're responsible and hard working, like father wanted. they're just... perfect!"

Kalim goes through his phone and looks at pictures of you he took when you hanging out with him and even ones he requested from Jade and Floyd, secret cameras. They vary between you working and you when you think youre alone...

Azul rubs his face and gives a long sigh.

"look kalim. Even if your display of affection is definitely... something... (mc) is still working the Wrights' debt off. if they're not here then-"

"oh! that's another amazing thing about them! they were willing to help the Wrights without even knowing what they were getting themselves into. with the amount of debt the Wrights have, (mc) would be working until they're in their 70s. Thats why i need to protect them, do they even know about the Wrights 'situation'?"

Floyd lays on the couch in the VIP room, with candy in his mouth.

"nope! Jade thought it would help (mc) stay motivated to work. you saw how upset they got whenever we talk about the Wrights. they're so cute but so obedient that they don't even asked what they did to get in their situation, HAHA! silly shrimpy~!"

Floyd laughs and Jade chimes in.

"To be fair, we did get them out of a 'dangerous situation'. what the Wrights were doing to them was shameful.. Saying their debt was all because of their son, who has been dead for 10 years, and saying they dont have money but is found actively going to clubs spending more. the fact that they're living in the poorest town, and looking like weak old people. they're fooling everyone with the act. Everyone, including (mc)~"

Jamil turned and glared at Azul.

"wait-.. you didn't even tell them..? and you kept them working here?"

"think whatever Jamil, someone has to pay the debt off."

"i can pay it!"

Kalim looks at Azul, he was giving a determined look. Azul sighs again, why is everyone in his office. He has too much work to do.

"i know you can but you know-"

"in exchange, give me (mc)."

Jamil was about to stop Kalim but-

"(mc), yes, they work here under false pretenses but they have became a big asset to us. if you were to take them, it will take a long time to replace them."

Kalim walks closer to azul. with his serious expression, to say left everyone on edge was an understatement.

"i will pay 3x the Wrights' debt... as long as i get (mc)."

Azul looks at Kalim and a sick smile appears. He held out his hand.

"Its a Deal."

~~~~

This took so long! but i did it! i hope you guys enjoy it. if you guys like me to draw something for this, just ask, until then, back into my wips qwq

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