#like what if my photos aren’t good? what if the price is too high? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

renatedagmarmilada · 2 years

Text

FRIDAY AND THE ROYAL STATION

Which one? The timeless red jersey one, with the tiny black velvet collar. Matching traffic light red lipstick, a trio of mauves and peachy pinks on the eyelids, peachy blusher, fairish hair all fluffed up, sheer black stockings and delicate high heeled black shoes. Will that do? A very close peer into the mirror. Dear me, look at hose little lines around the eyes. The price of life. Amber eyes, green in artificial light, tired from worry. Is the flesh all moving downwards yet? It’s a theory of mine, we’re like candles, start sort of straight and firm, then slowly drip downwards, like wax-melting, until softened with age, we stoop and shrink down to our core, only there is no halting the process, no short breaks for a breather. Anyway, from a distance, not too bad for fortyish! I dance onto the wide straight streets lined with tall equally straight trees. He’s tall, I hook my arm in his rather happily. His company is laughter, pure laughter. He, so absolutely the British gent to the core, this art historian. Me, so totally eastern in my way. We laugh well together, often. It’s wonderful to be escorted by such a beautiful man. We glide down the street on cushions of mirth. Typical Continent, the shops are open late. We visit the red light area. A book shop, look – we both adore books, let’s go in and look.

We get lost to each other, to a world in pages of thoughts and impressions. Quick, quick, look at these photos of naked arab boys – aren’t they beautiful my dear, b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l. I squirm, you’re incorigable, sch….sch…but set of in waves of giggles. We discect the beautiful arab boys together, obviously too effeminate for me, so I simper but just right for him – but I have to admit, they are beautiful and ooh, look at this one and then , this one……He enters into the spirit of my careless enjoyment of things which he regards with utmost seriousness normally, and the total disregard I have for what others might think.

When we are sated with books and pictures, we waltz on down to the city.

Oh isn’t it so clean, so enchanting..considering I had been rolling in my mother’s expensive fur coat under the seats of the over full-up North Sea Ferry to sleep, the coat which she had purchased after a short while in Lancashire, after their transport to work in the cotton mills there, her first truly expensive coat over here, that was a fine one coming from me, and I couldn’t help checking the fur for dust spots. Such an enchanting city. I’d come with five pounds for a week, a big bag of oranges and a large rye bread (they don’t go stale so quickly) and that was it, on the Art College trip. The children remained at home, so enchanting this city. Shall we have a silly night in the red light district..No, not tonight, we’ll have style tonight. Gosh, wonderful, super. Meandering leisurely, he forgets and meanders across a road. Unwise on the Continent where traffic drives on the other side. Trams, cars, bikes appear from every direction. Goodness, he’s not seen them and they’re heading straight at him. I grab his expensive tailored coat. The traffic misses him by inches. He’s ever so slightly shocked. Shakes violently, recovers and then we go on.

The Hotel is a beautiful creation, truly. To savour the experience, lengthen it, we wander around the foyer, the green tropical plants, handle the object d’art lovingly. Discuss, is this true art or is it commercialism at its most crass, does true art cease to be true art if it becomes popular commerce………..

We glide through one of the many entrances. Stained glass, tiffany style, nouve art style pictures, everything is so elegant, the tablecloths, the tables, the chairs, but everything, even the waiters.

The counter in the centre is adorned by a green jungle, good job too, one gets waylaid by this lush greenery, otherwise the eating binge would take over immediately, the food is so well laid out.

We decide on a table in the corner. The china is delicate and glistens, the silver spotless without the eternal smudges expected in Hotels (whilst my children were small, I worked in top class hotels at night) No need to surepticiously breath on it and polish with napkins – a fetish of mine, clean silver and glistening glass.

Deliberation time. No, not a snack, lets have petit fours and Continental coffee with chocolate bits, cappuccino, I can’t afford any more and look at her hat, just look at it, look how she’s got it to tilt, that’s cause she’s losing her hair. That jacket doesn’t go with that skirt at all and it’s too tight, the skirt too short, for her legs and those shoes, they’re nearly platforms…How does she keep that gorgeous fella looking like that? Just look at him will you. I at least inspect him closely, not handsome, no but with sex appeal written all over him. He sees me looking, his eyes say hello, then turns back to the bag he is sitting with. Shame, all the best ones are always accompanied…….Hmmm, quite delicious.

My teeth sink halfway into a petit four, almond:

saliva filling mymouth….mmmmmmm Munching, I try to comment, the coffee is delicious, it looks delicious and tastes delicious. (I am drinking tap water at the hotel and an occasional very cheap nasty meal.)

Yes, look, that waiter is delicious , isn’t he. Another David. Manly appraisal. Such a delicate chiselled face.

Hmph..too young for me, for my taste, I like m-e-n not boys and anyway, who needs more sons, I’ve had four of them.

He raises his eyebrows. My dear you are so down to earth. Higher your thoughts dear, elevate your spirits..higher, higher.

Ooooooh,this petit four, chocolate, mmmmmmm The taste melts slowly, slowly. I turn it round and round with my tongue, like it, then suck the centre out of it. I sigh, this is living. A bit different from my daily diet of a slice of toast and the children’s left-overs I existed on normally, since having chosen to go to College…but don’t regret the decision one little bit.

Slow, deliberate sip of coffee, so that the hot liquid mingles with the almond, the chocolate. My taste buds are getting excited, so much luxury.

She’s enormous isn’t she poor girl.

Who?

The waitress….mmmmmmmm. a big dutch country girl. Brimming with health, round face glowing its health, but not very delicate.

What? You’d need muscles to bed that…….You what?

For heaven’s sake, are you still watching that waiter. Your taste is quite appalling. I’ll find you one.

You, you only like fat old married men.

Power my dear, power and brains are very attractive. Never mind what they look like. Peppermint this time, bite a little corner, then another, then another…

You don’t say..

Yea, that’s why I’m single. Aspirations too high – never mind, tonight we’re ogling. Oh give the waiter a rest for goodness sake.

No, no look, nearly shrieking, I’m sure he’s interested in me, Look he’s looking this way.

Is probably watching to see if you need a refill or you bill.

Pleb.

Look at the size of her legs.

The coloured lamps wafts soothingly over our heads casting shadows at the shrinking jungle at the centre of the room. Now that I’ve noticed the people, it doesn’t seem half as over bearing. The night is darkening, lit by a myriad of street lamps. Wasn’t the Van Gogh Gallery wonderful….

Must you recite a story to each painting my dear. And such stories..the oven’s broken down, so he’s in the fields trying to find something to eat which doesn’t need cooking. I’m trying to elevate your mind darling, stop thinking about food all the while. Picasso just wouldn’t think, let’s have a go in the hammock…

Yes, he would, that’s exactly what he would think, have you seen his last drawings on display recently, women having a widdle, do you reckon he drew them in the loo.

Oh dear you really are beyond hope..and look there’s that lovely waiter again.

My sexy man goes out. As he passes my table I see his gold band flashing. God, what has she got to hold him with ?( I am still suffering post divorce-itis )

We speculate. Do you think she knows lots of ways, front, back, side…….

He howls with laughter, that’s why I like you so, nothing but nothing stops you. That waiter is walking this way. He’s nearly squeaking excitement.

I’m bored of simpering waiters, watch the fashion parade flashing past the window instead..

The young couple in the corner are no longer interlocked by hands and knees, he’s now practically crawled across the tables to get into her earlobe. She, the cat, is playing power games. Him, in the hear of passion can’t see, I can, watching from a distance, she’s very cool and detached, collected and calculating all her movements carefully, the bitch, drawing on, on, then a quick push away to keep him panting, interested…

My last petit four. Better make this one last.

Shall we have another coffee. I can get ‘that’ waiter to serve us. Thank goodness, more viewing time. I want to see if the young man actually loses control.

A small, chubby man enters, nearly as wide as he is tall, bald. I inspect his face. Yes, I’d like to get to know you.

Does everyone do that in the throes of post divorce-itis? Think, I like you, I’d really like to make a friend of you and then freeze. He has bluey-grey eyes, intelligent, swift, a soft mouth, gentle face and firm voice, I like his voice the best. My inspection of this new specimen is broken into…(friends assure me that I have a father fetish in men)..

He smiled at me, the waiter, down boy, down…..

So, we talk a little amongst ourselves. What better to discuss than love, generally his favourite topic..were you ever in love? Oh yes, several times, quite passionately..and The tale continues, I’ve heard it before but find it just as fascinating every time…then, and you?

A baleful flicker, frown of temple, pull a lock of hair, no I’m not a faller in love, don’t really know why Quite a rare thing.

You’re kidding.

No…liar.

Oh well, the little fat gent is joined by a female. Isn’t it always like that and I just don’t fancy them young enough to be single.

So much for our night eyeing up the fellas. The coffee’s drunk, he’s eaten a meal and it’s time to pay the bill.

0 notes

signalmmorg · 2 years

Text

Cnet laptops for graphic design

CNET LAPTOPS FOR GRAPHIC DESIGN HOW TO

CNET LAPTOPS FOR GRAPHIC DESIGN 1080P

CNET LAPTOPS FOR GRAPHIC DESIGN FULL

CNET LAPTOPS FOR GRAPHIC DESIGN PRO

CNET LAPTOPS FOR GRAPHIC DESIGN SOFTWARE

CNET LAPTOPS FOR GRAPHIC DESIGN PRO

If you need the best display, the Galaxy Book Pro is what you want. And if you have a Galaxy Tab S7 or later, you can use that as a wireless second display. You can do things like send files between your Galaxy phone and the laptop, sync photos and notes and quickly switch your Galaxy Buds connection from your phone to the laptop.

CNET LAPTOPS FOR GRAPHIC DESIGN SOFTWARE

Plus, it has all the same Galaxy Book Experience software that you get with the Pro models so that all your Galaxy devices can easily work together. The Galaxy Book is otherwise a good midrange 15.6-inch touchscreen laptop, particularly if you value ports over things like a fingerprint reader. The Galaxy Book has more ports than the Pro. The touchpad is also plastic instead of glass. For the Galaxy Book, it means there's no fingerprint sensor built into the power button, the keycaps have more of a rough plastic texture than the soft-touch feel of the Pro's keyboard and, probably the worst part, it's not backlit. The keyboard and touchpad usually take a hit, too. It's pretty typical for laptop makers to use a lower-end display to balance out the cost of higher build quality and better internal components. And overall performance is strong, and battery life actually ran nearly an hour longer than Samsung's eight-hour rating, getting 8 hours, 53 minutes on our video streaming test. At least it does have an HDMI output so it's easy enough to connect an external monitor for those times you do need a better display for work or entertainment. Especially if you're considering the Galaxy Book mainly for productivity more than for watching movies or editing photos and video. If you're looking directly at it and you have the angle just right, the display is OK. The keys aren't backlit on the Galaxy Book.

CNET LAPTOPS FOR GRAPHIC DESIGN FULL

It is a matte touchscreen and full HD, though, so those specs are correct. The brightness on my display was 241 nits at 100%. For color gamut coverage, it tested at 58% sRGB, 41% NTSC, 43% AdobeRGB and 43% P3. In reality, it has poor color and contrast and only gets worse when you look at it off-angle.

CNET LAPTOPS FOR GRAPHIC DESIGN 1080P

On paper, the display sounds like a bargain for the price, too: 15.6-inch 1080p matte touchscreen LCD with 300-nit brightness. It's one of the corners that's been cut to get the price down. But this isn't the Pro and, as a Samsung representative pointed out to me, the display in the $1,000 configuration is the same as in the cheaper $750 model. Samsung is known for its high-quality displays, and the one on the Galaxy Book Pro is fantastic. Part of the issue is my own expectations, which are likely those of other Galaxy device owners. The Galaxy Book has a simple, characterless design.ĭespite the extra graphics performance, the Galaxy Book's display is a big disappointment. With demanding games, you may get playable frame rates at low settings, but set on high you'll be lucky to break 30 frames per second. In other words, it's not going to help with gaming. It's not designed for really demanding graphics tasks, but can speed up things like video encoding and raw photo editing. The Iris Xe Max GPU is a step up from the integrated graphics you'd typically find in a thin-and-light laptop like the Galaxy Book and competes with Nvidia's entry-level discrete graphics options, like the GeForce MX350. USB-C (x2), USB-A (x2), audio/mic jack, HDMI out, microSD card slot But it also has one big knock against it compared to the Pro models, and it's one that some will find too difficult to ignore.ġ5.6-inch 1,920x1,080-pixel touch display Samsung also includes better-than-integrated Intel Iris Xe Max discrete graphics in the Galaxy Book, even at its $750 starting price. It has an all-metal chassis for a higher-end look and feel, and the same 11th-gen Core i5 and i7 processors as the Pro models. The non-Pro version of the Galaxy Book is the more middle-of-the-road option. The Galaxy Book Pro and Pro 360 models have all the bells and whistles like AMOLED displays, Thunderbolt 4 USB-C ports and premium keyboards and touchpads. This balance between premium features and affordability carries over to the company's current laptop lineup, too.

CNET LAPTOPS FOR GRAPHIC DESIGN HOW TO

Samsung also knows how to make good budget phones and tablets, like its Galaxy A-series devices, using the right combo of materials and components to cover the essentials at a fair price. Just take a look at the Galaxy S22 phones or Galaxy Tab S8 tablets: Elegant designs matched with the best tech. Samsung knows how to make a premium device.

#Cnet laptops for graphic design

0 notes

metalmmorg · 2 years

Text

Best laptop for adobe creative suite 2015

#Best laptop for adobe creative suite 2015 1080p

Crashing is more on Adobe at this point than anyone in particular. I have a desktop computer to do my work on, but I've been traveling more for work, so I want to downsize to a laptop.īasically anything can run creative cloud. Leave any finishing thoughts here that you may feel are necessary and beneficial to the discussion.It could be nice to have it touch screen, but not important. Any specific requirements such as good keyboard, reliable build quality, touch-screen, finger-print reader, optical drive or good input devices (keyboard/touchpad)?.If you're gaming, do you have certain games you want to play? At what settings and FPS do you want?.I dabble in video editing and 3D modeling (Blender) for fun. I mainly use Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign, After Effects, XD. Are you doing any CAD/video editing/photo editing/gaming? List which programs/games you desire to run.Preferably 15in or more, but not a deal breaker. Do you have a preferred screen size? If indifferent, put N/A.How important is weight and thinness to you?.Having a lot of storage space is needed to run my programs. Battery life isnt that important, but would want it to run for at least 4-5 hours. I care most about whether it can handle Adobe creative suite without lagging out crashing. How would you prioritize form factor (ultrabook, 2-in-1, etc.), build quality, performance, and battery life?.$2,000 (but willing to go higher if the laptop will last me a long time) Please do not use USD unless purchasing in the US: Total budget (in local currency) and country of purchase.Read the helpful sidebar and sticky post before posting! Include country, budget, and screen size in title! An "i5" 8300H is more powerful than either. The difference between an "i5" 8250U and "i7" 8550U is less than it might sound like. U-series vs H-series, and 2-core vs 4-core, mean more than Core i5 vs Core i7. Note: Sharp and OLED Samsung panels are true 4K. These have mostly been phased out, but are still present or available in some models. These trick consumers because the listed resolution numbers are the same, but the detail is less, and they produce artifacts. Some laptops that list high resolutions (1440p through 4K) use "PenTile" RG/BW or WR/GB matrix panels instead of RGB/RGB. Many IPS displays are far from perfect still. There may be other concerns too such as colorspace or response times. Many lower priced laptops, even in price ranges were decent displays are available.Many Thinkpads, Latitudes, Probooks with base screen options.

#Best laptop for adobe creative suite 2015 1080p

This is the case for many 1080p displays that aren't listed as IPS or 120Hz+, and nearly all displays 768p/900p. The quality is worse than IPS or good TN. Fill out the form here on your posts! Check out our new Discord server! New Here? New to reddit? Click here! Rules and posting advice Quick Picks + FAQ The Laptop Form Tips, PSAs, & Resources Low Quality TN DisplaysĪ lot of laptops today still use low quality TN displays. This is not a place for special deals on laptops, or a place to sell your old laptop. A place for prospective laptop buyers to get suggestions from people who know the intimate details of the hardware.

#Best laptop for adobe creative suite 2015

1 note · View note

ellesgreenaway · 2 years

Text

say that you miss me | eddie munson

summary: a birthday party brings eddie reluctantly back together with an old high school flame he hasn’t seen in two years.

word count: 7.7k

warnings: minors dni, smut, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie (?), swearing, afab reader, slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader initially doesn’t come off very well, use of drink and mention of drugs

a/n: i’m actually a little nervous about this one as it’s really the longest fic i’ve ever written and i haven’t really written like much in this way so please be kind to me! any feedback is really appreciated :)

“Du-ude!” Steve cries out in despair when he opens his front door, both voice and face riddled in disappointment. “I told you to comb your damn hair when it’s wet! What is this shit?”

Eddie blinks deadpan, standing frigid with a large box full of an assortment of black market priced alcohol (it was half spiced rum, clearly not much of a demand for it) with his little box of the good stuff buried deep. “I think you mean to say: Hey Eddie, thanks so much for bringing hundreds of dollars of merchandise to my party.” He replies, thick with sarcasm.

Eddie could barely hear himself speak. He had only arrived a whole twenty minutes after the said start time of the party that Steve had announced to the group (and repeatedly after for the last several days leading up to it), deemed by young person status as way too early, and yet Eddie could barely make out any other sounds apart from the dreaded sound of the popped-up excuse of rock that was overplayed on every radio station booming thickly through every wall of the (quite frankly) colossal hunk of a house Steve lived in. People were bustling in and out of rooms and collecting in rooms like it was New York City, and it immediately put Eddie on edge. He arrived early to make sure he could be scarce, not the centre of attention.

Steve rolls his eyes, taking the box of beverages from Eddie’s hands. He made sure his drug box was taken out before it was no longer in his possession. “I’m just saying man, you complain time and time again about how frizzy and knotty it gets, and when I offer you sound advice, you disregard it.” Eddie is following his friend blindly through the open plan grandeur of a home Steve finds himself lucky enough to live in, half not listening because he thinks he’s never seen a house this big before, let alone been in one. He bumps into person after person, recognising them all from high school, and it’s only a few seconds before the lump in Eddie’s throat grows ever bigger as he realises this was just an excuse to throw an informal high school reunion. It had only been months for Eddie compared to years for everyone else; he wasn’t sure he was mentally prepared for this to be thrust upon him.

“And you still don’t listen!” Steve quips harshly, and the tone gets Eddie’s attention after a long while, making the metalhead roll his eyes with minimal care.

Eddie shrugs lightly, an end destination in sight as Steve sets down the worn cardboard onto a spacious wooden table, placed against the wall where an assortment of other drinks have already been placed in their regiment.

People are looking, and aren’t really making it subtle, either. They were probably just as surprised as Eddie was - what was he doing showing his face in Steve Harrington’s home? - but it seemed that, by some miracle, they were friends, so it was a heckle-free zone. As much as Steve’s reputation had dropped since he left school, he was still much more well-known than anyone else in this house. The shouts of murderer and satan worshipper were hung up at the door for one night only.

It was packed beyond belief, but when Eddie looks around him, he notices the entire bottom floor of the house is rid of personal photos, glass and anything that exceeds the value of ten dollars. Apparently, even at the ripe old age of twenty-one, Steve is still deathly afraid of getting his ass handed to him by his parents. Eddie knows he wouldn’t want that from Wayne, even if he were forty.

“When’s Robin getting here? I rarely see her without you.”

Steve seems to relieve himself of some of the party hosting stress that evidently seems to have piled on top of him throughout the day at the mention of his best friend’s name. “She came from work with me this afternoon, she’s just running an errand for me.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, more in disbelief than shock, it was quite on brand for Harrington to get the whole gang involved for something so trivial as a party that will probably be filled with people he’s been dreading seeing since the day he graduated — everyone he went to high school with. Worse, people who finished high school before he did.

A small snort leaves Eddie’s nose, mindlessly fiddling with a small bowl of gummy bears that sat lonesome at the edge of the drinks table. It lay practically untouched, and he could only imagine that Robin had insisted some sort of food would be provided at the bash. Eddie was growing uncomfortable; he rarely spent time alone with Steve Harrington, and it’s never exceeded the point of awkwardness. It was teetering on the edge of such.

“I dread to think what you got that asswipe Henderson to do for this.” Eddie laughs, and it seems to have avoided the edge of that awkward ledge, as Steve chuckles along just as the door goes.

“He got home from college only last night and is currently hauling ass, borrowing speakers from Family Video to bring them here. Little dude can barely carry one of those things, will probably need Mike or some shit to help him.”

Steve opens the door to Robin, who looks annoyed as per with her friend, holding up several sheets of fax-printed paper. She walks through without even greeting the birthday boy, something that ignites a stifle of laughter from Eddie under his breath. That earned him his own greeting from Robin, throwing him a quick wave as she slams the paper down on the table.

“Did you print it all? That fax machine is crap at the best of times.”

She rolls her eyes, throwing a pointed look at Eddie as if she were asking for help. “Why did I just walk in with three sheets of paper, dingus? To hand in a college essay?”

As Eddie’s smirk gets wider, Steve’s scowl deepens, snatching the paper to his own hands, scanning it momentarily.

“Honestly, I don’t even know why you need a list to this stupid party, anyway. Everyone’s already here, this town hasn’t had a party in years.”

Hold up, now Eddie’s curiosity seems to be piqued. His head whips to where Steve stood on the other side of him, taking the paper for himself and carefully dissecting every name that was typed in several long columns.

His eyes stop tracking on one name, head whipping up to Steve. “You invited Y/N?”

Steve furrows his brows, taking a swig from a beer he had picked up from the table. “You, Eddie Munson, know Y/N Y/L/N?”

Eddie swallows thickly, eyes shifting to the floor, uncharacteristically nervous, the paper being shoved roughly back into Robin’s hands. Seeing that name gave him such an immediate rush of butterflies he thought he was going to barf, and he was sober.

“I need a drink,” Was all Eddie could respond to the question posed to him, taking the nearest liquor and pouring a quick shot. It was unfortunate, he realised as the liquid burns layers off his throat, that it was tequila, but anything to take the edge of what he was feeling right now.

Robin widens her eyes, shifting the tequila bottle away from her friend by a few metres, worried the whole bottle would be demolished before long if Eddie carries on like this. “How about we start slower, hm? Like a beer,” She replaces the shot glass with a can quickly.

Steve narrows his eyes suspiciously at Eddie; he knows his fair share of the feeling a drink could fix instead of facing a past flame, but the pairing of Eddie and Y/N doesn’t fit at all in his head. “When were you two a thing?”

Eddie screws his eyes shut; he knows he can’t really avoid this subject for long. “Senior year. My first one.”

A small but triumphant cheer leaves Steve’s lips, clearly already on the edge between tipsy and slurring, his hand coming down to clap proudly on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Didn’t take you for goody two shoes to be your type man, but then again, how I ever dated the smartest girl in Hawkins beats me.”

Cringing and deciding he was officially too sober to take part in this conversation about his past love life, he takes his belongings, eyes drawn to the garden door.

“Surely someone needs some weed by now right?” He asks rhetorically, but turns to Robin with pleading eyes, who just shrugs bemused.

So much for these new friends.

Thankfully for Eddie, half the people at this party who were already drunk and looking for a little boost to keep the night going had somehow remembered Eddie was the drugs guy, not the accused murderer guy, and a small queue had formed at the bottom of the garden as he got on with what he was used to doing the whole of highschool: living in the darkness dealing the bad stuff to the angels of society.

It was such a monotonous process, asking what was needed, sorting it out into the numerous small translucent bags, opening his hand and waiting as the exchange was made. His head stayed down the entire time, so over the game of which Hawkins sweetheart wanted an experience of the dark side. It also depersonalised it for him, made him feel less guilty for doing what he did. He knew the risks of these things, but he didn’t have a choice. Being working class and only having a minimum wage job at The Hideout meant he was the lowest of the low. Not many options are handed to a young man with no savings and only a highschool diploma to his name.

“I had always hoped that something better for you would come along apart from this, Eddie.” Lulled a sweet tone, almost dripping with it, dancing into Eddie’s ears. His head snapped up. The sweetness was all too familiar to him, something he had occasionally dreamt of in the last few years.

And yet, dreams don’t really amount to the feeling of seeing you again. Except, it wasn’t the exact replica of the young woman he had seen leave Hawkins for college. You were rougher on the edges, a cigarette balancing between your index and middle finger, the smoke of it wafting up into your hair and around your clothes.

Eddie stifles a chortle, and he can’t help the smirk line his lips like he was seventeen again, “And I had never hoped to see someone like you smoking cigarettes when you berated me for doing the same.”

You roll your eyes, flicking the thing out of your delicate fingers, letting it fall into the damp grass. It sits there on the ground for a few seconds, burning into the green until your boot comes to crush it. Now the cigarette lays limp and surrounded by the ash of its former flame.

“It’s social only. I’m not addicted.”

The adjective almost felt like a small jab at Eddie, but he brushes it off, deciding instead with a polite smile. It was all he could manage when the beating of his heart thumped heavy in his ears and throat.

“It’s nice to see you again, Y/N.” Is what he settles with, but the thing is he actually meant it. It was nice to see you, however belated it may have been. And while there was a roughness he seemed to have never seen in you before, he was pleased to see that you had finally grown into your character. You were the woman you had always strived to be in highschool: unapologetically yourself, and it almost made him swoon in admiration.

Your face softens at that second, the first bricks of the wall you had built up around herself removing one by one. It was then that Eddie sees that you hadn’t really changed, no matter how grown up you had become. That same excited and slightly naïve sparkle of your eye appeared, just as you whisper back, “You too, Munson. It’s been a while.”

A wide grin began to line Eddie’s lips, and just as he were to open his mouth again, ready to dive into a nostalgic conversation and settle into memories that he cherishes so dearly to his chest, you get a fierce tap on your shoulder - more of a jab really - causing you to turn around and face whoever was disturbing Eddie’s time with you.

Another girl, someone who looks familiar but not enough for Eddie to care, along with Nancy Wheeler, who flashed Eddie a knowing little smile, eyes shifting to you, bounced up beside Eddie’s ex, grabbing onto your shoulders enthusiastically. The move almost made you fall from the surprising weight added to her back.

The unknown friend speaks first, her jaw constantly moving up and down, a fluorescent pink piece of bubblegum the one to blame for the jarring movement smacking in Eddie’s ears. “Hey, we’re about to play some poker in the basement if you wanna join,” She whines, and Eddie sighs to himself quietly. He had only managed to have forty-five whole seconds of you to himself, and you were already in high demand for your attention. It was something that harkened Eddie back to when he was coupled with her all that time ago. The girl notices Eddie sigh, her sharp gaze shifting to him, scrutinising everything about him in just a split second. “Who’s he?”

Suddenly you grow bashful, your cheeks darkening across your cheeks and the bridge of your nose, averting your eyes down to the patch of grass where your cigarette lay lifeless. Your mouth opened and closed again, the speechlessness overcoming every sense in your body.

Despite the flash of hurt that pangs Eddie’s chest, he speaks up, “I’m just the drugs guy.” He informs her with fake sincerity, one she didn’t notice as her eyes light up slightly at the opportunity struck before her to turn the party up a notch.

You flash Eddie a grateful smile, turning to your friend. “He’s not just the drugs guy,” You begin, and a match of hope lights itself in Eddie. Just say we dated, say we were a thing, a fling, anything, he begs in his mind. “This is Eddie Munson. We…We um- We went to school together. His mom used to clean my house.” You say bluntly, and the match in Eddie dies out quickly.

Suddenly Eddie is reminded why he and you never worked out in the first place; not only did you ever manage to admit to one single person that you and Eddie were together, no, scrap that, in love, with one another, but it reminded him of a time more peaceful than what he’d been through in the years since you. His mother no longer being around was the hardest pill to swallow.

Seeing the disappointment fill Eddie’s eyes, you attempt to reach your arm to Eddie, and he’s letting you, showing no signs of resistance to the attempt of comfort, but you stop yourself just short of his bicep. The hesitation is all too clear all throughout you, body and face and all, and Eddie isn’t sure how much longer he can take this. He doesn’t need to be reminded by the first (and so far only) person he ever loved to tell him through everything but words that he wasn’t good enough.

Eddie lets in a sharp breath of the late autumnal air, the release of it creating a pillow of cold air that wisps around his face. “I best clock in a break, it seems custom has dried up for now.” He announces, as usual with an air of humour laced in with it, but as his eyes shift to avoid yours, he catches Nancy’s instead, who frowns with a level of concern that was equivalent to pity, and Eddie was certainly not in the mood for that.

“Hey Eddie, come play po-” You begin to ask, but Eddie was fast leaving the garden, which has slowly become unbearably stifling despite the chill creating thousands of small goosebumps underneath the leather protection of his jacket.

That drinks table was most certainly going to be raided.

You were glad to see Eddie again, you really were - you felt like after so many years being lost and bewildered, trying to find your footing in this weird world, seeing him again felt like she became grounded slightly again. You were really home now.

“So, that’s the infamous Eddie Munson,” Mused Wendy, a friend from college who’d come home with you for the weekend, sharing with you and Nancy an exciting wide smile, almost dying to hear the words that you wanted Wendy and Nancy to play matchmaker.

Wincing, you push her animated friend off of yourself, traipsing slowly back to the house where Eddie had well by now disappeared into. It would be near impossible to find him again in all this space with so many people in it.

Nancy pulls a puzzled face to the pair of friends, “Wait, you liked Eddie too? I just thought he had a massive crush or something.”

“Huh! Liked? The girl was in love with him, Nance. Spent her entire first semester in freshman year wallowing in our dorm for no reason until I finally got it out of her.”

Nancy was even more confused by the statement, and the journalistic instinct in her begged for more information, linking her arm through yours as they carried on their walk back to the loud wall of sound. “What happened between you guys?”

You sighed, looking down at a small chip that’s appeared in her nail polish since coming to the party. As much as it was nice to see Eddie again, reliving the mistakes of your past, and making them again wasn’t something that screamed 21st birthday to you, even if it wasn’t your birthday.

Still, you knew if you weren't going to say now, Nancy would be bugging you until she gave all the details and more. At least now she had control over how much you could reveal. You hadn’t even told Wendy everything, just the basics. “We dated in senior year. I was…concerned with how we’d look together. To everyone else. I knew it wouldn’t help my social status, basically.” You admit guiltily, and you knew that Nancy was smart enough to put the missing pieces of the jigsaw together, and her eyes widen with shock and a slight disappointment when she eventually does.

It made you sting. Yeah, you weren't proud of what you did either.

“And you just…what, haven’t spoken to him since then? Senior year of highschool?” Nancy exclaims out loud, and you try not to notice the sharp daggers Wendy points at the eldest Wheeler sibling, but you shrug it off, the guilt swimming in your lungs.

It was going to drown you.

Shrugging your two friends off your shoulders, you turn to them, a fierce look in your eyes, switching between them and the sight of the dozens of college students all crammed together dancing to whatever was playing. “Will there be lots and lots of booze at this poker game?”

Wendy smirks slightly, grabbing your hand and yanking you back inside the house, the once barely distant thumps of the music (you swore it was quieter before she came out into the garden) now distinctly deafening, feeling your organs jump with you in your body in time with the beat of the tunes. Nancy wasn’t far behind, more cautious than the impulsive actions of your freshman roommate and much more aware that there were other people attending too, but the busyness of the atmosphere has you not thinking straight.

That and the fact that Eddie Munson was at any given place in this house right now.

Approaching the drinks table where they earlier dropped off a polite bottle of wine (it had already been drunk), Wendy grabs three clean plastic shot glasses, reaching for the half-empty bottle of tequila standing nearest to her.

Nancy screws her face up, waving her hand in near total dismissal.

“Oh my God Wendy, you’re trying to kill me. I need a chaser if I’m gonna be forced to shot that.”

Laughing with an almost cynical undertone, Wendy raises the shot glass right under both Nancy and your noses. Both of you share the same look of dread.

“I know none of these small-town Indiana dorks apart from you two, so if I’m gonna have a good time, you’re gonna get wasted with me and we mess around, ‘kay?”

Well, you couldn’t really disagree with that doctrine.

Flinging back shot after shot, the music went from thumping and slightly unbearable beat of the music to danceable and you were even almost starting to enjoy it. You danced with your friends, well, it was dancing in their eyes, squashed among the dozens of people that amalgamated in Steve Harrington’s living room, and although the three of you were panting as you danced, the back of their necks collecting beads of sweat that eventually dripped down your necks, tickling your spines. It had been nice, for once, you thought as you waved your arms around in the crowd, grinning madly at your two friends, that you were able to fully enjoy yourself without consequence. Usually, you had practice in the morning, or study group, or you wouldn’t even be out, writing an essay until the early hours of the morning instead.

There was a slight sadness in your eyes as you danced, too. You might have been drunk and dancing like no one was watching, but she still felt the trickles of dread as the regret you had felt for the whole of freshman year for Eddie had returned in full force.

You were feeling small tears prick the back of your eyes; it came on suddenly, like a big wave at sea that looked small at first but was actually going to swallow you whole, and the dancing came too to a sudden stop.

You swallow thickly, patting your purse around your shoulder to make sure her cigarettes were packed away. “I’m um— I’m going to go for a quick smoke break, ‘kay?” You shout over the throbbing bass, and luckily your wave of emotion came at the right time, both Nancy and Wendy agreeing they’ll meet you in the basement game of poker Jonathan, Robin and Steve were at.

The lighter came in contact with the cigarette as soon as you had stepped outside, and you had never been so grateful to take a puff from something you tolerated at the best of times, walking over to a step at the side of the house, letting the cool air gently penetrate your burning skin.

When holding the stick of tobacco between your two fingers, your mind once again goes to Eddie. How he brought up the fact you told him off as much as you could whenever he smoked one of his own, and how much it was true. The memory brought a bittersweet chuckle past your lips, slightly curved from the nostalgia.

You heard the sound of feet dragging against the pebbles of the driveway behind you, and you weren’t very surprised to see Eddie approach you, his trademark smirk painting his mouth, but it was more subtle than usual.

You throw him a wobbly smile, suddenly feeling the need to put the cigarette out again, so desperately insecure of doing anything remotely bad around him. Eddie, of all people, but you knew it was because these were all things you never would have done in highschool.

He was going to walk past you, step over her tight-clad legs and carry on his journey to what looks like his van, just a few metres off in the distance, but a thought bubbles up in your mind, and you knew it would bug you forever if you didn't ask there and then.

“Do you have regrets?” You ask, just above a whisper but not quite talking at a normal volume. You were nervous to ask.

Eddie turned around, furrowing his eyebrows in curiosity at you. He likes to think he still knows you well enough to know that this isn’t brought on from random drunk thoughts, but he also knew he couldn’t just ask outright what got you asking questions like this. Not anymore, anyway.

He begins to walk back, standing over her just centimetres away, his eyes studying your face, which was turned down to the ground, your lips pursed desperately around the cigarette that was nearly out, looking at you drain everything you could out of it. He decides to perch next to you, leaving a big enough gap that it was considered appropriate. “Regrets about what? Mine are sorted into categories, you know.”

You smile, puffing out a laugh from your nose. “I dunno, like…Do you ever regret not going to college? For not passing senior year first time? All those little things that you could have changed, could have altered to make that slight little bit of improvement, but you just…didn’t?”

Eddie thought about your question, lighting a cigarette of his own while he pondered. “I could’ve, yeah. I could have done all that shit, got a degree, left this town, maybe studied something I knew I would be good at. But, ah, I don’t know. I don’t think there’s any point in wasting my energy on the what ifs. I have shit I gotta deal with now, today, and that takes up enough as it is,” He inhales deep, getting lost in his thoughts while looking at you. He had never seen you so troubled, not even when you two broke up. “I feel like I could have done better, a lot of times, but do I regret it? Rarely.”

You don’t really respond, just sniff and look away again, your hand drawing through your hair delicately, but it was like it was bothering you. Everything seemed to look like everything was bothersome in a way.

“My turn,” Eddie declares, feeling like this was the only way to find out what was wrong with you. He wasn’t even thinking about the fact that he hadn’t seen you in two years, or that forty-five minutes ago he wanted to be anywhere but around you. The need to act like your support dial had overwhelmed him like an instinct. This was natural. “You have never felt the need to feel regret once in your life, sweetheart.”

“Not a question.” You point out.

Eddie chuckles, holding his finger up to you, “Patience, I’m getting there,” And suddenly you turn to him, your body strong and straight, but eyes are full of worry for whatever he could possibly ask. He hopes you know him well enough to still guess it’s probably to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering you. “So you’re obviously regretting something, what is it?”

You huff heavily, and Eddie could sense your walls were going up, defending yourself from the vulnerability and insecurity you once gave herself willingly to with Eddie. You shuffled away one inch. “I haven’t seen you in two years, Munson. You can’t expect me to tell you all my worries and fears like we’re still together.”

Eddie feels the need to remind himself to be patient, swallowing thickly. He can’t help but trick himself into thinking this, looking at you, the moonlight twinkling in your eyes, making you look so ethereal with your beauty.

“You asked first, sweetheart, don’t pretend you don’t miss talking to me.” He replies, but it just seems to have frustrated you more. Eddie knows it’s not frustration directly at him, your frustrated with herself.

You look at him, eyebrows crossed, a crease diving the two of you. “So what? I— ugh! Everything is so fucking complicated!”

“With me?”

“Yes!” You cry, and you’re stood now, pacing up and down the little alley created at the side of Steve’s house. “But no, too. I…seeing you tonight has just thrown me off, that’s all. I…I can’t think straight.”

“Ah, so that’s why to your friends I’m still Eddie, a friend whose mom cleaned for your mom?” He asks, and it was petty, he knows, but the stings of pain just couldn’t help but trickle their way into the conversation. All he ever wanted from you was to just admit that you were both in love, even if it was once upon a time.

You crumple your fists as if you were containing all your anger in there, but when your head throws up to look at Eddie, who’s also stood up by now, your eyes are full of nothing but apology.

“Come on Eddie, you know I never meant that. And…And you always meant more than that to me. So did your mother. She was like family to us.”

Eddie huffs, and the dread returns to him like a bad sickness. He realises tonight, seeing you for the first time in months and months that really, he never got over you. You matter as much to him now and as you did when you were seniors sneaking around, but the insecurity fills his chest when he explores the thought that you could ever have felt the way he did.

Maybe he was too drunk. God knows you were too.

“I think I’m just gonna conduct business from my van for the rest of the night. Enjoy the party, Y/N.” He says defeatedly, walking to his van and expecting his old flame to walk in the opposite direction.

But you didn’t. You didn’t walk away, not this time.

“Well what do you want me to do, Eddie? Take back the past?! That’s impossible!” You ask as you follow him to his van, your hands flying around your face wildly. There were tears glassing over your eyeballs, and no matter how mad at you he is for hurting him, for making him feel every bit like he didn’t deserve to be loved, Eddie’s chest still tightened when he saw you like this. You run your hands through your hair again, practically ruining it, sniffing roughly. “I loved you, I loved you like I’ve never loved anyone else before…and yeah, I couldn’t say it out loud when I was seventeen, and I’m sorry, I really am,” You’re looking at him dead in the eye now, any hesitation or resistance he had seen earlier in the night now completely gone, and Eddie feels a change in the electricity around the two of you when he looks back, “but you can’t punish me forever. I’m done being punished, Eddie. If you wanna move on so badly, do it.”

He thinks you’ve said this because you know deep down that the daring words that drip from your tongue edge Eddie to stay, do the complete opposite of what you’ve offered him. You’re not dumb, you’ve probably noticed the way that ever since you asked him that question at the side of the house that he’s inched closer to you with every word shared between you, nice or not. You can probably smell the mix of musky wood from his cologne and the ashy taste of cigarettes that permanently linger in his mouth, just as he can smell the sweet floral tones of your perfume, a mix of flowers and soap.

You have seen to finally have given him an out. It should have felt relieving.

Yet Eddie just couldn’t back away. He hesitates a scoff, low and scowling, tired of arguing but he has no other way to talk to you right now without wanting to just take your face in his hands and kiss those plump glossy lips of yours. “You still couldn’t even admit we were even together. We’re twenty now. Hell, almost twenty-one. Three years on and you can’t admit it!”

You’re bashful, looking down to the concrete driveway. “I don’t want them to give any more excuses to constantly pick at you.”

“Them?”

“This batshit crazy town, Munson! What do you think people will do when they find out we dated, huh? They’ll tear you apart, think you corrupted me or put your bullshit claims of satanism onto you, and I can’t help you! I’ll be in Emerson!” You say, the tear falling loose from your eye and trailing down your cheek.

Eddie blinks at you, the act of anger slowly washing away on his features. “You heard about everything then, huh?”

“I think I spent my whole summer telling people to go fuck themselves for thinking someone who likes metal and plays a kids fantasy game was capable of murder.” You says with a nervous chuckle, and Eddie’s heart rises to a flutter, staring at you with contentment, and a reminiscent reminder of the way he used to look at you when you were together; with total infatuation.

Suddenly Eddie was stuck.

He was stuck because he had finally been given an opportunity to move on from you, try and forget your face as he lived your life and you carried on with yours in Boston, but he doesn’t think he had ever imagined a more beautiful thought than thinking about you telling a stranger making comments about Eddie the murderer to do one.

He stays stuck while looking at you, leaning against the back door of his van, head staring at the cold night sky, exposing your neck, your chest heaving up and down from the exhaustion of their argument. Eddie couldn’t stop staring, momentarily parting his lips and wetting them with his tongue.

He steps closer to you. It was only one small step, barely stretching his legs before your thighs touched his. You look down again to look him in the eye once more, but differently than before, you’ve noticed the change in air, too. You noticed the way Eddie has his lips slightly parted, his chocolate doe eyes are blown open, pupil swallowing the colour almost entirely. His hand is inching closer to your cheeks, and when his palm eventually comes into contact, you feel singes of his burning hot touch, almost like fire, and it alights a small gasp from your lips, a sound that roars Eddie’s determination to life.

His thumb lowers, tracing delicately down your cheek until it reached the corner of your lips, slightly chapped and the gloss drying in odd places, all the while keeping the fierce hold of your eyes that made you soften and pant harder in anticipation.

A small smirk quirks one side of Eddie’s mouth. He has you right where he wants you, ready for him to launch onto you and get back to what you used to do in highschool, but he wasn’t going to give it to you just yet. “I would kiss you,” He begins, voice low and grumbling a little with the whisper, “But you might not want everyone else to know your pretty little mouth likes kissing the freak of Hawkins.”

Immediately you roll your eyes, your own hand cupping Eddie’s cheek. You take the majority of the leap, their lips in contact but not kissing when you ever so slightly take your back off the van door.

“You kiss me right this second, Munson, or I tell everyone that you cried watching Grease.”

He stifles a snort, smirk only growing wider. “We can't be having that, can we? I have a reputation to think about.”

When their lips finally connect, Eddie feels like he’s truly on fire everywhere, the touch of your lips igniting a burn that’s travelled through every vein in his body. It’s like his body has woken up again after years of being asleep, a jolt of energy surging through his nerves, and he wasn’t going to waste it.

Eddie’s hands instinctively slide onto your waist as the kiss deepens, your mouths open, tongues playing with one another desperately. It was messier than Eddie had ever imagined, and definitely less romantic, but when you settle your arms around his neck, pulling on the hairs at the nape, any coherent thought about his dream reunion with you goes out of the window.

It’s possibly minutes before you finally disconnect, silently making out at the edge of a party like the teenagers they once were when you were together, but you never lose contact, your lips peppering kisses constantly on his lips and around them. Eddie is distracting himself putting his hands under your top, the cold of his hands against the warmth of your belly eliciting a high-pitched whine from you, and it’s a noise Eddie is familiar with.

It had been too long since he heard that heavenly sound.

You seemed to have kicked your thinking brain in, taking Eddie’s face between your hands and taking his lips off your neck. “Do we really wanna do this again? I…I don’t want you to beat yourself up for this.”

Eddie throws her a lust-filled smile, but the question of concern has his heart fluttering. “What did I tell you about me and regrets, darling?”

You throw him a grateful smile, but you still hold him with hesitancy. Oddly though, it’s a different kind of hesitancy than what he’s used to. He throws you a questioning look, and you sift his chocolate waves through your hands when you give in. “I want you to know that I always regretted the way I handled things with you. Because the love I felt for you…the love I feel for you, I never went about it the right way.”

Now the insecurity and fear has left Eddie, because as he looks at you, his hands enveloped in yours and flush against your sternum, trying not to think about those tits he’d missed so much swallowing half the conjoined hands as they squeezed together, he’d finally felt like he understood her side after all this time. You were just as insecure.

“Let me show you then, sweetheart,” He pleads quietly, pressing kisses to each corner of your mouth, “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

Happily relenting, you flush your lips against his, connecting once more, but this time it felt more comforting to the both of them, like coming home at long last. It wasn’t long before your mouths opened for one another, Eddie’s tongue in your mouth and sucking your bottom lip as you mewled in response. His cock twitches when he hears you make those noises, thinking he’d never hear them again yet here he was, against the back door of his van with his lips attacking yours, and your hips pressing into his crotch, making him grunt in response.

“Fuck Eddie,” You pant, already breathless when your lips aren’t on Eddie’s for three long seconds, and Eddie wants to throw his head back if it weren’t for your hands tangled in his hair. “As much as I’m happy to show everyone how much I love me a bit of Eddie Munson, this is a bit public for me.”

Eddie feels himself smirk into your neck, travelling down and he feels his chin touch the top of your tits, and he tilts his head down to kiss them gently. The traces of fingers and fiddling of clothes that so desperately want to be taken off but can’t in the open driveway with random people walking in and out of the house. Your touch feels like feathers along Eddie’s skin, and it makes him just want you more with every growing second.

He accidentally bumps your temple as he grabs onto the back door handle that stood beside you, opening it roughly. “Get in the back sweetheart,” He says lowly, taking his hands and putting them on your waist as he gently hoists you into the back. It was a place of small haven for the both of you, and the reason why Eddie always kept his van so clean compared to everything else he owned.

When you’re in you hold your hand out for Eddie to get in himself, giggling when he shuts it and takes hold of your waist again, finding it impossible to stay away from it, his fingers dancing delicately up your top, slowly making its way up your ribs and to the underwire of your bra. Your small gasp of surprise only encourages Eddie further, his hand reaching to the top of your bra and pulling your tits out, taking your nipple between his fingers and rubbing slowly, your head throwing back to the side of the van as you moan with more vigour, mouth open agape as you breathe heavily.

“Fuck sweetheart, you’re always so noisy for me,” He groans, pinching your nipple for a high-pitched cry, which you gave him with no resistance. His cock lays stiff in his jeans, and he’s not sure how much longer he’s able to wait before he cums in his pants, so his other hand snakes down to where your tights and knickers scantily cover your pussy, rubbing over your clit and hearing you cry out into the crook of his ear.

He does that for a few seconds, switching between making sure each breast sat peaked and awake for him while running your clit, the wetness of your pussy quickly bleeding through the thin layers that protected you, his hips rutting against your thigh as he groans in every rhythmic motion of his hips. Your lips are always on him somehow, and just as Eddie feels like he’s going to burst, feeling his orgasm starting to bloom, his hands travel to your ass, cupping your cheeks in his hands and squeezing before he huskily asks you to jump, your legs wrapped around his waist while you work on getting your tights off, leaving them stretch just below your knees.

Eddie drags his lip between his teeth when he looks down to your panties, the large spot of wet ever so distinct to him, even in the pitch black darkness of the night.

Finally deciding to relieve himself, Eddie uses the one hand he’s not using holding onto you to take his belt off and undo his zipper, moaning with volume as he takes his cock between his hands, squeezing at his base lightly, all the while staring at you, your eyes filled with intense arousal.

“Fuck me, Eddie, please,” You whisper, your forehead resting against his in a sweet manner of intimacy in the heat and sweat of the activity you were both partaking in.

He drags his cock slowly against the thin layer of panties, your moan making him twitch even in his hand.

“I— shit, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart, if you say that you miss me,” He says thickly, his fingers toying with the edge of your knickers.

Forehead still on his, you kiss his cheek gently, then his nose, then the corner of his mouth and then to his lips when you reply, that twinkle in your eyes returned and brighter than ever in the darkness of the back of Eddie’s van. “I miss you Eddie. Jesus fuck, I’ve missed you every day. Not one day I didn’t think about you.”

He seems satisfied with the answer, kissing gently on your lips while he puts your panties to one side, delicately prodding your hole with his finger, and you clenched around him perfectly, dripping wet and waiting for his cock to fill you up all the way.

You both moan loudly when Eddie ruts his hips up, thrusting all the way. He swore he’d never forget how perfect you feel, how you managed to always fit him just perfectly, the right fit for him, but with him inside you once again for the first time in a few tears, it’s like a memory that had come to life once more.

He thrusts with a consistent confident pace, your mouths conjoined to silence the sounds of panting and morning as the van rocked back and forth as he fucked you against the sound of the van, your hands occasionally pulling on his hair when he ruts deeply to your sweet spot.

When you throw your head to the side, your moans getting more pant-like and heavy, and Eddie remembers your queue that you were close, and he was determined not to cum until he had satisfied you entirely.

“Come on baby, I know you wanna come for me. Miss me—fuck, miss me so much you’ll be such a good girl and cum just for me, yeah?” He grunts, his speech coming in time with his thrusts, and your loud moan in response tells him you’re close, really close, his thumb coming to massage circles onto your clit once more.

You moan again, tugging on Eddie’s hair, “I’m gonna cum Eddie.”

He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, “Cum then, sweetheart. Make me proud,” And it undoes your knot, your orgasm washing over you like a tsunami wave, Eddie feeling himself come undone just when he feels your juices drip down his cock and onto the thighs of his jeans, riding out his high with you by rocking gently, slowly coming to a stop when your moans run out and you tiredly hang your head into Eddie’s neck.

Kissing you once again when he pulls out, a whine of sensitivity leaving your mouth, he pulls your knickers and tights back up, stuffing himself back into his jeans before taking your hand and sitting you down on the small black loveseat he had bought for the band whenever they had practice.

Your head rest against his shoulder, hands mindlessly playing with the zip of his leather jacket while he strokes the top of your hair, pressing occasional kisses into it.

“I meant what I said, you know.” You whisper into the silent air, the van thick and muggy and smelling of sweat and sex that should have been enough to get Eddie out, but he was too tired to care. “I miss you everyday. And I-I fucked up, I know, but I wanna try again, with you,” You sat up now, looking at Eddie straight in the eye. “If you’d let me.”

Eddie smiles, full of love and adoration, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles as if they were made of gold. “I’d be stupid if I let the love of my fucking life get away from me like this again.”

tagging some people i love!

@will-on-the-internet @prettyboyeddiemunson, @benedictscanvas @indouloureux @lilacletter

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson ansgt #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson x gn!reader #stranger things fic #ruby writes

4K notes · View notes

sonderastrology · 4 years

Text

🌙🌈✨Astrology Notes✨☄️🌟

*Based on things I’ve noticed about different placements as a Leo sun/Virgo moon/Capricorn rising... these notes may not resonate for everyone but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles baby* MADE BY SONDERASTROLOGY

🧿I see the people I’m close with more as their moon sign with a dash of their sun, almost as if the placements were reversed. This is because the moon sign is sort of hidden at first whereas the sun sign is the core energy. When you befriend or love someone, the moon sign (emotions, mental processes) is slowly uncovered and in my opinion, takes over the general energy of the sun. Of course, all signs, houses, and aspects are important... this is just the way I look at it idk.

🧿Everyone needs a best friend with the same rising sign as your moon sign... they just *get* you.

🧿Also having friends with the same mars sign as you is so important! They can hype you up like no other and vice versa.. your vibes just click.

🧿I’ve noticed that people with opposite sun signs but rising signs in the same element take AMAZING pictures together. For example; A Pisces sun w a Leo rising and a Virgo sun w a Sagittarius rising would make eachother look bomb in photos.

🧿Pisces, cancer, Virgo, and libra placements are proned to being stalked and hit on by weird men... I’ve seen it too many times, protect yourselves!!!

🧿People always tell me that they were intimidated by me at first or even “scared”, and that I give off a bitchy vibe. My placements that indicate this?Capricorn rising (Uranus, Neptune, Lilith in 1st house), Leo venus and Virgo moon in my 8th house, Scorpio MC, Scorpio and Pluto in my 11th house. Other placements that can have this effect: Aries, Scorpio, Aquarius, and Earth signs in personal planets/MC/Rising signs. Personal planets aspecting mars, Pluto, saturn, sometimes Neptune, and Lilith. Mars/Aries, Saturn/Capricorn Pluto/Scorpio in the 1st, 2nd, 7th, 10th, 11th house. 8th house placements and Chart Ruler in the 8th, 10th, and maybe 12th house. There’s definitely a whole lot more placements not just these.

🧿Aquarius/Air dominant people (esp mixed with fire) along with an array of other placements I’m sure, have a VERY hard time with forced structure and routine... it brings out their rebellious nature.My best friend from high school is an Aquarius Sun Gemini Moon (with an Aries mars), and she DESPISED going to school for 7 hours a day, she just couldn’t do it. She would skip school all the time and eventually enrolled in night school. Same went for my other friend who was a Sag sun Gemini moon, both of them would act TF out in class. They’d fight with teachers, the principle, other students... and I really believe it was due to the forced schedules and the power dynamic between teachers and students in high school. The Aquarius sun person is my best friend today, and she’s one of the smartest people I know. Just because you weren’t “good” at school does NOT mean you aren’t smart. Fuck the system is an air sign BRAND.

🧿I’ve noticed A LOT of Gemini sun, moon, and rising people have light shades of hair... mostly blonde or dirty blonde.

🧿I’ve met 4 people born on the 28th of the month and all of them are incredibly beautiful... no matter what sign. Same goes for July Leo’s although I’ve noticed that they’re more arrogant and self centered than August Leo’s who are more generous and outgoing

🧿Your Jupiter sign can help you work with law of attraction and manifestation more effectively. If you have Jupiter in an air sign, try manifesting things by; writing it down, saying it out loud, visualization, and meditation. If you have Jupiter in a fire sign; manifest under the sun, write out a plan even if it’s unrealistic. If you want money, hold even a penny or a dollar and act as if it’s the amount you want. Act as if everything you want is already yours. If you have Jupiter in an earth sign; manifest while doing yoga or on a walk. Manifest outside or read/listen to positive affirmations. Jupiter in a water sign; manifest using crystals and rocks with guidance from tarot. Manifest through the arts and hobbies; draw what you want or make a song. Something where you can use your creativity. *All of these methods for manifestation are effective for all of the signs I just think that certain ways can help certain signs more*

🧿Based off of people I’ve met, air risings aren’t as friendly and bubbly as you’d think they’d be when you first meet them. Even their vibe seems nervous and closed off at first; standing with arms crossed, shoulders inward, I dont know just sort of shy. Once they open up a bit more then their weird side comes out and they become more goofy and carefree. I think air signs of all placements struggle deeply with anxiety even though they are often portrayed as outgoing and quirky, which they are but a thin viel covers it. No matter what, air placements keep an open mind and I’ve always felt like I could be myself around them.

🧿Libra placements are known for disliking confrontational disputes but I’ve noticed that these are the same people to whisper nasty things under their breathe when you start to walk away from an argument... they have you whip back around like “do you have something to say?!”

🧿I’ve seen this before and imo it’s true! Signs in the 8th house rule addictions... I saw someone post that having a water sign in the 8th house could indicate addictions to liquid, more specifically; caffeine and alcohol. Being addicted to something is in other words creating a bond with it- water signs are naturally bonded with liquid so it makes sense that their prone to being addicted to them. Water signs occupying the 8th house might always drink water or have water with them. Since the 8th house also rules finances to an extent, most of their money might go to coffee, drinks, beach vacations etc. For fire signs over the 8th house, they could be addicted and/or spend a lot of money on smoking, spicy foods, or anything that gives them a rush; rollercoasters, haunted houses, skydiving or even drugs like esctacy/cocaine... anything that gives them that thrill or lights a match in their stomach. Earth signs in the 8th house may be addicted to physical things; money, work, food, looks,... things that give them value or that call on their senses and ego. They could hoard/collect items such as coins, cars, beauty products, etc., or generational items passed down... due to bonding with things that they can bulid/see/show off overtime. They are very attached to the physical because as an earth sign it feeds their ego and value, like a tree growing in soil. Money could mostly go to eating, gambling, plastic surgery, materialistic stuff. They could be addicted to buying things and selling them for a higher price. Air signs occupying the 8th house could point to spending a lot of money on or being addicted to technology or all things ‘relevant’. These individuals might be addicted to their phones/social media and the attention they get from it. These people are always posting stories throughout the day or online shopping or even just browsing different apps. They’re addicted to getting information via books, the internet, and through talking to other people... oftentimes these individuals are very good at making money through the internet (depending on other placements ofc). They may spend a lot of money on books, new gadgets, music, tattoos and puzzles. These people are addicted to all things new! They have a thirst for knowledge and experiences and will seek it out effectively. 🧿When I look at a person’s birth chart, whatever gender, I especially pay close attention to their Mars sign and house. To me, Mars represents the overall energy and vibe a person gives off and the house placement is where it’s most naturally acted out. For example ; Aries Mars in the 6th house. Aries Mars person would give off a hyper, motivated, impulsive energy. Physically this could manifest as shaking their leg while sitting, quick movements,standing/walking instead of sitting down, gives off a more to the point and carefree attitude (keep in mind all of this is affected by many other aspects and placements in a chart). Being in the 6th house, ruling day to day routine, health, how we act at work, etc., this means that the Aries Mars characteristics are more prominent during work and day to day rituals (quicker to learn, effectively performing daily tasks, gets shit done, or they could get into arguments at work easily, constantly rush around, might be stubborn about seeing a doctor/health professional, might be more prone to getting headaches at work or in general) again, depending on the rest of the chart

2K notes · View notes

ceruleanchillin · 3 years

Text

Honeymoon Headcanons: Mayans Edition

Characters: Angel, Coco, EZ x F!Reader

Miami (Angel)

It wasn’t difficult at all to decide where the two of you would take your honeymoon. When you weren’t gonna be naked, Angel wanted you in sundresses and bikinis. You wanted him in linen shirts, and to feel him up in a club. Couple that with you both wanting a tropical environment, and Miami it is.

Angel letting you handle the accommodations, because you seem to know more about what you wanna see/where you wanna go than he does. He only cares about a bed and shower for when he’s not taking you in the inappropriate places. He just hands over the cash, though he complains about his hurt wallet.

Angel hard as a rock when he sees your new name on your plane ticket.

The two of you nearly missing your flight because your husband needs to “show his wife he loves her”.

You babying him on the flight, because Angel has never flown anywhere before.

“Mami, it’s perfectly valid to feel like a flying toaster can’t safely get you anywhere but a casket. Which they can’t even put you in, because you’ll be everywhere!”

Cue you distracting him with kisses and dirty words in his ear, which gets you initiated into the Mile High Club

Barely making it into the cute little condo before the two of you are at it again, collapsing in the late hours to jet lag and mutual satisfaction.

Your first official day is spent dragging Angel around the humid streets. Knowing he stresses easily if you plan things too tightly, and wanting to wing it yourself. It’s surprising how well you to fit in, it almost feels like home.

Angel switching from being jealous, because your tiny cotton sundress is attracting more than just his attention, to him kissing all over your dewy skin because so much of it is visible.

You getting as jealous as Angel, because it seems like each place you drag him to has openly interested ladies. It’s the white linen shirt that he won’t fully button no matter how many times you try to make him.

Angel basking in the attention, and even playing it up to force you to be the one to initiate inappropriate public sex.

Smirking when you break after a woman pays for his (and unintentionally yours) order at a small cafe you stepped into and you snap and drag him to a hidden place.

“I only love you querida, mi alma.” he whispers in your ear when he bottoms out inside you.

You two are a beautiful couple. Photogenic as all hell. Alone, neither of you have a problem attracting interest, but together, you make people want to be seen around you. That’s why you have no problem club hopping to all the exclusive places.

Angel taking photos and videos of you dancing because he’s so enthralled. He can’t wait to show your kids one day when they ask why he fell for you, and he explains how full of life you are.

Getting enough liquor in Angel to get him dance somewhere away from the club, especially since he (lies) and says he can’t.

You and Angel competing to see who can get the most people to buy your drinks + the two of you losing track because you both get drunk.

A quickie in the coatroom is the prize, Angel fucking you to the hypnotic beat.

Spending a few hours apart the following day, only to still keep texting and FaceTiming each other until you met up, touch starved, at a small restaurant.

Deciding to spend the rest of the day at your Airbnb laid up under each other after Angel scores weed. Teasing Angel about his monetary complaints when you spend all night enjoying the small backyard pool.

Angel thanking God for getting an adventure loving woman as his soulmate when you wake him up the next afternoon to inform him you rented jet skis for the day.

You being impressed when, while jet skiing, Angel silver tongues your way into an invitation to a nearby yacht party out of the host.

FaceTiming Gilly to make him jealous that you two are doing Hookah and drinking Casamigos in a hot tub.

Angel ramping up the mockery when EZ and Coco appear on screen, attracted by Gilly’s whining. Everyone looking overworked and salty, while you and Angel are living your best non-sober lives.

Slipping away from the party to one of the rooms on the boat, because once again, you and Angel never know when to stop teasing each other before it ends up in sex.

Feeling bold enough to suggest that since Angel’s been documenting so much of the trip, that maybe he should film this too.

The aftermath being a surprisingly sweet series of kisses and confessions where the two of you express how thankful you are to have found each other. How you can’t wait to build a forever together.

Marfa + Roswell (Coco)

No one knew how you got Coco to agree to travel for your honeymoon until you finally revealed where you were going. Splitting a week between Marfa and Roswell.

You and Coco are that “weird” conspiracy, incense, and weed couple, so it makes sense.

Giving Coco an edible before you leave, because like Angel, he doesn’t fuck with air travel like that.

“They got me with that bullshit in the military, but that was out of my control. You askin’ a lot right now, you’re lucky you’re cute mujer.”

Coco getting progressively handsy during the flight as the edible hits. Eventually, you stop fake-fighting his neck kisses and forward touches.

Also like Angel in that he’s unafraid to become a member of the Mile High Club.

The ride from the El Paso airport, to the car rental place, to Marfa takes far longer than Coco would like.

He’s used to long stretches of trip on his bike, and when you notice him becoming antsy, you distract him with interesting facts about Marfa.

The entire time, Coco can’t help but think that you’re the perfect road trip co-pilot, only to realize he actually meant his life in general now.

Coco proud as hell when you fall in love with his accommodations choice like he did. The colorful airstream trailers of the El Cosmico hotel are the two of you through and through.

You both trying to be responsible adults and refresh after travel, but continuing to get lost in each other during the whole process.

Shower sex -> Making out while drying off -> Touching while searching through your bags for something to wear -> bed sex -> repeat

Looking thoroughly mauled when you finally manage to get Coco off of you and into the car in search of food the next afternoon.

Coco being happy you can’t cover up due to the heat, while you wonder what superpower he and his boys have that let them wear flannel and long sleeves in the heat.

Dragging Coco to a cute cafe you saw on instagram, and him knowing, by the hipster design of it, that his wallet is about to cry.

Stealing food from his plate, and laughing at him sucking his teeth and whining when he catches you.

“You’re stuck with me forever now Johnny sooo….get used to this.”

“Small price to pay for that I guess.”

Finding small shops to go to and being Siamese twins in every one. Coco showing he has good taste in a lot of things one might think he wouldn’t. Him opening up his wallet at everything you 'ooh' and 'aww' at. He can’t help it, he likes you happy, and your kisses and adoring looks are addicting.

For almost everything you get, Letty gets something too. Neither of you wants that tantrum when you get back.

You fighting yourself to avoid the art supply store, and Coco not having it.

“I have so many supplies already, it’s an addiction at this point.”

“So? Get some more. It’s our week, we shouldn’t stress about shit.”

Coco bragging on your talents and successes to the art shop cashier when you checkout.

“Cocoooo.” you murmur hiding your face in his shoulder, arms around his waist.

“Don’t be shy ma, you’re fucking amazing. I love your skills.”

Cue the cashier swooning at the two of you.

Finding unique liquor stores and getting tipsy on samples. It becomes twice as fun when locals, and other tourists alike, start discussing the Marfa lights with you, and you and Coco impress everyone with your ideas.

Being invited to a bonfire smoke session with the other El Cosmico guests when you get back.

Sketching Coco by the firelight, because he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in that moment, and now he’s officially yours.

The sex being on another level of intimate that night, because all day you and Coco have been engaging in your respective love languages, and it culminates in mutual need for each other.

The drive to Roswell being more tolerable for Coco, but he still misses his bike. Your excitement about AlienFest is so palpable however, he quickly forgets.

Your hotel being more conventional, but the people you meet making up for it. Finally, you and Coco aren’t the weirdest ones in the room.

Taking the time before the festival starts to check in with friends and family and accumulate odd souvenirs for them. You believe Coco is intentionally getting them stuff they’ll hate.

“Taza won’t wear that baby, he has better taste in jewelry than UFO earrings.”

“Ok, but can he bitch about us not getting him anything? Plus, you can guilt anyone into anything.”

Doing cute edible pastries at the festival.

“You know Aliens are demons right? Jack Parsons and L. Ron Hubbard were doing summoning rituals in the Mojave in 1946, and Roswell was the following year.”

“Word?…Shit. Tell me that again when we’re not rolling. I wanna read about it………you’re so smart mami.”

Coco realizing between every snack stop, every dance he shares with you, every trinket you pick up, and every little conspiracy tidbit you share, that you’re his wife now. That the peace he’s been feeling all week, that he thought he’d never have, is going to be his new normal.

New Orleans (EZ)

You and EZ both enjoy engaging with history and culture, and felt that your honeymoon should be built off of your shared interests. During your meticulous wedding planning, it was decided New Orleans would be the honeymoon destination. It didn’t hurt that you missed your southern roots too, even if you weren’t from New Orleans.

Traveling with EZ is a dream considering you’re both pretty organized, together people. He’s not afraid of flying, but you’re always a little nervous.

EZ being Best Husband™️ and soothing even the most minor of your stresses by turning your attention to the excitement of your trip and your new relationship status.

Teasing EZ in-flight won’t get you Mile High Club initiated, because he finds it much more entertaining to punish you by letting you work the both of you up, and making you stay that way for the duration of the flight. He’s got enough will power to suffer through it, because your soft whines make it worth it.

The airbnb is everything it was promised to be, and you’d appreciate that later, but all you can think of is your husband when you step through the door. That’s the other half of why EZ likes to leave you waiting. Your aggression and exclusive desire for him gets, and keeps, him hard.

It rains the following day, which is just as well, because neither of you are quite ready to stop physically expressing your love for each other. The day consists of ordering food, falling out of your clothes and onto each other, separating to read, falling back on each other, and quick naps.

Angel sending mocking texts in your Reyes group about how you’re trying to turn his brother bamma like you, only to stop when you threaten him with no souvenirs.

EZ and you taking responsibility for your own tour because let’s face it, you both know exactly what you want to see, and can plan a more satisfying tour for the both of you. You take turns deciding where to go next.

When it’s his turn, EZ picks an art museum, and can’t quit smiling about it. You think it’s because he picked a place he really wanted to go to.

“Babe, I have a surprise for you.”

“What?” your excitement always makes EZ’s heart race with his own.

He hands you the guide brochure he picked up at the door, folded to the section he wants you to look at.

“Faith Ringgold exhibit?!”

He hums and nods, grunting when you knock into him with a hug.

“Thank you for thinking of me. I love you.” you look up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears and he just kisses you, afraid he’ll cry if he says anything.

The two of you avoid the tourist trap spots for lunch and find a cute family owned cafe. You order for the both of you based on what you know about southern cuisine and both of your tastes.

You love watching EZ fall in love with the food as he keeps asking “Can you make this?” about everything he eats.

The two of you walking through the Garden District in the evening. Hands swinging between you with no plans but to admire the beautiful homes and foliage.

EZ noting how awestruck you are, and you describing what you love about the historic, towering homes.

He catches that when you describe what your dream home in the area would be, he and your future children are mentioned frequently, and it makes butterflies dance in his stomach. He can picture your family in the yards around him.

The two of you almost make it back to your Airbnb, but give into your baser urges after all the domestic conversation. EZ pulls you into an alley for a quickie, the two of you fighting to silence the other’s vocal expression.

You teasing EZ after that he’s more like his brother than he thinks. Him teasing back the two of you would’ve been caught and arrested if he was like Angel.

The following day is relaxed and less planned. The both of you getting thoughtful gifts for each member of your family, blood and otherwise. EZ scores major points for the gifts he suggests for your mom and dad, and you kind of want to jump him again.

EZ is glad you’re impressed, but it’s nothing to him. It all comes naturally because he loves you so much, and refuses to be anything other than the husband he knows you deserve.

AN:

I didn’t want to add this, cuz I wanted to end on a sweet note, but you just know Angel would accidentally send that vid to one of his boys.

Personally, I lose it for shit like this. Anything domestic in writings is my jam, so I decided to make these headcanons.

- Fun fact: Jet Ski is kind of like Bandaid in that it’s become the generic term for “personal water vehicles”, but it’s actually a specific brand’s name for their PWVs. I learned this while writing this enjoy💀.

#mayans mc #mayans imagine #angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #coco cruz #coco cruz x reader #ez reyes #ez reyes x reader #reader insert #angel reyes imagine #coco cruz imagine #ez reyes imagine

328 notes · View notes

kkusuka · 4 years

Note

Helloooo, your writing on the aftermath hc was just ✨immaculate✨ please if you can write more to those i would be super mega happy, just if you want lol. Also I am loving your blog! Hope you have a nice day and a happy new year! <3

stardust you have my heart

da bois : matsukawa, suna, kyotani (daddy maddog), kuroo, daichi, oikawa, futakuchi

pt.1

matsukawa issei

𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚙 ☀︎︎

simply, he has a big dick

and god does he know how to use it

and he’s a quick learner too, by the second time you two fucked he already knew exactly where to aim for you to feel the best

and this is where it all began

what’s worse is sex gets better and better every time he’s in you

but better=harder=longer= you look like you’ve been hit my a car

or was lifting weights the entire night before

the two of you have mastered just ignoring the looks and just the limp in general

but it seemed some people just couldn’t get past it

“ y/n, are you ok? you’ve been limping all week”

yeah issei got a really good laugh at your explaining that you were fine

of course the sex was too good for you to stop

limp or not matsukawa makes it worth it

and having him carry you around the next morning will never get old

suna rintarou

𝕒 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕒 𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕝 ❣︎

even if it’s the total opposite of their school motto, suna likes memories

specifically memories of you bouncing in on his dick

and considering that suna has a fairly high sex drive (no question he’s a horny boy and we know it)

also consider that he not only records but takes pictures, from as many angles as he can

it kills his phone storage!

but you have a phone don’t you? you can just send them to him or something

and by the end of the month both of your camera rolls were full of pictures and videos of you two fucking

even blowjobs

(his favorite tho, a “selfie” of you sitting on his face. back arched and grinding into his face)

yeah the both of you invested in more phone storage and had to filter some stuff to his computer for safe keeping

a tiny little thing

suna doesn’t hide these photos either

all you have to do is open his phone and go to the camera to see anything you’ve pretty much done in the past

this lead to the entire japanese national olympic team seeing more that a few pictures of you losing yourself on him

thanks atsumu, no more selfie’s on suna’s phone

kyotani kentaro

𝒃𝒆𝒅𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒔 

(bed sheet imprints)

face down ass up, somehow you’re always in this position

and we all know he’s got some pent up anger that has to be released in some way

you see where this is going right?

yeah you aren’t getting out of that position until you collapse, but the hell just kinda pick you back up

you know those really good naps? and how you get those imprints you get?

yeah those are alllllll over you, and he loves it

after sex he gets so soft 🥺

he likes to cuddle and we all know it

he’ll lay your body over his and he’ll just rub your arms and just stare at them

he doesn’t voice it but he loves seeing the physical evidence that you belong to him

aaaannnnddd it gives he more of a reason to hold you in his arms

he tell you it’s because he “feels bad” about marking your skin

you’re not gonna argue against you secretly cuddle loving boyfriend

kuroo tetsuro

ʀɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴘᴀɴᴛɪᴇs ꕥ

they are just so hard to get off

it takes too long and he’d just rather be in you

its gotten so bad they you walk around your house with not panties on

its not worth wearing them only to be shredded on the floor like they never existed.

but when you do have your own little protest for your panties

he’ll wave you over and hook his fingers over the sides of the garment

and yank!!

there they go, like they never existed in the first place

that is until you discover his stash of your ripped underwear in his side of your shared closet.

eventually you run out of underwear to rip

and that means kuroo can take you to the lingere shop and buy you a ton on stuff.

but that also mean he gets his annual panty fashion show

you could rival the victoria secret girls when you do it for him

sex is just too good for you to be worrying about some silly panties

sawamura daichi (he is very hot and we need to recognize it)

𝓪 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭 ☯︎︎

Daichi just goes so hard

And he makes you ragasm at leat twice before he’s even in you

Then he fucks you stupid

It is unfair how good he makes you feel

But too many orgasms come with a price

One serious cloudy mind that eventually forms a light head

You can't even think about what you want to do

Its all just fog and orgasic glow

And he knows it too, he purposely makes you unable to think

But when you do come back, a bath is being run for you

And a sort of tea is next to the bed

With either chocolate or another sweet snack of some sort

Even if he is strict in bed, he takes very good care of his baby, a bath and cuddles are just what you need to get back your working mind

oikawa tooru

IᑎᗩᗷIᒪIY TO ᖴOᖇᗰ ᗯOᖇᗪs

This man is lateral mind fuck

Two things play into your inability to speak almost every time he fucks you

One, he wants to hear you scream for him

And that you do

Well you ready don't have a choice in the matter

But after your throat goes raw, you can still mumble some words?

No no no

That won’t do, not at all

So he fucks you as hard and longs as his amazing stamina will allow him too, making you an incompentent mound of flesh

No more words and an accomplished tooru are what you always seem to zone back in to.

But like always he’ll make you some tea and set up a little move and cuddle session

Your voice still hurts in the morning but its all worth it in the end

futakuchi kenji

ⒶⓃ ⒺⒼⓄ ⓇⒾⒹⒹⒺⓃ ⒷⓄⓎ 𓀬

Anything gives this man an ego trip

Moan loudly he’s giving you that stupidly hot smirk

So when you really get off from him he practically sparkling

He doesn't even try to hide it either

He walks around boasting about it

He is so full of himself its ridiculous

But it’s rightfully so, he makes you feel like you're on cloud nine every time he gets a finger on you.

And you should NEVER tell him that, like ever ever

He also tells you that he cuddles you after sex because YOU need it

Yeah liar, he likes it just as much as you do

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#issei matsukawa #matsukawa x reader #suna rintarou #suna x reader #kyotani kentaro #maddog x reader #kyotani x reader #kyotani kentaro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #daichi sawamura #daichi x reader #oikawa toru #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #futakuchi kenji #futakuchi x reader

1K notes · View notes

stopeatingwhales · 3 years

Text

the 1995 brits x damon albarn & liam gallagher

hhhiiii I'm here with a very cute little fic about the brits!! the idea of writing something with Damon and liam fighting over someone was requested quite a long time ago (sorry it’s taken so long omg) but I loved the idea!! I do hope you all enjoy it as I enjoyed writing it a lot hahah xx

Pairing: 90s damon albarn & 90s liam gallagher x reader

Warnings: nothing, just a little bit of bickering n dat

Word count: 3.057

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

Being a part of the madness that adapted the name ‘Britpop’ was truly an experience. Paparazzi at every corner you turn, equipped with the brightest, flashiest cameras, also having the most annoying click noises to the point that after one image you’ve earned yourself a migraine that would last the entirety of the day; parties that would last entire nights, bearing millions of different kinds of drugs - some that hadn’t even been given a name yet, but you’d still give a try anyways, since you’re so high and drunk that you simply lose the intellectual capability to construct decisions, you say fuck it, and get so high to the point that you’ve blacked out in a booth in a bar, with the owner asking you to get out since you’ve been inside for one too many hours after closing time; as well as constant press coverage. With your name plastered over literally every newspaper and music magazine known to man, as well as having your entire life consistently dictated for the entire nation to read about every Sunday morning and indulge themselves into as a form of entertainment, it was what being famous delivered, right on your doorstep at 7 in the morning. Any earlier and you’d feel rude not to give them a cup of tea as a form of dignity and respect towards their sublime dedication to the job. Although it was fun being associated with it all, my band in particular gaining a different form of calidity due to it being a female fronted band, by the time that the entire nation was hooked on this ‘Blur vs. Oasis’ rivalry, it was as if every other britpop band had been washed away from existence, due to eight boys arguing as to whom had the better music. And the better looks, according to Liam Gallagher.

Tonight was the night of the Brit awards, perhaps the most prestigious awards ceremony for music. To be awarded a Brit was probably the largest achievement possible in British music in the form of an award, and it was definitely either going tonight to either Blur or Oasis. The chances that another band, say Pulp, were to get the award, would not only be extremely amusing to see the reactions of the two biggest names in the Britpop game, but would also cause the largest uproar in the nation. It’s either Blur or Oasis. “Their drama is so silly,” laughed Emily, the guitarist in our band whilst flicking through the latest edition of the Sun, the cover of the newspaper being, of course, Liam Gallagher. “They’re literally bickering about who looks the best. How do people find this interesting?”

“Because of how silly it is, people never leave their secondary-school-like selves. Just a bit of fun I guess.” I replied, fixing up my hair in the mirror in front of me. We were currently getting ready to go to the award show, and needing to look your best was an expectation. Though I wasn’t dressed in anything that would result in jaw’s dropping, it was important that I at least appeared somewhat admirable - the entire nation always had their eyes on us, but tonight they were going to see us all, live. Perhaps the reason why bands like Oasis and Blur are so obsessed over nowadays, since all they’ll do is turn up in some flimsy Adidas t-shirt and call that fashion. I suppose scruffy was the new elegant.

“Who do you think they’ll give the award to?” she questioned, still aimlessly flicking through the recycled pages of the magazine. “I think Oasis. Their music is so much better than Blurs.”

“Really? I’d say Blur. They won on top of the pops, so the likelihood of them winning the Brit award is highly likely,” I answered, shuffling away from the strong reflection of myself towards Emily, my eyes quickly scanning the page that she had her eye on currently. “Gosh Liam’s so full of himself.”

“He’s got his eye on you, you know,” She said, shoving the paragraph she had just read in my face of Liam boasting about his little crush he had supposedly gained from watching our latest performance on top of the pops. “Thinks you’re ‘well fit’.”

Scoffing in response, I mumbled back to Emily. “If he thinks that he’s sleeping with me, he’s very deluded.”

By the time we had arrived at the venue, you weren’t able to walk into the entrance without at least 50 cameras blinding your eyes and the shouts of so many begging for you to quickly turn your head and grin - the price for the photo would reach the many thousands. Once walking in, it was less crowded, only having select people by the ground floor, dedicated for musicians and bands, with the occasional interviewer walking past to every circled table, adorned with white cloth and champagne glasses, asking questions about how they’re feeling, who they think may win, and what they thought of the music throughout the past year. What was nice was that people didn’t have that much interaction with one another, just with their groups. It created a sense of formality in the space, which made me feel a bit at ease from the idea of some random row happening in the middle of the floor, most likely between Liam and Damon. The past year in music was truly something. Britpop was at its peak the entirety of the year, with songs like Parklife and Supersonic pouring out of every radio station in Britain that by the end of the year, you had ditched casual radio music and began blasting the classical station. It was a nightmare. Since the fall of grunge subsequent to Cobain’s death the previous year, the talk of any other genre in Britain apart from Britpop didn’t occur. It was as if we were living on this mystical island, miles away from any other music and culture, whilst adorning and obsessing over our own. What was nice about Britpop was that it was a pure celebration of English culture, whether it be a simple Sunday roast, or going to school, they all carried the same ambience of nostalgia and pride - also disregarding whichever band wrote what song.

“Free champagne… Yes please,” said Madeline, the secondary guitarist of the band, whilst heading to the first seat she could sit on, then quickly indulging herself with the first taste of the rich drink. “Oh my gosh it’s heavenly!”

Laughing at her reaction, the rest of the band took a seat around the table and took their first sips of the champagne, which we would all come to find to be indeed heavenly. Small talk was shared here and there with the rest of the group, but overall I stayed silent. In all honesty I found attending award shows was quite boring because if you didn’t end up getting an award, you would essentially be sitting there for two hours doing nothing. Even if you did win an award, it’s simply a minute of glory with the speakers blasting your music, and another minute of all eyes piercing into your soul as you make sentences about your gratitude towards those who had helped you along the way to earn such an achievement. I doubt anybody genuinely liked attending shows like these.

“The champagne is good, yet we don’t get enough for our table,” I complained, grasping my now empty champagne glass and waving it around in the air. “I’m gonna head to the bar to get a refill, anybody want anything?”

After receiving a handful of nos from the rest of the band, I took myself out of my seat and wandered over to the bar, which was empty, perhaps due to the venue not yet being completely filled with all the artists that were set to attend the night. “Just a refill of the champagne, please.” I asked politely, handing the bartender the used glass I had kept in my hand. Whilst waiting, I noticed that Damon was on the other side of the bar, who also didn’t notice me there, until he caught eyes with me.

A grin broke out on his face as I walked over to him. “You alright?” He asked me, quickly thanking the bartender for his drink and turning back to look at me. The height difference between us was evident, but it wasn’t the case of something so dramatic that he was the height of the empire state building and me, just a measly common tower in the city. He looked quite content, his hair scruffy yet neat, along with his outfit being just as I had assumed: a white shirt with jeans, a used pair of Adidas for shoes.

I smiled back at him and nodded. “Suppose you have high hopes for the award tonight.” I said, simultaneously receiving my refill of the beverage I had ordered, followed by my thanks. We stood adjacent, although there was enough distance between us to establish our relationship - mutual acquaintances whom had met every now and again, since they’ve both been dragged into this wormhole of madness. He was quite the opposite in comparison to his rivals, though he himself could be quite bothersome occasionally, he still had a grasp to what those may call sensibility.

“Oh well we’re better than them, aren’t we love?'' He chirped, his head now cocked to the side in a teasing manner. “I’ve heard that you’re rooting for us this year.” He added, a little smirk pasted on his face.

“Do you read every paper you see?” I questioned, my face turning away from him in slight embarrassment. Between us, there was no shared intention for a relationship to stem, though there was definitely a flirtatious tension that followed between us wherever we had met. Whether it be a random photoshoot for a magazine double-spread, or backstage at top of the pops, we always managed to share a chat with one another, and nothing else followed on from then. It was quite sad, because once you’ve established a connection between something you either both disagree or agree with in terms of societal views, something in the press, or life in general, you’re instantaneously cut off and asked to hop onto stage to record a meaningless three-minute performance with fake, plastic instruments which practically mean nothing.

“Well it was nice seeing someone else's face on the papers for once.” He replied, downing his drink, then ushering at the bartender for another. A thing that we both realised was that, between our conversations, we indirectly indicated that we were both there for each other, because we both had a complete understanding towards what may be happening to the other person. It was stressful being in the limelight constantly, and for someone who was the frontman of a band so large, with his face plastered on every magazine cover imaginable, things were bound to be stressful.

Sighing, I turned to face him again. Despite the fact that before I had the ability to respond, our conversation was cut short from a voice shouting my name from behind. “Well if it isn’t bloody Y/N.” the voice said, and from then I instantly knew it was Liam’s. Turning my face away from Damon’s, I locked eyes with Liam. As always, he was dressed in the usual: a parka, with casual jeans. Oh, and don’t forget the Adidas shoes. Even though he and Damon practically hated each other’s guts, they always seemed to have similar fashion senses, but I could never picture Damon in a parka. And I don’t think I even want to.

“How’ve you been love?” He asked, swinging his arm around my shoulder in a warm, but nonchalant manner. Me and Liam had a similar relationship to that of mine and Damons, simply just minusing the sentimentality of it. We were friends, and had come across each other at random parties, which opened the gateway for us to drink and get high together many a time. While he was quite the idiot, he was also a very fun guy to be around, but I knew Damon would never understand that. “And why’re you letting this twat chat to you?”

A laugh escaped Damon’s throat. “I think you’re the only twat here, Liam,” he began, a sigh leaving my mouth as I was trapped in a situation that I could only pray didn’t gain much traction from the rest of the attendees. “Me and Y/N are friends, don’t suppose we’re getting jealous are we?”

Liam’s grip on my shoulder tightened as I stared at his reaction to Damon. I felt quite small in this situation, due to me needing to tilt my head a good amount to properly look at Liam, and knowing if I left it would just erupt chaos and make it worse. “No need for me to be jealous when I know that she wouldn’t want to spend a minute with you in bed you bastard.”

“And you’re so sure about that are you?” Damon replied, amusement laced in his words. “Because you’ve totally spent a minute with her haven’t you?”

“Well I’ve got my arm around her haven’t I? And she’s not stopping me,” Liam argued back, a smirk entwined on his lips. Reaching for my hand, Liam grasped it lightly, then then brought it to his lips, kissing it, before holding it gently. Method of intimidation, perhaps, and though it was sweet, there was a time and place. And this was definitely neither the time, or place. “Who’s the jealous one now, eh?”

“The last I recall, she had hoped that we were winning this year, not you,” He boasted, moving the contents of his drink around whilst grasping it firmly. Whilst it would be something that would offend Liam, he was simply the type of person to not take criticism regardless of whomever it was coming from. I respected him for that. “So much so for a healthy relationship.” Damon mocked, staring into my eyes as a small laugh escaped my lips.

Granted that I had found the argument shared between the pair of them to be extremely silly, it was good entertainment as the time passed before the award show would begin. Watching them both, attempting to throw insults at one another, each one trying to cut a little deeper than the one previous, made me almost laugh at the both of them right there. “You know, it’s so silly that you both think you know me so well to think which one I’d pick from the both of you,” I said, detaching myself from Liam’s embrace and snatching my half-empty glass of champagne. “At this point, it’s neither of you.”

Walking back to my band’s designated table, I quietly took my seat as the show began. “Saw you chatting to Damon,” Emily whispered, raising her eyebrows. “Also saw you grinning like a madwoman.”

“Oh shut up you,” I replied, looking back at the bar to notice that both parties had left, assuming back to their places. “There’s nothing going on between me and Damon- Liam too in fact.”

~~~

As the ceremony went on, the boredom got to us. Even the amount of drinks I had didn’t entertain me, but what could we do, we were stuck in the middle of an award show celebrating music, even though I had largely doubted that the majority of those attending were enjoying themselves. I had no clue who the awards were going to be handed out to, and whether that somebody may be us in a category, but we all knew Blur were going to win something. Yes, Oasis had gained a lot of fame and had become one of the most famous bands in the music scene at the minute, but by the way things had gone for Blur after the release of Parklife, things only seemed to go further up from there. And that was only proven to be truthful, after Blur had left with four different awards.

After Blur had received their fourth award for best British group, we all knew that there was nothing left for Oasis. “They’ll get it all next year, they only debuted this year you know.” I said to the table, who were staring at the four smiley boys on stage as they trotted up to receive their award. I admired Damon as he said his speech, then also turning to look over at Liam, who looked quite evidently pissed off. He was practically drooling in anger from the sight brought to him at that particular moment, and I couldn’t blame him - their band hadn't gone home with one award that night, but neither had ours. “They’ve taken four awards home, isn’t that like, the most anybody has ever taken?”

“Indeed it is,” Madeline replied, taking a sip from her drink. “Must be a good year for them then, eh?”

As I watched the band leave the stage in absolute glee, I stared at Damon as he walked back to his designated seat for the short remainder of the evening. Despite the fact that my band had been sat in our seats the entire evening in complete boredom, just like Oasis and so many other acts that had been nominated for pointless awards, it would be a lie to say that I wasn’t proud of how far Blur as a whole had come and evolved through their music, and especially Damon. From beginning as young, bowl-cut boys only charting so far on top of the pops, to creating songs and melodies that could unite our entire nation, it was impressive.

Damon was the face of Britain at this very moment, and a very good looking one. Once I watched him sit down, he scanned the room for a while until he was able to find where I was sitting, which was parallel to his seat, merely a couple metres away. He connected eyes with me as soon as he found me, also accompanied with a small smirk painted on his expression as he raised his eyebrows and sent me a wink. I simply smiled back at him in response before turning away abruptly, disrupting the little moment we seemingly shared, and though I felt my heart flutter a little, he’s definitely not winning me that easily.

#britpop #fanfic #bandimagines #Liam Gallagher x reader #damon albarn x reader #damon albarn #blur #Liam Gallagher #oasis #blur band #oasis band #my writing #fluff #angst

171 notes · View notes

just6f · 2 years

Text

AMAZING SHIBA INU DOG PLUSH TOY! 12% OFF! Score on one of our trending items such as Shiba Inu Dog Plush Toy Cute Stuffed Animal Creative Soft Doggy Pillow Sleeping Cushion Valentines Day Gift For Kid Girl when you shop our ongoing special sale! This product is just one of our customer favorites, and we're offering our Shiba Inu Dog Plush Toy for just $33.32! Our 12% discount won't last forever, so add to your cart NOW. MORE DETAILS ON SHIBA INU DOG PLUSH TOY Material: Cotton Age Range: > 3 years old Features: Stuffed & plush Gender: Unisex Filling: Pp cotton Get yourself a great product for an affordable price! Don’t miss this opportunity because you don’t get such a good offer every day! PRODUCT QUESTIONS & ANSWERS Can I be sure that your goods meet all the manufacturing standards? We want to treat our customers with the offers of the highest quality, and the same goes for our Shiba Inu Dog Plush Toy. Therefore, we pay close attention to our manufacturers’ record. Can I see more product variations? Please, feel free to look at all the variations of our Shiba Inu Dog Plush Toy. You will find them on the product page. What about taxes? All extra expenses are listed in the final price for your order. You can see it on the checkout page. Therefore, it'll show taxes as well if applied. Is it actually affordable? According to our research, $33.32 is not a high price to ask for such a product, especially while most other sellers ask more. Am I a smart shopper if I buy it? Our store sells products of premium quality only. Meanwhile, our prices are one of the lowest on the market. That’s why all of our customers are happy with their purchases. We’re sure you’ll like the Shiba Inu Dog Plush Toy too. Do you let customers post their photos with your products on Facebook or Instagram? You are free to share any photos and videos of our products because there are no restrictions of this kind. ORDERING & STORE POLICIES Do you have the option of a multiple order? There are no limitations on the number of items you would like to order, so go ahead and buy as many as you want. What if my package gets damaged or is lost during transfer? If something happens to your order, then don’t hesitate to contact us! We’ll find a solution together and offer you a refund if there's damage to the package. I’ve ordered the Stuffed Animal, but then changed my mind! How can I cancel my order? There is nothing to worry about. You just need to contact our support managers and let them know about your issue, so that they could change or cancel your order. Can I place an order for the Stuffed Animal now? Because I'm not sure there's anything left in stock. The product is available. Please, feel free to place your order because we're looking forward to working with you! Aren’t the identical things available offline? As a rule, offline stores put higher prices on these and similar products. Moreover, the number of variations they offer can be quite limited. I am not sure that I should buy it from you. Why to choose your store? We care about our customers and try our best to make them happy. As a result, we offer a wide variety of products and use a customer-friendly return policy. https://just6f.com/shiba-inu-dog-plush-toy-cute-stuffed-animal-creative-soft-doggy-pillow-sleeping-cushion-valentines-day-gift-for-kid-girl/?feed_id=3412&_unique_id=634cc3d066090

0 notes

renatedagmarmilada · 2 years

Text

Forget me not Beijing

The black crepe sky was lit with a myriad of stars on high and fireflies at ground level, hence electric lighting was at a minimum in the whole area. The grass, trimmed down to its roots, rolled up to a very deep pond filled with trout. An Indian owned this stretch of land on the highway as it sped from Beijing. They had wisely bought a massive plot, having smelt the coming wealth- and had turned it into a beautiful forget me not place, of the natural variety, none of your Disney plastic figures, a place where Beijing-ers could to relax under the blue skies on a weekend – The huge trout splashed about in gay abandon around the large artificially brick lined pond. No Chinese place is complete without some form of water in the gardens and the trout were safe enough from marauding cats circling the pond stealthily, as size-wise they were similar.

One of the Indians would fish out the actual fish one desired- or better still, gave you the net to fish with, and then a very beautiful, Chinese girl, and aren’t they all beautiful, would come and barbecue it in front of your eyes. Indian women were not employed to serve. Situated next door to the college, they knew there would be a steady stream of customers till the Beijingers began to move outwards again, to avoid the heavy building pollution infact as they already were in some parts of the city, also the students would be able to return to their homes to tell their families about the place and believe me, the Chinese love holidays and will travel amazing distances in rickety old buses for a glimpse of sea and sand– Some of their ways are a source of constant delight to me still, like the family in Qingdao, who got off the bus and starving, decided to put out a table cloth there and then on the pavement and had their dinner en situ- and gave me a baleful stare when I looked over amazed—but then I have amongst my photographs a photo of a cleaner sleeping, peacefully on the pavement, under a tree during his lunch hour- so forget all your preconceived ideas about the Chinese!

The aforesaid pollution was always seemed at its worst on Fridays, I have no idea why, but that was the day when my lessons finished at lunch and I would travel into the centre to do my ‘foreign shopping’ at the huge German down-town centre, and have a quiet lunch there at the same time.

During daytime, the Indians owners provided endless cricket matches, complete with chairs on the edge of the grounds for watchers, a huge electronic score board and big, frothing tankards of beer. Tea is free in China with all food, as much as you can drink and eat, all night if you pleased, so it was a good idea to purchase some rice in the nearby alleys, where they would serve you a huge bowl of rice at the centre of the table and sticks of meat or veggys with your endless green tea poured all night, at what can only be described as pence.

The Indians however, fed us Pizzas and such other dishes, rather than get into competition with the Chinese, and were much more price conscious, meaning more expensive, than the poor Chinese. These were not exactly poor Indians and they did not really want a poor clientele . Asians tend to borrow European foods and change them slightly, as I remembered too well from sitting in the shade under a massive tree on Saturday afternoons, at the British Council in Lahore, Pakistan, where I would order chips and tea, chips brought on a saucer lined with a paper-doily, sprinkled with chilli, tea in a large silver pot all carefully arranged on a silver tray, brought by white gloved staff to my table dressed with a spotless white damask cloth with not one attendant but two. For myself, I adore Asia.

Ah well,be off to Macdonalds after I finish writing-

0 notes

honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

The Binding of My Heart

Pairing: Dieter Bravo/GN! Reader

Word Count: 2,815

Warnings: None!

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

The prompt for this week’s Writer Wednesday was given by the new and improved @writer-wednesday!

“Mr. Bravo, pardon my language and my bluntness, but you need a fucking hobby.”

Dieter opened his mouth, two seconds from arguing, but his assistant, Peggy, was faster. “Having sex with people isn’t a hobby,” she added sharply. “You’ve gone on one too many lust-driven benders in the past few months, and the director for your newest film is considering dropping you if you don’t clean up your act.”

“Fuck me,” Dieter grumbled, rubbing over his face with one hand. “I assume you’ve found me a respectable hobby? Something to keep me from, what did you say, more lust-driven benders?”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “You pick,” she said, slamming down a small folder. “Find something you won’t hate, or I’ll pick one for you. And trust me, you won’t like what I pick.”

“Try me,” Dieter said, leaning back. He knew arguing with Peggy wasn’t a good idea. She had threatened to quit more than once over his attitude, but he gave less fucks than she did. Plus, she never made good on her threats. She liked him too much to actually quit on him.

But now, she scooped the folder up and pulled out a sheet. “Fine,” she said, still in that same sharp, annoyed tone. “I hope you aren’t aichmophobic.”

Before Dieter could ask what the hell that meant, Peggy stormed out, leaving behind the one sheet of paper. Dieter picked it up, leaning back on his bed and reading it over. It was the information for a small bookstore in the middle of nowhere, the grainy storefront photo showing off a practically ancient building with hand painted signs and a few residents sitting on porch swings in front of the store. Of course. Pretty much the exact opposite from the high and fast life Dieter lived in California.

So, of course, one week later, he was pulling up with Peggy to the bookstore in a tiny town Dieter had been told was called Augusta, Montana.

“They’re expecting you,” Peggy promised. “I called ahead.”

Dieter grimaced at the barely paved roads and the gently swinging porch swing on the store’s porch. “Thanks,” he said dully. “Where the hell are we staying?”

Peggy smiled sarcastically. “I’ll pick you up in two hours,” she said, solidly avoiding the question. “We’re staying with my family.”

She left shortly after that, leaving Dieter standing awkwardly on the store porch. He sighed deeply. At least the air out here was nice. It smelled cleaner, more like dirt and rain rather than car exhaust and weed.

Forgoing knocking, Dieter pushed the door open, hearing a charming little bell and looking around. The whole store was crammed full of bookshelves, the books themselves stacked haphazardly and labeled with handwritten price stickers. There were stacks of books on the floor, some in wooden milk crates and some just spilling across the hardwood. As Dieter gingerly wandered through the store, he found that the natural light faded quickly, until he was solely illuminated by golden lights sunken into the peeling ceiling, some of which still sported pull lines.

Finally, Dieter found a desk. It was, as with everything else, piled with books, but on the barely there blank space was a bell with a little sign.

“Ring for service,” Dieter mumbled, shrugging to himself. “Okay?”

The bell rang out cheerily in the store, and instantly, a voice echoed back. “Be right there!”

Dieter waited, looking at the desk. Behind it was a chair and a few paper bags, along with the oldest cash register Dieter had ever seen.

Crashing and swearing alerted Dieter to your presence, and he looked up at you as you tripped out of the back room and nearly fell face first into the desk. He caught jeans, a worn out pair of boots, and a red flannel before you disappeared behind the desk for good, stumbling and swearing just a bit more as you rightened yourself.

“Good morning!” You said cheerily, a smile brightening your reddened face. Dieter was silent, merely drinking you in. The rolled up flannel sleeves. The shitty band shirt under it. The pincushion nestled against your left wrist, stuck full of pins. The scarily large and sharp metal tool tucked behind your right ear, plus the variety of pens and pencils shoved through your ponytail making a veritable halo behind your head. Finally, Dieter swallowed thickly, pushing past how fucking stunning you were to respond to you.

“I think it’s afternoon.” And he was a complete moron with no flirting skills whatsoever. Fuck.

You laughed, leaning against the desk. “I suppose it is,” you agreed. “Mr. Bravo, I assume? My cousin said you were coming.”

Dieter nodded. “You’re related to Peggy?”

“It’s small town Montana,” you said loosely. “Everyone is related to someone here. Now! I was told you need a hobby.”

“So everyone keeps insisting,” Dieter grumbled.

Your smile was damn infectious as you walked around the desk and took Dieter’s hands. “Trust me, I have the perfect hobby for you.”

You pulled Dieter into the back room, and he followed you willingly. He decided, in that moment, he would follow you to the ends of the world if you asked.

At least until he saw the absolute torture chamber that was your back room.

The entire thing was littered with sharp tools and old coffee tins filled to the brim with an absolute mess of materials. On one wall there was a massive window overlooking the street, and in front of the window was a desk with a massive wooden frame that Dieter decided kind of scared him.

“Have you ever book binded before?” You asked, pushing away a few tins of materials and clearing up some space.

Dieter shook his head. “I don’t even know what that is,” he admitted.

You sat at your desk, pulling up a second chair and gesturing to it. “Guess,” you said with a small smile. Dieter looked over your supplies, the spare papers around and the small mint tin that was now full of sewing needles. The wax block and the spools of thread tossed around, the empty wooden spools sitting in a bucket by the door. Dieter’s brows wrinkled as he examined the project on the wooden frame. A thick stack of papers, folded in half, barely bound together, a needle sitting on top of the stacks of paper.

“Are we making books?” Dieter asked, suddenly wary.

“Yup,” you said, pushing the frame to the corner of the desk. “It’s relaxing. Like embroidery, but a bit more practical.”

Dieter stared at the materials, then thought about the sheer amount of books outside. “Did you bind all those books in the shop?”

You snorted, as if what he said was hilarious. “Fuck no!” You said. “There are three shelves, maybe four, out there near the shop table with books I bound. Everything else was found at yard sales or out of town.”

“Oh.” Dieter felt a bit ridiculous now. “So, book binding?”

“Yeah!” You pat the chair beside you, an invitation to sit. “C’mon. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Which was how you spent the better part of four hours teaching Dieter the ins and outs of book binding. By hour two, he was actually finding it relaxing. You’d given him a simple task. A ten-signature blank sketchbook with decorative cardboard as the cover. Nothing fancy like what you were doing off to the side.

“Oh fuck,” you said slowly as you looked out the window. “We gotta go. Ma’s gonna be putting dinner on the table any minute now.”

Dieter looked sadly down at his book. “But I’m almost done.”

You grinned. “Set it to the side, put a weight on it, and you can finish it tomorrow. Ma’ll kill me if I miss dinner again.”

You have Dieter an old tin to put his materials in, and he carefully left it all on your desk and followed you outside.

“C’mon!” You shouted, running down the street. “We can still make the train if we hurry!”

“The what?” The only train Dieter could remember seeing were cattle trains, and he most certainly was not riding one of those.

You had other plans. The railroad station grew closer and you ran, and just when you got there, a train began to approach.

“Train moves slower than a sinner on a Sunday ‘round here, but it’s faster than walking,” you said, watching Dieter attempt to wrap his head around what you were saying. “We can ride it home. It passes within a mile of the house. Just follow my lead.”

The train, sure enough, was slow enough that it was much less of a struggle to get on than Dieter had assumed it would be. You urged him up first and followed smoothly, dangling your feet out the car as it picked up speed. He slowly joined you, marveling at the sheer beauty of the fields. “Is this what it’s always like?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Ain’t nothing but you and the universe out here.”

Dieter nodded. “Feels like a dream,” he said, looking out across it all.

Getting off was as easy as getting on. You simply jumped, running alongside the train and keeping Dieter steady as he hopped off and jogged a few paces before he was able to slow himself to a stop. You smiled. “First train ride!” You said eagerly. “You’re a natural!”

“Tell me we never have to do that again,” Dieter said, fully out of breath.

“That, Mr. Bravo, is how we are going to be getting to work every day!” You said with a cheerful grin.

Dieter’s groan was loud enough to echo through the entire field.

For weeks, Dieter followed you to work, which was incredibly boring. You barely got customers, but to you, that was optimal. It meant you could spend more time binding.

By the time Dieter had spent two months with you, he’d made seven sketchbooks, each with different stitching methods, and you’d finally set him loose on a real book.

“Looking good,” you hummed, watching Dieter work. “How many more signatures are you looking at?”

Dieter looked at his stack of signatures. “Ten?”

“That’s great!” You said. “I’ll go find the covers.”

You walked out of the room, determined to remember where you’d left the leather sheet Dieter had dyed green yesterday for his custom copy of A Storm of Swords. He’d been working on it for two weeks now, the astonishing amount of signatures a true challenge.

“There you are,” you said, picking up the leather off a rack on the front porch and looking out over the street. “Dieter!”

“What!” The shout carried through the shop, muffled by the sheer amount of books you owned.

“C’mere!”

Dieter came walking out a few minutes later, seeing you swinging lazily on the porch swing. “What’s going on?”

“Mandatory fifteen minute break,” you said lazily. “Sit with me.”

With a roll of his eyes, Dieter sat down, allowing you to continue your gentle swinging. You breathed in the air, watching your wind chimes rattle. Dieter looked over as the wind picked up, making the chimes grow louder. “Wind’s strong today,” he said.

“Storm’s blowing in,” you said. “You can smell it.”

Dieter’s eyes turned back to the horizon, his brow wrinkled and his eyes dark. “A storm?”

“Small one,” you promised. “They happen a lot during the summer. Won’t hit for a while.”

“Okay,” Dieter mumbled.

You two sat in silence for the remainder of your break, but there was something nice about the quiet. It was your routine, the quiet understanding between you both that you enjoyed. Finally, you stood, prompting Dieter to follow you into the back once more.

And you both ended up leaving five minutes later when you ran out of thread.

“This absolutely could’ve been our break,” you said with a groan, stretching as you walked down the street. “I just didn’t realize I was that low on thread.”

Dieter laughed, and you gave him a light shove. “Oh hush up,” you said with a smile. “You’ve made stupid mistakes before, I guarantee it.”

“I have,” Dieter said, but didn’t elaborate as you kept walking.

On your return journey, four brand new spools of thread in your pockets, you noticed the storm was moving in fast. It was sunset, and as the sun moved across the sky, it was blotted out by thick clouds. “C’mon.” You looped your arm with Dieter’s. “We have to hurry.”

“Why?”

“Storm’s almost here.”

Instantly, Dieter froze. “What?”

“Storm’s almost here,” you repeated slowly, seeing the terror filling Dieter’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

Dieter blinked a few times, finally shaking his head.

You watched Dieter closely as the sun finally dipped below the horizon and thunder rolled quietly in the distance. He seemed skittish, almost scarily so. “Dieter?” You asked. “Do you wanna ride the train back home? We might make it back before the worst of the storm if we run. Don’t even have to stop at the shop on the way; I’ll just bring the thread back tomorrow.”

Dieter turned his eyes on you, and you could see the downright fear in his eyes. “I’d like to avoid the rain if at all possible,” he said slowly.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ve got a mattress at the shop. We can sleep there.”

You two began your quick walk down the street. The smell of rain followed you as you walked, and the last desperate beams of sun painted the pavement gold under your feet. Finally, just as the worst of the clouds descended, you reached the storefront.

“In,” you said, unlocking the door and pushing it open. Dieter brushed past you, watching hesitantly as you locked the door again and turned to him. “C’mon Dieter.” You began walking to the back room, not even bothering with lights as you went. “Let’s get some rest.”

The back room was quiet as you began rearranging furniture, pushing your desk against a different wall and grabbing an air mattress from the closet. “I sleep here a lot,” you admitted as Dieter watched you. “It’s almost like a sleepover.”

Once you had the bed all set up and pushed where your desk usually sat, you grabbed a few pillows from the closet as well as a thick fuzzy blanket. “Left or right?” You asked, shocking Dieter out of his haze.

“What?”

“Do you want the left or the right?” You asked again. “I usually sleep on the left, if that makes any difference.”

Dieter silently curled up on the right side of the bed, his back to the wall. You smiled, tossing a blanket over him and settling in beside him.

“Thank you,” Dieter mumbled to the darkness as you pulled the light off. You grabbed his hand, thumbing over his knuckles and reveling in the warmth of his fingers.

“We’re all scared of something,” you said quietly. “Just so happens you’re scared of storms. Doesn’t mean you’re any less of anything.”

“Feels stupid,” Dieter admitted.

“It isn’t.”

Dieter sighed against the silence. “I know.”

The pair of you settled back into the quiet, the steady pattering of rain gentle and calming to you. To Dieter, every time the rain grew harder, he flinched, his hand gripping yours tighter. You cooed softly, drawing him closer and closer until he was molded to your body, his head tucked to your chest. You scratched nonsense shapes against his scalp, feeling his entire body relax into yours.

“Are you practicing stitches against my head?” Dieter asked quietly as you moved your hand from the back of his head to just behind his left ear.

You paused, realizing that, yes, technically you had been. Smiling, you shrugged. “Are you complaining?”

“No,” Dieter decided. “I like it.”

So you kept going until you were certain Dieter was asleep, his body warm against yours as you lay awake in the dark.

“I love you,” you breathed, gently kissing Dieter’s forehead. “Fuck. I told myself I wouldn’t do this.”

“Love you too,” Dieter mumbled, cuddling somehow closer.

You damn near jumped out of your skin. “Dieter!”

“What?” Dieter grumbled. “‘M trying to sleep.”

“You love me?”

“That’s what I said,” Dieter said, his eyes still closed. “Now hush. Sleep.”

You lay back down, allowing Dieter to cling to you once more. Smiling, you finally relaxed fully. “Are you still up?”

Dieter grumbled.

“Tomorrow, we’ll skip work,” you decided. “We can ride the train all the way to the next town over. There’s a diner there that has the best pancakes. It’ll just be you and me. On a date.”

Dieter’s responding grumble sounded much more pleased this time around.

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up out of your chest. “I think that’s a wonderful plan too, Mr. Bravo,” you said before wrapping your arms around Dieter and finally falling asleep.

#the bubble #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing #writer wednesday

48 notes · View notes