jjmaybud

[jjmaybud]

[jjmaybud]

From what I've gathered from my US friends, eggs have become hard to find and are super expensive. Likewise, it's been hard to get your hands on eggs over here too, and I've only been able to get imported ones thus far. This is of course pretty frustrating for someone who uses eggs in cooking frequently.

If you're struggling to afford eggs, and you live in areas where people keep chickens, your first point of call should be to chicken owners. You will be able to grab fresh eggs, generally at a cheaper price than supermarkets, and support local business too!

If you don't have access to this, you can also use plant substitutes in your cooking. This is particularly useful for vegans and those with egg allergies too. I found this table, which will hopefully help you out with using egg substitutes in your cooking. ~Tal

[jjmaybud]

afterglow (tangerine x reader)

summary: tangerine finds himself falling for the girl next door (part 1/3) words: 3.1k warnings: fem!reader, lotsa swears, sexual thoughts, implied sexual situations, implied violence, implied drug use, no use of y/n, neighbours to lovers trope, tangerine's angry inner monologue is a warning all its own, lemon being the best

You’re determined to move your groceries from the boot of your car to the front porch in a single trip. Mind, there’s not more than a dozen or so steps between the two, but it’s the principle of the matter—one trip is so much more satisfying than two. However, your determination did not account for the fact that you bought a family-sized box of Cheerios, a bag of flour, and a carton of eggs along with your usual run of fruits, vegetables, and pasta. Thus, you’re more than a little off-balance as you shoulder your canvas tote bags, your body tilting dangerously toward the left as you try to close the boot with the three fingers on your right hand that remain free. You miss, staggering forward and hitting your knees against the bumper and hissing out a curse.

“You quite alright there, love?” An amused voice distracts you from the pain of what will doubtlessly become a tender spot, though the sudden realisation that you have an audience is horrible, embarrassment flooding through you as you straighten up and try to look composed. 

“Brilliant,” you call back, refusing to look at the man you know is watching you. It’s the bloke next door, on the right, the tall one with the blue eyes and the weirdly retro moustache and the suits that look far too expensive for this neighbourhood. 

You’ve never exchanged more than a few words at a time with him, only interacting when necessary—the time a package of his got delivered to your porch, the time your cat climbed the drooping branches of the willow tree in his yard, and the time he’d nearly run you over with his car during your morning run. Admittedly, that last time had been rather terse, though it hadn’t stopped the minimal pleasantries neighbours were meant to exchange. The two of you still nodded politely at one another if you happened to cross paths. Sometimes you’d give a wave that he would return with a slightly more emphatic nod than his usual. 

So, it surprises you when he starts down his drive toward yours, flicking away the cigarette that had been dangling from his lips moments earlier. You try to hastily correct yourself, balance your posture, rearrange your bags so that you don’t look so helplessly overwhelmed, but his legs are too long and he’s by your side in just a few strides, helping you shrug off one of the totes, and then another. 

“Gonna break your bloody back,” he mutters, tone disapproving as he lifts the bags effortlessly in one hand and carries them to your front door. 

“I was managing,” you say sharply, embarrassment getting the best of you. He snorts, a derisive noise that only seeks to send your guard up even further, a scowl writing itself across your face. “I was!” 

“A simple thank you is all I need, love.” He turns to face you with those dazzling blue eyes and your throat feels suddenly dry, your body pinned under his stare. You want to protest, to underscore the fact that you’ve unloaded your groceries alone more than a hundred times and his little show of chivalry was entirely unnecessary. 

But all you can do is swallow, watching as his tattooed hands pull a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his tailored trousers. 

“Thanks,” you mutter. A grin turns up the corners of his mouth as he lights his cigarette and presses it between his lips. With a nod, he’s heading down your steps and back to his own porch, not another word exchanged between the two of you. 

You can’t stop thinking about him, damn it. Three days later and you’re still remembering the way his eyes danced over you, somehow appraising and appreciative all at once. You think you want to see more of him, feel his hands, that moustache scratching along the inside of your thighs. 

Maybe it’s been a while since you got laid. 

Because you shouldn’t be having these thoughts about the bloke next door—he’s definitely dodgy. He keeps odd hours and disappears for questionable stretches of time. He only ever has one visitor, a friendly bloke, sure, but almost as dodgy, driving a different car nearly every month. And you’re fairly certain you once saw him coming home with blood spattered on his crisp white shirt—not that you were watching, no, you’d just happened to be bringing in the shopping at the time. 

Still, when you find yourself out of sugar in the middle of baking cookies for tomorrow’s fundraiser, you’re desperate. And Mrs. Barry on the left is out at her daughter’s, so you’ve no choice but to go knock on the door and ask porn-stache if he can do you a real quick favour. 

You’re not sure what’s worse. That he answers the door with a gruff “whaddaya want?” 

Or that he’s shirtless, belt buckle hanging open and trousers slung low around his hips. 

“Sugar,” you manage to squeak out. And he raises a thick eyebrow at you, amused. 

“Right, sorry,” he grins, the gruffness gone in favour of something almost teasing. “Whaddaya want, sugar?”

Tangerine never gets visitors, unless he’s counting Lemon. He doesn’t count Lemon because it’s fuckin’ Lemon. There’s obligation there. Call it business. Call it brotherly love. Call it bloody codependency. 

And Lemon has a key. He never knocks. In fact, knocking is utterly fucking suspect in Tangerine’s humble opinion. It meant you were either going to open the door to the world’s dumbest fuckin’ assassin or someone was trying to lure you into a false sense of security. Or it was the lad delivering curry. But he hadn’t ordered any curry. 

So it’s not his fault, really, when he slips his gun into his back pocket before opening the door. The heft of it pulls his trousers ever so slightly more down his hips, but he’d been about to get into the shower and whoever the bastard at the door is doesn’t deserve his decency, not when they’re knocking on his fucking door like he’s invited them over for tea. 

But when he opens the door, his brow furrows immediately because there’s that sweet-looking bird from next door just stood on his bloody porch like she belongs there, eyes wide and a shy smile on her face. Tangerine takes care to puff up his chest a little bit because suddenly he’s not so terribly annoyed. 

Although the gun pressing into his tailbone is a fucking nuisance. 

There’s a plate in your hands, piled high with something that’s wrapped in aluminium, and you hold it out in his direction by way of greeting. Tangerine just looks at your offering, unaccustomed to receiving things. 

“Cookies,” you explain, “From the sugar I borrowed.” 

His brain searches for a snarky remark, a teasing word, anything to make this feel less intimate than it does because you’re standing on his porch with cookies you made for him like he’s not a bloody bastard who killed six men in Cape Town three weeks ago. But, his traitorous brain supplies nothing—not a single syllable to his suddenly parched tongue. 

So, he blinks at you, unsure what to say. His first instinct is to laugh, but he manages to suppress that and instead allows you to instead shove the plate of cookies into his hands and wave an awkward little goodbye. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, watching you walk away with the oddest sense of déja vu. But your front door has already closed behind you. 

Inside, Tangerine sets the plate aside on the corner of the counter, beside the spice rack and tucked away so he doesn’t have to think about the cookies. It’s less about the cookies themselves and more about the inkling of warmth that filled him when you graciously handed him the plate, a small smile playing on your lips like you knew they were fucking delicious. 

He has no intention of eating them. For all he knows, they’re laced with bloody poison. More likely, though, is that they’ll taste like the things he’s missing in his life and that’s so much more fucking depressing. 

He decides to shower, if for no other reason than to wash away the feelings you’ve left like electricity rippling along his skin. And, if he’s being honest, the shower is the best place for him to think about you right now. For…reasons. 

When he emerges, he’s calmer and decidedly happier…until he spies Lemon at his kitchen island, the plate of your cookies—his cookies—open in front of him. 

“Bruv, these cookies are fucking ace.” 

“No, you daft cunt don’t eat those!” 

Lemon doesn’t even pause in chewing, fixing his brother with a confused stare, eyebrows quirked. “Why the hell not?” 

“They’re…fucking hell, Lemon can’t you just listen?” Tangerine is incensed, hands wringing, “You always hafta ask a million questions like you’re the fucking coppers. Really gets on my tits, you know?”

“You’re angry,” Lemon says through a mouthful of cookie. 

“Bloody brilliant observation. Sherlock fucking Holmes over here. Call Scotland fucking Y….” 

“It’s not about the cookies.” Lemon cuts off his ranting with a well-timed observation. 

Tangerine breathes out heavily through his nose. “Sod off.” 

“Is it about a girl?” 

“Not a bloody girl.” 

“A boy?” 

“For Chrissake, Lemon we’re not in the fourth fucking grade!” 

“It’s that pretty little bird next door, innit?” 

“Fuck off.” 

He returns the plate with a handwritten note on a Post-It. His penmanship is nice enough, a neat if somewhat loopy cursive, telling you thank you for the cookies. It was Lemon’s fucking idea, being neighbourly and all that shite. He rings your bell, glad when you don’t answer so he can simply leave the plate on your welcome mat. 

You’re pruning roses the next time he sees you and the look of focus on your face, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, almost makes him smile—bloody fucking hell, who is he? 

Unlucky for him, you notice him and wave, shears in your raised hand so you look a bit barmy until you realise you’re waving a weapon around and quickly tuck them sheepishly behind your back. Tangerine, in a stunning display of idiocy that he will later want to smash his head into a wall over, begins to walk toward you. Like you’re a goddamn magnet. No, stronger than that. The sunshine around which the fucking earth of his own body has begun to orbit. Gravity makes no fucking sense anymore because if it did he would not be falling for the cute smile you fix him with, the stunningly normal and carefree way you adjust your sunhat and point out that your climbing roses are almost taller than you; the manner in which you wrinkle your nose at him and inform him—as if he doesn’t fucking know—that you don’t even know his name. 

He gives you the name on his most recent fake ID, Andrew—a perfectly nice and proper name, but then shakes his head. “Mates just call me Tangerine,” he tells you, neglecting to say that his enemies call him that as well, along with some choice other words.

“Tangerine?” More nose wrinkling and Tangerine is ready to take his own knees out with a billy club because they’re getting weaker by the fucking second standing here with you. 

“It’s a footie thing,” he lies, “That bloke you see coming and going is Lemon. He plays goal” 

“You play football?” 

More lies. More small talk. Until Lemon’s car pulls up and Tangerine is torn between relieved to see his brother and wanting to throw him off the fucking face of the earth. He tells you he best be going. You nod, holding out your hand, encased as it is in thick gardening gloves up to the elbow. 

“It was nice to meet you, Tang—oh! Sorry, is it just a footie thing?”

He takes your proffered hand and gives it a small squeeze. “No, love, you can call me whatever you’d like.” 

It’s 3 in the morning and you can’t sleep, tossing and turning as seemingly every embarrassing childhood moment comes back to haunt you from the depths of your mind. Since your bedroom is no refuge and you don’t particularly feel like catching anything on the telly, you seek a moment of solace on the porch, wondering if maybe, for once, the stars are out. 

But the only light, aside from the artificial yellow of the streetlamps, is the low glow of cigarette embers on Tangerine’s porch and you narrow your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his figure in the shadowy night. 

“Can’t sleep, love?” His voice rings through the silence and you take it as an invitation to walk over and join him. 

“One of those nights, I guess.” You shrug as you drop down onto the porch swing next to him. It’s an oddly homey thing to have there, you think, for a man who is not always home. Tangerine makes a noise of agreement in his throat. He’s familiar with those nights, has them every so often when his birthday is coming up and those incessant thoughts about what he’s done with his life start to creep up on him. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence until your head drops to the side, landing on his shoulder. If Tangerine is surprised by the contact, he doesn’t show it, remaining still other than the slight shift to accommodate you. 

There, on his porch, in the summer heat, you fall asleep against Tangerine, leaving him to glance up at the starless sky in askance because it all feels alarmingly normal and he doesn’t hate it.  

There’s screaming on the lawn. Not his lawn, so he shouldn’t really get involved, but the angry voice of a man calls out your name and his ears perk up, less out of interest and more out of a sudden desire to murder any bastard who dares raise his voice at you. 

Quietly, Tangerine slips out his front door to see what’s unfolding. You’re stood on your porch, arms crossed over your chest in defiance. There’s a man on the lawn, consumed by rage by the looks of it, and Tangerine contemplates popping inside to grab his gun.

“You stupid bitch!” 

“Get the fuck out.” Your voice is hard and Tangerine feels a stitch of pride at how stoic and unaffected you look by the absolute meltdown happening ten feet in front of you. But then, the man threatens to kill you and Tangerine is across his yard faster than he’s ever moved before, his fingers wrapped tightly around this fucking bloke’s wrist, staying him.  

“I think fucking not, mate,” Tangerine’s voice is low and threatening. “You touch her and I will cut every fucking one of your fingers off then shove them up your bastard arse before I fucking kill you. You don’t even fucking look at her. Tuck you tail between your legs and get the fuck out of here before you make me do something I’m gonna have too much fun doing to fucking regret.” 

It all happens quickly after that. The man shrugs Tangerine off, curses at him, looks about to pick a fight but must see the seasoned glint of violence in his blue eyes because he curses again and leaves in the car that’s been idling in front of your house the entire time. 

Tangerine turns to look at you with a raised eyebrow and he knows it’s a stupid fucking thing to say but he goes ahead and says it anyways because he can’t fucking help himself. “Didn’t mention you had a boyfriend, love.” 

To his surprise, you laugh. Loud. Heartily. It almost makes the tears that have welled up in your eyes disappear, but he can still see them. “That wanker was not my boyfriend.” When he looks at you, silently giving you space to continue, you sigh. “Brother,” you clarify, “He stops by once in a while for money.” 

Tangerine nods and you step into the front door, leaving it ajar for him to follow. “I’m making some tea,” you call over your shoulder, “Care to join me?” 

After that, he starts stopping in regularly. 

At first it’s just tea, sipped across from one another at the small glass table in your breakfast nook. Tangerine greets your cat, settles into his seat, talks about the latest book he’s reading. You try not to smile too big when Shelley, the cat in question, curls up on Tangerine’s lap, nor when he pretends to be cross about fur on his expensive pants. You pour the tea, respond in kind about the things you’re reading, complain a little bit about work and eventually, because he doesn’t offer the information freely, ask what it is he does for a living. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but when, with zero hesitation, he tells you he’s a banker you’re a little surprised. 

Soon, tea turns into suppers spent with your feet kicked up on the coffee table, plates balanced on laps—much to Shelley’s dismay as it means Tangerine’s legs are unavailable for snuggling.

You find yourself growing fonder of this man who has carved his way into your heart, made a place for himself amongst the fixtures of your home. He’s got sharp edges, certainly, yet you can’t help but to get caught on them, snagged on the roughness of him. 

After six or seven or eight dinners—you’ve lost count—you realise you want more. You don’t want to say goodbye to him only to retreat to your empty bed and thoughts of his hands and his lips. So when he says he ought to be going, you take a leap of faith. 

“Wait,” you whisper, gathering your nerve, hoping you haven’t grossly misjudged the situation. “Stay?” You voice quivers on the word, makes you sound uncertain, so you steel your nerves and try again. “I want you to stay.” 

It’s the first time you’ve seen Tangerine look flummoxed, look anything less than totally and completely sure of himself. He leans in slightly, clasps his hand over where you’re still holding his arm. “Love,” his voice is low, so dangerously low you might just fall into him straining to hear, “If I stay…” 

His words trail off, but you know what he’s implying. If he stays then you’ve crossed a line there’s no uncrossing. If he stays, he’ll want all of you that you’re willing to give. If he stays, he’ll absolutely ruin you for anyone who might come after him. 

“Stay,” you repeat, pressing your forehead to his. 

So he does. 

[jjmaybud]

Ahhhh thank you! 🥰

skin | pope heyward

summary: you like physical contact and you can’t stop touching your boyfriend.

pairing(s): pope heyward x fem!reader, platonic!pogues x fem!reader.

word count: 1.82k

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, lots of touching, fluff, aged up characters, mentions of smut (I think?).

author’s note: pope’s getting the love he deserves. everyone should just love the hell out of him. no outer banks season 2 spoilers! this takes place before the show.

Keep reading

[jjmaybud]

JOE KEERY

[jjmaybud]

the concept and idea of “you can always start trying to be a better person” is extremely important to me both in media and irl and i continue to be deeply deeply disturbed by the trend on this site pushing that these ideas in media are bad writing or even morally reprehensible

because theyd rather someone stay terrible or just straight up die than become a better person 

from a compassionate point of view it’s deeply distressing and from a pragmatic point of view it’s outright frustrating

it’s fucked up. 

[jjmaybud]

btw it's okay if you can only convince yourself to do things with silly reasons. when i wash my face i narrate a "skincare routine" youtube video in my head. once, a pretty girl once said she was attracted to me while i was moving crates around, and that was my motivation to do yard work today. exercising is a lot easier when i think about how i want to be able to pick up my niece and swing her around even when she's older.

so like if pretending you're doing real-life stardew valley gets you out in the sun, or if making yourself a good meal makes you feel like you're the host of a cooking show, do it! do whatever you need to do to take care of yourself!

[jjmaybud]

Btw you can be intensely critical of the Democratic party and recognize that it is full of aged out of touch moderates who are refusing to meet the urgency of the moment,

and also recognize that voting for Democrats is extremely important because it allows things like the confirmation of Justices and prevents the literal fascist party from gaining more power and that harm reduction is an important end in itself

These things can coexist

Politics is a long game. Being disappointed and angry today does not obviate your responsibility to participate

[jjmaybud]

no but like. there's something so surreal about changing your hair and wearing the kind of clothes you want after a lifetime of pretending you're someone you're not and an even longer lifetime of rediscovering yourself to become the person you want to be and then finally getting to look in the mirror and going wow !!! yeah !!! that's me !!!! i want that someday and i hope everyone who doesn't feel like that yet will too soon

[jjmaybud]

potential request if you please 😘😘 where Eddie Munson is your friend and when your car breaks down he jumps at the chance to offer you rides because he lowkey has feelings for you and perhaps,,,, those feelings get confessed ? 👀 And he gives you a little kith (or not, I trust your artistic judgement)

hi meg i love u meg

eddie is the kind of guy who will go out at any time of night to come collect you if you tell him about your car. obviously this is the 1980s so you can't even casually hit him up, you gotta trek down the weird hawkins back roads to a diner to use their phone and he drives there to pick you up

it's even worse that it's late at night and raining and by the time eddie gets to you, you're drenched to the bone and there is mud up your jeans

for a second he's mad at you for walking in the dark by yourself but when he realises you were actually being really sensible he calms down a bit

eddie isn't an over-protective guy by nature. it's just that he's high key completely in love with you and the idea of you walking in the dark alone at night is not something that sits well with you

he just makes a joke about it though bc when is he ever all that serious?? he's just like it's almost like you're trying to get caught up with the weird demons

eddie takes you back to the trailer bc it's closer to the diner than your house; plus it's late as hell and raining cats & dogs and you're already tired

he gives you some clean clothes - that smell low-key of tobacco, and his everyday scent and just quintessentially eddie - and you pass out beside him on the sofa under a blanket, head lulled against his shoulder

it's bad news for your car tho. it's gonna be expensive to fix and you won't have the money for a while

naturally, eddie is super happy to drive you anywhere and everywhere - to and from work, to and from the various calls you get from steve where he's all help dustin disappeared and i think max is possessed and mike is asking for me girl advice and nancy is right there and i can't say "keep whoever you're in love with AWAY FROM JONATHAN BYERS" whilst she's here

at first, it's just pure fun. you'll throw some tapes on and sing along loudly to whatever eddie is playing and honestly?? you just look forward to those short journeys you're spending together

then one day a guy from work asks you out to the movies and you say yes - you're not gonna ask eddie for a lift bc a) you're not about to tell the guy you probably like that you're going on a date and b) it's a re-run of return of the jedi and you can't be arsed to hear his 20 minute rant on whether or not you can domesticate ewoks

but the date goes terribly and you leave halfway through because this guy is just fucking weird and clearly only wants for one thing so you use the theatre's phone to call eddie and he's there in a flash

and when he sees you stood outside in the rain looking defeated as fuck it breaks his heart

you explain what went wrong: the guy was handsy and weird and creepy and this is your fourth bad date in two months and when you say that you might be the problem, eddie near enough stops the car right there and then

"you're not the problem. they're all the problem. you're amazing."

that's when the atmosphere kind of shifts and eddie decides that it's now or never because it's dark and raining and goddamit you're wearing his jacket

"i like you. i've always liked you. i think i like you now more than ever and i really want to kiss you"

eddie rambles. eddie always fucking rambles but hell, this is the one time you're not gonna stop him

he almost gets a little shy when you say "so why haven't you kissed me yet then?"

eddie is gentle. way gentler than you thought, and it takes him a minute to find his footing because he is literally shaking

but when he does work it out, with one hand on the back of your neck and the other on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles into your leg as he softly kisses you??

hell you would have cut your brake cables years ago if your car breaking down was all it took

[jjmaybud]

Time For Finals - Eddie Munson

Words: 3.3k+ Type: Smut Summary: You help Eddie study, but he gets distracted. Warnings: Fem!Reader [no mentions of race or body type]. SMUT (minors DNI): fingering, dom!eddie, orgasm delay, pleading. A very long build-up to the smut (sorry).

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you'd like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

By clicking “read more” you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and mature enough to read mature scenes :)

It’s that time of the year once more. Time for Finals. It's weeks away, in fact.

You’re not one to really freak out when it comes to this. You’re a good student. Whereas for your boyfriend… Not so much.

Eddie is... different. You know it and you like to tell that to everyone that might be interested. He has failed to finish high school two times, but you really think that he is more than capable of finishing it. His biggest issue is simply that he doesn’t like to study. It's a common thing with many teenagers, and, because of that, you’re ready to help him this time.

Not too late after you two started dating, you’ve declared yourself as the one who will help him graduate this damned year. Even if it's just for him to actually have the graduation ceremony that he fantasizes so much about and all the other things he wants to do there - which list grows by the day, at this point.

But, here’s the catch. You don’t know why, but you thought that this task wouldn’t take too long to achieve. You thought that it would be easy. You just needed to help him ace his finals and you know he’s capable of doing all of that. So... what changed?

A dramatic whine rips through the bedroom's silence, making you roll your eyes. You look up from your History book to Eddie, laying in his bed and on his stomach with his face in between his pillows. You let out a simple sigh and wait for him to finish his dramatics.

“This is so boring.” He groans, voice muffled from the pillows.

“Eddie, come on.” You huff, “The more you whine, the more time we’ll spend on this.”

He doesn't move, but you continue to look at your boyfriend. He’s still with the clothes that he wore to school, so he probably isn’t that comfortable on the bed. His face has completely disappeared in the middle of the pillows and all you see, really, is his hair, funnily enough. 

You continue seated next to his body, looking at him as if you’re counting how much time he will take to notice that you’re not giving up. That and whenever he’ll have to move around in bed because leather and spikes can't be that comfortable.

Almost right after you think that, Eddie has that exact problem and rolls on the bed to now lay on his back. His eyes find you right away and he offers you a sweet grin. The same one he uses to get out of trouble with you, every time.

“Can’t we do this like… tomorrow?” He asks, sounding sincere.

“That's what we agreed on yesterday.” You remind him.

Eddie closes his eyes in realization and lets out one of those dramatic breaths again.

“We have to do this.” You tell him softly, “And then we’re done. For the whole rest of the day.”

He reopens his eyes to look at you and think about his options while admiring your face. He scootches a little further from you and then taps the bed beside him, telling you to lay down with him.

You do as he wants, laying on your stomach beside him, not caring enough to smooth down your clothes, which most possibly have moved a lot with all of your sitting and laying.

Eddie turns his head to you while you hold yourself up by your elbows, and you set the History book in front of you, right by the pillows. You look back at him and admire his face as well, doe brown eyes looking right back at you.

“Can we do it tomorrow?” He asks again, his voice much, much softer, almost as if he’s trying to enchant you in some way. “Please?”

You stare at him lovingly, listening to his every word, and Eddie finds some sort of hope growing in his heart.

“No.” You tell him. “Finals are in 2 weeks, Eddie. I’m not letting you fail.”

“But what if I do fail?” He asks curiously, but, deep down, teasingly.

“I’ll be disappointed.” You tell him straightforwardly.

“There’s always next year.” He teases you, granting him a smack on the shoulder.

“You are graduating this year, don’t you dare say those things.” You say mid-smack.

Eddie sits up quickly, totally out of nowhere, and you look up at him. He looks down at you, masking his real emotions from his face with more of his theater skills. He has this sort of confused and hurt expression on his face.

“You wouldn’t wait for me if I failed this year?” He asks.

You smile at his performance and simply shake your head (insincerely) with a tight-lipped grin. Eddie’s jaw falls and he brings his hands to the left side of his chest, acting as if he’s clutching onto his cracking heart. He groans in fake pain and even frowns as if you had actually physically hurt him. The fictitious pain grows worse and worse every second as his heart shatters more and more.

You? Well, all you do is stare, really. And as the show continues, you begin to open back your history book in front of you. You change pages, back to where you left off 2 days ago.

Eddie falls back to the bed with, now, his broken heart and hands still clutching onto the pieces. You give him a look, and he doesn’t change his expression. The show is still going.

“Page 80, Munson. Let’s go.” You tell him.

He lifts his hands from his chest in defeat and sighs, slightly disappointed that it didn’t work to get you distracted enough. He extends his hand toward you, and you smile as you pass him the book. He grabs onto the history book and hovers it over his face as he begins to read.

You look at him as he does it and lay your cheek on your fist, trying to get comfortable.

“You studied those, right?” You ask him, “Like I told you to?”

“Of course.” He scoffs.

You smile and lean in closer to him. You lay your chin on his shoulder and he continues to read the pages he absolutely only read half off before dozing off to sleep 2 days ago.

“So you know everything?” You test him.

“Duh.” He sends you a look.

“Seriously. Is there something that you don’t understand? I can help.”

Now that makes him go silent. His eyes move through the page, moving from word to word, trying to remember if there was anything that made him confused when he first read them. The truth is, if he could, Eddie would say “a little bit of everything” but he knows that you need specifics to be able to actually help him.

He changes pages, and you look at him as he does it. You don’t speak, not wanting to distract him as he looks for what he needs.

“This.” He points.

You look over at the page he’s pointing at.

“I did not understand anything about this.”

Secretly, it’s what made him fall asleep all those days ago. The words didn’t make sense to him. The historical events were described in an unnecessarily hard way and, no matter how many times he tried to read them and understand them, he just didn’t. And that is what made him fall asleep.

You grab the book from his hands and quickly sit up. You sit on your knees, heels to your butt as you hold the book in your hands. Eddie stares at you sitting high, right next to his laying body. You stare at the pages with attention, and Eddie watches as a concentrated frown cutely overtakes your face.

“Okay.” You say to yourself, “So, I’ll give you an overall summary of it first, and then, I’ll add the details that probably will be on the test, okay?”

He nods at you. 

You open your mouth and begin to speak. You make sure that the words you use are simple, almost as if you are explaining the whole thing to a child. Not in a demeaning way, of course, but in a way to make it seem just as simple as it really is without all of the small details.

Eddie listens to you attentively, and you continue to be so careful to not break his attention, looking him right in the eyes whenever you look down at your book to assure yourself that what you're saying is correct.

What you’re saying, in the end, makes absolute sense, and Eddie understands it right away. He nods for you to continue when you sometimes add a small question - a test to see if he is listening - and you keep on going.

“Did any of this make sense?” You ask him and he assures you with a nod.

You turn the page to start with the details. As you read quickly from your book where to start your new explanation, Eddie’s eyes scan you. Your thighs are exposed by your skirt. It has moved a little when you moved to sit up. He stares at the flesh like he’s in a trance while you sit there in silence.

He'll never get over the sight of seeing you in skirts. A blessing to anyone's eyes, really.

You open your mouth to speak again and look up at him to find Eddie staring. You snap your fingers in front of him, and he comes back to reality, looking right back up at your face. And, with that, you begin explaining the harder part of the historic event.

Eddie tries his best to keep up with what you’re saying, and you sometimes even repeat explanations of certain people’s involvement. He nods the whole way through.

You turn the page again and keep on with your explanation. Mid-sentence, you feel something warm on your knee. You don’t stop and just look down to see how, without looking, Eddie laid his hand on your knee. His thumb moves side to side, smoothing over your silky skin, and, still, you keep on going.

“And that is mostly it.” You finish.

You and Eddie move along. You ask him some questions here and there to make sure he knows the easier parts you’re learning, which, to your relief, he answers all of them correctly. And right as he finds another part of the book which he doesn’t understand, you do the whole thing you just did, again.

Eddie points at another page by the fifth time, and you patiently grab the book again and do as you’ve done before. This time, he isn’t paying attention. Eddie’s just nodding to what seems right to do so.

His hand has stayed on your knee for long enough for you to not even notice when he moves it slightly more to one side or another, you just keep on with your talking. Whenever you’re not looking at him, Eddie’s looking right at your thighs again or how your boobs look on the tanktop you’re wearing.

His hand moves away from your knee over to the inner side of your thigh carefully and slowly. His touch is warm and soft, you don’t say or do anything to stop him.

You change pages and lay down your book in front of you. Eddie’s hand lays still now at the top of your thigh, right at the start of your skirt. His fingers move discreetly and go under the fabric. You sit back straight before continuing to add the details.

You look over at Eddie as soon as you feel his hand already under the fabric of your skirt. You stop talking this time and bring your hand to grab Eddie’s wrist, but his hand doesn’t stop moving - his fingers still caress your skin like before.

“Are you listening to me?” You ask him and he nods, “Eddie, I’m serious.”

“Me too.” He says.

Eddie never had problems understanding this side of history, that’s why he chose this page in the first place. He’s a little mean for interrupting your tutoring, but not to the point of destroying his progress in history class.

“Then why is your hand in between my thighs?” You ask him, still holding his wrist.

“I just like having it there.” He shrugs, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Keep going, I was listening.”

With a sigh, you do as told and it doesn’t even take you a full pair of seconds to know how your studying plans have gone right out of the window.

Eddie's hand tries to move higher and higher up your thigh, and you continue to say everything that he needs to know. All just in case some words actually do get into his brain while he does this.

Eddie looks up to check on you, and you roll your eyes at him. His hand moves just a tiny bit more, and you move one of your thighs to the side, parting them and letting Eddie’s hand now move freely up and down the inside of your leg. As soon as he does it, you feel shivers run down your spine as his cold rings touch your inner thighs.

You move to a few other pages, and Eddie’s hand completely disappears under your skirt. You try to control your breathing, but feel his thumb smooth down your slit over your underwear. Your hands move to grab Eddie’s wrist again, but you stop yourself.

His fingers move on top of your underwear, at first, so light as if they're hovering, but, at one point, he finally makes some pressure. Your jaw clenches slightly, and Eddie’s grin reappears on his face. He lifts his fingers and grabs onto your underwear, pulling it to the side.

His pointer finger moves, without any hesitation, through your folds and moves up and down your slit. Your wetness quickly coats the pad of his finger, and the words have finally stopped coming out of your mouth. His middle finger begins to move with the other, collecting your wetness as it covers his digits.

Your eyes move back to Eddie, and his other hand moves to hold onto the fabric of your skirt.

“Move closer.” He tells you.

You do as told and move on your knees, letting the coldness of the room touch your uncovered pussy. Eddie’s fingers come back as you now are more than at his reach, sitting right at the height of his chest.

“Hold this.”

You hold the fabric of your skirt and, just like that, Eddie’s fingers slide inside of you with ease. You let out a weak breathy moan, and Eddie’s eyes watch as your cunt swallows his fingers. They come out glistening with wetness, and he groans out loud.

He moves his fingers in and out of you slowly, watching them disappear and appear again, enjoying the way your walls squeeze them. He hears you let out a gasp for each of the times his fingers reach inside of you. He knows you want him to start moving faster, but he can’t help but want to enjoy the view for a little while longer.

Your hips move to meet his fingers whenever they move upwards, and Eddie smiles at the sight. He meets your movements with his hand, just like you want it, and small moans start coming out of your mouth as pleasure finally starts to consume your whole body.

“Ride my fingers, baby. Go on.” He tells you.

His order makes you move faster, just at the rhythm you’ve been wanting since he started. Eddie helps you by moving his fingers with you, and the sounds coming out of your mouth begin to get louder. Eddie curves his fingers and matches their rhythm to your movements, blessing his ears with the squelching sound that breaks the lack of noise in the room.

Your moans begin to be louder as well, and Eddie slides in his third finger with ease. They go deep in you and appear shining with your juices all the way down to his knuckles. Eddie stares at all of it as if he’s staring at paradise on Earth.

“Eddie...” You moan breathlessly.

He smiles and speeds up. The sounds of squelching worsen, and your body warms as you first notice the sound, making you even wetter. You grip onto your skirt, and Eddie notices how your boobs move with your ups and downs under your tank top a little too freely. He, in a quick movement, pulls down the fabric from your cleavage and exposes your boobs, with a clear lack of a bra.

You prefer to take out your shirt, and Eddie gladly watches as you grab onto it. He holds the skirt for you but, right as you bring your hands up to take the tank top off and throw it, he speeds up his fingers.

You let out a loud moan, shirt now off but you’re still clinging to it. He speeds up more, and you breathe recklessly while looking down to watch as his fingers move at an incredible speed. He smiles as you begin to break under his touch and you open your mouth to speak, but that only makes him move his fingers quicker, making you lose yourself all over again.

“Mhm.... Ed-Eddie, please.” You try to say it out loud, but your words come out as a whisper.

“What, baby? What?” He mocks you with a fake caring tone, continuing to work his fingers inside you as if it’s no deal to move that fast.

“I- I.” You try to speak but you force your mouth closed to not let out a bunch of nonsense.

Eddie chuckles out loud at your lack of words and continues to move, watching as you grow impossibly wetter and eventually closer to your release. One of your hands moves over to his wrist, almost as if to stop him but you never begin to do such a motion, you just hold it as it moves.

“Can-Can I come…” You ask in a whisper, “Please?”

Your last work comes out as a loud moan as Eddie never slows down for your sake and watches as you shatter slowly. He smiles brightly at the sight of such a beauty, but he doesn’t answer you just yet.

“Eddie…” You moan in a pleading tone. “Please, please, please.”

You whine out the pleading, and he lifts his head from the pillows to move closer to you. He watches from up close how your body moves, how your boobs jiggle, and how your hips begin to lose a little bit of control under all of the pleasure.

“Please.” You say as you can’t exactly hold back any more.

He smiles up at you and sits up, slowing down his movements as he does it. He then restarts the rapid speed all over again with absolute no remorse. You moan out loud again, pleasure never really leaving you at any point, and he lays a kiss on your cheek.

You let go of your shirt and hold, with your free hand, onto his shoulder. He keeps moving his fingers as he leans in close to you, and that is when he whispers.

“You can come, baby.”

As soon as his words begin, he watches as you fall apart. Your moaning gets louder, your walls squeeze his fingers tightly, and, when his thumb moves to touch your clit, your body begins to spasm with the overstimulation.

He watches as your moans become whines and then soft mumbles. Your head is overcrowded with all the overwhelming pleasure, and your body is still going through the aftershocks.

You open your eyes to look at Eddie. You do it with hazy eyes, and a tired expression. He smiles at you and gives you a quick kiss. His fingers still move inside you, yet it's so much slower than before, that it almost doesn’t even feel right. You feel how sensitive you've grown to touch, almost to a point of oversensitivity. His touch makes you move slightly as he does move deeper or faster. Your oversensitive cunt hurts, but the pain under his touch is more than bearable. You moan into his kiss and he smiles before pulling away.

“Lay down.” He tells you, “I’m not done with you.”

My first ever Eddie fic!! It's really not my best work, by far, but I hope this was okay <3 Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!!

[jjmaybud]

Eddie Munson ~ The Adventurer and the Dungeon Master

*I DON’T OWN THIS GIF* *CREDIT TO GIF OWNER*

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Work Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Mild language. Description of a hot makeout session.

Requested by @violetrainbow412-blog​

hello! how are you? I hope you are well

I was wondering if you could write something with Eddie Munson (if I’m too specific, sorry) where the reader is in the Hellfire club and is GREAT at D&D, so everyone thinks she and Eddie hate each other or something like that, but for some reason they end up breaking the tension with a make out session lol

I hope you feel like writing it and if not, that’s fine anyway! <3

a/n: I thoroughly enjoyed writing this request, and I hope it is what you wanted.  I was an 80s fiend long before Stranger Things came out, so I love writing these imagines where I can insert music that I love.  If you haven’t listened to Play Deep by The Outfield, go do it now.  It is one of my favorite albums.  I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!  Thank you again for reading, liking, reblogging, and following.  I’ll be outlining a 001 request and posting that shortly so stay tuned.  Remember that my asks and requests are both open.  Enjoy!

                                         §

You sat, headphones blasting “Say It Isn’t So” by The Outfield and feet propped up on the lunch table, staring at Eddie. This was an everyday occurrence for you. You would sit by yourself fawning over the curly-haired boy while the rest of the Hellfire Club took residence at a table in the middle of the lunchroom. You never sat with them, preferring to sit alone. You also didn’t want to upset Eddie more than you already had when you joined the club. It wasn’t long ago when Dustin had insisted you go with him to one of Eddie’s campaigns. Having been his babysitter since he was in elementary school, he knew that you were extremely skilled at D&D. At first, you refused, but when Dustin came up one day and threw a club T-shirt at you, you couldn’t continue to avoid it. You attended the campaign, and it was then that you came to the conclusion that Eddie didn’t like you. Not only did he blatantly try and have you not play, when you absolutely dominated his campaign, he looked as if someone had just spit in his face. After that, even though you became an active member of the club, you tried to keep your distance. Dustin seemed to believe that Eddie did like you, like a lot. In fact, his exact words were, “He’s madly in love with you, Y/N.” But you didn’t see it. You and everyone else firmly believed that Eddie did not like you. End of story.

Keep reading

[jjmaybud]

Afterparty - Eddie Munson

“Are you good?”

“I’m celebrating our victory in combat,” you chided. 

“Uh-huh. Ya know you keep puckering and unpuckering your lips, right?”

You turned your head against the rough couch cushion, your hair frizzing up with the friction, to look at Eddie. His dark eyes were laser-focused on you, flicking up and down your lazy-limbed recline on his mottled-brown sofa. It felt as though he were drinking you in or attempting to melt you down into a puddle of goo with the searing softness of his gaze. Then, he could consume you like one of his dungeon monsters.

“Why are you looking at my lips?”

“You’re drunk, sweetheart,” Eddie said after a beat, his eyes falling away from you as he stood from his chair, nasty beer in hand: his post-successful Hellfire Club meeting treat. It was rare that you partook, but finally beheading the Greater Basilisk you and the boys encountered the last session demanded something for your fried nerves. Your own bottle stood emptied on the floor near the couch.

“Am not. Just tipsy is all,” you replied, sitting up on your elbows to try to get a better look at Eddie as he drew closer. The uncharacteristic seriousness you found on his face soon faded as he bent down to collect your finished drink. Curls spilled in front of his face as he moved, nearly obscuring his eyes. When you smiled at the sight, Eddie smiled right back.

“Sure ya are.” His words came out in a low breath and were laced with a rumble from the back of his throat. “C’mon, let's get you home.”

You huffed, mostly to diffuse the fluster that fell upon you, as Eddie turned his back to you and stepped into the trailer’s kitchenette. Glass clattered against the laminate countertop as he set the bottles down to rummage about. Drawers opened and closed, followed by a mumbled curse.

“You never answered my question,” you pressed, watching Eddie’s head of brown hair flit about. It was his signature ‘where did I put the van keys?’ dance. His hands drummed against his thighs, giving you a denim-dulled beat to listen to as you teased him from the couch.

“Yeah, well, it was a dumb thing to- Jesus Christ! Where did I put…?”

“What are you looking for? Another excuse?”

“Very funny, L/N. Your talents are being wasted as a Fighter in the campaign, ‘cause clearly you’re a Bard with all your,” Eddie let out a sudden, borderline euphoric sigh and you saw his hands shoot up into the air. “Found ‘em!”

You stayed propped up on your elbows as the Dungeon Master started towards you once more, this time with keys in hand. His layered jackets fanned out with his quick movements, which made it look as if he were wearing a miniature cape. A short but sweet laugh slipped from your mouth at the sight. For Eddie, that was a battle cry.

“Laughin’ at me in my domain? Not very nice. May have to banish you and your drunken ass,” he announced, crouching down beside the couch. His face was mere inches from yours.

Somehow you managed to hold your ground and not lean further in. Though every fiber in your body screamed to get even closer. “I. Am. Not. Drunk. That beer was shit.”

“Really?” He crossed his pointer finger along your vision, trying to distract you. Your eyes remained trained on his. “‘Cause I think your sight might be impaired.”

“Really,” you echoed, looking up at him. Eddie smiled then, wider than before, and a warmth like alcohol rolled down your chest to your stomach. Spurred on by not-so-subtle, inebriated instinct, you felt yourself pucker and unpucker your lips.

“You did it again,” Eddie said through a laugh, “what the Hell is that?” The crinkles by his eyes became more prominent as his smile deepened, allowing the melodious sound of his joy to fall easily from his parted lips. Dark eyes flicked across your face, up and down. From your eyes to your lips and back again. Drinking you in.

“Maybe I want a kiss, Munson.”

The words, in all their sobering glory, hung in the air between the two of you. Eddie’s eyes were wide, the widest you had ever seen them. Not even a rogue move or devastatingly tide-turning dice roll during a Hellfire meeting could conjure the shock you saw before you at that moment. As the quiet stretched on, you worried that, for the first time in his life, Eddie was stunned into eternal silence. Nervously, you shifted on the sofa to you were sitting up, right in front of the man  in shock. 

Eddie’s eyes were boring into yours, as if trying to see past them, read into them. Another collection of moments passed and his jaw clenched and unclenched, pulling taut the skin of his cheeks. Desperate to hear him, to get some sort of active reaction, you spoke first. “Eddie, I’m sorr-” 

“You…you’re sure you’re not drunk?”

“Yes,” you said warily, “I’m sure. I-”

Before you could finish, Eddie rushed up from his crouched position and smashed his lips to yours. His hands found perches on the couch cushions on either side of your thighs. Your hands got easily lost in Eddie’s curls, pulling gently on the strands as the kiss softened. His fingers crawled up to your hips, pulling you to the edge of the couch by your belt loops. A gasp broke the two of you apart when your inner thighs were pressed against Eddie’s chest.

Chest heaving, you stared at each other: wide eyes and swollen lips. Eddie was on his knees, between your legs, a wonderfully boyish and stupefied smile on his face. You felt a similar grin spread along your own lips as you found your voice.

“Still want to banish me?”

Eddie let out a single, sarcastic chuckle before he wordlessly tossed the van keys behind him. Neither of you saw where they landed as you both found yourselves on the couch, Eddie on top of you, pressing searing kisses anywhere and everywhere. Neither of you cared anyway. Finding the keys again was a problem for the morning yous. Tonight, there was an afterparty.

[jjmaybud]

M’Lady [ Eddie Munson x Reader ]

Summary: Your joke to tease the Hellfire Club ends you up into a rather serious situation.

A/N: Just wanted to write something for the new loml <3 also of course the best cliche to ever exist: fake dating!

MASTERLIST

-

You were spending your usual Friday night at the D&D club, watching as the boys were excited and getting into the whole story that your best friend, Eddie had conjured up for the campaign.

You never really got into the game, and to be completely honest with yourself - you rather enjoyed watching as the boys jumped around and made a fool of themselves.

Eddie had been your closest friend for a year now, inviting you to the club meetings to sit in and afterwards you two would rent a movie to watch. It started off as something innocent, but as time passed by feelings arose on both ends. However, as fate usually plays out, neither of you were confident enough to spill your guts.

It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward with Eddie ever, despite the words that everyone would say to warn you about the supposed “freak.” The same freak that would cry at emotional romantic movies. Yeah, you tend to tune out others who would talk down your best friend.

And then there were those, specifically the boys in the club, that assumed you and Eddie were secretly dating and hiding it from everyone. Why you would hide such a thing would remain a mystery.

After a couple of hours, they finally called it a day and started packing their backpacks up. Eddie approached you and gave you a high five. He had a sheepish grin on his face, satisfied with how the night went. He was even more excited though to eat junk food and watch a movie with you.

“Enjoy the show, m’lady?” Eddie swooned and batted his eyelashes at you.

You scoffed and playfully shoved his shoulder. “Nope, I think you might need to work on the story a bit. Seems like you’re going too easy on them.”

Mike and Dustin shared glances with each other, both noticing your very obvious - but maybe not so obvious to you - flirting. Eddie was twirling his hair like a preteen girl which made Mike roll his eyes.

“Well, maybe if you joined in, I’d make it more challenging.”

“Ooo, is that a threat?”

“Well, if it’s seems so easy then maybe you should try it.” Eddie shrugged his shoulders and began to turn to his station to clean up.

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe you guys should get a room.” Dustin groaned and slammed his book on the table. “Just admit you guys are like in love or something.”

You and Eddie both raised your eyebrows at the boy. Everyone was now looking at you guys, awaiting one of you to finally spill the details of a secret romance that didn’t even exist.

Deciding to mess with them, you draped your arms around Eddie’s shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Well, that was certain to make the boys speechless.

Hell, even Eddie was standing there with his mouth open like a fish. You closed his mouth with a push of your finger under his chin and kept it lingering there for enough seconds to make Eddie get goosebumps.

“I thought it was about time, don’t you think, honey?” You said playfully to Eddie, hoping he’d get your drift. Thankfully, he caught onto your act since you pinched his shoulder a bit.

“Well, if you say so, m’lady. We can’t hide our undying love forever.” Eddie nodded and wrapped his arm around your waist. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t give you goosebumps yourself.

“I knew it! You owe me ten dollars, Lucas!” Dustin shouted triumphantly and reached his hand across the table to Lucas who only slapped his hand away.

-

When all the boys finally left the room after storming you with questions, it was only Eddie and you left standing there awkwardly.

“Well…” You said, glancing up into his deep brown eyes. “That was fun but we should probably let them know it was all a joke. Don’t want them taking it too far and trying to spread it around the school.”

Eddie shook his head, “I’d have to disagree, I think I very much like being your honey.” He was teasing you now, but a part of him knew he wasn’t lying.

“Yeah, yeah. If you’re gonna tease me the least you can do is repay me.”

“And how might I do that?” Eddie shifted closer to you, anticipating what would happen next.

“Maybe come a little closer, I think I missed your lips earlier.” You were now whispering as the bridge between the two of you was smaller.

“If that’s the case then.” He said confidently and rushed to kiss you.

Your arms snaked around his neck and he grabbed you firmly in his grasp, making sure you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

The kiss lasted longer than expected and reaching for air was only a necessity since Eddie was quick to bring you back in, holding you close and kissing you deep.

You pulled at his long locks and felt like you were on top of the world, making out with your best friend. A few hours ago this seemed impossible, but now with Eddie’s hands roaming your back, finding ways to bring you even closer - it all seemed inevitable.

[jjmaybud]

The dance | Eddie Munson fic

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Who in their right mind would want to take time from their own prom to dance with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson? Answer: you. He was alone on the bleachers with the cutest pouty face and you couldn’t stand to see him like that, though he knew it was probably out of pity anyway. But little did he know you had had a budding crush on him since the second time he repeated his senior year. Now you were both seniors (again) and this might be your last chance to tell him.

Word count - 2163

Warnings - i don’t think there is any

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

Prom was supposed to be an enjoyable event. You decided you didn’t want to bring a date, instead choosing to spend it having fun with all your friends. And you had been for a while. You had danced together, had various drinks that had definitely had some alcohol splashed in, and laughed until your stomachs hurt. Though you stopped laughing when the subject of the sound became the individual you’d been crushing on for years. You had been crushing on Eddie since the second time he repeated his senior year, and now that you were both seniors together, it was looming over you that now would be the possibly last chance to confess to him what you had been holding down for the last couple years. 

Through the crowd your eyes fell onto the lone boy. He looked miserable, probably only here because his friends dragged him here with the promise of a good time, but as you scanned the room you noticed each one of them had found people of their own to dance with, effectively leaving him on his lonesome. A pang of pity sounded in your chest, excusing yourself from the group as you made the executive decision that you would be the one to cure his sadness. 

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[jjmaybud]

baby blurb about giggly kisses with steve 🥲🥲

this DID NOT end up a baby blurb <3 for you my angel

1k words gn!reader of giggly kisses with Steve

It's the kind of laughing that feels sticky. Fondness has you close-lipped and still you find yourself giggling as you kiss him, your twin smiles pressing together lightly, over and over. 

"You're impossible to kiss when you get like this," Steve says, though his tone would suggest he doesn't mind, not one bit. 

"I'm sorry," you say, similarly insincere as you stroke your hand over the side of his pretty face.

His smile affects every feature. His bark brown eyes squint softly. His lips turn up at the corners, lopsided in his pleasure driven sloveness. His pert nose flares with every laugh, and his cheeks apple with the force of his deitific grin. 

You lean forward to dot kisses over all of it. One kiss to each cheek, each eyelid, his nose bridge and the tip, his cupids bow, his lips. You giggle chestily to yourself as you do, enjoying the sensation of his hands over your back and your abdomens pressed together as your weight bares down on him. 

You brush the hair from his eyes and hold his face firmly in place as you kiss his forehead and his hairline.  

You pause, chest on fire at the sounds of his dizzied chuckling. 

Steve's hands climb over your shoulders, arms locked under yours, hugging you tightly as he kisses your bared throat clumsily, tiny hot pecks and then, to your startled delight, a careful nibble. 

You sigh at the feeling. 

"You like that?" he asks knowingly. 

You burst into a breathless pitch of laughter at his question and pull back so he can't get you anymore, meeting his heavy-lidded gaze. "Very much," you say sweetly. 

"How much?" he asks. 

You're so sick with love you could cry. You laugh some more instead, wondering if maybe the room has been filled with happy gas. "So much. So so," you inch forward, your noses almost touching, "so so," he closes his eyes and you follow suit, "so… so…" The heat of his breath tickles your lips as you brush them over his with a lightness that tickles.

Steve steals an arm from between your bodies to take your face into his hand. He kisses ardently, your lips parting in response to his enthusiasm, sighing as he deepens the kiss and his heat becomes yours. 

You sew your fingers into his hair and pull gently, gasping when the kiss finally breaks, your eyes drifting open. 

Steve drops his chin. "Much?" he finishes. 

"So so so so so so so much," you say agreeably. 

It's not funny, it isn't, but you're both so happy you laugh some more, noses sliding against each other as you duck in for another handful of sweet kisses. 

Steve groans into your open mouth and ushers you away from him. "Okay, pretty thing. Take a breather." 

You know what he means. You're so happy you might split at the seams, your breathing coming hard and in untrustworthy waves. 

Despite his command he continues his plight, dragging your hand to his mouth to kiss as you catch your breath. He presses each of your fingertips to his lips in turn, then each knuckle, then the back. The skin he loves on feels tight and warm and tingling. 

You blow a hot breath out of the corner of your mouth. 

"You're beautiful," he says. 

"Me or my hand?" you ask. 

"Both. Both," he repeats, like he'd been talking to someone who wasn't you, like he has to argue the point. "You have pretty fucking hands." 

"You've got a pretty fucking face," you say. 

He tilts his head to the side, as if offering his cheek to you. You take him up on it, though without your hand which remains firmly held in his you've got no way to hold him still. You lean in to kiss his cheek and he quickly moves his head. Your lips land on his. 

"Cheater," you mumble into the softness. 

You gasp quietly as he sits up and pulls you with him, his height allowing him that little extra pressure, his kiss firm and his hands hungry as they leap for your hot face, his thumbs stroking quarter circles into your cheeks. 

"I never claimed to be anything else," he says as he pulls back a half inch.

You kiss him again quickly before saying, "Cheater's get disqualified." 

He pouts almost imperceptibly; his top lip rises a millimetre, his nose wrinkles gently. "You wanna stop?" 

"I didn't say that," you say, leaning back in. 

He evades you, grinning because he knows exactly what you want. He loves to tease. "Now, wait a second, baby. I'm disqualified, huh? No more kisses?" 

"I didn't say that," you repeat, eyebrows beginning to rise, as if to say, are you really gonna do this? 

His own eyebrows rise. I am. 

"Fine," you hardball. "No more." 

The two of you lie with your limbs twined together, a mess of clothes and heat and wanting, waiting for the other to crack. Steve looks incredibly attractive with kiss bitten lips and glassy eyes, his hair ruffled and his shirt collar unbuttoned, a strip of his exposed collar tantalising and taunting you. 

You can feel his eyes on you. You look up guiltily from your oggling and last about five seconds before you're leaning in for another kiss, the two of you predictably giggling like idiots as you join. 

"Let's stop with the games," he says, shaking his head, your lips skipping over his as he moves. 

"Stay still. You're impossible to kiss when you get like this," you parrot his reprimand from earlier back at him. 

He grasps the hills of your shoulders in big hands. "Yes, ma'am," he drawls, stilling. You roll your eyes and finally kiss him properly, his lips parting and pliant beneath yours. Things get much quieter after that. 

[jjmaybud]

Do y'all remember being in fandoms and wanting to read a reader insert fic that included a character you liked? Or maybe even your favorite character? You were a little excited to see the world and storylines this author came up with and imagine yourself in the story but then you come across something that isn't quite right. Right isn't necessarily the correct word but for the nature of the type of fanfiction it didn't really make sense?

It's a general insert, right? A fic where every reader is supposed to imagine themselves and feel included in the fandom but oh-

You see a comment about pale skin. Or maybe a comment about flowing hair. Or someone very explicitly describing someone's cheeks as red or pink. The same for their lips or if it's smut...well, you know. Pink everything else. They talk about throwing their hair into a messy bun or if they're gripping something, it's always "white knuckled".

You get this oh moment. This moment where you realize that despite what this author says, this wasn't written for you at all. Despite how inclusive they claim to be, someone who looked like you clearly wasn't in mind when they wrote it. It's blatantly a white reader even though it doesn't say it. And you try to think they didn't do it on purpose but doesn't that make it worse? The fact that people who look like you are such a non factor that it didn't even cross their mind that you...exist? You're a little disappointed because you wanted to enjoy it but how can you when the reader insert portion of the fic is clearly not what it's supposed to be?

But it's fine though because that's just one writer!

But it's not one writer or even two or even 5. It's majority of the writers in the fandom. Whether it was Marvel or 1D or whatever other fandom you were in. It was a plethora of writers going out of their way to exclude people. To make it clear who they wrote for and who they wanted reading their fics. And if you bothered to point it out, you were belittled. Your feelings were invalidated because "it's not that big of a deal". Your feelings just didn't matter.

To make matters worse, these fics had thousands of notes. It was a sign that people didn't care. They didn't care that people were being excluded and made to feel left out and like they didn't have a place in that particular part of the fandom. For years people showed that they couldn't care less and you wonder why you're even in the fandom at all. Why even interact with these people who've made it clear they kind of don't want you here? The fandom isn't fun for you and these people have made it that way.

And now those same people wonder why people go out of their way to write things like specific black inserts. Why people go out of their way to make people who've been excluded for years feel included. Why they would want to make a safe space for readers like that. Take a wild guess...