#tina plays stuff

[ben-lyintous]

the tetris effect is so funny i love it. i've spent the past few days playing project zomboid intensively and just now as i was getting ready to go run some errands irl, my brain went "better pack some canned food if you're heading out." you know. so i don't starve to death in case buying jeans goes wrong.

earlier i was reading some comments online and at one point i quickly scrolled down to check if it was.. safe... from zombies.

#this has happened with a bunch of games and it's always a sign i should take a break from the game #with fo4 i was rotating furniture in my mind. and don't get me started on portal and white walls lmao #project zomboid #tina plays stuff #personal bullshit

[sincerely-sofie]

in hindsight Darkrai was kinda lucky he only really had Palkia on his tail, considering Dialga was pretty much incapacitated by the Temporal Tower collapse

considering how similar his goal was to Cyrus', he's REALLY lucky he didn't wind up pissing off a certain third somebody, if you know what i mean...

Yeah the guy is on pretty thin ice with all three of the trio, and if Giratina were around during the events of the game, he’d be well underwater. He’s lucky that she’s tired of putting up with her brothers by the time the plot happens and is taking some time to focus on herself.

#Giratina gives off angry eldest sister energy #she’s so tired and so ticked off #you said this rando did WHAT to her little brothers???? #she’s the only one who gets to use Palkia’s gullibility against him #and Dialga’s tower is OFF-LIMITS when it comes to pranks and/or mischief #Darkrai is lucky he’s already pretty much dealt with by the time she catches wind of things #big sis Tina doesn’t play nice when it comes to people messing with Dialga or Palkia #stuff by sofie #sofie answers asks #swear warning #the present is a gift au #pmd2 #pmd eos #pmd explorers #pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd sky #pmd #pokémon mystery dungeon #pmd darkrai #darkrai #pmd dialga #dialga #PMD palkia #palkia #giratina

[qtubbo]

Been thinking about morning crew and dungeon meshi a lot lately all ive got is bagi would play senshi’s role and tazercraft is laios and falin rolewise i cant figure out how to keep the importance of marcille and falins relationship in this set up though…. Izutsumi would have to be an egg too idk who 🤔

#Logically I should combine marcille and senshi into bagi and make a new mage for tubbo since chilcuck and fit can play similar roles #Morning crew #The point of izutsumi really involves youth so I cant just slide tina in that role even though Tina would work with the demon stuff #Itd be able to slide in together but maybe idk #Maybe i give in and make izutsumi tina #I have no clue how to keep shuro at all like in the slightest #I could make him cellbit??? That would work in a strange way

[angstmongertina]

loved in return

Hey, might as well post it here too in the hopes for more dopamine.

We can still post smut on tumblr, right? That’s still a thing? IDK I haven’t written any in ages.

Inspired by the end of Artem’s second bday event (not the card, I promise), though I have been working on it for over a year, whoops.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Do note that this is rated M. :)

She knows from previous experience that it takes about fifteen minutes to get to Artem’s building from hers. At this point, the route, each road and turn, each traffic light and stop sign, even the dance of the shadows from the streetlights across her face, are imprinted in her mind, in the way she subconsciously shifts to adjust to each lane change and turn. But even so, this time, the dark road stretches unending, an eternity in each second, each slow breath.

Each frantic, yearning heartbeat.

Her phone, clutched in her hand, its screen counting down the minutes, seconds, until she sees him again, seems to burn with the memory of his call, of the rasp of his gentle voice in her ear and the realization that the night is still young, that his birthday is not yet over. That she cannot leave him to spend the rest of it alone.

Not when she can be there.

Not when she can be with him.

The driver says nothing, but there is no need to; he must be able to sense her energy, to sense the tension that has her almost shaking, fidgeting with the soft wool of the keychain—still not enough, as she stares into the distance towards him. Towards where she should be.

Towards, perhaps, where she belongs.

When her ride comes to a stop, she is out the door before she is even fully aware of it herself, waving her thanks at the driver as he chuckles under his breath. She can thank him properly later, when she gets a chance to sit down and focus, but for now, she has someone far more important to see.

She lets herself in with the spare key that he gave her—for emergencies, he had said, with that familiar blush on his face, but she’s already used it once today and somehow she doesn’t think he’ll mind—and can only laugh at the tremble in her hand, missing the lock once, twice, before it finally, finally catches and twists under her fingers.

Even before she steps into the room, she can hear hurried footsteps down the stairs and a familiar gentle voice, and she freezes as he rushes into view, one hand still holding his phone to his ear while concern and confusion war openly on his face.

He skids to a stop, opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, she closes the distance between them and throws her arms around his neck, swallowing both his question and his soft noise of surprise. For a moment, he stiffens, and then she feels his arms curl around her waist, pulling her even closer as he returns her kiss with equal fervor.

Without thinking, she presses against him, feels the solidness of his chest, the tenderness of the hand that shifts to the back of her head, the warmth of his lips against hers, until she is lightheaded, almost swaying when she finally pulls away to fill her burning lungs with air.

Whether it’s from the lack of oxygen or just him, it’s hard to be sure.

“I…” The word is more rasp than anything and he shakes his head, clears his throat, though it does little to disguise the hoarseness of his voice, the heaviness of his breathing. “I’m not complaining, but why are you here? Did something happen? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” She reaches up, brushing the faint crease between his eyes with a light touch until he relaxes. “I… I just missed you.” She feels more than hears his chuckle, the low rumble against her chest as he leans down to press his forehead against hers.

“I missed you too.” A gentle finger caresses her cheek, traces a warm path against her skin, and she finds herself having to fight a shiver as it skims along her jawline, trailing down her neck to settle against her chin, tipping her head back for another soft kiss. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She huffs a laugh into his mouth, feels his lips curl into an answering smile, before leaning back, just enough to meet his gaze with a cheeky grin. “I never would have noticed.”

“Oh you…” He shakes his head, but the feigned exasperation is belied by that familiar affection in his eyes, tucked into the corners of his mouth and the gentleness of his voice, that fills her chest with the warmth of his devotion, and this time, this time, she can give into temptation and cut off his sigh with another kiss.

Finally.

It isn’t until she feels the question in his attention that she realizes she said it out loud, and she coughs, turning her head away. “It’s nothing. Just… the way you say that…”

His answering chuckle is low and knowing, enough to set off a spark in her belly, and she pouts, even as she fights off the urge to kiss that smugness—and any thought, really—out of his mind. “I suppose that is something I will have to keep in mind then.”

She snorts, though she can’t help but tighten her arms around his neck. “As if you expect me to believe that you didn’t already know.”

It’s a rare thing to see an expression that is somehow both bashful and smug, but he still manages it all the same, and she rolls her eyes, even as she gives into the temptation to kiss that stupidly self-satisfied look off of his face.

That, it turns out, works much better.

She is almost wondering whether she can forgo conversation entirely, this or other, in favor of more pleasurable activities, when he breaks away, leading her to sit on the couch before she has even had time to process his sudden absence, and turns to fuss with his collar.

“You must be tired. Why don’t you rest for a bit? Do you want something to drink?”

She frowns as he turns away, though it’s still not enough to hide the burning crimson lighting up his ears. “Artem…”

“Maybe tea? Why don’t I make some tea for us—”

“Artem!” Before he can run away, she grabs his arm and he freezes, a faint look of panic darting across his face, which she pointedly ignores. “I didn’t come here to make more work for you.”

He frowns, turning to cast a confused gaze over her. “I know, but—”

“But nothing.” She can feel the heat creeping up her face at her conviction, setting already flushed cheeks even more ablaze, but she ignores it, ignores everything but his small smile, but the shine of those bright blue eyes, familiar and gentle and so very dear. “Artem, I came here to be with you. I want to finish celebrating with you. To take care of you, like you do for me.”

His brows draw into a slight frown. “You already have. You already do, I—”

She reached up to press a finger against his mouth, feels the heat of his protest in his breath, the surprise and acquiescence in the way his warm lips still against her finger. “Not like that.”

“Oh,” he says, and then again, “Oh.” His eyes dart to her mouth and then away again, his face turning even more red than hers feels. “You don’t have to. I mean, I just…” He hesitates, giving a light, somewhat forced, cough. “Are you sure?”

She smiles, getting up to move, slowly, carefully, back into his space. “Do you trust me?”

“Without question.” The reply is instantaneous, heavy with the gravitas he puts into all of his confessions, and she can feel her heart twinge at the realization, at the responsibility, the power, she has been entrusted with.

In response, she steps closer still, into his ever-waiting hold. Looping her arms once more around his neck, she presses herself against him, feels more than hears his low groan muffled against her lips, the sharp inhale as she shifts, and she has to swallow down a soft noise of her own to speak. “I promise,” she murmurs into his mouth, “I want to.”

Her words seem to snap the last of his control; he pulls her even tighter against him, but with that same hesitancy, that same gentleness, that characterizes his every gesture. She moves forward again, pressing her advantage until he’s backed against the couch and it’s his turn to sit, watching her with wide eyes as she moves to straddle his lap.

“We…”

She grins, taking advantage of her new position to brush her lips over his jawline, the curve of his ear, and relishing in the shiver it draws. “Yes?”

He clears his throat, though it does little to hide the flush in his cheeks, the heat lingering in his eyes as he swallows. “We should move this upstairs.”

Smirking, she shifts, feels his shudder as she adjusts her weight against him. “Okay.”

For a moment, it looks as though he means to pick her up, but she pulls away before he can move, sliding back until they are linked only by their hands, his fingers wrapped tightly around hers, even as he stares at her with barely disguised need.

They’ve barely made it up the stairs before she’s back in his arms, kissing him hungrily, desperately. She’s not entirely sure who moved first, but it doesn’t matter, not with her fingers buried in his hair, curled in the stiff fabric of his shirt collar.

She advances into the room, backing him step by step to the bed, where she finds herself once again straddling him, a mess of cloth and bodies and limbs, but she doesn’t care.

How can she, when she manages to finally free him from the shirt and gets to run her fingers across the smooth skin and strong muscles of his chest, the evidence of his morning swims clear across the valleys contouring that pale expanse?

It is not the first time she has seen him bare before her, but even so, she can’t help but stare, drinking in the sight, and the knowledge that this beauty, that he, flushed and wanting and waiting, is for her eyes and her eyes alone.

What an honor.

What a privilege.

Gently, she pushes him onto his back and runs her fingers down his chest, watching it tense and tremble under her touch. His breathing is heavy, one hand clenched in the blankets while the other skims over her back, her arm, in distracting patterns that she has to make an effort to ignore.

Instead, she lets her mouth follow her hand, down from his lips to skim his jaw, and then lower still, against the soft skin of his neck. She kisses his pulse point, feels more than sees the bob of his Adam’s apple, the low moans she coaxes out with lips and fingers. Slowly, reverently, she traces along the planes of his chest, and then lower still to run along his slender waist, once, and then, at his sharp inhale, again with her lips.

When the hand hovering around her waist tightens its grip, fingers pressed firmly into her skin, she pulls back immediately, turns her attention back to his face in sudden panic, but it is not discomfort that meets her gaze. No, instead, she finds the parted lips, mussed hair and shallow breaths, and grins, even as she fights the growing heat in her own belly.

“Do you like this?” she murmurs into the soft curve of his ear, allowing her lips to brush against the heated skin with the same featherlight touch that she trails along his stomach. The question is more teasing than genuine, his body’s answer clear enough in the way he strains towards her touch, in the need and wonder in his eyes as she toys with his waistband. “May I?”

His only answer is a low moan of her name, half-hoarse groan, half-desperate plea, but his meaning is clear enough. Still, she waits, fingers light and teasing. “Are you sure?”

“Please…”

She kisses him in response, swallows his gasp as she lets her hands move, slowly, gently, in their task, sliding along the toned thighs, gliding across the slender calves. When he moves to help, she grabs his hands, pins them down long enough that he can understand her: he is not to do anything, not today.

Today is her turn to take care of him.

After a moment, she can feel him relent, his body relaxing, waiting. Instead, she sits back on her heels, admiring the view, reveling in the effect that she has on him with wonder and satisfaction. He lies before her, flushed and gasping, face full of warmth and need and love, and she can only bite her lip at the realization of the trust she has been granted, of the honor she has been granted.

It isn’t until he shifts, her name a hoarse plea from his lips, that she grins, shaking herself out of her stupor to brush her palm against him. He trembles beneath her touch, and she grows bolder, kissing him again as she curls her fingers around the length of him, gentle but firm.

She swallows his groan as her free hand traces light patterns on sensitive skin, drinking in his every noise and reaction, as sweet as nectar and twice as heady. He is not verbally profusive, but she knows him well enough to read meaning from each gasp and twitch, each moan and shudder. She has always been a quick learner and she’s never had a lesson so intuitive, a study so perfect.

It is intoxicating.

He is intoxicating.

She continues her ministrations, her careful, thorough exploration of him, until he alerts her with a muffled cry that he’s close, shifts a hand from its tight grasp on the sheets to curl gently around hers, encouraging without demanding. His every exhale is a plea, a prayer, against her lips and she slows her movements, feels more than hears him gasp and stiffen, and pulls back to take it all in, to take him in, naked, vulnerable, and hers. All hers.

When he falls apart with a gasp of her name, she is sure she has never seen anything so beautiful.

They get cleaned up in the comfortable silence of the lingering warm glow, punctuated only by his heavy breathing, slowly returning to normal. There is no need to speak, not when she knows, when they both know, that there’s nowhere else she would rather be, nowhere else that she would stay, than here. With him.

Always with him.

It’s not until she’s half-dozing in his arms that she remembers and thinks to break the quiet that has settled over them like a quilt, languidly rolling over to meet his own, sleepy gaze. “Oh, I forgot.”

“Hmm?” She hums softly as he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, his arms shifting lazily to accommodate her new position. “Forgot what?”

“Who were you on the phone with earlier?”

He freezes, a look of horror wiping away the pleasant satisfaction on his face.

When he doesn’t answer her, instead continuing to stare into the darkness towards the stairs, she frowns. “Artem?”

As if on cue, her phone rings with a missed message, echoing throughout the room and she groans, slipping out from under the covers to where her phone had fallen onto the floor, forgotten in the heat of their earlier passion. Frowning, she swipes at it…

Only to find a voicemail waiting for her, from a very, very familiar number.

“Oh.”

Torn between embarrassment and amusement, she navigates to the missed calls, where she finds the notification and taps before she can think otherwise.

Professor An’s calm voice seems to fill the space between them, quiet but with a faint thread of amusement clearly audible. “I had guessed it was you who visited but this certainly confirms my suspicions. I just wanted to let you know that there’s no need to call me back.” Her chuckle held just a tinge of mischief. “I expect it’ll be too late for a phone call by the time you get this message anyway. Just tell my son to hang up the phone before he drops it next time. And if it’s still before midnight by the time you’re done, do wish him a happy birthday for me.”

Before she can even begin to organize her thoughts, he makes a muffled noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Raising an eyebrow, she turns to find him with a hand covering his face, though it does not fully disguise the flush staining his cheeks and brightening his ears, and finds herself fighting a strange urge to laugh.

“That answers that question, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles in reply, half-blocked by his hand, and she bites her lip to keep her mirth contained as she wiggles her phone at him.

“Did you want me to get yours as well?”

He shakes his head, though she can see a barest hint of a smile hidden behind his fingers. “No, we can get it in the morning. Come back, before you get cold.”

She looks down at her naked body, deliberately posing herself in the faint moonlight. “What’s wrong? Not enjoying the view?”

“Oh you…” He chuckles, even as he reaches an outstretched hand towards her. “You know that’s not true.”

Faced with his typical sincerity, she can only relent, taking his hand and letting him tug her back into his arms. “Of course I know.” Grinning, she snuggles closer, resting her head on his chest as she looks up to meet his gaze. “Even your mother knows, if that call was any indication.”

She is rewarded with him dramatically dropping his hand back on his face, though it doesn’t quite disguise his quiet huff of amusement. “She will never let me live that down.”

“Probably not. But it could be worse, you know.”

“How so?”

“She could have been worried and come over to check on you instead.”

This time he audibly groans and she gives in to the urge to laugh, tucking her face into his shoulder to hide an undignified snort and feeling him shake with his own quiet laughter.

When she finally manages to regain her control, it’s to find him reclined back, ears tinged red but with a faint smile still lingering on his lips. Catching her gaze, he raises an eyebrow. “Are you done now?”

“Yup!” She moves closer still, letting her head rest against the crook of his neck as she smiles against his skin. “At least for now. Though she is right about one thing.”

“Oh?” He shifts until she can meet his eyes, soft and sleepy and so full of gentle affection that she finds herself nearly speechless. “What’s that?”

She clears her throat, shifting up and pressing a light kiss to his lips. “It’s not yet midnight. Happy birthday.”

He smiles and she feels his arms tightening around her, keeping her gently in place. “So it is. And it has been,” he murmurs, before kissing her again. “Thank you, my love.”

#Artem Wing #ArtemRosa #Tears of Themis #Artem Wing/MC #Tina writes stuff. #Tina plays ToT. #sweet awkward lawyer husband #otp: to have and to hold #Rated M for Tina can't write smut. #Despite wanting to write out the second anniv card content in full as well. #Dear lord someone save me.

[daz4i]

every once in awhile i think about how creative wonderlands is and what a good game it is. found out recently it was being planned for years before coming out (tho mostly created over quarantine) and you can really tell bc my god it's so original and has so many unique and fun ideas like it's hard to think of a part i didn't like. and even if like a certain side quest is a bit tedious the gameplay all but makes up for it. dude it's so good everyone should play it

#my expectations of it were high but it met them all and then some fr fr #ik other blands fans don't like the lack of post game content but idc abt this stuff bc I'm a replayer at heart anyway 😎😎😎 #and this game has so much content esp if you like side quests and collectibles it's so fun 🥺 i love it sm guys #you don't need to know borderlands to play it guys... if you have a pc or console that can run tiny tina's wonderlands pls check it out..... #especially if you like dnd or story driven first person shooters esp with rpg elements...... #or meta style of storytelling or silly humor or fantasy or gay pirates. it has smth for everyone really

[mahikamihan]

.

#tina is playing suika and i wanted to check it out while taking a break #it's kinda like tetris and 2048??? #this is like my kind of game lsdksldk im so tempted to try it now #WAIT NO YUMI YOU ARE WAY TOO BUSY #yumi does grad stuff

[bailesona]

“  you  must  be  love,  yes?  please,  do  come  in,  new  york  is  much  too  cold  for  us  to  make  our  introductions  on  the  doorstep!  “          he  stands  tall,  but  the  blankets  that  drape  his  shoulders  make  him  feel  much  smaller  than  the  six  feet  five  inches  he  stands  at.  that  and  the  mug  of  hot  cocoa  that  warms  his  hands,  long  fingers  wrapped  around  the  heated  porcelain  as  he  steps  aside  and  nimbly  nudges  the  door  closed  behind  her  and  the  tiny  bundle  in  her  arms.  then,  just  as  quickly  as  he’d  felt  so  small,  the  tiny,  beaming  face  of  the  baby  is  enough  to  make  him  feel  like  a  giant,  a  soft  gasp  escaping  him  as  he  sets  down  the  mug  and  lifts  his  hands  to  cover  his  mouth  in  awed  wonder.          “  oh!  this  is  your  son?  oh  my  goodness...  oh...  he  looks  so  much  like  you!  please,  please,  come  in,  it’s  much  warmer  in  the  kitchen!  or  the  living  room;  wherever  you  like,  okay?  i  can  bring  you  something  to  drink  and  eat;  we  can’t  have  you  or  this  little  rudolph  catching  a  cold,  now,  can  we?  “

@sugcrwrites​ liked THIS POST for a family holiday dinner starter!  (  and the locations of all the other muses are gonna be in the tags if love wants to explore a little! )

#sugcrwrites #( closed starter. ) #( V; ALL. ) #( MUSE: E. MONET. ) #( I MIGHT FORGET SOME MUSES HERE BC THIS WAS SO FUCKING SOFT ETIENNE WHAT ON EARTH ) #( OKAY NOW ) #( aisling is trying to set up the baby crib that stanley got in ikea in the guest room ) #( stanley is sitting in the corner and trying to read the german instructions ) #( tina is quietly correcting every single translation he makes ) #( in the hallway renée and richard are placing bets to see who will crack first. renée thinks tina will. richard reckons aisling. ) #( new muses alison and april are watching the grinch in the living room with gabriela and mina ) #( andrew and tim and eli and victor are all playing monopoly in the laundry room ) #( nate is attempting to remodel aisling's en-suite and has so far caused six leaks and about four figures in damage ) #( sammy is patiently waiting for him to give up so he can fix everything ) #( and leo + ramsay + henri are all in the kitchen ) #( henri is making a small list of easy french words for henry to learn bc he's convinced the name similarities are a sign ) #( ramsay is eagerly adding spices and zests to absolutely everything while henri is distracted ) #( and leo is washing the dishes. except it's one dish. and it's only to stop henri from asking him to do stuff. )

[freedomfireflies]

Teach Me*

Summary: Harry needs a little practice in the art of Eating Pussy, and who better to ask for help than his best friend?

You.

Word Count: 5.4k

“...I’m sorry, you need to what?”

“I need…” Harry repeats, “...to eat you out.”

You blink at the man standing alarmingly still in the hallway outside of your door. “Is it crack? Is that what you smoke? Do you smoke crack?”

He smirks at the familiar joke before he’s brushing past you and striding into your apartment. “All right, fine. I just thought I’d ask.”

“Ask what?” you huff as you shut the door and face him. “I still don’t understand what it is you want.”

“I want to eat you out,” he says yet again as your expression falls flat. “Look I need…the practice.”

“Practice…”

“Practice.” He nods before flopping down onto the sofa. “You remember Tina, right?”

“Tall, hot, and out of your league?” you recall as you walk over to him. “Yes, I remember.”

He fights a smile. “Yeah, well…she agreed to let me take her out and I just…I want to make sure I’m prepared.”

“...prepared.”

“Prepared.” His eyes follow you as you take a seat beside him. “Come on, you know I don’t have a lot of experience with that shit, and I want to make sure I’m…you know, at least capable of making her come. And I have no other way to get…better.”

“Oh, so, naturally I’m your second-best option,” you snort playfully as you pull your knees to your chest. “But how would eating me out help you make her come? Not all girls like the same stuff, you know. Lesson number one.”

“Because I need someone to help me make my technique a little…smoother, I guess. Tell me what feels good and what doesn’t so I know,” he explains, without a hint of embarrassment, and truthfully, you’re a little impressed.

Harry has always been…bold, you would say. Assertive, confident, borderline egotistical. He’s never had a problem making friends or getting a girlfriend, so learning that his sexual experience didn’t expand as far as you thought it did was kind of a surprise.

You do admire him for wanting to be good for her. In fact, the thought is almost sweet, although you have no idea where he got the idea to ask you.

Sure, you’re his best friend, but…that’s kind of fucking…weird. Right? You guys don’t do that. You don’t even like to hug.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip and look for the deception within his expression. He could be messing with you. It wouldn’t be the first time and you certainly wouldn’t put it past him.

But there’s something…earnest in the way he speaks. In the way his eyes hold onto yours as he awaits your response, hopeful and desperate.

“So…wait, hold on.” You clear your throat and straighten up. “You…you honestly want…to eat me out…just to see if I like it?”

“Kind of, yeah,” he agrees as one shoulder bobs up in a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve got a few ideas on what to do, I just…I need someone—I need you—to tell me if it feels good or not. So I can practice and make sure she’ll like it.”

Your teeth begin to absentmindedly knaw on the inside of your cheek. Truthfully, you have no idea how to feel about this. The request is outrageous and weird and it goes way past the duties of friendship.

But you’ve known him forever and you trust him and honestly? You feel a little bad for the guy.

Sure, the best way for him to get the practice he needs would be with her, but you know him. He doesn’t like to admit he doesn’t know something and he absolutely despises feeling unprepared. 

He’s a perfectionist.

And you are a little flattered that he feels safe enough with you to showcase his inexperience and that thought alone begins to wash your reservations away.

“So…all I’d have to do is just…sit here? And tell you yes or no?” you clarify, and he nods.

“Yeah. I won’t make you come, don’t worry. I know that’s…going a little farther than we need,” he says. “I just…wanna play with you a little.”

You smirk. “Wouldn’t not making me come defeat the purpose?”

He exhales a laugh as he leans back. “I just want to make sure I can. Besides, doesn’t it open up a bunch of emotions and shit? It attaches you to the person? I mean, do you really wanna live with the knowledge that you came because of me?”

“...no,” you admit. “Okay, that’s fair. So…if I agree…you’re not gonna drag this out, right? Just to annoy me?”

He chuckles again. “Well, I wanna make sure I’m doing it right…but no, I won’t drag it past that. I’ll stop whenever you want.”

Your fingers pull at a loose strand on your jeans. You aren’t seriously considering this, are you? “And if I say yes…how would we…I mean, what would we do?”

He thinks about this for only a moment, suggesting that he already came with a plan. Typical. “I guess we go somewhere you feel comfortable…we start slow. You tell me what you’re okay with, what you’re not okay with…and then I’ll just…get started.”

You look at him. Really look at him. He’s relaxed. Almost too relaxed considering the line he’s suggesting you both cross. A line you can never uncross.

And as you stare at those familiar features you’ve known for years…you feel your body exhale a deep breath. You’re doubtful, sure…but he’s always been rather exceptional at providing you comfort, just through a look alone.

Exactly like he is now.

His mouth quirks up in a smirk as he bumps his knuckles against your knee teasingly. “We don’t have to, Bee. I just…thought I’d ask.”

You roll your lips into your mouth as you hesitate, the familiar nickname calming you ever-so-slightly. “I didn’t…I’m not saying no, I just…I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“I know,” he agrees with a nod. “Look, just…forget I said anything. I’ll Google it, it’s fine. Let’s just watch Schitt’s Creek or something, yeah?”

With that, he turns toward the TV, grabs the remote, and begins to flip through the channels, leaving the conversation behind.

But you aren’t as quick to let the idea go. After all, he planted the seed, and now you’re starting to wonder. You’re starting to…accept.

Maybe things will be weird. And maybe you won’t be able to go back to how you used to be. But at least you’ll have helped him…? And that’s…something that friends do.

…right?

“I have never heard someone say so many wrong things…one after the other…consecutively…in a row,” David says to your right as Harry smiles and glances over to see if you’re listening.

But you’re not.

At least, not to David.

“Okay,” you murmur, quiet enough that it becomes lost beneath the next line on the show.

Harry, confused, raises a brow and begins to lower the volume. “Sorry, what?”

“Okay,” you repeat, a little more confidently than you had before. “Okay, I agree to your proposal. Just this once.”

He blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously.” You nod. “What? Don’t look at me like that, I’m charitable. And cool, and a really good friend. So…don’t forget that the next time I ask you to buy the popcorn at the movie.”

His eyes roll but he laughs as he tosses the remote aside. “All right, that’s fair. Deal.”

You both go quiet.

Funny…for some reason, you thought agreeing would be all there was to it.

His eyes soften as he looks you over. “So…you’re in charge, okay? You just…tell me where you wanna go, what you’re comfortable with…whatever you want, yeah?”

You nod faintly before glancing toward your room. “Um…I guess we can do it on the bed. There’s probably more room, so it would be a little easier…I guess.”

He nods, too, before slowly moving for the edge of the couch. But he doesn’t stand until you do, eyeing you closely as if gauging your reaction.

You aren’t sure why you feel so…timid. You’re not exactly nervous, maybe just…apprehensive. But, it’s Harry, and he will always be the boy that got a blueberry stuck up his nose and snorted purple snot to you.

And it can’t get more embarrassing than that. 

He follows you into the bedroom. The same bedroom he’s seen a million times, although now, it’s like a completely different space.

With an awkward clear of your throat, you take a seat on the corner of the mattress, head tilting back as you look up at him expectantly. “Uh…now what?”

“You tell me,” he says softly, hands finding refuge in his pockets. “Where do you wanna be? Against the pillows? Might be more comfortable.”

You glance over your shoulder at the headboard. “Yeah, I guess that’s…a good idea.”

He smiles again, stepping back to allow you the room to crawl back. 

Once you’re in position and settled, he takes your spot on the edge of the bed. “Still good?”

You nod, arms resting atop your stomach, almost as if to hide yourself. “Yup.”

“Do you wanna pick a safeword?”

Your brows raise. “I mean…I think ‘stop’ will do just fine.”

He snorts his amusement. “Fair.”

Again, you both grow quiet, and you wish you could find your nerve. In the many years you two have known each other, not once have you ever been this shy. Or quiet. In fact, you don’t believe there’s ever been a second of silence between you, and you have no idea what to do with it.

He straightens up, taking the reins when he notices you don’t plan to. “Do you have your phone?”

Confused, you reach into your pocket and wiggle the cell phone free.

He nods. “Okay, I want you to pull up your favorite porn.”

Your lips part as you blink. “...I’m sorry, what now?”

"Well, I’m willing to bet you’re not exactly turned on right now, right?” he explains, nodding his chin at you with a teasing glint in his eye. “And I’m just thinking that might be a little harder to work with. For both of us.”

Unfortunately, he’s right. You’re about as dry as the Sahara desert, so you admit defeat and swipe up on your screen.

Now, while you and him have both exchanged some of your favorite videos before, pulling up one now…in front of him…feels like a whole new ballgame.

You quickly readjust the volume before looking for the ones you know normally do the trick, refusing to sneak a glance at the man now scooting a bit closer to you. 

But you do hear him smile. “Find it?”

Your eyes land on the familiar thumbnail you’ve seen a hundred times before as you whisper, “Yeah.”

“Good,” he hums, hands coming to rest near your outstretched legs. “Can I take your jeans off? Just your jeans.”

You peek out from around the screen of your phone, catching the curious but hopeful look on his face. “...sure.”

He nods his understanding before shifting closer so he can reach for your zipper to guide it down.

You debate watching him but choose instead to click play on the video and force your attention elsewhere. Maybe this will go smoother if you just…don’t look at him. 

Ever.

You feel the air hit your legs as his fingers curl around the fabric at your hips to pull it down. He’s deliberate, making sure he doesn’t accidentally graze something he’s not supposed to (ironically enough), but you appreciate the gesture. 

He gently tugs the material down to your ankles before effortlessly tossing it aside, and you feel yourself swallow.

This isn’t your first time, so you thought you’d know what to expect. But you don’t know what to expect from him. He seems to have a plan (thank God), and you catch the way he eyes your underwear before he glances up at you.

“Ready?” he murmurs, the cadence of his voice rather reassuring. “I’ll just play with you a bit for now, yeah?”

Again, you swallow thickly, forcing the nerves aside. “Yeah, go.”

And from that point on, you decide to proceed with a more clinical mindset. This is practice, exactly like he said. It doesn’t mean anything to either of you, and once it’s over, you doubt you’ll ever mention it again.

It’s just practice.

A cunt is a cunt, a tongue is a tongue, a hand is a hand. Doesn’t matter who they belong to. Pleasure is pleasure, and that’s all there is to it.

You return your attention to your phone as the bed dips, signaling that he’s getting himself into position. You wonder what he means when he says he wants to play with you, and you also wonder if he’ll actually be any good.

But before you can worry that you’ll have to tell him that he’s terrible…he touches you.

You feel his palm, gently smoothing up your right leg, slowly but with purpose. Your breath hitches as you blink at the images flashing across the screen in front of you. You have no idea if you’ll be able to get out of your own head long enough to feel turned on, but you don’t worry about it quite yet.

Then…you feel his thumb.

Your entire body goes still as the pad of his finger brushes down the front of your underwear, right over your clit. There’s just enough pressure to capture your attention but not so much that it feels uncomfortable.

Your chest deflates with a deep breath as you begin to move your focus from the porn to him.

He does it again, a little harder this time around. It’s teasing, almost. Exactly like he said it would be. He’s simply playing with your body and seeing how it reacts. And every time you twitch or your legs begin to tense, you hear him smile, as if making a mental note of it.

For a few minutes, this is all he does. He runs his fingers up and down the fabric in slow but teasing patterns, pressing and sometimes circling as you feel an ache begin to form.

The sounds coming from your phone are successful in urging your body to bend to such salacious intentions. You can feel your muscles unwind as your mind begins to release those doubtful premonitions.

With a flutter of your lashes, you move your phone to the side so you can get a glimpse of the boy between your legs.

He doesn’t seem to notice. Either that or he pretends not to. And for a moment, you aren’t sure what to make of the sight before you. Harry, your best friend, in a staring contest with your cunt and you want to be put off…but you’re not. 

“How’s that?” he murmurs after a moment, his other hand softly stroking the skin of your thigh as he pulls your legs further apart.

Your voice betrays you as you breathe, “Good.”

He looks up. Smiles. “Noted.”

He does it some more, thumbing over your clit before pressing into it and guiding it in a circle. You squirm each time, the faintest of whimpers getting stuck in the back of your throat. 

He seems proud, and you almost want to be annoyed, but you just don’t have the mental capacity to be in this moment.

Maybe when it’s over.

And then, he does something you hadn’t expected.

He dips down…and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh. Not too close but not too far, and as he does, his eyes find yours.

Shit. “Okay, I’m ready,” you whisper quickly, hips subtly bucking up. “I’m…I think I’m good now.”

His brow raises as he drops his hand and you have to fight the urge to whine. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You chew on your bottom lip. “I mean, if you are.”

“I am,” he says, glancing back down at your waist. “Yeah, I am.”

So you nod, and anxiously await his next move.

He reaches again for your body, and you want to sigh with relief as he slips his fingers under the band of your underwear to peel it down. 

The cool air is rather chilling and it’s then that you’re made aware of the mess already forming between your thighs. You knew you’d begun to enjoy yourself but you’re surprised by just how much. 

Whether that was because of him or because of the video…you don’t exactly know.

Once the lace has been flicked to the side, he readjusts onto his knees and formulates a plan.

He makes you wait. Watch. Watch as he once again takes your legs in his hands to guide them apart and settle between them.

Watch as he outstretches his palm so he can run it along your hip before moving lower.

Watch as he takes his thumb and brings it back to your clit which is now exposed to his skin.

And the contact is sinful. You’re worked up enough that the immediate connection makes your head drop back, and while you’d like to be embarrassed…you just don’t care.

He drags it down. Down. Presses, rubs, and dips into the wetness that waits for him.

He’s concentrated, and the look on his face is rather adorable. He’s learning. Studying. Observing each and every reaction you offer him as he continues to tease you.

Once in a while, he’ll venture a glance up, perhaps for approval, and you’ll nod quickly. Then, he’ll return to the task at hand as he looks for new ways to make you gasp.

He slides the tip of his finger in without warning and when you whimper, he stills and raises his brow.

You can tell he was aiming for the element of surprise, choosing not to warn you in order to receive this very response, but he’s not sure if that was a sound of approval or unease, so you rush to clarify.

“No, it’s fine,” you mumble. “It’s fine, it’s good.”

“Are you su—”

“Yes, it’s good. Go.”

Encouraged, he pushes in. He’s still wary of your enjoyment but he seems to focus more on the movement of his hand than your expressions. And that’s all right with you. You’re happy to simply sit and…judge. Which is what he’s asked you to do, and you plan to uphold your end of the deal.

He stops when he’s reached his knuckle, finger curling slightly before he’s gently pulling back. He repeats the action a time or two more and the fullness that accompanies the stretch is quite enjoyable.

Your eyes move to the ceiling as you fight the urge to watch him. You’re not that comfortable yet and perhaps watching him would ruin the fun. So, for now, you stare at the white paint above you as he begins to pump his hand a bit faster.

When he adds a second finger, you gasp, and he uses this as leverage to expand his search.

And you know exactly what he’s looking for, the crease between his brows indicative of his captivation.

But just when you’re getting ready to offer some help, he drives in and curls up until the tips of his fingers brush against that particular point of ecstasy.

You inhale a sharp breath and writhe away, faintly panting, “Shit…that.”

Intrigued, he perks up, although he doesn’t relax his pace. “That?”

He does it again and your eyes squeeze shut. “Yeah…yeah, it’s…mhm.”

A smile dances across his lips as he scoots a little closer to watch his own hand as he repeats the action.

You begin to slump down the mattress, limbs turning to jello as he guides your body up toward that familiar ledge, and you hear him hum his approval.

“Good,” he murmurs, you assume in an attempt to soothe you. “Very good, m’proud of you. Seem to be doing really well.”

You stumble over a scoff. “Yeah, well…so are you.”

The grin grows. “Still doing okay?”

“Yes,” you whisper when his thumb ghosts over your clit. “Yeah, I…fuck. I’m…is this all you’re gonna do…then? I thought…I thought you wanted…to…with…the other…”

Nothing that comes out of your mouth is coherent but he seems to understand. “Yeah, I just wasn’t sure if you were ready.”

“I am,” you correct quickly. “I’m…yeah, I’m fine. You can…you’re good. Just do it.”

He dips his head down but doesn’t quite connect as he continues to watch you carefully. “Bee?”

“...wha—shit—what?”

“Thank you.”

Your eyes roll playfully, although perhaps that’s just from the pleasure. “Yeah, yeah, I’m…I’m a fucking saint. Just…fucking do it, okay?”

So…he does.

Those lips you used to stare at move down to your clit and he brushes his mouth over your body for just a moment before you see his tongue.

He takes a moment to decide exactly what he wants to do before he’s pressing that tongue into you and dragging it up from his hand.

You’re so wound up that it doesn’t take much more for you to arch off the bed in search of that feeling. He’s hardly done anything but your head is rolling back across the pillow as your fingers dig into the blanket beneath you.

He nips at you gently, continuing to pump your arousal in and out as it coats his hand, and your mind instantly falls completely blank.

The sounds…god, the sounds. The sound of you, the sound of him, the sound of your body falling apart beneath him.

He’s good. He’s very good, and you almost wonder if he was lying about his inexperience. There’s no way he learned this from porn…at least, you can’t see how. But, he is a perfectionist. Maybe it just comes naturally to him.

“Awfully quiet up there,” you hear him say, and the vibration of the deep tone of voice sparks a chill down your spine. “That bad?”

No! you want to scream but you simply shake your head. “It’s…it’s good. You’re…this is great. This is all…you know…standard…good…stuff.”

When he smiles, your cheeks grow hot. “Guess I have a good teacher.”

“Please,” you huff, pressing your palm to your forehead. “You always—god, always know what you’re doing. I had nothing to do with it.”

He shrugs as his eyes flick across the mess in front of him. “Had more to do with it than you think.”

He dives back in, licking a stripe up before driving his fingers in further. And there’s so much happening. So much that it makes you crazy. There’s him, and there’s you, and there’s that reminder of need that continues to grow. You can’t focus in on any one thing, and honestly...you’re okay with that. 

When he sucks you into his mouth, you have to fight the urge to grab onto him, twisting the duvet around your knuckles as you reel. 

“Don’t,” he mumbles, and you work to figure out what he’s referring to. Did you do something wrong? “Don’t grab the blanket. Grab me.”

You blink down at him. “I’m…no, it’s fine. I was just—”

“Bee, I’m not asking,” he interrupts, rather resolutely. “You wanna do it, so do it. Promise, I don’t mind.”

You certainly aren’t a stranger to this more…authoritative side of him. Although now, you might even…like it? At least, in this context.

“Come on,” he repeats, pulling back only to shoot you a stern look. “She will. And it’ll show me what you like. Don’t be a pussy, just do it. You won’t hurt me.”

And you almost want to fight him, but he’s right, and you can’t argue that. 

So, the moment he returns to his focused work, you reach for those chocolate brown curls and give them a nice tug.

He makes a noise of approval that nearly kills you, lapping at your folds like he’s depraved and you’re his only remedy.

Tina is gonna love it.

He finds a certain rhythm that you respond to well and zeros in. His cheeks hollow every time he sucks on you only to quickly pop off as he presses his tongue beside his fingers. 

Your nails scratch down his scalp and he seems to like it, his other hand grasping onto your thigh so hard you imagine it’ll bruise.

And for just a moment, you actually don’t mind. You concede to the satisfaction he’s offering and you indulge in it. You find gratification in the fact that you accepted and you even decide that maybe…this was a good idea.

“Are you close?” he asks once your whimpers scale up an octave.

You nod quickly. “Yes…yeah, I’m…yeah.”

“Good,” he muses proudly before he’s suddenly removing his hand from your body and pulling away.

You nearly disappear through the mattress as you choke on a dejected whine and look down at him. “What…what happened?”

He breathes out a laugh as he settles onto his knees. “Nothing, I’m just keeping my word.”

His word.

Right.

“You…oh,” you whisper, fighting your disappointment. “Yeah. Well…that was…you did good. That was all…you know, very well done. She’ll like it, you’ll be fine.”

He seems pleased with your approval before his eyes begin to narrow in thought. He watches you haphazardly reach for a throw blanket to cover yourself, but just as you’re getting ready to toss it over your legs, he snatches onto your wrist.

You both still as he studies you. “Bee?”

“...what?”

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “If there’s something you want to ask me…then ask me.”

You blink. “What…what do you mean?”

With his hold still on your arm, he leans closer. “Bee…we agreed, yeah? M’trying to be a good student, but I can’t be if you don’t tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitches the closer he gets. “Har, I don’t know what you’re—”

“Do you wanna come?”

Well…shit. “I…” You begin to shift nervously under his pointed stare. “I was just…”

His expression softens although there’s a hint of smugness swimming behind his smile. “Do you want me…to make you come?” he clarifies as your stomach twists into a knot.

Feigning exasperation, you huff a stray hair from your eye. “Well, what do you think? Obviously nobody likes being edged.”

He’s amused as he begins to lower back down, fingers still wrapped around your wrist. “Then what do you need to do?”

You huff again, shooting a quick glare his way as you watch him drop his gaze to your sensitive cunt. “Harry…come on.”

He clicks his tongue and cocks his head. “Nope, that’s not it.”

You open your mouth, a quippy remark locked and loaded, but right before you can use it…he puckers his lips and blows on your clit.

Your muscles recoil and your throat seems to close up as you pull against his hold. “You fucking asshole, you did that on purpose.”

“Obviously.” He tosses you a wink. “You wanna try again?”

No, I wanna kill you, you think but don’t say. “Harry…please.”

You briefly notice the way his eyelashes flutter at the sound of his name but he doesn’t comment on it. “Please what?”

“Harry—”

“Come on, Bee, you can do it.”

“I just…I…this isn’t…”

“Almost there, that’s it. Be a good girl and ask me.”

Oh, that sadistic fucker. You’d berate him for such a nickname if it didn’t turn you on so goddamn much, especially with the state you're in. You might even wanna hear it again and truth be told, the thought blows your mind.

You swallow a shaky breath. “Harry?”

“Yes?”

“...please make me come.”

A wide smile bursts across his face. “Attagirl.”

And with that…he continues.

You’re thrust back up the precipice of pleasure as he slips three fingers into your aching, dripping cunt. 

And it’s purposeful and practiced and he’s such a liar because he knows exactly what he’s doing, at least to you, and you want to smack him.

But you also want to grab onto his hair and his arm and every inch of his body and never let go because he’s so good for making you feel this way. The best friend you could ever have and why on Earth didn’t you guys try this earlier?

Each curl, each twist, each push in. You feel so full and he feels so good and it’s only his hand and then suddenly…it’s his mouth, too.

And the moment he presses his tongue against you, you lose it. You roll your hips against his face, and lift your back from the bed, and drop your mouth open as a desperate moan falls free.

And it goes, and goes, and goes. Stronger and longer than any other one you’ve ever had and this time, you think it really does kill you.

But he doesn’t stop, not even when you’ve begun to settle. He pushes against the sensitive nerves until tears spring to your eyes. He teases and he tortures and he demands a second orgasm out of you before you can even fight it.

This time, he grabs onto your hips, one hand on either side, to lift you and place you where he wants.

And he tastes you. Savors you on his tongue as if this is for his enjoyment, not yours.

And you look down at him, and you see the flush in his cheeks, and the messy way his hair falls into his eyes, and the veins in his arms as he holds you.

And you lose it. Completely and utterly and permanently.

You disappear into your own head for a moment until his ministrations relax and he slowly—very slowly—begins to let go.

As you fight to catch your breath, you watch him run his thumb across his lip. He’s going to wipe you away, you imagine, but then, to your surprise, he sucks his thumb into his mouth.

When he notices you watching, he raises a brow. “Want some?”

And you can only lay there and stare at him, dumbfounded and blissed-out

He laughs to himself when he notices the spacey expression on your face, moving to hover over your body until he’s only inches away. “Can I try something else?”

“What?” you ask breathlessly.

He smiles. “Kissing you.”

Your eyes widen. “...why?”

He shrugs. “I mean, it’s only polite after something like that, no? Like…a parting gift.”

Your eyes narrow. “How sweet. No, really, that was so romantic. Don’t stop, give me another compliment—”

He presses his lips to yours. And it’s rushed and it’s messy and it’s the perfect parting gift.

It’s him.

And you don’t mind that.

You both grin when he pulls back, chuckling to yourselves as he flops over onto the bed beside you.

He helps you toss the blanket over your legs before he’s turning onto his side, head in his hand as he studies you. “All right, Teach. What do you say?”

You pretend to think. “Well…your dirty talk could use some work.”

He smirks. “Okay.”

“And your incessant need to make me spell it out lost you a few points.”

“Sure, sure.”

“But, overall…that was really good,” you admit, and he beams. “Like…better than I expected, and I kind of think you lied about not knowing what to do.”

He shakes his head playfully as he glances off into your room. “Good to know you had so much faith in me.”

“Oh, I didn’t. Not even a little.”

He snorts. “Well, I meant what I said. I only knew what to do because of you.”

“Yeah right. I didn’t tell you any of that.”

“You did,” he argues, turning his attention back to you. “Not with words, no. But with the sounds you made. The way your breath would catch or the way you’d squirm. Or when your nose would crinkle up ’cause you were trying really hard not to like it.”

Shit…had he noticed that? “I…okay, in my defense…I like almost anything. And I wanted to make you work for it.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Yeah.”

He rolls over onto his back, grinning up at the ceiling. “All right, well…I still appreciate it.”

“Hey, don’t get all sappy on me now.”

“Fuck off,” he groans. “I mean it, Bee. I was honestly…okay, don’t fucking laugh, but…I was kind of nervous about it. About whether or not she’d like it. Whether or not you’d like it, and…I’m glad you said yes. I’m glad it was you because…you know. It’s you. And I always feel better around you.”

You work to restrain your smile as you look up at the fan spinning above you. “I feel better around you, too.”

He hums.

“Especially after that. I mean…that was good,” you add and he shakes his head again. “She’s gonna love it.”

He turns to you. “Honestly?”

“Honestly.” You meet his eye. “Really, Har, you have nothing to worry about. She’ll show you what she likes just like I did. You know what to do, you just have to listen. And then…you can call me and tell me all about it.”

“Deal,” he agrees eagerly, sticking his pinky between you.

You take it and squeeze. “And I already know what next week's lesson is gonna be.”

Amused, he says, “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

You grin.

“How To Eat Ass 101.”

Next part:

~ Show Me* (Pt. 2)

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist (with all the other parts plus extras!)

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

#harry #harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles fan #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #best friends to lovers #friends to lovers #best friend!harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #smut #oneshot #imagine #harry styles concept #harry and bee

[munson-blurbs]

Hi <3 for your trope-or-treat, how about dum-dum and butterfinger with Eddie, aka my favorite dum-dum

Idiots in love/Shy!Reader/Eddie Munson

A little offended that I'm not your favorite dum-dum, but it's fine.

Warnings: fluff, a bit of suggestive language

WC: 728

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie can’t stop staring. 

It’s not on purpose; really, it’s all Mrs. Byrd’s fault. She had insisted on handing out candy after a pop quiz, calling it a ‘treat after a trick.’ You could’ve picked one of the fun-size chocolate bars like Eddie had, but no. 

You’d chosen a lollipop. 

The same goddamn lollipop that you’re currently twirling around your mouth, occasionally pulling from between your lips with a soft pop. You’re talking with Lucas, nodding sympathetically while he laments about having to take his sister trick-or-treating tonight. 

“What about you?” Lucas asks, taking a bite of his turkey sandwich. “Any fun Halloween plans?”

You shrug. “Eddie and I are gonna watch some scary movies once he’s done at the party.” Tina’s annual Halloween party is the perfect place for him to sell, but he never sticks around to hang out with people. 

“Really setting the mood,” Jeff teases Eddie, earning him an elbow to the ribs. 

You’re used to their jokes—calling you and Eddie ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad,’ saying that you two bicker like an old married couple, humming Here Comes the Bride whenever you walk into Hellfire. But it wears on you, especially given your ridiculous crush on him. 

You can’t stop thinking about Jeff’s off-handed comment, even when Eddie breezes through your doorway. He’s got a VHS copy of The Amityville Horror in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. 

“You ready to hang out with Jody?” He punctuates his statement with his signature devil horns gesture, tossing a bag of Gummi bears in your direction before popping the movie in the TV. As the opening credits begin, he flops onto the couch and, incidentally, your lap.

“Get up!” you grunt, laughing as you try to push him off of you. “You’re squishing me!”

Eddie pouts and remains in place. “But how else am I gonna protect you from the Satanic influences?” He drops his register an octave to match his Dungeon Master voice.

“You are the Satanic influence!”

“Fair enough.” But, still, he doesn’t move; instead, he looks up at you and wistfully remarks, “you still look beautiful when you’re upside down.”

You wrinkle your nose, feeling your body heat up at his unexpected compliment. “Did you drink at Tina’s party?”

“Not a drop.” 

Given the lack of alcohol on his breath, you’re obliged to believe him. “Then stop being an idiot.”

“I’m…I’m not.” Confusion creases his brows, and he finally sits up. He situates himself next to you, bringing your legs over his thighs and forcing himself to look into your eyes. “Okay, I’m gonna do this, and I’m sorry if it fucks everything up, but…I have, like, this big, stupid crush on you? And I don’t know what to do about it except tell you, because I feel like I get weird around you, a-and I don’t want you to think that I don’t like you. Because it’s the opposite, y’know, like I really like you–”

“Eddie.” You interrupt him gently, allowing yourself to play with a lock of his hair. “Eddie, I like you, too. I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

He exhales, visibly relieved that his confession didn’t end in humiliation. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or anything, but Jeff told me that if I didn’t tell you soon, he was gonna kick my ass.” He chuckles, shaking his head, curls dancing in front of his face. “Can I kiss you? I-Is that okay?”

You answer for him, gathering all of your courage to press your lips to his. He adjusts you so you’re straddling his waist, His hand is on the back of your head, bringing you impossibly close to deepen the kiss.“Shit,” he mutters, abruptly pulling away, “I promised myself I’d take you on a date before we, y’know, do stuff.” His cheeks go red, his cheek pinched between his teeth. 

You glance over at the movie playing on the TV, then back to him. “Does this count as a date?”

“It can if you want it to.” Eddie’s fingers brush against your arm, the slight touch sending shivers throughout your body. “Do you? Want it to count as a date, I mean?

“Yes, please.” 

His lips are back on yours as soon as you finish affirming what he already knew, grateful that he won’t have to hold back any longer.

--

#trope or treat #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut

[ben-lyintous]

i've been messing around in fo4 for a while now and i've never really cared for a custom robot companion because they're generally big, clumsy and annoying. until today, when i've realized that i can make a horrible, horrible nightmare of an assaultron. her name is bestie

look at her stupid fucking face. she looks like she just made the worst pun ever. except i'm the one who made the bad pun bc 'bestie' means beast/monster in czech.

she could rule the commonwealth

#she has a shishkebab for one hand and a machine gun for the other and i love her dearly #fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #tina plays stuff

[ramons-elevator]

Something I gotta give props to Red Team/ Team Bolas is that even though they are doomed, they all are on the same page

After the first day, Etoiles mentioned and some people here said that it was kinda rough in the beginning for blue and green team, especially when picking their leaders.

Blue has Tubbo, Pierre, and Bad which are three people who would want to be leaders/know how to do things. And Tubbo and Bad having beef in the past probably didnt help.

Green team has Forever, Bagi, Etoiles, and Quackity who are again are people who want to be leaders/know how to do things. But also add Max and Antoine who can be silly, but also know how to do things, it probably got messy (keep in mind that i only heard from other ppl)

Then we have Red team, who knows they are fucked. They have Philza, Baghera, Cellbit, and Foolish who are great leaders, but they know that this is survival/PvP. If I remember right that they were kinda like “uh so Philza or Cellbit?” and was the first team to pick their name and leader.

Then after that, they all communicated and just let each other do their thing which I think really helped. Foolish mentioned this after with Tina that they didnt try to tell each other what to do or become actual leaders. They just were like “hey imma make some bread.” “Okay im in the ocean looking for ships” etc etc

Also Slime being a strategist and jumping into other peoples calls was so smart and playing to his element. And as soon as they realized that Carre was a god at PvP, they cheered him on and Cellbit helped communicate with Carre more clearly. Philza using his Minecraft knowledge and scouting for world generated boats and stuff to get more loot and telling everyone.

They all let each other do what they want and played to their strengths. It probably helped that it was a small team and in terms of lore, the characters had things conflicting with each other, but they still respected each other highly.

And when it came down to them fucking giving up, they were 100% on board and even wanted to change their skins and just roleplay it out. They stated over and over again, they didnt want to break up the team at all. They know they were fucked, but didn’t want anything to change.

I need to watch the other Povs to see the other teams, but goddamn. Team Bolas my beloveds. I hope they fucking lose it and get worse <3

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #qsmp cellbit #qsmp jaiden #qsmp foolish #qsmp baghera #qsmp slimecicle #qsmp charlie slimecicle #qsmp philza

[sherifftillman]

What Are Friends For?

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Genre: smut

Tags: Stranger Things (series), 18+ (MINORS DNI), oral (m receiving), handjob (m receiving), masturbation (f receiving),

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: A late night post-Truth or Dare chat with your best friend has you admitting your own lack of experience, sexually. Thankfully, he's more than happy to tutor you.

A/N: finally got inspo for one of my wips! just another 12 to go 🙃

As Nancy and Robin work together to drag a near-catatonic Eddie out of Steve's living room, you nudge the party’s host’s foot with your own. “Alright, Harrington, truth or dare?”

He chuckles, “Seriously? Still? We’re the only two people left, right now.”

You shrug, “’M not ready to go home, yet. Unless you’re really willing to turf out your best friend onto the cold, dark streets of Indiana?” You look at him, doe-eyed, and he laughs again.

“Okay, fine, I’ll bite. Truth.”

“Who’d you lose your V-card with?” you ask plainly, and Steve, halfway through a sip of his drink, chokes on it.

“What the hell! Remind me who it was that insisted on the ‘nothing sexual’ rule when we started playing?” he sputters out.

You shrug, “Around the others, sure, but I’m curious. It’s like, the one thing we never talk about.” 

Steve sighs in defeat. “It was… Tina Langdon. At that party on the last day of sophomore year. The one you wouldn’t go to.”

“Couldn’t,” you correct him, “I was ill, remember?”

He scoffs, “Please, you were fine all day, you can’t fool me, you just chickened out!”

“This isn’t about that,” you shake your head, feeling yourself get flustered.

Steve grins slowly. “Yeah, it is! I know you, you were getting some heavy hints from… Who was that guy, oh my god, this is gonna bug me…” He falters, rubbing his jaw in thought.

"Greg Patowski," you mutter.

"Greg Patowski," he repeats in a reminiscent tone, shaking his head and looking up as he waves his finger up and down. "Alright, 'fess up, your turn now. Who was yours?"

Your cheeks burn hot. "Steve!"

He grins wickedly at you. "C'mon, dishing out what you can't take? That's not like you! You started this!"

After a moment, you bashfully murmur, "It was… It - you just…" Steve still looks at you with anticipation, so you blurt out, "It was Greg, okay?!" He scoffs in disbelief. "He - it was that night, too, actually. He came over from the party to 'check on me', we made out on my bed, it… went further. He was in the room and out again within ten minutes," you admit with a scowl.

Steve's jaw drops in shock. "Are you serious?!" You nod. "Who el-"

"No! My turn to ask now." You take another moment to compose yourself before asking, "W-what's your favourite, like, part of it?"

"Sex?" he asks, and you nod. He blows a long breath out before eventually answering, "Probably the stuff before it. Like head, god. Giving it? Hell, yeah. Getting it? I swear, I don't care what else happens," he throws his head back and smiles wistfully.

Shuffling in your seat, you ask, "H-how did you know what to do?"

"Hm?" Steve asks, and you die a little internally as the thought of repeating yourself, though it seems as though he's heard you. "Oh, well, Tina was, as you know, the grade above us, so she was already more… Experienced, and that helped a lot. She pretty much told me where to go and what to do." He shrugs. 

You're already nervous enough about having to explain yourself to him, when Robin and Nancy reappear at the doorway. "Hey," Nancy calls, making you jump. "Uh, we threw Eddie into one of the guest rooms. Rob and I are just gonna head home, now."

Steve frowns, "You carried him all the way upstairs? I could've done that for you!"

Robin glares at him from under her brow. "What, because two poor, defenceless young women couldn't handle it on their own?" She gives you a look which you silently translate and respond by punching Steve in the arm, which makes Robin laugh, "Nice. See you kids around!"

"Night!" Nancy calls after her before they both head out the front door.

Steve rubs his arm and pokes your shoulder. "So, Jumpy McPuncher."

"Good one," you deadpan, and he laughs.

"C'mon, spill. What's got you so worked up?"

"Well…" you start hesitantly. "You know I was telling you about the guy who's been kinda flirting with me at work?" Steve nods. "I was, uh, thinking of asking him out, but then I was thinking about the bigger picture, and how eventually that's gonna lead to - to, y’know, possibly sleeping with him, and I was wondering how to make it… Enjoyable, since I don't really know how to…" you falter through the end of your sentence, and Steve frowns.

"You've… Been with others since Greg, right?" You shake your head, and he looks at you incredulously. "What?! You've dated people since then!"

"Dated, sure, but I'd make up some shit about not being ready for a commitment before it got to that point," you admit quietly. 

Steve nods slowly, with a thoughtful frown. "Okay. So… You wanna learn how to please a guy?" You nod bashfully and his nod quickens as he hops up onto the couch you'd been leaning against. "Alright."

You look at him in confusion. "W-what are you -?"

He takes some pillows off of the couch and hands them to you. "For your knees," he explains.

"Are you…?" You ask quietly.

"Offering myself as your test dummy? Sure, if it'll help you out," Steve's reply is so casual. "That is, of course, if you want, don't feel like you have t- oh, okay," he smirks as you tentatively unbutton his jeans.

You snap your hands back into your lap in embarrassment. "Oh, sorry, did you want to do that?"

"No, no, if… If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, we really don't have to," he studies you with concern, but you shake your head.

"No, I… I want to. This is the best case scenario, right? I can learn, and not worry about disappointing - not that I don't care what you think, but like, you're you, you know?"

He smiles warmly. "Sure am, and you're you. And I'll guide you on what to do, but you gotta be confident with it, 'kay? Just get going with it, and don't take it personally if I tell you to do something a little different, alright?" You nod, and once again reach to undo his jeans. He shuffles them down to his thighs, and you can see a noticeable bulge in his underwear. "You wanna take it out, or me to, or not yet?"

"Can I…?" You clear your throat, remembering what he just said about confidence. "Can i just touch it over…?" You hold your hand to hover just over his crotch area and he smiles with a nod. The affirmation is oddly calming as you start palming him, and he hums out a soft moan.

"That feels nice," he muses. "Nice and gentle."

He keeps humming with delight as he watches you, and you notice something as you keep palming him. "You're getting hard, already."

"Doesn't take much, right?" he smirks. "Plus, you're doing so well, there."

"I, um… I know you're saying I should take things at my own pace, but I don't wanna take too long, should I take it out now?"

"Go for it," Steve mutters under his breath, still smiling.

You reach beneath the elastic of his underwear, take his shaft in your hand and move it out into view. Your eyes widen and your jaw drops when you see the size of it. "You, uh, you're much bigger than Greg Patowski."

He chuckles, "Good to know. Still wanna keep going?"

You nod, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah. So, what do I do from here?"

"Whatever you feel like doing," he shrugs. "You can use your lips and kiss it, or use your tongue and lick it, or you can get straight onto putting it on your mouth. I promise you, as long as it feels good for you, it's gonna feel good for me, too."

You study his member for a few seconds before tentatively licking along his length. He lets his head loll against the back of the couch. "Oh, god, yes. That feels so good. Mmm, and you look good doing it, too," he muses as he looks at you. You look up at him and chirp in questioning affirmation, and he bites his lip. "So good. You know, if you really wanna tease them, you can push your whole mouth against it without wrapping your lips arou- oh, fuck, just like that," he groans as you lean into your motions.

You sit back on your heels to frown, "But if I do that, there's still so much that I can't fit."

"So there is," he raises his eyebrows. "Why don't you try spitting into your hand and getting to work on the rest of it?"

After spitting into your palm, you smirk up at him. "Oh, you want me to get to work?"

He's about to give you an equally smug response when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock and start working it. "Fuck, yes, there you go, just keep touching m- mmfff," he moans. "God, see? You're a natural."

Still stroking him, you experimentally run your tongue around his swollen mushroom tip, to which he grips the cushions next to him oh-so tightly. You finally wrap your lips around his member and sink down onto it as much as you can.

He moans so loudly that he brings the couch cushion up to his mouth to bite down on it. It makes you instinctively hum around his cock, which makes him squirm and whine more. You pull back again to look up at him in awe, and he asks, "What? Surprised that I'm moaning, or that you're able to make me?

"A little of both," you admit bashfully, and he sits back, spreading his legs further as he leans back. 

"Well, when you're doing such a good job, of course I'm gonna," he smirks.

"S'pose I've got a good teacher, huh?" You raise your eyebrows as you jerk him off.

He shakes his head, "Can't take credit for that, baby, this has all been you. Though, if you want a little guidance, why don't you try sucking your cheeks in while you're down there?"

You happily take him back into your mouth, revelling in his moans as he encourages you. Every ounce of praise he gives you tingles that shoot to your core, and every instance of him calling you a good girl has you light-headed.

You try and sneak your hand between your thighs, but it doesn't go unnoticed. With a chuckle, Steve asks, "You good?"

You whine, "Y're not… Th'only one who's… Enjoying this."

His smug expression stretches into a full-blown grin. "Yeah? You wanna touch yourself? Go ahead."

"Is this good? The right thing to do?" You ask as you reach inside your panties, face melting with pleasure as you finally make contact with yourself.

"Fuck, yes, baby, you look so fucking hot down there, getting yourself off to - what is it, huh? You like the praise? The moans? Or do you just really like having my cock in your mouth?"

That's the real answer, right at the end. You've never especially wanted to get this intimate with anyone, not even that one flirty customer you'd thought about asking out, but now there's only one person you ever want to be thus close with.

But he's your best friend. He's doing this in the name of helping you overcome your anxieties, that's all. You can't jeopardise what you've got with him.

"All of it," you whimper out, briefly looking over to glance at his fingers to allow yourself to imagine them as you sink your own inside you, getting back to sucking him off, making sure you hollow your cheeks every now and again like he told you.

With his moans, you lose yourself in the moment of imagining him touching you that as you hook your fingers inside of you, you instinctively keel over, sinking yourself further down on his cock. Steve lets out a long, stuttered groan at that. "Fucking shit, baby, y'almost got me in whole, god, wanna fuck the rest of me into you, too." You whine around him and he tuts, "Don't think you're ready for that, yet. You're gonna gag, and I don-"

You push yourself even further down, trying desperately to ignore your gag reflex, and he throws his head back to moan, "Fuck, yes, good girl! Such a good girl, taking all of that fucking cock, and holding it there, all while touching yourself, fuck. You're so hot, y'know that? Oh, fuck, baby, you need to breathe, c'mon," he reminds you softly, pushing you away. "That's it, oh, look at all that drool," he simpers, wiping the spit from your chin.

"Do… Do people like that? Seeing all… This?" You gesture towards your face, and he shakes his head.

"Don't know, don't care, doesn't matter. I fucking love it," he groans as you wrap your hand around his shaft again, stroking him all the way from base to tip. "Oh, shit, you really are a fucking natural at getting me off, baby. You gonna get us both off at the same time, yeah?" You nod, and his face contorts with his impending climax. "Fuck, get that mouth back on me, I wanna feel your moans against my cock coax the cum right outta me."

Not needing to be told twice, you happily comply, making sure you try to moan around him as much as possible. He strains out another moan, gasping out, "Fuck, so… So proud of you, look at you. Taking me so well, looking so fucking good touching yourself. Such a good little student, 'm gonna teach you so much more. How a real man eats you out, how a real man fucks you, fuck, so much for you to learn. Y'want that, baby? Tell me. Tell me with my fucking cock in your mouth."

"Wan' y'to hh-fuck me, hh-so bad," you whine, not moving, and he groans.

"You're so fucking cute when you talk with your mouth full, baby. Aww, you gonna do it? You gonna make me cum in that pretty little mouth of yours?" he groans, and you rub at your clit rapidly. "That's my good girl, fuck, look up at me with those eyes, so sweet, so sexy, while you get us both off, c'mon, baby, you can do it, atta girl."

The impending desperation in his tone mixed with his words finally sends you over the edge, moaning shrilly around his cock as you feel your orgasm press deeper than anything's ever felt before. You practically see spots as you squirt all over your fingers, trying desperately to stay focused on keeping Steve's cock in your mouth long enough to take all of his load, swallowing everything as he gives it to you.

He breathes deeply as he comes down from his high, smiling blissfully as he sits forward, cradling your face in his hands. His large, thick-fingered hands. He licks his lips to speak when the wet patch on the pillow you'd been sitting on distracts him. "Holy shit, did you squirt?!" You look up at him and shrug, and he strokes his thumbs against your cheeks. "From now on, I'm making that happen for you, 'kay?"

"So, you meant it? You'll keep teaching me?" You ask hopefully.

"In a ways," he shrugs. "I'll keep showing you what real pleasure feels like… But not for some… Guy who shows up at your work sometimes. Sure as shit not for some Greg Patowski type. I'm. Here to please, you. Got that?" 

You nod, licking your lips, a hint of a smile tickling at you. "Real hung up on Greg still, huh?"

"Yeah, well, it should've been me," Steve admits. "I wanted to make my move that night, but then Patowski bounced early, and everyone was talking about how he was bragging about how he was gonna seal the deal with you. And so, my young and stupid self went and drowned my sorrows with Tina."

You chuckle softly. "You know, when I heard knocking at my window that night, I really hoped it would be you. Always dreamt of you sneaking in through my window and having your way with me. But I like this better."

"You do?" he asks, leaning closer.

"Yeah. You were right, about getting with someone with more experience." You shuffle yourself closer to him, further between his legs, letting go your arms rest around his hips. "'Cause now you've definitely ruined other men for me."

He grins, pulling you up and scooping you I to his lap before grabbing you by the back of your neck and kissing you fervently. "You wrecked me a long time ago, baby. Glad to see you're finally catching up."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut

[qsmpbutwithsignlanguage]

Headcanon that Team Soulfire isn't Immune to the Cold

Headcanon that they just know to fear it-they're human like everybody else, for the most part. Green Gay Ninjas weren't immune to the relentless heat of the jungle, nor were Bolas Rojas immune to the ever-present radiation that blanketed the plains they called home. No, they adapted, and so did Soulfire.

The cold didn't change Soulfire's body, it changed their mind.

When Ironmouse suggests taking Empanada up the mountain for the scenic view, Tina bundles her in five layers of coats and stuffs newspaper in between. She swats Ironmouse's hand away when the demon tries to give their daughter a thick parka colored pink because-

"Those kinds of coats don't save you. They just make you think that you have longer to live."

When BadBoyHalo sets out to build the massive snowmen that tower over Quesadilla Island, he gathers food. Digestion keeps you warmer for longer, and it keeps you alive.

He gives a bundle of chicken to Dapper and bread to Pomme-

"Dad, why do we need so much food?"

BadBoyHalo's smile falters.

"Because it keeps us warm."

Tubbo doesn't count in sets of five, ten. His are composed of four, eight, twelve, sixteen-

"Why don't you have all your fingers, pa?" Sunny asks one day, as Tubbo is trying to figure out the amount of snow that they would have needed to collect to fill the Tubhole.

Tubbo doesn't answer. The feeling of frostbite, of necrosis, of that realization that if you want to stay alive any longer you have to leave your fingers behind, it's all too familiar to the young mechanic. It's a feeling that he wishes nobody else had to know.

It's not just the leaders either, nor the original Soulfire members (though they bear the brunt of this incessant memory). Bagi seems to always have a cup of tea going on the stove, Rivers stopped wearing flip-flops ages ago (you can't really wear flip-flops when you're missing two toes on either foot), and Missa tries to play it off like it's nothing when he gives Chayanne and Tallulah thick winter coats as a coming back gift.

Team Soulfire isn't immune to the cold. They had to learn how to survive, and learning meant failing, again and again and again. The lessons that came from the mountain aren't ones that they will forget any time soon.

#qsmp #qsmp team soulfire #team soulfire #qsmp purgatory #qsmp tinakitten #tinakitten #qsmp badboyhalo #badboyhalo #qsmp tubbo #tubbo #I saw someone headcanon that soulfire was less affected by the cold and that is such a cool headcanon #but hear me out #this has so many angst possibilities #it's beautiful #qsmp team blue #qsmp blue team #covering all my bases #so many angst possibilities

[angstmongertina]

7KPP Promptober 2023: Day 14

This is my last post for this Promptober, but I have been CACKLING about writing it ever since I saw the prompt on the planning list for Promptober this year, courtesy of @teaandinanity, who somehow managed to FORGET what I have associated the word "winsome" with for AGES now. (It's I'm Not That Girl, from Wicked.) I love you so much, Tea! <3

So yes, I continue playing the VaLia 'verse, but rather than all of the fun romcom future stuff, I gotta address the fact that we threw two Lyonmancers into the same universe. And yes, I had MUCH fun with the angst.

Bonus: I tried to reference every verse of I'm Not That Girl, and also there's a SINGLE line of dialogue that was intentionally taken wholesale from Lyon's first date. Can you find it? :D

1.5k words of angst below the cut. Beware!

Lady Camellia of Jiyel.

At the Summit, it was helpful, perhaps even necessary, to identify delegates by their kingdoms, for ease of reference, particularly in the case of those lesser known delegates, such as herself. After all, with the varying titles and systems across the seven kingdoms, it was well-nigh impossible to remember every landholding as well as title, or the equivalents for those without such distributions of property.

For her, however, those four words also served well to summarize her entire status, all that she was to the Summit and indeed, the world as a whole. It was a simple fact that even the Queen of Jiyel herself likely did not recognize her name, to the extent that, if her home was familiar, it was likely for her ancestor’s scandal and not for any recognition of her own status.

She was, in short, not meant to be there.

She shouldn't have been there.

But there she was nonetheless, offered an opportunity stolen from a far more deserving lady, another simple fact that it would not do to forget.

Another simple fact that was, in fact, near impossible to forget, surrounded as she was by other, far more qualified, far more talented and ambitious and prepared delegates.

Indeed, there had only been a single conversation at the Summit thus far in which she had been able to forget the pressures of the environment, the consequences of saying the wrong thing, of accidentally offending the wrong person. In which she could relax and speak of Wang Yingming and Shang Yang without fear of boring or insulting her audience by her lack of charm or charisma or the multitude of other ways she did not belong.

In which, even as inadvisable as it may have been, she could be herself.

Perhaps that was why, when she next had the opportunity to explore the grand library, she found herself studying her surroundings more than she might otherwise in such a treasure trove. It was not a fully aimless perusal, of course—the rumors about the libraries in Vail Isle had reached even her small estate, and were one rumor which had proven to be more than accurate—but for the first time, strangely, impossibly, she found herself paying far more attention to the possibility of certain other delegates than to the writings in question.

And even try as she might, she could identify no explanation for the strange relieved smile, the sudden racing of her heart, when she heard a quiet, already familiar voice from behind a nearby bookshelf. Her steps quickening and perusal forgotten, she turned the corner, a greeting on the top of her tongue, and—

It caught, turning to sawdust in her mouth, at the scene before her.

Logically, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was not alone; logically, he would have no reason to be speaking out loud, muted but clear enough to be made out even from a distance, if he had been alone, and yet…

And yet…

In just the few days she had spent at the Summit, in the few days just seeing him at mealtimes, if he even attended at all, she’d come to realize that Duke Lyon was not a particularly social or expressive man, even by Jiyelese standards. He was certainly not emotionless, far from it, but he was a man of calm, of self-control that she envied, unlikely to display anything but placid stoicism in company.

Company excepting a bright-eyed, visibly passionate Lady Valeriya, it seemed.

Not that she could blame him; she too had discovered very early on that Lady Valeriya, despite first appearances, was a wonderful, clever young woman who blossomed under attention in a way that any insightful person would recognize, would be touched by. And if he could even be interested in a conversation with her, could even make her feel—

Well, then, surely it was only natural that the two of them together…

The only small mercy was that they hadn’t noticed her yet, captivated as they were by their discussion, something about the merits of direct action or unbiased observation. Then again, from what she had heard of the Duke, Kellem Ives seemed an appropriate topic of conversation, and one that seemed to resonate with his partner as well.

Though, considering the vivacious, downright smitten expression on her face, it seemed as if any conversation with him would resonate with her.

Lia drew a deep breath, holding it in until she could be sure that her exhale would be silent around the tightness in her throat, and turned away. Even as ignorant as she was towards navigating the intricacies of such social situations, even she could recognize when she would be interrupting.

Just as she could recognize instantly, after checking her shoulder against a shelf with an audible bump, when attempting to make an escape would be futile.

“Lady Camellia?”

The fact that it was unmistakably his voice, low and deep and with a hint of shock, somehow made it all the worse; she hesitated for a fraction of a second before turning and dropping into an immediate bow, grateful for the hair that slipped over her shoulders to help block her face from view.

“Good evening, your Grace, Lady Valeriya.”

To her immense relief, her voice held steady, if a touch too cool for the degree of intimacy she already had claim to, at least towards the lady. Unfortunately, however, its finality was not enough to dissuade further inquiry, though she couldn’t blame him for clinging to etiquette in the face of an unwelcome interruption. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” In spite of herself, she glanced towards him, his brow furrowed as if in genuine curiosity, before darting to Lady Valeriya, wide-eyed and still smiling, welcoming, and she had to look away the next second. Even she knew better than to truly believe herself welcome. “I came for the books.” She forced a smile, forced some semblance of a teasing lilt into her voice as she gestured towards the books by her side. “It is a library.”

That appeared to be enough of an explanation to satisfy him, but Lady Valeriya was still watching her in silence and she turned towards the nearest bookshelf, pulling a tome at random. “I apologize for interrupting your conversation. I believe this is what I was searching for.” Turning back, she bowed again, grateful for the opportunity to draw another hidden, shaky breath. “Please excuse me. Have a good evening.”

Thankfully, they allowed her departure without any additional comments, seeming to return to their discussion smoothly, as if there had been no interruption at all. But still, she retreated out of earshot as quickly as she could, a maelstrom of emotions churning in her stomach at the steady brightness of the voices behind her. A maelstrom of embarrassment and guilt and self-recrimination and—

And relief. How could she feel otherwise?

It wasn’t until she had escaped to the privacy of her room, where she was sure to be alone, where she had no chance of disrupting anyone else’s plans, that she allowed herself a moment to pause. That she was able to look down and find herself clutching the book so tightly she had nearly left imprints in the leather binding.

At least she hadn’t managed to crumple the paper underneath.

Taking another steadying breath, she stared down at it, forced each uncooperative finger to relax until she could see the title: From Princess to Peacemaker, a History of Princess Katyia. How very fitting, given her first interaction with Lady Valeriya. And considering…

Subconsciously, she turned her attention to her desk, and the sheaf of papers that her butler had placed there just a few days previously, after she had turned down the opportunity to host an event for the other delegates. She had thought its presence a misguided attempt to persuade her otherwise, but…

But she had seen the way Lady Valeriya’s eyes brightened to something warmer, something genuine, when discussing history, particularly related to Princess Katyia. And she certainly knew of Duke Lyon’s reputation for knowledge in subjects ranging from history to philosophy to mathematics.

Perhaps she could manage to do some good by hosting an event.

When he returned in the morning, she could attempt to convince her butler to squeeze in the event next week. If it went well, it could even provide her standing with Jiyel, her standing at the Summit, a much needed boost, in the only way that she could. She knew better than to believe she had any value, any chance, for a Summit match, but at least she could offer something. And besides…

Lady Valeriya had been through so much already, at such a young age. She deserved happiness, deserved a wonderful marriage to a good man.

And she knew wholeheartedly that Duke Lyon was, that it would be.

She was happy for her. For them both.

And she would prove it, to the world, and to herself.

#Tina rambles. #Tina writes stuff. #Tina plays 7KPP. #7KPP Promptober 2023 #Lady Camellia of Jiyel #VaLia verse

[writer-in-theory]

berry sweet on your lips

TW: Period-typical homophobia, Some Internalized homophobia, Implied abuse (Steve's dad is a pos)

When Steve was seven, his Mama caught him in her makeup.

He was sitting up on the bathroom counter, sloppily drawn eyeliner over his eyelids and trying to apply bright cherry red lipstick to his lips without smearing. The application process required so much focus he hadn't realized when the front door opened downstairs, or when his mom called repeatedly for him to come down to dinner. He did hear the surprised little yelp from her though, and the sigh once she realized which eyeliner he'd accidentally broken.

"Honey, those aren't toys to play with." His Mama's voice was tight like she was barely containing her frustration at the lost products. Dad always made her upset, and Steve didn't want to add to it. So it didn't seem like a good time to correct her, that no, he wasn't trying to play. He'd seen how pretty makeup could make people, and he wanted it. He wanted to be pretty.

Instead, he sighed and nodded, hopping down from the counter. "Sorry, Mama."

"It's okay, baby, that stuff just isn't for kids to play with. C'mon, let's get you washed up and we can get some dinner."

It wasn't the last time he'd thought about makeup, though it took years until Steve found the courage to try again.

--

It happened when he was fourteen in Carol Perkins's basement. He, Tommy, and Carol spent most nights together anymore. The Perkins' always volunteered to babysit Steve when he was younger and his Mama started going on business trips with his dad, and they always let Tommy come over so he wouldn't be left out. That basement with its bright tie-dyed blankets scattered around and posters of every attractive celebrity you could imagine felt more like home than his own house.

Maybe that was why he felt so comfortable suggesting it in the first place.

"Ugh, I need more girl friends, honestly," Carol groaned, flopping back onto the pile of pillows and blankets she'd acquired.

"What now? We're not entertaining enough?" Tommy teased from where he and Steve were playing air hockey. Steve's knuckles were sure to bruise tomorrow from the speed with which they were knocking the puck at each other but they hadn't stopped laughing yet. "Need to go braid Tina's hair and talk about boys?"

"You're not boring," Carol clarified, "but it'd be nice to do someone's makeup and talk about boys every once in awhile. A girl needs some gossip."

Tommy laughed, so Steve laughed too because it seemed the right thing to do. But really...it didn't sound so bad, did it? So when the laughter died down, he spoke up. "You could put makeup on me, I don't care," Steve shrugged.

He did. He did care so much. Even the thought of it made his heart flutter, threatening to fly away at any second.

"Really?" Carol raise one eyebrow, sitting all the way up and twisting around to face him. "You'd let me put makeup on you? The whole thing, I don't do boring makeup."

"C'mon, man, don't let her do that to you," Tommy groaned, but Steve just shrugged again and abandoned the air hockey table, coming over to sit down on the floor with Carol.

"It washes off, right?" As if he hadn't known how easy it was to swipe off red lipstick, though it would always leave a deep tint to his lips like he'd been eating berries. "It can't hurt."

It at least made Carol happy, and seeing her smile as she rushed off to retrieve her makeup bag made Tommy's grumbles about ditching the game worth it.

And you know, it was fun. Carol was actually gentle, and seemed to know what she was doing. Steve had his eyes closed most of the time while she brushed powder and liner on them, as she swiped mascara on and tried to perfect whatever glamorous look she'd seen in her latest magazine. She did talk about boys too, all about which girl had crushes on each boy that they knew, and why Eric Thompson was the most crushed on boy in Hawkins Middle.

"Eric Thompson? Get a grip, Perkins, you can do so much better than him," Steve told her, laughing at her indignant shout.

"Seriously. The guy's a total meathead," Tommy called from where he was sprawled out across one of the couches, idly watching whatever movie the Perkins' decided to rent for the night.

"You're a total meathead," Carol shot back in return. "Not Stevie here, though. No, I think after I tell all the girls about what a good guy you are, you'll be the new king of Hawkins Middle."

"Screw Hawkins Middle, I better be king of Hawkins High for this," Steve laughed, only because he had no idea how to thank her for it. By the time he'd left the Perkins' house the next morning, the bright eyeshadow and tacky lip gloss had been washed away but the feeling of pure peace it had brought him persisted.

--

Steve hadn't dared try again, not until he was sixteen and saw a guy wearing nail polish. It was one of the Seniors, the one who wore all black and who the whole basketball team called The Freak. And maybe he was a freak, Steve didn't really ever have a reason to talk to him and find out, but the sight of the swath of black over his nails left Steve breathless.

"You taking photography this semester, Harrington?" The guy—something Munson, Steve thinks—asked when Steve hadn't stopped staring in the hallway.

"Huh?" Steve startled, looking down both sides of the hallway as if to check if any of his friends were seeing who he was talking to. "No?"

"Shame," Munson let out a little 'tsk' noise, the way Steve's dad always did when he was disappointed. "You could've taken a picture and made it last longer."

Oh, oh. Steve's face flushed red, and the second he saw a flash of another green and orange letterman he panicked. They would know, oh God they'd see him with The Freak and it would all be over, they would figure out that he wanted to paint his nails too and—

Steve wasn't proud of the words spoken after that. They lingered far after he'd said them, swirling in his head until it sounded a little more like his dad was repeating them over and over again, reminding Steve of just what kind of person he was to stay clear away from.

It was that guilt that finally convinced him to go to Melvald's, where the kind woman at the counter didn't question why he was buying the cheapest makeup products he could find. He didn't even know if any of it would look good together, he just knew he needed it. He needed a way to see himself like this before he messed up again where someone could see, where someone could figure him out.

And so began the careful ritual. Every night he'd rush home from practice, lock his bedroom door even though he knew his parents were away on another trip, and swipe the makeup over his eyes, cheeks, lips. He got better at it with every attempt, until the liner wasn't shaky and his lipstick didn't look like it had already been kissed off (and now, wasn't that a thought).

--

Except that was the trouble with secrets, wasn't it? They couldn't stay buried for long, not when Hawkins was so small and this felt so much larger than the town, than the state, than anything Steve had ever been apart of.

It was only a matter of time until his dad found out.

That night he'd been sloppy, unprepared for his parents to come home early. The light in the upstairs bathroom had gone out and instead of changing it he'd moved downstairs, where the lights had already been switched out to a cooler white that made it easier to see what colors he was painting his skin with.

Steve Harrington was pretty sure he would die that night, all over deep red lipstick and perfectly-drawn eyeliner.

He didn't know where he was running to, all he knew was that he couldn't stay in Loch Nora. He ran until he was near the edge of town, nothing but trees and the one road leading out surrounded him. Steve hadn't had his car keys on him, and there was no way he could go back for them without facing his dad's righteous anger. Steve let out a painful cry, finding nothing left to do but lay down on the pavement and stare at the stars. He was barely eighteen, no car, no money except whatever bills were stuffed in his pocket, no plan. Just himself and that damned red lipstick still lingering like berry-stained evidence on his lips.

He didn't move for anything. Not when the night grew chilly enough to freeze his joints and prick up goosebumps on his arms. Not when the rumble of an old car engine came roaring in the distance, or for the subsequent squeal of brakes and a loud horn.

"Shit, Harrington, I know you have air for a brain but what the fuck are you do—" The person cut themselves off, like from seeing the state of him. They'd probably hit him too, kick at him while he was down because why the fuck did he think he could get away with this shit in the middle of nowhere Indiana?

"Shit, Harrington," the voice hissed again, sounding as pained as Steve thought he should feel.

"Get on with it," Steve voiced, voice rough with tears and the violent yells his dad had hit out of him.

"Get on with what?"

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his head to meet Eddie Munson's gaze. He wondered if he still painted his nails. He wondered if it even mattered, because even Eddie Munson didn't do what Steve did. "I'm tired, man. If you're gonna get your revenge on me make it quick."

That startled Eddie, reminding Steve of just how expressive the guy was. It was almost humorous, the way his head reeled back and his eyes widened impossibly far.

"Get in the van, Harrington."

Right, if Eddie was gonna murder him he couldn't do it out in the open, not where anyone could be driving by.

So Steve picked himself up from the ground, not bothering to brush off his jeans before sliding into the passenger seat. They didn't talk the whole drive. No music played. They just sat in complete and total silence, punctuated only by the nervous taps of Eddie's hand on the steering wheel.

Eddie Munson must be stupider than he was. Most murderers wouldn't drive their victim to their own trailer before finishing the job. Though, Steve supposed all Eddie had to say was that he saw Steve Harrington wearing lipstick and it'd all be waved away. Upstanding citizen, that Eddie Munson was.

"Shower's back there, there's a first aid kit on the shelf," Eddie spoke, unable to stand still once they got inside the trailer.

And that, well that was just downright weird. Steve tilted his head to the side, eyeing the little hallway Eddie waved his hand at like it might jump at him. "What's happening?"

"What do you mean?" Eddie sounded tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks. Steve felt like he'd never slept at all, like he might never again.

"You...aren't you gonna...?"

"I mean, I could if you think you're gonna fall," Eddie said nervously, eyes also watching the hallway. "Just tryin' to protect your modesty, man."

"What?" Nothing was making sense, and Steve was beginning to wonder if maybe his head had hit the tile floor one too many times because this was supposed to be simple, cut and dry.

"Can you just go clean up, Harrington?"

"Why?"

"Because I hate seeing all that damn blood on you, okay?" Eddie snapped out, voice raising in pitch the more worked up he got. "I don't know what the hell happened, but I hate it."

Oh.

"You're not...you're not gonna...?" Steve repeated, including a lackluster air punch.

That seemed to make everything click in place for Eddie. He sucked in a breath and both hands flew to the top of his head, scraping through his unruly curls. "Shit, you think? Nah, man, I'm not a piece of shit like whoever did that to you. C'mon."

Eddie started walking down the hallway, and honestly this all felt so vaguely dreamlike Steve couldn't do anything but follow, wordlessly sitting on the toilet lid where Eddie waved for him to be. The other man was knelt between his legs, wiping off his face with a wet washcloth. His touch was gentle, experienced as he wiped away the blood and set to work rubbing antibiotic onto each open cut.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Steve whispered out, eyes focused on the barest hint of eyeliner on Eddie's eyes. The other man clearly wasn't wearing it to be pretty though. No, this was drawn on with intentional haste, and made Eddie look so fucking badass that Steve didn't know what to do about it. "I sucked in school. I was awful to you."

Eddie's hands didn't stop, brown eyes focused on Steve's lips as he wiped at the split in the lower one. He could see the breath hitch in the other man's chest though, a quick collapse of Eddie's chest before his breath restarted at a normal rhythm. "You did suck, but that doesn't mean you deserve this."

Steve didn't say anything else, couldn't really. Not when the lump in his throat grew until he was sure he would never be able to breathe again, and the tears began to spill without inhibition. And Eddie, well Eddie let him. He just kept patching him up, never saying anything, never berating him or looking disgusted by the tears. He just sat with Steve while he let it out, eyes looking to Steve's every so often as if to check he was okay.

"I think something's wrong with me." The whisper sounded so loud in the tiny bathroom, echoing around and around and smacking into Steve's chest repeatedly.

"No." It was the first time Eddie seemed bothered by anything Steve said all night, fingers gripping tightly around the corner of the counter he was holding to keep himself steady. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Eddie cut him off. He looked Steve right in the eyes, a kind of fire lighting up in those dark brown eyes of his. "Steve Harrington, there is nothing wrong or broken or shameful about you. So you like to wear makeup, lots of guys do."

"I've never met anyone who does."

"Because you're in Bumfuck, Indiana," Eddie continued on, never sounding more passionate than he did now. It was intense, sure, but Steve had longed for someone, anyone, to say what Eddie was now. And of course it was the guy with the painted nails he'd been enraptured by years before. "Just you wait, pretty boy, there's a whole world out there with people like us."

Like us. Like us.

"C'mon, you need some sleep. We can figure out the details in the morning."

"Wait...what?"

Eddie laughed a little, shattering the heavy moment with a burst of pure warmth. He stood up and offered a ringed hand out to help Steve up despite him not needing it. Eddie's hand was cold in his own, but it felt right there.

"Try to keep up, Harrington," he teased. "If you don't mind sharing a bed, you can stay here. Us freaks have to stick together, right?"

"I mean...your uncle won't...?"

"Nah, Wayne'll love pissin' Robert Harrington off," Eddie answered coolly, "And he's cool with...everything."

And despite Steve's skepticism, he was. Wayne Munson was pretty much the greatest support anyone could ever have. His face had flashed dangerously when Steve admitted what happened, saying the world had no place for men who hit their boys (Steve wondered only briefly why the topic seemed to pain Wayne so much). And living with Eddie Munson, well, it was great. The trailer was small and Eddie kicked in his sleep, but Eddie also smiled from the second he was awake and the no place had ever quite felt like home in the way the Munson trailer did.

And the next time Steve found the courage to sit and do his makeup, it came with bright smiles instead of that old, lingering fear.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #kinda #they'll get there #stranger things #steve x eddie #canon divergence #au no upside down #tw homophobia #tw implied abuse #jay writes in theory #this is totally unedited sorry you get it as is #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet

[mahikamihan]

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#tina sounds so happy to play valo last night #awww #she wants to show off her new stuff #tina my beloved #tinakitten 💕