#anyway this was stuck in my head all WEEK

[maraudersilver]

My Valentine (James Potter x Fem!Reader)

James Potter x Fem!Reader

wc: +3,4K

cw: fluff, mentions of sex (no smut), corniness.

Summary: When the reader leaves her workplace in a fuss of a certain Friday, Sirius Black offers to give her a ride without mentioned James’ Valentine plans.

Back at Hogwarts, Fridays felt renewing, a sense of freedom etched into the nippy breeze of the castle’s gardens as the students roamed around the many secret passages. Some snogging, others finishing the last details of a party, some hanging out with friends, and very few stuck at the library to study whatever subject was making their life miserable.

You loved it. Every single moment of your life in Hogwarts was ingrained in fond memories in your mind. It didn’t matter the O.W.L.S or the N.E.W.T.s, if you had the chance, you would do everything all over again.

However, once in real life, adulting through many different jobs and a rent to pay, Fridays had become an excuse to loaf on the couch and rethink all of your decisions up until then. You would still go for a couple jars with your friends and boyfriend from time to time, yet the lack of energy and the built up tiredness of an endless week always left you drained. 

That’s why when Sirius Black presented himself at your workplace on a Friday, you almost snarled at him. It had been a hideous day. Everything that could go wrong went wrong and you didn’t have time to eat anything during your break, not that you had had a break anyway. Alas, you just wanted to arrive home and rot in your couch while you debated whether life was worth it or not. 

“Nice to see you, too.” Sirius rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest while he leaned on his bike.

“What are you doing here?” you asked tiredly, trundling towards the handsome man.

“Thought you’d need some fresh air.” He shrugged his shoulders, his characteristic crooked smile making its way onto his face.

You shook your head, sighing tiredly. “What I need is to make my way to bedfordshire.”

“Fun, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you.”

Sirius just chuckled, which made your skin crawl. In any other situation, you would have been thrilled to see your friend. However, you weren’t in the mood for his unabashed teasing. 

“Claws in, princess. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride,” Sirius said, pointing to his bike with his head. Although, an old couple that was strolling just next to him snapped their heads in alarm and scandal at his words. 

“Well done, Black. Scaring our elders,” you grumbled, your eyes drifting from the staggering couple back to the dishy man before you, who had grabbed a helmet for you. Somewhat miffed, you put on the helmet he was offering you before mounting the bike, your chest pressed to his back. There was no point in fighting Sirius, too wayward to accept a ‘no’ for an answer. “Where are we going anyway?”

“Don’t spoil the surprise.” Sirius grabbed the handlebars and a clamorous snore started the bike.

“Is James there or some- AHH!” 

You gripped Sirius’ waist as tightly as you could as he accelerated the bike, turning it invisible before lifting it onto the air. It didn’t matter how many times you had ridden with him, your stomach still churned funnily. 

Your surroundings were blurred, the only neat thing being Sirius’ covered in leather back. What you supposed were trees and roofs passed before the corners of your eyes in undefined shapes and uncoloured forms. Time lost its purpose, hidden in the haze of your mind after you stopped counting the seconds it took the bike to land. You considered begging Sirius to stop, yet your voice was stuck in the knot that had formed on your throat to thwart your breakfast from spilling all over London. 

After your self-perceived eternity, Sirius lowered the bike to the nearest road. It took everything in you to not splatter all over the asphalt, your head dizzy and limbs numb. If you had any strength left, you were to be chained in Azkaban for the murder of the Black family heir. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” Sirius cackled, hoisting you by the waist after a misled step. “James gonna think you’re hammered. Aren’t you overkilling ‘t a bit?”

“You’re-” you took a deep breath, gasping at the lack of oxygen in your system. “You’re t-the fucking w-worst.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Sirius howled in laughter again, placing one of his arms around your waist to saunter who-knows-where.

You gave him a pointed look. “I’ll fu-cking kill y-you.”

“I’m so scared,” he mocked.

It took you a little while to get your head back on its place, Sirius never letting go of you. Your eyes drifted to the foliage that encompassed the horizon, the peaks of the trees impending over the mystical lake. Everything was colourful, tones pink and orange as the sun hid behind the ivy-like bushes at the far point of your sight. You wished James was there to witness it with you.

All the stress and back pain was left behind, only solemnity and enchantment on your countenance. You could feel Sirius’ heavy stare on you, still forcing you to keep walking over the softened grass. By the feeling of it, it had rained the day before.

“This isn’t London,” you observed dumbly, cheeks warm when Sirius scoffed.

“No way, Sherlock.”

“Where are we?” your gaze chased the many details composing the picture of the valley, searching for the man you actually wanted to be with.

“Always so eager.” Sirius' voice was laced with mocked flirting, finally stopping before a wooden cottage that somehow you had missed in your first inspection.

“Is this where you murder me and they never find my body?”

Sirius laughed mirthlessly. “Hilarious. C’mon, go in.”

You had already climbed a couple of stairs but, at his words, you pinched your brows and looked back at him. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ve been suggesting your boyfriend a threesome for donkey’s years, but I don’t think today’s the day, hot stuff.”

You ignored his unabashed confession, although your belly flipped against your will, and rolled your eyes. “Is James there, then?”

Sirius placed his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, and he blew a couple of rebellious dark tufts away from where they had fallen before his sculptured face. The wind was waving his hair like a wave tide, so smooth you ached to twist your fingers on it. You had to seriously consider the threesome offer with James. “That’s for you to discover. I was just your ride, not your confidant,” Sirius offered you a cheshire smirk. “Although, maybe another time, you could ride my d-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go in. Thanks, Sirius!” you bursted out, and the last thing you heard before closing the door behind you was his melodic laugh. 

You sighed in relief, you were sure you wouldn’t have survived any more teasing, any less before his scrutinized stare. Suddenly, the smell of just-baked muffins hit your nostrils, and your mouth watered involuntarily like a pavlovian experiment. 

Following its trail, you paddled around the wooden floors, any survival instinct forgotten in the back of your mind, the only thing present was the need to taste those goods. You missed the hanging t-shirt from the door next to the kitchen, and the scattered shoes all over the flatweave rug in the living room. 

Cooking on the stove was the burly, naked back of your very much dishy boyfriend. Now in the kitchen, the pleasant smell of the sweets mixed with the salty one of whatever he was stewing. You observed the muscles of his back, contracting at his every move, and if your mouth was already watering, now you were drooling like a horndog. The light of the sun drew patterns in his body, illuminating his tanned skin in orange hues, like liquid gold. And the grey sweatpants hang lowly on his hips; your head was light and not from the motorbike ride exactly. 

Sensing your burning stare, James turned around and his mouth stretched in a saccharine smile, so bright it overshadowed the sunset painting the sky outside the window. His eyes wrinkled by the corners, irises gleaming at the sight of you. Your heart fluttered, and the butterflies in your stomach flew violently. It didn’t matter how many times you had witnessed this sight, it always made your knees wobble. 

In a fussy, you pranced towards his awaiting arms, opened just for you. “My darling,” he said, voice laced in honey, brushing his head on your hair, sniffling lightly much to your embarrassment and amusement. “Did you have a good ride? I know how Sirius can be.”

You hummed, hiding your face in the crook of his neck and soaking on his natural scent: warm, sandalwood, cologne. You roamed your hands absentmindedly over his back, feeling him up but feigning innocence at his snort. “Hectic,” James snickered, reverberating in his chest against your own. “He’s a prick. But it wasn’t that bad. Not if I get to have you like this.”

“Aww, aren’t you a sweetheart,” James cooed, his palms caressing up and down your back softly. “Or a perv, if your hands have any say in this.”

“You just had to ruin the moment,” you groaned, and James laughed again, kissing the top of your head in apology.

“You can feel me up as much as you want, my love. My body’s yours.” 

You wanted to groan again, he was so corny your cheeks must be scorching against his shoulder and neck, yet the tingling of your fingertips and the drumming beating of your heart proved you wrong. 

Pulling your head away from your hidden haven, albeit reluctantly, you looked up at him again. James had this thing where his eyes alone showed the very deep of his soul even behind his glasses, and the caring light pouring out of his irises had your head turning and whirling. Damn, you were very much in love with him.

“Where are we?” you asked once your hazed mind walked out of the fog enough to realize you still didn’t know the place, and you scouted your surroundings once more.

James’ eyes followed your motion and his smile stretched even more if it was even possible. “I may or may not have rented this cottage for a romantic weekend.”

Your heart did a flip, and you were sure you were looking back at James with as much passion and adoration as he was. If he didn’t know by now how besotted you were, the proof laid before him. “James,” you said, voice soft and whispery, conveying what words could not say.

“I take it that you like it.” His grin grew impossibly wide. He leaned down, about to kiss your lips, but the squelching sound coming from behind him made him gasp and drop you from his warm hold, much to your sorrow. “Sorry, my love, this is why I couldn’t go get you myself. I wanted to cook you a nice dinner,” he giggled nervously.

Upon his sudden sheepishness, you cooed and hugged him from behind, your arms surrounding his waist and palms pressed against his toned abs. “That’s so considerate, Jamie.” You kissed his shoulder blade, goosebumps forming on his skin much to your delight, and then you placed your head against the spot you had just shown love to. “What are you cooking?”

“Surprise!” 

“James, I can smell the muffins,” you deadpanned.

You could imagine the childish pout forming on his lips, and you got confirmation when he spoke again, tone muffled by his pursed lips. “Then I’ll give you another dessert.”

You snorted, nuzzling your cheek against his soft back. “Oh, yeah? You’ll have time to bake another dessert?”

“No need to elaborate it much, darling. You sitting on my face is my favourite meal after all.”

Your cheeks were ablaze, a pulsing heat setting between your legs. Undeterred by your timid countenance, he snickered, turning around to hoist you from your waist and sit you on the counter, positioning himself between your legs.

The bespectacled man roamed his honeyed eyes all over your body, gnawing at his lower lip menacingly. “You know.” His finger teased the collar of your working shirt, fiddling with the first button, and you felt yourself gulping. “Maybe we could skip dinner after all. I’m hungry for something else,” he drawled, sounding drunk in the lust emanating from his body.

You considered it, though there was not much to ponder about. Your hot, sexy boyfriend was offering you an evening of fun and who were you to refuse? Just when you were about to agree, half lidded eyes focused on his pretty face, your stomach rumbled, the sound almighty in comparison to the quiet tranquility of the cottage. James blinked twice, looking bemused, until comprehension hit him like a gunshot and he beamed, face brightening in streams of laughter so ablaze you felt like the sun was setting you on fire.

Much to your embarrassment, James nuzzled his nose against yours, all previous promise of pleasure forgotten in his teasing gaze. “At least my efforts won’t go to waste,” he snickered, pecking your lips in ample adoration, a wide smile still stretching his mouth. His askew, curly hair tickled your forehead, sending you into a fit of giggles. “You set the table while I finish this up?” he asked, voice sugarcoated. 

You nodded, bounding down from the counter with his help. You scouted around the kitchen in search of plates, serviettes, cutlery and wine glasses, quite lost in the new environment with a very different setting compared to your own kitchen. After opening the fifth, marbled cabinet, you finally found the round plates James had asked you for, and little by little you set the table under the humming tune your boyfriend was entrancing you with, his low voice drumming violently in your chest. 

Considering it finished, you went back to James shirtless form, who was plating an enticing beef stew, covered in what seemed to be blackberry compote. What surprised you the most was the lack of magic use in the whole process. James had really outdone himself.

“All done?” you asked, placing a comforting hand on his right bicep, hoping he didn’t see through your act of touching for the sake of touching.

“Uh-ha.” His tongue was sticking out the corner of his mouth, teeth gently biting down in concentration. “Finished! C´mon, sit down, I’ll bring the food.” You opened your mouth to complain, but he lifted a single finger against your lips, smiling menacingly at you. “Nah-ah-ah, love. Let me pamper you, yeah? For me?” They should really carry out a study of how fast this man went from unabashed to puppy -stag?- eyes, a throbbing pout drawn on his gorgeous facade that melted you from inside out. When you sighed in defeat, his characteristic smile made its way back to his lips. “Atta girl.”

Warmth bursted from the pit of your stomach, flowing like a fluent river to the rest of your body. If he continued like that, dinner wouldn’t be what you sucked into your mouth the following minutes. 

With a slight stumble, you made your way to the table by the dinning room. Now that you had time, you took the chance to observe in thoroughness the cottage you had entered without paying much attention to it. The walls were composed of rounded, dark wood, giving path to pointed and high, wooden ceilings, from where simple and rustic lamps hung and lighted the room in dim brightness. They reminded you of James, always so warm and dazzling. The hearth by the couch thawed out the chilling atmosphere from the outside world, gleaming cozily and drawing patterns on the cushion of the sofa, back to the wall in front of it. 

Then, James jigged down the corridor with two plates in hand, placing them leisurely on yours and James seats, him sitting in front of you. With a flicker of his wand, two red candles appeared on the table, and the lamps turned off, the room only lit by the romantic fire of the red wax. 

“Wow.” To say you were gobsmacked would be an understatement, and you suppressed a smile at the contrast of the elegant dinner against your still very shirtless man. “What’s all the romance for? I mean, I’m not complaining,” you quickly said, raising your hands and signaling at nothing in particular. “But why today?”

James chuckled, hiding behind one of his hands much to your disappointment. His smile should be hung on all the walls of a museum. “Can’t a man spoil his Valentine rotten?” The flickering light of the candles reflected on his glasses, giving his teasing stare a more mischievous contenance. 

You blinked, taken off guard. Valentine? It couldn’t be Valentine’s Day already, could it? Your brain worked in rumination, scavenging for the date on the calendar. That week you had two meetings, a report to deliver, grocery shopping on Wednesday… Oh. There was a pink, huge circle around the 14th on the calendar in your kitchen, marked by you, which only made the matter worse. How could you have forgotten it?

At your decimated expression, James chuckled again, the legs of his chair lugging against the wooden floor. “Aww, c’mere, lovey.”

Without much thought, you pranced towards his open arms. James took your hands and sat you in his lap, staring down at you with so much love your breath stuck in your lungs. Unable to do much more at the moment, your mind hazy and body numb, you passed your arms around his shoulders and pecked his cheek repeatedly. His chest reverberated in giggles much to your pleasure. “Happy Valentines, Jamie,” you murmured against his mouth, lazily kissing him. He hummed in appreciation, returning the kiss with the same loiter. 

His glasses pressed uncomfortably against your cheek, though you didn’t mind. There was nothing in the world you loved more than him, and his lips were enticing enough to fight the slight pricking of his metal frames. 

Your fingers intertwined with his curls, while the other hand caressed mildly the nape of his neck. His hands, however, were roaming your body like a starved man, proving so when he deepened the kiss, tilting his head more to the right. Your breathings were erratic, his tongue asking for permission, and you opened your mouth willingly. Both your tongues danced in your mouth, his exploring the warmth of yours as if he had never been graced entrance before. It was wet, passionate and so overwhelming.

Pulling away slightly, James looked at you with half-lidded eyes, a string of saliva still connecting you both. His glasses were lopsided from the make out session, and his dark curls askew, giving him a lovesick countenance. “Let’s do something,” he purred, and your heat pulsed. “We’ll finish dinner; then we take a romantic, warm bath to the candlelights; and then you let me eat you for dessert. Sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect,” you sighed breathlessly, kissing him urgently once more. Your left hand caressed the three-day stubble growing in his cheeks and jaw, and his hands squeezed your hips.

A daunting feeling crested from your stomach to your chest, settling on your heart. James was yours. The realization of it, even if you had known for years, only increased the tide of love ripples turning into waves crashing against your feelings. “I love you, James.” It was sincere, and the jaunty smile James gifted you, eyes filled with adoration, was proof of the sentiment.

“I love you, too, my love.”

It was a magical night, to say the least. James fulfilled his promise and you ended up witnessing sunset in his arms, your bodies naked against each other, only covered by a thin blanket while the sun rose in technicolour lights brushing the cristaline water by the lake. 

The rest of the weekend was spent undertaking water activities such as paddling in a boat, swimming and splashing, and making love by the shore in the solitude and romance of the woods. 

By the time you had to leave the cottage and go back home, long forgotten was the awful day at work and the stress of mundane life. All you had in your mind and heart was James and your love for him. Although, deep inside you had a fishbone stabbed for having forgotten Valentine’s Day. However, James didn’t seem to mind as he walked you into the warmth of your shared haven, his arm lazily propped over your shoulder in a protective stand. 

Late at night, both of you cuddled up on the sofa, a book left behind in your lap. It was then that your conversation with Sirius that Friday afternoon came back to you. James turned in alarm at your gasp, raising his brows in expectation.

“Can we have a threesome with Sirius?”

James’ mouth hung half-open, his brows now narrowing in confusion. “What!?”

[bigsoggyboots]

Councilor! Sevika x Piltover! Reader

Valentine's Day Post

summ: You stood against everything she stood for. Yet, she welcomes it instead of pushing it away. Why? No one has a clue.

wc: 1k

an: We're ignoring the canon and acting like Elora isn't dead and Mel is still a Councilor. Okay? Ok.

AO3: @calamitykills

Also, that AO3 curse is REAL. I burned my thumb 2 days after writing this. It's minor, I'm fine, but I can't play video games for like a week. Luckily, I wrote this the night of the SuperBowl.

Anyways, enjoy!

You weren't new in town, more unknown than anything. Your family owned many of Piltover's infrastructure companies, using you as a face for all their offers. Did you like the job? Not exactly. No one knew you beside your offers.

The only substantial thing that seemed to stick was your title as “Mel's friend.” And you were glad for it to be that way. Nice parties, free drinks, learning all of the latest gossip; it was all divine. You live a double life, as it seems.

Yes, you caught the attention of some, but none of them intrigued you. Most were far too regal and stuck-up for your taste. You wanted someone real, down to Earth. Someone who'd command your attention, not ask for it.

Mel teased you about your type before, watching firsthand how your calm facade fled once someone got harsh with their tone. You always had to shush her, a faint heat rising to your cheeks. Like an hour ago, where her and Elora congratulated you for Sevika making you go out with her. Your reaction as you immediately agreed would be something they'd make fun of you for.

How'd you do it? You don't even know. It could've been the wine you had, your carefully crafted persona steering for you, or a tremendous amount of luck. Whatever it could was, she liked you, let you know of it, and told you that night she wanted to see you in her house colors instead of Mel’s.

And that's exactly what was happening tonight, your heels tapping down her street with a paper in hand on the address she gave you. She told you you'd be her plus one to a Councilor's party. You hadn't bothered to learn all the names, Sevika and Mel being the only ones you could pay attention to. But the party was for Valentine's Day so you were more than happy to come.

Once you arrived, you knew it was her house because of how plainly decorated it was. That and all the lights were on. You twisted the doorknob; she left the door open for you.

☆

As familiar you are to the smell of smoke and as much as you expected the smell, you were met with nothing. Just the smell of a new house. It shouldn't, but it creeped you out.

You looked around. Barren, just like the outside. The only thing that filled (what seemingly was a living room) was a single couch with a glass table in front of it. When she told you her house would be empty, she wasn't kidding. You couldn't blame her. Moving things from Zaun up into Piltover must be troubling.

Would be cute for a date idea though; helping Sevika decorate her house, paint the walls, other things of the sort. You smiled to yourself. Not a bad idea.

“You're quiet.” Your head snapped to the direction of the sound, fear coursing fast along with adrenaline. Your eyes set on Sevika, leaning on a doorway to your left. Must be her bedroom. “Almost thought you were someone else.”

Grateful, you exhaled, the fear leaving you faster than it came. “I almost thought you were someone else.” She smirked at that, you moving to stand closer to her. “Janna, say something next time.”

You moved past her, missing the smirk growing on Sevika's face as you settled your things down. “Look at you, already acting like you own the place.” You looked her way, only rolling your eyes before getting back to your task. She decided to get on you for that later. For now, let's just lock the door.

☆

Lips brushed against your skin for the tenth time that night. “Heavenly.” She stood behind you, looking at you in the mirror, garnering this memory for keepsake. You gazed at yourself, she was right.

Sevika had good taste, the fact she picked this dress out for you was beyond your comprehension. In so little time, she knew your height, your waist size, and your weight. It was almost like she measured you herself.

“Wow..” You were speechless, you didn't know what to say. You marveled at your look, and the shine the dress gave off. Emerald green was a great color for both you and your complexion. You and her looked great actually and you matched.

She wore a red suit, you wore a green dress. This is your first public outing together, and you're in house colors. It felt right. Your family wouldn't approve of your sudden stance in political affairs, but you'd be in the papers anyway.

“Get your head outta the clouds.” Surprise painted your face, facade falling for only moments, watching as Sevika kissed the spot behind your ear. “You look like you wanna ask somethin’.”

“How do you think everyone else will react to the dress?” She lifted your hair up, tossling it all up and over your face.

“I can't care ‘bout anything but you.” She kissed your nape now, placing your necklace how she wanted.

You peek at her out of the corner of your eye. “I'm serious, Sevika.”

“I'm serious too.” Sevika clipped your necklace. You directed your attention to the piece, it was a simple silver chain. A nice compliment piece. “They'll know you're my girl, that's what I think.”

“Your girl?” You turned to face her, a smirk growing faster than you could think of it.

“Yeah,” She lit her cigar, a bit of a smile forming at the thought. "My girl.”

You wanted to question that, but you figured if you pointed it out, she'd never say it again. You already knew from experience.

So, you trailed your way out of the bedroom and acted like this was an everyday thing. “Well, happy Valentine's day to you too baby.”

☆

This was a nice way to spend it too. Celebrating new relationships, new beginnings, connecting from old to young, and most importantly by let your true self flow.

Honestly, who cares what others think? It's your life, it's your choice who you stand by and frankly, you're more than glad to be “Sevika's girl.”

[manchblack]

Last song: flashing lights by kanye west (listen. listen I Know but it's just been stuck in my head all week)

Last Book: jojolands by hirohiko araki (technically a manga but i think it counts!)

Last Game: the sims 4.............

Last Tv show: hell's paradise

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: savory, but spicy is a close second! i love sweets but they make me sick

Relashionship: single atm!

Favorite color: yellow

Last internet search: not gonna name names so i don't dox myself but it was how close a certain gas station was to me. my coworker said they sell rly good ice cream... (it's like 2 hours away) (i'm seriously considering going anyways)

@horny-3 @redstuffs-ig @teddy-grxhms + anyone else who wants to join lawl

TAG GAME — 10 People I’d Like to Know Better

Thank you for tagging me @fairyblue-alchemist

Last Song: Wake Me Up Before You Go Go by Wham!

Last Book: The 5th volume of the Snow White with the Red Hair manga

Last Movie: Disney’s The Princess and the Frog

Last Game: Not counting mobile games, I believe it was Pokémon Emerald

Last TV Show: Last I can recall is a rewatch of Survivor Kaoh Rong

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: It’s a toss up between sweet and savory, it really depends on the day I feel

Relationship: Happily single

Favorite Color: PURPLE 💜

Last Internet Search: “12 watt charging plug for vehicles near me”

Tagging: @almoststedytimetravel @belgiamese-boy @blossomoranges @halfling-myth-lady @ivibells @robynx @rosa-glaciem @seven-rats-in-trenchcoat @the-angel-ashe @zorughost

[livwritesstuff]

happy valentine's day pallies <3 threw this the office-inspired drabble together for funsies over the last few days and thought today was a good a day as any to finally post

“What the hell is wrong with Dustin?” Eddie asked as he walked through the open door to Robin and Nancy’s apartment, “I passed him in the hall and he’s ranting and raving like a goddamn lunatic. Barely even acknowledged me.”

“You got lucky,” Steve shook his head as the rest of the Party, scattered around the living room, gave a similarly over it-kind of response, “Also – hey. Missed you.”

Eddie dropped down onto the couch next to Steve and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Ugh,” Robin groaned from the other end of the couch, “Either get a room or be gross later.”

“Missed you more, my love,” Eddie said loudly and pointedly as he settled in, and Steve ignored the way Robin rolled her eyes as Eddie draped an arm over his shoulders, “So…Dustin? What’s his deal?”

“He thinks he’s never gonna find love,” Lucas said from his spot on the rug, mouth full of half-crunched chips.

“Because he hasn’t dated anyone since Suzie,” Will clarified.

Steve watched Eddie’s eyebrows furrow.

“Uh, okay, didn’t they split, like, a month ago?”

“Yep,” Mike nodded.

“And didn’t Dustin just say last week that he’s happily married to his studies?”

“Dude,” Mike replied, “If you hadn’t been thirty minutes late, you would have seen us ask him these exact same questions.”

“Alright, gimme a fuckin’ break, man,” Eddie protested as Robin stuck a foot out and clipped the side of Mike’s head, “Not all of us are in college, asshole, living our most carefree lives. Some of us have jobs we're societally obligated to hold onto, Michael.”

“Anyway,” Steve cut in before Mike and Eddie’s bickering could derail the discussion too badly, “Dustin is apparently so desperate for love or whatever now that he’s trying to crowdsource a relationship.”

“And we’ve all been drafted,” Max said drily, “He wants us to set him up with someone at least once a month.”

“Each,” El added from beside Max in the armchair they're squashed in together.

“Each,” Max repeated with a nod.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie blinked, “He needs to chill out.”

Eddie got a chorus of agreements in response, plus another snarky comment from Mike about how he could have told Dustin this himself if he hadn’t been late to their weekly movie night hangout, and then from there, the conversation spun into the Party’s usual overlapping pre-movie (waiting for the pizza to be delivered) chatter.

Eddie turned his attention to Steve.

“So who’s the lucky girl you’re siccing our deranged little buddy on?” he asked, voice just loud enough for Steve to hear over the surrounding conversations.

“I dunno,” Steve shrugged, catching Eddie's hand in his and starting to fiddle with the chunky ring on his pointer finger, “I don’t think anyone here is gonna put up with his shit, but…yeah, I dunno, I feel bad. I might try setting him up with Lauren – y’know, Andie’s friend she has over all the time?”

Andie is Steve’s roommate, who took Robin’s spot on the lease after Robin, the woman she is, U-Hauled with Nancy at a spectacular rate (barely a month into her and Steve’s lease). Steve couldn’t exactly blame her – Nancy’s brownstone is leagues (and leagues and leagues and leagues) nicer than the shitty walk-up he and Robin had barely been able to afford at the time. Plus, Robin was all kinds of apologetic about it – paid her half of the rent and everything until she found a suitable subletter.

Enter Andie, a women’s and gender studies major who Robin had met at their school’s SGA during her first semester of undergrad and who leans pretty much as far to the right on the good ol' Kinsey Scale as someone could. Both Steve and Andie had been a little on the fence at first, but as far as living with a half-stranger goes, he can admit that it actually went okay.

Case in point, he and Andie are both a good few years out of college now and neither of them have made any move to, y'know...move.

“Lauren?” Eddie repeated, “You mean, Andie’s straight friend? The one Andie is very actively and overtly trying to woo?”

“It’s not gonna work,” Steve insisted (because this has been a topic of conversation between the two of them for a while), “If she’s straight, she’s straight.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie acknowledged, “But it’s not her I'd be worried about, Stevie.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, Steve – it’s basically a lose-lose for you. If Dustin goes on a date with Andie’s straight friend that she is, once again, very overtly and obviously into, whether or not it goes well – whether or not it even happens, Steve – Andie’s gonna find out that you were the one behind it, and you’re living with her.”

“So?”

“Dude, you’re gonna get booted outta your place.”

“No way,” Steve scoffed at him.

“I’m telling you – hell hath no fury like a lesbian scorned. Have you seen Nancy at the bar when someone is trying to hit on Robin? The big guy in the clouds was cutting from the same cloth when he created these ladies.”

Steve rolled his eyes at his boyfriend's brand of ex-Catholic poetic.

“Well…whatever. It’s just an apartment. If Andie really has an issue…I dunno, I’ll just move.”

Eddie grinned at him.

“Oh really?” he says, “And who do you think’s gonna be taking you in? You’re a crazy neat-freak, you think it’s totally appropriate to watch sports during breakfast – I mean, seriously, I get wanting to watch Sunday Night Football or whatever, but listening to recaps before I've had a cup of coffee is borderline criminal – and you've got basically a thousand houseplants.”

“Yeah,” Steve gave a feigned nod of understanding, “Maybe I’ll just move in with my boyfriend – he could use some order in his life.”

“Okay,” Eddie said, straightening a little in his seat, “I’m in if you are, Stevie-boy.”

Steve felt his face fall just a little. He tried to laugh it off, but even he could hear how awkward it sounded, and he glanced around to make sure the rest of the Party was otherwise occupied.

“I mean...," he said slowly, keeping his eyes on their hands so he didn't have to look at Eddie and his ever-expressive face, "I’m not gonna move in with someone unless we’re getting married.”

He really won’t either.

He’d done that before with his first serious boyfriend a few years ago – it was kind of a U-Haul situation in its own right, and it’s how Steve’s apartment became Andie’s apartment that Steve pretty please asked to move back into four months later when everything went to shit with the boyfriend.

(Their landlord had raised an eyebrow at them when they asked to put Steve back on the lease he’d only just left, but he didn’t ask any questions.

“He probably thinks we’re, like, a total dysfunctional couple or something,” Andie had pointed out.

“If only he knew,” Steve shook his head, “He’s leasing to a pair of idiot queers who can’t get their love lives together.”)

So, yeah, the U-Hauling thing may work for lesbians (or, two very specific lesbians whose couch he's sitting on, at the very least), but it’s not for Steve.

He’s a little too intense for it, contradictory as it sounds. He’s been burned in the past by the notion that someone could be willing to take a step as big as moving in with someone, and yet still see their relationship as “unserious” enough to balk at other big things (things like meeting each other’s friends and family, and what to do if Steve had another seizure). He’s not interested in being burned again, thanks.

Not that he actually thinks Eddie would do anything like that – the opposite actually. Steve knows he won’t.

For as long as he and Eddie were friends, Steve had known it in a kind of way he didn't even think about, and he's known it in another way, in a way he couldn't not think about, ever since he eavesdropped on a conversation between Robin and Eddie.

“Steve’s boyfriend is a fucking asshole and I hate him,” Robin had said, because this was back when Steve was dating (and living with) his ex, who did turn out to be a colossal fucking asshole, but this was the first time Steve had heard that particular opinion voiced by one of his friends.

“Shit, okay," Eddie had replied, "Do I need to go kick someone’s ass?”

Robin had paused for a split second before saying, “No. You’d just finally decide to confess your love for him and make everything even messier than it already is.”

They'd both been quiet for another few moments, and then Eddie let out a frustrated sigh.

"Fuck, man, that blows." Another pause. "I just – I don't understand how anybody could get to have Steve like that and not worship every breath he takes. I'm telling you – if it were me, you'd be able to break me down into fuckin' molecules and still be able to find him there. He's the sun in the fuckin' sky, dude. How are people not getting this?"

Steve hadn't been able take any more than that, not without feeling like something within him would split in two, so he had gone back to getting snacks in the kitchen like Eddie and Robin had thought he was doing, and then he'd spent the rest of the night feeling a little nauseous in a way he couldn't explain.

To this day, Steve is pretty sure that neither Robin nor Eddie know that he'd overheard their conversation, but it's what led to him breaking up with his boyfriend nonetheless.

Nothing had happened between Steve and Eddie at first. Eddie had actually been in his own relationship at the time, despite his and Robin' conversation, though they inexplicably split only a month after Steve’s break-up (Eddie never gave the Party a reason why).

Not too long after that though, Eddie had shown up on Steve’s doorstep (in a goddamn rainstorm, no less, the theatrical bastard) to profess his undying love, and by then Steve had spent enough time reflecting on the last several years of his friendship with Eddie and had firmly landed on the conclusion that he was in love with him too.

And so here they are now.

Steve spared a quick glance at Eddie to see that he was wearing a cute, kind of confused look.

“Wait – Steve, have I not proposed to you yet?”

And Eddie's truly dumbfounded tone, Eddie's way of bringing Steve's attention back up to his face so Steve could see the cheeky grin he's still wearing, had relief flooding through Steve's veins and washing away any doubt or insecurity or fear because, as Steve might have let himself forget, this is Eddie.

“I don’t think so…” Steve replied, then he flipped their clasped hands over to show his unmistakably ringless ring finger, “Nope.”

“Huh. Well…look out, Stevie, ‘cuz that’s coming.”

“Oh really?” Steve asked, and now he’s got a big smile growing on his face too, and he ignored the way his heart was thrumming over what Eddie had just divulged to him, how matter-of-fact, how certain he'd sounded when he said it.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nodded, and Steve is so in love with him it nearly hurts.

“You mean, like, right now?” Steve continued, still feigning confusion, still keeping up the bit like they weren't having a huge, important, real conversation right now, because they hadn’t been together that long, all things considered, and yet Steve wasn’t surprised to hear any of this because he felt it too.

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Not right now. Have a little faith, darling. Now would be pathetically unromantic.”

“Hmm,” Steve hummed his agreement, though a small part of him could acknowledge that now – happy and surrounded by all their friends – wouldn’t be the worst way to get engaged, but Eddie hadn't lost any of his flair for dramatics over the years, so he's not exactly surprised to hear that Eddie is picturing something more.

“I got it all planned out, don’t you worry," Eddie told him, looking all kinds of proud, “And it’s gonna knock your socks off, Steve Harrington.”

"Alright," Steve said as Eddie leaned away, leaned back into conversation with their friends, a tight squeeze to Steve's hand his only acknowledgement of the sheer magnitude of the conversation they'd just had, "I've been warned."

[carmenberzattosgf]

[sorry this is so long....time got away from me and in an hour and 20 mins i was possessed by the writing spirit that SHOULD BE INSPIRING ME TO DO MY HOMEWORK....ahem ahem...anyways. yea :) habby valentimes day :) a fic for youe :)...!] having a relationship with carmen was like breathing in prophetic future tense. you know, from the moment you wake up in the morning to an empty bed, that by the time your head hits the pillow the coming evening, carmen will have had at least one full uninterrupted hour of pawing at your flesh till satisfaction. you know that, when he’s stressed and overworked, by the time you two fuck it out of each other, you will have had sweat beading in every crevice of your skin, and pinned by his dead weight, you will have had to whine and plead and squirm just to get yourselves into the shower.

so, when the start of a new year, the stagnation in uncomfortable weather, and a clawing mind fuck of your circadian rhythm going out of wack all set in like sisters to give you a hellish week, you just force yourself to move between pulses of blood. you are stressed. you will be better. you will have been stressed, and he will have already made it better. you were pained and you were better. it has all already happened, even as it’s happening, even as it is yet to happen. it’s not a matter worth questioning, and it’s as sure as thought happens in your mind. you are already going to be made better.

carmen is meticulous and particular, though at this point, your mind is tinged, and it can only come up with conniving, mean, Machiavellian. your partner is a wicked piece of filth for how he treats you, for how he plays your body, for how he steels his willpower when he wants to. an orgasm for every layer of clothes between his touch and your flesh, to melt away that prissy little furrow in your brow you brought home with you.

for the first build-up, you’re entirely still frustrated, still annoyed with the professor who keeps leaving you notes about diction, who nitpicks your theories in class and turns to nod along to another student who’d be better situated in a junior high review course. shit, you need to stop being so mean, you tell yourself, maybe you're the one trying to take this course too seriously. but carmen, eyes calm, words clear, creeps his fingers through your mind to find what he needs to get done. so as he guides you to grind over his knee through the fabric of your skirt, he reaches over to massage your wrists, all click-y and sore from expo markers and flat keyboards. you can’t relax into him, not yet. no draped cuddles and sweet moans, no soft kisses on the neck, sloppy and saccharine, not just yet. all he’s looking for is that soft huff at the exhale of your breaths. just physiological for now, he knows what he’s working towards, he knows your mind isn’t quite here yet. the ice machine on the counter is making an odd noise and you want to go fix it. you’re close to cumming, carmen’s thick cock is chubbing up in his old sweatpants and you’re trying to figure out if that’s the sound the machine makes when it’s empty, or when the ice is stuck. yeah, we’re not there yet.

the second orgasm, stockings stretched taut over your legs, pulling a slight little divot into your stomach from where the elastic band reaches up, and to make things fair, carmy will shed a layer too. his ears are pink in that sweet little way he gets when he likes something he doesn’t want to comment on. your slick seeping through your soaked panties and into the seam of your stockings, writhing over his cock strained against his boxers is seemingly really doing it for him. your mind is working it’s way towards that single-track pleasure state he’s drawing you into, and it’s definitely making the burn in your thighs worth it. you can allow yourself to get closer now, chest brushing against his, arms draped over his shoulders, soft little pants against the collumn of his throat, toes curling and tensing as the sound of your arousal becomes faintly audible. and, for all your kvetching earlier, carmen isn’t entirely sadistic, so he wedges one of his hands between the crux of your thighs and his lap, working his fingers over the fabric, a tense exhale pulling from his lungs as he finds a searing heat even through those layers. but he’s patient. he can be patient. he will be, he already has been patient. this one comes quicker, with affectionate kisses smeared over his jaw and cheeks, his lips finding their own trail at the cozy softness of your neck, and one of his favorites, that little hollow under the lobe of your ear where the bone of your jaw starts, a little nibble that always makes your breath go funny and your fingers twist up into little fists.

no, you haven’t done your math wrong. carmen is finally allowed to peel off his boxers, but you’re still stuck in an uncomfortably soaked set of underwear. but carmen, sweet carmy, darling carm, is entirely gracious, is sweet to you. baby, he knows you, of course this is how it’s gonna go. he shepherds you quietly to your bedroom [unplugs the ice machine on the way. you think you’re going to swoon], and finally, as a relief to your stiffened muscles, you get to lay down. blissful relaxation for a full breath, in and out, and you even get in a delicious little yawn and stretch, as carmen crawls over the bed to hover his way over you. smiling now, both of you. he’s smart, honey, he knows what he’s doing, he knows why he’s doing it. and he knows that it’s going to drive you entirely fucking mad and whiney when he settles into a rythmn of smoothly pressing and dragging his cock over your entirely empty, blood-flushed, swollen, needy, clothed cunt, with an utterly enamoured warmth on his face as he looks down at you. he loves you, so, so bad. you want to bite him and kick out at the mattress and throw an absolute fit. it’s not fair. it’s entirely not fair. he gets you all sticky and gross and needy and heaving like an animal in heat, just so he could watch you squirm with those pretty half-lidded eyes? carmen berzatto can actually go fuck himself.

you need to trust him more, you really do. halfway between the third spiel you were about to give on reciprocal affection and half-whined complaints and insults, carmen just sticks his middle and pointer fingers into your mouth, watching silently as you sputter for a moment, a chest-fluttering sigh leaving his soft lips as he strokes gently at the wet muscle of your tongue, something sickeningly affectionate in his eyes. and once that mouth is occupied, off come the panties, and you practically claw at his arm in anticipation. an inexplicably sweet gesture, carmen’s fingers slip out of your mouth, to be replaces by his own tongue, as he guides himself into your warmth, that sore, empty stickiness, a garbled whine he pours into your mouth when he goes as far as is comfortable. and then, blissful movement. and you remember why you stuck through this whole game. carmen, beauteous carmen, one spit-slicked hand holding the side of your face, the other pawing at the softness of your stomach, is fucking every thought out of your head. he’s perfect and warm and strong and he reminds you to breathe when you space out, eyes unfocused as you let him drive into you until you’re limp. limp, but not having cum yet. no, you’re just perfectly fucked stupid for him, just like you needed, just like you came into your home, pouting and stamping and begging for. you’re not sure what day of the week it is, but you think the weekend is something that’s happening soon. you’re not sure what color the sheets are, but you know they’re sticking to the small of your back. and carmen, carmen throughout all of it. in your mind, in your face, in your skin, in your hair, pumping in and out of your sweet clutch, pulsing so perfectly, just for him. in the end, it really is more simple than you think it would be. one last orgasm for you, brought upon by a few slick swipes over your clit as he nudged up into the soft patch of heat that punched breaths out of your lungs, and instead of a sweet little keening whimper, climax comes with a low, rasped-out groan from your kiss-bitten lips, and carmen pulls out to jerk himself to finish, knowing that you were undeniably already sore from how much tedium he’d put your poor muscles through. but this quiet now, your eyes closed, the backs of your knees weirdly sweaty, your hands feeling limp, this is good. all you need to do is breathe, just breathe, and you feel good. a thump onto the bed next to you, and a heavy arm drapes over your stomach loosely, a slightly clammy hand rubbing softly over your ribs. he doesn’t expect words out of you, but his heart is entirely warmed by the imprecise little kiss you mush against his cheek. this is good. this is just plain good.

-🫒

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY TO ME. I HAVE NO WORDS NO NOTES THIS ATE THE FUCK DOWN. I’m properly tagging this so more people can see this masterpiece. I LOVE YOU 🫒 THIS IS A LOVELY GIFT

[the-bear-and-his-sunbird]

A Thedas Weekend prompt for you! Your lovely Siobhan x Emmrich, "a kiss to wake your lover up in the morning" if you haven't done it already! 💖

Thank you for prompting me! It is far from polished but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Tag: @thedasweekend

Siobhan sleeps even more often. After the gods have been defeated and Solas and Inquisitor Lavellan have been reunited in the Fade there had been countless of hands that demanded to be shaken, condolences to be listened too and festivities to attend. After a polite amount of time Emmrich and Siobhan had taken their things and left with Manfred.

In a few weeks they will again set off to Ferelden, to pay a scheduled visit to Hardings mother, as the loss of her daughter has devastated her.

Now with time and calmness guarding them from all the horrors they have grown accustomed too, they rest.

Emmrich smiles fondly whenever he finds her curled up somewhere, memories of all the times he saw her like this in the Lighthouse coming to light. His Darling ran on pure stress and will alone for months.

Her sleep is well deserved.

Even with all the rest he has taken himself, he follows his habit of rising early in the morning, attending to his stretches and taking time to collect himself.

It is a habit he enjoys, even more now that he has the privilege of sharing his life with Siobahn. Some mornings , when he is finished with his routine, he indulges for a bit and watches her sleep before waking her.

This is one of those mornings.

Emmrich sits on their bed and watches Siobhan for a moment. Her auburn hair cascading over the pillows like a river delta. The piercing he gifted her gives the illusion that eyes are looking back at him, even when her own lids remain closed. Bugs eyes, she had titled them, one of her rare giggles escaping her lips. Less rare now that they are safe.

A smile forms on his lips as his heart soars. He loves her dearly, fiercely, with an intensity that scares him sometimes.

With that thought he leans down and kisses her softly on the brow. He feels her stir under him, eyebrows furrowing a little, and he presses yet another kiss to her face, this time on her cheek.

This time Siobhan hums softly and turns her head towards him. Her eyes remain closed but her breath tells him that she is awake enough already.

“My dear, I thought about fetching some tea. Would you want to share in some time with me?” he murmurs against her skin.

„Yes, please.“ she mumbles. The sheets rustle as her left arm reaches up to cup his neck and she starts caresseing him with the sluggish movements of someone still stuck between dreaming and waking.

He closes his eyes for a moment, just taking time to enjoy her touch, before he takes her hand and presses a kiss to it before carefully guiding it onto her pillow.

„I will be back in a minute.“ he says and pushes off the bed.

As promised, he returns shortly after, balancing a tray with tea on his hands. Manfred is busy with his education as an apprentice now and while Emmrich does catch himself in the motion of asking him for help every now and then, he is so very proud that his son is growing on his own.

When he sits down the tray on a small table, he wonders if Siobhan has gotten up already or if he has to wake her fully this time.

Emmrich makes his way to their shared bed and finds her fast asleep again. Relishing in the beautiful mundanity of it all, he smiles and sits down on the bed again.

A few more kisses it is then.

[journey-to-the-attic]

one thing about ik is that she will always reach out

[skunkes]

[a-lazy-daisy]

you turn my 6’s to 9’s

[psychotic-nonsense]

Steve wasn’t sitting where he usually does.

He’s usually waiting for him at a table as far away from the people he’s “supposed” to be friends with. That’s their seat, where they’re free to hide amongst the forsaken and be themselves. Eddie even had some leftover pastries from Wayne’s job’s company bake sale; strawberry, Steve’s favorite. Eddie detests even the smell, but he’s held his nose over four periods just to give it to Steve. He even had something in his back pocket, a gift wrapped up in nerves and fear. The proposition of a dinner date at the quarry for just them, where he can finally ask that fabled question.

When Eddie looks for Steve around the cafeteria, he can hardly even recognize him. His hair isn’t its usual limp swoop, framing his face in this boyish, dorky way that Eddie adores. It’s crisp and slick, evidently so meticulously styled that it just looks bad.

And he’s sitting exactly in the place he never wanted to be.

Eddie’s so flabbergasted by the sight that he can’t control his legs, his face. He walks over without hesitation, not even sure what he’ll say but it has to be something, anything to get an answer as to what the hell is going on.

But Steve doesn’t see him until someone else does. When he looks over his shoulder, Eddie recoils at the sight. Steve’s eyes are dead of their usual spark, his lip curled the wrong way.

And when he speaks, it’s a growl of spikes and hatred that stabs Eddie straight through the heart.

—————————

Harrington doesn’t look the way he’s supposed to.

He’s usually harsh, sarcastic, stubborn, and a self righteous bitch. Every sentence at him is met with an eye roll and scoff. Every ounce of care given to him is rejected like the plague.

Suppose it’s the bottle to his throat, but this Harrington doesn’t even look scared, the smug fucker. He looks nervous, but it’s underneath this false layer of desperation, longing, and dare Eddie even dream of it, sadness. He hasn’t even flinched since he was shoved to the wall, almost relaxing into Eddie’s arms and subsequently the bottle’s edge. His eyes even look like they’re begging for the contact. ‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else and I’d bleed if it meant I could stay.’

Please. Even with the kids begging for Harrington’s safety, it won’t convince Eddie. So with the upper hand, he gives Harrington a taste of his own sour ale.

The kids think it’s for them, answer him honestly. But Harrington recognizes it, of course he would, and his already limp body sags further.

“No.” Eddie backs away, keeps the bottle outstretched. He refuses to give Harrington any comfort here, reveling in his open expression of loss. Serves you right.

“What are you doing here?”

Steddie Week Day 5: Reunion / Exes to Lovers

[tamagotchikgs]

i wish i had working memory 4 many reasons but a big one is so that i could actually remember what ppl say vs the evil translations my brain does with the little pieces that it holds onto

[jimmyspades]

2007 | 2019

[billythephoneguy]

𝓗𝓮𝔂 𝓖𝓾𝔂𝓼

[lovethistoomuch]

me interacting with the man with sunglasses:

1st playthrough: oh, come on mysterious ex-partner guy, just loosen up a little, just talk to me. kim is way cooler than you btw.

2nd playthrough: oh my god, jean, it's so good to see you! I love talking to you! You're the coolest guy ever! I'd love having you as my partner, please just talkt to me please, I'm so sorry, I love you! I love you! please forgive me, jean!!!

[sysig]

Guess who :3c (Patreon)

[b1gwings]

a little something i made for my dnd group back in september ^_^