#nvm the fic

[cheolism]

you vs the universe

✧ jeon wonu x f!reader ✧ summary: you've had a bad day, starting from when the ac decided to give up in the middle of the night during summer. after a long, tiring day you return home to your beloved orange cat, butters, and your longtime crush/roommate, wonwoo ✧ wc is approx 4.2k ✧ tags: fluffy and comedy. roommates-to-lovers, mutual pining, the intimacy of mundane acts ✧ warnings: mentions of long hair; calls themself butters' "mother"; there's mentions of past injury; panic attack mention; mention of a sexual act but not in the context of it being sexual, but in the context of it being on a shirt bc i saw a sticker and got inspired ✧ note: sooooo the first two paragraphs are showing up messed up for me. There’s actually supposed to be another paragraph ahead of the current first one, but whenever I try and edit it in the post reverts back to the wrong one. So apologies for the first two paragraphs on here being messed up; when I try to fix it, it doesn’t work :(

You didn’t even want to enter your apartment complex. When you woke up in the early hours of night, you were covered in sweat. Your hair was stuck to the back of your neck, your shirt clung to your armpits. There was a damp spot on the bed from where you had been laying.

You didn’t even want to enter your apartment complex. When you woke up in the early hours of night, you were covered in sweat. Your hair was stuck to the back of your neck, your shirt clung to your armpits. There was a damp spot on the bed from where you had been laying.

After using the restroom you stumbled to the thermostat, softly cursing your orange cat as he wound himself around your ankles. You had stared at the thermostat for a second, uncomprehending. Then you frantically fled to Wonwoo’s room and woke him up. 

“Well,” he had mumbled, squinting at the bold 85 that the thermostat boasted. He fumbled with it for a moment, before relenting and announcing it was broken. “I’ll call the landlord in the morning. Not like anything can be done about it until everything opens up.”

So the two of you had opened the windows and turned on every fan in the apartment. You checked the temperature of Butters’ water fountain, ensuring the flow was still cold. Wonwoo had watched as you cooed at the tabby, reaching out and petting him before pressing quick kisses to his little orange head.

“You care more about Butters than you do me,” your roommate had said. His voice was deeper than usual, and you foolishly fought against how it seemed to force its way inside you and settle. 

“Only slightly.” Your knees had cracked when you stood again. Wonwoo was looking at your shirt, and it was then you remembered the grey cotton had done absolutely nothing to soak up your sweat and instead a large stain spread out around the neck. 

After bidding Wonwoo a good-night (for the second time in a night) you had discarded your pajamas and underwear, pulling out brand-new everything.

Which was what led to your current predicament, which was also further evidence that the universe was against you.

It wasn’t until you were standing in front of your building did you remember that the t-shirt you were wearing was your last clean one. It was the one Wonwoo had gotten you two years back when he and Mingyu had gone on a vacation to the Pacific Northwest that depicted a redwood tree and had the phrase “Big Red Stick National Forest” written across it. Even worse: you were also wearing your last clean pair of underwear, having intentionally set it aside yesterday evening as a reminder. 

The air conditioning was back on in the apartment complex, but that did nothing to stop your bad mood or clothes from clinging to you; even worse, the cold air made your sweat stains turn cool and freeze against your skin.

“The whole universe is against me,” you announced upon entering your apartment. Wonwoo glanced over from his spot on the couch. Butters stood from where he had been curled up on Wonwoo’s chest, stretching out before jumping off. 

“I think you’re exaggerating,” Wonwoo said, rather objectively. 

Butters pranced over to you, looking like a small show pony. He stretched out his front legs one final time before looking up at you, blinking his huge green eyes, and screaming. 

“I know!” You agreed, leaning down and scooping Butters up into your arms. He immediately began purring. Butters forcefully rubbed his head underneath your chin and you returned the favor, rubbing your face in his. “Wonwoo just doesn’t understand us, Butters. He’s a meanie.”

“Now how is that fair?” 

Wonwoo stood, stretching. You watched as he extended his arms up towards the ceiling, fingers splayed and reminding you of Butters after a nap. Wonwoo was wearing a tank top, one that hung from his frame and did nothing to hide his collarbone. His muscles flexed as he stretched and you couldn’t help but watch his biceps strain, and you sort of wondered what it felt like to press your hand against his lower back as he stretched, feeling how his muscles moved. 

Once upon a time, Wonwoo was nothing but a string bean with awkward angles and too-sharp elbows and knees. That was the Jeon Wonwoo you had met; that was the Jeon Wonwoo you had agreed to room with. 

But then he met Lee Jihoon and suddenly decided visiting the gym was a brilliant idea, filling one of your cupboard shelves with protein powder. 

Again: proof the universe was against you. 

You felt Butters take a deep breath, and then he was screaming again. You turned to look at him, and he reached up and settled a paw against your mouth. His lime eyes peered into yours and seemed to say “get it together, mother.”

He was right. You needed to get it together. 

“Why is the universe against you?” Wonwoo finally asked, done with his stretching. He made his way to the door, his feet bare and hair sticking up on one side, looking so painfully domestic and sweet. 

For a moment you let your mind wonder. You were a successful business woman returning from a long day at the office. There was air conditioning in your apartment. You were greeted by your trophy husband and cat. Wonwoo was telling you about his day, which consisted of cleaning and gaming. You were setting Butters back on the ground so you could grab Wonwoo around the waist, sneaking your hands up underneath that too-large tank top and settling them against his skin. You were kissing Wonwoo, unhurriedly and sweetly, taking all the time in the world because the matching rings on your fingers meant that the two of you were united forever, that you had until the end of the world to kiss Wonwoo and tell him you loved him. 

And then Butters wiggled against you, moving so he could dangle over your shoulder and forcing you to hold him like you would hold a baby you were about to burp. 

“First the air conditioning wasn't working.”

“Obviously.”

“The subway was crowded and stinky. My carriage smelled like someone pissed in it, and someone probably did. I tripped stepping off of the sidewalk and onto the crosswalk --”

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo interrupted, his dark eyebrows furrowing. He glanced over you, eyes darting behind his glasses. “Did you get hurt?”

You shook your head. Butters was purring so loudly that the neighbors could probably hear it. “Only my pride was hurt, if I’m honest. A nice man who was jogging stopped and helped me up.”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed for a split second before his face took on his normal neutral look. You wondered if he was still hooked on the prospect of you falling. A handful of months ago you had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, walking in front of Soonyoung just as Seungcheol launched a killer pitch at him, the ball slamming into your stomach and causing you to double over. 

Wonwoo hadn’t seen it happen; had only heard Seungcheol and Soonyoung’s shouts from the kitchen where he and a few others had been talking. You remember Wonwoo suddenly appearing at your side, practically shoving Soonyoung away from you and taking you into his arms. You remember him petting your head as you cried from the pain, Seungcheol recounting what had happened; you also recall Wonwoo shouting at Seungcheol and Soonyoung, whisking you away from the get-together and ignoring his two friends for a week. 

That entire week he was hovering around you. He would routinely ask if it was okay to touch your stomach, if he could look at it, just to see the progress of the violent bruise that was forming. Wonwoo constantly had a frozen bag of peas or corn ready for you, switching one out whenever he deemed it too warm. It wasn’t until the bruise was fading and you urged him to get in contact with Seungcheol and Soonyoung did he finally let up on his mothering. 

He was a good friend, caring so much about your wellbeing. Your heart fluttered a little at his concern, and you shifted Butters in your hold so you could reach out and squeeze his arm. “Don’t worry about it, Wonwoo! I didn’t even land hard enough to get a scratch, see?” 

You offered the hand of your palm for him to inspect. He glanced at it casually. He then reached out and grabbed your wrist, eyes trained on the skin there. “That was nice of the old man to help you,” Wonwoo said. 

“Oh, he wasn’t old.” He kept his eyes trained on your palm. You wiggled your fingers. You wanted him to look away from your hand with that serious look, wanted him to instead meet your eyes with his dark ones and be on the receiving end of such an open display of devotion. But instead it was your hand he looked at with such seriousness. 

Again: the universe was against you.

 “Thought you said he was an old man,” Wonwoo returned, tone casually. He pushed up his glasses. 

You shook your head, Butters letting out a trill of discontent at the movement. “No, I reckon he was around our age? You should’ve seen his calf muscles, Wonie. They were huge.”

Wonwoo hummed a little. His thumb began brushing against your palm, gently swiping the skin there. Your heart began to beat in rhythm with the movement of his thumb. “Did you get his number, then?”

You furrowed your brow. “Why on Earth would I do that?”

Wonwoo finally looked up from your hand. His eyes no longer had that serious look to them, and a small smile curled the edge of his lips. You liked how he grinned like that, when his smiles weren’t large enough and instead seemed to play with only one side of his mouth. It made him look adorable; endearing; sweet. 

“Okay. So no air conditioning; you tripped; the subway smelled like piss. What else am I missing?”

Wonwoo’s thumb stopped brushing against your palm. He released your hand. You immediately missed it and wanted to reach out and return his hand to its rightful place in yours. 

“Uh. My chapstick was so hot from the weather that when I went to apply it, it was all mush. My airpods disconnected and Taemin’s MOVE blasted in the elevator. A toddler was screaming in the middle of the CVS and I honestly wanted to start screaming with him, because today has fucking sucked.”

Wonwoo nodded. He was still grinning. “Wow. Anything else?”

“My clothes are smelly and wet -- even my underwear.”

Wonwoo blinked. 

Your eyes widened. You let out a shriek; Butters screamed with you. “NO -- they’re wet from sweat! I’m wet from sweating! Not from anything else -- just sweat! Because it’s so hot! It’s hot outside!”

“Ah,” Wonwoo’s mouth was agape, eyes round. He glanced at the wall. Back at you. At Butters. Back at you. 

The universe was fucking against you.

“You can borrow some of mine,” he said.

And because the universe was so against you that even your own self was against you, you agreed. 

The t-shirt he gave you was several sizes too-large, as Wonwoo tended to go for comfort over what looked good more often than not. It was from the vacation you, he, Mingyu, Seokmin and Minghao had taken around Christmas. You had said something about the Grand Canyon being the perfect place to take pictures and then suddenly Wonwoo was presenting you with a plane ticket and saying your flight was the next day. 

And so your little group of photography nerds had ooo’d and aaah’d the Grand Canyon. Wonwoo hadn’t gotten a shirt at the giftshop, you remember (and tried to shove away the shame you felt at remembering something as little as that), but at a gas station several miles out he had suddenly appeared with a plastic bag and a large smile. 

Then he had presented you with the shirt you were wearing currently. It had a picture of the Grand Canyon with a little hiker on the edge. There was a quote bubble coming out from the hiker that said “I rimmed the Grand Canyon”. 

Seokmin had actually peed himself from laughing so hard. 

His underwear was snug around your middle, and you tightened your shorts in an effort to keep them up. You walked from the bathroom, feeling infinitely better. Wonwoo was setting a bowl next to the sink, and as soon as he caught sight of you his eyes went almost comically wide. You did a little spin, Butters screaming at your feet. 

“Ta-dah!” You cheered, doing jazz hands. “Better, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo agreed. “Loads better.” 

You joined Wonwoo at the sink, pushing your hair behind your ears. A fan sat on top of the kitchen table, practically starting a tornado from how violently it spun the air. 

“What’s up with your buddy over there,” you asked, nodding towards the fan. 

Wonwoo looked over at the fan. He had been looking at your chest, but to be fair to him, that was where the iconic text that still sent Seokmin into hysterics eight months later was. Wonwoo was probably just reading the phrase and reliving Seokmin’s embarrassment at having wet himself. 

“Ah,” Wonwoo began. He pushed up his glasses. “I had cereal and it was hot.”

“Your cereal was hot?”

He looked back at you, eyebrows raising. “No? What -- why the fuck would my cereal be hot?”

“You just said it was!”

“No? I meant it was hot in the apartment,” he clarified. Wonwoo’s voice had that same tone he got when he found someone absolutely ridiculous. “The heat is definitely getting to you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. But I do know you’re not leaving me to do all these dishes.”

The pile was tragic. It was tragic in that it was a sore reminder that even with the two of you combined, you and Wonwoo didn’t have a single responsible brain cell. Or perhaps you did; Butters was still alive, afterall. So that had to qualify for something.

At least the pile was washed off, you justified. 

It could be worse. 

Like Seokmin and Soonyoung’s shared apartment. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo began. He turned to face the dishes with you, hands splayed on the counter. His hands were tan, just like the rest of him, from spending time outside exercising with Mingyu (Jihoon absolutely refused to exercise outside). Every time you looked at his hands and were reminded of how large they were, you couldn’t help but swallow and try to combat the heat that flashed through you. 

His hands were big. Almost comically big. Except it wasn’t funny how everytime you saw his hands you wanted to reach out and lace your fingers through his, you wanted to press kisses to his palms, wanted to know how it felt to have his hands settled at the base of your neck, guiding your head into a kiss --

Anyways. Anyways. 

There was a dull thud. You looked to see Butters peering over the edge of the coffee table at a book he had no doubt pushed off. He looked away from the book and at you. Your eyes met, and you knew for a fact that if Butters was capable of judging another being, he would absolutely be judging you. 

“You were going to leave the dishes to me, though,” Wonwoo pointed out. You looked at him. He was smiling down at you, eyes crinkling. 

“Okay, you caught me,” you returned. “Now that we both know each other’s evil plan, let’s do them together.”

There was a brief pause. And then Wonwoo narrowed his eyes, cocking his head. “Do you hear that?”

You went still, trying to listen. “No, I don’t. What --”

“My phone is ringing,” Wonwoo said, pushing away from the sink. “I better go and see who it is!”

“I see your PHONE IN YOUR POCKET, ASSHOLE!”

Nonetheless, you shoved your hair back from your face and looked down at the pile of dishes. Sighing, hopefully loud enough for Wonwoo to hear, you forcefully turned on the water. You shoved the plug into the sink, vowing to make Wonwoo pay somehow. 

You rearranged the dishes, setting the larger bowls and plates on the counter. You tucked your escaping bangs back behind your ears again. You began with the bowls, scrubbing them and trying to come up with a master plan to get Wonwoo back for his desertion. 

Maybe you could only do your half of the dishes and leave his dirty ones. But then he’d catch on and just start ordering out more in an effort to not have to clean. You could make him clean out the litter box, but it was his turn to do it anyway. You could invite him to a movie night and make him watch the Barbie movies, but then again he somehow always found a way to enjoy himself during them. 

You could make him watch a kid’s show. Maybe like Bluey? Fuck wait, though, you genuinely enjoyed Bluey and didn’t want to turn it into a punishment. 

You let out a groan when your bangs fell from behind your ears, obscuring part of your vision again. You shoved them back, uncaring of the water that fell from your hands and dripped onto the shirt. 

Oh! You could invite him to a movie night and invite Mingyu and not tell him! You had unintentionally done it once, having forgotten to tell Wonwoo that you had invited your mutual friend until Mingyu was knocking on the apartment door. Wonwoo had seemed sour the entire night, but you waved it off at him just being pissed that Mingyu took the last soda from the fridge. 

Yes. That was the play. 

You grinned at your brilliance, wiggling a little in celebration. Your hair shifted and once again your bangs fell to your face, dangling in front of your eyes. 

Groaning, you lifted your hands from the soapy water to try and force your hair to obey you and keep away from your face. Then two hands settled on your waist, squeezing. 

You jumped, shrieking a little. Wonwoo laughed, his chuckle deep and bringing heat to your cheeks. He squeezed your waist again. “Just me.”

“Well I know that now,” you snapped. “Announce yourself next time, dude. Could’ve been holding a knife and stabbed you. Reflexively.”

“Reflexively,” he mocked, before letting out another huff of laughter. You felt his warm breath on the back of your neck. Despite the humidity and heat, you shivered. 

His hands moved from your waist, but you didn’t get a chance to miss them as they traveled up your body, close enough for you to feel the ghost of them. “Don’t move, baby.”

Obediently, terribly obediently, you went still. His long fingers carded through your hair, untangling it. If you were Butters you would have been purring. Then Wonwoo chuckled again as if he was laughing at you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you were somehow purring. Then you caught yourself leaning back into his touch and realized why he was laughing. 

You immediately straightened, pushing as close to the sink as you could. The edge of the counter dug into your stomach. 

Wonwoo tugged one of your locks of hair. “Listen to me,” he chastised you. “I told you to be still.”

“I am,” you whined. 

He didn’t say anything. His hands returned to your hair. Wonwoo’s fingers resumed their petting, but this time they didn’t linger. He pulled at your hair, gathering it. It wasn’t until he was tying the scrunchie around your hair a second time did you realize what he was doing. 

Your roommate was tying your hair up for you. 

Wonwoo was tying your hair for you. 

Jeon Wonwoo, the man you‘ve been daydreaming about for the past two years, the man you’ve been imagining holding hands and even kissing, was putting up your hair. He had seen you struggle with your bangs and took it upon himself to help you. He didn’t just hand you the scrunchie but did it himself. 

You turned around as soon as you felt him tighten the scrunchie enough so it would hold. You peered up at him; he looked back down at you. His face was as neutral as ever, but even then you saw the little shine in his dark eyes. You wondered if you were delusional, wondered if he felt the same pull you did, if he felt the string that tied the two of you together tighten and urge you together. 

“Why did you do that?

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment. Then he tilted his head, eyes narrow and sharp. “Guess.”

And then he was pulling away from you completely. Your mind was blank as he took a handful of steps away from you, watching him run a hand through his black hair and the muscles on his back flex. 

Guess. 

You were on him in a second. 

Your hands went to his waist, turning him towards you as you lifted yourself onto the tip of your toes. He was leaning down to you, one of his hands going to your shoulder, bringing you close, the other to your cheek, guiding you to his mouth. 

It was frantic and messy. He was pulling you closer and closer, arm wrapping around your shoulders and fingers sinking into your hair. His mouth was hot against yours, his tongue insistent and sloppy as it forced its way into your mouth. You let him in, your hands hurriedly shoving up the hem of his tank top and flattening against his skin. You felt the warmth of him, both from his skin and his mouth. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck.”

You let out a soft little noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan. He cursed again, his hands moving. One cupped your jaw and the other went to your neck. You let him manipulate you, his mouth taking and taking from yours, his teeth biting down on your lip. 

The hand in your hair pulled sharply; you gasped. 

Wonwoo pulled away. The hand on your jaw moved, the other one still holding you in place. You watched, heart fluttering and gut clenching, as he removed his glasses and tossed them onto the table. 

And then his mouth descended onto yours, devouring once more. He pressed ever closer, his hand traveling to grip at your waist. He murmured your name, chanted it, as if it were ancient words of prayer. Wonwoo kissed you like you were a god and it was his offering, spit smearing across your mouths and nails digging into skin.

There was an inhuman scream. You let out a shout of your own against Wonwoo’s mouth, pulling away and whipping your head towards the sound. 

Butters screamed again, scrambling against the coffee table before launching himself off it. He continued his scream as he sprinted across the living room and into the kitchen, his orange tail pointed straight up into the air. Butters slid on the hard floor as he came upon his food bowl, where the automated feeder was dinging and announcing dinner time. 

You watched your orange cat inhale his food, completely unaware (or uncaring) of what had just taken place between his parents. Slowly you turned to look up at Wonwoo, who was already looking at you. 

“Uh,” you eloquently began. Shyness crept its way into you, as if you didn’t just have Wonwoo’s tongue down your throat and weren’t half a second away from offering yourself on a silver platter. 

“Hi,” he returned, just as awkwardly. He shifted, his hands moving. One remained at your waist while the other went to the table, retrieving the glasses he had heatedly discarded. 

You watched as he put them back on. The air was silent between the two of you, but just as rigid as in the moments leading up to the kiss. But instead of filling you with passion and heat it made you cringe, your hands flexing against Wonwoo’s bare back. 

“Okay --” “So here’s the thing --”

Both of you abruptly broke off. You and Wonwoo were both still as you waited for the other to continue. When neither of you did you couldn’t help but giggle, pitching yourself forward to bury your face into his chest. 

Wonwoo’s chest rumbled as he laughed, his arms going around you to hold you close. You felt him press his face into your hair, glasses digging into the top of your head. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, thudding loud against your ribcage.

This was it. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for like, two years,” you mumbled into his shirt, words rushed and your mouth practically smashing against his chest.

Wonwoo was still for a moment. You felt as if eternity had fit itself into those few seconds of pause, your heart coming to a complete still as your mind leapt to conclusions. This was the moment everything would change, and your brain was screaming like Butters did at midnight when he found either you or Wonwoo's bedroom doors closed.

Then he was pulling you away from him, one of his hands coming to guide your chin so you were looking up at him. His eyes were soft and sweet, and the corner of his mouth was beginning to pull up in a smile. “Say that again? I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes you did,” you protested. You were grinning; your heart was dancing. “Asshole.”

Wonwoo chuckled again, and then his mouth descended on yours. 

Okay. Maybe the universe wasn’t completely against you.

[choccy-milky]

💖🎊the end, & thank you for reading!!🎊💖

im so thankful for all the support i got on this story, and i wouldn't have finished it if not for all of you, and for the love i got for seb and clora. so thank you again for giving me the motivation to write this 600k+ monster, and to see it through to the very end. LOVE YALL💖🫶 (ao3/wattpad)

[justaz]

king arthur getting swamped with work and burying himself in his responsibilities until his exhaustion creeps up on him and falls asleep at his desk. merlin comes in to find him slumped in his chair, arms crossed over his papers, and light snores coming from his mouth. he carefully, gently, and tenderly rubs arthur’s back and hair, softly calling his name, until he sorta wakes from his slumber though he is still half asleep. merlin pulls him to his feet and guides him into bed, tugging off his belt and boots before tucking him in - arthur already out like a light.

merlin then sits at his desk and works through some of the issues arthur had been dealing with, he’s stood behind arthur at practically every council meeting so he has a good idea of how to deal with things. then people start coming to the door and knocking, requesting the king’s attention. merlin ensures arthur is still asleep before cracking open the door and slipping outside. he claims that arthur is extremely busy and cannot be bothered and tells them to run any issues that require arthur’s attention thru him

then its messenger after messenger coming up to merlin with problems that need attention and merlin is striding thru the castle dealing with one after another. he carries some of the parchments from arthur’s chambers around to deal with those as well in the moments where he doesn’t have fifteen people complaining to him. after a few hours, arthur wakes up comfy in bed, staring into the blazing hearth, and a good chunk of his work has been dealt with and he feels refreshed and relaxed

[courfee]

“Regulus would be proud of us,” James whispered quietly to no one in particular, still gripping onto the painting like a life raft. 

— Tender Curiosities, Baby!  @otrtbs

[mamawasatesttube]

this might be mean but. it really ticks me off when people respond to authors and artists wishing for actual community and engagement with their works by saying "oh but you see im just so anxious i cannot offer you any kind words." with the optional "but do please keep making things for me anyway!" because like...

a) do you understand how anxiety-inducing it can be to pour a little piece of your soul into a work of art and share it publicly? i feel like you don't see the people creating these things as people like you and that is an issue. we are people who just really love a thing and want to talk about it with other people who also love that thing.

but moreover, and this is the part that might be mean, b) damn why doesn't your anxiety prevent you from making excuses to us then? i wish it did! like if you're SO anxious about a fic author blocking you for saying something nice, why are you not anxious about getting blocked for telling that author "okay but i don't want to comment on your works though"??? because i can tell you which of these two things is way more likely to piss me off and it isn't the comment.

like. idk man. if you really don't want to comment on and engage with people's creative works, no one can force you to. but also consider maybe not commenting on and engaging with those people's posts just to explain that you don't want to comment on/engage with their works. if you are so committed to staying quiet and being a passive consumer then commit to the bit and stop asking creative people who put way more of themselves out there than you are to pat you on the back and reassure you that you'll still keep getting free content even if you can't do so much as drop a "this was really good!" in the comments.

[heymrspatel]

'"What the fuck is this."

Ian pulls out half a dozen cupcakes, all different flavors, and sticks a candle in every single one. He lights them all and sings Happy Birthday to his husband in the lowlight of their kitchen, his arms wrapped around Mickey’s waist and his voice soft. Mickey’s cheeks turn pink, and Ian pretends not to notice. He makes him blow out the candles anyways.

“You have to try them all,” Ian tells him. “Have to?” “Legally required.” “I don’t remember signing a contract.” “It’s written in between the lines of our marriage license.”

Mickey snorts and picks up the first cupcake—basic, safe, plain old vanilla with vanilla frosting—and takes a huge ass bite before handing it to Ian. He gets frosting on his nose.' - i need you (like cake on my birthday) by @sam-loves-seb

my gift for the lovely @sam-loves-seb 💙✨ prompt - art based on a fic for @gallavichthings gallavich gift exchange

[percki]

on my knees

tags: 18+, mature content, MDNI, Gale x reader, f!Tav, 2nd person pronouns, act 3, semi-public sex, porn w/o plot, lap dance, explicit consent, bondage, restraints, dom/sub, switch Gale, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), lap sex, hand jobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, praise kink

ao3 link

“Urgh.” Rolan stands up, wiping a smear of Lorroakan’s blood off the sleeve of his robes. “Your aasimar friend is… violent.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess, Rolan. We can clean everything up –” You glance around the upper level of the tower, at the holy fire, congealed mud, pasty mixture of water and ash, and a fair amount of blood. At the wizard’s broken body, his face swollen with bruises, his mouth agape, sprawled at the foot of his throne of books. “– Um, but it might take a while.”

Rolan waves one long-nailed hand in your direction, his discolored face grateful – if not a bit exasperated. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. You have already done so much for me – consider my debt forgiven, and all will be well.” You smile at that, watching the tiefling wizard grunt with exertion as he hauls Lorroakan’s body towards the portal. “And, erm – help yourself to any treasures you come across, of course. I’ll be… downstairs…” He pushes the corpse through the shimmering portal, and sends you one last earnest, sharp-toothed smile over his shoulder. “...Burying a body.”

With that, Rolan pushes up the sleeves of his robes (sorcerer’s robes, trimmed in silver, unbefitting for a wizard, but they suit him well nonetheless) and steps through the portal, no doubt bracing himself to break the news to his new employees. ‘Hey, so remember those adventurers that just came in? They killed Lorroakan, violently, and I’m your boss now. Surprise!’ You’re sure the staff at Sorcerous Sundries have endured worse surprises; working for Lorroakan sounds akin to an eternity of torture in the Hells.

Aylin sheathes her sword and crosses over to you, removing her helmet. Her ash-blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and her gold-streaked face glistens with blood and sweat. “I shall be at your camp, if you have need of me,” she declares, and inclines her head in gratitude. “You fought well – as you have before. I remain thankful for your assistance.” Less wordy than usual – Lorroakan’s death must be weighing on her. You don’t blame her.

“Thank you, Dame Aylin,” you say, and bow in respect. She smiles at that, silver eyes gleaming.

“Ooh, wait!” Karlach runs up to you, her arms full of wine bottles – no doubt pilfered from Lorroakan’s hidden stash. The woman has a nose for alcohol – she could find a bottle of Baldur’s Grape blindfolded, disoriented, in the middle of a rainstorm. Shadowheart is close behind, a new cloak slung over her shoulders and a fair amount of gold filling her pockets. “We’ll probably go back to camp, too – Fringe and I have to try all this wine.”

“To make sure it isn’t poisoned,” Shadowheart adds, green eyes twinkling with humor. “You can handle yourselves without us, can’t you?”

You grin. “Save a bottle of Mermaid Whiskey for me.”

“Blech. You can have it all.” Karlach sticks out her split tongue, her smile wide. “See ya!” She bolts through the portal head-first: dangerous, with the amount of alcohol in her arms and the fiery infernal engine in her chest. You hear a distant crash, and wince.

Shadowheart follows close behind, calling, “Save the Tyche Pink!”

You hear the rush of wings and look over – Aylin is gone, too, a flash of silver in the clear blue sky. You watch her fly, the wind buffeting her white wings – deva-like, altogether unnatural, inhuman, beautiful in an untouchable, deadly, frightening way – as she soars. The sunlight seems to collect around her, like a remnant of her celestial mother’s power lingers, still, even after the heat and rage of battle is done.

“And then there were two.”

Gale’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. You look up, meeting his eyes. Dark brown, deep, gentle, shining with a light all too familiar. He’s standing by the throne of books, his right hand resting on a copy of Folktales of Faerún: The Angelic Aasimar. 

You kneel over the ashes of the water myrmidon, sifting through the remains for treasure. Nothing. “I suppose Rolan will take a while…” You look around the tower once more, keen eyes picking out chests, display cases, bookshelves – anything that could hide a nice new set of robes for Gale, or a dagger for Astarion, or perhaps some armor for Wyll… “Will you cast Feather Fall? I want to look on the lower levels…” You trail off, reading something in Gale’s eyes. His fingers flex on the spine of the book, his shoulders thrown back, his lilac robes fitting his form well. Is he… posing? You smile and straighten, dusting ash off your sleeves, and move to his side, twining your left arm with his right, leaning comfortably against his side. “The Annals are in the vaults,” you say, knowing his primary objective here, halfheartedly attempting to lift his spirits. Thoughts of the Crown are dangerous – you have seen how easily the lure of power can corrupt, a thousand times (with Kagha in the Emerald Grove, with Minthara at the goblin camp, with Ketheric and Gortash and now Lorroakan). But despite your reservations, you know his ambition fuels him, that it drives his fire, that thoughts of greatness and respect do raise his spirits. “We could go down ourselves…”

Gale turns into you, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his beard scratching at your neck. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, and sighs deeply, inhaling your scent – blood and smoke and sweat, and the faintest hints of his cologne lingering on your skin. “I… Not yet,” he says vaguely, and kisses your neck again, deeper this time. Your breath hitches as he trails long, searing kisses up your neck, along the line of your jaw, leading up to your lips.

“Gale…” You whisper, voice low. “I –” He nips at your bottom lip, smiling against your chin, and you can feel your face heat up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says devilishly, oak eyes sparkling, looking up at you through thick, dark lashes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “I can’t believe…” He blinks, as if waking from a dream, and cradles your jaw with his hand, straightening to his full height.

You kiss him, this time, tasting blood on his lips, and you stop, examining his face carefully. A bruise is forming at the bridge of his nose, blood tracing a path down the apex of his lips to his chin. You frown, brow creasing in worry. “You’re hurt.”

“Hm?” Gale touches his face gingerly, delicate, careful fingers prodding the quickly-purpling skin. “Oh. Yes. That. It’s quite alright –”

“It’s not alright,” you reply. “Let me heal you.” You take his shoulders in your hands and guide him into a seated position on Lorroakan’s throne, his back reclined against a collection of Ramazith’s annotated tomes. You kneel before him, positioning yourself between his legs, and summon a simple healing incantation, your hand hovering over his nose, the blue glow of the spell reflected in his eyes. “Te curo,” you murmur, and watch as his skin knits itself together, blood drying, swelling fading, the bruise vanishing beneath your fingers. “Better?”

“Better,” he admits, and looks at you with intent in his eyes, his gaze dark and focused on your features. “My love,” he starts, then hesitates. His face turns a delicious shade of pink.

“Yes?” You lean forward, hanging onto his words. He adjusts his legs, his thighs bracketing your shoulders, and you feel the slightest thrill at your compromising position, you in your armor and him in his robes, you kneeling before him like a supplicant at an altar.

“Rolan may not return for some time,” Gale says. “We could…” He stops again, biting his lip.

You guess his meaning immediately – your thoughts are remarkably in-tune. You can’t deny that you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wished for… Well. For Gale. Your peaceful nights since arriving in the Lower City have been few and far between, interrupted as they are: by vampires, by nightmares, by Orin’s ministrations. It’s been some time since you and Gale had time to yourselves.

And now, it seems, you have all the time in the world.

“Do you want to?” You question, and his eyes darken, his pupils expanding infinitesimally. You lean forward, cupping his cock with your hand, and smile to feel him already half-hard beneath your touch.

“I – yes,” he breathes, and raises his hand to cast Mage Hand, the incantation on his lips, when you catch him by the wrist, holding him still.

“No magic,” you say breathlessly, and straighten back up to your full height, smiling down at him. “As mortals do, remember?”

Gale watches you intently as you undo the first few buckles of your armor, leather slipping between your fingers. He sits up, reaching out his hands to help –

And you push him back.

“Don’t move,” you warn him, and plant one hand securely on his chest, holding him in place, as you draw a piece of silken fabric out of your pack. You hold it up for him to see, and upon realizing your intention, his eyes widen, pupils expanding impossibly wide. “Do you want this?” You ask, and he confirms with a nod of his head. You narrow your eyes and lean in, your face centimeters away from his, your breath ghosting on his lips. “Say it, please, love.”

He swallows thickly, eyes locked on yours, and says, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I want you to tie me up.”

You smile, and reward him with a bruising, biting kiss. “Good boy,” you murmur, and relish the way his face reddens, his jaw going slightly slack at the praise. “Lean forward for me?” He acquiesces, already holding his hands behind his back, and you climb up into his lap to twine the silk around his wrists, your touch featherlight and gentle. You test the knot, and smile. Not too tight – but he certainly won’t get any ideas about spellcasting. “Does that feel okay?”

“Yes,” he says into your shoulder, his voice muffled by the layers of your armor. You stand back up and step completely out of your clothes, metal buckles and buttons clinking as your many layers fall to the floor, and then you stand before Gale in your undergarments, your skin rising with goosebumps from the cool air, his eyes roving a path up and down your figure.

You feel a little warm from the intensity of his gaze, but you steel your nerves and continue. You reach out with your senses, using the knowledge of the Weave that Gale taught you of so long ago, and you can feel a soft tinkling at the edge of your perception, the distant sound of music, and you pull it towards you. In one of the pleasure dens far below, a slow, sensual number starts up, and you filter the sound through the available space, filling the tower with music.

Gale’s lips part as he realizes your plan. “Love,” he starts, “I haven’t –”

You feel a twinge of self-doubt, standing there near-nude before a man who is completely clothed. You have no experience with this whatsoever – apart from what you have read and seen – and you’re not sure that Gale loves you enough to forgive you if you make a total ass of yourself. “This is okay, right?” You rush to ask, holding your hands out for his before realizing that he’s still tied. You tuck them behind your back, straightening your posture. “Um – I know this is probably unusual, but, you know, in the Quarta Sune –”

Gale grins, his dimples making a rare appearance, and the sight of it pulls at your heartstrings. “You are perfect,” he promises, lifting his dark eyes up to your face. “This is perfect. Please, keep going.”

The slight rasp of his voice goes straight to your core, and you step forward before you’re entirely conscious of your movements, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He leans into you with a groan, and you can feel his shoulders move, his hands resisting the bindings, and you pull back. “No touching,” you say softly, “right? This is about you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his expression adorably resentful, and you laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Later,” you promise, and with that, you stand up, and turn away from him, facing the windows, the setting sun illuminating your skin. The music restarts, strings amping up, and you sway your hips to the tune, letting instinct take over. One, two, three, you breathe, feeling the rhythm run through you, and as the music crescendos, you drop down onto Gale’s lap, your ass just brushing over his thighs, hoping your undulating body looks sensual rather than spasmodic, and your efforts are rewarded with a delicious, blinding groan from behind you. You turn back around to face him – one, two, three – and lean in close, your scent intoxicating, his body warming your skin, and bracket his legs with your knees, one hand carding through his hair and the other slowly unbuttoning his robes, your knuckles barely brushing the velvet-soft hair on his chest. You slide your hands down the planes of his torso, and then, just as he’s leaning forward, again, anticipating your lips on his –

You step back again, turning, lifting your hands over your head and letting your hair down, smiling to yourself as you peek over your shoulder at his exasperated face. One, two, three. You let your ass ghost over his lap again, closer this time, holding there for a few moments longer than he considers tolerable, and just as his patience goes and his hips buck, you return to your starting position, looking down at him chidingly.

“Please,” he whispers, and you raise your brows, your hands going to the clasp of your bra. He watches, rapt, as you slide the fabric off your breasts and let it fall to the ground atop your discarded armor, your nipples peaking in the cool air. You repeat the motion with your panties, and you’re sure Gale catches sight of the soaked fabric as you toss it aside: his face turns a flattering shade of crimson, his arms straining against his silken ropes.

“How can I deny you?” You say, and with smooth, uninterrupted movements, you slide onto his lap, rocking your hips back and forth, tantalizingly slow, atop him. His robes slip open completely, and you can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his undergarments, barely brushing against the skin of your thighs. Your hands roam along the skin of his chest, thumbs swirling careful circles in the dips of his collarbone and shoulders, your palms warm against his skin. “You’re doing so well,” you praise him, and lean forward to kiss along the line of his clavicle, then slowly up his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, tasting his sandalwood cologne, his soapy shaving cream, the sweat and salt lingering there, your tongue pulsing against his jaw. “So good for me,” you continue, running your hands through his hair, “you’re perfect, Gale.”

And then, surprising him, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees, slotting your body perfectly in between his legs, and in one swift motion, you free his aching cock from his undergarments and lean forward once more, fitting your lips around the head.

“O-oh,” he moans, straining to keep still as you take him deeper, your hands tracing patterns on the skin of his thighs, reaching up to his hips, your nails scratching lightly, and then, as you adjust yourself and push him back so as to get more leverage, you wrap one hand around his shaft and devote the other one to palm gently at his balls, still a touch too gentle. “Mmm – more,” he sighs, and you obey, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and then fitting it back in your mouth, deep enough to brush the back of your throat, pre-cum salty on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and his mouth falls open, releasing the most pleasurable moans and groans, sighs and mewls slipping between his lips, chanted noises that may be words – you catch the sound of your name, and please, and yes, in the chorus of sounds that escape his chest, rising and falling in octave with every swipe of your tongue and bob of your head. “P-please,” he says again, “please, let me –”

You guess his meaning, and reach behind him; the movement sending his cock to the very back of your throat, and his back arches in pleasure; and pull the strings of his bindings, untying his hands. The moment he’s free, he takes your head in his hands, cradling your jaw, and lets his fingers twine in the strands of your hair as you suck with renewed eagerness, sliding back nearly completely only to take him in fully again, the feel of his cock in your mouth dizzying, intoxicating, sending white-hot shivers through your body –

You glance down, and through the haze of pleasure, through the shadows of sunset, through the sweat and slick on your body, you see a flash of blue cupping your cunt, and you can suddenly feel the gentle, not-quite-there brush of the Mage Hand’s fingers against your clit. You war between pleasure and indignation for a moment – and indignation wins. You pull back, Gale’s weeping cock inches away from your mouth but still suspended in midair, and he huffs, putting his hands over his eyes, his pleasure cut short just on the path to climax. “Why did you –”

“No magic,” you repeat, and you can feel the Mage Hand dissolve. Gale peeks out from through his fingers, caught, and not the least bit ashamed. “Do I need to tie you up again? Completely, this time?”

“I –” His cock twitches, beads of precum leaking from the tip, stunning the both of you into silence.

You let a devilish grin slide across your face. “Oh. You want me to tie you up, love? Top to tip, completely trussed up for me?” You pull away from him and reach in your pack for more ribbon. “Red or purple, my sweet?”

Gale manages an arrogant smile, his face still flushed red. “Purple, of course.”

“Good choice,” you grin, and stand, running the ribbons through your hands reverently. “This will only take a minute,” you promise. “Why don’t you take those bothersome clothes off before I get started?”

He does, and you let your eyes run over his figure appreciatively for a minute before going to work. Hands on the ‘arms’ of the throne, the ribbon secured around a stack of encyclopedias. His legs against the respective ‘legs’ of the throne, straining slightly against his bonds. You stand before him, and he angles his hips up slightly, his eyes pleading.

“So cooperative,” you murmur, running your hands gently up his thighs. “So patient. So good.” You lift your hand to your mouth and spit on your fingers, holding eye contact, and he breathes shakily as you wrap your hand around his cock, leaning forward, mouthing kisses along his neck and collarbone. You start slowly, tantalizingly, pumping your hand along his length with a careful, measured speed that makes Gale’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Please – more,” he moans, his lips chasing yours. “Faster.”

You acquiesce, moving quicker, twisting your wrist the way you know that he likes. His breaths come faster, too, a mindless stream of yes and please and more coupled with your name falling from his mouth. You kiss him with bruising intensity, feeling his cock twitch in your fingers, his body straining against his bonds.

He comes with a muffled yell, his eyes rolling completely back in his head, and you kiss him fiercely as his come paints your stomach and thighs where you sit atop him. “Please – gods – please, untie me, let me –”

You smile against his lips and loosen the ribbons, yelping when his arms encircle you with surprising strength, lifting you up by your thighs and laying you out on the tile floor of the tower, the ground cold on your skin, your head canted back as Gale trails kisses down your thighs. “Ah – Gale,” you sigh as his fingers whisper up the inside of your legs, your skin rising with goosebumps. “I can’t –” You try to lift your head, to see where he is and what he’s doing, but your neck won’t cooperate. “What –”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Gale murmurs into your thigh, his hand lifting your leg to his lips, his beard tickling your skin pleasantly. “There’s only so long I can go without magic, my love. I thought –” Here, his tongue slides up to your cunt, tracing around your lips gently, and you moan, your boneless body arching in pleasure. “I thought you might enjoy feeling how I felt. Constrained. At my mercy.” His tongue winds a circle around your clit, and your breaths come faster, your thighs shaking madly. “Do you?”

“Do I – ah – what?”

“Enjoy it,” Gale says into your cunt, and the vibration makes you shudder.

“I – yes, I – please, I want to touch you, I want to –”

“Mmm,” Gale hums, his tongue working careful, restrained circles around your clit, dipping down to taste your slick. “Not yet.”

It’s been less than two minutes, and you’re already shaking, riding high, your eyes unfocused, as Gale takes you apart with his tongue. The painted constellations of the ceiling dance in and out of focus, and your moans echo around the circular tower, a mix of yes and please and Gale falling from your mouth, a reminder of the way you coaxed Gale’s orgasm from him with delicate fingers not five minutes before. “Gale, I – oh, gods, I can’t – please, I want to see you, I –”

The spell breaks, and you lift your head to see Gale’s face completely buried in your cunt, his sweaty hair spread out on your thighs, his eyes closed in ecstasy, and the image is enough to send you over the edge, a scream in your throat, your legs shaking wildly as you come, Gale’s tongue still working at you gently, until the sensation is too much and you kick him softly, signaling get off me, because your vocal cords aren’t working at the moment.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and crawls up to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and heady. “But we should probably go before Rolan comes back. I suspect we won’t have an opportunity to take advantage of his hospitality again.”

“Gale…” You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, your eyes fluttering shut. “You might have to Dimension Door us out of here. I don’t think my legs will move.”

“I’ll carry you,” he smiles, and helping you stand, he laces his robes back up and aids you in buckling your armor. “Now come. There’s a bath at the Elfsong that’s calling my name.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head into his shoulder, and watch dreamily as he conjures the portal. “Wait – what about the Annals?”

“Oh.” Gale looks down at the lower levels of the tower. “I suppose we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He looks almost downcast, but then the expression fades, and he’s just Gale again, smiling at you. “Let’s go.”

[flowercrowngods]

thoughts thoughts thoughts i apologise it’s 2am i have to sorry @babyboymunson

Steve knows that Eddie has a whole library of characters. And when he says library, that’s not an understatement; because Eddie has a lot of them, and he keeps all his characters sheets incredibly organised. Even those for the NPCs.

He claims not to have favourites because, “They’re all my badass little idiot children, Stevie, don’t make me choose.”

So Steve doesn’t.

But the thing is, Steve has never been above choosing a favourite badass little idiot child — sure, it might have changed daily with the kids, but still! He has a favourite character of Eddie’s. One who survived the campaign, actually, to everyone’s utter disbelief both past and present.

It’s one of Eddie’s first, from before he started taking on the role as Dungeon Master more often than that of a player.

And when Steve first finds out about the character, reads his character sheet and sees the art Eddie had made for him, that is when he knows: one day he’ll find a way to marry this blushing disaster boy.

Sir Gonthar Veten, a human paladin with high charisma and uncharacteristically low strength, laughably low intelligence but hey, respectable wisdom modifier. “A bit of a wild card,” as Eddie has put it, pulling his hair in front of his face to hide his little smile or the absolutely besotted expression.

It doesn’t take him too long to find out that Gonthar is essentially based on him, and even his name is an anagram. Oh, Eddie had it bad! He teases him mercilessly, but they both know that’s Steve’s way of saying, “You nerd, you absolute nerd, I can’t believe it took me so long, but know that you’re the love of my life, too.”

So, in 1983, Eddie has a crush on Steve and is so mad about it, he made a DnD character about it.

In 1986, Steve kisses Eddie for the first time inside his new government-sponsored trailer and begins what will be the rest of his life.

In 2006, Steve buys Eddie a star for their anniversary, and Eddie laughs through the veil of tears when he sees what Steve named it.

“Sir Gonthar Veten,” he reads, grin so wide that it has to hurt. “Can’t believe you went and named a star after yourself, Stevie.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, stepping into Eddie’s space and pulling him close. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I did, Munson.”

“You’re so lame,” Eddie sniffles, and it’s the happiest little sound. “Thank you.”

Steve brushes a kiss to his forehead, his temple, his cheek, and finally his lips. “Happy anniversary, Eddie.”

[idyllcy]

and baby, if you knew

word count: 2.1k || pt2 of saying we're just friends

warnings: mentions of the night before (?), morning after, hickies (?)

summary: oh the horrors of getting caught the morning after

You stare at yourself in the mirror, blinking incredulously. (Partially out of pure shock, partially because sleeping with your contacts on was NOT a smart decision on your end)

Holy fuck, Tim got mouthy with you.

You tilt your neck to brush your fingers over the hickeys, gawking at the way it trails down your neck and collar to your chest, the purple popping on your skin. Sure, you weren't half as pale as Tim was, but hello? You didn't even bring concealer. You weren't expecting him to take you to the Wayne Manor. 

"Tim." You swallow, grimacing.

Tim raises a brow, shirt pulled halfway over his head.

"How many hickeys did you give me? Do you have a whisk? Do you have ice? Are you secretly a vampire???"

"One question at a time, lovely." he mumbles. "Seven. There's a whisk and ice downstairs. I am not secretly a vampire, although I can see why you'd guess that."

You blink at him. "Do you have a collared shirt?"

"Just settle for one of my shirts for now." He pulls the shirt over his head, tossing you the other one in the bed. 

"Please tell me it's not sheer."

"It's not."

"Thank GOD you're rich." You mumble. "It's a blessing to have non-sheer white shirts."

"Yeah, I get that." He mumbles. "Come on. Alfred called us for breakfast a little ago."

"Which one of your siblings are here?"

"We'll see." Tim hums, shutting the door to his room. (All of them are downstairs, likely. They were probably having a post-valentine debriefing like they usually do. Bruce was not spared from it.)

You duck behind Tim when you notice everyone having breakfast.

"You said we'll see! Are none of them staying with the people they were out with last night?!"

"It happens every year." Tim hums, holding his hand out for you. "Come on. Don't do the walk of shame."

"Seriously. I run a stan account for you and live in my dorm. I'm practically a hermit." You deadpan. "I am NOT cut out to be meeting your family this early in the morning."

"Master Tim, young miss. Are you ready for breakfast? We are having pancakes."

"Just kidding I would kill for pancakes right now." You mumble, following behind Tim as he sits you next to him.

All eyes are on you as you adjust the collar of your shirt, the tag scratching against your skin, the hickeys on your neck visible. You thank Alfred as he places a plate before you, and you start at the chocolate chip pancakes. Holy shit, fuck the eyes on you, this was heaven.

"Alfred, do you have a recipe book?" You blink at him, eyes wide in admiration. 

"Which recipe would you like, young miss?"

"Oh, all of them if possible. I'd love to be able to cook half as well as you can." You hum, taking another bite of your food. "Do you have a digital copy?"

"Unfortunately, all of it is on paper or in here." He smiles, tapping his brain. "But I am more than willing to provide you with any recipes you may like."

"Mm!" You shove the last piece of the pancake into your mouth, swallowing as you get up. "Tim, do you have a laptop? I want to type a couple recipes down and transcribe what's on paper—"

"Pull open the drawer to your left." He hums.

You pull it open, blinking at him.

"There's a false bottom in it. One of my spare laptops is in it. The password is a combination of letters." He hums.

"With significance?"

"Yes."

"Oh, then I know an approximation, then." You hum, working your finger into the side as you prop it open, pulling his laptop out. "Is it our birthdays?"

"Wait, how did she–" Dick's cut off when you manage to open it on your first try.

"Alright. I'm gonna go! I'll be with Alfred if you need anything." You smile.

"She just?" Duke blinks incredulously. "Did she just hack open your laptop on her first try? Is she in compsci like you?"

"English." Tim grabs a couple pancakes, cutting off a piece of butter. "Creative writing, technically."

"Oh, is she making her own major?"

"Yes." Tim hums. "I don't actually know how she guessed that it would be our birthdays since I only changed it a little while ago. It'd be easier to open if it was just our birthdays combined. Maybe she was stalking me."

"Or, maybe all the years of running a Robin Twitter account finally paid off." Jason shrugs. "She's quite a big writer on the internet too, you know?"

"Yeah." Tim hums. "She's quite the character. Have you read her works?"

"I have." Damian speaks up. "Her writing resembles poetry, pulling on the strings of your heart and snapping them at moments you least expect."

"You've read her works?!" Tim raises a brow at Damian. "That's surprising."

"She resembles the poets."

"She'd love to hear that come out of your mouth for sure." Tim mumbles. "Anything else I should know?"

"She covered me for change once while I went to buy cup noodles." Cass mumbles.

"I'm mutuals with her on Twitter?" Steph points.

"Okay, that's not the point. Timmy." Dick deadpans. "Did you sleep with her last night?"

"Sex or just plain sleeping? Because we did both—"

"I DIDN'T GET TO GIVE YOU THE SHOVEL TALK!" Dick cries. "Okay, when a man and a—"

"Dick, I'm well over into the ages of a legal adult." Tim sighs. "Besides, I'm like seventy percent sure that you gave me the shovel talk when you first found out I was dating Ari in high school. Also, I got one from my dad and Bruce, so I think I'm good."

"Oh, right." Dick mumbles. "But still."

Steph pauses. "Does she want a whisk?"

"She was asking for one earlier." Tim hums.

"We'll go help." Cass mumbles, getting out of the seat, dragging Steph.

"Okay, Tim. Is she the one who was making you all red and blushy during Christmas?" Dick slides closer to him, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

"Yes." Tim sighs, batting Dick's hand away. "She was."

"How'd you ask her out?"

"Told her if she had nothing to do on Valentine's, then she could stick with me and I could plan a date." Tim reaches for another pancake.

"And she agreed?" Jason snorts. "Wow. She's way out of your league."

"Yeah, but at least I got B's absolutely insane ability to pull." He mumbles. "Pulled way out of my league, for sure."

"If you fumble her I fear the things that will happen to you, Drake." Damian clicks his tongue.

"Do I... know her?"

"Duke," Damian sighs. "You're smarter than this."

"He's messing with you right now." Jason pours himself another cup of coffee. 

"What's your relationship with her." Tim deadpans.

"She used to peer review my poems." He hums. "It didn't click until Damian showed me her information this morning, though."

"You just let them go through my girlfriend's personal information?!" Tim finally looks at Bruce, who only gives him a shrug.

"No harm in knowing a little more about your girlfriend."

"I swear, if you bring her in on the vigilantism—"

"That's not happening. I can promise that." Bruce glances at his almost empty mug. "Does she know?"

"She called me out for being Red Robin last night in the car." Tim sighs. "Besides, it'd be strange if she didn't notice immediately how similar Red Robin and I's voices are."

"She's been running your account for how long... now?" Bruce motions for Jason to pass him the coffee.

"Since middle school, so like..." Tim pauses. "Give or take seven years."

"That's a long time." Dick mumbles. "My longest-running fanpage is only six-ish years." 

"If you count the Gotham Gazette, then I've been running for the longest." Bruce snorts. "Is she the one?"

"I think she is." Tim smiles. "And if she's not..."

"Then I will personally see the end of your life, Drake." Damian grumbles. "I shall have mother adopt her and have her write poetry for me in exchange for a living space and food. She shall be the equivalent of a court poet except to mother and I."

"I honestly think she wouldn't turn that down." Tim grimaces. 

"Is she that desperate?"

"She's joked about sleeping with a millionaire to make some money." Tim grimaces. "Something something desperate situations call for desperate measures."

"She would love it in mother's mansion, then." Damian hums, sipping on his tea. "I shall have her write a poem for your death. It shall be my last mercy."

Tim grimaces. "What if she breaks up with me?"

"Then you're in the fault, obviously." Jason mumbles, looking at his phone. 

"So it's my fault regardless of what happens?"

"Listen, her tweets are unhinged. You can't say you like crazy girls and then get annoyed when you date one and she acts insane." Jason grumbles.

"He's got a point, Timmers." Dick hums. "I hope it works out for the best, regardless of the ending."

"Twenty bucks they are endgame." Damian mumbles.

"Alfred bet ten that Tim would pop the ring."

"Ugh, come on. You know no one out-bets Alfred." Dick groans. "Did he set up the jar?"

"He did. This morning." Duke hums. "I put my bet in too."

"Come on–"

"You can't say shit when you bet on all of our relationships and pretty much came out unscathed in all of them." Jason glares. "Shut it."

Tim rolls his eyes, surrendering himself to the idea that his relationship would get bet on. 

"Tim, can I marry your sisters?" You come out of the kitchen, eyes sparkling.

"We're dating." He sighs. "Pretty bird—"

"EWWWWWWW" A mixture of faked hurls and gags are heard in unison as Tim rolls his eyes. 

"Ignore them. Why do you want my sisters?"

"The hickeys are all," You pull your shirt down too to show your cleavage, the hickeys no longer visible, "gone! Your sisters are really good at this."

"Yeah..." Tim sighs, reaching to pull your shirt back up. "Steph isn't my sister, by the way."

"Oh, yes, I know." You smile. "After all, if she was, it'd be strange that you've dated her before." 

Tim chokes on the air at your statement.

"Besides, she's my mutual." You hum. "I also got Alfred's recipes, by the way." You hum, smile on your face. "I also got his chocolate chip cookie recipe, though I need to figure out what the secret ingredient is."

"A dash of vanilla extract." Tim lowers his voice. "Don't tell the rest of the family."

"Got it." You give him a thumbs up. 

"Do you cook?" Damian speaks up.

"I do! Mainly ethnic foods, since there isn't much of that here in Gotham." You mumble. "Got any good Chinese places?"

"Oh, there's this place on Seventh Ave and Jester." Bruce speaks up. "I used to get dim sum there. It's only open from eight to twelve, and you need to get in via reservation. Feel free to borrow my name whenever. Just make sure to invite me."

"Uncle Dan's, right?" You beam. "I went there a while back with another friend, but I miss like... the dim sum that's messy and chaotic in the morning."

"Oh, then try the one on Lightbeam." Dick pauses. "Ah, what was the other street?"

"Oh, that one's good." Duke agrees. "Sam Woo's Dim Sum and BBQ."

"I've had that too!" You smile. "They're good, just quite a while from the university."

"If you really want something good," Cass speaks up from behind you, "try Jin."

"Jin?"

"It's smaller, but it's family-run, and it's been doing business in Gotham for three generations already." Cass hums. "They're called Jin, but the Chinese character for gold. They're right by Gotham U too. On the corner by Circle K."

"The sketchy looking alley??" You blink.

"Yes, but their dumplings are to die for." She pauses. "And they sell in bulk if you want to boil any in your dorm."

"Tim, I want your sister."

"Pretty bird, we just started going out." He clicks his tongue. 

"Tim, if you break her heart, I will date her." Cass blinks.

"You can visit her when she stays in mother's mansion."

"Hm?" You turn to blink at Damian.

"Ignore him—"

"Should you and Drake break up, I have already arranged your living arrangements, should you agree to it."

"And what might they be?" You hand the laptop to Tim, pointing at the document you shared with yourself.

"With my mother. Your only job shall be to write poems and short stories to entertain her."

"Living and writing for the Talia Al Ghul? Count me in." You sigh dreamily. 

"Alright." Tim shuts the laptop after changing the password. "We're going to get going before her roommate calls the cops on her."

"Oh, right!" You mumble. "It was a pleasure meeting you all! I hope to see you again sometime?"

"Tim, send her number in the chat later!" Dick calls as Tim pulls you out.

"Sorry, they're quite embarrassing." Tim mumbles.

"They're warm." You smile. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." 

Tim sighs in relief at the look of fondness on your face. Right.

You'll be fine.

[currymanganese]

Girl, what? So wtf was the Alley Talk in Brigade, the Stock Talk in Sheridan, the Family Style-Two-Tops-Booths? Talk in Braciole, the Apartment Talk in Pasta and the Table Talk in Omelette??? Not to mention Syd and Carmy hugging it out post fire suppression test in Bolognese and staring lovingly into each other's eyes right in front of Marcus in Omelette?🤨

[hypnagogics]

loser!ellie who's so drunk on your smell and taste she cums untouched just from eating you out ♡

[authenticcadence18]

going nuts thinking about Isa psyching herself up to ask Phineas to go to a wedding with her and then the backyard gang ends up making zoetropes of summer memories and/or recreating said moments?? and Phin and Isa decide to recreate the fun preserver memory from “That Sinking Feeling” im??? and then Isa is probably trying to ask him the entire time they’re together????? IM????????

Like guys. g u y s. we almost had this episode. all of this is (besides the speculation in the last sentence) is canon information. I. I’m. Aliki tried to give this to us I’m. I’m so.

G U Y S.

[eepywriters]

.✦°. • Birthday boy ( ´∀｀)

warnings: none, just pure fluff and simp Quackity

a/n: HI GUYS, I had to speedrun this so if it feels rushed I’m so sorry 😿 but I put heart into it so I hope y’all enjoy!!

Ah the bed, what a glorious invention. It’s comfy, fluffy, warm and, most importantly, it’s where, usually, one of the best activities it’s conducted: sleeping.

Now, Alex loves working, he does! It’s written all over his projects. The passion that drives every piece of work he makes couldn’t be as strong as it is without determination and etiquette. After all, he is indeed THE Alex Quackity, creator of the first multilingual server with live translations.

But sometimes, just sometimes, he doesn’t mind sleeping the day away. His pounding head and aching eyes beg for rest on the daily, so it’s nice to actually give his body and his mind a moment to shut down once in a while.

A touch on his naked arm made him stir in his sleep. He groans. He wasn’t ready to let go of his sweet slumber just yet.

“Alex, baby, wake up, I’ve got something for you”.

An half-conscious grumble leaves him, which was more of acknowledgement of hearing your voice speak to him rather than an answer to whatever you were babbling about. Cause listen, as sleep deprived as he could be, nothing could separate him from his bed when he was actually set on resting.

“Baby c’mon, we can nap later”.

The soft feeling of pillowy lips pressing against his temple finally rouses him from his sleep. He sighs, a throaty, sleepy sigh, while stretching his back lightly.

“There you are baby”

The gears on Alex’s head are slowly turning as his systems finally makes sense of the world surrounding him. And while most of his mind is concentrated on your delicate hand stroking oh so lovingly his cheek, he can’t help but notice the delicious smell that was floating around the air.

He opens his eyes, now wanting to find out what exactly was making his taste buds tingle in curiosity.

Oh what a grave mistake that was.

A streak of sunlight pierces his eyes instantly, making him close them back on instinct with a weak cry.

“Noo turn off the lights” he drawls sleepily, shielding his poor, aching eyes with his arms. His mouth was still pasty from his sleep and he, quite frankly, didn’t understand what was the deal about waking him up so soon.

And then you laugh, and on a normal occasion he would’ve bite back, cause you were obviously laughing at his idiotic behavior, but he was sooo sleepy and your laugh sounded sooo pretty. (When did he go to sleep again? 2 Am?).

Slowly blinking the sleep out of his system, Alex was met with a rather endearing sight: there you stood, a cute, big grin brightening your face whilst you looked down at him with an amused gaze. He could tell you where sleepy yourself, if not by your tired eyes, by the dark circle that were adorning your features. After all, what did anyone expect from the partner of Quackity? Two sleep deprived people are better than one. (He’s not gonna delve into what seeing you standing there with only an old t-shirt of his was doing to his body).

“Good morning birthday boy”.

Oh, now he knows why you rudely (not really) woke him up.

“Hey” he mutters, scratching his crusty, tired eyes, hoping that the sleepy haze that was still clouding his mind will go away.

“Damn that’s all I get? Not even a pet name? We live in a society…” you frowned.

“Shut up” he snorts, looking back at you, just for his eyes to stop at a little red box you were holding. It is very pretty: a big yellow ribbon was tying together the bright red walls of the box, and hey, was that a duck painted on the side of it?

Before his fogged brain can even come up with a question, you are already in action.

“Stand still, your only job is to look pretty now”

He quirks a brow. He’s not sure of what you have going on today, but he’s in for it, especially since he can still smell the sweetness of the treat you’re hiding inside that box.

He sits up and his head lolls backwards onto the cupboard, giving him the perfect angle to watch you fiddling around.

“It’s rude to stare you know?”

“Mhh is it? Even when there’s something so beautiful to look at?” he replies, jokingly wiggling his eyebrows up and down at you.

“You’re such a flatter” you sigh, yet he can see you hiding your smile in your arm.

You soon bring out a tray to him, which had a plate, a fork, an empty glass and a cute, pink piece of paper on top of it. You had obviously written on the paper - he could recognize your handwriting instantly in any context given - and really, it wasn’t even debatable since the paper read “Happy bday amor <3”.

He brought the paper up to his lips, leaving a soft peck on it before putting it on his nightstand. Was he dramatic with it? Yes, but he swears that when it comes to you he just can’t help himself but cherish everything you give him.

“Here you go, I hope you like it”.

You finally open the little box, reveling an adorable, tiny chocolate cake. It was simple: it was round, not more than 10 centimeters wide, and it feature a raspberry and two blueberries on top.

He licks his lips and dives into it immediately, not waiting for approval nor giving it any second thought. He chews on the cake with a satisfied hum, letting the sweet, but strong taste of chocolate invade his mouth. Again, it was really simple, but the fact that it came from you made it ten times more tasteful.

“Where did you buy this? It’s great” he says, searching for the label of the bakery on the tiny box you handed to him. Maybe later he could’ve bought some sweets for his guests there. He strangely couldn’t find it.

“Actually… I made it”.

Saying his mouth was agape would be an understatement, his jaw was on the floor.

“WHAT” he screams with his mouth still full. He did have the decency to swallow before screaming out again: “THERE’S NO WAY”.

He swears he could’ve died right there. Your shy smile and the light blush that paints your cheek enough to send his brain into override.

“Yeah, woke up early to make it today. I’m surprised you didn’t wake up sooner, I made quite the mess” you cackle to yourself, probably remembering all the ruckus you made whilst scratching your neck in embarrassment.

“Im surprised you liked it that much honestly” you trail off, insecurity dripping from your hushed tone.

Was it really though? Alex would eat anything you gave him if it followed a “I made it for you”. Yes, he was that whipped, and he isn’t ashamed of it. It always has been you, trough life and death, he knew from the moment he uttered the first “I love you” that you were his ride or die.

“You did amazing (Name)” he smiles, craning his neck just enough for you to share a sweet, short kiss.

“I can tell you worked hard for it, I’m proud of you” he whispers at mere centimeters from your face, like it’s something just for you to hear and hold dear onto. He leaves a peck on the corner of your mouth before sitting back again.

“I’m very glad you liked it” you say softly, giving him one of those genuine smiles he’d die for “BUT we got much more to do! It’s time to open your gifts!”.

You clap your hands excitedly, already scurrying off to put the tray away.

“What if I want to unwrap another type of gift” he taunts, moving his arms behind his head while wearing a sly grin. He kinda felt bad about making you do all the work, but he figures that maybe, just this once, he can let himself be babied a little.

You shake your head, looking at him with faux disappointment. Your hands found your hips as you scold him: “Cmon you horny bastard, we are going”.

“You called me a WHAT” he says in his typical high pitched voice, following after you. He catches up to you in an instant and wraps his arms around your frame, keeping you still.

“Say that again, i dare you” he threatens light heartedly.

“Nu uh”.

“Okay, you asked for it” he whispers in your ear, impossibly close.

The world went quiet. Your eyes widened.

You knew what was coming.

“No wait, we can talk ab-“

You weren’t fast enough to stop him. You signed your fate.

His hands move swiftly all around your body, wiggling his fingers on those he knew to be your weak spots. He laughs at you, laughs at your misery. Your body twitches uncontrollably and your lungs beg for air.

“S-STop FUGAHAH, oh my GOd- HAHAhH ALEX” you cry out, trashing around in his hold while he brought hell on earth on your poor body. He continues to laugh at your weak attempt to wiggle out of his grip, determined to make you regret calling him names.

“Nu uh”

Needless to say, you where among the few guests on Alex’s birthday stream, and you were also the one who had clean all of it up. Nonetheless, the afternoon was filled with laughter, a bit of alcohol, and carefree dances.

　　*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

extra:

Well cleaning up that mess was sure a challenge. You had to do 3 Tiktok browsing pauses before actually getting it done (to be honest, you did spend more time on your phone than cleaning, but you’re sure nobody will snitch on you).

Right as you put down the broom, you spot Alex coming towards you, the shit eating grin he was wearing giving away his intentions.

“Can I get my final gift now?” he speaks, using a gravelly tone that catches you off guard. It was hard to take him seriously when he still had some confettis stuck to his clothes, even though you’d be lying if you said you minded the offer.

“You moron” you laugh, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Is that a yes?” He whispers, leaving a soft peck on the crook of your neck.

“Fuck yes”.

[averlym]

:o might I request Kid K Howard and Legal Guardian Anne?

yeah ok this has the potential to be really cute i think

[furby-scoops]

Steve is looking at his phone like, "Didn't I block him"🤨🤔

[divatheeva]

A piece I did for @ingo-ingoing-ingone for his very cool fic (that I still need to read but I’m scared to because of angst) Always By Your Side!! Might need to tap the photo to see it in better quality, thank u for that Tumblr xoxo

Ingo and Emmet are hangin out at the park and see a Pokémon that reminds them of themselves! :) too bad it’s a bit of a bully