#have fun with this

[flamingpudding]

A lot can happen in 1 minute

And the worst part was Bruce had not been able to do anything to stop the chaos as all of this started right in the middle of a Gala, his children and him attended.

Bruce could do nothing but watch with growing internal horror as he stared at what was happening before him, champagne glass still in hand.

It all started with a fanatic suddenly getting the entire galas attention. Screaming something about Bruce Wayne will fall for them as they slammed some sort of magic duck thingy on the ground.

A second later, John Constantine, off all people, appeared yelling about finally finding the lad that stole a highly dangerous artifact while green smoke rose towards the ceiling of the hall.

By now some guest have started screaming and started to evacuate while other appeared curious thinking this was some sort of show. And shamefully Bruce had to admit that he lost sight of his children during this.

Though not even 10 seconds after Constantines entrance Bruce spied one of his children, Nightwing, crashing into the hall in gear and tackling the fanatic that was now yelling something at the smoke about fulfilling their end of the deal and granting their wish of tying Bruce Wayne to them.

5 seconds later he noticed Constantine was chanting something and the gathering smoke below the ceiling now started to glow.

At this point Bruce really wanted to dip out and join the scene as Batman but was rooted in place by a buisness partner clinging to him and trying to pull him to safety.

Another 3 seconds passed, and the smoke glowed brightly in Lazarus green. Worried Bruce tried to at least find one of his other children aside from the one that was still wrestling with the fanatic and was internally horrified to make eye contact with a wide eyed Jason and his glowing green eyes.

In the following 7 seconds he had tried to get to his son, but before he could even manage to get rid of the buisness partner still holding on to him a bright light blinded everyone for another 4 seconds.

Once their sight returned it took them another 5 seconds to realize that one the smoke was gone, two John Constantine was cursing up a storm holding a black haired kid and three the fanatic used the light to escape.

There was a stunned silence of 3 seconds before John Constantine looked around the room and suddenly zeroed down on Bruce. Bruce did not stiffen as the Brite looked at him with narrowed eyes, then down at the teen in his arms before marching over to him within the next ten seconds.

"You! You're Bruce Wayne, right? Congratulations, you got another kid via magic now. Here is the kid and my card. Call me if anything weird is happening with them." Before Bruce could even say anything, the teen was disposed into his arms together with John's apparent business card. The magican turned away from Bruce before marching over to his son in gear and starting to drag him out.

"Nightwing! Help me catch this bloody magic thief before some other summoning shit with stolen artifacts to spice up another rich guys ball or whatever goes down! I got a tracker spell on them! And call Bats while you're at it"

Right at the one minute mark. The chaos concluded to the point that Bruce Wayne was standing in the middle of a gala with a teen in his arm that was apparently magically made to be his and the fanatics child.

That was when the next kind of chaos broke out as his reminding children fought their way over to him through the suddenly coming back to live press and reporters that started to bombard him with questions about the unconscious teen in his arms.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dpxdc #dp x dc #crossover #dcxdp #bruce wayne #john constantine #danny gets summoned by a fanatic Brucie fan during a gala #that fanatic stole some magic artifacts John was trying to catch them for #originally danny was summoned as phantom #but before he could form john knocked him out with a spell #he fell unconscious amd detramsformed #making them think the fanatic got their wish #the batkids think they got a magically created brother #still sick and my mind still gets weird ideas #have fun with this

[annastylepie]

Dp x Dc Writhing Prompt

uwu

Danny's human body returns to the age he died at every time he transforms back.

He doesn't realize at first but after having to lay low for like two years for what ever reason and he grows some etc.

maybe he is laying low in gotham and maybe ends up in a hostage situation with one of the bats maybe Tim at 14 maybe...

So he and tim are hostages and have no idea if and when help will arrive maybe joker is threatening to blow them up so danny does what he hasn't done in like two years and transforms to save himself and this civilan which seems to be ogiling him with those blue eyes. Any ways danny saves them and transforms back only to now be in oversiced clothes and back at the age of 14

kudos if it is an even bigger time jump or smth

#DPxDC #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom #batfam #batman #i couldn't get this out of my head #someone please write this #have fun with this

[mechanicalinfection]

Pretty Bunny <3

#art #digital art #the mechanic's crafts #fnaf 3 springtrap #fnaf 3 #fnaf #springtrap #doodle #prettyyyyy #hes so prettyyyyy #<33 #men in dresses >>>>>> #funfact : the color scheme is directly related to my ballora design. he's wearing a dress his wife gave him <3333 #have fun with this

[emo-nova]

Okay, so I know the thing where Murray is the one to put a couple together. But wouldn't be funny if he misreads Steve and Robin having a thing while Eddie is being lead on by Steve by accident. And what's actually happening is Steve being a beard for Robin as well as to just have an out for not having dates as Steve and Eddie are dating.

So imagine this. Murray tearing into Steve for what he's doing as Eddie is trying really hard not to explode cause there is very classified information on Steve and Robin, and Eddie is open af with the hanky code and makes comments now and then. Robin is also close to going off on Murray, mentally hang-drawn-and-quartering him as she kills five generations of his living family.

And Steve just sits there. Blinking cause damn. They were really good at this beard shit, huh? And once everyone in the room leaves because it's for privacy for what looks like an on-coming fight but Robin demands that Murray stays.

Murray does, cause he might as well, and Steve kinda just watches as Robin and Eddie take turns on being bitchy about how Murray could very much cause shit for potentially outing two queer people in a time where they could get beaten, harassed and more as they didn't know everyone's thoughts on it. Steve stops them for a moment to just say.

"But aren't we doing a good job on the beard shit if we fooled him?"

And chaos reigns like the truest moments as both Eddie and Robin are fighting over this shit on with Steve being a potential cheater. And Steve is like "been called worse" and it just gets worse.

Have fun with this idea :)

#stranger things #steve harrington #st #steddie #eddie munson #steve x eddie #platonic stobin #robin buckley #have fun with this #platonic soulmates stobin

[betweenblackberrybranches]

umm.. I know it’s a bit late but did you know it’s Christmas/winter holidays y/n?

Oh shit its a little voice!

I havnt heard from any of you in quite a while.... its... its really christmas already? The weather stayed nice and warm here so i did not realize at all...

Though a lot of stuff happened in the mean time... look i have a tail now! Something to do with me drinking that magic water or something

Anyways gotta go and do some chores for the king or he will get all grumpy if i dont get him blueberries for his dinner...

#my art #fae au #welp starting this one up again and some time went by in universe #have fun with this

[sevyn-stars]

“WHY DO YOU CARE SO MUCH?”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! I love you. God, I am so in love with you. I would ruin myself just to see you smile. I would walk between the heavens and the Earth for you. I would walk through Hell to be by your side. I don’t care how broken you are, I will pick up every last piece and put you back together just so you can feel an ounce of happiness. I would stop the entire world for a single second with you. I love you. Please, just let me love you.”

#writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing prompt #dark academia #imagine your otp #original writing #otp #poetry #quotes #otp prompts #I love shouted confessions #Writeblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #writing #have fun with this

[duskyashe]

NaNoWriMo Day #11

[masterlist]

Today's prompt isn't a Harry Potter one like I said it would be yesterday, but that's because I'm sick and writing makes my head hurt (⁠٥⁠↼⁠_⁠↼⁠) so instead, I grabbed one of @stealingyourbones prompts off the @batpham-discord-highlights server and ended up drawing it! Now, for it to count per my own rules, I have to write something to go with it, so I will, but it will be short (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

=============‹«⟨·‹·‹·•·›·›·⟩»›=============

Jason didn't set out to adopt two traumatized teens with super powers, but then, he'd come to realize that Bruce, for all his faults, had been the same way. The difference was, Jason refused to fail his sons the way Bruce had failed his own kids. While Jason's new biggest fear was turning out just like either of his fathers, his kids constantly reassured him he was doing pretty well.

He did his best to train his kids, both in and out of suit, helped them with their homework, and made sure they spent time being kids instead of fighting crime (if Captain Marvel suddenly started taking more days off from the League, well, the big three could only feel relief). He also did his best to keep his kids off the Bat's radar, at least until they were both sixteen and could use their powers competently in either of their forms. He'd almost succeeded in that last one when a mass Arkham breakout had called for all hands on deck. He had tried to leave his kids behind, but Danny and Billy were insistent. Thus, Hood's Ravens, named after Odin's own raven companions, Hugin and Munin, took flight through Gotham.

Through the mission brief and the first part of the roundup, Hugin and Munin stuck close to Red Hood, keeping their powers mostly under wraps. They were doing surprisingly well in such a large scale mission, in Jason's opinion. Sure, they'd both had previous experience with fighting large groups or for long periods separately, the kind of teamwork they were displaying, working as two parts of a whole, brought Jason a sense of pride. He'd been the one to teach them that, after all.

Suddenly, Babs let out a frustrated growl over comms. "I just lost connection to half the cameras in the city, I'm nearly as blind as you guys. You're going to have to do this the old fashioned way until I can figure out what happened," she said.

Jason shared a look with his sons and sighed, silencing whatever protest or reassurance the others were flooding the comms line with. "You two sure about this?" He got twin nods. "Alright. You know the rules. Stay out of sight, don't engage if you don't have to. Hugin, you take East side, Munin, you take West side. Go." Both boys were suddenly airborne, one flying East and the other flying West. He watched them fly for a bit before getting back to work. He trusted them to follow his rules and to know their limits. They could do this.

Soon, nearly identical voices were feeding real time information directly to the bats, each raven playing the role of "eye in the sky" surprisingly well for fifteen year olds. They directed the closest free bat or bird to problem areas, they rescued trapped or injured civilians, and most of all, they listened to any suggestions or corrections Babs gave them and adjusted accordingly. Jason was so unbelievably proud of his sons, he was fit to burst from it all. He couldn't understand how Bruce had never buried them all under mountains of praise if he'd ever felt even half as proud of his bats and birds as Jason was of his ravens in that moment.

Eventually, things calmed down enough that Jason wasn't exactly surprised to sense the big man himself dropping onto the roof behind him. Jason let Bruce watch him as he continued to watch his sons flying over and through the city, giving directions and helping when needed. They stood there like that for a few minutes before Jason sighed. "What is it, old man?"

"Those kids, Hugin and Munin. Who are they."

Jason felt the pit rise up at Bruce's tone, feasting on the riot of pride, anxiety, joy, fear, and anger. He wondered if the green he was seeing was real or imaginary as he turned to look over his shoulder at his adoptive father. "Those are my sons," he growled.

=============‹«⟨·‹·‹·•·›·›·⟩»›=============

=============‹«⟨·‹·‹·•·›·›·⟩»›=============

There (⁠；⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠��I hope that satisfies! It's only thanks to ibuprofen that I was able to get through writing that much, so thank you modern pharmaceuticals ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

Whether or not Danny and Billy are actually related (ie long lost twins, cousins, clones, brothers really close in age) or just doppelgangers is up to the reader, but the point is they're practically identical when just standing next to each other, but suit them up as Red Hood's Ravens, Hugin and Munin, they're indistinguishable until one goes invisible and the other starts shooting spells at things. In fact, Danny and Billy regularly "switch" who is Hugin and who is Munin. They usually discuss beforehand who is going to be who for a given period of time, but sometimes one of their power sets is better suited for a situation and they'll switch on a dime. Of course, this is only possible because their suits are identical in every way, being based heavily on Dick's Nightwing costume (specifically the Young Justice version) with red ravens on their chests instead of the bat on Jason's. Neither has a preferred weapon to deal with as they're both hand to hand fighters when they're not using their powers (Danny's ecto/ice blasts and Billy's spells), either. They do both still show up as their first alter egos, Phantom and Captain Marvel, fairly regularly, but Jason ensures they get plenty of rest and down time while still doing their school and homework.

I might have more to add later, but I'm drowning in snot and the ibuprofen is trying to wear off, so I'm going to leave it there. If anyone wants to continue this, please let me and @stealingyourbones know so we can enjoy it, too! (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

Have a good morning/day/night!

#danny phantom #batman #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp crossover #fanfic #dp au #nanowrimo 2022 #NaNoWriMo Day 11 #sorry for not having more dialogue #or showing more of Danny and Billy #I've been sick for three days now and it's the worst #hopefully tomorrow will be better #no fun tags today #sorry lol #i'm tired #have fun with this

[looks-at-you]

EVERONE GO READ CH 1 OF MY FRIENDS TMA FIC

NOWWWWWWW/lh

@life-of-a-rat

^ person who's silly goofy comic inspired this

#Have fun with this #Tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #Fanfic #fan fiction #fanfictions #a03 fanfic #ao3 fanfic #a03 #Ao3 #the cy rambles

[veveisveryuncool]

Please share some of your 8587420 metadede wedding headcanons, I'd love to hear them /gen

YEAHYEAH YOU GOT IT ANON!!!!! order up under the cut :D

Kirby was sosososo excited to be the flower girl and kept making an absolute mess out of the flowers during rehearsals (Ribbon got to practice with him and cheered the hardest when he finally made it down the aisle in one piece)

Kirby definitely did that thing you see in cute wedding videos where he saw Meta Knight and Dedede at the end of the aisle and sprinted towards them

Bandee was also really excited to be the ring bearer but also had an equal amount of anxiety

but he did such a good job and was super proud of that, good for him :]

Since Kirby and Bandee already had spots, MK and Dedede asked Sailor Dee and Adeleine to walk as their family (kinda like a mother of the bride/groom, but since both their parents don't exist/are super dead, they used the people they considered family)

Adeleine nearly broke down in tears when she realized that Dedede saw her as family

Sailor was just absolutely ecstatic and promised that she would do the best she could (they both did)

The entire wedding had a star/heaven motif (partners who shook the heavens, anyone?)

twas lovingly chosen by the decorations commitee, aka Taranza, Adeleine, and Prince Fluff

oh fun fact i was originally going to have Fluff be the officiator bc royalty, but let's be honest this guy was probably playing the most gorgeous piano piece during the ceremony

Bandana Dee, Adeleine, and MK all got to keep their character-defining headwear during the wedding. This is important.

Out of the reformed villains club (Magolor, Susie, Taranza, Marx), Taranza was the only one allowed to work on the wedding. To everybody else, he acts humble and modest about this privelige, but to their little club, he is rubbing it in everyone's face

Taranza also picked out the flowers for Kirby and the decorations, given that MK and DDD know jack about floral design

You can be sure as hell that all the Meta-Knights and Halberd crew were there, all crying a river

Like even Captain Vul was getting teary eyed

They had the most legendary bachelor (+ Sailor Dee) party ever

All the Castle Dedede waddle dees were there.

All of them.

they took up at least 80% of the seating, but Dedede made sure everyone had a place to sit

Instead of wedding rings, they used bracelets!! (they have,, no fingers guys)

It’s a simple silver band engraved with a hammer and Galaxia on it (yes inspired by that one fic)

because nothing says “i love you” more than you and your partner’s weapon mains crossed together

Meta Knight proposed first because face it this guy is whipped af

He’s been trying to propose since Robobot but every time he tries, he gets comically interrupted by Kirby or Bandee or an eldritch horror or even Dedede himself

They’ve been acting like an old married couple since literally forever, why not make it official? 

But also Dedede was overjoyed to have an official big beautiful wedding

Their vows were both meticulously crafted, and while MK was extremely secretive of his, Dedede often pouted about how hard it was to put how much he loved him on paper

like DDD even practiced on MK multiple times just to get it right

In the end though DDD just winged it on the day of

and it was the most pure, lovingly said speech Meta had ever heard

During the kiss, MK did that thing where he used his mask to cover their faces like in old western movies 

Marx and Magolor, who only came for the potential face reveal, were monumentally disappointed, “oh cOME ON” “what a ripoff! i can’t believe i changed my hat and got a new bowtie for this! i demand a refund!”

Susie was also lowkey miffed but she found Marx and Magolor’s reactions way funnier

Kirby and Bandee, however, were hyped up more than anything for the wedding

“If your dad marries my dad, then that means that we’d be siblings for real!!!!”

they were honestly more excited and impatient than MK and DDD were lol

now they have officially become a big happy family <333

#meta knight #king dedede #metadad #dededad #metadede #kirby #kirby series #kirby headcanons #have fun with this #rb with your own hcs i love to read them!! #anyways they are so <3 i love them

[slutsukio]

study date. (bf!armin x blk!femreader)

in the heart of academia, where the fragrance of knowledge lingered, you and armin ventured into the sacred realm of the campus' library, bright and early─ 5 o'clock in the morning to be precise. the atmosphere was charged with the palpable anticipation of impending final exams, a collective buzz of students immersed in the rigors of preparations for a plethora of upcoming tests. amidst this sea of focused scholars your eyes met a diverse array of individuals engrossed in their respective studies.

the daunting task that loomed before you and armin was the mastery of ASL by the approaching monday. while both of you possessed a foundational understanding of the basics ─ the fluid conversations, the nuanced expressions, and the art of signing in tandem with spoke words ─the nerve-wracking reality emerged from the knowledge that seven seasoned and professional sign language interpreters would scrutinize your skills and presentations.

in the light of this challenge, the hours unfolded as a crucible of dedication and meticulous practice. each minute, you and armin delved deeper into the intricacies of ASL, refining your signs and perfecting the synchronicity of your expressions. the library, once merely a backdrop for academic exploration, transformed into a haven for the relentless pursuit of linguistic finesse.

as the hours progressed, the weight of the imminent presentation hung in the air, motivating both of you to strive for nothing short of perfection. the goal was clear ─ to deliver a flawless performance that would not only showcase your proficiency in ASL but also captivate the attention of those seven discerning interpreters.

the clock had barely struck noon when you and armin decided to take a respite from your intensive study session, finding a quiet alcove amidst the library's towering shelves. releasing a contented sigh that resonated with the weight of a momentary relaxation, you indulged in a luxuriously deep stretch, your body unwinding like a cast basking in the warmth of the sun.

as your muscles surrendered to the stretch, you shifted your gaze toward armin, a genuine smile playing upon your lips, a manifestation of the unspoken joy derived from the simplicity of the moment. with an appreciative glint in your eyes, you deliberately took in the details of his features─ the sun-kissed strands of his blonde hair, the depth of his cerulean eyes that held a multitude of stories, and the subtle allure of his soft pink lips.

observing the rosy hue that painted his cheeks in the aftermath of maintaining prolonged eyes contact, you couldn't help but notice the subtle yet undeniable impact it had on him; a silent exchange that lingered in the air like an unspoken connection. the shared laughter that followed echoes with the resonance of newfound understanding, a bridge of camaraderie spanning the distance between you. in the wake of this unspoken exchange, a question lingered on the tip on your tongue, and as you parted your lips, you felt the weight of curiosity intermingled with the delicate dance of unspoken words.

in the cocoon of that tranquil pause, you breached the subject of mutual aquaintances, "how's connie doing these days? i heard about what happened at the game, sasha told me, and i heard he popped his leg out of place. is he better?" the concern in your inquiry echoed through the air, a testament to the bonds that tethered your lives together and the genuine interest you held for the well-being of your friends.

armin released a heavy sigh, the weight of concern evident in the furrow of his brow and the weariness that seemed to settle on his shoulders, prompting him to scoot his chair closer to the table, running his fingers through his silky hair, he began to unravel the table of a recent mishap, unfolding a narrative of injury that went far beyond a mere inconvenience.

"the doctor had to pop it back in place," armin disclosed, his voice carrying the echo of empathy for connie, "and he has to walk with crutches for the next three weeks." the gravity of the situation hung in the air, casting a somber shadow over the room. armin, who continued to relay the complete picture, continued, "then, on top of all that stuff, he has to do physical therapy before he can even entertain the thought of being back on the field."

as armin shared this intricate web of challenges and setbacks, you couldn't contain the spontaneous "damn," that slipped through the air like an unintentional sigh. this unexpected outburst, accompanied by a chuckle that escaped your lips, lingered in the atmosphere, a momentary lapse in the gravity of armin's narrative that perhaps wasn't needed at that exact juncture. realizing the time of your reaction, you quickly offered a sheepish apology, "sorry." the word woven with a sincerity but also a half-assed awkward laugh, seeking to mend the delicate fabric of the conversation.

in response, a soft smirk danced onto armin's face, a subtle acknowledgement that, despite the seriousness of the shared tales, your momentary lapse had added a touch of unexpected levity to the exchange. "well, boohoo for him," you continued, your voice taking on a playfully dismissive tone as you sought to downplay the weight of armin's challenges. "like i always say, it aint none of my business-" your sentence hung in the air, poised to continue, but before you could add another layer to your commentary, a sassy ahem cut through the air, the unmistakable sound of the librarian's disapproval punctuating the moment with a touch of stern interruption.

the librarian's gaze, sharp as the edge of a well-worn book, fell upon them— a silent warning echoing through the air and casting an almost tangible aura of disapproval. feeling the weight of that stern scutiny, you exchanged a perplexed look with armin, your eyes seeking answers within the depths of his expression. turning back to the librarian, a subtle ballet of facial expressions unfolded— your eyebrows knit together in a quizzical fashion, followed by a dismissive eyeroll that conveyed a mix of frustration and nonchalance. with a dismissive shake of your head, you refocused your attention on armin, seamlessly resuming your conversation with him despite the looming disapproval.

undeterred by your nonchalant disregard, the librarian, an imposing figure draped in an air of authority, advanced toward your secluded corner. her disapproving gaze now took on a vocal form as she delivered a speech about the perceived disrespect you two were displaying, disrupting the studious ambiance for other diligent students. despite your strategic position tucked away from the prying ears of your fellow scholars, the librarian seemed determined to voice her disapproval.

as she embarked on her lecture, you prepared a retort, ready to stand your ground against the unjust accusation. "first and foremost-" you began, a spark of defiance in your eyes. however, armin, ever the voice of reason, interjected, offering a sincere apology in a bid to diffuse the escalating tension and avoid further trouble.

the librarian, though not entirely convinced, graced you both with a half-hearted smile before waddling away, a symbolic retreat but with lingering scrutiny, watching over you like a vigilant dog guarding its territory. seizing the momentary reprieve, you kicked armin's leg, a clandestine exchange in the aftermath of the librarian's watchful gaze.

in the tense silence, you dared to challenge the silence. you signed to armin, "that strict bitch got me fucked up." your fingers moving with precision. armin cracked a smile, and a soft laugh, before it was contained with his serious face— which he could not hold. a daring comment on the librarian's serious countenance elicited the first whispers of shared laughter.

armin, his expressive hands translating his thoughts into graceful features, embarked on signing soliloquy, articulating the depth of your disdain towards the librarian and how he found it both audacious and amusing. even as he chastised you for the audacity of your words— well in this case, signs, —a subtle symphony of amusement played on his lips, manifesting as a soft chuckle that gracefully danced through the air with each sign, weaving together the threads of his disapproval and shared amusement.

your frustration bubbled over as you signed back to him, a clear expression of discontent etched across your face, "i don't care how mean it is, she should've waddled her saggy-titty ass over to those kids over there who're munching so loudly you can hear it from a mile away." the intensity of your annoyance was palpable, yet a paradoxical twist of humor tugged at the corners of your lips as your fingers signed your frustration.

in the midst of your evident frustration, a peculiar phenomenon unfolded – laughter, like an unexpected gust of wind, swept through the solemnity of the moment. the dichotomy between your exasperation and the absurdity of the situation struck a chord, and an involuntary laugh escaped your lips. this unexpected release triggered a domino effect onto armin, who, caught in the whirlwind of conflicting emotions, joined you in a symphony of laughter.

hands instinctively rose to cover faces and mouths, desperately attempting to stifle the burgeoning laughter, but it proved futile. laughter, contagious and unrestrained, echoed through the air like a rebellious melody. in the shared absurdity of the moment, you and armin found yourselves caught in a loop of hilarity, your attempts to quell the laughter only intensifying its persistence. the library, a bastion of silence, momentarily surrendered to the raucous symphony of mirth you both unwittingly orchestrated.

as the librarian, her patience threads worn thin, strode over to our secluded corner, the air in the library seemed to tense, much like the yellowed pages of a time-worn volume about to surrender to the weight of ages. with a demeanor as stern as the rigid silence she enforced, she brought her presence to bear on our animated study session. in a moment, akin to the snap of an old volume's spine yielding to the passage of countless readings, her restraint unraveled.

the second warning followed swiftly, a non-negotiable decree delivered with the eloquence of a stern flick of her fingers. it marked the abrupt end of our scholarly haven, and you and armin found yourselves unceremoniously expelled from the temple of quiet learning. the librarian, a harbinger of order in this sanctuary of knowledge, insisted on our immediate departure, scolding us for the transgression of laughter in her sacred space of silence.

as we gathered our belongings, a ripple of amusement still clinging to our senses, you and armin exchanged glances. you, sprawled on the floor in a fit of uncontrollable laughter, and armin, tears streaming down his face from the unexpected hilarity of the disrespectful moment, shared a moment of connection amidst the chaos. in that shared gaze, the laughter echoed louder than the librarian's reprimand, transcending the confines of the library's strict decorum and etching a memory of a rebellious, yet delightful, escape from the temple of silence.

beyond the weighty portals of the library, liberation unfolded with a saccharine taste, and the resonance of their laughter, akin to a clandestine elixir, cascaded through the echoing corridors. in the shadowy recesses, you and armin, you guys' backs pressed against the frigid walls, imbibed the bitter-sweet irony of their ejection from the sanctum of silence. the solemnity of scholarly pursuit clashed harmoniously with the exuberant and indomitable spirit of youth.

"perhaps," armin mused, his voice a thoughtful cadence, "we might find solace in a locale less draconian in its demand for silence." he delicately wiped away the remnants of laughter-induced tears, exhaling a deep sigh that metamorphosed into an affable smile, a blend of mirth and contemplation.

in response, you, still caught in the remnants of amusement, nodded with a grace that echoed understanding. "a haven where the librarian of knowledge not only tolerates but appreciates the symphony of humor might be our refuge." a melodic chuckle escaped your lips, harmonizing with the lingering echoes of laughter, as you embarked on a leisurely stroll down the corridor, transforming the expulsion from the library into a vibrant and enlightening chapter in your unconventional yet knowledge-filled study session.

❁ suki speaking — fun study session with armin, followed with lots of laughter and scolding!! this was fun to write ngl. the longest oneshot i ever wrote. ts was 2k words, hell. this was meant for neso + all the armin fanboys / fangirls, and his ass better ready every one of these 2,017 words. ok byee guys, im gna go work on my ocs now :3.

#❁. suki's work #❁. suki's talk #❁. suki's recs #oneshot #library date #bf!armin #armin arlet #armin arlet x black reader #aot #connie springer #eren yeager #sasha braus #modern!au #loverboy armin #have fun with this #neso u better read everything too... #or imma have to fuck you up smokey!! *friday pun* #ok bye :3

[flamingpudding]

How to NOT find out you're adopted

The fun thing about dying was that it messed with your mind. Well it wasn't fun perse but well it was an expirence. It was espacially fun if you have died twice.

And the best part was. Finding out through dying that you're adopted. Really Danny wanted to sarcastically applaud someone for that.

Because when he stepped into his parents portal and turned it one by pretty much dying through electrocution and then getting revieved by the portal that opened on top of him, life decided that wasn't enough drama. Because at that time a whole set of apparently lost memories reopend.

Good point. In the months after his portal accident he had been to busy to deal with that. Bad point, once he had the time to think about it he wanted to rip his hair out cause apparently that portal accident had not been his first death but second death.

Like it wasn't enough that he didn't have any memory's of anything before the age of five before, got some freaky but awesome ghost powers, no his memories has to return too.

And he didn't like it when they did.

Because that meant he now had to remember his oh so gracious grandfather killing him by throwing him into the Lazarus Pit as sacrifice. Really getting drowned wasn't fun as a first death.

Because that meant he was the son of a crime fighting furry. Someone he barely knew anything but his vigilante name and all the praises his bio mother used to brainwash him with.

Because that meant he had a brother that was likely still getting brainwashed by probably both their bio mother and the lunatic of a grandfather.

Because that meant a realization that the Lazarus Pit was nothing more than a ecto-variant. Which, screw that he now got revived two times through that shit too.

But most of all that meant he was fucking adopted and his parents didn't bother to tell him at all. Now, he really didn't feel bad anymore about not telling them about Phantom.

Really as if being half ghost wasn't messing with his life enough now he was starting to get worried about this grandfather's cult and the crime fighting Bat.

At least they wouldn't come to Amity Park, right?

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #damian wayne #bruce wayne #ra al ghul #talia al ghul #demon twin au #Well at least he was save from them in Amity... #...nope he was not #bruce started investigating Vlads shady deals now #and the Mansons so happe d to invide him to a gala #perfect chance to snoop around #of course he would give the local hero the courtesy of letting them know he was there #late night stress writing #random late night thoughts #dc x dp prompt #have fun with this #prompt idea

[joethehoeee]

Week four of keenswimmers2023

Prompt: Water/Fire.

Yeah, yeah. I've heard your begging. No trauma this time-

Okay...maybe a just little bit-

Siren!Barb :D

HOLD ON-

Is that? Firetroll!Walter. (He also has a tail in this AU but I forgot to draw in)

AND WAIT! Is that-

MORE VERSIONS?! ahem. Yes.

I am completely broken-

This month ended me.

AnYwAys-

The AU:

So Walter stumbles across a Siren, at first she tries to put him under her spell to use him for her own gain. And it works, at first.

But due to him being a sort of fire-troll-changeling creature it dosen't work for long. He soon breaks from her spell as she tries to look deeper into his mind and he accidently burns her. (He can’t always control his powers)

She swims away, obviously scared. He tries to grab her, wanting to apologize but she is too fast.

After that he comes to that place every day to bring her flowers and she eventually comes to him again. They talk things out, apologize and start to fall in love. (But it's forbidden romance trope ;])

Now...close ups as always:

Sooo fun facts to this AU:

• Walter accidently burns things when he is veeeerrrrryyy emotional. He has a lot of power wich makes it hard to keep it cool. (You know...cool...because he has fire powers and-) He burns the flower because he is a bit flustered-

• Barb is some sort of Siren or Nymph. She needs to to spell people/creatures to get a certain "magic" from their soul. It's a need to survive. Ofc her kind often does it out of fun but she only does it for survival. It's basically a need, like food. After explaining it to Walter, he agrees to let her use it on him if she needs it. (Don't ask me how and why. Just accept it-)

• Basically their kinds aren’t allowed to talk to each other. They certainly don’t care but will get in much trouble because of it. And Jim exists. Yayyyy. He isn’t dead-

• The Trollhunter also exists in this world. Jim will be the Trollhunter and get the abilitie to walk on the earth due to ✨️magic✨️. Walter is still part of the "bad guys". They have a kind of magic war between the elements and humans. And yeah. UHM just accept it as It is. My brain is completely broken-

The end-

#trollhunters #walter strickler #barbara lake #stricklake #toa strickler #toa trollhunters #stricklander #strickler #waltolomew stricklander #tales of arcadia #keenswimmers2023 #stricklake month #damn. I am sorry- #I know it dosen't make any sense and pls don’t read much into it I just wanted some world building to it #idk why #I could have just throw it into my blog- #anyways.. #have fun with this #i am so done #no trauma for now #but I have much planned- #SOMEONE ...I won't name any names #*cough cough* toodrasticallydumb *cough cough* #challenged me! #they actually didn't but idk. #YOU WANTED IT! #i hope I spelled ur name right- #omg I am stupid- #uhm...I am gonna shut up now-

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

Wedding-seasonal depression.

Quick summary: What if Pierce actually did get married to Wu Mei way back when in the second season? You and Jeff are both struggling to come to terms with the fact that this is Pierce’s eighth time getting married, while you’re both still sad and single and alone. You decide to take your frustrations out on each other.

Word count: 7.8K

Warnings: SMUT (you have been warned, this is essentially porn with a lil’ plot), but it's not like super kinky; lots of swearing; first time writing second-person, so buckle up, I guess; kind of angsty (??); many suppressed feels.

A/N: Hey, guys, what’s up 😃🌈🦶! Uhhhh, I know this fic is a little random, but I’ve literally had this story in my drafts for six months. Since then, I have finished the entire Community show and have brought you this gem of a smut fic for Jeff Winger (particularly Jeff Winger with a fuckin’ beard 😩😩😩 he’s such an asshole). Please excuse my horrible attempts at dirty talk. Also, this is the first fic I’ve written in second person, soooooo I’m sorry if it’s, like, bad. Okay, enjoy!! :)))

***

You know, the wedding is perfectly nice. You have nothing against weddings. Apart from the strangely sexist ceremonies (as Britta will agree), the giving away of the daughter to her new owner kind of thing, the virginal unveiling thing, they’re perfectly fine. There’s free alcohol, free food, dancing, friends – sounds pretty nice at first, doesn’t it? Yeah, you’d think that, wouldn’t you? Except, now, the only kind of enjoyment you can feel is the pleasure of yet another scotch burning its way down your throat. You’ve had three, now, and it’s only a matter of time before they start to kick in. And you don’t come to weddings just to get drunk, okay? Your friend is getting married today, and no matter how blatantly racist and sexist and homophobic he is on a daily basis, you want to support his happiness (Annie forced you to come).

The fact that it’s Pierce getting married (again) hasn’t really hit you yet. Pierce. Pierce who talks about women like they’re objects, who treats them like they have a fucking expiry date, who has had his shot at marriage several times before, is now at the altar again, having another wedding while some of you are left to wallow in your own self-pity and loneliness until the night’s end.

You ask the bartender for another scotch.

You swivel in your stool to survey the venue – tables are dotted all throughout the hotel’s expansive ballroom, swathed with elegant white tablecloths, with elaborate centrepieces of white lilies and tulips and curling ferns to adorn. The ceiling reaches up, up, up, and intricate moulding compliments and fills its area, leading to the elevated centre where a glimmering, twisting chandelier dangles, its large gems scattering rainbow light here and there around the room. It’s pretty – the bride knew what she was doing. Pierce had refused to get involved in any of the wedding preparation because, and you quote, “it’s a woman’s job”. When you asked him what a man’s job was, he had looked at you condescendingly, as if it were as plain as day, and said, “To attend the bachelor party, of course.” You didn’t blink or breathe for a whole ten, fifteen seconds, you believe – you thought he was joking at first. But you shouldn’t’ve underestimated Pierce and his miraculous ability to infuriate you. Lord knows why anyone would want to marry him.

Your table – the study group’s table – is right in the corner of the room. The location is a little questionable (you’re all pretty sure the bride detests you for being more important than she is to Pierce, and you don’t blame her at all—but, you know, she could’ve sat you a little closer to the snack bar is all you’re saying), and it’s not close to the altar, it’s not close to the buffet, or the bar, or the toilets, or the band. But, of course, the group has found its own way to keep everyone entertained. Abed and Troy have napkin hats placed on their heads, acting out some movie scene, you’re sure, and Britta’s well on her way to becoming black-out drunk by the time the vows start, and Shirley’s trying to figure out the recipe of the cheesecake Annie ordered, reaching over the table for another forkful and another and another, face scrunched up in deathly concentration as she tries to identify the ingredients by taste. Poor Annie, you think to yourself, but you’re smiling.

Your eyes immediately start searching for Jeff. It’s an unconscious thing that you do every time you enter a room. You just want to make sure he hasn’t done anything stupid yet. And if you know anything at all about him, he’s going to be glowering the whole night away, rolling around in his bitterness, torn between his jealousy that Pierce gets to be married (again) and between his fiery disdain of weddings. He’s just a little bit too much like you – that’s how you can foresee his scowl when he approaches the bar, how you just know his hands will be shoved childishly in his pockets, and that he’ll roll his eyes when some bridesmaid will stop him and ask how he knows the groom. It happens just like clockwork. Jeff thinks he’s some wildcard, but, in reality, he’s so predictable.

“I’m actually the head of what used to be his favourite escort business. He was one of my best customers, but, uh—” he hisses cynically, “—you can’t win ‘em all, can you?”

You smile. He’s predictable until he opens his mouth.

The bridesmaid looks absolutely horrified. She leaves promptly with wide eyes and an open mouth, trying to stifle a laugh for the sake of her friendship with the bride.

A self-satisfied look overcomes Jeff’s face – he’s probably laughing internally at one of his own jokes again – and then his attention shifts up over to you, and his gleaming eyes grace themselves upon yours. He’s such an ass.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” you snort, turning back to the bar and digging your nail back into this narrow groove in its mahogany surface – maybe, if you’re patient enough, you’’ll soon be able to carve your initials into it forever. Jeff steps up onto the platform that perimeters the bar, sighing from deep within his chest as he slumps himself forward in the viridian, velvet-cushioned stool beside you. “You could have at least pretended to be nice for a few seconds.” While your manner is joking, there’s an underlying seriousness to your words. He needs to stop introducing himself as a prick to everyone – it’s off-putting.

But he just grins over at you – it’s hard not to smile back. “That was me being nice, I’ll have you know,” he says meaningfully, “and it just kills me—” he slaps a hand right across his heart, “—to know you don’t think I’m genuine.”

“She looked abhorred, Jeff. Abhorred.”

He scoffs violently. “Don’t say she looked abhorred, okay? She did not look abhorred.” Then, a pause. Then, “What does ‘abhorred’ mean?”

Oh, Jeff. You’d think that, what with his lawyer days (or rather, his days faking a law degree), he’d have a better vocabulary than he actually does. You’re pretty sure he looks up fancy words in his free time, just to impress people, most of which he doesn’t even know. You can just picture it: Him, sitting in the armchair of his ridiculously clean apartment, a dictionary in his lap, a thesaurus to the side, trying to comprehend what “sporadically” means so that he can use it in class the day after. You haven’t proven this theory yet, and Jeff always avoids the question, but you’re 100% convinced that this act is entirely true.

“It means horrified, Jeff,” you deadpan. You watch him make a mental note to use that in conversation later.

He hums lowly, and you let out a long sigh. Wordlessly, the both of you turn your heads to look back at your table. There are a few, special moments in life where someone will resonate so much with another’s feelings that they feel as if the two of them have become melded together. The borders of their mind will collapse, and that shared emotion will just mingle between the two of them like a strange, little ghost. It’s like that now, with you. It’s a melancholy type of feeling. You both can’t quite place the sadness, even as you’re looking on at the happy study group, and you can say that, with confidence, Jeff feels lonely. Just like you. You can feel the ache in his heart.

But, as quick as the intimacy came, it disappears again. Jeff swallows hard and frowns down at the counter, clearing his throat before commenting drily, “So, this sucks, huh? The wedding and everything.”

You nod.

“I just don’t get why Pierce is the one who gets to get married. Like, why not one of us or something? It’s just kind of unfair.” And then he stops abruptly, inhaling sharply like he’s just broken some kind of code. You nudge him and ask if he’s alright, to which he responds with, “You’re not gonna tell any of the others about this, are you? I don’t want Pierce finding out and having one of his little tantrums again.”

“He wouldn’t throw a tantrum,” you smile, completely missing the trust he’s putting in you right now. “If anything, he’d gloat about how you, the Jeff Winger, are jealous of him.”

He scoffs exaggeratedly. “I am not jealous of Pierce.” Jeff doesn’t admit to being jealous of anyone, but it’s always obvious when he is – his sarcasm will somehow double, his face will squint up into a semi-permanent, sour expression, and his voice will up an octave or two if he’s feeling extra shitty. It’s always funny to see him try to keep it together. That man’s got an ego like no other. Under his breath, he finishes, “No more jealous than you are.”

Damn.

Truth is, even though you’re fucking bitter as can be about Pierce getting married, you know that you have no actual desire to ever enter matrimony. It’s not a Britta “fuck marriage as a whole” type of thing; it’s a “wow, someone is achieving something, and you are achieving nothing” kind of situation. What can you say?—it’s your toxic trait. Anyone “beating” you at anything is enough to discourage you from that sector as a whole. If you’re not naturally gifted, what’s the point? Not to say that Pierce is gifted at relationships. No, he’s just rich. It takes everything in you not to strangle him whenever he opens his goddamn mouth. But you just suck at navigating true, meaningful romantic connections with people, and having to watch Pierce enjoy a pretty party and tick off that milestone (again) is just a kick straight to the fucking vagina.

But you’re not going to say all that to Jeff Winger of all people. So, you suck it up, deepen your scowl, and say, “Ah, yes, ever since I was a foetus, my one goal in life has been to wed a person half my age so that they can drain me of my non-existent fortune and give me pity sex for the rest of my shrivelled-up, little life.”

“Can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or not, ‘cause that actually has been my goal since I was a foetus,” Jeff whips back, and you snort. His grin widens.

Stupid Jeff Winger and his stupid Jeff-Winger smile. You hate it when he does that with his fuckin’ face. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating. You always feel it tugging at your stomach adamantly whenever you’re in his proximity and he does that, and it’s unsettling. Could be annoyance, could be something else. You’re not ready to explore that.

“Anyway, you wanna go find a back room and fuck?”

The words are so swift and casual that you have to take a moment to realise that that is not something normal people say when attending their friend’s wedding and having a conversation at the bar with their completely platonic other friend who has never before made any hints towards attraction.

You turn and blink hard at Jeff, your lungs buffering in your chest.

“What?” you stress to him.

He darts his eyes away from the great hall and shuffles them back to you like he has all the time in the world, like he hasn’t just said what he just said. He raises his eyebrows innocently and politely continues, “Oh, sorry, I just thought that was where this conversation was going.”

The commotion of the party, to your surprise, carries on as usual.

Your wrists are numb with shock, and they’re sparking with what you think might actually be excitement. Did Jeff really just say those words out loud? Are you angry about it? You can’t fucking tell.

Instead of addressing the problem, you swallow thickly, hoping he won’t notice, and ask through an incredulous scoff, “Is this how you get people to have sex with you?” Would you be mad about that? About the fact that he’s just asked, essentially, to sleep with you, right to your face, right in public, at Pierce’s wedding, where there are people that you know and that can see you clearly from where they’re sitting? God, do you look as thrown-off as you feel right now? You would hope to die before looking thrown-off in front of Jeff Winger. The very Jeff Winger that’s finishing your drink off for you and watching you amusedly from over the rim of the glass, smiling his fucking smile to himself as he watches you glitch and hesitate like a browser with too many tabs open.

“Don’t say the s-word,” he hisses patronisingly, narrowing his gaze, leaning closer to you, glancing warily around the room. “There are children.”

“You just said fuck.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. And also, would you like to?”

He’s analysing your expression with fond eyes, you see from your peripheral vision, setting your glass back on the counter gently as he waits, all patient, for your answer, for your reaction. This is probably the most patient he’s ever been in his life. It’s certainly the most patient you’ve ever seen him, and you’ve seen him through a lot.

You tell him (a little breathlessly), “You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

He lowers his voice. “Did I read the situation wrong?”

There’s a silence that’s far too long to be salvageable. Then, a flustered, “No.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows, like he’s impressed with himself, and he looks smugly up at the ceiling. Damn him, you think to yourself. And, sweet Jesus, he has pretty nice hands. You also think to yourself that he has—he has pretty nice hands. Nice hands fixing the cuffs of his shirt and jacket. Nice hands scratching at that awful thing he calls a beard. Nice hands shoved in his pockets all nice-like. Nice hands that you’re sure can do a lot of—nice—things. Jeff clears his throat, and your attention snaps back to where it belongs.

“So,” he drawls. “Back room?”

And just like that, his pick-up somehow works for you. Somehow, you end up stumbling into the janitor’s closest, and you’re shushing each other and telling each other to be quiet as he helps you on top of the wobbly desk. It’s clumsy and fast and you’re both more than a little drunk. “Ow!” he exclaims when you accidentally elbow him in the ribs. Maybe it’s that you’re both just extremely lonely at this wedding – you’ve both kind of realised that you may just have to spend forever alone, that Pierce has a better chance of getting married than you do, that happiness might not be for you after all. And that’s always a nice thing to hear. You just want solace, and both of you are fighting for that by getting it on in a barely sanitary janitor’s room. Think of it—as a favour for a friend. Yeah. You think, with Jeff, the Jeff who blunders over a bucket when he tries to kiss you, it’s just pheromones and genetics doing their thing. Skin-deep. That’s your excuse as you grab him by the tie and press your lips to his as he positions his arms either side of you to keep himself from falling. “Your hair smells kinda nice,” he tells you before he helps zip down your dress, and you slide down your underwear.

He goes down on you first, after you both mock each other about who you bet is gonna finish first. “Oh, I’ve spoken with Britta about you,” you’d said lowly, smiling, and his eyes filled with sweet, sweet defeat. “Yeah, she told me everything—One-Minute Wonder.”

And this had gotten little, insecure Jeff all riled up. “Alright,” he huffed, voice scraping against his throat like he hadn’t had anything to drink for a week. “Alright, we’ll see who cums first, then, huh, doll?” And instead giving you one of those classic Winger smiles, he whispered a request for permission to use his mouth on you. You didn’t even have a response to that. He kneeled down in front of you, hands eagerly spread on your thighs, and his breathing was slightly uneven as he awaited your answer. It made you feel some type of way. You gave a quick nod and shuffled forward to meet his hot mouth. When his tongue delved deep inside your cunt, all coherent thoughts went straight out the door, and now you’re weeping into the back of your hand and clenching down your teeth down on your fingers, trying your best not to cry out.

Now, there are a few things you do to try and stop yourself from finishing immediately: you try clenching your legs together, but this only makes Jeff moan right into your pussy, and that doesn’t do you any good at all; you pull lightly at his hair and scratch at his back and his neck and his arms, holding on for dear life, but he only grows more enthusiastic; and you try insulting him under your breath (“twat”, “asshole”), but he just chuckles into you, and you have to bite down on your knuckles all over again, wrestling with that increasingly violent fluttering feeling in your legs.

Near the end of it, you just give up that bet with Jeff; you’ll cum, you’ll finish first, you’ll lose the bet, and you’ll do whatever you can to get to it. You grind shyly, and then shamelessly, against Jeff’s face, finding a delicious friction with his beard, a lovely contrast to the soft, velvet slickness of his tongue – that is, until he uses his hands to press your hips firmly back down onto the table, rendering you powerless to his actions.

You’re just about to finish when he pulls away. You think it’s a mistake at first, trying to lower him back down onto you with your hand cradling his head, but then you catch sight of a shit-eating grin wanting to take over his face, and you whine out, “Jesus Christ, Jeff, don’t be mean!”

“C’mon, honey, I thought the point of the bet was to not cum. You don’t wanna lose, do you?” His chin is still slick with you and he’s talking to you like you’re not hot and flustered and half-naked for him in a fucking supply room, on the brink of an orgasm, legs shaking like there’s no tomorrow. What a fucking prick, you think to yourself. You’re still gonna fuck him, of course, but he’s still a prick to you, and nothing will ever change that. “What? Can’t talk anymore?”

“I’m about this close—” you narrow my index finger and thumb down to a microscopic space between, “—to leaving you alone in here with blue balls, Winger. You hear me?”

He stands up and massages your legs gently, almost tenderly, and makes you forget, just for a second, that you’re probably another one of his escapades, another one-night stand, just another girl for him to forget in the morning. “Aw, just look at you,” Jeff taunts, twisting his face up in mock-sympathy as you scramble to regain control. “You’re cute when you’re angry, you know that?” His nose brushes up against yours. He comes in real close and whispers against the shell of your ear, “You know, I think you just might get us caught, sweets. I think you’re gonna be crying out my name by the time we’re done, and all those wedding guests are gonna be shocked at the dirty things I’ve done to you and you’ve done to me. You think you’re gonna be able to walk right when they ask us to come out this room? Or do you think everyone’s gonna know how hard I fucked you in here, how I fucked you senseless, how I fucked you so good that you can barely sit down without thinkin’ ‘bout how my cock felt up inside of you?” Your clit throbs painfully. How can it not? You try to snake your own hand between your legs, but Jeff softly moves it away and kisses your shoulder. “Hmm? So, which is it?”

“I think I want you inside of me,” you say breathlessly, needily. Yes, you knew that Jeff likes to sleep around a lot, you knew that he was experienced, you knew that he knows how to get someone hot—but you didn’t really prepare for this. How many other girls has he had in the janitor’s room? How many other girls has he had at a wedding?

“I think I want to play with you for a little while longer,” he replies huskily, and you very nearly finish right on the table. You take his hand and guide it between your glistening thighs, taking him through the way you like to be touched, and he soon takes control, finding out what makes you squirm and what makes you bite into his shoulder and scratch at his back. Jeff has always been a person who loves knowing that he’s good at something, that he’s in charge, that he’s in control – it’s not hard to figure out he loves praise. So, when you tell him, “You’re doing so well,” and he kisses you roughly, hand in your hair, and pinches your clit, you take satisfaction again in his predictability. You yelp right into his mouth, brimming with smugness. Then, he dips a finger into your cunt, and maybe the attitude is punched out of you, but you lose a little respect for yourself with how eagerly you sigh out. After a while, he asks if he can add another, and you agree, grinding against the heel of his palm.

What you’re really scared of is that he won’t let you cum again, that he’s into edging, and that you’re going to be denied the sweet release you’ve been craving for what seems like years, now. “Let me cum, please,” you say, kissing his neck. “I’ll go down on you later, but just please don’t edge me again.” Ew. You hate how desperate you sound. You’re usually a little more dignified than this. Jeff’s there, quick-witted and sharp-tongued as always, and you’re sitting here, tongue-tied and helpless. This is sort of the most bottom you’ve ever been, give or take. With sex with other people, there was a mutual bond rather than a power dynamic, but, here, there’s a very clear distinction. It makes you a little uncomfortable. You’d feel, oh, so much better if it were you saying all those dirty things to Jeff, making him sweat with his cock on your tongue, being the one he asks for permission to cum. But you’re saving that fantasy for another time – you don’t have the willpower to do anything like that today, not when Jeff wants to be in charge right now.

And maybe it’s your imagination, but he grows just that little bit harder at the desperation in your voice. Maybe he should let you cum, since you asked so nicely.  “You don’t have to go down on me,” he says, even though he’d definitely love to see your pretty, little mouth wrapped around his cock. Instead, he reaches down and starts to kiss and lick and suck and bite at your breasts, making sure to linger at the swell of them – he has an odd thing for that area between your side and your breast, that little swell, you both learn, and he strokes that area tenderly with one hand as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.

When you finish around his fingers, he licks them clean and wipes the rest on the little square handkerchief in his pocket. He’s going to save that for later, he decides. Say he gets hard at night thinking about you and needs the smell of you to get off—or maybe he’ll just tease you at the post-vows dinner and make eye contact when he presses the damp fabric against his nose, just to see you clench your thighs together. Who knows? You, on the other hand, are only just realising that he’s still fully clothed. You are as naked as the day you were born, and he’s still prim and smart and handsome in that navy-blue suit and tie.

Pulling him closer to you by his belt, you fumble with the buckle as you tell him, “I’ll go down on you.” You just want a grasp of control after him having seen you so bare, so vulnerable. You don’t know if you’ll be able to face him after this if you just don’t get his dick in your mouth right now – it’s a strange logic, yes, but there’s no stopping you.

Jeff watches you passively as you frantically undo his belt, somewhat enjoying seeing you so flustered and out of control. It doesn’t only feed into his desire and lust, but it also adds to that weird, warm feeling in his gut, one that he hasn’t really experienced before. He can’t quite figure out what it is – heartburn, maybe; indigestion? – but he’s not stupid, and he’s a little suspicious, so before his tipsy subconscious can come to that terrifying conclusion, he tells you, “Can you spread your legs for me?” At your surprise, he adds, “Please?” Just to be nice.

“So fucking demanding, aren’t you?” you huff, but you do as you’re told, gut wriggling with apprehension.

He kisses you nice and slow, storing this memory in his mind carefully for later, trying to be the most genuine he can because, at the end of the day, you’re his friend, his good friend, and he would never do anything to harm or lose you. If he’s going to fuck you, he’s going to do it nicely, the way you’d fuck a friend (I don’t know). You remove his jacket as he loosens his tie, and he unbuttons his shirt as you tug down his trousers and his underwear. He rifles through his wallet for a condom, and you make fun of him for carrying a condom in his wallet (“You’re such a skeez, Jeff.”; “Hey, you’re fucking this skeez!”).

You both have a brief moment, a brief pause, of should-they-shouldn’t-they – after all, you’re going to have to see each other practically every day after this, at school, at the study group, at lunch, at hangouts. But then, you tell him, “Well, get on with it, then,” and he e-e-eases into you, taking his goddamn sweet time with it, letting you grasp at his arms and his back and his waist and his neck and hair and face and chest. He loves how handsy you are. You try not to be so vocal – you don’t want his ego growing any bigger than it currently is – but your touchiness always gives you away. And it makes him feel special as well – you’re not the most affectionate person usually, and you rarely give out hugs and touches and pats like some of the other members of the study group, so the fact that you’re touching him so much and so freely makes him feel blessed.

When he thrusts up into you, you bite into his shoulder again, and he nearly loses it. There’s a sinful, explicit, wet noise that’s made when he moves in and out of you, and it’s almost enough to make him cum on the spot. He’s suppressing his moans, now, trying to do well for you, trying to be good, be strong, be satisfying enough for you.

“Good girl,” he chokes out when you whine high in your throat for him – he says it more to himself than to you, feeling the need to give praise after receiving it, wanting to make you feel as good as he is (say what you will about Jeff, but he’s respectful when he wants to be). But little does he know that you love being called that. Some weird insecurity issue is probably to blame, but you whimper for him and clench around his length, making his hips stutter and his pace falter. He decides to play around a bit, just to see how far he can push you while you’re sedated like this – usually, you’d be up to speed, quick and sharp-tongued and tough and sickly sweet, but, now, he has you a mess in his hands. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he chuckles darkly. “You’re such a good girl for me. Such a good—” he thrusts harder, “—little—” harder, “—girl.”

All you can do is gasp and try to take it well. You can barely form words – it’s like you’re drunk. Well, you are drunk. Of course, you know you’ll have a hard time getting rid of this picture – this picture of him panting and sweating, of his mischievously glinting eyes, of his large hands digging right into your hips and thighs and waist – and you’re probably going to get yourself hot later just thinking about it. You blame him. You blame him for all of it. He’ll probably forget about it in a heartbeat, you think to yourself. He’s Jeff Winger, after all – ladies’ man, professional man-whore, completely indifferent to everything all of the time. You try to plan ahead, try to plan for later when you’re sad and alone and hating your body and hating your life choices, but then Jeff moans breathily into your ear, and you’re right back in the moment. You curl your legs tightly around his waist, letting your head fall back as he takes further control.

“You know, I think this is the first time you haven’t had some comeback ready to go, isn’t it, hon?” he says, then softly biting your earlobe. You can only choke out a moan. “Thank you for that addition.”

You groan and roll your eyes. “I fuckin’ hate you,” you say in a feeble attempt to put up your guard again.

“No, you’re just fucking me, actually.”

You sob dryly into his shoulder, and Jeff starts to encourage you a little, probably the kindest he’s ever been during sex: “Come on, darlin’, why don’t you cum for me? You’re doing so well, you know that?” And that just sets you over the edge. You finish, body quivering, exhausted, and slump right forward onto Jeff’s chest. He somehow manages to hold on – he’s not done yet, and he’s going to want to drag this out for as long as he can, that much he knows. He plants his hands on the table, either side of you, and rests his head forwards on your shoulder, panting.

“Nice one, Jeff,” you say to him awkwardly. What does one say to the friend they’ve just fucked? There’s no right thing, of course, but you know straight away that that was definitely a wrong thing.

But he laughs. “We just fucked the shit out of each other, and that’s what you’ve got to say to me?”

“Well, what am I supposed to say?”

“I dunno,” he tells you, and he genuinely doesn’t.

You stay like that for a while, him laying light kisses on your shoulder and neck, you running your hand gently through his hair, both confused as to what to do now. That is, until you point out, “You’re still hard, huh?” You can feel him throbbing painfully inside of you. This must be torture for him – you’ve finished twice, now, and him none.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I was gonna wait for a better time, but.”

“I don’t think there is a better time in this situation.”

Jeff swallows thickly, throat suddenly dry as he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. His dick twitches inside you when you grin up at him, and you pretend not to notice (but, oh, you’ll definitely remember it the next time you smile at him). He’s quite nervous, and he can’t pinpoint why. His brain’s just still a little too fuzzy to really process any coherent thoughts, even despite that sobering experience just then, but, again, he isn’t stupid – he knows what that knotted feeling in his chest probably is – so, before he has the chance to figure out what he already knows, he asks you, “Can you turn around? Bet you feel real good when I have you bent over this desk.”

“What a charmer,” you mumble under your breath. You know that’s about as sweet as he gets. You’re about to turn around for him when he surprises you:

“Of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He strokes your arms nicely. “We can go back to the party if that’s what you’d prefer, have a few more drinks, make fun of Pierce a little. Or we could try something you decide on. Got a favourite position? I’m sure we could make do with the space we have in here – maybe move a few buckets and boxes around, and we’re good. What do you like?”

Your mind goes completely blank, except for one very clear thought: “You’re what I like.” Not out loud, of course. You’d probably do anything he wanted right about now. You half-expect him to pull a 180 and say something snarky or sarcastic, but he doesn’t. He just kisses your cheek sweetly and waits for your answer. What do you like? You don’t even know anymore, and yet you’re getting wetter than ever before. Your breath is picking up, now. “You know,” you mumble, trying to contain your nerves, “the usual: a little light asphyxiation, a bit of hair pulling. I dunno. What else is there? I guess overstimulation can be nice sometimes. And, you know, I liked it—” a blush starts to form on your cheeks, “—I liked it when you...”

“Liked it when I what?”

“You know,” you huff frustratedly. “Said all those nice things to me.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows. “Praise?” Internally, he smiles to himself – he likes that he shares that in common with you. “Don’t worry, I like it, too.”

“Nice to know.” You maintain a neutral expression, but your clit is fucking beating right now, and your cunt is dripping wet. Your efforts not to clench around Jeff are herculean.

“Well, how do you want it?” he asks you brazenly, the usual Winger way. Okay, now, you squeeze tight around him, and Jeff presses his hands around your thighs in response—but, outwardly, the two of you are perfectly normal about this. “I can dial it back a little if you wanna take charge.” His eyes darken just slightly. “I don’t mind.” And that’s genuine enough – he certainly doesn’t mind the mental image of you with your fingers wrapped around his cock, teasing him as he whimpered and begged for a release, completely submissive to you in the moment. He wouldn’t mind that at all.

You grip the edge of the table and run a tongue over your teeth briefly. “I can turn around.”

“Really?” he asks. “You want to?”

“I want to.”

“Alright then,” he says, smiling. “Better get to it. We don’t want the others realising we’re gone, now, do we?” And you shake your head in response. Now that Jeff’s a little nicer, you’re more comfortable around him. He realises it, too, and so he allows himself to do the things he normally wouldn’t, brushing your hair out of your face for you and really looking into your eyes. Sex sort of became meaningless for him sometime along his life, full of emptiness and loneliness even in that intimate act – that’s the trouble he gets for sleeping his way out of his problems. And so, looking in his partner’s eyes has always brought him some type of shame – he’d always close his eyes and power through it. But you’re nice. You’re familiar. You’re safe and warm and soft. It might be a little to do with the friend thing, but, even when he was with Britta, he never felt this type of comfort, this okay-ness, this general acceptance. It was nice to have, for once: a friend.

He carefully pulls out of you, and then you turn around and bend over the table. Jeff almost stops breathing at the sight in front of him. And it’s not bad, don’t worry – he’s just a bit dramatic. “Jesus Christ,” he curses, and he moves his hands to massage gently at your hips. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.” And it’s true. Slick spills down your thighs, some of it slathered across the table and a fair amount dripping down onto the ground below them. That’s the type of stuff you see in pornos, he thinks amusedly to himself, and he continues to stare in awe at your cunt. Now, what Jeff really wants to do is to kneel down and lay his tongue flat against you. But he controls himself, and, instead, just sucks it up and praises you for it; “Keep that sort of energy up, yeah?”

“You sound like you’re a key-note speaker addressing an assembly of seven year-olds,” you say to him as he places his hands on your ass, spreading the sides apart slightly, his dick straining when he catches a better view of your aching cunt, and then he runs two fingers along your slit – he grows silent for a few heartbeats, amazed at how easily you drip down the length of his fingers and onto his wrist. You then turn back to see him place those fingers in his mouth, and you turn back around, blushing, before he can notice.

“Ah, so you’re into role-play?” he teases, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Sh—” but Jeff is already pushing into you, heavy and strong and thick; you try to continue your sentence without your voice shaking, “—shut u-up.”

He continues all the way to the hilt, and both of you use your hands to hold onto something for stability, his on your hips, and yours flat on the table. “You know,” he says as he bends over you, chest against your back, one hand coming to rest on the wall by your head, coaxing a pant or two out of you as he does so, “it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Role-play’s good once in a while.”

“Uh-huh,” you manage breathily. “You sound like you’re covering up a deeply concerning fantasy, there.”

“Don’t shame me.”

“We all know what it stands for, Jeff. ‘Role-play’s good once in a while.’ Really? Show me where you hid the goddamn body.”

He exhales amusedly through his nose. “I feel like you’re just trying to ease in with your officer-perp kink.” And he’s just casually gri-i-i-in-ding up against you, carefully pushing you back down so that your stomach is flat against the table, his lips pressing kisses into your hair and upon your shoulder blades as he starts to find a pace.

“It’s h-hot, okay?” you stutter out, trying to continue the conversation. It’s true enough – police officers can be hot when they want to be, and Jeff would certainly make for an interesting experience in that sector. Not that you were planning to sleep with him again. Fantasies are what’s discussed between a couple – it’s not really something you tell a one-night stand, especially if that one-night stand happens to be one of your closest friends who would never let you forget anything embarrassing you did—ever.

“Really?” Jeff says through a smile, though, now, even he’s having trouble composing himself. He should’ve cum when he could’ve – he feels like he’s about to give way any second, but he, oh, so wants to finish inside of you while you crumble apart around him. “Hands—” his breath catches, “—above your head.”

“I’m literally bent over a table in front of you.”

“Could still apply to some other positions, though.” And, with that, he begins to slowly pull out and push into you, nice and gentle at first, very controlled, but, as I said, Jeff was very quickly losing control, so one can imagine the animalistic desperation that soon kicked in for not just him, but for both parties. You buck up against him feverishly, letting out whines and suppressed, breathy moans and little, desperate whispers of his name (he absolutely loves those), and he just goes at it with all his energy. Who cares if he looks like absolute shit at the party later on? That’s a lot coming from him, he’ll have you know. As long as this memory is playing in his head, he doesn’t care about his hair or his suit anymore (the suit might be a stretch). He tells you breathlessly, “You know, you look good like this. Such a pretty girl.”

There’s the praise that you love. You squeeze around him and pant, “Take a picture—” and Jeff slides a hand between your legs, rubbing at that golden spot, and you have to choose between pressing into his cock or into his hand; the indecision makes your head reel, and the continuation of your sentence is twisted high and quiet, “—it’ll la-ast long-e-er.”

“Is that an invitation, doll? ‘Cause I’m not exactly against it.”

He pounds and pounds into you, nice and firm and precise, until you’re mewling and whining for him. “Be quiet, now,” he whispers against your ear – there are people chattering outside the room, passing through the exit after the party. But you can’t exactly keep it in. You try to hold your breath, you really do, but you end up grunting out when Jeff kneads at one of your breasts. “What?—d’you want those people to hear you or something? You wanna get caught?” You whine suppressedly again. “I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Dirty girl.”

You clench once again, so fucking close to cumming, and he asks, “Can I try something?” And you nod frantically, alongside giving him a rushed, weak verbal affirmation. “I want you to prop yourself up a little more, hands on the wall – can you do that for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you mutter, adjusting yourself, and, with your movement, Jeff groans and grips your hips tightly.

“Good girl,” he praises, kissing the place behind your ear. And he continues thrusting, and then swiftly lifts one of your legs right up into the bend of his arm, leaving you to press the side of your face into the wall, your entire body swaying with the sheer force of the rutting of his hips. You feel so full like this, and he’s reaching that heavenly spot inside of you. Your knee gently brushes against his corresponding shoulder whenever he moves into you, out of you.

“Shit,” you curses sharply when he roughens his pace. “Jeff.” His name comes out as an awfully high-pitched sigh.

He huffs, “Yup, that’s me, doll.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“You could at least wait until I’m not inside of you to insult me.”

“Tell me something nice.”

“Something nice? I dunno if I can muster it up – all the things I’m thinking aren’t exactly nice. Definitely not things I’d say to anyone’s grandma.”

“Well, then, be mean,” you chuckle, and he jerks inside of you. “I don’t care.”

“You like getting off on my voice, do you?” His voice is nice and low and gravelly, and it practically grates against your pussy in some magical way, and your whole body shudders beneath him. He keeps at that perfect pace, pressure, and you commend him for his technique, you have to say. “You ever think about me when you touch yourself?” You nod. “Such a perfect, little girl. Fucking perfect.”

And he’s got a good-ish look at your face from this angle. Your eyes are closed in ecstasy, mouth open in silent pleasure, and you’re chasing, chasing that feeling. He can’t help it. He cums. And you follow immediately after – your fists screw up uselessly against the wall, and your legs quake and quake, and you squeeze so impossibly tight around him that he lets out a choked moan at how good it feels. He continues sloppily thrusting up into you, helping you ride out your orgasm while also riding out his own. “God, you’re hot,” he mutters, smiling.

You grin back at him, and his cock twitches again – it’s instinctive, he swears. “You’re not so bad either,” you reply, eyes shimmering in the dim light. Those eyes flutter shut again when he carefully pulls out of you with a sinful, wet noise.

Shit, he thinks to himself as you slip your soaked underwear and your pretty, green dress back on.

Shit, he loves you, doesn’t he?

After he’s put his suit back on, you help to adjust his tie, and he has to try his very, very hardest not to blush. He’s pretty sure you notices anyway, but it’s the effort that counts, right? He really, really wants to kiss you, but he doesn’t know if he should. The one-night stand is over, right?

“Call me tonight?” you ask after a brief pause. Was that the correct thing to do? You and Jeff call sometimes, obviously, when he’s at the store and wants to ask if you want anything, or when you want to order a pizza for yourself but get too nervous and ask for his help—but this’ll clearly be different. Are you still friends? Of course, you know you’re still friends, sure, but is it still the same?

And his heart rate has picked up significantly. You want him to call you. You want to talk to him later. “So you can get off to my voice?” You laugh. He made you laugh. He just made you laugh. The sound is like music to his ears. “I’m not a phone sex line, you know. Not a free one, anyway. If you want my services, you’re gonna have to pay.”

You’re smiling. “What’s your price?”

“$100, give or take.” He neatly folds his pocket square back up and places it into his breast pocket. Like he said, he wants to save it for later. He’s not sure for what, but it seems important to him now. And then, what he bumbles out next is said on a whim – the words are quiet and shy. Yes, shy. Jeff Winger is shy. He’s blushing. His stomach is full of butterflies. “Can I come visit your room instead?”

“Yeah, but it’ll cost you $100, give or take.”

Jeff approaches the door, and you line up behind him. “Ready?” he asks you. And you grab a fistful of his suit jacket from behind, going up on your toes, and kiss him lightly on the corner of his mouth in response.

He doesn’t even notice that you wrinkled his suit. He just closes his eyes and turns around for another kiss.

(Spoiler alert: You don’t end up seeing each other in your hotel room because Britta gets black-out drunk and nearly starts a vodka fire on the bride’s dress, so Jeff has to take her to get her fucking stomach pumped. But he gives you a call, and you come, and you sit together by Britta’s bedside as she sleeps. You talk about weird hospital experiences you’ve had, and then you fall asleep. He lets you rest your head on his shoulder.)

#jeff winger x reader smut #jeff winger x reader #jeff winger #community #pierce hawthorne #abed nadir #troy barnes #britta perry #shirley bennett #annie edison #have fun with this #i have no idea why i wrote this #but i do love it #also i’m very proud of the title

[emo-nova]

What I need more of from Steddie is Steve becoming a member of Corroded Coffin after being found out of having brilliant skill with bass or any instrument including voice and Eddie is bringing him in kicking and screaming. Meanwhile the rest of the guys are like "are you sure he has what it takes?" And Steve pulls a mean girl move of taking the instrument/mic out of spite and doing a brilliant rendition of Master of Puppets due to Eddie playing it so often around him because they feel safe with it playing.

I just need that. That and the group exploded in popularity after someone put Steve in some rock outfit.

#steve harrington #stranger things #st #steddie #steve x eddie #eddie munson #have fun with this #steveddie #corroded coffin #could this be a future fic? #writing prompt #please someone steal this from me before i write it >:( #it has so much slow burn and build potential with Robin not instgating the whole thing and Steve gets a new hobby! #win win

[dimxndsareforever]

"I am curious. I have modelled over one hundred thousand times with and without clothing. But tell me, what is your favourite photograph of me? Be honest."

#open starter #open rp #surprise her #have fun with this

[oathfcrged]

@oathwilled : 'no, stay awake, stay awake.'

The fights not over, but he can feel his knees giving out from underneath him. The first blow knocks him and there's blood - so much of it starting to seep through the fabric surrounding his leg but it's just a scratch, it's what he tells himself to keep going - so he can thrust the point of his blade into the gullet of the goblin, pulling it three as it falls and he stumbles back again.

It takes all but a second and he glances down to see the tip of the blade in his side, pierced through armour through his back to his front, the goblin behind him still holding the blade until it's pulled free. He stumbles again, nearly falls but it takes everything he has left to swing his sword and cut the goblin down - the third gone already, making it's way towards the others - towards Paerin. He probably already believes him to be dead and maybe he's right.

His fingers press at the wound but there's more blood and his knees cave as he falls down. The fighting behind him becomes distant noise, swords clashing, screeches and blood being spilt, his eyelids grow heavy, attempts to heal himself fail - he's spent, used up, he knows that but he tries.

At some point it's easier to fall and let his back hit the ground and he's still grasping at his side to stop more blood from leaving him. Eyes are almost shut, he's fading, but he still searches for Paerin - he doesn't trust his voice to yell for him, he wouldn't hear him and doesn't want to draw attention in case one of them comes to finish him off. He just lays there and tries to breathe, though he swears it's getting harder.

and then he hears him and fingers loosen from his side, bloodied fingers stretched out in an attempt to reach for him. Hells, he feels cold and his body almost wants to admit defeat now he's seen him alive and still on his feet. It's acceptance almost, because if he's okay that's all that matters. When he's close enough he's grasping for his hand and fingers are squeezing with all their might. " m' awake. "

#oathwilled #you go your way. i'll go your way too. ( paerin & aksel. ) #((((: #tw blood #tw gore #HAVE FUN WITH THIS #it got long ( surprise )