#thanks anon for the prompt!

[hanasnx]

so.. hot take fix idea..

fire lord zuko would totally try to fuck you anywhere.. i mean, who’d stop him? from the garden balconies to the throne room or even dining room and study.. it’s very evident that he loves you to everyone around and isn’t afraid to let anyone else know it either.

MINORS DNI 18+

"Zuko," you chide under your breath, shying away from ZUKO's lips that brush the sensitive skin of your neck. "Compose yourself." you hushed instruction is paid no heed as he presses himself into your back, pinning you between the railing and his body.

His lowered voice washes warm breath over your ear, sending chills down your spine, "How can I? I can't keep my hands off you." It's in poor taste for the Fire Lord to express such ardent desire so publicly, the balcony overlooking the balcony is hardly the most inconspicuous place to do it. Even through his layers of robing, you can feel a familiar prodding, and you gasp when his teeth bite into your flesh to distract you. "No one's around." he expresses as if it's encouragement instead of a thinly veiled ploy. It's part of the thrill for him.

The official dressings you wear are inaccessible, you're unsure of how he'll proceed without baring you entirely for the world to see. When his hands grab at the fabrics, bunching them up to inch them higher you reach back to catch him. "Zuko!" you whisper indignantly, glancing at him from over your shoulder. He leans in, furthering you over the balcony from his weight as he steals a grinning kiss from you.

"A quick one, my love. If anyone so much as looks in your direction I'll skin them alive." The barbaric threat is entirely to make you dissolve into giggles as a distraction, moving aside the expensive silks so he can get at what he knows is waiting for him underneath.

[becca-e-barnes]

all i can think about is bucky literally BEGGING to eat your pussy. just on his knees, calling himself a needy slut, just looking up at you with puppy dog eyes while he just begs for your pussy on his mouth. ugh.

Men who are this into eating pussy have a special place reserved for them in Heaven. Hearing someone beg to go down on you is life changing when they know what they're doing 🙈

But you're so right, Bucky would be so willing to degrade himself like that just to be allowed to go down on you. He'd be on his knees, trying to ignore how full his balls feel, begging for you.

"P-please." His voice is so quiet you almost start to question if he said it intentionally. "I need to taste you. I can't think about anything else."

His cock twitches despite how heavy it looks, flushed and angry against the pale skin of his thighs.

"Really?" You tease, tilting his chin up with two fingers so he's looking at your face, rather than your body. "Tell me exactly what you're thinking. Describe it to me"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I'm thinking about how soft you are, how warm and silky your cunt feels under my tongue. I'm thinking about burying my tongue as deep inside you as I can reach and still wishing I could get deeper. I want to feel how wet you are but more than anything, I want to taste how wet you are. I want to dream about it for the rest of the week. Every time I stroke my cock I want to be able to remember how you taste."

Precum drips from his tip and you're not sure you can deny him much longer. Not when he's making it sound so appealing.

"Do you even hear yourself?" You do your very best to act like you don't love the sound of every word that has just come out of his mouth.

"I do. I sound like a shameless, filthy, desperate slut. The type of slut who wants to kiss and lick and worship your sweet pussy until you're so sensitive you have to force me to stop." His hand wanders between his own legs, tugging his stiff length to the mere thought.

He's not above begging and you know that. He'll draw this out as long as he needs to until he gets his way but there's very little sense in that when you want this just as much as he does.

"Lie on the bed." You give him time to make his way over before following, lining yourself up just above his face.

You take a second to smooth his hair, enjoying the feeling of his freshly shaved face against the sensitive insides of your thighs.

He's looking up at you, your eyes meeting his. "Thank you." The relief in his voice is clear right before he grasps your hips and pulls you down onto his mouth.

Fuck, he's incredible. This is the mouth you dream about when you're alone. His tongue massages your clit, stroking back and forth before dipping into your fluttering entrance. You swear he must feel what he's doing to you. You feel your cunt clenching and rippling, your muscles contracting in response to the pleasure and for a second you wonder if he can tell.

He's hungry for this; he has been for hours. He's moaning and slurping obscenely, his tongue buried in your cunt. You don't even need to look over your shoulder to know that he's alternating between fucking his own fist and gripping the base of his shaft tight enough to stop him from spilling his release all over himself too soon.

It's very hard to tell which of you enjoys this more.

[nottsangel]

https://www.tumblr.com/rafesmuse/743661178308427776/rafe-cameron-the-type-of-boyfriend-to-keep-your?source=share

this!!! but you’re Sarah’s best friend. Rafe being a dick constantly finds a way to flash your nudes in front of her. One day she asks when you got that tattoo because she’s never seen it before. You think no one but rafe should be able to see that tattoo, when the realisation hits you turn bright red and you definitely shout at him about it later that night but he’s too busy trying to undress you to listen

link!

omg pls he’s such a fucking dickhead sdjdkdkd like that man does not give a fuck! he’d be with sarah in the house when he ‘accidentally’ drops his wallet with your nudes inside of it and acts like he doesn’t notice so she picks it up for him. “rafe you dropped your wa- what the fuck is this?” “oh whoops, im just so clumsy, aren’t i?” he’d reply sarcastically with a smug smile on his face as he snatches the wallet from sarah’s hand.

“i didn’t know you had a tattoo” sarah would later bluntly say when you’re hanging out together, completely catching you off guard. “what? i- i mean, i do, but how do you kn-“ your eyes instantly widen when the realisation eventually hits.

so later that night, you storm into rafe’s room, shouting, while he just lazily sits on his bed, scrolling on his phone. “RAFE CAMERON, I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD. why the FUCK did sarah see those pictures?!” “jesus, relax baby, it was just an accident, a’ight?” he snaps back as you now sit next to him on the bed, still glaring at him with an infuriated expression. “rafe! those are meant for your eyes only!” he’s too busy now attentively pulling the traps of your top down, not even paying attention to what you’re saying anymore. “yeah yeah, i’ll be more careful next time, got it. now, c’mere and let me make it up to you.”

[princessbrunette]

truly obsessed with puppy!reader x john b 🥹 my actual current hyperfixation babes!!!!

can I request what he would be like during a thunderstorm and she’s super scared!!

˖⁺‧₊˚🧁˚₊‧⁺˖

each time the thunder roared, you buried your face further into john b’s hoodie.

it was a cooler night, rare for north carolina — and the thunderstorm outside seemed far from being over. you always hated thunderstorms — the sudden loud noises, the flashes of light, it made you feel like you were walking through one of those haunted houses at the fairground, filling your stomach with dread and making your heart pound.

john b was the only thing that ever grounded your fear. the hand that stroked over your cheek each time you whimpered in fear, or the way he helped you shuffle in impossibly closer when you needed to feel him. he was endlessly patient with you, even if it was the middle of the night and you were unable to sleep.

“hey, hey. dooooont cry. you’re a big girl.” he croons when you grip a fistful of his hoodie at the loud clap of thunder outside.

“that one sounded really close!” you wail, rigid with fear, voice muffled and yet clearly devastated.

“well, as a thunderstorm expert. i can promise you that it’s not close at all. trust me, this old chateau has got stronger bones than you might think. she’s not goin’ anywhere.” he attempts to dispel your fear, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

“but…” you try to find a counterpoint, hoping that if you kept rambling you’d be distracted from the sudden sounds occurring outside. your boyfriend had grown intuitive to things like this, taking action.

“but…” he smiles. “you want me to read to you? whats gonna help you sleep, pup?” he pushes to sit up a little more in bed, bringing you with him and you nod, wiping your nose on the chest of his sweatshirt. “yeah?”

it doesn’t take long— a page and a half more specifically for john b to read you into a slumber, the constant hum of his raspy voice serving as the perfect white noise to help you drift off undisturbed.

˖⁺‧₊˚🧁˚₊‧⁺˖

[ansonmountdaily]

Captain Christopher Pike's outfits in STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS → Season 1 - 2 (requested by anonymous)

(Young Lieutenant Pike in the field jacket and red operations uniform is from a 1x06 "Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach" deleted scene on the Season 1 dvd. It's a little flashback scene with Pike in a shuttle. It ends with him beaming back to USS Aryabhatta, the ship he served on at the time with Number One/Una.)

Star Trek: Discovery outfits here.

[carmyboobear]

Honestly I think if Carmy does dirty talk (once he gets some experience) he’s really going to love being condescending, and it’s so hot…

I AGREE. So much in fact that this was born. Wow. Heed the tags and proceed!!

Tags: explicit, dom carmy, cumplay, dirty talk, creampie, carmy being mean, but also sweet

“You’re so easy,” Carmy says with a smug look. He’s pushing his cock steadily and and out, repeatedly stretching you out further when he bottoms out again and again. “All you need is a cock in you and you’re almost fuckin’ coming already.

“You just feel so good,” you whine in defense, but with the way you’re clenching down around him, pussy so wet it’s dribbling, it’s not very successful.

“You just like being stretched out,” Carmy retorts. He pulls back and lets the round head pop out before bullying his cock back into you. You writhe below him. “It doesn’t have to be my cock. Could be my fingers. Almost got all 5 fingers in there last time, didn’t we?”

“Carmy,” you moan, your pussy wrecked by his relentless pace and his dirty, dirty words. “B-But I—I like your cock…”

“I think you just like it when I come in you,” he says, voice low in your ears. “You like the feeling of my cum inside you. Whether it’s in your pussy or down your throat…” His fingers tweak at your clit, flicking it up, and you flinch with a surprised moan. “I should get a plug to keep it all inside you.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp, scandalized, but the telltale sign of dense heat weighing in your gut says otherwise.

“You like the sound of that, don’t you? Going through your day with my cum in your pussy?” Carmy’s grinding his thick cock inside you, getting sweet friction on your walls. “Fuckin’ slut.”

His fingers pinch your clit, and you let out something akin to a sob.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasp. The pressure’s so fucking tight. “Carm—“

“You’re so easy,” Carmy laughs lowly, breathlessly. “Go on, take it. Come like the easy slut you are.”

His fingers glide from side to side on your slippery clit in a blur as he thrusts in an even, firm rhythm that has you choking on your own gasps. You come with overwhelmed tears in your eyes, moaning Carmy’s name so loud it’s almost a scream. You’re throbbing so tightly on his dick like it’s a lifeline.

“Th-that’s fucking right—fffuck—“ His moans are deep, resonating from his core. He staggers inside you from the sharp pleasure of your tightening walls. He fucks you through your orgasm, stretching it out like a thin piece of gum until it snaps, and in turn, your hole sucks his cock so much he comes.

When he pulls out, his soft cock is smeared in a shiny mixture of your combined cum. Your cream lays thick on his shaft, and somehow, there’s still beads of his cum in his slit. Your mouth waters looking at it. So does your pussy. Carmy’s cum, pale and abundant, pools rapidly at your abused entrance and spills over.

“Look at you,” Carmy murmurs in awe. His thumb drags up from where you’re leaking and sinks inside, pushing his cum back in. “Took me so well, baby…”

He praises you with little kisses and affection, kissing gently at your legs, stomach, collarbone. Brings you close to him, brushes sweaty strands of hair out of your face.

“Sorry if I went too far,” Carmy mumbles after you’ve both come down. Your head rests on his chest, and you’re playing with the curls of his hair. “With anything.”

“You were wonderful,” you assure him. “Could’ve even been a little meaner and I would’ve liked it.” That gets an abrupt laugh out of him, equal parts embarassment and delight.

“Oh yeah?” You can tell by the way he’s saying it that he’s choosing to take that as a challenge. You can see the gears turning, and it’s making you a good kind of nervous. “I think I got a couple ideas.”

“Looking forward to it,” you say, like it doesn’t make you wanna squirm, and he smiles knowingly, bringing you in for another kiss.

[desertduality]

gigs phasmo but the ghost is just confused mumbo jumbo

physically unable to write a snippet so here's a whole oneshot AKJSDKJ I hope you like it!! Personally I had a ton of fun lmao

-------

The house was nice, as far as haunted locations went. The flowers out front were dead, sure, but that was probably on account of their caretaker being dead as well.

The neighbors had been the ones to call this address in, claiming that although the owner of the property had died quite some months ago, lights frequently turned on and off in the house. The police had been by several times to check for intruders, and had come up empty every time. Finally, some desperate neighbor had given in and called paranormal investigators.

So there they were, Impulse pulling up on the curb just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Prime ghost hunting time, for some reason; Scar hadn’t really paid attention to the science and research when he’d signed up for the job. Besides, the other three had all that handled quite nicely. Scar was just along for the ride. 

“Scar, you know what you’re doing?” Impulse asked, grabbing a flashlight off the wall and clipping his walkie onto his belt. 

“Sir, yes sir!” Scar quipped, scanning the gear for his usual fare. “One paraba-dolical microphone coming up.”

“Grab a thermometer, too,” Impulse suggested, clapping him on the shoulder on his way out of the van. “Let’s try to keep this one clean! The company is running low on cursed items with resurrection abilities.”

“I know for a fact we’ve made the biggest dent in that,” Skizz’s voice crackled out of the walkie, changing to a slight echo as he presumably walked in the house.

“Why do you sound proud of that?” Grian asked, speaking into the radio as he grabbed a salt canister. Scar snickered, reaching over him to grab the thermometer. 

“We’ve got a record going, man! No one can stop us!”

“You have to admire his positivity,” Scar said brightly, clicking his flashlight to make sure it worked. 

“Yeah, I guess he’s got that going for him,” Grian replied, giving a short wave as he left the van. “See you on the inside, Scar.”

Scar gave a jaunty wave, doing one last check on his equipment before starting after him. A voice cut him off before he could leave. 

“Did anyone check the name?” Impulse asked, and Scar turned around to squint at the corkboard, eyes catching on the top. 

Huh. Interesting. 

Scar clicked the talk button on his walkie. “Looks like… Mumbo Jumbo?”

There was a long pause, and Scar almost thought they had missed it somehow. Then the response came.

“Scar,” Grian said, sounding tiredly amused. “If you can’t pronounce it, don’t just make something up.”

“No, It— It literally says Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar replied, glancing up to double check. “Don’t make me waste a photo to prove it. I will, you know I will.”

“Don’t, Scar,” Impulse jumped in, so quickly that the start of his sentence cut out. “We believe you.”

“Get in here before I come and drag you, Face,” Skizz chimed in, and Scar rolled his eyes with a chuckle, stepping out of the van. 

The house was warmer than the air outside, so Scar took that as a sign that someone had gotten to the fuse box. He wandered around with the paradabolic microphone for a few minutes, watching closely for big leaps in the readings. Eventually, Impulse called out from upstairs, claiming that he’d found the room. Scar hurried towards him, making it there just in time to watch him set up the video camera, fiddling with the tripod and muttering complaints about its stability. 

The room was a bedroom, a large bed against one wall and a shelf full of dead plants on the other. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust, but that was pretty usual. Obviously no one had been keeping up with the cleaning.   

“Anyone done spirit box?” Grian asked, and Scar jumped and whirled around, finding him in the doorway. Grian giggled, and Scar huffed. 

“Not yet,” Impulse said, finally getting the tripod to settle. He looked over at them. “Want us to leave?”

“Not really,” Grian grumbled, starting to power up the spirit box. “But yes.”

Scar walked out of the door and Impulse followed him, closing it and leaving Grian in the room alone. Immediately, they heard the telltale singing introduction of Grian beginning to ask questions. The rest of the house was quiet. So far, everything had been entirely unremarkable.

“I’m going to go grab D.O.T.S and a book,” Impulse spoke suddenly, starting to walk away. “Maybe you could start grabbing some stuff for a polty pile?”

“Sure, will do,” Scar said, and started picking up objects from the table in the hallway. A lot of picture frames and spare wires, for whatever reason.

Grian opened the door to the room just as Scar arrived with his arms full, and Scar tilted his head at the odd look on the other’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was wearing a faint frown. 

“What’s wrong?” Scar asked, curious. Normally, Grian came out of a spirit box session with wide eyes and immediately ran to the van. This was out of character.

“I think…” Grian started, contemplative frown getting more pronounced. “I think the ghost apologized to me.”

“...huh?”

“I asked where it was,” Grian said, spirit box slack in his hand. “And then it said something, and then I screamed, and then it— I could have sworn it said sorry. Like, for scaring me.”

“Oh,” Scar said, tilting his head. “Has that happened before?”

Grian shook his head slowly, staring at the spirit box for a minute before exhaling forcefully. “Let’s just keep going,” he said, shoving the device in his pocket. “We still have a job to do.” Then, into his walkie: “We’ve got spirit box, guys. One thing down.”

They kept doing their jobs like they normally would, but none of them could quite shake the sense of something being different.

Usually, the haunted locations they visited had a foreboding sort of feeling to them. They get in and out of those places as soon as possible, the feeling of imminent danger settling on their shoulders like a heavy jacket. There was none of that, here. It was obviously haunted, but it still just felt like... a house. It didn’t feel malicious at all. 

Impulse put a book down, and writing appeared a few minutes later. Just a single sentence, asking if they would water the plants on their way out.

They laid down D.O.T.S and stayed out in the van for a while, eventually seeing a tall, hazy figure pass quickly through. 

They caught ghost orbs on the video surveillance.

Impulse took the Ultraviolet flashlight and found fingerprints on the side of the video camera, like the ghost had been curious about it. 

The salt Grian had placed on the ground was smeared and scattered, almost as if the ghost had slipped on it instead of stepped in it. 

“If we discovered some new type of ghost,” Grian said eventually, muffled through his own hands covering his face, after hours of pouring over the conflicting evidence. “I am going to be upset.”

“None of this makes sense!” Impulse complained, flipping through the research journal that Scar had never touched. He was scowling at the pages like they’d personally offended him. “It won’t even hunt!”

“He seems kinda friendly,” Scar said, staring at the steady line of the EMF reader on the screen. “The poor guy just wants his plants watered. I don’t even have the heart to tell him that it probably wouldn’t help. Those things are dead dead.”

Impulse’s head thunked down on the table in front of him. “We’re so fired.”

In the silence following that statement, Skizz burst into the van, holding an object aloft in celebration.

“I found it!” Skizz yelled triumphantly, the wrinkly figure of the monkey paw clutched in his hand. “It fell behind some boxes. I told you it was here.”

“Oooh,” Scar said, rushing over in excitement. “What should we wish for?”

“A quick death?” Grian said flatly.

Scar waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve had too many of those. It gets kind of boring, believe it or not.”

“Let’s just wish to see it,” Impulse said, heaving himself up from his hunched position by the monitor. “We’ve done everything else we could do, let’s just do it.”

“Sure, why not,” Grian said, shrugging. “Let’s go out in a blaze of glory, then.”

“That’s the spirit!” Skizz laughed, and together the four of them marched back into the house.

The room was exactly as they’d left it, and Impulse took a moment to turn off the D.O.T.S. Then they stood in a loose circle, tense and determined. Whatever was happening here, it would be over soon. One way or the other. Maybe the company wouldn’t even bother to bring them back, this time. 

Skizz held the monkey paw aloft, dim light casting dramatic shadows on his face. “I wish to see the ghost!”

A finger on the monkey paw cracked and groaned as it bent down, and a chill swept across the room, quick and encompassing. Their flashlights flickered, and then died, leaving them in complete darkness. For a long moment, the only sound was their chorus of quick and shaky breathing.

When the lights turned back on, Scar was face to face with a ghost. A ghost that looked equally as startled as he was. 

Scar yelped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the open book on the ground and hurtling towards the bed. The ghost — a tall man with dark hair and an absolutely wonderful mustache — lunged forward and reached out as if to catch him, eyes wide and panicked. To be fair to the dead man, it absolutely would have worked if his hands were still a tangible thing; As it were, his attempt at grabbing Scar to keep him upright was rather rudely foiled by his outstretched hand passing right through Scar’s flailing arm.

Scar hit the bed with a grunt as various cries of alarm sounded out around him, light bouncing around the room haphazardly as the sound of clattering reached his ears; someone had dropped their flashlight, apparently. Scar laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, dazed. 

“Oh gosh! I’m so— I didn’t mean to pop in like that, I—”

Scar looked up just in time to watch a crucifix fly through the air and pass harmlessly through the ghost’s head, hitting the wall with a thud and falling gracelessly to the floor. The ghost yelped and ducked — much too late, not that it mattered, anyway — and Scar’s gaze next landed on Grian, still standing there with his arm extended in a throwing motion, hand empty and eyes wide.

“What was that gonna do, G?!” Skizz asked hysterically, fumbling for his camera, accidentally snapping a picture of his own face and swearing when the light blinded him. 

Impulse had knocked over the tripod in all of the chaos, and was now frantically attempting to set it back upright. The ghost — Mumbo Jumbo — turned his anxious eyes on Scar, who for once was struck speechless, jaw slack. 

“Are you alright, mate?” Mumbo Jumbo asked, hands fidgeting together. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but— Well, you summoned me. There’s only so much to be done for that.”

With everyone else still scrambling about the room, Scar allowed himself a few seconds to process things. Most ghosts they’d come across — all of them, actually — had been nothing less than murderous and bloodthirsty. The cordial ghost of a perfectly normal man was not something they had been trained for, but that didn’t exactly mean that it was impossible. Sure, maybe it had come way, way out of left field, but Scar prided himself on rolling with the punches. He pushed himself up from the bed with a sheepish, charming smile. 

“It’s all good,” Scar said, bright and friendly. “For sure our fault, we summoned you and got surprised when you showed up. Kind of rude of us, I think. Your mattress is super comfortable, by the way.”

Mumbo Jumbo blinked, as if surprised by the onslaught of words, a confused little furrow appearing between his brows. “Thank you?” he said, glancing behind him at the bed. “It was…expensive.”

“I mean, hey! We spend a lot of our lifetime in a bed, right? Might as well shell out some cash for quality.”

“What are we doing?” Grian asked quickly, almost like he was talking to himself, hands pressed to his head in utter bafflement. “This is insane, what is happening.”

“Grian! Don’t be rude,” Scar admonished playfully, then turned back to grin at the ghost. “Mumbo Jumbo, right?”

The man nodded faintly. “Just…Mumbo is fine.”

“Sweet! I’m Scar,” Scar said, and then started pointing to his friends, all standing stock still in various stages of shock and confusion. “The rude one who throws stuff is Grian, that’s Impulse by the window, and over there is Skizz!”

“Nice to meet you?” Mumbo said, glancing around nervously. “I would offer to shake your hand, but…”

“God, this is weird,” Skizz blurted, eyes still wide but starting to relax his stance. “You do know you’re dead, right? We never actually get to ask any of the ghosts we meet.”

“Oh, I— Yeah, I’m well aware,” Mumbo said, laughing a little. “You’ve met other ghosts, then?”

“We’re ghost hunters,” Impulse said, and now that the shock was fading, Scar could see a spark of excitement in his eyes. “But I mean— We’ve never met any like you.”

“Mostly they want to kill us,” Grian said, stepping up next to Scar. “Are you sure you don’t want to kill us?”

“I don’t think I know how, much less want to,” Mumbo said, glancing out the window. “Did someone call you to find me? I’ve been trying not to scare anyone, but I suppose the lights might’ve done me in.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much what tipped them off,” Scar said apologetically. “A few too many weird things happen and boom, here we are.”

“What happens now?” Mumbo asked, chuckling nervously. “I mean, you found me. Job done, yeah?”

“Usually we figure out what type of ghost it is and the company sends out a specialized team to evict it,” Impulse answered, brow pinched in thought. “But normally that’s for safety reasons. You don’t seem like a threat. No offense.”

“Oh, none taken.”

“Can I ask how you died?” Skizz asked, eyes alight with curiosity. 

“Skizz,” Grian hissed. “You can’t just ask people how they died!”

“I was just wondering!”

“No, it’s— it’s fine,” Mumbo stuttered, and Scar had a feeling that if ghosts could blush, he would be doing it. “I… fell down the stairs.”

Scar nodded solemnly. “Could have happened to anyone.”

“So what are we actually going to do about this?” Grian asked, vaguely gesturing at the room. “It feels like it would be wrong to kick this guy out of his own house. He’s not really causing trouble.”

“Yeah, I— I do like my house,” Mumbo interjected, awkward smile on his face. “I’d rather stay, if that’s alright.”

“Someone’s bound to move in eventually, you know,” Skizz said, pitying frown on his face. “There’s already a for sale sign in the yard. The new owners might not be super ghost-friendly.”

Mumbo’s shoulders slumped, a dejected look on his face as he frowned at the floor. Scar felt a pang of sympathy grow in his chest, and he glanced out the window at the rows of houses down the street. 

It really was quite a nice neighborhood. 

“...You know,” Scar started, gaze drifting over to Grian, a slow smile forming on his face. “Our lease is almost up.”

Grian looked over at him, eyes already resigned, and sighed. 

Scar laughed, grinning, and Mumbo slowly smiled back.

[eqt-95]

there were too many beds

prompt came from this reverse trope list. (thanks anon for suggesting it be pulled into a standalone post)

- - - - -

There were too many beds.

There were too many beds.

Kara scanned the room: two, four, six, seven beds.

Sevens of them. All done up with pillows and over-starched fabric and tiny brochures translated into broken English with a map of local attractions splattered from inch to inch.

When she'd persuaded Lena to live out her dream of a four-week backpacking European holiday, she never expected there to be so many beds. Hostel after hostel with 'private' rooms filled with beds. It was perfectly roomy which was exactly the problem. Kara had daydreamed of a closet-sized room tightly packed with a single double bed, a tiny nightstand and, maybe if they were lucky, a private bathroom.

What she didn't expect was Lena plans-ahead Luthor booking out an entire 'group' of beds at each location.

"It'll give us guaranteed privacy," Lena explained when Kara flushed at the bundle of euros being slipped across the counter city after city.

Because that was the other thing: Kara had just come out. As Supergirl. And for as much as she liked to pretend everything was normal, everything was not normal. They could barely enjoy their plates of cicchetti in Venice without being barraged with onlookers. Their walk through Gaudi's masterpiece was ruined by slack-jawed observers gawking at Kara in civilian clothes. And now, in the city of love itself, Kara's romantic plans of a blanketed dinner in front of the Eiffel Tower was ruined by one nosy teenager with a social media following.

And now they were back, dinner ruined, a half-eaten baguette in one hand and the remaining drags of a perfectly delicious bottom-shelf bottle of red in the other. It was terrible. It was awful. It was not going at all like Kara wanted or planned or hoped.

Still Lena smiled. She knowingly leaned into Kara with each spontaneous combustion of crowds. She squeezed a hand reassuringly and chuckled when the wildest requests were made for autographs and signatures and "can we see the suit?". Tiny reminders of "it's ok, darling," were whispered through a crowd while an adoring smile settled Kara's stewing frustration.

"Everything ok?" Lena asked, one hand disappeared into her overflowing backpack.

"Hm? Oh, yea," Kara replied. A blush crept over her cheeks and a distracted hand scratched at her neck. "Just tired I guess."

"It'll pass. Soon you'll be able to walk down the street and be a nobody just like me," Lena offered with a sympathetic smile. And then there it was; there it came: a quick squeeze of Kara's forearm followed by the light trace of a kiss on Kara's cheek. "Thank you for an amazing day."

And then it was gone as quick as it came with the bathroom door squeaking shut.

And still, there were seven beds.

Seven.

Beds.

Now, what happened next is up for some debate. To the desk clerk, it might have sounded like a robbery. To Lena Luthor, one threshold away, it sounded like Kara was having one of her early-aughts inspired dance sessions. Kara herself would explain she'd seen a black widow. An army of black widows when an amused Lena pressed.

"Not bedbugs?" Lena asked, surveying the damage and stepping over a smoking mattress.

"Uh... coulda-coulda been?" Kara said, flushed and dry-mouthed.

"Mhm, well then we couldn't possibly sleep here tonight-"

"Black widows. It was definitely a fleet of black widows. Not a bedbug in sight actually-"

"A fleet?" Lena pressed, barely containing a grin and dropping her day clothes onto her completely unscathed, pristine backpack.

Kara nodded. She nodded with vigor and superspeed.

"I see," Lena continued, plopping onto the mattress.

How exactly it happened didn't really matter. All that mattered was that, in the span of time it took Lena to brush her teeth and change into soft sweats and Kara's old NCU t-shirt, six beds had been destroyed.

"I guess we'll just have to share, won't we, darling?"

[turnaboutdick]

Can you pretty please draw John happy?

look at the cows

[ky-landfill]

Just wondering but have you read “the big road home” by crumpetz? I’m rereading it now (and taking extreme levels of emotional damage from doing so) and it seems like something you’d really enjoy

"Tim does excitement a little differently than most people, a little quieter and with less movement, but it’s really obvious once you know him. He’s not saying much or screaming or anything, but Tim looks like a human sunbeam. Like he’s glowing under his skin."

[hanasnx]

Ok but hear me out- Hobie with his absolute pussy wrecking dick, and he refuses to do anything with it until you’re fucked out on his tongue first….

(and when he does you can’t say anything cos he’s pounding into you like a fucking animal)

“absolute pussy wrecking dick” audibly gulping rn gasping for air rn

the kind of dick that ripples you when he goes in over and over, every backshot reverberating up your spine, forcing you forward on your elbows and your cheek buried into the mattress. how it fills you out and kisses your cervix in such a sting, you’re fluid and limp as he uses you. his big hand on the back of your neck to keep you pinned to avoid being pushed further away from him with each thrust.

fingers tucked into the overlapping flesh of your thigh and hip, yanking you back into him until you’re yelling, howling into the covers, praying no one in this apartment building can hear you even though you know they can. you’ve got a feeling hobie likes that fact.

your brain has turned to mush, you can’t form a thought, can’t respond to his dirty talk. “knew a slag like you could take a dick like this. how’s it feel, dove? worth it? worth beggin’ for it?”

you’re near tears as he drives into you, moving to palm your tailbone to force you down onto every inch of his formidable cock. drooling onto the sheets, gripping onto them, eyelashes fluttering while your hole swallows him up.

hobie brown and his pussy wrecking dick..

[bixels]

Do sunset and twilight have any sort of relationship in your human au? (Your art is so SO BEAUTIFUL by the way, I have spent so much time staring at it. I love your lines and use of color).

Yes.

[blushweddinggowns]

Prompt number 2 bc I’m praying for more jealous Steve content. Bc Eddie can be so oblivious and Steve can be such a bitch and those things are so important to me

Eddie was a glutton for self-punishment, that was the only reasonable explanation he could come up with on what the fuck he was doing here. Sitting at some random gay bar as he watched the man he loved dance the night away with his bestfriend.

He just had to volunteer to be their designated driver. Maybe it was stupid, but Eddie thought that y'know, a gay bar meant that no he would not have to watch Steve flirt with some randos. But he forgot the small detail that bisexual people existed. And he had seen at least three damn girls slip Steve their number.

Which was just...so fucking cruel. Why did life always have to do him so dirty? Eddie had thought that maybe...if they went to this type of place together Steve's mind would open up a bit. A stupid fucking thought honestly. Based off of nearly nothing. Like, okay sure, Steve was all touchy feely with him sometimes. When he was high or drunk suddenly Eddie became his personal chair. And he would say just...the sweetest shit. Going on and on about how happy he was to have met him, how he's so glad he's alive and well, how funny Eddie was, how nice and sweet and pretty and...and all of it had sent his traitorous brain into a tailspin that had him thinking he actually had a chance with a straight guy.

And the fucked up part was that Eddie had really tried to start doing the right thing. He put a little distance between them when he figured out that he was past a silly crush. No he was head over heels for the guy and he needed to get over it. Fast. And if he could just start saying no when Steve called to get high or have a few beers together he probably would have made some progress by now.

But no, he was still to eager for contact with him to say no. Which made him feel like a creep, always waiting around for Steve to be a little out of his mind just so he could get a hug.

When did he become so pathetic?

The only slight comfort he had tonight was the fact that he wasn't alone. It really wasn't fair to bring a straight guy to a place like this, but at least every guy who had eyes on Steve was going to have to suffer in silence with him.

And some of them were kind of cute. Cute enough for Eddie to try and use one as a distraction. He was sitting next to a preppy looking guy, talking to him a little bit. Maybe he shouldn't have set his eyes on someone that kind of looked like Steve, but fuck it. His name was Andrew, and he was nice, a good flirt. The perfect diversion for when Eddie could tear his eyes away from Steve.

And things were actually getting a little interesting with him. He had his hand on Eddie's arm, leaning in to loudly whisper everything he said in Eddie's ear. He was smiling at him, close enough for Eddie to see the pretty gold flakes in his eyes.

They weren't as pretty as Steve's but they'd do.

Andrew tucked a bit of Eddie's hair back behind his ear, leaning in again. But he didn't go for his ear this time, no, he was zeroing in right to Eddie's lips. Not that he was complaining, he let it happen, a sweet, light kiss that had zero time to escalate to more.

Because suddenly, someone was tugging at his arm, hard enough to force Eddie's whole body back, nearly out of his chair. He blinked, more than a little startled to see Steve coming out of nowhere, clinging onto him with that stupid, gorgeous smile.

"Eddieeee," Steve whined, completely ignoring Andrew's presence, "Robin ditched me to make out with someone in the bathroom."

Eddie couldn't help but smile a little bit, despite the fact that he was definitely interrupting what was probably the first good thing about this night. He glanced over at Andrew, who was staring at them, wide-eyed before saying, "Uh, I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"I don't-"

"I can't hear you in here," Steve loudly interrupted, looking adorably confused, "Come outside with me?"

If Eddie was smart, he would have gently pried Steve's hands off him before sending him off to find Robin. But...a drunk Steve was also a very cute and cuddly one. So fuck it, Eddie could find a rebound for his non-existent relationship next weekend.

He shrugged at Andrew, mouthing a quick apology at him before Steve started to drag him outside through the back door. Eddie half expected Steve to do his usual routine when he was toasted. Sweetly asking for a piggy back ride that Eddie literally could never refuse before falling asleep on his back. Then he'd get him in the car, wrangle Robin from wherever the hell she was, and they'd be off.

But the second they were stepping outside Steve was straightening up and stepping back, to Eddie's immediate confusion. He leaned against the wall, glaring at Eddie in a way he had never seen. Or at least directed at him.

"So," Steve started, his tone way too close to how he sounded when one of the kids pissed him off, "Who was that guy? You looked pretty cozy in there."

Eddie's brain was still struggling to catch up to the change in atmosphere here. But he tried to answer anyway, "I mean we were but-wait. Why are you not drunk? You were literally just-"

"It's called acting dipshit," Steve mumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Which ow, rude. But his next words hurt even more, "Not like I have a choice, since you only seem to like me when I'm fucked up."

Eddie could feel his heart stop in his chest. He didn't-oh no. Oh god. Steve figured out he was a creep. A creep who was probably moments away from getting his ass handed to him.

Eddie swallowed, at a loss for what to say. But he still tried, "I-look dude it's um, it's not like that. I didn't- I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable-"

"Then why the fuck would you kiss another guy right in front of me?"

Okay. That was enough of that. Yes, Steve could be mad about him being creepy, but no he couldn't be mad over having to bear witness for a gay kiss at a gay bar, "Well if I had known that you were apparently only okay with seeing girls kiss each other I wouldn't have come out tonight at all! Honestly Steve, how can you even say that? Like that is some real dumbass levels of homophobia, even for you. I thought the King Steve thing had died-"

"Shut the fuck up oh my god," Steve hissed out, "Are you really that damn dense? That's what you think I'm upset about? Are you fucking kidding me? And I'm the dumbass?"

"Then why are you mad?" Eddie half asked, half yelled.

“I’m not mad," Steve seethed, like he didn't look about five seconds away from choking Eddie out, "I...I just think you can choose better people to kiss.”

Maybe he really was drunk after all. Because now he wasn't making any damn sense.

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, beyond frustrated, "Who Steve? Like, I'm sorry to break this to you but not all of us can fucking look like you do alright? We're not all charming, golden Adonis basketball players okay? And sometimes you need to take what you can get. And there was nothing wrong with Andrew-"

"You think I look like a golden Adonis?" Steve interrupted, a weird expression on his face. He looked almost...hopeful? But that didn't make any sense.

"That's what you got out of that?" Eddie asked, exasperated, "I-come one dude. You know you're hot. But that's not my point."

"Well it's mine!" Steve groaned. He was biting his lips, a very distracting nervous habit that Eddie had picked up on, "Because what the fuck are we even doing? You think I'm so hot, so charming, so great, and you decide to kiss someone else in front of me? What the fuck is that? Do you like seeing me jealous? Do you get off on me pining? Please explain."

You see, that was the funny thing about Eddie's brain. One second he was lost, staring at Steve's red, bitten lips, and the next he was desperately trying to catch up with what just came out of his mouth. All of it the perfect blend to effectively shut his brain off completely.

Eddie stared at him, his words as dumb as how his face probably looked, "I-what? Huh?"

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, "Are we really doing this? Are you going to pretend like it's all in my head?"

"I-no. I just-please explain," Eddie is pretty damn sure he had never stuttered through a sentence that hard in his life.

"I've been coming on to you for months and you just keep giving me all of these mixed signals and..." Steve sighed, looking away, "I'm so sick of it Eddie. If you don't like me just say that! Stop whatever this is. Because it's mean and you know it. If you want a better option then just take it already and leave me alone."

He-what-that didn't even- Steve was straight, wasn't he? And now the stuttering had invaded his thoughts. Because if he actually understood all of that then...

He was the biggest idiot on the planet.

And his stunned silence was not helping anything.

Steve sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. He turned away, "I'm going to find Robin. We can just...act like this didn't happen I guess. I'm done."

Eddie had to give himself on thing, at least his body was working a lot faster than his brain. Steve barely had time to take a single step away before he was shooting his hand out to grab his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

"I didn't know you were an option!" Eddie blurted out, his heart hammering in his chest, "I-Stevie I thought all of it was in my head. I-I thought that you were straight and we were just hanging out-"

"You think I sit in the laps of my other guy friends?" Steve asked, completely unimpressed, "While playing with their hair and calling them beautiful? Really, dude?"

Eddie nodded, sure and fast, "Steve, I had to do my senior year three damn times. I'm not always the smartest okay? And in my defense you never mentioned like dudes-"

"Yes I have," Steve interrupted, "When you came out to me, I told you to your face that I understand. That I could relate about hiding things and not talking about it. I literally said we were in the same boat. What else could that mean?"

Eddie remembered that, crystal clear. But..."I thought you were talking about PTSD, not secretly being into dudes."

"One dude," Steve corrected, but he was relaxing a little, thank fuck. Maybe Eddie could still fix this.

He took a deep breath, using his hold on Steve's wrist to pull him closer. His hands were fucking shaking, bad enough for Steve to almost certainly notice when he rested them on his hips.

This was it, he might as well be as clear as humanly possible, "I am so into you. Like a scary amount. Like I'm...borderline in love with you."

He was completely in love with him, but he didn't have the balls to say that bit out loud. He kept going, "And I didn't know you felt the same way. At all. Like I am dangerously close to having a stroke from hearing all of that. You kind of flipped my world upside down there."

Steve huffed out a laugh. Eddie may have fucked up everything leading up to this point, but Steve was eating his little speech right up. He shuffled a little closer, wrapping his arms around Eddie's neck with a small smile, "Keep going."

"I thought that I had no chance. I mean even tonight, people couldn't stop looking at you. And you got those numbers-"

"I threw them away," Steve interrupted, "You missed that part."

He had definitely missed that part, too caught up in his own head. But that didn't stop a smile from breaking out on Eddie's face, "Good. Because if you want me, you have me. I'm all yours, in any way you want me. Understand? Fuck, Stevie if I had known any of this we'd be the ones making out in the bathroom right now. And I'm sorry about..."

For the life of him Eddie couldn't remember his name, not when he had Steve smiling at him in his arms, "The other guy. But it literally means nothing to me. Not if I get to have you. Do...do I get to have you?"

Steve hummed, pretending to think about it while he played with a lock of Eddie's hair, "I guess that depends. Is making out in the bathroom still on the table?"

"Fuck yes it is."

Steve grinned, leaning up to press the sweetest little kiss to the side of Eddie's mouth, "Then I guess you have me then."

[muffinlance]

prompt: Ozai has Azula watch Zuko (his progress or rather lack thereof) from way earlier on, possibly even before Aang gets away from the iceberg in the first place

There it is, written at the bottom of his banishment notice, wobbling in and out of his vision and he’s not sure if it's his eyes—

(Father wouldn’t have meant to blind him. Being blind won't help him catch the Avatar, so he’ll just not go blind.)

It’s either his eyes, or. Or the rage. It has to be the rage.

So Zuko reads the line again, and lets the fire brim up and overflow, until sparks chase the shout from his lips.

“Banishment to be overseen by Crown Princess Azula?”

- - -

“Prince Zuko,” Azula says, standing as tall as an eleven year old can. She’s using his title, so that he’ll use hers. And if he doesn’t then he’s ill-mannered and not fit for his own. 

“Crown Princess Azula,” Zuko grits out.

“I’ll just be inspecting your ship, then. Father’s orders.”

Two men are in shackles by the time she’s done. 

“—Fostering mutiny against your prince,” she is yelling, and somehow her voice is just as high-pitched as his without sounding childish at all. “When our father hears about this—”

- - -

“So you had them executed,” Fire Lord Ozai inquires. Lightly. And from behind his flames.

“Of course, father,” says the kneeling child. “It was an attack on our family.”

Her father doesn’t say anything.

Azula is eleven. Eleven, she had presumed, was old enough to count. 

One, two, three. Four, with Uncle. The royal family.

Her father is silent still.

One. Two.

“Forgive my impertinence, Fire Lord,” she says. “I will bring them to you for judgment next time.”

“Do so,” Fire Lord Ozai says. He does not contest the ‘next time.’

- - -

“Crown Princess Azula,” Zuko says.

“Your bandage is off, brother,” Azula says. “Are you blind?”

“No.”

(The blur of her red robes, the eye-searing glint of sunlight off her headpiece—he’s not blind in that eye. He’s just… still recovering.)

“Lovely,” she says. “Then what’s your excuse for the condition of this ship?”

…He has an increased budget for repairs, by the time she’s done. 

- - -

“Brother,” Azula says, “traditionally knives are to be delivered to the back.”

“I… what?” her brother says, still holding out the inexplicable thing. “No, I bought it at port. For you. See, it matches the one Uncle got me.”

“How original,” she says.

Her brother turns a shade of red that puts his bending to shame. Not that it’s a particularly high bar. “Fine, I’ll just—throw it out.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. At the least, Mai will want it.”

- - -

“Nice knife,” says Mai, looking at the hilt peeking out of Azula’s boot.

“Be silent,” Azula says, thus ending that conversation.

- - -

“Did great-grandfather… did we…” starts her brother, fresh from scurrying about the Eastern Air Temple like some particularly dim-witted pheasant-monkey, the dust not even brushed from his clothes even though he knew her ship was waiting down here. “Azula, there were children—”

“Be silent,” she says.

- - -

“You’re leaving frequently,” comments father, as his knife cuts through the pheasant-monkey, clicking against the plate below. The persimmon-cherry sauce is thick and red and smearing.  

“I find it advantageous to cultivate a working knowledge of our nation’s tactics,” Azula answers. She does not push around her meat like a child, but she does eat only lightly; the dish is more sour than she remembers.

“And your brother?”

“Oh, him,” she says, to which her father smiles.

- - -

“...What?” Zuko asks, blinking down at the scrolls. 

“It’s your birthday,” Azula says. “Apparently, I should have gotten you a calendar.”

“Thank you?”

She sighs.

- - -

“Do we… tell him we can hear him?” asks the assistant cook, as the prince continues monologuing. Dramatically, and loudly. Through the pipe connecting the drain of the kitchen sink to the ones in the shower. 

“Ssh, I think this is one of his new plays.”

- - -

She gets him a calendar for his next birthday. It’s not funny.

- - -

He gets her a doll, for hers. The look on Uncle’s face as she torches it in front of them both is hilarious.

- - -

“Brother,” she says, looking up at the damage to his ship. “This is not the way to requisition additional repair funds.”

“Captain Zhao,” her uncle says in the background, with heights of pleasant antagonism she can only aspire to. As if a general could mistake Zhao’s new insignia. Particularly with all the polishing he does. 

“It’s commander now.”

“How did you manage this?” she asks.

“Uh,” Zuko says. “Can we… speak alone?”

She eyes her brother’s shifting stance. Eyes, too, the way Zhao’s men are already moving to intercept and interrogate his crew. One of the new commander’s more noxious habits is stalking her brother’s every move. 

Well. She’d been meaning to deal with that, anyway.

Azula snaps her fingers at the commander’s guards.

“Detain him,” she says. And for a moment, just a moment, her dear uncle freezes, as if she were talking about someone he actually cared for.

The guards don’t. She’s trained them better than that.

“Princess,” Commander Zhao says, his snarl well hidden behind a smile. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Crown Princess Azula,” she corrects. “Now hush; the adults are talking.”

- - -

They have an Avatar to catch, apparently. Her brother is coming home.

[grimalkinscribbles]

Hi hope your having a wonderful day! I absolutely love your art

If you have the time I humbly request a Mhin doodle of them eating sweets like a little chipmunk 🐿.

Thats all, Byeeeeeeeeee

🤲🥧

[setablaze11]

As nasty as JJ Maybank is i feel like he would be more nervous about anal than you. Almost like he can’t believe you trust him enough for that.

Ohh he is for sure.

“You sure? Like absolutely positive? No doubts at all?” he rambles, ignoring the way he’s already throbbing and leaking precum, tip an angry red as his thumb experimentally sinks into your hole.

‘Yes, JJ’ you mewl in playfull annoyance, ass wiggling back toward him as he sucks in a sharp breath, running a hand through his blonde strands.

“Right. Right- here we go” he stutters, lining you up as you stiffen in reaction, the stretch of the tip alone unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

“Baby- need you to relax” he coos, leaning forward on his elbow to press kisses into your shoulder blades. After a few deep breaths and soothing touches, he manages to slowly sink all the way in.

“We’re in, pretty. How’s it feel?” he gasps, not daring to move before you give him the go ahead.

‘Weird’ you gasp, hips wiggling back toward his and head craning to the side to look dazedly at him over your shoulder.

“Good weird or bad weird?” he mumbles, tip of his nose nudging against your spine.

‘Good, real good J’ you whine, one of his hands splaying on top of yours on the comforter to interetwine your fingers in assurance as he finally moves, muttering mindless, nasty praises through the whole thing.

Ughhhh i love soft JJ💋💋

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆