#will expand these later maybe?

[tired-biscuit]

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: implied breeding

thinking about getting into a relationship with kiba while you’re still on the pill and the sex being fine, but then getting off of birth control at some point and thus eventually ovulating.

when he catches the scent of it for the first time, he loses every last shred of his composure and sanity in mere seconds. progressively gets all pushy and touchy and almost possessive, even a tad bit rough with you. tries making moves on you because all of a sudden he just wants to call in sick to work so that he can fuck you and breed you throughout the entire night instead — nothing else.

he is unable to keep his hands off of you, quite literally. he keeps on telling you how good you smell — now why is that? — as he presses his nose against the pulse point that’s on your neck and corners you in the kitchen. every inhale he takes is so fucking deep that it makes him feel dizzy and makes his lungs feel like they’re burning. he’s dressed in his work pants but he’s already unbuckling his belt with one hand as he pushes you even further back with the other one; until you’re sitting on top of the counter and have your legs spread open for him because he’s made you do it.

you think he’s just messing with you at first, but when he places his hand on your thigh, there are claws poking into your skin, threatening to dig deep if he isn’t careful. he keeps mumbling something under his breath, always looking down, but you realise that he doesn’t even seem to be acknowledging you — at least not properly, that is.

all that matters is the scent, your scent. it fogs his mind, consumes him entirely. you say his name, patting his cheek with worry, and when he looks up so that he can kiss and lick the inside of your palm, his pupils are blown wide. they’re so huge and unfocused that they make him look uncanny almost.

he’s pussy drunk and he hasn’t even gotten it yet.

[crybaby-bkg]

Choso who does work on the side for some extra cash as an nsfw audiobook reader.,…………..!!.!!!!!!

[rusty-eevee]

You know how there's a betrayal in most of the Mystery Dungeon games?

Imagine if you got betrayed by your partner.

[irrideemaple]

Aventurine learns how to play chess (Gone wrong?)

[pansy-picnics]

sleepy ukds + splatoon au varigo redraws

[miguel-owhora]

thinking about being graves' personal dog. you're big, you're broad, you're huge - and your mean, and aggressive, and loyal. you don't follow anyone's but graves' orders, baring your teeth at shepherd and sticking your nose up at the other shadows, but dipping your head n letting graves pet your head like some purse dog.

[wanderingblindly]

hi liquid my darling :))) for your kiss prompts, in aid of you practising these prompt drabbles (and for my own indulgence xo) pls write whichever pairing your heart desires to the prompt of “wanna practise?” :’) thank u i love u

Please feel free to ask me more kiss prompts, which I definitely fill at some point in time (unspecified).

Wedding Bells, Wedding Kisses (Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, 900 words, drabble)

“Max!” Charles calls, slamming the front door open with significantly more force than necessary – dramatic, as always. Max mutes the stream he’s lurking in, thankful that he wasn’t on audio, and calls back.

“What’s up?”

Charles storms into the office, following the sound of Max’s voice. He stands in the doorway, cheeks a little red and chest moving like he’d run in from the parking garage. Despite the visible distress, Max can’t help but think that he looks adorable like this: worked-up over something that – inevitably – doesn’t actually matter. “Yeah?” Max starts again, half wondering if he’s meant to try and figure it out himself. 

“The wedding.” Charles breathes, voice still a little shaky with whatever energy he’s buzzing on.

“The wedding.” Max nods along, as if it makes total sense, standing from his office chair. “You’re… nervous?” He prods gently as he makes his way towards the door, stopping when they’re face to face.

“How do you… how do we kiss? For the wedding.” He looks at Max with those wide, earnest eyes that always hit him right in the gut – trusting and honest and vulnerable. 

But Max can’t help it: he laughs a little, no more than a snort. Charles ran up to the apartment, hair on end and eyes frantic, to ask about how to kiss? When they’ve kissed for years? Charles punches him on the arm before he can actually answer. 

“Stop laughing, I’m serious!” He cries, voice one step away from a true whine. “How are we meant to kiss?”

“Like we always do?” Max offers, voice still light with laughter as Charles rolls his eyes dramatically. 

“It’s not the same, Max. We do not have one, a wedding kiss.”

Max takes another step closer, closing the minimal distance between him and Charles – standing nearly chest to chest in the office doorway. He looks down at him, just a few centimeters that somehow makes all the difference, and takes in the state of his lips – clearly bitten during whatever bout of anxiety caught hold of him in the car. And it hits him:

“We can, of course…” He starts, watching Charles’s eyes flick to his own lips before meeting his gaze again. “Wanna practice?”

—

Max guides them to the couch, shooing away the cats and grabbing Charles by the shoulders – urging him to sit. “So,” He starts, sitting down next to him carefully. 

Charles looks nervous, hands gripping his thighs tightly, straining his jeans. Frazzled isn’t a strong enough word; he looks shaken to his core. Somehow, Max thinks, he looks even more distressed than when he tried to make a move on him for the first time – terribly drunk and painfully endearing, wearing his tux and still holding his Rookie of the Year trophy. 

“Like this, then?” Max asks, leaning in and placing the most chaste of kisses on Charles’s cheek, right on the spot where his dimple forms. 

Charles giggles, nervous and fleeting. “At least pretend you like me, yes?” His dimples are on display, his laugh firming up as Max pulls away and rolls his eyes. 

“Sure, yeah, I can do that,” He says, moving a hand to Charles’s jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly in a familiar motion. With practiced ease, he slots their lips together. He can feel Charles continue to relax in his hand, the tension he holds in his face easing as Max sweeps his thumb along his cheek. 

He sighs into it, making that little noise in the back of his throat that means he’s content, and Max takes it as an invitation. His hand slides to the base of Charles’s skull, fingers finding their spot in his soft, overgrown hair. Charles leans into him, allowing Max to pull them tighter together – allowing him to gently coax his mouth open, allowing him to kiss him deeper, to let him taste him fully.

Max moves his other hand to Charles’s hip, silently urging him to come closer, when Charles pulls away – lips stained Max’s favorite shade of blush. They match his cheeks, both alive from his touch. 

“My mother will be there, you know,” Charles laughs a little, pushing against Max’s chest playfully. “Be respectful.” Max is listening, really, but it’s like part of him has been ignited; Charles almost seems bashful, chin tucked towards his chest slightly, long hair flopped boyishly over his forehead, lashes dark against his cheek as he looks down.

Max isn’t listening. 

“Give her my apologies,” He smiles, grabbing Charles’s hips with both hands and pulling him onto his lap – earning a surprised noise, something between a gasp and a giggle. “My self control, you know,” He catches Charles’s lips again, tasting that delicious blush like it’s the first time “It’s not so good.”

“Max,” Charles tries to chastise him, voice closer to a moan than a beratement. 

“Let’s practice later, ok? Wedding kissing,” Max says, moving his lips lower – hoping to elicit that hiccupy breath he loves so much when he touches him just right. With a delicate brush against the sensitive skin under his jaw, sliding up to catch his earlobe between his teeth, he whispers: “What d’you think?”

“I –” Charles starts, sentence falling off as Max slides a hand up his shirt, tracing the curve of his spine with feather-light touches. “Yeah, yes, um. Later, right.”

“Thought so.”

[selfinserttothestars]

Damn who made them cry tho???

[goldnhourwrites]

FUCK IT. HEARTSTEEL MAFIA AU

aphelios as a sniper and alune is his spy

kayn as a shadow magic assassin (with demonic assistance)

yone as the mastermind behind their plans

sett as 300 pounds of pure muscle

k'sante as a one-man army if ANYTHING goes wrong

ezreal as a charismatic rogue

[zukosdualdao]

to leave the sun behind

summary: the gaang is about to leave the sun warrior civilization after aang spends a few weeks learning there. katara has a goodbye to make. she really doesn't want it to be goodbye.

other notes: didn't come up in the fic itself but this is an au in which ozai never gave the stipulation that zuko could be un-banished if he captured the avatar, which is why he did not do All That. instead, iroh took him to the sun warriors. also, yes there is a work study joke in here. if atla can make jokes about not qualifying for vacation time then i can do this also! (i think i am much funnier than i am.)

It's their final night staying at the ruins of the Sun Warriors—not so ruined, as it turns out. They had planned to stay for longer, and Katara still thinks maybe they should—Aang has been training every day, with the warriors and with the dragons, but there's still so much more he could learn. With the comet still months away, though, Sokka had finally pointed out that there were people searching for them, and if they didn't want this secret, ancient civilization to be destroyed for real as Azula and company pursue the Avatar, then it’s time for them to leave.

There's a banquet being held in honor of their departure tonight. They pull out a large table of stone and set with golden and orange gems, and the rice and kimodo chicken is piled high atop it.

It's genuinely a lovely evening—she smiles as she watches Sokka and Aang try their best to pretend the spices aren't getting to them, and as Toph answers questions about badgermoles from Iroh—but Katara can't help but notice someone missing and ducks out a little early, making an excuse out of an imaginary headache.

Really, though, Katara is making her way to a familiar room of stone, preparing to say a final goodbye to the Sun Warriors' apprentice.

When she and the others first arrived, it was him that found them stranded after Aang first set off a floor of spikes and looked back at the rest of their group with alarm.

The apprentice had looked at them with an unimpressed, quirked brow but didn't seem otherwise perturbed, reversing the trap and leading them to the warriors and to his uncle. From there, Aang had been judged worthy to study under the dragons and the warriors themselves.

Zuko trains with them, too, every day, diligent. All these weeks, he'd barely said three words in front of the others, but the second night, unable to sleep, Katara had stumbled across him late in the evening, practicing on his own. When he'd spotted Katara, she had reeled back at first—he seemed like too much of a loner to want company—but he'd raised his brow again, like a challenge. They'd spent the evening sparring with their respective elements, water meeting fire blow for blow, the blood in her veins soaring as they did.

After, they'd spoken until the sun was nearly risen. She'd regaled him with the stories of her travels, and he was mostly quiet, still, but when she asked questions, he answered.

Yes, he and his uncle used to be royalty, and his father was the Fire Lord as the Warriors said. No, he didn't leave home because he wanted to; he was banished. No, he no longer wanted to go back. No, he didn't want to talk about it. Yes, he'd been training with the Warriors for years.

Katara didn't ask about the scar, but her thumb ran gentle circles over it when she first kissed him.

Things have gone on like that for a handful of weeks they've been here, sparring and learning new moves from each other, talking, and kissing, sneaking away moments in the dead of night or when the others are distracted.

And now...

"I'm going to miss you," she sighs against his lips after he lets her in. His eyelashes flutter open.

"Don't say that," Zuko says wryly. "You'll give me the wrong idea." He leans back down.

"Maybe it isn't so wrong," Katara says, a little breathless as he kisses down her neck. "You could come with us, you know." She pauses. Wait. That's brilliant. Then, Aang could keep learning, and it wouldn't feel like half her soul was being torn in half as she left. (How did things happen this quickly? How does it feel like she aches wherever and whenever he's not touching her?) "You should come with us!"

Zuko freezes, looking into her eyes searchingly.

"What? Why?"

"I'm serious," Katara insists, placing her hands against his chest. Maybe he doesn't want that. "Aang's learned a lot while he's been here, training with you and the other sun warriors," she adds, feeling a little pathetic even as she hopes the argument convinces him. Zuko now looks unsure and rigid.

"I'm not a teacher," Zuko insists, his voice sounding sort of hollow. "I'm not even officially a Sun Warrior yet."

"Oh, you are in everything but name; all the elders say it," she points out. "You're just not old enough yet. You'll be of age soon, and then you will be." Katara purses her lips as he takes in her words. "Maybe this will help. You know. Hands-on experience. Like a work-study?"

Zuko laughs, some of the tension bleeding out of his gaze as he does. The sound of it is light and breathy and lovely. Katara likes that she can make him laugh. She's only ever seen his uncle accomplish it, otherwise.

"You can teach Aang," Katara promises. "You're better than you know."

His eyes don't quite meet hers, but they haven't let go of each other's embrace. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"Zuko?" She uses her fingertips to tilt his chin up, though he still avoids her gaze. "I mean it."

His eyes swim with an emotion she can't name. Katara waits for his answer, hopefully seeming more patient and less desperate than she feels.

"I'll come," Zuko says finally, the words wrapping around her like a promise. "I'll teach the Avatar. If that's... if that's what you want."

She sighs. Oh. He thinks that's all she wants. That's easily solved, then.

Katara leans her forehead against his. Time dwindles down. It is just them in here. "I want you with me," she admits as his hands tighten ever so slightly against her waist. "That's what I want."

Zuko captures her mouth in a long, gentle kiss before pressing their foreheads together again.

"I'll go wherever you are."

[harbingersecho]

[heck-star]

I may or may not feel a bit sorry for her…

[mamawasatesttube]

number 81 for the writing prompts: "It's cold, you should take my jacket."

(mostly cause I wanna see Tim wear Kon's leather jacket and Neither of them being normal about it but do what you want with it it's your fic <3)

“Here.”

Tim looks up as Kon waltzes back into the living room, two enticingly-steaming mugs in his hands. Hot spiced apple cider sounds absolutely divine right now—the blustery Kansas day outside is reaching its icy fingers into the farmhouse despite the fire blazing merrily in the hearth, and Tim has to admit, he maybe should’ve packed warmer for this trip.

Kon presses one of the mugs into his hands—the nicer one, Tim notes, without the chip in the rim—and Tim accepts it with a grateful hum. The warmth seeps into his palms immediately. “Thanks.”

“No problemo, Rob-lemo.” Kon plops down next to him on the couch, his TTK keeping his cider perfectly still in his mug as he makes himself comfortable. “It’s pretty chilly out today. Gonna be a good night to go skating—the pond down by the McAllister’s place is frozen over, and this time of year, they string up lights ‘n’ invite all the neighbors to come by in the evenings. Wanna go?”

Tim hums in consideration. “Could be fun, but just warning you, it’s been a hot minute since I did any skating, so I’m kinda rusty. And I didn’t bring any skates.” Mmm, the steam rising up from his cider smells amazing. “Did you make this?”

Kon’s eyebrows shoot towards the ceiling. Then he puffs out his cheeks in mock offense, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to sound so surprised! I’m good in the kitchen.”

Yeah, Bart keeps calling him malewife material about it. Tim grins into his mug; it’s not his fault it’s so easy to ruffle Kon’s feathers, or that it’s so funny to do so. “I guess it is Ma’s recipe, so it’d be hard to make it bad.”

Kon politely waits for him to lower the mug from his mouth and then swats him on the back of the head. Tim does appreciate the pause, even as he ducks away, laughing. The cider tastes like apples and cinnamon and honey; warmth spreads through Tim’s chest.

“You’re rude,” Kon tells him. “Just for that, if you fall on your face when we go skating, I’m not helping you up. I’m just gonna laugh.”

“Oh, it’s a when we go skating now?” Tim quirks an eyebrow at him in turn. “I just said I didn’t bring any skates.”

“We can get you some, that’s no trouble,” Kon says, flapping a dismissive hand. Tim opens his mouth to ask where, exactly, in Smallville, can they get a pair of new ice skates in a matter of a couple of hours, but then closes it again when it hits him that even if there isn’t a big sporting goods shop in Smallville, geography isn’t really a concern to someone who can crisscross the entire globe in a matter of minutes.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Tim lightly elbows him. “Don’t tell me you’re actually good at skating. I bet you just TTK your way through it.”

Kon elbows him back. “Yeah, right! I’m pretty decent, no powers required, actually. Been going plenty with Jon. He particularly loves this one roller dome in Metropolis that always has Super merch in the arcade claw games.”

Okay, Tim has to admit, he’s melting a little about that. Kon loves his little brother. The image of him taking Jon skating is really cute—he can just picture Jon wobbling along, holding Kon’s hand, and rambling about his day like he loves to do. He bites back a truly sappy smile; his toes curl instead, where they’re tucked under a cushion to stay warm.

“Lemme guess. The claw games are where you TTK it up.”

Kon snickers. “They’re rigged as hell, but the kid wants his misshapen Superman plushies, so obviously I gotta win ‘em for him.”

“Obviously,” Tim agrees. He curls his fingers around his mug a little tighter, soaking up its warmth; he’s got an actual winter coat for when they go out, but he really wishes he’d brought some thicker sweaters or hoodies for hanging around in the house itself. He’s used to the damp, creeping cold of Gotham; the blustery Kansas winters might be about the same temperature, but the wind out here blows right through him.

Kon shifts next to him, setting his cider down on a coaster on the coffee table. Tim glances up just in time to see him unzip and shrug out of his hoodie—it’s fleece-lined and light pink with a strawberry cow printed on the front breast pocket, very cute.

And then Kon leans over and wraps it around Tim’s shoulders. Tim’s face heats.

“It’s cold,” Kon explains. “Take my jacket. I don’t really need it that bad, anyway, so you may as well get some use out of it.”

It’s still warm from his body, and Tim lifts one hand from his mug to pull it more tightly around himself like a blanket. His nose brushes the collar when he turns his head a little. The jacket smells like Kon’s cologne.

…It’s the citrus-and-spice one Tim bought him last Christmas. He’s wearing the cologne Tim picked out for him last year, the one Tim definitely didn’t spend almost an hour agonizing over as he imagined tucking his face into Kon’s shoulder and inhaling this specific scent from his collarbone. He’s…

Tim’s face gets even hotter. Abruptly, he takes a gulp of hot cider, hiding in his mug. Kon’s jacket smells like him, and it’s warm, and it’s big and cozy and soft, and…

Kon is staring at him, Tim realizes belatedly. He didn’t notice because he was busy, uh, processing, but Kon’s looking at him like he’s…

Like he’s the last morsel of dessert on the table, and Kon has a ravenous craving for some sugar?

Tim swallows hard. Deliberately counts to eight on his next inhale and exhale. If he lets his heart rate pick up, Kon will definitely notice.

“Thanks,” he manages, finally. “That’s, uh. Yeah. That’s nice.”

“I’ll say,” Kon mutters. He drops his gaze, his cheeks a little pink, and then reaches over to ruffle Tim’s hair. “Bring warmer lounge clothes next time, dumbass. The farmhouse is kinda old. Gets drafty in here.”

“Yeah,” Tim says wryly. He shifts his weight, rearranging his legs so that instead of leaning on the armrest, he flops himself against Kon’s side, dropping his head to his shoulder for a moment. “I noticed.”

Kon leans his cheek against Tim’s hair. “At least you got me to keep you warm,” he sighs, slipping his arm around Tim’s shoulders. “What would you do without me, huh?”

Tim bites back the first response on the tip of his tongue (“Go into a huge depressive spiral?”) and goes for something a little less insane. “Freeze to death before you even get to laugh about me falling on my face at the McAllisters’ pond?”

Kon snorts. He’s comfortably warm against Tim’s side, and Tim snuggles a little closer, relishing his warmth. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” Kon agrees. “I hope I can get it on video.”

Tim just smiles to himself and raises his mug for another sip of cider. The honey and spices are heavenly on his tongue, but if he’s being entirely honest, he can think of something sweeter.

[toastandjamie]

So I often think about what Mat must’ve seen in the portal stones. Whatever he saw shook him so badly that he was so horrified that he couldn’t stand. Whatever he had done or had been done to him made his first instinct to beg Rand to trust him, to beg Rand to understand how much he cares about their friendship. This of course is a meaningful shift from earlier in the book in which Mat had very firmly tried to separate himself from Rand.

So what DID Mat see? There’s a few options, though the most likely ones given character parallels and noted flaws in Mat’s character are that he had accidentally revealed Rand’s true nature to the wrong person while bragging, something we see him almost do in book one though it was with Trolloks not the dragon reborn, or he intentionally harmed Rand in an outright betrayal, and given his wording that he “wouldn’t tell anyone” it’s likely that while he didn’t hurt Rand directly he purposefully told someone like a dark friend or red ajah with the intent on hurting Rand. I think the first option is far more likely where even in an alternate timeline Mat wouldn’t do anything to intentionally harm Rand, not to mention we see Mat become far more guarded with his and others secrets from that point on, so I think what most likely occurred was that in this alternate timeline Mat either out of frustration or shortsightedness told someone he shouldn’t have(most likely the red ajah) about Rand being a channeler resulting in something bad(most likely gentling) to happen to Rand.

Something something Jesus and Judas parallel, something something RJ’s mythological and religious references make my brain go brrr

[impactdial]

I think it's kind of a shame I haven't really seen people take advantage of the fact Sanji can just walk on the sky and OF COURSE my brain automatically thinks of the sky walking scene from howl's moving castle happening between sanji and usopp.

the first time sanji sky walks with usopp is out of necessity because they're trying to book it from the marines for whatever reason so sanji just tells usopp to hang on and just jumps off a cliff. usopp is predictably freaking out and screaming.

then, much later, and probably when theyre officially together, sanji intentionally takes usopp out sky walking and it's the whole howl's moving castle scene sanuso addition

[puppetmaster13u]

Meat Marionette #?????

Y'know I wonder what the Justice League thought about when they first met Bludhaven's Bat lol