As Theon grows, he begins to question his place in the Stark family. Especially in regards to the heir of Winterfell.

There were a lot of wedding gifts, oddly enough, although they weren't all meant in exactly the same spirit.

“Remind me why I’m the one on my knees again? I look ridiculous.” He’s not kidding. He doesn’t have the fucking physique to pull off submissive kitty cat. He’s broad, hairy, and thick with muscle. The expensive ears on his head, the detailed mitts on his hands, and the tail attached to his leather short shorts can’t possibly look anything but stupid. Not to mention the heavy black leather collar around his neck and its stupidly delicate Property of Timothy Drake-Wayne tag. He doesn’t know what the fuck Babs was thinking when she asked him to help Tim with this mission instead of Steph. Except he does, because of course their target just had to be into degrading big men. Fuck, but he hates honeypot missions.

Jason raises his eyebrows. "So we like… spar? And you'll what, let me fuck you if I win?" "Sure. If you win." Tim smiles and a thrill goes up Jason's spine. He shucks off his jacket and shoes before making his way to the mat. "It's a deal, then. Hope you won't regret it, Replacement." Tim's teeth look strangely sharp under the Cave lighting when he says, "I'll try my best."

“I can feel how much you want to come,” Obi-Wan murmured soothingly. “Would you like that? To come right now so that you can sit here properly as long as I’d like?” Or, Obi-Wan and Anakin relax, and Obi-Wan helps Anakin be good for him.

Isabela is the last person Cullen expected to see in Skyhold, but since she's here, they might as well get re-acquainted.

Cool, smooth leather touched his jaw—gloves. Because of course Obi-Wan had thought of that as well. “Quin,” Obi-Wan said, voice quiet, from somewhere on his left. “Are you ready?” “I thought you’d never get on with it,” Quinlan complained, but in truth he was already feeling more at peace. These moments together with Obi-Wan felt more akin to meditation than most might realize, or at least he’d always thought so.

Cullen knows he wants something. He’s just not sure what that something is. Dorian and Bull help him out.

"Hell, Pretender. Look at you being all assertive and shit. You gonna ask me to call you Daddy while you're at it?" "Depends." Tim doesn’t miss a beat. He runs his fingers lower, caressing Jason's perineum and the back of his balls with his knuckles. "Do you wanna be my good boy, Hood?" Jason sucks in a sharp breath, hips jerking as his cock pulses. "Fuck off. Of course not." "I think you do. But you're right, Daddy doesn't really fit, does it?" Tim tilts his head, remembering Jason's propensity for feminine pet names. "How about Mommy?"

He catches Dabi’s hips in his hands and seals his mouth over his hip bone, digs his teeth in until he hears a groan. He only lets up enough to drag his tongue over the mark and suck on it lightly. When he glances up, Dabi’s head is thrown to the side and he’s open mouth panting. “Didn’t know you had such a thing for biting.” Hawks says, nips at the skin over his belly to watch Dabi shiver. “Anyone would, with your mouth.” Dabi grumbles.

Apparently bad things really did come in threes, Bakugou thought wryly, as the firefighter closed the distance between them. Tall, tan, and jacked as hell, he was a strong contender for the single hottest person Bakugou had ever seen in his life. He was covered in soot and sweat that contoured his ridiculous muscles, making them look even more defined, and his clinging black tank top didn’t do much to hide the rest of him, either. His strong cheekbones and jaw had smears of black on them too, and Bakugou had the absurd thought that he wanted to lick them clean. Bakugou didn’t think it was possible, but he felt himself turning even redder. He would barely have been able to talk to someone as attractive as him on a good day, and he was about to have to explain to him that he’d tried to burn down his fucking house because he was being petty on Twitter. Super.

Hawks gives as good as he gets—right up until Dabi pushes him too far, and Hawks forgets he's his own person.

“Bakugou?” Bakugou shuffled on his feet, hovering over Kirishima and looking at the ground with stormy eyes. He glanced up to glare at Kirishima, a silent dare to call him out on his odd behavior no doubt. Kirishima forced himself not to tense. Whatever Bakugou wanted, he was about to show him and Kirishima had to get this right. Bakugou was all about showing and not telling. Kirishima nearly bit his tongue to keep in a squawk of surprise when Bakugou suddenly dropped to his knees next to him, shuffling forward until he could press his forehead to his thigh and hide his face against Kirishima's leg. Kirishima opened his mouth, questions on the tip of his tongue, and he barely managed to catch them before they could be given voice. Bakugou was trembling minutely, his entire frame so tense his muscles were twitching under Kirishima's gaze. “Just. Don't say anything,” Bakugou muttered, hands clenching in his lap tightly. “Please,” he whispered, a short choked sound.

Dabi’s head snaps up so fast Hawks worries he’ll break his neck. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “You, of all people, haven’t bottomed?” “Is there a problem with that?” Hawks huffs, more offended than he should be given the fact they’re talking about his sex life and it’s none of Dabi’s business. But Dabi has already smelled the blood in the water and smirks at him, like he already knows how the rest of this conversation is going to play out. “You’re the brattiest twink I’ve ever met, I’m pretty sure getting fucked is a legal requirement for you.” Hawks bristles and his face flushes. If he ignores the way his cock twitches, he can almost pretend it’s in shame. “Fuck off,” He deflects without heat. “It’s not like I’ve been avoiding it. It just... hasn’t happened.” ~~~ It happens.

It’s quiet above the spray of water, hushed and constant. Steam saturates the room like an otherworldly mist, beading on the dark blue tiles and rolling over the lights in glowing, shifting clouds. It's a little hard to breathe, but that’s why he’s here. To watch, and listen. If there was ever a question as to how they came to be here, Shouta would say it was because Yagi was mildly obsessed with his dick.

Kaminari is going through a messy divorce, which has led to sending transcripts of his texts with his ex to his attorney. Shinsou is the attorney’s legal assistant, who has to go through said transcripts and black out all the explicit pictures before they can appear as exhibits in court. Reading through the sexts though, and they are GRAPHIC, Hitoshi starts to agree with the ex: he ALSO wants to ‘come on Denki’s tits’ and ‘shove his cock so far down Denki’s throat he’s coming directly into his stomach’.

“I-” He stuttered, trying to gather enough brainpower to talk. “M’sorry, I-I can’t-” And he really couldn’t, just couldn’t help himself from dropping back down on the dildo, couldn’t stop the filthy moan from leaving his mouth. He was so fucking turned on, and despite the fact that he might be in the process of ruining his friendship with the most important person in his life, he just couldn’t stop. Kiri’s eyes felt like fire on his skin and it was just dragging him higher, higher, higher. Bakugou likes to dress up. Kirishima catches him.

Levi Ackerman has made a career out of anticipating the unexpected, but he's found himself in a position he never could have predicted: getting divorced. Single again for the first time in ten years, he’s listless and untethered during the initial separation. He's got a lot of issues to work through and–on a leap of faith–decides to seek the help of a very different kind of professional.

“Two boys can have sex, too?” Luffy grins as he says it, like this is a normal conversation. “No,” Sanji hisses vehemently at the same time that Zoro says “Yup,” grinning at Sanji with way too much teeth and seriously--who smiles like that? Luffy laughs and slaps a hand down on one of Zoro’s shoulders, leaning in. “Hey! Let’s have sex, then!”

“So, we’re gonna play it like that, huh, Cook?” “Oh yeah. We’re gonna play it like that,” Sanji returns, despite having absolutely no fucking clue what Zoro could possibly mean by that. --- Or: The Great Game of Gay Chicken Aboard the Thousand Sunny

Most days, Sanji considers himself a bundle of neuroses at best. He smokes a reasonable amount to distract himself from the anxious urge to play with his hair or bite at his nails or chew his lips, he wears layers and suits to avoid direct skin-to-skin contact he isn’t prepared for, and most importantly, he never ever looks at his back in the mirror. Usually these things work to keep him intact, to keep him here and sane and passably whole. But some days, they don’t. And that’s when Sanji needs it. Namely—the sex.

Two months after the Guard officially moves to Coruscant, the lawyer shows up. _ In which Obi-Wan Kenobi never returns to the Jedi order after the war on Melidaa/Dann and instead finds another way to follow the Force's will. Namely, by fighting sentient-rights abuses all over the galaxy and emancipating the Grand Army of the Republic, one clone trooper at a time.

It’s like a high when the both of them resonate on that same frequency—two radios spitting static at each other ninety-percent of the time until they find overlap for one, just one, perfectly-played song. The music is brilliant and vibrant when it’s playing. It’s always over faster than Sanji ever wants it to be.

Sanji being tied up was a treat. The wiggly cook was hard to pin down, and he didn’t particularly like being restrained when they were on the high seas, just in case of an attack, but hotels? Docked safely on inhabited islands? They all quickly took advantage of the rest to string up their favorite chef. To watch him strain himself against the expertly tied knots and leather. The positions for only them to see and enjoy. Really, the cook of the Strawhat pirates was easily one of their most prized possessions.

Three inches in front of Sanji's face, Zoro is wearing an expression that could wither stone. "What the fuck," the swordsman snarls, "do you think you’re doing." The remaining logical dregs of Sanji's brain recognize that he's just gotten himself into a pretty dicey situation. The rest of it apparently doesn't fucking care, though, because the absurd line of response he comes up with is to grin right in Zoro's supremely pissed-off face and say- "Well, what was your dumb ass doing?" In which the crew’s plastered, Zoro needs to blow off some steam, and Sanji gets taught a lesson or two.

What Zoro and Nami have is an understanding. It’s easy, casual. There’s no romance or soft words or even claim on the other and it’s with this understanding they extend an invitation to Law, easing him down from the hard edge of tension under the guise of an offered distraction before reaching Dressrosa. It's supposed to be a one-time thing. - Or: Law is introduced to something he didn’t know he needed (and Zoro and Nami find themselves with a Captain, who isn’t theirs, in a very bad state).

There was a hook in the Cook’s galley floor. Zoro should've ignored it but it's not like he's all that good at keeping his mouth shut around Sanji.

One thing can get Zoro to sweat more than he does in the gym. Well, one person.

Sometimes, Law knows Sanji better than he knows himself.

Penny is frustrated, hopeless, and fed up with being all three things. Shane is there, too.

Elliott has already turned the corner by the time he recognizes the slick noises in the air. Heat rushes his face, breath catching in his throat as he finally sees the farmer. The man is standing at the fence surrounding his processing equipment, sunlight streaming down between the leaves of the surrounding fruit trees, face slightly flushed as he murmurs something soft to the body beneath him, fingers knuckle deep as their voice breaks on a moan that floats in the air like dandelion fuzz on a breeze.

Zoro would thank Luffy for introducing him to Law all those months back, if he ever dared to tell him why in the first place that is, but their mutual friend didn't have to know what kind of relationship they had developed. Only him and Law would ever know what happened behind that door everytime Zoro would visit. (or Law and Zoro having a rough session in the BDSM room)

When it comes to Pudding, Sanji is happy to be in the palm of her hand. (Or not, as is more often the case.)

“I learn stuff about you to enrich my songs, thanks very much.” Geralt starts. “Like what?” Jaskier strums a chord. “Plenty of things. You always ask the contractor if they want the head or not instead of just showing up with it, because you don’t want to shock people. You eat normal amounts of food when eating in public, instead of your usual awe-inducing giant amount. You sleep more when you’re hurt, but that’s the only way I’d ever know. You’re a bit weird about your potions and you count them a lot.” He glances up and grins. “Shall I continue?” A handful of contracts go sideways. Recovering is easier with Jaskier there.

The feeling, this time, is deeper, and his orgasm builds slower. But it almost feels better. Each buzz of pleasure isn’t just felt between his legs—it spreads up his torso and down his arms, tingling in his fingers, and it makes his thighs begin to shake as it slides all the way down to the balls of his feet. His sounds are quieter, but they’re certainly still there. There’s so much happening, and yet he doesn’t feel overwhelmed. He feels calm. Safe. Protected. He feels loved. — Or, Henry is trans, and Alex eats him out until he cries.

Whenever Soap messes up on a mission he needs to repent, he needs to be punished. It’s been like that ever since he started Military. He’s made a habit out of finding himself the biggest, meanest Doms he can find, so when he meets Ghost he thinks he’s hit the jackpot. Little does he know that Ghost is the softest Dom — a pleasure Dom at that — so when something inevitably goes wrong and Soap begs for a punishment, for a hard, degrading fuck, he’s only met with softness.

“Geralt, it’s not what it looks like.” “Really?” he asked. He clenched his jaw before offering a sharp, mirthless smile. “Because it looks like you got caught fucking the mayor’s wife, and now I’m not getting paid!” “Well,” he laughed nervously, looking anywhere but up. “When you put it that way.” In which Jaskier suggests a chastity device to prove himself a worthy travel companion, and of course, gives Geralt the key.

The maddening thing is: Jaskier is almost sure that Yennefer knows, except that he can’t be too sure that she does, except that all evidence points in that direction, except that outright asking her is completely out of the fucking question, except that whenever she talks to him lately she has that glint in her eyes that promises nothing good, except that - Yeah, except that he could ask, but he has a feeling that going to your best friend’s slash boss’s slash former-idol-of-his-teenage-years-that-he’s-had-more-than-a-crush-on-for-years girlfriend and ask her straight hey, by the way, I have a feeling that you know that I write fanfic about the two of you in my spare time and for that matter I’m actually good enough at it that I have a thousand Ao3 subscriptions, and everyone wonders how my characterization is this good is… not… really a good idea. Or: in which Jaskier, as Geralt's social media manager, has resuscitated the man's career and landed him a girlfriend, so what if he incidentally also writes RPF for the both of them on the side? That is, until they invite him to join them.

Fuck, what has he done until now? Told Geralt… nice things because he thought that he’d like to hear them and was proved right about it, on top of it? One day he’ll have a long chat with Geralt about how much his previous partners had no taste. Right now, though — “What,” he asks, moving closer, “that you’re lovely?” Geralt… doesn’t flinch, not exactly, but a few more tears fall down, and — “You don’t have to lie if —” “I’m not,” Jaskier interrupts him at once, letting his hands go to grasp his face, pressing their lips together to try and start making his point. “Fuck, you are lovely, other than drop-dead handsome, but then again I haven’t been staring at you like that for months for nothing.” Or: in which it turns out Geralt does have a praise kink that hits him harder than he'd thought. Jaskier is more than glad to indulge in it.

“Auntie Pezza, or Percy if you’re boring,” Pez grinned, gesturing to themself before their hand moved towards Henry, “Hen, Henry if you’re boring, or His Royal Highness Prince Henry if you’re really boring.” “Oh shit, like the Prince of England, Prince Henry?” His eyebrows shot up and he grinned, “I didn’t expect you to be…” “Gay?” “Hot,” He snorted, looking Henry up and down in a way that made him feel like a piece of meat. He didn’t particularly dislike it, “I’m Alex. First Son Of The United States, if you’re boring.” Pez laughed, and Henry let himself crack a grin before speaking, “Punk FSOTUS? Didn’t expect that one, I can’t lie.” OR Prince Henry meets Alex, the First Son Of The United States, at a very boring upper-class party, and spends the next few months planning to get this man into his bed.

Really, Robb doesn't mind that Theon wants everyone to think he tops. He probably should, but he loves Theon too much for it to be a problem. He does have one problem though: That Theon won't.

He is almost embarrassed that the Ton is viewing with what raptures Kate has him in simply through her intoxicating scent of lilies, her slight touch, and her quick wit. Almost. When she is to be his wife.. she can have Anthony at her mercy, with no vicious mamas or gossip-mongering pamphlets or ridiculous courtship requirements of polite society to hinder them. Anthony is feeling anything but polite. She’d hold her tulips while he serviced her, goddammit! Oh, how he wants… he groans inwardly at the thought.

“Poor thing,” he croons, patting over his pussy like he’s consoling it, not him and fuck that shouldn’t make him drip; the wet sound echoing in his ears. “Just want attention, don’t ya? Dumb fucks here don’t know what they’ve been given. Should be fuckin’ lined up to put you in your place.” Johnny’s skin heats and he can only hope it doesn’t spread far enough down for him to see as he shifts restlessly on the bed. “Big talk fer a man behind a wall,” he spits. “Harsh words for a slag flashin’ ‘is cunt,” he shoots back.

Kon is in desperate need of a bit of relaxation. Maybe his method of choice is a little unconventional, but hey, getting fucked until even his Kryptonian biology is exhausted is a harmless way to get there.

“No one told me what prayers to recite,” Johnny forces out, trying to summon the well of anger that usually burns within him when he enters the church. “‘Spose they’re not used to trussin’ up somethin’ that can talk back.” Father Simon says nothing, his footsteps echoing out on the stone; growing louder as he approaches. “I can baa for ya if that’d make it more familiar,” he spits, some remnant of himself flaring and he strains his arms, struggling in vain against the ropes binding his wrists. He follows the hem of his robe as he circles him; his keen eyes heavy as they study the sigils on his skin until he finally comes to a stop behind him. He’s not even to see his death. Johnny curses himself as only now does grief come at being denied a final look into his eyes. Even now, you can’t help but chase sin.

They call Ghost a tease for never posting videos or pictures with him fucking more than his hand; some even offer to buy him a fleshlight, just so they can get the chance to watch his cock in action. None of them know the truth. Ghost's cock doesn't belong to him. Not when he can't use it properly.

“I dunno,” Hizashi shrugged. “He’s clearly not the worst guy in the world, considering who he goes after.” “I heard he’s pretty brutal,” he pointed out, not disagreeing. “Some of those people deserved brutal,” he said and decided to push a little more. “Did you hear about his last victim? That pharmaceutical director using experimental drugs on his son?” “Daughter,” Shouta corrected mindlessly before stiffening. Hizashi grinned. Gotcha.

The window is open - Hawks can hear the sounds of the busy city thrumming below his penthouse apartment and the cool breeze fluttering the curtains. It feels almost magical to be here, bathed in warmth in the bedroom, only the moon and the low lights either side of the bed illuminating Dabi, staples glinting gold where they catch the light. He’s so very beautiful when he’s like this, breathing a little harder than usual, sweat making the high points of his cheeks glow. Hawks catches Dabi’s gaze as his fingers brush against his spot and he lets out a breathy moan. Dabi makes the same ‘come hither’ gesture, smirking - Hawks wants to drag him so close that their skin melts together and they become one person. He thinks he’d finally be content, then. Dabi pulls his fingers out with a sordid, wet squelch and Hawks wants to punch him instead.

Zoro would thank Luffy for introducing him to Law all those months back, if he ever dared to tell him why in the first place that is, but their mutual friend didn't have to know what kind of relationship they had developed. Only him and Law would ever know what happened behind that door everytime Zoro would visit. (or Law and Zoro having a rough session in the BDSM room)

Jason, on a mission, gets captured. Tim, working undercover, goes to get him out. There's...a side benefit.