“Good boy,” she murmurs against his throat. He goes impossibly still – she’s got enough time to think huh before she’s fast asleep. The next day it feels like a dream, the way that the sweet memories from childhood go hazy and glow at the unravelled edges, so she wouldn’t even notice it if—well. If she weren’t impossibly in love with him. But she is. So she notices.

Yunmeng Jiang is housing a retinue from Qinghe, here on diplomatic grounds. Among the people gathered here is Sect Leader Nie. Maybe that’s the reason why Jiang Cheng is restless - he can never keep himself still around that man. Jiang Cheng feels so stupid to act this way - as if wartime flings aren’t just a thing that happen sometimes - but how can he help it, when the last time they’d met, all those months ago during the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Mingjue had pressed kiss after aching kiss to his mouth, to his neck, to his shoulders? Jiang Cheng bites his lip and breathes out hard through his nose. He needs to work off some of this energy, before it comes back to bite him in the ass. Before he starts expecting things that weren’t meant for him in the first place.

The thought had been niggling at the back of his mind quite a bit lately. He wasn’t showing Shang Qinghua proper obeisance, was he? They’d grown so comfortable in their roles - Mobei-Jun as Shang Qinghua’s king, and Shang Qinghua as his dutiful servant - that they hadn’t thought to… stop. It was how it had always been. But things were different, now, weren’t they? They’d been different for a long time now. To ignore that wasn’t proper. That stops now, Mobei-Jun decides. His ancestors would be rolling in their graves to see him ignore the proper rites of courtship - the fact that he and Shang Qinghua were already mated besides. He was not raised to be some kind of country rube, as much as being sequestered so far up north might imply otherwise. Shang Qinghua was his partner, and, with all factors properly calculated, the more powerful of the two. It was only proper that Mobei-Jun display an appropriate level of submission to his better. -- Mobei-Jun realizes with increasing clarity that he wants to serve Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua does NOT pick up on it.

[“I just—“ Zuko begins, cuts himself off, opens his mouth to try again. Nothing comes out, and Sokka gives him a full-body squeeze to encourage him. “Maybe next time, you could, uh…” “Yes?” Rushing him does nothing but make him shut down, Sokka’s learned the hard way. Patience isn’t something that comes naturally, but it’s something that he’s learning, just like Zuko’s slowly learning to communicate. “Maybe next time, I want you to, uh, hold me down.”] Or, Zuko learns to use his words.

Theon loses a bet that means, for the first time, Jon gets to fuck him, rather than the other way around. He assumes Jon will treat him as roughly as he's always treated Jon. This proves incorrect.

“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.

He can feel the vibrations against his throat as Sam speaks, his voice velvety smooth. "Did you know an orgasm helps with headaches?". Blunt fingernails scratch softly at the nape of his neck, the sensation causing a shudder to rack its way through Seb's frame. "Really?" Seb asks. Silence spells between the two, and Seb can feel the warmth that radiates from Sam's cheek as he chews on his lip. Seb tilts his chin up so they're making eye contact, cobalt blue eyes meeting those of viridian. Though his voice beams with confidence, his stature and mannerisms are riddled with nerves and insecurity. "Yeah," Sam's eyes contain nebulas, dilated pupils swirling with want as he nods. "You offering one or something?" Sebastian grins lopsidedly at the blond, tracing small shapes into the back of his hand. - Sebastian has a headache. Sam offers him relief.

Sam breaks his arm and talks a very reluctant Sebastian into helping him with his everyday tasks. Sebastian does because he just can’t say no to his best friend. He knows Sam is taking advantage of him, just a little, but Seb will still do anything, as long as it doesn’t go too far. Well, it depends if jerking off your best friend is considered too far or not.

Dabi narrows his eyes. "Alright. Let's say you don't die. You still have a limited amount of blood, and a lack of blood flow or oxygen to your brain could probably cause permanent damage that even your immortality can't repair." "I'll stop you before that happens," Hawks says, with way more confidence than he has any right to have. "You have zero self-preservation instincts," Dabi has to point out. Hawks grins at him, shooting him finger guns. "So we doing this, or what?" ~ Dabi is a vampire who's never had human blood straight from the tap before. Hawks is a dumbass college student cursed with immortality. What could go wrong?

Craig needs to loosen the fuck up and damn if Robert isn't the King of Relaxation. How he does it might be a little...unorthodox, but really, who's gonna judge them all the way out here?

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.

"You're so fucking stubborn," Hood says. "It's infuriating." Red bristles, but fighting's like foreplay when he's got this much adrenaline. "Yeah?" He taunts. Can't help himself. Hood's grip around his wrist tightens, and it only serves to remind Red how fucking strong he is. Red's pulse somehow gets even faster, beating in his ears so loudly that he isn't sure how Hood doesn't hear it. "Yeah," Hood agrees. Tim's watching his mouth as it forms the words. "It drives me fuckin' crazy, babybird."

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?" "It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back.