Her clothes ripple away into blue skin, she keeps her eyes on his face as it does. She sees the shock and doesn’t bother waiting for the disgust. She smiles. “What’s wrong baby?” She asks as innocently as she can. “Don’t you think I’m pretty now?” “Beautiful.” He breathes in reverent Vietnamese.

Settling his grip just above the muted curve of Bitty's hips, Jack squeezes. "Better." Bitty coughs out a laugh. "Glad you're satisfied." "Almost satisfied," Jack says. "I still have my shirt and socks on." "Good," Bitty says, and he leans to press them together, forehead to forehead, chest to chest with only cotton worn thin between them. "I like you like this. It's cute."

It figures that the one person to catch his notice in Boston would be Jack Zimmermann’s fucking boyfriend. “So, uh,” Kent stutters, all of his charm wiped away by this bullshit turn of events. “You probably think I’m the world’s biggest asshole, don’t you.” Bitty takes a sip of his beer and shrugs. “You’re up there.”

There are times when, for the greater good, one might choose to lose a bet. This is one of those times.

This particular smuppet is sewn out of some kind of blatantly artificial orange microfiber, the nap of the plush so silky it almost feels slick. When you give it a squish the body seems more firm than his regular model, denser. Bro usually keeps his toys light, too fluffy to feel like anything but props and puppets, but this one’s pleasantly dense and heavy. You don’t think you’ll be ripping it apart as easily as the last few. And then, of course, there’s the unusual addition of a tail.

"You turned," Adaar said, "into a fucking dragon." It was good that she said it, because someone should, and to be honest the Bull was feeling a bit beyond actual words at that exact moment. "A small dragon," Dorian said, as though this was somehow relevant. He was quite a small dragon, it was true—he stared down at them now, but most of that height was the arch of his neck, the curve of it covered in shimmering black and gold scales. "A small dragon! Who saved your life!"

Unable to shut off his Dying Will, Tsuna seeks out Gokudera to work off some pent up energy.

Slight AU. Dorian and The Iron Bull have formed something of a comfortable friendship until an unexpected demon encounter threatens to ruin it all.

Kirishima might not be first in the class but he's way smarter than to take Bakugou at his word about exactly what he's ready for during his next heat.

Venom indulges Eddie's weirder kinks.

Alec would have thought that asking for things would get easier in time, and it has—it’s so much easier now—but it’s still not easy. “Could you keep my hands there?” Alec presses his hands deeper into the mattress to point out what he means. “With your magic, I mean.” Magnus arches his brow. “I didn’t know you were into bondage.” Technically Alec doesn't know that yet either, but he's very willing to find out. “I’m into you,” he says. “And your magic.”

Eddie briefly recalls some tentacle porn he’d watched just before Venom became a part of him. The copious vines holding her up and entering her every opening simultaneously. Fluids, from her or the monster who could tell, leaking from her mouth and pussy and ass. Oh, Eddie. Venom’s thought shook him, definitely not wanting to take their tongue out his mouth, How’d you keep this from us? Eddie had to be completely honest… he had absolutely no idea how he did either. ~ That good good tentacle fuckin' that Eddie so desperately wanted.

Gladio gets his kinks indulged by the other three while camping and in heat.

Owen goes out hoping for a nice, relaxing night. Maybe he'll even get laid; who knows. He is not expecting to run into Hot Chad from his macro class. He's expecting what follows even less.

[“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.

He also doesn’t miss the way Zhenya chokes on a carrot when Sid adds a ‘yes, daddy’ after Seryozha asked the savior of hockey to pass him the butter.

“You don’t get it, it’s…” Gabe bites his lip. “You probably wouldn’t believe me.” Really, what does Gabe expect Tyson to say to that? Oh, I see, you’re dealing with something very strange and possibly monstrous, sounds exciting, I’ll leave you to it? “Try me,” he says, crossing his arms.

“Dragons that lay eggs, are more properly referred to as Dragonkind. They grow to be ten feet tall, walk on two legs, are...somewhat humanoid, and they have a single sex.” “So the same dragon lays the eggs and fertilizes them?” “Hm.” “...I’m still missing something.” “Dragonkind need a host to incubate their eggs for the first few hours after laying.” “Ohh, so the sheepskin and hot water bottle is to keep it snug while you’re holding it against your chest. I see. Bit of a cuddle.” “No, Jaskier.” “...they lay the egg, and then you cuddle it, and they, er. Fertilize it while you’re curled around it? Bit sticky, still doesn’t explain the size of the reward.” “No, Jaskier.” Geralt added thoughtfully, after a moment. “And the one in this territory uses ‘he.’ Not they.” “He. Good to know. Well gods damn it then, Geralt, why don’t you explain to me in direct language where little dragons come from then?”

Quiet, easygoing Yagi who prods his fingertips together when he’s nervous and afraid of saying the wrong thing. He has a cheerful little bit of praise for every student, and makes a point of complimenting his coworkers; Nedzu’s lustrous fur, Nemuri’s manicured nails, Hizashi’s latest show. He’s the gentle structural support of All Might left bare, who he knows and has started to begrudgingly respect as a teacher. He's the last person Shouta would expect to see here. But fuck, he's hot.

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.

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.

“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.

Wade turns to find a very wide-eyed Peter sitting on his couch, freshly showered and fully at home-away-from-home, which would be great if Wade had any clothes on. Scrambling buck-ass-naked through the window of his own apartment was not how he intended to come out to Spiderman, but well, these sorts of things just happen to him. Gotta look into acid proof suits. “Heya Spidey,” Wade says because, well, nothing to be done about it now. He holds his arms out looking down at his own body, and well—yeah, that’s still a sight, ain’t it? “Sorry, pal, didn’t mean to shaft the funhouse onto you unawares. Get it? Shaft?” (Peter sees Wade naked and they jump into this head first. Pun intended.)

Darcy thinks maybe her new intern is a slut. Like–a big one. Big ol’ slut. Both metaphorically and literally, since he's 6’3” of Kansas beefcake and maybe the literal only human being alive who has a build remotely comparable to Thor's. So like, a billion steroids or secretly an alien, Darcy’s assuming.