#nsftish

and 2, the Dragon Driller 5000, if that doesn't scream 'I need something MASSIVE to accommodate the prince's demon form properly' energy to you idk what else to say

Continued from here.

“What? Your opinion of me?” Keeping her gaze fixed on him, Aya took a step toward him. Almost threateningly. “Your reserve, because you're constantly thinking about what to do with me next? The way you pretend you don't care who I am, what I do, or how I am looking at you?” A fingertip rested gently against his sternum, light as a feather. “How you catch yourself forming unrestrained thoughts every time you see me?” She breathed it towards him like a curse she was placing on him. “Or do you mean that literally? Smashing everything to smithereens because you can't stand how I manage to drive you crazy like that? Huh? Say it, bitch boy~”

He wasn't expecting her mouthing off at all, not in the slightest. And what exactly provoked it was a bit of a mystery to him. She was makin' eyes at him and he just wanted to tease her.

Lucio's form doesn't move away. Not when she steps up to him and not when her fingertip pokes him in the chest.

Her words are harsh. Observant in ways neither them were willing to admit. They cut harshly, like the cold blade of a knife. His lips part in a grimace, his teeth bared as a threat. Mostly- because she was right.

And he'd never been more angry about how turned on he was hearing her words.

His hand suddenly reaches up and clutches her jaw. His fingers firm enough to almost hurt. Ayako cannot physically harm him in nearly any way that matters. But he'll be damned if he let her talk to him that way.

"Fuck you," He spits, his cheeks very apparently flushed with a bloody hue, "I'm not your bitch- I'll fucking eat you. I'll shred you and drink your marrow from your bones."

Omega-born!Senku who REALLY wish he was adynamic, who remains aware when he's in heat after staying conscious throughout the petrification, who's STILL aroace and only allows scenting to be soothed,

X

"Hey!" Robby chuckles against Jack's lips as the man pulls at his shirt hard enough to rip it. It's not the first time Jack has ripped some of his clothes, won't be the last, and thankfully, it's just some old t-shirt he doesn't actually give a shit about.

He shrugs off the t-shirt and tosses the ruined fabric to the side of where they lie.

There has always been something dangerous about Philip. He’d known it the first time he met him, that despite his “welcome”, he isn’t a good man. Deacon’s come to expect the worst out of men, but he doesn’t expect this. 

The cold metal of the gun against his head? That’s familiar. That’s something Deacon is used to. What he isn’t used to, is some bastard groping him like this, making him grunt at Philip grabs at his crotch and squeezes hard enough to make his body jolt forward. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I said I owed you."

Eyes flicker from spot to spot, to person to person. He’s outnumbered and outgunned, there’s no way he can fight his way out of this without a bullet to the head, but he’s not going down without a fight either. That’s just not the way he is. The soldier in him wants to fight, even if it’s just words. 

“Don’t need a horde to save me. You always greet people like this or am I just special?” Deacon drawls sarcastically, hands fully up and in view of the other men, however. One wrong movement and they’ll shoot him, best to let them know he has no intentions of pulling his own gun.