#Rated E 18+

[loveandleases]

🎄Sneak Peek 🎄

(NSFW sneak peek below the cut.)

His body trembles, his voice raw and ragged as he moans your name. One hand slips to his waist, stroking his side with gentle fingers. His head tilts back, his breath catching as his cock throbs within your mouth, pulsing against your tongue. Your other hand works him, coaxing every last drop from him. "Baby," he whispers, his hips jerking one final time.

[psi-spectacular]

square guys with circle boyfriends

[cloneshipficquotes]

“Swiped something from the senators’ break room.” He wiggles the box, and Fox takes it, his curiosity overriding his annoyance at being interrupted. He’s careful with the silky red ribbon tied around it, the crisp white tissue paper inside.

Caf additives, the expensive kind. Flavours he loves – caramel, vanilla, hazelnut – and ones he’s never seen before. White chocolate raspberry… now that’s a thought. He’s a little bit tempted to just pour that directly into his mouth.

“Sooo,” Stone prompts, nudging a toe against his.

“Thank you,” Fox whispers as he looks up. He’s not good at saying what he wants out loud. What he has. What he’s so scared of losing, if anyone finds out. He’s not sure what he’s hiding. Just all of himself, really. Except in moments like this. “Stone, I’m… You’re… This…” He stops, helpless, with no words to describe what the gift means to him, never mind the man behind it.

— lizardwrites, from can you make it feel like home if i tell you you're mine

[rexsokaficquotes]

“How long does it take for sodium thiopental to start working?”

Rex’s eyes widened as he looked over at Ahsoka from where he was crouched in a forced kneel, handcuffed to the cement foundation of the warehouse. Their uniforms had been removed down to the base layer—a black, standard issue, undershirt tank top and boxer briefs for them both—so there was plenty of access to their skin. He hadn’t seen their captors inject her with anything, but she was a seasoned enough agent that there must be a reason she was asking. Now that he thought of it, he didn’t remember them stripping him either. “Why?” he asked, equal parts suspicious and anxious.

“Because I think your eyes are beautiful,” she shrugged.

— saviinika, from Bound to Sincerity

[lemonbeemon]

Being an Adult™ in the TWST Fandom has me wildly oscillating between;

"Aw what cute content of my favs! I will reblog and continue to support this fellow fan."

To-

"I hope that was made by a minor or I'm calling CPS."

[hergan416]

Well, I was "tricked" into creating several short pieces two weeks ago for my Yuumori Rare Ships Discord Server's Drabble Days Event.

Haven't actually promoed it at all outside the server yet, so uh here. Have some drabbles:

The entire AO3 collection with everyone's fics in it can be found here.

I wrote:

Primadonna (wc: 1563 prompt: Primadonna, Rated E(xplicit), sherlouis hatesex/playfighting/rough sex pwp)

A Deal With The Devil (wc: 327 prompt: High School AU, Rated G(eneral Audiences), Albert & Milverton (although the larger AU has endgame Alverton), It is set in high school and it is an AU, but isn't exactly a "high school AU"-- no brothers AU, Eton)

MIrror (wc: 328, prompt Mirror, Rated M(ature), Louis/William, also includes OG William, fork violence, sexual themes and angst) This is my favorite one if you are asking, which I know you're not lkjadlskfja

To Die For (wc: 234, prompt: Vampires, Rated M(ature), alwill, moriarthree, the process of becoming a vampire, sexual themes, underage)

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Once again money is tight, and I'm opening writing commissions.

It's $10 for every 1k, with prices increasing depending on specificity of request (rating, kink, etc., if you want a 30k E-Rated high school AU with ensemble cast and background ships that's a lot more work than " 5k incubus shigadabi continuation" ). I would write Shigadabi. Based on the request, I would give you a quote for the timeframe, but it would likely be a 5-7 day turnaround for pieces of 2-5k. Payment would be upfront and through PayPal. I have the right to refuse any request that comes my way and upfront, I won't do anything with scat, piss, vomit, infantilization, foot fetishes, or gratuitous torture.

The rights to the fic would still belong to me and I would be able to use or publish whatever I wrote online if I wanted to, though you could remain anonymous. If you're interested in getting a piece, please DM me!

[cloneshipficquotes]

"Something on your mind?" Rex asks.

"Yeah," comes Hunter's quiet answer. :"You didn't tell us we'd still be aware, deep down."

Rex flinches, then lowers his head in agreement. Hunter's hand lashes out and catches the other clone's shoulder.

— LorienDarenya, from Chapter 1 in ‘Zero to the Bone’

[rexsokaficquotes]

“You seem to have lost quite a lot of blood.” He announced, as if she might have been unaware.

“I was stabbed. Many times.” Ahsoka almost wheezed, immensely regretfully that she did not actively possess the strength needed to gouge his eyes out with her bare hands.

“And yet, it appears you continued fighting.” His voice was even, practiced. “You’re a Republic assassin, no?” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Why were you sent here?”

“I am an assassin. You are the enemy. It is simply my duty.”

— butterflylovers, from Chapter 1 in ‘The Injury of Finally Knowing You’

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Multitudes - Chapter Eighteen

Spinning and Stumbling...

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Aftermath and after-effects.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 2261

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) Guilt, poor-self care, 'it should have been me' energy, passive suicidality, significant weight loss and talk of weight, threats.

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. You know the drill. A surprisingly feel-good chapter in the end, though. Corresponds to Magic and Madness - Chapter Six. Masterlist can be found here.

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! The snazzy Black Widow divider comes from @/firefly-graphics and I love it <3 The Multitudes Universe one is our own!

<- Previous Chapter (17/72) Next Chapter (19/72) ->

Everything was a blur of white and red.

The evac came quick, but the blood had started to slow beneath my fingers, my tears getting heavier as his pulse got lighter. “Stay with me, Clint. You can’t do this – not now. Not when we’ve gotten so close. I said I’d give you a long and happy life, remember? You can’t be the one to break that promise. You can’t do this to me – to us. Widow owes you that date, right?”

“I will go on the date, Clint. If you stay with us, I will go on the date. I promise.”

“You hear that, hon? You’ll get your date. And then the two of us will show you the best night of your life.”

The quinjet felt cramped with Clint strapped to a bed, but at least I could touch him. At least I could hold his hand while Tony worked frantically to stop the bleeding.

But nothing was as torturous as being forced to wait in the hallway when Stephen rushed him into theatre at a hospital I didn’t recognise, with muttered assurances that he’d do his best.

Not ‘he’ll be fine’.

‘I’ll do my best’.

Waiting.

Endlessly waiting.

I curled up on the floor, refusing to move.

There was a rotating cast of Avengers, each trying to convince me to eat, to go home and get some rest – even to just sit on a chair.

No. No.

We should have been better. We should have been better.

We should have protected him. We should have protected him.

Five hours, thirteen minutes.

The whole time, we sat on the floor, pressed against the wall.

Our hand over the shallow would between my ribs-

Our breathing getting harsher and harder-

Our head getting lighter.

That bullet would have ripped through my lung if he hadn’t been stood there. That bullet would have ripped through my lung if he hadn’t been stood there.

It should have been me.

It should have been me.

“It should have been you.”

We looked up into Strange’s bleak expression, blinking. “… Wh… What?”

He nodded at our blood-streaked fingers, jaw set tight. “I said, ‘Let me take a look at you’.”

We blinked again, feeling nothing. “We’re fine. How’s Clint?”

Smiling wryly, he offered us his hand. “Let’s make a deal.

“Clint had a lot of internal damage. A lot. I’ve patched him up as best I could, but…” Stephen sighed as he slid the needle through our numb, cleaned wound, and we didn’t wince. “You’re lucky he was in front of you. You would likely have lost your lung, but instead it just broke the rib.”

“Lucky,” we scoffed, and he flinched.

“He’s not come around yet. He… We had to perform an ileostomy. There wasn’t enough intestinal tissue left to salvage. He’s been fitted with a bag – if he… That will be permanent.”

We winced, cutting our gaze to his. “Will he wake up?”

Stephen hesitated, his fingers shaking slightly against our skin. “We don’t know. He lost a lot of blood and sustained significant injuries. He underwent massive transfusions. The fact that he survived surgery is reassuring, but…” he sighed again, shaking his head. “I’ve had this conversation too many times lately.” We cocked our head, and he smiled weakly. “I said almost the exact same thing to Clint, when it was you that may not wake up.”

We sat in that plastic chair by his bedside.

We sat with our fingers in his, our head on the sheets.

We sat, and we cried.

We sat, and we begged.

We sat, and we prayed to a God we didn’t even know if we believed in.

Nick sent another therapist – someone to debrief us. To see where we went wrong.

Where I went wrong.

Where I went wrong.

We didn’t speak.

Bruce brought food – endless homemade meals and take-out.

We didn’t eat.

Wanda tearfully begged us to come home, to get some rest.

We didn’t move.

On the third day, someone stuck an IV in our arm, filled with sugar water.

We pulled it out. Again, and again, until there was no sugar. Only water.

We ate for him.

Why would we eat now?

There’s nothing left to eat for.

Nothing left to fight for.

Just let me die.

Just let me die.

When we were lucid, we spoke to him.

I told him stories about the farm he always wanted. I told him I’d been thinking about our future – two kids, three dogs, and a cat. Some chickens, but not for meat. There’s been enough killing.

Widow told him about their first date. That they were terrified, but so excited. That they trusted him not to hurt them, despite everything. That they were sorry for everything.

But then the walls came down once more.

There was no sense of time. No sense of anything but the steady beeping of his monitor, the hiss of oxygen through the tube in his nose.

I couldn’t watch when they fed him. I couldn’t watch when they changed his dressings, and the bag nestled into his hip.

Widow watched for me, their presence wreathed around me protectively, shielding my eyes.

On the twelfth day, I half-expected him to wake up. Poetically beautiful.

He didn’t.

It wasn’t until the thirteenth day that he coughed and spluttered, choking around the tube in his throat. My hand slammed into the button on the wall without thinking, desperate fingers finding his face.

He can’t breathe He can’t breathe He’s choking He’s choking Help him Help him

Tony’s arms found my waist, pressing against the wound in my side as he lifted me bodily from the room, kicking and screaming, straining to be back with him.

“He’s awake.”

My head shot up from where I was cradled in Tony’s arms, his gentle grip the only thing stopping me from barrelling back into the room. But at the nurse’s words I threw my head back, hearing the genius curse as my skull collided with his jaw, scrambling to my feet and down the hall before he could stop me.

“… Clint.”

“Natasha.”

Our name. Our full name – his indicator that he was speaking to both of us.

His voice was weak, vocal chords chafed by the tube, but he raised his arm to me, beckoning.

I fell into his side, sobbing uncontrollably, kissing his stubble-rough face with abandon.

He smiled weakly, his eyes meeting mine.

Clint. My Clint. My Clint. Our Clint.

“You’re too skinny, my love.”

“Thirteen days,” I whimpered, fingernails digging into his neck. “Thirteen days, Clint. I didn’t think you’d wake up.”

“Have you been eating?”

I recoiled, glaring. “…No. We haven’t been eating. Just like you didn’t when it was me lying in the hospital bed.”

He smiled weakly, his forehead touching mine. “I’m awake now, honey. Eat some damn food.”

I laughed softly, more tears falling down my cheeks. “Okay."

Steve dropped off a pasta salad, snorting about the bruise on Tony’s jaw.

I ate it while Clint was dragged further into an uncomfortable consciousness, closing the empty tub just as Stephen knocked on the door.

“How’s my never-ending pair of patients?” he joked with a weak smile, and Clint’s eyes cut to me.

“’Pair’?”

“The bullet that hit you-”

“Stephen,” I warned, glaring.

My archer paled, eyes scanning my available flesh desperately. “It got you? Where? Are you okay?”

I sighed, lifting the hem of my shirt, showing the small, rapidly healing scar on my ribcage. “I’m fine. Luckily, the mess it made of your insides slowed it down,” I quipped, and he grinned, touching a shaking finger to the mark.

“I’ve never been so glad to be shot.”

Stephen cleared his throat, and I let my shirt drop as I sat on the edge of the bed, our attention returned to the doctor. “Clint… You had extensive internal damage. We managed to repair most of the damage – though you may find complications arise over time.”

“…But?” Clint prompted in the silence, one eyebrow raised. I saw him surreptitiously shift his feet, and sigh with relief.

“But… We couldn’t save everything. You lost a significant of intestinal tissue. We’ve had to fit an ileostomy bag.”

My partner nodded, swallowing dryly. “How long?”

“For life.”

His jaw tensed as he nodded again, ever the stoic soldier.

“… You can be upset,” I prompted, turning to him with concern. “It’s perfectly understandable to be upset.”

He paused, then met my eyes steadily, his deep cerulean unwavering. “It sucks, Natasha. It’s going to be an adjustment. But no… I’m not upset.” My brow furrowed, and he smiled. “All this – the bag or whatever – it means that I’m still alive. I’m still here for our life together. Are you kidding? I’m ecstatic. I’ll take the damn bag with a smile for my future with you.”

It took five more days for Clint to be discharged from the hospital, with similar instructions to those I’d had – bed rest, daily check-ups, and taking it easy.

I spent every moment of my time by his side, telling him all the things we’d said while he was asleep.

Stephen examined his stitches every morning, and checked on his ileostomy bag. He said he was healing well, but I was still too scared to look.

Since the day after Clint came home, Bruce had been dragging me back to our morning vitals, with a pained grimace and a red wrist band as my reward for the first visit. Clint had flinched when he saw it, but I’d waved him off.

“It’s fine. I’ll get it back in no time.”

I’d stood in the bathroom not thirty minutes later, speaking to the ceiling.

“Friday, what’s my current weight?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff. I am forbidden to discuss weight or perform calculations-”

“Override code – 2 1 14 14 5 18.” Banner.

“Your current weight is 92.2lbs.”

Four pounds below our lowest weight.

Don’t we… Deserve it? Isn’t this our punishment, for not being good enough?

I deserve all this, and more.

It was that day I started water loading before weighing in, making myself fat and heavy. First one litre, then two, then three. My weight hit 94 fake pounds, and Bruce relaxed a little.

Almost seven of those were not real.

I was officially in the danger zone, skirting the edge of reality and fantasy. The world moved around me now, and I left no footprints when I walked anymore.

Widow was quiet – even they could find no satisfaction in this. Not in the way our hands shook and we left curls of hair on Clint’s pillow when we stole from his bedside in the middle of the night, carefully keeping our heart rate low enough to not get caught. Not in the way our skin turned sallow, or in the way the hair from our head seemed to have resprouted on our cheeks.

This was not the glamourous, strong person they thought we would be. This was only pain, and vomiting until our throat bled, and muscles that screamed as they ate themselves.

Clint looked at us with pity in his eyes, but we couldn’t feel enough to care.

Bruce knew we were tricking him – doing something, somehow – but he couldn’t figure out how, his searches becoming firmer and more desperate the more skeletal we became.

93 (86).

92 (85).

91 (84).

90. 90 fake pounds, and 83 real ones.

But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t let the pain seep back in, so I drank more. And more.

79lbs.

It was that day – the day my BMI hit 13.1 – that Bruce snapped, slamming his clipboard against the table, making my frail body tremble.

“I don’t know how you’re doing it, Natasha. There is no way you’re still 90lbs.” He ran a hand through his hair, taking in my ragged appearance as I weaved, fighting to stay upright. “How are you still doing this?”

“I’m fine,” I murmured, my voice cracked from lack of use.

Just let me die.

Just let me die.

My fault my fault my fault my fault my-

“Friday, please scan Ms. Romanoff’s weight.”

No.

Friday was smart. Friday didn’t include water weight. That’s how I knew.

“I’m sorry, Dr Banner. I am forbidden to discuss weight or perform calculations-”

“Override code – 2 1-”

“’Banner’ isn’t a very imaginative override code, Bruce.”

He turned to us with a horrified expression, and even Widow couldn’t take as much pleasure in his devastated realisation as they’d have liked as they smirked humourlessly. “What, you thought we would not remember? My my, Doctor. You underestimate us.”

“Override-”

“No, Bruce. I cannot let you do that. If you proceed down this path, you will regret it. We are still stronger than you realise… Strong enough to bring out your secret beast, certainly. But perhaps not strong enough to stop him from snapping us like a twig.” Their voice was cold and calculating, but only one thought echoed around our head.

You cannot take us from him. You cannot take us from him. Not yet not yet not yet not yet.

We promised him-

- the rest of our lives.

You will not take us from himyou will not take us from him.

“Natasha-”

“That’s enough, Bruce. I’m going to leave now, and I will not be coming back. Stay away from us. I am not your concern.”

Widow turned silently on trembling knees, air whistling through the space between our thighs, too desperate to leave to stop and change.

We didn’t even make it to the door.

[taichi-x-koushiro]

{D I G I M O N} Adventure/02/tri./Pre-Epilogue ~ A.M.V {Preview}/{Incomplete}/{Un-finished}/{Work in Progress} x "Lover I Don't HAVE TO Love" ~ Koushiro{u} x Taichi {KouTai}

Cover Version (C) Bettie Serveert (as featured in 'The O.C.') Original (C) Bright Eyes

Summary: "Do you LIKE to xxxx?

SO XXXX ME--"

Note: Contains discussion of R-18 Subject{s} in full version. (This version is 'safe' for now)

Happy A.S.A.W Week 2k25, Everyone!! (02/18)

This particular AMV preview is a preview, as it is mainly un-finished; However, it is planned to contain similar themes + discussion of implied orientations, namely Koushiro's. (Taichi's is Hinted, Meanwhile)

There is a tiny KouTai relevant moment, from mid-Kokuhaku {Tri} included near end. I've used it in many of my AMVs by now.

The specific implied headcanons are: AlloAro{spec}!Koushiro; Demi-romantic Pan-sexual Koushiro Pan-romantic Demi-sexual Taichi in semi canon compliancy or canon-implied verses; {Bi-romantic Demi-sexual Taichi if going very specifically by hard canon readings} where even the 02 epilogue, along with any of where Tri~The Beginning is left fully intact, (with Taichi {Demi} having a preference for Koushiro) Taichi doesn't like to separate Demi-sexual from Demi-romantic when it comes to Taichi's OWN feelings, so Taichi is extremely supportive of Koushiro in this, even if Koushiro doesn't completely KNOW at First.

A.M.V. by Hikari M. Productions @hikari-m​ / @izzyizumi / @koushirouizumi​ / @aph-japan {Do Not Repost} {Do Not Copy} {Do Not Remove Caption} {Do Not Re-produce My Work Under Any Circumstances Without My Permission Whatsoever!}

Digimon Adventure {Franchise} (C) Toei Animation (I Do NOT Own anything Digimon!) No $$$ is being made off this Fanwork

Notes: If the A.M.V. doesn't display properly in embed above, Please feel free to check out at the direct link here, and it should work! (If it doesn't, please feel free to ping me in tags or comment!)

[curls-cat]

Baby's first porn!! it's soft post-s2 yennskier that I... apparently wrote a long time ago? And forgot about? It was meant to be part of a longer work, but I have enough of those in the tank that I figured I could just post this all on its own.

[mars-ipan]

sometimes fanfic feels like a lovely walk in the park or a good cry on the shower floor. lately fanfic has been feeling like heavy bdsm

[cloneshipficquotes]

One would think Wolffe, of all people, working so closely with one of the kindest Jedi of them all (in Gregor’s personal opinion), wouldn’t be stuck like a shiny after receiving his first polite compliment.

But Wolffe is stuck. In his head. On his responsibilities. On his losses. He’s projecting his own hang ups onto Gregor and overreacting when people aren’t nice to Gregor. Gregor isn’t sure he knows how to talk to Wolffe about all this yet. He doesn’t want to actually piss Wolffe off, and he’s pretty sure Wolffe isn’t ready to hear it.

So instead he smirks up at Wolffe and grabs the back of his thigh, pulling him closer.

“Kriff, Gregor, I’m trying to get dressed. What now?” Wolffe’s exasperation is merely a poor attempt at hiding his affection. Gregor knows him well enough by now.

“You’re too tense,” Gregor states, bracketing Wolffe’s legs between his own.

— Airlock_Failure, from Chapter 2: Titfucking: Gregor/Wolffe in ‘Sanguis Et Passio’

[sivan325]

Title: Nothing Special 16/18 Fandom: Shadowhunters Pairing: Malec Rating/Warnings: Explicit. Violence. Alpha Magnus/Omega Alec, wings fic, prophecy fic Summary: De-runed and rejected from his family pack, living in the streets of New York, knowing that he might not going to find a pack and even an Alpha, he was nothing special, no one will ever look at him or after him.

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

[rexsokaficquotes]

"Not this one again," Rex complains as he tries to make himself comfortable on the couch.

"Oh?" Ahsoka asks archly, knowing it will needle him. He registers her faux-innocent tone immediately, giving her a disgruntled look as he settles himself.

The irony is his movements don't matter. There's no way for him to be comfortable. But old habits, she supposes.

— melting_houses_of_gold, from Chapter 1 in ‘Immaterial’