#m rated fics

[ao3demographicssurvey2024]

In the AO3 Demographics Survey 2024 - an unofficial demographics survey of 16,131 AO3 users - the "Mature" rating was ranked most enjoyed by consumers, while those posting works most frequently posted "Teen and Up". Only 16% of those who had posted works to AO3 said they had never posted M/M, while 69% of consumers "Strongly Enjoyed" M/M works.

To see more analysis, including transcripts of all the data shown on the graphs, please view the full results on AO3 for both ratings and relationship types.

[arty-platypi]

a couple of doodles for my Roz x Vontra fic and cover ideas for said fic. i chose to use the texture of the brush to help with the "shading" in the mini illustrations but now that i'm seeing it here on tumblr the image quality brings it down lole. Haven't been drawing them too much but it's just because I keep writing for them, ha...

[mike-wachowski]

“Okay.” Sam takes a deep breath, in and out, and Lena can see the cloud of frost forming around her exhale. The sub-thermal temperature of the freezer is already thawing what was left of Lena’s growing hot rage. “Spill. Why are you acting like a dick?” 

Lena huffs. “I’m certainly not acting like a dick. Jess made a mistake. It’s within my duties as the head chef to make sure everything is perfect—”

Sam raises a hand and immediately silences her. “Lena. I’m not your brother. I don’t want you to be perfect. I don’t need you to be our boss right now. I need you to be our friend.” Sam pulls out an empty apple crate from the bottom shelf and plants herself down on it. “Now tell me what’s wrong. Please.” 

Lena slumps to the floor. She sighs, watching the small puff of ice that gathers around her breath, and buries her head in her hands. 

She whispers, “Kara and I kissed.”

“What?” Sam leans in. “Lena, you gotta speak up, the fan is on-”

“Kara and I kissed!” Lena shoots her head up, making eye contact with Sam. “Kara and I kissed, and… we haven't talked about it or anything, and we haven’t done it since, but I— I made her pizza, and my brother called, and I was so upset, and I kissed her, and I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

the final chapter of you can tell a whole story with a taste is now live (and its 16k!)

you can read it from the start here.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

hi hello for drunken love confessions prompts 16 "This is not a dream, I think. In my dreams we're usually kissing." if anything comes to yooou 💘💘💘

hiii my love thank you SO much for this prompt, it brought me joy when i really needed it, and im sorry it took me so long asdfghjkl

drunk love confessions prompts : "This is not a dream, I think. In my dreams we’re usually kissing."

you fill my head with you | 22K | buddie drunk love confession | ao3

And then everything winded down, their friends decided to turn in and head home. Him and Eddie were the last to leave, and he–

He stumbled out of the bar right beside Eddie. He–Oh god, he threw himself all over Eddie. He flirted. He–he told Eddie that–

Buck’s hand stills, the toothbrush lying on his tongue with dead weight, uncomfortable and somewhat annoying, but Buck can’t even think about that because he fucking told Eddie that he dreams about them kissing.

What the fuck?

What the actual, horrible, unholy fuck?

Buck has to leave.

He needs to find a deep, dark hole to climb inside. Bury himself so that he can never come out.

He told Eddie he dreams about them kissing.

He can never see Eddie again for as long as he lives and that’s such a terrifying, heartbreaking, impossible thought, but that’s the way it has to be.

or, a night of drinking leads to buck confessing his feelings to eddie and they are both very stupid about it

read on ao3

[dangerpronebuddie]

Blood On My Shirt (Heart In My Hand) 10k

"I'll go find him," Buck says, ruffling Chris' hair as he skips away. "Eds!" Buck calls. "If you don't get back here, Chim's gonna steal your cake. It's not great cake but you'll still pout about it." He rounds the corner... And his heart falls at his feet. Eddie lay face down on the floor, a pool of red growing around him and shining in the sunlight from the open doors.

[read on ao3]

For @badthingshappenbingo and for @monsterrae1 's Spooktober week 1

[fine-nephrit]

🥏 TXF Fic Rec #42: "Universal Invariant" by Syntax6

It’s rare to find a novel-length, all-encompassing fic set in season 1. Today’s fic is exactly that: a celebrated classic exploring a ‘what if’ scenario where Scully’s deleted live-in boyfriend, Ethan, sticks around. The story begins with Scully’s assignment to the X Files in the ‘Pilot’ and concludes with her return from abduction in ‘One Breath’.

We get to experience the M/S dynamic right from the very beginning, watching their partnership evolve from suspicion to trust, with a repressed, burgeoning attraction. In Syntax6’s skillful hands, you know what that means: lots of delicious, in-character UST.

Ethan plays a major role, adding to the emotional tangle. The ‘Other’ character is often reduced to a flat plot-device or crudely villainized, but Syntax6’s characters are always likable and sympathetic. She writes the best ‘/Other’ plot in this fandom, enhancing the journey to MSR.

It’s a lot of fun to see how the story neatly interweaves with canon episodes, a hallmark of Syntax6’s writing. What’s more, She’s best known for her case files, and there’s a strong original casefile tossed in the mix, which I enjoyed immensely. And we get another of her signature moves: a very hot, well-written sex scene with explosive intensity, placed at the perfect spot in the story. She really does it all, and makes it look effortless.

---

🥏 on author's site

author: @syntax6 length: novel, 80,000+ words season: season 1, early season 2 pairing(s): M/S UST, Scully/Ethan, Mulder/Other tags: AU, episode-related, casefile, angst, Mytharc, abduction arc, jealousy, amnesia, good OCs rating: explicit/NC-17

tagging @today-in-fic

[ekingstonart]

in lieu of a functional brain progress on the final chapter of The Shape of Soup, i bring you horny art

[desceros]

oops you got something between your fingers there, let me get that for you real quick <3

evil evil evil evil evil evil strikes back out of self defense

It's not too uncommon that you wait for him to come home. Not only has his shitty apartment all but become a second home to you, but he's started making little jokes that you aren't completely sure are really jokes about you moving in with him instead.

As such, he doesn't say anything when he comes in through the door and finds you sitting at his kitchen table, scrolling through your phone looking at the cute dog pictures April's sending you from her latest venture to make ends meet as a dog walker. Not until you look up and smile as you see him, putting your phone down because he's infinitely more interesting.

"Why aren't you sitting on the couch where it's softer?" he asks, slowly stripping the outside world from himself as he gets close. His swords. His belt of medical supplies you keep stocked up nicely for him. A bag whose contents you don't know, but judging from the care with which he puts it down on the counter, you suspect is quite valuable.

"I thought you'd be hungry when you got back," you tell him, gesturing at a tupperware of food you'd brought over from the lair. Leo still doesn't have a decent set of pans, and you've forbidden him from buying any since you can cook just as well at the lair and bring things over. (You're surprised he's held out this long; though you suspect it may be because he has a not-too-incorrect mental image of Donnie's pissy face when he smells you cook something nice and learns it's for Leonardo, not him.)

Leo sits at the table adjacent to you, popping off the lid. It's still warm, thankfully, and his face gets a little softer when he starts to dig in like he's starving. He doesn't compliment it, but you don't need him to. The way he goes quiet, not even speaking in the interest of eating the stir fry you'd tossed together, is all the feedback you need.

Smiling fondly, you grab into the bag you'd brought and pull out an orange. Slowly, you start to peel it, piece by piece. The oil of the rind clings to your skin, making the air between you fragrant with citrus. All the way down to the juicy flesh, until you split it in half, then pluck out a single piece.

Reaching out between Leo's bites, you hold the piece between your fingers. He stares at it for a moment, glancing between it and your face, then opens his mouth so you can slide it inside.

"This was a really yummy batch," you tell him as he chews, eyes falling down to where you peel away another piece. It has a little string on it, which you pick away lovingly before holding out to him just like the one before. "Nice and juicy. I was surprised, considering the time of year."

Leo takes the second piece in his mouth, and the next time you look down to the orange to pull him away another piece, you feel the weight of his stare on the side of your face and the apartment falls silent. No longer do his chopsticks scratch away at the tupperware.

Still, you persist, relentless in your affectionate care. "I've been saving the peels to make a nice cleaning spray. Apparently, you can put them in a bottle with a bit of vinegar, and it smells really nice and works pretty well," you continue to ramble. You hold out another piece. He leans in, his teeth finding the soft flesh with a heavier purpose now. You avoid meeting his gaze, torn between enjoying this little dance and not wanting it to end too quickly.

Another piece hovers in the air, and this time, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and holds it in place. You look up, startled, only to stare with wide eyes as he slides your fingers and the orange slice into his mouth together. His tongue finds the fruit and brings it to his teeth, splitting it open and coating his mouth and your fingers with its sweet juice. Messily, it beads down your palm, to your wrist, tickling even as your breath catches in your throat when he glides his tongue along the webbing of your fingers to catch its origin. Hot, wet, he licks at your skin, suckling the love off of you like it's the waters of the fountain of life itself.

Your mouth falls open as his teeth scrape at your palm, the hitched breath coming out of your lungs on a jagged sound that sounds a bit like a whine in the dead air between you. Mouth curling into a smug smirk, he kisses down the line of the orange juice to your pulse, bending your hand back and sinking his teeth into your wrist hard enough to leave a mark.

It's then that you finally meet his gaze, and see in it the dangerous flame you'd stoked. You swallow thickly, pressing your thighs together beneath the table. Silly you to forget that it's always the little gestures that drive him the most mad.

Trailing his tongue up your hand to flick it between your fingers, Leo groans, squeezing his eyes shut like the taste of you wounds him. Maybe it does, in a way, you think, feeling the almost painful ache of your own arousal that he so easily calls to the surface.

Licking your lips, clumsy from the rushing blood beneath your skin when he slides your fingers into his mouth and begins to suck on them while bobbing his head slowly, you reach with shaking fingers to pull away another piece of the orange. When Leo looks at you—no doubt visibly affected, dilated pupils, bitten lips, chest rising with your accelerated breath—he chuckles before sinking his teeth into the flesh of your palm, lathing it with his tongue before he releases you.

"How many more do you think you'll be able to share before you break for me, mi corderita?" he asks slyly, taking the piece from you and resting it on your spit-soaked fingers, gliding them into his mouth to begin the process all over again to send you into a hazy, needy state.

The answer, you'll later bemoan as you stare, stunned, completely fucked out, at the ceiling of his bedroom with a familiar full-body ache and the smell of oranges strong in your nose, is one.

[cursio-neptune]

[newlesbianprideflag]

girls will get a text from their ex-best friend and be like oh I GOTTA write about those stranger things boys

(or, my first wip in a while. will is 17, convinced he’s going to die tomorrow, so in love, and so tired.)

(edit: now on ao3)

[rockingrobin69]

Yes

For my beloved @getawayfox. Happy birthday!

“I want you naked,” Potter said, nuzzling the spot under Draco’s ear, and Draco—

“Yes,” he whispered, “yes, anything,” pushing into the mounting pressure of his body, hands roving, raving, anywhere they could reach, under Potter’s shirt and up his back and down his sides, to his belt, to the curve of his arse and the pockets, sliding in, “yes, yes.”

Everywhere Potter’s fingers touched sparked under his skin. Constant tiny starbursts, dazzling. Then worse, his laughter, warm in the hollow of Draco’s neck: “Darling—”

“Yes,” Draco breathed. He was shivering with how much he meant it.

“Here. Let me,” fumbling with the buttons. Draco’s shirt was so ridiculously unimportant when all of this: lemon-apple shampoo and soft flannel, Potter’s body in all the fits and stalls he could catch. Whimpering, diving head-first into Potter’s shoulder, kissing, licking, sucking in gently and then not at all so. Potter was still laughing: “Draco!”

“Mmmf,” finding the will to detach, only to bring himself to look at bright green eyes.

“You’re so—” Potter stroked his cheek, then cradled it, looking—just looking at him, so close and trembling with excitement, or maybe that was the world, trembling, trembling. The light was in love with him too, Draco thought: in the delicate catch of each eyelash and in the curve of his lips and on the tip of his nose, every single part of him luminescent. Draco wanted… everything. Overwhelmed, overpowered, overjoyed.  

Whatever came out of his mouth was a yes. “Potter,” a gasp, and “in here,” pulling towards, ah, he hoped it was a bedroom—something hard at his back and then something softer. They found a mattress, found each other, writhing out of their clothes, spell-stuck together. Losing contact was in no way permissible, so they just kept on however they could: Draco holding Potter’s elbow as he shuffled out of his socks, Potter’s fingers skimming the skin suddenly cleared of his trousers, up and down his hipbone.

“You,” Potter was saying, the dizzying brush of his stubble on Draco’s cheeks, “you’re just—”

Draco didn’t know what he was, and truly it couldn’t matter. Not right now. Not when Potter was pushing him backwards, climbing, all gracelessly graceful and recklessly stunning. It might actually have been stupefying, seeing as none of Draco’s frenzied limbs were willing to move. He let Potter take him all the way to the headboard (one hand at the back of his neck, the other trailing under his waistband, boxers still on, why was anything still—) just sat there all sack-of-potatoes and staring with sick adoration at Potter, Potter, so much Potter above him and all around him, Potter.

“Po—” the grunt punched out of him, Potter’s knee in his groin, then his laughter in Draco’s ear, “fuck, sorry, haha, I’m so,” and it, it, barely registered, any of it. Potter was crushing him to the mat and the whole world was spinning, erupting in flames or, something. Everything was three sizes too large and blistering hot. He wanted it so badly. God, he wanted, wanted, wanted, and Potter gave, Potter kept giving.

Skin to skin, both of them feverish, possibly mad. It burned so bright behind his eyelids, tingling everywhere, the crook of his elbow, behind his knees, the soles of his feet. The back of his neck, buzzing, the sweetly-sore spot under his jaw still damp. He was so… it was all so…

“Draco,” into the shell of his ear, “Draco, Draco,” singeing-hot, and Draco said, “Yes,” just kept saying it in non-words, in mewls and nips and frantic fingers, in moans, “yes, yes.”

The night seemed endless, star-bright. Half-rolled into the thin blanket, all his nerve-endings alight, and the room sang back to him in delight, in revelation. Potter, in his arms, a sweat-drenched cacophony; it was summer still somehow, under the thunderous rhythm of his heart, the lovely weight of this joy.

The flutter of the curtains in the barely-there wind was its own little song. Draco tapped along with his fingers: yes, yes.

[acoraxia]

if i don’t post for a while it’s because I’m writing a slightly suggestive Jahel/Shamura fic to explain Gods Calamities Lore and debating whether to post it or not

[goldthorn-archive]

Your Hand Brushes Mine (and a Thousand Sensations Seduce Me

thank u @johnslittlespoon for beta reading <3

click here to see ch3 john!

[steddieunderdogfics]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43944516/chapters/110492859

No Upside Down AU: Call My Number (and Call Me Yours) by novacorpsrecruit

Call My Number (and Call Me Yours) by novacorpsrecruit

@novacorpsrecruit

Rating: Mature

53,663 words, 6/6 chapters

Archive Warning: Creator chose not to use

Tags: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, firefighter and dispatcher, Kid Fic, no upside down, minor buckingham, no beta good luck y'all

Summary

“Fire department is on the way. Stay on the line with me, okay?” A buzz of a radio came over the headset. “Fire station 3 responding.” “Damn,” Eddie whistled. Chrissy looked over at Eddie. “This guy’s voice is hot.” Chrissy’s eyes grew wide. The voice cleared his throat. “Just wait until you see my face. It’s not too bad either.” ------ Firefighter/Dispatcher AU based off of MardyArt's amazing artwork <3

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is No Upside Down AUs.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[ladynoirfanao3]

Finally getting this on tumblr! Commissioned art by @_mazelwi_ on instagram from a scene in my first completed fic “The Power of Creation.”

Rated M, see the summary below. Also feel free to check out “Power of Destruction” which is from Adrien’s POV instead of Marinette’s

~~

Everyone knows that Ladybug's cure fixes everything after the destruction wrought by Shadow Moth's akumatized villains. After an akuma with an unfortunate power leaves Ladybug and Adrien in an awkward position, Marinette has never been happier to simply forget. However, she soon discovers that her miraculous ladybugs have a limitation on their curing ability: a limitation that puts her in a situation she never expected to be in.

[remyfire]

What we as a fandom do not discuss or incorporate enough into our work is that Margaret canonically loves to be thrown around, pinned down, and just generally wrecked in bed. This is a terrible missed opportunity and I believe that if we band together, we can give Margaret all the passionate feral rough sex that she craves.