As a rule, Commander Fox avoided direct contact with the Guard's shinies. It was better not to know them, to let them see her as the intimidating Marshal Commander and let her reputation as a hard-ass scare them into following the rules and regulations that would keep them safe. But when she stumbled across a shiny in need of some comfort, Fox did her best to provide.

Fox was no stranger to being used as a subject for Palpatine's experiments and Sith rituals. But when Palpatine decided to test out a mysterious artifact on Fox, the results were beyond what anyone could have anticipated.

When Thorn convinced Fox to start playing his favorite MMO, Fox expected to get bored of it after a few days. Instead, months later, Fox was deeply invested in the catgirl character he'd created, and it might just make him realize some things about himself.

Sometime between the end of the war and when Fox got shot, Coruscant Guard CMO Basher got their hands on the good drugs. That was the only explanation, really. Someone (Thorn) also made the mistake of giving Fox a datapad.

Curly-Brow hisses, “What, exactly, am I supposed to have them do?” The guy looks at Zoro and adds, “Amputation via sword?” “Clerical, scribing, changing bedpans? The world’s your fuckin’ oyster and they,” Dr. Old Man thrusts a wrinkled thumb at them, “are your fuckin’ problem now.” Luffy takes this moment to wave and bound right up to the nurse with a chirp of, “Hi! I’m Monkey D. Luffy and I’m gonna’ be the Pirate King. Sorry about your roof.” The nurse stares at Luffy for a solid five seconds, unblinking. Nami whispers despairingly, “Oh my fucking gods.” The nurse turns back to Dr. Old Man and asks, “Am I allowed to submit this one for a psych eval?” -- In which Sanji is the crew's doctor and not their cook. This changes remarkably little.

It becomes the Question—the one every vod is talking about from the bridge of the Negotiator to her dark bowels where the laundry rooms churn and chug along: who takes care of the General? -- In which Obi-Wan is touch starved and his men take notice.

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.

Jin Zixuan has been in love with Jiang Yanli for years, even if he knows she isn't human, but he knows he has no chance with her because of how terribly he treated her back in high school... or so he thinks. One night at a party they meet and end up hooking up, and uh, it might be a little more than he bargained for (but he isn't complaining).

The clones were supposed to be identical soldiers, flawless and efficient products. Instead, they were friction, disorientation, nonconformity. Or, As Kafer writes, ‘Disability too often serves as the agreed upon limit to our projected futures.’ This is me imagining different.

After the body issue comes out, Tyler only gets one tweet about his junk. It’s a chirp about the proverbial dick-to-ducky ratio in the web-only behind-the-scenes shower pictures. The stupid fake Stanley Cup ass tattoo gets way more attention than anything else, other than the fact that he’s naked in front of a camera. That’s how he wants it: people talking about what he does, not who he is. In which Tyler is trans, and Jamie isn't. A story about coming out, or not; breaking up, or not; and bunching mox. Or not.

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.

the boys are back and they are high and horny

He can’t even blame Neil. He wants to, it would be so easy to, but even if it was Neil’s fault that Andrew couldn’t stop thinking about it, Andrew had been the one to bring it up. Mostly by pulling a thick, ridged black dildo out of his drawer one day and saying, “I want to fuck you with this. Yes or no?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of being shot from close range, enough that he can still smell gunpowder on his jacket. Maybe it’s the chemicals provided by the Eye of Michael that course through his body, keeping him alive by force. Maybe it’s just Vash, the way he’s so… everything. Full of joy and hope in a joyless and hopeless world. Suffering for others and still putting on a brave face and standing tall for what he believes in. Remorse stabs Wolfwood as he thinks about the impending end of their journey. But for one night, at least, he thinks he wants Vash for himself. *** Vash wants to feel close to Wolfwood after his latest NDE. Wolfwood rocks his world.

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?

The feeling, this time, is deeper, and his orgasm builds slower. But it almost feels better. Each buzz of pleasure isn’t just felt between his legs—it spreads up his torso and down his arms, tingling in his fingers, and it makes his thighs begin to shake as it slides all the way down to the balls of his feet. His sounds are quieter, but they’re certainly still there. There’s so much happening, and yet he doesn’t feel overwhelmed. He feels calm. Safe. Protected. He feels loved. — Or, Henry is trans, and Alex eats him out until he cries.

“When’s the last time a guy made you cum?” “Christ, Alex.” “No, I'm for real. When was it?” Henry groans again, his hand covering his face that is steadily turning pink. “God, I don’t know, maybe a few months ago?” “Hen, you bring so many people home.” “Way to slut shame me.” “No, no, sweetheart, it’s impressive, honestly.” They pause, sitting in comfortable silence. Alex looks like he’s pondering and Henry doesn’t let himself think about what it might mean, instead bringing his glass to his mouth. “Let me make you cum.” OR After a series of bad dates, Alex volunteers to help Henry out a little. It benefits them both, after all .

"Well,” Henry says, measuring his voice carefully, “there’s a first time for everything.” Alex, in reply, screams into a pillow.

Hizashi treats it like a stim toy; absently running his fingers up and down the lips, circling the clit and tapping over the entrance when he starts to feel wetness against his fingertips. He pauses, lifting it to his face and, sure enough, the once dry pink silicone is glistening with slick.

It's always Andrew's goal to stretch Neil's pleasure to its limits, and he's barely begun to scratch the surface.

5 times and places Neil Josten squirting was an inconvenience (but didn't kill the mood).

Soap is masturbating and gets caught by Ghost, they fuck about it.

“- I just… It’s my thighs.” “I love your thighs,” Alex shrugged, “It’s… they’re big.” “I know,” Alex grinned, his tongue tracing his bottom lip almost like a reflex, “They're really strong. It’s hot.” Henry kicked at his leg from where it was hanging off the sofa and relished in the pained hiss the brunette let out, “What I mean is that… they’ll…” “They’ll?” Alex urged, quirking an eyebrow as Henry groaned, throwing an arm over his face. “They’ll crush your big stupid head.” “Please Henry,” Alex murmured, “Want you to sit on my face.” OR Alex wants his boyfriend to sit on his face. That's basically the fic.

“You’re trans,” Alex said, not a question, a statement. “Yes,” He said firmly, his arms moving to cross over the binder that’d stopped Alex in his tracks, “I assumed you knew, because of the club and would be fine with it-“ “Wait-“ Alex’s mind was spinning and he was trying to find the words, but Henry just kept talking. “-But maybe I was wrong. There are plenty of cis guys who don’t want to sleep with trans people-“ “-Henry-“ “-I just thought you were better than that,” He snapped, reaching for his shirt before Alex grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No- Henry, wait. I just…” And in a moment of panic, he tugged off his own shirt, bringing the fabric over his head and revealing the matching scars on each side of his chest. Henry’s eyes widened and he straightened up, “I thought… I thought you knew. I just, I didn't know you were…” OR T4T Firstprince...

“How long has it been since someone else made you cum?” Alex asked, his head tilted to the side, cutting Henry off when he began to open his mouth, “That doesn’t include you having to touch yourself or having… Mechanical help.” Henry winced at that, the vivid memory of Alex sheepishly knocking on his door and relaying that he could, in fact, hear the loud, incessant buzzing of Henry's vibrator from his room across the hall flashing through his head, “I don't know. Maybe like… Fuck, maybe never?” Alex’s eyes widened for a second, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn't find the words, “Are you kidding?” OR Henry is trans and has quite literally never had a good lay in his life... Alex is completely and utterly in love with him and certainly eager to help.

“I don’t have a small dick, idiot,” Alex openly laughed, a stark contrast to Henry’s quiet, reserved chuckle, “I have no dick.” Henry stared at him for a moment and Alex just looked back at him, taking a sip of his drink. “Funny,” he said with a flat voice, indicating that he did not, in any way, find it funny. “Well,” Alex moved to clarify, tilting his head to the side for just a moment, “I supposed I do. But it’s currently tucked away in my hotel room. And I’m not sure if you count t-dicks in what you’re referring to.” “I… don’t know what that means.” Alex laughed again, shaking his head this time, “Of course you don’t.” “Shall I google it?” And Alex couldn’t help but egg him on. “Oh, definitely. When this event is over, you should open up your laptop, pull up that special website you go to for your alone time and type ‘T-Dicks’ into the search bar. I promise it won’t disappoint.” OR Henry does as Alex suggests... and Alex is obsessed with how Henry looks when he falls apart. Lots of sex ensues.

“Poor thing,” he croons, patting over his pussy like he’s consoling it, not him and fuck that shouldn’t make him drip; the wet sound echoing in his ears. “Just want attention, don’t ya? Dumb fucks here don’t know what they’ve been given. Should be fuckin’ lined up to put you in your place.” Johnny’s skin heats and he can only hope it doesn’t spread far enough down for him to see as he shifts restlessly on the bed. “Big talk fer a man behind a wall,” he spits. “Harsh words for a slag flashin’ ‘is cunt,” he shoots back.

Ever since he’d come out to his devout Roman Catholic family, Johnny had been told he was going to Hell. Seeing Simon “Ghost” Riley on his knees in front of him, looking like Lust incarnate, has him thinking Hell suits him far better than Heaven anyway. His blonde hair catches the fluorescents like a halo, and Johnny now knows exactly what the legends meant when they said the devil has angelic eyes. OR: Johnny needs proof that the aphrodisiac drug sample they're retrieving is real, so he tests it the only way he can with the resources he has: on himself. It's real, alright - he figures that out pretty quick.

Five times Tim Drake gained an unrequited soul bond and the one time he didn't.

“It’s a myth.” “It’s not.” “It absolutely is.” “It is not,” Jesper groans. “Well, I've never done it-“ “I’ve never been on time to anything ever, darling, but that doesn’t mean punctuality isn’t possible.”

The window is open - Hawks can hear the sounds of the busy city thrumming below his penthouse apartment and the cool breeze fluttering the curtains. It feels almost magical to be here, bathed in warmth in the bedroom, only the moon and the low lights either side of the bed illuminating Dabi, staples glinting gold where they catch the light. He’s so very beautiful when he’s like this, breathing a little harder than usual, sweat making the high points of his cheeks glow. Hawks catches Dabi’s gaze as his fingers brush against his spot and he lets out a breathy moan. Dabi makes the same ‘come hither’ gesture, smirking - Hawks wants to drag him so close that their skin melts together and they become one person. He thinks he’d finally be content, then. Dabi pulls his fingers out with a sordid, wet squelch and Hawks wants to punch him instead.

“Oh, come on. You know I’m half-Kryptonian. I can hear your heartbeat. I could smell you getting wet like a slut and making a mess of your boxers when you saw Tim’s cock.” “Watch your mouth, Lex-brat,” Jason growls dangerously. “I'm pretty sure I'm not the slut here.” Kon gives him the finger. “Come sit on my face and watch it yourself, coward.”

To be clear, Cassie is Wonder Girl. Very much so is she Wonder Girl. She likes being called that; she likes being called “she”. She likes being Amazon-adjacent enough to almost count as a sister to Themyscira. She doesn’t always like . . . other things associated with being Wonder Girl, though. Or even being a girl at all. Anyway, that’s why she just broke two pairs of scissors trying to get her stupid fucking hair to just fucking cut already in one of Titans Tower’s communal bathrooms. One of the girls’ communal bathrooms, which isn’t really helping how she feels right now.

The problem is, there are too many Alpha's. Too many Alpha's on the League, and too many Alpha's at home. But Bruce, as always, has a plan to fix that.

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.)

“I want you to bitch me.” Tim reacted to the word so strongly he nearly fell off his chair. “Kon you- you can't say that!” It wasn't a word one should bring up in polite company, Tim had learned early on. Kon rolled his eyes emphatically. “Fine. I want you to help me transition my dynamic into one that more closely resembles how I feel inside. Happy?”

“Hey, I do I... Do I know you?” Danny asks, a hand coming up to brush something off Tim’s cheek. “No,” Tim says. “We haven’t met.” “Oh, no, I do.” Danny says, and he smiles, teeth white and sharp. “You’re that guy who rearranged my guts!” Rearranged his- Tim glances at the knotted scars on the boy’s abdomen. He can see the shine and shadow of haphazard stitches that weren’t meant to hold forever, that tore and healed over. His- This- “WHAT!?” Nightwing shouts, equal parts confused and delighted. Tim’s fucked. OR Danny Fenton's been in GIW captivity for 4 months. Tim Drake gets kidnapped by the GIW one Tuesday evening in May. Considering how many of the Bats and the Birds have died and come back to life, it was only a matter of time for some people interested in the afterlife to come poking around. The detectives can't seem to uncover any information about the mysterious white vans, however. And they keep losing the mysterious boy who seems to be the one person in Gotham to know anything at all.

And, well. He gets impatient when he’s already in pain. He’s still got fifteen minutes until the meeting is set to begin, and the chances of him slapping Mr. Smith-Harguson so hard that the man’s toupee flies off are rising exponentially by the second. Yeah, that settles it. He needs an excuse to get out of here, and he needs it fast. - for the prompt 'jason todd, lover of fake kidnappings, meets tim drake, lover of chaos', but it... got out of hand. happy pride

Peter finally has a day to himself, and he decides to relax, maybe take out a couple of toys. But then Deadpool comes by and finds this remote on the counter and oh God the vibrator's still inside of him.

So listen, Danny knew going into this PA job that it was a bad idea to work directly under Tim Drake-Wayne. He knows himself, and unfortunately that means he knows his type, which Tim was practically tailor made for. It's like whatever ghost is in charge of the cycle of reincarnation sat down with clockwork to pick out the perfect soul and genetic donors for his future King to fall in love with. He knows for a fact that didn't happen; Clockwork is too much a smug bastard to NOT have poked the two of them into each other's lives yet if that was the case.

Danny is on the run. He wants nothing more than to see his family, but they're out of his reach at the moment. Then he sees a magazine article and accompanying photo of Damian Wayne. His long-lost twin brother. Maybe he does have some family he can check on. Just to spy from a distance, of course. Getting too close would only make his situation worse. But when he gets caught in the halls of Gotham Academy, he might not have a choice in the matter.

It’s not like the world is spilling over with clones, is the thing; especially not genetically stable super-powered hybrid clones with– Wait, Tucker thinks, and lifts his head to stare blankly at the poster on his bedroom wall. Well, there’s a lot of posters on all of his bedroom walls, admittedly, but a specific poster on a specific wall. “You’re a genetically stable super-powered hybrid clone,” Tucker says to his poster, still staring at the digitally-rendered face of a teen idol superhero. Superboy continues to grin cockily at him, because he’s a special edition poster and obviously isn’t gonna stop doing that. Tucker, very slowly, reaches for his phone and types something into Bing after all.

Danny’s looking at him like he’s crazy. His hair’s dried up into a mess of waves, and there’s some tomato seeds on the corner of his mouth. “You just bailed me out of jail. And you think this is a good idea?” “I don’t have bad ideas, Fenton. And like you’ve just said, I have collateral on you.” “So you’re blackmailing me into pretending to date you?” Tim shrugs. “Or you could just sign the NDA.” OR Danny's trying to recover all the shards to an entity's chalice so that it'll stop destroying the zone while tensions rise amongst his subjects- and trying to finish high school. Tim's juggling his case load, his work as CEO, and does not have time to be embroiled in a sex scandal right now. If that means he has to pretend to date a very suspicious heir to a rival company, then so be it. It's a mutually beneficial relationship. So what if Tim's becoming a little too intrigued by the illusive, powerful Phantom? So what if Danny can't stand the Justice League for leaving him to deal with all of Amity's problems when he was just 14? That's a superhero thing. And their fake boyfriend has no clue that they're a superhero.

Jaskier’s just debating how much trouble he’s actually in when Geralt, marvelously, talks them out of it. After that, well . . . Jaskier still wants to eat him very badly, but he supposes it’d be a bit ungrateful of him. Geralt isn’t very impressed with the song he writes for him, unfortunately—which, rude—but doesn’t try to run off and leave him either, so . . . Well, Jaskier’s a bit smitten. A delicious-smelling witcher who can talk his way out of being murdered is very impressive. And he always has wanted a pet.

“You wouldn’t say no to a woman with bread in her skirt, would you?” the bard says.