This is how it starts, lately: words on an altar, tension thick like incense between them.

In which anal sex is ruminated on, discussed, and joked about, but not actually had. Or, Andrew pokes and prods at his sexual boundaries a little at a time, as a treat.

“I can fake anything,” Neil says with a smirk. “Including passports, but those don’t come cheap.” “What about orgasms,” Andrew asks. (or, Andrew’s roommates are having noisy sex. Enter Neil Josten, actor extraordinaire and willing to help Andrew get petty revenge.)

The recorded number of times someone hit on Neil Josten and got nowhere, and the one time Andrew didn't even have to try.

The brighter the light, the darker the shadows. And in a super-powered society, those shadows are dark indeed. But whilst the world desperately trained more and more heroes, making that light brighter and brighter, the prestigious hero school, UA, had another idea. Why not tackle the problem at its source? And so was born the infamous class 1-A. Would-be criminals from all over the country were selected, and a group of twenty now roam the halls of the school, alongside the heroes of the next generation. Last year, the entirety of Mr Aizawa’s class A graduated. But this year was different. No, he didn’t believe they would all graduate back into society like the classes before them. He believed they could become something bigger. That was why, with gritted teeth and a manic smile, Eraser Head turned to his new class of students and said: "You aren't villains - you never were, and you never will be. But you can take that fire inside of you and put it to good use. We're in a hero school, aren't we? Well then... "Let's be heroes."

this is what it looks like when your grandfather loves you but your whole family's emotionally constipated. (except for your uncle, but that might just be all the tea he drinks.)

“They had been told, as young witchers, that the burden of their secondary sex had been relieved by the Trial of Grasses. The mutations took away the change that would come as humans hit adulthood, and they would be without a subsex. Witchers were men, and men alone. They were not given the added burden of being an alpha, or an omega, or a beta. They were free from that particular form of madness.“ Jaskier is hired to be a heat companion for an omega widow, and Geralt is hired alongside him to play bodyguard. Unfortunately, being so close to the chaos that is human mating cycles, Geralt begins to suffer strange symptoms of his own. Trust Jaskier to take care of it. He’s a professional, after all.

How Sokka learned to shut up and be nice, and also learn a little bit more about Zuko than he wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says, “but I must have misheard you. ‘Three times’? Geralt, you’re not a man. You’re a-” “Shut up,” Geralt says. “I shouldn’t have told you.” “The worst thing of all,” Jaskier says, either having gone deaf or choosing to ignore Geralt completely, “is that you’ve never really tried. That this is total hearsay. Gods, it could be more than three. You could go all night.” “If you keep on,” Geralt says, “You’ll never find out." (or: Witchers don't have refractory periods, and Jaskier is keen to investigate.)

Geralt has very, very faint memories of his earliest times in Kaer Morhen. Of when they were all undeniably human. There were so many of them, dozens and dozens of young boys all crowded in together with each other. They’d sleep in piles, crowding for space, seeking warmth and comfort, innocently, naively unrestrained and shameless. Grabbing at and climbing over each other without thought. And then they started taking the mutagens, fewer and fewer boys woke up and rose from the floor to eat breakfast in the morning, and all of a sudden there was enough room for all of them to have their own room. No more crowding, no more piles. No more touching.

Years and years after Kaer Morhen, in the bed of a particularly skilled prostitute, Geralt learned that other things besides injury and stress could trigger his strange mutation. Warmth. Safety. A lovers’ touch. He’d also learned that no matter how good of an actress a lady of the night may be, there were limits to what a human would put up with for the sake of coin. When Jaskier comes along, the White Wolf already knows to hide his freakish nature as best as he’s able.

“I learn stuff about you to enrich my songs, thanks very much.” Geralt starts. “Like what?” Jaskier strums a chord. “Plenty of things. You always ask the contractor if they want the head or not instead of just showing up with it, because you don’t want to shock people. You eat normal amounts of food when eating in public, instead of your usual awe-inducing giant amount. You sleep more when you’re hurt, but that’s the only way I’d ever know. You’re a bit weird about your potions and you count them a lot.” He glances up and grins. “Shall I continue?” A handful of contracts go sideways. Recovering is easier with Jaskier there.

[“Are you dead?” Are the first words that come out of Zuko’s mouth. Lu Ten winces. He’s barely adjusted to the idea himself, but he still wasn’t expecting Zuko to reach that conclusion so fast. He can’t lie to him. He nods. “I am.” “But you’re real.” “Yeah. Real dead.” He tries for a joke but Zuko bursts into tears instead.] Or, Lu Ten makes a promise, Lu Ten dies. Lu Ten comes back.

“About that… does the hospital have a copy machine?” Hitoshi chooses that moment to peak over Shouta’s shoulder, undoubtedly giving Tsukauchi a full view of his bloodied face. Unintentionally, he also gives Shouta the perfect opportunity to watch shock, understanding, and sheer resignation flash through the detective’s eyes. “You’re not telling me that you found another child on the way to the hospital with the first one,” Tsukauchi says. “I did not find another child on the way to the hospital with the first one,” Shouta lies. OR A story of two rooftops, two kids, and one extremely long night.

The Darksaber was always meant for Jedi hands, not the Sith's. When Maul takes possession of it, it fixes things the only way it knows how: by pulling its very first wielder out of the past and throwing him headlong into the Clone Wars. Tarre was expecting his retirement to be quiet and boring. This is anything but.

Fox dies. He wakes up. And then things start getting weird.

After decades of watching Xanatos play Imperial politics and neglect his family, right up until Tura's death, Granta decides to take revenge on his father. The best way to do that is to make sure Xanatos never reaches the throne he covets, and for that purpose, Granta proposes a marriage alliance with one of the top contenders for the crown and Xanatos's political enemy, the vicious and deadly Marshal Commander Cody. Granta has it all meticulously, ruthlessly plotted out, with no room for error. It's too bad that falling in love with his husband was never part of the plan.

In order to take all of Granta's holdings for himself, Tor draws on Telosian tradition and marries Granta off to the corpse of someone in his House. This someone is Tarre Vizsla, the last Mand'alor of House Vizsla and Jedi Master of great renown. There's a reason the Jedi usually burn their dead. It's a shame the Tor didn't realize that before he stuck Tarre on a remote moon alongside a Force Blank with a habit of making the Force go just a little....odd sometimes.

There's a Jedi standing on the landing platform, entirely unmoving, and he’s been there for almost ten minutes now.

"Oh," Izuna said -- delicately, while studiously reading his folder, "I'm afraid we need someone with a ... strong personality for Naohime." "Why's that?" Hashirama replied, just as painfully polite. The daimyo's mediator kept watching them and scratching little pointy words in his notebook. "Because if your man doesn't prove that he's dangerous and has the personality to use it on her if she pushes him, it's going to turn abusive," Madara drawled. Hashirama stared at him for a blank second. The daimyo's envoy stopped writing; even his stone-faced Aburame bodyguard arched her eyebrows over her darkened spectacles. Tobirama stretched out across the table without another word to take back one of the folders Izuna had spread around him. -- The daimyo is over the whole Uchiha/Senju war. They're going to become one people if they know what's good for them. Madara hates it enough without having to marry a woman too.

So he might have, at some point, tried to figure out an OC for Mobei-jun to ship w fuck. Dude was so perfect, it was a shame his dump truck ass and sequoia thighs remained unembraced. (Also the whole "he's so mysterious and never opens up and unveils his deep thoughts and tender feelings except for me" fantasy but never mind all that.) He'd gone exactly as far as 'Meeting: why tf would he notice anyone. Enemies to lovers? No wait hed kill them straight away. Dashing rescue? Why does he need a rescue he's too cool and basically untrappable anyway, what are they rescuing him from socializing with his cousins lmao???' on his notes before giving up on making it realistic. The next scribble was 'cuz i said so ok next'. There had been no 'next'. His battery had died and when he managed to get home and get his laptop plugged in it was time for another word vomit on the topic of Bing-ge's meat truncheon. [Secret side-quest unlocked: Easter egg hunt! 1/536 discovered. Keep going!] [Category: "is it a headcanon if you didn't think it up with your upper head?" 1/413]

“Facing me or on your knees, commander?” His Jedi asked, sounding a bit breathless. A hot bolt of arousal lanced through Wolffe at the gravelly words. He swallowed. It would probably be more comfortable for the general to remain on his back for the duration of their…activities. (Or Commander Wolffe helps his general with a problem.)

Fox is tired of Granta disappearing every time they turn their backs, so this time he keeps Granta with him when he goes to his office to do flimsiwork.

“How’d you get stuck with babysitting duty anyway?” Boba asked one day during dinner. “Oh, I volunteered for this,” Fox told him. “Why the kark would you do that?” “Language,” Fox admonished. “Well, I was just living my normal boring life and I thought to myself, ‘I don’t get called an ugly piece of banthashit often enough.’ So I decided to adopt you.” Boba snorted. “You’re a psychopath,” he told Fox. “I’ve been called worse,” Fox replied breezily.

Sam, Sebastian and Abigail have been friends forever and they might seem weirdly close to other people but all it takes it an impromptu makeover, some teasing words, and a threesome for it to become something more than friendship.

The traditional Flower Dance turned not-so-traditional. New couples finally dance together, new couples form, and sexualities are revealed.

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.

“...What are your thoughts on interspecies copulation?” he calls out.

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?

“Can I help you pick something?” Andrew turned, ready to say no thank you and instead froze in place, the purple vibrator held chest height between him and the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen. The tag on his floral shirt read Good Vibrations and just underneath that, Neil. Neil stood there all open and relaxed, a gentle curve of pink lips, unruly auburn hair hovering over sparkling blue eyes. Andrew’s mouth snapped shut. He put the box carefully back on the shelf and walked out of the store without a word.

Neil and Andrew handle press duty, and Neil is asked about his relationship status.

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.

Andrew is a sports photographer with terrible coworkers, Neil is a professional Exy player who mixes reporters' tears with his electrolytes, Nicky thinks Andrew needs a boyfriend, and Kevin just wants to stop ending up as their third wheel.

“Wait, it’s my turn,” Allison said, pushing herself further upright. She swayed dangerously, then narrowed her eyes and pointed at Neil. “We’re still targeting him, right.” “Jesus,” Aaron muttered. “Could you guys seriously—” Nicky clapped a hand over Aaron’s mouth. “Yes,” he said. “Definitely. Make the boy drink.” Aaron shoved him off and sulked at the edge of the fire, nursing his drink. “Alright,” Allison said. “I've got it. Never have I ever—told Andrew I love him.”

That Andrew likes Neil being vocal in bed -- that’s a key, and Neil intends to use it. This is something that Neil can give Andrew, a thing Andrew likes, that doesn’t involve touching or crossing boundaries Andrew is not yet ready for Neil to cross. Besides, if Neil is good at anything besides Exy, it’s running his mouth. Or: Neil learns that Andrew "I'm An Instigator At Heart And So Are You" Minyard might just like hearing Neil express not only his consent, but his enthusiasm, when they're in bed.

“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.

After college, Neil is drifting and a bit lost. When Matt makes him move in with him and his housemates, Neil isn't sure what to expect. Finding a family, having casual sex, and then promptly ruining that by falling not-so-casually in love is not on his agenda, though.

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.

Sex and feelings and Neil Josten in the middle. In both sexy and unsexy ways.

In their second year a deal is made. Andrew wants to explore his boundaries and there’s really just one person he trusts around himself. Set in a universe where everything is the same except that Andrew never kissed Neil on the rooftop that night. Instead, they just got closer and more comfortable around each other.

„Darling?“ Andrew calls, still out of sight, and that gets Neil’s attention. Except for some very rare, very soft moments Andrew only uses pet names to be sarcastic. „Yes love?“ Neil retaliates in the same, slightly mocking tone. Andrew comes into sight, with an unusual mischievous glint in his eyes. „How much do you think you can horrify a whole bunch of conservative homophobes?“ or: What is a professional actor as a fiancé good for, if you can't terrorize your distant (and close) relatives with him?

The dorm has since acquired the presence of one Andrew Minyard, who appears to be keeping himself cool by working his way through a pint of ice cream. Without even turning his head, Andrew comments, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you put gas in that car” “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you put ice cream in that freezer, but somehow you’re still eating it” Pointedly, Neil makes his way over to the kitchen and unloads the handful of cartons he’d picked up on the way home. Andrew doesn’t dignify this with a response, and Neil gets lost in the ice cold air of the freezer for a few moments too long before he realises the tell tale scraping of a spoon against plastic has stopped. When he turns, Andrew is watching him with a completely blank expression. In Andrew-speak, this tended to mean he was trying especially hard to conceal whatever was going on behind it. Neil raises a brow in question. “Those are…shorts” Andrew says, and Neil sees it when Andrew hears his own words back, watches the imperceptible tightening of his jaw and the twitch of his brows. “Yes,” and Neil is trying very hard not to look happy about it, “they’re new”

Neil needs a ride home. Matt isn't answering his texts. Wrong Number AU

Neil tries to get away from a boring conversation and accidentally ends up asking the most popular guy in school to dance with him at the winter formal.

“Andrew doesn't love me,” Neil said simply, “So if he has a love language, I don't know it.” “Oh, honey.” Allison drawled, “You don't actually believe him when he says he hates you, do you?”

The third time Nicky asks him about it, he says, “I am already dating someone.” This is a lie. Nicky’s face unfurls like a clearing sky, eyes widening and jaw dropping. “You don’t say! Who is it?” Andrew’s mind flies in a thousand different ways, grasping for an answer, a diversion, another lie. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses Neil walking out of the locker room, hair damp and bag slung over his shoulder. “Neil,” Andrew tells Nicky, and Nicky gawps, shocked and famished for more information. “I am dating Neil,” Andrew says. (or: in which Andrew and Neil - due to purely rational, strategical, and beneficial reasons - convince everybody that they are dating)

A group of amateur thieves kidnap a senator’s son to ransom him for money. The senator’s son doesn’t want to go back. * “Are these padded cuffs?” Neil asked, his voice raspy, his throat dry. He tugged on his wrists and winced when they chafed against his recent wounds from Lola. “They’re Nicky’s,” someone answered him—a woman. “Fox Seven! Use the code names!” “Sorry. I’ve never kidnapped someone and ransomed them for money before.” “I’ve been kidnapped?” Neil asked. “What did you think was happening?”

“Is there a reason you don’t like Neil?” Bee asks him then and Aaron doesn’t understand how the fuck they got onto this when she’s supposed to be fixing him and Andrew. “I don’t trust him,” he says eventually. “All he’s done since he’s got here is cause trouble.” “Well, a lot of that was out of Neil’s control,” Betsy reminds him evenly. “That doesn’t suddenly make him a good person.” “Watch him then.” Aaron startles so much at Andrew’s voice he twists in his chair to stare at him. Andrew hasn’t addressed him directly all day but he’s looking at Aaron now. “You think he’s using me or trying to fuck me over or whatever’s going on in your head- watch him. Watch us for the next week. Stop averting your gaze and pretending it doesn’t exist and then I might listen to what you have to say.”

Neil works three low paying, dead-end jobs and makes just enough money to afford a room to sleep in and to keep himself from starving. He has no prospects, no hope, no future. That all changes when a chance encounter results in a job offer that he can't ignore. The job? Pretending to be professional exy player Andrew Minyard's boyfriend.