Stark – Tony – looks over at him and smiles, and there's something so sweet in that smile that Steve feels sucker-punched, feels like he can't breathe, he can't think, because who knew that Tony Stark could smile like that, open and amused and affectionate? “Yeah?” Tony says, teasing, and Natasha cuffs the back of his head.

After the fighting is over, then come the hot baths, ice packs, resurrection from the dead, political maneuvering, and happy endings (not like that, Tony).

“We had sex,” Clint says, bluntly. “Collectively.” [Written for Porn Battle; Warnings apply]

There it is, the word he's been trying harder than anything not to even think, and now that it's out there's no hiding from it. (aka the Angry Goat Noise remix; no spoilers for movie)

Steve takes Tony back to his apartment to recharge and get warmed up following a fight with a supervillain. PG-13-rated shower sex ensues.

During the battle against Loki, Clint let the first taste of what his loss is going to feel like fuel his fighting. Now his abused brain calls game over. It places Clint's order at the shawarma restaurant and makes for greener pastures.

Those fucking humans. You remember. They won. They won everything. They even won you. Won all of you back from your dead-end fucking universe and took you with them into their reality-spraining victory. Cheating nookstains didn’t even fight; they won by ‘shenanigans’, that peculiarly human trick of winning-by-not-playing. And in that inside-out, backwards way of theirs, they never even considered keeping all the spoils for themselves.

Dave nods. "Most of the inhabitants of this sorry rock," he confides, "cry themselves to sleep at night at the knowledge that you beat them to the incomparable prize of Dave Strider's undivided affections." There's not enough irony left in this poor depleted universe to sustain statements like that very often, so he kisses Tavros again before he can talk himself into actual sincere confession time.

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.

Dave leans forward. You can see a camera reflected in his shades, in the high-rez screen, you can see his own face peering out of the camera in his shades, his reflection reflecting itself into infinity. Not you. You’re not there -- he’s not here.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Stiles. He’s a man from a club. I couldn’t call him, if I wanted to.”

This arc is centered on Yui. I thought she got very short shrift, canonically, and was handled illogically to boot. So these stories address the question: Why did it all happen that way, and what would happen after?

When Johanna comes back from having her virginity sold off, there are some people waiting inside her rooms.

The further from the ice, from waking up sixty-seven years in the future he gets, the stronger the cold black burn of drowning in the Antarctic waters preys on his mind.

Many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods drown it. Love is as strong as death.

Tyrion knew, as he gazed up at the dark skinned Martell man that this was perhaps his only chance to spirit Sansa out of King's Landing and away from his father's greedy fingers. Tywin Lannister would have married the girl himself if he felt he could have gotten away with it, and so Tyrion knew his own marriage was no protection to Ned Stark's daughter whatsoever. "Invite her, demand her, steal her--whatever you choose, Prince Oberyn, choose it soon. Else my lady wife shall break into more pieces than the stars."

In a world where Natasha Stark still dreams of fire and blood, the Winter Soldier wakes ahead of schedule and nothing happens the way it was meant to. (People don’t have a purpose.)

Does the whole 'we can see your eyes now' thing mean you're going to not be a repressed freak anymore?

When Mercutio wakes up he realizes he has an unexpected guest in his bed. That surprise isn't the only one waiting for him that day.

They managed to win the game somehow. He's not really sure of the details, but it's not all it's cracked up to be. He's stuck in an unfamiliar body with a thirteen year old little brother who's terrified of him. Somehow, he is sure this is his fault.

ne dislocated shoulder and two minor intergalactic incidents later, and all Tim wants is a shower, a mushroom and swiss cheeseburger, and a blowjob, preferably in that order.

Everyone is so focused on preparing for the hurricane that they miss a series of storms, each one longer than the last. You don't get to where Claire has without having a hell of a good method of compartmentalizing things that need to get done from things that don't have the luxury of happening.

Who makes a backup plan when playing God? Claire spent seven years moving up the food chain of a now-extinct closed system.

“You would think they’d make it harder to break into their castle,” Mei huffs, and heaves the body of a guard into one of the empty rooms to sprawl with the others.

The dead fell. The dead fell, and Gendry’s heart was racing, pounding so hard inside of his chest that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Silence crept across the courtyard and the sound of his heart beating only got louder. Puffs of air left his lips in tiny, gasping breaths as he stared down at the mountain of bodies below. Next to him, Tormund, the ginger wildling who had somehow wound up next to him atop the heap, spun in a circle, surveying. Across the courtyard, Gendry could hear someone shout, “What is this?” “Is this a trick?” Someone else responded. “He did it,” Tormund breathed. His voice was as soft as a whisper. Gendry turned to him, his heart still pounding in his chest and his fingers still wrapped around his hammer so tightly that he could seldom tell where his skin began and the shaft ended. Tormund’s blue eyes turned to him, wide, joyous. “That bloody crow did it.” Gendry couldn’t speak.

Jin Ling had begun to suspect years ago that there were parts of his family history that had been crossed out; long streaks of black where Wei Wuxian had been. The truth is more like whole books being brought up from their hiding places again. Or: Jin Ling tries to figure out what family means, now.

Jiang Cheng has seen his home violated time and time again. The Wen sect - the Jin sect - he'll do anything to stop it from happening again. Anything. (what Wei Wuxian doesn't know is...)

A week after an attack that nearly killed him and his son, Jaster Mereel finds Mostross dead on a battlefield. His killer is a Jedi, grievously wounded, who Jaster takes into his care. By Mandalorian tradition, Jon Antilles owes him a life-debt, and Jaster is cunning enough not to let such a thing slip away. It's meant to be an entirely political arrangement. It doesn't stay that way for long.

Feral gets kidnapped by a Jedi Master. It's the best thing that's ever happened to him. Aka how Plo Koon’s foray into Sith-napping saved the galaxy, featuring galactic road-trips, daring expeditions into Sith strongholds, plenty of soul-searching, pirates, the Death Watch, senators with big blasters, more pirates, and three brothers who weren’t prepared for any of it.

Not the Pokémon AU you asked for but the one you’re getting anyway. Featuring: full time gym leader and local cryptid Zuko, badge challenger Sokka, and Katara who can only look at so many memes before she flips.

The light overhead isn't from Minion island's overcast sky but instead a steel plated ceiling shining down fluorescence, glass and plastic bottles rattling on shelves against the walls. Everywhere there's monitors and familiar machinery and the distinct tang of antiseptic, sharp beyond the memory sense of blood and snow. For half a second Law looks at it all very blankly and thinks, What The Hell. Is he dreaming. Is he hallucinating. Is he just plain dead. His sight-line completes the rotation of this impossibility to fall upon speckled jeans and a long sweeping coat. And the man standing in front of Law has the blankest expression Law's ever seen. And the man standing in front of Law has Law's father's face. Underneath Law's blood-slicked fingers, Cora-san's pulse shudders. (This is a story where the past and the present collide. Wherein thirteen year old Trafalgar Law and twenty-six year old Rocinante tumble sideways through time-space via the blue desperation of a newly eaten devil fruit, from Minion island to a future distant. Right, unwittingly, onto the submarine deck of a another Law shortly after Doflamingo’s fall.)

This, Fox thinks, staring up at the fabric of the tent above him, is absolutely not what he remembers from before he closed his eyes. Right along with the realization comes the desperate, sinking sort of feeling that what he was most afraid of happened again. One step down the hallway in the Senate, heading somewhere, and then—

“Torao says a lot of stupid things,” Luffy informed him, deadpan, and Law huffed a laugh and kissed him again—longer, this time, like he was trying to say everything he couldn’t manage aloud. Like doing this right was the only thing that mattered, now. Monet watched the star-lines drift past in the viewport, shimmering as they sped across the black.

Sid’s gotten pretty used to total strangers asking him what he’s trying to prove, or telling him he wasn’t raised right, and they always expect it to bother him. He doesn’t tell them he hears much, much worse on the ice. When shit gets even worse than usual—when a ref calls him a brat when he’s arguing a call, when another team’s goon tries to put him on his knees five times a game—he sits on the bench and presses down on his chest protector, feeling the shape of the captain’s ring on its chain around his neck, until he doesn’t feel like throwing up anymore. Sid’s never had a dom, not even for a night, but he has his team, and that’s enough. That’s more than enough.

Not even two days later, Fox revised his opinion. This wasn’t a disaster. This was a Grade-A, first order, fresh off the hot plate fuckfest. Fox’s day had gone something like this: lay in bed. Get up. Knock back some of the sludge in the mess masquerading as caf. Go through forms. Fill out forms. Bust open a closet in which the Senators for Uyter and Kinyen had both managed to get “stuck” in. Go through more forms. Fill out more forms. Get called up to the Senate dome to tell a Senator that no, the Guard did not address noise complaints. Find that the stack of datapads on his desk had somehow tripled over the last two hours. Despair at the state of his inbox. Etcetera, etcetera. And then.

Echo and Fives have never had a Jedi of their own, not in the way Bly has General Secura and Cody has General Kenobi. He understands a little better now their endless frustration at the objects of their affection.

“Too slow, kid,” a voice calls, half a second before a pebble bounces off the top of Jon's head.

Teachers and Izuku don't mesh well. If Izuku speaks up, he gets in trouble. If Izuku gets picked on, he gets in trouble. If Izuku lets his guard down for one second, he gets in trouble. Izuku isn't stupid. He knows UA isn't going to be any different.

If the only future path you saw was to remove a specific slice of traumatic, horrific memory from the mind of your successor, would you do it? Nana did. Yagi Toshinori lived with what he had lost, though with unease he couldn't explain. Enter Aizawa Shouta wanting more from their relationship than routines steered by unexplained fears. No-one is above reproach and it's never too late.

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.

Sanji feels eyes on him before he even hears the footsteps, and he sighs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the rail. He could try to run, he knows, could jump over the rail and make his escape before whoever it is is upon him, but really what would be the point? It's not like he has anywhere to escape to. A glance over his shoulder reveals one of Big Mom's Sweet Commanders, the big one with the tattoos and the scarf, and for the second time since arriving on Tottoland Sanji finds himself meeting golden eyes. The man's expression is blank, the greater part of his face hidden beneath the bulk of his scarf, but one glance at him is enough to tell this isn't going to be a friendly encounter. "Don't worry." Sanji says, leaning against the rail and bringing his cigarette to his lips, breathing deep. He blows out a cloud of smoke, not meeting the man's eyes as he looks over the lower palace, counting the lights still on in the town below. "I'm not trying to escape."