#my brain's currently split between starting what's in your head

[coeurify]

repost the period vampire ellie fic!

middle of the night,, vamp!ellie

a/n: this is a repost from early this year so excuse any change in writing style!

warnings: vampire!ellie. period sex. oral!r receiving fingering!r receiving. sort of a dreamy, less modern vibe. if u aren’t into it.. just don’t read it.

˚✦　.　　. 　  ˚　.　 . ✦　˚　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Some times--Most times, you only saw her at night. When darkness enveloped the small town you called home, when the stars rocked the sleepy eyed humans to sleep and the moon hummed the lullaby that quieted the crickets outside, she came.

Only then did you ever hear the distinct creaking of the splitting wood on your window panes being pressed up. Only then did the white of your sheer curtains move with more than the wind, the grip of the air nothing compared to the long hand that often wrapped around the fabric and pushed it open. When the moon was the only light filtering into your room, you saw the green of her eyes.

Tonight was no different, despite one little issue. Often, the woman who visited you under the cover of midnight would arrive to your eyes closed in sleep. She would press a hand to your warm cheek before waking you, greeted by your sleepy excitement each time.

This time, you had not been able to sleep. A heat had taken over your body, tight in your stomach with a pain you would compare to that of claws gnawing at your insides. Sweat beaded between your brows with every swift turn under your uncomfortable sheets, lip tugged between your frustrated teeth to stop any whines of discomfort. That had been what your favorite visitor heard as her shaking palms found the wood of your window. Your pained grunts floated through her buzzing ears as she quietly made her way into your room, auburn hair messy behind her ears as her figure became visible, head tilted as she looked across the room to your heated body.

“El,” you whined, wiping your forehead with a hand, not at all concerned about her chosen point of entry. “Go away.”

Ellie’s gaze softened, a scoff sounding from behind your squeezed shut eyes. “Go away?” she mused, her voice much closer now.

The split second your eyes had been closed, Ellie had somehow silently made it to your bedside. You don't question it, you never do.

When a girl like Ellie sports small fangs and a taste for blood, her speed is the last thing you think to question.

“I don't feel well, don’t want you here.” you add, mouth pulled into pout as you look up at the freckled face of Ellie.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, bunny? Instead of shooing me away,” Ellie requests, sitting on the edge of your bed. Her cold hand finds your sweaty arm, sighing. “You’re burning up.”

Your neck tickles with heat as Ellie questions your current state, and you fall wordless. Somehow, it was more embarrassing to admit to your vampire visitor that you were starting your period than to simply tell her to leave. Obviously however, Ellie was not taking the second option as a valid answer.

“I started my period, nothing is helpin’ the cramps,” you explain softly, pressing your hand into the sheets of your bed to try and sit, to maybe find some sort of relief to the growing tension in your stomach. But the other set of hands is faster.

“Lay down,” Ellie insists, glancing down at you. You can almost see the cogs of her brain turning behind the evergreen in her eyes, a sort of fogginess settling over the color.

“Let me help you,” she eventually says.

“What? I told you nothi-”

Ellie presses her lips together to hush you, one wandering hand finding the dip of your hip, blunt nail tracing the goosebump coated flesh there. Sometimes she liked being so cold, simply because she enjoyed seeing how you reacted to it. If she was damned for what she was, she may as well use some of it to her advantage.

“What are you doing?” You couldn't help the shiver that followed her movements.

Suddenly your mouth feels dry, tongue unable to wet the plump fat of your lip. The scratching in your throat finds no comfort when you swallow, only further irritating your vocal chords. A choked noise finds the heavy bedroom air as fingers tug at your cotton shorts.

“Helping you,” Ellie repeats, her own mouth much more wet than yours. Even in the dim light of the moon you can see the glistening dew on her parted lips. Usually the look she currently wears is saved only for when her pearly teeth find the sensitive and already scarred skin of your neck. Not for.. this.

Your hands immediately slap to your heated cheeks. “Oh my god Ellie, no fucking way.”

The vampire, who had now moved below you on the bed, hums in disagreement to your little show of kicking feet, a hand too strong to be that of a human halting all movements.

“We always have fun when I come over,” The freckles of her face disappear as she glances down, fully pulling down your shorts.

“Not when I’m on my period,” you hiss quietly, the words feeling cracked and embarrassed as they leave your mouth. You could deny the growing arousal in your belly simply by how *mortified* you felt. Even with the churning feeling of deeply settled embarrassment, you make no further moves to stop Ellie. Not as the shorts fall to the floor with a dull thump.

“It’ll help,” Ellie soothes, the near frigid temperature of her hand calming the heat that rises on the skin of your legs. “Haven’t you heard things like this help with cramps?”

The words that are spoken almost teasingly fall upon deaf ears as her wet lips press right above your knee. “Please,” the auburn haired girl whispers, sounding a lot more breathy than before. “Please, let me taste you. Let me make you feel better. ”

Ellie had a tendency to become a little less cold, figuratively at least, when she found her body nestled between your own. The unwavering voice you had grown oh so accustomed to always slid into a more mushy sounding version whenever it got intimate. Today, it seemed even worse. The words dripped with the sweet sounds of neediness, a sound that tasted sweet on your tongue, which swiped nervously over your dry lips.

“El..” Another kiss pressed further up the flesh of your warm thigh broke any following denial. “Fuck..” your chin wobbles, almost too embarrassed to actually say your following words, “Yea. Please help.”

You were sure if you believed something was watching down on you from the sky, it was with horror. Some people may call what Ellie was doing sinful. The angels in the clouds would shrilly gasp as fingers wrapped around your panties and tugged them and everything else from your bottom half, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes. Her shirt came next, the simple white cloth acted as something to watch as it pulled off of her chest, likely to avoid any mess. Some may call the sight of her dipping down again, green eyes looking up at your quivering lip, sinful. Maybe it was, surely the mewl you made when her lips found the heated flesh of your inner thigh was. But if you had to describe it, that wasn't the word you would use. You may even swear it was heavenly.

“Relax,” Ellie drawled, spreading your thighs further apart, despite the slight tremble to them. “I’ve got you, don't worry,” her voice soothed you enough to tilt your head back against the pillow, squeezing your eyes closed. The embarrassment simmered low in your belly, even more so when you could feel the arousal that dripped from you, which your vampire visitor had no problem pointing out. “So wet for me,” she groaned, lips still refusing to find home anywhere other than your thighs. Teeth sharper than your own nipped at the skin there, bucking your hips up. “You want this, don’t you?”

It was an obvious request for another confirmation of what was to come, but your chest felt too tight to reply, no air finding your lungs the moment her breath hovered over your pulsing core. “Tell me you want it,” she requests again, voice dipping into a softer territory again, searching for your approval. Her resolve was cracking however, jaw clicking as she tried her best not to dive straight into where she craved to be.

“I do,” you whine, eyes still closed as you answered, words met with the quick and overwhelming feeling of her tongue pressing flat against your wet center. You couldn’t think too hard about the fact she was doing this right now, not when the sharp gasp had come from two mouths instead of one, a quick call of, “Fuck,” from only you this time followed. Ellie had no words, not as her tongue made another long stripe up your pussy, going much slower than you liked. It led one small roll of your hips down into her, a sign for what you searched for.

It resulted in a hand gripping your hip, pressing you further down into the mattress, ceasing any attempt to control the movements. Her mouth pressed further into you, licking at the same excruciatingly slow pace, seemingly taking her time to enjoy the taste she found between your thighs. “El,” you gasp, eyes fluttering open to glance down at her. However her eyes were closed, another press further into you came, her nose bumping your clit as she licked into you. The rush it brings is almost enough to completely paint over the lingering cramping in your stomach.

The dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure seeps into your bones, making you feel too heavy to do much else than move a hand to find Eliie’s hair, fingers tangling between the auburn strands. You tried again to guide her movements, but she was much stronger than you, paying little mind to the shaky hand that tugged at her locks.

“Taste so fuckin..” she sucked in a breath, unable to keep from dipping back into your folds, humming. “So fuckin’ good,” she finishes, words reverberating against your throbbing core. It had you trying to squirm, held down by the stone light weight of Ellie’s grip. The deeper she licked, the more you fought against her. Your body ached the do something.. anything to find comfort in the overwhelming feeling of her still slow pace. The fingers in her hair tugged again, finding a low groan in response.

The air of the room had already been heavy on your feverish skin, but now it was nearing a state of unbearably humid. Every time Ellie’s tongue made a particularly aimed movement you felt another round of fire straight in the mess that was your clenching core. It all felt so heightened, so much better. The sticky feeling on your skin did not slow either of you down, and you had little care for the sweat beading on your flesh. Not when your favorite girl’s lips were doing such mind numbing things to you.

Had you told your past self, even that of just an hour ago, that you would have allowed it to happen.. They would have laughed in your heated face. The past version of you would have sworn up and down, prayed up to the mysterious sky, that this would never happen. But now- now you have no room for denial or regret. Your mind was becoming too cloudy to house thoughts of shame, questions of if this was right. Because it felt right. The slick sound of Ellie’s mouth against you sounded right, as did your little huffs and puffs that you couldn't hide. The cramps had subsided in tandem with the tightening band in you. But you needed more, and you were gone past a point of being embarrassed to ask for it.

“I need..” you try to speak, but Ellie’s lips wrapping around your clit is the cause of the death of the forming words. A jolt of your hips is one finally strong enough to rupture the heavy hold of the vampire’s hand. Your lame attempt at a command did not go unheard by Ellie, who for the first time since this began, pulled herself away from your cunt. Her eyes darted up, looking to meet your own. But you were far too focused on something else. Her lips were glassy with your wetness, which she licked without a second thought. But the usual clear sheen that you had been no stranger to seeing on her face was more of a rosy color, a stark reminder of the reason this had begun in the first place. The slight tint of red smeared onto her chin, across the corners of her mouth, and it was oh so addicting to see. You felt no lingering shame, no shiver of disgust. Instead it made you feel even more desperate to have her against you again, but first you had to listen to her speaking. “Need what, babe?”

The urge to simply shove her face right back into your cunt flipped through the pages of scenarios in your head, but the moonlight that painted the side of your lover’s face, illuminating the red paintbrush stroke of you, had you a little too separate to risk such a bratty action.

“I need more, El. Need to cum,” you manage to whine, one light push of her head to prove your point. Ellie dipped her head down again, pressing small kisses to your sticky inner thighs. “Just love taking my time with you,” she muttered, a few more pecks planted on you were a search for forgiveness, one you graciously accepted with a loud moan when the lips finally found your clit again.

Ellie seemed to take your beg to heart, the hand that held your hip slowly dipping between your thighs. Her searching fingers met just below her chin, one long digit sliding over your slit, teasing the weeping hole with a slight press. The air feels like it has been punched from your lungs when the finger sinks into you, just as evil as her mouth as it curls into you the exact moment her lips suck a little harder. You were sure she was looking to torture you with how slowly the finger pumped in and out, working and exploring around your walls that gripped around her so tightly.

You had always heard the mythical vampire was sadistic. Ellie had never been much of that, but with ever slow movement into your aching cunt, you began to believe the whispers. Your head turned lightly to stare at the open window, the stars that dipped in the night sky were surely spotlighting your body splayed out on the bed, the auburn haired vampire between your thighs was quite the show for all the celestial beings up in the night air, every single being held its breath and watched on, you were sure of it. You didn't blame the stars, or the moon, or whatever else may have their attention focused on this tantalizing sight. If you could, you would float right out of your body to watch on yourself.

Surely you looked a mess, chest heaving with the heat of the air, with the heat of Ellie. Your limbs shook just lightly, your fingers knotted your companions hair, the messy pile of clothes on the floor, the red that painted her cheeks. Surely it would make your cheek turn bashfully if you could see it. Maybe this was sinful. The little dip into your rushing thoughts is ended with the raspy tone of Ellie’s voice.

“Relax, bunny. Gotta relax for me,” Ellie cooed against you, a few more languid presses into your cunt causing you to finally loosen around her, coupled by the continuing ministrations from her mouth on your clit. Soone another finger joins the mix, the large fingers stretching you just right. She reaches spots that have you remembering the stars you had just seen behind the black of your squeezed shut eyes, a pathetic cry falling from your lips. This reaction only encourages her to continue, the pace of her suckles and thrusts into you speed up. It's harsher everytime she plunges into you, your hips moving lightly with the pure force.

“That’s my girl, there you go,” she compliments after a long moan, the words causing another clench around her fingers. You let out another string of incoherent whines and moans, grinding down into her messy face and fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind you cursed yourself and Ellie for the certainly ruined bedspread under your ass, but it seems like the much smaller issue when you had *this* to focus on. You were nearing your peak, and it was no secret. Your grinds against Ellie became sloppy, ununiformed and more needy than before. No words could form on your tongue, only whimpers and unintelligible begs.

The vampire never lets up, curling her fingers, your walls clenching. her teeth grazed against your clit lightly enough to have you trembling, whining softly. She knows your body as well as you do, every small sign you were reaching the final moments before your world would explode. She knew what moves of her fingers would have your legs shaking, knew where to press, how hard to go. She was no stranger to making you cum, and she definitely was on the mission to make it happen now. Her free hand grips your thigh, pushing you even more impossibly open for her, fingers pressing into you harshly enough to draw another cry. She readjusts slightly, sinking even deeper into your folds. “C’mon,” Ellie whispers, the word slightly broken, shaky and pleading. Pleading as if she needed you to come as much as you did.

Maybe she did, because the moment your back arched, a near pornographic moan filling the heavy air, spilling out of the window and swirling against the peeping eyes of the stars and moon, she moaned with you. Her fingers still within you as you gushed around her, her lips still pressed to your clit. But as your thighs shook, she slid the fingers out and replaced them with her tongue again. The pink muscle flattened against your slit again like it had earlier, this time with no attempt at going slow.

If anything, she was ravenous. Every drop your pulsing center gifted her, she sucked down like she needed it, ignoring your desperate whines of overstimulation. You attempted lamely to press her head away with the hand still tangled in her scalp, but it was no use. The pleasure of her tongue was much too overwhelming to fight.

After a moment that felt like hours, she pulled away. Her tongue licked over her lips again, collecting the rosy colored cum from where it smudged there. Her eyes stayed on your own blinking irises as her fingers raised to her already messy lips. They were coated with the same mixture of red and clear shining wetness, and she sunk them into her mouth with a moan. The debautchary that took place in front of your eyes should have your stomach queasy, should have your legs closing and pressing far away from Ellie.

But of course it doesn't, instead you watch on with morbid curiosity, watching her tongue curl around her fingers, sucking the last bits of you, leaving a glistening layer of her own spit behind. She found no shame in this situation, no shame in drinking down evey single thing you would give her, so why should you?

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes transfixed on the fingers as they fall from her lips and down to her lap, her eyes back on your own. She makes a move to crawl over you, arms locking you in from either side.

“Just got a taste of you bunny,” she mumbles, nudging her head into the crook of your neck.

Her lips pressed there, and this time you could feel her fangs under the plump fat of her lip. “Gonna let me have more?” she questioned.

Of course you would, of course you did. As you tilted your neck for her, the curtain to the side of you blew in the wind, and you closed your eyes.

“Yes.”

[theemporium]

could you do a stiles x siren reader where they are studying but end up having sex and once they finish the reader is a bit scared because she thinks stiles only had sex with her because of how alluring she is but turns out that he genuinely likes her because she’s a good person! being a siren is a plus in his book 😘😘

“When will I ever need this in my life?”

Stiles lifted his head from his book, peeking at the page you were currently staring at and let out a snort. “Probably never.” 

“So why do I have to learn it?” you whined, head falling to rest on the textbook that was starting to become the cause of your headache. 

You had been struggling with a few of your classes. In between dealing with splitting time between being on land and in water, helping fight whatever supernatural problem had lingered into Beacon Hills and getting a somewhat normal sleep schedule—it had been hard to keep up with classes, let alone do well in them. 

Stiles had been kind enough to offer some help, thus leading to the odd studying sessions you two planned in between your hectic schedules. But it still felt a bit redundant to learn how to calculate the volume of a cone when you had just spent the night before stopping a sacrificial cult take over Beacon Hills.

“The unfortunate way of the world,” Stiles said with a sigh before reaching for the textbook you were using as a pillow, and instead throwing it on the floor beside his own stuff. “Let’s take a break.” 

“I need a nap,” you grumbled, words slightly muffled before you turned your head to look at the boy. Your eyes widened a little when you realised how close he was. 

“A nap sounds good to me,” he murmured with a soft smile.

“I thought you’d be too restless for a nap,” you teased lightly. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Funny one.” 

“I’m hilarious, I know,” you grinned back, only for your smile to damper slightly when he reached out to push some hair behind your ear. You could practically feel your cheeks burning.

“You can take a nap if you want to,” he said in a soft voice. “I’ll just find something else to do in the meantime.” And you hated the way his sincerity choked you, making your chest feel warm and tight all at once. 

You surprised yourself when you leaned forward, pressing your lips against his for a split few seconds before you pulled away, your brain seeming to catch up with you. “I’m so sorry–” 

Stiles didn’t give you a chance to continue before he was kissing you again, a lot more sure and passionate than yours had been and you couldn’t help but sink into the kiss. You didn’t even fight him as he rolled you onto your back, crawling on top of you as his hands began to wander under the fabric of the hoodie you had been wearing. 

But there was a voice in the back of your head, screaming and yelling and ruining the feeling of his fingers sliding along your sides. 

“Stiles, wait,” you whispered against his lips, eyes closed when the boy pulled away. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he murmured, eyebrows furrowed in concern as his hand gently cupped your cheek. 

“I—” but you paused, unsure how to even say the words screaming in your head. Because you knew how this went, you knew that nobody was able to resist the pull of the allure and even if you didn’t mean to use it, it happened. 

You knew that the second the deed was done, he would be snapped out of it and you didn’t think you could handle Stiles being pissed at you for being caught in the allure. 

“We shouldn’t,” you whispered, unable to bring yourself to look at him. “You’ll regret it.” 

Stiles frowned. “Why would I?” 

“It’s the allure, Stiles,” you sighed as you finally glanced up at him. “It’s making you want to do things you might not realise you don’t want to do.” 

Stiles blinked before a smile grew on his face, unable to hold back the laugh that was threatening to escape. “Yeah, because the three year crush I have on you has nothing to do with it.” 

Your eyes widened. “What?” 

“Baby, trust me when I say, doing this—” he paused as he gestured between you two. “Has nothing to do with your powers or you being a siren, I promise.” 

“Stiles—”

“It’s got everything to do with the fact I think you’re beautiful inside and out,” he murmured shyly as he flashed you a smile. “And that I’ve been practically obsessed with you for ages. Ask anyone really, especially Scott. He would tell you just how—”

You leaned up to press your lips against his, smiling as the boy quickly melted into the kiss. 

“You like me for me?” you whispered against his lips.

“I like you for you, baby,” he whispered back.

You smiled against his lips before pushing him to sit up, giving yourself the space you needed to pull your hoodie over your head with your t-shirt quickly following. You laid there, sprawled across his bed with just your shorts and bra on, and it took everything in his power to not come there and then. 

“Shit,” he hissed out. “This is way better than my dreams. Like, way way better.” 

You raised your brows. “You dream about me, Stilinski?” 

“All the time.” 

“And what did you do to me in those dreams?” you asked as you trailed your fingers along the hem of his shirt, tugging on it when you wanted him to take it off and he quickly followed the demand. 

“I, uh,” Stiles’ cheeks burned hot. “Well, I…uh…” 

“Show me, Stiles,” you whispered as you sat up, pressing soft kisses along his bare chest. “Show me what you did in your fantasies.” 

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath.

.

[glorified-red]

Locks & Cake Pops (Damian Wayne x Reader x Jon Kent)

summary: Gotham was a scary place when the sun went down. One terrifying encounter with a stranger left you completely worn thin. Thankfully, your boys were more than prepared to come find you.

word count: 4,800~

warnings: panic attack, paranoia, vague & very short description of encountering a scary stranger (none explicit to what happened, by whom, or by any gender. Only specification is that it's a conversation and Reader is hesitant around touch), paranoia to violence or potential violence, constant paranoia of not being safe

Y'all called me a main character and I think the people writing my story took that as a CHALLENGE. The amount of plot I went through today??? I swear, fics really do write themselves, huh?

Shout out to @quillsareswords for planting the Poly Fic seed in my head with her fics until I couldn't NOT write one. And shout out to @unmotivatedwrit3r for being my Jon today and @uni-magi-nation for being my Damian because guess what lads, this fic is based on a true story!! As are most of my fics anyway, so please, enjoy the events that happened less than 12 hours ago ;P

You could pinpoint the exact moment your day had derailed. 

It wasn’t until the sun had just barely started to slip beneath the horizon. Nearly ten hours of joy all crashed in one single moment. It was one decision. A single foot placement was the difference between coming home safe and the disaster that befell you currently. 

One foot placement was all it took and your entire world crumbled from above you. 

You almost wondered if your foot pivoted slightly to the east, if you took the path to your right instead of your left, would you still be in this position? Would you be here, clinging to your next breath as if it was your last? 

But alas, you traveled west to your car. The path you took was slightly dimmer than the other in the middle of dusk. Less people, less crowds . . . less witnesses. 

That one decision landed you in an inescapable exchange of words. Whether you made it home was a decision you no longer had control of, it was now placed in the hands of a stranger—a person who thrived on the rush of feeling a life beat in the palm of their hands. 

Your feet were placed on a track alongside them, desperately trying to find a way out. But each pivot was either too late or too suspicious, all you could do was play along like some kind of puppet. Eventually the rush simmered and the paths diverged, they split off into two distinct directions, and you were free. 

You didn’t bother to care when your feet pounded against the ground one after another. They did their job, they took you to where your brain had decided you needed to go despite you not truly being a part of that conversation. You let your instincts take over, the adrenaline high of blazing through empty sidewalks and burning passed streetlamps flickering on for the first time that night. 

Your breath faded into the air with each step, a resounding huff of forced exhales as your legs ached from the pace. Before you knew it, your world tilted on its axis as your brain and body fully disconnected. Tunnel vision took over your view, the only thing in sight was the faraway gleam of steel and vinyl. 

You slammed the car door behind you, fully encasing you in a carbon cage. It felt like a cage in all senses of the word. You were suffocated inside the doors of your own safety, hating how your only semblance of security was in a man-made product that could fail within a moment—that could be broken into with just the thought of doing so. 

You heard the satisfying click of the doors locking, never realizing your fingers jumped to the button the second they could. That sound meant safety, that sound meant you would be okay. 

Electrons slipped past connections and you couldn't properly process anything aside from the steering wheel in front of you and the sharp polyester strap cutting across your chest. Your next exhale was steady and long, a pitiful attempt at self-soothing. Even with the length of the breath, the shakiness behind it was so easy to hear in the silence of the cage. 

You gripped the steering wheel with both hands, twisting your grip along the rim until you could feel the bite in your palms. You brought yourself back one cell at a time. It started with the pads of your fingers tapping against the polyurethane, then your palms rubbing against the grooves and curves of the wheel, then your hands were gripping at your arms until feeling returned to them slowly. You thawed out your own body seconds at a time. 

You breathed again. 

Then the car had started and you drove away. 

You could remember the exact moment you realized this was much deeper than mere disassociation. Your eyes were filled with red lights and your ears buzzed with the sound of passing cars. It started in your chest, a small hum of warning deep in the confines of your ribcage. 

The death rattle had started inside you and only got louder the longer your hands stayed connected to the prison bars. The hum turned into a storm of pyrocumulonimbus as your foot pressed into the gas, each breath of oxygen only fueled the fire burning at the edges of your lungs. 

You fought so hard against the impending doom of it all. You just wanted to go home. You wanted to come home and beeline straight for—not safety—comfort; you wanted to remind yourself that touch wasn’t something to be scared of; you wanted to remind yourself that you were safe—that everything was going to be okay. 

But instead your breath quickened into a terrifying speed and you had no choice but to pull over into the nearest complex with well-lit parking spaces and bustling activity at its front doors. Your car clicked off and your fingers immediately reached for the lock icon at your side. 

You pressed it once to hear the simultaneous click of four doors locking in tandem. 

Leaning against the plush seat, you tried to breathe properly. Your hands gripped at the seatbelt across your chest, both hating and adoring the pressure it forced against your body. 

You pressed it twice to remind yourself the doors were locked. 

Gripping the strap, you didn’t mind the way the edges dug into your palms as you bent it in on itself. It was tight against you, just enough to keep you present. The hands of sharply woven polyester forced you to stay conscious in reality, they didn’t dare let you slip between the cracks and fall into dissociation. 

You pressed it a third time, the same click resounding in your ears. 

Suddenly you felt too suffocated. You could feel the bottom of the wheel on your knees and the lanyard of your keys against your thigh. 

The clicks reversed as you tumbled out of the car. 

Fresh air hit your entire body and the fire raging in your chest worsened tenfold. You were exposed—you were vulnerable. You slammed yourself back into the car. A blink and you were in the backseat this time. 

The carved metal of a key dug into your fingers while you clutched it like a lifeline. Your hand reached for your phone before you could process anything else. Your other clicked the lock icon once more and the entire car fell into darkness. 

⋘⋙

Damian didn’t remember falling asleep but when a human sized heater was laying across his chest, it never took long for his exhaustion to get tired of being ignored. 

He was slightly annoyed, arguably moreso, when the heater in question jerked upright. Damian’s eyes snapped open. “Watch it,” he groaned, sleep still affecting the timbre in his voice. Hands dug uncomfortably into his stomach and he pushed them away. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the kryptonian apologized from above him. “I just . . .” he trailed off. 

That got his attention. 

His eyes focused on the alert expression on his lover’s face. Jon shifted upright completely, still straddling Damian’s thighs. His eyes were distant, looking off into the window at the other side of the room. 

“What’s wrong?” Damian asked, finding himself slightly propped up onto his elbows. 

“Y/n,” Jon replied, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. The way he said your voice was just as distant as his gaze, almost like his voice was nothing but an exhale. He blinked, looking down and glaring so hard at Damian’s upper body that Damian almost took offense. 

“Their heartbeat,” he said, confusion lacing his voice as he tried to focus on the thum of your beat, “it’s . . . different.” 

“Different,” Damian echoed. He would’ve been annoyed at the vague answer if he wasn’t aware both him and Jon were currently barely awake and therefore, barely functioning (Damian more so than Jon, of course). “What do you mean different?” 

Kryptonian powers were always so finicky. He always thought so, but meeting Jon? This man was evidence in itself that powers were annoying at best. Damian watched as Jon developed each new power slowly at the most inconvenient times, mind you. And now, years after being the Man Of Steel, Jon’s powers still went berserk. 

Damian couldn’t even count on his fingers how many sensory overloads he’s guided Jon through—and he’d do it all over again if he had to. 

Jon shook his head. “It’s just different.” He shrugged. 

“You woke me up because it’s just different?” Damian deadpanned. 

Jon glared down at him. “This isn’t exactly an exact science, you know.” 

Damian sighed and slid back down until his upper back hit the mattress once more. “Is it going faster? Skipping a beat?” he prompted, trying his best to shake the grogginess from his body without letting paranoia fester in its place. 

Heartbeats always worried Damian. He ended up assuming the worst. But with a Kryptonian tracing them so often, he realized that different didn’t necessarily mean bad. You could have raised your hand in class, forgot your keys, or missed a step down the stairs and your heart lurched. That was enough to perk Jon’s ears. You could have been stressed so your heart rate was elevated. Maybe even tired which made it drag. 

Despite his own fears, Damian kept reminding himself that there's more of a chance that you were fine than not, especially when he was currently talking to a sleep deprived kryptonian who announced heartbeat changes all the time. The idea of getting away with any kind of anxiety while around that golden retriever was stupid and incredibly naive—Damian gave up after a year of Jon’s super-hearing kicking in. 

“You’re anxious.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You should probably—” 

“I said shut up.” 

Jon spoke up: “It definitely jumped and it’s been slightly faster than normal ever since.” His head tilted slightly to the side to listen better—Damian couldn't help but picture a tiny puppy doing the same and its ear flopping over. “It’s getting steadily faster. I think . . . I think they’re driving?” 

Damian’s eyes furrowed. He reached for his phone as Jon continued. “Definitely driving,” he settled on. “I can hear their car.” 

“Maybe they almost got into an accident,” Damian mumbled in thought, setting a personal reminder in his brain to berate you for speeding later. His phone clicked on and his eyes saw his blurry home screen. He blinked the image into focus. When his eyes could properly trace over the smiles on you and Jon’s faces, he looked at the time. 

It was earlier than he thought. 

Jon’s hands fiddled with the hem of Damian’s sleep shirt, the compression material stretching slightly to accommodate the movement. “Maybe,” Jon gnawed at his bottom lip. “I didn’t hear anything like that though, just normal traffic.” 

Damian hummed. “They were at the library today. I didn’t expect them to head home so soon.” His fingers opened your contact. “Did they text you that they were heading home?” 

 Jon leaned across the bed to reach for his phone on the nightstand. Damian resisted a snark at how uncomfortable the shift was with the unnecessary knee to the side. 

Jon fiddled with his phone for a moment. “Nope, nothing.” 

Damian opened his mouth to supply another sentence of rationale when two things happened simultaneously: In an instant, Jon’s phone slipped from his hands and ricocheted right off of his stomach. (“Ow!”) Then Damian’s ringtone sounded throughout the entire bedroom, bouncing off the walls and reverberating into their tired brains. 

The fear written on Jon’s face was enough for Damian to pick up on the first ring. 

“Y/n?” he asked. Jon’s fingers clutched at his shirt. 

“Hey,” you responded. There was a crackle over the line but Damian couldn’t tell if it was your voice or the shitty internet. 

“Are you okay?” Damian was blunt, cutting straight through any attempt at small talk. How could he not when Jon was currently mouthing “panic attack” at him and poking his ribcage. 

You hesitated enough for Damian to shoo Jon off of him. Both boys tumbled out of the massive bed in varying degrees of grace. 

“What are you doing right now?” 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re dodging the question,” Damian slid on a pair of pants and made his way down the stairs. “What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing because I have a human sized Holter monitor that would beg to disagree.”

Jon tumbled behind, no doubt using some kind of kryptonian flare to gather all the necessary items to drive to you. 

“Can you both meet me here, I—” you cut off, if Damian strained, he could hear your rampant breathing. “I need you.” You choked, “No—No capes.” 

Damian breathed in slowly and exhaled through his mouth. The keys and wallets were already floating into his pockets as he opened the front door. 

No capes. 

It was a valid request. It was a request both Jon and Damian had come to appreciate overtime. No need for heroics, no need for perfection, no need for theatrics—you just needed your partners, as they were. 

That was a level of normalcy that was so rare in this lifestyle. As much as it would be miles quicker with Jon’s flight or even his grapple gun, he respected the thought process behind the decision. You just wanted your boys, that was all. 

Car doors slammed shut and Damian was already behind the wheel making his way to you. “We’re on our way.” He felt a poke to his bicep. Jon motioned towards the phone, opening and closing his hand in request. “I’m going to pass the phone to Jon. He’s going to stay on the line until we reach you, okay?” 

Damian barely waited for your small “ok” before handing the phone off. He didn’t bother to fill Jon in on the conversation, it was obvious he was already listening intently. 

“Hey, sunshine.” Jon pointed directions out and Damian followed. No need for maps when you have a super-hearing alien who knows exactly where you are just by the sounds of traffic and the volume of your heartbeat. “We’re coming as fast as we can. Just give us ten minutes and we’ll be there with you.” 

Damian focused on driving, the one thing he could do at this moment. He was tactical, he was useful. Jon was the comforting one; Jon was the one who could navigate emotionally tense situations with ease. So he gripped the steering wheel tighter and made sure he got to you safely. 

Strengths. All three of you had them just as you all had weaknesses. But the beauty of your triad came from how perfectly your strengths filled each others’ weaknesses. You lifted each other up, and when you couldn’t, it was easy to lean on one another. 

So Jon handled the comfort, Damian handled the logistics. 

Words of affirmations flew out of Jon’s mouth in a way that Damian used to envy. Now, he found it endearing. He has his own strengths and that’s okay. 

“Just ten minutes, baby. Ten minutes and everything will be okay, I promise.” 

Red lights glared down at Damian. 

“Breath with me. In and out, just like that. Keep doing that.” 

Stop signs seemed taller than usual, more demeaning. 

“You’re gonna be alright. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now but you’ll be okay soon, you just gotta hang in there for us.” 

Brakes screeched against the pavement. 

“I'm so proud of you, you’re so brave right now. No, don’t be like that. You’re so strong, you’ll get through this, I swear.” 

His fingers tapped against the gear shift impatiently. 

“Are the doors locked? Yea? That’s good. You did good—so good.” 

He heard you sob into the receiver and his heart twisted painfully. 

“You’re safe. No one can get to you right now without your consent. Just keep telling yourself that: no one can get in, no one can reach you, you’re safe.” 

His foot finally hit the gas. 

“You’re alright, sweetheart. You're okay. You did everything right—yes you did. Yes, Y/n. You got to safety, you pulled over, you locked the doors, and you called us. You did everything right.” 

He made a right and then a left. 

“Five more minutes, bub. Just five more minutes. Keep breathing. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be right there with you.” 

He was trapped behind a slow Jeep—he switched lanes. 

“Yea? Grab the jacket and hold it tight. I’d rather you hold that. Just a few more minutes and that jacket will be replaced with us, alright?” 

Yellow lights always annoyed him the most. 

“We’re coming, I promise. We’re coming.” 

He swerved into the complex, not caring if he cut someone off in the process. 

“We’re pulling in right beside you. That car is us so don’t be scared. It’s just us, baby.” 

Damian clicked off the car and tumbled out with Jon quick to follow suit. He always forgot how much Jon used pet names as he rambled through words of reassurance. He was sure it was some kind of nervous tick Jon had, a way for him to soothe both himself and the other person. It could also just be a habit of his mouth speaking far faster than his brain, but the nicknames flowed out of him so fast either way.

“You gotta let us in, love. We can’t help from out here.” Jon’s hand gently rested on the glass window to the backseat. Damian motioned towards the building in front of the car, Jon nodded in response, already knowing his thought process far before Damian’s feet started moving backwards. 

Focus on his strengths. Focus on what he can do. Focus on that. 

The car doors unlocked and the boys split up. 

⋘⋙

You were huddled in the backseat for what felt like hours and milliseconds all at once. Every time your breaths evened, your brain fizzled out with it until you couldn’t feel anything aside from the car key scraping against your palm and the plastic door digging into your spine. 

Legs pulled into your chest, phone to your ear, and arms wrapped around a hoodie long since stolen for your backseat, you waited. You tried to bury your nose in the scent of pine and peppermint, a tanglement of your home—your boys—but it never fully sunk into your comprehension. 

Your empty hand grasped at the plush cotton in a sour attempt at bringing yourself back up. Unfortunately, the second you were brought back to awareness, your breathing spiked. Every distant voice, every shifting shadow, even the cars passing by in the nearby road—it all screamed danger into your head until you struggled to breathe. 

Even in this locked prison, you still felt too exposed. You were miles from home and miles from safety, how could you not? 

The doors are locked. 

You’re safe. 

No one can come in without your permission. 

They’re coming. 

When a car pulled beside yours, a familiar tint of windows and gleam of dark steel, you fought all of your instincts to run, to hide, to scream. 

The doors are locked. 

You’re safe. 

No one can come in without your permission. 

They’re here. 

It took every ounce of your willpower to allow your finger to press the open lock icon after pressing the locked one over and over again for what felt like an eternity.  

“Y/n,” Jon sighed out in relief. The call ended and what once was a distant voice was now a full fledged being.

“Please close the door,” you sobbed out, feeling nothing but claws of terror scratch up your chest the longer the door stayed open. Jon instantly complied, shutting the door as gently as he could without slamming it. 

The doors instantly locked again. 

“Can I touch you?” he started with. He didn’t bother asking if you were okay or asking what you needed, it would be pointless. You weren’t okay and asking what you needed when you were so clearly in peril would just put unnecessary weight onto your shoulders when he should be taking it off. 

Your hands fisted into the fabric, fingers swimming amongst the mountain of cotton. “I-I,” you choked on an inhale, “I don’t know.” 

And how could you? Sometimes touch was a blessing, a craving nothing else could satiate. Sometimes touch was the only way to bring you back all the way: it was grounded as was it weighted, it was nice. 

But sometimes touch was terrifying, a pressure of what if tangled in previous experiences. Sometimes touch was the only thing that terrified you the most: after such a night, how could you possibly feel safe with an ounce of contact? 

“Okay,” Jon said quickly, not wanting to make you feel worse about your own indecision. “What if we try? I’ll pull away the second you tell me to, pinky swear.” 

He even raised his pinky to solidify the statement. If you weren’t miles deep into a panic attack and hundreds of tears worn, you probably would have laughed. Instead, you nodded, a jerky movement that shifted the fabric around your face. 

“I’m gonna place my hand on top of your knee, real slow. You tell me if you don’t want it there anymore.” He looked into your eyes with his vibrant blue bells. His face was so sure, so confident, but the edges of his face were hardened with worry. He really couldn’t hide his emotions around you.

You nodded once more. You saw your own quickened breaths more than you felt them, the shadows off to your right reflecting the rise and fall of your chest. 

Jon’s hand was raised slightly above your knee and he hesitated just enough for you to track his movements. Then it was nothing but a light touch of fingertips, then fingers, then a palm, and then an entire hand. 

Despite his slow, deliberate movements, you still flinched. It was a whole-body jerk that started with pulling your legs closer to you and ended with your shoulders hitching upwards. Jon bit the inside of his cheek at the reaction, ignoring the way it dug into his heart a little too deep for his own sanity.

He kept his hand there even when your body’s instinctual reaction screamed for him to pull back. Jon waited for your words, but more importantly, he waited for you to settle into the touch or comprehend that you didn’t want it anymore—whichever ended up happening. 

Luckily, it was the former. Your shoulders pressed back into the door behind you and your head leaned against the car seat. Your feet unhooked at the ankles and relaxed. 

“Do you want more touch or is this enough for now?” 

You felt the heat radiate from his palm, it fought against the storm of fire boiling in every fiber of your being. It also fought against the sheet of ice that threatened to separate you from the rest of the world. It was enough. 

“ ‘s good for now,” you breathed in shakily. Trying to match the rise and fall of the chest in front of you. 

Jon looked off to the side and squinted into the darkness. “Damian’s on his way back.” His thumb absent-mindedly rubbed against your knee slowly and in a small movement. It was so small you barely would’ve realized it if your knee wasn’t at eye level. “You’ll have to let him in soon.” 

Your eyes flickered over to just beyond your car and into the entrance to the building—the cafe—where Damian had started walking out of. You had a moment or two to emotionally prepare yourself to unlock those doors. 

You struggled on your next breath and Jon heard it. He returned his gaze to you. “Breathe, baby. It’s just Dami. You can lock the doors immediately afterwards.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, hating the way your breathing sped up slightly as you clicked the open lock. Gears shifted and the reversal of the click was impossibly loud against your muddled brain. 

The door in front of you swung open and Jon pulled Damian inside before closing the door as soon as possible. You found your thumb pressing the lock button the second you heard the car door close. You never once felt the hand on your knee leave and you silently thanked Jon’s perceptiveness. 

Opening your eyes, you were met with Damian’s emerald eyes looking at you with as much concern as those eyes could ever truly show. Jon had somehow found his way squished in between the seats and middle console, half debating if he should just sit on the floor or on the console. Damian sat across from you with his hands full of drinks and food. 

He offered you the blend of sugar and ice to which you took without much hesitation. Your head was pounding. You could hear your heartbeat in your ear and you could feel it in your temples. It was unbearably hot with pain. 

“I got your usual,” Damian said, “just the way you like it.” 

You sniffled, already feeling the fire inside swirl into dissipation. “No inclusions?” you asked in a small voice. 

“No inclusions,” he reassured you. 

“The base?” 

“Lemonade, not water.” 

You opened your mouth to ask another question but Damian was quick to read your mind. He lifted up a straw still wrapped in its plastic casing. “Yes, I got you a straw.” 

For the first time that night, you smiled. It was small, twitchy, and faded just as quick as it came, but it was still better than the choked off sobs from earlier over the phone. 

Damian opened the top of the straw for you and you held out your drink for him to place it inside. Your hands were so shaky it was difficult to even hold the large drink (because of course he got you the biggest size), let alone have enough dexterity to open a straw. 

“I also bought cake pops,” he lifted up the three brown bags of parchment that held your sugary treat. He knew you so well you swore he was a mind reader. Your hands were shaking from panic but also from how low your energy levels were from using every ounce of it to breathe. 

Damian lifted the first bag after peering inside. “Birthday cake.”

You snatched the bag. 

“Chocolate.” 

Jon did the same for his. 

“And mine.” Damian set his bag in his lap and handed Jon his drink full of sugar. 

Jon propped open the cup holders attached to the center console and set his drink inside, Damian was quick to set his water beside it. 

You clutched your drink with both hands, enjoying the feeling of the cold condensation against your aching fingers. “Thank you.”

Damian hummed in response. It didn’t take long for his hand to find its way onto your other knee and this time, you didn’t end up flinching. You swore the presence of your two lovers was more than enough to calm any attack that found its way up to you. Tonight was proof of that. 

“Your breathing is still too fast for my liking,” Damian spoke up. “Do you want to go through some breathing exercises?” 

Both of the boys looked at you expectantly. You shrunk back slightly at the pressure before you shook your head. “Can . . .” you breathed in to reassure yourself—your request was okay, you’re voicing your needs, you’re valid—“Can you guys just distract me?” 

They shared a look between each other and Jon ended up speaking up first: “Go ahead, Dami. Distract them.” 

“Why do I have to?” Damian demanded, “You’re obviously better at running your mouth than I am.”

“Because I said so?” 

“Because you said so,” Damian mocked, “Really? Do you honestly believe that holds any true merit in this household?” 

Jon scoffed. “It does when you say it so why doesn’t it when I say it?”

“Because I’m better than you, obviously.” 

“Am not.” 

“Am too.” 

“Boys,” you giggled through the word. Your grip on your drink was loose and your legs uncurled slowly until they pressed into Damian’s shin. “While this is adorable, I just want to listen to you two talk, not bicker.” 

One of them huffed from their nose and you genuinely couldn’t tell who—you’re half convinced they both did. 

“Fine.” Damian’s free hand fell around the top of your shoe, his pinky brushing against your ankle. “Go ahead, genius. Tell our beloved what you did to the kitchen while making dinner tonight.” 

Jon’s eyes widened slowly. “We agreed not to tell them,” he whisper-shouted. 

Damian shrugged. 

You turned to Jon with a fire behind your eyes. 

“What did you do to my freshly cleaned kitchen?”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

[miasmaghoul]

miasma...could you bless my eyes with some bottom swiss (i shine my autistic eyes at you)

ye

big boys ahoy

"Fuck," Swiss groans into the mattress, his prone form shuddering.

"Good?" Aether kisses the word into his shoulder. Swiss mourns the loss of the other ghoul's belly against his back when Aether straightens up.

"Yeah," he breathes, licking at a fang-dimpled lip. "So fuckin' good."

Aether has had him here for ages now, face down and stuffed with three of the other ghoul's thick fingers. Aether works him in long strokes, curling against his prostate just enough that Swiss can feel the stain he's soaking into the soft sheets. His cock throbs, blood hot where it's trapped and leaking under his stomach.

"m ready," he slurs, drunk on the way Aether's fingers pet at him. He's kneeling between Swiss's trembling thighs, his other hand lazily working the fat cock Swiss is currently in the process of demanding. "Put it in, c'mon." He doesn't have any leverage to push back onto those probing digits, fisting his hands into the sheets by his head instead. "Gimme your dick."

"You have such a way with words," Aether chuckles, pressing a spot inside that has Swiss seeing stars. "You know what you need to say."

That blessed pressure returns to Swiss's back as Aether leans down again, mouthing at Swiss's jaw. Swiss is finding that the weight of Aether on top of him does something unique to his brain. It turns off everything that isn't a point of physical contact. The warmth of Aether's skin, the softness of his belly, the brush of his chest hair. The pressure makes Swiss's nerves light up like fireworks and has every thought leaking out of his ears. He's helpless but to give Aether what he wants.

"Please," he whispers, the heaviness of Aether on his back leaving him breathless. Or maybe that's from the burning stretch of the other ghoul slipping a fourth finger inside him. Tough to say. "Please let me have it."

"See, that wasn't so hard." The hand fisting Aether's cock bumps his ass and Swiss hisses. The other ghoul hums in his ear, a pleased sound. "How do you want it?"

Swiss tries to think about it. Tries to engage his static-filled brain enough to focus on something besides the way Aether is splitting him open. On the way he can feel the other ghoul's heart pounding against his back.

He could ask for it on his knees, hard and fast and brutally satisfying. Or on his back, tugged into Aether's lap for deep, long strokes that would have him howling. Maybe Swiss should ride him, slow rolls of hips melting into bounces that would have his own cock slapping against both of their stomachs. Or maybe even -

"Well?" Aether licks a bead of sweat from Swiss's temple, crooking his fingers and chuckling at the way his eyes cross. Swiss can't keep his thoughts on track. There are too many options. "If you can't use your words, I won't know what you need." Aether tells him, and Swiss whimpers, clenching. "I'll just have to keep you like this until you can figure out an answer."

Like this.

Like this.

There's his answer.

"Like this," he pants into the mattress. Aether makes a questioning sound in his throat. Swiss gives a broken exhale at the vibration of it. "Fuck me however," the words are thick as molasses, "but stay like this." Aether shifts a little, catching Swiss's blown-out gaze with a raised brow.

"You mean on top of you?" Swiss moans low and whorish as Aether braces himself with the hand that had been on his cock, letting a bit more of his weight settle against Swiss's back. "Like this?" Swiss feels himself flush head to toe at the pained groan Aether offers when he gives a feverish nod, clenching hard.

"Yes," he rasps, grinding his neglected cock into the slick sheets. "Please Aeth, please." The weight of him soothes something unnamable and Swiss needs so much more of it. He can feel himself starting to drool, and something soft lines Aether's face.

"You look so sweet when you beg."

He presses a chaste kiss to Swiss's cheek and then pushes himself upright. The loss of his body is shocking, leaves Swiss gasping for air like a fish out of water. Aether rests a heavy hand between his shoulder blades, making soothing little sounds. Swiss feels lost without the pressure.

"Come back," he pleads, suddenly feeling on the verge of tears. He's shaking like a leaf, claws digging into the sheets. "Need it, need to feel you, I -"

"I know, I hear you," there's a subtle urgency in his voice, something that meshes with the electric buzz beneath Swiss's skin. "Just a second, try to breathe for me, okay?"

Swiss tries, sucking air through his teeth and focusing on the solid feel of Aether's hand on his back and the strong legs between his own. Aether's fingers curl inside him one last time and Swiss gives a strangled cry when the other ghoul pulls them back, hooking two just inside his rim. Swiss's stomach seizes up at the hungry sound Aether makes as he watches it gape and wink.

"So empty without me," he says, shaky and affected. Stunned. The fingers disappear entirely and Swiss lets out a hurt sob that's stifled only by the dizzying sound of Aether hastily slicking himself up. "You need to feel me everywhere, don't you?"

He slips the fat head between Swiss's cheeks, bumping against his twitching hole and planting his hands on the mattress by Swiss's ribs. Swiss arches back as best he can, starved for contact. Aether barely presses in, the slightest hint of what Swiss so desperately needs, and Swiss thinks if he doesn't hurry the fuck up he's going to burst. Aether must hear it in his pitchy whines, the other ghoul groaning and sinking into Swiss's body in one long, agonizing push.

"Tight," he breathes, "all that time stretching and you're still so tight." They both offer a shout when Aether bottoms out, leaning to rest his forehead against Swiss's spine. Aether grunts. "You take it so well," he says with unbelievable reverence. Swiss's heart swells.

"Come back," he begs again, tears clumped in his lashes. He releases his grip on the sheets to paw blindly for Aether's hand. When he finds it, he squeezes. "C'mon, Aeth, gimme all of you."

Aether makes a sound Swiss has never heard before, adding his own at the kick of Aether's cock inside him. Aether shifts gingerly, laying himself over Swiss's back and drinking in the litany of sounds pouring unbidden from Swiss's lips. Everything falls away except for the places Aether covers him - the indulgent pressure of his chest and belly over Swiss's back, the way his hips settle against Swiss's ass, the way he brings his arms up to lace their fingers together. He's pinned. Aether throbs inside him.

"How's that?" His chin is hooked over Swiss's shoulder, nosy buried in sweat-damp hair. "Better?"

Swiss makes a vague gurgling sound. His eyes won't focus, his tongue won't stay in his mouth, and there's nothing left between his ears except Aether. He manages a nod.

"Promise you'll tell me if it's too much?"

There's no chance of that. Swiss clenches tight and the pair of them huff when Aether rocks his hips. He can feel the shift of every muscle, the rise and fall of every breath, the vibration of every guttural sound Aether looses

"Promise you'll ruin me first."

Aether sounds like the air's been punched out of him. He squeezes Swiss's hands.

"I can do that."

He sets a pace that's as firm and insistent as the weight against his back, and Swiss is certain it's a promise he'll keep.

[streakyglasses]

Just got my period, so prompt #49 on your intimacy prompts seems fitting! Would love to see #stris with this prompt, too. Currently rotting away and needing something to read lol

Hello!! Unsure if you’re the same as the last anon, but thank you if you are! I’m missing writing, too, there’s just a ton going on at the moment making it hard to actually finish anything. (lots of half-written angst/hc in the drafts rn + being absolutely stuck on aost) I’m hoping maybe rewatching the show will help cheer me up and turn the gears. Definitely missing Chris and Street a lot :(

2. so insanely real about rotting—same (and for the same reason). that said, idk if you were looking for street taking care of Chris on her period, but that’s what my brain assumed and I was too far into it to change when I realized maybe you meant a general illness 😅 (shameless plug of the two stris sickfics I do have on my ao3 if you were). anywho, i did lean in and manage to whip up a lil’ something that I hope fills the void/makes rotting slightly more enjoyable. untitled atm 🩵 below the cut!

For as independent as Chris is, being in a healthy, loving relationship with Jim Street means she can no longer hide one of her biggest desires behind walls of steel and fiery eyes. 

To be held. 

She’s always been liberal with physical touch, having no problem hanging off any of her former 20-Squad members when they hang out, or slinging an arm around her family after dinner. Street caught on early and took full advantage. It was easy in Black Betty’s close quarters, their legs and shoulders often brushing, and he wedged himself into her space around the table in Command during important debriefs. Her effort had to split between paying attention and not showing him how calm his warmth made her. 

He only gets clingier after they get together and he has full freedom to. His arms snake around her as she stands at the stove or the fridge, and their hands fit like puzzle pieces whenever they’re out together. She indulges him, tucking away how happy it makes her, and their shared smiles tell the other that they both know what’s going on, but neither are going to call it out. 

But the old habit of independence is one that still flares whenever Chris doesn’t feel well. Be it a sniffle or a hospital stay, the last thing she wants is anyone to see her weak, beyond her own sensibilities. So when one of the worst periods she’s had in recent memory falls upon her, all her instincts scream at her to hole up alone in her room and ride out the waves in isolation. 

She wakes with a groan on the second morning of it. Her cramps are already attacking her muscles, making it hard to sleep even though there’s another half hour before her alarm goes off. Hot water provides some relief, though not enough to squeeze herself into jeans when her leggings are clean. Despite not having Street stay over, secretly glad he drew the short stick on babysitting a minor drug runner in interrogation, his hoodie is still there from a few nights ago, and she tugs it on like it’s hers. 

Have a good day, love you. She shoots off the text, downs two painkillers, and holds back a groan when her body protests the weight of her backpack on her shoulder. Sighing, she grabs her keys from the hook and heads to her truck, hoping it’s an easy day at the safe house. 

Between her physical discomfort, the stress of 20-Squad’s mission as it played out on the news, and Marcos deciding it’s the perfect day to test her patience with the ridiculous claim that she can’t defend the safe house by herself if need be, it is not an easy day. Chris’s last hope clings on changing into sweats and curling up in bed with her lavender candle lit and some of her secret chocolate stash. Maybe, if she’s still feeling this shitty by the time she gets home, a good cry and a comfort movie. 

Her plan crumbles when she spies Street’s bike in the parking garage. Suddenly, her anxiety spikes as her head starts spinning with ways to not show him how bad she’s feeling. 

Not that he doesn’t know—her mortification at having to ask him to get her extra box of tampons from the guest bathroom still enough to make her cheeks burn red and not—but it’s never been this bad. Under mounting exhaustion, she doesn’t have the energy to grant it too much thought, and settles for muddling through the night of her hormones wreaking havoc on her, with elbows and knees if she has to, quietly. 

“Hey, Babe!” Street calls from the kitchen as soon as he hears the door open. “Lasagna’s almost done.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he notices the tight set of her smile and the slight flush on her cheeks. He narrows his eyes but she’s down the hallway too fast for him to notice much else. His worry grows when she hasn’t returned five minutes after the oven dings, and the dish is abandoned on the stove while he quietly closes one of the cabinets, slipping something into his pocket, and knocks lightly on her door. 

As hard as she tries, her walls tumble down the moment she’s in the comfort of her bedroom. She doubles over, gripping the vanity for strength, when a new wave of cramps crashes over her in the bathroom, and she can’t lie to herself enough to think anything sounds appetizing. Her intentions are still to change and go meet Street at the table, but she sits on the edge of her bed for a second to gather herself, and winds up under the covers before she can stop herself.

“Chris? Baby?” He says through the door. “Can I come in?” 

The groan-whimper that escapes as she curls into an even tinier ball is all the answer he’ll accept, pushing the door open. His face softens at the sight of her, laughing at how she tries to bury herself under the covers like that will keep her from seeing her. 

A big part of him wishes she could just let herself accept the comfort she gives everyone else, but he respects and loves the fighter in her too much to ever make an issue of it. Instead, he parks himself on the edge of her bed and pulls a small piece of chocolate out of his pocket, the crinkle catching her attention. 

“Think this’ll help?” He teases, smile growing at the furrow of her brows. “I may’ve hid in the hallway after the last grocery trip until I saw your hiding spot.” 

“You’re the worst,” she says gruffly, but rips open the wrapper and savors the sweetness all the same. It’s a salve on her heart. Nerves calming at his correct read on the situation, he drops a kiss to her forehead and stands. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

He keeps his promise, and brings a laundry list of items with him. A tub of chocolate covered almonds is set next to a mug of peppermint tea on her nightstand. Fishing around the drawer, he exclaims victory when his hand curls around the familiar plastic of a lighter that he uses to light the candle on her dresser so a light layer of lavender fills the space, enough to soothe but not make eyes water. Finally, he plugs in the heating pad and hands it to her to adjust it to where she wants, and then pulls back her comforter to drape the lush green quilt, something Helena knit before she was born that’s long been her favorite blanket, in its place. The comforter does cover that, but she fists the knit up to her neck, settling into it. 

Satisfied that she’s taken care of and sure she wants a few moments, he leaves her again, just long enough to eat. The lasagna is as delicious as he expected, and he’s glad she’ll have something hearty whenever she does feel like eating. With a bottle of water tucked under his arm, he heads back to her room, not even bothering with a knock this time since he heard the familiar dun dun come down the hallway. 

She’s half-propped on the pillows, the cord of the heating pad making it clear she’s situated it over her stomach. The empty bowl and mug are a relief, and he wastes no time sliding in next to her. Relishing the feeling of being in bed next to Chris, a feeling that will never get old no matter the circumstance, he lets the weight of his own day fall off into nothing. 

“Do you need anything else?” He murmurs, and kisses her head. 

“No, thank you.” Chris’s voice is small, an edge of shame to her tone, and he just pulls her from the pillows to lean against him, and meets their lips again. 

“Let me know if you do. Law and Order, really?” 

Nudging him, she gives up quickly in favor of crossing her legs over his. His arm around her is the nicest thing she’s felt all day, she realizes, and the only thing she wants to feel for the foreseeable future. 

“Don’t make fun of me.” She mumbles into his shoulder, eyes fixed on the screen. He finds one of her hands and intertwines their fingers, squeezing.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” When he tries to part them so he can draw tender circles on her stomach, she lets out a noise of protest and tightens her grip. He switches to grazing his thumb over her knuckles, a motion as constant as the waves. 

They make it halfway through the episode until a new knot forms inside her lower abdomen and she curls forward, struggling to breathe deep and slow. Street follows her body with his, as if he can form a wall of protection around her. 

“I’m sorry, Baby,” he whispers in her ear. “It’ll pass.”

She focuses on his voice and nods. Gritting her teeth, it takes a moment, but it does pass, and she straightens up with a low breath. His fingers rake through her hair while her bones creak back into place.

“Thanks.” She whispers, hating the tears in her voice but not enough to try to fight them. And then she adds, “for being here.” 

Cradling her face, heart swelling at how she leans into his touch, he finds her gaze and pours as much love as he can through his own. 

“I’ll always be here. I love you.” 

Their limbs tangle until she’s swathed in his embrace, his presence around her as soft a cloud that fills all her cracks and turns them to gold. She cracks a small smile as old habits start to thaw. 

“I love you, too.” 

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much - 5

You’re a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet.

Oof. Here's part of the heavy hit. This chapter definitely has some trigger warnings- so read carefully. Currently working on Chapter 9, so we have some time on this journey. Enjoy :]

TW: sexual assault, PTSD, self-worth, disassociation and anxiety

3.5K Word Count

Ch 5: You Pulled Me Under Just To Save Yourself

The meeting went quickly, so you were thankful that you could get back out of town as quickly as possible, and clear your mind of absolutely everything inside it. Scarlett was absolutely enamoring to you- her raspy voice and smirk drove you up the wall the entirety of the meeting. You knew that Kris was watching the interactions between you and the new client, and she was probably getting a rise out of it. Irritating. Everything that was discussed, the movement of guards, approval of new guard candidates, and changes to the camera and lighting placement could have waited till your return, or discussed over a video call. But it wasn’t. That irritated you too. You were again waiting for the elevator to arrive from whatever floor it had dropped its last occupants off at, scrolling through emails on your phone with one hand, your left hand stuffed in your pocket. 

“So we meet again,” Scarlett startled you with her raspy voice while waiting for the elevator. “I didn’t mean to drag you away from your time off. ” She glanced at you, while you maintained eye contact with your phone. You were not in the mood to socialize at the moment. You were half tempted to elude to the fact that all this could have waited, but you withheld your comments, at least for now. 

“It’s a part of the job. Not your fault.” You state flatly, not bothering to look up, partially due to your annoyance, but partially because you didn’t want to stare more than necessary. 

“You are a woman of few words, Y/N. Not much for conversation, are you?” You glanced up from your phone to see the woman smirking in your direction. 

“No. I talk, I just don’t know you. I open up to people and then they tell someone random what I do for a living and give them my personal phone number. Forgive me from being withdrawn.” You narrow your eyes at the woman. She cringes slightly, not anticipating the animosity in the statement.  

“Look, I don’t mean to put you off, had I known this was such an issue for y…” she starts and the doors to the elevator ding open. You quickly step inside, not wanting to further this conversation. 

“Have a good day Mrs. Johansson, I will touch base when I’m back in the office.” You say over your shoulder as you press the button to take you to the helipad. 

“Ms.” she says as the doors close. This took you back, but you didn’t react quickly enough to stop the elevator in its tracks. You racked your brain, trying to remember where in the file that it said she was single again. You new she was married- she had been with that guy on SNL, you hadn’t heard anything about a split. You briefly stopped on the floor which your office was on- just a floor below the boss, two above the board rooms, but ten floors from the rooftop. When you stepped out, Kris was leaning against the wall by your door. 

“See something you like, Y/L/N?” She quirked, with her eyebrow raised. 

“Not particularly, why?” As you stalked towards her, brushing past and heading towards your desk.

“Ouch, Y/N.” She turned your way, remaining against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. 

“What?” You glanced in her direction, pulling open a desk drawer to rifle through its contents. 

“You could hardly keep your eyes in your head. Don’t you think she’s a little bit out of your league?”

“Excuse me? Are you seriously going there? I know she’s way, way out of my stratosphere. She just left her husband… and what the fuck is it to you? Been there, done that shit. Like I said earlier- I can’t loose you as a friend, or as my secretary. ” You stepped out from behind your desk, chest slightly puffed and your glasses gripped tightly whilst you pointed at the ground with every variable. “This little jealousy bid you have going? It isn’t fucking endearing, Kris.”

At the time when you both were together, there were nights that you were awake late, not because of work duties, or lack of exhaustion, but rather the deep seated anxiety you have always pushed down and harbored since you were a child. You had always felt like an ugly duckling, and any ‘long term’ relationship ended due to your insecurity, or a combination of factors including your self worth in the relationship. She knew what your self image was like. The fact that she just played that against you in her little fit of jealousy was not overlooked. 

“I… your rig…” she started and stopped, lifting her body off the doorframe of your office. The look on her face betraying her typically stoic disposition, she was well aware she went somewhere there wasn’t going to be a recovery from.  She wasn’t one to be afraid of bantering with you, and she typically wouldn’t back down when it came to you. But this was different, this felt different. She could tell that you felt betrayed. 

“Don’t fucking bother. What did you have to tell me about creepy boy by my apartment?” You leaned back against your desk, crossing your arms across your tensed chest after placing the pair of black aviators back over your eyes. 

“Uhm, well- its complicated…”

“Just fucking say it. Spit it out, it's not like you had this issue a minute ago.” Your jaw clenched as you waited her response. Her vision dropped slightly, and she took a deep breath. “Give me the short of it. Let’s fucking go.” You snapped your fingers, telling her to hurry it up. 

“The guy that was lurking by your apartment is part of the reason we have this new security contract.” She looked up to gauge your reaction, as your eyebrow shot up above the rim of your glasses. “He somehow already knew about our contract with Scarlett, and knows you’re heading up the project.”

“Who does he work for?” You ask, unfolding your arms, placing your hands on the edge of your desk, flanking your sides. 

“He works for a disillusioned group of conspiracists. They believe that there is truth in the characters that Hollywood movies stars portray. In this case, they believe that Mrs. Johansson is really a Russian, but that she isn’t on our side.” She says, looking down at her hands. She was still standing in the middle of the door way to your office, too timid to move within the confines of its walls. “They’re an extreme anti Hollywood, anti cinema branch of Q-Anon. That’s why they went more with a government contracted security firm versus some typical outfit. They have been deemed a domestic terrorism threat.”

You pushed away from your desk, and walked towards your door. This was some information that wasn’t in the file given to you. You knew you would have to confront someone about it later, whether it be Paul, or your CEO Cliff, maybe even Scarlett. But you would hold this information tight to the chest for right now. “Thanks for the information. I will see you all on Monday. ”

“Uhh, Y/N, that’s 4 days away.” She partially questioned, but flatly stated and she followed you out of your office, the door behind you clicking and locking behind you. 

“I know. Since everyone decided to piss me off on my “day off” and call me in, I am taking an extra day. Besides, I have some things I need to process. ” you slid the glasses down your nose, narrowing your eyes and punctuating the sentence- making it clear that you weren’t in the mood. “Good bye.” You turned into the open elevator, stepping into the empty box and pushing the button for the rooftop, and pushing the door close button to get the doors to shut any quicker than they were. You didn’t want to be here any more than you needed.

As you approached the black helicopter on the roof, your mind was racing. Between Scarlett, Kris, the weird guy that showed up by your place, it was a lot for the matter of 3 days. You just wanted to go home, relax, and figure out a plan for how to attack this new account. You had nothing better to think about, anyways. You slipped into the cockpit, and slid the headset on, carefully flipping the switches, and announcing your presence to air traffic control. As quickly as you had left the office, you were off, heading far away from the sources of your frustration. 

After you landed, you walked briskly though your garage, over the creek and into the lower level of your house. You ran up stairs, into the closet and shed all your clothes, quickly wanting to be rid of this day. You slipped into some dark green and black mid length board shorts, and a black bikini top, and grabbed a towel out of the closet in between the bathroom and closet. Quickly grabbing your phone, you went back downstairs, down the hallway past your office, and out to the hot tub. You cranked the jets, and threw the towel onto the log lounge chair next to the fireplace, before sinking your stressed form into the scorching water, allowing yourself to finally relax your muscles. You reached back for your phone, unlocking the device and looking up what you could on this mystery guy that wants to disrupt your new clients life. 

As you began to gather information about the guy, the disturbing factor started to ramp up, he was certainly a disgusting character in your book. He was also the same creep that ‘works’ at the general store in town, that wouldn’t leave you alone when you drove into town for groceries. The guy had a rap sheet more than a mile long- between aggravated assault, to rape, domestic violence, concealed weapons- Mr. Steven Waters was not good news, and clearly not the “Fred” he portrayed himself to be at the grocery store.  You found yourself wondering how this guy was even out of prison, free and walking.  The more you read, the worse it became. 

Waters was a member of the U.S. Army Rangers, and was regarded as one of the best tracking and espionage personnel in his unit. Son of a Master Sergeant, he was raised in a strict military household. His discipline was considered to be unmatched, and earned him the respect of his peers. He served 3 tours in the Middle East, bouncing back and forth between Iraq, Afghanistan and Iran. He was a fast tracked soldier that was suddenly dishonorably discharged at the rank of Sgt. First Class. 

You started to flip through military files, as your heart rate started to increase. There was something about this guy that wasn’t sitting well with your body or your mind. You came across an older photo of Steven, and almost dropped your phone into the bubbling water below you. You were staring at a photo of the likeness that you had pushed so far deep into your mind, that you honestly didn’t remember him until now, but he had also changed his appearance enough, and had significantly more tattoos and scars to make him unrecognizable to an untrained eye. But you should have known. This man was the soldier tasked with training you and your unit when you were just a specialist. The very man who not only made your life at the time a living hell, but almost cost you your entire military career. There was no coincidence that he was here, in McCall, where you live. Your mind involuntarily flipped through its pages, landing upon the worst memory of them all. 

***

“Y/L/N!” Sgt. Waters barked in your direction.

“Sir!” You stood at a firm attention, eyes forward, waiting for the next command out of your superiors mouth.

“Do you think I’m a fucking joke, Y/L/N?” He snarled in front of your face. 

“No, SIR!” You yelled back, not looking his way.

“I need you to hang around after mess hall. We need to have a brief discussion.” He spit the words in your face, before making an about face and stalking away, inspecting the rest of your unit. You already knew, this wasn’t just a discussion. And it was not a ‘talk’ you wanted any part of. Your unit was all dismissed, and you all walked to the chow hall for dinner. Your friend Nikki runs up behind you. 

“What was he on you about this time? Are you ok?” She asks, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He’s always such an ass to you.”

“I honestly have no idea what he’s going on about, Nix. But I’ll be fine.” You fake a smile, knowing full well she didn’t believe it. But you couldn’t tell anyone why you were so nervous about this so called meeting. He would ruin you, no- kill you if someone found out. He had made sure to make that very clear from the first time. 

The 30 minutes for chow flew by entirely too quickly for your liking, but you had barely touched your food. Nikki looked at you with grave concern, but knew not to bring it up. The last month she had noticed you more closed off, silenced demeanor, and that you weren’t eating a healthy amount to be able to withstand your training. You had also lost 20 pounds in that time, and maintained a ghastly appearance. She pretended not to notice how you would act like you were asleep at night in the bunks, whenever she woke up to use the restroom you would pretend to be asleep. There was one night she listened to you cry for hours, only for you to fall asleep a mere hour before wake up call. You were worrying her, to say the least. 

You broke off from the rest of the group, and Nikki shot you a reassuring smile, as you walked in the command quarters, to find Sgt. Waters behind his desk, all alone in the barren office. 

“Do I look like I’m fucking stupid, Y/L/N?” He said, not even bothering to turn around to look your way. 

“I do not know what you are referring to, Sergeant.” You replied, standing with your arms pulled behind your back, left hand holding your right wrist, and your feet a shoulders width apart. 

He swiveled suddenly around in your direction, slamming his hands down on the desk in front of him, eyes dark and narrowed. “Did I say you could fucking speak?!” You jumped at the combination of his yelling and the hands striking his desk with such force his name plate fell off his desk. “Aww, poor thing. Did the tough little dyke get fucking scared??” He mocked as he stood from behind his desk. You took a deep breath, gulping as you knew what was next. “People are talking, Y/L/N. Who have you told?” He asked, stalking in your direction, stripping himself of his jacket, haphazardly tossing it aside. He now stood in front of you, unbuckling the belt that held his pants in place. He let the fatigues fall down to his ankles, grabbing you by the top of your head and pushing down on your frame to bring you to your knees. 

“Answer me. Who have you told?” He barked, glaring over his nose down at your sullen features. 

“No one. I haven’t said a word.” You state quietly.

“Wrong answer.” He says, pulling his semi-flaccid member out of his boxers, slapping you in face with it. “Open. Liars get choked.” He states with a cocky grin on his face. You knew he enjoyed this “therapy”, as he called it, way too much. He had grown up in an affluent, southern household. His father, a Master Sergeant, was a well respected and renowned member of the community, and held the respect of many commanding officers within the military and beyond. Steven had found out you were lesbian despite not maintaining any relationships while you were enlisted, and made it his mission to convert you back to the “correct team,” as he would say. You still have no idea how he found out.  

Despite the ring on his finger, and the photos littered around his office of the ‘wife’ he has, he still found ways to fuck around with every girl that would give him the time of day. You were convinced he had to abuse his wife just for her to have been in his so-called marriage for 5 years. Or maybe, he just made it up, and wasn’t really married. Who knows? All you knew was that this guy was a pathological liar. He shoved himself into your mouth, pushing your head all the way down till your nose was flush against his groin. He wasn’t large, or endowed in any way, but you gagged anyways. He head fell backwards briefly, before he grabbed onto your short hair and slammed your head up and down on his member, ensuring he was fully hardened. Your eyes began to water, and you shut them to try and help your mind go elsewhere. He withdrew from your jaw, pulling out completely and slapping you again in the face with his now erect penis. 

“Nuh-uh. None of that. Your eyes need to be open.” He grabbed your arm, pulling you up before throwing you over his desk, surely bruising your hips with the edge of his desk. He quickly reached around your waist, unbuckling your belt, and fumbling to pull down your pants. He finally succeeded, and held you by the back of your neck with one hand, and using his other to slip inside of you. You winced at the intrusion, seeing as how you weren’t wet or aroused at all, and he slowly tucked himself all the way into you. “You’re gonna learn why men are superior. One way or another, I’ll fucking show you. You’ll be with a man soon enough. But now it's time for your lesson, you little fucking whore.” He spit into your ear, before roughly pulling out and thrusting back into you. You cried at the pain. “Shut up, fucking slut. You probably just want to play daddy of the house, hmm? Is that why you like girls?” He spit, thrusting roughly with every word. 

You went to open your mouth to speak, but he clamped his other hand over your mouth, maintaining a tight grip on the back of your neck with the other. “I know you told someone. I’m facing an inquiry and investigation for misconduct. If I so much as find out who you told…” he stuttered the last bit, pulling out and shoving his member into your ass, blowing his load with a groan. “I will find out who spoke. And when I find out you opened your whorish mouth, I WILL ruin you. You’ll wish I put you six feet under.” He pulled you up by the hair on the back of your head, spitting the words out before throwing you backwards towards the door. He spit at the ground by your feet, and stooped to pick up his pants, tucking everything back in before grabbing his jacket and putting it back on over his shoulders. “Get the fuck out of my office.” He stated, walking back around his desk, grabbing a cigar out of one of the drawers and proceeding to light it. You stumbled to pull your underwear and pants up, being careful to tuck everything in accordingly and fixing your mussed hair. “Did I fucking stutter? Get out of my office!” He yelled, throwing the ashtray that was on the edge of his desk towards you, striking you just above the eye. You instantly felt the split, and knew you would have to come up with a story for the infirmary. 

Blood dripped down onto your tee-shirt, and you turned and awkwardly waddled out of his office, trying to make the discomfort as inconspicuous as possible. You felt like you literally just rolled around in the tank of a latrine, you wanted to burn everything. Your clothes, your skin, your hair. Everything. You didn’t even realize that you were crying as you walked into the bathroom, blood gushing out of your face as you stripped off your clothes and threw them to the side.

Stepping into the shower and turning the water onto the hottest temperature, with the hopes that it would burn away the feeling of his hands on your body, and how repulsive you felt. You looked down to see blood circling the drain, and saw the bruising on your hips from being shoved into the edge of his desk, with the continued thrusting aiding in the formation of the bruises. 

You punched the wall, repeatedly. Bloodying both your fists, before you lost your head and broke down. You slid down the wall, putting your head in between your legs and openly sobbing. You didn’t hear the door open to the wash room.  

(CHAPTER 6)

[observeowl]

Falling asleep N.R

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Can you always count on Natasha to prevent you from sleeping during meetings?

Your POV I could feel my eyes closing as I tried to stay focused in front of the computer. My head felt so heavy as I prop it up with my fist. I even resort to typing with my eyes closed hoping to have a few winks of rest. 

Eventually, sleep won the battle and I slowly slid, resting my head on my arm. 

I shot up immediately as I heard footsteps coming in. Tiredness temporarily fades as alert washes over. 

“We’ve got a meeting.” Clint announced as Natasha walked alongside him.

“Are you okay babe?” Nat narrowed her eyes at me.

“Y-yeah.” I said as I got ready the things needed for a meeting. I must have missed the memo about having a meeting. 

Fury was going on about the new structure of the company, how they are shifting people around the organisation and what changed to expect but I honestly couldn’t be bothered about it currently.

I was trying to hide behind the person in front of me as I tried to stifle a yawn but failed terribly as Fury called me out.

“Is my meeting boring you agent Y/L/N?” 

“No sir.” 

I could hear Natasha laughing behind my back that I got called out during a meeting. I can’t wait to kick her in the leg for this. I rested my elbow on the table and head on the fist, but it was not helping my case. I was getting more tired by the moment. I clenched my jaws trying to focus on the presentation.

I dozed off a couple of times but managed to regain my consciousness before totally falling asleep. Most of the time I was saved by Nat kicking the back of my chair, bringing me back alive.

But because I trusted Nat too much that it led to my demise. I was nodding here and there, not paying attention to what Fury was presenting, when my head slipped off my fist and banged onto the table. 

Everyone turned to look at me and I was sure they couldn’t tell the difference between me and a tomato. I cleared my throat and said sorry. 

“Mind telling me what I was presenting?” 

I was looking at the slides for clues but Fury turned it off. Human brain processes things faster than you think, in that split second, I saw what I needed and answered Fury.

“I think with this matrix organisational structure, there’s a lot more accountability for each person and teamwork between each team.” 

Fury nodded. “I still want to see you focus, Agent.” 

“Yes sir.” 

After the whole embarrassing incident, I was able to stay awake for the remainder of the meeting, having tension in the air. 

Soon everyone started packing and left the meeting room, leaving me behind with Nat. 

“Just…” I couldn’t even finish my sentence as I crossed my arms to the table and went to sleep.  

Natasha POV  It was so adorable seeing Y/N trying to stay awake throughout the entire meeting. I tried keeping her awake by nudging her chair, but I thought it would be funny to see her embarrass herself in the meeting. 

I didn’t do anything and let her head slip off the table with a bang. Okay… I feel slightly bad. Everyone looked towards her in an instant. Surprisingly, she was able to answer Fury’s question. 

Even though she was able to stay awake for the remainder of the meeting, once everyone left, she slipped off to dreamland after muttering some words. 

I shook my head seeing how tired she was and that she could sleep in such an uncomfortable position. I carefully placed my arms under her back and knees and carries back to her room. 

I tugged her in bed and she made some noises. 

“Shhh, go back to sleep.”

“I know you are going to wake me up in the middle of the night, seeing how you are sleeping so early now.” I whispered softly as I closed the door behind me.

[secret-subject]

How much of your time in file creation is split between writing, recording and editing? When do you know when you've slipped into over-producing territory?

Wow great question!

So this depends on the project. My current process is I write a script, then I order the art and get the assets ready for production, record and edit and post.

Sometimes, a script will take a day or two to come together. Sometimes it takes weeks where I write a little bit of a script per day. I like to have three or four things on the go at once because my brain do be like that but once a script is "ready" I will often do a read aloud to get the mouth feel and flow down before I record. This also warms my brain up to how I'm going to deliver it on the mic and it helps me to hear if a thing sounds clumsy or if it works.

I like to batch my recording sessions because setting up my vocal booth from singing to hypnosis or asmr is a challenge so I may as well use that set up for multiple recordings. I will then spend a few hours recording all the scripts that are done that day. If I mess up a take I clap or snap to save my place and ensure I can make some clean cuts later. Pro tip, give yourself space either side of the mistake and start on a line you know had a bit of a break on it otherwise your cuts will be more obvious plus this will save MASSES of time later.

Editing is very quick for me. I use audacity, clean up background noise and use a very quick eq and compression preset. Cut the mistakes etc. If this audio has background sounds this can take me a few hours but most generic single layer hypnosis tracks only take 20 minutes to edit fully. I post immediately on patreon after the edit is done when I can because it's fresh in my head and I can make the CW writing easier (love having a bad memory for things haha).

So to answer the first question, it depends on the project. Sometimes the scripting is hard and fast and recorded in a single day. Sometimes its weeks of thinking, chopping and changing and then recording. I've spent six months on my longest projects because of procrastination but I've also made a lot of audios in hours because the inspiration strikes so there is no rule with how long it takes.

The second quesion. Over production is both easy and hard to do. A lot of the time I notice it in the sound of the recording. Over processing vocals can kill the vibe so I like to take a less is more approach. I'd rather have some road noise and a more raw and real vocal than an overdone one and as a friend of mine recently told me, perfection can be a creative killer.

In terms of overproduction in terms of scripting and timeline, do what feels right for you. There are many times I feel a script could use more pages, and sometimes I add them because it works but if you are struggling to word things or it feels like a chore, that's your instinct telling you it's done or you need to move on and try again later. Again, I'd rather have something shorter and more raw than something that feels like a slog to write and record. Like play with a partner it should feel natural and unrehearsed even Iof you've proofed it again and again.

I will say when you are starting out you will overthink the recordings. You will probably second guess it and judge it harshly and thats okay, but just post it. Sometimes all it takes is one person telling you thats their fave audio to help you gain confidence and make it all worthwhile.

But these are just how I do things and how I feel about creating audio hypnosis recordings. I encourage you and other creators to find what works for you. Maybe scripting isn't your thing, make its meticulously worked and edited, either way its your own.

I can't wait to see what you decide to make!

[kissofthespring]

Title: What a man...

Ship: Iwaizumi Hajime x F!Reader 

Genre: S.mut.

Content: C.hoking, f.ingering, v.ideos (from m.) 

Sum: Short little, quick and dirty, Iwaizimi Hajime. I didn’t edit this, oop.

Your fingers grip the edge of your skirt, flattening it for a moment. Under the streetlamp, Iwaizumi looked intimidating. Okay, he always looked intimidating. From his short-cropped hair to the subtle roll of his biceps as he gripped the steering wheel with one hand and shifted into park with the other. His hand came over to rest on your thigh for a split second before he grabbed your hand. 

"I had fun tonight."

"Me too! I didn't know that there were so many ways to fail at painting a unicorn, but…." 

He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, making your stuttering stop.

"You did better than me, for the record. When can I see you again?"

His words caught you off guard. Sure this was your third date with the athletic trainer, but still, you bit your lip. "I'm busy this weekend, but I should be free in the evenings if you're willing to maneuver a little bit."

His large hand moves to your chin, "Fine by me. Now, can I kiss you?" You give him a nod before allowing the distance between the two of you to close. His calloused palm brushed against your cheek before landing on the glass of the window.

The kiss grows heated, and he growls as he presses you against the window of the passenger side door. His teeth tug at your lip before whispering, "Can I touch you?" He doesn't make a move to continue the kiss until you verbally say, "Yes. Touch me Haji..."

His name dies on your lips as he palms a breast with one hand and slips the other one up your skirt resting on your thigh. The kiss deepening as he swipes his tongue along the seam of your lips. Your gasp is all he needs. His hand moves to your cloth-covered cunt, before pulling back to whisper, "I want to fucking hear you moan."

Capturing your lips again, the first swipe of his fingers against your clothed cunt makes you jump; when he pushes the fabric to the side and rubs your clit with his middle finger, your hips jolt. It feels good. You want so much more.

Grabbing his wrist, you cry out his name as you push his hand toward your hole that's currently clenching around nothing. "More, Hajime."

He drives his middle finger into your cunt, grinning at the gasp that chokes from your lips. His hand that was on your breast wraps around your neck. "I'll give you more, cute little dummy." He adds another finger to your cunt, his thumb sliding over your clit. "My dummy." 

It's dirty and lewd the noises coming from your body and your mouth as he fingered you. He's adding a third finger when he feels your body shake involuntarily, "That's it, baby. Let it go. Cum for me." He whispers against your ear, "Cum, Tsubaki. Show me how I make you feel." Your thighs are shaking as you cum with a gasp, his hand tightening on your throat to control the blood flow and how you were feeling. It was so good that a second one washed over you, leaving you in a euphoric state. 

When you finally felt like you could feel your brain again, you noticed the tent in his pants, "Hajime… What about you? Let me." He stopped your hand before staring you down, "I want to fuck you, but I don't have a condom, so I'll get off in the shower later or something. We already made a mess of you, and if you were to give me head… I wouldn't want to just stop there."

"I have condoms inside…."

"I want when I fuck you to be a marathon, we both work tomorrow; it can't happen tonight." He leans over to press a kiss to your neck confident that he left a mark in his wake, "But let me know when you have a day off, Tsubaki. I'll fuck you till you scream then." He winked as you collected your bag with a sigh and got out of his car. "Fine…"

You were pouting as you walked into your apartment and started to change for the night, going through your nightly routine.

Right before you got into bed, you check your phone to see a text from Iwaizumi. Upon opening it, you realize it's a video; at first, you see his face, his wet hair, and can sort of hear the shower. "When I said I wanted you, I meant it." He turned the camera down to his hand around his cock and flexed as he stroked himself. The camera fogged over, but it was enough. His moans were enough. Fuck. You couldn't wait for this man to fuck you.

[ilikeyoualive]

Chapter 15 snippet for y'all since it's been sitting in my docs for a while and I thought I'd share what I had written already instead of letting it collect dust. And, if anyone is interested in exploring this AU more, check out my Main Masterlist!

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Angst, Mentioned Cannibalism, Missions Gone Wrong

Word Count: 644

Read Snippet Under The Cut:

Rule #15: Don't Hurt Said Emotional Support Human. You Will Fucking Die.

Something squishy yet cold as ice laved over the split skin on his throat and, if Soap weren't mistaken, he would swear that it was a tongue. His brows twitched in growing discomfort at the confusing sensation of that cold tongue touching his feverish skin, each rasp of it over the wound bringing a bright shock of pain as the split and raw skin was repeatedly agitated.

His foggy brain tried to puzzle together why his neck was wounded in the first place, but he didn't have time to linger on it because suddenly the tongue stilled and several sharp somethings pricked the skin of his throat. He belatedly realized with a dawning sense to dread that those were fucking sharp ass teeth closing on his neck, his memories of the last several hours hitting him like a brick to the face.

The looming and very real threat of getting his throat ripped out had Soap's eyes abruptly snapping open as his hand simultaneously shot up to the back of Ghost's head, numb fingers seizing a fistful of the sniper's balaclava and probably even some hair in the process. He didn't make any effort to pull Ghost away with his trembling grip since it would be a useless endeavor anyway, opting to let his warm touch be a reminder that he was still alive.

"G'st," He slurred, clearing his throat with a grimace as if that would somehow help him cobble together the words needed to talk Ghost out of taking a bite, his head lazily lolling toward the sniper's own bowed head until his cheek rested against Ghost's temple. "Dinnae eat me till mah heart stops beatin'." He murmured, blinking rapidly until the hull stopped spinning around him in a nauseating fashion, exhaling sharply in relief once he was reasonably sure that he wasn't about to throw up.

"Johnny."

It was just one word, barely a whisper against his throat, but there was so much packed into that stupid little nickname that he had grown so fond of hearing from those scarred lips that he felt breathless.

"Donnae dare eat me 'til they call it, ye hear me?" Soap grunted, fighting to stay awake even as his vision began to blur dizzyingly. But he couldn't pass out yet, not until Ghost promised not to take a chunk out of him while he was unconscious. "Simon, please." He begged when the silence stretched on, his grip on Ghost's balaclava starting to go slack as darkness crept in from the edges of his eyes.

"I swear I'll wait til your body is stiff an’ cold." Ghost sounded utterly gutted when he finally spoke, his voice wobbly and hoarse in a way that Soap would find extremely alarming had the last of his lucidity not chosen that exact moment to slip through his fingers like sand.

When awareness returned to Soap only a handful of minutes later, he found that there were several unfamiliar hands on his person. And, when he made a low sound of distress in the wake of this troubling realization, it was immediately echoed by a familiar and hair-raising growl that reverberated through the hull like rolling thunder, those unwelcome hands flinching away from him.

Ghost was half turned away in a crouch, his mask sloppily shoved up to the bridge of his sharp roman nose, presumably to free up his mouth for the whopping four fingers that he currently had stuffed in it. His pink tongue poking out between the digits as he messily licked at them before his pale, scarred lips closed around them and he began to audibly suck the sticky coating of blood off of his fingers, gasping like a man starved as he hunched in on himself even further with a full body quake that looked more despairing than pleasured.

[sarcastic-lee]

Teasing (Repost?)

Note: I don't remember if this one was shared nor did it have a title if it was posted

Word Count: ~1.1k words

I want to be pinned down.  Arms cuffed above my head, legs free but with a Ler just resting between them.  Shirt hiked up to expose my midriff and shorts pulled down, just enough to expose my hip bones.  I want to be nervously giggling as I can feel fingers trace along the exposed skin, the muscles twitching underneath.  But I want verbal teasing as well, but a little differently.  I've explained it to you, and you're absolutely on board to see where this goes.  But I can see the little glint of deviousness that has me intrigued as to what is going on in that ruthless mind.  I want to feel it.  

A head ducks down and I immediately suck in tummy out of immediate instinct to try and stall for time, even though it's not going to work.  Already fixated on going through with something we both want and feel comfortable doing.  More giggles start to become a bit more frantic.  The feeling of lips brushing against already sensitized skin from mischievous fingers.  Never staying in one place.  Against the full expanse of my tummy, and my sides and my ribs.  And maybe against my hips.  A voice slightly muffled, but still very much loud enough to hear, reminding me that I'm stuck for as long as I can take it.  That I'm at the will of mercy.  That I can squirm all I want or pull at the restraints, I'm not getting out.  That arching my back is only going to make the feeling stronger.  

"That's it…keep arching into it ~  I can tell this is driving you wild." "Poor little lee ~.  Probably regretting this now."

No I'm not.  I wanted this. It’s become more prevalent in my currently scattered brain.  Thankfully the cursed pillow, used to keep my back arched, has been forgotten, so freely I will move..well squirm is probably the better word to use.  To feel every word that spills out…to feel every little smirk or grin as I let out little whines of protest between persistent giggles.  Fingers possible digging in a little more now to make me fall from the frantic panicked giggles into laughter.  Whiney and breathy chants of "please" flow from me, wrists pulling just enough to possibly move further up.  A set of hands grabbing onto my hips, pulling me back into position.  Reminding me that I'm going absolutely nowhere and the only movements I'm allowed to do is squirm and arch my back.  

Thumbs briefly attacking my sides to trigger a quick squeal.  My legs so desperately trying to set up a defense for my torso, as I whine in protest even though this is exactly what I asked for.  A hand gently pushes my leg down, making sure to not injure the joint of my knee.  Or maybe a sly finger dragged down the arch that just so happened to come up and try to protect the tortured skin.  Leg now shooting back down to escape that teasy threatening spark of a sensation.  Toes clenching and unclenching as if it'll reduce the addictive feeling that's currently residing in what feels like every fiber of my being.  Again hot breath setting my nerves on fire in the most tantalizing ways, fingers still teasing, but with that little extra force.  I'm slowly being broken down by the vibration of mere words and it's because of you.  Solely you.  Complete control of the network of nerves that resides underneath my skin. 

"You're so…unbelievably sensitive ~"  

A whine of protest.  Another wave of pink, deepening the blush on my face. 

"I'll make sure to focus on this particular spot later.  You'd like that wouldn't you?" "Should I throw in some of your favorite tickles?  No ~?  I'll make sure to later.  No worries ~."  

The culmination of machinations paired with what is known about what drives me crazy.  Sends me careening over the edge.  I can now just hear a voice over my own, but having to split my focus to figure out the shapes of language.  

"Who said you could go anywhere?  I didn't say you could escape." "I'm gonna make you regret that ~"   

A playfully evil threat falling across my skin, traveling directly to not just the pit of stomach that is currently internally melting into an absolute mess, but up to my brain that is so completely overridden with nothing but another split in my thoughts of "it's too much!" and "keep going…please!"  In absolute disarray that it barely registers what was against my tummy.  Or was that my side?  My hip?  Ribs?  It had to be my ribs…right?  I can't tell.  Everything outside is blurred and all I can do is laugh and whine and eventually start to plead.  Still squirming and trying to pull away with every vowel and consonant spoken.  Hands still moving.  Still skittering.  Still crawling.  Still squeezing paths across me, nails and fingers turning my skin a lovely shade of pink with areas of a deeper hue, signifying spots that were decided to be focused on, alongside my face out of just knowing that this was agreed upon and went along with as a new way of verbal teasing…and I know you're enjoying it just as much as I am.  But I also know that is just the beginning.  

We're only at the teasing stage.  

Unless it's drawn out, to the point that even the idea of this rampant teasing just being the start, has me in an absolute mess.  Eyes clamped shut, as I continue to squirm and yank on my restraints, even if I know the lack of vision would only heighten every other sense in the process.  The pleading for a bit of mercy slipping through in desperation, but no, I want it to continue.  I haven't said the word to make it stop.  Even though it's driving me absolutely crazy.  By the time it's all said and done, I'll be absolutely malleable putty, softly giggling.  And I'll be wishing for when it happens again.  And maybe a little drunk off the residual tingles that continue to vibrate along nerves.  Possibly a bit…needing?

[sid3buns]

Cool little writing game I've been taggued in by @joeys-piano (thank you so much ! ) I've been writing SO MUCH lately to cope with the stress of several life events all happening at once and because I can't afford therapy, so this is the next best thing. I will post 3 snippets from published fics and 2 from current WIPs :3 I'm only tagging @fukurodani bc i think everyone else from my minuscule pool of moots who write have already been taggued, afaik ; but if not pls feel free to do it! Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too. Anchors | Windbreaker

All it takes to fall a man is to figure out where the hits are the most likely to land. This one was full of holes ; it’s a punch to the kidney, a swift hook under his weaker knee (the right one), and he’s on the ground, head bashing against concrete in a crack that might as well be the wind rattling a tree. Suo craves for more ; the song is not finished. If there’s to be an intro, a bridge, and a chorus, it needs a worthy finale. How easy it would be to smash your skull open, right now. He wonders if one hit is enough to see brain matter stain his kung fu shoes. He almost finds out ; his leg lifts on its own, it’s a hammer on a nail. One step away from being a coffin.

Bouquet | Blue Lock

” And what do you expect me to do about it, “ Barou hisses, busying himself with leaving wet circles of condensed water all over the table with his glass of beer. “ I don’t know him, I just prepare flowers for his wicked needs. “ That’s a half-truth ; Barou is starting to know Isagi. They chat for a bit whenever the man drops in, and it’s almost daily. He works nearby the flower shop, and it looks like it’s very demanding work. He has a dog named Müller, and he likes to watch soccer matches to unwind. They support opposite teams ; Barou gets to nag him about goals a couple times. “ Maybe just slip him a pamphlet, or something, “ Niko says wisely, staring at Barou from under his bangs. “ Or drag him to the back store of your shop and fuck his brains ou- “ The waitress has to intervene when Barou almost chokes Aiku to death at their table, and Barou gives her a nice tip.

Barou Shouei's Seemless Guide To Successful Dating | Blue Lock

“ What are you afraid of, Shouei ? “ Trust. His mom reads between his silences ; mothers are made of magic and stardust. “ Have you tried trusting this person ? “ and she knows the answer, because how could Barou even begin to understand how trust worked - he’s always been a lonely child, on top of his lonely mountain. “ Can you trust that they know you enough to understand all of the wonderful things you offer to this world ? “

Trying To Feel Alive (WIP) | Blue Lock

He’s surprised to see a flash of long, red hair, and he smiles softly as Chigiri continues to hit the dummy in diligence. Sweat falls in heavy drops from his drenched, beautiful skin, hair carefully braided to the side as always ; some strands have fallen in front of his eyes, sticking to his skin, but Chigiri is elsewhere - there is anger in his eyes, and sadness, and rage. It permeates his kicks with something foul. Chigiri is not training - he’s fighting for his life, right now, and it makes Kunigami so, so sad. (It reminds him of himself.)

Déjà Vu (WIP) | Blue Lock

” Because sometimes, Rin drives how he ought to really drive. “ They reach the very end of the cliff, and car lights illuminate the night in the faraway distance. “ Like he’s the freest man on this goddamn earth. “ They’re finally in front of them ; it lasts for a split second, and yet it feels like eternity in Isagi’s eyes. It’s here in slow motion, time standing still, he sees it all on Rin’s face - this punch drunk madness called freedom, seeping through each and every one of his pores, reverberated in the halo of his smile. In that moment, watching Rin feels like staring into the sun - blinding and warm, all engulfing. Isagi’s heart shatters into a million pieces, because he wants to chase after the light.

[fizzyfizu]

Accursed in the Lake’s Depths

Chapter 2.1 : The Taste of Freedom

Harry J. Potter / reader

MASTERLIST : The Archives.. ⊲ previous ༄.˚₊ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ₊˚.༄ next ⊳

      It was sweet: freedom.  You were finally free.  Conscious from the moment Bagman was busy hyping up the audience, you were free.  Potter was it? Was that your saviour's name?  Well, at least that's what the gruff voice owned by Potter’s professor told you.  It doesn't take much to visualise what he looked like though, not when you could hear the voices of students constantly murmuring about a person who defeated Voldemort as a mere baby…and the occasional voice gushing over his looks; their shrill voice still haunts you to this day, you can feel your ears ring at the thought of it.  

     You heard of only two Potters during your time in the lake, but you guessed this one to be Harry Potter–the boy who lived, youngest seeker in a century, the boy who speaks parseltongue, the boy who saved a 1st year girl while in his 2nd year, the boy who passed out due to a dementor, among other things.  If you were to list all the things you've heard about the boy you'd be talking for 40 minutes minimum.  But now, you know him as the boy who freed you from your temporary prison. 

      As much as Professor Dumbledore reasoned to Dippet that they should keep you here for the safety of your well being instead of as a punishment, they could not deny how this was nothing short of a prison.  But between the choice of being sent to Azkaban and being branded as a 14 year old criminal, and being temporarily held prisoner in the Black Lake, this might’ve been the better option...just by a bit (if you squint). 

      You knew fully well that you had regained control over your body ever since Harry had pulled your body out of the water, but for some reason your brain told you that playing dead was the way to go.  To be frank, you could feel the obvious feeling of sorry for the boy as he carried you around princess style (also known as bridal style*). 

      It wasn't clear if he was struggling to carry you but regardless if he struggled or not you still felt bad.  He is sufficient in magic, you know that, but for some reason he doesn't think to use it–or maybe he didn't feel like it.  Whatever the case is, you don't know.

     You wanted, no, needed to move.  Needed to stretch your muscles, to move again, to recall how to walk again, to wave your wand like you used to, to run around freely.  For once you missed your lessons.  You were shy, and if you started an act, you struggled to stop playing the part.  But right now?  All you yearned for right now was to feel the feeling of movement once again. 

      And so you shoved that part of you, the part of you who couldn't break an act, away for now, and opened your eyes wide.  This..Wow; the sky was so blue and vibrant..after all those years being stuck there in the Black Lake, you started to forget the common sights you used to take for granted.  Opening your eyes has never felt so good.  

      You shifted your eyes to stare at the boy who is currently carrying you, your eyes were also no longer wide open, instead they were relaxed.  You don't think he noticed how you were now awake; his eyes looked unfocused, he's probably just in deep thought. 

      Your arms were crossed and laid neatly on your stomach, your legs dangled freely; to catch his attention, you reached your hand out to poke his neck–no one likes being poked in the neck right?  Regardless of your reasonings it worked as he jumped a bit at the feeling and whipped his head in your direction.

A/N: Finally able to write 2nd POV for reader, also is the spacing weird? During the editing phase I split my paragraphs into two, but I dont know if it looks better or worse, thoughts?

[plethomacademia]

1, 10, 49 for the fic writer asks!! 👯

Answering these

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

Ok how hard do you want to go?

If you want Durgetash, I think Duet is the best on to start on personally because it kind of encapsulates the dynamic that I am bringing in two very different points of their relationship. You could also try picking a chapter from my long fic using this link

If you want just what am I bringing to the table, which I think is a mix of emotions, softness, and weird hot sex, then I think Intimate Connection is my most accessible! I also think I write a good Astarion!

10. How do you decide what to write?

Honestly, I usually just get an idea stuck in my head or a some interaction that I think needs a follow up or some gaps filled in. Lately I have been really digging prompts as well! For any of these though, I joke that I am kind of like a writing slot machine: you can throw an idea at me and I might come back in three hours with 2k words about it. Or I might not!

I think the long fic is the one exception to this because it started with me filling in gaps (how does someone like Maeve fit in as a Dark Urge, why would she work with Gortash, why would they be attracted to each other, etc), I realized I had basically an entire pre-canon timeline. So I just filled in the other chapters of the outline and kind of went for it.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Long fic heist is being written I super promise! I have about 5-6k split across three chapters because they are all coming out kind of at once and scenes are moving between them. I plan to get at least the next two fully finished before I post one so I have some buffer, but it is happening!

I am also having a lot of fun with prompts! Two days in a row I have picked at some prompt ideas.

I think I haven't shared what I am sharing below the jump, it's a blip for post heist when Enver and Maeve are being weird with a netherstone in his bed. This won't go up for probably a month so enjoy.

He placed the netherstone on the soft flesh underneath the join of her ribs, right above her stomach. She laughed at the idea and he glanced up at her, raised his eyebrows in question. She shook her head.

“That does not seem practical place for it,” she said. “Unless you propose that we teach the brain to kneel.”

“Maeve,” he said, “if I have my way, everyone will kneel to you.”

“Even you, Enver?”

He dragged the stone lower and placed it in the dip of her navel, then he left it to rest long enough to open up her knees and settle in between them. “You already know that I kneel to you.”

[neon-prison]

What is a CORE/FORMATIVE/DEFINING moment/memory between your V/OC and ❔(fingers! of course)

For the record, I hate this <3

A formative memory between Vee and Fingers:

Vee woke up in an unfamiliar bed. Instinct kicked in before higher brain function, and she stilled, trying her best to place the oddly-familiar assortment of gaudy decor-

"Finally awake, darling?" The voice beside her cracked the dam and memories of blood and gunfire, the acrid smell of smoke and electrical current running along the edge of a mantis blade flooded her mind. She'd been wounded, desperate to close a wound before it festered and oh god no...

Reeling, Vee leaped out, whirling to face the speaker so fast her cybernetics lagged. "Fingers?!" She exclaimed, hoping against all hope that there was some kind of mistake, but no, God loved kickin' her when she was down, so why stop now?

The ripperdoc's emaciated figure leaned against the plush heart-shaped headboard far too smugly for her liking, lip-lined mouth quirking at her shock.

"Ah, I wouldn't move too much," He drawled, tilting his head as he dragged his gaze across her chest in a slimy caress. Belatedly, Vee realized she was naked. Fingers dropped his voice, leaning forward in a motion he probably considered seductive, "You'll undo all my good work, and believe me I gave you my best."

He was definitely clothed under the blanket. God himself could fuckin' tell her otherwise and she wouldn't believe it.

Ok, her pants were on the beanbag in the corner. Her top was by her feet...where was her jacket-fuck it, screw the jacket. Clothing on -possibly inside out- Vee started backing out, "I- uh, yeah- th-thanks for the assist...send me the bill-"

"Oh, no need," Finger's mouth split in a shit eating-grin that had all the destructive power of a fuckin' black hole. "You took care of that...with interest. Consider my door always open for you, sweetheart."

She stumbled out the doorway, trying not to dry heave, angling her hair to hide the shame as she avoided eye contact with several patients, "I see you were nowhere to be found, huh?" Vee hissed out loud, stalking out the back.

"Nope." Johnny's disembodied voice agreed, "I'm all for takin' one for the team but what happened back there...that's too much, even for me."

Vee hated that she couldn't even blame him for it, "Whatever it was, I don't want to know."

"For once, we're on the same damn page."

[chooseyourownavenger]

[START] [ABOUT AND WARNINGS] [FAQ]

IRONHAWK/ Go to Paris with Tony and try out the sex club.

“Okay. Yes. I’d love the trip,” you say.  “You’re sure about this though, Tony?  I mean… taking us to Paris.  Buying us clothes?  Wasn’t this supposed to be casual?”

“I’m a billionaire, dear,” he says.  “It’s the same as if you bought me a hotdog from the cart outside the building. Only much sexier.”

You snort.  “Okay.  This will be fun.”

Tony takes you and Clint shopping for fetish wear together, and while he doesn’t buy anything for himself, he does spoil you and Clint, and you come away with not only a few outfits for the trip but new lingerie and some sex toys.

You leave for Paris the following week.  Tony’s private jet is even more opulent than you could have imagined.  You take off sitting at the front of the plane, in large first-class style chairs that only fit one on each side of the aisle and face each other.  When the plane is in the air he leads you into the middle of the plane where there is a bar and comfortable couches.  The flight attendants serve you all cocktails and dinner before Tony shoos them away.

“This is totally over the top,” you say as you eat your meal that is fancier than anything you’ve ever had out.  “Is this how you always travel?”

“For business and the very rare holiday,” Tony says.  “But usually I’m in my suit or the Quinjets.”

“The Quinjets are nowhere near as comfortable as this, and there’s no meal service at all,” Clint says.  “Hey, Tones, you should show her.”

“Show me what?” you ask.

Tony laughs and rolls his eyes.  “You going to use them, bird brain?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he agreed.  “You’d love it.”

“What?  What’s happening?” you ask.

Tony opens up a screen that was hidden in the table and presses a couple of buttons on it.  The lights dim and a colored ball of strobe lights descends from the ceiling.  As it comes down, a stripper pole rises from the center of the room.

“Oh my god!” you squeal.  “Tony!  You are so extra!”

“You think I’m extra?  Wait until you see Clint on the pole,” Tony chuckles.

“You can pole dance?” you say turning on Clint.

“I sure can,” he teases, getting up.  “The things you learn in the circus, huh?”

The distinctive beat of ‘Do I wanna know,’ by the Arctic Monkeys starts up and he walks to the pole.  When the guitar comes in, he wraps his hands around it and lifts himself, spinning around the pole with his ankle hooked around the bottom.  He lands and rolls his hips against it until the lyrics start up.  You watch on as he does an elaborate routine, flipping upside down and doing the splits, spinning himself down the pole while still upside down, with just his knee and ankle locking him in place.  When the chorus starts, he climbs right to the top of the pole and holds himself out like a human flag.  The skill and strength he displays are as sexy as the routine itself.  When he finishes you got up and run to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“You’re so hot,” you say and kiss him deeply.

Clint lifts you and presses you against the pole.  Without breaking the kiss, he pushes your hands up above your head and wraps your hands around the pole.  When you’re holding on tightly he begins to kiss his way down your body.  “Don’t let go,” he warns as he kneels in front of you and puts your legs over his shoulders.  His head disappears under your skirt as he pushes your panties to the side.  You arch your back, lifting your pussy up to his face and he starts sucking greedily on it.

You moan and roll your hips against his face as he sloppily eats you out.  Tony gets up from where he’s sitting and moves to the couch directly in front of the pole, watching on closely as Clint goes down on you.  You keep your eyes locked on him.  He unfastens his pants and pulls out his cock, stroking it slowly as he watches Clint go down on you.

Clint pulls your clit between his lips and flicks his lips and flicks his tongue back and forth quickly over the little nub.  A pleasant current spreads through you and your hands slip a little on the pole.  When Clint thrusts his fingers into you, you almost fall.

“Bring her here, Clint,” Tony says.

Clint pulls out his fingers and picks you up, carrying you to Tony.  Tony rolls a condom down over his cock and when Clint lowers you into Tony’s lap, he guides his cock into you.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, leaning your head back on Tony’s shoulder.

“There we go,” he hums as he starts massaging your tits.  Clint knees in front of the two of you and starts licking from the base of Tony’s cock up to your clit and back again.  You roll your hips as molten lava spreads through your veins and settles as a pit in your stomach.  Tony kisses your neck and yanks the neck of your dress down to expose your breasts.  He tugs and pulls on your nipples and starts snapping his hips up into you.

It’s all you could take, and with a loud cry, you come, shuddering around Tony’s cock.

Tony slows his thrust and you slide off his lap.  “You wanna fuck me, Clint?” Tony asks.

Clint looks up from his spot on the ground.  “Yeah, okay,” he says.

Tony pulls some lube out of his pocket and gets up, pushing his dress pants down.  “Why don’t you lie with your head over the edge of the seat, honey?”  He asks as he tosses away his used condom.

You take your position, legs up the back of the chair, and head over the edge.  Tony bends over and you press your breasts around Tony’s cock.  Tony groans as Clint starts fingering his ass.

It isn’t long before Clint has his cock sheathed in a condom, and is sinking into Tony’s ass.  He starts to thrust and with each thrust of Clint’s hips makes Tony fuck between your tits.  You pinch and tug on your nipples and Tony roughly rubs your clit.

The moans you all make get louder and louder, drowning out the sound of the plane engines.  Tony’s cock starts leaking over your chest, smearing on your skin and making his cock move even more easily against you.  You come again and jerk up under them.

Clint’s hips begin to stutter and Tony’s cock throbs.  You lick the head of his cock and it sends him over.  He groans and releases, thick cords of come splatter your tits.  Clint comes just after him, biting into Tony’s shoulder as he releases into his ass.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs, panting slightly.  “Okay, Clint.  Clean her up and we can take a nap together.”

Clint hums and pulls out of Tony’s ass.  He throws the condom away before sinking in front of you and slowly licking Tony’s mess from your skin.  You close your eyes and hum.  “If he keeps doing that it’s going to be a long time before I let either of you sleep.

You arrive in Paris late at night and a private car takes the three of you to Tony’s penthouse in Paris.  You are just awake enough to take in the beautiful mansion the apartment is housed in, the way the apartment has perfectly blended French Antiques with Tony’s modern style, and the view of the Seine before you fall into the soft bed and sleep.

You wake up alone with a note on the pillow beside you.  Written in hurried block letters is ‘Take the spiral staircase up.’

You get up and stretch, opening the curtains and looking out at the view of the river and Paris beyond.  The sun is up and in the slightly jet-lagged state it dawns on you, you’ve come to the city of love on an all-expenses-paid trip with a couple of guys you’re not supposed to have feelings for.

For the first time, you wonder if you’ve made an error in judgment.

You use the bathroom - it’s somehow even bigger and more elaborate than the one in the Tower.  The main difference is that this one is decorated in warmer golds and creams with fittings that blend into the antique French feel of the building.  The claw-footed tub, while large, could only hold two of you, and there was no shower feature over it, and there was a fireplace on the far side of the room.  Otherwise, the shower still took up an entire wall and had multiple shower heads, and the two sinks were gold basin style and sat on a long antique-looking vanity.

You wash up and grab a robe before heading out to search for the spiral staircase.  It doesn’t take you long to find it standing in the middle of the living room.  It’s made of wrought iron and you follow it upstairs into a big glass atrium that opens out onto a perfectly manicured roof garden.  The garden takes in all of Paris with its 360-degree view.  Right in your eye line is the Eiffel Tower.  You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect scene if you’d tried.  Tony and Clint are sitting at a cast iron table on plush armchairs, Tony is in a black tank top and white linen pajama pants, while Clint just has a pair of boxer shorts with targets on them.  Laid out in front of them is a basket of croissants, a bowl of mixed berries, butter, jam, honey, and Nutella.  A silver pot filled with coffee sits beside a glass jug of orange juice.  You assume they haven’t been eating long as both still have partially eaten pastries on their plates and they’re both nursing coffees.

“She’s up,” Tony says, standing.  Clint stands too, and both men kiss your cheek before you all sit.

“This is amazing, Tony,” you say as you help yourself to a croissant.  It’s still warm and as you cut it open and spread butter on it, it instantly melts into the flaky pastry.  “Why would you live in New York if you own this?”

“Doesn’t have a lab,” he says.  “Besides, things wouldn’t be much fun without you two around, now would it?”

You pour yourself a coffee as you try and decide exactly what that was supposed to mean.  Was Hill right?  Were they seeing this as something more serious than they had originally said?

“Speaking of my lab,” Tony continues, thankfully allowing you to completely brush by the statement of his love of being around you and Clint.  “I have to go into the Paris branch of SI and make an appearance.  You guys should go out and see the city.  We can meet back here for dinner and go to the club after.”

“Sounds good,” Clint says.  “What do you think?  Wanna go eat a bunch of cheese with me and then climb the Eiffel Tower?”

You start laughing.  “Sounds like a plan.”

It feels like a date.  Walking the city.  Stopping for coffee and baguettes and brie.  Taking photos together in front of statues and monuments.  Arguing about whether to go to the Louvre or Moulin Rouge and then settling on the Eiffel Tower.  The way Clint likes to walk with his hand in yours or his arm around your shoulders.

It doesn’t feel like friends.

Or maybe it’s exactly like friends and you’re overthinking it.

In the late afternoon, you end up at the top of the Eiffel Tower, Clint looking extremely at ease with the heights.  He’s been fumbling his way through French all day and it’s kind of sexy hearing him converse with the locals.

“You think you can see Tony’s place from here?” you ask.

“Oh sure,” Clint says, guiding you over to the railing facing the part of the city Tony’s place is.  “Follow the river up, and then look for the one with the garden rooftop.”  He puts one hand on your hip and leans over you slightly as he points out the apartment.  It’s close and intimate, and if he was your boyfriend you’d probably turn your head and kiss him.

He’s not though, so instead, you squint trying to see where he’s pointing.  “I don’t…”

“Alright, come here,” he says, leading you to the brass telescope.  “Excusez-moi, s'il vous plaît,” he says as he winds through a group of people to get to it.  “Merci.”

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” you say as he digs a two-euro coin from his pocket and drops it into the telescope.  “It’s pretty sexy.”

“I don’t really,” he says as he looks through the telescope for the apartment.  “I mean, who doesn’t know how to say excuse me?  But one of my mentors was French, and I can speak Italian.  They share roots, so I can kinda muddle through it a little.  Has made for some fucking hilarious mix-ups though.  You should hear Tony though.  He can speak French fluently.  It’s hot as fuck.”

He steps back and you look through the lens of the telescope.  It’s perfectly lined up with the garden where you had eaten breakfast this morning.  “Hey!  There it is!” you say excitedly.

“Pretty cool, huh?” he says.  “I can’t believe he’s brought us here for a little weekend away.”

“Yeah, me either,” you say as you start looking around with the telescope more, completely aware of Clint’s hand on your waist.  “I didn’t know you spoke Italian.”

“What can I say?” he jokes.  “I really love pizza.”

You burst out laughing and you nudge him.  He laughs and pulls you against him and kisses you.  For a moment you become lost in it, and then you remember, this man who’s kissing you is supposed to be your friend and you should definitely not be kissing him on top of the Eiffel Tower like you’re part of some cliched romantic comedy.

You pull back and tap your hands on his chest.

“Feels like something’s missing, huh?” he says.  “Tony should be here.”

“Clint…” you say uncertainty.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Aren’t we all just supposed to be friends?”

Clint lets you go and shrugs.  “I guess.  I guess that’s what we agreed on.  I’m sorry if I overstepped.  I just thought…”

You shake your head and take his hand.  “I know.  We’re in Paris and he’s saying he prefers to be with us.  Are we… have you spoken to him about where this is going?”

“Are you kidding me?” Clint says.  “If I name it, he’ll run.”

“You want it though… right?” you ask.  “You’re in love with him.”

Clint drops his eyes and nods.  “I have been for a long fucking time.  I don’t know… I thought… I thought if I could make it seem like him and me being together didn’t mean only ever being him and me… if he got used to us together … And you were there and we had so much fun.  And now… now with you…”  He pauses and looks back up into his eyes.  “You know I married my ex-wife after knowing her for two weeks.  But I fell in love with her.  I knew she was right for me.  And I wasn’t wrong.  I know you’re thinking - well she’s your ex-wife, so that was dumb.  But we were together for a long time after we got married and we tried to have kids.  And then something happened to her.  It changed her.  I couldn’t be who she needed me to be anymore, and the things she was doing?  The woman I fell in love with wouldn’t have done them.  That’s what ended us.  But I fall in love quickly.  So… so know, when I say this, I’m not saying it because I just said I’m in love with Tony and I don’t want you to feel bad.  And I know it’s quick.  So if you don’t feel the same yet, you don’t have to say it back.  I don’t expect anything.  I’m not trying to scare you, but... I love you.”

A weird blend of terror and excitement floods you.  It’s the same sort of rush you get from the first drop on a rollercoaster, and for a moment, you forget you’re supposed to be speaking right now.

Freak out, you didn’t sign up for this.

Say it back. You are in love with Clint.

Tell him it’s too soon, and you need to think about it.