WIP excerpt for Etraytin behind the cut, who asked for dealer's choice and is getting "Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it".
content notes: Dom/sub, pet play, subspace.
(( chrono || non-chrono || AO3 ))
Tim flattens the hand he's got at the small of Kon's back against the base of his spine, and sort of . . . taps him there, just barely. Kon doesn't get what he's doing, but his body moves just how and just where Tim wants it, his hips tilting forward away from the wall and in against Tim's as his shoulders press back into it. He doesn't really mean to push his chest out the way it pushes out with that, but . . .
Tim leans back just enough for Kon to actually see that so-soft smile on his face, and Kon feels so, so far past floaty at the sight of it.
He still doesn't actually get what Tim's doing, though, because why's he . . . ?
Tim drops his other hand down lower than just the small of Kon's back, and the next "tap" he gives him is the tap of two come-sticky, come-slick fingertips against his hole.
Kon immediately loses every molecule of oxygen in his lungs and just stares down at him, because he can't do anything but stare at him, and Tim smiles a little wider and starts to open his mouth, and the super-speed gives Kon all the time in the world to feel the full, overwhelming rush of just how fucking desperate he is to hear what the bastard's about to say to him.
And what the bastard says is—
"We're about to give you a bath anyway, so I know you won't mind if I come inside this time," Tim says reasonably, like he's just being fucking practical here. "Right, boy?"
Kon whimpers, and Tim's smile widens another notch or two, and the only answer Kon can actually manage is one jerky, helpless, desperate nod.
"Please," he croaks, and Tim smiles at him.
Then Tim pushes his fingers into him—his slick and sticky and messy fingers—and the super-speed immediately becomes relevant again, because Kon is instantly rock-hard and dripping. So like—thanks for that, half-Kryptonian refractory period, he guesses hazily, feeling fucking lightheaded about it. Real fucking helpful, right now. He didn't need his useless-ass excuse for a brain anyway, right?
Tim glances down between their bodies, and Kon's cock fucking throbs for the attention.
For being something Robin thinks is worth looking at.
Fuck, Kon manages to think, still all lightheaded and dizzy, and Tim lets out another long and slow doors-blowing breath before flicking his eyes back up to his face. He doesn't actually fingerfuck him so much as just—just fuck his come into him, all careful and neat and methodical and thorough about it, and it's all Kon can do not to clutch up around his fingers hard enough to keep them—to keep him.
Tim isn't even giving his prostate any real attention or rocking or thrusting his fingers inside him. He's just . . . just . . .
"Whose is this, boy?" Tim asks him, and works more come up inside him, pushing his fingers in the deepest he has so far. And Kon's the one whose dick it all came from, obviously; it's from him, obviously—obviously it is—but . . .
But it's Tim's come, that floaty, dreamy place in his head already knows. Because Tim made it happen; because Tim let him have it. Because Tim's the one in charge here, because it doesn't matter if they're here or not or who else might've made anything happen, even if it was him who made it happen, because he's just Tim's—his pet, his boy, his Superboy—
Because Tim just said so, and that's all that matters.
Except Tim hadn't actually said he was talking about his come, the part of Kon that isn't just a floaty, dreamy mess that wants to sit at Robin's feet for the rest of both their fucking lives realizes. Tim'd just pushed his fingers inside him as deep as he could get them and had asked . . . and had asked . . .
Whose is this, boy? Tim had asked him, and had asked him while he'd had his fingers inside him.
Kon doesn't know if Tim'd done that on purpose on not, but he knows the answer's the same either way.
"Yours," he breathes out, feeling goddamn breathless. "All yours."
"You'll take care of it for me, though, won't you?" Tim asks, and Kon's whole body feels like—"I know you can do that for me, pet."
Kon's not sure his body even feels like a body anymore, though he knows it'll still be whatever Tim needs it to be.
Whatever Tim—wants it to be.
"Yeah," he pants, barely able to keep his hips from shoving back too greedily onto Tim's fingers; definitely not at all able to keep his hips from fucking squirming on Tim's fingers. It's not—it's just—"Yeah, I can—I can, I—fuck, Tim, I—"
"Kiss me, Superboy," Robin orders exactly like he would in the field, like he would if he ever just decided to stop right in the middle of a firefight right in front of fucking everyone, fucking anyone, and just grabbed his Superboy by the—by the collar, cute and pink and fucking locked around his throat.
( locked whether it had an actual lock on it or not, because Robin'd ordered HIS Superboy to wear it, to not take it off until he TOLD him to—to not take it off UNLESS he told him to. to wear the jewelry that matched it in the piercings HE'D given him, to just—to wear all that whether Robin even touched him or not, even LOOKED at him or not, to just—wear it, and be what Robin needed him to be, and WANTED him to be, and—and—
and to just be . . . to just GET to be . . . )
Kon doesn't think he's ever kissed anyone as fast as he does it on Robin's orders.
"There you are," Tim murmurs against his mouth, and kisses him back. Kon doesn't understand what Tim actually meant by that, but it doesn't matter like following his orders does.
Check out Tango's nether hub to see the Astral Library! He just finished it on stream today, but you can get a really good look at it in his most recent video. It's astonishing!
Oh thanks!!!!! Ill be sure to check it out, it sounds really cool 👁👁
For a West Wing prompt: "Things you say because you can't say anything real."
This is such a good prompt for The West Wing, but I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do. I wanted to do somethingpost-canon, but nothing came to mind with this prompt - so this took a lot ofthinking…I actually started multiple drabbles with this but nothing felt like wastruly working for me. I finally settled for this and I hope it’s okay (also fun to be back writing for this fandom after 4/5 years)
This week, Andrea Wyatt had threatened to kill him, President Bartlet had assured him that he still had enough contacts to have him killed. Sam had reminded him that he had present contacts, so had Josh, ignoring that they were old friends. And Danny was not even counting CJ’s brothers right now.
Toby was different. Danny knew that Toby would be the first to kill him, after CJ was done with him - not that it would ever be needed. So the night before the wedding when he should be resting (reason why they did the bachelor and bachelorette party before tonight), he heard a knock on the door, he hoped it was CJ and that she had decided to ignore the rule that they couldn’t see each other before the wedding. It was Toby.
“I’m buying you a glass of Jack Daniels,” Toby said and walked out, without waiting for him. Danny was in sweatpants and a Notre Dame sweater when he followed Toby out, only getting his card to the room.
Danny was still behind Toby and when he got to the bar, Toby was already sitting on the outside, two glasses with whisky and Toby with two cigars on his hand. Danny didn’t smoke, especially cigars very often, but he took Toby’s, after all he was getting married tomorrow.
“The midwest, I don’t think I’ve been here for anything that wasn’t campaigning.”
“No family trips.”
“You’re a reporter, Danny, I think you know who my family was– is.” This was the answer to family trips question, but it also reminded Danny of where Toby came from, a bit rougher and stronger than a midwest kid.
“I haven’t done any reporting in years,” Danny said taking a nother drag of the coigar, between gulps of the whisky.
“You still have the mind of a reporter and you’re friends with some.” Again he didn’t ask, he expected Danny to know - he had that in common with CJ actually.
“They are off the record and I trust them. There will be no news on President Bartlet’s health.”
“There are other public figures. Josh, Sam and Donna may have to work for a bit, which means they would have to talk about the current administration. People running for–
“Congresswoman Wyatt is here as a guest, nobody will ask her anything. And you can dance and kiss Andy, Toby, there won’t be news about her being back with her ex-husband, the leak,” Danny told him. They knew that they were here as his friends and not working and that none could ever be reported - most of them were still in the White House, so Josh could threaten to make their lives a living hell. “If Andy is thinking of running for something higher, you should come out with it.”
“When she runs, I’ll step out, Danny, like a certain good man did.” Toby was actually paying him a compliment.
“It isn’t always needed. Don’t step out, you two can handle this. From what I know of Congresswoman Wyatt, she likes a good fight.”
“She’s not the only one,” Toby said with another gulp of whisky.
“Toby, I know. I know CJ and I’m not kidding around with this marriage thing. I mean it and she knows it. So please no more threats.”
“I think I can agree to that, at least tonight,” Toby said, finishing his drink at the same time as Danny. “And before you go up for a last night as an unmarried man, I kick your ass at pool.”
“I may win, you know, not like Charlie wins, but I may win.”
“Let’s see how you do,” Toby challenged as they went inside.
WIP excerpt for Etraytin behind the cut; “Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids”.
(( chrono || non-chrono || AO3 ))
Her parents had named her "Kara" because she'd been born under Kara's constellation. Her father had used to say that if they ever wanted to have another child, they'd have to schedule their matrix for a "Lorra" or "Lor". Her mother had used to say that if they ever wanted to have another child, she'd just wait for grandchildren to spoil.
None of that is ever going to happen now. No "Lorra Zor-El" or "Lor-El" to have; no grandchildren to spoil. No new members for the House of El ever again.
There's nothing anyone could ever do to make any of that happen now. Kal is the last son of El; the last "El" there'll ever be.
The last son of Krypton.
The last son of Krypton there'll ever be.
"And so one generation goes, and another comes, and Rao . . ." Kara's voice catches, and she feels dull and brittle and weak, and she finishes: ". . . and Rao remains."
She thinks Rao remains. She hopes Rao remains.
She hopes he stayed with their people, and didn't leave them alone in the dark.
Kal is crying near-silently, clinging tight to the neck of her dress and leaking tears all over and all through it, and he's limp and despondent in her arms; the last child of the house of El, the last child of Krypton all dissonant grief and discordant pain, and she hasn't done a thing to make him feel better.
She hasn't dropped him, though. She at least hasn't done that.
She doesn't know what she'd do if she ever dropped him.
She can't ever drop him, because that's not what their family saved her for. That's not what she's here for. That's not why she's alive, and not what she's alive for.
She isn't alive for anything except to be what Kal needs, because otherwise, what's she even alive for? If she's not alive for him, what's the point in her being alive at all?
If she's not alive for him, she doesn't deserve to be.
She doesn't deserve any of this.
She doesn't deserve this.
She doesn't know what she did to deserve this.
It must've been something awful, though. It must've been . . . it must've been something so awful.
Or maybe it's just that Rao knew what an awful daughter she'd be to her parents at the end, and that's why she's the one who had to survive it alone.
Kara knows she's not alone. She's holding Kal in her arms right now. So—she's not alone. She wouldn't be alive, if she would've been alone. And Ma and Pa . . . Ma and Pa have been very kind.
But Kal is still so young, so young and so small and defenseless and . . . and he can't even say a full sentence yet, and she can't speak enough of the aliens' language to speak to Ma and Pa, and . . . and it's just been so long since she could just talk to somebody and hear them say something back and—and know what they were saying back to her, and know they knew what she was saying to them, and . . .
Kara knows she's not alone, but she's so alone.
She feels like she'll never be anything but "alone" again.
The way Kal is still crying hurt, hiccuped sobs and broken chimes in her arms isn't helping that. Isn't helping anything except the ugly, ugly, awful part of her that's grateful that he at least remembers something. At least remembers enough to remember something's missing.
He won't remember Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor in the end, she knows, because how even could he, but . . . but at least he does for now. At least he does right now.
She doesn't know what she's going to do once he forgets.
She doesn't even know what to do right now.
Kara walks around the receiving room again. Kal keeps crying on her, miserable little keening chimes and choked sobs. It's the worst thing she can imagine, except for him not being here to cry at all. No matter how many circuits she walks around the receiving room, Kal doesn't stop crying. Even when his voice gives out completely—so completely that he can't even chime—even then, Kal doesn't stop crying.
She doesn't know what to do.
She can't even cry herself, because he has to see her smiling.
.
.
.
Kara walks around the receiving room again.
Kal keeps crying.
.
.
.
Kara walks. Kal cries. And cries.
He has to see her smiling.
.
.
.
He has to see her smiling, but he's not even looking at her.
.
.
.
"The story is to begin, and when it ends, you will know what you think of it," she tries again, and tells him . . . tells him . . . "Once there was and now there—n-now there are two—scientists. Two—Jor-El II, first-point son of Jor-El and Nimda An-Dor, binary star to Nim-El and fore-born of the same stellar cluster as Z-Zor-El, and Lara Lor-Van, barycenter daughter of Lor-Van and Lara Rok-Var, and only star of the house of Van's stellar nursery. They are the chosen fundamental frequency to each other, the first harmonic to each other, and they became the melody that begat their barycenter son. Their melody begat Kal-El, their Star-Child; their hope. In celebration of their melody Lara Lor-Van made for Jor-El II a machine that could listen to the center of the world, and so Jor-El II heard the song at the center of the world, and he brought it to Lara Lor-Van, and they together heard when—when it—when it fell out of tune. When it . . ."
She stops. Swallows.
She can't stop. She needs to—she needs to keep . . .
Kal has to see her smiling, whether he's looking at her or not.
He has to.
He has to see her smiling whether he's looking or not, but she can't even tell the story.
So what are the feelings you are having about Marvel again? :D
lol, this is a very old wip from when wandavision took hold of my dopamine production centers! when they introduced pietro being played by the actor from the xmen movies, i REALLY wanted this to be how mutants were introduced in the mcu (even though i knew the mcu is going to treat them terribly). my favorite snippet from this fic is already posted here but here's the continuation:
“You’re not my sister, are you,” says Pietro.
“No,” says Wanda. “And my brother died nine years ago.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t seen my sister in ten years,” he says, shrugging. “Got into an argument with our mom and just... walked out. Took our memories with her. I’m the only one who’s realized what happened, and I don’t even remember what she looked like.” He purses his lips. “I guess that’s why I was so ready to believe you were her.”
Wanda runs a hand through her hair. “I’m not your sister. I don’t... I don’t think I can do what she did.”
“Based on this? I’m guessing you can do whatever you want,” says Pietro.
“Yeah,” says Wanda, her heart sinking, as she looks across the town of Westview. “I think I’m starting to get that.”
there's also some stuff in this document about clint and yelena, post black widow, but that's kind of mixed up with my hawkeye AUs where natasha's around and none of it is very coherent, lol.
etraytin reblogged your post: rewatching the west wing season 7 leak story and...
I haven’t ficced it properly but my headcanon is that Toby took the fall to protect Andy, the actual leak. Andy the...
Oh, I’ve never thought about Andy!
But I’m firmly in the camp that Toby did it for his sister in law, David’s wife.
We already know that David knew about the shuttle, and that he hinted at it to Toby. Who’s to say David didn’t hint about it to his wife? Who’s to say he didn’t tell either of them more?
Toby makes the connection based on some details David knew, and god, he nearly confronts her over it because he’s terrified for her.
But she’s a civilian. If it were to come out--who would they blame for her source? Her deceased, hero astronaut husband? Her White House brother-in-law?
Both options make him sick.
He plans to stay quiet. They think the leak came from inside the White House, but there’s no proof--he never called her from a White House phone. He barely calls her at all, and there’s good enough excuses still for those.
But then the fingers start pointing to CJ. They’re pointing aggressively.
And there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for CJ.
So he confesses. And at first he’s waiting for someone to catch him on it and say that he’s lying, but they don't. Not CJ. Not the President. It’s too easy to believe that grumpy Toby Ziegler leaked classified information. And that’s what hurts him the most.
