Dreams (cont.)

He woke up to warmth and darkness and a surprisingly pleasant looseness to his body. Warm and safe and comfortable and…. he peeked his head out of the covers, examining the amount of light in his loft….. late for work probably. Or late for practice. Didn’t matter. He was warm and the arm wrapped around his waist was nice and it was tempting to fall back asleep. Really tempting. He wiggled slightly before rumbling and rolling over slowly in Phil’s grasp, grumbling to himself before sliding closer, tangling their legs together. Better, now that he could feel soft exhales on his face, lulling him back to sleep.

He woke again, his hand stirring restlessly against Phil’s hip as he blinked sleep slightly away from his eyes. This was nice. “We shoul’ take a vacation.” he slurred sleepily, leaning in more to rub his nose against Phil’s before shifting just enough for a slow, lazy kiss. “Mmmmm…… you shoul’ move ‘n. ’ll get a bigger bathroom an’ everthin’. Jus’ for your tub.”

Closing Time

Training was over.

Well, according to some senior agents, training was never really over. She got that. She’d snuck a peak at some of the other modules that were available once she moved up a rank and was already excited. There hadn’t been any problems since the botched mission with Coulson; handlers weren’t treating her like she was a time bomb waiting to explode. She had made friends, which was still odd to say. A few other specialists that were in various stages of training, close quarters, linguist, a few others. She was out with them tonight, celebrating the ‘end’ of training and her graduation to a 'kid’ agent.

So, they were out drinking at, according to Desmond, the best karaoke bar in New York, all too often frequented by SHIELD agents on nights off. There was alcohol. Good alcohol, and for some reason her whiskey glass kept refilling itself when she wasn’t paying attention. It was good whiskey though, and she was still minding how much of it she drank. She was too careful to drink too much. Too mindful of what her father had been, and too mindful about how whiskey tasted like home.

Still, she as buzzed enough that when they prodded her into getting up. It took a few bucks for the song she wanted to get downloaded and the door was just opening when she started, the blur of the alcohol drowning out the usual shyness when it came to singing in front of others.

“A couple guys in first class, on a flight from New York to Los Angeles….”

shieldandroid replied to your post: Phil’s eyes kept going between where Steve was tugging his tie forward and the Captain’s eyes, his own darkening in a sudden spike of arousal. In all his wildest dreams, he never thought this would happen. “Oh. Steve..”

(random AU) “Captain,” he tried to compose himself, ignoring everything in his body that wanted to say yes. He held stiff and let Steve press wet kisses to his jaw. “Captain, s-should you.. You need to go to Medical.”

“Don’t wanna…” Steve’s big, muscular arms wrapped around the Agent’s surprisingly strong frame. “Wow…didn’t know you were so /built/ under that suit…” His hands stroked up and down Coulson’s strong back and tight buttocks. “Mmm…but I don’t wanna go…unless you’re wanting to…give me a check-up.” He winked, pressing a hot, inexperienced kiss to Phil’s mouth. 


That is what I see when Stark tries to threaten me. 

Let's Play Cops and Robbers

Everything was working out perfectly, right up until it wasn’t. They had gotten to the point that they could take down a bank in under 3 minutes, Trickshot and her keeping the customers from moving, each hidden by their own costume, while Barney was taking whatever he could get his hands on, hidden in one of the Swordsman’s old costumes. It was great, even if sometimes she felt like they were being watched. No no, everything was great, right up until a fucking tactical team kicked the doors in of the bank at a minute and a half. 

It only got worse when the arrow she let go reflexively didn’t even get through the armor of the guy pointing a gun at her. It just slid off, like his vest was made of some super secret arrow-proof technology and well… they were fucked. She could hear Trickshot shout “Bail!” and she had turned, already plotting a way to get up and out.

A arrow, one of Trickshot’s arrows, to the thigh sent all of her plans to Hell, and she ended up on the floor, crying out in pain and confusion before she could stop it. Her bow got knocked away, her arms got wrenched behind her back and her wrists cuffed, and before she knew it, she was being drug out of the bank, trying to figure out what cops had eagles as their insignia.

They didn’t treat her too badly, all things considered. Her leg got stitched and bandaged, loose scrubs had replaced her admittedly revealing purple and blue costume and face mask, and absolutely all of her weapons, and anything that could be used as a weapon (including her bobby pins) had been taken away. They’d left her alone in her little room after that, with its creepy interrogation table and chair set.

She sat in the corner to spite them, curling in on herself and at least thankful that whatever drug they had given her for her leg meant it didn’t hurt. Not that the rest of her didn’t hurt. Oh no, she was hurting, confused and so very alone, wondering how it had all changed so quickly and who the Hell SHIELD was.

Drop it like it's hot

There was some negatives about being a submissive in a super secret spy organization where interruptions were an every day occurrence. Such as an immediate extraction being needed right as Coulson was putting him down, and fuck, he needed to be put down. Needed to feel warm and loose and have everything be perfect for just a little bit because it seemed like it had been weeks since he’d been put down. All he really wanted was Phil’s fingers in his hair, soothing him down deep. But no. Real life had to intrude, and fuck you, real life. He’d just really started to go down, Coulson’s voice a low hum in his ear, triggering the warm flood in his mind and the blur at the edge of his vision. The chemical need to go down. He settled, leaning into Coulson’s legs, not even fighting a little bit….. which is right when the other agent had busted into Coulson’s office. It hurt, deep down inside, to snap himself out of the sub trance but he did it anyway, ignoring the snap in the voice above him that told him his dom was furious about being interrupted. It would be okay because they could fix it before a drop happened. 

Except that they couldn’t. There was barely time for a quick stroke of Phil’s fingers through his hair before they were having to spring into action, Clint pushing the ache that was settling into his muscles down and away. He’d deal with it later. Except later was him and Barnes tearing about an entire HYDRA base to get to their agents and then their own extraction being delayed. Which left too many of them crowded in a too small safe house and Clint going from bad to worse. His skin felt too small and itched. Everything ached. His head felt like it was slowly splitting apart. And the round and round thoughts. Those were wearing at him the most. He could get passed this. He knew he could. That a sub could get passed the drop without the help of a dom, but that it took time. And time was something he didn’t have right now. Fuck, he hurt, and his dom wasn’t here and it was because Clint wasn’t good enough. No, no, no, that was just the drop talking. The hours passed, and he snapped at the others. Doms and switches that weren’t really used to a sub bristling and snarling at them, even if Clint definitely wasn’t a normal sub, and were already worn through from pain and exhaustion. Time only helped the ache settle in more, and he found a corner and stayed in it, fingers finding their way under the leather band around his neck, collar carefully hidden under his uniform. 

It didn’t help any. 

He wanted to call Phil. But….. he didn’t want to take up the comm line with his neediness. Wasn’t that important anyway. He wasn’t that important. He curled in on himself more, feeling the shivers start up, and settled in to just suffer. He should have been in control, caring for other ones because he should have been in charge. He was the senior agent. Instead all he could do was sit on the floor, curled up. You’re fucking pathetic. No wonder he doesn’t put you down more. He’s probably thankful this mission came up so he didn’t have to deal with you. 

Concrete Angel

taking a nap. u should join me.

He had stripped out of the borrowed jumpsuit because holy fuck, those things were uncomfortable, and had pulled on his own uniform to nap. Yeah, it still fit oddly over female parts that didn’t really feel like his own, but it was better than those jumpsuits. He sprawled out on his couch, bare foot hanging off to rest on the floor, arms tucked under his head with the long blonde hair curled neatly up. Nap time was the best time. And maybe Phil would actually join him and that would be nice. They both needed sleep, having been at work for somewhere between sixteen and twenty hours.

Clint had honestly lost count.

That wasn’t as surprising as it had once been. 

Just a few minutes. Enough to feel a little better, his skin itching obnoxiously. A few quick breathes and he was falling into darkness, sleep sweeping up. He woke up to pain. His back was on fire. It took more effort than he though it should to roll off the couch and fall onto the floor, the jolt making him grit his teeth at the fresh spike of pain. His eyes focused on his hands…. hands that were actually his and not too small and feminine. Well, that answered one question. But the pain in his back…. pain that was growing by the moment. His next breath hissed out as he pushed up, falling back at the wave of pain that caused. A hand, trembling, reached up to try and feel. It encountered a slowly growing lump and his back screamed, vision whiting out for a moment. Nonononomakeitstop. Phone. Where’s the phone? It took effort to look around before spotting it, almost crawling toward it, little choked off noises escaping him with every movement. The pain was getting worse. A hand slapped at the piece of technology until it unlocked, fingers struggling to open up the dialer and hit speed dial for Phil. Pleasepleasegodfuckpleasemakeitstop! His vision whited out with another throb, ears barely hearing soft rings as the pressure in his back built and built in painful waves, dragging him under and drowning him. It built to a peak and then something tore.

Clint screamed and then everything went black.

Status Update on Anonymous Threat

So—erm…I’m thinking that the anonymous creep from earlier is just a harmless prankster. However, I’d like you all to keep on your toes until this is confirmed. Do you copy?

//OOC: I kind of love this scary anon since it adds a weird twist to Steve’s defensiveness and insecurities. So, kudos to you, Anon…if you’re reading this. I’m also impressed on how you’ve hidden your identity so well. Neither Steve nor myself have been able to figure it out. …However, if you want to step up to the plate and tell me, I promise to keep it from Cap. And I might even give you a kitten. 

Saved By the Bell

Her grades were terrible. That was to be expected, honestly. At least in the classes that were more focused on reading and writing, on tests and answers. Weaponry was fun. Strategy was easy. Psychology, when she wasn’t having to read and write, was interesting.

Her test scores were abominable. She was pretty sure the Psych professor figured it out first, a nice looking older lady that had found her in the cafeteria one day, and handed her a tablet. “Audio recordings of the texts are in it as well. If you long press on a word, it’ll open up a dictionary….. I thought you might find it interesting.” No condemnation. No pity. Just the tablet held out in offering.

Her test scores shot up. She didn’t know that the psychology teacher had shown up at Coulson’s office one day just to give him a disappointed look and set down a written test, Claire’s chicken scratch handwriting all over it, letters still reversed in odd places but the grade was near perfect, complimentary comments scattered across the paper. “Next time you send someone to us and there isn’t a notation in his or her file about a learning disability, you and I will have a very serious discussion, Phillip James Coulson. Next time you send us someonethat is actually intelligent and has a chance at being good, and you don’t do absolutely everything you can to help that person, Director Fury and I will be having a serious discussion.” And that was that. Everything else was complimentary… right up until SHIELD’s version of SERE came up.

One of the instructors practically stormed into Phil’s office, glaring up a storm. “Three days. It’s been three god damn days, Coulson, and you want to know how much of her I’ve seen since we sent them off for the survival, so we could pick them up for the next stage. Three days. AND NO ONE CAN FIND HER.” It took a deep breathe before the large man, a former Force Recon Marine, to get his temper back under control. “You, Ranger boy, better have some field gear handy because the little archer is your problem still. Which means you are coming to help us find her.”

Those People What I Follow Most

In the Hawk’s Sights: