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accidentalslayer · 1 year

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Word Count: 1,952

Warnings: N/A for this chapter. Future chapters will explore darker elements, though

Author's Notes: New project, who dis?? Recently fandom-switched to Vampire Diaries/Originals & was inspired to write a little piece about two OCs interacting at the Mystic Grill.

From there on, the plot took hold of my soul, and now I'm writing a fic. Again. Lol.

Pairing: Yandere!Elijah & Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!Reader (eventually)

Summary: Vincent Webb returns to Mystic Falls, Virginia after many years of avoiding his hometown. He decides to catch up with an old flame at the Grill only to be interrupted by his high school arch-nemesis: Richard Lockwood. How awkward for Vince! 🤣

Recommended Song: "Half of my Hometown" by: Kelsea Ballerini

Chapter One: The Prodigal Son

[October 1st, 1991

Mystic Falls, Virginia]

It hadn't changed. Not one bit. More than 5 years had passed without Vincent Webb, yet Mystic Falls was the same shit hole as it'd been on the day he'd skipped town. 'Like a mosquito caught in amber', he mused to himself, a grimace on his face, 'Or something else that refuses to change despite the march of time'. God was not without his keen sense of irony when he made this place, it seemed, and Vincent was glad that he had left right after graduating from MFHS. Glad that he'd gotten out of Virginia to explore the world. Away from any monster that went bump in the night...

But now, fate had brought him back to Mystic Falls.

The first thing Vincent did when he'd crossed the town line was visit the cemetery where his father laid and took a piss on the old man's tombstone. The second thing he did (immediately afterward) was shoot off a text: 'Hey, you free tonight? Meet you at our usual spot, be there in 30 minutes,' to his ex-girlfriend, Grace. The only woman to have ever stolen his heart or gotten him to consider a future in driving a family minivan around. That's how he'd ended up here at the Grill, tucked away within its backmost lobby, nursing a scotch past twelve. Observing his high-school nemesis, Richard Lockwood, as he flirted shamelessly in front of Carol Lockwood with their young, pretty waitress two booths over. No, some things never changed in Mystic Falls.

Footsteps approached his table. A pair of heels judging from the sound of their clacking on the polished wood floor. His eyes flicked downward to spy an all-too-familiar toe ring that he'd once bought for the girl that he'd loved as a teenager. Grace had arrived. And with her arrival, the ache of nostalgia in his chest. Vincent took a gulp of his drink to steady his nerves as she slid into the seat opposite of him.

"You know," he said, tone casual, "I thought Rich was always gonna end up with that Forbes chick. Not Carol. Remember how annoying they were in sophomore year making out during gym? Blech!! But, I guess he still likes blondes. Carol, though? Awful."

Grace rolled her sapphire eyes, "It's been YEARS, Vince, and /this/ is what you wanna lead with??? Not: 'Gee golly, Grace! I'm sorry for disappearing on you when you needed me, let me clarify what happened the night I literally vanished without a trace so I can take the years of STRESS I caused you off your shoulders! Forgive me, I'm a stupid fucking piece of shit, Grace'-"

"Grace-"

His ex's voice rose above his own, "-Grace, I know I don't deserve your forgiveness or your understanding. I'm so, so, so, sooooo very lucky that you're even talking to me right now! Grace, I'm going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, Grace-"

"Gracey-"

"-'Gracey', WHAT, Vincent?!"

Vincent looked pained when he answered her, regret etched in every wrinkle, and crease on his brow:

"You're right. I'm a piece of shit, Grace. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you the way I did back then. It's just...some family stuff happened after the accident. And I couldn't talk about it to anyone at the time. I didn't mean to hurt you. Honest truth, that wasn't my intention."

Deep, oceanic blues narrowed upon him. Grace stared at Vincent for a few breathless moments (skeptically, silently) as if attempting to bore a hole through his soul by sheer force of will.

"UGH, I can't stay mad at you!" she relented in a sudden huff, "I'm just glad you're alive. You have no clue how worried I was about you! We were all worried about you! There was a rumor that you'd died, Vince. That some kind of animal had gotten you out in the woods!"

A shadow fell over Vincent's face. He mumbled another apology to his ex, "Grace, I mean it. I'm sorry. I really truly am..."

"That's alright, Vince. It's water under the bridge now," she replied, grabbing the Grill's menu that lay on the table between them and browsing the selections, "Besides, you're going to buy me ALL the expensive booze I want tonight, anyways."

"Wait, I'm gonna WHAT??"

Grace snickered mischievously, then imitated his casual tone from before, "Payback, ya know? It's a thirsty bitch, Vince."

When Vincent met Grace Baker, it was freshman year of high school, and he'd just gotten swirlied by Logan Fell. While he was drying his hair with a paper towel in the men's bathroom, Grace had wandered out of its corner stall, gripping a pint of (half-drunk) Jack Daniels. Wearing that same cheeky grin she was wearing now, Grace offered him some, mentioning that: 'nerds like them had to stick together'. Tonight, the two of them were completing an ancient circle. This time around, it was Vincent's turn to buy the drinks.

Grace made his wallet hurt. She chose every ale and IPA off the reserve menu, then moved onto taking shots. Vincent tried to enjoy the moment, knowing full well that he was going to regret it all tomorrow. One way or another.

Their table piled up quickly with empty glasses, cups, and pitchers. As it did, their conversation grew more nostalgic. Both of them blamed it on the quality of the liquor.

"They hired a better fucking bartender since I've been gone! Do you remember the shit that David used to make for us back in the day?"

"Oh yeah!! We called it, uhhhh, "Witch's Brew" or something like that, right? It tasted so nasty but man did it fuck us up! Jodie could NOT hold that stuff down, though. Remember when she puked all over Mrs. Bennett's rug after Prom Party at the Grill?? And then we had to clean it up before she got home?"

"How could I forget?! Hahaha! I'm still scrubbing burger chunks out of my memory to this day!"

"Gross."

Their conversation grew more sentimental. They blamed it on how long it had been since either of them talked...

"You know, you were the only one back then who I could ever really be myself around. You just got me somehow. It was like we were...connected or something. Oh my God, that sounds corny as all fuck now that I say it, hahaha!"

"No, no, no, noooo! Not corny. Not corny for even a minute. Grace, I felt the same way. I didn't have to pretend around you. I could just be myself..."

"Same! We had our own language."

"Pig Latin. We used to make Mr. Brown SO MAD when he couldn't read our notes to the class. He was such a nosey prick back then!"

"Haha, yeah!! Yeah, he fucking was!! Remember when you literally ate your detention slip in front of him and he nearly had an aneurysm?! The little vein in his forehead was popping out, hahaha!!"

"Is Mr. Brown still teaching?"

"Naaahhh. Fired for taking pictures of his female students."

"Ha! Called it. I knew that guy was a creep!"

Their conversation grew more dangerous. They'd both blame it on themselves (and on each other) in the morning. One of them would swear that it had never happened at all.

"Our first date: do you remember where you took me??"

"Oh man, putting me on the spot. Uuuuhh, it was Fell's Church. We went to Fell's Church because I thought I was being edgy and cool. But you. You, uhhh, you said-"

"-I said the place smelt like raw ass so we left. We went to Grove Hill afterward. To that antique Bed and Breakfast for coffee."

"Yeah! Oh jeeze, that wasn't my best moment. It was the first date I'd ever had. I didn't know what girls wanted..."

"Get out!! Really?!"

"Serious as daylight."

"Do you ever...regret it? Even just a tiny bit? Your first date being with me? I-I know how much you loved Mercy-"

"I would've married you. I would've married you right after graduation."

"Oh..."

"Things just got in the way. Please, understand I never wanted to-"

Grace flinched. The warmth and approachability she'd possessed only a moment ago evaporated, replaced by a mask of ice. A practiced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes curved across her red lips. She put down her drink (a little forcefully on the table), feigning indifference while she spoke. But it was obvious that she wasn't happy with his heart-felt confession one bit.

"Look, Vincent," Grace said, shrugging, "We're all grown up now. We've made our own choices. You don't have to justify yourself to me, okay? Really. You don't! It's been YEARS since high school. As much as I miss it, I've moved on from ruminating about what could've been. And this surprise visit has been great, but... I really just want to get this over with so we can go back to our own lives. I'm missing Movie Night with my kids."

It was Vincent's turn to flinch now. Suddenly, he felt old. Like somehow, life had passed him by in the span of a blink.

"K-kids? You have kids??" He croaked, "When did that happen? How many do you...?"

Grace laughed, "Very first year into college! How scandalous, right?? Aaaand I've got two; an older son and a daughter. Alexander and Dawn. Dawn just had her birthday a couple of days ago. It was Beauty and the Beast themed. She was dressed up as Belle. She's been in a "princess everything" phase ever since she watched Sleeping Beauty. My son, though? He just really likes playing Street Fighter."

"Who's the-"

Vincent's mouth seemed to have trouble forming the words despite his best efforts. He pressed on valiantly, though...

"-the, ya know? The uh, father? Is he...?"

Grace flattened instantly. She sighed, rubbing at her forehead as if she had a big headache, "Just tell me why you're here, Vince. Tell me why you'd come back to Mystic Falls after all these years?? You haven't said a word to me since graduation! No, since before the accident! And you decide to appear tonight? Out of the blue? Just...randomly for shits and giggles? No, no. What's really going on, Vin-"

Two voices sliced through Grace's question and stole the moment:

"It's Vincent Webb!!"

"My, my! It IS! And with Grace Baker too!"

Both Vincent and Grace cringed as soon as they heard the sound. Memories flooded back to their previous lives in high school. And the humiliation they'd suffered together at the hands of the ones who'd just interrupted them; Richard Lockwood and his (now) wife, Carol Lockwood. Grace stood up immediately to leave. Vincent tried his best to follow suit but was stopped when Rich sat down in the empty space next to him, blocking off his escape route and locking him into the booth until Rich decided otherwise. Carol did the same with Grace.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Rich exclaimed, flashing a toothy smile at Vincent, "Aren't you a blast from the past?! I haven't seen you around my town in YEARS! And Grace, lovely to see you as always. How are your little ones doing?? What about that rambunctious son of yours?"

Carol laughed and subtly displayed the wedding ring she wore as she did so, "Oh, it's just like high school again! Isn't it, Rich?"

"Indeed," Rich agreed all too readily, "except I'm not giving this ol' boy here a flushie, hahaha! No, I kid, though. This man took his licks like a man! Isn't that right, Vince?".

Grace and Vincent exchanged helpless, annoyed glances between each other...

It was going to be a long night.

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thebirdandhersong · 3 years

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WIP folder meme :)

Thank you @isfjmel-phleg and @fictionadventurer for tagging me!! I don’t have everything in one place (it is a Huge mess at the moment) but here is a list of the main projects I’ve added notes to/thought extensively about over the past year:

ORIGINAL WORK/NOVELS (sadly most of them ARE untitled):

Project 1 (tentatively titled Garden of Dreams): about the kindness of strangers, finding joy again, the coming of spring

Project 2: a loose Snow Queen retelling in an original fairy tale fantasy world

Project 3: hero training academy in a post-war world where dragons and monsters are no longer the main threat; the kids who join the school must save the world by learning to take care of the earth and the people in it

Project 4: in an Southeast Asian-inspired country, a young girl from the countryside is forced into marrying the self-absorbed crown prince and decides to use the new power she has as the new queen to be kind and to do good

Project 5: a girl and her grandmother embark on a journey to defeat a returning evil

FILM/SHOW ADAPTATIONS:

Anne of the Island (miniseries)

Little Women, with more of an emphasis on the girls’ moral and character development: equal attention paid to all four sisters (in particular: Meg’s post-marriage joys and sorrows, Beth’s personality and her interactions with her sisters)

Mansfield Park, but you get more of Fanny’s perspective: things that she sees and observes (people’s behaviour and physical cues, nature, things that enchant her)--brief internal narration/monologues when she’s mulling over something beautiful or distressing, highlighting her social anxiety and shyness but also her emotional intelligence and the clarity of how she discerns right and wrong; we are Not making excuses for Mr. Crawford, OH and many things communicated visually (Fanny wears muted colours, whereas the other characters are dressed in brighter--sometimes even garishly bright--clothes)

THINGS I LIKE TO THINK ABOUT WHEN I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH ENERGY TO WORK ON ACTUAL PROJECTS

Star Wars sequel trilogy rewritten with All my bizarre ideas (including--please don’t laugh, this is a writing exercise I use for self-indulgence--friendship between Rose and Ben, Rey’s parents were part of the Resistance and were ordinary people fighting for what they believed in, Ben has a prodigal son storyline, Leia and Han are still together but they work on different bases, Finn is a storm trooper for MUCH longer and has killed as a storm trooper--when he returns undercover to start a storm trooper revolt he tells his old friends and colleagues that it isn’t too late to choose the right thing. There is No Chosen One, only ordinary people who choose to do the right thing (Rogue One style). Rey and Finn are both Force-sensitive; the story is about: 1) identity and belonging (Rey/Finn/Poe/Rose/Ben all ache for love and acceptance in their character arcs, all of them find that. Also none of them die, thanks), 2) personal responsibility and agency (Finn’s decision to give up the life of a storm trooper, Rey deciding to fight for the Resistance not because of her parents’ choices but out of her own volition, Rose choosing to forgive Ben even though he plays a larger role in my version in Paige’s death). Everyone is guilty of sin (Finn’s actions while he was a storm trooper, Rose holds deep hatred towards the people responsible for her sister’s death, Ben’s reason for turning to the Dark Side involved murdering his twin--I don’t know much about the Thrawn trilogy but I thought it was interesting how there are multiple sets of twins in the Skywalker family. In my version, Ben is responsible for the death of his twin sister when they’re both very young) and learns the full weight of consequences and of the freedom that grace and forgiveness and love gives them. Also I really like the idea of Rey, Finn, and Ben fighting off Main Bad Guy together at the climax of the third movie. He’s defeated by Rey (an ordinary girl, no Skywalker or Palpatine legacy attached), Finn (one of his former lackeys, who has turned to the other side, and is training to become a Jedi), and Ben (his former apprentice, who has returned to the side of light). Main theme: choosing love over hatred, kindness over cruelty, forgiveness over revenge

Rogue One modern AU where Cassian works at a bakery with his friend Kay. Jyn runs a book shop during the day and offers her services as a mechanic after hours. He makes cupcakes for themed events at her shop. Bodhi is her adopted brother. Chirrut and Baze were their professors in university, as well as old family friends, and they get first dibs on new releases at Jyn’s shop.

Agents of SHIELD but in the A:TLA universe; the Avatar cycle was interrupted, and Cal unwittingly helped Jiaying ‘create’ a new Avatar through extensive experimentation (Daisy is the ‘new’ Avatar, though her powers aren’t activated until later on. She has to deal with new strains of bending and mutations her parents made: Ward can shadowbend, for example)

the characters in Shadow and Bone but in Bayern

this one story I wrote in ninth grade: post-Civil War, Bucky is taken to the Avengers Tower to recuperate and becomes friends with everyone

Tagging @called-kept, @magpie-trove, @imissthembutitwasntadisaster, @madamescarlette if you would like to!!!

#i got a little carried away at the end slfjskl;djk ;#that's because i HAVE given the star wars idea much more thought than necessary. i have around eight pages of notes for that one #thank you for tagging me! :D #songbird and stories

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niffin · 5 years

Photo

you make a fine shrine

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Rating: E

Word count: 2733

CW: rape/noncon, dubcon, emotional abuse, transphobia, acephobia

Other tags: pleading, trans Jonathan Sims, s3 spoilers

ao3 link

Elias watches his Archivist avoid the Institute for almost a week after they consummated their sacrament. Jonathan fled back to his college friend's flat and promptly got into a row with her over his disappearance, and injuries. After soothing Ms. Barker with enough of the truth to make himself feel better and secure her trust and assistance, he spent a total of fourteen hours over multiple days while she was absent cradling her cat and hyperventilating. He made frantic, furtive doctor's appointments, where he adamantly denied any recent trauma to several concerned medical practitioners. Elias thinks disapprovingly that he'll sicken himself with starvation, particularly after his intense exertion in their last interaction. He's ignoring how statements have become a physical need, and not just an obsession. It does make it simple to ensure he'll return; all Elias has to do is make sure no one thinks to smuggle him any, and wait.

He's enjoying a nightcap at home when he Sees that the prodigal son has decided to return. When Jon finally arrives at the Institute, skulking through disused corridors towards the Archives, he finds Elias awaiting him, settled comfortably in one of the dilapidated sofas his archival staff refuse to upgrade.

Ice seizes his Archivist's heart and surges through his veins, locking him in place. Elias savors it. His fear is… unparalleled, complex and heady, imprinted by so many powers and, of course, by Elias himself.

Elias holds out a thin sheaf of papers. "I think you'll find Lester Chang's statement will help clarify your next move. But you seem unwell, Jonathan - perhaps you ought to get some rest before you record this one?"

He looks wan, enervated. Elias Knows he hadn't slept for over a day before his deprivation outweighed his dread. He Knows the adrenaline pumping through Jon won't compensate for the exhaustion and starvation. Elias anticipates seeing what he will do.

Jon mumbles hoarsely, "I don't want it." But his eyes fixate on the statement, and he unconsciously licks his lips. He's gorgeous.

"Then what did you come here for, Archivist? The pleasure of my company?"

Elias hardly has to try to provoke Jon - it's wonderful how much sheer stubbornness motivates him. He braces himself against the doorway, shaking his head, a hiss of disgusted laughter escaping his gritted teeth. "You are... a nasty piece of work, and I don't want anything you have to give me -"

Elias smiles. "You will." A flicker of fury in Jon's eyes. "Do you know why? Why don't you ask me?"

Jon senses the trap closing around him but obstinately remains silent. Elias feels a swell of adoration for that battered pride. "This statement has the lead you're searching for. I'm sure there are others in the Archive that could give you the information you need, but you don't have the luxury of a leisurely search. And all you have to do… is cooperate."

Elias places it down on an end table, watching Jon's desperation build. Jon can't formulate an argument and they both know it. Surrender only slightly softens the tense lines of Jon's body; the first halting step is the hardest, but soon enough he's standing just outside arm's reach swaying with need. Elias is suffused with delight.

As Jonathan takes that last step into range, Elias stands. Cups his face to pull him closer, runs his thumb tenderly over chapped lips and fingertips over the pockmarks the worms left in Jon's flesh. Jon asks, "Am I… Elias, am I still human?" There's no power behind it, weak as Jon is, but Elias appreciates the attempt.

Elias only Knows truths, and can only make people Know true things. But every mind is primed to accept some assertions more easily than others, and most of the time all it takes is simple manipulation to change someone’s perception in such a way that subjective impressions feel like objective reality. Jon is afraid of himself. Jon believes that Elias has answers. Of course he will provide some.

"What does human even mean? You’ll fool those untouched, those who want to believe otherwise." Bleakest despair engulfs him.

"You're marked. Damaged, Jonathan. Since long before you arrived here. Your temperament, your body, your inability to love." Hot shame in his stomach.

"But I know all of you, the flaws and the inhumanity. You're mine, and I am refining you. Just do what you need to, and you will be… perfect." He implants in Jon's mind what he's feeling - the devotion, the reverence. Then he rips it away. Jon gasps, eyes flying open, and clutches at Elias' suit, presses close, heart to heart. Oh, he still thinks Elias is an amoral abomination, but who else could love a monster like him?

Jon's face twists as he comes to the same conclusion. "Enough," he says hoarsely. "I'm cooperating, aren't I?" But he's thinking about how he could still leave with his dignity intact; how gratifying it would feel to wrap his hands around Elias' throat, the rest of the Institute's lives be damned.

His eyes flick towards the statement, enticing and so close. Then he grips Elias' clothes tighter; his hands shake. He leans in. Presses their mouths together. Elias smiles.

He kisses Jon hard, devouring him and his wordless protests. Jon doesn't know how to reciprocate, especially when Elias nips at his lower lip and pushes his tongue into his mouth. It's taking everything he has not to flinch away, not to resist.

Elias retreats an inch and murmurs, "Good boy. Let's do this properly." He strokes Jon's shoulder, lightly tugs at his pullover. "Off with this."

Jon averts his eyes. Takes it off, then, reluctantly, his trousers too. He shivers under the weight of Elias' gaze. Ms. Barker has forced some much needed nourishment on him, and he's not nearly as scrawny as he was when Elias took the metal pipe he'd been struggling with and smashed Leitner's head in. Truly, if Detective Tonner hadn't been so consumed by the Hunt, she'd have realized that regardless of his motives, he wasn't physically capable of it. And as it stands, his Archivist has too strong a belief in the value of human life, especially his friends'. Elias touches a fingertip to his chest where that tender heart races. Jon thinks uncontrollably of sharpened knives and bloody altars, then of cold earth and his own blunt pocket knife at his throat when Elias cradles the side of his neck where Alice bruised him, now yellowed and faded.

"Hush. You've become too precious for that, Archivist." Elias shrugs off his coat, takes hold of Jon's hand, and places it on his own chest where his heart swells with pride and tender devotion. "Can you feel it?"

There's a part of Jon that wants to feel it. He tells himself he doesn't, that he's being coerced, even as his fingers fumble at Elias' shirt buttons. Elias runs his hands over Jon's chest and slender waist, and marks how his touch incites Jon to speed up, trying to get it all over with.

Elias tosses his shirt to the side and pulls Jon into his lap. He's hot against the climate controlled air of the archive, but Jon is the one who acts like he's been burned when their skin touch. He grabs Jon's elbow to hold him, warn him. "Properly, Jonathan. You can make this good."

Jon stares at him, trying to calculate how much effort Elias will deem proper, how much will get him that statement and an escape with minimal damage. He decides not to leave his lap, and as Elias wraps his arms around him, he slowly spreads his fingers over Elias' chest. Jon's feather light touch traces the lines of the stylized tattooed eyes across it, and slips lower over the intricate geometry on Elias' ribs. For all his claims about his reluctance, the Archivist intently catalogs every detail.

Jon thinks about kissing him but can't quite make himself do it. He leans forward, hands sliding over Elias' stomach and chest, to put his lips on his jaw instead. Elias obligingly tilts his head back for Jon to kiss down his neck. He stops when he reaches Elias' pulse - opens his mouth over his vulnerable jugular - bites down hard enough to make Elias gasp - releases him immediately. They both know it was an empty threat. It didn't even make Jon feel better; now he's angry with himself for lacking the stomach to go through with it. Elias laughs. How provocative. "If inflicting a little pain helps you, Jon, then I certainly shall not stop you."

The permission, predictably, aggravates Jon. He tenses, won't make eye contact. "Am I making it good for you?"

Elias smiles. "Yes. But there’s more to do. You’ll have to mind the teeth this time." His Archivist stares a moment, then understands as Elias slowly eases him off his lap, hand on the back of his head pushing him inexorably downward. Jon resists, tightens his nails on Elias’ shoulders, a low growl in his throat. Then obeys. More or less. There’s a little more pressure in his touch, a few scattered begrudging kisses across his skin as Jon slides down between his legs.

He would be hard pressed to accept this level of sloppiness from anyone else. But it doesn't much matter - his Archivist is inexperienced to say the least, and desire renders foreplay nearly unnecessary. He just needs to watch Jon on his knees, shaking as he undoes Elias' trousers, gingerly avoiding touching his cock until he can't anymore, the distress on his face as he fully wraps his hand around it. He glances helplessly at Elias' face and sees no mercy, no reprieve.

Jonathan takes Elias' cock in his mouth. He gags, naturally, merely from the taste and sensation. He barely overpowers the urge to escape, and tears escape his eyes three quarters of the way down his cock, unable to go any further. Unwilling to even try to take Elias down his throat. Next time, perhaps. There's much to teach, all of it gratifying. He has different plans for tonight.

Elias says, "Wrap your hand around what's left." Jon blinks up at him, then complies. "Cover your teeth with your lips, and pull back up." It's exquisitely sensual, the halting movement of his tongue dragging against the underside of his cock, his hand belatedly following and smearing his saliva. "And again." Jon does it again. He tentatively strokes his tongue this time - a quick study, though he nearly chokes and has to pause and take a deep breath. Elias softly murmurs appreciation, says his name tenderly every time he tries something new. His Archivist, so eager to learn. Trying so hard, and being so good.

He waits until Jon is panicking over the possibility of Elias coming in his mouth (it took him no more than two or three minutes to start thinking about it. His naivete is charming - it's not that he thinks he's good at this, he simply has no idea how long anything would take) to pull him off and to his feet. It hardly makes a difference - now that he's not blindly trying to get through that ordeal, he's consumed with horror he hasn't quite identified yet.

His breath hitches on a sob as Elias kisses him again. Jon jerks away after a second, covering his mouth, sparking the first real irritation of the night. "My mouth, it’s - I know now, I thought it would be better than -"

Elias considers him coolly before relenting. Useful information, that he doesn't need to act on while Jon is being cooperative. He tugs Jon so they're a breath away from each other, just as a reminder that he can, and pulls out a condom. Jon exhales sharply in relief, lashes wet with tears. So as Elias tears the packet open, he says, "How do we ask for what we want, Jon?"

One of the most fascinating things about Jon is how he struggles to choose between basic self preservation and hostility. For a man with weaker defenses than Elias would like, he's remarkably combative. Many things run through Jon's head: insults, threats, accusations, simple refusal. He looks at Elias rolling on the condom, then at the statement. He closes his eyes. He chooses self preservation. "Please. Elias." A long pause before he resigns himself to saying it all. "Fuck me, Elias. Please."

"Good boy. Keep going." Elias helps him align himself over his cock. His willpower barely overcomes his bone deep revulsion as he haltingly sinks down onto it. The lubricant, minimal as it is, eases his struggle; when he's taken Elias to the base, he thinks vaguely that it doesn't hurt as much as he was afraid it would. He can't decide whether that makes him feel better or worse than their first time. He lifts himself, thighs straining, and sinks back down. His cunt is unbelievably tight and hot, clutching at Elias' cock, and Elias runs a comforting hand over his back, pulls his head down to press a worshipful kiss to his forehead.

Before Jon can stop himself he leans into the kiss, and that decides it for him: he feels much, much worse. But he says please again, holding Elias' hand to his cheek. Gasps it when Elias grabs his ass to pull him up, and his voice breaks on it when he's slammed back down. When Elias reaches down to roll his cock between his fingers, he thinks better of pulling away after one blinding panic filled moment; then pleads for it to stop, shivering, eyes wide and filled with tears. Elias does not stop. He presses their foreheads together and, ever so gently this time, suffuses Jon's mind with his own escalating ardor. Jon recognizes the intrusion the moment they both hear genuine eagerness in his begging. He swears, hides his face in Elias' neck, his whole body wracked with hard thrusts, and with sobs and unwilling arousal.

But he doesn't stop asking for it. He even means it, now. Of course it's the path of least resistance to simply submit to whatever demands Elias makes of him; but he pushes the whole length of their bodies together, and tugs on Elias' hair with a quiet, breathy moan. And of course there's a part of him that solely craves the witnessing; but that part is neither entirely foreign or out of his control, and he makes no effort to shut Elias out of his mind. He asks for more, pushes back against Elias' fingers on his cock, because he wants to feel something other than pain and exhaustion, fear and guilt and helplessness. It doesn't matter that the physical sensation of how Elias experiences his pleasure triggers a visceral misery like what Jon felt before his transition, or that sexual arousal, whether his or others', disquiets him, or that the source is almost entirely external. He can deal with that later. He wants to feel good. So Elias takes him over the edge. His orgasm sparks Elias' - then they reverberate inside each other's minds in a fierce detonation that stuns them both with its intensity, leaves them perspiring, trembling, and gasping for air.

Few things surprise Elias anymore, and so when he recovers, he cradles Jon with real affection. He considers himself profoundly fortunate to have acquired this quarrelsome, unpredictable creature, laying quiet for once, trying to regain his faculties. Soon enough Jon will remember his hunger and what he did to sate it. He will leave, with the statement, seething with fury and the quiet agonizing fear that he deserved it. That if he had been the proper kind of human, who could love people and let them love him, if he hadn't already chosen to change his body as he saw fit, maybe it wouldn't have been so easy for Elias to make him a monster. Elias knows how much damage he's done to Jon's self perception, but even if Jon's pride is crumbling, he will be proud enough for both of them. His greatest achievement. Should Jon survive the next year or so, the world will be pleading for mercy at their feet. And Jon's own pleas will be exclusively reserved for Elias, just like this, forever.

Jon shifts lethargically, mumbles something that could have been a question. Elias strokes his hair and answers it. "This was love, Jon."

#bad things happen bingo #the magnus archives #tma #do not archive #jonathan sims #elias bouchard #jonelias

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

Text

Batman AU where a pissed off Dick Grayson, after being fired from Robin and kicked out by Bruce, doesn’t go back to the circus when he was off finding himself. Before he became Nightwing. He meant to, even made it all the way to Europe on his way to their latest stop, but in London he got....distracted, when he ran into one John Constantine.

Now, back at this point in canon, Constantine was probably in his mid-twenties at most. I’ve always pictured him mid to late thirties in current comic canon, he’s one of those guys who comes off as older than he is, b/c like, lbr, dude lives ROUGH, lol. But me being me, like, I’m not looking to hook nineteen year old Dick Grayson up with a mid-twenties staggering disaster in whiskey-soaked human form. However, that does not mean that Dick, recently feeling disillusioned about numerous things as well as lost and directionless, two things that define John in a lot of his decades, let alone twenties -

Like, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t THINK about it, and perhaps romanticize the idea of him and John being kindred spirits. As well as maybe a little attracted to Constantine’s patented performative way of living, aka “watch how I windmill through life, giving no fucks whilst taking whatever latest misfortune befalls me in an unaffected and devilishly snarky stride, because of the thing about the no fucks, see, that’s the connection there.”

And okay, if we’re being totally honest here, its not like it just COMPLETELY didn’t occur to Dick that he was coming up with reasons to justify sticking around and hanging out and also crushing on one of the people MOST likely to tick his dad off. I mean, let’s face it, John is like, the combination of three things Bruce has zero patience for and avoids or outright disdains whenever possible:

1) Magic, ugh, unreliable, illogical. (Bruce’s super-objective POV on the subject) - Look. It makes no sense. Follows no logical rules. Every usage of it is a breakdown of the normal universe and the ordered mechanism of The Way Things Are Supposed to Work, the things Batman relies on, needs in order to be him, the Great Detective, the guy who understands how everything works and that’s how he stays one step ahead of everyone else.

In a word, magic and all its works are RUDE and they like....annoy him just on principle.

2) Eternally late and relentlessly slovenly (not everyone has a live-in BUTLER Bruce, jeez)

and

3) ...John Constantine. (Let’s be real. This one just is what it is. There’s not a whole lot of getting around it. Its hard for Dick at age 19 to pretend buddying up with John isn’t guaranteed to make Bruce grind his teeth, given that its hard for anyone at any age to pretend that while Bruce almost certainly respects the things John has accomplished at various times....being in the same zip code as him is something he tries to avoid. Their personalities are not super compatible).

So, its a tiny bit possible the Great Divergence of this AU from canon.... comes down to one accidental team-up with one of Batman’s Top Ten Favorite People, No Seriously....and then Dick kinda leaning into being a bit of a petty shit here. Look, its not his finest hour, but Bruce started it, and also, like whatever. Alexa, play ‘Teenage Wasteland’ but y’know, all...SUPER LOUD and ANGSTILY.

Ahem. Anyway.

So even though Constantine rather famously likes neither people nor drama, and Dick is both those things.....Dick is also always effortlessly charming and makes friends wherever he goes. In the end, it should come as no surprise to anyone but Constantine that he is no more Immune to Dick’s innate Likeability Quotient than most of the rest of humanity.

And for a couple of weeks they kinda just hang out, get into random mishaps with magical gargoyles and ensorcelled ravens around the Tower of London and also one specific clash with a demonically possessed umbrella that turned anyone who held it into like, Mary Poppins, but also, y’know, EVIL - look it was this whole thing, don’t ask, Constantine still doesn’t like to talk about it. He even offered to show Dick how to do a minor cantrip if his mischief minded companion would agree to keep his mouth shut on the subject from now until the end of eternity.

Dick had to hem and haw over that one for a bit, but ultimately his innate curiosity won out over his fondness for telling a rousing but also hilarious tale. It was a very narrow margin, but that was all that was needed to have Dick’s foot take its very first step along a very different road in this universe.

See, Constantine’s not really expecting much to happen even as he walks Dick through the steps of the simple spell. Magic’s as unpredictable about who it’ll roll over and play tricks for as it is in how it operates and functions and like...basically accomplishes all the many varied feats that make Bruce develop spontaneous frustration migraines, because that’s not how reality works, none of this has anything to do with how reality WORKS, what happened to the RULES, dammit!

And sure, there’s all sorts of different kinds of magic, and all kinds of different lines various magic practitioners sort into....some are born into it, like the Zataras, and Constantine himself actually, though in a very different way from the former....others end up developing a knack for it after significant encounters with arcane or occult beings, forces, artifacts or the like, as though their exposure to such a focused concentration of it resulted in a kind of charge rubbing off on them, just enough to make them able to attract and gather and channel magical forces from then on themselves. Others are chosen to it, and some just have no clue why spells will work for them but not ten random pedestrians they stop on the street and use as a rather strange sample group.

But bottom line is magic isn’t just about practice and skill, you tend to either have a knack for it or you don’t, and more people don’t than do, so John’s pretty much expecting to fulfill his end of their little gentleman’s agreement and then watch Dick duplicate everything he did exactly, with zero result.

Except turns out, Dick Grayson DOES have a knack for magic, same as he has a knack for well, everything. The guy was crime fighting and kicking bad guy ass in middle school. Forget James Bond and Captain Kirk, forget even Batman himself, ROBIN is the original and ultimate Gary Stu. Of fucking course Dick would be good at magic if he ever tried it. There’s a fairly large school of thought in this universe that posits that the force they call magic is an almost living entity in its own way, perhaps even sentient. Most of the magicians and wizards and sorcerers in that school of thinking kinda all quietly nurse the opinion that magic just, like....likes Dick Grayson, and he just charmed it with his first attempt at that simple spell and had it wrapped around his finger by the time he said Abra Kadabra.

(Because of fucking COURSE John picked a spell he could end with Abra Kadabra, have you met the man? He’s the most dramatic of them all, why do you think he hates both people and drama so much??? He’s the people and the drama!)

So there we have one lost and directionless Dick Grayson, feeling like he’s lost his footing and all his old plans and projected paths don’t really fit him anymore, or at least not well enough to help him feel like he’s headed somewhere, doing something.

Buuuuuut, then there’s that petty teenage side of him again, the one that goes fuck Batman, and also I’m right to say so.....and at least that IS a direction to focus on, even if not the most noble one....so the same brain cells that linked up and logic’d him around to the conclusion that ‘Bruce will never think to look for me with John Constantine of all people, and LOL how much would he hate that’....like, big fans of the positive reception their prior performance had received, those same brain cells leap back into action with zeal and zest and steer him to the not all that distant conclusion:

“LOL, how much would Bruce hate it if I ended up being this like, super talented magician, with expertise he knows nothing about? Could you imagine?”

Turns out Dick could, and did, and so much like that initial inch in this direction, is the true basis of him following up on that and becoming a renowned sorcerous superhero in this universe the fateful last words “Screw you dad, you’re not the boss of me and I’ll do what I want!”

I mean. Yeah. That’s pretty much exactly how it began. Yup. Oops.

But the thing is, that’s just how it starts. A random string of chance encounters and events that capture Dick’s attention and interest at a time and a place in his life where he was looking for literally anything to do just that....but once it HAD his attention and interest, everything changed. It was no longer about thinking ‘hey this will really tick Bruce off,’ because Dick’s capable of that train of thought and gut/impulsive decision making, sure, but he’s not about to commit his entire LIFE to that just to flip Bruce the proverbial middle finger.

It only continues, he only keeps going and furthering his magical studies because he genuinely comes to love it for the sheer versatility, the unpredictability of it, the way holding reality in one hand and magical forces in the other is like walking a tight rope with no safety net, and sure its not the same thing as flying, but on that note, did you know there are spells that can literally make you fly?

Dick does, now, and he knows like, seventeen different ones.

And so Dick throws himself into studying magic the same way he throws himself into everything. He’s never done anything half-assed in his life. He’s physically allergic to the very idea of it. When he does a thing, he fucking COMMITS, and becomes the best he possibly can at it....which ultimately almost always puts him in the one percentile of that thing.

He learns everything he can from Constantine, or at least as much as Constantine’s willing to teach him. Eventually their paths diverge, not because of any bad blood, but just because Dick isn’t interested in the same specialties as Constantine. So then he moves on. Travels the world, similar to what Bruce did when he was his age, training to become Batman. But Dick trains with magicians, wizards, alchemists. Madame Xanadu. Sebastian Faust. Raven. Even charms freaking Circe into teaching him an enchantment or two, because lbr, a mystically inclined Dick Grayson would inevitably intrigue the more infamous mystics of the DC universe in the same way a combat-focused Dick Grayson intrigues Deathstroke and assorted others.

Everyone except for Zatanna and Jason Blood, the magicians Bruce actually respects and relies on, and who Dick is sure would report back to Bruce about him, and he’s still ticked. Plus, Zatanna’s type of magic is innate, not really something that can be taught, and Blood’s stems from his sharing his body with a demon and Dick’s not really looking for a roommate right now.

Eventually, Dick is satisfied enough with his skills and knowledge to return to the Titans. He adopts the name Nightwing, same as in canon and for the same reasons. He’s still the same man, same leader, same fighter with all the skills he already had....just now with the added repertoire of someone who’s branched off in an unlikely direction.

Hey, Bruce did want him to go to college and learn something new. Not Dick’s fault his particular field of study isn’t Bruce-approved. (Okay, its entirely Dick’s fault, since that was after all the point, but eh. Oh well).

Nightwing’s still an acrobat and hand-to-hand fighter. He’s invested too much time, effort, himself into those skills to just give them up. He’s an adrenaline junkie, thrives on motion, activity, the rush of going head to head with someone who can really push him, challenge him. His magic is incorporated into his fighting. He constructs who he becomes as magician around the foundation already in place due to who he is as an acrobat, detective and hand to hand combatant. His magic is an added skill, not a replacement for his previous skillsets.

So he has alchemical potions on his utility belt, amid his ordinary smoke bombs and gas pellets. Tools and spells of divination and scrying for when a trail goes cold and can’t be tracked further by ordinary means. But now the Titans have another mystical expert to turn to for magical related missions, not just Raven. Their specialties are entirely different, but they’ve worked together since Raven first came to this plane, and they still complement each other well.

Of course, this changes things in other ways too. Dick’s new focus takes him further away from his time with Batman than even in canon. He’s still traveling and training for most of the time Jason is Robin and never even meets him before his death. Of course he kept tabs on Gotham no matter where he was. He absolutely knows about the adoption, about a second Robin. And about Jason’s eventual death. But he’s still somewhere places unknown in the aftermath, not easily tracked down by Tim, who sets out to help Bruce on his own, wearing down Bruce’s resistance to him being Robin between just his and Alfred’s efforts. Dick remains largely estranged from the Batfamily as Cass is adopted, Steph takes her turn as Robin, etc.

And then Jason comes back from the dead.

But again, things play out differently here. This Jason is never found by Talia and the League, never dumped into a Lazarus Pit. Instead, Leslie Thompkins opens up her clinic one day to find a catatonic Jason in a bed inside, not long after he’s resurrected. He recovers as mysteriously as he returned, helped along by being in familiar environs, surrounded by loved ones as he’s of course immediately returned to the Manor and attended on by Bruce, Alfred, Babs, Tim and Cass. So he has less resentment for Tim, for being replaced. Its harder to deny Bruce’s love for him when he has Bruce by his bedside, day after day, watching and waiting throughout his recovery. He never suffers from Pit madness. Is never influenced by League ideology. Never trains with monsters and murderers awful enough he wants to kill them himself after he’s done training with them.

And its hard to resent Bruce for not avenging him and killing the Joker, when no one’s seen the Joker since almost right after Jason’s death. The clown never returns to Gotham from Ethiopia, not as far as anyone can tell. By the time Bruce set out to hunt him down, after Jason’s funeral, the trail had gone entirely cold. Bruce hunted for him, sure, but Jason can’t be too mad about Bruce giving up before finding him. The Joker’s never been one to lay low. When even just a few months had passed without even a hint of the villain or his future plans, it was hard to imagine he was still alive - he never lacked for enemies, after all. Not unreasonable that someone else had gotten to him first.

Plus, of course, its hard to compare yourself to the ‘golden boy’ and find yourself coming up short, viewing yourself as less loved than Dick Grayson, when said golden boy still remains estranged. He’s the prodigal son in this reality, with Bruce’s anger towards his eldest for never coming back to the Manor, not even after Jason’s death - its obvious to everyone, even Jason. Tim doesn’t have the close, brotherly bond with Dick that he does in canon, and with less resentment from Jason for replacing him, its easier for the two middle sons of Batman to bond after Jason’s return.

Jason returns to crime fighting, probably still takes up the name the Red Hood - his sense of humor and irony had nothing to do with his death or the specifics of his return. He and Bruce still clash. They have their ideological differences, Jason’s harsher than Bruce would prefer. But this Jason has reasons not to force an all-out divide between he and his father, sticks to the line (even if reluctantly), not because he believes differently - he still thinks he’s right about Bruce’s way being flawed and will always argue so - but because he has reasons to stay. Things he actually feels he’ll lose if he pushes things too much, actually leaves the family. Because he has a family, he has no doubts about that here. Tim and Cass and Alfred and even Bruce. He’d miss them, if he lost them. So he makes sure he doesn’t.

And then, a couple years after his return, Jason starts feeling hunted by something. Some presence, some force constantly shadowing him, stalking him. Something supernatural. Otherworldly. In time, there’s no denying it. He’s actually attacked by some unseen, invisible presence, like some kind of monstrous beast that’s hunting him and only him.

Its hard to come to any conclusion other than that it has something to do with his resurrection. Nobody knows how that happened after all. Not even Jason. But there was definitely nothing natural about it, so with something unnatural hunting him, almost as if he’s ‘the one that got away’ or some kind of affront to the natural order of things, the Batfamily adds 2 + 2 and gets ugh, fuck, we need to call a magician for help, don’t we?

Bruce calls in Zatanna and Jason Blood first, of course. But this is well outside Zatanna’s area of expertise, she has no insight to offer. Blood’s a little bit more help. He’s at least able to confirm that the force is otherworldly, not native to this plane, and might very well have something to do with Jason’s time....not on this plane. And he is able to affirm that there’s nothing demonic about the presence, no whiff of Hell surrounding either it or Jason.

Finally, reluctantly, Bruce calls in John Constantine, at Blood’s suggestion. His number isn’t so much the last one in Bruce’s old-fashioned rolodex so much as its buried somewhere on the Manor grounds, locked in a puzzle box that affords Bruce countless opportunities to turn back or try something else before he finally gets it open and pulls out the card with his contact info and the header: IF YOU ABSOLUTELY MUST USE IN CASE OF EMERGENCY WITH ALL OTHER CONCEIVABLE OPTIONS HAVING PREVIOUSLY BEEN EXHAUSTED PRIOR TO THIS - HERE I GUESS.

Okay, maaaaaaaaybe I’m embellishing a little bit on that one there. But whatever.

And its not like Constantine is the actual last of the last he contacts here. For instance, even more than he’d like to not have to bring in John, he’d really rather not call Raven either, though he knows of her as well of course.

In this reality, the Titans remain more distant from the Justice League and other heroes. They took Dick’s side when Bruce kicked him out, closing ranks, not to mention Roy’s falling out with Ollie resulting in a similar sentiment from them. And Dick and Roy’s diverged paths here similarly result in them paralleling each other in not reconciling with their fathers - they reaffirm to each other that whatever ‘their part’ in their disputes were, they deserved better than how Bruce and Ollie handled those situations, and they’re not going to let each other settle for being afforded less than the respect and care they deserve.

So to be clear, its not that even after a couple years, Dick is still actively avoiding Bruce - Bruce’s failure to extend the hand first, make the first attempt at reconciliation and conveying that he still wants and needs Dick in his life, his family...that’s still the underlying issue, and the real change in family dynamics comes from Dick not caving and returning to a similar status quo to what he left, without Bruce ever actually addressing his own behavior and mistakes in driving Dick away without making any real attempt to get him to stay, or to follow him, or to ask him to come home.

As for the rest of the Titans, Wally still became the Flash here when Barry died, but he felt no real need to ‘move up’ to the Justice League, and with all of the rest of the original Titans remaining a cohesive family unit here, he chose to stay with them when not patrolling Central City. And when Kyle Rayner became the last Green Lantern and joined the Titans as in canon, the team was closer, more family than the line-up he was briefly a part of in canon, and so he remained with them as well.

So the end result is in this universe, for the end of their teens and the early years of their twenties, the Titans go their own way, and they and the JLA keep to their respective ‘corners’ as it were. Meanwhile Tim’s generation remains known as Young Justice.

So back to the Batfam’s problem and Jason’s unknown pursuer. Constantine’s not much more help than Jason Blood was. After all, demons are his specialty too, just in different ways than they are Jason Blood’s. and the other magic he knows isn’t of a sort they need here either.

He is however, able to offer one bit of advice - what they need, John says, is a magician who specializes in the otherworldly, not just the netherworlds. There are more things in Heaven and Hell than well...just Heaven and Hell. Plenty of other worlds, plenty of other dimensions....the kinds of places something like this creature could have come from. What they need is a planewalker. And luckily for them, Constantine just so happens to know the name of a planewalker who could help them.

Dick Grayson.

And of course the estranged eldest still comes when he’s called, because its never that he didn’t care, its just that he wanted, needed to be called. Even when tragedy struck the family, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to return and be a comfort to them, its just that he wasn’t sure his presence would be a comfort.

(Though it takes numerous arguments while working on the mystery of Jason’s hunter, like, before this gets even brought up, let alone clarified. All parties involved are of course world-class experts at the cold shoulder, not to mention avoidance tactics and evasive maneuvers of all types.)

And as Jason and his other siblings get to know their mysterious oldest brother, the much alluded to but rarely spoken of first son, the Zitka in the room, the shadow they’ve all always been aware of but never known much about - other than that he had a definite Talent with a capital T for getting under their father’s skin, and while they might be closer with Bruce in this reality, Bruce is still Bruce and that’s still a Talent they all can respect and appreciate - well.

It would be a mistake, Jason realizes, to assume that just because Dick left, that meant that he didn’t keep informed on what he left behind. He has many many means at his disposal now, for getting information when he wants it.

And it would be a mistake to assume that just because they didn’t see him care, that actually meant that Dick didn’t care. He didn’t have to actually meet Jason to feel at least a connection to the second son to be raised by the same father, the second person to wear his colors, bear his mantle, fight at Bruce’s side. He didn’t even have to know him, to grieve that now he’d never get the chance, when Jason died. To be outraged at the Joker, on his behalf.

And its not like Dick didn’t have plenty of other reasons to hate the Joker as well - he was the reason he was fired, the reason he and Bruce were estranged, the catalyst of so much of his family’s misfortune.

And no one did ever find a trace of the Joker after Ethiopia.

Almost like he’d dropped off the face of the Earth.

Vanished from it entirely.

Of course, while Dick Grayson might be estranged from his father, he still abides by the code Bruce instilled in him at an early age. He doesn’t kill.

But there are worse things than death, some might say.

Especially for a man like a Joker, because he does have one thing he truly cares about: landing a punchline. Its why everyone assumes he was killed by some other enemy after Ethiopia....the Joker can never go long without making a reappearance. He needs an audience too badly to ever stay hidden for long.

After all, what is a joke, if there’s no one to hear it?

And then as well, the family never did figure out how Jason ended up in Leslie’s clinic, after he crawled out of his grave.

How someone found him so quickly, and knew the best place to take him. However Jason ended up resurrected, it surely had to involve considerable power of some sort, supernatural energies that surely had to attract some attention....

at least from someone attuned to the supernatural, who knew how to see such things....

and had reason to occasionally visit the Wayne family cemetery.

Yes, even in this vastly different universe, there’s still a way, still time to reunite a family even this fractured. When you’re a planewalker like Dick Grayson, there’s no road beyond your reach, its just a matter of finding the right one.

And just because it takes time to find the road that finally leads home....that doesn’t mean its not out there.

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bruciewayne · 5 years

Text

fall from grace

percy jackson au, stevetony, getting together/ ill-advised one-night-stands, 3k

for ‘percy jackson au’ on @iron-man-bingo

Tony winces as the bunker explodes. Not all of it, just a section. Fury wasn’t going to be happy. All he hopes is that he doesn’t have to be on introductions. He likes Camp Half-Blood, okay, loves it, he used to be a year-rounder, now he’s just here when college is out, he’s been here longer than he hasn’t, and it’s fucking fantastic.

But he hates doing introductions. Or worse, finding.

He’s not even particularly anti-social (when he’s not knee-deep in a project), there’s just something about brand-new demigods, having to explain everything over and over, that he hates. He’s not a person of great patience. Finding demigods is just a pain, especially if it’s one of the stronger ones, who aren’t even meant to exist in the first place, but when have the gods played by their own rules. Finding demigods means fighting monsters, it means weeks, months if they were one of the unlucky ones, in motels, following a trail of destruction to a volatile, hurting, kid.

Now, most would consider Tony to be fairly decent at finding (whenever he’s done introductions they’ve never really gone well, partly because Tony just attempted to make an interactive dictionary to get it over and done with, partly because the kid was a dick. From then on, he very, very rarely gets to do introductions, literally only if he’s the only experienced camper left.), but Tony just dislikes it. Greatly. He likes the chase, he likes solving problems and making things to solve the problems, the only thing he really has a problem with (because motels were like unhygienic sleepovers when with the right person and even the fighting gave him an adrenaline rush that usually could power him through a couple days in the bunker without any other sustenance) is dealing with the actual kid.

All the ones that he’d found were angry, and sad, and Tony never really knew how to deal with that - all he has to do is keep it civil and keep them calm until they reach Camp, but every damn time it was hard.

As he predicted (not literally) Fury storms into the bunker, fuming, mere minutes after the explosion.

“Everything’s controlled, it was meant to happen,” Tony says, the moment he enters.

“Stark.” It was the Tone. The very particular, very specific Tone to his voice that meant ‘you are going to be doing what I tell you with no complaints or I will put you on horse clean up for the rest of your years on this earth’. The Tone usually came with a demigod to go on a wild goose chase after.

“No, Nick, c’ mon,” Tony pleads.

Fury doesn’t change his expression in the slightest, and Tony’s pleas are met with a stony silence and a couple sheets of paper are shoved in his singed arms.

“0800, at the border, you’re going with Natasha,” he says, final, as he spins on his heel and leaves.

“Could just say 8 AM like a normal person,” Tony mutters under his breath. He gets a twig thrown at him.

Tony carries on grumbling as he sets about tidying the bunker as best he can while the smoke clears out. Whoever built this really wasn’t thinking with ventilation in mind. Ancient assholes.

Almost, as if someone’s listening to his thoughts (or maybe he’s just talking aloud again) lighting cracks outside. It’s the middle of July. And Thor (the kid, not the god), their resident lightning expert, is over at Camp Jupiter for the week.

“Ancient assholes!” Tony yells.

This time, the lightning strikes directly on top of the bunker.

By the time he’s done, he’s almost missed dinner.

“Ah!” Clint says, when he sees him walk into the pavillion, “The prodigal son returns!”

“Fuck off, Arrow-Boy,” Tony grumbles, stuffing fries into his mouth. He’s way more hungry than he thought.

“Tin can,” Clint retorts, flicking a pizza crust at him.

Tony pulls a face at him, grumpily.

“Don’t mind him,” Natasha says, materialising behind them, making Clint jump and spill his orangeade, “he’s cranky because we have to go find a demigod tomorrow.”

“I’m not cranky,” Tony says, just about resisting the temptation to cross his arms and scowl.

“Go take a nap, tin can,” Clint says, patting him on the shoulder.

After he finishes his dinner, he does just that, after, setting everything up for tomorrow - he stuffs a backpack (one that he made, the one that’s bigger than it looks) with everything he’ll need for a week and goes over the information - any satyrs who’ve tried looking for him failed and every time someone tries to bring him back he escapes and drops right off the grid.

One of the things that surprised him about this guy (they have a name, age range, known aliases, and a couple sketches) is that a wake of good follows him, not destruction, but insurmountable, impossible, miracle good. Although, there is a tiny trail of anticapitalism following him as well. A series of alarmingly good thefts that followed him across the country alongside great donations and a sudden dip in youth homelessness and a surge of college graduates from the working class over the year.

So.

Good. Too good. Good enough to drop of Interpol radar and on to theirs. (There’s an arrangement. Tony doesn’t want to know.)

If he doesn’t get him, then he gets passed over to the Romans, if they don’t then the Norse lot have a shot, then it gets handed over to the East, and after all of them, finally, the big lads will step in.

They’ve only ever gone up to the chain to the Norse (all incredibly strange, but then again, his father is a god, so, strange flew out the window on his fifth birthday, upon the realisation that Elon Musk is his half-brother - about a week after he went to Camp). Who decided the chain, Tony doesn’t know, but it is what it is. Meaning they get all the grunt work. He doesn’t mind it much because it results in the people up top thinking that they’re hot shit. (When they bother to take a look down, of course).

All Tony knows, looking at the information sheet and his ‘greatest hits’, is that this guy, Steven G. Rogers, is going to be an interesting person. Demigod. Robin Hood. Whatever.

The sketches never told Tony how hot the guy is. And he’s hot. Like, 10/10 would let him leave him on read, hot. He has this whole ‘vigilante/guy on the run’ look going on, slightly too-long hair that’s somehow the perfect length and a beard. Which is just unfair, because he’s about the same age as Tony, and Tony can’t grow anything properly - he attempted, one time, and all he got was people telling him that he has chocolate milk on his top lip.

The age thing threw Tony for a loop, because there’s this guy, college age, still not at Camp, who’s made Forbes 400 his personal hit list, and succeeded, alongside with what he does with the money and with how long he’s managed to evade them, there’s something, okay, many things, that, for the first time, make Tony feel out of his depth.

But he’s always up for a challenge.

And by gods, has it been challenging. They’re about a week into this, they’ve followed him all across New York (he seems reluctant to leave) and they’ve only seen him once, in a back alley with some masked guy. Tony checked up later and that masked guy was one of theirs, Murdock, son of Nemesis. He refused to tell them anything about the guy, aside from ‘Leave him alone’.

Right now, they’re in a motel in Brooklyn, talking with Fury.

“Stark, Romanoff, get him,” is all he says, breaking the mist. Helpful. Although, Tony should know by now that a ‘Hey, this guy is like, stupid good, and even Murdock told us to leave him alone’ never worked. He’s starting to miss his smoke-filled bunker. Knowing his luck, and Clint’s dickheadedness, he’s blocked what ventilation there is in the bunker and shut the door.

Tony turns to Natasha to ask her to give him the remote - he’s bored, and Robin Hood’s nowhere to be seen, and it’s late, maybe there’s a good movie on - but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Room service.”

They’re on their feet in an instant, Tony’s slipped his gauntlet on (something a part of a bigger project - the reason there was a small incident in his bunker) and Natasha’s holding her knife, ready to strike, in front of Tony.

“I don’t remember ordering anything,” Natasha calls deliberately loud, eyes trained on the door.

“What about a demigod”

The guy says ‘demigod’ like it’s an insult, in a sneer, almost mocking them.

He could have the guy they want, demand ransom for him, maybe, or lead them to him.

Tony taps an ‘O’ in Morse code, and Natasha nods her agreement, never looking away from the door. She goes over, feet light and opens the door an inch, knife first, before swinging it fully open to reveal Steven G. Rogers.

“You’ll need something stronger,” he says, nodding to the knife, “and take longer next time, maybe the Romans’ll get me.” He leans casually against the doorjamb, and Tony’s gay enough to admit that even that action is hot. So is that little teasing smile.

He is not falling for some vigilante guy he doesn’t even know the middle name of. He’s merely appreciating his assets. His very, very attractive assets.

“You need to come back to--” Natasha starts, ignoring the jibe about her knife, yes it’s small, but it’s poisoned with eitr (they had a bet with Quill’s crew, one of the Norse, Gamora bet her knife and lost it to Nat), which will easily put a human, and a demigod to death.

“Camp Half-Blood,” Rogers says, tiredly. So he knows that he’s a demigod and that Camp Half-Blood exists, he’s definitely heard this before and he’s turning out to be even more interesting, so Tony jumps in.

“Good deduction, Rogers, now come to Camp.”

He fakes thinking for a minute, and then decides, “Nah,” and before Natasha or Tony can protest he adds something more, “I’m tired and bored of your lot chasing me, both of us have better things to do. You stop going after me. Understood.” He draws himself up to his full height and drops the smile, towering over them.

Neither of them are scared, they’re both small, and they’ve been trained to use that to their advantage, and they’ve been training at Camp since before most kids would be in the first grade, Tony’s been told that overconfidence is his ‘fatal flaw’ (amongst other things), but it’s two against one, and that one has none of the training, nor teamwork that they have. He has strength, he very, very clearly has strength, but other than that, he’s a blank canvas.

“You’re coming with us,” Natasha says, faux gently, they’ve dealt with people like this before. Angry, ‘the world has wronged me’ types, who put up a fight. Tony glad he remembered to take the tranqs this time.

“Oh, for fucks’ sake,” Rogers groans, “no means no, asshole.”

“Can’t take no for an answer,” Natasha says, shifting her stance into the offensive.

Rogers has the audacity to roll his eyes, “Then learn basic consent.”

He makes the mistake of turning around - put your back to Nat when you’re not on the same side, be prepared for something become incredibly friendly with your lats and your trapezius (Tony speaks from experience).

She jumps up onto his back, ready to knock him out with the flat of the blade - Tony’s seen this a million times before, so he prepared himself for an unconscious demigod, but it goes in vain.

Before he knows what’s going on Natasha’s lying flat on her back with Rogers’ foot on her stomach, the knife is in Rogers’ hand, pointed at him. He raises the gauntlet on instinct.

“Go home, tell him I got away,” he speaks with an entirely authoritative voice that definitely does not go straight to Tony’s dick. He’s willing to bet that Rogers is a child of Aphrodite.

He tosses the knife on one of the beds and walks out.

Tony chases him out, instinctively, and almost crashes into him outside. Rogers gives him a look and before he knows it, he’s kissing him in a wild clash of lips and tongues. He’s shoved against the wall as Rogers noses down his neck.

“Rogers,” Tony breaths tilting his head back.

“We’re gettin’ friendly. Steve’ll do.”

“Steve, Steve--”

“You want me to stop?” Rogers-- Steve asks, with a teasing roll of his hips against Tony’s hardening cock.

“Fuck no,” Tony groans, “but I gotta know, why?” He’d like to state, for the record, that he is never this easy; usually, it takes much more than a rough kiss and manhandling to get him like this, but Steve knows what he’s doing.

“Why?” Steve murmurs against his neck, “You’re hot, and you’ve been eye-fucking me the moment I walked in.” He pulls away suddenly, “You’ve done this before, right?”

Tony grins, lewd, “Sure, I’d prove it, but on top of everything, I don’t want a public indecency charge as well.”

Steve’s eyes darken and he drags them into his room - the one next to Natasha and Tony’s.

Tony proves just how non-virginal he is and Steve returns the favour, and Tony really, really wasn’t wrong in his first assessment of ‘knows what he’s doing’.

“That might have been,” Tony pants, trying to catch his breath, “the best orgasm of my life.”

Steve laughs and presses an absent-minded kiss to his shoulder, then trails his lips up to tease at the hickey he left earlier. “I get that a lot,” he murmurs, grinning up at Tony.

“From everyone, or am I just special?”

Steve seems to realise what he’s really asking, because he chuckles again, “You’re the only one of Fury’s minions I’ve slept with.”

Tony grins. He’s never had this much fun, outside of the sex, with a hookup before. “Well, you’re the only demigod I’ve fucked, period.” Even though godly relations counted for jackshit, he’s never slept with anyone at Camp. He’s not even sure if you’re allowed to have sex there.

“I don’t recall you doing much fucking,” Steve says, smirking.

Tony, ever the pinnacle of maturity, just mimics him, far too tired to think of something clever. He lets his eyes fall shut, comfortable in Steve’s arms.

When he wakes up, he’s alone, with a note and a flip phone left on the pillow where Steve was.

The phone’s demigod-proofed, call, text, if you ever want a real fuck - SR

“We lost him, got away right under our noses, but we do have a way to contact him,” Tony says to Fury when they get back. He knows that he should hand over the phone, but that feels like he’s breaking Steve’s trust.

“The phone, Stark.”

“Through me, you talk to him through me,” Tony insists. Steve’s not coming to Camp for a reason, and he trusts him not to drag him back, so Tony feels an urge to protect him, even though he’s proven more than competent at that.

Fury knows what battles to pick, so leaves him, with a reminder to get some rest.

Maybe he doesn’t hate finding that much.

They don’t try to chase him after that, but Tony still meets up with him, sometimes it takes him a week to respond, sometimes he’s out of the country, but he always replies. They don’t even have sex immediately the first time Tony texts him, they just hang out in a diner in Queen. Then they fuck for real, on some billionaire’s bed, because Steve’s just like that and it tops last time.

It takes Tony repeating a constant mantra of ‘he’s a thief and fairly shifty and what they have is strictly friends-with-benefits’ to slow down falling in love with him, but it seems sort of inevitable in the end. He’s entirely in love with the way he smiles and laughs and fucks and every single part of him, Tony’s so damn, overwhelmingly in love, he knows that he’s going to tell him, today, about a year into what they have. It’s not unrequited, if the looks Steve gives him is anything to go by.

They’re sitting in a bandstand in a park near Camp, the closest Steve’ll get to it. He’s still the same, he’s still one bad fashion choice from ‘cryptid’, still Robin-Hoods-ing in his free time, but he’s shaved off the beard - the very first time, he’d tentatively asked Tony to do it.

Tony’s learnt that he’s also an artist, that he used to be in the army, that he has a weird and shitty relationship with his parents, and even though there’s still a lot that he doesn’t know about him, all that changes a view on someone.

They’ve both long accepted that what they have can barely be classed as ‘friends-with-benefits’ now, in some unspoken agreement one early morning, this time in Steve’s apartment when they were lying in bed, half-awake together.

Tony leans in to kiss Steve, ready to tell him, so damn ready that it feels like it’s going to burst out of his mouth all by itself when a thunderstorm starts.

Steve groans and drops his head on to Tony’s shoulder. It’s adorable, seeing this six-foot man try make himself small enough to fit in Tony. They make it work.

Steve stretches out an arm and flips off the sky. The sky sends a truly unnatural amount of lighting into the tree next to them.

This time, he yells a ‘fuck you’, loud and clear, before kissing Tony, deeply, swallowing his giggles.

When they pull away, Steve’s grinning, bright and wonderful. He opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by a well-dressed businessman in a flash of lightning.

Now, Tony’s only ever met his dad, Hephestus, and Apollo, and they were nowhere near this dramatic. Or well dressed. Or this important.

Steve just rolls his eyes at their untimely interruption, but there’s something under the annoyance, something akin to fear that puts Tony on edge. “Fuck off.”

“Now,” Zeus says, “is that any way to greet your father, Heracles?”

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