#I'm not actually sure if this leans more toward a T rating or an M rating and I would appreciate input

[void-of-unparalleled-chaos]

Slap a Bow on It

 "Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid. He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end. So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street."

@deadonmayn Day 1: Courting Rituals | Flickering | Dinner is interrupted by a rogue/gang fight | "Are they gone yet?"

TW: Danny is thirsty as hell, mentions/allusions to nsfw but nothing explicit

AO3 Link

   Danny blinked.

   He could only assume that the crime lord, illuminated purely by the light of the fridge in the otherwise dark apartment, blinked back. The helmet didn't give anything away, red plating and slanted eye whites impassive. Good for being sexy menacing. Not so good for reading emotions.

   Danny blinked again, wiping the rheum from his eyes with pinched fingers. He squinted once more at Red Hood, who for some reason was in his apartment at - Danny glanced at the clock - three in the morning. He seemed perfectly content to be digging through Danny’s fridge, if a little sheepish at being caught.

    He should probably be more angry that his apartment was broken into. He absolutely was when he first woke to the uncomfortable feeling of an uninvited guest in his lair, but after seeing the vigilante’s arms laden with food his metaphorical hackles relaxed. The apartment was shitty anyway. 

   If anything, Danny was confused as to why he was here judging his fridge’s contents and playing Tetris with tupperware. It wasn’t like they knew each other. 

   Danny blinked a third time just to really make sure he was seeing what he was seeing, "...Hi?" 

   "Hey,"  Red Hood unfroze, seemingly recovered from being caught, and resumed stuffing what looked like a container of tamales into his fridge. 

   Danny couldn’t help but feel sullen at the dismissal. He'd woken up only for the admittedly hot trespasser with thick thighs to barely glance at him. Unacceptable. 

   "Do you want anything to drink?"  Danny must have been momentarily possessed by the ghost of Midwestern manners with how urgent the offer seemed. 

   "Nah," Red Hood stuffed another container into the fridge, turning to look back at Danny, "You don't have any allergies, do you?"

   "Nah."

   Red Hood nodded, pulling out a bag of rotten lettuce. He held it away from himself like it might try to bite him. In Danny’s experience, it very well could. 

   “Do you ever clean out your fridge?”

   Danny shrugged, “It’s finals week. I’ve got to keep my GPA above 3.5 if I want to keep my scholarship. No chores. Only study.”

   Red Hood nodded solemnly as he threw the lettuce into the trash, “No chores. Only study.”

   They fell into silence. Danny watched as the crime lord sifted through his fridge, pulling out rotten food as he went. “Is this because I decked that mugger? Cause’ he deserved it.”

   Red Hood very pointedly threw the expired milk carton into the trash can.

   “Okay then…” Danny yawned, “Well if that's all I’m going back to bed.”

   “Kay.”

   Danny shrugged, turned on his heel, and left the crime lord to rifle through his kitchen.

___👻___

   When Danny awoke the next day, he was greeted by a clean apartment. The absence of crumbs on the freshly swept floor felt odd on his feet, although it was certainly much more pleasant. The trash had been taken out and a new bag had already been installed. He passed by the sink on the way to make coffee, the dishes that had been filling it suspiciously absent. 

   Danny would deny to the ancients and back that his knees went weak when he found the coffee maker already set and filled with grounds... his sister must never know. 

   As he waited for the cup to brew, he opened his fridge for creamer only to come face to face with more home cooked food than he’d ever seen in his life. Danny pulled the food out plastic container by plastic container to stare at in disbelief. Tamales, chicken mole, Mexican rice, enchiladas, and carne asada… It was only a handful of containers, but still. It wasn’t as if his parents had done much in the way of cooking with all their time spent in the lab. Jazz could throw together something basic but nothing like this.

   The local hot crime lord slash vigilante had broken in at three in the morning to feed him and clean his apartment. Huh.

  No time to think about that. He has a final on differential equations in five hours and minimal time to cram. Danny stirs the creamer into his coffee, heats up some Mexican rice, and sits down at the untouched mess of notebooks, paper, and textbooks on his kitchen table. 

   He studies until he has to leave for the exam, only getting up to refill his coffee and get more food. The tamales are pretty fricken good, but they make it hard to focus on the numbers scribbled across his notebook. It’s like each bite is urging him to go back into the kitchen and cook, which is odd considering that Danny can’t cook and he already has enough food to last him through the next day or two (courtesy of the sexy crime lord). 

   He leaves the exam room feeling good only for his mood to immediately crumble when he remembers that he has an aerodynamics final at eight the next morning followed by gasdynamics at one. He takes a brief break to faceplant on the table, scream, refill his coffee for the umpteenth time, and eat some more food but inevitably resigns himself to pulling an all-nighter. Time becomes liquid after that. It’s all just a blur of numbers and properties and instructional videos. 

   At some point, he registers another presence in the apartment. Danny recognizes the ecto signature from the night before so he pays it no mind. Let Hood poke around, Danny has to read more about Newton’s Third Law. What was he going to do? Feed him again?

   The answer was apparently yes. 

   The background noise of shuffling in the fridge and washing empty containers stops and is replaced by soft, mechanical-sounding breaths. Hood is standing next to him, plastic container in hand as he watches Danny run through the Quizlet on his laptop. 

   Danny’s got around eighty percent of the terms memorized. Just another twenty percent to go. He types in the answer for a new blank. 

   Red Hood pokes his shoulder.

   Danny grumbles. His response came back wrong.

   His shoulder is poked again.

   Danny ignores it and moves on to the next blank.

   He continues unbothered for an uncertain amount of time. The words on the screen are blurry like he is trying to read underwater. His mouth splits into an entirely too wide, jaw-cracking yawn. His uninvited guest coos at him as Danny rubs at his eyes. The next thing he knows, his laptop is shut closed and moved away. It feels like any and all visual processing is delayed. Danny stares blankly at the spot the computer used to sit.

   Something slides in front of him to replace the laptop. His core chirps when he realizes it's food. Hood’s answering chirp as he guides a fork into his hand is deep and rumbly with the faint stutterings of a purr. Danny starts to purr in return as he sleepily munches on the casserole.

    Before long the empty plate is taken away. Danny slumps down on the newfound table space and tries to fight off sleep. 

   “I think it's time for you to go to bed.”

   “Noooooo! I’v gotta study fr' aero’namics.”

   “You’re slurring your words there, handsome.”

   Danny’s sleep-deprived brain screeched to a halt. His core chirped to attention, “Flat’ry ain’t gettin’ you nowhere.”

   “It was worth a shot.”

    Danny smushed his face further into the wood to hide his blush and distracted himself by blindly reaching for his coffee mug. Upon noticing, the vigilante moved it out of reach. Danny whined into the table.

   “You can’t overwork yourself like this, Danny,” Red Hood carried the mug to the sink and poured it down the drain. Cruel, cruel man. “I know you’ve got exams but your scores won’t be any good if you go into them like this. You've got to take care of yourself,”  He lightly squeezed Danny’s shoulder. Danny hadn’t even heard him move across the kitchen. “Can you do that, darlin’? For me?”

    Danny groaned, “F’ne. But only cause’ ur hot.”

   The vigilante snorted. It sounded odd through the helmet but not bad. “I’m happy to hear it! Now let's get you to bed.”

___👻___

   Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid.

   He had been helping his parents in the lab since he was four, and he was nearly a straight-A student before the accident. He was an aerospace engineering major with a hefty GPA of 3.8, and most importantly, he’s had extensive lessons on ghosts, the Infinite Realms, and their culture. 

   He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end. 

   So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. The thought kept running through his head as he stared at the food in the fridge, the clean apartment, and the prepped coffee maker. 

   He was being courted. 

   He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street. 

   Danny had never been courted before! 

   Sure, occasionally there was someone who tried to shoot their shot, but it always fell flat in the end. It was an unfortunate side effect of being undead. Every human relationship he had felt… lacking. Like it was missing something. 

   Val had come pretty close. All the fighting and shooting felt like a mimicry of ghostly courtship behavior. It's what had drawn Danny to her in the first place, but Val wasn’t fighting him in a display of power and capability. She had genuinely wanted to end him. 

   There was also the incident with Kitty, but she was overshadowing Paulina and mimicking human behaviors. There was never any ghostly courtship involved, and besides, she was only dating him to make Johnny jealous. 

   This is Danny’s first time being properly courted!

   What is he going to do about it?

   He decided that the question could wait until after finals.

   The next few days pass by much the same as before: a tortuous cycle of studying, caffeine, minimal sleep, screaming, and exams. Red Hood continues to stop by and deliver food. Danny has got to figure out the dude’s actual name or a nickname or something. He refuses to keep calling his potential partner Red Hood. When you take away the scary crime lord persona it just sounds like a condom brand. He could always use a pet name, but it feels wrong given that Danny hasn’t shown much reciprocation outside of allowing Hood into his lair. Instead, Danny settles on greeting him with a trill and a series of chirps. 

   As soon as he finishes his last final he flops face down into bed. Tomorrow he’ll get to work on reciprocating Red Hood’s efforts. His kitchen is blessedly clean of any ecto contamination. Without the food fighting back, he should be able to whip up something presentable. How hard could following a recipe be?

___👻___

   Danny was wrong.  

   Staring at the stove which was somehow on fire, Danny couldn’t help but finally understand why Jazz had never allowed him in the kitchen. He quickly rushes to turn off the heat. Danny doesn’t have a fire extinguisher. He’s a broke college student with just enough money to live on the outskirts of Crime Alley. Why would he ever be able to afford a fire extinguisher? 

   Danny slams a lid over the pot to smother the flames erupting from it and wacks the stovetop with a damp towel. As the fire dies down he glares at the somehow burnt gnocchi sitting ever so innocently in boiling water. He probably could have just iced it. The ice would melt into water and put out the fire, right? 

   He takes another look at the ruined food as the bubbles die down and decides he’s probably just cursed. Not all hope is lost though, Danny reasons as he dumps the ruined gnocchi down the garbage disposal. So Italian cuisine was not his forte. That’s okay! He’ll just try a different recipe!

___👻___

   The recipe said quick and easy. 

   This was neither quick nor easy.

   He dumped the carbonized remains of food into the trash with a sigh. It was French toast! How could someone go so wrong with French toast? The kitchen looked like something had exploded in it for ancients’ sake! 

   Danny thunked his head onto the counter, uncaring of the milk and eggs coating it. An entire loaf of bread gone and not a single edible piece of toast to show for it! He groaned. Maybe he just… wasn’t cut out for this whole courting thing. 

   Dejectedly, he lifted his head and began to wipe down the counter with paper towels. He really liked Hood.

   He was funny! While he mostly left Danny alone during his study sessions, Danny had seen the viral videos. Hood knew how to crack a good death joke, and the compilations of him ragging on Batman were something to aspire to. 

   He cared for people! The sponsored soup kitchens and homeless programs were an open secret in Crime Alley, and the working girls were paid well. The street kids knew they were safe in the Alley because anyone who tried to touch them would end up with their head in a duffle bag. Red Hood protected them.

   And ancients was he hot! Thick thighs for days and strong arms that could probably lift Danny like a couple of grapes. Danny wouldn’t mind being thrown around by a guy like that. He would happily let him pin him to a wall and box him in and then Danny could sink his fangs into his shoulder and then- 

   Okay! Stop! Too far! That’s awfully ambitious for someone who can’t even cook a proper courting gift. Think, Danny, Think! 

  Okay… okay. So he can’t cook. That’s fine because Danny can build. He’s been building things since he was practically a toddler. He can make something easy peasy!

   What about a gun? Red Hood seemed to like guns. Danny’s core purred at the idea. If he had to guess, the vigilante had a protection obsession of some sort. A gun was something that could protect Red Hood but also be used to protect others in his haunt and directly feed into his obsession. Yes! The gun idea was good.

   But then again, Hood had been working with Batman more and more frequently, and with that had been using guns less and less. How often could the gun be used? No, no. This courting gift should be usable in all scenarios. 

   What about a knife? Yes! A knife could work! As far as Danny knew, Batman didn't have anything against knives. Surely a knife paled in comparison to Robin's katana. A knife was sneaky and quiet, good for stealth missions unlike a gun, and easier to carry for everyday use. 

   Danny hummed, nodding to himself. He’d do the knife first and save the gun for later. He was going to need supplies. 

   Danny wiped the dripping egg away from his forehead before it could get into his eyes. But first, he was going to need a shower.

___👻___

   So…

   It could’ve gone worse.

   Despite basically being raised reverse-engineering his parents’ inventions, Danny had never tried to make a knife. He could gut a microwave from the local back alley dumpster and Macgyver it into a functioning weapon, but building a makeshift forge on short notice and hammering steel down into a smooth curve was a whole different ballpark. Luckily the local trade school had a forge, and after some good old-fashioned bribery, they allowed Danny access. That was the first problem out of the way. Unfortunately, the second problem remained. It was fine. Danny was used to thinking on his feet. 

  After many YouTube videos and failed attempts Danny had a somewhat presentable blade. With a saw edge on the top and a sharp curve similar to a khukuri on the bottom, it certainly didn’t look like a beginner's design.

   He probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to a more advanced shape. Danny hadn’t managed to fix the slight warp of the blade, and maybe the practice beforehand would have done him some good. Regardless, it was too late to fix it after the ecto wash, and he didn’t think the warp would affect the performance too negatively. Besides, with the ectoplasm infused into it the knife should cut through ghosts with no problem. 

  Danny had spent entirely too long trying to find the perfect shade of red leather for the handle, but in the end, he accurately matched it to Red Hood’s helmet. He had wanted to incorporate some protective runes into the leather, but he had no idea how to make a lasting pattern that wouldn’t affect the user’s comfort. Eventually, he decided it was an idea to be saved for another project. 

   With his courting gift complete, all that was left to do was break into Red Hood’s lair and give it to him…

   That sounded wrong. Give the knife to him. It’s not an innuendo! Great. Now he’s thinking about those thick thighs again. Stop! Bad Danny!

   He shook himself to dispel the train of thought. Danny had a different, more pressing problem to deal with: How could he present a knife to a vigilante without it coming across as a threat? He didn’t have a box for it, and the knife didn’t have a sheath yet. He could always make himself the box and store it in his chest, but watching someone pull random items out of their body was apparently gross and disturbing, or so he’d been told. What if he just-

   Danny yanked open the kitchen junk drawer and began to root around. After a few seconds of sifting, he pulled out his prize and ever so gently stuck it to the knife. The green gift bow was squished on one end but remained comically large on the blade. He bounced up and down on his toes. It was so stupid that it just might work. 

   Feeling the cool rush of invisibility, Danny phased through the wall of his apartment to greet the early morning light beginning to peak over the buildings. Floating in the air for a minute, he absently fiddled with the bow on his courting gift. With the city starting to wake, Hood should be returning to his lair. 

   It didn’t take long for him to fly past the unseen territory lines and into Crime Alley. Danny had crossed through Hood’s haunt before. It had never felt aggressive like some in the Ghost Zone. Red Hood's haunt was more curious, probing with a warning to behave himself. The haunt felt different this time around. Now it felt welcoming rather than wary, warm. If Danny closed his eyes, he could almost imagine being held in a protective embrace. His core hummed in response, seeking out the other’s resonance. 

   Danny had never been to Hood’s lair. He hadn’t even been given directions, but he didn’t need them. He'd simply follow Hood’s ecto signature to where the haunt’s energy was most concentrated. Like the dead equivalent of a bloodhound. 

   Danny took his time meandering toward the heart of the haunt. He’d never been this far into Crime Alley before, and he didn’t want to get turned around. That was a lie. Danny was nervous and stalling. Doubts flew unbridled through his head.

   What if the knife wasn’t good enough? What if the bow didn’t work? What if Red Hood thought he was threatening him? What if Danny blew his shot? Danny had already screwed up so many other things in his life, he didn’t want to screw this up too!

   There was only so long he could stall. Jittery with nerves, Danny floated outside a decrepit apartment building. The entire structure was practically drenched in Red Hood’s ecto signature, but it radiated in waves from a unit on the top floor. Danny took a breath to steady his racing heart and struggled to quiet his core. It was now or never. 

   He cautiously phased halfway through the wall, chirping in greeting. The apartment was clean and orderly. The fireplace and full bookshelves gave it a homey feel that sharply contrasted with the worn and weathered bricks on the outer wall. The lack of weapons was a surprise. Even if he couldn't see them Danny figured they were still there, well hidden in the otherwise normal apartment. 

   A surprised sound draws his attention to the man on the couch. He’s built like a quarterback, lounging on one side as he struggles to stitch a laceration across his ribcage with a needle in one hand and a handheld mirror in the other. It's hard not to get distracted by the autopsy scar running cleanly across his collarbone and down to his pelvis. Danny wants to lick it.

   Piercing blue eyes search the apartment, arm lowering the mirror. Danny is thankful that he's still invisible. With the heat flooding to his ears, he’s sure he’s as red as a tomato. Danny’s practically drooling at tousled black and white hair and the long scar reaching up from under his jaw to his hairline like a flower stretching for the sun. His crooked nose, clearly broken and healed many times over, only adds to his beauty. Red Hood is truly a modern-day Adonis.

    Hood’s wounded side finally registers in Danny’s brain, rearranging his priorities and catapulting his obsession to the front. Immediately he lets his invisibility drop, absently shoving the knife into his chest for safekeeping. Hood makes a distressed sound as he does so which urges Danny forward. His hands hover worriedly over the man as he pushes as much help/comfort/safety/concern into his aura as possible. 

   He reaches to take the threaded needle from Red Hood’s hand only to be nudged away.

   “It’s fine. I can do it myself.”

   "Hood, let me help."

   "Jason,” he licks his lips, “My name is Jason."

   "Jason," Danny gently cups Jason’s face in his hands, "Please let me help, Jason."

   Blue eyes gaze into his own. The ever-so-faint hints of green within them are captivating, swirling in a hypnotic dance that leaves Danny in a daze. Finally, Jason looks away and nods, breaking the trance between them and passing the needle over.

   Danny allows himself to revert to the mindset of his vigilante days. He stitches the wound with a single-minded focus, practiced hands falling back into a familiar rhythm. Jason watches the entire time, staring intently at his face as he works. Danny struggles to keep his core quiet and pretends not to notice, taping a bandage over the cut. His fingers graze over Jason's body, checking it over for any other injuries. Jason allows it to happen with a distinct feeling of affection/amusement. 

   “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

   “Nah. The kevlar usually prevents stuff like this. I was just unlucky.”

   “Good.” 

   Danny runs his fingers through the white tuft in Jason’s hair, pushing the strands out of his face. His core kickstarts like an engine with a vengeance, humming and searching for Jason’s core song in anticipation. Danny squeaks, stumbling backward. He smothers the sound and quiets his core, but with the look on Jason’s face, he hadn’t been quick enough.

   “Sorry!” Danny stutters out, flushing. 

    Jason’s expression shifts to confusion, “Why are you apologizing?”

   “I’m being way too forward,” Danny drags his hands down his face in embarrassment, “We haven’t had a spar yet and fuck! I haven’t even given you your courting gift yet, but here I am! Invading your space and trying to harmonize! I’m so sorry.”

    “Lucky for you I like forward,” Jason gently grasped his hands, lowering them away from his face. His palms felt warm against Danny’s skin, “Is that what you shoved into your chest earlier? A courting gift?” Jason punctuated the sentence with a gentle kiss to Danny's slow pulse.

   Danny nodded, stunned. Tearing his gaze away from Jason’s lips, he reached into his chest and pulled out the knife. Jason chuckles, his eyes crinkling in mirth, “You put a bow on it?”

   Danny grinned, his fangs on full display, “Well I had to make it presentable, didn’t I?” 

   He gets down on one knee, head bowed and knife held upwards in offering as if he were a knight presenting a sword to a king. Jason gingerly lifts it out of his hands, cradling it like a precious gem. Danny watches as his fingers trace the edge. 

   “It feels like you,” Jason looks to Danny for answers, eyes wide with wonder and a beautiful flush on his face.

   “I wanted to make sure it was effective against ghosts, but it's hard to find enough clean ectoplasm around here. I sorta just… used my own?” Danny rubs the back of his neck with a wince, “Do you like it?”

   He waits in anxious anticipation as Jason stands from the couch. Jason sets the blade gently down on the coffee table behind Danny before tugging him into his arms, “I love it, baby,” his words vibrate over a purr that Danny can feel in his bones, “Just don’t go hurting yourself for courting gifts anymore.”

   Danny groaned, tucking his face under Jason’s chin. “You have no idea how much that narrows my options down.” 

   Jason laughs. 

   Danny pulls away to look up at him, lightly batting at Jason’s peck “I’m serious, Jason! I can’t cook for shit! You’re gonna need to wait a long ass time until I can get my hands on more ecto. I hope you’re ready to wait because it’s going to take me months to build that gun now!”

   “You wanted to make me a gun?” 

   “Yeah? I was going to have one ready in the next few weeks but-”

   Jason’s smile is dazzling as he leans down to press his lips to Danny’s. Danny forgets to breathe as he melts into the kiss. He’s tugged forward until they are chest-to-chest on the couch, cores close together. Danny’s not sure whose core starts to hum first, but the sound is unmistakable as they waver between pitches. Danny bites at Jason’s lips, making a pleased sound when they part for him.

   It’s weird to be doing this before a spar. It’s backward, unconventional. Danny can’t find it in himself to care.

   It’s a wondrous thing when their cores synchronize. Something finally clicks, like a lock snapping into place, and suddenly Danny can feel so much. The humming harmony of their cores permeates every single one of Danny’s nerves. The rush of giddy happiness is unlike anything he’s felt before. He can feel Jason, too. The rampant emotions fling between them until it's hard to tell whose is whose. In Jason’s arms with a core bond in place, Danny has never felt so secure in his life. 

   This. This is what he's been missing. 

   Danny breaks away from their kiss to nip at Jason’s jawline, paying special attention to the scar. Jason makes a pleased sound, tugging lightly at his hair.

   “Your teeth are sharp as fuck.”

   “Aren’t yours?”

   Jason nuzzles under Danny’s shirt collar and into his shoulder. Danny shudders as he feels canines dig into his skin. They’re sharp, but not as sharp as his. 

   Danny giggles, pressing a kiss to Jason’s hair. “I want to see how skilled you actually are with those teeth. Once you’ve healed we can have a proper spar.”

   “I’ll show you a proper spar,” Jason grumbles. 

  Suddenly Danny is pinned, lying on the couch with Jason’s weight on top of him. Jason kisses his cheek, tucking his head back into the crook of his neck with a contented sigh. It's like the world's best weighted blanket, Danny thinks as his eyes droop shut in relaxation.

   They remain like that in silence, basking in the positive emotions and comfort of their new bond. It’s about ten minutes later that Danny finally breaks it.

   “Why me?”

   “Hmm?”

   “Just… why court me? I know I pass through your haunt now and then but we’ve only actually seen each other like… once. What could I have possibly done to catch your attention?”

   “You punched a mugger.”

   “Yeah… so?”

   “You knocked the fucker out in one blow before I could even lift a finger.”

   “And?”

   Jason lifted his head to give him a pointed look.

   Danny stared back.

   Oh…

   Oh!

   “Do you have a competency kink!?”

   Jason flushed, ducking his head back down with a groan. 

[radioapple-heathen]

My Top 10 Radioapple Fic 'Series' Recs

I've been working on this for a while. With nearly 4k fics for this ship on A03 (at the time of me writing this rec list), it can be difficult to find gems. I was really grateful for the rec lists I stumbled upon when I first joined this fandom, and I want to share the fics that have changed my brain chemistry with both newcomers and oldtimers alike. As with all rec lists, this list is completely subjective and curtailed to my tastes/preferences. I'm also sure this list will change with time as more fics get added to the fandom. As of mid-2024 though, here's where I'm at.

For background, I am an acespec 30+ married woman with ADHD raising a AuDHD child, and I appreciate fics that handle these aspects with respect and care. I've also been in fandom/writing for 20+ years, never professionally, always for fun.

My fic preferences:

I gravitate towards crisp prose that is sophisticated but not weighed down by excessive $5 dollar words. I like my fic like I like my food: digestible. The writing doesn't have to be perfect (typos and grammatical errors happen, that I can deal with) but the characterization is important to me.

I gravitate towards top!Lucifer because Alastor is a prissy little power bottom, but there are certainly exceptions to that on this list. At my core, though, I think they're switches with preferences.

I gravitate towards fics that have a nice balance of plot and romance, preferably leaning more towards the latter. I read fanfic for the relationship so if the plot supersedes the 'radioapple'-ness, I tend to find myself drifting/skimming, before giving up altogether.

I gravitate towards fics in sub <200k. Again this is an attention thing, no fault of the author, people loveee long fics. But often, even if I'm loving a fic, I'm like okay, where are we going with this? Again, some exceptions, which I'll highlight below.

I can be picky about my slow burns, like if it takes 100k to hold hands, I'll prob pass? BUT THIS IS JUST ME AND I HAVE THE ATTENTION SPAN OF A GOLDFISH AND I WANT TO FORCE THEIR HEADS TOGETHER AND MAKE THEM KISS ASAP?????

I gravitate towards genderfluid or intersex Lucifer, he's a shapeshifter and an angel, it just.. makes sense to me.

I have a preference for M or E-rated fics. I just really love the vulnerability and character development that can be explored through intimacy, especially in re: to Alastor's ace-ness. And what can I say? I wanna read about twink king getting it on with his deer man. That being said, I do have some T+ recs in my multi-chap/oneshot rec list.

Anyways. With all that said, let's get into the actual fics. Note, this isn't an exhaustive list, I could rec fics forever, there's so much talent in this fandom. These are just the ones that have altered my genetic makeup.

Top 10 Series

1.) All changed, changed utterly by @tollingreminiscentbells

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Alastor for installments 1-5. Last installment (6) it switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

This is actually my favorite radioapple fic/series in the entire fandom. This series has rendered me somehow both speechless and bursting at the seams with praise. The writing is superb, the prose is elegant, but also easy to parse. Alastor meeting Lucifer as a human (and then again, in Hell) is by far my favorite trope of this ship, and this author takes said trope and weaves it into a masterpiece. The way they write Lucifer’s character (grieved by wrongs and loss, ancient and capable and so, so loving) is such a joy. And Alastor, god. I personally find Alastor’s POV tricky to write. He is a very complex character with a very specific narration voice, whimsical and deadly and clever and emotional stunted and possessive of what's his — which in this case, is Lucifer. I will never be able to sing enough praises. It truly cemented my love for this wonderful, complex, violently loving ship.

2.) Between the Shadow & the Soul by winterveritas

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

This author will pop up several times because everything they touch is gold. I really love this take on the radioapple dynamic where Alastor is rather smitten from the start, because I feel like many fics drag him kicking and screaming into admitting he cares (mine included, no shade). But like, Winter is able to write him this way while still keeping him in-character imo, and I just... love it???

3.) Lucifer and his Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Relationship by @keelywolfe

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

You might actually be living under a rock if you haven't read this series. If that's the case, I IMPLORE YOU, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, read this series. It has one of the best Lucifer's narration voices I've ever read. Also, it has one of my favorite tropes: "slow burn but they're fucking the whole time." AND AND AND intersex!top!Lucifer, YES PLEASE???? This series also is one of my 'typical attention span for fics' exceptions because it just hit 200k, and I am still 100% invested. I could read about these two idiots forever.

4.) Wicked Game by TrashDemonX

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Not gonna lie, I went into this with the idea of just like, Smut Galore (and it is, bless), but it's actually become just a fascinating character study on Alastor. Impeccable writing, and there is currently one chapter left of part 3 AND I AM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH FOR IT???? This is a top!Alastor fic but Lucifer isn't like a pillow princess, my man is involved and so for me, it works well. I can't say enough about how WELL this author writes Alastor's voice. Again, not an easy feat imo.

5.) Radioapple Broadcast by blatantblue

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Alastor for Part 1, Lucifer for Part 2, Alastor for Part 3. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: This was a positive JOY. Incredible writing and storytelling. Dom/sub undertones which is a huge plus for me, especially when Alastor is the sub. I reread this series often (and I usually am not a huge reread-er unless its been a while), but this is just a comfort fic, I think.

6.) Cataclysmic Cathechism by @wyldefire-writings

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: MPreg.

Notes:

I am about to show my entire ass right now but this series. My LORD.

Not gonna lie, MPreg was actually a squick for me before I joined this fandom/ship, but after reading this fic specifically, I'm now like, Al, my deer, my main man, knock that KoH the fuck up. Honestly, this was such a ride, and both of the boys were written SO WELL. Also, this author has the funniest A/N's I've ever had the pleasure of reading.

7. Hunger Pains by @theaffablescamp

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

Excellent writing and some very intriguing plot happening right now. Has arguably the most intense wing preening session I have ever read that legit lives rent free in my head. Another "slow burn but they're fucking the whole time" fic which is just delightful.

8.) machinations by fiveandnocents

Series: Complete. Rated: T-M. POV: Switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

AHH I love this so much. Essentially, Alastor strikes up a relationship with Lucifer, as a means to manipulate him AND THE IDIOT FALLS IN LOVE UGHHH. It's chef's kiss. Spectacular characterization, this could be canon, and I'd be like yep, this happens in season 2, haha.

9.) By Name by @eunicorne

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: Gore, Consensual Murder? He regens, it's fine.

Notes:

So. I will continue to show my ass. As a note, I don't like violence/gore for violence's sake but when there are BDSM undertones and aftercare, I'm a fucking goner. This was one of my first dives into very dark aspects of radioapple, and I.. my brain chemistry has been altered by this series.

10.) imagine being loved by me by deliciously deviant

Series: In-Progress. Rated: E. POV: Switches. Notable Warnings: Gore, Consensual Cannibalism, I have never met a deader dove.

Notes:

Incredible writing and character voices BUT HOLY SHIT not for the weak or even average stomach. Again, I am soft for the whole, "I'm gonna cause you pain that you want/need to get out of your head" and I feel like I couldn't leave this rec out just bc of the content matter, but I am serious, read at your own risk.

AND THERE YOU HAVE IT. If you have any series recs of your own, feel free to share in the comments!

I also have my top 10 Multi-Chaptered (non-series) and top 10 oneshots recs list in my drafts rn, I'll be posting those in the next few days!

[zinfindoll]

Swan Song | M. Draconia — 00. hiraeth

[ prologue (you're here!) | index | next chapter ]

Rating: T CW: use of [Y/n], she/her pronouns for reader, swearing

The world, as you knew it, was ending.  You weren't sure how you got here, standing in the middle of a city that had been reduced to rubble.  Black smoke plumed upwards, and the sky was a dark red — not that you could see the sky, since it was covered with pure black clouds that seemed to drip ink onto the world below.  It was an acrid smell that nearly burned your nostrils, and you took a step forward, stepping over a large piece of metal that was once part of a car.

You couldn't see anybody else around.  It was just you.

In this world of ruin and chaos...  It was only you.  Where did everybody go?

Walking forward, you kept your eyes peeled for anybody else that may have survived whatever happened here, but...

Nothing.

The silence was unnerving, but you didn't have to worry about it for long — in the distance, you could hear a guttural roar, causing you to flinch backward as the ground rumbled underneath you.  It continued to tremble even after the noise had stopped, and you leaned against a crunched-up car to keep your balance.  Something moved in your peripherals, and you looked up to see a large creature rising from the rubble, inky black wings batting violently.  It had a domed head much like a diver's helmet, filled with ink, and another roar shook the decimated city.

It wasn't ink.

It was blot.  In your world.

How did it get here?

Swearing, you turned around and ran, but the creature was much quicker.  With claws resembling a hawk's talons, you were scooped up by the back of your shirt before the creature threw you up in the air.  Squinting your eyes closed, you waited for impact as you fell back down, falling, and falling, and falling...

Your back hit the floor, limbs flailing in confusion for a moment, tangled up in sheets in blankets.  Your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest, and suddenly the darkness that consumed your vision turned into a bright light, causing you to squint and try and cover your eyes.

Your dorm mate was by the light switch, looking down at you in disgruntled concern.  Her hair was matted and sticking out every which way — she had been woken up.

"Girl...  Again?"

You groaned, head falling back onto the carpeted floor with a muffled thump, not bothering to clamber back into bed just yet.

Your roommate, Yuna, just sighed after making sure there wasn't an intruder and flipped the light back off, shuffling back to her side of the dorm and grumbling the entire while.

 The digital clock on your dresser read just a bit past four in the morning.  Once more, you hit the back of your head on the floor in exasperation.

The dream repeated in your mind like a broken record.

══════════════════

"It's been six years since you've been back."  Your therapist, Melanie Dorsett, leaned back into the chair that she sat in, eyes boring into you.  Not at all concerned, you were lying on the couch, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling as your feet propped up on the armrest.  "And you are still having these nightmares of...  overblots.  Are you still taking your medication?"

"Yes," was your tired response.  "And it's been helping...  A bit.  The nightmares aren't as frequent."  A lie.  If anything, they were more frequent.

Melanie nodded, setting the clipboard she had been writing on to the side.  You glanced over at her, waiting for her to speak.  "What you went through..."  She hummed.  "It's not something that is easily forgotten."

You snorted.  "You don't even believe what happened to me actually happened."

"I'm not here to discuss that," she countered.  "It doesn't matter if it actually happened because it's real enough to you that it's affecting your day-to-day life.  This alternate world...  Wherever you were, you were gone for three years, [Y/n].  It's clear it's left trauma."

Of course it did.  You were suddenly snatched from your home and woke up in a coffin, only to realize you were in a literally different universe where everybody except you had magic — and you couldn't even enjoy said magic, because you were too busy playing pseudo-therapist and fighting giant monsters as everybody had mental breakdowns!  It was a good thing you couldn't overblot.

You didn't say that, though.  You'd just be regurgitating information that you have told your therapist plenty of times before.  Tired, you could only ask her: "Do you think that Twisted Wonderland exists?"

Melanie sighed, pursing her lips.  ". . ."  She was contemplating her words, but her hesitation spoke legions.  You knew her thoughts before she finally spoke them.  "I do not," she started.  You snorted again, averting your eyes to stare up at the ceiling.  Of course.  "I believe that whatever you went through, wherever you went...  Your mind had to make it up to cope with what was going on.  I don't believe you're just making this up for attention.

"With that said, I don't believe you're, as you so eloquently put earlier, 'fucking crazy' either."

A dry smile tugged your lips upward, amused at her quoting you.  "Appreciated."  That smile died down quickly, though.  It was nice somebody at least didn't believe you were going insane.  Even your parents looked at you as if you were a freak, despite them actually seeing you step out of a mirror into their living room.

So much for familial support, huh?

Melanie looked up at the analog clock that ticked away on the wall, and you followed her gaze.  "It seems that's all the time we have today.  Do me a favor...  Consider this as homework, if you will.  I want you to meditate before going to bed tonight.  Try to calm your mind, and see if that will help with the nightmares."

You didn't think it would, but you thanked her anyways and promised you'd at least give it a try.  Bidding her goodbye, you left the small office, nodding at the receptionist before exiting the building.

Outside, the sun shone brightly, but it only could combat the autumn chill of September so much.  Tugging your coat closer to yourself, you started walking down the sidewalk, putting your headphones on and trying not to dwell too much on the nightmare that had disturbed both you and your roommate earlier.  It was always the same nightmare, too, although it seemed to add on stuff every time it came to plague your sleep.  This time, it was the clouds dripping in blot — that was a new one.

The weird thing was, the nightmares had started recently.  It had been six years since you had wound up back in your world, devoid of magic.  Granted, you had nightmares from the start, but they had been few and far in between, not to mention anything like these.  These nightmares, the vivid ones, had started a few weeks ago, only getting more detailed as time went by.  Were your anxiety meds not working?  You weren't sure.

You didn't have classes today — besides therapy, it was a rare day off for you, and with nothing else to really do, you started heading back to your dorm.  

Beneath you, the ground rumbled lightly for a moment, and you stopped walking on the sidewalk.  Other students had stopped as well, but nobody seemed too alarmed.  Earthquakes had been weirdly common for the past month, only growing more and more frequent, but not anything that caused too much damage.

You heard car alarms go off, even as your music was playing through your headphones, and once the rumbling stopped, you were back on your way to your dorm. 

Nothing else had happened on your way back, and your roommate was out at her classes, leaving you by yourself as you let yourself in and turned on your television.  Unsurprisingly, the news was going over the recent series of earthquakes and other natural phenomena that had been plaguing the country.  Conspiracy theorists claimed the world would be ending soon; the smarter conclusion was that global warming was causing all of the natural occurrences.

Using the television as background noise, you went over to your bed and pulled out a shoebox from underneath it.  It was small with few belongings, stuff you had managed to bring back from Twisted Wonderland.  A couple of cards, some trinkets, a bat-shaped charm...  But most importantly, and what you were aiming for, was an old cell phone.

At first, you had been afraid that once it died, that was it — the charger for the phone obviously didn't exist in this world, but you had been lucky enough to figure out that wireless chargers did work.  The concept was the same, there just wasn't the specific type of cable for the Twisted Wonderland phone (which made sense but had still been annoying).

Unlocking the phone screen, you paid no heed to the "NO SERVICE" that flashed in the top corner.  Instead, you went to the photo album, scrolling through the photos you had taken with your friends.  Some of them were pretty blurry, selfies of you and your first-year friends progressing into all of you graduating.

You felt homesick.  Kind of funny, considering Twisted Wonderland hadn't been your homeworld, and up until you left, your only goal was to survive there and make it back here.

Ironic, how this world works.

If you continued to look through the photos, you'd get sad.  Exiting the album, you went over to the messaging app, shooting a quick message to Malleus.  It was undelivered, of course, like the hundreds of messages you sent him and everybody else in the past few years, but even just typing out the messages was cathartic.

The messages remained undelivered, the circle next to them all remaining empty.  Messages that would never reach the receiver.

There was no point in making yourself feel more down right now.  It's not like MagiCam would work, considering it wasn't compatible with the internet in your world, and so you locked the cellphone again and shoved it back in the shoebox.  You slid the shoebox underneath your bed before settling back into the covers.

A quick nap wouldn't hurt, especially considering you barely got any sleep prior.

With the television as background noise, you fell into a light slumber.

══════════════════

A scream was what aroused you from your sleep this time.

Eyes wide and heart nearly palpitating in your chest, you shot upright into a sitting position, knees drawn up to your chest protectively.

"Huwha—?!"

You could feel a bit of dried drool from the side of your mouth, but you paid no heed as you immediately looked over at your roommate.  It was her who screamed, face ashen and charcoal eyes widened behind her rounded glasses.  Nothing seemed out of place.  No intruder, nothing grotesque or broken or missing, but she looked terrified all the same.

Still tense, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed, momentarily looking out the window.  You had well slept past the hours of a 'nap', but perhaps that was your fault for not setting an alarm.

"Yuna.  Breathe.  What happened?"

Yuna looked over at you as if you had grown an extra head for a moment.  She blinked a couple of times before seeming to snap out of her trance.  "I..."  She swallowed thickly, glancing over at the floor-length mirror she had set up.  It was a cheap five-dollar one, and it seemed completely normal, but the way she was glancing at it made it seem like it was possessed.

Well...  Wait...

Your eyes were still slightly bleary from just waking up.  Rubbing them, you squinted, noticing something black and smudged at the top of the mirror, and you stood up to try and take a closer look.

"What the..."

Your heart stopped for a moment, before picking up even faster as you realized what was at the top of the mirror, dripping down slowly as if the frame itself was leaking.  It was a thick, black substance.

One you were more than familiar with by now.

Yuna noticed your apprehension and slowly tried to explain herself.  "I just got back...  When I turned on the light, I swear I saw something in the mirror, and it was dripping — dripping whatever this is."

Something in the mirror...?

"Is it blood?"  She asked, leaning closer, and you instinctively put a hand on her shoulder and brought her back gently.

"No...  It's..."  Damn.  How did you even explain this?  You'd have to fill her in a lot, and even then, you doubted she'd believe you.  More importantly, though...

It had been six years since you had last been in Twisted Wonderland.  Everything had more or less fallen back to normal, and there had never seemed to be any clue on it existing or how to get back save for what little belongings you had.

Which begged the question...

Why was this happening?  Just what was going on in Twisted Wonderland to have it leak into your world?

Whatever it was, you doubted it was anything good.

[highgaarden]

Lizzie/Landon - "I think I'm the first girl to break a bed with a guy, without even having sex with him while doing so." (pls let them break a bunch of other stuff while actually having sex)

two-shot! read and comment on ao3, please!

where you cast those stones you wear;

rating: explicit chapters: 1/2 characters: lizzie/landon; background klaus/caroline, background hope/landon, background josie/penelope; the whole SS gang.

where you cast those stones you wear

part i

----

“There you are.”

Lizzie’s smile is the fakest ass fake smile he’s ever seen, and he’s seen a lot of them.

It’s how she smiles when Wade asks her for donations to his Anime club. Or when Dr Saltzman caught all of them at the Old Mill trying to make moonshine (Kaleb’s idea). Her smiles are especially at their fakest when she wants to pull Hope away from him for some magical assistance to whatever trouble she’s managed to get herself—

—and Josie, and Alaric, Raf, MG, (himself, though she’ll never count him) and probably half the school along as well—

—that week. “Just the person I wanted to randomly bump into in study hall.”

“Really,” he deadpans, not believing her one bit.

He shifts his book just a little closer to his chest. He’s not nervous, but her energy is full of it sometimes, and sometimes it’s just energy personified that bounces off the calm he tries to fill his study hall with.

You know, where they’re supposed to study – in silence, preferably – but with Lizzie, there’s never much of silence.

It’s with a bit of a niggling discomfort that Landon realises he’s learned her tells: Lizzie can talk up a storm, always, but it’s in tense moments that she can’t seem to shut up. Not that he’d ever tell her to shut up; he doesn’t know why he always just wants to be nice to her, despite her printing out posters of VOTE ARTISANAL JAR OF MAYONNAISE FOR HOMECOMING KING last semester and sticking them all over school.

 —

 “Well?” Lizzie prompts, clicking her tongue.

Landon’s just sitting there, and for all his humble bragging about being at the top of their classes he’s just… sitting there, with a look that tells her he’s not quite registering what she’s just said to him.

“I’m—I’m sorry?” he finally says.

Lizzie sighs loudly enough for the entire study hall to send glares their way. Landon attempts to tamp down on their aggression, but all Lizzie does is just sigh louder.

Sorry, Landon mouths apologetically again, raising his hand at Wade, who looks close to crying over exam revision.

“Landon,” Lizzie says with finality.

“Lizzie,” Landon matches her tone. “I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to repeat yourself.”

Murder is the only word that comes to mind with the glare she sends his way. But she decides to humour him.

“Wow, that’s so weird. I feel like I’m just mishearing you. Again, please—hey, I said please.”

Lizzie’s mouth moves around the words she’s telling him.

Landon continues to stare at her blankly. “Sorry, there’s just this weird ringing in my ears. It sounds like you just asked me to be your boyfriend?”

 —

 Elizabeth Jenna Saltzman.

Asking him, resident emo-boy, a marginally competent bird as she always ‘fondly’ calls him, to be her esteemed partner.

“Am I hearing this right?”

Lizzie hisses right through her teeth, “Do not insult me, you moderately competent bird.”

See?

He lifts his book as if to deflect the blow of her mighty glare. “Look, I’m not! I’m just – are you feeling alright? Been getting enough sleep?”

“Two weeks have passed since my mom’s come back, and I have thoroughly exhausted every single mother-daughter bonding activity ever, and she’s moved on from Oh Lizzie, my favourite daughter, I’ve missed you so much snuggling to Who is this Sebastian your father keeps mentioning lectures.” Lizzie adds flippantly: “I’m not vibing with it.”

“Sebastian?”

“Super sexy perma-teen vampire but a complete misjudgement of character on my end.”

“And this isn’t?” Landon mumbles.

“I need to get my mother off my back, keep up.” Lizzie inches forward in her seat. The ends of her hair graze the table with how much she’s leaning towards him, making him look her in her wide, blue eyes. Always with the theatrics. “You’re just about at the exact opposite end of the Sebastian spectrum. Mopey, dependable, not obviously good looking, but your other qualities probably can make up for that. And you’re the kind of guy would probably wake up super early to get me a coffee and croissant before school, because that’s just how cheesy you are.”

“Thanks?”

“Don’t interrupt me. Anyway, it’s not just for my benefit either.”

“Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

Lizzie’s smile widens just a touch. “Heard your little crush on Hope just went up in flames.”

So is his face now, all puffed out and embarrassed. He lowers his voice and hisses, “How do you know about that?”

“Oh Landon. My sweet thrift store hobbit,” Lizzie sighs. “Everyone knows about it. You wear it like a badge of constant glumness. You didn’t speak to Jed for a whole week after he bought her a sandwich last week.”

“I could’ve bought her a sandwich too, big deal,” Landon mutters.

Lizzie raises a sharp finger and looks smug. “Ah, but you didn’t! See, my boy, you’ve got no game. Now imagine how much cooler your image would be if you were seen with resident popular girl,” she gestures to herself. “Your reputation would shoot up the ranks.”

“There are ranks?”

“Duh,” Lizzie says like it’s the most obvious thing. “And you, being a phoenix without actually possessing any unique phoenix qualities other than resurrecting – ”

“That’s not unique enough?”

“—looking like a pale artichoke in gym class doesn’t help, either. I am your salvation!” Lizzie finishes, hands on her hips and jaw raised like she’s standing centre-stage at their annual talent competition.

Landon narrows his eyes. “You think people will like me more if it looks like I’m dating you?”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Move a little.” She takes a seat next to him gracefully, tucking her skirt under her thighs. “Listen. I need my mom to stop breathing down my neck. She’s been looking at me like she wants to give me the birds and the bees talk, with visual aid, flash cards and mini-theatre and I’d rather not go through that again. Once was more than enough. Pretty sure Dad wants her to exact power over my social life, since he doesn’t really have any say in that, and I’m looking at two semesters of constant surveillance. Or a twelve-step programme. And Professor M isn’t helping either—”

Landon shuts his book. “How does Professor M know about your love life?”

“Everyone knows about my love life, Landon. I’m interesting.” She rests an unwilling hand on his shoulder with a grimace. “And soon you will be too.”

“Because I’ll be dating you.”

“Fake dating,” Lizzie corrects primly.

“And you think Hope will like me, even though I’ll be unavailable?”

“There’s something to be said about wanting the unattainable, Landon. And trust me, you will be unattainable once you’re standing by my side.”

“Yeah, because everyone will think I’m nuts.”

“I resent that. Say yes.”

“Lizzie, I—” a panicked, helpless sort of look crosses Landon’s face. “This is really dishonest; I don’t think we should be…”

“Let me do the thinking for both of us, alright Little Bird?” Lizzie snips. “Getting back in my parents’ good books, the teachers off my backs for any sort of inevitable breakdown, and you… get to be Professor M’s potential son-in-law one day.”

“This is extremely coercive, you know,” Landon points out, but the protest is feeble at best. “And making me really uncomfortable. Nobody will buy it.”

“We’ll just have to put on a really good show,” she swears. “Say yes.”

 —

 Two things happen the next two days:

Landon attempts to say hi to Hope, who looks right through him to greet MG a good morning.

During lunch break, by some kind of miracle, he joins Hope and Lizzie for lunch just in time to hear Hope say, “You were right about the bio homework, by the way. Your ideas aren’t that bad, Saltzman.”

Lizzie cocks an eyebrow at Landon. “Welcome, Kirby.”

“Oh, hey Landon,” Hope greets warmly.

Landon takes all of thirty seconds to make up his mind.

Lizzie’s phone vibrates in her bag. When she checks it, it’s from Landon.

Just one word.

Yes.

 —

 Every Friday evening, the rag tag group of upper-secondary students meet for some dumb study group Emma had made them all participate in, in an effort to like, ‘bond’ as ‘one’ ‘community’ or something.

It’s astonishing that all of them consistently make it every single week, but no one will admit it’s because they appreciate each other’s company. They’d chalked it up to Stockholm Syndrome.

Rafael comes when he feels like it, but he’s usually stuck in detention helping Dorian jar newton eyes or something, but even he tries to be on his best behaviour so he doesn’t miss much of these.

It’s during one of these study groups that MG, having been not-so-discreetly been spying on Lizzie and Landon whilst they all parroted off chemical equations to each other, demands: “Why are you touching him?”

He’s probably been watching them really closely since the Bomb had Dropped.

Lizzie makes sure to have Josie walk into them in the courtyard one day with her hand placed very carefully on Landon’s thigh, and shocks her twin so much she goes running through the hallways until she bumps into Penelope, and blurts out the scene she just witnessed, swearing her to secrecy.

Penelope, of course, tells everyone else.

Lizzie pretends to fidget with the hem of her shirt. “Excuse you?”

MG narrows his eyes. “You just… keep putting your hand on Landon’s arm. Willingly. Why.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Penelope smirks, whilst Josie turns red and avoids Lizzie’s glare, “they’re the Salvatore School’s It Couple right now.”

“Fake news,” Jed coughs into his notes, and Kaleb guffaws.

Hope doesn’t do anything but watch the entire exchange with curious eyes.

“Look, Penelope, you don’t have to believe it,” Landon begins, but he’s making mopey eyes at Hope, so Lizzie decides to cut in.

“As devastated as I am to admit it, Frodo’s been growing on me,” Lizzie sighs, the vision of a woman distraught. “Who knew I was into nerd porn?”

MG’s ears might as well be whistling, and Jed’s cough sounds like a choke now.

“Girl, say what,” Kaleb says in one disbelieving breath. “Tell me you’re not serious. You okay? Been getting enough sleep? Is this a breakdown thing, ‘cause Emma said we have to like, show solidarity and help you visualise your inner child and shit—”

Lizzie smarts at that, just a little. Her lips part to shoot some of her automatic sass bullets, but surprisingly nothings comes out. Landon secretly puts his hand on her knee in a secret show of solidarity.

“Kaleb,” Josie says sharply. “People can change.”

Lizzie eyes Landon curiously. He shoots her a small smile, which she looks away from.

“Exactly,” Penelope nods, but she’s smirking in a way that says she doesn’t buy a single thing, and is enjoying every second of watching Landon squirm under everyone’s scrutiny. “Who’d you lose the bet to, Lizzie?”

Lizzie, despite herself, starts to feel annoyed. “I’ll have you know, Penelope, Landon isn’t the short end of an already short bunch of sticks—”

Landon tries to figure out the compliment there.

“Then – then prove it!” MG blurts out. “Kiss. If you’re really a couple, then – Kiss!”

That stops Lizzie short. “Milton. Ew.”

“Really gross, MG.” Hope shoots him a look of distaste.

“Voyeur much?” Penelope smirks.

“Nah, I’m with MG,” defends Kaleb. “This is really entertaining and all, but it’s kinda starting to weird me out. Suck his face. No way you’d do that willingly.”

“You’re all wrong,” Lizzie tells them politely. Or as politely as she can. Things are a-movin’ and she’s excited; she can already feel her legs tingling when she accidentally siphons some of Landon’s magic from his hand on her knee under the table. She swallows down the smugness in her voice, because this is exactly where she’d hoped the day would go. She turns to Landon, and wills him not to look so pale.

“Pucker up, ‘90s,” she coos.

Keeping her face as forced-smiley as possible she leans forward and gives Landon a peck on his lips. A small little one. A peck really, bird to bird.

Landon, to her discreet pleasure, kisses her back.

When they part their chaste, publicly-acceptable form of display, everyone is looking at them, shell-shocked.

Penelope steals Jed’s can of Coke just so she could do a spit-take.

 —

 “That plan worked out awesome. Score one to Saltzman,” Lizzie sighs victoriously as she plops down onto her bed. “Now on to Phase 2.”

“I really don’t want to know what Phase 2 is,” Landon mumbles. He’s got his arm slung over his eyes as he slumps three inches down into Lizzie’s plushy pink armchair.

“Phase 2 is Mom walking into us. She’s about to start baking downstairs. I know. It’s Tuesday. Ready?”

Slowly, Landon removes his arms. He stares at her. For like, a really long time. “What do you mean,” he widens his eyes, “by walking into us.”

Lizzie smiles deviously. Without warning, she lets out a very soft moan.

“Lizzie,” Landon hisses harshly.

“Yes, exactly, keep doing that,” Lizzie responds in a breathless voice, whilst she grins manically at him and flaps her hands, motioning for him to go louder.

“Lizzie,” Landon groans now, completely exasperated. “It’s barely been two days, I really doubt we’ll be having sex right now—”

“Yeah, keep talking dirty to me!” Lizzie all but bellows and jumps up on the bed, the mattress squeaking. She glares at Landon, who sighs, and very reluctantly joins her.

They jump up and down, and every so often Lizzie punches Landon in the arm so he lets out a believable grunt.

The mattress springs keep squeaking. Lizzie keeps up her panting.

After four more minutes of that, Landon’s a little out of breath, puts some spring in his jump, and lands in a pile of Lizzie’s haphazard pillows.

“Give it up, Lizzie,” he says, resuming his previous moping position of arm-over-eyes. “I think I pulled a muscle.”

“Sexy,” Lizzie says the way one might say ‘rancid foot’, but drops down next to him anyway. She stares at the ceiling, and they let out a long sigh.

After about another four minutes of moping, Lizzie turns to her side and swats Landon’s arm off his face. “Enough! Tomorrow night is another day.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” he points out, before propping himself up on one elbow to face her. “About that kiss just now—”

“They totally bought it,” Lizzie can’t resist interrupting.

“You sure you okay with this?” he mumbles in that Landon way of his. He studies her face. She notes the dark circles framing his obsidian-blues.

“Getting cold feet already, Kirby?”

“No, it’s just that—”

Her door swings open. “Elizabeth, do you remember where your mum put the…”

Lizzie and Landon whip around to see a very livid Professor M, staring at them, at the space between them, at the sweat beading on Landon’s forehead, at Lizzie’s once-sleek French braid that has now shaken loose, at the two of them again, at the space between them, and once more at Landon.

“Professor Mika-Mikaels—” Landon squawks, turning white as a sheet.

The growl that emanates from Professor M seems to make the room tremble, and Landon all but stutters to a stop. Lizzie, however, is coming up sunflowers. She practically bounces to her knees and throws her hands up, eyes crinkling warmly, exclaiming, “What did you need of me, my beloved stepfather!”

“Well, darling, I was looking for your mother’s ridiculously expensive sea salt but now I’m looking for something else entirely,” he grits out through clenched teeth, despite being slightly mollified by Lizzie’s welcome.

“And that is?” Lizzie all but croons, making a very conscious move towards Landon. “We’re kind of in the middle of studying right now.”

“Banishing objects, hm? Your books are missing.”

“Invisique,” Lizzie sings in reply. Landon just wants her to shut the fuck up, right now.

Landon’s head disappears, which is a good thing, because he looks like he’s holding in from puking his guts out, the way Klaus observes him like he’s a piece of meat.

“You’re the phoenix, yes?”

“Yes,” Landon says squeamishly.

“Alright,” Professor M seems to deliberate, before flashing over to Landon, grabbing him and throwing him out the room and right down the stairs.

“Niklaus Mikaelson!” comes her mom’s furious bellow.

“For FUCK’S SAKE, KLAUS!” She hears Dad yell. “WE JUST TALKED ABOUT THIS.”

Screams erupt, there’s a clattering of feet, and Lizzie falls out of bed in a perfect traumatised swoon, back of her hand rested delicately on her forehead. “Stepfather! Can we not with the dramatics!”

“We’re going to have a talk about this later,” he warns with a finger wagging her way, his undisguised rage making his accent thicker.

“I’ll miss you when you’re suspended again,” Lizzie pouts.

He groans, already hearing Mom’s boots stomping up the stairs. “As shall I, my sweet.”

 —

 At least Landon’s gotten used to resurrecting. Cause of death: the ire of Professor Klaus Mikaelson.

Lizzie’s waiting for him with a warm blanket when he starts to stir, her head facing the sky like she’s enjoying the sunset. Blinking groggily, he turns onto his stomach and rubs the back of his neck. He feels the weather-worn wood of the docks pressing into his face and he groans. That’s going to leave a mark.

“Welcome back,” Lizzie quips.

“Just because I can’t die doesn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate some sympathy, Lizzie,” Landon mutters, throwing her a murderous look. “So what’s your damage.”

“Let’s see,” Lizzie says as she drapes the blanket over Landon’s crumpled heap of a body, face and all. “Two weeks of grounding. Mom suggested making it three weeks, but Dad intervened and said he’d rather us be on library duty instead for the rest of this semester.”

“Us?”

“Professor M also suggested throwing you out the window and have me try to levitate you before you hit the ground—”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“—but Mom was all Oh, maybe that’s a little too harsh,” Lizzie continues thoughtfully.

“A little?” Landon squeaks underneath the blue and white embroidered quilt. “Literally dying wasn’t enough?”

“But on the plus side, they were yelling so hard the entire school now knows we were caught post-doing the dirty.” Lizzie shoots him a grin. “On to Phase 3!”

“No!” Landon yells and clambers to his feet. “Lizzie, so far all your plans have kind of sucked for me, you know? How the hell is Hope supposed to like me now that she thinks I’ve slept with you!”

“Easy, lover boy,” Lizzie says, frowning. “This is the 21st century, she’s not a prude.”

“You don’t — you don’t know her like I do,” Landon says, burying his face in his hands and turning towards the water. “She’s not like y…”

He whirls around, hands already halfway lifting up like a gesture of apology but Lizzie’s already standing up, facing him squarely. Her eyes are narrowed as she takes him in coolly. “Not like?”

“Nevermind,” Landon says quickly. “Let’s grab some dinner, I’m starv—”

“Finish your fucking sentence, Frodo,” Lizzie says in a voice that is low and dangerous. Is it weird that he’s seeing some Klaus in the shadows of her face right now?

“Lizzie… let’s drop it.”

“No. Let’s hear you say it. Not like what? You were saying she’s not like me,” she hisses. Her fists are bunched into tight fists and he’s so glad she doesn’t have anything to syphon right now. He really hasn’t tried dying twice in the span of 12 hours.

“Look, I’m sorr—”

“Invisique,” she whispers.

“Lizzie!”

He hears the wooden boards squeak as she runs away, and when her feet hit grass there’s no telling where she might be.

“Fuck you, Landon!” he yells and heaves a rock into the water with a loud splash.

 —

tbc

[desiringparadise]

Hi, I know this gonna sound weird but I'm here thanks to A03, I read "It's A Terrible Love And I'm Walking With Spiders" again (idk why), Let me tell you something: It's fantastic. But I realized that you haven't update for four or five years, well I'm not gonna ask you to do it, that's in you, but I'd like to ask something, could you tell me what was the plan with tha fic, and how will it end, just a summary because I'm dying in my curiosity, well only few words left, so thanks and be careful

Omgggg thank you!!! It isn’t weird at all, I sometimes re-read old unfinished fics too because they stuck with me for some odd reason. I was at a bad mental space when I wrote this story and I feel like my issues manifested in the atmosphere of the story. Maybe readers can relate to some of it?

As to how the story was supposed to end. I didn’t remember and I actually had to look through my old notebook lol. I actually found the unfinished fifth chapter in my folders, so I’ll post it here.

Keep in mind that I wrote this in November 2016 and I never finished editing it. I didn’t post it because I was unsatisfied with the result. I’d rate it T/M.

Chapter 5

Miserable, Stiles focused on the silhouette of naked feet, his eyes never straying any higher. Luckily, the shower glass was milky, so even if he couldn’t have resisted satisfying his own curiosity, he wouldn’t actually have seen much.

After the Sheriff had left, Theo had asked to take a shower. Stiles had let him under the condition that the door would remain open and Theo under Stiles’ scrutiny. Under no circumstances would he have let the other boy roam around in his house without checking what he was up to. There were meds in the cupboard, something he wouldn’t risk leaving him alone with.

Unsurprisingly, Theo hadn’t objected. “Be my guest,” he’d said instead, an extra smarmy grin on his face.

That’s why Stiles was sitting against the wall, knees drawn to his chest while trying not to fall asleep. The sound of water spraying had become lulling white noise, making it hard to keep his eyes open. Maybe he should take some Adderall to shake off the drowsiness. It wasn’t like he would get any sleep tonight anyway. Not while knowing that Theo Raeken was under the same roof as him.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the spray of water stopped, the shower door opened, and Theo stepped out without an ounce of hesitation. You’d think he’d at least pretend to be a little embarrassed about showing his naked body.

Not that Theo should be ashamed, Stiles realized. He had known before that the other boy was built, but the naked view of him - well, he couldn’t lie, it was a sight to behold. Perfect, unreal. The shoulders, the arms, the chest – everything about him was broad without being too bulky. His flawless skin only added to the look of a retouched Men’s Health cover shoot. Stiles felt entranced to follow his abs, down to the wonderfully defined V of his hips, before stopping himself. Yeah, he had just seen Theo’s dick, it had been kinda inevitable, but there was no reason to scrutinize it any further. None.

Quickly, he moved his gaze up to look at Theo’s face instead, the usual smirk somehow looking even more smarmy than usual.

“Like what you see?”

The question was so cliché, just like this whole goddamn scenario, that Stiles felt the desperate need to break the spell.

“I prefer chest hair.”

For the first time since Theo had arrived in Beacon Hills, he was dumbfounded. It left Stiles feeling satisfied, before his face froze, his heartbeat quickening. Did he just seriously tell Theo that he was interested in men? He resisted the urge to smack his palm against his face.

Theo did the unexpected and actually came up with an answer.

“I could let it grow, if you wanted me to.”

Stiles squinted. “What the hell would you do that for?”

Theo shrugged his broad shoulder, still unperturbed by his own nudity. “Just trying to win you over, that’s all.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, finally rising up and to look at Theo’s face and ignore everything that was going on below. “Well, your lack of chest hair wasn’t the deciding factor that kept me on the other side. Why don’t you put on a towel?”

“Don’t have one,” Theo answered with an innocent smile.

Stiles sighed and motioned for the other boy to follow as he walked to his room. When he opened the door, he felt uncomfortable letting a naked Theo into his personal space. Hurriedly, he drew the curtains and searched for a large towel in the cupboard. When he found one, he threw it over to Theo without sparing him another look.

“Can you borrow me some clothes?”

Stiles was inclined to say no, let Theo sleep in his uncomfortable jeans instead. There was something strange about giving Theo his clothes to wear. But he wasn’t sure when his father would return from the station. When the man arrived, he would go through the living room and see Theo who’d be sleeping on the coach.

He sighed and searched his closet for something that’d fit. Theo wasn’t taller, but much broader than him. (Un)fortunately, Stiles usually wore clothes that were a few sizes too big anyway. He found some sweats. He was painfully reminded that Theo wouldn’t be wearing underwear underneath. No way he’d be wearing those pants before washing them at least five times.

“Long or short sleeves?”

“Don’t need a shirt.”

Stiles frowned, pulling his too long sleeves even further down. “It’s freezing.”

Theo grinned. “I’m running hot. Want to see it for yourself?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and walked past him. “Whatever, I’ll be fixing you the coach.”

Theo followed him in an easy stride. He didn’t even seem a little uncomfortable to casually stroll through a stranger’s home without a shirt on. Completely relaxed, he sunk into the coach and watched Stiles as he spread clean sheets over the sofa.

“Do your parents know you’re staying over?” Stiles couldn’t even remember the Raekens’ faces anymore.

“Sent them a text.”

Stiles nodded, too tired to investigate any further.

.

Except he was unable to fall asleep. For about roughly an hour he had been tossing and turning, his anxiety back at it again although he had forewent his Adderall. Then, for a couple of minutes, he stayed still, not moving a muscle while waiting to hear any sounds come from downstairs.

But there was only silence.

About half an hour ago, his eyes started tearing up from exhaustion. It was annoying. He wasn’t really crying, but the stream of tears didn’t stop. Now his eyes were swollen and aching.

He was unable to come to rest. He took a deep breath. Maybe if he’d open the door and take a proper listen, he’d finally relax. Feeling ridiculous, left the warmth of his bed and softly padded towards his door. But he was only met with frustratingly familiar silence.

He sighed and returned to bed when- Wait, was that a sound? He froze and listened, eyes wide open as if waiting for an assault. Looking down, he noticed that he had stepped on a creaking floor board. The noise could have come from him. But what if it hadn’t?

He shook his head. He was being paranoid, utterly ridiculous… Yet, what if there had been something? He took a deep breath and held it, wanting his heart beat to slow. Okay, he’d go outside again, just this once, and take a look around house, and most importantly, check whether Theo was doing something sketchy.

He left his room, slowly descending the stairs. From here, Theo’s form was still, he seemed to be sleeping. Just to be sure, he told himself as he gradually closed the distance between them. He stopped just before the sofa and leaned down to inspect his face. His eyes were closed and his breathing was calm. Everything about him indicated to be asleep.

But the ugly voice of his paranoia ordered him to look more closely, check whether Theo wasn’t faking it.

Suddenly Theo’s eyes were wide open, an unnatural light shining in them. Stiles startled. He stumbled backwards, his feet hit agianst the coffee table, and he fell on his ass.

“Stiles?” Theo blinked, the strange light in his eyes gone. Had he imagined it? He must have, there was no other explanation for it. He was going crazy. “Why are you up? Did something happen?” His voice was groggy from asleep, but otherwise he seemed alert.

Stiles felt ridiculous. His thought process hadn’t made any sense to begin with, spoken out loud, they’d sound like he’d lost his mind. This paranoia, it wasn’t normal. He liked to tell himself that it was the Adderall, the ADHD, but when he was honest with himself, he knew it was him. He was fucking crazy. No wonder he didn’t have any friends, no wonder Erica had ditched him the first chance she got. He wouldn’t be his own friend either. There was nothing to gain from this cynical, insecure, anxious mess that he was.

His uneven breath catch in his throat, the last drop for his straying nerves. His mind collapsed in itself and he pathetically started to cry.

If Theo hadn’t been awake then, he probably was now. He stumbled out of the sheets and approached Stiles, putting both hands on his shoulders. His eyes were wide with concern. “Hey- hey, Stiles, come on. What happened? Did you hurt yourself?”

Stiles shook his head, his chest heaving with sobs. He was such a goddamn mess. The more he wanted to force himself to calm down, the more he worked himself up. The rational part of his mind told him that this wouldn’t pass until he calmed down. But he was too upset and Theo’s presence made everything worse. He wanted to crawl into a hole and wait till the panic was over.

But he knew that wasn’t possible. “I can’t sleep,” he managed to ground out between the ugly sniffing and sobbing.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Stiles snorted, as if Theo’s suggestion had been completely ridiculous. Actually, it wasn’t that far off the truth though. He had nightmares, more often so recently. To some of them he woke up silently, heavily breathing, the panic constrained in his chest, but without a sound. Sometimes he screamed. But only his father knew that.

“No. I just – I can’t sleep with you here, not knowing what you’re doing.”

He expected Theo to be confused, demand an explanation, maybe even laugh. Instead he said, “I could go.”

“What?” He shook his head. “No.” How would he explain that to his father? He wouldn’t be able to stand another discussion with him about seeing a professional about his problems. Yes, he had problems, he knew that – but none some shrink could help him with. The only thing he had going for him was that he wasn’t labeled crazy by the public yet. “You’re staying,” he said with finality.

For a while, there was silence. Theo must be put off by Stiles acting like a freaking lunatic. Any normal person would’ve left by now. Hell, he would’ve ran out the house if the roles were reversed. Instead Theo asked, “Do you have any handcuffs?”

For a few seconds, Stiles didn’t say a word. But when he had finally gathered himself- “What the fuck?”

“Real ones,” the other boy recuperated nonchalantly.

“Why in the hell would you-“

“Because, obviously, I’m kinky, if you haven’t guessed it by now,” Theo answered rolling his eyes. Stiles wasn’t sure whether that had been a joke. “”You wanna sleep or what? Go get me some handcuffs.”

Normally, he wouldn’t have obeyed simply on principle, but he was curious where this would go. And as he rummaged through the drawer, where he knew his father kept a spare pair of handcuffs, he realized that the suffocating panic in his chest was gone.

“Now I’ll go outside and you hide the keys somewhere,” Theo ordered. Stiles wanted to question him, but before he could, Theo had already left the house, still shirtless in the cold night. Not knowing what else to do, Stiles went up to his room and hid the little key in his pill bottle.

When he opened the door for Theo to enter, he didn’t seem affected by the freezing weather. There weren’t even any goosebumps on his skin.

“All done?” Theo asked, the blue-green eyes open and honest. Stiles nodded.

Unceremoniously, Theo cuffed his own wrists together.

Stiles stared. “Okay… What is this about?”

The boy shook his wrist, the metal of the cuffs making clinking sounds. “See? I won’t be able to do much without you hearing. No need to worry about what I’m doing. So are we taking the bed or the couch?”

Stiles should be horrified, but frankly, the plan made sense. It could actually work. And really? It was some crazy shit that he would’ve come up with. The sort of solution that people would raise their brows at but that would actually work. “How do I know you won’t do anything to me while I sleep?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Stiles, no offense, but if I wanted to harm you, I wouldn’t have to wait until you’re asleep. You’re not exactly what I’d call a physical challenge.”

Fair enough...

“There is no way we’d fit on the couch.”

.

Stiles had ordered Theo to lay on the side of the bed that faced the wall so that there would be no chance of leaving the bed without alerting Stiles. Theo was happy to lie on his side and watch the other boy’s peaceful face. For once, his breathing was even, but he was still twitching and moving in his sleep, restless, even in his most relaxed moments.

When they had first lain down, Theo had feigned sleep. He knew that Stiles wouldn’t have been able to calm down if Theo had openly watched him. Now though, he stare at him to his heart’s content. He’d watched Stiles without his knowledge before. There were some perfect angles from the outside from which you could see Stiles rummaging in the kitchen. Sometimes he forgot to draw the curtains and Theo could catch glimpses of his sleeping form.

But in never had been like this. Stiles, only an arm’s length away, the ever-present scent of anxiousness enveloping him.

He mumbled something in his sleep, tossed and turned and eventually scooted closer to Theo. It probably was due to Stiles’ weird sleeping positions and the unconscious urge to scoot towards warmth, but nonetheless, Thep was elated when the boy’s head almost touched his chest. He could feel his breath on his naked skin.

Theo wondered whether he could get away with stroking his hair, just running his fingers through the dark hair for once, but he refrained. He still was desperately trying to get Stiles to trust him.

At first glance, Stiles seemed like easy prey. He was isolated and defenseless. He should’ve soaked up all of Theo’s affections and begged for more. But Theo had underestimated him vastly. Stiles wasn’t playing hard to get, he simply was too smart to fall for something as simple as charm.

It only made Theo want him even more. Stiles would be the perfect person to stand by his side. Clever, loyal, and absolutely ruthless.

But he had to get Stiles to trust him first. The boy couldn’t see it yet, but once all circumstances molded to Theo’s wishes, Stiles would find himself in a much happier place. Theo just had to give him a nudge into the right direction and make him realize how much of a glorious team they could be under Theo’s rule.

His father was the only important person in Stile’s life. Eventually, Theo would insert himself as a part of his life. Stiles was his centre already, now he had to make himself Stiles’ centre.

.

This is were this document ended. I think I planned to end this chapter at this point. I hadn’t planned the future chapters in every detail, but here’s how I planned for the story to roughly go:

Stiles and Theo were supposed to get closer, Theo eventually gaining Stiles’ trust and helping him over his issues with anxiety. They’d slowly become friends, but their relationship would always have a sexual undertone because it’d always been clear that Theo wanted to be more than friends. The sexual tension would escalate and they’d hook up and become an official item.

They would share a toxic dynamic. While Theo is devoted to Stiles, he’s also extremely controlling and possessive. He would watch Stiles, trying to keep constant tabs on what he was doing, going through his phone, getting pissed when Stiles was acting friendly with anyone. They would have big fights over this in which Theo would tell Stiles that he cares too much for him to just let him be.

While Stiles would know that this is an extremely unhealthy relationship that can’t end well, some part of him (the part that had been ignored by the people around him for all his life and was starving for a semblance of affection) loved that he was this important to Theo. And while his relationship was anything but normal, he liked that he got to experience something as normal as having a boyfriend, something he’d never envisioned before.

So they’d have fights, Theo would apologize with some grand gesture, and Stiles wouldn’t be able to stay mad (because some part of him wasn’t actually mad at all). This pattern would repeat itself.

Meanwhile, Scott and his friends would try to make Stiles see reason. By now, they would’ve noticed Theo’s and Stiles’ dynamic because of how explosive Theo can get in public once his jealousy is triggered. Stiles, however, can’t stand Scott and his friends to begin with. He thinks that nobody but his father and Theo, in his own twisted way, cares about him and that they’re only trying to provoke Theo through Stiles.

I don’t think the whole Dread-Doctors thing had been all the way revealed when I was plotting this, so they wouldn’t have been included in this story. But eventually, some danger would befall Beacon Hills again. Amidst everything, everyone’s supernatural identity would be revealed to Stiles. He’d feel vindicated to have his suspicions finally confirmed. He and Theo would work together on overcoming whatever enemy they’d be facing off against. 

At some point during all of this, Theo’s behaviour would escalate and would cause something disastrous to happen. Someone would be killed. Stiles can finally no longer ignore Theo’s issues as he fights his desire to stay with Theo against his morals. He’d tell Theo that they needed a break.

Theo would beg him not to break it off, promise to change, and confess his love. Though Stiles would know that Theo wouldn’t really change because of the numerous times he’s promised before, he’d be too moved by Theo’s confession to resist. Eventually, he’d decide be selfish and put his own wants before the needs of others. He’d decide that he’d rather have his toxic, obsessive, passionate relationship with Theo, than to return to the bleak void that he was in before Theo entered his life.

Eventually, they’d graduate and move away to live in some big city like L.A. or NYC. 

The End.

[chrysalispen]

kissing prompt: ‘a kiss meant to seduce’

not answering these in any particular order but tbh i’m trying to get these nero/WoL wips out the door so have another prompt response. more or less a lead-in to this fic i wrote which i don’t hate quite enough to take down.

not explicit, but probably a T/M rating on AO3 for mention of dirty talk etc.

=============================================================

All told, no one had seemed to be in an agreeable mood on the way down to the Find from the Crystal Tower courtyard, or after they'd arrived. Cid's expression had been positively thunderous, blue eyes dark with his agitation, and the overall feeling from the other Ironworks engineers on site ran the gamut between confusion and suspicious resignation.

Well. Almost no one. Their sudden interloper seemed quite cheerful about the entire circumstance, as though all of this were going exactly the way he had wanted and they were all just cogs in some machine he'd set in motion.

That idea was absurd, of course; Nero tol Scaeva couldn't have had much more of an inkling of what was behind those doors than anyone else here, surely. But the calm, self-assured way he moved told her he did know something, and more to the point, that he had some plan in mind for it once they’d bypassed all the security for him.

That alone was more than enough to make her wary.

She glanced from side to side, looking for Cid, but he appeared to have quit the Find in a fit of pique (not that she particularly blamed him). The other engineers were just as busy, and G'raha was animatedly chattering to Unei and Doga who were both attempting to answer his flood of questions as best as they could manage.

Everyone seemed to have quite forgotten her presence now that her ability to brute-force the doors to the Labyrinth open was no longer necessary. She wished she could feel even slightly surprised, but that was what she was here for, she supposed. The muscle, the good luck charm.

With a sigh, Aurelia approached Rammbroes' study pavilion and lifted the tent flaps, letting herself inside. If the scholar or one of his fellows -- or better yet, Cid -- was there, she could talk with them, feel out if there was anything that they ought to be concerned about before venturing into the tower should Nero's timely appearance be subterfuge for something sinister...? But the tent was---

---the tent was not empty, as it had appeared from the outside. A familiar figure turned towards the sound of her entrance, a leather-bound book clasped in one hand.

She immediately reached for her weapon, snapping, "What are you--"

Nero tol Scaeva lifted his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"Before you cut me down in cold blood, the journal is mine own. I was attempting to compare my notes with that of your associates here."

Aurelia's eyes narrowed but the tribunus only stared back, a look that was both coaxing and challenging at the same time, as if waiting to see what she would do. Finally she relented, tucking her staff back over her shoulder. While it was obvious he'd come in here by himself to rummage through papers, it seemed that he hadn't been here much longer than she had. So it wasn't as though he had had sufficient opportunity to do anything.

Nothing she could prove at the moment, anyroad.

"And the tomestones? I can't imagine you'd want to leave those behind without having a look for yourself."

"They're welcome to them," Nero said with a dismissive shrug.

She blinked. “That was... not the answer I expected.”

"Personal experience from the Ultima Project. The majority of those tomestones will be naught more than particularly expensive paperweights; what useful data exists on them has quite likely been eroded due to time and exposure. As counterintuitive as it may seem, their decision to keep written documentation of the dig may be the wiser course of action."  His pale blue eyes had not tracked away from her face the entire time he had spoken. The gaze he’d leveled upon her was sharp, scrutinizing, intense, and this time she didn't have the benefit of his magitek armor to hide that interest from her sight.

Not that he was bothering to hide it in any way. What game was he playing...?

She broke eye contact, feeling ill at ease as she glanced at the entrance to Rammbroes' tent. She'd backed up against a nearby worktable; heavy and sturdy, it sat just below her waist, at hip height. Perfectly appropriate for a roegadyn sitting down to pen missives or peruse dusty old texts or review Allagan tomestones.

Nero was smiling but he still hadn't said anything, and that made her uncomfortable enough to finally break the silence between them with a defensive "What?"

"Any particular reason you happen to be blushing?"

"Wh- I'm not blushing."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

The right corner of his lips tugged slightly upwards, just enough to reveal a flash of canine. She chewed on her lower lip, grasping at the table for a sense of purchase and trying not to think about things she... really should not be thinking about. Really shouldn't. Like how in the seven hells a man was born with a mouth like that. It was- it was unfair.

His answering chuckle made her realize, much to her chagrin, that she had spoken aloud.

He braced his hands against the table's surface and leaned his weight back against it, slotting himself in the open space at her side. Unconsciously, Aurelia shifted herself to put a few ilms of space between them, trying not to think about the difference in height that was somehow far more noticeable now. Nero tol Scaeva was damnably tall; she was average height for a Garlean woman and still barely came up to his shoulders when they stood side by side, let alone in a position like this.

"To that end I've a question for you, eikon-slayer,” he continued smoothly, “if you would be so kind as to indulge me."

"About...?"

"I find it passing strange that a woman who can slay gods without blinking should find my presence in any way disconcerting. An artifact of your upbringing, I assume?" He was baiting her, she knew; the tone of his question was decidedly mocking. But that smile-- that had turned into something speculative and dark. Combined with the intensity of his stare, it set alight a strange, pressurized heat in the pit of her stomach. "Does Garlond elicit this reaction?"

"Cid? Hardly." Aurelia wrenched her gaze away from the movements of his lips to stare over his shoulder at the tent opening. Scholars and Ironworks engineers were passing to and fro just outside; she could see the shadows they cast upon the tarpaulin. "Cid also doesn't stand two ilms away from my face and stare me right in the eyes like he's about to devour me, so take that as you will, I suppose."

" 'Devour' you? What an interesting turn of phrase. Although I must admit you make a salient point. I cannot imagine that you are embarrassed by the slightest of his attentions as you are mine."

Was... was he trying to do what she suspected he was doing? The idea seemed laughable on its face -- Eorzea had no shortage of beautiful women, so who on earth would find her appealing? -- but the problem she currently faced was that it was actually working, damn him. It didn’t help that it had been... she couldn't remember how long since anyone had taken any sort of prurient interest in her, now that she thought about it.

Assuming of course that she wasn't just overthinking this and he wasn't putting her wind up for fun. Either way, she had to put an end to this now before it escalated any further.

"Unfortunately for you, I am not interested.” Calm, collected, and to the point. Yes, she thought; very well done.

She'd hoped that her bluntness would deter him, but that smile only widened, the maw of a hunting predator about to strike.

"Something tells me you are perhaps not being forthright with me." His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. "Shame on you, hero."

"I mean it. I am not interested," she repeated, this time with more resolve. "After what you did in the Prae-"

"Ah, you're concerned that I might turn on you all like a rabid dog, as it were. Worry for Garlond? Thinking I might sabotage his precious Ironworks or somesuch?"

"Not---no, none of those things, not as such, but to say I trust you would be a stretch. Not a word in all these weeks and suddenly you turn up, unannounced, as thought naught had transpired?"

"Your concern is unwarranted. Merely do I find myself with a plethora of free time in the wake of my sudden discharge from military service.”

“You-,” she began, but he was not finished.

“Lest you labor beneath the assumption that I intend you any sort of bodily harm, for a long while before we were... shall we say ‘formally introduced’, I had this recurring dream about you, me, and an interrogation chair-" At the wide flare of her eyes, he paused, only to grin at her: "...Now that, eikon-slayer, is a very interested look."

She tried to scoff at him, but it came out as a short, sharp, nervous bark.

"What look? I didn't give you any look."

"You most certainly did."

"You're reading intent where none exists-"

"Am I? Couple that with the fact you're mortified by the slightest hint of insinuation on my part and it's quite telling."

"Scaeva, I was in the legions myself once. Do you seriously think I'd not been exposed to the odd bit of barracks chatter?" She scowled at him. "I'm a chirurgeon by trade. I think I know enough of the human condition not to be easily embarrassed by such things."

There it was--the look she'd seen him pass Cid every time he was wont to needle the man in the space of a single conversation, coupled with the upwards arch of one eyebrow. She’d not realized how aggravating it was to be on the receiving end of that look until this moment, now that she was the subject of Nero's condescension. 

"I'd wager that what you believe passes for 'barracks chatter' is overwhelmingly tame. You've not heard the half of it, I assure you. Even the worst among the rank and file will behave themselves around a skirt, especially if the lady in question is a pureblood."

"Perhaps if the lady had seen no military service. I imagine there is precious little they could say that would shock me."

He pushed himself upright and turned to face her, bracing his hands on either side and giving her precious little in the way of an escape route. 

“I am very willing to test your hypothesis."

"I'm sure you are.” She kept her voice steady with some considerable effort. His mouth now lingered but a bare hairsbreadth apart from her own, and trying not to think about that fact was only causing her to hyperfocus on it.

"No time like the present,” he said, “and I am a man of science. Call it professional curiosity, if you like. May I?"

He'd called her bluff, and after her own assertion she felt she had little choice but to accept the consequences. At last Aurelia nodded, stiffly, trying to ignore the faintly triumphant curl to his answering smile.

His hand cupped her jaw, warm and callused fingertips trailing the shell of her ear, palm just barely cradling the soft skin over her throat. If he wished he could close his grip and tighten it, squeeze until she had no air to breathe- but the Echo would have warned her of any killing intent. Although it gave her no indication of any danger from him, it took a conscious effort not to bolt under his arm and flee the tent. Tension thrummed through her frame like a live wire.

Nero leaned inward until they were cheek to cheek. Her breath hitched for the briefest of moments when she felt the light scrape of stubble and caught his scent: some kind of aftershave perhaps, a bit stringent but not unpleasant, and the heat in her belly clenched tight. Lips lingered at her ear and she could feel the tribunus' warm breath fanning very lightly across her skin.

Then he began to speak.

Sotto voce, in their native Garlean tongue. A soft, soporific rumble, breath just slightly uneven- and not the mildly suggestive banter or off-color jokes she’d expected but a soldier's words of coupling, rough and lascivious and filthy.

All of it aimed at her. 

Her grip on the table tightened as she willed herself to remain still through the impulse to slap him or shove him away in shocked mortification, as he well knew a proper young lady of gentle birth would have been expected to do. He knew, too; could sense her dismay, how much it cost her just to maintain some semblance of composure, and he wasn't fooled by it.

He was laughing at her, the bastard: she could hear the soft, breathy chuckles woven through his unending stream of vulgarities. Her face felt as though he had set it afire and she knew she was probably bright red right down to the roots of her hair---and then she felt the press of his mouth, a light kiss along the juncture of her jaw just beneath the earlobe.

A hot shudder of anticipation warped its way down her spine.

"So the eikon-slayer is undone by a bit of bawdy talk after all." He had not moved his lips away from her skin before speaking. She could feel the heat of his breath against her, warm and velvet and damp and gods, he was practically purring in her ear- "It would appear your theory has been disproven, hero."

She found herself unable to respond, mouth feeling suddenly very dry, swallowing with some effort. The clicking sound her throat made in her ears as she did was so, so loud.

And before she had quite managed to gather her wits again, Nero tol Scaeva straightened his posture and backed away from her position against the table with a mocking bow before tucking the journal in his coat pocket and strolling towards the tent flap. Turning his back on her, quite deliberately, and making his exit.

As though the entire exchange had never occurred.

She let out the exhalation she hadn't realized she was holding, sagging back against the sturdy oak surface of Rammbroes’ makeshift writing desk and attempting to ease her breathing into something resembling an even pace. He'd left her rattled and flustered and... burning. There was a deep, aching knot of tension that had formed in the base of her belly, one that would not fade quickly.

And she suspected that like as not, he’d only done it to prove a point, namely that his wits were malms beyond hers and her victory in the Praetorium had been but a simple fluke, a stroke of blind luck.

Small wonder Cid's hackles had been raised by his mere presence. Hells take him, the man was utterly insufferable.

After some time had passed (and the heat in her cheeks had faded), she slipped out of Rammbroes' "study" and saddled her chocobo. She had to talk to Cid about this, she decided, regardless of how sour his mood might be. Someone was going to have to keep an eye on Nero once they set foot in the tower, and given everyone else’s relative importance in the grand scheme of things, it might as well be her; she could endure his baiting so long as she made sure they had an understanding.

Aurelia didn’t see any sign of him on her way out of the camp. Doubtlessly he’d gone in search of someone or something else to act as his temporary source of entertainment until the expedition into the Tower was underway, she thought. She could not well decide if she was disappointed or relieved. 

But if he planned to behave this way the entire time, it was going to be a very, very long expedition indeed.

[scandalsavagefanfic]

You are my thoughts fuel right now. Can't stop thinking about your aus and fics even when I'm working! Like your werewolf Ra's and turned hunter Jay: What if after a while Ra's gets intrigued by Tim? How Jason would react? Or Once he is left alone at the base in wolf form and the Hunters Bats break in and take a random wolf for interrogation. The shock when they see its Jason and is pregnant! And that just for that one!

Hello darling! I wanted to answer this so much sooner but I had to get to this point in the story (which didn’t start as a story, just some smutty fun, until I got so many amazing asks with such amazing ideas).

Anyway, I was so flattered that my fics were on your mind! You are so sweet and amazing! Thank you so much!

Words: 1626

Rating: T? M? (I don’t know… there’s no sex in this part either… what’s happening to me?)

Read the previous chapters on AO3!

Jason knows something isn’tright when Ra’s tries to send him away with Talia and Damian.

Ra’s usually likes to keephim close, especially when he’s this far along. Jason takes some comfort fromthe fact that the Alpha didn’t seem to realize how attached to his omega hewould become. Those unwanted instincts and feelings to make one’s mate happyand protect them are apparently a two-way street. Ra’s gets particularlyprotective and territorial toward the end of Jason’s pregnancies. And he onlyhas a few weeks before he gives birth.

Again, he thinks bitterly. On the one hand, he’s grateful that hedoesn’t have to spend 9 months pregnant like a human (though he would muchprefer the 65-day period of wolves) and on the other he despises that the 4month pregnancy and short recovery time means Ra’s has kept him swollen withhis spawn practically all year.

He wonders if that’s normal. Humansand wolves usually only mate once a year and though his first year with thepack is past, he was pregnant a third timebefore it ended.

He’s also a little bitterthat he’s going miss his change by about a week and he is going to have to popthe new ones out as a human. He had his first litter as a wolf and the secondas person. He much prefers going through it as the wolf. It’s less…embarrassing? Certainly less painful.

And even though he loves allhis pups, there’s already too many for him to handle on his own.

Jason sighs. He doesn’t mindgoing off to wherever Ra’s wants them to go.

With Damian.

Damian’s still a pup and asthe oldest child he’s actually been pretty helpful wrangling all his littleaunts and uncles. Jason knows that much of the kid’s motivation is to make surenone of his grandfather’s new children supplant him in the pack hierarchy, toestablish his dominance over them early. But Jason also knows who Damian reallyis, that Damian feels the same pull to Jason’s pups that his little ones felttoward Bruce and Dick, that they’re pack twice over. No one had to tell him,and no one has. But he can see so much of Bruce in Damian it’s almost scary.

But Talia? He knows Ra’strusts his Alpha daughter as much as he trusts anyone. But he doesn’t think hismate sees the way she eyes him sometimes. He’s the only omega in the pack(apparently it’s normal that only the lead Alpha takes a mate) and she���d beenaway on a mission when Ra’s let everyone else have a go at him after hisill-fated escape attempt. He gets the feeling she thinks she missed out. It’spretty unlikely the opportunity will arise again. Even if Jason were to try torun away… at this point, Ra’s is too invested. He has no doubt the Alpha wouldpunish him severely. But it would be private. Ra’s won’t share him now. Regardless,Jason doesn’t really want to be alone with Talia.

So he’s grateful when hisAlpha changes his mind and says he can stay. That it ���actually works out betterthis way’ which then puts Jason right back on edge.

Their current keep, a remote Gothic castle somewhere in northern Germany, is strangely quiet as Jasontiptoes around. Something is going on, he has a sick feeling in the pit of hisstomach. And it’s not however many pups are in there this time.

Ra’s had told him to staywith the kids. But that’s always been a given so the fact that he had felt theneed to say something… well, it makes it impossible for Jason to resist leavinghis pups with Damian to go snooping around.

The few people he does runinto don’t try to stop him either so the rest of the pack must not know what’sgoing on any more than him. Though he does disappear into a shadow to avoidTalia.

As he creeps deeper into thelower levels he hears speaking coming from a room at the end of a long stonehall. Jason recognizes Ra’s’ soft, low tone easily and spares a moment to hate the way it immediately calms him.The other voice is too quiet to make out.

“—my eye on you since youstarted looking into his disappearance,” Ra’s is saying as Jason carefullymakes his way to door, “You’re very nearly as good a hunter as your ‘father’.What you lack in his physical prowess you make up for with intellect. Too badintellect only gets you so far when you go off on your own.”

There’s the sound of chainsclinking together and little grunting noises that indicate a struggle. Thensomething is mumbled too gently for Jason to hear.

“No they won’t, son,” hisAlpha drawls, “They do not know where you are and they believe he is dead.”

More garbled words, most ofwhich he can’t quite catch. He hears ‘found you’ and ‘babies’ and ‘you’re sick’and finally ‘knows the difference’ but not much else. However, there’s a smallnote of familiarity in the way it sounds. It pulls at the loose ends of faraway memories.

“Ah, yes. Thank you forconfirming that it was your meddlesome family who broke into our last home. Asfor Jason, I’ll have to have a word with him about it, I suppose. After all,family should come first. And Jason’s family is no longer your’s. It’s mine.”

Jason freezes. One of hisbrothers is chained up in that room with Ra’s. Just as he had been once.

Suddenly his Alpha’s desireto send away the only omega for miles makes more sense.

The wave of conflictingemotions that flood through him are debilitating. He’s hurt and angry that hismate would try to make another, especially now, while he carries yet anotherlitter of their pups. But he’s also terrified for…

Tim… that’s who’s in there,that is whose voice he hears. Restrained and at Ra’s’ mercy.

An internal war rages as hisinstincts clash. He hadn’t really had much time to get to know Tim before hewas captured by the Shadow Pack. Tim had been new, only been with them forabout a year. Bruce had taken him in after a lone wolf killed his parents.Jason had liked him but Tim hadn’t had a chance to come out of his shell yet.

Regardless, Tim is part oftheir clan. He is family. Who does Jason protect when both parties are pack?

It’s harder than it shouldbe, to choose Tim, and he hates himself for how long it takes him to stumblethrough the doorway begging “No, please, Ra’s don’t—“.

But it’s nothing to theself-loathing he feels when he sees Ra’s pull away from Tim’s limp body, teethbloody, and realizes he’s too late.

Jason’s knees hit the flooras Ra’s turns and smiles down at him.

“What… what did you do?”Jason asks softly, staring at the drop of blood that drips down Tim’s claviclefrom the bite in his neck until tears sting his eyes. He doesn’t expect andanswer. It’s obvious.

Ra’s slips his fingers underJason’s chin and tilts his head up before cupping his cheek. Jason meets hisgaze and the tears fall.

“You need assistance, Beloved,”Ra’s explains. Jason closes his eyes at the term of affection and leans intothe warm touch. “There is no appropriate option within the pack. So I’ve madeyou one.”

Jason glances back to Tim,still hanging unconscious against the wall, already starting to sweat profuselyas his body begins facilitating the changes to come.

In that moment he’s struckwith a sense of clarity. He won’t let Ra’s do to Tim what was done to him.He’ll help Tim get away before the bond that keeps Jason at his Alpha’s sidemore than anything else can be established. He’s relieved to find that it hasnothing to do with jealousy, nothing to do with Ra’s finding another, or a new,mate, nothing to do with being replaced. But everything to do with protectinghis brother. Ra’s will never touch Tim the way he’s touched Jason.

As though he can read Jason’sthoughts in his expression, Ra’s chuckles and leans over, pressing their lipstogether. Jason opens his mouth without complaint when Ra’s’ tongue prods athim for access.

When the Alpha pulls away andstraightens he cocks his head, regarding Jason with an odd warmth.

“Do not worry, my dear. Youare not being set aside. It did occur to me that two omegas would give me moreoptions in the future. But the pack has no need for another, not to mention theadditional temptation and distraction of an unmated omega, or the resentmentthat could build under a greedy Alpha with two mates. Our kind do not take wellto such departures from protocol.”

Jason tries to suppress thetingle of relief he feels. Focuses instead on his confusion because the packcertainly doesn’t need another Alpha and an Alpha wouldn’t be much help to him.He also tries to focus on that streak of fear he feels for Tim; the anger hefeels toward Ra’s.

“Timothy is much bettersuited to being a beta anyway.”

Jason frowns. He has neverheard of betas.

But then Ra’s’ fingers are inhis hair, his nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Come, Beloved,” Ra’s growlsdarkly, tugging him to his feet and pressing him back into the door frame, “Yousmell delicious. I want to spend the rest of the night inside you with yourneck between my teeth.”

[veratheangel]

Loki & The Sandcastle

A/N: This is my first fanfic and I'm a noob at tumblr so sorry if this or how it's posted sucks

Word count: 2520

Rating: Flirts, Fluff, and implied stuff

Loki Odinson was the one person in the compound I would have rather not have to talk to on a daily basis. Especially now that the Avengers were on a mission on the coast. We had a beach house, and everyone always hung out by the shore. But whenever anyone asked him to go outside, he'd shrug them off. All the others tried to persuade him, but he just wouldn't budge. They all bet whether or not I could do it, and I decided to accept that challenge.

"Em," Natasha crowed. She leaned against the door frame to the living room with a towel in hand. Natasha wore a white, floral bikini and her red hair had natural waves from swimming in the ocean. "Come on," she barked. "The guys are already outside hanging out." "Hold on a sec," I countered. "I need to get something," I added. I walked past Loki and into my room. "I'll be outside," she chanted from the hall. I went to my books and picked the one about the beach town. Satisfied with my decision, I went back out and found Loki still sitting in his armchair reading a book. "Hey," I greeted him. I stood behind his chair, looking over his shoulder. "What is it do you want?" He asked without looking up. The trickster god licked his finger and turned the page. I rolled my eyes at the fact that I could hear his bored facial expression in his voice. "You to come outside," I answered. I kneeled down next to the raven-haired prince and thumbed through my own book. "No, no. I don't see that happening," Loki replied. He looked down at me, and the twinge of annoyance disappeared. He almost had a smile and then checked me out. He shamelessly checked me out. "Why?" I asked. "It's not like you can't read outside, and you'd probably have fun." I stopped on page forty-four. "I just don't see the point of getting wet and getting sand all over me." He answered, ending each word with a disgusted hiss. He put his novel down on the table in front of him. "Well, read through page forty-six, and if it miraculously takes the stick out of your ass, come see me," I replied. I stood back up and placed the open book on his lap, making sure to match his stare, shooting daggers at him with my sharp eyes. I left as calmly as possible with what just happened, but when I got outside, I ran as fast as I could throwing my towel in the sand. Nat swam up to the surface of the ocean as I dove in. The water was warm and tickled the edges of the metal swatches on my legs and stomach that replaced skin and tissue. "Look at the boys," she laughed. I swam up and brushed my light brown hair out of my face. Steve and Thor were playing beach volleyball in swimsuits. "Oh no," I replied. I wanted to look away, but I just couldn't. Thor set the ball, and Steve jumped about forty feet into the air to smack it back down. "I feel like this isn't all that safe to them and us and the house," I added. I turned to Natasha, who was nodding with a look of pure fear on her face. I laughed, but Natasha interrupted me. "Loki isn't out here," she observed. "We should tell the boys, that I won." She continued, getting out onto the sand. I sighed and chased her down. "Emaline couldn't get Loki to come out," she told them. "No," I argued. "It isn't like that. I gave Loki something to read, and if he prefers it, he'll come out." I explained, hoping they believed me. "Actually, he should be coming out any moment now," I boasted. Oh please Loki, please come through. As if on cue, the trickster god came through the back door of the bungalow. Not only that, but he was just wearing green swim trunks. Nothing else. And he had abs. I mean he had abs. Everyone looked at me. "What did you give him? A brochure for a cult?" Nat asked, looking extremely concerned. I laughed as the raven-haired prince joined our circle. He towered over me, easily ten inches taller. Loki turned to me. "May I speak with you in private?" He asked, cheeks getting flushed. I nodded as he grabbed my wrists and pulled me to the side. "I'm a god. A mature god, an Asgardian prince for God's sake." He started. "I am strong. I am the trickster, Emaline!" He said, leaning in to whisper in my ear. "But, still somehow your Midgardian literature drew me out here." "Wait, who's swim trunks are those?" I asked, sounding just as confused as him. "Umm... Nevermind that, dear. I just want to build a sandcastle," he whispered. He straightened his posture as his cheeks grew even pinker. I made Loki blush? I smirked and turned to the rest of the group. I threw my right hand in the air. "Ok everyone, we are having a sandcastle competition!" I screamed, walking back to the group. Steve and Nat started laughing - hysterically. I looked back at the trickster god, who now had his arms crossed and his head hung low. A sick feeling suddenly hit me. I didn't mean to embarrass him. I pulled his tense arms apart and wrapped mine around his left one. "We're a team!" I announced, looking up at the raven-haired prince. He relaxed a bit. "What is this 'sandcastle' you speak of, brother?" Thor asked, more confused than Loki when he came outside. "They sound truly amazing," the trickster god replied. "I'll be with Thor and Steve will be the judge," Nat said. She moved in between them so she could be closer to Thor, who was even more confused by how fast this was going. I turned to Steve. "Can Loki and Thor use magic?" I asked, still holding onto the raven-haired prince. After a moment of deliberation, Steve nodded. "One," Nat started. "Two, go!" She screamed. Loki found a patch of sand close enough to the ocean that the castle wouldn't be washed away, but still close enough to quickly get water. I ran to the buckets and picked a few that appealed to me. I brought them back to the raven-haired prince, who was staring at the ground which now had a few squares marked on it. "Thoughts?" I asked, setting down the molds. "I know you've never been there before, but I want to recreate the Asgardian castle." He answered. "Okay," I said. The trickster god then gave a brief plan on how to build it. We both picked up a bucket and ran down to the water. He actually got in it and got wet. I showed him the perfect ratio of water to wet sand before going back up to the dry area. I taught him how much dry sand to mix in, and then we put the molds down. This was the moment of truth. Loki and I both carefully lifted the buckets to reveal two perfect towers. We looked up at each other. I raised my eyebrows and smirked while he gave me a flirtatious smile. I whipped my head around. "You guys have nothing on us!" I screamed to Thor and Nat, who were just now planning their structure. "Oh, I assure you that our's will be the better out of our two castles!" Thor yelled back, earning a chuckle from me at his ridiculous trash talking. I turned around to find that the raven-haired prince in the water already, getting more sand. I ran towards him and scooped out sand and water. I stood back up but felt a hand push my head back under. I raised my head to the surface and looked around. The trickster god stood with a mischevious look on his face. "Did you just dunk me?" I gasped, walking towards him. He nodded before realizing what he did. He started walking backward. "Um... You don't want to walk backward in the ocean," I advised. "Why?" He asked before dropping a good two feet. His smirk turned into a surprised look of concern. "That's why," I laughed, continuing to walk towards him. Fortunately for me, he was too shocked to move. I gave him a smirk before dunking him. He looked back at me or at least tried to through his hair. "How dare you dunk a god!" He yelled, brushing his hair out of his face. I laughed, kneeling down a foot away from his face. "Well, I did. You said you didn't see the point in getting wet, but you dunked me nevertheless." I replied calmly. He leaned in closer to me, so only a few inches were separating us. "Well, maybe I see your point about it being fun." He confessed, looking into my eyes. His cold, minty breath mingled with the warm ocean breeze in my lungs, causing me to catch my breath. Neither of us said anything for a moment, but he splashed me. I stood up straight and gasped, splashing him back. "No one likes a tease," I whined. A genuine smile spread across both of our faces, and Loki let out a low chuckle. He climbed out of the crevasse he was in. "Only in bed, my dear." He replied before chasing my back to the bucket I'd dropped. My dear? I'm his dear? He calls people dear. Not my dear. I picked up my bucket and turned around. Loki was an inch away from me. "Forget the sandcastle," he whispered. The raven-haired prince placed his hands on my waist as I dropped the bucket. The trickster god effortlessly picked me up, so our eyes were level. For a moment, just a moment, we were the only people on the beach, in the world, but only for a moment. "Hey lovebirds!" Nat called, and I realized that my best friends and Loki's brother and friends were watching the whole thing. The raven-haired prince's face turned the same deep pink color that it was a few minutes ago, but his eyes shot daggers in their direction. He put me down, and I turned around. The trickster god protectively wrapped his arms around my waist. "I think we won!" Thor screamed, and Steve nodded in agreement with them. We all looked at their finished replica of S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters and our two towers that weren't even connected. I sighed in unison with Loki. "Worth it!" I yelled back, as Wanda and Bruce came outside. To my surprise, Loki still didn't let go of me. "The mission went just as planned," Wanda announced. "Thanks for the prep help Emali-" she paused. Her gaze went from Loki to my waist and back up again. "Anytime," I replied. Loki let go of me, and I made my way back up to the beach. There stood Bruce with the most hilarious look on his face. "What?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Okay," Bruce replied after a moment of silence. He looked at the other boys who nodded. Bruce looked back at Loki, and Hulk came out. "Don't hurt her!" He screamed before Bruce came back and apologized. This caused the rest of the boys to come out and investigate the threat. The threat that made Loki fall back into the water. "Hulk made an unexpected appearance," Bruce explained. "Why?" Clint asked, looking at the giant footprints in the sand. "False alarm," Bruce answered. He gave Loki, who was now standing up, a skeptical look. "Okay," Vision shrugged. We all went inside, but Thor pulled me aside for a minute before I could get in. "Listen, Loki hasn't liked anyone in a long time. You're both equally hurt, but I know you're strong enough to make him a better person and be his anchor. Thank you," he said. The god of thunder pulled me in for a sibling-like hug. I sighed. "Don't thank me yet, or ever. If I make Loki a better person, it won't be because I tried." I replied looking directly into Thor's earnest eyes. We went in to find everyone setting up a movie night. I went into my room to change out of my black bikini and discovered my book on my bed along with a note. My dear, I knew you’d be the one to pursuade me. Or at least I hoped. I smiled before getting into my grey and black pajamas. After tucking the note into page forty-four, I went back out to find Bucky about to sit down next to Loki. "Can you sit next to me, Buck?" Steve asked, looking at me. "Sure," Bucky laughed. I neared the raven-haired prince, and he lifted the blanket he and Thor shared. "Thank you," I said. I sat down, and the trickster god covered me up. "Anything for you my dear," he whispered. The lights dimmed, and Loki's fingers intertwined with mine. His now dry hand was warmer than I expected. More than that, his hand on mine made me feel safer than I had in a while. We sat like that for the whole movie, until everyone retired to their bedrooms. I went into mine, which happened to be across the hall from Loki's, and got into bed. I laid, avoiding the thought of sleep. Every night I had a nightmare about my life before the Avengers, and it got so severe that I would think of reasons to stay up. Loki popped into my head. Maybe I could sleep with him, but I don’t want to come off as desperate and needy. But this was my only hope. I got out of bed after a few minutes of wrestling with the idea. I grabbed my blanket and headed to his room, but I couldn't knock or open the door. I couldn't make myself do anything, but before I could make a decision, Loki opened the door. "Hi," I greeted him. Hi? Seriously? He chuckled. "I was just about to go to your room," he explained. He took my blanket in his hands, stroking it. "Come in," he suggested. I nodded, too tired to say anything else. I came in and sat on the bed. He sat down next to me. "Why are you here, my dear?" He asked, sensing my anxiety. He wrapped his arm around me as I looked down at the blanket in my lap. "I, I just don't want to have to wake up from another nightmare alone," I admitted. My cheeks became flushed, and Loki sighed. He turned towards me. "Neither do I," he replied. He got up and pulled the covers on his bed back. "Come," he said quietly. I followed his voice in the dark room, and a pair of hands landed on my exposed waist. He guided me into bed before covering me up. The raven-haired prince walked around the bed as I put the balled up blanket against my chest.

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Yay 200!!! Though my first instinct was awww only 200 want to ALWAYS see what this amazing person has going on! I'm so glad to be one of them. How are even your small prompts so hot! I love your work! Can I get a possessive or jealous Bruce/Jason? Or possessive AND jealous? I love the idea that Bruce hates Jason being away for any period of time because he hates other people looking at him and can't imagine someone not wanting him.

You guys are so sweet!

I don’t know, maybe it has been slow going for the followers thing but it feels fast you know? Especially since no one I know personally is on tumblr and only like three people in my life even know that I do this.

Anywho, sorry this took so long. For like five days I’d sit with the file open and write a couple sentences and then lose focus and motivation.

But it’s the longest one yet so… yay?

200 Followers Celebratory Prompt-A-Thon

(Prompts are closed. Thank you to everyone sent one in! I’ll be filling them the rest of the week for however long it takes to write the last few! And a big thank you to everyone who follows me!)

Jason/Bruce 

Words: 2635

Rating: Explicit (sounding, electroplay[?], restraints, sensory deprivation)

Super long. Read on AO3 if you’d rather.

Mine

This is not really Jason’s scene. The loud throbbing musicthat plays the same basic beat the wholenight, the lights, the dancing, the overpriced drinks. Roy was excited whentheir target chose this place but Jason had tried to wiggle out of going insideat all.

Unfortunately, he’s more the guy’s type than Roy and a lothangs on sabotaging this weapons shipment. So, Jason’s sitting in a badly lit,semi-private corner, flirting (badly) with this piece of scum, pretending to beunbothered by the big, sweaty hand creeping higher up his thigh. He downs his sixth$20 drink, a little surprised the guy hasn’t tried to drug him yet, and wondersvaguely how far he’s going to have to go. They have what they need but Jasondoesn’t think the guy’s the type to take no for an answer when he obviouslythinks he has it in the bag. And he doesn’t think a rejection and a brawl willmake the guy likely to keep up his end on the business side of things.

He’s just considering slipping a sedative into the asshole’sdrink himself when the man’s words suddenly slur and his eyelids start to getheavy until he finally slumps over.

Jason blinks at him for moment, trying to get the blurrededges of his vision to sharpen up a bit. He’s pretty tipsy now…

…did he slip the sedative into the drink? He remembersthinking about it but not actually doing it…

Jason gives the guy a poke, just to make sure.

Out like a light.

Well, then.

Now that the rest of his evening is free, and now that thearms dealer isn’t pawing at him, he thinks it might be a good idea to go takeadvantage of these lowered inhibitions with someone he wants to be with.

He doesn’t notice the sleazewith the dark sunglasses and 70’s porn-stache, chewing on match, watching himclosely as he gracefully stumbles from the club and into a cab.

Jason jumps comically when Bruce flips the light on. Likehe’s a teenager trying to sneak back into the house without his parentsnoticing. Or rather a lover trying to sneak into bed when their partner isasleep.

It’s a little dramatic. But he’s not happy.

“You smell like a toilet,” he snaps.

“‘mkay, first of all,” Jason slurs, just a little, notenough to be concerning, “I smell like a club.”

His jacket slides off his shoulders and his t-shirt slipsover his head, tousling his hair, in a single smooth motion. For a split-secondBruce thinks he may be playing up how much alcohol he had. Then he tumbles overtrying to kick off his boots.

“Second of all,” he continues a moment later, head poppingup over the foot of the bed, “’m too far away for you to smell me.”

Bruce scowls at him as he crawls up the bed, obviouslyhaving taken the opportunity to remove his slacks and briefs. It’s difficultnot to give in to those pouty lips and that lecherous smirk.

Soon, he tells himself, but on his terms.

Jason pulls the covers off of him with a grin and creeps uphis body, kissing his way up clothed thighs and naked chest, until he’snibbling at Bruce’s ear and sitting on his hips.

“And third, old man, you smell like a club too.”

He has Jason flipped onto his back, wrists caught in his unyieldinggrasp and pinned up by his ears, before the boy can even think about reacting.Bruce allows himself a small smile. Jason’s slower reflexes is going to be afun benefit.

“You let that filthy criminal put his hands all over you,”Bruce accuses with a dangerous edge.

Jason wriggles beneath him making what Bruce thinks is anhonest effort to get out of his grip. “’s the job, B. Don’ overrea—”

His glassy eyes narrow. “You drugged m’ contact?”

“You weren’t leaving yourself any options for an out thatdidn’t include a trashy sexual encounter in a grimy public bathroom,” hegrowls, pulling Jason’s arms up toward the cuffs, tucked carefully under thepillow.

“Would’ve been the alley,” Jason teases, smiling slyly,watching Bruce’s face as the he locks the younger man’s wrists in therestraints. Specially made at Jason’s request. The only thing that can openthem is Bruce’s fingerprint. No lock to pick. Too wide and too tailored to Jason’sexact measurements to be able to dislocate his thumb.

Bruce thumbs his nipple for the happy sigh that followsbefore pinching it between his fingers and twisting sharply.

“Ow—hey!”

“You know you’re mine,” Bruce hisses, “You know you’re notallowed to have anyone else, to let anyone else have you.”

He keeps torturing the one nipple, tugging and tweaking, buthe takes the other between his lips and sucks gently, flicking his tongue overthe already hardened bud, pulling back to blow cool air onto the spit-slickskin and watch it pebble, before returning.

Jason gasps and whines and bucks his hips up, searching forthe friction that Bruce denies him by pulling his lower body away.

“B, please—“ he breaths, already so needy, “Jus’ th’ job… you-youknow that…”

“And you know that doesn’t matter.”

Bruce had returned via batplane. He’d had plenty of time toprepare for Jason’s arrival before the cab had pulled into the drive.

He reaches under the pillow again and retrieves hispreviously selected tools, pausing on the way back to fix the sleep mask overJason’s eyes.

Jason whines again and thrashes around. “No games tonight, B,please? Jus’ wan’ you to fuck me,” he thrusts his hips again, lowers his voiceinto that husky, lustful baritone that Bruce has trouble resisting, “Hard.Rough… please.”

Bruce runs his thumb over the boy’s lip, slipping it justout of reach when Jason tries to take it into his mouth. Then leans forward andnibbles softly on his earlobe.

“So impatient,” Bruce mutters directly into Jason’s ear,letting his lips whisper across the shell and smiling when Jason shuddersbeneath him, “We’ll get there, don’t worry. I’m just going to take my time.”

“C’mon, Bruce, don’t—mmff!”

Jason’s lips look good stretched around the shiny metalring. Not as good as they do wrapped around Bruce’s cock but a close second. Hetaps a blunt nail on the helpless boy’s teeth, just for fun, then reaches backto his small pile.

“Now, if there’s something you honestly can’t handle, you’lltap your foot against me or knock the cuffs into the wall three times. Nod ifyou agree,” Bruce grins when Jason’s head bobs up and down emphatically. Heknows how much Jason loves these games, despite his prior objection.

“Tonight we’re doing something different. No pain, you handlepain so well you’ve turned it into an art,” Bruce rumbles low, nipping Jason’scollarbone lightly, “Tonight’s about pleasure. Your pleasure. As much as youcan take. And then more.”

He reaches up and fits the noise-cancelling headphones overJason’s ears, earning what he expects to be the first of many surprised littlegasps. Then he clips a nipple clamp to the one he’d been twisting, not tootight, just enough to pinch. That gets him a little moan.

Bruce softly traces the lines of Jason’s muscles, slowlytraveling down until he can ghost his fingers over Jason’s still mostly softbut quickly filling cock.

Lucky, Brucethinks, if he’d gotten too carried away he either wouldn’t be able to do thisnext part or he’d have to wait for Jason to calm down.

The longer he takes getting things together the harderJason’s body trembles at the lack of contact, in anticipation. His breath comesout faster, panting, often rounding out into full whimpers from the back of histhroat. Bruce watches him, captivated by the way the muscles move underbeautifully scarred skin, as he grasps the silicone handle firmly and slicksthe rod.

Jason inhales sharply and throws his head to the side whenBruce touches the bulbous end of the rose-bud sound to the slit at the head ofhis cock, but otherwise goes still so that he doesn’t get hurt.

Bruce slowly and deliberately pushes the little metal bulletinto him. He can’t tear his eyes away from the tiny muscle twitches as Jasontries to remain unmoving; as his control is tested the longer Bruce lingers.  It takes minutes for the rod to sink all theway to the hilt, Bruce purposefully holding it back, and even then, he’d havewaited longer. But Jason gets too hard too fast for Bruce to take the risk.

When the fat tip is nestled deep in Jason’s shaft, Brucesecures the attached glans ring just under the head. It’ll make the younger maneven more sensitive.

He smiles at the questioning noise Jason makes when hesticks a small adhesive pad to his perineum. Then, carefully so he doesn’t tipJason off, Bruce connects the wire coming out the pad to the slot at the end ofthe sound’s silicone handle.

Immediately Jason jolts and cries out in surprise andpleasure. With the power supply connected, the bulb deep inside Jason’s dick,as well as the area of sensitive skin beneath the pad, send out a strong electricalcurrant.

Bruce watches for several minutes as the pressure builds. Mesmerizedas the warm, throbbing, sensation tingles up Jason’s body which almostinstantly flushes vivid pink. He thrusts into the air, knees falling openwider, toes curling into the sheets, heels digging into the mattress, knucklesturning white from gripping the bar of the headboard his restraints are attachedto.

The noises coming out of his open, drooling, mouth aresinful and gorgeous and Bruce is positive that he could come just from watchingJason thrash, listening to him whimper and moan.

“Exquisite,” he praises, ghosting his fingertips over Jason’sflexing abdominal muscles, knowing he can’t hear him, “You don’t have any ideahow beautiful you are, do you?”

He lightly flicks the hot, red, head of Jason’s cock whichgets him a loud wanton groan and more needy presses of his hips.

Moving lower, Bruce finally slips two, still slick fingersinto Jason’s fluttering hole and immediately starts gently massage his prostate,rubbing soft little circles into the gland, stimulating it from the insidewhile the electricity coursing out from adhesive pad powering the sound stimulatesit from the outside.

There’s no uncertainty in Bruce’s mind that, if he couldhave come, Jason would have done so in moments. As it is, with his cock stuffedfull and pinched off he just wriggles with increasing desperation, moaning andgasping and sobbing so loud Bruce is positive Alfred and Damian will be able tohear him.

Bruce is content to watch. It’s not long before Jason isglistening with a sheen of sweat in the low lamplight, every muscle tensing andtwitching under beautiful scared skin, involuntary shudders wracking his bodyin inconsistent intervals.

Leaning forward, Bruce begins to press tender, suckingkisses to each of Jason’s scars, working his way up to the nipple clamp. Hedoesn’t let up, keeps the pace of his fingers buried in Jason’s tight, velvetpassage steady, the pressure firm but gentle, and adds a third digit.

As Jason inhales sharply and clenches down, Bruce bites downon the clamp and pulls it free from Jason’s chest, quickly returning to suck onthe angry nub. Then pulling back, he lets his breath chill the wet spot makingJason shiver and giving him goosebumps.

Then he moves up higher, starts kissing away the tearsstreaming down the younger man’s face at the onslaught of pleasure.

Jason leans into him, nuzzling his face then his hair whenBruce starts mouthing at his neck and shoulders, leaving behind little purpleblooms.

“-lease!” Jason pleadsas best he can without access to his lips.

He’s hysterical, sobbing and tossing his head side to side,grinding his hips into the bed only to move them up again, searching forfriction, saying the partial word over and over and over again.

Bruce just stares at him for a few more moments. This issuch a rare sight. His boy coming apart, a fully wrecked, debauched mess,overwhelmed with pleasure. Giving into something other than the pain. Losingcontrol to something better.

Finally, Bruce removes his fingers, is treated to a noisesomewhere between relief and regret, and touches the head of his own leakingerection to the eager hole. Then he reaches up and removes the noise cancelingheadphones with his free hand, followed by the sleep mask.

Jason’s lids are squeezed closed, thick lashes wet andclumped together. He doesn’t seem to notice the blinding fabric is gone untilBruce swipes his thumb over one of the lids.

They flutter open to reveal a clouded gaze over blazinggreen irises, only the barest hint of their original blue visible.

Jason’s expression clears a little as they lock eyes. Keepinghis clean hand cupped around the side of the boy’s face, Bruce slides into himwith a sigh and starts a lazy, deeppace.

Jason rolls his hips in time with Bruce’s unhurried thrusts.For once, he doesn’t doesn’t try to make Bruce go harder or faster or hold himdown, he just… he just takes.

It doesn’t take much time for Bruce to catch up. With hisdirty hand he slowly detaches the ring around Jason’s cock and pulls the soundout as his boy whimpers. With his other hand he unhooks the gag before pressinghis thumb to the fingerprint scanner and freeing Jason from the cuffs.

His boy is on him with all the speed you’d expect fromsomeone who spends his life dodging bullets. Jason’s big arms wrap aroundBruce’s shoulders, his ankles cross in the small of his back as Jason flingshimself up into Bruce’s space more fully.

“Bruce—“ hebreathes in prayer before their lips meet. The kiss is softer, deeper, thanBruce was expecting. It’s languid, full of adoration. Loving.

“My perfect boy,” Bruce rumbles, “Mine. No one else’s.”

“O-only yours,” Jason murmurs, barely able to form the words.

“Only mine,” Bruce hums, tightening his hold and punctuatingthe praise with a final thrust before emptying himself deep inside.

Jason follows right behind him, the feel of Bruce fillinghim up sending him over the edge. He comes hard.They both blink in tired surprise when warm, sticky liquid lands on Bruce’scheek.

Then Jason, still looking like a lust drunk dream, smiles,runs his fingers through Bruce’s hair, leans forward and licks his own come offBruce’s face.

Bruce watches him the whole way, enraptured. And beforeJason can swallow, Bruce captures his chin and brings their lips back together,sharing the taste.

Jason sags into him, boneless and exhausted. Bruce holds himfor a long while, petting his hair, rubbing at the knots in his back, hummingwords of admiration into his ear, until he falls asleep.

Bruce rests him back against the pillows, tucking him into thecovers, before making his way to the bathroom. He chugs a couple glasses ofwater and brings back another large glass for Jason in case he wakes up.

He crawls back into the bed, careful not to jostle themattress too much and turns off the light.

The moment he lies down Jason shifts closer, curling upagainst his side, head resting on Bruce’s arm, and sighing contentedly in hissleep.

Bruce plays with Jason’s hair as he tries to fall asleep,images of the younger man in the throws of ecstasy flashing behind his lids.

“All mine,” he says into the darkness, “Never giving youup.”