#i am still so fucking tired but i am watching all the muses bicker from the ringside with popcorn and noisemakers

[talentforlying]

oh it is fight night on the dash babey, everybody grab a steel chair!

#( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS. #i am still so fucking tired but i am watching all the muses bicker from the ringside with popcorn and noisemakers #firing 'get along' shirts from a t-shirt cannon #everybody PLAY NICE!! or DON'T!! both are EQUALLY ENTHRALLING TO WATCH!! #i have zero energy to write tonight or else i would join in lmao just picture this 70 y/o man chilled out sipping on a margarita instead #Not His Problem. in fact His Favorite Sport

[suna-reversed]

Hello :)

Sukuna. fluff. Pretty please.

Could you write something about sukuna falling for itadori's best friend. You can throw some angst in there too because I am a masochist❤️

Sukuna x F! Reader 

oh god, this turned purely self indulgent halfway through. low key thinking of turning this into a series to give you the angst you deserve.

A/N: (reader is Itadori’s senior and is 18) (loosely inspired by the song “me and my husband” by mitski)

“And I am the idiot with the painted face

In the corner, taking up space

But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved”

——-

- You had been one of the few poor senior students who had been victim to what had been Itadori’s “elevator pitch” for more people to join the occult club early back in high school. [the said “elevator pitch” being him jumping out at random people with a white bedsheet over his head saying “boo” as he handed you the club form]

- You didn't end up joining the club. But you somehow did end up getting joined at the hip with the chaotic mess under the white sheet.

- Whether it was you two rushing to the theatre to watch Jennifer Lawrence’s new movie,  or going to a revolving sushi place [only to get pocky from a nearby vending machine instead because revolving sushi is apparently expensive], Itadori Yuuji had become a comforting and very important presence in your life.

- So of course when he suddenly dropped out of your life, being the worried friend you were, you decided to poke around a little only to find out that he was...dead?

- Maybe a few months down the line, you would’ve started to slightly recover from the tragic news you had just gotten. Instead, what you got was your supposedly dead best friend popping up days later to tell you that he ate a finger and now he was the vessel for some centuries old curse,,,

- Um yeah...safe to say that Yuji did not expect you to go into the fit of emotions that you did [boy had the audacity to call you dramatic for fainting and then crying while hugging him once you gained consciousness] 

- some time passed and Yuji and you didn’t see each other much with him practically training to be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Still, simply happy to have him back alive, your brain managed to convinced itself that everything was still the same. 

- And it was when he’d sneak out a day or two from his heavy schedule and you’d be back to your normal routine of watching movies, stuffing your face with snacks, getting your face licked by the mouth on Yuji’s hand…

- ,,,wait what

- The first time the curse had made contact with you was simply out of annoyance of why the stupid brat even took the time to see someone as mundane as you so often.

- His plan was to simply scare you into leaving, knowing it would cause the brat pain.

- So he grabbed the opportunity when Yuji moved forward to brush off some popcorn dust on the side of your mouth, not only licking the side of your face but also being successful in slightly grazing his teeth against your tender skin. 

- Yuji had mentioned that being a vessel had caused some weird physical “abnormalities” for him. you didn’t understand it back then but at least knowing that had sort of prepared you for such an instance.

- So imagine the curse’s surprise [and an even further growing annoyance] when your eyes barely widened for a second before you burst into laugher, 

“Didn’t you train your dog to not bite?”

- by now, Yuji had jumped 5 feet away from you and was still halfway through his string of apologies, but upon hearing your reaction, he mused on your fake calm while letting out a chuckle himself, 

- “Guess I’ve got to get a leash for him” 

- By this point, the ever so indifferent curse had taken two teenagers talking about him like a mere annoyance as a personal challenge.

- And that’s how it started.

- He’d come out every now and then, licking your fingers as Yuji passed you something or making lewd remarks on anything and everything that you ever started a conversation about. 

- But you and Yuji barely paid him attention and it was an understatement to say that it infuriated the living hell out of him.

- Particularly you, who wouldn’t even be annoyed or sarcastic about his tactics anymore. Instead, treating him like a friend who was simply joining you and the brat to hang out. 

- He hated it. Hated how bright your laugh was. Hated how you made them stop every time you saw a stray animal just so you could pet it. Hated how your skin was as soft as a cloud and how you sometimes smelled like cherry blossoms. He’d kill you in an instant if he could ugh.

- it was a weekend and Yuji and you had been watching a movie, even though Yuji was barely paying attention. You knew he was tired as his large frame slumped over your shoulder. Pulling the blanket up to his face, you once again felt the wet feeling of the assaults you had grown familiar with on the side of your hand.

- “You could’ve just asked for a pocky if you wanted one, no need to lick it off my fingers you grumpy little thing”, you laughed as you stood up to go to the bathroom

- that snapped the final string. 

- Coming back into your living room, you wondered if Yuji had somehow gotten up in his sleep and managed to draw weird black lines over himself all in the span of 5 minutes. 

- ‘Yuji, what the fuck?’

- ‘Well well, now who’s acting like a grumpy little thing’ 

- The deep voice sent rumbles down your spine and you knew in an instant what had happened. 

- Even though your breath hitched in your throat and your body begged for you to run as fast away as you can, you held your ground as you simply tilted your head at the curse 

- “Well, I’d like my best friend back if you don’t mind.”

- You saw the smirk on Sukuna’s face falter for just a second before he crossed the space between the couch and you.

- Now as strong of a front as you managed to hold up until now, watching something like that stride straight towards you would have had even the strongest of sorcerers shitting bricks.

- Instinctively, you took a few steps backwards, but he simply continued to close the distance between the two of you until you were backed up against the wall.

- You flinched as he slammed a hand right next to your head and he seemed to gain immense satisfaction from that as he looked down at your startled face with a smirk plastered on his tattooed face. 

- Sukuna was sure that you’d be begging for his mercy any second now. His smirk widened and he was ready to mock your pleas as he saw you open your mouth to say something, 

- “ ...so much for a damn pocky.”

- All those other times you had caught the curse off guard were nothing compared to the “partially-confused partially-baffled” expression that he held on his face now. It almost made him look human. Almost.

- You didn’t realise just how long you were holding his gaze until Yuji took back control and apologized like a million times over, reassuring you that he would’ve never let you get hurt. 

- The curse didn’t show up for almost a week after that. And while you were grateful for not having to wash off your hands or face 14 times a day, you somehow felt anxious about its sudden disappearance. 

- All those worries were thrown out the window as he once again showed up while Yuji was passed out on the couch after a particularly tough session with Gojo sensei.

- Looking at the curse, you felt anger more than anything, how could he just drop out on you with no warning and then show up in the middle of your living room- ...wait a second, why the hell are you mad at a literal curse for not telling you he was taking a mental health break or whatever it was that he was doing? 

- While you sorted out through these conflicting thoughts in your mind, the curse seemed to be going through a similar crisis. 

- Having woken up in the brat’s fragile human body with no warning whatsoever, Sukuna wasn’t in the mood to see your face so soon again. He didn’t know why your physical presence unsettled him so much. All he knew was that he hated it. Even more now that he knew what you looked like all scared and small compared to his vessel’s towering build, and how you smelled even sweeter than what he had tasted, and how despite all that you still had the courage to stand up to someone as dangerous as him. Ugh, disgusting. 

- “The stupid brat passed out.”

- Such a simple statement caused you to snap your head up at him. But he didn’t wait for your reaction as he somehow managed to plop down on the couch while still looking graceful. Picking up the half eaten box of pocky, he warily pulled one out, eyeing it as if it was  a poisoned dagger before breaking off a piece and placing it on his tongue.

- “This is what you would risk your life for, brat?” 

- He turned his head slightly to look at you still frozen in place, staring at him with that doe eyed look that made his chest burn a little. Isn’t this what he wanted all along?

- “Are you simply going to stand there and gawk? I don’t bite-...well, not unless you ask me to.”

- He knew that would set you right back to your usual self,

 - “...maybe we do need to get a leash after all.”

- Sukuna internally grinned as he saw you move to the other side of the couch, ready to hear whatever more of the snarky comeback that you’d have (not that he was anticipating it, it was just the better alternative to being gaped at. Or so he told himself)

- “You ate the non chocolate covered part of the pocky by the way-”

- “As if a layer of this disgusting brown substance can make the rotten stick taste bette-”

- “Well aren’t sticks all you had to eat in yOuR TiME anyways?”- 

—-

- You somehow managed to fall asleep after the bickering, proceeding to sit in silence after you told him to not bother you while you tried to read. You wouldn’t admit it, but you were a little disappointed when he actually didn’t. Instead, he sat on the couch with a slight smirk still plastered on his face, continuing to simply gaze at you. your heart did lunges every time you slyly looked up from your book to take a peak at him. you wondered how many ways he had come up with to kill you so far. 

- On the other hand, the curse sat idly, watching you while his thoughts rumbled in his mind. Maybe killing you can be pushed off the agenda for now. There are much better ways to hurt the brat anyways aren't there? Perhaps he could use one of these brownish covered sticks to-...what is he thinking?

- He ultimately deems it stupid brat’s humane emotions and sheer stupidity that must be interfering with his thoughts.

- A loud sneeze snaps him out of his daze as he sees you slumped against a pillow, your book falling off your lap. And then he does something that he immediately decides that he would pretend to have not done for the rest of his existence. Luckily, the brat takes back control right after he does it anyways.

- But that thought slips his mind as he finds himself replaying the serene look on your face as he gently pulled the book out of your hands, and how his hands shook a little as you nuzzled your nose into the fabric of the blanket that he pulled over you. How could you have felt so calm around him?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjkxreader #jujutsukaisenxreader #yujiitadori #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #itadori x reader #sukuna #sukuna headcanons #jjk headcanons #sukuna smut #gojo saturo x reader #jujutsu Kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen hcs #sukunafluff

[shibaraki]

14:33 KUROO TETSURO

The apartment was still, the silence deafening and unsettling. Even as Tetsuro wept he was quiet, unwilling to show you his vulnerability even still, and it hurt. It angered you that the actions of his parents left wounds that you had to tend to, stitch and bandage and check every morning. Kuroo would sometimes pick at that wound himself, sometimes your words opened that wound unintentionally, sometimes you became tired and forgot to change the dressings and the insecurities festered.

Thus it had all built to this one moment, and he had snapped. Arguments between couples are normal of course and this one hadn’t been anything serious, only bickering, but the thread had worn thin for Tetsuro.

“If it bothers you so much why the fuck are you still here?”

“Then just leave!”

“I’d rather you go than eventually resent me!”

His voice cracked, so did the facade, and he’d cried. You’d felt rooted to the floor as you watched him move to the sofa and press the heels of his hands into his eyes, his back to you.

All you had heard just then was a small boy yelling at his parents, not the voice of man you fell in love with. He had told you himself, once, while you’d been tangled together in bed late at night sharing your family history and talking about wanting your own. The constant fighting, the obvious hate for each other, the cruelty he had to witness while they were trying to fruitlessly save their marriage, he didn’t understand it. Why didn’t they just leave?

He was just scared. That little voice in his head was asking, why are you still here after all this?

Slowly you begin to move, cautious as you approach him and sit beside him. His shoulders are shaking, just like your hands.

“I’m sorry I raised my voice at you,” he rasps as the cushion dips under your weight, expression still hidden from view. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was overwhelmed but… that isn’t an excuse”.

You nod even though he cannot see you. It’s true he shouldn’t have, but you had already forgiven him. Gently you rest your hand on his shoulder.

“Tetsu,” you call softly, smiling when he turns his head only slightly to look at you from behind his hands. “Even if you make me sad, or angry, even on the days that we fight and don’t like each other very much, I will love you. And I will choose you”.

When he lowers his hands he’s wearing an expression of awe. You pull down the sleeves of your shirt into your fists and reach over to wipe the tears spilling onto his cheeks.

“I’m here with you because you make me happy, and I see a future with you where I’m just as happy, probably even happier,” you murmur, letting him cup his hands around your own tightly. “And maybe because you’re hot, too”.

He snorts at that, his laugh catching in his throat. Shaking his head he lifts his eyes to meet yours and your shoulders sag in relief at the life they have in them. His lips upturn into a smirk, “understandable. I am pretty handsome”.

Mirroring his smile you press your foreheads together tenderly. “Feel better?” You ask, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

“Yeah,” he hums contentedly, eyes fluttering closed at your affections. “Guess you’re stuck here with me, hm?”

“I’m not a hostage, Tetsuro,” you roll your eyes teasingly before settling into the crook of his neck. He laughs and you feel it in his throat, his voice low and still thick with emotion.

“Sounds like something a person with stockholm syndrome would say” he muses, pulling you into his lap and poking you in the side. You bat his arm away with a yelp.

“You’re incorrigible,” you mutter with a weak glare, circling your fingers around his wrists to try and restrain him from tickling you. His eyebrows start to wriggle theatrically, his hips shifting beneath you.

“I love when you used big words to talk dirty to me,” he grins, bottom lip bitten between his teeth, pleased by your pained groan. “Stop!”

“No,” he pouts. “I’m wonderful and you love me and you want to spend the rest of your life with me”

“Two out of three, not bad,” you reply smugly, laughing when he scoffs. In retaliation he breaks out of your hold and pulling you flat against his front.

“I love you so much,” he whispers. You settle into his chest and kiss just below his collar bone.

“I love you too”.

#I wrote this LN at nearly 3am n forgot to post it #probably not my best cause I was half asleep lol #yes i used the word incorrigible sue me #m.kuroo

[melliflovs]

Chapter Two - Yuji x Reader

Word Count: 2,301

Warnings: Sukuna being Sukuna

Summary: A movie night with Megumi gets interrupted and training the next day with Yuji.

Series Masterlist Pinned!

You burst into Megumi's dorm room without knocking, throwing Nanami's freshly dry cleaned suit over the back of a chair. "You'll never guess why I was summoned earlier." You said, walking over to your friend who sat on his bed. His eyes lifting from his phone, the black haired boy's thumb only pausing the repetitive scrolling for a moment.

"What?" He deadpanned before resuming whatever he was doing on his phone. "Well," You said sighing loudly. "I am now partners with the one and only Yuji Itadori, effective immediately."

Megumi looked up at you in confusion, eyebrows knitted together. "Why would Gojo want that?" You sat down beside him on the small bed.

"Beats me." You shrugged. "But," You began, a shit eating grin lighting up your face. "A certain King of Curses thinks I'm hot."

Megumi's arm shot out towards you shoving you lightly, "That not funny, don't joke about that."

You scoffed at him "What, do you think I'm not pretty enough for Sukuna or something? Besides I wasn't joking." You got up from beside him, admittedly slightly annoyed at his reaction. The dorms were small but each one had a cupboard for a small amount of food storage. You walked over to it and grabbed a bag of unpopped popcorn.

"So you're telling me that Sukuna - the baddest of the bad has his eyes on you now?" He said in disbelief, following you around the small room.

"Does it really matter? He's not the one in control anyways." You said reaching down to pull out the microwave you hid in the closet. Something you could only hope would never be found by a teacher. Potential fire hazard and all. You plugged the microwave into the wall before putting the popcorn in. You turned back to Megumi as the soft popping sound began.

"Yes it matters, he's dangerous. Itadori doesn't know what he's doing yet-" He was cut off by a loud thud a shout sounding from the room next to you.

"What was that." You asked, the room going silent aside from the microwave in the background. Together the two of you listened carefully, ears practically pressed up against the wall. A few seconds passed and you'd heard nothing. "That was weird-"

"Ow!" The two of you stilled, looking at each other with wide eyes.

"Whos next door?" You whispered.

Megumi straightened out as a lightbulb when off in his head. "Yuji is."

The two of your ripped out of the dorm room, running the short way to his door as the pained cries continued. "Should I," You gestured to yourself, "Do the thing?" He finished for you "No of course not I'll just break down the door."

"What?! That's so unnecessary I can just unlock it, you idiot." You continued to bicker back and forth for a moment, not realizing that the sounds had stopped. The two of you froze as the door in front of you began to open. Yuji stepped out, a confused look on his face and a sleeping cursed doll in his hand.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, looking between you and Megumi.

"Uh, yeah. We just heard some strange sounds and got worried-" You watched in shock as the corpse in his hands woke up, immediately turning towards the boy holding it and punching him.

"Fuck!" He yelled, holding the doll as far away from his body as possible - a small red bump rising by his temple.

Megumi burst out laughing, his arms clutching his sides. You stared wide eyed at your friend, possibly more shocked by his reaction than by the abusive toy. "Gojo's making me practice control." Yuji began to explain, "I'm watching some movies if you guys want to join."

"No, it's okay. Just wanted to make sure you were safe." You responded, sending a soft smile his way as you watched the puppet's chest rise and fall with every breath while it slept.

"Are you sure?" A deeper voice asked, a mouth popping out of the back of Yuji's hand, "I'm sure you'd have a good time." It tempted. Megumi stiffened beside you, stepping forward to get in between you and the cursed boy. Itadori was still very much in control but Sukuna's words irked Megumi.

"What's wrong, Spikes." He toyed, pulling at Megumi's patience. "Am I flirting with your girl? I bet she'd enjoy herself more with us."

Yuji frowned, still holding the animated puppet away from his body. He knew that fighting with Sukuna would only encourage him in the long run, even if it upset his fellow students. At least they didn't have to hear everything he said, constantly speaking in his head.

"I dunno, Sukuna." You said, "Megumi sure knows how to make the bed rock."

Flabbergasted your friend looked down trying to hide his blush. It wasn't true, none of it was. But you figured that if you were going to have to deal with the unwelcomed spirit's chatter then you would at least have fun with it.

"Oh?" Sukuna asked, "You two don't make a very cute couple. Why do the hottest girls always pick the ugliest guys." He mused.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you watched Megumi's hands raise, subtly beginning to summon his shikagami. Your own hands shot out, grabbing him and stopping his actions. "Ya know what, it was really great catching up with you Sukuna but I have a bag of popcorn just calling my name." You smiled, trying to cover up what almost could've happened. The mouth pouted momentarily before disappearing. Satisfied you nodded goodbye to a clearly humiliated Yuji and walked back to Megumi's door, pulling him along with you.

You waited before the two of you were securely behind the wooden door before turning back to your friend. "What were you thinking out there?!" You tried to keep your voice down but quickly found yourself failing. "You could've been badly hurt or, or even killed, Megumi."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you." He rebutted, "Sukuna isn't safe, Itadori isn't safe. You shouldn't be working with him."

"You're not getting the point. Sukuna doesn't seem to care about anything that's happening right now. He's content with his vessel. What would've pissed him off is getting your dogs to attack Yuji, why would you even try that to begin with."

Megumi exhaled loudly, his anger disappearing as his shoulders deflated. "I didn't like how he was speaking to you." You shook your head at him, your own anger fleeting.

"I can handle myself. You know that."

"Yeah," He nodded, "I do know that. He should treat you better though." You walked up to him, leaning forward and resting your head on his chest. You let out a soft sigh.

"The most powerful curse known to man is living inside the body of one of our new classmates. He can say whatever he wants to me as long as it keeps everyone safe, including you." You lifted your head to look at Megumi. "So please," You stressed, "Don't do anything to upset him."

"I won't."

In truth, you didn't really believe him. Megumi was stubborn and above all would do anything to protect you. But you were a big girl now, you could hold your own. Regardless you smiled at him and put it aside, "Thank you."

Pushing yourself off his chest you turned back to the microwave, your slightly cold popcorn waiting patiently for you to eat it. "Now, what movie are we watching tonight?"

He shrugged, "Up to you."

"Maybe I should go ask Yuji for some movie recommendations." You teased, wiggling your eyebrows at Megumi. "I bet Gojo gave him a great selection."

"Yeah," He scoffed, "If you like Jennifer Lawrence."

"What are you talking about?" Sure you liked her as much as the average person but his comment caught you off guard.

"Ah, it's a guy thing." He said nonchalantly, "You wouldn't get it."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your popcorn and striding over to his bed. "Well, are we watching a movie or not."

Megumi finally joined you as the smell of butter invaded his senses, sitting beside you and pulling out his laptop. It'd take time but eventually, you'd be able to agree on something to watch. Even if it took all night.

---

You woke up the next morning to your phone buzzing on the bedside table beside you. Without looking you answered it, worried the sound would wake the boy sleeping on the floor next to you. "Hello?" Your voice was groggy as you let out a small yawn still tired from the movie marathon the night before.

"You're late."

The sound of Nanami's voice on the end of the line made your eyes widen. You were so screwed. "Sorry, Sensei. I-" You heard a soft beep as he hung up the call. Quickly you threw the covers off yourself, careful not to wake Megumi as you grabbed your things and tugged a sweatshirt on over your pajamas.

Making your exit you quietly closed the door. Megumi was many things but he was most definitely not a morning person and the last thing you needed to deal with was the wrath of two men so early in the morning. Sprinting through the dorm hallways you made your way down the staircase and towards the gym. When you finally made it to your destination you stood outside for a moment, taking a deep breath. The last time you were late he'd made you run a lap for every second you'd missed. You were five minutes late.

Three hundred laps.

But Nanami never used the same punishment twice, which now led to an internal panic. It could be anything his brain could think of.

Trying your best to now calm yourself you were at least ten minutes late. The latest you'd ever been, but hopefully you wouldn't get hurt too bad when it was all said and done. Fearfully you pushed past the gym doors quickly spotting your mentor and Itadori.

How could you have forgotten the events of the day before? In the rush to wake up and get to training in time it'd completely slipped your mind that it wasn't just you and Nanami anymore. The sound of the door closing made both of the men turn towards you. Yuji's eyes quickly meeting yours as you walked towards them, slipping your shoes off.

Suddenly you felt oddly aware of the boy's attention, beginning to regret your wardrobe choice of leggings and a wrinkled hoodie. You bailed so fast from Megumi's room that you hadn't even stopped to look in front of a mirror, let alone wash your face or brush your teeth. Grimacing internally you attempted to brush it off - to ignore it. Being a sorcerer wasn't about your appearance or presentation it was about skill and techniques.

At least if Yuji did notice how bad you looked he was nice enough not to mention it, turning back towards his new mentor as you went to stand beside him.

"Finally." Nanami huffed, "You've decided to grace us with your presence."

"Did ya miss me 'Nami. It's only been a few hours, couldn't stand to live without me, huh?" He sent a glare your way, if looks could kill you'd be six feet under. Yuji snickered quietly beside you, trying not to get on his new teachers bad side.

"Today we're practicing teamwork. Something that you aren't great at, (y/n)." Now it was your turn to send a glare his way. "I'm fantastic at it. I don't know what you could be talking about."

"Where should I begin? Maybe the time you shoved Megumi into a room of curses as a prank? Or the time that you got Nobara so annoyed that she almost struck you with her nails? I think she still has that locket of your hair, maybe I should call her up-"

"Hey, hey, we get the picture I'm not as funny as I think I am." You grumbled, shifting on your feet. In your defense, it was a room of fly heads and Nobara was just easy to piss off. You weren't exactly expecting her to try to kill you though. It was all water under the bridge.

"Now," Your mentor continued, "I've been told there's a grade two curse at a nearby school. Tomorrow we will go and exorcise it, but today you need to get to know each other." You and Yuji turned towards each other, eyeing one another apprehensively. "But, you may under no circumstances share your cursed techniques. That will be discovered in time.

"Shucks, how will he ever know how special I am." Another glare from Nanami was enough to shut you up, maybe you should stop pushing it for now.

"I'll see you guys later."

"What?" Yuji asked, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the blonde man. "You're just leaving us like that?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?" Nanami questioned, pulling his glasses down slightly to look directly at Itadori.

"Can't say I have a problem with being alone with (y/n)"

You let out a soft groan when you heard the deeper voice. You didn't even need to look to know that Sukuna was now talking. Your sensei, now clearly annoyed just walked away leaving the two of you - technically three of you alone in the gym.

"So.... Jennifer Lawrence?" You said, attempting to break the somewhat awkward silence.

Sukuna started laughing from Yuji's hand as his cheeks turned red, "Who told you that?"

"I never reveal my secrets." You teased at the obviously embarrassed boy. "Well if we just have to get to know each other wanna go get something to eat? I never got a chance to eat breakfast."

"Yeah." Yuji grinned, "Let's go."

#jjk itadori #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #kaisen #yuji itadori x reader #yuji itadori #jujutsu kaisen x reader #itadori yuuji #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen yuji #yuji smut #yuji itadori smut

[ill-skillsgard]

His Mistress - Series Finale

Warning: 18+ smut, mentions of cheating, coarse language, mature themes.

Author’s Note: I am terrible at ending stories because I never want them to end. The ending I initially wrote wasn’t good enough, so I started again until I felt it was right. I’ll keep it brief, but I want to thank all the readers who fueled this crazy fire and inspired me to flesh out a dark love story that I’m proud to say I wrote. I’ll miss Mr. Deaver and all the smutty, angsty, drama of his life with his mistress. Thanks for tolerating the never-ending POV shifts and filling my inbox with love and support for the story and for me. You guys are the BEST. I’m forever grateful!

I hope you enjoy the 9K series finale. It’s been a slice!

Henry X Mistress Masterpost [x]

Henry's company held an office party to bid farewell the building that had brought them growth and success over the last few years. Once again expanding, the company added a brand new customer-relations department, a slew of employees fresh out of university and interns to fill in the gaps. The celebration took place on the evening of their last workday and boasted live entertainment and enough luxurious fare for each employee and their loved ones. They rented a bouncy castle and ball pit for the kids and set up an open bar next to two seminar tables' worth of catering.

It wasn't only a farewell party for the company, but the first time Henry showed off his girlfriend in front of his colleagues and employees. Word of Henry's divorce had already made its rounds, his colleagues begging for gory details after the documents were signed and filed. Rumours fluttered in and out of ears and mouths, but never while Henry was in the room—Henry had cheated on his wife with a coworker, Henry screwed the cleaning lady and his wife caught him in the act, Henry picked up a venereal disease, and poor Mary. The speculation rose tensions, but like all rumours, faded into irrelevancy once news of the company move surfaced. People forgot all about Henry's ugly divorce for the next round of gossip. Word of his mistress died down. 

Although the tension had mostly evaporated, she felt eyes crawling on her when she showed up on Henry's arm. Of course, everyone recognized her—she was the secretary for a time, the only line to get an opening with Mr. Deaver. She had spent months parked next to his office, taking his appointments, booking his days, answering his phone. They remembered, and they leaned into the nearest ear to whisper, "I knew it all along."

If Henry noticed the curiosity, he chose to ignore it, but she couldn't. She felt every woman in the place wringing her silently, scrutinizing her moves, her hand in Henry's. People who knew Mary tended to side with the older woman, and the nattering reinstated in hushed exchanges. She was alone at the party save for Henry, but he could only guard her for so long before his colleagues whisked him into conversations littered with business jargon that lost her attention.

Still, she clung to his hand, and once in a while, Henry would break from stock discussions to turn in for a kiss. He surrounded her ears with his fingers, tilting her face up so he need not crouch just to show some affection. When he buried her mouth with his, she savoured the taste of wine, the power in becoming the first lady, the stares from Henry's subordinates.

Henry pulled back an inch, staring drunkenly, though he'd only had one glass of pinot noir, and nipped her bottom lip. "Having a good time, sweetheart?"

"Sure. I love catching all the cattiest office workers glaring."

Henry smirked as though he too tasted a dollop of satisfaction from the envy. "You know what I say to that?"

"What?"

"Fuck them," Henry whispered.

She feigned a gasp, swatted his shoulder, and he pulled her even closer. "Gosh, you look beautiful. I want to undress you later and do all the things they're thinking about me doing to you."

"My, my, Henry. You better take it easy on the vino."

"I'm not tipsy. I'm excited."

She checked his pockets for bulges, hoping Henry's intentions weren't to propose in front of all these near-strangers. The lines of his suit were smooth, and when she hugged him, she only felt his cellphone, wallet and keys, no ring box. She sighed with relief and sweltered under another one of his long kisses. He moaned against her, stroked her neck and back until she interrupted him to say, "Jesus, Henry. What's with the PDA?"

"I'm sorry. I just don't care anymore. Let 'em look."

"Easy, tiger. You're the star of the show. People want to talk to you without lipstick all over your face."

"Mm, I'd fuck you right now if I could," said Henry.

She squeezed his shoulders, holding him off for a moment before he swooped in for another peck. "Okay, okay, I'm done. For now."

"Don't make me spank you when we get home," she warned, mouth curved in jest.

"I'll behave," he assured.

With children running about, the catering service making rounds in the nearly empty office space, more employees and their significant others piling in by the minute, it was easy to get lost in the bustle. Henry's colleagues whisked him away into a conversation she had no business understanding, leaving her stranded, drink in hand, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blouse to distract herself from her friendless reality. None of Henry's employees came to talk to her. She stood alone, a flag on a pole reminding everyone that Henry had upgraded in every way. Some people went by, nodding respectfully, while others bypassed her like a piece of furniture.

Just when she felt the pressure behind her eyes saying she was tired, Frank stepped out of the elevator with his wife and two boys. The children bolted for the bounce house, leaving their bickering parents in their dust. Frank travelled through the crowd rolling his eyes and sneering at his wife, who looked upset about something, but retracted her frown as soon as a colleague's wife greeted her. The loud businessman honed in on Henry, and she watched her helpless boyfriend go limp when the man slung his meaty arm around his shoulders, thumping his back with a ham hock fist.

She mused over Henry's embarrassment as Frank launched into a story designed specifically to draw attention to him in the worst way. Frank's baritone floated above the music, and soon, others gathered to listen to the man tell the story of how Henry got too wasted on sake on a business trip to Japan because he didn't want to seem rude to the host and didn't know how to decline.

"This fuckin' guy—pardon my French—is rolling on the floor in his hotel room, has ten minutes to get dressed and downstairs for the conference, but can't even hold his head up straight. How many did you have, Henry, seven? Eight?"

Henry blanched, shaking his head. "Eight, yeah, I think that's about right."

"You've never seen a guy so drunk in your life! He did the conference, slurring the entire time, stumbling over his shoes, but the folks loved it! Didn't they, Deaver? You really got their attention when you started hiccoughing between every word."

"Different times. We were younger. We were boys."

"Ah, yeah. Young and dumb. Now, look at you! Much older now and just as dumb, eh?"

The gaggle surrounding Henry burst into laughter and carried on as Frank surrendered his grip. She tried to picture Henry staggering, too drunk to string together a sentence, but couldn't imagine him as anything less than poised. The image reminded her of the conversation she had with Mary in the parking garage. Before the divorce had been finalized, Mary told her Henry had done questionable things abroad with his colleagues. Frank's story, although comical and meant as a harmless jab, filled her with suspicion.

Henry had denied the accusation that he cheated before that night he invited her up to his hotel room. With desperation on his face, he vowed on his love for her that he was never unfaithful, barring their affair. She believed him, with reluctance, and stowed it away in her mind with the rest of Mary's dubious claims. Now that stories of shenanigans and unprofessional conduct were in circulation, she tried not to let her suspicions gain traction.

The night played on, and as more of the families left to put their hyper children to bed, the heads of business brought out the top-shelf Scotch and sat around picking at sandwich trays and hors d'oeuvres. Frank caught Henry's assistant-turned-girlfriend in his cross-hairs and approached her with a drink in hand. Red-faced and loud as ever, Frank asked her why she wasn't enjoying herself.

She cleared her throat and offered her best smile. "I am having fun. I just don't have a rich enough history with the company to offer any entertaining stories."

"Oh, come now. You were Henry's assistant for months! You don't have anything to share about banging the boss?"

Frank's announcement only fell on her ears, but it was enough to make her blush and want to escape. He apologized and sidled up to her, clinking his whiskey tumbler with her wine glass.

"Gotta get you a refill, Whaddaya say, toots?"

"I'm fine for now," she said. "I offered to drive home."

"That's right. You two live together now in that little condo."

She blinked, unsure of how anyone might think of the condo as little, then realized she was standing among wealthy men whose homes spanned acres, who owned Summer cottages bigger than the average townhouse.

"I gotta say, Deaver's got that colour back in his face since he started on with you, doll. What do I gotta do to get me a woman like that? He's a whole new man. Is that all it takes is a nice, young honey to roll back the decades? I bet the old bastard gets it up just fine. Just fine."

"Thank you, Frank. I'll try to sift through that to find a compliment," she scoffed and sipped her wine.

"Aw, I mean it with love, darlin', you know that. Ol' Franky just talks, right? I don't mean any harm. Maybe I come from a place of envy, who knows? Not every day a dry old fella gets his hands on something pretty as you. I can see you're good for him. He sure smiles a helluva lot more! Christ, can't chisel the grin off that face. Loopy as a damn circus clown since you came around."

"Really?" She tittered.

"I'm serious. Shit, when Henry was with Mary, you couldn't pay the guy to crack a joke. Now, he's nothing like the shlub I met all those years ago."

She ran her finger along the glass rim as Frank droned on, her eyes on Henry across the room. He had been having a good time, his cheeks aglow with cheeriness. She'd never seen Henry interact with his coworkers for more than a quick trip in and out of the conference room to deliver him a printout or progress report. Tonight, Henry hadn't complained about people talking his ear off. Even after Frank's unflattering account of one of his rare blunders, he hadn't whined or wished they could sneak out unseen. Henry was at ease.

"He's planning on proposing to me soon," she said.

Frank cocked his head and rose his glass. "Here's to hoping he makes the right decision, and quick, before you realize you can do better!"

She clinked glasses with Frank once more, and while he drained his whiskey, she set her glass down on a table nearby.

"I was wondering what his coworkers might say about him remarrying."

"Anything to get him away from that soul-sucking ice queen of an ex-wife."

"Frank? Can I ask you something and get a sincere answer?"

Frank read her serious tone, shifted his brows and angled in, unaware of his alcohol-laden breath fanning over her face. "Anything, love. Franky tells no lies. That's what they say. With me, it's pure honesty."

"I heard a rumour about Henry in Thailand. Somebody said he cheated on Mary. Do you know anything about this? I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into, being young and all. I don't want to end up wasting my best years with a man who might cheat on me down the road."

Frank scoffed, slapped his leg and howled. She waited for him to wipe an invisible tear from his eye, hoping nobody asked what was so funny.

"Oh, doll. You can't believe all the rumours you hear in this place. Thailand... Shit, that was so long ago. I can hardly remember what happened. It's true, we did some partying, but when in Rome, right?"

She grimaced as Frank went on, "Ol' Deaver never left his hotel room on that trip. Me 'n a couple of our work buddies cruised around, got ourselves into a little trouble, but not Henry. He spent the whole week hunched over his laptop, putting last minute touches on some PowerPoint crap—never was good with computers, myself. And don't get me wrong, there were offers made during dinners—generous offers. You know the type. They like to show their hospitality. But Henry was the professional. We call him Dad since he's always keeping us in line. Even us old guys, eh? No, no... Company is rock solid 'cause of him. We told Deaver a million times to drop the ball 'n chain, but the kid stuck it out, he really did."

"Am I stupid to marry him?"

"Doll, I think if you want someone to treat you right, it's my man, Henry Deaver. The Kid can't contain himself. And who could? He's a lucky man, really fortunate to have a dish like you."

"Oh, stop," she gestured at the opposite corner of the cleared out office space where the wives gathered. "You know, if I marry Henry, I'll have to join the wives' club and stand over there with Phyllis and Dorothy."

Frank beamed at her. She decided not to loathe the man for his praise, both for her and Henry. He was a bumbling idiot at times and unfiltered, but she had seen much worse. Before the corporate job with all the nice clothes and gadgets she used to pine for while browsing fashion websites, she worked her food service job. With every type of asshole and gentleman coming through the hotel bar, Frank was the loudmouth who'd changed her mind on Henry Deaver.

"You're a different kind, ain'tcha? I bet Deaver has his hands full with you."

Warm, wine-drunk confidence slid off her tongue, "Oh, I keep him busy."

"I'll kill him if he doesn't marry you, kid."

"I'm sure you will."

"That's Frank's Guarantee."

She tipped glasses with him once more and excused herself to use the washroom. The night was drawing to a close, and she enjoyed the quiet of the bathroom and its 3 stalls. Many times she had retreated to the washroom to text Henry while he was in his office. She couldn't risk getting caught exchanging dirty messages with the boss, so when she wanted to make him blush, she snuck off to the lady's room. Many nude photoshoots happened in the safety of the last stall on the right, and all of them fed to Henry's phone at inopportune times—mostly during meetings or video calls with clients across the world. Now, she laid her head against the cool metal and thought of marrying Henry. 

Back then, falling in love with him was forbidden, tingly, like a shot of alcohol at an inappropriate hour that she hoped nobody could smell on her breath. Now, it was pure. There were no more walls, no need to hide in the stall to talk to him. Henry was hers, and everyone knew it.

Henry waited for her by a stack of chairs. Behind him, the catering company was clearing away serving trays, stacking cups and folding tablecloths. The band had long since packed up, and anyone with children had taken them downstairs to the shuttles the company had arranged to drive them home.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"Hey, indeed. How're you doing? I thought I saw you getting along with Frank." Henry chuckled. "What was up with that? I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate him. Maybe I wasn't keen on him hitting on me back at the hotel, but I think he's smartened up. As uncouth as he may be... He has your back and cares about the company."

"He's the drunk uncle of the business."

"You'll have to teach him some manners, though. One day, you'll have a female big-wig to schmooze, and she might not take kindly to pet names."

Henry's eyes bugged as he nodded. "Frank doesn't get to talk to the women in the industry, and don't worry, I'll whip him into shape."

"Hm, is that why they call you the company dad?" She asked, tracing one finger down Henry's lapel. "You just keep everyone in line, don't you? Lay down the law. Tell all those silly men how to act."

Henry shivered as her hand travelled lower, coasted over the front of his pants while nobody was looking. He puffed his chest, a crafty look taking over his visage. He snatched her wandering hand and stepped closer, eclipsing her as he slouched over to whisper in her ear.

"Yeah, I'm the Daddy around here."

"Is Daddy ready to head home soon?" 

"Let's say our goodbyes, then we'll get out of here. Come on." 

Henry gave her directions that took them in the opposite direction of home. When she questioned him, he patted her thigh, assuring there was a surprise waiting at the end of the line. She tried to pry it from him while they cruised the highway in the dark. The radio played low while Henry tried changing the subject. 

"Where am I going?" She asked. 

Henry pointed ahead. "Get off at the next exit." 

The roads narrowed, and the street lamps spread farther apart outside of the city. She slowed the car, flipped on the high beams and guided Henry's BMW over gravel hills. There were houses along the quiet strip of country line, but they were hidden behind spruce and maple trees.

"Henry, we're so far from home. I'm tired. Please tell me what we're doing." 

He pointed at a driveway tucked behind a line of birch and a dented metal mailbox standing crookedly on the side of the road. "Down there. It's close now, don't worry." 

They curved through a loose gathering of evergreens and pulled up to a sprawling ranch house with a double garage and topiaries along the sides. The place was dark, but a motion light illuminated the paved driveway as she pulled up and parked. Henry pulled a set of keys from his pocket and exited the vehicle. He waited for her to catch up, breath turning to vapour in the crisp night air.

"Care to explain what we're doing at some random house?" She asked.

Henry took her hand and guided her toward the front door. In the dark, she sailed by the realtor's sign and stepped onto the first stone slab leading to the front door. She watched Henry fiddle with a key, shove it into the lock and turn the handle. The door opened with a whoosh, the scent of fresh paint and lacquered wood spilling out of the massive wooden door. Henry hit a switch, and fractals of light exploded from a chandelier on high in the foyer.

"Check this out. It's so open in the center, you could drive a truck through to the backyard. And the kitchen! Oh, you gotta see the kitchen. It's lovely," Henry said as he grabbed her hand and led her through the house. "All stainless steel and marble. The island is bigger than our bed! And come this way, down here."

They journeyed down an echoing hall, footsteps casting off the hardwood floors and glass light fixtures. Henry threw open a door and ushered her inside a furnished bedroom. A sleigh bed domineered the far end of the room, all dark wood, plush duvet and pillows.

"I know you're not keen on beige, which is fine. We'll paint it. But, look at this bed! And this window overlooks the backyard—Well, I wouldn't say 'yard.' It's more of a...field. Look, look, look!"

"Henry, what is this?" She asked, peering out the window at the blackness beyond the dim orange halo of the bedroom light.

When she turned back around, Henry placed his hands on her hips, excitement simmering. He smiled, wry and lustful, and bent down to kiss her.

"Isn't it obvious? This is our house."

"What are you saying?" She gasped. "You bought this place?" 

"Mhm. I've had my eye on it for a long time."

"And just how long exactly were you planning on keeping this a secret?"

"Only until I bought it."

"Henry!"

He jingled the keys in his pocket. "Well, you can't just walk into a place that's not yours."

Suddenly, she realized Henry had put this in motion weeks before, masked it under the search for a new office building. Realtors had rung Henry's phone off the hook, and she had answered them all, oblivious to his underlying motive. When it clicked, she dropped her jaw and swatted him playfully.

"I can't believe you. Right under my nose!"

"It was good timing."

"But...why? What's wrong with the condo?"

Henry guided her to the room's centre beneath the carnival glass light fixture that had to go, along with the drab paint job. "Nothing is wrong with the condo. It's just not ours. There are too many memories preventing me from letting go of the past. I want to let it all go, but I can't when I look around and remember where I was just a year and a half ago. It served me well as a place to escape, but now, I don't need to hide. I want new memories. I want to walk outside with my coffee and see you in the backyard, doing whatever you want—gardening, reading, lounging. I want to pull up after a long day at work, see this place, and know that you're inside, all of our things, our memories, our smells."

"And what if I hate it?" She asked, stifling a giggle.

"Then I'll sell it, and we'll find a new place."

"I don't hate it, Henry, but...This was such a risk."

"It paid off. I knew you'd like it. It's the perfect combination of vintage and modern. The structure is old and strong, but the renovations give it that modern class. It's like that chalet we stayed at in Sweden. Remember?"

"Of course, I remember. We didn't leave bed for two days."

Henry smiled fondly at the memory and stroked her hair back, smiling with her in his arms. She laid her cheek on his chest and breathed in a contented sigh.

"There are two offices, one for me and one for you. Two other bedrooms. One for guests and one for a kid."

She looked up at him, and all the playfulness fled from his eyes. He kissed her to avoid the inevitable questions. When will we see a doctor? What is the plan if we can't conceive? They didn't need answers, only trust that whatever battles stretched on, they would meet them hand-in-hand.

"I can't wait," she whispered. "I love you. And I love this house."

"There's one more thing," Henry cleared his throat and stepped away from her. "It's kind of important."

"What is it?"

"I'm old, babe."

"Henry, you're not that old."

"I'm an old man. I'm head of a multi-national company, y'know. I wear suits and talk to people who hemorrhage money day in and day out. I like to style myself as a professional."

She cocked her head, wondering where Henry was going with his monologue.

"It's awkward when people ask me about you, and I have to refer to you as my girlfriend. Guys like me aren't supposed to have girlfriends. It just sounds creepy. Plus, you're so much more to me than that. You're not my girlfriend; you're the love of my life. My soulmate. My queen. I want you to be my partner."

"Henry—"

He cut her off and fetched something from the table next to the bed. When he rejoined her in the middle of the room, he bent at the knee and presented her with the ring box she had already seen, yet she fluttered as though it was the first time.

"Baby... I could have flown you to a tropical island or put this in a glass of champagne. I could have done this in front of everyone at the party tonight, but all of that seemed silly. Don't get me wrong, I still want to take you to every corner of the world and give you all the nicest things, but I wanted to propose to you in our house, just you and me. So... Will you quit being my girlfriend and become my wife instead?"

Henry separated her ring finger from the rest and slid the band down to the knuckle as she blotted her sobs with the other hand, nodding and fighting joyful tears.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" She asked as he rose to his feet and clamped her in a bone-cracking hug.

"I know I'm clever! You thought I would propose to you in front of all those people? No way."

"You hate being the center of attention."

"That's right. And although I want to shout it from the rooftops, I thought you'd prefer me asking you to marry me someplace quiet."

She gazed at the stone glittering on her finger, and a fresh wash of tears wet her cheeks. "I'm marrying you... You're going to be my husband."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to skip fiance altogether and get right to the wife thing."

"You're my husband."

"You're my wife!"

"We're getting married!"

"That's right," Henry beamed. "And we move in next month."

Breathless, she ripped her eyes off the ring and looked up at the man who gave it to her. She threw her arms around his neck, pressed her face into the column of his throat and breathed in the scent of old hotels, of pastry and coffee and drying ink on newspaper. She had a vision of him seated at a table across the room, smiling in her direction, tapping his silver pen on the spine of his planner. Two eyes, one green and one brown, drinking her in like fine wine, full of secrets and passion, indulgence and guilt. Her good Christian boy who was anything but pure or chaste.

"I'll worship you until I die, you know that, right?"

"Henry, I can't. You're making me cry. There's probably mascara all over my face!"

"I don't care," he pressed the words to her temple, swaying in languid step. "You'll never be rid of me. Think about that."

"I believe you, Henry."

His eyes flooded and no amount of squeezing suffocated the tears. The streams met the cuff of his suit jacket. He questioned why he still wore the suit and slipped out of it as her hand tugged his tie. Leash in hand, she pulled his face to her level and touched the tears coasting his cheeks, brushed her thumb over the scar two inches from the lips she kissed.

"Are you sure you want to marry me?"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"And I'm telling you to shut up, Henry. Don't ask those kinds of questions."

"I just can't believe you're mine."

"That's right. So stop wondering if I'll change my mind. I've had many opportunities to reconsider. I stuck it out through times I should have walked out, and now we're standing in this gigantic house, and there's a ring on my finger... And you still think I'll back out?"

"I hope not. You're everything I've wanted my whole life. I have it all. Now I can spend the rest of it happy."

"I love you," she whispered against his bottom lip.

Henry crouched, circled her hips with his arms and carried her to the bed, murmuring, "I love you, too, baby. So much."

"Are we gonna fuck right here?"

"Right here, right now," said Henry, perching her on the bed so he could work open the buttons of his dress shirt. She lifted her legs, slipped off her heels, then wrestled her blouse off. The struggle to undress ended with their tops off, Henry standing with his knees pressed into the plush mattress, between her legs. He ran his hands up and down her thighs, nylon sighing between skin as he stroked.

"I didn't think I'd make it out of the office without fucking you. Gosh, you looked so good in that outfit. All those guys were looking at you... Especially when you dropped your phone and bent over to pick it up. That fabric stretching over your ass. You should've seen 'em staring."

"You think they're jealous of you?" She asked as Henry bunched her skirt around her hips, revealing satin and lace panties pasted to her crotch with arousal. His palm traversed her thigh, paused at the edge of the panties. He sent out two fingers to stroke the stitching along her groin, satin running like water across the tips. Henry wanted to take his time, but she was restless. He subdued her with a kiss.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm in control tonight, and I want to feel and lick and taste every inch of your body before I even get my pants off, understand?"

She returned his sly look and rolled onto her stomach, parting her legs so he could admire the shiny material ruched between her cheeks.

"To answer your question... Yes. Of course, they're jealous."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"

Henry snickered, like a bully cornering his prey. "Those old bastards can't keep their mouths shut. Even when you were my employee, they'd hound me for details... Ask if you were single, if I was tapping you, if I'd thought about it. I'm not one to boast, but they all knew. Henry Deaver doesn't kiss and tell, but then you'd come in and smile at me like just an hour before I was balls-deep in your pussy... Like my cum was still dripping down your thigh. They knew. We weren't as covert as we thought."

"It's that naughty little smile of yours that gives it away. You flashed me that same smile a few times at the hotel, and I just thought maybe you didn't realize how seductive you looked. But you know, don't you? You know what you do to me. How hard you can make me with just one look."

Henry lifted her leg over his shoulder and kissed her ankle as he squeezed the sole of her foot, admiring the coloured polish on her toenails peeking out of the semi-opaque stockings.

"I do enjoy getting you worked up, sir."

"Let's not tonight. I'm supposed to make love to you, not treat you like my office pet. I'm marrying you, for fuck's sake."

"Then make love to your future wife. That doesn't mean I can't be your slut anymore."

"Oh, my God," Henry growled.

"Look at what I'm wearing for you. I know how much you love the way my pussy looks wearing this fabric. Thigh-high stockings aren't practical, but I figured you might fuck me in your office one last time, and I wanted to torment you."

"Not so predictable now, huh?"

She simpered and ran her toe in a line down his chest and didn't stop until she grazed his belt buckle. "Yeah, and you've been thinking about filling me up all night."

Henry grasped her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed to meet his groin. He gathered her up in his arms, pressing his entire weight on her frame as he kissed her desperately. When her legs grew weak, he clamped them around his hips and undulated. Hardness strained against her crotch, pulsing from the heat between her legs.

"You're right. I've been aching to fuck you. How long has it been? Gosh, this week has been so busy, I've hardly had any time alone with you. And you've been occupied with your new job. It's been a while since I've come."

She made a coo of sympathy. "Aw, my poor baby. You're probably so sensitive."

"I want you to do something for me," Henry muttered, adjusting his crotch, then giving up and undoing his belt and pants altogether. "I'd love it if you sucked my cock."

"Oh, Mr. Deaver asking for a blowjob? A rare sound to my ears."

He shook his head, grabbed her hand and pulled her off the bed to kneel on the floor. With feet spread wide, his fingers tangled in her hair, Henry waited for her to make the first move. His view of her from on high was angelic. In the prismatic light, her eyes twinkled, and he thought of whiskey in a glass, poured by a dangerous woman he'd grown to admire. She always wore a smile, but for the right person, that smile turned luscious and dim. Her eyes would relax on him, soothe him, delight if he made small conversation instead of only demands.

Henry did not demand, but as her smiling lips tightened around the midway-point of his cock and sank, he couldn't help aiding the way to her throat with one firm thrust. "Oh... Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," he droned.

"You can use my mouth, sir."

"Just suck that dick like a good girl. Do your magic on me, baby."

With free reign, she slathered his shaft with her tongue, side-to-side, up and down. She met his eyes and smiled, the tip nestled between her puckered lips. Her grasp on the base sent waves of hot blood pumping through the veins, filling him out entirely.

"I can't wait to feel this big cock pumping my pussy full of cum."

"Oh, I know, baby. We'll get there. For now, I need your mouth. All over me, please. Balls too. Come on... Eat that cock, you hungry little slut."

She chased Henry up on the bed where she could kneel between his legs in comfort. Henry enjoyed the position, too—back against a mound of pillows, his long legs spread to the lower corners of the bed, her crumpled form nestled between his thighs while her lips and tongue worked in a circuit on his length. He leaned his head back, arms thrown over the pillows. In this position, Henry bucked his hips a few times to touch his tip to her tonsils. Each time she brought up a wave of saliva that coated him and made it easier for her to slide down.

"What about that ass, big boy?" She asked after popping up from a harsh series of head-bobbing. "I know how much you love it when I play with that pretty hole of yours."

Henry sucked air in through his teeth, chin dimpling and lashes fluttering. "Mmph, not tonight. I want that pussy. Yeah, I wanna taste you."

They flipped positions. Henry pulled her onto her back away and snatched one of the pillows to wedge under her tailbone. With both hands, he hooked the back of her knees and spread her thighs wide, elevating her pelvis until his breath stroked the front of her panties. Henry nipped the fabric, pulled it into a tent and let it snap back against her lips. He nuzzled it, faint stubble scratching the delicate fabric. She let out a gentle sigh, a whimper of lust. Henry kissed the satin once, twice harder, then a third time like he'd met her mouth in a fevered touch.

She watched his long fingers sneak the fabric away, how he made shapes with his mouth like he wanted to say something but lost his voice. Henry bit his lip, kissed where he knew her clit was hiding, then prodded her folds with a long lick. He repeated the motion on the right side, along her labia, and again on he left side.

For a while, he would only meet the crest of her entrance with light kisses and whispered promises.

"Do you like it when I tease your pussy? Giving you just enough to make you wet, but not as much as you need?"

"Henry, please," she begged.

"Please, what?"

"Please give me more!"

"More of this?" Henry asked, ghosting his breath over her clit.

"No more teasing."

"You sure?"

She clutched some of his hair and pouted. He chuckled, laid his cheek on her thigh and brought his hand up between her legs. "What if I'm not done teasing? What if I want to torment you a little longer?"

He spread open her lips, applying pressure on both sides. She could almost grind against his fingers if he didn't have her at his mercy, arched over a pillow, thighs splayed wide and vulnerable. Henry tapped her clit with three fingers, stippling with gooseflesh from the wet noises the pads made on her vulva. "Oh, I love that sound," he sang. "You're so wet for me."

"Please, sir. I need your mouth."

"Is that right? Well, you've been so good and helpful. I'm sure I can give you what you want... but you have to promise me something."

"Yes, yes, I will. Anything."

"Promise you'll tell me before you come?"

"Uh-huh. I promise."

"Okay, I trust you. Don't get too close. I have other plans for your pussy."

She groaned out loud, relieved when he finally licked her clit. His tongue was a warm blanket, weighted and placed perfectly on top. He undulated the muscle, coaxing out the sensitive parts for adoration. That's how she described his attention in her mind. When Henry ate her out, it was like he'd infiltrated her head and knew the precise amount of pressure, the proper motions, when to flicker his tongue and when to envelope her clit between his lips. He kissed, sucked, lapped and moaned like a symphony, only opening his eyes once in a while to catch her staring in awe between her legs.

"Mm, baby," Henry moaned against her slit. "I can feel you getting close already. Don't go over the edge."

"I'm sorry, you just look so good eating my pussy."

Henry pulled off her, smirking, letting her glimpse his full lips shining in their glory. She couldn't stop herself from lunging for him. The taste of her own fluid on his mouth set off a carnal urge to feel his cock too. She told him to fuck her hard, to spank her ass and make her squeal like a knifed animal. She wanted that deepness, the full stretch as his thighs bounced her up and down. They laid on their sides, and Henry entered her from behind, arm hooking her leg up so he could gaze over at her exposed breasts, her glistening clit forgotten for a moment too long. In his clutches, she was helpless, and Henry used his advantage to squeeze and rub her until more of her liquid soaked between their groins.

"Can you come like this?" Henry puffed next to her ear. "If I rub your clit like that and keep fucking you, can you come?"

"Yes," she peeped. "Yes, keep going."

"Yeah? Gonna come like a good girl all over this dick?"

Again, she nodded, biting down on her lip in concentration.

"'Cause I'm gonna shoot so much fucking cum inside you, but only after you get all tight around me."

She begged him not to stop, to never stop being hers. Henry rushed his movements until she bucked once, legs fighting to fold inward.

"Is that it? That spot right there?" Henry asked. "Keep rubbing you just like this?"

He didn't need an answer; it was written all over her flushed face, denting her lip where her teeth bore down. Henry exerted every inch of stamina he had in his body until her muscles seized hard enough to snap. Mewling as she came, Henry didn't stop pestering her clit with his fingertips or pull out after he emptied as deep inside as he could fit. He gathered her up in his arms, locking fingers and lips, breathing each other's air. Pieces of his hair clung to his sweat-dampened forehead while he pulsed and shivered.

"I need you to get your panties on right away. We can't leave a mess behind."

"Are you serious?"

Henry nodded his head, unperturbed by the alarm in her tone. "Well, it's not our stuff. It's staging furniture. I just convinced the realtor to let me surprise you tonight. She probably didn't think I'd be fucking you in any of the bedrooms."

"Henry! I'm not sure where you slung my underwear."

He pushed into her one last time and grunted. "Aw, honey, mm. That's where my cum belongs."

"You're such a bad man," she giggled.

"I know I'm dirty."

"Come on, husband. Help me find my clothes. We should get back before we both fall asleep and someone finds us like this."

They gathered themselves, sighing and stretching the tension from their muscles as they dressed and took one more look around the property. She saw the house in a warm light now, as a place they could fill with memories, starting in the master bedroom where Henry proposed. He held her hand as they drove to the condo and flung themselves into bed, drained from the night's givings but wrapped in each other's arms.

 The next morning, she woke to the smell of pancakes cooking on a griddle. Henry was up, two coffees deep, and buzzing from cupboard to cabinet, humming under his breath. He lit up when he caught her motion in the corner of his eye and went in for a long hug.

"Good morning, wife."

"Morning, husband," she replied, cheeks and chest prickling.

"Pancake buffet?" Henry gestured at the kitchen island.

"It's not even Christmas!"

Henry scoffed. "Who needs a special occasion to have a pancake buffet?

"I suppose I can't complain," she said.

She sat at the island, studying the foreign object around her ring finger every once in a while. When she made a fist or spread her hand, the rock sparkled and delighted her eyes. Henry caught her staring at the ring and smiling as he launched into the day's trajectory, his plan falling on deafened ears.

"Hello?" Henry waved the spatula. "Are you home?"

She sat up straight and folded her hands. "Yes. Sorry. I was distracted."

"I was saying I have to go into the office today, but only for an hour or two. Are you okay with hanging around here by yourself while I take the car? Can you believe the Beamer is still in the shop? They say take the damn thing into the dealership, we'll fix it up for free, but we'll keep it for half the week."

"Oh, well, I was supposed to pick up groceries, but I can wait."

Henry's eyebrows popped up. "Oh, no. No, no, honey. That's all right. I'll find another way there."

"Why don't I drive you to the office? Unless...You're not actually going to the office?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Henry asked.

"I don't know...You could be exacting another one of your famous covert plans and covering it up by saying you're going to the office. How do I know?'

Henry tipped his head back and laughed as he tended the food sizzling on the stovetop. "Oh, sweetheart. No. I promise, no more tricks for a while."

"Sure," she said with a sly edge on her tongue.

"You can drop me off and take the car. It's nothing secretive, I swear."

Henry piled the last pancakes onto a plate, turned off the griddle and wiped the counter clear of flour and coconut flakes. They put together an extravagant array of dressed-up breakfast food, dousing their plates in maple syrup, chocolate chips and heart-shaped strawberries as they talked and sipped coffee. Henry sat across the island holding his hand out for her to touch every once in a while. He didn't need her to hold his hand, though, subconsciously, he always reached out for her in case she wanted to feel his skin.

The morning melted seamlessly into early afternoon, and the couple ventured from the condo after a quick round of energizing couch sex. Henry thumbed the ring on her finger as they walked onto the main floor from the elevator.

"Mr. Deaver and Madame, good morning!" Johnny, the concierge, greeted them.

Henry held up their conjoined hands. "It's Mr. and Mrs. Deaver from now on, Johnny."

The tall man behind the desk made a small gasp and bowed. "Apologies, Mr. and Mrs... Might I say congratulations to the happy couple?"

"You're the first to hear, officially," Henry said.

Johnny touched his enormous hand to his chest. "What an honour, sir. This position never loses its magic."

Henry twisted his mouth. "I have some other news, Johnny. My wife and I will be moving soon. We won't be seeing you every morning."

"Ah, that's all right, Mr. Deaver. Moving up and up, I hope?"

"Yes. It's a ranch house in the country. No neighbours."

"Beautiful. Well, I wish you both the very best and look forward to helping you out until moving day comes."

"Thanks, Johnny," she said with a smile.

Johnny rose his finger as they meant to leave. "One more thing. A package arrived for you, Mr. Deaver."

The concierge ducked under the desk with a set of keys and opened the security box dedicated to the Deaver property. He pulled out a bulging manila envelope and turned it over with a dutiful grin. When her eyes glanced at the writing on the front, a knot formed in her throat. Henry's name adorned the front in practiced, sweeping hand. Henry. Not Henry Deaver or Mr. Deaver. Just his name written in black ink with flourishes on the capital H and a hand-drawn filigree beneath. She watched his shoulders stiffen as he nodded to Johnny.

"Thank you, Johnny. We'll see you later."

She followed Henry to the parking garage, staring at the envelope in his hands. Henry looked ahead, his bright demeanour trampled upon by the object he carried. When they got into the vehicle, they looked at each other, then down at the package.

"What is that?" She asked.

"I think it's from Mary. That's her handwriting."

She swallowed the knot in her throat, but it had doubled in size and refused to budge. "What now? She's not supposed to bother us anymore."

"I know," Henry breathed. "I can't... You open it."

She tore into the envelope and pulled out a letter accompanied by a DVD in a flat jewel case and photocopies of ruled paper scrawled with notes. Henry nodded at the letter, signalling her to read it aloud.

"Dear Henry... I know there's little chance of getting a private audience with you now that we're legally separated, and the company is in the process of moving. You probably have your hands full and do not wish to hear from me either way. I understand your need to stay away, hence the letter and no phone call. What needs to be said cannot be summed up in a brief call, so I will try to keep this to a few pages.

I wanted to start off by apologizing. It's too late for apologies, and you must think I'm off my rocker to have even considered coming to you with this. Still, I'm not looking for acceptance, sympathy or anything but the need to fill you in on the blank spaces that must have driven you crazy over the last couple of years. The way I scorned you was wrong. A wife should respect her husband in all forms, and answer to him when he calls. I ignored you and purposely drove a wedge between us in order to distance myself from you and our collective failure.

By now, I'm sure your new girlfriend told you what I told her. It should come as no surprise that when I say "failure," I mean our inability to have a child.

When I received the news, and you were nowhere to be found, I felt the clutches of the Devil himself reaching for me. God does not make mistakes, which is how I know we were being punished for our sins, and since the results indicated you were the weaker factor, I can only assume the punishment was meant for you, and by extension, me. I know you have berated me in the past for my strong beliefs, but I cannot compromise my relationship with God for anyone's comfort. I know in my heart, his word is law, and if we couldn't produce a child, lying together would be straying down the path of temptation.

There were things you wanted me to do that I could not, in good conscience, provide for you—sex acts no married couple should have an interest in performing. If I'd have known of your devious tastes early on in our relationship, perhaps I wouldn't have married you. You resisted His word and acted on selfish impulse, spoke of wicked things with your colleagues, and Lord knows what other things I didn't catch wind of. I had to escape your sin yet remain your wife through the bad and the worse, as I pledged before God until death.

I do not judge you, as you are no longer my husband, and I know God will assess your choices in his divine eye. I don't have to worry about the unclean thoughts that live inside of you—they have no power over me; they aren't a reflection of my heavenly worth. If anything, I hope you are happy and have all the freedom one who strays from God can expect to have in this world. I pray for your soul each night and hope you do not meet the eternal fires.

I should have told you, but I was stricken with unbearable grief. I hated you. I fell out of love. I can't describe how, but I felt if I touched you, knowing what I knew then, God would punish me. Please understand everything I did, I did in the name of the Lord and with concern for my immortal soul. Call me selfish. I was and am, to this day, a selfish woman. But you were good to me, up until a certain point.

I cannot forgive your infidelity and can only pray you to seek repentance for your sin, though I will admit I did not care to make it right at the time. My silence was meant as punishment, but only God can dole penance, and in shutting you out, I acted in his name when I shouldn't have. I will spend the rest of my days begging His forgiveness and praying for you, Henry.

This package includes the evidence I've compiled of your cheating. You should know now I no longer seek vengeance. I simply want to scrub my life of all traces of you, and figured you might want to gaze upon your transgressions. Or throw them out. It's up to you now. Sincerely, Mary."

Henry was quiet for several minutes as he digested the contents of the letter. She found a pamphlet for the Evangelist Church of God among the pages and scowled.

"Wow, religion really makes people say some crazy stuff," she muttered, hoping to get a sound out of her fiance. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He motioned for the letter and gave it a half-hearted scan before crumpling it in his fist.

"Fuck that woman. Fuck that life."

"Sounds like a story."

He puffed, scoffed, burned a hole into the letter written in Mary's graceful hand.

"But you don't have to tell me."

"She's right," Henry said. "I was different back then."

"I know you were."

"How come you've never asked?"

His question nipped the skin on the back of her arms. "The same reason I don't ask other people about their religion. That's their business. You were raised a certain way, but you changed. I know you were put in a cage, Henry. You made a mistake, but it's not the eternal damnation Mary says. Your marriage was practically over. Unless... You cheated before us?"

Henry whipped a look at her, gaping and wordless. She shrugged as a platitude and coughed over a laugh. "Well? How can I not suspect? Mary says you cheated, Frank says you didn't, but I don't trust either of them as far as I can throw them, Henry!"

"Look, I know!" Henry barked, and she pressed her back to the door. "You've gotta believe me, sweetheart. I'm trying to prove to you every day that I'm not this monster she wants me to be!"

"What's on these discs? They don't have labels. Am I going to watch this and find out something you don't want me to?"

His jaw set like he was about to explode. Air escaped his nostrils, and he glared forth at the wet cement wall beyond the hood of her car. Above, the building's pressure crushed out all sound, and Henry became aware of his breath, the tension in his windpipe.

"No. I don't know. I have no idea what's on those DVDs. If she got her private investigator to film me, it's probably just you and I making out in the car. What would be incriminating about that?"

"Did you lie to me that night in Paris?"

A dissonant, heavy silence fell over the man in the driver's seat. His skin turned sallow, and her eyes eclipsed to see the sickly guilt on his face.

"That night, you told me you left her. You said you asked for the divorce, and she just gave up. Was that a lie? Did you say that just to get me to go?"

Condemned by another bout of silence, Henry hid the colour of his ears behind hunched shoulders. "Baby, I was in love. I am in love with you. It's only ever been you! I needed you with me so bad. She knew we were done. She knew it. Divorce was not a foreign word."

"Just tell me straight. Did you put it in stone that night? When you flew me ten hours to Paris to be with you?"

"No. I didn't. I went home, said goodbye to her, she gave me the cold shoulder, I cursed, and she got angry with me. I told her I was finished, and then I left. Maybe I didn't flat out say I want a divorce, but it was implied."

"I'm curious to see what's on these discs," she said.

"Sweetheart, I will watch them with you, totally confident there's no evidence of me with any other woman."

"Good," she nodded. "Because you're mine. Maybe I'm the bad one for not caring. If you're bad, I'm worse. I don't give a fuck about you cheating on her, and this is the first time I've ever admitted it out loud. You're mine, Henry. You belong to me. She knew what she had and uses faith as an excuse for hiding a horrible secret from you!"

"Good Lord, I don't want to cry about this again," said Henry.

"Fuck it, Henry, just like you said. Fuck her and fuck the life you had. Your ass is mine now," she stuck her ring finger in the air. "Like, forever."

Henry pouted and melted into her lap. She quickly ran her hands through his hair as he moaned against her knee. "But what about our family?"

"We'll figure it out, babe. I promise. Until then, just keep shooting loads inside of me, and we'll see what happens."

He burst with laughter and lifted his rosy face to kiss her. "That's such a you thing to say in a time of crisis."

"I told you last night and back at the hotel... I'm with you. I'll back you in everything you do and make sure not a day goes by you wish you were somewhere else."

"I have absolutely no doubt of that, sweetheart. Goddamn it, I love you... Wifey," he giggled.

"But how hot would it be to have sex while watching DVDs of us hooking up in the Beamer and touching on patios and shit?"

"So hot. I've been thinking about it, and I've concluded it is very fucking hot."

"All right, hubby. Let's put this shit behind us forever and get busy getting married and having babies. We have places to go!"

"Yeah," Henry grabbed her hand and nodded. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

#henry deaver x mistress #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard fanfiction #castle rock fanfiction #henry deaver

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 8

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: Welcome back to Part 2 of the HPHM Rockstar AU! New location, new songs, new drama. Buckle up, we're going for a ride!

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Language

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

You keep on saying you'll be mine for a while

You're looking fancy, and I like your style

You drive us wild, we'll drive you crazy

You keep on shouting, you keep on shouting

I wanna rock and roll all night and party every day

~ Kiss - Rock And Roll All Nite ~

Despite it being her third tour with Equinox now, Lizzie would probably never stop being amazed at the incredible machinery that stood behind every single one of their shows.

Now, two weeks after they had started out in London, their route had seen them through Bristol and on to Birmingham. All the familiar routines had established themselves again as if they hadn’t spent a whole month apart at all. Like cogs in a well tuned machine, everyone was working together in well established patterns to make each show unforgettable for those who came to see them play.

It didn’t matter whether one was part of the tech crew, the management, security or the band themselves; they were all like a big, chaotic but loveable family. Of course, Lizzie couldn’t deny that this time around there was considerably more tension to be felt backstage than she was used to, but fights were something happening even in the best of families; at least, that’s what she was telling herself.

Their soundcheck being over, Lizzie had just left the stage with Skye, waiting for the others to catch up. Even though the roof of the arena they were playing in tonight was still closed, Lizzie could feel a bead of sweat running down her spine.

It had been uncharacteristically hot for weeks now, very unusual for a British summer. Not that she was complaining, Lizzie typically loved everything about the hot weather; but the dampness that it brought with it made it almost unbearable to move, setting everyone’s nerves on edge. Hopefully it would just rain soon and be done with it; there was nothing better to clear the air than a good summer storm.

At least for them, however, the heat of the sun would soon be replaced by the spotlights burning down on them. Even after so many years of playing on stages of every size and format, Lizzie had trouble fighting the nervous feeling spreading from her stomach through her body. She was always the first one to enter the stage, the beat of her drums building up the mood until one after the other of her friends would enter and add their own instruments to the sound. As soon as she started playing she was in her element, every flare of nerves forgotten; but until then, she was stuck feeling like in free fall.

Lizzie reached into the pocket of her shorts, her fingers finding the familiar shape of the red plectrum she was always carrying with her. It had belonged to Orion before it had found its way into her possession; it was one of the plectrums he had used on the first tour they had ever played. Without thinking about it, she drew it out and let it wander through her fingers, a fun little trick Orion had taught her to help channel her focus when her stage fright was setting in.

“What’s that you got there, little rockstar?”

Charlie had finished his work on Merula’s keyboard and joined them at the stage entrance. Lizzie hadn’t noticed him approaching and jumped when he spoke, dropping the plectrum to the ground. Before she could pick it up again, Skye had gotten hold of it, turning it around between her fingers with a confused look.

“That looks familiar,” she mused, examining the colourful piece of plastic. “Is that one of our old plectrums?”

Lizzie tried snatching it from her hands but Skye quickly moved it out of her reach.

“No, it’s not, it’s just a lucky charm.”

She could tell Skye didn’t buy her explanation. “Why would you have one of these?”

Lizzie scowled at her friend as she tried in vain to reach Skye’s hand. “None of your business, Parkin. Give it back.”

Skye made an indignant sound as Charlie jumped to Lizzie’s aid; playing out his advantage in height, he unceremoniously plucked the plectrum from Skye’s fingers and handed it back to Lizzie with a wink. Giving him a grateful look, she let it disappear in the depths of her pockets.

“You’re a real spoilsport, Weasley,” Skye snorted.

“And you’re a nuisance,” Lizzie said in Charlie’s stead.

Charlie shook his head. “Hearing you two talk, I might just believe the rumours about your relationship.”

“I do have standards, you know,” Lizzie rolled her eyes, chuckling at Skye’s sound of protest.

Lizzie’s attention was drawn away from their bickering when she saw Orion and Everett were still standing on stage, engaged in a heated discussion. She stifled a sigh; Everett was still at odds with Orion’s decision to perform the new songs himself. There wasn’t one day he would spare them his complaints. Although Everett had always been a person with a temper, Lizzie couldn’t remember him ever being angry at one of them for so long.

Orion, however, wasn’t responding to Everett’s aggressive demeanour. Ever the calm and collected person, it took a lot more for him to lose his centre; Lizzie wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him anything but level-headed at all. And sure enough, even when Everett left him standing with a dismissive gesture, he only looked after him with a tired expression.

In contrast, Everett’s face was clearly showing his annoyance. He tried to hide it behind his usual sneer when he saw them looking, but the way his shoulders were tensed was speaking volumes. His posture only changed when he walked past where Artemis was still working on her explosives. She was bent deeply over the igniter she was wiring, so concentrated on her task she didn’t even notice Everett coming up behind her.

“A little lower, sweetheart. If you have to mess with our pyros, you might as well give us a proper show.”

Artemis straightened up with a face like thunder. “Go fuck yourself.”

Everett shrugged. “I don’t need to, I have plenty of people willing to do that for me. I can bump you up the queue if you like?”

Rolling her eyes, Artemis gathered up her things and moved to the other side of the stage, as far away from all of them as possible.

“Why can’t he just shut up for a second,” Charlie growled as they watched Everett strut off with a self-satisfied smirk. “I’m making no progress with her whatsoever. I’m still trying to convince her that we’re not all dickheads. Ev’s attitude is definitely not helping.

“Is it still so bad with her?” Lizzie wanted to know.

“Yeah,” Charlie admitted, “I don’t know how to get through to her. She’s a tough nut, that one.”

“Tell me about it,” Lizzie said. “I’ve never met anyone so determined to not be nice to anyone.”

“Surprised there’s people out there not wanting to be your friend?” Merula scoffed as she joined them.

“Actually, I am,” Lizzie said. “I even managed to convince you to be my friend, after all.”

“If you want to call us friends,” Merula snorted, but Lizzie knew she was teasing her.

She chuckled and turned to Charlie. “Do you have any idea why she’s so frosty?”

Charlie shrugged, looking as clueless as they came. “If only I knew. She’s giving me no chance to find out either, as soon as the work’s done, she’s off.”

“Sounds like she needs to get a few drinks in to loosen up,” Skye said. “Probably much easier to handle her then.”

Charlie looked at her incredulously. “You do realise how creepy that sounds, right?”

“Don’t be stupid, you know what I mean,” Skye rolled her eyes, “but seriously, who says no to a free drink and some good company?”

Charlie watched Artemis work her way through the remaining igniters. He didn’t seem convinced by Skye’s suggestion but shrugged anyway. “Might as well give it a shot at this point, but if she bites me, I’ll hold you accountable.”

***

Just like the weather forecast had promised, the temperatures hadn’t dropped one bit until it was time to enter the stage. And even if a cooling breeze would be blowing outside, it would stand no chance of reaching the fired up masses filling up the arena.

Lizzie wasn’t sure where it was warmer, down between the thousands of people singing along to their music, or up with them on stage where the heat of the spotlights made her wish for a cold shower.

They were already halfway through the setlist and as always, time seemed to be racing by.

Their fans were fantastic tonight as well; the arena was sold out up to the last seat and the crowd was incredibly enthusiastic. They were reacting to every prompt they were given, whether it was a challenge to cheer louder, sing along or clap to the beat. It was shows like these that reminded Lizzie time and time again that she had the best job in the world.

Everett was giving a stellar performance tonight; he had the whole stadium wrapped around his little finger like only he could, and the fans were cheering him on as he stepped back from the microphone to join the sound of his guitar with the rest of them.

Lizzie turned her head to Orion, who was already waiting for her to give him his cue. She counted down the remaining beats in her head before she gave him a nod. When he turned his attention from her and began playing his solo part, Lizzie couldn’t help but grin. The people were screaming themselves into a frenzy as Orion worked his magic on his guitar.

He never planned what he was going to do beforehand, not one solo the same as the day before. His brow was furrowed in concentration and his lips ever so slightly parted as his fingers flew up and down the neck of the guitar. In moments like these, everything else faded into the background for him; there was nothing left but him and his music.

As Lizzie watched his fingers dance with dizzying speed, her flushed skin burned at the memory of what other magic they were able to do. The thought almost made her miss a beat.

Almost.

She caught herself at the last moment before anyone could notice. She was glad everyone else was too busy to see the blush spreading on her face. But even if they had, they would never have suspected that it didn’t come from the incredibly high temperatures, but something else entirely.

The song ended with a bang, Lizzie hitting two cymbals and the bass drum at the same as KC let all the spotlights flare up. Almost blinded by the brightness flooding the stage, Lizzie closed her eyes and dipped her head back, breathing heavily. For a fraction of a second, the fading sound of the music was still hanging in the air, everyone holding their breaths, before it gave way to the cheers erupting from the crowd.

Lizzie smiled to herself, waiting for her racing heart to slow, before setting her mind onto the rhythm of the next song. The crowd was still cheering and she waited a moment longer until everyone was ready and Orion had stepped behind his own microphone. The next song was one of the unpublished ones and even two weeks after striking their deal with the label, Orion hadn’t let Everett sing one single verse of them.

Lizzie took a deep breath and set the rhythm by hitting her drumsticks against each other a few times. Luckily, it was one of the slower songs so they all had the chance to calm down a little. Orion’s melodic voice carried into the vast space of the stadium over the hushed crowd and Lizzie felt a shiver run down her spine; she had loved this song from the first time Orion had let her hear it.

The crowd seemed to share her opinion; many had taken out their phones and lit the screens, waving them through the darkness in what was looking like a sea of stars. It wasn’t quite the same sight as it had been when lighters had still been allowed in the auditoriums, but Lizzie was loving the sight nonetheless.

All of the new songs they had played so far had been very well received. They made sure to switch them every night so no one got too overexposed, but whatever ones Orion chose, they were always met with great enthusiasm.

The only unrecorded song they were playing night after night was, much to everyone’s surprise, not one of Orion’s creations. Even after Orion had given his consent, Everett hadn’t stopped pestering Ethan until he had agreed to give a few of Everett’s songs a shot. Most of them weren’t nearly as well liked as the ones Orion hadn’t even finished yet, but there was one song that had instantly become so popular with their fans that Ethan had decided to make it a permanent addition to the set list for the rest of the tour.

Everett had revelled in his triumph over Orion; at least that’s how he saw it. And Lizzie had to admit that it really was a catchy melody. But much to Everett’s dismay, whenever Orion picked up his guitar and did what he did best, all eyes were on him, and him alone. He was pouring his heart and soul into the music he played, and people could tell. Like the Pied Piper, he commanded everyone’s attention without even trying to.

That was probably what angered Everett most; the fact that Orion wasn’t even trying.

Even now, Everett was scowling darkly at Orion as he was singing the song in Everett’s stead. Lizzie tried to concentrate on keeping a steady beat, but her eyes were drawn back to their frontman’s menacing expression.

She couldn’t help the feeling that a storm was coming.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #skye parkin #merula snyde #charlie weasley #artemis hexley #lizzie jameson #rockstar au #when stars ignite #wsi #besties collaborate

[mxpseudonym]

Too Many Questions

Pairing: Tommy x OC 

Reader Gender Expression: Male Reader (if you don’t mind straight up characterization)

Length: 4406 words (allegedly)

Warnings: None

A/N: Very self indulgent, it’s just an idea that came to mind. I’m writing a part two because this was getting too long for a tumblr post. Part II is sappy and possibly spicy, we’ll see. 

Edit: It was irking my soul that I split this piece into two parts so I combined them and now Part II doesn’t exist. 

Tommy’s Betrayal 

--

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Tommy's eyes snapped away from their leisurely journey tracing the lines on the man's face to his cool, unyielding brown eyes.  

"Do you keep thinking about her because she was your last chance at salvation?"

The question was sharp and unavoidable. It was inappropriate. It was not a question at all, but a statement disguised in the most palatable way possible. Most importantly, it was telling. Who knew Tommy Shelby better than Jack Brewer? Only Polly Shelby, probably.

If he were honest, Tommy didn't even know how it happened. Jack was young, only just approaching his late twenties, yet he was the puppet master of London Town. His utterly charming but never quite polite disposition only helped unnerve gangsters and politicians alike when he monitored them like chess pieces. Rumors overtook facts, leaving the miraculous path Jack took from being a banker's apprentice to untamed royalty a mystery of folklore proportions. To add to it, Jack's boyish, handsome features made him unassuming.

"Don't mind the priss. He's just bein' a nuisance in the corner," Alfie Solomons grumbled as he led Tommy into the office. The rum runner nodded his head towards the back of his office, revealing a clean-shaven 22-year-old in an expensive suit.

"You're grumpy today, Alfie. You still skipping breakfast?" Jack asked, an airy arrogance to his tone. He didn't look up from the folder he was reading from while Alfie barked a sassy rebuttal, but when Jack did, his eyes locked with Tommy's. Suddenly he was standing and approaching the businessmen with an outstretched hand. His manner was as relaxed as his firm yet comfortable handshake. "Thomas Shelby, how are you? I'm Jack Brewer."

"I'd say nice to meet you, but I don't know yet." Tommy watched Jack's eyes sparkle.

"This has already made my day."

"Do you mind? We have a meeting?" Tommy motioned to Alfie, not bothering with many pleasantries. Jack looked to Alfie, a playful smile on his face.

"Alfie?"

"The kid's my partner anyway. He's a puppeteer and a walking omen if you can believe it," Alfie, in his own way, vouched for the boy.

"Anyone could have predicted the war between the Jews and the Italians. You just have to think," Jack said with a shrug.

"What kind of partners are you?" Tommy asked as he unbuttoned his suit jacket. Jack's eyes flickered down to take in his figure for a moment, not minding for a second that Tommy caught the motion. He even looked him in the eye after.

"Alfie provides security for me, and I help him out with projects here and there. He can let you know which ones."

"Ah, there's a lot of trust between you then." Tommy nodded.

"Not really. We just understand each other. If I were to betray Alfie, I'd lose business, reputation, and all the dark rum I can swallow. If Alfie were to betray me, it would be in vain, and I'd make sure he wouldn't be able to leave more than a glimmer of false hope to his kin when he passes. Right, Alfie?" Jack looked back to Alfie, his smile still reposed and bright.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard you. Now quit your yapping and get over here, Tommy." Alfie motioned to the chair in front of him. Before he could, a hand reached out and placed itself on Tommy's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. It would have been warm if Jack wasn't seemingly wicked at heart.

"Don't worry, Tommy, I won't interfere. I've got work to do back here."

That was a good four years ago, and now Tommy sat shirtless on a chair in Jack's posh, surprisingly well-used kitchen. Just a moment ago, Tommy was musing about how he felt robbed. It took showing up at half past midnight with a knife wound to see Jack with mused hair, wiry glasses, and a long-sleeved thermal pushed up to his elbows. Now, Tommy was looking at that same boy as if he'd lost his mind.

"You've got a lot of balls, Jack, and you're toeing a fine line. Why would you say that?" Though it was a threat, Tommy in no way thought Jack would be intimidated. Just as he suspected, the young man remained unfazed by his tone as he clumsily splashed iodine on a cotton square.

"You've always wanted more than any man could have. You loved and married an aristocrat who betrayed you because she wanted the clean version of you, and you wanted to be that clean version. I believe we'd call that a pacemaker of sorts, someone to keep you going in a certain direction. Doesn't really work that way when you're the type to risk anything to meet your goal. But it was a good try. Be brave now," Jack said, mumbling the last part as he leaned in and focused on Tommy's arm. It was only a flesh wound, a narrowly missed shanking from a rival gang's guerilla attack turned into a jagged slash on his left bicep.

"You're an insufferable bastard," Tommy said finally.

"And you suffer plenty. Is that why you like me?" Jack's eyes shifted to meet the icy blue ones for a moment, and gave Tommy a cheeky smirk.

"When did I say I liked you?"

Jack thought to the many times they'd spent together in offices, various properties they owned, hotel rooms, and the occasional Bently. He nodded and gave a knowing smile.

"You're right. I'm presumptuous."

Jack could have just about anything he wanted- a spontaneous parade that would block traffic or a shady election alike. But despite their murky history, it was no secret that his favorite carrot on a stick was Tommy Shelby.

Jack would be dead if the tables were turned, and Jack had done what Tommy did to him. An attempt at betrayal that was now years old but still fresh in Tommy's mind by the power of something akin to regret. But Jack was a different breed of man, one that Tommy yet didn't have a grasp on.

"If you hadn't tried to betray me, you wouldn't be the opportunist I thought you were. And that would have been disappointing," said Jack after revealing what he knew back then, which was everything.

He didn't ask Tommy for so much as an apology. Instead, he was here handling Tommy like he was made of glass. Tapping the iodine against thickened skin was almost too gentle. It was unnecessary. Still, Tommy sat quietly and took it because it was past 1 AM now, and he was tired, and he liked it. In the glow of the kitchen lights, Tommy let his shoulders relax and his mind wander.

He always figured he'd end up at Jack's actual apartment. Not a safe house or his third most frequented London flat, but his real home. Thinking back to when Jack first opened the door, Tommy wondered if he'd gotten one over on the man. Jack looked surprised for a moment before rolling his eyes, holding the back door open, and telling Tommy the entry cost was getting his wound dressed. It wasn't every day he could outsmart Jack. Tommy spent a considerable amount of time pinpointing the address he'd been quietly holding onto for the better part of a year. Using it now gave away some leverage, but it was worth it to see this side of Jack, calm with the haze of sleepiness inside an equally quiet house.

Were they opposites? He often felt a pang of dreadful isolation, even when his family was bickering around Arrow house's large dining table. But Jack seemed so content in his home alone, not a soul around. He'd even sent his small staff of three away on holiday for the week to avoid being asked if he wanted tea throughout the day because it drove him up a wall.

Would he like to be in a place like this, Tommy thought? Padding through the house barefoot, a warming drink in hand. The bigness that signified luxury traded in for the gift of holding a conversation with someone in the next room and smell what's cooking from his bed. And with Jack. That would be something.

"That's why you let your guard down, isn't it?" Jack brought Tommy's mind back to the present as he finally secured the bandage. He always did that. "You're not usually this careless. Were you thinking about absolution? Did you see her again?"

"You talk too much. And thinking you're always right's going to get you killed."

"No, it's not. Aren't I right anyway?"

"No."

Jack hummed, looking Tommy over for a moment. He leaned down, one hand grasping Tommy's wrist, letting his fingertips graze over the delicate skin. The other found its place on Tommy's thigh, only the smallest indention made from his fingertips.

Jack leaned into him, centimeters away from allowing their lips to brush. Instead, he inhaled softly. His nose grazed against Tommy's cheek, then his jaw, down his neck to his collarbone then up again. Tommy could feel his heart rate speed up. How could this youngin possibly get a rise out of him like this?

"You don't smell like opium anymore, Tommy. I'm proud of you," Jack spoke softly in his ear and let his thumb stroke the inside of Tommy's wrist. Those for words made Tommy's chest leap. "That means you aren't hallucinating her because you're high. And it seems like a little more than just residual love."

"You shouldn't talk about her that way. You of all people don't have the right."

A warning.

Jack pulled away far enough to see the glossy eyes of the man he let in. It was a strange feeling to be looked at with undeserved tenderness, Tommy thought. Moreso, it was unusual to be cared for.

Are you sure you vetted your new house staff properly?

Did you take precautions at your new factory?

That ciggy's not your lunch, is it?

Whether in meetings, in passing, or on purpose, there were always questions for Tommy. And when Jack felt Tommy exceeded his usual recklessness, he let him know.

And now, Jack was asking more questions. Prying. He tilted his head slightly. A warning from Tommy Shelby wasn't to be taken lightly, no matter who you were. Jack just happened to take the weight in stride.

"I shouldn't talk about Grace like what?" Jack asked.

"Like you know how she was in this world, and how she stays with me now. You don't know anything about it."

"Tommy, you know I'm thankful to her for taking care of you. I was at the wedding, wasn't I? No ill will. This isn't about her anyway; it's about you. Who else do you talk to about her? You just keep it in, don't you?"

"Gonna refer me to another head doctor? Don't waste your breath," Tommy scoffed.

"I'm going to refer you to the best psychiatrists I know as long as we both shall live. I'll make you sick of me."

"Too late."

"Well, I have nothing to lose then."

Jack straightened, reminding Tommy that he was being held only because he missed the feeling as Jack went to the liquor cabinet. He muttered something under his breath as he grabbed two glasses. That's right.

Jack was condescending, smug, even mean at times when it came to business. But when it came to Tommy, the one who sat shirtless in his kitchen with his shoulders relaxed and eyes carefully observing him, Jack had never spoken words too sharp at him. It was unnecessary, Tommy thought, because he could take it. But perhaps it was more of Jack not wanting to treat him in a way that Tommy had to brace himself to take.

"That'll help you sleep," Jack said, placing the drink in his hand. Tommy stood, gulping the small amount of brandy with ease.

"Where am I sleeping?"

"So, you want to stay?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "I can call you a cab."

"Come off it, it's unbecoming to not host a guest in a house like this," Tommy motioned around him. The phrasing made Jack's cheeks warm. Unbecoming, like some sort of debutante being scolded.

"Is the most becoming thing to do offering you my bed?" Jack leaned in close once again, giving Tommy his big eyes full of faux innocence. When he wasn't in his high-end suits or talking quite frankly, Jack had to capacity to look adorable.

"Aren't you being presumptuous?" Tommy asked. Of all the things he could have said, Tommy didn't expect that to be the one that made Jack reel back like he'd been hit. The young man moved to lean against the wall and pointed to the stairs.

"I have several guest rooms. I don't know if the beds are turned down or what that even means, but they're there."  

It was late, Tommy remembered, and Jack wasn't energized enough to keep the banter going on. Not like this. Jack took a sip of his drink and waited for Tommy. He was always waiting for Tommy.

"Is your bed turned down?" Tommy asked.

"I just told you I don't know what that means," Jack said, setting down his glass then stretching. He let his arms rest above his head. The motion revealed a toned stomach and just how low on the hips Jack's cotton bottoms actually hung.

"So you'll have to come to check for yourself, old man."

At nearly 2 AM, the only thing either of them had the energy to do was sleep. Any other revelations about Jack would have to wait until morning, and Tommy wasn't disappointed.

As he moved Jack's head from his chest and arm from around his waist, Tommy found that Jack was dead to the world when asleep. He was also prepared no matter what, evident by the new toothbrush and folded note sitting in an empty glass on the bathroom counter. The message read, 'Tommy, suit in closet, red hanger.' Did Jack know he'd wake up before him? Tommy scoffed but dressed anyway.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" Jack said through a yawn as he stumbled into the dining room at noon, where Tommy was sitting with a book and a coffee cup.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"It's fine. Taking all that smoke in your lungs is probably going to kill you," Jack said, motioning to the cigarette that was still smoking in the small ashtray on the table while he passed through to the kitchen.

"Taking its time, isn't it?"

"Don't say that. You're the only one making this fun."

"What?"

"This whole race to the top we've got going on in this city. Or the world, I guess."

"You don't have a legacy you want to leave behind when you grow old," Tommy asked. A moment later, Jack was standing in front of him with two water glasses and no willingness to accept no as an answer when he encouraged Tommy to drink.

"I'm not growing old. Someone'll get wise and kill me off before that."

Jack was as confident about this as everything else he said. He was more cynical than Tommy thought. He thought back to the one time he asked the man about the war and if he fought. Jack's answer always intrigued Tommy. Jack averted his gaze, and before quickly changing the subject, he said, "Just a bit." Whatever happened, Tommy figured it changed him.

Jack sat and made no mention of how the table's head was always his place, but Tommy could have it for now. He pulled a pastry from a dish sitting in the middle of the table and placed it in his mouth to free his hands. One picked up the paper that had clearly been read through, and one shamelessly commandeered Tommy's coffee cup. A bite of the buttery crust washed down by the coffee that made him grimace gave Jack the energy to try and read the paper. Tommy watched as the young man shuffled the pages, becoming more disgruntled by the minute.

"Why did you do this?" He asked Tommy, exasperated as he tried to find which loose insert continued the front-page story. Once he gathered it, he folded it together correctly and took a large bite of his pastry, only to be interrupted. Tommy tried to smother his growing smile and laugh to no avail. "What?"

"You're a brat."

Jack's eyes widened. He blinked for a moment, both because he never expected Tommy of all people to call him that and because he'd never seen the gangster laugh so heartily before. His mouth still full, Jack asked to clarify,

"A brat?"

"Through and through. Fussy from the moment you woke up," Tommy chuckled again. Heat crept up Jack's neck and face, but he let himself huff in amusement.

"I'm just particular."

It was a surprisingly eventful news week- horse races fixed to perfection and hollow speeches from political figures made to the public. And yet Jack found himself more interested in the unchanging man before him. He rested his chin in his palm and took Tommy in.

It was true that he hadn't expected Tommy to show up on his doorstep. But, if Tommy hadn't found his address by now, he would have been disappointed. Showing up like he did, however... Well, Jack had wanted to invite him on his own accord.

The whole thing with the Changrettas and ultimately Solomons was finally over, and Tommy could come back to him in London. They'd planned to meet on Tuesday, something about golf. Yet here, Tommy was instead, being somewhat of a nuisance. He hadn't asked if he could smoke in the house and didn't ask where the coffee was before he made. Not to mention, he handled his grouchiness with a bite of his own. A smile reached Jack's eyes and radiated through his body- this was an excellent second choice. It was like Tommy belonged there.

Almost.

"Try not to look so enamored; it's off-putting," Tommy spoke, not looking up from his book on... political influence? Something happened...

Jack reached out and placed a hand on Tommy's neck. His fingers moved up to feel the texture of his ridiculous hair cut, finally earning a glance. Jack could only imagine what Tommy would look like if he actually grew it out. The newspaper was an afterthought as Jack leaned over from his chair and pressed his lips against Tommy's. Soft, chapped, and chaste, but just what he needed all the same.

"Do I put you off?"

"All the time."

"Why are you wearing this?" Jack's hand moved to the collar of Tommy's shirt. Well, the shirt he got Tommy. The suit itself was expensive; a Belgian tailor with magic hands met Jack's requirements from the light gray color to the silver cufflinks.

"Didn't you tell me to?"

"Mm, I did. But if you're staying, then I'm just going to get you out of it."

"So straightforward."

"Says the man whose means of seduction involve alcohol, white lies about petrol, and some variation of 'let's fuck.'"

"Didn't say it was a bad thing."

"I'm making more coffee."

Jack had only placed his (formerly Tommy's) mug on the counter when the well-dressed man caged him in from behind.

"Are you not going to keep your promise?"

By nature, Jack was fearless in a way that surprised Tommy. If one believes death to be an inevitable luxury, there isn't a situation that could faze them much. In Jack's mind, either the consequence was easy, i.e., death, or it was difficult but something he'd get over at some point. Either outcome led the young man to do precisely what he wanted always.

The first time they kissed, they stood in Jack's office. Tommy was leaned against his desk, and Jack wasn't shy about leaning into him. Now in Jack's kitchen, he held that same energy. Turning in Tommy's arms, Jack wasted no time pressing their lips together again, with the older man meeting him halfway.

Tommy wasn't exactly sure how Jack managed. His kisses were dangerous- straightforward yet teasing, intense yet languid. It was helped only by the fact that they fit well together. Hands cupped a young man's face as a bold pajama-clad thigh moved between legs to press against the front of trousers. Thoughts of money were pushed aside as an expensive waistcoat was clenched between eager fingers, now a simple tool with a single-use: making them closer.

Even when he was dangerously close to light-headed, Jack considered this a worthy moment to push himself. The short breaths passed between kisses would have to suffice for now. For all Tommy called Jack bold, the young man couldn't help but let out a chuckle at how expertly dominant Tommy could be. A hand pressed to the small of his back, moving Jack and his eager thigh that brushed against Tommy's trousers closer while kissing down his neck.

"Enough," Jack breathed. Tommy looked up, unsure what he meant until Jack pushed their lips against each other again and let his hands rest on Tommy's belt. "Do you want a bed or a couch? Because I could have you right now, and I will if we go further."

The couch was closer.

Tommy's ability to concentrate was dwindling with each undone button. Open-mouthed kisses landed on every inch of available skin, making it a battle of moving fast enough to continue and not getting overwhelmed by so much contact after being touch starved. Maybe that was Jack's strategy. Sharp pain sinking into his shoulder made Tommy wince. It was a reminder that he'd been gone for a while. It was illogical and unnecessary to aim for exclusivity in whatever they called their relationship. Surprisingly, that's what made it all the more desperate.

"If I have a craving for Tommy Shelby, it doesn't matter who's around."

Jack ran a tongue over the indents of his canines and dragged it up his neck to stop and bite Tommy's earlobe.

"Hurry up," he breathed his command.

xx

"Did something happen?"

"When?"

"I don't know." Jack shrugged and tapped his cheek. Irritatingly patient, he was. They were in front of the fireplace in the den now, a fur blanket draped over them both as they laid in their underwear.  Early afternoon sun poured through the windows, illuminating the swirling smoke that left Tommy's lips.

"Then why ask?"

"Because I could know, but I always like to give you a chance to tell me voluntarily. It makes me feel less like you'd be lying to me every day if you could," Jack said, always casual, before stealing Tommy's cigarette. "Go ahead."

It wasn't that Tommy was interested in lying to the man all the time. In this instance, it was more that this was a problem Tommy got himself into and had to get himself out of. A problem that Jack had no doubt predicted like he predicted everything. Tommy thought back to his business with the Russians. Jack's first time in the Shelby Company Ltd. offices and Tommy's first time seeing the young man's face drop happened concurrently.

"Tommy," Jack almost sang his name, which only added to the tension. Tommy was a child about to be scolded for doing something he shouldn't have. "Am I too boring for you, Tommy? You had to go to the Russians?"

"A pest, always. Not boring though," Tommy said as he cleared his throat. He went to light his cigarette, giving it more concentration than required. Looking up, Tommy almost paused at the expression in Jack's eyes. There was no smile, genuine or otherwise, only the man he'd heard the haunting rumors about. What was the look he was getting? Annoyance? Disbelief? Frustration?

Instead of speaking on whatever it was, Jack placed a hand over his mouth and looked away. He swore under his breath and mumbled a few words before looking back. Maybe Jack should have told Tommy he was stupid and that the plan wasn't worth it. Doing something like this would be the nail in the coffin for any hopes of an utterly above-board business. But Jack, for once, chose his battle.

"That Tatiana Petrovna knows everything about you. The details of you being a widow, your brand of tobacco, the way you like to sin," Jack said instead. "And don't leave any weapons around. She's crazy."

Jack was good at being one step ahead or quickly recognizing when he wasn't and course correcting. But, though Tommy knew Jack wasn't a stranger to killing a man point-blank, there was still a grit that he was missing. Too eloquent and methodical to handle the Italians from New York. So he told Jack everything and how he was victorious using his Romani prowess. Jack wasn't the only strong one.

"Ah, so you're here because Polly threatened to lock you out of the safes again if you didn't take a holiday," Jack mused. That was his real question from earlier. Why the hell are you still here?

"Something like that." Tommy nodded.

"What are you going to do when you start shaking again? And hearing things?" Jack asked, offering the cigarette to its original owner.

"I'll deal with it if it happens, and it might. Nothing gin can't fix," Tommy said. He reached for the cigarette, only for it to be snatched away and tossed into the flames.

"That was a test. You failed." Jack rolled to his side, propping himself up on his forearm.

"I'm not sick, hm? I've shut the door on the war. I'm not Arthur. I can manage." Tommy could feel himself warming with anger, no, defensiveness at the idea that everything he did was to be questioned.

"I'm not letting you run around here like a dog catching rabies."

"You don't have a say in as much as you think you do," Tommy reminded him. Jack smiled in response, his eyes lightening up. He shifted his fingers then brought them to Tommy's temple in the shape of a gun.

"Go to a doctor, or I'll kill you myself. Bang."

He made a shooting motion then pulled his hand away, blowing imaginary smoke from his fingers. Tommy wondered if Jack ever made jokes. No matter his tone of voice, he always said what he meant and meant what he said. There was no getting out of this.

"What, are you my father now?

"Would you like that?"

"Christ,"

"Not quite him, either."

--

Tommy Tag: @soleil-dor;  @amysteryspot​; @captivatedbycillianmurphy

Peaky Blinders Tag List: @lilymurphy03

#Idk what this is but it felt nice to write #Peaky Blinders Fanfiction #Tommy Shelby Fanfiction #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x OC #Tommy Shelby x male!reader #Tommy Shelby x Male!OC #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky Blinders imagine

[connorandersons-blog]

Prompt: Hanging from the wrists + Rescue

This was a prompt challenge for the DBH Whump discord server I’m in (and a mod in), you should totally join if you enjoy dbh whump!

Summary: Connor gets kidnapped by a man determined to get information out of him, but Connor will not budge. Will Keir be able to break Connor down before he's saved? 

Warnings: graphic descriptions of torture, but a happy ending. Also, RK1k

Hope you enjoy!

------------------------------

Awareness comes to him gradually, his systems slowly starting to reboot. He felt like he was floating, but that couldn't be right. What had happened?

Oh. His eyes widened as the cold seeped into his bare skin, only wearing pants now. He's not floating, but instead is being tied up by his wrists from the ceiling. If he points his toes his feet just barely scrape along the ground.

His breathing quickens but he tries to reason with himself. The criminals he was hunting wanted information. Information he couldn't give, but that gave him a chance. They'd keep him alive to get to that information, if he gave it away, no matter what they'd say, they'd kill him. So he just had to withstand whatever torture they had planned.

Wonderful.

Surrounded by four dark walls, there was nothing else to do but stare at them. To look at the paint that had started to chip off as time passed or the blood that still stained it. His communications were shut off, but that was relatively easy to do. He still had access to his forensic equipment, and it didn't seem like they could get into his memory files. He kept them heavily encrypted for this very reason.

The prison cell was a hollow cube, one way in, no windows. In there he'd have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind. The perfect place to torture someone. To break them down. Connor would not be broken easily.

People would be looking for him. Hank wouldn't stop until he was found, not after they had grown so close over the years.

Markus would tear the city apart looking for him. Markus would do that for any of his friends but Connor didn't want him to get so distracted that he forgot he had to lead their people.

Hell, even Gavin would help look. If you asked Connor if he would a few years ago he would have laughed in your face. Now? Well, they had formed an odd friendship. One where they bickered and sassed each other but at the end of the day would have each other's backs.

So he had the two best detectives in Detroit looking for him along with the leader of the deviants. He would be saved and he'd be fine. They'd find him.

The door swung open and a smaller man came in. Connor didn't underestimate him, he knew there could be hidden strength or he'd even have smarter ways to torture.

"My name is Keir Reid, I'll be looking over you for your stay." The man walked up, his hands clasped behind his back. "I assume you will not give the information away easily?"

"I am Detective Connor Anderson, badge number 26, serial number 313 248 317." He stared straight at the man, no emotions on his face.

Keir hummed then slowly nodded. "Very well. We'll start small and work our way up. I've been informed you have pain sensors, that will come in handy." He walked back to the door and gave one solid knock before walking back over. "The sooner you tell us the information, the sooner the pain will stop."

At least he didn't try to say he'd let Connor live. "Detective Connor Anderson, badge number 26, serial number 313 248 317."

The door opened again and a large man wheeled in a cart. This would be the type of man you'd expect to torture someone. Yet he still looked to Keir.

"Start small." He grabbed a chair before sitting down and crossing his legs. It seems he really would be watching Connor for the whole thing.

He steeled himself before the first small flick of a blade sliced through his skin. It stung and burned but this would be nothing compared to what would eventually come.

When Connor said nothing more cuts came before Keir decided to step it up. The other man, Connor was mentally calling him Chuck just because he could, knelt and opened a small fridge, pulling out an ice cube. He pressed it to one of his open wounds.

Connor's eyes scrunched up tightly, trying not to let out even a single whimper. The pain is so intense but he grits his teeth through it.

"Still nothing?" Keir asks.

"Detective Connor Anderson, badge number 26, serial number 313 248 317." He sneers at Keir.

"This will be fun." He muses before nodding at Chuck to continue.

Each cut burns into but he keeps thinking of Markus. He'd come and save him. He'd know Connor was missing even if no one else noticed. Connor knew he would. They were so close, close enough that Connor would almost call it love. But neither had voiced it or even mentioned liking the other.

But Markus felt the same, right? The signs were there, Connor watched him closely enough for that. They spent almost all of their free time together even if it was just to sit next to one another as they did their own thing. They were always touching, seeking out the other. So Markus would be looking for him.

"Perhaps he should leave him with a permanent mark. One everyone will be able to see." Keir interrupts, standing up. He knocks on the door three times before it opens and a man hands him a long stick. "Thank you."

Chuck lights up a welding torch and holds it to the end of the metal stick.

No, no, no, fuck this wasn't good. He tried to move away but it only caused the chains to dig into his wrist deeper. Yet Kier smiles as he walks over.

The brand pushed to his chest, his mind screamed out as the pain drove through his chest.

Connor's eyes swam with unshed tears that finally spill out accompanied by a scream from his throat as the torture goes on for too long, he couldn't hold it in any longer. Keir grinned ferally, walking up to Connor. “Scream for me again…” he purrs, gripping Connor's bloodstained chin. “Your voice is so pretty when it breaks.”

His synthetic skin melted away, and Keir kept it pressed there until he knew Connor could never get rid of the brand. His skin didn't even try to cover it as Keir pulled back.

He let out a whimper as the pains started to spread. "Detective Connor Anderson, badge number 26, serial number 313 248 317." God, it hurt so bad but he wouldn't give in. He had to protect those poor people, he wouldn't let them get hurt or killed because he was weak.

"Not bad. We will be back. For now, why don't you just stay here." Keir said, handing the branding iron to Chuck. It wasn't like Connor could go any way, but he didn't say anything, instead, he closed his eyes.

If they were giving him a break then he'd take it. He knew it had been a few hours since they started, but it all started to burr as unconsciousness pulled him under.

Connor's scream of agony finally breaks as the electrocution stops. Body aching and burning, he slumped forward and gasped for breath. He didn't even have the strength to shudder as Keir runs a deceivingly gentle hand through his hair and whispers.

“This doesn’t have to continue. You know what I want.”

His mind is so clouded with pain as he pants. But slowly he raises his eyes to meet Keir's. "Fuck… you." He spits at the man and grins when it hits him almost directly on his eye.

It had to be three days now, but he couldn't tell anymore. Hours felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours. He could have been there for only a day and he wouldn't know it.

Keir finally showed emotion, his face twisting into anger. Connor sees the slap coming and bites his tongue as it hits. His cheek stings but he doesn't flinch.

"Oh, we'll make you hurt," Keir promises and steps back. Connor rolls his eyes but keeps his mouth shut. He was already in pain, enough pain that he wanted it all to stop but he wouldn't give in.

He blinked and his blood turned cold. He was in the garden, on the boat. But this couldn't be right. He had gotten rid of Amanda, made sure she was gone for good.

"Connor, what's got you so distracted?" Markus asks and Connors eyes snap to him. He's sitting across from Connor in a t-shirt, looking as comfortable as ever.

"Markus? What are you doing here? It's not safe!" Not just because of Amanda but because of Keir.

"You and I both know I'm not actually here. You're using this to cope with the pain, so here I am. I must say, I'm definitely flattered." Markus leaned forward, a small smirk on his face.

Connor whimpered as he felt something hit on his stomach, but Markus reached out and took his hand. "Sorry, God this hurts."

Markus gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "It's not your fault. Take a few deep breaths, I'm here."

Connor nodded and tried not to curl into himself. But the slow gentle circles Markus was doing on his hand definitely helped. "Thank you."

He blinked again and was back in the cell, but now completely alone. He looked down and winced as he saw the burn down his chest. There were other burns, how long had he dissociated? It was only a minute or so in the garden, but obviously, it had been longer than that. He trusted himself enough to know he wouldn't have accidentally given any information away.

The dissociation happens more and more now. It's not just Markus either, both Hank and Gavin show up but always separately. Each had words to calm him down as his body went through unimaginable pain.

He was so tired, he just wanted the pain to stop, he'd never give up the people, though.

Connor so broken down and exhausted by the torture that he can’t bring themselves to show any more fear when the Keir threatens him; when the knife is pressed into his throat, he rested his chin against it and close his eyes, accepting that the Keir could kill them for it. In this one moment, he just can’t care.

"Have you really given up?" Keir asks, the knife knicking Connor's neck but not enough to be of any real danger. Still, the feeling of his blue blood dripping onto the knife made him shiver.

"Detective Connor Anderson, badge number 26, serial number 313 248 317." He mumbled, eyes closing. "Just do it. I'm not going to tell you anything."

Keir frowned and moved the knife away. "How can you be this stubborn? I'll kill you quickly if you just tell me, you don't have to suffer." Keir almost seemed sympathetic towards Connor. "Please, just tell me."

"Why do you care? Either way, I die." It must have been a week now, and still, no one was coming. Maybe they were thankful he was gone. He really thought he and Markus had a thing but he could be wrong. Maybe no one was even looking for him.

Keir pursed his lips but didn't move the knife away. "You're strong, I can admire that. If you weren't caught up in this then I would never have hurt you."

Connor shook his head, then glanced up at his hands. His wrists were caked with dried blood along with new blood every time he moved. His arms were numb, and he knew he'd have scars, so many scars. "Well, I'll never give any information up, no matter what you do to me. I don't care if I'm never saved, I don't care if you keep me alive, I don't care anymore." It was true. He couldn't hold onto the hope any longer, it made wounds deeper than any physical weapon.

"That's pathetic. Though I am impressed. Take him down!" Keir calls out and two large men come in and release him. He crumpled to the ground, letting out a long whimper. His arms hurt more than ever and all he could do was let himself be dragged out of the room.

He knew he should fight back, he has the opportunity, but he just couldn't. His legs were weak and they were dragging him by his aching arms.

"I will show you mercy for your bravery and determination," Keir said, walking in front. He's dragged out of a mansion, and into snowy woods. At least his blood would leave a mark, who knew what they'd do with his body.

It's bitterly cold with snow piled on the ground and on the bare trees. Every surface, every blade of grass and twig is growing long ice crystals ten or more millimeters in length. Even with his impending death, he took in the almost magical sight. He wished he got to see it with more than pants on and a gun not pressed to his head, but at least this would be the last thing he saw.

The cold numbed him almost completely, the biting cold chilled his fingers into clumsy numbness, cold seeped into his toes and spread painfully throughout his feet. His lips turned a more blueish hue and his teeth chattered like a pneumatic drill. The frigid wind poked him like icy fingers and wrapped around him like a shawl woven from the snow itself.

He took in a deep breath and looked up. The sky seemed to be just as white as the world around him. "Thank you." It was stupid and silly to say but he'd finally get released.

He felt the cold barrel of a gun pressing into the back of his head as he sat in the snow. Keir was the one holding the gun, no doubt. He was almost glad of that.  Let him finally have blood on his hands. "It's my pleasure and my honor."

Connor closed his eyes as he heard the safety being switched off. This was it. He heard the sound of a pop then the echo. Wait. Echo? That was the sound of a gunshot far away, not up close and he wasn't dead.

He heard a thump then the sound of more gunshots. "Connor!" He heard and his head whipped around. That was Markus' voice?! What was he doing here?!

Keir and the two men were slumped onto the snow, their red blood staining the ground. It was oddly beautiful but also gruesome.

Markus runs at him, but Connor sees Hank and Gavin, both of their guns still raised. "Shit, Connor! Baby, are you ok?"

They're here? They came for him? "Markus." He whimpered, going limp in his arms. Markus easily held him, pulling him to his chest and letting his own body heat warm Connor up. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's ok. You did so well. We're gonna get you home now. Just stay with me." Markus took the jacket Hank handed over and wrapped Connor in it tightly before picking him up. "There we go. You're safe now."

"You came. You all came?" He looked at each with half-lidded eyes. He was so tired and just wanted to sleep.

"Course we did. Can't let anyone else kill your robo ass." Gavin says, still not holstering his gun. Connor grins at him and weakly flips him off which gets a laugh out of all of them.

"I love you guys." He sighs, burying his face in Markus's warm chest. He loved them so much it hurt in the best way. This was the good kind of pain.

"Love you too, son," Hank reached over and very gently ruffled his hair. Connor leaned into it, trying not to let his eyes fall closed.

"Yeah, love you or whatever. Dipshit." Gavin muttered, face flushing red. Connor could tease him but decided to hold back, it was rare Gavin showed this much affection willingly.

Markus pressed a kiss to Connor's head, then tilted his head up. "I love you." Then pressed a gentle quick kiss to his lips. Connor melted into it, leaning up to try to get more but his body ached too much. "Now let's get you home."

He was already home, in Markus' arms with Hank and Gavin with him. He finally let himself sleep, knowing that when he woke up there would be no one there to hurt him again.

#Connor Anderson #connor army #Connor DBH #connor detroit become human #connor dbh fanfic #connor detroit: bh #connor dbh blog #connor dbh whump #dbh whump #dbh angst #DBH #dbh fanfic #dbh fandom #dbh fic #rk800 #connor rk800 #RK800 Connor #detroit become human rk800 #rk800connor #rk1000 #dbh rk1000 #dbh rk1k #rk1k fic #rk1k dbh #rk1k #RK200 #markus rk200 #dbh rk200 #rk200 x rk800 #rk800 x rk200

[douxbebearchives]

Meet the Author: Jayismz

Hi, J / Jayismz!

Stories can be found here.

Twitter.

Wattpad. 

__________

When did you start writing Olitz? I started writing Olitz a year ago around December 2019. 

Tell us about yourself! What do you want readers to know about you? I want the readers to know that I’m a pretty humble, easy going guy who loves writing & wants to one day make a career out of it. It’s become a passion of mine. I dislike unnecessary drama & disrespect, & I’m obsessed with fruit snacks. I’m also very easy to talk to, so don’t hesitate to reach out. 

What drew you to Olivia and Fitz? It wasn’t the immediate connection for me. It was the drama between them that pushed & pulled them apart. To see them triumph over all the darkness to show each other a love they never experienced was beautiful.

What made you want to write about them? Honestly? I didn’t plan on writing them but my girl Muses pushed me to do so and I don’t regret it. I love being able to bend and shape them how I please. In ways that the show didn’t.

How would you describe your writing? Drama, Romance, Action, Adventure. Angst as well, depending on the storyline. It’s easy to follow, too. Some points are a bit more subtle but if you read for the sake of the story & not just for olitz smut/fluff then you’ll get the fully painted picture. 

What inspires you to write / create? Honestly? That’s a difficult question. Sometimes watching certain episodes of the show will give me an idea/inspire me. Other times, it’ll be late night inspiration, when I’m supposed to be asleep or life in general. My mind never stops creating, but every idea that I have doesn’t make the site. Also music. That’s heavy inspiration, too. 

Favorite movies, shows, music?

Favorite movies? 1. Dawn of the Dead. 2. The Halloween film series minus one. 3. Jennifer’s Body. 4. The Incredibles film series. 5. The Friday the 13th film series. 6. Insidious 1-2. 7. The Avengers / X-men film series. Even the bad X-men films give me something. 8. Call Me By Your Name. 9. 4th Man Out. 10. Mulligans. 

Favorite shows? 1. The 100. 2. The Witcher. 3. American Dad. 4. Scandal. 5. Kingdom. 

Music? Alternative, pop, electronic, hip hop and r&b, soundtrack, dance, rap, light rock. A little bit of everything.

How long does it take you to write a chapter? I used to be on a once a week schedule but that doesn’t give people time to miss a story and digest the current chapter(s). So, now I wait until I’m ready. Sometimes it takes a week to write, other times it’ll take longer. Depending on how tired, busy and inspired I am. Time limits stress me out. 

Did the show’s themes and plots encourage you or discourage you from writing? The themes I looked for always inspired me. 

Writing AU or Canon? AU.

Reading AU or Canon: some canon is really good, but mostly AU.

________

A favorite line, scene, or paragraph you’ve written.

Though there are many moments I love from all of my stories. The speech Ryan gave to Olivia in Herstory is one of my favorites. 

Ryan: "Option three, we let them bicker and whine and panic because it's you who calls the shots. You are the leader of the free world. You make the tough decisions that mold and shape the world. You break down the barriers of what it means to be president." He slowly strides around the office.

"You're not like the countless men who came into this office and paraded their power as if they were some Gods here to bless us with great fortune and progress only to leave us with broken promises and lies. No, you are Olivia fucking Pope. You are light and you... have more guts than any man I know." Words unwavering, filled with fire.

"Babying everyone with an opinion is not how I see you running this White House. Your White House. So, what's it going to be?"

Reason being is because he sees her for the woman she is here. There’s no underestimation or denial of her skills. Just pure, unadulterated passion and the will to stand by her side knowing that she’s going to make history.

________

Fave Olitz moments? The season 7 conversation when he asked her if he crossed the line. The trail, of course. The lawn kiss in season 6. And also the deleted scene from season 6 where she was leaving the residence and they talked about him having two weeks. OH! And the dug the phone out of the trash moment.

Fave Olitz fanfic moments? I read too much to remember all of them, omg. Don’t hate me y’all 😭. But everyone I follow in the site gives me some of the best moments and they inspire me to write in all honesty.

________

Do you like it when readers engage with you via comments / social media? Of course! It helps. 

Story Reviews: Love them, hate them? I’m indifferent about them. Sometimes they’re so negative but other times, they’re good— constructive even. I read them once every so often before expressing how grateful I am to have people still enjoying my works. Negative ones get deleted without a thought. 

What advice would you give to a new Olitz writer? Just write! Perfection should only matter to you and you only. If it’s perfect to you then I’d say you’ve done a good job. Also, write the story that you want to tell. People tend to scream that something’s not good if the idea they had in their mind doesn’t happen. Stay true to yourself and never let anything dictate the words you write. 

Outside of your fics, do you have any fave Olitz stories or authors? Anything by Musesoftheminds, labellebeaucoup, sweetness04fj, anonolitz, glamour02, loveoverpride, annnnd Keke thegoddess. 

Do you talk to other Olitz authors? If so, do you like the camaraderie? I talk to a good 4 of them. Muses I talk to almost everyday off Twitter, of course, but the other three I’ll reach out and check in or they will. I do like it— the camaraderie. It makes me feel wanted here which means a lot. 

Have you made friends (people you talk to outside of fanfic) because of Olitz / Scandal fanfic? I have, yes.

Before you go, anything else you’d like to share?

Yes. To those that read my stories and newcomers. I’m glad you enjoy my work and I’m happy to continue writing for you all. I know it was a big change with me adding new characters and turning the tides a bit but the reception to them has been so heartwarming.  

I’m happy Ryan has been received well in the fics. He’s an extension of me if I were to put myself in those settings. I used to be so afraid to admit that but it’s nothing to be ashamed about. Adding myself or a fraction of myself in some way pushed me to continue with writing these stories. It’s like I become one with the character thing. Plus, it makes for good dynamics. 

As far as other characters, I tend to use people I know as blueprints as well as other celebrities. For example, Rose / Viper is based on my girl Musesoftheminds if she were in those settings. In When It All Falls & its sequel, Danny is portrayed by actor Marcus Rosner. In Hunted, Walker is portrayed by Charles Melton & Mike is portrayed by Trevante Rhodes. In Herstory, August is portrayed by Henry Cavill and Rose’s husband is portrayed by Jason Mamoa. She picked him herself, LOL. 

And if anyone wants to be in a story of mine, let me know! If it works with the story, we can make it happen now that you know my process. 

Lastly, I want to thank the community for being so open and accepting of me and my ideas. I was afraid that me being an openly gay man and incorporating every facet of that from presentation to relationships to sex would’ve pushed people away, but you’re still here and it means the world to me. And to the writers I speak to personally, thank you for always having my back and for encouraging me to continue. You’ve been nothing but kind & I love you. 

Thank you to DouxBebeArchive for this writer’s spotlight, for always being kind enough to share my works and for being a kind soul. 

xoxo, J

________

Thank you, J, for allowing us to feature you!

#Olitz fanfic authors #Jayismz #Olitz fanfiction #Olitz fanfic writers

[kbstories]

impression//expression

"It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone."

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Post-Kamino Arc, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Kiri Has A Dog Because I Said So

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Content warning for anxiety attacks and discussions thereof. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Kirishima comes to sunlight shining on his face and an armful of Bakugou.

It’s not a sudden jolt of consciousness that alerts him of this. His brain comes online one synapse at a time with how all-around cozy he is, bundled up in comfortably warm covers with Bakugou’s head nestled in the crook of his neck, his arm wrapped loosely around Kirishima’s waist. In actuality, Kirishima slept so well it’s legitimately hard to get himself to wake up beyond lazily squinting an eye against that bright glare.

Which is why his first move is to pull the blanket up higher and snuggle closer to his Bakugou-shaped pillow. Bakugou, for his part, breathes something between a mumble and a sigh and slumbers on.

Out like a light. He’s onto something there, Kirishima muses. For a while, he lets himself drift to the calm two-step beat of Bakugou’s heart keeping time against his chest, the gentle tickle of Bakugou’s hair under his chin. Blissful oblivion nips at the edges of his mind; his body can’t quite get there, though, that pesky bit of awareness clinging to existence despite his best efforts.

Urgh, fine.

Kirishima blinks with a little more purpose behind it. His vision is blurred from overall drowsiness and the murky half-dark the blanket provides. Bakugou is easy to make out regardless, face slack and close enough Kirishima can see the minute shift of blonde lashes as he snoozes. It’s the residue redness around his eyes that nudges Kirishima’s brain to wonder and think and remember–

Blue fire. Unread texts. The hospital, Kamino Ward, All Might. Bakugou.

All at once, the sight of Bakugou passed out in his arms is anything but a peaceful one. It’s intimate in a way Kirishima suddenly feels uncomfortable with, not because he doesn’t like it – in his educated opinion, any day starting with cuddling is good by default – but because Bakugou is the least touch-y person he knows and this is crossing so many lines. All the lines.

Lines drawn by unspoken rules and implicit understandings Kirishima learned by sheer trial and error. All those other times Bakugou let his guard down around him seem like peanuts compared to this.

But… Bakugou is resting. Catching up on untold amounts of missed sleep, looking far more relaxed than Kirishima could’ve hoped for. Perhaps it would’ve been better to ensure he makes it to his own bed instead of sharing the pull-out couch; perhaps Kirishima shouldn’t have pushed when things are so fresh. Kirishima’s hands ache to move from between Bakugou’s shoulders yet letting him go feels wrong, too.

It was far too easy, last time. To sit there and bicker in class while Bakugou faded from view, mere miles away.

The dread roiling within him is familiar, as are the maybes and what-ifs that accompany it. It returns like an old friend, the thought of losing him to people who mistake his violence for villainy, who disregard the good shining at Bakugou’s very core in favor of the hurt his hands can cause. The brightest star in the sky, burning, desperate to be seen, to be acknowledged.

It makes Kirishima restless, this feeling – like the air is growing thin and the ground is about to collapse beneath their feet, and it’s up to Kirishima to get them out of there. His blood thrums with the need to fight tooth and nail to keep whatever is causing it away, to shield Bakugou until the shaking stops and the debris settles.

Kirishima has failed Bakugou once already. Not again, never again–

“Think any harder an’ your brain’s gonna melt.”

Kirishima’s heart nearly stops, then jumps into overdrive. A hesitant glance proves that, yup, that’s Bakugou stirring, right there. Bleary-eyed and still far too soft around the edges but awake. Kirishima isn’t ready for this.

He’s also dead. Super dead. Buried-so-deep-nobody-will-ever-find-his-body dead.

He swallows, any sort of greeting escaping his mind except a quiet, “Oh.”

Bakugou yawns and rubs at his eye, a gesture made clumsy with sleepiness. “Mm?” He props himself up, a hand laid flat on Kirishima’s chest. “Calm down, will ya? Your heart’s goin’ like crazy.”

There are no words to describe how impossible that is right now. “Um”, Kirishima says intelligently, and: “Sorry.” A little sheepish, since he can’t exactly help what his heart does (or his brain, for that matter).

He is on the verge of panicking, Kirishima notes dimly. That realization alone does little to chase away the half-formulated doubts threatening to choke him, that inkling of fear that’s on the brink of spiraling out of control. A moment later, he has to consciously unclench his hardened hands from the back of Bakugou’s shirt, which–

Ah. That’s what woke him up.

“Shit. S-sorry, I–”

There’s a frown on Bakugou’s face as he sits up. “Nothing’s goin’ on”, he tells him, calm where Kirishima can’t be. “’s just my room.” Just as deliberate, the covers are pushed aside to allow cool air to flow into their private niche of the world. Everything’s so bright, so–

“Kiri? Hey. Give me your hands.”

It takes considerable effort to focus on Bakugou’s voice. “Whuh?”

“Your hands. Like this.”

Bakugou holds out his own, palm-up. Kirishima does the same, staring blankly at his trembling, rock-hewn fingers. When Bakugou holds his palm, it’s with a touch Kirishima can barely feel. “Focus on this”, a low murmur followed by pressure to the meat of Kirishima’s thumb, faint despite the bones in Bakugou’s wrist showing from the effort. Bakugou slides it upwards and to the webbing connecting to his index, marginally more giving.

“You’re okay. Just breathe. Focus, right here.”

The touch shifts again, down to his wrist. Kirishima lets him do whatever, watching with a detached sort of fascination as his quirk relents. Bakugou’s thumb brushes over the spot where Kirishima’s veins are becoming visible again, the skin there thin and delicate. He digs in, an inch or two from his hand.

It’s a little rougher than before. Not unpleasant, just unexpected, and Kirishima’s fingers twitch. Bakugou’s lips press together. He does it again, notably gentler. “You with me?”

Kirishima hums. The question registers a moment later and he nods for good measure. “Yeah, I– It helps. This.”

“Mh.” Bakugou gestures for his other arm; he starts from his wrist and goes up to his hand this time, eyes on what he’s doing. “Pressure points are useful shit. You got one here”, a pinch to that spot between thumb and index, “and here”, a tap to his wrist. “Works best if it’s someone else doing it but you can, too.”

That sounds vaguely familiar. Perhaps something that came up the last time he googled it? Panic attacks used to be much more of an thing for Kirishima – before he hair-dyed and bench-pressed Red Riot into something more real, more than a distant daydream. More than a scared kid with shitty self-esteem.

(Life’s been manageable, since. Chaotic and distressing in a host of other ways as it swings back and forth between joy and disaster like fate’s cruelest pendulum and actually, it might be a bit of a miracle it took this long for his anxiety to make a comeback.)

Memorizing any new info is beyond Kirishima right now; he strong-arms his braincells to hold onto the term ‘pressure point’, at least. And if Bakugou is sharing, Kirishima figures it’s only fair to share back.

“The one I know is like, deep breathing? And, um. Talking through it. Counting things you can sense. What you see, hear, smell, and so on. It’s just…”

“Hard to do that by yourself, yeah.”

By this point, Bakugou is just brushing his thumb along the lines on Kirishima’s palm and that feels really nice, too. The image of his hands clawing up worn fabric is hard to shake off, though, making Kirishima’s stomach churn with guilt.

“Sorry, man. For waking you up, I mean. And freaking out on you. I didn’t hurt you, right? You’d tell me if I hurt you.”

It’s meant to come out with confidence, because Kirishima trusts Bakugou. It’s trusting himself that's the problem, sometimes.

A groan, long-suffering. “How many times…” Bakugou gives him a look caught between annoyance and fondness. “Kiri. First off, after yesterday, I have no fucking room to complain when it comes to– That. It happens, it sucks, it’s fine. It’s not your fault or whatever. Secondly–”

Kirishima almost chuckles at how pointed that one word is. He shelves the comment on his tongue for after the Bakugou Lecture he’s being treated to.

“I fell asleep on you. Which, my bad but also fuck you, I was tired and some fucking sap wanted to talk feelings at screw-this-AM. There’re no… scratches or anything, and you make an okay pillow for being a literal rock. So, we’re even.”

Kirishima does laugh at that. “I’m not a rock! Get your facts straight, bro.”

“And thirdly”, Bakugou continues with a smirk, “I just turned your hands into bombs, you dumb fucking rock. Either you let me spark it off you or I’m kicking you out to wash it off before that shit goes boom.”

“Spark off?” Head tilting, Kirishima looks at his hands. He doesn’t see anything but if Bakugou says there’s nitro, there’s definitely nitro. “Wait, is that what you do when you…?”

The gesture Bakugou does to let rapid-fire explosions flicker in his palms is easily copied, Kirishima has seen him do it countless times. The other rolls his eyes.

“Yeah. I got tired of getting it all over the place and wearing gloves twenty-four-seven is uncomfortable as fuck, I tried. Plus, burning shit is fun.”

Huh. Kirishima holds out his hands once more, a swift grin on his lips. “Sounds cool. One sparking off, please!”

Bakugou slaps them away immediately. “Use your quirk, dipshit. Or d’you actually wanna get ‘em blown to pieces?”

“Oh. Right.”

Everything under Kirishima’s elbow hardens in an instant. This time, Bakugou huffs under his breath and takes them between his palms. “Here goes.”

A flash, the familiar crackle of firecracker explosions – Kirishima braced himself for it to hurt a little despite Bakugou’s insane control over his quirk, and he does feel it. It tickles, mostly, the sensation of tiny bursts of heat rolling from his fingertips to his wrist a strangely soothing one.

Bakugou looks over his hands when he’s done, the tightness between his brows easing. Then he glances up to Kirishima’s face and sees the smile that’s broad enough to make his cheeks ache. The frown comes back tenfold.

“No.”

“Dude, yes. Do that again.”

“Nope. Fuck you, Shitty Hair, no.”

“You said it’s fun two seconds ago! Checkmate, I win.”

“Kirishima.”

Kirishima snickers until Bakugou’s palm presses against his cheek. It’s basically second nature to harden in time for the explosion to go by harmlessly and oh, this is so going to become a thing.

“It’s a thing now”, he informs Bakugou. “Can it be like our handshake? We totally need a handshake. What kind of besties are we withou–” A gasp. “Oh, oh, we can do the thing after training, too! I won’t even need to wash my hands. It’s fun and useful.”

Bakugou’s face twists. “What the hell? That’s fucking disgusting.” In one fluid movement, he’s out of their blanket nest and stomping off the couch. It would be intimidating… if not for his wrinkled shirt and sleep-mussed hair making it kind of adorable, instead.

“I’m done talking to you.”

“Aww, bro!”

Kirishima crawls half-way over the armrest only to catch a throw pillow – hah! – to the face. Another thud follows, turning out to be Kirishima’s phone tossed from across the room.

“Even mooched off my charger, ugh. You got a million missed messages. Take care of ‘em before your moms call the cops, bro.”

Bakugou's tone is practically drenched in sarcasm but Kirishima doesn’t care, he beams. Bakugou called him his bro and there’re simply no take-backs allowed on a declaration like that.

*

💪🏻 Kirishima Power 💪🏻

Mama K: Honey, are you awake yet? (received 10:10)

Mama K: Your mom and I are ready to come pick you up whenever. (received 11:20)

Mom: also let us know when we can start hunting your teachers for sport (received 11:22)

Mama K: No murder until our son is back, dear. (received 11:22)

Mom: mhmm sure (received 11:23)

aaaa morning!! (sent 11:38)

oh shit it’s almost noon hhhh (sent 11:38)

Mom: language kiddo (received 11:38)

oh crap** sry (sent 11:38)

Mama K: Welcome back! ❤️ (received 11:39)

hey mama ❤️ (sent 11:39)

ok so picking up is good!! we’re eating breakfast rn (sent 11:42)

well more like lunch 🙈 (sent 11:42)

Mama K: Okay! Now or later? (received 11:43)

ah, mitsuki is saying you two should swing by for tea so maybe in an hour? (sent 11:47)

and that the teachers are actually coming here?? later?? idk why tho (sent 11:48)

aside from, y’know (sent 11:48)

Mama K: Yeah 🙁 (received 11:50)

Mom: how’s katsuki holding up? (received 11:50)

umm ok. kinda. he looks tired as heck tbh and i’m not sure how happy he is about the teacher thing (sent 11:55)

it’s all a bit oof (sent 11:56)

Mom: hmm. anything we can do to help? (received 12:01)

def give him his space (sent 12:03)

and maybe don’t kill aizawa @Mom looking at u haha (sent 12:03)

Mom: bummer (received 12:06)

actually… one more thing? 👀 (sent 12:10)

Mama K: You want us to bring the big guns, huh? (received 12:12)

*

After the hellos and introductions and obligatory fussing over Kirishima – Mama gives him her usual forehead kiss, expertly avoiding his freshly-spiked hair, while Mom wraps him in her patented rib-pulverizing hug – the parents go inside, leaving Bakugou and Kirishima in the yard with…

“Riot.”

Kirishima grins and nods. He heaves the hundred pounds of tail-wagging excitement into a more comfortable position against his chest, big paws coming to rest on his shoulders. “Yeah! Isn’t he the cutest?”

“Your dog is called Riot.”

“Yup!”

Bakugou openly stares at Riot’s drooling smile. After a painfully long pause, he goes: “Okay.”

If all it took to make Bakugou speechless was an Akita with an unexpected (?) name, Kirishima would’ve introduced him to Riot ages ago. As it is, it’s taking all his willpower not to crack up at Bakugou’s expression. It’s like watching one of those ancient Windows computers suffer a system crash so severe even the task manager stops functioning.

Arms full of dog, Kirishima nudges him with his elbow. Reboot initialized. “But?”

Bakugou shakes himself a little. He gestures to Riot, or perhaps to Kirishima, or both? It’s hard to tell. “But… just, like… Why?”

Priceless. Kirishima silently vows to cherish this rarest of blessings in his memories for eternity. It won’t do to rescue Bakugou only to give him an aneurism the very next day. Setting Riot down, Kirishima pats orange-white hair off his borrowed clothes. The Akita immediately trots over to Bakugou to say hi. 

“I got Riot when I was really small, like six-ish? Seven? Something like that.”

Bakugou crouches and holds out his hand for a curious black nose to sniff. Kirishima sits down next to them, watching Riot take a deep whiff and promptly sneeze. Bakugou mutters something about explosives and dumb dog, be careful. Despite the forced casualness on Bakugou’s part, it’s clear he’s not used to being around dogs.

Still, he’s trying. Kirishima’s grin tempers to a soft, close-lipped smile at the sight.

“Back then, I only had a vague idea of who I’d wanna be. As a hero, y’know?” He reaches over to scratch Riot’s favorite spot at the base of his curled tail. It starts wagging immediately. “I was tossing around a few names and somehow Riot stuck. So, I tried it out on him and by the time I realized ‘Yup, that’s the one!’, he didn’t wanna listen to anything else.”

Riot pants at him, mouth wide. Kirishima boops his wet nose. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ about you. Stubborn dog.”

“You’re telling me your hero name got stolen”, Bakugou summarizes drily. “By a dog. When you were six.”

Figures that’s what Bakugou would get out of this. Kirishima snorts and shrugs.

“I guess? Riot – the hero, not the dog – existed way before the whole ‘Red’ stuff came along, ‘cause like… Crimson was out there, I knew he existed, but his philosophy was a bit beyond me. He wasn’t my hero yet, you feel me?”

Bakugou hums. “You weren’t a hero nerd yet. Just a space nerd.”

That startles a laugh out of Kirishima. He knocks his shoulder against Bakugou’s. “Exactly! See, you get me.”

“Shut up, nerd”, comes the predictable reply with a rougher knock back.

Eventually, Bakugou joins him in the grass, his knees propped up and elbows resting on them. Riot makes himself comfortable as well, sprawling on his side with his head resting on Bakugou’s thigh. The full might of pleading canine eyes look upwards. Bakugou squints. “The fuck.”

“He wants scritches”, Kirishima translates readily.

A beat, then Bakugou carefully rubs the knuckles of his index and middle finger in-between the white spots on Riot’s face. Riot huffs a content sigh and melts into the gentle touch.

“Hm. He’s soft.”

“Right? As a puppy, he was the softest and tiniest thing you can imagine. Wait, I might have pics on my phone. Gimme a sec.”

A bit of searching, and Kirishima taps on an old photo of him as a kid, pointy teeth flashed in an impossibly big smile as he hugs a chubby ball of brown fluff close to his face. Mama had dug it up from some dusty family album in a bout of nostalgia after Kirishima broke the news he’d been accepted to U.A.

“Behold: Baby Riot.”

Kirishima shows it to Bakugou. Only after Bakugou’s brows rise does he remember he’s probably never seen him with his natural hair color. Whoops.

Studying the photo for a moment, Bakugou continues to pet the adult version of Riot absent-mindedly. “He looks like a potato.”

“Wha–” Kirishima checks the photo to make sure it’s the same one. “Bakugou. It’s a puppy. It’s like, scientifically proven puppies are the one and only road to world peace. Hello? Nobody hates on a puppy, especially this one.”

Whatever face he’s making has Bakugou smirking, eyes sharp under a brow raised in challenge. “It’s got a weird shape and is brown. Potato.”

Kirishima whines. “Why are you like this? Riot, don’t listen to him, man. You’re the best.”

Riot has fallen asleep, oblivious to the outrageous claims being made in his presence. It’s better that way – the good, old boy deserves better than this slander.

Bakugou is looking down to the snoring dog, too, and something about it must soften even a prickly hedgehog heart like his because he sighs and grumbles: “He’s kinda cool. Maybe.”

Gotcha.

Kirishima pumps his fist in sweet, sweet victory. Nobody, not even the eternally grumpy, can resist the Kirishimas’ secret weapon.

*

On the way back home, Kirishima messes around with his camera until he’s managed a half-decent selfie of himself and Riot sharing the backseat of his parents’ car. A brief moment is spent hovering over his chat with Bakugou.

It’s the first time he’s opened it since– Since.

Baku 💣💥

[riot(s).jpg] (sent 16:58)

thanks for hosting me man 🐶 (sent 16:58)

dorm life, here we come!! (sent 16:59)

The tension in Kirishima’s chest is knocked loose as the ticks turn blue without delay, closing the gap to the ones from the lodge like it never existed. It unwinds entirely when, a handful of minutes later, Bakugou replies.

Baku 💣💥

idiot (received 17:05)

see you soon (received 17:05)

>>Chapter 6

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #kiribaku #bnha fanfiction #i wanted some fluff so i gave kiri a dog #this fic is also on AO3!! #reblogs appreciated c: #my stuff

[jaskierswolf]

The Witcher, The Bard and Their Guardian Angel Pt.4/4

(Other parts on my AO3/Pinned Masterlist)

Luckily for everyone who was in attendance at the wedding of Mihangel’s sister, the mage had taken pity on Geralt after one song. He’d allowed Jaskier to take over, and the bard had all but yanked his lute from the witcher’s arms. Those who were there that night would never forget the sight of the famous White Wolf fumbling over the simple melody that his bard had taught him.

The feat became immortalised in ballads and poems and plays, none of which were written by the bard in question. Jaskier had hoped the entire affair would be forgotten but Little Eye, the mischievous she-devil had had other ideas.

After the wedding Geralt and Jaskier fled quickly to Cintra but Calanthe had not been pleased to see the witcher and his bard turn up at her gates. They’d been sent packing as soon as they’d arrived. However, Jaskier was a stubborn creature and had eventually weaselled his way back into the Queen’s good graces. He’d been introduced to the little lion cub of Cintra, Princess Cirilla, and had visited quite frequently until Nilfgaard’s invasion.

He’d kept Geralt informed of the girl’s progress as she grew into a feisty young teenager, and in turn Ciri had grown quite fond of her favourite bard who told her stories of the White Wolf and her Destiny.

After the fight to save the baby dragon on the mountain, Jaskier had begged Geralt go to Cintra with him to save Ciri. For once in their lives, Yennefer and Jaskier had agreed on this. Yennefer was still desperate for a child, and Geralt’s foolish ill-worded wish had bound the sorceress to them, and in turn Ciri.

Jaskier had since mused that maybe Destiny had intended them all to find each other. It was Jaskier that led Geralt to both Ciri and Yennefer. The girl that had lost her family and the women so desperate for a child of her own, bound together through Geralt.

Maybe Jaskier was just a romantic at heart and was charmed by the idea of his witcher finally having the family he so deserved.

They’d snuck the princess away from the banquet right under Nilfgaard’s noses and fled to Kaer Morhen. The news of Cintra’s fall had reached them whilst they were on the road, Ciri had not taken it well at all.

That had been a shock.

It seemed the young princess had inherited her mother’s gifts. Jaskier had been thrown back against a tree from the sheer force of the girl’s screams. He’d instantly blacked out and had come to with Ciri sobbing over him whilst Geralt tried to placate her.

He’d been too injured to walk or ride without help for a week. Geralt had practically carried him half way to Kaer Morhen, it had hurt like a bitch but he had enjoyed the time spent in his lover’s arms, and there was a small chance that he’d milked his injury for all that it was worth.

Now they were enjoying the safety of Geralt’s home, protected by the mountains and a small army of witchers, Geralt family.

He was curled up in Geralt’s lap, it was after all, his favourite seat in the keep. Not even the lavish arm chair in the library was as comfortable as his favourite witcher’s lap. Although the other witchers did give him a run for his money. Eskel was particularly cuddly, much to Geralt’s displeasure. It had taken Lambert longer to warm up to the idea of hugs and cuddles but eventually curiosity and jealous had gotten the better of the redhead and he welcomed Jaskier’s touch as much as the others.

They were all sat together in front of the large fire place, relaxing after a hard day’s work around the keep, and drinking. The witchers had White Gull, a spirit that Jaskier had tried once but vowed never to touch again. It contained hallucinogens that had been too much for his non-witcher brain. He’d stuck to ale after that. Ciri had water but grumbled that if she were allowed then she’d have no problem with White Gull.  

“How old did you say he was?” Vesemir murmured from across the room.

Jaskier’s eyes snapped up, he hadn’t realised the old witcher had been watching them. He’d been too busy enjoying the warmth of the fireplace and his lover’s embrace.

Geralt frowned and looked down at Jaskier.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m forty-two, Geralt.”

“No you’re not?” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier stuck his tongue between his lips and counted back in his head to be sure. He was born in twenty-two, it was now sixty-four….

That meant he was forty-two.

“No, yeah. I really am.” He insisted, pouting up and his witcher. “Why do you ask, Vesemir?”

The older witcher chuckled. “Have you looked in the mirror recently, bard?”

Lambert snorted. “He probably never stops.”

“The folly of a bard.” Eskel agreed.

Ciri rolled her eyes at the two witchers. “You’re just jealous.” She snapped.

The other two witchers grumbled and Jaskier laughed. “They are gorgeous, there’s nothing to be jealous of, young witcher girl.”

Ciri preened at the name, almost all traces of the princess she’d been before had melted away in the halls of Kaer Morhen. She’d been allowed to break-free from the mould of noble society and she’d thrived. Jaskier suspected the young girl shared his disdain for the world they’d been born into. He’d broken away at around the same age Ciri had.

He winked at her and then turned his attention back to Vesemir. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been travelling with Geralt for years now, I thought you’d look older. You don’t look a day over twenty-five.” Vesemir mused.

Jaskier grinned. “Oh ho ho!” He laughed. “That would prove my mother wrong! After all these years. I wonder if she’s still alive. Nah, probably not. I doubt she’d admit the truth anyway.”

Geralt huffed. “I don’t understand.”

Jaskier patted his cheek and snuggled back against the witcher’s chest. “Dear heart, don’t you remember what you said when we first met?”

Geralt growled and Jaskier felt the sound reverberate in the witcher’s chest. “Was this when I was half dead on the path? Or later when I was half dead in the tavern?”

Jaskier snorted. “Ok, you’ve made your point, my dear witcher, but my point!” He announced with a flourish, almost hitting Geralt in the face. “Is that you called me an elf!”

“I was delirious.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier sighed. “There were rumours about my mother’s fidelity when she was pregnant with me, father forbade anyone from talking about it, but I’ve always wondered if my real father was an elf.” He explained to Vesemir who listened studiously. “It felt right to me and as I grew older more and more people commented that I didn’t look too dissimilar to the elves, then when Filavandrel gave me his lute… I couldn’t help but wonder if he knew.”

“But you’re human!” Geralt scoffed.

Jaskier shrugged and wrapped a lock of silver hair around his finger. “We’ll never know for sure.”

Geralt hummed and the conversation faded back to an easy silence. Lambert and Ciri’s bickering about swords and pirouettes were the only voices in the room. Jaskier hummed under his breath, a new ballad about the haunted halls of the old witcher schools that he hadn’t quite finalised yet. Geralt had one hand threaded through Jaskier’s hair and the rhythmic ministrations were making him tired. He knew that it relaxed his witcher too but he wasn’t ready to go to sleep yet.

He wanted to enjoy the company of Geralt’s family a little longer. He grumbled and nuzzled into Geralt’s chest before sliding down to the floor in front of their chair, sitting at Geralt’s feet. Geralt chuckled but let Jaskier go.

“Play for us, little lark!” Lambert grinned as white gull sloshed from his tankard.

Jaskier grinned mischievously up at Geralt and then whined pathetically. “Oh but I couldn’t possibly. My back is still sore. The lute is heavier than it looks, dear Lambert.”

Ciri met his gaze with her large emerald eyes, he could see she was panicking about causing him injury so gave her a wink. She smirked as she realised what he was up to.

“You know, I heard rumours, ballads about Geralt playing the lute at a wedding.” She feigned innocence as Geralt swore harshly.

The other witchers laughed. They’d all heard the ballads on their journeys but Jaskier hadn’t visited Kaer Morhen before and it wasn’t as if they kept a spare lute around the place.

“I’ve heard the stories too, cub.” Eskel grinned. “Come on, Geralt. Play us a song.”

“Fuck off.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. His poor White Wolf. Luckily for everyone involved, Jaskier had his witcher wrapped around his little finger.

Jaskier rested his chin on Geralt’s lap and gazed up at him through his eyelashes. He knew Geralt loved his eyes, it had been one of the first things the witcher had told him, when he was delirious from magic and potions.

“Please Geralt. For me?” He whispered softly and bit his lip for added effect.

Geralt stared back down at him, his eyes flickering to Jaskier’s lips, before growling. “Fine. Give me the damned lute.”

Jaskier took Geralt’s hands and brought them to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the witcher’s palms. “Thank you, darling.”

The other witchers whistled and Ciri groaned, calling them gross.

Jaskier didn’t care. He had his family. He had Geralt, the man he’d almost watched die right before his eyes. He’d mourned him before he could even get to know him and by some miracle they’d been given a second chance by Mihangel. Destiny had intervened and woven a tale more beautiful and more brilliant than anything he could ever write.

The bard and his witcher.

The witcher and his bard.

And their guardian angel.

Taglist: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @dearest-queerest-nux @awitchersbard @genkitaco @justalittletomfoolery

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #kaer morhen #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #cirilla fiona elen riannon #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher the bard and their guardian angel #wolfie's witcher writing #elf jaskier

[darkblueboxs]

Best Laid Plans

For #aftgsummer

Prompt: Day trip

Pairing: Kandreil 

Read here or on AO3

*

Kevin’s plan for the last day of summer is bullet-proof: he has a huge wall calendar, a copy of his class schedule, a note of every Exy match and banquet date, a print-out of essay deadlines and exam dates, and enough pens and sticky notes to stock a stationary shop. All he has to do is put it all together.

Unfortunately, he forgot to factor his partners into the equation.

He is laying out his highlighters by order of preference when the sound of Neil’s head hitting his desk echoes across the room. Kevin doesn’t even bother with a cursory upwards glance; he can imagine well enough the image of despondency that would meet him if he did.

“Is all of second year going to be like this?” Neil groans into his stack of textbooks.

“No,” Kevin answers, at the same time that Andrew says, “Yes.”

“It’s a matter of planning,” Kevin continues, sending Andrew an arch look. “As long as you make a schedule, stick to it, plan out your work periods and your rest times and stick to a regular sleep pattern-” Neil huffs sceptically, but Kevin continues as though he didn’t hear, “You’ll find it perfectly manageable.”

Neil sits up to cast a doubtful look in Andrew’s direction. Andrew simply shrugs. “It’ll work out.”

“You can’t just say that about everything.” Kevin turns back to his planner. He doesn’t realise Andrew has moved from the sofa until he feels the brush of his breath on the back of his neck. Bracing his arm on the back of Kevin’s chair, Andrew leans over him to inspect Kevin’s progress.

“You have every minute of your every day planned from now until Christmas,” he observes flatly. Curiosity piqued, Neil joins him on Kevin’s other side.

“Wow,” he says as he studies the neat blocks of colour denoting Kevin’s activities. “I’m amazed you didn’t plot your bathroom breaks onto this, too.”

“I don’t need a planner to tell me when to take a shit,” he says irritably.

“What about me and Andrew? Do we get our own highlighter colour?” Neil leans forwards, pretending to read from a particular quadrant. “Sunday, seven am, get boned.”

“You two can ‘bone’ all you want at seven am on a Sunday, I’ll be enjoying my one lie-in of the week, thank you.”

Tired of their bickering, Andrew reaches between them to flip Kevin’s planner shut.

“Hey!”

“We’re going for a drive,” Andrew announces. He doesn’t wait for Neil or Kevin’s response, but leads the way with the typical certainty that they will follow.

Kevin and Neil flick a look at each other. The three of them have come as close to telepathy as anyone ever will, and this is the look that says, is this worth fighting him over?

The answer is, as always, a resounding no.

After Neil wins the scuffle for the front seat, Kevin settles into the middle back seat, arms crossed. Neil flicks a triumphant smirk over his shoulder, which Kevin replies to with a scowl. The Maserati’s engine purrs through the leather as Andrew throws it into gear. Kevin lets his head fall back as they pull onto the motorway, mentally mapping out and re-arranging his plans for the day onto the blank fabric of the ceiling. There’s a rustle as Neil finds the packet of peanuts Kevin stashed in the glove compartment, and a moment later one bounces off his forehead.

“Andrew,” Kevin complains.

Andrew sighs heavily through his nose. “Children.”

Neil cackles, and Kevin reaches around the seat to throttle him, and Andrew threatens to pull over and stuff them both in the boot, bringing the scuffle to an end. At some point during their distraction he pulled off from the road that would take them to downtown Columbia, electing instead to loop around the metropolis.

“Where the hell are we going, Andrew?” Kevin watches as buildings give way to long stretches of scrubland, bleached brown by weeks of sun. Midday is approaching, and soon a stuffy car will be the last place any of them want to be trapped. Andrew shrugs and merges onto another road seemingly at random.

“I think I hitchhiked here once,” Neil muses.

“How? It’s so empty.” The road stretches out like an endless tar river ahead of them. Other traffic is sparse to non-existent; the idea of breaking down out here is daunting enough. Kevin can’t imagine trudging along the roadside in the summer heat, waiting for a truck to take pity on him, subject to the chaotic whims of the world. Kevin isn’t as dependant on company as he was when he left the nest, but still the endless stretches of emptiness scratch at the remaining agoraphobia in the back of his mind.

Suddenly, Andrew slams on the breaks, hard enough that the strap of Kevin’s seatbelt cuts off the flow of oxygen. Neil jolts forwards, saved from smacking his face off the dashboard by Andrew’s arm. The bag of peanuts is not so lucky, scattering over the front seats in a cascade of empty shells.

“Fuck,” Neil chokes out. Kevin reaches forward to grasp his shoulder, and Neil clamps his hand down over it, reassuring each other of their presence. They look to Andrew; the hand that was not thrown out to protect Neil is clamped, white-knuckled, on the wheel.

Their explanation stares at them from the other side of the windscreen, a tall, slender deer with large, brown eyes. Its ear twitches as it watches them, caught between fear and curiosity.

“Move,” Andrew says as though the animal can hear him. “Move, you idiot.”

Neil leans across him to tap the horn. Startled by the noise, the deer darts across the road and disappears amongst the trees. After flicking a glance over Neil, Andrew turns to pinch Kevin’s chin between his fingers, turning his head back and forth to inspect the damage. The seatbelt left a red line across his collarbone, which Kevin insists does not hurt. Andrew prods it with his forefinger, and when he receives no reaction, he nods. He cups Kevin’s cheek briefly before letting go, the closest Andrew comes to acts of reassurance.

“She came out of nowhere,” Neil says. Andrew hums in agreement. He taps his fingers against the wheel, but does not start the engine up again until Kevin’s breathing has returned to normal.

They end up weaving along Lake Murray, bursts of endless, glittering blue backing the rows of trees that flash past. Andrew’s speed is unaffected by their brush with the deer, but his eyes don’t stray from the road ahead, not even to take in the glowing vistas as they pass.

Andrew picks an exit at random, and they pull up near a small jetty. At the peak of summer it would be swarmed with fishers and families in campervans. As the season draws to the end, only a few stragglers remain, a mother watching her toddlers chase each other around the picnic tables while kayakers splash each other with their oars a little way out from the boathouse. The boathouse shares its building with a shop that sells snacks and children’s toys. Andrew swings past the plastic bats and balls to raid the slim freezer of its popsicles while Neil stares at a map marking hiking trails and beauty spots.

They sit on the end of the jetty, feet swinging over the edge while they devour their purchases. Kevin catches Neil using his soda as an ice-pack, and the ensuing squabble nearly ends with them tumbling into the lake. Andrew watches them through lidded eyes, popsicle dangling from his mouth as he leans back on his arms. Noticing the reddening patches spreading across the back of Andrew’s neck, Kevin sends Neil back to the shop with a nod, distracting Andrew from his absence by debating which bird species were responsible for the orchestra of chirps and calls echoing across the forest. Andrew scowls when Neil returns with a bottle of sunscreen, but after a lecture from Kevin and pleading eyes from Neil, he submits to having his arms and neck slathered with factor fifty.

Andrew finds a picnic bench in the shade to drape himself over while Neil drags Kevin along a walking trail that meanders along the ins and outs of the coastline, finishing at a sandy outlet that gives then a panoramic view of the lake. Kevin ruminates on geographical quirks and features of the area until Neil grows tired of Kevin’s musings and persuades him to abandon his socks and shoes on the white sand so they can wade along the shallow embankment. The sludgy sand of the lakebed gives way so easily underfoot that for a second Kevin fells as though he’s being sucked down into quicksand. He stumbles, knocking into Neil as he does so. Neil mistakes it for a challenge, and bumps him back. Kevin, having barely recovered his balance, loses it all over again. He reaches out for Neil’s arm in the vain hope of steadying himself, but succeeds only in pulling Neil over with him.

They crash into the water with identical shouts. When Kevin looks up, Neil is pushing his sodden bangs back from his eyes. Neil takes one look at his expression and bursts out laughing. Kevin reaches for Neil’s shirt, the idea of drowning him in the sapphire lake water growing in its appeal, but is distracted from his mission when Neil catches Kevin’s mouth with his instead.

They stay there a while, drenched clothes plastered to their skin as the cool water swirls and laps at them, kissing the salty-sweet taste of the lake from each other’s lips.

They stumble back to the picnic benches, where they find Andrew absorbed in watching birds flit back and forth between the bird feeders hanging overhead. He levels the dripping pair with a long look.

“You have a hickey,” he says to Neil at last.

“Jealous?” Neil responds. Andrew’s eyes flick to Kevin, as good a confirmation as any. Kevin’s lips twitch as he tilts his head to one side, making a show of looking Andrew over.

“He needs more sunscreen,” Kevin announces. Andrew rolls his eyes.

When Andrew is slathered up once again to Kevin and Neil’s satisfaction, Kevin rewards him with a soft kiss to his pulse-point, enjoying the way Andrew’s body shivers under the point of contact.

“You’re dripping everywhere,” Andrew says.

“You think I did this?” Kevin levels Neil with a pointed look. Neil shrugs the accusation off.

They find an empty stretch of sand to settle down on, leaving the sun to do the heavy work of drying them off. After a cursory glance to ensure they’re alone, Neil pulls his shirt over his head and lies it out on a rock, stretching out on the sand.

“Sun lotion,” Andrew reminds him smugly.

“Fuck you.” Neil yawns. Soon, he is fast asleep, head pillowed in his arms while the sun warms his shoulder blades.

Kevin slides his feet around in the sand, mesmerised by the patterns it makes as the grains shift and tumble around him. Andrew arches an eyebrow at him.

“I travelled a lot, back when I was… in the nest. Never to places like this, though. It was always major cities, sporting events, press ops. Even then, my every minute was filled with promotions and endorsements and matches and interviews. I never had time to see much of anything.” Kevin picks up a handful of sand, enjoys the way it sifts through his fingers. “It’s quiet.”

Andrew pushes up suddenly, stalking off back in the direction of the boat house. He comes back with – Kevin blinks – a plastic toy set in a net bag. Little shovels, a bucket, brightly coloured moulds for pressing shapes of crabs and starfish into the sand. He dumps the contents into Kevin’s lap save for a shovel.

“Sandcastles work best with damp sand,” he offers, before moving off to work on his own project. When Kevin looks up several minutes later, most of Neil’s torso is buried in sand.

He makes a sandcastle, then another, then stacks one on top of the other two, quietly proud when the structure holds.

Neil wakes up as Andrew is smoothing sand over his shoulders with the blunt side of the spade. He wriggles to dislodge the wet sludge before hurling a clump at Andrew’s head. Andrew rolls behind Kevin’s larger frame in time to avoid Neil’s attack, and Kevin glares at Neil until he raises his hands in surrender.

As the sun sinks, the sky smooths into a pool of pinks and oranges, and the lake winks the colours back up to the heavens. They lean against each other and watch, side-by-side, while Andrew points out osprey and egrets as they flit from one end of the horizon to the other.

As the sun falls behind the line of the trees, Kevin realises with a start that the day is over, and he hasn’t done any of the things he planned to do with it. Then, he realises with a slow, creeping kind of irritation that quickly gives way to something warm and painfully affectionate, that this was Andrew’s plan all along.

“Andrew,” Kevin says. Andrew hums, but does not lift his head from its resting place on Kevin’s shoulder.

The words escape him, so Kevin doesn’t try to find them. Andrew will understand; he always does, after all.

It’s going to be a great school year.

*

Thanks for reading!

#aftg summer #kandreil #aftg #tfc #all for the game #my fic

[tonystarkbingo]

TSB MIV Week 24 Roundup!

Lots of fills this week, in part because of our last Discord party from this round!  Some awesome stuff up ahead, so go spread some love!

Title: Extra Chocolate Chips Collaborator: rebelmeg Card Number: 4034 Link: AO3 Square Filled: K5 - Sharon Carter / Agent 13 Ship: Tony & Aunt Peggy, Tony & Sharon Carter Rating: Gen Major Tags: grief/mourning, angst, hurt/comfort, family, baking Summary: The New Year’s Eve after Tony’s parents die is a rough one. Aunt Peggy refuses to let him spend it alone, and his favorite little cousin has a great suggestion to lift his mood. Word Count: 1245

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Title: Road Rash Collaborator: newnewyorker93 Card Number: 4042 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K3 - Trapped in the Armour Ship: None Rating: Gen Major Tags: Art, Iron Man 2 Summary: Pencil drawing of Tony with the palladium poisoning “high-tech crossword puzzle” on his neck, based off a screenshot from Iron Man 2. Word Count: N/A

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Title: No Time Like the Peasant Collaborator: 27dragons Card Number: 4027 Link: AO3 Square Filled: K4 - Reincarnation Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: Carnival midway, Fluff, Fortune Teller Summary: Apparently, having failed to succumb to the carnival’s midway barkers thanks to Bucky’s uncanny sense of aim, the phony fortune tellers were going to take a turn trying to separate them from their money. Word Count: 448

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Title: By Design Collaborator: periwinklepromise Card Number: 4053 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S4 - Faulty Programming Ship: Dum-E & Tony Stark Rating: Teen  Major Tags: Anti Team Cap Summary: He's functioning exactly as he's programmed,” Tony defends quickly. One must wonder, is he defending himself or his creation? Word Count: 638

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Title: With a Twist Collaborator: SomeSortofItalianRoast Card Number: 4036 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - Lemon  Ship: None Rating: Gen Major Tags: AU: No Powers, AU: Coffee shop Summary: It’s Lemon Day at Wide Awake. Neither Steve nor Happy are amused.  Word Count: 646

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Title: On Ice Collaborator: ABrighterDarkness Card Number: 4074 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: R4 - Date in the Park Ship: Stony Rating: G Major Tags: Moodboard Summary: It had been years since Tony had gone ice skating and the last time had been memorable for all of the wrong reasons. Of course Steve had convinced him to try again. And it was memorable too, this time for all the right reasons. Word Count: N/A

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Title: Extra Chocolate Chips Moodboard Collaborator: rebelmeg Card Number: 4034 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: Adopted - Art Format: Digital Medium Ship: Tony & Sharon & Peggy Rating: Gen Major Tags: moodboard, based on fic Summary: moodboard for my fic “Extra Chocolate Chips” with tiny!Sharon cheering up a grieving Tony with help from Aunt Peggy. Word Count: N/A

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Title: If the Stars Should Appear Collaborator: starktrekkingaroundasgard Card Number: 4048 Link: AO3 Square Filled: T2 - Paparazzi Ship: Tony Stark/F!Reader Rating: Mature Major Tags: Paparazzi, Charity Auctions, Suggestive Themes, Flirting, Fluff, First Kiss, First Dates Summary: Following Tony’s invitation to a charity auction, the reader finds herself uncomfortably out of place on the red carpet. However, she learns that with the right company these events aren’t quite so bad after all. Word Count: 3049

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Title: The Four Question Problem Collaborator: remreader Card Number: 4042 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S3 - Pseudo-Villain Ship: Tony Stark. & Steve Rogers Rating: Gen Major Tags: Drabble, Humour, Passover Summary: It's Passover at Avengers Tower and Tony and Steve are bickering. Because why should this night be different than any other night? Word Count: 100

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Title: An unlikely friendship Collaborator: Gottalovev Card Number: 4077 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: A3 - Free Ship: Tony Stark & Nebula Rating: Gen Major Tags: Moodboard Summary: He felt as if she needed a win. And, maybe for the first time in her life, a friend. Tony's kindness meant more to Nebula that he'd ever know. Word Count: N/A

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Title: Food Coma Collaborator: eachpeachpearplum Card Number: 4003 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: Adopted - Coma Ship: N/A Rating: Gen Major Tags: Food Coma, Pizza, Clint Barton Summary: One day, Clint will learn to stop at one pizza. One day… Word Count: N/A

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Title: the best babysitters Collaborator: eachpeachpearplum Card Number: 4003 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: Adopted - Peggy Carter Ship: N/A Rating: Gen Major Tags: Art, Peggy Carter, Edwin Jarvis, tiny Tony, fluff Summary: Howard and Maria are, as ever, too busy to look after their son. Luckily, Tony has the best godparents in the world. A day at the park is just what they all need. Word Count: N/A

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Title: Happy Scrubbing Time Collaborator: Gottalovev Card Number: 4077 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: R1 - Cleaning Ship: Stony Rating: Gen Major Tags: None Summary: Cap-Tsum loves when Iron-Tsum uses the toothbrush at bath time! Word Count: N/A

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Title: Stuffed Marvel Sketch - Iron Man Noir Tony Collaborator: PoliZ Card Number: 4007 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: Adopted - Noir Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: none Summary: Stuffed Marvel sketch of Tony Stark based on the Iron Man Noir run Word Count: N/A

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Title: The Dumb Jocks, Cute Butts Club Collaborator: ceealaina Card Number: 4008 Link: AO3 Square Filled: T3 - AU: Rivals Ship: Gen Rating: Teen Major Tags: Humour, Team as Family, Crack Treated (Semi) Seriously Summary: Rhodey, Bucky, and Bruce bond over the absolute idiots in their lives. (AKA I got drunk and hate-watched Endgame, and then this happened.)  Word Count: 848

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Title: Who I Am Inside Collaborator: 27dragons Card Number: 4027 Link: AO3 Square Filled: T1 - Super Soldier Serum Ship: Stony Rating: T Major Tags: A/B/O Dynamics, Secrets, Getting Together Summary: Tony and Steve fight a lot, which is only natural when two alphas are on the same team. Clint thinks there’s another reason for all the tension between them. Word Count: 1326

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Title: the weight of all these dreams of mine Collaborator: peachy Card Number: 4017 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R3 - Cliche Ship: Stony Rating: Gen Major Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: It shouldn’t be enough to undo him, spilled tea in the early morning hours, but standing there, looking at the mess on the floor, still haunted by his dream and the countless sleepless nights that lay before it, Steve feels something in his chest tighten and splinter.  Word Count: 1495

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Title: This Is Not Work, Only Creation Collaborator: periwinklepromise Card Number: 4053 Link: AO3 Square Filled: T5 - AU: Artist/Muse  Ship: Natasha & Tony Rating: Gen Major Tags: None Summary: Natalia Romanova is the best principal ballerina Tony has ever had the honor of composing for. With her, it is not work, only a shared creation. Word Count: 100

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Title: Fashion Forward Collaborator: 27dragons Card Number: 4027 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R3 - Mandarin Ship: None Rating: Gen Major Tags: AvAc, Jan is a Good Bro, Fashion Advice, Borrowing Heavily from RDJ’s Fashion Disasters Summary: Jan, I need you to get over here now,” Tony begged, eyes locked on the mirror.“What kind of emergency is it?” Jan asked. “Are the Hulks all trying to fit in the hot tub? Galina asked you on a date again? Hydra is tunneling under the hot dog stand?”“Worse than that.” Word Count: 412

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Title: Happy Endings Collaborator: JehBeeEh Card Number: 4058 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R4 - Intimacy Without Sex Ship: Stony Rating: Teen Major Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff and softness Summary: Steve gives his husband a massage Word Count: 929

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Title: Into the Time Slip Collaborator: RoseRose Card Number: 4022 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R2 - Image: Jarvis Ship: Pepper/Steve/Tony Rating: G Major Tags: Time loop, BAMF Pepper Potts, Previous Temporary Character Death (cause time loops) Summary: Pepper has been looping through this day an innumerable number of times. This time, she was going to fix it. And then she and Tony and Steve were going to talk. She was tired of hiding. Word Count: 4519

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Title: my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now I'm covered in you) Collaborator: chel Card Number: 4011 Link: AO3 Square Filled: T3 - Reverse Soulmates Ship: IronHusbands Rating: G Major Tags: Reverse Soulmates Summary: Reverse Soulmate AU where when you meet a person who's meant to betray you, their name appears on your body. Also a Soulmate AU where when you meet your soulmate (platonic or romantic) their name also appears on your body. -- Tony let himself be pulled into Rhodey’s arms and sagged against him. Safe, his mind whispered. For the first time in three months Tony finally felt safe. It was a fucking shame the man holding him was bound to break his heart. -- Tony has two different names on his arms. Obie's on the left, and Rhodey's on the right. He's entirely certain Obie wasn't going to betray him. So how did he end up in love with Rhodes? Word Count: 3888

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Title: Good New Stories Collaborator: JehBeeEh Card Number: 4058 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: Adopted - Christine Everheart Ship: Christine Everheart & Tony Stark Rating: Teen Major Tags: N/A Summary:Christine runs into Tony Stark and proposes a Vanity Fair cover story with the worlds most famous Superhusbands Word Count: 626

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Title: It’s Always the Quiet Ones Collaborator: Faustess Card Number: 4059 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - Bodysharing Ship: WinterIron Rating: Gen Major Tags: Sharing a Body, Awkward Dates Summary: Tony Stark and Stephen Strange have had some kind of magical ...mishap. Now they are both sharing Tony's body and Tony's late for his first date with the former Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes. What could go wrong? Or more probably, what wouldn't go wrong? Word Count: 2025

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Title: When is a Goose not a Goose? (When it’s a Fury) Collaborator: MagicaDraconia16 Card Number: 4019 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - Wingfic Ship: Nick Fury & Avengers Team Rating: Teen Major Tags: Humor, animal transformation, bodyswap, cats Summary: Tony Stark hates magic.Nick Fury isn't too fond of it right now, either. Word Count: 2113

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Title: Must Be True Love Collaborator: ralsbecket Card Number: 4056 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R4 - Photoshoot Ship: Stony Rating: Teen Major Tags: Texting, Digital Art, Superfamily, Cheeky Steve Rogers, Pranks Summary: Steve decides to play a prank on Tony before their yearly Christmas card photoshoot. Word Count: 795

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Title: Endless Collaborator: RoseRose Card Number: 4022 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - marriage Ship: Stucky Rating: Gen Major Tags: Poetry, Judaism Summary: Jewish Bucky reflecting on his relationship with Stev Word Count: 182

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Title: Pretty Boy [!Moodboard] Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Card Number: 4022 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R4 - KINK: Body Modification Ship: Stony Rating: Mature Major Tags: Sexual content, Body Modification (piercings), Nudity, Swearing Summary: Tony loves getting Steve little gifts to adorn himself with. Word Count: 200

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Title: Take my words, my heart, my love [!Moodboard] Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Card Number: 4022 Link: AO3 Square Filled: A4 - AU: Historic Ship: Stony Rating: Gen Major Tags: Moodboard + 100 Words Summary: Tony writes, his head swimming with love and dreamings of a possible future. Word Count: 100

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Title: Cold Crash [!Moodboard] Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Card Number: 4022 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S5 - Huddling for Warmth Ship: Stony Rating: Teen Major Tags: Blood and Injury, swearing, moodboard Summary: Steve and Tony crash into a snowy mountain. Thankfully Tony finds them a cabin to take shelter in. Word Count: 565

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Title: Speed Demon Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Card Number: 4022 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - All's well that ends well Ship: Stony Rating: Gen Major Tags: drabble Summary: Tony didn't care how quick they got there, or how 'efficient and effective' the man's driving was, he was never going to get into a vehicle driven by Steve Rogers ever again. Word Count: 100

#tonystarkbingomarkiv #tsbmiv #tsb weekly roundup #tsb week 24

[deckerstarwrites]

wanted plots for my 1x1 blog @mostpxculiar as well as fcs I’d like to play/play opposite to. please like this post, or dm me if you’d like to discuss any of these plots further! tw: nsfw/smut plots cheating, pregnancy, murder/blood,  under the cut.

plots i want, but also please come at me with plots YOU want!

a plot based off of fleabag/hot priest from fleabag

someone should give me a plot with this big bad gang leader and his super soft and cute girlfriend that has him wrapped around her finger. like he’s a feared man, which she doesn’t really care about. and she’s there to patch him up and while he usually tries to hide her away from the cruel world he’s in whenever he isn’t there with her, she just patiently waits for him when he’s out and about doing his business and he’s so fascinated by her and no matter how much of a bad guy he is, he’s just so soft for her and he’d do anything for her!!! and then his most precious possession gets kidnaped and shit goes down snsnsns (m/f, f/f)

f/f plot where a snobby, graceful, poised and rich prima ballerina falls in love with a reckless pole dancer who is super hot with a 6 pack and colourful hair and the girls are total polar opposites pls hmu

a plot where muse a just needs to get away from everything so she packs up everything into her small shitty car that barley runs and just drives. she loses count of the boarders she crossed until she lands right into the middle of a small town where the population is like 2 thousand and her car breaks down. so she goes into a diner that she sees is open and she asks about a mechanic so the lady in the diner calls up her friend who happens to be muse b, the local mechanic. so muse b comes over and tells her that he wont be able to check her car out until morning bc its like 10 pm now so muse a is going to check into a motel or smth but muse b offers to put her up for the night and bc shes broke she says yeah and basically they end up banging with the intention that after tomorrow they are never gonna see each other again - wrong. muse b goes down to his shop and looks at the engine and a really important parts gone in it and its going to take a couple weeks for it to come in and basically muse a has to stay in this shitty small town for the next couple of weeks AND THEY FALL FOR EACH OTHER AND WE CAN FIGURE THE REST OUT! (m/f, f/f)

I really want a one night stand where she snuck out before he woke up and he tried looking her up but he didn’t even know her full name, so he moved on. Move on years down the road and he’s just gotten engaged and at the engagement part he’s introduced to her sister that’s been living overseas for the past few days, but who is it, that girl from all those years ago. Better yet, meet her child, wait, why do they his eyes.

modern hades and persephone where persephone is a tired college student and when she finds out the god of the underworld wants to make her his bride she’s like “become queen of the dead AND never have to go to an 8 AM lecture again, not to mention watch with popcorn as my ex dies and finds out my new boyfriend is his new king? YES PLZ” and just fucking swandives down into the underworld and hades is like “…i had a carriage prepared but okay that works too”

plot three. six months ago he let the nanny give him head. he has been avoiding talking to her since, and is really flustered. she is a full time, live in nanny in their giant mansion. i’m getting a ‘living in england’ vibe, but i’m not sure. he has 3-4 kids running around with his wife of years. the nanny can’t stand the wife, but is obviously polite. his wife is bitchy, whiny, and all she cares is about appearances. who cares if you’re actually happy? just play happy. pretend to be happy. the nanny loves to fluster him when the wife isn’t home. she’ll wear short outfits, lean over, not wear underwear, forget to wear a bra. it was a holiday. so they invited the nanny to eat dinner with them. she starts rubbing him under the table. later on that day, he pulls the nanny to the side into the bathroom or something to tell her that she had to cut it out and that it was a one time thing. out of the blue  - he kisses her hard. just give me lots of behind the wives back, and maybe she gets pregnant down the line?

ok but i need a plot where there’s these two idiots who are roommates, and they bicker and act like a married couple constantly, and can hang out like bros but they’re completely platonic, no we’re not in love that’s preposterous!! and it’s so evident that they’re into each other like whenever one goes out on a date, the other is all bitter like ‘no i’m definitely not jealous’. and they like leave bars together at some stupidly early hour and their friends tease them and they just go home and get drunk together instead. and like domestic washing the dishes and fighting over who does what and flinging soap at each other. and then one day it kind of just clicks, you know, like wow you’re my best friend but i think i might love you as more this is so difficult and just, give this to me now.  (m/f, f/f)

not to be dramatic or anything but i really want a sugar daddy/sugar baby plot where the muse a is “ happily ” married ceo of a big company with shit tons of money and muse a goes out to a local bar just to chill when they meet muse b. ofc they hit it off and go in muse a’s car and fuck all night and in the morning muse a offers muse b a proposition, if muse b agrees to be muse a’s mistress then muse a will give muse b anything they want starting their sugar baby/sugar daddy relationship. it’s all good until muse a sees muse b all over another guy and looses it and gets into a huge fight with muse b that ends with muse a fucking muse b up against his car and yea gimmie this smut i need sneaky around and sexting while around his wife nd getting him riled up like yes pls thank  

bloody , murderous & psychotic couples who love killing people for the thrill and make out with bloody lips and high five each other by the mountains of dead bodies they made . fuckyeah ?  give me this crazy shit . serial killer couples . vampire couples . dark romeo & juliet couples . modern au persephone & hades couples . couples who compete to see who kills the most or the most gruesome . give me gore . give me bloodshed . GIVE IT TO ME !  (m/f, f/f) (focusing a lot on hades/persephone, vampires but willing to go the bonnie and clyde or serial killer route)

no offense but i need a messy exes plot where they can’t get over one another no matter what they do and they always tell themselves they’re not gonna go back to them yet every time they get done with a date they end up knocking on the other person’s door and just jealousy and angst and heartbreak and crying because they don’t know if this is ever going to work out but they can’t walk away because this person is still their whole fucking world and they don’t know how to move on  (m/f, f/f)

faceclaims I’d like to play and play against or both  but also literally come at me with your fcs!!!

Inbar Lavi

Tom Ellis

Lauren German

Sophia Bush

Trevante Rhodes

Zoe Saldana

Madelaine Petsch 

Camila Mendes

Lesley Ann Brandt

Manny Montana

Diane Guerrero 

Adria Arjona

Ana De Arms

Aisha Dee

Chris Evans

Ryan Gosling

John Krazinski

Matt Czuchry

Lana Condor 

Elizabeth Lail

Anya Charlotra

Victoria Pedretti

Zazie Beetz

Shay Mitchell

Candice Patton

Margot Robbie

Florence Pugh

Lucy Liu

Jodie Comer

Katie Mcgrath

Justin Baldoni

Indya Moore

Oscar Isaac

Matthew Daddario

Tessa Thompson

#[[wanted plot]] #[[wanted opposite]] #[[wanted fc]] #1x1 rp #1x1

[tcnosfm-blog]

.･:*:･ﾟ ’ valentino  espsito , a  twenty  three  year   old , cismale ,  works  as  a  musician  who  came  from  manhattan  roots  .  while  they  were  attending  st  jude’s  they  were  known  as  the  broken  bird  because  they  could  be  very  reticent  .  those  closest  to  them  say  they’re  quite  stoic  though  .  to  get  a  better  understanding  of  who  they  are  ,  some  things  you  may  notice  about  them  are  ferocious  memories  dancing  across  his  flesh  before  sinking  their  teeth  into  him  ,  the  feeling  of  pain  reminding  him  of  his  own  presence  in  the  world  ,  night  sweats  that  form  a pool  of  anger  and  an  ocean  of  sadness .  you  may  have  mistaken  them  for  justin  bieber .

hi   hello  peaches  !!    this  ?  is  a  fucking  train  wreck  i  call  valentino  but  god  do  i  fucking  love  him  ?  he’s  the  combination  of  two  muses  of  mine  and  well  i’m  really  excited  to  explore  him  !  all  while  going  back  to  my  jb  roots  (  can  you  believe  there  was  a  time  where  the  only  male  fc  i  could  use  was  the  love  of  my  life  justin  bieber  ?   is  it  crack  ?  is  that  what  i  was  smoking  ?  ) if  you  would  like  to  learn  more  about  valentino  ,  please  just  keep  reading  !!  oh  please  bare  with  me  ,  me   and  introductions  are  not  friends .  

❝   ┄  𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓸𝓹𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂  !

chapters  of  a  childhood  that  reflected  two  halves  of  then  and  now  .  like  a  book  that  cannot  be  ripped  from  your  hands  ,  the  esposito’s   story  captured  hues  of  millions  .  expect  ,  instead   of  unfolding  on  pages  of  a  book  ,  their  lives  were  recorded  by  the  hands  of  the  media  /  smiling  (  or  hands  up  covering  irritated  expressions  )  on  the  front  pages  of  magazine  ,  elaborating  on  success  and  fortune  with  oprah winfrey  ,  beautiful   photoshoots  that  are  plastered  with  such  brands  as  vogue  and  elle  magazine  .  adored  .  you  could  consider  them  that  .   they  were  affluence  dipped  in  sovereignty .

alessandro  esposito  ,  fifteen  years  old  when  he  came  to  america  from  naples italy  .  for  two  weeks  ,  him  and  his  family  of  seven  slept  on  the  cold  streets  of  new  york  .  his  father  ,  a  business  man  that  went  bankrupt  decided  to  allow  his  legs  to  run  and  run  until  they  landed  him  to  america  in  search  of  a  second  chance  .  that  year  ,  had  been  a  year  of  struggle .  but  it  taught  alessandro  all  he  needed  to  know  ,  showed  him  everything  he  refused  to  be  .  

alessandro  ,  he  put  himself  through  college  .  got  a  job  the  minute  his  feet  touched  new  york  at  an  italian  owned  pizza  place  , and  ran  himself  through  the  ringer  with  school  .  he  wanted  to  study  business  .  be  the  man  his  father  never  was  .  he  was  determined  .

it  was  his  junior  year  where  he  meet  sienna   remis  ,   the  twenty  something  year  old  break  out  model  ..  who  in  reality  should  of  never  given  alessandro  the  time  or  day  ..  but  she  gave  him  more  then  that  ,  four  years  later  ,  she  gave  him  her  word  that  she  was  in  it  with  him  forever  .  

she  did  not  want  children  .  she  was  a  model  .  used  her  body  for  her  work  ,  worked  for  her  body  .  struggled  with  herself  to  remain  the  model  of  every  company’s  dream  .  and  then  , she  accidentally  got  pregnant  .  and  despite  having  no  intentions  of  keeping  it  ,  one  look  at   her  husbands  face  and  she  made  a  decision  that  would  cost  her  .  she  had  it  .  

and  then  ,  she  had   another  one  .  and  then  another  one  ..  and  then  ,  another  one  .

the  esposito’s  were  a  traditional  italian  family  ,  spent  almost  every  moment  with  one  another  .  celebrated  holidays  at  nonna  &  nonno’s  .  did  family  vacations  with  their  four  aunts  /  uncles  and  their  seventeen  cousins  .  the  esposito’s  as  a  whole  ,   were  successful  .  alessandro’s  oldest  brother  being  a  plastic  surgeon  for  celebrities  such  as  kim  kardashian  and  kylie  jenner . his  sister  ,  she  dabbled  in  the  world  of  acting  before  settling  into  fashion  design  .  his  youngest  brother  worked  along  his  side  ,  building  an  empire  of  hotels  and  restaurants   .  and  ,  his  youngest  sister  whom  had  the  ability  to  capture  a  thousand  words  in  single  painting  moved  back  to  italy  to  live  a  normal  life  .  

zynaty ,  the  empire  that  holds  hundreds  of  hotels  and  restaurants  across  the  globe  .  the  business  that  took  alessandro  and  his  brother  everything  they  had  to  create .

valentino  navarone  clemente  esposito  was  the  second  child  to  alessandro   and  sienna  .   from  the  moment   he  open  warm  colored  hues  ,  took  his  first  breaths  ,  privilege  was  granted  to  him  .   a  child  in  the  spotlight  ,  it  was  what  he  became  .  one  of  the    esposito’s  destined  to  do  great  things  .  to  be  somebody  .  the  media  ate  him  up .  everything  he  did  ,  everything  his  siblings  did  ,  they  wanted  to  be  apart  of  it  ,  to  exploit  ,  to  adore  ,  to  wait  and  watch  how  they  would  unfold  .

the  first  eleven  years  of  valentino’s  childhood  consisted  of  tender  forehead  kisses  and  the  feeling  of  warm  comfort  wrapping  around  him  like  a  blanket  .  his  days  consisting  of  laughter  that  fell  from  his  siblings  lips  ,  sports  that  shook  all  of  his  energy  right  out  of  him  .  homemade  dinners  ,  forced  movie  nights  (  though  deep  down  he  always  enjoyed  snuggling  up  to  his  mother  ) ,  tutors  ,  piano  lessons  ,  and  guitar  lessons  .  by  the  time  he  was  eight  ,  he  was  fluent  in  italian  .  played  on  three  different  hockey  teams  .  bickered  with  his  oldest  brother  like  it  was  his  job  (  but  more  so  because  he  wanted  to  do  everything  he  did  and  did  not  like  being  told  no  .  )  spent  hours  in  his  fathers  office  gazing  out  the  windows  ,  eating  greasy  burgers  with  his  father  in  exchange  that  neither  of  them  would  snitch  to  the  others  .  summers  with  his   grandparents  in  italy  .  at  the  age  of  ten  he  was  staring  in  commercials  such  as  toy’s  r  us  and  even  chef  boyardee .  

the  esposito’s  were  being  offered  reality  tv  show’s  ,  the  spot  of  ambassador’s  for  ridiculously   prosperous  brands  .  everything  they  did  ,  it  was  an  article  .   sienna  takes  her  children  out  to  the  park  ,  alessandro  walks  the  family  dog  ,  valentino  scored  final  goal  .  and  then  ,  it  happened  .  headlines  of  ,  valentino  esposito  admitted  to  hospital  due  to  injuries  from  his  mother  .

sienna  ,  she  was  tender  .  angelic.  had  a   smile  that  melted  hearts  .  her  laughter  felt  like  music  to  your  ears  ..  everyone  described  her  as  gentle  ,  a  beautiful  soul .  but  after  her  last  child  ,  she fell  into  such  dark  places  .  so  dark  that  drinking  her  way  out  of  them  seemed  to  be  the  only  way  to  survive  .  to  get  through  it  … but  the  drinking  always  made  her  violent  .  usually  ,  it  was  never  anything  more  then  her  screaming  horrid  words  to  her  children .  usually  she  saved  physical  contact  for  alessandro  .  the  next  morning  ,  she’d  beg  for  forgiveness  .  buy  the   gifts  and  allow  them  to  stay  home  from  school  .  she’d  swear  she’d  never  do  it  again  ,  and  for  weeks  she  wouldnt  .  and  then  ,  like  a  switch   she  would  .

nine  pm  ,  alessandro  headed  to  las  vegas  for  a  business  trip  (  one  that  included  his  mistress  ) ,  his  mom  she  found  the  liquor  cabinet  .   one  drink  turned  to three and  three  turned  to  the  whole  bottle  vanishing  . valentino  remembers  , her  screams  and  his  little  brother  crying  .  he  was  always  protective  ,  and  when  his  oldest  brother  was  not  around  he  always  felt  like  it  was  even  more  of  his  duty  to  watch  out  for  his .  so  that’s  what  he  did  .  his  feet  leading him  down  to  the  kitchen  ..  and  when  his  hues  reached  hers  ,  the  once  angelic  mother  he  knew  ,  he  loved  disappeared  .  she  was  a  monster  in  human  form   .   and  her  hands  had  reached  for  his  brother  and  non  stop  shook  him  as  she  repeated  ,  screamed  how  much  she  never  wanted  them  .  that  she  never  wanted  them  .

valentino  remembers  this  much  ,  fear .  confusion .  the  need  to  free  his  little  brother  .  and  then  he  remembers  covering  his  face  ,  pleading  for  her  to  stop  ,  and  pain .

it  was  his  brother  who  called  the  cops  ,  and  when  he  got  to  the  hospital  he  had  broken  ribs  ,  bruises  that  covered  his  faces  like  it  skin  tone  was  purple  ,  and   a  concussion .

the  months  after  that  ,  consisted  of  legal  actions  .  divorces  .  therapy  .  and  attempting  to  heal  .  something  that  was  deemed  impossible  with  the  media  constantly  throwing  it  back  into  their  faces . pleading  for  their  statements  ,  wanting  to  dig  deeper  .  paparazzi  harassing  not  only  his  family  ,  but  friends  of  his  family  ,  co  workers  ,  teachers  ,  nannies  .  it  got  so  bad  ,  alessandro  took  him  and  his  children  back  to  italy  for  an  entire  year  .  wanting  to  give  them  enough  time  to  adjust  ,  to  heal  ,  all  while  trying  to  heal  on  his  own  .  

❝   ┄  𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓯𝓽. 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼  !

hard  headed  and  words  like  knives  ,  a  burning  fire  lives  within  the  boy  .  one  that  holds  onto  pain  and  anger  ,  their  claws  slashing  violently  into  his  heart  .  after  the  accident  ,  he  was  told  he  had  sad  eyes  .  and  for  a  while  ,  it  was  because  it  was  true  .  sadness  had  intertwined  themselves  within  him  ,  and  when  he  finally  got  tired  of  the  hole  in  his  heart  that  dropped  to  their  needs  pleading  with  anyone  to  help  it  ,  he  pushed  the  sadness   out  and  let  anger  stand  in  it’s  place  .

there’s  sanity  in  the  constancy  his  fist  always  presented  him  ,  in  italy  he  found  himself  in  fights  after  fights  .  twelves  year  old  ,  fighting  his  demons  and  fighting  anyone  who  wronged  him  even  in  the  smallest  of  senses  .  

he’s  like  picking  up  dice  and  praying  you  land  on  a  good  number  ,  you  never  know  what  you’ll  get  ..  will  you  see  the  specks  of  playfulness  and  charm  ?  his  anger  that burns  brighter  then  any  fire ?  the  silent  sadness ?

his  ambition  is  gold  .  he  wants  to  be  something  in  this  world  .  and  his  passion  and  intelligent  helps  keep  him  on  this  path .

being  an  athlete  has  always  come  natural  to  him  ,  he  was  that  kid  who  was  good  at  literally  everything  he  did  ..  and  while  he  doesnt  play  hockey  anymore  ,  or  as  much  as  he  use  to  ,  he  still  gets  himself  up  at  five  am  to  run  .

his  family  is  a  priority  .  the  only  people  who  get  all  of  him  ,  his  sadness  ,  his  softness  ,  his  broken  pieces  ,  his  protectiveness  ,  his  loyalty  ,  his  undying  love .

despite  what  you  may  think  ,  he  has  a  big  heart  .  it  sneaks  to  the  surface  with  small  acts  of  kindness  ..  the  way  his  hand  will  reach  out  to  you  with  intentions  of  affection  before  retreating  .  it’s  in  his  words  of  , ‘ did  you  eat  ? ‘  and  ,  ‘ let  me  walk  ya  home ‘

he  is  a  lover  ,  no  matter  how  hard  he  tries  to  convince  you  his  heart  is  cold  that  will  never  be  the  case  .  ever  .

he’s  a  curious  person ,  and  usually  ends  up  getting  suck  into  people  and  things  despite  his  promises  that  he  wont  .

he  hates  commitment  and  attachment  .. but  can  you  blame  him.

has  this  fear  that  everyone  he  loves  will  somehow  someway  hurt  him .

has  a  bad  habit  of  hurting  those  who  hurt  him .

he’s  unpredictable  ,  stubborn   ,   a  little  sarcastic .

he  can  be  cruel  ,  unemotionally  unavailable  .  it’s  always  easier  to  feel  nothing  then  feel .  (  has  a  constant  fight  with  himself  on  whether  he  should  let  you  in  ,  but  he  will  if  you  are  determined  enough  ..  as  much  as  he  can  )

he’s  super  intelligent  ,  quick  with  numbers  .  his  dad  use  to  tell  him  he   was  going  to  be  a  king ,  at  least  in  the  business  industry  ..  

loves  children  ..  definitely  cannot  wait  to  have  children  of  his  own  some day .

he  still  spends  a  lot  of  his  time  in  italy  ,  usually  with  his  grandparents  or  his  aunt .  he  likes  it  there  ,  likes  being  able  to  breathe  ,  to  walk  down  the  street  without  harassment  .

he  wanted  to  go  into  his  dad’s  business  ,  his  dad  wanted  him  to  come  into  the  business .  but  ,  he  instead  found  his  passion  in  music ?  it  was  not  surprising ,  the  baby  has  always  been talented  ..  it  just  took  him  a  little  longer  to  realize  that  it  was  what  he  wanted  to  do .

has  a  journal  he  carries  with  him  almost  every  where  ,  he  remembers  in  the  seventh  grade  someone  teased  him  about  it  being  a  diary  .  he  also   got  suspended  that  day  . it’s  his  song  book  ,  the  only  way  to  really  know  him .

he  learned  fast  that   ,  he  never  wanted  to  inflict  harm  onto  anyone  else  like  his  mom  did  ..  and  at  twenty  four  is  not  a  violent  guy  .  he  acts  out  of  self  defense  but  will  never  put  his  hands  on  you  first  .

on  that  note  ,  do  not  put  your  hands  on  him  .  he  does  not  like  to  be  handled  ,  slapped  , shoved  .  he  does  not  like  being  grabbed  ,  dont  even  poke  him  aggressively  .  

he  flinches  ,  if  you  move  too  fast  near  him  . if  you  move  your  hands  when  yelling  at  him .

he  had  night  terrors  for  years  .  therapy  helped  him  with  it  ..  but  sometimes  they  make  a  recurrence  .  more  so  if  he’s  really  stressed  or  anxious .

is  such  a  boy  when it  comes  to  cars  .  love  speeding  ,  showing  off  ,  making  you  hold  on  for  your  dear  life .

he  does  not  like  drunk  people  ,  is  not  the  guy  that  will  normally  take  care  of  you  unless  you’re  his  siblings  ,  or  a  very  close  friends  .  does  not  really  drink  himself  .  has   a  drink  here  and  there  ,  but  has  never  gotten  drunk  … he  could  truly  go  the  rest  of   his  life  without  ever  drinking  again .

he  is  a  smoker  ,  smokes  a  blunt  every  night  before  bed  .

he   is  signed  with  a  record  label  ,  and  has  released  two  albums  !  also  he  went  on  two  tours !  music  is  something  he  truly  enjoys  .  it  makes  him  feel  all  light  and  happy ?  like  he’s  his  old  self  again .  voice  wise  ,  think  justin  bieber   but  singing  post  malone  songs  ..

he’s  doing  a  little  soul  searching  ,  soaking  up  life  ..   as  much  as  he  can  .  trying  to  remind  himself  of  all  the  reasons  it  feels  soo  good  to  be  here  ,  right  now  ,  living  and  breathing.

❝   ┄  𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼  !

asdfg okay  ,  i  wanted  to  write  out  super  long  and  detailed  connections  but  im  already  annoyed  with  myself  and  cannot  even  imagine  how  yous  will  feel  having  to  read  this  mess !  so  i  want  a  bromance  ,  something  cute  and  simple  .  they’re  there  for  him  non  stop  ,  he  considers  them  family  ,  would  do  anything  for  them  ,  they  bring  out  old  valentino  who  just  wants  to  have  fun  and  act  like  a  fool !  a  childhood  friend  ,  someone  who  knows  everything  about  the  accident  he  doesn’t  speak  to  anymore  to  avoid  the  memories .  some  party  friends  and  bad  influences  .  hookups  !!!  a  sibling  like  friendship  ,  someone  who  reminds  him  of  his  younger  brother  or  sister  .  an  messy  ex  of  some  sort  .  one  sided  relationships !!  one  sided  friendships  !!  that  one  person  who’s  soooo  determined  to  break  down  his  walls .

#xo.intro #TRIGGER WARNING: child abuse #sorry for any mistakes or confusion #this has been sitting in the drafts for a minute #cant wait to use this baby im so excited

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Bad Blood - Chapter 16

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

____________

The Argents will strike soon. Peter knows it in his blood, and says as much to John Stilinski when he coincidentally finds himself back at his house the next day. Well, it’s not so much a coincidence as the fact that Laura got tired of his pacing and growled at him to get the hell out of the loft for a while.

“They won’t,” John tells him, shoving a microwave meal across his kitchen table for Peter, and stabbing his own with a fork before setting it in the oven. His uniform shirt is unbuttoned, showing of his plain undershirt. He’s wearing socks but no boots. Peter might have knocked on his back door the moment he heard the key turn in the front. “That’s not how they operate. They don’t have the measure of you yet. For all they know you’ve spent the last six years rebuilding your pack. For all they know there could be dozens of you by now, and the Argents aren’t suicidal.”

Peter arches his brows. “And when they realise there’s only three of us?”

John shrugs. “When they realise that, then you’re in serious trouble.”

Peter growls under his breath and reaches for his fork. He can’t say this is his idea of a lunch date with a good-looking man. He can’t say anything, actually, because to draw attention to the fact that they’re eating dinner together will only highlight how fucking weird this situation is, and then Peter might not get the chance to enjoy it. If he’s going to die, and the chances are certainly high, then why not indulge in a few moments like this one? Moments where another man knows exactly who he is, and doesn’t fear him because of it. Moments where they occasionally stop talking about Argents and blood and war, and Peter thinks that he might actually like John Stilinski’s company. Crazy thoughts for crazy times.  

The plate in the microwave rattles as John’s dinner cooks.

“They only went after Scott because he was on their territory,” John says. “He was at Chris’s house. They thought it was an attack, not…” He frowns and shakes his head.

“Not a lovesick kid with a crush,” Peter finishes for him.

“Yeah, not a lovesick kid with a crush.” John exhales slowly. “At the moment they’re still trying to gather intelligence. They’re trying to figure out your strength and, more importantly, your location. You should move, by the way, until this is done. Don’t sleep in the same place twice. Routine is your enemy.”

“You try telling the alpha she should leave her territory,” Peter mutters, digging into whatever godawful excuse for food this is.

“I’m not saying you should tell her to leave her territory.” John gets his own dinner out of the microwave. He peels the plastic off, tosses it into the kitchen sink, and then sits down across from Peter. “I’m saying you should be more mobile within your territory for the time being.”

Peter stabs at something that might be a bean. “You really think they won’t come for us straight away?”

“I know they won’t,” John says.

Peter raises his eyebrows. “It’s difficult to trust someone who thinks this is food.”

“Fuck you,” John says, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he fights a smile. “It’s free food for you. Look, I was a hunter. Despite what you think, there are rules. At the moment the Argents are biding their time because they’re trying to gather intel. They’re also trying to force you into making a mistake. If you panic and attack first, that gives them all the justification they need.”

“Well, I’m not panicking,” Peter says, “but I amgoing to attack them before they get another chance at us.”

“Which is fine,” John says. “As long as you don’t leave any of them standing.”

“That’s the plan.”

John holds his gaze. “Apart from Stiles.”

“That’s also the plan.” Peter shrugs. “Also, not an Argent.”

John relaxes his posture a little at that. “Meanwhile though, the council expects due diligence from the Argents. They’re expecting a report into all the crimes of the Hale pack. The council wants evidence that the Argents are following the code. That means they can’t just come in and sweep a pack away over the course of a weekend, you know? They have to make it look like they’ve been here long enough to have completed an actual investigation.”

Peter huffs out a breath.

John’s brow creases. “What?”

“So cavalier,” Peter muses, “about killing innocents.”

“I told you, I never questioned anything until Claudia,” John says. “Until she told me everything she’d heard about hunters. As far as I knew, Chris and I weren’t killing innocents—we were killing the things that killed innocents. As far as I knew, when the heads of the hunter families said there was just cause, then there was just cause.”

“And Claudia changed your mind on that?”

John is silent for a moment before he answers. “Claudia made me see that I wasn’t being told the full story. She made me realise that trusting in the process is a fool’s game when the process is easily corrupted by people who will lie. But it was the attack on your family that really opened my eyes. I’d lived here for a decade by then, Peter. I knew the Hales hadn’t harmed anyone in that time, but I’m betting there’s a report to the council signed by Gerard Argent that says differently.”

Council politics and corruption. Peter wonders if Deaton’s trust in Araya Calavera is misplaced. Can they really expect any hunter to speak for them? That, he supposes, is a problem for future Peter, if future Peter is still breathing. And, if he’s not, then at least he doesn’t have to eat anymore microwave dinners.

He picks out another possible-bean. “Have you approached your inside man yet?”

“Not yet,” John says.

“You lied, of course,” Peter says,” about needing one to get to Kate and Gerard.”

John doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “We don’t not need one.”

“You want Stiles out of the way before we attack,” Peter says. “That’s what you want Chris for. He gets Stiles out of the way, and we’re free to go after Kate and Gerard.”

It makes sense, Peter supposes. John can’t remove Stiles from danger, and neither can Peter. If they tried, Stiles would only dig his heels in deeper. But if the boy was following the orders of an Argent? And if those orders just happened to have him out of the way at just the right time? That might just be the smartest and the safest way to remove Stiles from hard. From harm, and from being in a position where he can harm others.

He hums thoughtfully.

John pauses with his fork held halfway to his mouth. “Does that work for you?”

Peter tilts his head. “That depends. I have questions.”

“Of course you do.”

“I’m mostly curious as to if you’re still going to help us if your son’s no longer in the equation.”

“Are you fucking joking?” John sets his fork down. His expression hardens. “They stole my son from me. I want him safe, and I want him back, but I also want to make them pay. Do you need me to be any clearer than that?”

“No,” Peter says, his wolf stirring. “You want revenge. I understand that perfectly.”

***

There’s a corner of Beacon Hills that is crying out for gentrification. It’s old warehouses, mostly relics from the heyday of the lumber industry. It doesn’t take much for a werewolf to sniff out the places that haven’t been touched in years. Peter unrolls his sleeping bag and tries not to notice the sheer amount of dust he disturbs. Dust, and rat droppings, and-for some reason—feathers.

Laura perches on her backpack and unwraps a chocolate bar.

“You brought chocolate?” Derek asks archly from where he’s lurking by the grimy window.

“You’re just jealous,” Laura says with a grin.

Derek snorts. “Did you pack your hair dryer too, princess?”

Laura flips him the bird, and pointedly eats a square of chocolate.

There’s a strange sort of fragility in their levity, Peter thinks. Look at it too closely and it would shatter into a million pieces. They’ve lost a beta, they’re being hunted, and they’re currently holed up in a warehouse full of rat shit. If they want to bicker like two ordinary siblings on an ordinary day, Peter won’t stop them.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. It’s not quite eight at night, so he makes the call. It only rings for a moment before it’s answered.

“Uncle Peter?” Matty asks.

“Hello, pup,” Peter says, forcing a smile into his tone. “It’s not past your bedtime, is it?”

“No,” Matty says. “We had dinner and we’re watching a movie before bed.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.” Peter closes his eyes briefly, and wishes he could hold Matty, scent him. It’s a physical ache in his chest. “What movie is it?”

“I miss you, Uncle Peter!” Matty says, sounding close to tears. “And Laura and Derek! When can I come home?”

Behind him, Peter’s aware that Derek and Laura have fallen into silence.

“Soon, pup,” he promises. Lies, maybe. “Very soon. I miss you too. Who else helps me keep your sister and bother in line, hmm?”

“Uncle Peter!” Matty exclaims, outraged. “Laura is the alpha! She’s in charge!”

“Hmm,” Peter says. “I thought that was just what we let her think?”

Matty giggles, and Peter smiles at having diverted him from his upset. After that it’s easy enough to prompt him into talking about his day, and how he played by the lake, and how he’s helping Asami build a diorama. Peter asks all the right questions and makes all the right interested noises and, if he keeps his eyes closed, he can pretend that Matty is right here with him now.

***

“Do you trust him?” Laura asks later, her voice quiet as she and Peter stare out the grimy window into the street below.

Peter watches as a police cruiser crawls slowly down the street, and wonders if it’s John.

“Yes,” he says at last. “Do you think I’m crazy?”  

Laura’s brow creases. “I don’t like being told to wait. By him especially.”

And there’s the rub, Peter thinks. A werewolf’s instincts, an alpha’s particularly, push towards action first. But John is telling them that would be a mistake, and that they need to wait. But John is also Janusz Stilinski, and Peter can more than understand Laura’s mistrust.

“He wants Stiles out of the way before we attack,” Peter says. He glances over to where Derek is watching them. “I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

“It’s not unreasonable,” Laura says, “but it’s a variable. The sheriff is a variable, and he’s introducing even more variables. He’s asking us to compromise on our timetable, and he’s asking us to trust that he can bring Chris Argent in. We don’t have control over this situation, Peter, and that makes it dangerous.” She swallows. “It scaresme.”

“I know, Lulu,” he says. “It scares me too, but I don’t think we have a better option.”

Laura nods, and reaches out and squeezes his hand.

Peter looks over to Derek. “Get over here, pup.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but comes to join them by the window. Peter reaches up with his free hand and curls his fingers around the back of Derek’s neck. He wants to offer them reassurances that everything will turn out for the best, and make a million promises that they’ll all survive this and be safe and happy at last, but Laura and Derek aren’t Matty. They know exactly what promises of safety are worth.  

And so Peter says nothing, and together they watch the street below and wait for the night to end.

#my fics #bad blood #sterek #steter senior #discontentedwinter