#well off but doesn’t own a mansion -> owns a mansion -> owns several mansions in several countries

[edwinisms]

see I can’t accept charles’ comic background and socioeconomic status as canon for the show because if I did that would mean the whole group would be a bunch of rich kids and that’s a horrifying concept

[agoldengalaxy]

a headcanon about every gravity falls character I can think of off the top of my head:

- dipper’s chewing pen habit came from his mother, who tried to get him to stop biting his nails by handing him a pen instead. he doesn’t bite his nails anymore, but he’s uncomfortably used to the taste of ink now

- mabel learned how to knit out of spite. an adult at school told her it was probably too hard for her and she learned it all by herself out of pure rage. she can and will knit nearly 2 sweaters per week now

- stan keeps a journal to document all the things he begins to remember. sometimes he’ll be talking to ford and cut himself off mid-sentence to jump up and rush to grab his journal excitedly. he jokingly calls it journal 4

- when visiting a new city, ford decides to get a tattoo to match stan’s. finally he has a tattoo that he actually likes

- soos is BELOVED as the new mr mystery. sales are even better than when stan ran it, but he keeps that a secret from stan so as to not hurt his feelings

- along with all of the obvious stuff wendy is good at like cutting lumber and climbing trees, she also holds a world record in cup stacking

- melody is trying really hard to beat wendy’s score. they have a friendly competition. soos doesn’t understand why they can’t BOTH hold the world record. he loves them both and can’t root for either and it’s stressing him out

- once the therapism took away his arts and crafts hour, they gave bill a piano. he’s surprisingly good at jazz

- when fiddleford moves into the northwest mansion, he adopts two raccoons and one opossum from the junkyard to bring with him. he is very good at taking care of them and they adore him

- pacifica collects pokémon cards. she’s very secretive and very territorial about them. no one she battles can beat her. her favorite pokémon is drifblim

- when robbie hit puberty his hair actually started getting curly, so he straightens it every day. it is completely and utterly dead from all the heat but he keeps telling himself it’s a later problem

- gideon is coding his own website to blog his journey of becoming a better person. it’s slow-moving and frustrating but he thinks he’s…having fun??

- grenda and candy have been friends since candy moved from korea at age 6. grenda saw she was sitting alone at school and had no problem going to ask her if she liked boys. to this day candy is so grateful that grenda has always been more direct than she is

- abuelita just adores melody. she affectionately calls her mija whenever she visits

- blubs and durland have their honeymoon at disneyland. durland likes the teacups the best. they make blubs sick but he does it for him

- lazy susan’s home is full of home goods decorations like “I like cats more than people” and “autumn leaves and pumpkins please!”

- toby determined finds himself settling well into his role as bodacious t. although shandra jimenez still doesn’t like him back, she’s nicer to him now. she even introduced him to a friend of hers, whom he has taken on several dates

- mayor tyler still likes to gossip and encourage fighting whenever he can, even within his own office. he insists upon a good natured rivalry with the neighboring towns, which results in some destroyed property. his approval rating is through the roof

- blendin blandin finally discovers xanax

[readwritealldayallnight]

Right With You (Part 3)

Captain John Price x Reader

wc: 6.7k words

(18+ MDNI) warnings/tags: fluff, mutual pining, tension, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, no protection (use protection kids!!), finishing inside🫣

You might have bitten off more than you could chew this time.

The sound of your heels clicking and clacking against the marble floor are completely drowned out by the din of the many hundreds of party goers mingling throughout the lavish ballroom, glasses clinking together in cheers, uproarious laughter bellowing out between songs being played by the live musicians. The outskirts of the room are difficult to maneuver without bumping into one another, as the centre of the space has been cleared for dancing.

You’ve been inside the target’s home for all of five minutes and you’re already feeling like you’re way in over your head. You know that amongst the elegantly dressed men and women, there are people here on your side, posing as guests but keeping an eye out for your safety. They’re connected to the comms, as are the approaching men of the 141, intent on finding their own way in as well.

You should really only be using your earpiece if you have no other choice, the whole point of this operation being to go as undetected as possible. If a scene can avoid being made altogether, all the better. You know better than anyone that if John the men hear you sounding anything other than confident over the line, they’ll be barging in, stealth be damned. Right now however, you’re almost wishing you could use it if only to get some help in spotting your target amongst all the moving faces.

Before either of you had even had the mansion in sight, John was directed to pull the car into the long queue of vehicles slowly making their way in the direction of the actual driveway. He’d sent you a glance in the rear view mirror, his eyes betraying the gears that were already beginning to turn in his mind. There might be more people in attendance tonight than expected.

“You’re trying to tell me all these people are also fashionably late?” You’d question, eyeing the long line of fancy cars in front of you, another one having already pulled in behind you. You were purposefully showing up several hours after the party began, the more guests there were there the easier you could blend in. And the later the party, the more intoxicated and distracted party goes would be. But this seemed like a lot of people to still be showing up considering the increasingly late hour.

“I think there might be a guest list we don’ know about.” He had gritted out, gripping the steering wheel with more force. “Or they’re lettin’ any fuckin’ muppet walk in-”

“John,” you’d cut him off. “It’s fine, this doesn’t change anything. Might just take me longer to spot him, but we’ll manage.”

“Gonna be harder for ‘em to keep sights on ya.”

“Well then when I need help I’ll be sure to wave a hand up in the air so they can see me.” You had attempted to joke, but you’d spotted the near imperceptible narrowing of his eyes in your direction. “John, they are there as a precaution. I won’t even need ‘em, you’ll see. What? Unless you don’t believe that I can seduce a man?”

Though he had only been moving at a snails pace with the cars still ahead of him, the mansion only then coming into view around the bend, John slammed on the breaks, lurching you forward ever so slightly at the sudden stop.

“Seducing is not your job tonight.” His knuckles had gone white he gripped the steering wheel so tight before he’d released his death grip, rubbing his eyes in exasperation. “You are a soldier, that’s the only job you’ll do tonight.”

“My superiors have asked me to sneak into a party, discreetly convince a man to follow me to a room alone together, and gave me this to wear as gear.” You emphasized, waving a hand down at your attire. He didn’t want to take the bait, but while you’re in that dress and close enough he can smell the sweet smell of your perfume, he’s a weaker man then he’d like to admit. He glanced down at your figure, admiring not of the first time tonight how utterly ravishing you appear.

You weren’t trying to complain, you yourself had agreed that the plan made sense, but you also wanted him to be realistic here. The expectation was that you were going to get the target alone, as subtly as possible, whatever means necessary. At the very least you were going to be flirting and flattering your ass off tonight.

Undoing your seatbelt, you’d sat on the edge of your seat, inching closer to John in the driver’s spot, leaning in until your painted lips were mere millimeters from his ear, a soft hand landing on his shoulder.

“Orders are orders, after all.” Your lips barely grazed the shell of his ear as you whispered to him, trying to disperse his worries with your teasing. “I would never want to disobey my Captain.”

He’d let out a long, deep sigh through his flared nostrils, the internal conflict within him raging on. You were right, as odd as the circumstances of this mission were, it was nothing more than exactly that, another mission. They’d each been tasked with a job to do, and he knew that as with everything you set your mind to, you’d blow them all away.

As a Captain, he had full confidence in you as a soldier. But as nothing more than simply a man, who so rarely in his life allowed himself to be selfish and do something for no reason other than his own self centred wishes, a man who could no longer deny the way he was falling madly, deeply, irrevocably in love with a woman, well that man despised tonight’s plan.

The extravagant front entry of the target’s home was now within sight, multiple footmen waiting by to open the doors to arriving vehicles, welcoming guests and taking names. John knew you didn’t have much longer now before he’d have to let you go.

One of his hands snuck up to reach for yours, still laying as a delicately as a butterfly perched on his shoulder. His fingers gave yours a squeeze, thumb gently stroking the soft skin of your inner wrist.

While the thought of anyone other than him having the privilege of seeing you dressed up to the nines, getting to chat you up, putting his hands on you all under the guise of a respectable dance, got his blood boiling, he could never, would never ask you to go against your job.

Not for him, not for anyone. You were more than capable and had earned your position on this team. He wasn’t going to allow his rose tinted glasses to cloud his judgement, not even when the animalistic, testosterone raging, possessive side of him was pleading for the opposite.

“Well then your Captain’s orders, my dear,” he says in a low voice, stretching your hand far enough to plant a kiss onto it, unable to help himself really. “Are to knock ‘em dead. Not literally though, we do have questions for ‘im.”

You offered him a genuine smile, hearing the playfulness returning to his tone. Begrudgingly releasing your hand from his hold, John steered the car directly in front of the door, the heavy tint of the windows concealing him from any prying eyes.

“Sooner I’m in, sooner I’m out.” You reassured him. “Maybe I’ll have time to save you a dance.” You added at the end, catching his eye on final time, returning his nod subtle nod in the mirror just as your door was opened for you. As the footman offered you his hand, helping you out of the car and shutting the door behind you, John kept is gaze trained on you, not driving away until he saw you disappear through the doors, already counting down the seconds until he had you with him again.

A fake name given at the door, slightly modified version of the guest list having been slipped into the security’s grip earlier that evening, and you were allowed into the party without a second glance. Getting in was never going to be the challenging part of this operation. The challenge now was in spotting your target amongst the crowd.

Having decided the ballroom would likely be the best place to start, seeing as this was where the most people seemed to be gathering, you slowly strolled through the swarms of dresses and suits, wondering to yourself just how many of these people were involved in illegal affairs, and how many were feigning ignorance to their hosts choice of career.

Plucking a drink off the tray of a passing waiter, you brought the glass to your lips, taking the opportunity to more carefully glance through the many unknown faces. You manage to hide your grimace when a scratching noise comes through your earpiece for a moment, before a familiar Manchester accent crackles instead.

“Bravo 7 to Rookie. We’re in.” Ghost informs you. “Second floor. East wing. Guest room by the library.”

“We’ll cover the west side. Aim at taking the office on that end.” You’re less subtle at covering up the small gasp that slips from your mouth at the sound of John’s voice coming through the line. Clearing your throat, you take a small sip of whatever liquid you’ve grabbed, spotting another strolling waiter, sauntering over to her.

“Good, thank you.” You say, returning your still nearly full glass to her, speaking more in response to the men chatting in your ear than to the confused looking woman, who still smiles politely and takes the drink from you.

Knowing that the 141 are inside now, you go over the blueprints again in your mind, picturing where they are, taking a deep breath to steel yourself as you continue your search. Continuously bumping elbows with everyone gathered on the edges on the ballroom, yours and many others heads turn when a large group of gathered men all burst into uproarious laughter. Scanning the faces of the well-dressed guests, you nearly do a double take, eyes landing on the face you’ve spent countless hours memorizing.

Your target is stood there, one arm holding onto his friends shoulder as he continues to laugh in the way only rich men with no problems can. He and his friends are evidently intoxicated, each with a drink in hand, if not two. The man stood directly in front of him is telling the apparently hilarious story, hands waving about as he animatedly gestures, alcohol sloshing out of his glass.

An idea comes to mind, and you see your opportunity present itself before you on a golden platter. Slipping through the crowd, you come around the other side, so that you’re walking in your target’s direction, in his line of sight. You purposefully slow down your gait, running a hand through your hair carelessly, eyes gazing about the room absentmindedly, you even slightly push your chest out, catching the man’s eye just as you come close to walking past his friend.

The drunk man continues to flail his arms and spill his drink carelessly, larger and larger spills landing on the marble floor. It looks purely accidental to anyone watching when you attempt to walk by him, his arm knocking you off balance, and your heeled foot slipping on his spilled alcohol. Luckily, someone catches you before you fall to the ground, a few small gasps ringing out front the people around you who notice your fall.

“You alright ma’am?” You look up at the man who caught you, wearing what appears to be an embarrassed smile when in actually is your attempt to conceal your satisfied smirk, glancing up at none other than your target.

“Oh! Well, suppose I am better now.” You murmur with a small giggle tacked on at the end just for show. Based off the way this man’s eyes have yet to meet your face, gazing down only at your chest, you’re thinking this whole plan is about to be a lot easier than anyone anticipated.

“Sound like she’s made contact.” You hear Soap’s accent ring out through the earpiece.

Oh, right. They get to listen in on your interaction with the target thanks to the open comm line on your end. Good, in the sense that they’ll know which direction you’re headed in and will be ready, not so good, in the sense that John is about to overhear every word of your faux flirting.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” he finally breaks eye contact with your cleavage and pulls you up to stand, noticeably keeping his touch on you. “We were just cutting him off for the night, in fact, but are you sure you’re alright?”

He’s got one hand on your waist, the other is holding onto you elbow to steady you. You open your mouth to politely insist again that you’re okay, when he interrupts.

“Please, allow me to get you a drink. The very least I can do.” He implores, hardly waiting for your reply before he begins to lead you by the arm, in search of said refreshment.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before.” You say to him, batting your eyelashes at him when he offers you a glance.

“Trust me darling, I would remember meeting someone like you.” He doesn’t even attempt to hide the way he scans you up and down, ogling every bit of skin that your dress reveals, leaving you feeling exposed, though you hide any trace of discomfort behind a flirtatious facade.

“Someone like me?” You question coyly.

Your new friend walks you into an adjoining room where a bartender is mixing drinks for the dozens of people milling about the space. Sliding up to the edge of the bar, he leans against the bar top and signals to the man working.

“Certainly you must know how, appetizing you look this evening.” Your face does not betray the way his words make you groan internally, fighting not to roll your eyes. The bartender approaches, and as your target is distracted for a moment, you glance at the new space, spotting a staircase leading to the second floor not far around the corner. With how easy everything has been thus far, you wonder if you’re pushing your luck by trying to expedite the process even further.

As the target turns his attention back to you, beginning to introduce himself, you bring a hand to your forehead, interrupting him.

“I’m sorry, I’m starting to feel a bit dizzy actually.” You say, shaking your head when he sets the drinks down and goes to pull out a bar stool for you. “You wouldn’t know of anywhere you could help me sit down, would you?” You slowly reach a hand out, to stroke his hand. “Somewhere you could help me lay down, maybe?”

You watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly, eyes widening slightly in surprise at your suggestion, before quickly turning to excitement.

“Lucky for you ma’am, I’m good friends with our host tonight.” He snakes an arm around your waist, drinks long forgotten, and you’re relieved when you see he’s leading you towards the very staircase you were hoping he would take. “I know just the place.”

“Are we allowed to go upstairs?” You giggle obnoxiously, letting your men know that you and the target are on the move.

“Copy. Target’s headed for second level.” Ghost acknowledges over the line. As you come to the top of the staircase, blueprints sprawling through your head to picture where your teammates are currently placed, you realize that against your better odds, he doesn’t try to lead you towards either the east or west wing.

“Like I said princess, you’re in good hands.” Instead of leading you towards the 141, your prince charming is supposedly headed towards the washroom at the top of the landing, exactly in the middle ground where your team could not go, due to the handful of security guards patrolling the hallways. You’ve no doubt that in each of the rooms that the men were waiting for you in, there likely lay a few injured guards that had been tasked with watching those unfortunate quarters.

You knew your luck was going to run out eventually, but now you had to think fast and on your feet. Sliding out of the man’s grasp, you took a step away from him, tracing a finger along the bannister in a way you hoped came across as seductive.

“I don’t know. I feel like maybe I’ve been a bit too easy on you.” You wink for added emphasis that you’re trying to toy with him now. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Nor do I know yours.” He tried to challenge, raising a brow at your behaviour, though still slowly stalking towards you, not yet willing to let you go. “We do not need names to be friends, do we?”

“How do I know what kind of man you are, hm?” You question him, continuing your slow walk backwards, eyes scanning the room and you realize you’re slinking towards the west wing. Price and Gaz. They said they would be in the office in the west wing. You just have to get him there.

“I did help you just now, did I not? I believe I am a good man. Let me show you how good I can be.”

“And if I wasn’t looking for a good man? What then, hm?” He halts momentarily in his steps as he continues to follow you in what he believes is a game of playful banter, foreplay if he’s lucky. You’ve spotted a total of three guards so far, though none of them are very near this moment. Making up your mind, you steady yourself as you say, “What if I wanted someone who would chase me?”

Still keeping him in sight, you quicken your pace, hoping that he really will gave chase to you, allowing you to lead him like a fly to a trap.

“Whatever the lady wants.” He humours you, following you when you break into a sprint without hesitation, hoping your memory is doing you justice and the door you’re headed towards is indeed the one concealing one half of the 141. The sound of both your pairs of footsteps echoing down the corridor, you’re gripping the door handle the moment it’s within reach, turning to glance over your shoulder, seeing your target is only a few paces behind you.

You shove the door open with your shoulder, and just as you’d planned in all those briefings, you enter the room, grip never leaving the door, allowing the target to follow you in, and shut the door behind you, revealing the two large men who’d been hiding behind it, now with guns trained on the man before them. Before he even realizes what’s happening, Price has got him knocked out cold, hitting him with the blunt end of his weapon, letting his body crumple to the ground where he falls unconscious on the spot.

You’re thinking up a clever response to say about how easy this mission has been, before either of them can beat you to it, when your earpieces all buzz apiece.

“Alpha 5 to Bravo 6. Over.”

“Go for Bravo.” Price replies, pressing his finger to his ear, stepping over the unconscious target to come closer to you. Gaz has crouched down, examining the target, preparing to restrain him for transport back to base.

“Guards saw a woman get chased by a man on the second floor. They’ve sent someone to check it out, you’ve got one headed your way now. Less than 30 seconds.”

At those words, the three of you are glancing at each other, before Price is already acting.

“Garrick, help me get his jacket off then get him out of sight.” He orders his sergeant, who without question begins assisting the captain in removing the target’s suit jacket, before dragging the unconscious man towards the window they had apparently entered from. To your utter bewilderment, Price’s fingers then begin working speedily at his own tactical vest, pulling it over his head and off of himself, tossing it in Gaz’s direction.

“What are you doing?” You ask him, half wondering if he’s forgotten you can’t actually read his mind. He’s continuing to pull weapons off of himself until there’s nothing left, leaving them with Gaz.

“Guards saw two people walk in here, then two people will walk out.” He says, slipping the man’s jacket on over his shoulders. Price’s shoulders are without a doubt wider and bulkier, the sit being too small, but it’s not so bad that he looks outright odd. “Trust me here, love.” He asks of you, receiving a nod from your part instantly.

All in the blink of an eye, Gaz has tossed the equipment out the open window, and is carrying the unconscious target over his shoulder as he slips out that same window and vanishes out of sight. The door to the room is being tossed open, and John is grabbing you with a force you haven’t personally felt from him before. One of his large hands is in your hair, the other is grabbing the fat of your ass, and he pulls you flush against his own body, sealing his warm lips to yours in a kiss so passionate, so needy, it knocks the breath out of you.

“Oy!” The guard shouts at you two. “Fuck are you twos doing up here?”

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate.” John breaks the kiss, before he answers apologetically, holding a single hand up in peace, the other keeping its tight grip on your behind. “The missus got a little eager. We’ll get going, don’t mean to be any trouble.”

Playing the part of a couple nearly caught in the act, John takes ahold of your hand and keeps his head ducked as he quickly leads you towards the door. You squeak out your own bashful ‘Sorry!’ as you step past the man, following along with John in your feigned shame at being caught. Your mind was absolutely reeling with all the adrenaline of the last five minutes coursing through your veins, your captain holding you against his muscled body being at the top of your list.

“Now hold on just a minute-” the guard tries to shout after you both, taking notice of John’s unusual appearance compared to the other well dressed men walking about, but the pair of you are hurriedly making your way towards your escape.

“Stay with me now.” Price gave your hand a reassuring squeeze as he keeps a steady pace down the hall, headed for the staircase, intent on making a swift exit.

“Bravo 6 to Bravo 7. Slight change o’ plans. Garrick’s got our target. Help ‘em get to the rendezvous point and Rookie and I’ll meet you there.” John hurriedly mumbles under his breath, placing a steadying hand on the small of your back as you begin to descend the steps.

“Copy. Out here.” The Lieutenant replies diligently.

“Nicely done, Rookie. Think that’s record time.” You hear Soap’s playful tone come through the earpiece.

“We’re not clear yet, Sergeant. Stay alert.” Price tells him as you both land back on the bottom step. With the guards now on higher alert, one likely still hot on your heels, you need to blend back in with the crowd before sneaking your way towards the first convenient exit, still keen on avoiding drawing any further attention to yourselves. With all the confidence in the world, your captains steady hand leads you back through the bar and into the still crowded ballroom, musicians instruments playing with an much enthusiasm as they had before.

John’s keen eyes spot the handful of security patrolling the room with their gazes scanning the crowd. Turning to face you now, John brings your clasped hands up higher, placing your free hand on his shoulder before landing his own palm on the small of your waist.

“John, what are we-” Your words are cut off as you recognize he’s placed you both in the familiar position for a waltz, your eyes looking up into his own with questions unspoken.

“Follow my lead.” He whispers to you so softly that you nearly miss it with the sound of the music picking back up. You don’t even need to answer him before your body is instinctually doing just that, following his lead as he begins to softly move to the beat of the song.

Your eyes never break apart from one another, gazes locked in their own private choreographed moment as the captain smoothly dances with you from one end of the room to the other, going unnoticed amongst the swarms of other dancing couples. His hold on you is searing hot, sending sparks shooting though every nerve receptor he touches. He’s feeling just as affected by you, his heart hammering in his chest so strongly he’s certain you must be able to feel it against your own sternum.

Spinning you close enough to the edge of the ballroom that the front entry is once again in sight, John needs only cast a glance to the door for you to understand his message, gripping your clasped hands tighter together. You offer him a small smile and nod in agreement, letting him know that yes, you’ll follow him anywhere.

“You should be sleeping. Sun’ll be up soon.”

You’re holding a steaming cup of tea in hand, one hand on your hip with a look on your face that says ‘Really?’ pointed at your captain who has yet to leave his office since you’d all returned from the mission hours ago. You slowly approach his desk, your feet eternally thankful for the comfort of your boots over the heels you’d ripped off. In the time since you’ve returned to base, the target’s been secured, you were all dismissed for the night as well as the following day, considering it already was the early morning hours of the next day. You’d combed your hair out of his hair sprayed style, wiped all traces of makeup off your face, intent on following your captain’s orders and making your way to bed.

“I won’t even bother telling you the same. Both know you wouldn’t listen.” You set the mug down on his desk for him, your hand lingering along the surface of the wooden top.

“Thank you.” He smiles gratefully up at you from his seat, genuinely appreciative of your thoughtful gesture at this late hour. “Though, think I’ve heard the lads arguin’ once or twice ‘bout how you’re the only one I do listen to.” John’s smile widens as he notices the faint blush creeping along the apples of your cheeks.

“Well,” you playfully rolls your eyes at his comment, coming to step nearer to the broad man, turning slowly to present him with the back of your dress.“Help me out of this thing would you? So I can actually get some sleep.”

The black of your dress is open down to the middle of your back, where a short zipper begins. You don’t need any help with it, you’d been able to put it on without issue before the mission. However as you stood in your room, preparing to take off the garment, you couldn’t erase the image in your mind of John’s eyes landing on your figure as he hungrily took in your appearance. You couldn’t forget the feeling of his wide hands holding you against him, pressing every inch of his muscled physique to yours, lips desperate to chase the taste of your mouth.

Your heated thoughts brought you to the small kitchenette in search of a glass of water to cool yourself down, however as your eyes landed on the kettle, and your thoughts continued to swarm your head, you’d begun heating up your Captain’s tea and walking in direction of his office before you’d been able to convince yourself it wasn’t a good idea.

Now, peering over your shoulder to see John’s face as he takes in the expanse of exposed skin displayed before him, his breath catching in his throat, grip tightening on his pen in hand, you’re certain this was an excellent idea.

Taking a deep steadying breath through his flared nostrils, John’s eyes meet yours, a playful mischief hidden behind his gaze as you recognize that he’s just as well aware you can undo your dress without his help, without his hands to assist you, but still taking the bait you offer him. Part of John’s chest had swelled up with pride when you’d led the target to him and Gaz earlier tonight, even knowing that the odds had been 50/50 depending which direction the target went towards. He’d only been more than happy to oblige when you, the cunning little spider, lead her fly into the trap of her web, and broke the bastard’s nose as if you’d served him up on a platter.

He feels almost similar now, a bug being led into your sticky trap, watching you dangle the enticing bait in front of him that could lead to his ultimate demise, his unavoidable detriment. Though from the look in his eyes, it seems more likely that John is the one intent on devouring you whole tonight. His throat bobs as he swallows, spinning his chair to face you better, hands twitching for a moment before he brings them to trace the edge of the fabric where your dress meets your bare skin.

Your own breath comes out as a soft gasp as the feeling of his digits teasing along your back, the warmth emanating from his touch a thousand times hotter than the blood pooling in your face. You can feel his hot breath fan across your skin, just as his fingers bring themselves to grip your zipper firmly. Achingly slow, dragging the process out as if to torture you, John inches the zipper down at a pace only a hardened military man could maintain when face to face with more and more of your bare body appearing before his eyes.

The both of you are now holding your breaths as he finally drags the last of the zipper open, his fingers now grazing the top of your ass. You hear him let out a deep sigh, before his hands are sliding along the smooth material of your dress, the chair creaking beneath him as he comes to stand behind you. His hands tease along your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake as his digits skim higher and higher up your back until he reaches your shoulders.

You can feel every inch of him pressed up against you from behind, his body emanating heat like a furnace. But more noticeably, you can feel his rock hard member through his slacks pressing up against the swell of your ass.

“You know how proud you made me today, hm?” He asks softly, before pressing a kiss to your temple. You feel hardly in control when your eyes flutter shut, leaning back to put your full weight against him, letting him embrace you like this. He brings his mouth lower to kiss your reddened cheek, your neck, behind your ear. “Had the muppet in the palm of your hand soon as he laid eyes on ya.” His warm breath is fanning across your skin, rolling your neck to the side to allow him better access.

“And who could fuckin’ blame him?” He nearly growls, slipping one of the thin straps of your dress off your shoulder, allowing it to fall down your arm, his palm now coming to land on your exposed, bare waist, fingers spreading wide as he takes in your softness. Your eyes open as you feel a finger stroking your cheek, tilting your face to meet his, his shining blue orbs, glazed over in obvious desire, asking what he dare not speak out loud. You nod all too eagerly, telling him everything he needs to know.

John’s hand is sliding away from your cheek, fingers dancing across your shoulders as he gently tugs at the final strap holding your dress up, the tension that has been building and heating between the two of you for far too long now coming to a head. As the fabric falls from your figure and pools at your feet, leaving you bare before your captain, wearing nothing more but the necklace he’d put on you only so many hours earlier. John wastes no time in pulling your lips to his, curious hands exploring the expanse of your skin as you practically melt into his touch.

His large hands are squeezing your waist, your hips, one hand is reaching to grab ahold of your breast, fingers teasing your sensitive nipple. He hears you try to hold back a small moan, and he thinks you’re the sweetest thing in the world. Believing that you can hold back any of your delicious sounds from him. In the blink of an eye, John is turning you around, clearing everything off his desk in quick swoop of his arm, before lifting you up by your thighs and seating you atop his desk.

“Now, gorgeous,” he says almost sternly, putting on a faux captain voice, though he’s certainly never sounded quite so lustful over comms before. “That’s the first and the last time that I ever want to hear you try and keep a single one of your pretty little noises from me. Understood?”

You’re nearly panting you’re breathing so hard, watching as John pulls his chair up and takes a seat in front of you, his hands coming to pull your legs further apart until his shoulders are between them your thighs, your face going beet red as his own head is merely inches from your bare, completely soaked folds. In reality, you had been dripping down your thighs since you’d walked into his office with nothing underneath your dress.

“Seeing as you did such a good job tonight however,” he adds, fingers massaging the soft skin beneath his touch. “and considering you never even gave the bastard a chance to ask you to dance,” his gaze locks with yours at that, his eyes communicating the sentiment behind his words. “Lettin’ your old captain steal a one from ya,” his mouth comes to plant a kiss on your thigh, then another, and another, working closer to your centre. “Suppose you deserve a reward.”

Your moan would be embarrassing if the feeling of his warm lips sucking your clit wasn’t so heavenly. He spreads you open, tongue working at your sensitive bud with a fervour only a starving man could match. He is starved for you, has been since he’s met you and now that he’s tasting you, he doesn’t know how he’s survived without it. He can’t decide which is sweeter, your taste or the noises you make, so responsive to his touch, as if you were an instrument he’d memorized the most beautiful melodies to.

As his tongue continues to work feverishly at your nub, one of his fingers comes to tease your throbbing hole. His digit slowly slips in until he reaches his knuckle, slipping back out, wasting no time before slipping in a second, earning a lustful gasp from above him. Your hands are threaded in his hair, trying not to rock against him, but quickly losing grip of your self control, as he brings you closer and closer to that peak.

His two fingers begin to curl inside you, searching for that soft, sweet spot that has you seeing stars when he reaches it with his long, skilled digits. Your thighs are beginning to shake, one of his hands coming to steady you, but never dropping his pace, as his tongue and fingers work in tandem to bring you to that crest.

“Come on sweetheart,” he mumbles into you, his voice barely reaching your ears over the sounds of your own pleasure. “Give it to me. I’ve got ya, cum for your captain. Give me a good one.” Before he’s reattaching his lips to your wet folds, attacking your clit with renewed vigour.

John clamps a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your scream as you cum all over his hand and mouth, soaking his beard with your arousal, his movements never slowing down until you’re pushing his head away from you, unable to take any more of the intense pleasure having you seeing stars. The both of you are panting now, as he slips his hand away from your mouth and around to the back of your neck, standing to his full height before you. He’s memorizing the look on your face at this moment, the glazed expression over your features, eyes gazing longingly into his as though you’re the only two people on this base, maybe the world. Fuck, how he wishes he could give you the world.

He brings his lips to yours, caught up in his undeniable feelings for you, going much, much further than simple attraction. Yet he’s having a hard time thinking very hard about that, or anything at the moment, when you’re kissing him back with the same intensity, one of your hands sneaking down his torso, reaching for the front of his trousers.

John can’t help the deep groan that comes up his throat at the feeling of your hand wrapping around him through the fabric of his pants. All too eagerly, he’s fumbling with the buckle of his belt, never letting your lips separate from his. Practically ripping the belt out of its place, he tosses it aside, feeling your deft fingers quickly pulling at his zipper, glancing up to meet his eyes when your fingers creep along the edge of his boxers underneath.

He gives you a single, confident nod, torn between rolling his head back in pleasure and keeping his eyes locked on your every expression as you tug down his trousers and underwear together, freeing his aching cock. His member springs to life, precum beading at his red, swollen tip.

“John…” you murmur as you size up his cock, excited and equally concerned about his impressive length.

“I know love,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll make it fit.”

You spread your thighs wider, arms coming to wrap around John’s shoulders as he lines his cock up with your entrance, already groaning at the feeling of his head touching your warm, wet folds. The both of you gasp as he slips his tip inside you, foreheads pressed together, as one of his hands tenderly holds the back of your head, fingers threaded through your locks while the other wraps around your back to squeeze your hip, holding you close to him.

Inch by inch, John rolls his hips forward and back, taking his sweet, sweet time in discovering the bliss that is being inside of you, wrapped around you, simply being with you, until he’s filled you up entirely to his base, hairs at the base of his groin coming to rub against your already sensitive clit, creating a delicious friction that you know will have you finishing quickly already.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he groans out, rolling his hips back, earning a pleased moan from your lips as he rocks forward again, filling you completely. “Gonna be the death of me.”

You haven’t a single functioning brain cell left to answer him, and he knows it, your continuously flowing arousal seeping down between where the two of you are joined, echoing sinful sounds throughout the small room. As if your moans wouldn’t be evidence enough as to what was happening in Captain Price’s office, should anyone walk by. Keeping a steady pace, the captain fucks you against his desk relentlessly, earning more and more of those very noises from your lips.

“Oh my god, John! Oh fuck! John!” Hearing you, John feels like he’s about to burst. He hasn’t cum in ages, and he’s been so hard for so long now, he doesn’t think he can hold back much longer. Not when he’s hearing you whimpering his name so sweetly, not when you feel as incredible as you do wrapped around him like this, squeezing him so tight. He’s pressing hot, open mouth kisses against your neck, your collarbone, any skin his lips can reach.

“Love,” John grits out through a clenched jaw, holding himself back as best he can as he continues to move with you, bodies rocking back and forth as if in their own choreographed dance. “Where can I- where do you want me to-”

“Inside!” You plead wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. “Inside John, please! I’m- oh fuck!” You say as he delivers another deep thrust. “On the pill. I’m on the pill.”

John needs no further permission, his cock continuing to hit that sweet, sensitive spot inside of you, that has your eyes rolling back in please. Just as his fingers reach between your two bodies to press against you throbbing clit, you moan out his name, reaching your blissful peak for the second time tonight, all at your Captain’s doing. John groans out, feeling himself begin to burst, holding his hips against yours.

“Fuck!” He shoots thick, hot ropes of his spend deep into you, his member twitching inside. “I got you love.” He talks you through both your cresting orgasms, grinding impossibly further into you, never letting go of the tight hold he has around you. “I’m with you, love. Right with you.”

Later on, as he walks you back to your room, insisting he has to see you make it there safely even though it’s technically become so ‘late’ that some of the early risers are awake by now, John asks:

“You did have panties on under the dress durin’ the mission though, right?”

If you’ve made it to the end of my first ever completed series, then thank you for making it this far!

I felt very bleh about the ‘mission’ part of writing this but hopefully my first ever attempt at legitimate smut made up for it!

This is the end of this little three part series, but I’ve got some more Price fics lined up for sure

I know I said it in the initial disclaimer but seriously y’all, wrap it before you tap it, fan fiction is fiction, pregnancy and STDs are real, use protection! (But like me, read all the filthy, filthy fics your heart desires)

-M 🫶🏻

[inkmonster21]

Pop Star Princess

Billy Butcher x Pop Star fem!reader

I was inspired by this post 🤣

Frenchie zips up his bag quickly. “I can give her a call. She may say yes.” Butcher rolls his eyes as he stuffs his belongings into the small duffel. Once again their safe house wasn’t so safe anymore. “Yeah? You do whatever you want, Frenchie, but don’t expect me to be welcomed,” Butcher says in a snappy tone. And so Frenchie did. He called you up, surprised as the line picked up on the second ring. “Frenchie?” Your voice carried out the line. “I need a favor.” Of course, you agreed. “Butcher has to come with me,” Frenchie says biting his teeth together. You sigh, and after a moment you speak, “Have him meet me tonight.”

Butcher couldn’t remember the last time he’d been nervous to meet up with someone. He watches you on their bench, for a moment he’s planning what to say, but his mind goes blank when he makes eye contact, his eyes briefly widening.

“You came.” He simply states, almost surprised you hadn’t blown him off.

The rush of feeling came but so did the heartache. Billy Butcher broke your heart once. You won’t let him do it again. “I’m doing it for Frenchie. Not you.”

He nods, he couldn’t blame you. This wasn’t the first bridge he burned - and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. He could tell you were holding back, he wasn’t blind.

“I understand.” He said, in response to your statement. “I’m aware I can be a difficult bastard.”

You scoff, no sign of a grin, “That’s one way to put it.”

“It’s the truth, you have to admit.” He replies, a smirk appearing on his lips.

He wanted to ask why you had agreed to help them; the question lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t dare ask it.

“I’ll text Frenchie the address. You can show up tonight. I’ll have someone let you in.”

He nods, hands still in his pockets, he doesn’t say anything for a moment, he can feel the air almost getting tense - it made him feel uncomfortable, he wasn’t used to that.

“Thank you.” He says, and he means it. Deep down he knows there are only a few people who even would’ve considered to help him.

The ache in your chest returns. “Don’t go thanking me yet. Just don’t be late.” You say and promptly exit to return home and prepare for their arrival.

~

The boys show up at the house. More like a mansion. The gate opens allowing them in. It was a big and ostentatious house, the kind that screams “more money than sense” kind of house. But Butcher had to admit, it was impressive.

Once Butcher, Hughie, and Frenchie are all inside, Butcher looks to Frenchie. “Who owns this lot?” Butcher asks, taking in the surroundings, not taking his eyes off the interior of the house, as he walks further in.

The walls are littered with large photos of yourself, several albums framed on the walls. Frenchie smirks, “she does.”

As they walk further into what Butcher assumed was the living room, he can see how well off you are. Things had definitely changed since you two last saw each other. His eyes stop on one of the photos and his eyebrows rise slightly.

"You can't be serious." He mutters, his eyes on one of the pictures.

He stands there, somewhat in disbelief, he couldn't help but feel impressed. He assumed Frenchie was pulling his leg, that had been joking when he had said it.

"Damn." He mutters, staring at the gold records on the wall. She had really done it. That snide joke from years ago. The silly threat. She actually wrote songs about him and they went fucking platinum.

Hughie reads the name over again on the records. “Holy shit. We’re in a fucking pop stars house.”

"Yeah, I noticed that, thanks." A sarcastic tone in his voice as he glances at Hughie, before turning his attention back to the awards. "Never would have pegged you on being a pop star fan."

You finally walk down the stairs to greet them. “Wow, you actually made it on time.”

Butcher’s eyes dart to you as you descend the stairs, the sound of your shoe heels echoing through the house. His eyes look you up and down, taking in the new look.

"Look at you. Who would've thought, huh?" He smirks, as the two of you stop at the bottom of the stairs. You look up at the various awards and posters. “Well, I did tell you I would.” He smirks at the response, leaning with one hand resting in his pocket.

"Never believed ya." He say, his eyes scanning across all the awards and photos for a moment. "You really did it, princess."

You nod with a bitter smile. “And all I had to do was write about some asshole.”

He can feel the passive aggressiveness in your voice. As the words leave their mouth, his smirks. "Guess that makes me lucky then, huh?" He replies.

Hughie stops, “wait, your songs are about him?” He asks in shock. You shake your head “Not all of them. Only the sad ones.”

Butcher raises an eyebrow at that, “so most of them?” The smirk was still in place, yet somehow he felt a pang of guilt deep down - one he refused to acknowledge.

You show them each to their rooms. Butcher is the last in line. He follows you, hands in his pockets, taking in the surroundings as best he can. The house was big, and he wondered how much money the place had cost.

Once he stands in front of the door to his room, he stops. For a moment he doesn’t know what to say or what to do. Part of him wanted to ask you a hundred questions, and another part of him wanted to just walk in and go to bed.

You didn’t give him time to pick. You promptly walked off. “Goodnight Billy. “ He let you walk away, watching you disappear to your own room. “Goodnight, princess.” He mutters as he goes into the room. He lay awake in the bed, He knew he had hurt you, but he hadn’t known just how badly.

In the morning the smell of freshly brewed coffee and breakfast hit the team's nose. They started to file down one by one. Seeing their host dancing and singing while making their food. Hughie was singing along being the super fan he is.

Butcher is the last to get up, and he takes a few minutes to himself to get ready before he finally makes his way down the stairs. He stops in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the frame as he watches the scene before him.

Hughie sat there, singing along with a huge grin on his face, while you danced and made breakfast. It’s a weird sight, and for a moment he wants to make a sarcastic comment, but he keeps his mouth shut. It’s still too early for that.

As Butcher stands there, he can feel Frenchie’s eyes on him. He knew Frenchie wasn’t as blind, but Frenchie stayed quiet, not saying a word, he just watched.

You laugh as Hughie dances to the music. You fill up everyone a plate of food. Even Butcher. You pass it to him quickly. Trying to avoid any contact. As he takes the plate, your fingers brush briefly against his. You tried not to react, or even notice it, but he couldn’t help the way your stomach tightened.

He couldn’t help but notice the way you quickly moved your hands away afterward. He sat at the table, Hughie’s cheerful voice filling the room, he was like a little kid meeting their favorite celebrity. It almost made him chuckle. Almost. Except he can’t help but notice the way you refuse to look at him.

“I’ve got a show Tuesday night. You can all come. Stay backstage. No one will notice you there.” You share the idea with them as they all eat.

There’s a momentary pause in the conversation, as you mention the show. Hughie immediately grins in excitement at the invitation, while Frenchie looks interested - although he keeps his poker face. Butcher doesn’t respond at first, he just keeps his eyes on his plate for a few seconds.

“You sure that’s a good idea, princess?” He inquires, in a sarcastic tone. You look at him from over the table, “By all means, if you want to miss out on a fun time that’s your loss. Might be good to take the stick out of your ass for a few hours.” You grumble as you stab your eggs.

His mouth tugged into a smirk, “Oh, I’ll be there, I ain’t missing an opportunity to see the spoiled pop star in action.” He replies, in a mocking tone.

Later in the evening when the boys were alone Hughie breaks open the subject. “How the hell do you know her?“

Butcher knew the question would come, but it didn’t stop him from feeling uncomfortable. He leans back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling as he lets out a deep sigh, trying to come up with the right words to explain.

“We were friends.” He simply says, trying to keep his answer as vague as he could.

Frenchie scoffs at the words. “Friends? No, no, Friends don’t do what you two did, yes?” He looks over to Frenchie briefly.

“You know what I meant.” He mutters, shifting uncomfortably. “And it’s not like it’s all my fault.” He adds, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. He could’ve done a lot differently, but he’d been so damn stubborn.

Hughie nods, “There’s more than that!” He could tell he wasn’t going to drop it now they’d started, he had to give them some sort of explanation.

“Frenchie brought her in on a job years ago. We had… an on-and-off thing. Wasn’t serious, just casual, just having a bit of fun.” He tries to explain, his voice somewhat strained.

Hughie looks at Butcher with wide eyes. “Casual… That song is about you!”

He looked over to Hughie for several seconds, he knew exactly what song he meant. “Never heard of it.” He replies, his voice somewhat bitter and strained, he’d listen to the song one too many times since he’d found out. He wanted to be angry at you for writing it, but the more times he listened to it, the more he felt the lyrics were the truth.

“Holy shit!” Hughie laughs in revelation. Butcher rolls his eyes in response to Hughie’s loud outburst. “Jesus, calm down. It wasn’t a big deal.” He mutters.

Frenchie looks over to him with a knowing expression. “Not that big a deal, huh?”

You were more than friends, more than just a casual hook-up, but Butcher would never admit that. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to shake the thoughts running through his mind. He tries to play it off as if it were all just a good time, but he can’t convince himself, let alone the other two to sit beside him.

“Like I said, we was just friends.” He repeats, his voice lacking more and more confidence with each word.

Hughie and Frenchie share a look of doubt.

He looks over at them, seeing the looks they exchange between them. He could tell they both thought him to be talking bullshit.

He let out an irritated sigh, it made him feel even more frustrated with himself.

“You don’t believe me?” He asks, tone slightly strained.

Hughie shakes his head with a smirk “You don’t write a song like that over just some hook-up.”

The comment makes his expression shift, his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing slightly. “People write songs about anything and everything these days.”

He knew it was a weak excuse, but the thought of admitting just how deep it had been sent him into an immediate defensive mode.

A knock comes at the door and you peek your head in. “Hi. Just wanted to see if anyone wanted to go to the studio with me. I’ve got to record.”

They all turn to look at the door, as you appear behind it. Butcher’s head tilts curiously at the appearance, his eyes falling over you as he feels a strange twisting feeling in his stomach.

He glances at the other two in silent question, before looking back over to them.

“How big is this studio?”

You shrug, “it’s not huge. It’s got a couch though.” Butcher lets out a low hum as if contemplating it for a moment before he finally stands.

“I’ll go.” He gives the others a look, as if silently challenging them to stop him.

You stop with wide eyes. “You?” You look at the other boys with curious eyes. He smirked, slightly amused by the surprised yet questioning tone you had.

“Yeah, me. That an issue, princess?”

You shake your head, “Nope.”

He grins, “Good.” He glances back to Hughie and Frenchie, who are watching the exchange intently.

“I’ll be back in a while.” He mutters to them before looking back to them. “Lead the way.”

As you enter the studio, Butcher follows along behind them and the atmosphere instantly switches. He notices the producer sitting at a desk facing a large window, and other workers moving around, setting up for the recording session.

He feels a little out of place, but he keeps his face emotionless, observing the people around him with a neutral yet intimidating expression.

“Hi, Mark.” You toss your bag on the couch and relax, waiting for the crew to finish

Butcher continues to stand near the door for a few moments, taking in the environment, before he finally moves to sit down on the sofa near you, legs almost brushing. He keeps his eyes locked on you, not able to bring himself to look away. “Who’s this?” Mark asks with a friendly smile.

He meets Mark’s gaze, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Billy Butcher.” He replies in a friendly yet cold tone. He could tell the man was a typical, smiley record business douche. But for your sake, he forced a polite demeanor. You wave your hand at him trying to dismiss the subject. “Just a friend.”

Mark’s smile turns more intrigued as his eyes move between the two of you. He can’t help but feel slightly annoyed by the look he’s giving.

“Just friend, hmm?” He mutters, a hint of skepticism in his tone.

You roll your eyes but don’t push it. Mark knew much about Billy. Knew he was the main inspiration for your career of sobbing songs

Butcher shifted on the couch, trying to act at ease as he settled into his seat, his eyes lingering on you for a few seconds before darting back around the room.

Mark smiles, looking somewhat amused as he nods his head in agreement. “Everything is set up. I’ll be out in the booth if you need me.” He replies, before disappearing through a door in the back of the studio.

You turn to Billy with a flat expression. “Don’t make any loud noises or touch anything.” He rolls his eyes in response to the instructions, a small smirk on his face.

“And what if I do?” He inquires, in a somewhat mocking tone. You roll your eyes as you stand. “You’re so infuriating.” He grins, enjoying how easy it was to get under your skin.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? Can’t handle me sitting here quietly?” He replies, leaning back against the couch leisurely. “I was hoping your friend Hughie would have come. He’d be much more fun than you.”

He scoffs at the comment, his face falling into a frown.

“Oh, what? Cause he’d behave and play nice, like a proper little puppy?” He retorts, in a somewhat bitter tone. “We both know you get bored easily.”

You move to the microphone and headset putting it on. Trying to block Billy out of your mind. He lets out a low, amused hum as you move over to the microphone, ignoring his antagonism. He leans back on the couch, crossing his arms and settling in to watch. As I sing Billy moves around the room. You send him a glare but he just shrugs innocently.

He stands near the back of the room, in the shadows as he listens to the lyrics, feeling his chest tighten as he recognizes the specific words. Had she remembered every single word he ever said to you?

He looks over at you, his gaze lingering on you, watching the emotions on your face and your hands gripping the microphone.

He continues to look over at you intently as you continue to sing. He’s completely transfixed by you, he can’t bring himself to look away, despite his mind wanting him to.

He felt his heart start to pound against his chest, the lyrics bringing up memories that he’d tried so hard to push to the back of his mind. He clenched his jaw, as he felt the emotion build up.

He felt angry at himself, for how deep the connection had been, and letting you in as much as he had.

You sing the last lines, eyes closed, completely taken. You look back to Mark. “Good?” Mark gives you an approving smile, clearly pleased with the recording.

“Good. Nice job kid.” He nods his head in approval, glancing from you to Billy, noticing the look on his face. “I think we should do that one at the show tomorrow.” Mark looks back over to you, before nodding his head in agreement.

“Yeah, it sounded nice. Fits the set well.” He replies, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile, his gaze flickering over to Billy for a brief moment before turning back to you.

“Something on your mind, Butcher?” You smirk

His eyes flick back to you, and he finds himself unable to look away again. He swallows dryly, before forcing a snarky smirk in reply.

“Just thinking how much of a brat you are.” He replies, in a somewhat teasing tone. “A million-dollar brat.”

He scoffs at the response, a small huff of laughter escaping his mouth.

“A million-dollar brat that needs to learn some manners.” He counters, raising his eyebrow and staring at you with an impassive expression.

You shake at him, a fake sense of fear on your face. “Oh no, I’m so scared.”

He lets out a low laugh, noticing the feigned fear on your face. He moves closer to you, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Watch that mouth of yours, princess. Might come back to bite you in the ass.” He mutters, his tone becoming slightly more serious.

“I’d love to see you fucking try.”

He smirks, amused by the challenge. He takes another step closer, his face only a few inches away from yours.

“You really wanna test me?” He asks, in an almost mocking tone, daring you to continue baiting him.

“I don’t think you can handle it.”

He snorts, letting out a low laugh. He slowly reaches out, one hand moving to rest on your hip, as he moves even closer. He’s so close now, that he could just lean forward and reach your face with his.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he speaks. “Sweetheart. I can handle a lot more than you realize.”

You look him up and down with a smirk, “Butcher, you don’t have what it takes to be with a girl like me.” He tilts his head slightly, looking down at you with an amused smirk on his face. He gently tightens his hold on your hip, his fingers gripping slightly.

“Oh, I don’t?” He replies, in a somewhat mocking tone. “And what makes you think I’d even want to be with a spoiled little princess like you?”

You walk your fingers up his toned chest. “That fucking look in your eyes.” You giggle “You miss me and you know it.” He lets out a low hum, his chest rising slowly with his sharp exhale as your fingers slide up his chest. He can feel his pulse quicken as he feels your cold touch against his skin.

He doesn’t respond to your statement, but his expression falters as you mention him missing you. He tries to keep his face neutral, but he knows that you can see the truth. He leans closer, now his face only a few millimeters from yours.

“I’d be crazy not to, princess.”

His words hit me. His eyes telling the truth. He did miss you. He watches intently as the words hit you, his eyes roaming over your face and reading your expression.

He tightens his hold on your hip, pulling you even closer until you’re practically pressed against him. He’s so close now, his eyes lingering on their face for a moment before slowly moving down to your lips.

“Billy.”

He feels a shiver run down his spine as he hears the sound of his name, his eyes still lingering on your lips.

His hand slowly moves up from your hip, his fingers moving gently up your body until he’s cupped your cheek in his hand. He can feel the heat from your skin, and he lets out a shaky exhale as his thoughts spiral.

“Um, hello? You two.” Mark laughs from the sound room. Butcher lets out a low huff, taking a second to process Mark's interruption. He reluctantly pulls his gaze away from you, tearing his eyes from your face and instead looking over to Mark.

“Hate to do it to you bud, but she’s got some more work to do,” Mark smirks at Billy. He glares slightly at Mark, a frustrated frown appearing on his face. He knows that this is the truth and that you still have more work to do.

Butcher gets a call from Hughie saying they found some hit on V being transferred. Billy reluctantly agreed to meet them at your house.

You look up, the tension still there. sharp as a knife. “you can take the car. I’ll catch a ride.” He hesitates for a moment, conflicted. He wants to stay with you, but he knows he has a job to do.

“Yeah… okay.” He replies, reluctantly. He doesn’t want to leave, but he knows that he has no choice if he wants to do his job.

Billy watches as Mark exits the studio with a notebook in hand, a look of irritation flickering across his face. He’s already getting tired of the guy, his smirk annoying him. He turns back to you, his expression unreadable. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” He mutters, his voice a little gruff.

You nod pushing a small smile. You had to pull your eyes away from him. You were fucked and you knew it. Billy was burrowing himself into your heart once more and you could not stop it.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on your face. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words.

He holds back the urge to grab you and pull you close against him once more. Instead, he lets out a huff of air, before reluctantly turning and walking out of the studio.

~

You got home late. Tiredness wept from your bones. You begin to make tea, attempting to soothe your throat. As you’re making the tea, the sound of the front door opening interrupts the silence of the house, Billy enters.

He takes in the sight of you, standing in the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, he just stands there silently watching you for a few moments, drinking in the sight of you.

“Hi,” you say surprised to see he’s still awake. He watches as you look back at him. He lets out a low hum in response, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Hey.” He mutters, his voice still low and gravelly from exhaustion.

You look to him, “Why are you up?” He shrugs his shoulders, moving a few steps closer to you as he replies. “Couldn’t sleep. Needed a smoke.” His eyes rake over your face and down your body, taking in the sight of you.

You want to ask him why. Ask him what he thinks. You have a hundred questions for him.

He studies you for a moment, noticing the look in your eyes. He can tell that you have something you want to say, but you’re holding back. He stays silent for a moment longer, before finally speaking up.

“Spit it out, princess.”

You turn away from him and return to the boiling water on the stove. “Nothing.” He lets out an amused huff, seeing right through your attempt to hide it. He moves closer, invading your personal space as he leans against the counter next to you.

“Bullshit.” He mutters, a smirk pulling at his lips.

He stares down at you, his eyes slowly moving over your face. He can see the emotions flicker in your eyes, while his own expression remains guarded and emotionless. He has years of practice, but you’ve always been an open book for him to read.

He reaches out a hand, gently grabbing your chin and tilting your head up to look up at him. “I can always tell when you’re lying to me, princess.”

You swat his hand away. “Don’t.”

He lets out a low chuckle, amused by your stubborn behavior. He’s not surprised by your reaction.

“Why not?” He teases, his smirk growing wider. He continues to press his luck, moving even closer and invading your personal space even more. You feel breathless as he corners you. His arms sealing around your waist with ease. You barely speak, gaze cloudy and your head dizzy. “Don’t…”

He tightens his hold on your waist, pulling you closer until your body is pressed against his. He leans in, his face inches from yours.

“Why?” He mutters again, his tone slightly taunting. He can see the way your breath has quickened, the way your body is reacting to his touch.

You couldn’t help it or stop it if you tried. The cord finally snapped. The pull of him was too strong. You press up against him. Pressing your lips to his in a rushed heated kiss. He’s surprised by your sudden move, but he doesn’t resist. Butcher presses his body against yours, returning the kiss with just as much intensity.

His hands move up from your waist, one hand gently wrapping around the back of your neck, while the other one sinks into your hair, gripping it and tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

No words were exchanged. Just deep unsettled passion going between the two. Tongues clashing, teeth nipping. Your body was growing hot. He moves his mouth over to your neck, his lips and teeth moving over your sensitive skin. He’s letting out small, low grunts and growls with each touch, clearly just as affected.

His hands continue running over your body, one hand moving back down to your hip and gripping it tightly.

Reality came crashing down. You couldn’t allow yourself to get hurt by him again. You knew he wouldn’t stay. He wouldn’t call. Wordlessly you rip yourself from him. You touch your lips in shock and stare at him. You turn around and race up to your room forgetting the once-boiling water

He’s shocked and confused by the suddenness of your actions. One moment he’s got you close to him, the next you’ve torn yourself out of his grip and raced out of the kitchen.

He takes a second to process what happened, his mind and body still reeling from the passion. He’s torn between going after you and letting you go, but before he can make a decision, you’ve already disappeared up the stairs.

The morning after the house was quiet aside from The Boys taking up her living room. She hadn’t left her room yet this morning.

Billy has been pacing around the living room most of the morning, restless and irritable. He’s already on his third cigarette, smoking quickly as a way to pass the time.

His mind is occupied by thoughts of the previous night, and he can’t shake the memory of how close you were and how abruptly you tore yourself away. He keeps glancing at the stairs, his thoughts racing.

Frenchie furrows his brows at Butcher’s pacing. “Something wrong?” He huffs, still pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. He’s clearly on edge, the tension rolling off him in waves.

“Nah.“ He mutters, his words sharp. He doesn’t want to talk about what’s bothering him. Especially not with the rest of the Boys around listening.

You sit in your room staring at yourself in the mirror. “You went back on everything you fucking build.” You point at yourself in the mirror. You get dressed for a run and walk down the stairs.

He’s still pacing, taking another long drag from his cigarette when he hears you descend the stairs. He looks up, watching as you walk down towards them.

He stops his pacing, turning to face you as his eyes roam over your figure. He tries to ignore the pang of desire that flares inside of him, but he can’t help it. His mind still lingering on last night.

Without a word, you make your way to the door. “Going for a run,” you say and dash outside.

He grits his teeth in frustration as you slam the door behind you. He knows that you’re avoiding him, and it’s pissing him off.

He glances over at the rest of the two, who are watching the exchange with curious glances. He doesn’t care, he just scowls and storms over to the window by the door, peering out of it to watch as you walk away.

Frenchie pipes up, “What’s wrong with her?” Butcher doesn’t take his eyes off you as he replies to Frenchie’s question.

“Rough night, I guess.” He mutters, his tone gruff. His eyes still fixed on your form as you get further and further away, a frown tugging at his lips.

You avoided Butcher when Ieft and you did the same when you came home. The evening grows and you appear again, only because you have to. “Alright, I’ve got to go to the venue and get ready. Meet the security guard by the back door. You’ve already been cleared to come inside.” Hughie and Frenchie look excited while Butcher looks like he couldn’t care less.

He ignores the excited looks on Hughie and Frenchie’s faces, rolling his eyes at their eagerness. The thought of watching you perform is the only thing keeping him from completely refusing.

Butcher didn’t see you next until you were all dressed to the 9s. A short dress and glamorous makeup on your face. “Hey!” You say excitedly as the boys enter backstage. Hughie could explode with excitement

Butcher looks up as you call out, his eyes immediately falling to your appearance. His breath hitches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you. The short dress clings to your curves in all the right ways, while the glamorous makeup brings out your features.

He feels a stir of desire low in his stomach, his heart rate quickening as he tries to keep his expression neutral. But he can’t help the way his eyes linger on your figure for a few moments longer than necessary.

“You look… good.” He manages to mutter, his voice slightly gruff.

You try to ignore his comment, but can’t help the light blush from appearing on your cheeks. “Uh, thanks.”

The show starts. Butcher, Frenchie, and Hughie stand backstage, with a clear view. You sing as the crowd screams. Hughie dances to the music, Frenchie smiles at his friend, and Butcher was having to watch the woman he wanted so badly parade on stage, singing about how shitty of a person he was.

A mix of desire and pain bubbled inside of him. You look absolutely ravishing, and it’s torturous to just watch you from the sidelines.

You stand in the middle of the stage, emotions at a high. “So, this next one goes out to my Ex.” The crowd goes wild. You turn to look at Butcher with a smile. “Because I know your fucking watching, bitch.”

He meets your gaze as you turn to look at him, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. His eyes roam over your figure as you speak to the crowd, his mind reeling with thoughts. A part of him is amused by your bold display, but another part wants to rip you off the stage and claim you then and there.

“My friends call me a loser

'Cause I'm still hanging around

I've heard so many rumors

That I'm just a girl that you bang on your couch

I thought you thought of me better

Someone you couldn't lose

You said We're not together

So now when we kiss, I have anger issues”

He listens intently as you sing the lyrics, his heart clenching in his chest at the truth behind them. The reminder of your failed relationship hits him like a ton of bricks, a pang of guilt mixing with the pain he feels.

He watches as you perform, his eyes locked on you, feeling torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to hold you tightly.

“You said, Baby, no attachment

But we're

Knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out

Is it casual now?

Two weeks and your mom invites me to her house on Long Beach

Is it casual now?

I know what you tell your friends

It's casual if it's casual now

Then, baby, get me off again

If it's casual, it's casual now”

His breath hitches in his throat as you sing the lyrics, the words hitting him hard. It’s a painful reminder of the way he treated you, the way he couldn’t commit to anything more than casual.

He can feel the guilt and shame welling up inside of him, knowing that he didn’t treat you the way you deserved. He watches your performance, his expression a mix of pain and desire.

He watches as you exit the stage, making your way backstage to them. His heart is hammering in his chest, his palms sweaty. He knows that he needs to talk to you, to try and make things right.

Frenchie and Hughie are still chatting excitedly about the show, but he barely registers anything they’re saying. He only has eyes for you as you approach.

“I have to get out of these shoes.” You laugh. He lets out a gruff chuckle at your comment, his gaze still fixed on you intently. He can’t deny that he likes the sight of you in those sexy heels, but he knows you’re probably uncomfortable.

“Don’t blame you.” He mutters, his eyes roaming over your figure again.

“I’ll be back. I’m going to change.” You said and made your way into the dressing room.

Butcher takes a few seconds, trying to control the intense desire to go into the dressing room after you. But in the end, his need to see you again wins out. He glances towards Hughie and Frenchie, who are distracted talking about the show, before quietly following you to the dressing room.

The door opens and you jump in surprise. You hold up a blanket, shielding yourself. Only clad in a bra and panties. “What are you doing?”

He stops in the doorway, his eyes widening as he takes in your almost naked form. He feels a rush of desire as he scans your body, his mind instantly flooded with thoughts of pulling you into his arms and claiming you right there.

At the sight of your surprised expression, he clears his throat, trying to compose himself. “Came to see you.” He mutters, taking a step closer to you.

“Um, well can it wait until I have fucking clothes on?” He glances over your form once more, lust clouding his mind. He can’t help but stare at your body, his eyes roaming over your frame.

“Not sure I can wait that long.” He mutters, taking another step towards you, his voice low and gruff.

Butcher crosses over to you. He pulls you closer, his hand gripping your waist with a firm, almost possessive, hold. He kisses you hungrily, his lips devouring yours with a mixture of desire and desperation.

He pushes you against the wall, trapping you between his body and the hard surface. He lets out a low growl against your lips, his tongue seeking access to your mouth.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth hungrily. His body is pressed against yours, holding you tightly against the wall, his hands roaming over your body as if memorizing every curve.

He breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. He’s panting, his chest heaving as he gazes down at you, his expression filled with a mix of desire and something more… something vulnerable.

His eyes are intense and filled with a mixture of desire and guilt. He can’t bring himself to say the words, but the silent apology is there in his gaze.

His body is still pressed against yours, and he runs a hand down your side in a gentle caress. He looks like he wants to say something, but the words seem to get stuck in his throat. You mimic his words, “spit it out.”

A huff of annoyance leaves his lips at your use of his own words against him. He grumbles for a moment, his grip on your waist tightening slightly.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. Then he looks into your eyes, his expression a mix of vulnerability and determination.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, his voice gravelly. “For how I treated you… for not treating you the way you deserved.” You place your hands on his cheeks, a smile on your face. “Just fucking kiss me.”

He grabs you once again, crushing his lips against yours hungrily. His hand grips the back of your neck, angling your head so he can deepen the kiss even further.

The following day, both Butcher and you are sitting on your couch. You’re leaning against him as he fiddles with your fingertips. The need to touch you is too great to just be near.

Hughie and Frenchie walk in and are taken aback by the two. Frenchie smirks, “So what is this now, huh?” You and Butcher look at each other. Butcher offers a smirk, “Well one thing it ain’t, is fucking casual.”

[burntblueberrywaffles]

The Snowbaird fanfic rec list!

As usual, if anyone is interested in joining the snowbaird discord, just shoot me a dm for an invite!

Before we start, some notes:

As we all know Snowbaird is fucked up and toxic 😌😌 but there are;;; levels to it so for easy navigation I have color coded this fic rec! Blue is for fics that are less toxic (now that doesn’t necessarily mean there’s NO toxicity but it definitely stands on the sweeter side of the Snowbaird spectrum) whereas red stand for "god these fucked up bitches 😍😍" (though for me a big no no is loveless Snowbaird, so even the more toxic fics in this list they do love each other!) - Ive also added an orange category for the mid level fics/ones where I couldn’t quite decide where they would rank- still, do keep in mind that those rankings are based on my personal judgement (plus I’m going off memory for some of the fics) so they may not be fully accurate.

Im also adding a "heavy smut" mention to some of these fic - that means the smut takes center stage in the fic and is pretty much unavoidable to properly read the story, a lot of the other fics on this list will still contain smut, but to a lesser extent/in a way where it’s not an integral part of the plot - remember to read the tags and curate your reading experience!

Sadly several of these are incomplete - I have added a mention of when the last update was posted as of today (april 22, 2024)!

Anyways, now that all of that is out of the way, here are the recs!

Capitol AUs

Helpless, Tender, Open by perfectlystill

When his heartbeat stutters beneath her touch, when his mouth falls open, breathing heavy, Lucy Gray pops open her clutch. She’s the one pouring antidote down his throat.

Complete

if i'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? by eecwritess

It had been fifteen years since Lucy Gray Baird had escaped Coriolanus Snow at the cabin in District Twelve. But now, she had been captured. Brought back to the Capitol after all these years to be punished as a Rebel. But President Snow...well, he has offered to save her. Under one condition.

Heavy smut - complete

Songbirds, Snakes, and Wedding Rings by celestscrystal

“Even she can’t charm your way out of that predicament.” Dr. Gaul taunted. He was losing her. He could already see the disinterest in her eyes. Highbottom had been long gone, his plans at sabotage were shattered, now he was just waiting to leave. Coriolanus had to make this work. His Lucy Gray must be kept alive. He had one final idea to convince them. It was his most dangerous idea yet. “I could marry her.” In which Coriolanus was never sent to district 12 and instead got away with a slap on the wrist. However, Lucy Gray would not be granted the same fate. In order to save her, Coriolanus marries her. Clashes ensue in a tale of enemies, passion, and lovers. Updates every Saturday/Sunday!

Incomplete but is getting weekly updates! I really love this one :D

Burn by vvitchimage

Life in the wilderness is harsher than Lucy Gray Baird had imagined. Sick and almost dead, she's forced to return home to the only person capable of taking care of her.

vvitchimage is definitely one of my favourite Snowbaird authors so you will see more of her works down this list; the way she writes the toxicity is just chefs kiss 🤌 Heavy smut - complete

Safe and close at hand by framboise

In which Coriolanus Snow is handsomely rewarded for his tribute winning the Games and in turn handsomely rewards his prize, Lucy Gray, herself. He's gone solemn now in the afterglow, serious. He cares for his own, Snow, she sees that with his family, and now she is one of them. Not his family, but something he owns. His prize, his ward, his girl. Is she to be his mistress then? she thinks hazily as she slips towards sleep. Is that the future for her? To escape from the viper's den into the viper's mansion? She shivers and he drags her closer, one large hand tucked around her hip. Well, she can't escape now even if she wants to, she thinks, sinking into the softness of the plush mattress, burrowing back into the heat and warmth of her jailor.

complete

the girl and the prize by merkstave

In Lucy Gray’s defense, it was never supposed to go down like this anyway. She was just supposed to seduce him, to weasel herself into the snake pit that was Coriolanus’ bed so that he’d keep her around long enough for her to formulate an escape plan. She’d meet with Highbottom and he’d help her like he said he would after she was crowned victor and she’d be back to being a faceless girl amongst the cover of the districts. She just had to say the word and the dean of Heavensbee Academy would make her disappear. She’d be back to singing in bars in no time, back to her old life on the run. That had been nine months ago. And here she was, in her warden’s bed, naked and with his cum stuck to her inner thighs. +++ Lucy Gray is given to Coriolanus as his ward after the games. It's supposed to be a temporary arrangement, nothing more than means to an end. However, nothing is ever easy, especially at the hands of a Snow.

Sadly incomplete but the 4 chapters we did get are SO!!! Truly the delicious kind of toxicity 🤌🤌 (last updated: Jan 15, 2024)

All Of That Ultraviolence by ggs_29

He was well dressed in a suit that fit, hair combed back, still just as handsome as before, if not more so. A full pantry suited him well, helping him to fill out the spaces that were too thin on his figure, and building up the hard earned muscles of his peacekeeping stint. Today, he sits behind his desk in a fine dress shirt, a button undone on top, and his cuffs rolled up his muscular arms. Lucy remembers Barb Azure’s old tales, about a pagan creature from a time before Panem, a fallen angel; the most beautiful of them all, but so easy to succumb to the temptation of power and glory; “ You can leave us now, Heavensbee.” Coriolanus says, holding his gaze on her, and his eyes are dark, predatory. Fuck. “Of course Mr. President; Madame Snow.” Hilarius shoots her a look filled to the brim with trepidation, and suddenly, she is back there again, paralyzed with fear. A girl of six and ten whose name had just been reaped. They’d been found out.

heavy smut - complete

Peacekeeper Coryo AUs

This Little Life of Ours by voiceinthecrowd

"I'll sing for you soon," she promises, hand threading through blonde curls. “I’ll write you into all my songs." “Maybe even write a Ballad of Coriolanus Snow”, she whispers, gasping as her boy manages to pull her even closer. It isn't the immortality he's been looking for. It certainly isn't the marble presidential busts he tells her about when they both can't sleep; how their stony eyes would bore into the souls of passing Capitol children; a young, hungry boy in Academy rouge. But presidents die and statues crumble. Coryo might not know it yet, but it’s stories and songs that persist. His ancient heroes and her whispered poems. They’re all stories, and Lucy Gray is determined to give Coryo the greatest story of them all. He’ll understand, one day. She’ll make it up to him, the dreams he’s left behind for her. He hasn't lost everything in Twelve. Lucy Gray will prove it. In which Lucy Gray stays for Coriolanus, and Coriolanus stays for Lucy Gray.

foaming at the mouth over this fic. complete

i wouldn’t mind the hanging, but the laying in the grave so long by rainfrog

He’s a Peacekeeper since the beginning. And she’s still that Covey girl who falls in love.

SO GOOD; this fic is 2,4k words long and NOT ONE OF THEM IS WASTED truly so many excellent lines in there 💯💯 - complete

Deal with the Devil by vvitchimage

Lucy Gray had lived in the cabin for months after her falling out with Coriolanus Snow. When spring comes, he returns to take over Hoff's place in the Peacekeepers. The day she's found, Lucy Gray has to strike a deal with the devil.

Heavy smut - incomplete but is still being updated! (last update april 18, 2024)

persimmons and soup beans by kayladevitoo

Coriolanus Snow moved up in the Peacekeeper ranks in District 12, becoming an officer. He shares breakfast with Lucy Gray after a night shift — soup beans and a persimmon.

short and sweet - complete

Chaos and control by Anonymous

Her name was Lucy Gray Baird, and she and her group were called the Covey. Technically, they weren't from the Districts; as it turned out, they were a group of traveling musicians who got stuck in the Twelfth when inter-District travel was banned. This somehow reassured him – that she wasn't from the Districts, that he hadn't gone crazy falling for a girl from the Districts – she wasn't one of those responsible for the war. So he no longer felt guilty about his dreams, sometimes strange, sometimes blatantly indecent, in which she was always the main character. 18 years old Coriolanus Snow, an orphan, who lost his mother, his father and grandmother during the war now is a Cadet Peacekeeper in the District 12, preparing to become an officer. Here he meets the most beautiful girl in the world

This fic is not as Snowbaird centric as the rest of this list, but god is it fantastic. This Anonymous author is simply incredible 💯 - complete

Modern AUs

Free Ride by betts

“Does Lucy Gray like you back?” Tigris asked. Coriolanus hadn’t actually considered that. He’d just assumed she didn’t and never would. He’d grown up with anything he could ever want given to him instantly, but now everything he wanted was impossibly far out of reach. Lucy Gray was no exception. Or: Coriolanus is a full-time university student, restaurant server, administrative assistant, and on the weekends he cleans and presses gowns. Occasionally he sleeps. So he really doesn't have time to be giving the weird bartender a ride home every night. And he definitely doesn't have time to become obsessed with her.

having really enjoyed Betts' Anidala fic Lemon, I knew we were in for a treat when i recognized her in the Snowbaird tag AND I WAS RIGHT, such an amazing take on modern!coryo - complete

I'm yours to keep and I'm yours to lose by fkevin073

Their lips slide together, then their tongues curl and she moans, a light, heady thing, come alight with the realization that she is finally, finally home. It’s tender at first, but at the sound of her moan Coriolanus grabs her chin in between his fingers and plunders her mouth harshly. As if this is a punishment. You left me, every kiss he gives her, takes from her, breathes. You left me. And Lucy Gray— Well. For her this isn’t a punishment at all. Or: Lucy Gray and Coriolanus can't seem to let each other go.

THIS IS SO!!!!! see this is the kind of ploltline I might not love in other circumstances, but THE WRITING IS SO INCREDIBLE that it just hits - complete

when the sun goes down by astradeluna

small-town girl lucy gray baird moves from district twelve to the capitol to attend the university to study music. this is her first time leaving home and although the prospect of starting over is terrifying, she’s still excited to make the most out of the opportunity. that being said, after a shitty breakup with her shitty ex, the last thing she wants is to meet someone, but then she crosses paths with coriolanus snow, an arrogant but ambitious government major, who seems to get under her skin with ease and he brings out a part of herself that she never knew existed

incomplete and the story hadn’t gotten to much development in the relationship yet but GOD I still need to put this here bc THE WAY the dynamics were so perfectly transcribed to this modern setting were just chefs kiss. Forever hoping this fic will return from war and get an update 🙏🙏 (last updated: Dec 20, 2023)

Other

Your Selfish Ways by thpsyche

Ten years since her disappearance from District 12 Lucy Gray decides it’s time to return, finding a shelter and a silent life. All would be well if it weren’t for the mysterious encounters of a man cloaked in darkness. A deal is struck, twice a month she would give up to him in return for his silence of her existence. Only one condition: she’s to not ask or look at him. - For the snowbaird week 2024| Day 2 – Myth.

GOD THIS FUCKING FIC - IM FUCKING OBSESSED WITH IT;;; EROS AND PSYCHE INSPIRED AU MY BELOVED - I have reread many times;;; if you see a thumbs up crying cat pfp going insane in the comments that would be me;;;; I am not normal about this 🙈 - complete

doomsday is close at hand by fkevin073

But on the first train of her nineteenth year, as the snows settle on the ground and ice curls in their lungs, something new comes with the train to arrive in District 12. A man by the name of Coriolanus Snow. (But Lucy Gray doesn’t find that out until later, of course) - Or: Coriolanus Snow arrives in District 12, and finds his very own songbird, ready to break free.

incomplete but according to @fkevin073 's tumblr it is not abandoned and she has just been busy;;; truly such a good fic I love it sm (last updated feb 14, 2024)

When I'm Pure Like a Dove, When I've Learned How to Love by Realmermaid333

Lucy Gray and Coriolanus bask in sunlight by the edge of the lake, enjoying each other's presence and calming each other's fears.

Short and sweet - the kind of softness we need more of for Snowbaird 🥺🥺🥺 - Complete

Saving Each Other by flipflop_diva

Lucy Gray had already accepted that she was going to die here in the arena, that sometime in the next few days she would meet her end. But then something else happened — and now there were two of them to carry on the fight. (An AU in which Coriolanus goes to save Sejanus and doesn't escape the arena.)

complete

Silent songbird by KitKatKatherine

Coriolanus Snow thought he knew everything that had happened to him these last few months. Lucy left him, he got into the academy, and Gaul was overseeing his studies. It’s not until he wakes up in the hospital and experiences a rather concerning conversation that he questions everything he once thought to be solid, reason logic. Vowing to never once again help Gaul, and capital be damned, he turns his charms on his own people, and becomes their worst nightmare.

Now, this fic does get quite dark; the author gives trigger warning on specific chapters but if you would like to be warned before getting any investment in the fic, feel free to dm me for details ❤️ - that said, it’s a great fic, I thought the take on disability was lovely and the way it portrayed Coriolanus realizing how rotten the system is and redeeming himself was great; incomplete but worth a read (last updated: Jan 13, 2024)

This is Not a Love Song by FrostedGemstones22

Lucy Gray and Coriolanus never go to the cabin, so they never find the guns. They decide to travel together, but Lucy Gray isn't so easily fooled. Truth is; he needs her, and she needs him. Common ground has to be found somewhere. Speculation about if they traveled up to find District 13.

THIS FIC IS SO EXCELLENT and definetely the best take I have seen on a district 13 AU - incomplete but absolutely worth reading (last updated: Jan 22, 2024)

in the woods somewhere by OfPearlsAndSunsets

Sejanus. She must have figured out that Sejanus was the third person Coriolanus had killed. She wouldn’t have known the particulars, but surely she could have pieced it all together. Still, to think he’d kill her? After everything they’d been through? He looked down at the loaded gun in his hands. Maybe he should have left it in the shed. It's as if he was hunting her. He thought about the knife and how it paled in comparison to the weapon he was carrying. What are you doing, Coriolanus? Something inside of him asks, and then demands. Put it down. He does.

Complete

Monster by Lululemonee

Coriolanus Snow if given both a gift and a curse when he meets his tribute for the 10th Hunger Games. She changed his life in ways which he never could have imagined. She's a dream and a nightmare rolled into one. And she is keeping him with her for the ride. I am very bad at summaries. This was inspired but the music video for "Scars" by Hazey Eyes which stars Tom Blyth and is sooooo good.

Complete

Deep in the Meadow by vvitchimage

Lucy Gray's reunion with Coriolanus in the meadow ends with him protecting her from her jilted ex.

Heavy smut - complete

BONUS:

Two different tribute!Coryo AUs! Are they Snowbaird centered? Not at all, there’s only a few crumbs if you squint BUT they slap SO HARD I truly recommend! (both are complete)

for cassius, no one wept by marianara_sauce

"Why don't we start from the beginning?" "Where else would we start?" She grins at him, rouge cheeks almost glowing. "Stories can start in all kinds of places. They can go in any kind of order, too. Just like songs." He watches her carefully, this relentlessly bright girl no longer in her rainbow dress. His eyes glance down to the form, blank spaces taking over most of the page. Name. District. Age. Family. It's not necessarily chronological. But her dark eyes don't look away from him, even as her grin softens. "Alright," he says. He steeples his hands together, and the chains rattle. "I'm Coriolanus Snow. District 12." (Or, the world in which Snow is a tribute instead of a mentor.)

Hail Panem by Anonymous

"Hail Panem! Those marching to their death salute you!" AU where Coriolanus Snow is a tribute from District Twelve who takes part in the Hunger Games

And that is all! There are a lot of other lovely Snowbaird fics of course but I tried focusing on my absolute favourites ❤️

Do let me know if you liked the list and if you’re a fan of any of these fic feel free to come scream about it with me!

+ Once again noting that my DMs are wide open to anyone wanting to join the Snowbaird discord! It is genuinely an online space I love and I’m always happy to meet more shippers 🫶🫶

[rayflowcherry]

Introduction to my Multiverse (Nightmare-centric)

Part 1: Crossmare (I didn’t mean for it to be this long)

Ships: Crossmare, Driller

Nightmare:

Passive and Corrupted are the same person, his appearance has changed drastically, and yet some of his past personality are still there (according to Dream).

Quiet by nature and isn't afraid to speak up his mind.

Looks cold and uncaring 'cause he is used to bottling up his feelings instinctively, making him look like that.

Composed, mature, keeps his inner child in check, never letting it out because he thinks that it's embarrassing.

Sexuality: AroAce, Agender (doesn't care about pronouns but mainly uses he/they).

Age: 500+

Takes care of Killer, Dust and Horror ever since they've joined his gang but keeps their relationship professionally. (‘Single father’ - Error)

The first person to meet Cross who was crying and passing out in his empty AU, looks after him for a while before sending him on his own way.

He and Dream are having a truce, their relationship still remains awkward though, sometimes meeting up to check on each other in Ccino's cat café and having conversations (a bit like gossip).

Neutral with Error and Ink, friendly but not that close to them, at least they don't do anything harmful to each other then all ends well.

Has a really good memory so he knows almost everything about all the AUS, not to mention he travels a lot to gain knowledge, build a mansion for the past 400 years.

When he first became corrupted, he wreaked havoc everywhere, losing control and destroying every AUs he landed upon 'cause of his hunger for negativity, not until Reapertale did he finally stop, Reapertale!Toriel prevented him from doing any further harms.

Reaper Sans is like a father figure to him, he teaches him how to control himself and helps him whenever his corrupting power is too much (along with Toriel), takes care of him for 100 years.

Loves reading books, especially fantasy ones, whenever someone gifts him a book, he will get a bit emotional.

He only wears his old crown on special occasions, if not, he would keep it in his drawer.

Cross usually writes letters to him on his travels, slowly building their relationship, they often stumbled into each other on some random AUs and conversed for a while before parting ways.

Good at singing lullabies, and sometimes dancing in the night every time he feels like it. (Only Dream knows about this)

Rarely sleeps, one time he falls asleep like a log for several days, making his idiots worried and called Dream for help.

Doesn't have a favorite food nor drink.

Killer flirts with him once which makes Nightmare really confused, causing the other to be slightly caught off-guard and explained it to him afterwards. (Nightmare still doesn't understand the innuendo 'till this day)

Helps Dust get through his nightmares and guilt in the middle of the night. (Dust sleeps a lot better and his Papyrus almost never appears to haunt him anymore)

Likes cooking and gardening with Horror, they always talk about some random topics, otherwise they would enjoy the silence between them. (Introverts)

Scared of cats, lets Killer keep them but won’t get near them. (There are four cats)

Knows about Killer’s crush on Dream, but he won’t interfere or do anything (unless necessary).

Likes the rain, always reminiscing and standing under it for hours.

Immune to pain, his touch feels like acid so he refrains from touching the others.

Suppressing his emotions so no one will ever know what he feels.

Can shapeshift into anything, but he rarely uses this ability ‘cause it mostly makes him feel uncomfortable, besides, he doesn’t want to freak the others out.

Intentionally making himself taller to match the height of the others because he was scared of being seen as weak and helpless.

The atmosphere in his mansion is very relaxing and comfortable, contrary to popular belief.

Cross:

Still feels guilty over the fact that he killed everyone.

Grateful for Nightmare looking after him after he passed out from crying too much.

After Nightmare explaining to him that saving his AU is almost impossible, Cross mulled over this for a while and talked to Nightmare before coming to a decision, ignoring X!Chara’s insistence on saving their world, he decides to travel the AUS to know more about the multiverse and maybe get some friends along the way.

Sexuality: Bisexual (Canon)

Age: Early 30s

Stoic, more outgoing with Epic, has a bit of a crush on Nightmare (slowly turning into something more in the future), easily angered if something annoyed him too much, mostly calm.

A traveler who likes helping people, hanging out and making memories with them, usually writing letters to Nightmare about his travels to keep him updated. (Doesn’t know why he started doing it, but he won’t stop anytime soon, receiving letters back from Nightmare everytime was worth it)

X!Chara always teases him about his crush on Nightmare. (Brat)

Meets Dream along the way, discovering the fact that Nightmare and Dream are brothers and sending about 6 letters in panic to Nightmare after that.

He and Nightmare often bumped into each other on some random AUS, they would converse in any restaurants or shops, sometimes things would get too awkward for them. (Sillies)

One time, Cross saw Nightmare standing under the rain, he was quickly approaching the other and sheltering him under his umbrella, noticed his droopy mood and tried to lighten it up. (Nightmare appreciated it, started to have feelings for him unknowingly)

Scared of cows. (Of course)

Occasionally, he visits Nightmare’s mansion, stays for a few days and leaves.

Cross finds Killer too flirty for his liking but doesn’t dislike him for it much. (Feels a bit jealous whenever Killer gets too close to Nightmare)

He and Dust likes each other’s company, they are usually talking and making jokes, bonding over their trauma and guilts.

Cross likes Horror’s cooking, the food is always delicious, especially the tacos, he sometimes helps Horror and Nightmare with gardening.

Can handle pain so Nightmare’s touch maybe hurts a little but he can hold hands with him for minutes. (They did hold hands for brief seconds, Nightmare was still shocked about it because Cross seemed unfazed)

Has heard of Ink and Error, still hasn’t met them yet.

Somehow he got addicted to chocolate.

Has a hard time falling asleep, though when he sleeps in Nightmare’s mansion, it feels easier.

Only Killer and X!Chara know about his crush on Nightmare. (Cross never figures out how Killer does, ‘it was obvious’, that man said)

Wants Nightmare to accompany him on his journey, become his traveling partner and whatnot. (Going to ask him but he doesn’t have the courage to do so)

[levenxa]

Blue (Hail)

Gender: Cis-Man

Pronouns: He/They

Sexuality: Demiromantic Pansexual

Height: 5’9

Age: 26

Likes: Swearing is his love language—makes him feel cool. Good at combat (yes he will beat the shit out of you for reasonable purposes). He’s a professional ice skater, he makes a lot of money; which explains why he owns a mansion :) He’s great at understanding people emotionally, and following their respectable boundaries. One of his guilty pleasures is charcoal painting.

Dislikes: Super lovey dovey things, when people come to his mansion for no reason, dressing up in stupid outfits. Shitty people I guess. He is terrible at mind games, manipulative behavior, and telling left from right.

Phobias: Acrophobia (Fear of Heights)

Weapons/Powers: Ice Scythe, Blue Beams, Glitch Abilities

Backstory: Was abused by his brother still, both emotionally and physically. But he still loves him, he knows he shouldn’t but he does anyways. He was forced to keep up this shitty persona by Stretch which in turn gave him several unstable relationships, being unable to be himself whilst also being horrific at lying. One day they came across a poor woman who wished for even the slightest amount of change. Stretch made fun of them and encouraged Blue to do so as well so he did. But after Stretch left, Blue secretly gave some money to the woman, who thanked him endlessly with a warm smile. Blue for once felt loved and appreciated—even when his whole life he was told to hate love, why did he want more so badly? A few years after the whole world begins to fall apart due to several rips in the timeline, (both Cross’s Timeline & the DT Timeline) Stretch trips and is hanging off a cliff, Blue tries to save him but fails. He’s very upset but keeps on running because he wants to survive; this new found motivation made him discover his ability to teleport. He ended up teleporting to a random city. He found a magazine and found out about ice skating, he then went into many competitions and was really good at it. He earned enough money for a huge mansion and is now rich as hell. He often donates to a bunch of charity centers, he adores the thanks and appreciation he usually gets back whenever he does stuff like that. He also loves helping others despite his brother telling him that it was wrong and that Blue didn’t deserve it. Part of him agrees with that, he still has some buried trauma that is unsolved and instead hidden by a pessimistic and easily angered persona. He is that one aggressively nice person, who will be calm and comforting if needed.

Relationships: He meets Error first, and then Cross. Cross and Error are pretty much companions who just decided to stick with him, and he doesn’t care enough to shoo them away. He prefers his own group the ‘Amicable Brigade’, (Blue, Cross, & Error) over the ‘Unrighteous Surrenders’, (Dream, Nightmare, & Ink). He has probably cussed everyone out at least once.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators Epilogue - All Coming Together

On AO3.

He’s done it. The plan worked. Not the original one—his tried-and-true method that has never failed him. No, that lies in a pile of smoking debris he’d rather not care to acknowledge.

But Astarion has secured her. Despite all that’s happened, despite not even sleeping with her, he’s got their illustrious leader.

He reminds himself to keep his smirk hidden.

She was a tough puzzle to crack. Loaded with traps, several of which he tripped and got burned by. But here she is, looking through him the way she does when she’s plotting, and those dark, dark eyes are razor sharp.

He can point her in whichever direction he wishes. But he doesn’t need to, because she’s pointed herself right where he wants her to go.

It’s a bit hard to believe. Harder still to trust. The virgin, alien, yokel manipulator, all wound tight and ready to spring at Cazador. And all he had to do was take his shirt off just the once, though he will not trust entirely to her sense of justice or charity. Or to her anger.

Because oh. Her anger. He’d caught barely a glimpse of it. That place, her family—he’s not going to delve too deeply into that, thank you very much. By habit, he’s not a reflective sort of man. And anyway, it’s wholly different. He’d been held captive for centuries, and she can’t be more than fifty or sixty, at most.

He can understand anger like that, however. Can work with anger like that. And perhaps, so very slowly and carefully, coax her into more.

He ought to secure the prize eventually; it wouldn’t hurt to wind her thoroughly around his fingers so she’d never even think of betraying him. And she’s admitted she’s capable of being attracted. He’d even caught glimpses of another young woman, felt what he knew was the memory of lust in her.

Until then, he can bide his time. Pull her in all nice and snug. And even keep his shirt on in the process.

He feels a stirring of something in his chest at that thought. It’s rather close to relief, though he won’t name it and shoves the feeling down almost as quickly as it can form.

Their illustrious leader nods as he prattles on about vampiric mist and healing sleep (all things he’s heard of and never seen, because nothing within the mansion is capable of hurting that bastard and it’s been up to the spawn to keep it that way when the rare, unexpected adventurer drops by with a bag full of stakes).

He works hard to keep up his current performance. He’s honestly not used to anyone actually paying attention to him. At least not when he speaks. And never with that level of focus.

It gives him a kind of…brightness? A tiny ember, barely glowing deep, deep in his chest.

“Right,” the yokel drawls in her, well, he would call it an appalling accent. Had in his own thoughts on several occasions. But he finds it rather…growing on him. It suits her. “I think that’s enough for now. You mind if I share this with the others?”

And that’s the other oddity. She asks him questions. Seeks permission. And then listens to his answers. He’s almost inclined to believe she might refrain from sharing her knowledge should he tell her no. At least until she has a chance to seek out the wizard or the blade alone, out of his earshot.

It’s frankly boggling. He’s properly boggled.

Not that he shows it. He puts on his best smile—not the one for back alley drunkards or intimate caresses, but the one for the upper class targets, the one he dusts off when he actually needs to impress.

“If you think that’s the best approach, by all means,” he says.

And she looks at him. Really looks at him. She’s got quite the collection of masks herself, he’s learned. This one is her favorite: blank and stoic. Arrogant, some might say. Except he’s seen into her thoughts, and it really is just a blankness. But it’s clever in that way—it allows the person she targets with it to project whatever they wish onto her.

He didn’t give her enough credit when he first met her (shrieking, hysterical thing she was, then). She’s not bad at this.

Not up to his level, but there’s room for growth.

“If you’re sure,” she says. And it’s a question in her tone. Still asking his permission, of all things.

“Yes, yes,” he says and waves her off.

She finally takes that and gives him a nod, before heading directly off to the wizard.

He watches them talk. Watches her move. She uses her hands quite often, though more subdued than he does. She’s doing it more, he thinks. In the tenday or so since they all crashed on that beach, she’s gotten a touch louder, started making gestures more, let other expressions show.

He wonders exactly what lies beneath all that. Beneath the pieces he’s witnessed. There’s something in there; he caught the vague shape of it before their minds ripped free of each other last night. Something in it intrigues him. Calls to him. He’s not sure what it is; has no parameters with which to measure it. It’s a taste on the back of his tongue, a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye (not the ones he follows, looking for a red glow peering back).

He wants to open her up. Get a look at her. And he has plenty of time before they march towards whatever the gith creche holds.

This, he thinks, is going to be fun.

***

Notes:

And that is the end of Feeding Alligators! Thank y’all so, so much for all the super kind comments and kudos and bookmarks. I’ve never written anything that got this much attention before, and I’m still kinda frazzled about it. But it’s been a wonderful experience. I found this game and then the fandom when some heavy shit was going down (a death in the family), and it gave me something good to cling to while I processed all that. I’ll always be grateful to this community, all you'uns, and every, single person who worked on BG3 and who contributes such amazing fanworks. This shit brings me top-tier motherfucking joy. These two shitheads continue their escapades in the next story, What Shall We Become. I’ll either be posting it this upcoming Saturday, or the one after that. Don’dagohvi!

Previous - Index

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Roadtrip (Part 1/?)

“I’m not going in the back.”

“You’re going in the back.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No—”

“Reggie is up front with me, I need a good guide.”

Regulus smirks at Sirius, tongue out and teasing as he opens the front door. “There you go, Sirius. I’m a good guide,” he says, closing the passenger side door with a snide smile.

Asshole.

Sirius throws hands, opening the back door and climbing in with Remus, who’s already settled in, kindle open. He doesn’t look up as Sirius slides in. “You know you were never getting in front, sweetheart, right?”

Sirius kisses his teeth. “It’s like Reggie’s trying to steal my best friend from me.”

Remus hums, “It’s possible to have several best friends.”

“No. James is one of a kind.”

Remus turns back to his kindle, “Then date him instead,” he shrugs.

“No!”

Remus’ eyes are back on Sirius, twinkling. “No?”

Turning to his right to grab the top of the security belt, Sirius mutters as he slides it on. “I don’t want to date him, I’m just saying he and Reggie have been chummy with—”

“Aannndd we’re ready to go,” James says as he slides into the driver’s side, smiling with all his teeth. “Take us away, space man,” he says, passing the map to Regulus, who opens it up.

“Tell me again why we aren’t using Google maps?” Sirius asks, and Regulus reaches back to slap the map over Sirius’ head.

“Hey!”

“Because Google maps is turning our brains into mush, and we’ll miss all the fun,” Regulus says.

Sirius rubs at his head. “All the fun of…knowing where to go?”

Regulus kisses his teeth. “I have a map, I know where to go.”

“But you could be using Google maps,” Sirius reasons.

“Yes, I could,” Regulus starts, with the tone of someone who is about to launch— “And I could also have chosen a different breakfast, a different degree, I could have decided to wake up and pick another type of shirt, there are so many options around me, all the time, and I am picking a map on purpose.”

“But—”

“It’s the adventure,” James interrupts again, pulling out of the main house.

The Black summer house is less of a house and more of a mansion, where most of them have been spending a lot of time this summer. To cap it off, the general consensus was that a road trip—wouldn’t it be fun?—would be a great way to end it. In two weeks, Remus and Sirius need to be back in England, where Remus will start teaching. James will head back to England a few days after. He’s got friends to see in Paris, so he’ll make the final leg of the drive up with Regulus before abandoning him to the clutches of City of Love while he goes back to London.

In the meantime?

Two weeks of road tripping the french countryside, from Cassis, where the Black family owns a house, all the way to Bordeaux, where the boys will take a train to Paris, leaving James and Regulus to climb up alone.

The problem Sirius has, is that Regulus and James have become friends.

The problem Sirius has, is that he is no longer the center of attention, the main tool through which everyone communicates. Over the course of the past two weeks, he has seen the blossoming friendship between his brother and his best friend, and he’s not—happy about that.

James has been remote working, and so has Regulus (who technically, is remote working from anywhere), while he and Remus have been on proper holidays. And okay, their schedules have been different. Okay, maybe James and Regulus have been left alone while Sirius took Remus out and about town, kayaking and paddle boarding to nearby islands, and maybe it would make sense for them to bond. And okay, it would have been sad for them not to get on, but they’re just… getting along too well. It’s freaking Sirius out.

“The adventure,” Regulus confirms, opening the map to its maximum before folding it back the way he prefers. “Right, Jamie, you’re going to take a left and follow the signs all the way to A50.”

Sirius is right there, once again, “Why Marseille, Reggie?”

“Because you’re going to have the best ice cream of your life there, that’s why.”

“But I hate Marseille.”

“And so you shall suffer.”

Sirius rears back, turning to look at Remus, who’s sporting a little, barely-there smirk, “He’s already bullying me!”

Remus doesn’t look up, reaching one hand to tangle it in Sirius’. “He’s not bullying you. You agreed to this road trip, you knew Reggie was going to pick the stops.”

“But Marseille?”

Regulus turns around from the passenger seat. “If I give you music rights, will you leave it?”

And that, is that.

Sirius grabs the aux cord and starts fiddling with Spotify. “Oh, there’s so much, I have so many ideas, let’s start with Chappell Roan.”

Regulus is quick to reach for the aux, “No, not Pink—”

“Pink Pony Club,” Sirius nods. “Yep. That’s the one.”

Regulus turns his head to James, please help, but James just shrugs. “I’m happy with all music.”

“No,” Regulus moans, just as Sirius fist pumps the air. “James, turn the car around.”

James doesn’t look up from the windshield. “Nope, we’re in this together now. No one is ruining this for me.”

“For you?” Regulus asks. “How has my road trip become yours?”

James sneaks a look at Regulus, “Since you sat next to me, polluting my work environment and telling me everything you wanted to do and whether everyone else would be on board.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

James scoffs, “Sure it isn’t, Baby Black.”

“This is actually the worst thing to come out of this adventure,” Regulus says.

And Sirius is there, right away, putting his head in between the seats, pulling on his seatbelt. “Baby Black?”

“I like it,” James says right as Regulus quips, “It’s horrible.”

Sirius squints between the leather seats. “I can’t decide.”

“Sirius, the beauty of it,” James starts, taking a right, “is that there is nothing you have to decide on. It’s been decided on already. I like it, so I will use it.”

Regulus looks out the window, “I’m pretty sure that’s not how democracy works,” he pouts.

“Funny of you to think it’s a democracy. I am driving—”

“It’s my car—”

“I’m in charge of the music,” Sirius cuts in right before Remus grabs his arm and pulls him back to his seat behind Regulus, enough of that.

“Remus, they’re—”

“They are chatting. Leave them alone.”

“They’re flirting.”

“They’re not.”

Sirius turns to James. “James, are you flirting with my brother?”

“Um, not really?”

Remus turns to Sirius, “See?”, just as Regulus turns to James.

“’Um’? What a vote of confidence.”

“Well, do you want me to flirt with you?”

“No,” Sirius says, just as Regulus says nothing.

Regulus says nothing.

Regulus says.

Nothing.

“Reggie.”

Silence.

“Reggie.”

“Sirius, don’t say anything,” Remus says.

“I—”

“Just. Leave it.”

Sirius does.

For a minute.

“Okay, but—”

[rabbitblackx]

Heyyy I saw your post about the cp x french s/O and I wanted to ask if you could do the same with a German s/O with the same CP's??:D

Creepypastas with a German!Reader that curses in their language

Includes: Hoody, Toby Rogers and Homicidal Liu

French!Reader version:

Hoody💖

Hoody thought your German accent was so cool. He could listen to you talk on and on all day. He also felt a thousand feet tall when you two were together in front of the others. You were such a catch, so Hoody showed you off to them all the time

Being Hoody’s lover, you also spent a fair amount of time with his buddy Masky. Like on missions, where Slender would assign you all together, often along with Toby as well

The four of you were deep within the woods one night. Masky was getting snappy with you, accusing you and Hoody of paying attention to each other more than the mission itself. Hoody couldn’t help it. He half expected Masky to be used to him touching on you all the time by now

Toby spotted the target up ahead in the dark, and readied his hatchets. He excitedly bolted ahead, keen to get them dirty again

What annoyed you the most was that Masky seemed to only be mad at you, and not Hoody. It was as if you weren’t a valuable part of this mission, but instead a distraction to the actual killers here

You cussed out Masky in German, him of course not knowing what you were saying. He grew tired of you and Hoody so he angrily followed after Toby, leaving you two alone

You and Brian walked together in silence for awhile, before you could hear a faint giggle emit from under his mask

“What?” You asked

Hoody continued to chuckle to himself, feeling for your hand in the dark. “What you said to him.” He explained

The man didn’t know a lick of German before he met you, but he began to slowly pick it up after you two became an item

“He doesn’t even know what you said! That’s why he’s so mad.” Hoody wheezed with laughter

You laughed along with him, giving his gloved hand a tender squeeze

Toby Rogers💖

Toby was actually German himself! Of course he didn’t have the accent like you did, with him growing up in Colorado and all… but that just made him love yours even more!

Living in the godawful manor, you had to defend yourself numerous times a week. Usually it was all in good fun, with banter and roasts. But when it came to foul insults, you definitely topped the charts in severity

Naturally, Toby begged you to teach him all the cuss words and dirty stuff in German. They became usual phrases for him, sometimes even saying them in his verbal tics

Absolutely loved it when you called Jeff a ‘schweinhund’ for the first time. Greatest moment of his life

That actually became Jeff’s nickname around the mansion for awhile. Of course Toby started it, and of course Jeff hated it (and you)

Toby had an unhealthy obsession with you. He followed you around like a lost puppy all day. He was so starstruck by you, and couldn’t believe he managed to snag you as his own

You swore a lot (like him), and it was always in German. Whether sassing the other creeps, or when you hit a body part on something, you were cussing out German profanities. Toby made a habit of saying the exact same words you did. He was like a parrot

The other creeps never knew what you were saying to them when you were arguing with them. Toby was the only one who did, and he lapped up every second of it

Homicidal Liu💖

Liu could listen to you talk for hours. He was absolutely entranced with your German accent. He never heard one in real life before he met you. Your voice was so soothing to him

Liu thought it was adorable when you talked or even cussed in German. It made his cold heart flutter. What made him go wild though, were your pet names for him

What you called Liu: liebling, schnucki and mausebär

What he loved the most about this, was that when you talked to the other creeps in German, it was often while in an argument. So you cussed or insulted them in your native tongue, just because you knew they didn’t understand

But when it came to Liu, you never did such thing. You were so tender and soft with him. It was embarrassing when you buttered him up in front of the others though

Liu could hear endless snickers from the mansion’s living room when you would call him ‘schnucki’ or your other pet names for him. Teasing mostly came from Liu’s brother Jeff

Liu got pissed when Jeff made fun of him because of you, but he quickly got over it when you came storming over. You cursed and insulted Jeff in German, making him dumbfounded. Liu thought it was so funny, and was glad to have you on his side

When the two of you were alone in his room, it was like he wasn’t even a crazed killer. He was like putty in your hands when you purred out your sweet names for him, or telling him you loved him in your native tongue

Liu pulled you into his lap while smiling like an idiot. He snaked his arms around your waist and slid a hand under your shirt, gliding his fingers along your back. You giggled, leaning in and whispering sweet German nothings in his ear

[rev-wrath]

All members of the Flock have adopted an eldritch aspect for themselves. Either by way of Lady Gotham's magic, some weird shit in Knight's mansion, or by sheer stubborn will alone, all of them have something so severely off about them. Even when they're in their civilian personas.

Ofc Bruce and Knight are the worst. There's always something so eerily alluring about the city's power couple. The 'normal' people wouldn't even think about trying to get involved with the two of them romantically. That's why the only ones insane enough to try are the Rogues and like. the JL. They could all swear that the two weren't like that when they were younger but now? Knight's fingers are sometimes too sharp and Bruce's presence too silent. Their presence commanding but gentle just as Batman's is terrifying but reassuring.

Dick is eldritch in his own way too. He's way too flexible and nimble, and whilst yeah he is an acrobat and has been trained as one since he was a small pup, no human's limbs should contort like that. At times, he lands on the ground from a height too high for a normal human to be unharmed by. But Nightwing? He hovers slightly in the air, and it's like he flies.

Barbara is way less eldritch than the others, but there's something off about her too. Jim probably noticed something change in her after that terrifying fiasco of the Riddler kidnapping both her and Knight. He probably noticed it getting worse the longer she spent time at Wayne Tower. She knows far too much and in far too much detail about everyone she meets. And well. Technology isn't the only way Oracle keeps and eye on things.

Jason's more magic than eldritch. The second Robin sinks way too easily into the shadows and sparks of unnatural red light follows him. Inhuman whistling trails behind him and that unnerves criminals more than sharp smile and cackle of the first one. The Red Hood is terrifying because a lot of people could swear that if he's pissed off, the ground splits open to swallow whatever's in his way.

Honestly, that's all I have for now, but good morning beloved (and I think you're doing something now). The brellies have consumed my mind but so have the blorbos from Albatross. The band au will have my attention again soon tho. Matt is slowly clawing his way to the conch shell.

They’re Gotham’s darling family.

Someone might try just to get the influence. But everyone else is quick to shut it down if Knight and Bruce themselves don’t (they’re not trying very hard. They’re just odd and scare them off.) Knight has teeth and fingers a little too sharp and Bruce is too silent, suddenly appearing.

Dick moves in a way that doesn’t seem possible. Maybe it is. But it probably shouldn’t be.

Barbara knows too much, you can see it in her eyes and the way she smiles. It’s scary.

Jason’s magic. Something is either following him or coming off of him. His surroundings shimmering. But not in a beautiful way (to most), but in a way that it’s easy for him to take it and change it. Bending under his will.

Good afternoon to you. How’s your eye? (It’s always Italian, I swear to god.) Brellies come back through music, funnily enough considering the band AU. Albatross is Albatross, no explanation needed. I am holding up the show that is Paradise in Purgatory.

[skenisasleb]

Teehee what if I completely infodump Ted lore on you all even though no one cares except me 😎

WARNING: Drug use, blood and old ass art

Introduction

Teddison Vanhalious Gafford (Ted), was the first South Park OC I have ever made. He was my favorite to draw for a LONG time, and I placed him directly into the canon universe of South Park. Which means I came up with several scenarios that were South Park worthy.

Which means I made SEVERAL versions of him in degrading South Park themed ‘episodes’ that I made up. It was fun and funny. :b

(For your own safety tho, if you ask about any of these specific forms, be warned that the answer may be very unusual 💀)

Ted’s story and lore is VERY detailed, so be warned that this is VERY long LMFAO.

Also Ted’s full name is supposed to sound weird. I just thought it would be funny if his full name sounded like an over-extravagant collection of syllables.

Ted’s Main Story

Originally, Ted’s father owned the Teddy Graham’s industry. But I changed that later so that it would seem less random, so now he just owns a very nondescript graham cracker industry.

Ted’s mother left when Ted was 2, so he remembers nothing about her. Ever since then though, his father became more and more distant with his son. That’s when Ted started developing the habit of infodumping on everyone he sees, since there’s no one else at home to talk to. His father is either away on a business trip, or locked up in his study. They also rarely never cross paths in their mansion since it’s so huge.

Ted has also started to take everything his father says at heart since he rarely ever speaks to him in the first place. For instance, his father once told him to start ‘acting like his age,’ therefore Ted started wearing the most cliché kid’s clothes.

Ted’s Relationships

Ted’s relationship with Oliver is the most important one. Oliver originally hated Ted in the beginning, since all he always wanted was peace and tranquility, and now all of a sudden a ranting chatterbox was talking to him every second of the day.

But Oliver started learning more and more about Ted, including his relationship with his father. He opened up to Ted eventually, and he realized that the silence wasn’t always a great thing for him. The both of them started giving moral support for each other, Oliver helping Ted through his hardships and Ted supporting Oliver against his toxic parents.

Ted is very good friends with Casey. They both share the same energy; both of them being complete airheads. Ted also gets along very well with Ernesto, though Ted backs up most of the conversation.

There is an OC I have not brought back yet, a teacher named Ms. Freese. I should probably bring her back soon. But Ted has a one-sided friendship with her; Ms. Freese finds Ted completely annoying but Ted won’t leave her alone during classtime.

The relationship between Augustus, Oliver, and Ted is more complicated.

Oliver absolutely hates Augustus, thinking he’s a self-righteous snob who thinks he’s better than everyone else. Augustus hates Oliver for exactly the same reason. Ted doesn’t have a direct relationship with Augustus, but he tried his best to break up fights or arguments between the two.

Ted’s Side Plots/Lore

The first episode arc I have included with Ted is his superhero-persona arc.

His superhero persona is Blackbear, whom everyone makes fun of for being a furry.

He doesn’t have any specific powers, but he fills his boxing gloves with rocks so that his punches hurt like hell.

He keeps his identity hidden by not only wearing a mascot head, but also taping his mouth shut so that he’s completely mute, so not to give himself away immediately by talking so much like he usually does.

He actually is more of an anti-hero than a full hero. He takes sides simply depending on who he agrees with; morals out of the question.

He sometimes gets into so much trouble and fights so hard that he gets severely hurt. His pain tolerance is very high and he runs off of adrenaline, so he sometimes takes things too far.

The second arc I have made for Ted is his rapper phase, Teddi G.

I haven’t fully developed the story of Teddi G, but honestly I think it’s kind of just very funny to keep it in the dark to use as a joke even though I made it an outlet of trauma for Ted— 😭

I’m going to include one side plot that is very controversial. It is one of the degrading ‘episode’ ideas I have for Ted. It is where Ted runs away from home, and tries to find a place to live, but ends up in an alley in the middle of the night with nowhere to go. A homeless man took him into the alley, took pity on him and offered him marijuana. Ted took the offer and ended up trashed in the alley until Oliver found him. *COUGH* yeah like I said; scenarios that fit into the South Park scene 💀

Anyways, I have made other ‘episode’ ideas for Ted, but that’s all I’m going to share since thats the LEAST scary one 💀

Thanks for reading this far!! :DD

[krikeymate]

And Bleeding, I Gamble with All I have Left (Selfish Aching Memories; Turn Around, Remember it All)

Abigail AU - Chapter 1: The Dropoff

Samantha Carpenter – Sam to… well, everyone, and Ghost to… well, a certain circle – sits behind the wheel of a landscaping van – poorly wrapped, but for good reason – and for the first time in a long time, questions her life choices.

She doesn’t usually do this.

Dwell.

It doesn’t do any good. It doesn’t change anything.

Her life is what it is, there’s no point thinking about it or getting upset about it.

She usually doesn’t.

But tonight…

Tonight, something feels different.

The air feels colder, the silence seems to ring in her ears. Twitchy fingers tap against the steering wheel. A leg bounces, smacking against the dash over and over.

She shouldn’t be here – in the van. That’s not her role. That’s for Landrover – Landry. He’s the driver.

But not tonight.

For some reason, tonight it’s her.

Richie was adamant about it this time, unusually firm. All orders no answers. If he thinks he’s getting lucky later, he’s in for a surprise.

As she stares out the window, glancing around the immaculately manicured hedges and flower beds, she listens, making out the distant tinkling of running water – no doubt some ostentatious fountain or water feature, if the rest of the decoration of this proverbial mansion is anything to go by. There’s no movement, no other sounds, yet Sam can’t help but feel watched.

There’s nobody here, except– well, them.

She knows that. They made sure of it. That’s the whole point. They’re here because the house is empty, the homeowner off on vacation, staff and all.

Empty and ripe for the picking.

This wouldn’t ordinarily be the type of place the Faceless go snooping around. The rewards are big, sure, but so are the risks.

They haven’t gotten this far by taking big risks.

But tonight is different.

They were made an offer they couldn’t refuse: retrieve a package from here, take it there.

Simple. Easy.

That’s what Richie had said anyway. It would be simple and easy and they’d all get a vacation of their own once this is all over with the amount they’ll get paid.

It wasn’t a very convincing speech. Not to Sam. The others bought it of course, the idiots. They never think, never wonder.

Maybe that’s why Sam is being punished, for asking questions.

He says that’s part of the reason he loves her, because she asks questions, because she’s smart.

But how smart can she really be when she’s caught up in all of this?

Sometimes, after a job, she’ll lie awake watching the sun rise behind thin curtains and think about getting out, about going legit, of doing something with her life.

The dream never lasts long. She falls asleep and remembers that she’s nothing, that she has nothing. That this is what she was made for, all she was ever going to achieve. It’s in her blood, and it’s the way she’ll live until the day she’s caught or in the ground.

The darkest part of her hopes it’s the latter, anything to avoi–

THUMP.

The gang are back.

Enough dreams, back to reality.

She’s turning the key in the ignition when she hears more thumping from the back, grunting, a struggle.

“Oh you have got to be-”

The passenger door is ripped open and Richie throws himself into the seat, a scowl on his bloody face.

Sam’s frozen, watching him as he slams the door shut. After several seconds of no movement, he turns that scowl on her instead.

“Well?! Go!”

He sounds pissed off, angry and ready to take it out on anyone who gets in his way.

She doesn’t need telling twice. She hates when he gets in that mood.

She’s feeling a bit angry herself.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me the package was a person?!”

“What does it matter?!” he growls back, “what’s done is done, it’s easy money!”

“It fucking MATTERS!”

Sam breathes heavily through her nose, trying to calm the rising fury within her.

She’s always had a temper. She and Richie are alike like that. A match made in hell, and right now, her flames are ready to erupt.

Just who does he think he is!

Manhandling the gearstick into position, Sam starts to drive.

If Landry had been the one behind the wheel, he’d have sped from the estate, wheels squealing and waking the neighbourhood, like they were in some sort of heist movie and not real life.

But Sam has a brain, and drives the normal way, like normal people going about their normal business and not fucking kidnapping someone.

She can’t believe he’s done this to her. He knows, he fucking knows. About her past, about her stance, about her goddamn morals.

She could kill him for putting her in this position.

There’s a scoff from beside her, but Sam doesn’t take her glare from the tarmac. If she looks at him, she might just drive them all into a ditch, and not because she can’t keep to a straight road.

She doesn’t give Richie the satisfaction of her attention, no matter how much he fidgets and huffs in his seat.

They’ll make the drive in silence.

Okay, well Sam makes the drive in silence.

Richie is too in love with his own voice to shut up for more than five minutes. There was a time when Sam loved it too.

It didn’t last long.

Sam – ever the professional – does her job, even while the rest of the present crew decide they’re home free; she follows the pre-programmed sat nav to the drop off point, watching the mirrors for tails like a hawk, while Richie whines excuses about why she should forgive him for this deception. While he makes it out to be no big deal Sam.

Just another betrayal in a long line and a long history.

Maybe this time she won’t forgive, maybe this is her sign to make a change.

She poses the question to the sky, but as ever, it doesn’t answer back.

God had never cared for Samantha Carpenter.

On earth however, headlights flash in the wingmirror. Deliberate, a message.

They want to be seen.

The rest of the group have joined them.

From the erratic way the sleek and far too expensive to be low-key vehicle – if you ask Sam (nobody asked Sam) – behind them drives, Sam can instantly tell it’s the Princess driving, and not the Geek.

Charlie’s such a pushover.

The car speeds ahead into the dark, going dangerously fast and with no idea where it’s going.

It leaves her grinding her teeth, and she spends the remainder of the 90-minute drive fuming.

Gravel crunches beneath the tyres as Sam pulls the van down an outrageous driveway, estate just as gaudy and over the top as the last.

God she fucking hates rich people.

(She thinks of her mother. She hates her most of all.)

She makes the mistake of accidentally meeting Richie’s eyes as she slips from the vehicle. He takes it as forgiven and waggles his eyebrows at the mansion before them, as if it isn’t some grotesque display of wealth.

Sam bites her tongue, slamming the door shut and turning away instead, heading for the back of the van.

She needs to see what they’ve done.

…It’s even worse than she thought.

This wasn’t just a kidnapping, she realises, eyeing the limp body Vince is slinging over his shoulder. It’s a goddamn child!

A whistle from beside her makes her flinch.

Fucking Richie.

“Out cold, huh?”

Vince nods back, “had to tranq her, damn kid would not stay down!”

Sam feels sick.

She twists her head at the footsteps behind them, the Princess and the Geek joining them.

“That’s it?” Quinn questions, dubious. “Someone’s gonna pay 50 mil for that runt of a girl?”

Sam can’t believe what she’s hearing. Is everybody insane but her?!

“Okay, hold up!” she demands, hands rising of her own accord. “Did everybody fucking know about this but me?!”

“Look, babe–” Richie starts, but he quickly withers under her glare.

The others say nothing, eyes fixed anywhere but her, silence telling her everything she needs to know.

“What’s done is done,” Vince grunts, shifting the kid further up his shoulder and walking towards the mansion.

Ahead of them, a black SUV opens its doors.

Two men in suits and sunglasses, the very definition of henchmen, open the back and help a woman from the seat.

She’s tall and well dressed, glamourous and striking, and she and her companions walk into the building without even a glimpse towards them. Unconcerned. Confident. Knowing.

Sam wonders just what the fuck they’ve gotten themselves into.

“Hey, isn’t that the lady off the TV?” Landry chirps to his sister.

“The one you have a massive crush on?” Quinn sneers back at him.

With a final glance at the sky, Sam sends it one big fuck you, and heads inside.

[mothmanssweetsucculentass]

Judge Angels vs Jane The Killer HCs.

Angels actually doesn’t exist in my universe for several reasons, but I can still squeeze out this crossover!

Vs implies these two hate each other, which is very much correct to an almost ridiculous degree.

Angels is so far up her own ass with her “holier and better than thou” schtick that it annoys everyone else to no end, especially Jane.

Angels doesn’t live with the others, nor is she even welcome within 30 yards of the property because she has such a raging demon killing boner, and she thinks everyone that lives at the mansion is, well, a demon, despite the fact only two of them are legitimate demons and the rest are kinda just undead freaks.

So of course she pulls off ridiculous mission impossible break-ins and immediately gets caught and tortured, almost always by Jane. Jane is naturally observant already, and she also knows how often Angels wants to get into the house and kill people, so she’s constantly on high alert to make sure the little rat hasn’t slipped in and tried to chain Jeff to a wall again.

Jane is also the one who pestered Ben to install an electric security system with alarms, motion detectors, and cameras, and he’s also the one that calls Jane like “yep. It’s her again. She’s trying to climb the trellis up to Helen’s room”

Jane is on it in minutes and unleashes a can of whoop ass on Angels every time. And she fights extremely dirty. Hair pulling, spitting in her eyes, biting, anything that’ll get Angels to go down faster.

Once incapacitated there’s a 50/50 chance Jane either dumps her ass in the middle of the woods, or leaves her restrained in the open for herself and others to come and go and torture her as they please.

Yeah no one likes Angels in this house, and Angels doesn’t like them either.

[evita-shelby]

National Anthem

Chapter 10

Cw: mentions of sex (duh) period typical misogyny, some racism and technically a curse

Tag list: @thegreatdragonfruta @zablife @call-sign-shark

Easter 1923

Ever since he was a kid, Jack’s dreamed of owning the world.

His apartment had been good, modern and spacious and perfect for a bachelor. When his ambition decided he needed a wife to complete his success, he looked for a perfect starter house.

One that would be seen as the beginning of his rise, one that would become the steppingstone for his future.

He’d carried Eva over the threshold just as he’d done when he took her to the townhouse he shared with Carrie for Gina’s sake. He had fucked her in every surface of the house, built a marriage that would have everyone doubt this had been an arrangement made in the span of a week.

Their current home was great, perfect for a growing family with a long veranda for the children, a garage that was every middle-class car aficionado’s dream and yet it won’t be long before they leave it too.

Jack never dreams small; he hadn’t known exactly what this dream home would be until he saw Rockwood Hall.

J.D. Rockefeller had made the second largest mansion in all of America, so grand that his own descendants had to sell it after his death. So grand only the Rileys could afford it now that they gained government contracts through his connections.

“We should get one of these.” He says as he takes Rosie in his arms and the boys run off to play with the other children.

Little Jack turns back long enough to hug his mother goodbye and Little Joey is already yelling at the boys he met at the last family gathering. They gather with her family for the big holidays after that fiasco during the first thanksgiving when the twins were born.

They’d spend Easter here, the 4th of July at home, come here for September 16th before the boys start their first day of school –of which he’s taking the day off work because Eva said so--- and miss Florida because Eva was due in November.

Katherine Drusilla Nelson, Duchess of Devonshire and conceived in the most coveted bed in the world on Valentine’s Day. Named for his late elder sister who died of consumption along with Gina and their mother, and for Eva’s aunt, the formidable Olivia Drusilla Riley de Souza.

Livia doesn’t like him, told him to his face and repeated it that first Thanksgiving they hosted in 1919. Thought he was beneath them and unworthy of her favorite niece. But she practically raised Eva because her mother got the baby blues and so he put up with her…enough to have her share his daughter’s name.

“I like the one we rented in Hyannis Port for July 4th last year, Malcom Cottage, was it? Although I am partial to the villa in Florida.” Eva mentions acting as if they had to choose between one. She grew up in several houses, always moving about with the parents or relatives caring for her when she wasn’t in school.

“Why settle for one, when we can have it all?” It’s like when she asked if they could keep the tradition of middle names for their children because the two of them also had middle names, she didn’t even need to ask to know the answer is always yes.

Besides his witch of a wife has never been wrong before, never will be if you ask him.

“About fucking time, I hate telling people you live in the suburbs, that’s so middle class.” Gina said making her dear uncle reprimand her for swearing in front of the children.

“Language, Gina.”

While Rosie struggled with talking, she’d picked up swearing with ease. She learned to say shit from hearing Jack hurt himself in the garage one fucking time.

Their sweet little angel smiled impishly and muttered the word ‘fuck’ as she bit the gold crucifix they got her for Easter.

Well, they were never gonna make angels anyways.

Family gatherings were fine, for the most part. Sure, her aunt would make backhanded remarks towards Jack in her face, while also outright insulting him outright the moment her back was turned, it went well mostly.

It wasn’t because he was American, new money nor a gangster. It was simply because he wasn’t Cornelius Vanderbilt IV, the man Livia had picked out for her like he was a new dress she’d gifted her.

Vanderbilt seemed nice, but he was rather boring. Well, boring in comparison to Jack who then had desecrated a confessional with her and boldly taken her to his place where they planned their future after he made her scream herself hoarse in pleasure.

Had Jack not been so good in bed ---and out of it--- maybe Eva would have been Mrs. Vanderbilt and kept the rebellious Vanderbilt heir from being bankrupt and disinherited from his family.

“I just don’t see what you see in him.” Livia looked at the man as if he were something the cat dragged in as he roughhoused with the boys in the garden. “He’s too full of himself, he has no class, he’s too hairy, his features all look like his face is too big to hold them, what did he have that Cornelius didn’t besides a business degree and a gang?”

Eva always gets this question and she’d just shrug and answer with something equal parts vulgar and the usual ‘I don’t really know’, this time she says the one thing that matters to someone who married for money and influence. “Because he will take us places we never even reached in Mexico, and that sweet little boy named after his father, will be the youngest president this country will have.”

Her aunt is impressed, she had been disappointed thinking Eva was like her mother who married because she saw true love with her father even if he had nothing but a stolen watch to his name.

Eva was not like her mother, she could never be happy with a man who didn’t want more, Jack had ambition and lucky for her, would only ever be hers.

“I suppose I can see something about him now. If he is taking us further than we ever could’ve done at home, I could even call him my nephew. After all people marry into our family, they never marry out of here.” Her red-haired aunt changed her tune exactly like the witch had known it would happen.

Jack is wary of Livia’s sudden acceptance for the rest of the day, utterly stumped at why she’d stop being such a bitch to him. But he enjoys it, loves pushing her buttons to see how long this kindness lasts.

“What did you tell her when you were out on the balcony with her?” he asks when they are finally alone in their luxurious suite complete with a nursery. The boys were having a sleepover with her cousin Francisco’s son across the wing and Rosie had claimed the princess bed in her own room.

Last time they were here, the Nelsons hadn’t been able to enjoy the bed as they had hoped and now wanted to make up for it. And they had since they put the children to bed.

“She asked why I chose you that day and I answered honestly for once.” Eva answered teasing him, toying with the curly hairs on his chest knowing he would guess wrong.

“You told your aunt we defiled a church for our first date?” he asks, taken aback by it. Everyone knew they had obviously fucked while on the maybe ten dates they had. Once they’d been so insatiable for each other they’d snuck off at dinner to fuck in a broom closet.

“God, no, she would’ve killed the two of us.” Eva shook her head. “I told her little Jack Nelson Junior’s going to be president of the united fucking states of America. If she still doesn’t like you after that, Junior might remember it when he’s living at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Threatening your auntie for me, Evie. How sweet of you. You deserve a reward.” He is so proud of her and touched by what she did that he adds a spontaneous, “I love you.”

He is not fond of saying it in public, but oh he is as sweet as honey the moment the doors close. Usually, it is her who says it first these days.

“I love you too.” Eva kissed him hoping to show her love in a much more passionate way, but the second Jack gently moved her underneath him they hear Gina’s girlish scream followed by crying and slurs from the blonde girl’s own mouth.

“I told you we shouldn’t have brought her.” Jack groaned and both rushed to find their clothes. “I’m putting her on the next train to Manhattan, let her mother deal with her for the rest of Easter.”

It is uncharitable to say, but if one of the girls hit nineteen-year-old Gina, she likely deserved it. Her time at university had actually made her worse, the only people to blame are the sorority she joined and herself. Unfortunately, she was expelled for her shitty behavior and won’t be going back next week.

They are in New York when they see Shelby again.

He is here to ensure the custody of his son whom the world will believe was Clive’s because Grace wanted to keep her dignity. Jack was here for business matters relating to the will since little Charlie would inherit a portion of Jack’s companies.

“She is cursed, you know.” Eva speaks quietly in rromani so Grace nor Jack know what is being said as she tries to argue for her son’s inheritance. “Even my husband can smell the death on her skin like perfume.”

“If I don’t marry her my son will not be mine.” He admits. There was regret in his voice, a look that said that the Grace he loved was not the woman he is getting to know.

The real Grace wants to be accepted by the class that hates people like Eva, Tommy and even Jack. The real Grace feels no guilt because her happiness is what comes first always. The real Grace is not the persona she crafted in 1919 to get his attention.

But it was too late now.

“She won’t live to see his third birthday, if you marry her, you will go mad with her death knowing Polly Gray’s curse came true because of you.” The witch warns him, as much as she hates Grace for breathing she doesn’t want the blonde dead.

“Your husband wants her gone from America even if it kills her.” he points out.

Jack wants her dead for what she did to Clive, for what she did to their IRA contacts and because she is just as phony as the rest of her ilk.

“If a woman drove your friend to suicide for a man in love with a mirage of her, you would hate her too.” Eva replied honestly making Shelby wince.

“You witches think you know everything, don’t you?” he deflects thinking he can fool her like he fools Grace.

“That’s because we do. Come February of next year and you will be burying her as Mrs. Shelby and yourself as the fool who killed her. If you let her and the boy go, she will hate you but live to raise her son and see her grandchildren. Do you love her enough to let her go once and for all?”

Grace leaves the lawyer’s offices with the threat of having Charlie MacMillan’s true paternity exposed on every tabloid here and across the pond if she marries Tommy Shelby because even Jack doesn’t want her blood on his hands. She can have respectability and life, or death and infamy attached to the Caron and Burgess names the second she becomes Mrs. Shelby.

And yet that same summer they receive an invitation from Grace for their wedding in January of 1924 at Arrow House, the estate she doesn’t know he bought with May in mind. Her family will not even stick around for the funeral out of the shame she brought them.

In the end, Grace dies because she refused to move on from Thomas Shelby no matter how hard he tried to drive her away.

[cloudbattrolls]

Blindsided

Jikiro Takami & Jameth Abnale | Present Night | Ailaht Hive

Goh Tat Ailaht kept several luxurious hives on Alternia, each one well-furnished and maintained by a team of staff. When Viltau Espino had contacted him wishing to discuss his friendship with his descendant, he’d invited the indigo over to the one nearest his mansion without the slightest hesitation.

He had no idea how much the man actually hated him, nor that it was all a distraction for two other trolls to make their move.

—

“Jiji, you know I love that body of yours, but right now I have to admit it is a bit inconvenient that you are such a hefty boy.”

“Don’t love how cozy we are right now? I’m hurt.”

“Not particularly!”

The bickering voices, while silenced by magic to anyone nearby, belonged to a pair of trolls also hidden by it from sight. They were currently squeezing themselves into a small open window at the top of Goh Tat’s hive, levitating dozens of feet in the air by a third spell.

Jamie Abnale, to his frustration, had to be carried by his kismesis, and the window was almost too small for Jikiro Takami. Which meant it was difficult for the midblood’s thick arms to carry him through without jostling him or shoving him against the other man’s chest at an awkward angle.

Normally, the ink mage would’ve simply widened the window with magic, but the difficult part of this job wasn’t getting inside, or doing what they’d come for - it was leaving no trace.

If Goh Tat even suspected something was off, he could come for Viltau or Hazard alike.

Jikiro, however, was patient, and while his clothes were slightly ripped from his entry, he eased himself inside and had managed to not spill any of his dark teal blood. He gently set Jamie down, the kookaburra troll taking out his crutches again with relief.

The pair looked around the room they were in. Clean, well-kept, but it had a distinct feeling of not being lived in, the modernistic furniture and decorations all in too good of condition. It felt more like a display for a magazine than a real place.

“Feel a little bad for his staff getting caught in the crossfire.” Jikiro said, taking out his paper and ink pen to write with as he sat down in a plush black armchair. “They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh, who cares, Jiji? They’ll be fine, it’s not like we’re actually blinding anyone, not even this absolute bastard. I don’t know why we aren’t, but -“

“Because we’re already going behind Hazard’s back, dumbass. Plus, if we actually blind him, he’ll definitely suspect shit. Much easier to play off some minor damage as uh oh oops, goodbye psiionics.”

The blueblood had to snort at that one as he took out his own technological tools.

“Tragically, you make a point, roughly spoken as it is.”

“Somehow that doesn’t bother me because I’m not trying to win a fucking award for most pretentious sentences ever.” Retorted the tealblood.

The blueblood flipped him off, and both got to work.

Jikiro put up a sensor ward, just in case, then took out a spell he’d written ahead of time and did a magical scan of the hive. This way, they’d know exactly where Jamie would have to send his little robots for total coverage over the electrical system. The things would then melt away into basic molecules after they were activated later, leaving no trace.

His spell worked in tandem with one of Jamie’s own devices, turning magical information into numbers and units on the screen. The blueblood grinned as he used the information to type his own commands -

“Shit.” Said Jikiro suddenly. “Someone’s coming - put the stuff away.”

Jamie cursed in Gaelige but did so as Jikiro stowed his own supplies, and the tealblood picked up his spade again, ready to flee in case they had to. They were still invisible, at least, nor could their voices be heard, but if someone bumped into them…

An oliveblood woman walked in, talking into an earpiece.

“No, ma’am, I didn’t see or hear anything on the feed, but the presence alarm was still tripped…the room does seem empty…it might’ve just been a bug or something, you know how sensitive they are.”

Jikiro cursed quietly. He and Jamie had surveyed Goh Tat’s security measures with magic before they came over, but they hadn’t realized the asshole could detect literal physical bodies leaving or entering. What was the trigger? Body temp? Motion? It clearly wasn’t size, if a goddamn bug could set them off.

Huh. If that was the case…

Jikiro silently willed a dragonfly into existence - thank god he’d drunk a decent amount of ink before he came. It wouldn’t last as long as a spoken spell would, especially given how much focus it took to sustain it, but maybe it would make the greenblood leave.

The olive saw it as it flitted in and out of the window, as if it was a real bug from outside, and went ‘ah.’

“Definitely a bug, ma’am. I’ll get rid of it and come back down.”

What? Oh, for fuck’s sake - 

Jikiro made the dragonfly go right for her face so she wouldn’t try to cross over to the window, and the olive yelled before he let her catch and ‘kill’ it, additionally glad he’d been practicing his illusions with Velour. It was a quick and sloppy one, but luckily the woman wrapped up the false corpse in a wad of tissues and threw it in a trashcan, looking quite shaken.

Then she finally turned around and left.

Jikiro waited a few moments to make sure the woman was gone, then put Jamie back down.

“She wouldn’t last a second against the artifice.” Jamie snickered, sitting back down and taking his crutches out again.

“I don’t recall you beating it up either.” Jikiro muttered.

“It ambushed me.” Jamie grumbled.

“Me too, dipshit, and I still got off a spell on it.”

“Oh, shut your wretched trap, Jiji.”

The tealblood smirked at his kismesis but got back to work, pulling out the spell he’d written beforehand to both physically damage Goh Tat’s eyes and remove his ability to see the future.

Despite Izanam’s bullshit, the ink maker still found it difficult to imagine having someone like her around on-planet all the time. That was even worse. At least Izanam hadn’t cared who he was friends with; only who he dated. Which had still been fucking stupid with how far she took it, but he could kind of get it.

From what little Hazard had said, Goh Tat was worse, and even harder to counter given his ability.

Thank god the cerulean actor didn’t know anything about magic.

Still, they had to make this look like a completely normal technological failure, or he might suspect intentional sabotage, and then he’d immediately blame Hazard. 

Jamie projected a map of where he was sending his robots in the hive, commanding them as they spread out and took their places. Jikiro nodded in thanks, using it to make final adjustments to his spell. 

No matter where Goh Tat was when the sabotage hit, the spell would target him, hidden in the actual burst of light that would happen as Jamie made the system go haywire for just a few moments until the emergency shutdowns kicked in. 

It was almost like the spell he’d used to take down Gliese, Jikiro realized, smiling at the thought.

They’d made it look like a wiring mishap, a tiny flaw in the design that had slowly grown worse over the sweeps. True, they were banking on the blueblood not being an expert in electrical systems, but somehow they didn’t think he’d be looking carefully enough - or have anyone who could - to tell that it was entirely fabricated.

It wouldn’t trigger now - that would be too suspicious, with Viltau still present. Nor would they leave at the same time he did, just in case. Jikiro had set up a temporary portal not far away so they could return to the Takami estate easily once they were done.

Then the tealblood cursed, his sensor ward tripping right as he was finishing up casting the spell based on Jamie’s projection.

That fucking oliveblood. If he tried to scare her off with a bug again, it would be a little suspicious.

No, they had to get out of here, and they had no time to struggle with the window.

“Jamie. She’s coming back. Curl into a ball and put your crutches away.“

The bespectacled cobalt squinted at him as he shut down his device and shoved it in his sylladex, then did as Jikiro said.

“This better not be - ”

Jikiro scooped up the skinny bird troll with both hands, as he’d done so many times, throwing him out the window right as the oliveblood came in and he spoke the same levitation spell they’d used to get in, going right after him.

He covered the breeze from his movement with a breeze from outside, and made it out seconds before the oliveblood shut the window and locked it.

Fuck. He’d left a few strands of fabric from his clothing behind on the edges. Barely noticeable, but…

No, wait. She was leaving. She didn’t seem to have seen them.

Jikiro snapped his fingers and the black fabric disappeared, then went to get Jamie.

The kookaburra troll looked quite startled to be floating in midair, flailing as he tried to avoid looking at the ground.

“Jiji! Never do that again!”

He laughed softly as he took the yelling blueblood in his arms once more, then descended to the ground slowly and gently.

“Promise it won’t become a habit, freckles.”

“If we do another heist, I’m upgrading my crutches.” He sniffed. “Enough of this being carried business.”

“Don’t think Vil has anything else planned for us, I wouldn’t sweat it.”

“Remind me why we did this again?” The cobalt grumbled as he put his crutches back on and the two began to walk toward the temporary portal.

The ink maker looked into the engineer’s two-tone blue eyes.

“You know why.”

They both looked back at the opulent hive, thinking of the man inside it, and what he had done to his descendant. How he misused his abilities to spy on Hazard and beat him bloody.

“I do.” Jamie said quietly, rubbing the spot on his arm that had once been turned pitch-black, back when his kismesis had trapped a deadly poison there to postpone his death at Izanam’s hands.

“I certainly do.”