The Steter fusion with Mr and Mrs Smith that I did not know I needed to write. Female Stiles and Peter are married but are keeping more than a few secrets from each other.
Status: Hmm I have a prologue and the epilogue written ... I know strange. Can’t decide how I want the middle bit to luck in terms of style.
You know the End is Nigh
Stiles was stubborn. She could only say she was aware; she didn’t care to change her ways. Peter would always make a sassy comment and she would bitch straight back. It was called marriage, as far as she was concerned. It had to be stubbornness that saw her here especially when she would much rather shoot something than talk about her marriage with a stranger.
“So how often do you have sex?”
She smiled serenely, loving a perfect opening, “Well he is getting older. I accepted this when I married him.”
“You bitch!”
She resisted the obvious retort, as they were in mixed company. She was pissed at Peter but she wouldn’t out him. She just wanted her life back. She leant forward, whispering as if she was conspiring with the therapist,
“He is not accepting it too well.”
“I can get up ten times a day ... you are just never interested.”
She didn’t smirk as it would be crass. The victory was hers as you could tell his wolfy pride had taken a dent. She knew the perfect response to this comment as well, “Peter honey.” She was a tease, leaning closer to him, offering a view of her neck, “I love to have sex, many times and in many positions. You remember our honeymoon.”
The flash of blue told her he did. She sat back, careful not to ruck up her pencil skirt. She had a business meeting straight after this stupid appointment. She had to at least look like she worked as an office IT problem solver. She had rolled her eyes at the cover Braedon had given her but accepted it meekly when told some of the alternatives. It looked good on her documents as she could hardly put hitwoman/spy for hire.
“Okay moving on. What does Peter’s job entail?”
She snorts, “He finds antiques for a living. It is easy what with him being one.”
The therapist took notice of her stress on antiques. She would back off - she was ninety-nine percent certain, he was into something illegal. She didn’t have stones to throw their so she said no more.
“Have you tried doing something together?”
Stiles guessed her finely arched eyebrow told him everything.
