#Hes so Pretty Hes so Handsome Hes So Dashingly Charming

[otlwoozi]

woozi's hair terrorizing me in my dreams

[fairy-verse]

An idea came to mind for Geno and Reaper all of a sudden, I remember it was mentioned you weren't sure who will pursue the other I wanted to add something on that. It is common to see Reaper being the one to pursue Geno so what if it is the opposite? Going story wise I would suspect Reaper not being good with communicating with others since he is mostly alone, and it was mentioned that Geno stayed with the other fairies in Error's mountain halls meaning he would be better with interacting with others than Reaper. Going back to the point Reaper is pretty secluded and warry of others coming around him in fear he would hurt them, maybe try and chase them away? Idk. He could be known as the Death fairy to many others due to his suitors dying around him mysteriously, Geno hearing this wants to know more and see this "death fairy" for himself, this curiosity was brought out because of his time with the Big Folk then... well I don't know T^T That is all I got unfortunately Just some stuff I wanted to share as a fellow enjoyer of AfterDeath lol

Geno is a fairy who enjoys his moments of solitude, though he’ll never want for them too long. Seeing the way Reaper is mostly avoided, left to crawl along the cavern walls to hide away in his nest (often left dimly lit), makes Geno feel a sort of pity for him, and so he ignores what every other fairy says, and goes to inspect what this strange fairy is all about.

Reaper is… awkward, to say the least. He is older than Geno but he’s been alone for so long (his parents were quite old when they had him, so they passed by natural causes some time ago) that he’s not the best at socialising. He’s not sure of what to say when Geno suddenly shows up to say hi, and Reaper feels flustered since he thinks Geno is cute, and thus his brain fries itself in its attempt to act suave. His poor flirting attempts are… charming, in a way, and they make Geno snort and smile, despite himself.

In the end, once both of them become fully comfortable with each other’s presence and company, their roles will eventually reverse somewhat. Reaper calms down and lets himself act naturally, and unbeknownst to him, his openness about his attraction to Geno and his way of just saying what he feels makes said other winter fairy the flushed one of the two. Geno doesn’t lack flirting skills, far from it, but once he sees Reaper in a new light, as this tall, dark fairy with unnatural wings and an aura he cannot describe… Well, his chest tickles, and he might just have to act quickly to make Reaper his mate. In due time some other fairy will notice how handsome Reaper truly is, hybrid or not, and they’ll try and win his heart. No, no, Geno won’t let that happen.

Not yet mates and Geno is already feeling jealous of the “potential” that another fairy will try to take Reaper away… It makes the latter feel giddy on the inside.

Note: Fairy Reaper is a mixture of the goofy self we all know and love, but he’s also somewhat similar to what we think of when imagining the Grim Reaper. Sometimes stoic, speaking in a tone that sounds unnatural and strange, aura that makes one's spine tickle, tall, dark, and imposing; these fairies ought to put their uncertainty for hybrids aside and instead see them for how ethereal they can be. Luckily for Geno, most will not see Reaper for how dashingly handsome he can be, so he’s safe to woo him in peace, which is good because he prefers to take his time.

[sosauced]

Rich boy Arthur and working girl reader WOOF, thank you for feeding me <333

Rich boy Arthur x working girl reader

I hope you don’t mind that I wrote a pretty slow burn story for this and not an imagine set. It actually turned out kinda sweet in a way.

I also hope you meant prostitute and not like a waitress LOL if I got it wrong feel free to resubmit

Cw: reader is a prostitute so like, it ain’t exactly a pretty story in a lot of ways. If you’re sensitive to mature subject please do not read.

Minors DNI.

There you were, in all your majesty. Wrapped in your faux fur, shivering from the frozen rain you waited in. Car after car drove by you, rainy nights were always the slowest, your usual appointments flying past you on their way home. Probably home to a family, their wives who wondered why they had to work an extra hour late twice a week, their warm comfortable beds that waited for them in a home with a roof and food. ‘Jealousy doesn’t get you anywhere.’ You thought, your scuffed leather boot tapping on the littered road. The flashing of bright headlights caught your eye, watching as those lights got closer, practically spotlighting you. You can hardly see a thing past it’s glare, your eyes squinting to see something, anything past the blinding LEDs. “God what a dick.” You grumbled and walked a few steps to your side, out of your light. You took a step back and turned your head to the side after seeing this car. You had seen this particular car in the neigbourhood a few times, but they never stopped before. It was easy to spot, a large, armoured style Mercedes Benz, painted that glossy black that was free of any scratches or dents. This was the car of a rich man.

The cars of rich men in areas like your street were never a good sign. You heard the stories of women getting into these cars and disappearing. Their owners never finding them, their friends never seeing them again, their clients and dealers asking where they’ve been but always being met with the answer ‘She’s gone.’ There’s talk of those women running away, or being sent to a far away nation, being sold in auctions to rich folk, even being murdered. Those tales scrambled through your head all at once, but when a window rolled down and a slender hand reached out a wad of bills, the world stopped, your mind went blank. You had to say something, anything. “H…hey I don’t know what you’ve heard but I don’t take bribes to do anything weird. The rates 40 for an hour, 25 for half an hour.” You called out, your legs taking you closer to the car, closer to what could be danger, closer to the money. The man in the car chuckled “Wouldn’t you consider what you’re doing now…unusual?” “I call it working.” You replied. Hoping your short uninterested behaviour would send him on his way. “Then consider this a raise.” As your cautious steps took you up to the side of the car, he flicked the interior lights on. He just about took your breath away, you had only seen men this handsome on the magazines in gas stations and on TV.

His blond hair was slicked back, dashingly styled to fit his jawline and showing off his rather large but charming eyebrows. His green eyes seemed to match the green of his suit even you could tell the stitching on the collar was hand done. His outstretched hand still holding the money to the outside of his car, his watch being soaked by the rain. “You look like you need a warm place to stay.” “I don’t stay. You can have me for an hour at a time, I don’t care what you pay but I don’t go-“ you were silenced by him bringing out a money clip stuffed with money. He was…persistent, showing off in a sense as he waved two folds of cash at you. You looked from left to right, watching to see if anyone could see you making what could be the biggest mistake of your life, but no one was there. No one to watch your back. You snatched the money from his hand and sighed. “Fine. Whatever, just have me back in the morning.” You almost hoped you would be back. You stuffed the money he’d given you into the cup of your bra, for the first time in a very long time it felt dirty.

The man grinned and opened the door to his car, hopping out and stripping his jacket from his shoulders. He placed the collar of his jacket over your head to shield you from the downpour. The silken lining of the jacket became soaked from your drenched body, the suede getting wrecked in moments by the rain. “You’re gonna ruin such a nice jacket leaving it in the rain.” You warned but the blond man just shrugged it off. “Eh, not really a problem.” His arm wrapped around you, ushering you to the passenger door and opening it for you. You climbed in, eyeing up all the fancy new shit they put in cars now. “Why do ya need a screen in a car?” You muttered to yourself as you looked at the dash.

The man with green eyes jumped into the drivers seat, strapping himself into the car he looked at you from the side of his eye. “Seatbelt.” He said, reaching across your body and buckling you in himself. And just like that, off you went into the night, in the car of a mysterious man. He drove you for kilometres, you lost how far you’d gone long ago when your boundary line was in the review mirror. You let out a shaky breath as you felt your seat getting hotter and hotter, warming your lower back. “Ah…” seat warmers were such a luxury, you loved being in those cars that had them built in. “Enjoying the ride?” It’d been a quiet ride til he broke the silence, he must’ve felt awkward.

“Yeah…”

“Good, good. Wouldn’t want you uncomfortable…” he seemed to hesitate but shook off the nerves. “So…you must have a name, dear.”

“…mmhm. Y/N. and you?”

“Arthur.” Arthur. It fit him.

“Y/N…that’s beautiful.”

You snorted and covered your mouth. This guy was kinda funny. You hadn’t been spoken to so softly since you were younger.

“Arthur. What are you doing?” You asked him, watching carefully as you two pulled into a long twisting driveway, passed gates that let the car in and up to a large, sprawling home with acres of land surrounding it. “Taking you to my place.”

“I meant more like, what are you doing picking up a hooker in a nasty part of town when you live like this? You know there are services with clean girls, they’ll even send em to ya.”

Arthur paused for a moment after he shut off the car. “You know…I don’t really know what I’m doing. Call me batty but I just, wanted something different I guess.”

You nodded as you inspected the giant doors just meters away from you. “Batty.” You repeated. Arthur was quick in getting out of the car, holding a finger up to you to tell you to wait a moment as he jogged around the front to your door. Opening it for you, he offered his hand. You took it, letting him assist you as you stepped out of the vehicle.

Those large oak doors opened exposing the foyer of a large clean manor, he pushed them closed once you two were safely inside.

“Jesus Christ you fucking live here!?” You stated in awe, hustling to look up the staircase and peering into the hallways to your left and right. “This place is nuts, this looks like what you see online.”

“Uh…I take it maybe a hotel room would’ve made more sense. I didn’t quite think that through.” He uttered a small apology and scratched his neck.

“Well I mean…” you stop yourself from mentioning the backseat of the car was usually the fanciest place you were hired to be but that could wait. He took your hand and lead you up the staircase, into a room decorated in whites and cream colours.

“Arthur, I don’t really think I should be here.”

“Nonsense.” He hushed you. “Come, let’s get you warmed up.” There was something you noticed as you followed him, for such a large home…no one was here but you two.

You practically washed away with the filth coming off your body under the hot steamy water of the shower. Your fingertips scrubbing your scalp clean with some fancy pants shampoo you’ve never heard of. The smell of eucalyptus flooded the bathroom as you rinsed your hair. Every crevice felt like it was being washed clean from the design of this shower, water spraying you from the walls and the ceiling.

You wiped the steam off of the glass when you heard a knock on the door. “Come in!” You hollered back, and Arthur let himself into the room, fluffy white towels in hand. “Arthur, this shower is crazy, I can’t believe people actually live like this. You know you don’t need water coming out of the walls right?” You teased and he smiled.

“True, i don’t need it, but I wanted it.” He placed the towels on the counter and took a breath in. Arthur cleared his throat.

“Arthur?”

The sound of the shower made it hard to hear him.

He treated you so delicately, you had expected for him to pounce the moment you stepped out of the shower but he wrapped you into those cloud like towels and his bathrobe. He helped you apply a face mask and taught you how to use facial serums he received as a gift. The two of you made eye contact as he dried your hair, styling the inches going down your back with a round brush. “I look…amazing.” You smiled at him brightly from your seat in front of the vanity. “Yes, you really do. You’re beautiful.” He was so kind to you, making idle conversation and giving you physical reassurances by holding your hand for a moment at a time as you two ate dinner. Before you had known it, you were laying on his couch, falling asleep to a movie.

You woke up in a panic the next morning, gasping as you shot up out of the layers of blankets and duvets. You stood with your back to the wall and got your bearings as you remembered what had happened. You had thought maybe you froze to death last night and it had all been a nice dream you had as you wasted away on the sidewalk. What were you doing here, this is how you get kidnapped, and if you are so lucky that he doesn’t and he takes you back to your corner you are in for one hell of a fucking beating. “Oh god, oh my god what time is it, oh god I’m fucked he’s going to kick my ass.” You panicked as you ran to the other end of the large room where your clothing had been placed. They were still soaked.

“I hadn’t had a chance to do a load yet…” Arthur groaned as he raised from the bed. You looked at him and squinted your eyes “what the fuck did you do to me, I don’t remember last night.” your face twisting as you accused him. He rolled his eyes at you, his hand running over his face to wipe the sleep away and leaned back on the headboard. “Probably because you fell asleep. I didn’t do anything to you.”

“Liar.” You hissed. The hysteria of remembering who you were and what you came from was giving you culture shock. You caught a glimpse of yourself in his large silk pyjama top in the mirror stuck in the corner of the room. You looked at him, enraged.

“So…so what!? you just pick me up off the steeet and treat me well and for what? You didn’t touch me? You didn’t slip me something in my drink at dinner? Why don’t I remember what the fuck happened last night.” You may have been a trouble woman but you were not about to let some man take advantage of you that way. Not without your permission.

“I didn’t do anything to you. You don’t remember because you fell asleep p. are you insane?” He spat back, annoyed with the bickering first thing in the morning. “I picked you up, I gave you a nice place to sleep, a nice meal-“

“Why?” You shouted at him. You couldn’t really grasp what was happening. “You…you’re not going to take me back. You’re gonna…you’re gonna do something, you’re going to send me to-to Saudi Arabia or some shit aren’t you!?” You picked up the throw pillow beside you and put it’s name to good use, pitching it at him with all your strength.

“Take me back.” You demanded. You wanted to go back, you don’t want to go anywhere else. “I want to go back home, right now, take me back! I don’t care what he does when I go back, I don’t want to be here! I shouldn’t be here!”

“I’m not taking you anywhere, for god sake!” He shouted back at you. The room fell silent and you felt the familiar sting of tears pricking your eyes.

“I’m not taking you back…I’m not shipping you off to god knows where, I just…I just wanted the bloody company. You look like someone who could maybe use a decent sleep and I-“ he stopped and stood up from the bed. His open dress shirt cascading over his sides, his pants wrinkled and loose. “If you want to go back you can go back.” He spat and walked passed you to the door. “I’ll be downstairs. You can either join me for breakfast or wait in the car if you’re so eager for your pimp you beat you black and blue.” He slammed the door to the bedroom as he left. Those last words, they stung worse than you had expected.

You wiped the tears falling from your eyes, sniffling and gathering your things up in your arms. In doing so you looked back up at the mirror and stopped. You did look…good all cleaned up like this. You didn’t look like anything had happened to you last night either, your hair only tousled from the silk pillowcases you had rested your head on. After a quick inspection you didn’t feel anything wrong with you. Perhaps you had, dare you say, overreacted. “Who the fuck just picks up a hooker and does this? Maybe he is fucking batty.” You whispered to yourself, running your fingers over your skin. You felt soft, well rested, moisturized. How could you scream at him like that and accuse him of trying to sell you. How could you go back to what you were before.

Arthur looked at you from his seat at the kitchen table as you slid the door open to the room. “…you weren’t in the dining room.” You muttered as you shuffled passed the door and closed it quietly behind you.

“Calmed down I see.” He puffed as he flipped his newspaper closed and reached for his coffee. You looked to the table and gazed over the bacon and eggs, the pancakes and fruit that he had laid out for the two of you. “Y-yeah.” You nodded, unmoving from your place. He even made you breakfast after your fit. What a weird man. You glanced at him as you made your way to the food.

Arthur had watched you, practically crawling your way into the kitchen and looking at him for permission to eat. He wouldn’t give it to you, you were a woman who could make decisions for yourself. The longer he looked the more he could see you shifting in your place, embarrassed and upset…he could just eat you up. You were so small and fragile, just this weak little thing that looks so lost and helpless. In all honesty, it made him feel important. “Y/N.” his voice was calm yet reprimanding. “I want you to understand that I wouldn’t do anything to any woman when she’s not awake.” Arthur had this strange urge to get his hands on you since he spotted you on that corner weeks back. Normally he wouldn’t have even been in your neck of the woods but he got lost on his way to his new home and there you were. He’d never seen a prostitute look like you did, or have those large sad eyes. You didn’t look like you had any problems with drugs from the look of your skin, you just looked pathetic to him. In Arthur’s eyes, you looked like a sick little kitten, just trying to survive the best you could. And he wanted something like that in his life. He drove past you time and time again before last night, wanted to see if you were out or if you were doing okay. Last night he couldn’t keep it up anymore, he wanted to take that sick little kitten in and give it a warm place to stay, even if just for a while.

“I wouldn’t touch you without your permission.”

“You paid me, I just assumed you-“

“I paid you so you would come with me, not so I could paw at you like some brute.” He cut you off, obviously upset at being accused of being some sort of human trafficking fiend earlier, accused of being the type of animal to assault you in your sleep.

“I’m sorry.”

He stood at your words and made his way over to you. “I might be mad, I might have lost my mind.” He grumbled to himself as he approached you, placing his hand on your head and letting your hair. “Yeah I’m definitely bonkers.” He sighed, looking at your wide bright eyes staring up to him. You fluttered those long lashes at him and rested at the feeling of his contact. “I’m sorry.” You repeated. He placed his hand on your cheek, staying silent. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, bringing your hands to his and wrapping them around his fingers and wrist. You kissed the palm of his hand. Again and again your kisses his hand. He looked at you carefully, and smiled gently. Bringing a kitten from the street home and giving them a warm place and someone to trust really makes them open up. He stroked your cheek with his thumb as you apologized yet again. He wouldn’t say it was okay. He would accept your apology, not yet.

You stretched up to him,folding your arms over his shoulders and resting your head in his neck. “Sorry.” Your lips connected with his neck, not knowing how to apologize in any other way. He made you feel comfortable, he gave you a bed to sleep in last night, he seemed so kind and sweet maybe you were reading too much into all of this and he just wanted to help you. Your lips pressed into his neck over and over again, his hands grabbing your waist softly and rolling circles into your hips. “Y/N. you don’t need to-“

“I want to.” You assured him, kissing his lips yet again, slipping your tongue into his mouth and teasing his own. His tongue swiped over your own, the two of you testing the waters to see how far you two might go. His hands travelled from your waist to your back, holding you close as you two kissed. You were the first to let out a little moan, responding to him gently biting down on your lip and kissing where he just abused you. His head felt light and dizzy as you pressed your body up against his own, pushing him up against the counter of his kitchen. He leaned his forehead onto your, catching his breath as you worked his shirt to be undone. Tracing your little fingers over his torso, he hummed and awed at the attention you were giving him. You leaned over, kissing his chest, his sternum and his abs as you lowered your body in front of him. Unzipping his pants, and letting his cock fly out from past the fabric. You didn’t even hesitate to show him your appreciation, rubbing your tongue over his tip and taking it into your mouth. You hollowed out your cheeks to add pressure as you licked him over and over again, releasing him with a pop and a string of saliva attaching your red, poured lips to his hardened length. “Ah…y/n…darling…kitten.” Arthur sighed, his hand resting on your head and itching at your scalp. Hastily, you took him back in your mouth, caressing his shaft with your tongue as you worked your way to the base of him. He shuttered at the feeling of his dick working its way down your throat, your mouth was so hot and wet, your throat squeezing him just right as you bobbed your head back and forth. “Ah…kitten. You’re going to make me cum.” Arthur’s green eyes locked onto your own, the two of you looking deeply at one another before you sucked and massaged his cock back down your throat. Arthur groaned and whined at the feeling of your taking his cock so far down. “Good girl, that’s it.” He praised, keeping himself from bucking his hips into your face. His release was quick, he pulled himself from your throat, the tip of his cock placed between your lips as he burst ropes of cum over your tongue. The salty taste of him coating your mouth wasn’t as bad as others, he wasn’t acidic or bitter, his cum was almost sweet. He took good care of himself, the same as he had down for you.

“Y/N, my kitten, come here.” Arthur’s voice was velvety and tempting as he purred out your name so fondly. The warmth you felt as you gazed on him spread through your chest to your stomach, you shyly wiped the spit from your chin and looked away from him. Arthur’s hand pulled you up from your place on the floor in front of him, lifting you up from your thoughts to the counter top as he worked your neck. He kissed and sucked, leaving little love bites over your skin as his finger were quick to undo the buttons of those pjs. Even Arthur’s finger tips were hot to the touch as he slid them over your shoulders and down your back. His teeth grazed your neck, and as he pulled away to look at you, blush faced and hazed from swallowing his cock, he hummed. “Such a pretty girl…can I touch you?” His question caught you off guard, and yet you nodded, pulling the top form your body to expose your breasts to him. He ran his hands over your bare skin, his fingers pinching your nipples and grazing over your ribs. He watched you carefully as you shifted and squirmed at his touch, eyeing carefully what it was that for you to get that little gasp he was hoping for. His lips, wet from his efforts in turning you on by kissing your neck, blessed your skin by trailing kisses to your chest. Arthur’s tongue rolled over one of your hardened nipples, his other hand feeling the soft, clean skin of your back and holding you in place.

You sucker your teeth, drawing air into your lungs and letting it out in steady and slow breaths. Even the way he pleases you was gentle. Everything he did was so considerate and kind how could you yell at him. “Arthur…I-I really am sorry.” Yet again, you apologized. Unable to let go your acting out from under half an hour ago. “I know, kitten.” Arthur hummed, his green eyes watching your own as he bit down on your nipple. You winced and sighed, and he grinned against your skin. “I can make it up to you…” your voice shook as he gave your skin touches in a way you hadn’t felt before. “Kitten.” He stopped, standing up so he could hover over you, his hands on either side of your body. “I just…I don’t want to go back.” Your admission cause him to nod, kissing your forehead. “I know, dear.”

Arthur’s hands lifted you form the counter, holding you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist as he kissed you, walking you out to the living room. He placed you down on his lavish furniture, laying you atop of the red vintage fainting chair. He sat on his knees in front of you, gently lifting a leg to his shoulder. Arthur’s hands massages the muscles, your immediate reaction was to melt into the touch. You hummed and moaned as he worked his way up your leg to your thigh. His hands tickled the outside of your panties. His fingers teasingly tracing over your clothed pussy before he removed your leg and brought up the other. He gave it the same treatment, eyes on your and your reactions. He watched as your hair fell passed your shoulders and down your back, he watched as your chest rose and fell. Arthur’s eyes watched as you rolled your hips into his touch. “Kitten?” Arthur asked as he leaned forward, kissing the inside of your thigh. “May I?” He waited for your nod before pulling your panties down your legs.

You moved a leg to block his view even just a little, it felt far too embarrassing to have him looking at you like that. “Stop looking.” You whined, his hand pulling your legs back up over his shoulders. “Get comfortable, my pretty y/n.” You shifted down, pushing your hips to his face in the process. “That’s it.” He eased your worries as soon as his tongue traced over your slit. His hot breath washing over your exposed skin as he helped himself to your pussy. He was hungry, the way he ate you out was so fast and starved. His breathing was heavy as he stoked your clit, kissing your wet little hole before diving his tongue deep inside you. “Aaah!” You called out, grabbing the head of the chair behind you when he thrust his muscle into your tight little hole. “Arthur!” Your voice rang in his ears, listening closely to every sound you made for him. His fingers slipping from under your thigh and up to your hole. He replaced his tongue with his digits, pumping his middle and index fingers smoothly in and out of your soaked cunt. He lapped at your clit, yet again unable to take his eyes off of you as he finger fucked you silly. You were so sensitive to his touch, and so tight around his fingers. “Arthur please, please I…I think I’m going to cum!” You practically sang as you begged him to keep going. “Then cum. Cum so I can taste you more, kitten.” He curled his fingers, rubbing them against the walls of your entrance, enticing you to finally cave for him. Arthur slumped down to lap at your pussy as you came, letting your juice flow over his tongue as you had for him. On his hands and knees he licked you clean. You watched him closely as he pulled his fingers from you, sucking them clean the same as he did to you.

Arthur used his wrist to wipe what was left from his face. You sighed as collapsed further onto the chair, pussy twitching from the attention you received for what felt like the first time.

“Kitten…if you don’t want to go back, you can stay with me.” Arthur’s suggestion was enticing, even more so as he rested his head on your thighs, his hand reaching out and holding your own. His voice reached you in your state of disarm as he whispered to you “It’s okay.”

[villain-enthusiast]

hellowwww i hope youre having a nice dayyy! idk if youre taking requests but if you are could you please write about an easily flustered Civillian who is attending a ball, and morally grey Villain asking her for a dance. she knows exaclty who he is but still she accepted.

CAN YOU THROW IN SOME TEASING AND FLIRTING AND CAN IT BE LONG IF YOU WANT TO OFC. FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THISSS. ANYWAYS HERE'S A 🥐 AND HAVE A GOOD DAY!

thank you for the croissant 🥐 ! <3

tw: none!

Civilian was never a fan of balls.

She found them rather distasteful, overly extravagant. Her siblings, on the other hand, did not, and they had left her at one of the tables while they ran off to find a dashing suitor for the night.

Civilian picked at the hem of her sleeve, watching couples dance to the music playing in the background. She sighed as she noticed one of her sisters twirling about in the center of the room. Maybe it was time for her to leave…

“And what would a pretty little thing like you be doing here alone?”

She startled, eyes flying up to the man in front of her. He seemed much older than her, sporting graying hair and premature wrinkles.

She furrowed her brow. “I’m…I’m sorry?”

He stepped closer, much too close for comfort. He leaned in, and Civilian could smell the mustiness of him. Suddenly feeling nauseous, she cleared her throat and stood up. “I-I apologize, but I was just on my way home.”

“So soon?” The man grinned, flashing crooked teeth. He moved towards her, and she began to back up. “Honey, I can make you feel good—,”

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening at the sight of something just past her shoulder.

Civilian blinked, confused. “Sir—?”

“There you are.” A velvety voice rumbled through her from behind. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Civilian jolted as a hand settled on her shoulder. She slowly turned her head up to meet the steely gray eyes of…

Oh. Oh my god.

Villain smiled warmly at her. “C’mon dear, let me take you somewhere else,” he said gently, wrapping a snug arm around her shoulders and moving her into a safer corner of the room.

“Are you okay?” Villain murmured. “He didn’t harass you too much?”

Civilian forgot how to talk. She swallowed dryly after a moment. “I-I…no. No, he didn’t. Thank you.”

“Ah, good.” Villain’s gaze swiped over her once. “You look stunning, dear. Can I ask for a name?”

A blush beginning to dot her cheeks, she ducked her head. “Civilian.”

“Civilian,” he repeated, testing the name out on his tongue. His lips quirked up again. “Civilian, would you care for a dance?”

Villain - the villain - asking her to a dance. The villain that was dashingly handsome in an all black tuxedo and dark, slicked hair that was just beginning to lose its careful styling. The villain that was notorious for his attacks on the government, but was seen carrying out injured people from a burning building.

“You’re staring,” Villain reminded under his breath, a laugh in his voice.

“Sorry,” Civilian squeaked. “I-I, well, yes, of course. I’d love to dance.”

The gray of his eyes lit up with unspoken delight, and he took her hand, bringing her to the main floor with the other guests.

Stepping along to a gentle waltz, Villain brought Civilian in close. “You know who I am,” he whispered in her ear. It wasn’t a question.

Civilian almost lost her footing. “Pardon?”

“Well, you didn’t ask for my name.” Villain chuckled. “And the way you were looking at me was rather…peculiar, for lack of a better word.”

“O-oh,” Civilian stuttered out, embarrassment flooding through her. “Sorry.”

A hand slid onto the small of her back to keep her near, but the slowness and deliberation of the movement made her breath catch.

“Don’t be,” Villain responded. “It’s not everyday a beautiful woman such as yourself ever bothers to glance at me.”

If she wasn’t dancing in the center of the room, Civilian would’ve collapsed onto the floor. She, of all people, just got complimented by this charming suitor. Her mind raced for an appropriate answer. “Thank you,” she breathed. “It’s not everyday a gorgeous man such as yourself ever bothers to approach me.”

Villain flashed a grin - the roguish kind that made Civilian’s knees weak. “I appreciate it.”

The hand on her back began to make its way up to brush the base of her skull, fingers catching on loose strands of hair from her braid. She made eye contact with Villain as he guided her face closer to his.

“You have the prettiest eyes,” he mused, breath tingling her nose. His gaze flicked down. “And the prettiest lips.”

Civilian’s heart was pounding twice as fast than normal, threatening to burst of of her chest. She glanced quickly at the curve of his own mouth, then back up to the sharp intensity of his ashen stare.

He was so close. When did he get so close?

The world around them blurred, slowed, music fading away into the background, and then it was just him and her. Her and him.

His lips brushed over hers, just barely, as if to say - Thank you for trusting me.

She chased him as he pulled back. He tightened his hold on her, as if to restrain the both of them from doing anything more.

I’m yours when you are ready.

And then time fell back into place, the classical music blared in Civilian’s ears, and they were suddenly no longer alone again.

The song ended, and Villain stepped away to bow to her. She fumbled into a sloppy curtsy, still reeling from everything that just happened.

He winked at her. “See you around, Civilian.”

Then he turned, and disappeared into the crowd before she could chase after him.

She’d see him not around, but rather the very next day for a date together.

[diaryofdayet]

Jan 5 𓇢𓆸 London

I dreamed that I was bleeding and when I woke up I was. It was one of those heavy bleeds that leaves you frantic and naked, running cold water at the bathroom sink.

I made a strong cup of coffee and whiled away my morning. In the afternoon Mom taught me to make a lamb dish, but I didn't have time to taste it because I was meeting Keeks and his friends for a movie.

When I emerged in Brixton I was met with a wall of sound. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered the last time I'd been on this street, arguing with Vashti. I'd let her say goodbye and get on the bus. I'd watched her lean defeated on the foggy upper-floor window as the bus drove away.

In the present, a woman sang a familiar song into her cheap microphone:

We're heading for something / Somewhere I've never been / Sometimes I am frightened / But I'm ready to learn / Of the power of love

I watched for a few minutes.

Keeks introduced me to a cascade of artists on a swelling cement sculpture outside the theater: Maz, Eden, Helwa, and Chanel. I sized them up while we smoked. Maz was tall, sweet, and dashingly handsome. My little brother has a nasty habit of keeping handsome friends with whom I must practice quiet restraint. Eden was also tall; beautiful and stush. She didn't mind talking and I didn't mind listening—anything to divert her from the few things about me I'd noticed her log as faux pas. Helwa was warm, confident, and even more gorgeous than Eden. When she arrived she leaned in to hug me and breathed, "Oh my gosh, you're beautiful!" She was the type of woman I'd love to be in love with if I could get past whatever restrains me from loving women. And then there was Chanel, a gallerist who reminded me most of myself. Light-skinned, simply dressed, and pretty in an innocent way. I'd met her once before, at one of Keeks's exhibitions.

Maz sat beside me in the theater. He was charming and intense and...young. The ones my age are always busy, and the others are either too old or too young. Still, when the lights dimmed I wasn't ready for the conversation to end.

Sometimes I am frightened / But I'm ready to learn / Of the power of love

After the movie, we returned to the cement sculpture to have another smoke. Maz said goodbye with a lingering hug. The rest of us walked to Wetherspoons as the second joint made a mess of my mind.

The Wetherspoons was like the liminal space you sit in after you die, a place indifferent to time where you wait in a booth to meet God and go to heaven.

A hound approached our table asking about our ethnicities, and could he buy us champagne to celebrate the new year? Each escalating version of no agitated him, and when I looked into his grey eyes and asked him to leave, I realized we'd been cornered by an unknown entity.

Keeks was panicking at my far right. I understood for the first time that he isn't a fighter and wished I was stronger so that he didn't feel he had to be. But he didn't know what I was wishing, and he barked in panic,

"روح." Go.

I cringed.

The man lowered his chin and his eyes flicked to anger like a slide projector.

"You don't say that to me. You don't say to me روح. You don't say that. You don't say that to me."

I tried to catch his attention. "Arabic is his second language, he doesn't know. Please."

But the man wasn't listening. He was somewhere deep inside, in the part of him that hates his mother and his father and his brother and the curse that's been placed on this entire world. I knew where he was because I was there too, in that hidden part of me, drowning.

We left as soon as the man returned to his table. He blew a kiss as he watched me trip out of the booth. I blew one back out of fear. I gestured for Keeks to walk in front, hoping to put myself between him and the villain. I glanced behind us every few minutes until Keeks was safe in a car.

All the way home the metal roar of the train joined my shrieking mind, and their singing only stopped when I arrived in Belsize Park. I'd never realized how quiet our neighborhood is after midnight. I stood with my eyes closed in the velvet dark and heard only the birds, only the birds.

𓇢𓆸

Dayet

[fmdxsuji]

summary: as always, suji takes inspiration from other people in order to complete a song word count: 739 words, excluding lyrics notes: creative claims (full lyrics) verification self-para for can’t control myself! also, i want to mention that the music video will later allude to a toxic relationship, but that’s not what suji had in mind when she wrote the song! she won’t be in charge of the creative direction of the music video so... just wanted to throw that out in here in case someone actually decides to read this and thinks that i’m making light of such a situation!

sounds cliche, but suji thinks she’s written about pretty much everything at this point. 

which is a completely false claim considering that there’s so much to write about in this world, but she feels stuck. when she started planning this album, she spoke to gold star about how she wanted it to sound different. it’s why they paired her up with a few outside producers and gave her some beats and melodies to choose from. options that were outside of her usual scope of connections. 

she has this one track on repeat because it has this eeriness to it. the only instruction she receives is that they want the lyrics to fit the vibe. she finds herself humming a melody, and it isn’t too far before she finds herself creating a scenario in her head. 

frankly, she hasn’t lived long enough to continuously take inspiration from her own life. that and the fact that she’s lived as an idol for almost a decade now has only limited her opportunities. while she’s gotten to do things that others could imagine, it was also true that she never got to experience some regular things that others don’t find special. 

that’s all to say that suji finds inspiration in the littlest things.

this time, it’s a story that her sister told her over the phone a couple of weeks ago. well, story might be putting it lightly. it was closer to a rant. something about a coworker who constantly complained about her boyfriend yet couldn’t seem to break up with him. 

admittedly, suji doesn’t understand that sentiment (she can hear sumin’s voice over the speaker as she yells you’re heartless). however, she’s heard and read enough stories to realize that it happens more often than people would like to admit. so she begins to imagine what makes sumin’s coworker stay with a boyfriend who supposedly never cares for her and only thinks about himself. 

charming looks? because as much as people will deny it, looks seem to matter in a relationship. not in the sense that everybody dreams of dating someone dashingly handsome but rather that physical atttraction is a thing. or maybe the coworker just likes to rant whenever her boyfriend pisses her off in even the most minor manner. something like he forgot to call for the seventh time that day. or he didn’t realize that she cut her bangs or whatever. 

not even sumin knows the full story so it’s just up to suji to take the reigns from here. while she takes inspiration from sumin’s coworker and her “annoying” boyfriend, she further branches out and creates her own characters. 

the instrumental is still on loop when she actually begins writing. writing about a passionate love that just can’t seem to be broken. how when someone falls in love, they can’t seem to escape. they can’t control themselves. control. that’s a strong word that she doesn’t think she’s used before, and it seems to fit in with the eerie feeling the track gives off. 

you may call me crazy but so what?  cause i can’t control myself 

jotting down these lyrics has her thinking whether she’s ever felt so crazy in love to the point where her emotions felt uncontrollable. she thinks the answer is no, but the people around her may think differently.  

feels like heaven feels like hell even that, i don’t care i’ll go back to you again 

even without sumin’s words of advice, suji imagines that the coworker has heard enough times about how she should just leave her boyfriend if he annoys her so much. though she doesn’t even know what the coworker looks like, she thinks she can see the scenario and hear their voices. lots and lots of advice that eventually get brushed off because love makes people blind. 

but she’s also a romantist. she thinks that a relationship is hard to describe to an outsider. there are secrets and feelings that simply cannot be explained in words. emotions that can only be shared between the people in love. it’s why love can be so powerful. 

in front of you i can’t control anything it feels like everything will explode 

the lyrics come flooding out and before she knows it, she can attach it to the track. she reads over it a couple of times to make sure that it actually flows together before sending it off to one of the producers. she gets a quick thumbs up emoji quickly afterwards which isn’t compelte confirmation, but no immediate feedback must mean that he liked most of it. 

she can’t wait to call up sumin and rave to her about how she helped her write a song.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Historical (1920′s-1950′s) Masterlist

Links Last Checked: June 2nd, 2022

Aria In The Snow (ao3) - Eavans

Summary: If you asked most people of Daniel J. Howell’s lot in life, they’d tell you it was pretty good. A small career writing for a fashionable magazine, the heir to one of New York’s most prestigious hotels, the convenience of youth and an ailing millionaire father… what more could an 18-year-old ask for?

So when a night at the symphony turns into the start of a whole new double life in the city’s queer underworld, the heir to New York’s most fashionable hotel will have to learn what is what when you’re dating a cabaret singer, and who is who when that singer becomes a troubled star.

So it’s nothing but fate to blame when things start to fall apart. The catch? It’s the last half

Back Seat Bingo (ao3) - existingcourage

Summary: Phil, a young television and radio personality lands Dan, an upcoming producer as a co-worker. Friendship is inevitable, but what happens when life, love, and fear gets in the way? A 1950’s Phan AU.

Class of 1953 (ao3) - shutup_turd

Summary: It’s the year 1950, and Phil is making a fresh start during his first term at the University of Oxford. He’s found genuine friends, he’s doing well in his studies, and he can finally be his authentic self…although there’s still something missing.

One evening he stumbles upon a group of actors rehearsing Shakespeare in a sumptuous candlelit chapel, but it’s not the scenary catching Phil’s eye. Instead, it’s a charming man with curly hair whose eyes seem to burn even brighter than the candles.

cobbled paths and grey skies (ao3) - watergator

Summary: phil meets a handsome stranger at the market.

Dance for me? (ao3) - the_toadlet

Summary: Murder, intrigue, and a dashingly charming police officer- all Dan needs.

The scene is set- a series of murders in 1922, an undercover officer who’s discovering that he may not be as straight as he thought, a gorgeous young drag queen, and a budding romance between furtive glances over shoulders. Detective Phil Lester is sent to bust a drag ball, but instead is drawn into the eyes of Daniel Howell. He makes an impulsive choice, and begs the young man to help him- the murders are stacking up, and Phil needs a partner.

Dan, of course, agrees. How could anyone resist the deep blue eyes of someone that swept you off your feet?

Hold The Night (ao3) - vvelna

Summary: It’s late 1940, and Dan and Phil are living in London during the Blitz.

Let Me Love You (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: Dan opens his bedroom door and sees a little white square of notebook paper lying on his pillow. He reads Phil’s scrawled handwriting, “Sorry to miss you Danny, I’m stopping by Franklins before class. Meet me for a malt shake tonight, usual time?” An au fic about postcards and milkshakes.

Stars (ao3) - brookwrites

Summary: Dan grew up in a normal 1930s London family with his parents and little brother. everything was completely and utterly normal… until the bombs started dropping. When Dan was fifteen his father went off to war, and when he was sixteen he and his brother Hayden were sent off to a foster family in rural England. he looked up at the stars and couldn’t help but wonder how something that beautiful could exist in such a broken world. just when he thought things would never get better, Dan met Phil, and he became the shining star of his life. but when Phil turned eighteen and went off to war, Dan couldn’t help but wonder when, if ever, the stars would twinkle the same way again.

The Next Night - nebulous-frog

Summary: Germany in 1937 was a hard place for anyone “different”. Dan just wanted to live his life, fall in love, and die surrounded by family, but his particular community was too “different”. Dan found himself hiding, wishing for a better world, maybe even finding it in the eyes of an unlikely savior.

The Roles We Play - adorkablephil

Summary: Dan Howell and Phil Lester work together as voice actors for BBC radio dramas in the late 1930s, but slowly begin to develop “inappropriate” feelings for each other.

While Our Blood’s Still Young (ao3) - celestialfics (orphan_account)

Summary: In the midst of 1950s America, Phil works at a malt shop that Dan frequents after school. Inevitably as their relationship progresses, the two boys face unrelenting adversity in a world that does not yet see all love as equal.

Who’s Taking You Home Tonight? (ao3) - whatkindoffanfics

Summary: October, 1944. While World War II rages on, Dan Howell finds himself thrown into the secretive world of Bletchley Park, a headquarters for intercepting and breaking the codes of encrypted German messages.

[atinybitofau]

[ateez] Y U N H O ➽ mafia au

HE’S A BIG MAN AND WITH A BIG MAN COMES A BIG WORLD.

a/n: so I decided not to write a part 2 for Yunho’s. but it is version 2. I hope ya’ll like it.

• you had maybe one of the most brutally violent domestic relationships known to man and it definitely showed sometimes.

• you never looked for a way out either.

• cause you were tired.

• tired of living.

• tired of trying.

• you gave up a long time ago.

• “See that man over there? Be a doll and ask him for a cigarette, y/n.”

• your boyfriend brought you once again to a sketchy ass poker club to flaunt you like a trophy to his fat and ugly friends.

• it reeked of illegal activity.

• you couldn’t wait till one day someone either puts your boyfriend in jail,

• or puts a bullet in his head.

• you force a smile just glad you had an excuse to get his filthy hand off you.

• and refrain from screaming when he’s twisting your skin underneath the table.

• “Let me go get that cigarette for you, honey.” you seethe through gritted teeth.

• “Good girl.”

• you swallow down and limp over towards the man your boyfriend pointed to earlier.

• he looked tougher than your boyfriend.

• in fact, bigger in proportion.

• stunning— dashingly handsome.

• the cigarette between his lips didn’t hide his charming smile either.

• intimidating would be the first word to describe him.

• tempting would be the second.

• but you were more afraid of what he was rather than what you saw.

• because your boyfriend was bad enough as it is.

• you had no place in trying to eye fuck a hot stranger at one of his notorious hang outs at the least.

• “E-excuse me, sir.”

• Yunho fades a smile when he sees you.

• because he runs this place.

• he knows every face.

• all but yours that he definitely wouldn’t be able to forget.

• and unlike you, he takes the time to eyefuck you.

• cause he thinks you’re drop dead gorgeous.

• tiny compared to him and vulnerable.

• you smell as good as you look and he’s wondering if you taste that way too.

• but he has a gut feeling you aren’t just any girl that comes through his doors looking for some dirty money.

• no he has a gut clenching feeling that you were here for him.

• “Can I help you, sweet pea?”

• his friends glare over at him.

• because they know Jeong Yunho.

• he doesn’t talk to just anybody in his club.

• “U-um..” you’re nervously rubbing at your hands when the eyes at his booth are scanning you. “Can I have a cigarette please?”

• he wants to laugh.

• throw you around and slap you silly for asking him a question like that.

• but he doesn’t.

• he’s lost in your eyes, caving into your innocence like a predator to its prey.

• “Yunho.” a man beside him sits up with a hand in his blazer but the taller opposite pushes him down without moving his eyes from you.

• you melt under his gaze and you wonder what the lips around his cigarette tastes like.

• “What’s your name, sweat pea?”

• you gulp, “y-y/n.”

• your knees buck when he smirks

• watching as his tongue sets his lips.

• “Y/n..” he repeats before pulling out an unlit cigarette. “Here you go.”

• the people around him are stunned.

• you don’t know what’s going on.

• you don’t even know who he is.

• “T-thank you.”

• he knows it’s not for you.

• and watches you to see who it’s really for.

• he studies your body language.

• how you curl beside your boyfriend

• lips are frowned

• your spine is stiff.

• how the fear washes over your face.

• the bruises that fade on your skin.

• “Yunho, what are you thinking?”

• his friends know him too well.

• that he’s a sucker for the innocent.

• “I’m thinking that girl needs a real man.”

• he kills the cigarette in between his fingers.

• and he’s not stumbling when he storms towards the table.

• not planning to have that fucker leave his place without getting the customer service he really deserves.

• “How are ya’ll finding things tonight?” he smiles at your boyfriend as fake as can be when he asks.

• and he notices the little jump you made when he’s at your table.

• how your eyes sparkle when you look up at him.

• how those trembling lips change a little.

• you catch the cute wink he sends you and don’t question his intention.

• “Mediocre.” your abusive boyfriend replies. “You’d think a good place like this would have decent ass food.”

• you admit your boyfriend was too cocky for his own good.

• “Oh is that so?”

• Yunho knows EVERY face around here.

• and he knows neither you or your boyfriend know exactly who he is.

• “Let me see if I can help with that.”

• you don’t move when Yunho puts his large hand over your eyes and shields you into his arms

• he holds you against his chest as you cower at each shot taken

• somehow relieved that instead of being hurt—

• you were being protected.

• and the man who never failed to do the first was now laying limp at your feet

• “Sweet pea, I’m gonna carry you up. You think you can keep those pretty eyes shut for me?”

• his voice was low and calm.

• warm hands at your back as you curled against him.

• you keep your eyes shut.

• feeling safe in his arms despite the events.

• you don’t want to let go.

• you felt the safest you’ve ever been before.

• he smells like everything you want him to, too.

• scotch, leather, and cigarettes.

• “I think it’s safe to say that I’m not just a man with a cigarette, y/n. And you’re a little too comfortable with that.”

• he’s chuckling but it’s the most important thing to you.

• you think it’s something you’d fall in love with in the next 60 or so years of your life.

• “He give you these?”

• you shudder when his gentle fingers graze the bruises.

• the scars on your skin that build your insecurities.

• “I’m sorry, sweet pea.” he mumbles. “The world has been bad to you.”

• your hands fist at his shirts as he holds you steady on his lap.

• “You’ll never see a bad man like him ever again. Never gonna let a bad man touch you, okay? Are you fine with that, y/n? Will you let me protect you?”

• you hum.

• breathing in everything about him.

• and how the world was starting to give back the life you deserved.

• “Gonna give you the world. Gonna make the world so good to you, sweet pea. Gonna be the best man for you.”

• he brings you home that night—

• unlike most mafia members, Yunho liked to keep his personal life private.

• intimate.

• he knows you don’t want to let go of him

• even when you’re already inside the walls of your own home.

• “Please don’t go.. don’t leave me..”

• he thinks you smell like everything he’d ever want you to smell like.

• strawberries, vanilla

• and home.

• you smell like home.

• “He’s not gonna come back anymore. I promise.” you sigh when his lips hover yours to tell you.

• “I know.” you mumble. “But the world might take you. The world might take you away from me when I just got you.”

• he’s swooning.

• never wants to leave.

• never wants to let go.

• “I’m your world, sweet pea.”

• the only one that matters.

• “You don’t need to worry about the other one anymore.”

@atinybitofau

[bennydwight]

Dragon Age Oneshot

Shameless, indulgent, one-sided Varric/Inquisitor, because I understand why we’re not allowed to romance the dwarf, but that’s not gonna stop me from being bitter about it.

(Also feat. Dorian being simultaneously the best and worst wingman)

 ~~~~~~

"Oh dear what's got the Inquisitor so long in the face this time?"

Lavellan hid her startle well enough that Dorian didn't comment. Maker's breath, he could be stealthy when he wanted to. Observant, too, so she didn’t see much point in lying to him. "I'm in love, Dorian."

She felt more than saw his interest pique, and he slid down the stone wall to join her on the steps. Below them, the courtyard was abuzz with activity: Dennet and his apprentice busied themselves with checking the new stock of mounts, the merchants from Val Royeaux shifted primly as Fereldan soldiers examined their wares, and patients of the last battle milled around the surgeons camp. Among them, even from this height, Lavellan could see Cole's wide-brimmed hat bobbing along through the crowd of wounded like a leaf on a river, likely offering comfort to those who needed it. Varric's copper hair trailed along beside, either gathering intelligence for his next book, or ensuring Cole stayed within the confines of human morality. Nice that those two got along so well.

Far below, a soldier said something and Varric laughed, the delighted rasp floating up to reach even Lavellan's perch. Why must he do that to her.

"In love, you say?" Dorian continued next to her. "Anyone I would know?"

Lavellan sighed. "He's roguishly charming, dashingly handsome, entirely uninterested, and so far out of my league he may as well be the Black Divine."

"Dear me, have you fallen in love with me all over again? Can't say I'm not flattered, though I recall us having this conversation once before."

That drew a laugh from the depths of her lovesickness and she nudged Dorian with a shoulder. "You know the flame I hold for you in my heart will never extinguish."

"Alas, perhaps in another life." He chuckled back.  "Who's the fortunate gentleman?"

"Oh please, if you think I'll out and tell you like some babbling maid chasing the butcher's son, I give you too much credit."

He leaned back, stroking his goatee with an interested finger. "Making a game out of it then? Very well, I'll play along. Ten silver says I can guess the lad in three tries."

A game was exactly what Lavellan didn’t want, but she far too much enjoyed Dorian's scowl when he lost not to play.  The ten silver could buy her something interesting from the baker too, next time they travelled to Val Royeaux. "You'll be paying for my next pastry run, Vint."

"Better save at least some of that silver for larger clothing then." He made a show of tapping his chin, deep, deep in thought, the flash bastard. "Roguishly charming, daringly handsome... Just to clarify, you are talking about a lad, yes?"

"Oh, no. Making that distinction would narrow the field by far too much. If you weren't paying attention to the pronouns, that's on you."

Dorian glowered at her, but there was no real heat behind it while the gears of his mind were ticking elsewhere. "From the description alone, of course my first guess would have to be our distinguished commander? Not that I'd blame you, mind, he is quite the man."

Perhaps too much man for Lavellan, the commander was far too battle-ready for her to find attractive (though admittedly the scars did send something stirring within her). And Cullen's evasive reactions towards the advances of other members of the fairer gender betrayed a disposition more boyish than Lavellan expected. She imagined courting Cullen would be very much like courting the spirit of a farm boy in the body of a marble statue. "I flirted with him once, for fun. I was afraid he'd wet himself."

Dorian's laughter rang warm and clear through the courtyard. "That might explain why you couldn't tell him, the poor man would throw himself off the battlements."

Lavellan stuck her tongue out at him. "Don't make it sound like my affections are a disease to be feared."

"They certainly spread that way."

"You enjoy it, you all do. Maker knows none of you under my command have ever gotten enough hugs in your lifetimes."

"Something we all know you're desperately trying to correct."

"This game is timed, Dorian, if you don't use your guesses in the next ten seconds then you forfeit."

"Don't be silly, that was never agreed upon," he waved a hand flippantly, but settled again. "Sera-"

"Nope."

"That wasn't a guess, you didn't let me finish! I was going to say Sera is in league all her own, so it can't be her."

"It counts."

"It doesn’t. "

Lavellan never was very good at keeping a straight face, especially in Dorian's presence. "Fine, fine, you get one freebie."

"Then my next guess would have to be the Iron Bull."

Oh, she'd thought about it. Maybe Lavellan was just weak for big hands and a soft voice. And who could forget those muscles? But Iron Bull wasn't exactly secretive about his thoughts on relationships, thoughts Lavellan wasn't sure she could share in the long run. And maybe it would have been different if Iron Bull committed to the Inquisitor, but after an accidental (and awkward) run in with Bull and a kitchen maid, Lavellan was pretty certain she'd seen all she needed to regarding Skyhold's resident Ben-Hassarath.

Besides. She'd seen the silky way Dorian's eyes smoothed over Iron Bull's shoulders when his back was turned. There had never been two people she was less inclined to come between.

She shot Dorian a sly side-eye. "I'll leave the lovesickness to other, more suitable people when it comes to the Bull, I think."

He hid the hitch in his shoulders almost perfectly, but the pink dusting on his cheekbones was a little harder to explain away. To his credit, Dorian didn't try. "Ahem. Well, you mentioned 'uninterested', so it can't be the swooning--"

He trailed off, but Lavellan's sharp stare snapped to him, ears twitching up. "The what?"

"Nothing, a slip of the tongue."

"Your tongue is so slippery it's a wonder it doesn't slither out of your head. Now out with it, who were you talking about?"

Dorian heaved a mighty sigh, but his eyes shone in that way they did when he'd been sitting on a sweet bit of gossip for too long. "Very well, I promised Vivienne I wouldn’t say anything since you didn't need 'undue distractions', but since you insisted. One of your throne guards can't keep his eyes away from you."

This was news to her. "Wha- Are you talking about Davrish or Johannes? Or Tel, he fills in sometimes."

"The lad who usually stands at your left. Human, on the tall side, dark hair. Hard to see much under the helmet, but he's got a scar under his eye."

Davrish then. "He fancies me?"

Dorian laughed. "Like Solas fancies the Fade. He reveres you. Whenever you're in the Main Hall, he refuses to look anywhere else. He practically vibrates when you're judging someone, I imagine since he's never had a woman that close to him in his life. Have you truly not noticed?"

She truly hadn't. She'd spoken to Davrish several times around Skyhold, usually a casual bit of snark tossed around regarding the latest judgement, but never had she gotten the impression that he was interested. Perhaps since, whenever she frequented the Main Hall, her attention lingered elsewhere... "I suppose I'm usually distracted."

Dorian leaned closer, something wicked crawling into his grin like a desert lizard. "Distracted, are you?"

Lavellan huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as if that could still her heart's rapid beat. "I'm the Inquisitor, Dorian, not all of us can lounge in the library all day, drinking cheap ale and commenting on whatever daily atrocity Solas is wearing."

"Oh, that reminds me, did you see the particularly awful armour he picked up during your last trip to the Oasis? I could go on for days about the state of the stitching alone-"

He definitely could, as proven time and again. Times like these, where her Tevinter friend really got on a roll, Lavellan could feign interest well enough while letting her mind wander to more introspective topics. She nodded and made appropriate noises at appropriate times to Dorian's impassioned ramblings, but once again her eyes sought the copper head weaving in and out of view of the crowd below.

As if sensing her seeking eyes, Varric pulled his attention away from Cole and stared straight at her.

Lavellan's heart stuttered to a stop. Even this far away, his eyes shone with the barely concealed mirth he always seemed to carry just under the crooked quirk of his eyebrow. The corner of his mouth pulled up in that roguish smile she loved as they made eye contact, and one hand (gloved, why always gloved) rose in a lazy wave.

Like a dunderhead, Lavellan practically tripped over herself to return the gesture, nearly catching her finger in one of the buckles of her clothes in the process. Varric didn't seem to notice, his smile widening before he turned back to his odd little charge.

Too late, Lavellan noticed Dorian had fallen silent beside her, his calculating golden eyes boring into her frozen face. She heard the dots connect.

"Oh."

Don’t make eye contact, don't make eye contact

"Oh, MAKER."

Lavellan spun on him, the tips of her ears burning under his scrutiny. "WHAT."

He stared back, expression refreshingly open for once, though it bore no malice. Only stunned disbelief. "Lavellan, the dwarf?"

Not trusting herself to speak around the dry lump lodged in her throat, Lavellan reached into her pocket and dropped ten silver into Dorian's unresponsive hand.

He stared at the coins as if in shock, though Lavellan knew him well enough by now to know when he was exaggerating emotion. Dorian and Sarcasm were old friends. "I can’t- Vishante kaffas."

"I know."

"Of all the available young matches here in Skyhold, you're wasting your time making doe-eyes at the single most ineligible person this side of the Anderfels."

"I know.”

"He's in love with a crossbow, for Maker's sake!"

"I KNOW!" Lavellan groaned, burying her head in her hands. "If you think I haven’t had this discussion with myself numerous times then you are sorely mistaken."

A beat of silence. "Although," Dorian started in such an oddly contemplative tone that Lavellan peeked out from between her fingers. The silver was gone, tucked away while she'd been marinating in her own self-horror, and his hand returned to its previous action of thoughtfully stroking his facial hair. "He is quite the strapping one." His face took on a haughty air. "And we already knew you had a penchant towards the witty."

"Not only wit," Lavellan sighed, and now that her darkest thoughts hovered at the forefront of her tongue, she found it nigh impossible to stop them from stumbling into the light of day. "He's suave, confident in a way that still eludes Cullen. He has all the easy, rugged attractiveness of the Iron Bull with none of his-"

"Expansive tastes?" Dorian supplied, entirely unhelpfully.

"-worldliness." Lavellan corrected coolly.

"He's quite the complainer. "

"He's opinionated, and most of them are right. Varric is warmth, and friendship, and a drop of sunlight in the midst of the rainstorm that is the Breach."

"I may vomit."

"I am taking that as a challenge. He is soft eyes and soft leather, and the feeling you get right after you make someone laugh. He's quiet nights by the fireside, the smell of ink swirling in the warmed air. He is-"

"-headed this way."

Lavellan was just about to admonish Dorian for his unsportsmanlike attempt to distract her from her flowering prose (it had really started to flow there, too!), but a glance downward found Cole nowhere to be seen, and instead one copper-headed dwarf tromping up the stairs.

All thoughts of poetry dissipated. He was coming straight for them! "Oh... oh Maker-"

"Don't panic," Dorian smirked, "with a nose that large, he can probably smell your nerves."

She didn’t have the chance to smack him before Varric reached them, breath laboured in the way that often happened when short legs were presented with more than five steps. Lavellan wondered why Varric chose to spend the majority of his days in the Grand Hall when it required so many steps to get there (and she refused to let herself believe it was because he wanted to be near her, no no). "Well, you two are looking chummy."

"Varric!" Dorian opened with no shortness of theatrics, "We were just talking about you!"

"Is that right?" Lavellan heard more than saw Varric's raised eyebrow as she pinned Dorian under a glare so hot it had been known to stop enemies in their tracks.

Dorian, having evolved out of the category of "enemy" some time ago, barely noticed. "Yes, we were just discussing your romance serial, the one Cassandra enjoys so much? Are you planning on writing more?"

Lavellan’s glare had taken on a panicked note, her friend going rogue before her eyes. How hard did one have to stare at another for them to spontaneously combust?

Varric, large as his nose was, didn’t seem to smell her distress this time. He laughed. "I am if Seeker has anything to say about it! Why, you're a fan too? Learning anything interesting?"

"On the contrary, I have an idea for another serial I'm sure readers would enjoy."

Lavellan’s shoulders relaxed marginally, head tilting at a quizzical angle. What was he doing...

"I don't usually entertain book pitches, but for you Sparkler? Let's hear it."

"It's about a famous, powerful young artist, who falls in love with a roguishly charming, dashingly handsome writer-"

Aaaaand there went her shoulders again, hitched almost to her burning ears. Back safely to Varric, she frantically mouthed "I'll KILL you, you sunnuvabitch", the rest of Dorian's blatantly obvious pitch drowning under the blood pumping in her ears. His mouth quirked up in the only indication he was paying her any mind at all.

Varric made a thoughtful noise, and she didn't dare turn round to look at him. "An artist and a writer, huh? It's got potential. And no one can say it's... unrealistic." Maker's breath, was he implying something? Was that tone barely concealed subtext, or just Varric being an asshole?

And Dorian couldn't leave it at that, oh no, never let it be said that Dorian Pavus did things halfway. "And say, if you do decide to write it, I'm sure our dear inquisitor wouldn’t mind illustrating. Surely you two have known each other long enough that working closely for prolonged periods of time wouldn’t be too agonizing."

Using her body as a shield, Lavellan flipped him off.

"It's certainly something to consider," Varric hummed, none the wiser to Lavellan's mortification. Unless... he was playing with her? "I'm sure my lady readers would appreciate another romance."

Dorian stared straight into Lavellan's eyes. "They certainly would."

"What about it, Herald?" Oh Maker, he was leaning over her now. The scent of warm leather drifted over her like the sweetest perfume-- NO, that was gross! Don’t think like that! "Feel like collaborating?"

"Sure," her voice came out more like a squeak than a sound, and Dorian couldn't quite hide his snort behind his moustache.

The creak of leather as Varric leaned back. "Peachy. After we take care of this Corypheus business, of course, even I understand that we have priorities. Speaking of, I gotta ask Seeker something. Dorian."

Dorian nodded in farewell, radiating smugness. Expecting her turn to be next and realizing at the same time that she hadn't looked at Varric a single time during this conversation, Lavellan finally turned to the dwarf.

Bad idea. She turned directly into that insufferable crooked grin. His hooded eyes glittered with mischief, like he was privy to an in-joke. The sun set behind him, haloing his visage with golden light. Varric himself couldn't have written this scene better, and Lavellan hated herself for thinking it. Her ears drooped under the weakness of her own body.

Varric's grin widened marginally. "Inquisitor."

"Bye," Lavellan breathed more than said. Dorian snorted again, louder, but Varric was polite enough not to mention it. He continued up the stairs and Lavellan managed until his heavy bootsteps faded away to melt into a humiliated puddle. She slumped over her legs, burying her face in her hands.

"Dear me, Inquisitor, your ears are a most delightful shade of crimson."

"Dorian?"

"Yes?"

"Once I can stand again, I am going to take my knife and cut out your tongue."

"Oh, I'd still find ways to humiliate you."

"I wont even use my nice knife. It'll be a kitchen knife. You'll suffer for days, just like I am now."

He patted her jovially on the shoulder. "Come now, Lavellan, surely you must know that Varric is crass and boorish, but he's far from an idiot. He'll nip this in the bud within the week and I need to get a decent amount of teasing in before then."

Lavellan punched him in the arm.

 END

[marshmallowprotection]

6 with Judas please? 🥺👉👈

6. chasing someone’s lips after they pull away

You... were utterly winded whenever you were within Judas’ company. He was so bright, so warm, and so dangerously flirty that you could have fallen to your knees if he told you to do it, or if he told you to walk off a bridge, you would go and do it just to see him pleased. 

You weren’t sure why you were so drawn to him, but God, you desired nothing more then to see you smile at you.

His hands were on your face right now, and you could feel the heat starting to saturate your skin. He was cooing little affectionate and cheeky things but your brain wasn’t unpacking all of it because you were overthinking everything. What it meant for him to be like this with you, for one. 

It didn’t register that he had just told you to look at him. Flustered, you lifted your head to meet his piercing blue eyes. 

“Good kitten,” he murmured with a chuckle against his lips. “That’s my pretty little thing. I was wondering if you were in there. Don’t worry about that now, darling, I, too, get overwhelmed when I’m in the close presence of someone so dashingly handsome and charming. Right now, if I’d not learned how to want to ravish you while staring in your eyes, I know that I would be unable to speak in your presence.”

Did he always have to be so mortifyingly coy?

You tried to cover your bluster underneath a snort, but it was quickly broken the second that his forehead brushed against yours. Just like that, you were putty in his hand. 

It was a little silly, but God dammit, it stole your heart every single time. 

It was kind of comforting to know that stronger people fell for it. Yet, you knew that his heart for you was genuine. You were starting to understand how easy it was for him to manipulate and swindle those crooks all the time. Anyone and everyone would trust that smile on his face and if that didn’t work—

His eyes got them.

Every single time. 

He kissed you, deeply and madly. You could feel his warmth and the faintest touch of something warm, like cinnamon, against the back of your throat as he held his entire world in his hands. He was an amazing kisser, and every single moment you spent tangled with him, you felt like you were on cloud nine.

You were so swept up in the moment that you didn’t even realize he was pulling away from you until you heard him speak again, “You want to kiss me so badly that you can’t stop searching my lips, huh?” 

“J—Judas!” 

“Haha... you can say my name like that soon enough, my dear.”

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Not supposed to pt. 1|4 [Dean Winchester x Reader] - Challenge

Title: Not supposed to pt.1 ➔ Not supposed to pt.2, Here! Pairing: Mobster!Dean Winchester x PI!Female!Reader Word count: 3.7k Published: 6 August, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: I wrote this mini series for @deanmonandnegansbitch​ ‘s challenge. It was supposed to be a one shot of some kind, but there will be 4 parts to it after all, because I kind of ran away with the story line. Warnings: Sexual references, but no smut or any intimacy in that sense! Challenge: [x] [x] Beta: @dreamer821​ thank you :)

Supernatural Masterlist | Masterlists

Not supposed to Masterlist

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Dean Winchester was born to be a charmer.

His mere presence projected confidence.

You were not supposed to realise the mischievous glint in his green eyes looking around the people he surrounded himself with. You were not supposed to stare at the charming smirk sitting across his handsome face. Your throat was not supposed to dry out looking at the way he ran his fingers up his woman's thigh seductively. You were not supposed to feel attraction towards him.

You were supposed to be doing the job you have been hired for.

It's been weeks since you have been following him around, trying to keep a low profile. You were aware of his reputation. You couldn't risk getting caught by his man. Many reporters and investigators disappeared around him and you had a strong suspicion about where to.

You knew all about the rumours, still you followed him shamelessly to his own club. You were seated a couple of booths away from him, sipping on a passion fruit martini, whilst subtly keeping your attention on him. His hands were busy playing with the blonde woman's thigh, while he was discussing something with the other men around him. You couldn't take your eyes off the way his black suit strained over his muscles, as he firmly wrapped his thick fingers around her leg.

Your eyes wondered over to his stubble covered jawline, before they wondered higher stopping on his parted mouth. His tongue darted out to water his lips, slowly pulling it back, biting on his lower lip, satisfied by his own actions, looking over to the mesmerised woman beside him. She was shamelessly ogling his movements, causing a playful smile to grow wider on his face. She was done for. You let a small smirk appear on your face at her desperate behaviour. Oh, you knew she would be begging him to take her within minutes, wherever he wanted to, losing all her pride. If she had any at all.

Your smile died down as his green orbs landed on you. You were not supposed to reveal even your existence. Panic grew stronger in your chest, but you kept it under control. You couldn't make a mistake now. Not after working so hard on his case for weeks.

He offered you a cocky half-smile, throwing you a playful wink, certainly aware of how dashingly attractive he was. You returned the expression, lifting your glass as a gesture to enjoy his evening. He followed your movements and nodded in approval.

However, you didn't have the opportunity to watch him any longer as two suited up man stood firmly in front of you. You tilted your head in confusion, knowing you have done nothing, but drink and sit looking pretty.

The taller man bent down to your ear, attempting to be louder than the music blasting from the speakers. "Ma'am, please do come with us." His tone was demanding, his seemingly polite request only formality.

"Why would I?" You questioned his unexpected behaviour.

"We have to talk to you, ma'am." He replied impatiently, still keeping his politeness.

"I haven't done anything. Why can't I just enjoy my drink and relax? I'm quite certain this is not the service I have paid for." You tried to play the part of an entitled rich woman. If you have learned something throughout your years of experience, it had to be adaptation. You were good at pretending to be anyone, almost to a point where you forgot who you really were.

"I am sorry, ma'am, but this is not a request. Unfortunately if we have to, we will use necessary measures to be able to talk to you." He replied, his demeanour though and confident. You could feel your heartbeat quicken under your rib cage. You had a bad feeling, but you couldn't risk getting more attention than you already had. You heaved a deep sigh and stood up, smoothing the silky, black, knee length dress over your body, placing your clutch bag around your shoulder as elegantly as you could.

You didn't have a chance to look at the green eyed man, you obediently followed the two bodyguard looking man out of the club to a back alley, which you were sure wasn't the entrance you came in. You looked up at he two man as they closed the door behind themselves. You waited for them to talk and within seconds, one of them did.

"I am very sorry, but it has to be done." The one from earlier spoke, reaching behind his back, pulling out a black gun. He pointed its end towards your forehead. Your eyes widened at the sudden attack, your heart rate abnormal at this point. You could feel yourself sweating as the realisation of your death kicked in.

You couldn't let it happen. You were not weak or one to give up.

It felt like slow motion as his finger closed in on the trigger, deciding your fate. But you didn't let it. You jumped out of the gun's way and started running to the entrance of the alley. You heard two other gun shots being fired, both very close to your moving body.

You felt their presence behind you, hearing their foot steps loud against the ground. Reaching the parking lot, you jumped into your car. You tried to put the key into the ignition, but your shaky movements seemed to delay you.

As you finally started the car you drove out of the parking lot, straight on to the high way. You let out a deep sigh you didn't remember holding in and felt relief wash over you. But it didn't last long. You could see a suspicious black car with dark windows from your rear view mirror. You knew they were following you. They kept tailing you, keeping on you even when you went triple over the speed limit. At this point you didn't care how, but you had to throw them off.

You turned down to a fairly abandoned road, trying to get them off you by going through small little alleys. But they were fast. Wherever you drove, they were right behind you. You could see a second car join behind them and you felt your hope slowly disappearing. You weren't a race driver or a professional fighter. Face to face or in a car, either way you were losing.

As much as you just wanted to give up at this point, you had more pride than that. You would have felt disgusted of yourself for consenting to your own murder. Hell, you were better than that.

You turned down a small street, heading towards a crossroad. You didn't see the other cars following and you felt a small hope returning, thinking you successfully threw them off.

But you were wrong.

The minute you reached the crossroad, you felt a powerful impact from the side. Your airbags forced the air out of your chest, your seat belt cutting into your neck, whilst keeping you fairly in place. You hit your head into the window, feeling a warm liquid pouring down your face, before it poured back up as your car flipped over, stopping on its roof.

You were half conscious. You were gasping for air, but the only thing you felt was your blood pouring back into your nose, stopping you from regaining your breathing. You were coughing abruptly, trying to pull the seat belt away from your chest, but you miserably failed.

The door of your car opened with a loud creaking noise and you could just about make out a blurry knife cutting through your seat belt, before someone quickly caught your falling body.

You felt the hard asphalt under your back, still trying to get more air than blood into your lungs. Your saviour turned you on your side, helping you to cough up the excess blood you have been harbouring in your lungs unnaturally.

You looked up at the person and you saw the same pair of green eyes you admired shamelessly earlier that night, although this time it was all a blur. But that wasn't right. You concluded your findings to be a simple mind-game in your desperate situation.

"You idiots." You heard a deep baritone voice, but you didn't have the energy to concentrate on its owner.

You didn't want to give up the fight. You didn't want to give in, not knowing what would happen next. But you didn't have a choice anymore. Your body went limp and your eyes closed down involuntarily, sending you into an unconscious state, which you simply identified as death.

Wrongly.

You could feel your body being lifted and placed on a soft material. You wanted to scream in pain, but you couldn't hear your own voice.

You couldn't recognise your surroundings and your eyes were fighting hard against your will to open them. There was a gentle touch on your palm and a small pricking feeling on the back of your hand. You could feel it all. You were there, still far away from yourself. Your senses were reduced.

The material under your hand felt refined. You gently ran your hand through it, enjoying the feeling of its softness. You started to notice more of your surroundings. The light breathing beside you, the foot steps farther away from you, your mattress dipping under a heavy weight.

You attempted to open your eyes, but before you even had the opportunity to keep them open, they flattered close once again. It did take you a fair amount of tries before you could keep them open, against the bright light blinding you.

"You're awake." You heard a deep, husky voice from beside you. You turned your head, groaning in pain. Your spine fought hard against your movements. You looked up at the man whose green irises watched your every move eagerly. You weren't sure if you felt terrified for being this close to him or your heart was beating erratically in anticipation of his presence and sweet, woody cologne, which involuntarily found its way into your nostrils.

"Khm." You replied, feeling your throat dry and painful. You tried to clear it, but you were lacking the necessary moisture to do so. As if he understood you, he placed a hand behind your back and helped you up into a seated position, against all your painful cries. Your ribs were your worst enemy at this point, as if they tried to poke through your already scraped and sensitive skin.

Dean gave you a glass, half-full of water and a straw. You quickly slurped on the life-saving liquid, ignoring being decent, noticing how much your system has been craving for it.

"Better?" He asked as he took the empty glass from you and placed it back on the night stand beside your bed.

"Yeah." Your tone was low, but nowhere near weak. You looked around and saw a gigantic room with windows from floor to ceiling, furniture with all the most expensive wood work. Even your presence didn't belong in such expensive bedroom.

"I know you've been following me." He stated without hesitation as he sat down on the edge of your bed. Your head shot up, your eyes fixed on his green ones. He definitely wasn't the type of person who danced around the bush. He went straight to the point. "Why?" You weren't sure how to reply. His eyes were looking at you as if he could read you, but you didn't give in. You knew it was a tactic. He must have had the experience to get people talking.

"Why would I tell you?" You asked firmly, with more confidence than you intended.

"Because I saved your life." He retorted.

"I didn't ask you to." You replied, shrugging your shoulders casually. It was his fault that you got into this mess in the first place. Sending his man after you was low, but you knew his reputation, you weren't surprised.

"A bit more gratitude would go a long way." He replied.

"For what? For sending your people after me? For almost killing me? Why am I supposed to feel gratitude when this was all your fault to begin with?" You questioned him, causing his brows to run high in surprise.

"I think you are mistaken, sweetheart." He scoffed with an amused look on his face.

"Don't call me sweetheart." You hissed.

"Well, sweetheart," He emphasised your new nickname. "I didn't send anyone after you. Yes, they were my people, but not anymore." He stated, making you frown.

"What do you mean?" You asked curiously.

"I was aware of you following me, but honestly, you are a pretty sight and I didn't mind your presence. My people on the other hand, decided to go on a personal mission without discussing it with me. I didn't know that they were planning go after you, up until they walked you out of my club. I knew that was suspicious." He explained casually as if he was reading a simple story from a book.

"Why did you save me then? You do not know what kind of information I have on you." You knew you were basically your worst enemy at that moment, but you just couldn't understand his way of thinking. He started loudly chuckling at your words, letting his head fall forward momentarily.

"As I said, you are a pretty sight." He let a cocky smirk take over his face. "And although you might have something on me, I do not hurt innocent people. I have a reputation, which I am very well aware of. I am indeed an awful person, but I do not hurt people who haven't done anything to me." He replied, his tone beyond sincere. You just felt the need to believe every word of his. "So? I explained to you what happened and on top of that I saved your life and gave you the medical attention you needed. I think I deserve the information, Miss. Y/L/N." He spoke with that charming half-smile and seductive voice of his. Your last name rolled of his tongue so gracefully, in other circumstances you would have felt pleased for your name to be called by him.

"You know my name..." You breathed, feeling weaker, knowing your identity has been revealed. But you didn't expect anything else. He had connections. A lot of them.

"Yes, I do." He replied confidently. "And I know much more. I also know that you are a Personal Investigator." He stated.

"Then you know why I have been following you." You replied.

"I am assuming you have been hired to gather information on me." He nodded.

"Then why are you questioning me?" You frowned, being unable to understand his intentions.

"Because I need to know who hired you, why and what kind of information you need to provide on me." He replied.

"And why would I tell you that?" You raised a brow questioningly.

"To make it up to me for going out of my way to save your pretty little ass." He leaned closer, his green irises wondering between your eyes and lips, making his intentions very clear. You could feel his breath against your lips and you couldn't deny the affects he had on you, but you were smarter than to gave into his seductive behaviour.

"Is this technique supposed to be working on every woman?" You questioned him, letting your eyes wonder over to his lips, before returning back to his eyes. A cocky grin appeared on his face as he licked the side of his lip, capturing your eyes for a moment longer than it was supposed to be appropriate. Oh how you wished to feel that tongue running through your own lips, but you were not one to just give in that easily. You needed to think with a clear head. "I am not planning on giving you any information." You clarified your stance.

"So what's your plan, then? You have been exposed already. I am planning to be even more careful than before." He smiled confidently with a raised brow, confirming his sincerity.

"I will give back the job. This way I don't have to give you the information on my client and I don't have to follow you either, knowing you would hide your tracks even better." You shrugged. He kept his gaze on you, this time no mischief present in his eyes. You didn't understand the look on his face, but you didn't have to. A loud knock broke the moment as a man in a black suit entered the room.

"Boss. We've got a bit of a problem." He spoke hesitantly, not knowing if you were supposed to hear his words. Dean nodded at the man and stood up from the edge of the bed.

"Look, you can go home when you get better, but for now, just stay put and rest. The doctor will be here in about 2 hours to check on you. Until then if you need anything, just pick up the phone and press the star key." He spoke as he pointed at the vintage looking phone by the nightstand. "One of my staff will pick it up and help with whatever you need." He concluded. He started walking to the door, but before he closed it behind himself, he looked back at you. "Rest and don't try to act though. You are not healed yet." He gave you a light warning, almost as if he cared about you. His gentle, worried act definitely confused you. You just couldn't see the mean killing machine people have been talking about.

Either way, you didn't plan on staying. You forced your aching body to move and placed your feet down on the ground, whining in pain. You took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get your body used to the uncomfortable feeling it provided.

You looked around the room, searching for your cloths, before finding it on a chair at the other end of the room. You were currently wearing a black t-shirt which seemed to be double of your size and a black pair of shorts, which silky material screamed how expensive it must have been.

You forced yourself up into a standing position, limping over to the chair, holding your weight on whatever you found on your way, be it the end of the bed frame or the wall beside you. As you reached your cloths, you realised they were completely intact. You were sure they were partially destroyed in your accident. You picked up the black silky dress to reveal a label attached to its side. You frowned hard at he revelation. He bought you a new dress. You just couldn't explain why he was so... kind to you. He was supposed to be anything, but. You shook off the confusing thoughts and dressed up, breathing heavily as your pain returned ten times stronger.

You picked up your clutch, checking if all your items were in it. You took your ID card out, letting a scoffing sound leave your lungs. Of course he knew your name. You shook your head, feeling silly, before you walked out of the room.

The place was huge and majestic. It screamed elegance and you just felt so out of place. You hurried down the corridor, searching for the stairs. At the end, you finally found it with a nicely carved wooden door leading you towards the exit.

You were almost out, when a voice stopped you.

"Miss?" You shot up, meeting a fairly wrinkled old man, his blue eyes looking at you questioningly. "Where are you going?" He asked. He was wearing a black and white butler costume, one that you have only seen in movies.

"I am going home." You replied confidently, attempting to hide the guilty feeling of being caught out.

"But my Master said you would stay until you are healed." He explained, suspiciously eyeing you. "Ma'am, you don't seem to be healed just yet." He stated, making you want to roll your eyes.

"I am perfectly fine. I have to go. I have to take care of things." You explained.

"Would you like to leave a message for my Master?" He asked, but you just quickly shook your head.

"No, no, it's fine. Thank you for everything." You nodded and left the mansion feeling uneasy. You just couldn't cope with the huge building, its expensive exterior, having a butler and someone being called Master. It was just emotionally overwhelming on top of your physically exhausted and painful state.

You walked out of the huge driveway, surrounded by beautifully cared for gardens and exited through the few meters tall metallic gate. You pulled out your phone and ordered a cab, wanting to get out, before Dean decided to appear unexpectedly to drag you back into his house.

The cab took a good fifteen minutes to arrive, but before you knew it you were seated in the back, heading home finally, wanting nothing but a good shower and your own, overused mattress.

As you arrived home, you threw your shoes and bag off by the door and headed straight for the shower. You didn't take longer than ten minutes, realising that your rumbling stomach might not have been well fed recently.

Up on finishing soaking your body, you quickly made a ham and cheese sandwich, not wanting to bother cooking. You brought it to your room, eating above a plate, seated in your bed, whilst watching some silly tv series to get your mind off the recent events.

Before you knew it, your slumber took over your tired body and mind, letting you enjoy your well deserved rest.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to like and/or reblog the chapter. Thank you :) 

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

[fatedtruths]

LORAS VERSE OVERVIEW - AU : YOUNGEST REDCOAT IN HIGHGARDEN. 

Third son of Mace Tyrell, Earl of Highgarden, Loras grew up in Storm’s End as an aid to lord Renly Baratheon of Storm’s End as a sign of good will between the two previously warring families.  When Renly joins the British army, forced into it by his elder brother and renowned red coat Robert Baratheon, Loras follows him, even though he is too young to serve.

When Robert dies he leaves only that Storm’s End would be given to his brother, not specifying which one. Stannis believes himself to be the automatic guarantor yet it is Renly who already lives there and a battle of support begins.  One that it is made very clear from the start that Renly would win, with the support of almost all of their sworn allies going to him rather than his elder brother.

Loras is sixteen when the battle of the ‘45 happens.   In theory he is there to serve as his elder brother Garlan’ runner, in reality there is no way in hell he would allow Garlan to get all the glory without him or for Renly to travel so far and for so long without him by his side.  Naturally, he is under strict instructions not to fight, yet he is angry for that, only a month or so away from his seventeenth birthday which would then allow him to fight in the British army.  He is the one who finds Renly dead in his tent mere hours before the battle is due to start.  His throat cut from behind and the boy from Highgarden sees red.    The cries around the captain’s murder had not only drawn him but half the camp and his elder brother Garlan to the captain’s tent, seeing the bled out body of the red coat captain on the floor and are there the moment the youngest son of Mace Tyrell cries out in anguish and sets himself upon the guards who had meant to protect him.

By the time Garlan and a number of other men drag him clear three red coats lay dead as well as the beloved captain.      Yet as far as anyone knows, for the official story that every man there swore to keep to on pain of death,  the captain and his guards were killed by a highlander spy sent into the camp to weaken them.   Loras believes he knows otherwise, convinced that Stannis and his men saw an opportunity to seize storms end and took it, knowing the blame would be laid at the scots’ feet.

Yet the battle still needs to be fought and Loras fights with the intention of remaining on that battlefield dead, with his brother dressed in Renly’s clothes, his face covered, the ghost of Renly Baratheon.

After Culloden Loras survives and hates himself for it, returning back to Highgarden and burring his captain in his ancestral home of Storms End.   He might want revenge but he knows he can never have it.     So he falls into a routine and does, instead, what he is told by the crown and by his family.  Rising from nothing to lieutenant to captain and running along the line to major over the twenty years that follow.

Known as charming and dashingly handsome  ( though some people would say pretty ) he is sought over from women and families wanting to marry into a wealthy and highly respectable and well known family, very much one of the best fighters in the British army, often found training and sparring in his spare time;   that is, when he’s not being hot headed and challenging individuals to duels.    It is his hot-headedness that limits his otherwise speedy ascent through the ranks as well as his failings at politics.

As a Captain, Loras falls under the military command of Lord John Grey, the two having met upon the latter’s return to England after his stint as the Governor of Ardsmuir Prison when he was invited to Garlan’s wedding to Leonette Fossoway and, still in his service, Loras joins him across the ocean in the colonies as an integral part of his guard there.

[bubblegumholland]

A Deal With The Devil (KOH! Tom Holland X Reader)

Praying to God wasn’t working

So I made a deal with the Devil

The heart monitor beeped to a steady rhythm. Y/N bat the tears from her eyelashes as she stared at the dying girl. Her darling sister was only eight, and at this rate she wouldn’t live to nine. Y/N clenched her eyes shut, failing at keeping the tears at bay. She knelt at the hospital bedside and clasped her hands together.

“Please, God, please… I’d do anything for her, please help her, heal her..” She repeated over and over. Y/N opened her eyes to see no difference in her sister’s condition. She bowed her head in frustration, “I knew it wouldn’t work…”

She bit her lip and looked down. She paused for a moment more.

“Help me… Please, I’ll do anything, I promise, anything.”

And suddenly her vision went black.

_____

“I heard you’d do anything, darling.” 

A dashingly handsome man laughed at the shocked girl. He stood about 5′8 with startling black iris’ and deep chocolate colored hair. 

“What’s the matter, darling? ‘ thought you wanted to make a deal with the devil.” Y/N stared at the gorgeous demon, she had a hard time believing this was real. 

“Where am I?” She looked around, the land was cold and bare, definitely not what she expected Hell to look like. 

“This isn’t Hell,” Satan stated, as if he could read her mind. Could he? She looked at him, “it isn’t?” 

The charming devil shook his head, “Welcome to Purgatory. We’re between the land of the living and death.” 

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, “Am I dead?” The devil laughed, “not yet you aren’t.” “So, I’m dying?” she stared at the attractive man with a British accent.

“Well, technically everyone’s dying,” he answered patiently. “But you want to save your sister and that comes with a price.”  Y/N bit her lip, “So, what’s the price?” 

Satan smiled, clearly delighted. “One of my favorite myths is The Legend of the Infinity Stones. There were six but that’s not important  But one was called the Soul Stone, the trade for it was a soul. A soul for a soul. And that is what I want from you. Agree to die and accompany me in Hell, and I will save your sister.”

She thought for a moment, she would accept the deal in a heartbeat normally, but this was Satan. “How can I trust you? If I’m offering my soul up for ultimate damnation I need to trust you.” He stepped closer to her. “Smart. But the only way for me to prove myself is for you to have faith in me. And with your dear sister’s condition I’m not sure you have a choice. Time is not on your side.”

She cursed quietly, he had a point. “What does giving you my soul entail? Do I just wake up in the fields of punishment?” She questioned. He thought for a moment, “Normally, yes. But, in this case I have something else in mind. I need a queen. Someone to balance out my decisions and help me rule. You would be living the most lavish life a woman can in Hell.”

“Why my? Don’t dozens of people offer their souls to you?”

He nodded, “You’re not wrong, darling, but out of the thousands who have done that no one has ever done it for a non-selfish reason. I like the way you think and you morals aren’t shit. Now, what do you say?” He produced a contract out of thin air. 

Your parents always tell you not to take candy from strangers and here she was standing here about to sell her soul to the devil. “Deal,” she grabbed the pen and scribbled her name on the dotted line. 

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

And her vision darkened once more. 

____

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open. She was in a dark-ish room with red hues. Ah, yes. This is more like the Hell she imagined. Her attention was drawn to the door being thrown open. In walked in her husband (?). His coffee colored hair slicked back to perfection. His body adorned in an all black suit. He looked pretty hot. Not that she’d admit that, She glanced down to see she was wearing red silk pj’s. A nightgown that was considerably scandalous but by her means, pretty cute. She awkwardly held the blanket over her to shield her mostly-exposed body from Satan’s wandering eyes. Y/N cleared her throat, gaining his attention.

 “Hi..?” she spoke softly. He smiled and sat on the end of the bed, “Good morning, darling. What’ d’ya think?” He gestured to the room. She nodded, “It’s uh... nice. Real homey.” He laughed a little, “Well, I would hope so. This is your home now, after all.”

“Didn’t sarcasm originate in Hell?” She deadpanned. 

Satan laughed heartily, “Fair point, love.” 

“So, are we like...married?” Y/N questioned delicately. 

The demon was silent for a moment, “I suppose so, you are in my bed after all.” She jumped to her feet, forgetting the duvet that covered her exposed skin. 

“Fair point,” she repeated his words. “Um.. can I get some clothes?” She gestured to her cleavage. He laughed once more, it was a surprisingly delightful sound, no where near as malicious and evil as one would expect. “Sure, darling, although I much prefer the cloth you are sporting now.” He snapped his pale fingers and a pile of clothes appeared on the bed. Y/N rummaged through it, carefully not bending over in front of her new beau. She pulled out black skinny jeans, and a red blouse. “Y’know red is my favorite color,” She stated as she pulled of her nightgown, being left in only a bra and panties. “Funny coincidence, Y/N, so is mine.” She rolled her eyes, “Never would’ve guessed.” As she pointed at everything in the room. He smirked at her response, “I like you,” she raised an eyebrow playfully and went up to touch his chest with both her hands. “Well, given that you offered me the position of wife instead of eternally damned soul, I figured.” He leaned in, almost like he was going to kiss her, but she stepped back with the following words. “How’s my sister?” He licked his bottom lip before answering, “part of deal is that you can’t talk to her... Or see her.” Your E/C eyes widened, “Why didn’t you tell me that!” she yelled at him storming across the room. “It was on the contract, darling. Not my fault if you didn’t read it.” 

Her breathing became heavy and labored. “Oh, my God...” 

“Who taught you to not read the contract when you make a deal with the devil?”

“I didn’t know that this was even real!” She didn’t even notice the tears on her face until she tasted them on her tongue. 

“Any regrets?” He asked. 

She shook her head in disbelief, “Can you at least tell me if she’s alive? And going to live?” 

“Fine, yes she is well. She will live to be 83 before she dies peacefully in her sleep. Happy?” His face was neutral, didn’t seem to care or not care. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

She shook her head, “No, I think I’m just gonna go back to bed..” 

He nodded, undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Then let’s go to bed.”

_____

According to traditional Christian belief about witchcraft, the pact is between a person and Satan or a lesser demon. The person offers their soul in exchange for diabolical favors. Those favors vary by the tale, but tend to include youth, knowledge, wealth, fame, or power.

A/N Hey! First part “Deal with the Devil” is completed! This will be a 3 part series and I’m really excited. New chapter will hopefully be up this week but don’t hold your breath. DM me if you wanna be added to the taglist. 

TAGLIST 

@loxbbg  @saxgirl21  @peterbrokenparker 

[ineffably-good]

Flufftober #30: Costumes

(Ok this isn’t really the prompt - the official prompt was pumpkins, but I already covered that pretty specifically in a prompt #4 -- so I made up my own.) 

__

“Crowley, look, we’ve been invited to a costume party!” Aziraphale said, his voice rising in excitement. “Oh I do love Halloween!”

Crowley frowns. “Well I don’t. Demons hate Halloween. Haven’t we talked about this already?”

“I know, I know,” Aziraphale says, considering his best moves in this situation. “And if you don’t want to go, we don’t have to. But – you like spooky! You really like spooky. And you like misbehavior, right? Few places are as rife with chances for misbehavior as a costume party! You just think it over a little bit…”

And with that he sat back and buried himself in his book, while secretly watching Crowley’s face.

Crowley did give it some thought. He remembered how much of a good time he used to have at masked balls in eighteenth century France, for one. Somehow people thought that just by putting a lacy mask across a tiny portion of their face, they were completely unrecognizable and all the normal social mores no longer applied to them. It was like ground zero for the temptation trade; people were up for almost anything when they found themselves in costume.

Plus there was the fact that Aziraphale clearly wanted to go. He did try, generally, to let the angel have what he wanted, at least when what he wanted wasn’t likely to burn anything to the ground.

“Whose party is it?” he asked.

“Oh, one of the charities I donate to. Rented a hall up in Primrose Hill and is having a big swanky party on Halloween night.”

Crowley drummed his fingers on the edge of the couch. “Okay,” he said finally, “I could probably go. But I’m not wearing anything stupid, so don’t get any big ideas about us being dogs or flowers or anything like that.”

Aziraphale beamed at him and was clearly not trying to bounce. “Oh no, of course not, my dear! I’ll find us something just perfect, don’t you worry.”

Crowley felt a small seed of worry begin to take hold. “You have to run it by me before you purchase anything, angel. Seriously. Don’t do your usual on this one, okay?”

Aziraphale laughed. “All right, all right. I’ll gather some options for you tonight, just have to do some research first.”

++

They went out for sushi that night, and Aziraphale waited until Crowley had a couple of cups of sake and a few nigiri in him before he broached the subject again.

“So,” he said warmly, “I have a few thoughts on possible couple costumes for us.”

“Couple costumes?” Crowley said. “Why do we have to do that?”

Aziraphale looked a little hurt. “You don’t want to do a couples costume? I mean… we are a couple after all…”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but only a little. This was neither the battle nor the hill he wanted to go down on, no question. He raised a hand in defeat. “Okay, angel, I’m sorry – of course we can do a couples costume. It’ll be –” he squinted and made a face like he’d tasted a bitter lemon “—fun.”  

Aziraphale took a swig of his sake and looked at Crowley consideringly. Should he start with the easy ones to reject, or with the best ones? He wasn’t sure.

“Well?” Crowley said. “Lay ‘em on me. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“All right,” Aziraphale said, pulling out a small notebook that looked suspiciously similar to the sleep experiment notebook. “First up would be your classic superhero/sidekick combination. Something like, perhaps, Batman and Robin. I, of course, would be Batman, and you would be… well –”

“Could be fun, but I’m not going as Robin, angel. And why would you be Batman? I’m more his type.”

“I could be dark and brooding!” Aziraphale insisted.

“You’re not the type. You’d be better off wearing those ridiculous green booties and the tights,” Crowley said. “You’d look great!”

Aziraphale gave him a long, slow stare, then deliberately took out a small pen and crossed that one off the list.

“Next there are a variety of historical options. Henry VIII and Anne Bolyn?”

Crowley grinned. “Henry II and Thomas Becket would be a lot more fun. We could spend the whole evening trying to smite each other.”

Aziraphale sighed and crossed that one off. “You could be a white rose and I could be a red rose and we could be the war of the roses?” he said hopefully.

“Angel,” Crowley said, distinctly and clearly. “I thought I said no flowers. Did I not say no flowers?”

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale made another note. “How about Romeo and Juliet?”

“You’re Juliet,” the demon countered quickly. “And only if we can play out the death scene.”

“You’re ridiculous,” the angel said. “Okay, how about Punch and Judy?”

“Would one of us get to hit the other with a large board?”

“Why,” the angel asked in despair, “are you so violent tonight?”

Crowley shrugged and stuffed another nigiri in his mouth. Aziraphale retaliated by gather most of the remaining salmon pieces onto his plate.

They went through many more entries on the list, Crowley mocking or adjusting each of them as needed, until they were left with very few options.

“Well perhaps we should go to a costume shop and look around,” Aziraphale said finally, in defeat.

“I’m game for that,” Crowley said. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

++

 The next day they went to an obscure historical costume shop in the theater district to look at possible outfits. Aziraphale tried to be on his nicest behavior, charming the proprietor, because he suspected Crowley was going to be quite a handful. As usual, he was correct in this assessment.

“What are you gentleman looking for?” the man asked them.

“Something amusing, I suppose,” Aziraphale said, “possibly historical or liter –”

“Nothing stupid,” Crowley cut in, “and no flowers. Something cool.”

The proprietor blinked, taking this in, and set off to see what he could find. He brought out a rack full of options a few minutes later and took them off in pairs to show them. Kings and princes, Hamlet and Ophelia, jokers and jesters, Romans, Egyptians, Medusa and Perseus (“I like the snakes on that one!” Crowley said), Vikings and gladiators – somehow nothing really caught their fancy.

“Well what might you be interested in?” the proprietor asked, nearing the end of his patience.

“Got any serial killers?” Crowley asked. “Or how about rock stars. Got any Sex Pistols? Sid and Nancy?”

Aziraphale sighed quietly.

 ++

“I think we made a good choice!” Crowley said brightly on the way home. “That was a brilliant last minute save that man made, there. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself!”

“It’s certainly unusual,” Aziraphale said. “I’m not sure how I feel about wearing that, to be honest.”

“Oh, come on, angel, it’s not that bad,” Crowley cajoled. “Wear it for me?”

Aziraphale huffed. “Whose idea was this whole party thing? I’m not at all sure we should even be going.”

Crowley reached over and took his hand without comment.

 ++

One week later, the night of the party arrived.

Crowley grinned at Aziraphale after dinner. “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

“Oh, dear, I don’t know –” Aziraphale said. “You’re going to have to help me with the spray paint, yes?”

“Angel, you don’t have to spray-paint yourself,” Crowley pointed out. “You’re an ethereal being with powers. Just do it!”

“That’s true,” Aziraphale said doubtfully. “I still think I’m going to look ridiculous.”

“You’re going to look hot, angel.” Crowley said, closing that conversation. “Now come on, let’s get changed.”

Crowley had a very easy time of it, slipping into his outfit easily and excitedly. He actually couldn’t believe he’d given the angel such a hard time about this – he was truly rather excited about this one. Aziraphale, however, was locked away in his closet making fussy noises as he tried to work out his half.

“You ok in there, angel?” Crowley called.

“Just fine! Out in a moment,” the angel called back.

Crowley wandered downstairs and carefully made himself a martini while he waited. Finally, after having time to slowly sip half of it, he heard Aziraphale making his way downstairs. He turned around and gasped at the vision before him.

Aziraphale was clad head to toe in a tight gold dress that clung to his form, and his skin was covered everywhere with a thick layer of gold to which he’d added just a bit of angelic glow so that he looked radiant on all surfaces. His hair had been smoothed out of its usual curl a bit and swooped down over his forehead, and if Crowley wasn’t mistaken he’d modified his corporation a bit to be a little more female-shaped – it nipped in a bit more at the waist and flared out becomingly below.

Goldfinger, Crowley thought. I knew there was a reason that movie was one of my favorites.

“Why do you get to be Bond and I have to be the Bond girl again?” the angel asked plaintively.

“Because! I’ve got the bullet marks in my car. Plus, I never get to wear a tuxedo,” Crowley said. “Besides, you kind of like it, admit it.”

“Of course I like it, you look amazing,” Aziraphale said, sincerely.

“I meant, you kind of like what you’re wearing.” Crowley grinned. “Don’t you? Just a little tiny bit?”

Aziraphale flapped a hand and tried to stifle a returning grin. “Oh stop. I suppose I do look better in gold than you do,” he said, preening a little. “And the skin tone is sort of fun. Haven’t dressed as a lady in quite some time!”

Crowley sauntered over and kissed him. “You look delectable, Ms. Galore. You’re going to be the hit of the party.”

The demon offered his arm most dashingly and Aziraphale took it, casting one last look in the mirror as they headed out. The things you do for love, he thought, casting a glance at his devastatingly handsome date in his well-cut tuxedo. He took a moment to make the heels he was wearing just the tiniest bit taller and magically more comfortable, and then straightened up.

He tossed his hair back and tried to assemble the best Bond-girl attitude he could manage. He hadn’t even shown Crowley yet the pretend pistol he’d strapped to his thigh. He’d save that for later, when they were dancing. He was certain that detail would bring the evening to a rather pleasant resolution.

[papa-rhys]

I love what you’ve been writing! If you’re still taking requests/ideas, would you write headcanons or a drabble for scar worship with Javier. He always has his neck scar covered up + hair around his face covering the ones there. So it makes me think he might be self conscious, more so then he lets on. So maybe reader giving him kisses and such and letting him know he’s perfect no matter what.

I powered through a migraine to write this bc I liked it so much and now I am suffering with a bad case of Regret ™

Ego (Javier X Reader)

Category: Fluff     |    Warnings: None

Although hemay be slow to warm up to people in general, Javier is usually pretty touchy-feelywhen it comes to you – he wastes no opportunity to put his hands on you and therest of the gang always go out of their way to tease you both about your verypublic displays of affection. It’s safe to say you’re the exception to his “notouching” rule. At least, you thought youwere. It comes as a surprise when he flinches underneath your touch as youraise your hand to his neck to fix his wonky tie.

“Don’t,” he warnsinstinctively, as though he’d forgotten who you were and found himselfconfronted with a random stranger in a bar. He raises his arm to block yourhand and only then does he look up and seem to remember who he’s talking to. “Sorry,”he says, shaking the thoughts from his head and putting his arm down again.

“Are youokay?” you ask, making no effort to hide the concern that washes over your face.You pull up a rickety wooden chair and take a seat next to him at the table. “What’swrong?”

“Nada,” he says, though he sounds frustrated and you’re not sure if he’sfrustrated with you or with himself. “I just don’t like people touching myneck.”

“Why not?”

He looks upfrom the revolver that he’s polishing andblinks at you before letting out a small grunt. Placing the weapon down on thetable along with the rag, he leans back in his chair and starts tugging at thetie. Unbuttoning the first couple of buttons reveals a mean looking scar thatspans across 3 inches of his neck, running in a straight line that surely wouldhave killed him if it were any deeper.

“Javier,” yougasp. “How did it happen?”

“Some cabrón in a bar fight.He decided he wanted to fight dirty and pulled a knife. Fucker couldn’t even getthe blade in deep enough to kill me, so I felt every minute of the 5 monthhealing period.”

“I didn’t –“you swallow the lump in your throat, “ – I didn’t know.”

“That’s because I do my best to make sure no one sees it.”

You spend thenext few seconds in silence with Javier and he picks at the splinters on theedge of the table as you watch him. “Can I –“ you say, gently raising your hand towards his neck. He flinches again and youpull back a few inches before he gives you the go-ahead to touch him. Yougently run your fingertips along the length of the scar and you can see – as well asfeel – his neck tensing underneath them. You make an effort to keep your touchsoft, just barely brushing the skin in an attempt not to make him any moreuncomfortable than he clearly already is. “Why do you hide it?” you ask, your voicecracking a little.

“Because it’sugly,” he chuckles, nervously.

“Horseshit.” Youplace your hand back in your lap only to have it taken back by Javier who holdsit in his own and strokes the back of your fingers with his thumb.

“Scars aren’texactly something that women tend to look for in a man.”

“Well,” yousmile, getting up off your seat and sitting on his lap. “Maybe you’re chasin’after the wrong women.”

“Oh, really?”he smirks as you lean in and place a kiss over the scar, followed by a series ofsmaller kisses that follow its path across his flesh.

“Really.” Yousmile into his neck before pushing the hair out of his face and delivering anequally gentle kiss to the scar on his cheek. “They don’t know what they’remissin’ if you ask me. I mean, look at you,” you tell him between kisses. “Amore dashingly handsome man there never was, and I’ve met a lot of men in mytime.”

“Stop,” he grins,making no effort to stop you as you plant kiss after kiss atop the surface ofhis skin.

“Those eyes…that goatee… those freshly polished boots… that charming little ponytail.” You leavea line of kisses leading from the thin scar on his cheek down to his lips and he squeezes your thigh tightly as you do so, meltinginto the kiss. “No one in their right mind would turn you down. The other way around, maybe. No doubt you’ve had to fightoff your fair share of women. I’m surprised you don’t have multiple of themhanging from you.”

“Now you’re just exaggerating,” he chuckles.

“Exaggerating? No, sir. Not me.”

Javier raises his hand to your face, taking your chin gently between histhumb and finger. “Mi amor… thank you,” he mutter, holding your face in placea few inches in front of his own; his deep brown eyes connecting with yours andoffering you a look of sincerity as you smile at him.

“For what?” you ask, sweetly.

“For saying all the things you just said.”

You lean in and plant one last peck on his lips. “It may be a bit of asurprise considering my line of work,” you whisper. “But I’ve always foundhonesty to indeed be the best policy.”

Javier nods and offers a weak smile. “Ay,” he sighs. “Okay.”

[http-anti]

I’m in love with your body. ((Riley and Star))

(Not a starter. Just a thing.)

It was a day where Star just couldn’t look in the mirror. When she did, she hated what she saw, and it just soured her mood. She was already on edge because Sheeran was sick and she felt like she wasn’t doing enough to help with stuff around the house. It all added up to her mood dropping exponentially.

Riley leaned in the doorway, watching Star as she started to sketch, and then give up, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in the pillow. He walked over and sat on the bed next to her, swinging his legs up on top of the bed so he could lay next to her. She moved closer and tucked her head under his chin, breathing in the scent that was just... Riley.

“Why are you sad, my shining Star?” Riley kissed her forehead briefly, his hands slowly rubbing her back.

“Just hate this. Sheeran is sick and I’m just feeling... gross. I don’t want to look in the mirror because when I do I just see...” she took a breath. “I don’t like what I see.”

“Then I will be your mirror. You have black hair that falls right near your shoulders right now. Currently it’s all messed up because you’re lying down. You have really pretty blue eyes that sparkle when you get excited about something and turn to ice when you’re mad. They hold the light of a thousand stars behind them when you look at me and unconditional love when you look at Sammie and Sheeran.”

“You’re currently in sweatpants and one of my t-shirts that you stole. It’s what you wear when you want to be comfortable, especially when you’re feeling negative about your body.”

“You are beautiful. You are so amazingly strong and kind, which a basic mirror, unlike my charming self, can not show. You are a genuinely nice person and deserve so much love that you’re dashingly handsome fiancé is more than willing to give. When you laugh, it’s one of the best things and I love hearing it, especially when it’s unexpected. You are amazingly talented at art and singing, and you deserve way more praise for it than you are given. What you create is really and truly amazing. Any days that you can not muster up the strength to love yourself, I will love you even more so that you still are getting the amount of love that you need, okay?”

Star has been giggling at first, but now she was sniffling.

“You’re a huge dork. But I love you. Thank you. For everything, really. You’re the amazing one.”

“We can both be amazing. Now, tell me one thing that you like about yourself.”

“Rileyyy.”

“I will tickle you until you do.”

“You wouldn’t.” Star tried to jump up but Riley started ticking her, hearing her shriek with laughter. “Noooo- Riley stoppp.”

“One nice thing! I know you can do it!!”

“I care for others! I really care about them! That’s a good thing!”

Riley stopped tickling her, pecking her lips as the rest of her laughter died off.

“Was that so hard?”

“Shut up.”

// this is so adorable omg