#and somehow ended up at my first apartment

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

what a bland goodbye - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader goes to spencer's apartment for a needed breakup. no matter how much they love each other.

genre: angst wc: 935 warnings: breakup, reader wears heels, crying (duh), no happy ending, right person wrong time???, mentioned emotionally unavailable spencer

based off loml by ts!!! (im sorry), also this is much shorter than i intended!!!

The hallway is colder and your heels are louder than you remember. Snowflakes cover your head, your nose freezing from the cool, winter air. The familiar building somehow pains your heart with how much you'll miss it. You're not sure how long it'll take for the route here to be wiped from your body's autopilot. Even the door marked "23" is comforting. Something you'll have to get over soon.

His unsuspecting and far too joyful form when he opens the door makes you immediately want to rethink your intentions. Spencer's arms wrap around you as inviting as they've always been, the smell of coffee and laundry detergent unwelcome for the first time.

"You said you wanted to talk, what's going on?" he murmurs almost mindlessly into your shoulder.

Already, your eyes burn. You pull back and look up at him with an apologetic smile that hurts.

Chapped lips part as his eyebrows furrow. It's like he can feel how torn you are. But he doesn't get it. "Morgan says that when a girl says 'we need to talk,' it means that you're in trouble. I told him that's ridiculous but then I started to overthink and thought that maybe I did do something so I went through the last couple weeks but... I don't know what I did."

He nervously laughs, "he's ridiculous, right?"

Well, not exactly. It wasn't an easy decision to come to. It took a lot of convincing from your smarter side. You just couldn't put up with it anymore. The long hours were bad enough, but he'd never open up, despite eyebags showing just how much he needed to. Long hours were spent wondering if he'd be coming home unharmed or with an extra scar that's yet to be healed. As much as you want to, you can't stay. He's tortured. He needs someone with more to offer. More to give. You're not what he needs.

Glossy eyes find his hopeful ones and you feel despicable. "Spence..."

"What?" he whispers shakily.

It's now or never, you figure, inhaling an unsteady breath. No going back. Like a bandaid, right? If bandaids caused more tears, maybe.

"I want to break up." You attempt to sound firm, decisive, valiant but your voice wobbles and you sound nothing short of pathetic.

Beautiful, delicate features you've spent so long memorizing distort into a mixture of pain and confusion. The same features you've kissed and ran your fingers over every chance you got. You mourn those moments silently as he tries to understand. You know he won't. In only seconds, his eyes match yours in terms of despair, like he's already picturing the moment you walk out and leave him behind like a bad memory.

"Why? Is it... something I did?" he asks, voice so soft and breakable it makes everything ache.

"No. It's-it's me. I just can't... I can't." Tears gather on your lashes before spilling over onto cold cheeks.

"Can't?"

The way he's trying so hard to get it is what makes the moment last forever. What could you possibly say to explain yourself? It all feels so insignificant right now.

In his suit and tie, so pretty, he exhales sharply in frustration, a shot to your softened soul. He waits for your answer but you're not sure you have one to smooth the crease between his eyebrows.

You sigh and mutter, "I can't be in this. We don't work, Spencer. You don't talk to me, I-" you sniffle, sobbing hard, "I can't do a relationship where you're never here and, even when you are, you're- I don't know..."

He shakes his head and breathes out as his lip trembles. "You're the love of my life," he whispers, saline rolling down.

"I know." A particularly loud sob leaves you and you nod. "I just can't."

"Can't or won't?" he asks bitterly.

You shake your head, "don't do that."

Somber eyes you love look down at you, begging you wordlessly. In a simple glance, small moments that shaped how you saw and felt about him, it was truly legendary. But you couldn't deal with just those flickers of forever. They were momentary. They're not enough.

He pleads, "we can work it out. We can-"

"Stop. Please."

"So that's it? You're just leaving? I can't say anything?" he breathes desperately, crying in a way you've never seen.

You hate how your mind shows you only the things you wish you could unrecall. All the soft pants, gentle kisses, coffee dates, library trips, interlocked fingers and goodnight texts. Every memory that's only making this harder. "I'm sorry." Small sobs shake your body as each breath seems more difficult.

Spencer shakes his head, pretty curls falling in front of his face. "That's it?" he says in fear.

Sadly, you nod, wishing things could be different. Maybe they could be. One day.

"Goodbye," you whisper through a low sob.

He looks at you with a love that you know will never quite be buried. Not for years, at least. Part of you wants that love to come back to you. When he can be what you need and you can be what he needs.

He mutters, "bye," and you leave, for the first time with a heavy heart. You've never loved someone as much as you've loved Spencer. The breakup was needed but how long will the ache last? How long will you hide away in your room? How long will you dream of a reunion?

How long will it take for the thought of Spencer Reid to not leave you feeling homesick over something you're never sure you had?

tags: @1mnshw @sweetestthingonthissideofhell @punkndisorderrly

[chevroletdean]

sibling!reader dealing with demon!dean headcanons (req.) ── ✮⋆˙

Pairing: None, just platonic Winchester!Reader (fem) and her brothers Genre: Angst, fluff To note/warnings: Hurt/comfort, grief (temporary character death, as in Sam and Reader think Dean died), canon level violence A/N: A great way to start the year is definitely getting a cool request by @midnight--raine! Tysm, dear, your praise means a lot to me <3 and I 100% agree, Demon!Dean is terrifying. Still my favorite arc ever, because I’m a sucker for the nitty, gritty, dark and scary, but yes. Credit & links: dividers ──〃★ request here

Sam’s heart breaks twice that day. For one, there is the crushing grief that comes with watching the life disappear from his brother’s eyes. Then the realization: How could he possibly tell his sister what happened? Dean’s death is tearing him apart, and he knows it will absolutely destroy her.

There’s no easy way to deliver the news. But, alas, he’s spending a good amount of time sitting alone in the Impala, Dean’s lifeless body in the backseat. The ride back to the bunker was the hardest ever, the silence nearly driving him insane. Sam is thinking back and forth on what to say, what to do.

He knows waltzing in, carrying the corpse is not an option. If anything, Sam doesn’t want her to see Dean like that at all. Though he figures she’ll probably want to see for herself.

She probably already knows something bad happened the second Sam enters the bunker. Of course she does, her brothers have trained her to stay alert 24/7, to look at her surroundings with a keen eye — Dean would be so proud of her people reading skill right now. Sam’s by himself and his expression… he’s devastated, though he tries to keep it together for her sake. It can only mean one thing.

It feels wrong right away. She can tell. It’s obvious when he doesn’t answer her questions. “Where’s Dean?” Silence. It speaks volumes. “It’s not funny, this is a dumb prank.” Sam still can’t bring himself to speak up.

She runs past him, straight outside to look for Dean, even when Sam tries to stop her.

Sam’s glad he thought of draping a jacket over Dean’s body before talking to his sister. She shouldn’t have to see her brother so lifeless, after all. This view alone, even just through the car window, is enough to traumatize her.

What happened isn’t his fault, but Sam still apologizes over and over again. He can just stand there and feel guilty while he’s holding her shaky form.

It’s not their first rodeo with death and while it doesn’t make it any less sad, her tears convince Sam even more that he has to fix this, somehow.

That night she can’t sleep. Nothing can console her, not even Sam. Though she is grateful to have him at her side.

It’s the same for Sam, honestly. With both of them restless, they dig through the library, they try to find anything to bring Dean back.

In the end, she’ll probably fall asleep right at the desk, her eyes heavy and sore from crying and reading. It’s not a peaceful slumber by all means, it’s more like her brain and body just shut down.

Sam carries her to her room, but the second he tucks her into bed and wants to leave again, she wakes and sobs again.

She’s terrified to spend the night alone, nightmares haunting her. If it were for her, she’d be up and in the library again, but Sam manages to make her agree to a compromise: She will try and get some rest and he will stay with her.

None of them get another wink of sleep that night, she’s staining Sam’s shirt with tears while he’s busy brushing his fingers through her hair.

The next couple of days are rough. The bunker feels like a graveyard, Dean’s presence is definitely missing.

She finds herself wanting to prank her brother like every morning — she’d always exchange his shampoo bottle with the ketchup bottle, shed secretly put a Celine Dion cassette in the Impala. Now, there’s no point for any of that.

Instinctively she grabs onto any piece of Dean she still has. She takes one of his shirts to wear, his scent still lingering in the fabric. She doesn’t touch the piece of pie in the fridge, which she’d usually steal, but she wants to keep it there, preserve it, just in case Dean will magically return.

When Dean’s body disappears, it’s like losing him all over again at first. He’s suddenly gone, again, and panic sets in. And it feels even more permanent. However, it’s also a glimmer of hope, right? He has to be somewhere, so is he alive after all?

Sam’s more reluctant to get his hopes up high. He’s dealt with heavy losses before. Seeing his sister motivated to find Dean is a double-edged sword. It’s the first time since Dean’s death that he sees her eyes sparkle again. But he’s also scared she’ll break down even more when this turns out to be another tragedy.

It’s because of that very reason that Sam’s working on this without telling his sister. He hates keeping secrets from her, he hates lying to her, but he can’t bring himself to feed into her delusions only for her to end up even more hurt. So, when he’s able to track Dean down, he’s not telling anyone.

It bites him in the ass. While Sam’s out trying to find Dean, Dean’s already on the way to find her.

She looks like she’s seen a ghost, honestly. Wide eyes staring at him and filled with tears. Suddenly all her hunting skills are out the window. She doesn’t care to throw holy water at him, she doesn’t think of nicking him with silver. Demons, skinwalkers, none of it exists to her in that moment. All she can think about is her big brother being back.

She jumps right into his arms, scolding him, whining and sniffling and hugging him with a death grip.

Dean’s quiet, eerily so, but that’s not enough to make her suspect anything just yet. Maybe he’s tired, maybe she’s confused, it’s so much all at once. She refuses to let go of him, afraid he’ll slip away again, so she drags him to the kitchen and happily presents the piece of pie to him.

Dean doesn’t even touch it. Hell, he’s not even looking at it.

She quickly texts Sam, letting him know Dean’s back at the bunker. Then, when she looks up from her phone again and sees Dean not eating, she’s starting to get doubtful.

Dean not digging into pie? Is he sick or something? “You okay?”

There’s a grin on Dean’s lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and it feels off. It feels dangerous. “Never felt better.”

The wheels are turning in her head and her blood runs cold. She didn’t do any of the routine checks. Why didn’t she do any of the routine checks? Sam and Dean have taught her better, but she was so caught up in the moment and…

Her phone buzzes and Sam’s reply is simple. ‘That is not Dean.’ Her eyes widen. ‘Demon. Get away.’

The three or four seconds she spent looking at her phone are what almost gets her killed. It’s plenty of time for Dean to grab the kitchen knife and aim it at his sister instead of the pie.

She manages to dodge, somehow, although Dean makes it sound like he just enjoys playing with his prey. As his eyes turn jet-black, she knows she’s in trouble.

“I’ll give you a headstart, sis,�� he hums and even his voice sounds so twisted, so wrong.

“Headstart?,” she echoes. “Dean, please, you don’t wanna—”

“Ten… Nine…”

He absolutely wants to. Sam’s right, this isn’t Dean. Not their Dean.

She bolts out of the kitchen as fast as she can. The bunker is big, but the problem remains that they all know it inside and out — where can she possibly hide? Should she lock herself in the dungeon? Should she ditch the place altogether?

“Six… Five…”

Panicked, she just makes a run for it, not knowing where to quite yet, but knowing it had to be away. As far away as possible. She scrambles to find a weapon, anything to fend off a demon, though she hates the thought of fighting against Dean. Not only would she not stand a chance against her brother, she could never bring herself to harming him or his vessel.

“Ready or not here I come.”

She’s definitely not ready. He could’ve given her a minute, an hour, a freakin’ year, nothing could prepare her for such a chase.

Stupidly, she decides to hide in Dean’s room. It’s far from the safest option, but it’s where her feet have carried her. She can’t really think of any room in the bunker that could protect her from the demonic version of her brother, but here at least, she’s surrounded by happy memories, right?

She’s holding her breath, clutching Ruby’s knife in her trembling hand.

It’s only through a trick that she’s able to survive. Of course, Dean finds her, but she’s fast and able to (a) distract him long enough to make preparations and (b) then lure him to the dungeons.

Dean’s not dumb, he knows there’s a devil’s trap. But he didn’t know there were two of them. She’s haphazardly drawn one he didn’t see until he is standing in it.

Bless all the times she has cursed in the past. She has complained to Sam so often whenever he had forced her to practice drawing pentagrams. She’ll make sure to thank him for it later.

Speaking of the devil, Sam returns just a bit later. He must’ve broken several traffic laws racing back to the bunker, but between that and his sister’s safety, she obviously came first.

He thought she’d be pissed at him for lying to her, but she has a priority too right now: Turning Dean into a human again.

It’s definitely not an easy task. More specifically, it’s downright nauseating to witness the purification process. Dean’s clearly suffering, the pain must be agonizing, but they are able to heal him.

Dean’s back, and he’s human again and it’s all she could’ve ever asked for.

Now, for Dean? Shit, he won’t be able to look into the mirror for a very long time. He always sees himself as the family’s protector. His siblings are his world and to think he attacked his baby sister? It’s killing him.

He feels so guilty he’s not able to look her in the eyes, let alone talk to her or touch her.

Which is why when she hugs him, clinging to his form sobbing, he thinks he doesn’t deserve that kind of trust. His greatest fear is that she’s now scared of him. She’d have every right to be, he attacked her with a damn knife.

“It wasn’t you. It was your body, but not your mind. I mean, that thing comes up with all sorts of dumb things, but not that kind of dumb.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that, of course she’s already back to sibling banter. How she manages to pretend like nothing happened is beyond him.

The events stick with him for a very long time, they never fully disappear from his conscience. He wishes he could wipe the memory of your panicked eyes from his brain, but that image will still haunt him in his grave.

Something has changed though. His shampoo is shampoo and his cassettes are his cassettes. There’s always pie in the fridge and she’s not playing any pranks on him anymore.

It makes him feel even worse. Especially when she explains to him that she’d rather be nice to her pain-in-the-ass brother and have him alive than be mean and have him dead.

“You know one thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other, right?”

It almost sounds like she’s blaming herself. As if Dean’s death was her punishment for bickering 24/7. It’s not right, if anyone should be feeling guilty, it’s him. And he does. God, he does.

It’s very obvious that she’s more afraid of losing him again than she is of the monster he’s become.

He’s set out on playing double the amount of pranks on her then, in hopes of getting some normalcy back. Of reminding his little sister that he’s still here, he’ll always be there. He’ll always be her pain-in-the-ass brother that’ll look out for her and keep her safe and play pranks on her.

When one morning he finds his toothbrush in a jar of pickles, bristles soaked in the vinegar-y liquid, it’s a small victory. Her post-it note with a smug smiley drawn on it is a step in the right direction.

Dean Winchester Taglist (Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist): @ladysparkles78 @ariasong11 @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126

@zepskies @calibootsgirl @hot-and-confused @spookyfunhottub @berryblues46

@midnight--raine @emmy21842 @whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @lyarr24

@whump-loverz @cassieriddle713 @ilovedeanwinchester4

Sam Winchester Taglist (Put a book emoji 📚 in the comments to be added to the Sam x Reader taglist): @s7nburn @whump-loverz

Please note: Ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts!

[fishbonex]

Union of soul and flesh

Count Orlok x fem!reader

Summary: Sink with great delight into the arms of your lord as the night engulfs you all.

Word Count: 0,5K

Warnings: MDNI, GORE, Orlok is his own warning, bites, blood, mentions of sexual intercourse.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

The wind struggled hard and tried to force its way in through the glass window that you had firmly closed hours before. The night here was silent but it screamed at the same time, an agony that only ended with the first rooster crowing.

You slid your hands down the jagged back of your lord. Your count. Your master. Your love. And your ruin.

He released the fangs that were embedded in your chest with a wet crack, blood running down in a thin line. His gray eyes met yours and you found the courage to bring a hand to the side of his bony face.

"Don't stop." you begged softly and he crawled up until his face was on top of yours.

"Foolish child." the husky voice reverberated and you felt yourself vibrate inside. "I am joining with thy flesh and thou are paying attention to the wind."

The creature moved his hips to fit inside you again, making you let out a soft sigh. He brought his nose to your cheek, inhaling deeply.

You closed your eyes. The candles in the quarters weren't enough to warm your body. But he, he somehow, even with his body devoid of any heat, was able to make you feel like you were burning alive.

It was a heat that consumed your being ever since he first came to you. Before, your tragic existence was pure agony. There was agony now, he burned you so much that you could die, but you would die with great delight at being in his arms.

You turned your head and captured your lord's thin lips in yours, "Forgive me, my lord."

He brought one of his large, calloused hands to your neck and squeezed hard, his long nails almost digging into the soft flesh.

"Thy lord?" he repeated, growling softly. "Do thou find the man whom devour thou in thy bed thy lord, child?"

You moaned audibly and your voice sounded hoarse as you gasped for air to reply, “My love.”

He let out a satisfied grunt and released your neck, moving his hips again and lowering his face to your neck to take a soft bite.

"Say it again." he ordered, thrusting once hard, making you spread your legs wider around his waist. "Say it."

"My love." you sighed, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. "My love."

He moaned hoarsely and moved his hips quickly before licking your neck.

"I had such a beautiful daydream. A night with the starry welken above our castle. Yet all I could regard about was how I wanted to tear thou apart and enter thou so we could be together."

Without any warning, he pulled out of you and crawled lower, placing his mouth on your left breast and pulling hard, a piece of skin came loose and he went back to bite you again.

You groaned loudly and your eyes rolled back, your back arched and you leaned into the evil creature on top of you.

"More." you begged. "More."

He was licking the blood from your skin and took possession of your body again with your desperate plea. He seemed to want to reach deeper with his fangs and you could no longer think straight.

"You and I..." you murmured, "we are one."

He released your breast and advanced on you, taking you in a raging, hungry kiss.

"We are."

[youruinedmylifebynotbeingreal]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

AO3

Summary: Soren is cold because of the dark magic in his body, but he has a very warm boyfriend. Corvus can't help but wonder why his boyfriend is always so cold and has inexplicable scars.

Note: I was listening to my Sorvus playlist as I wrote, and Good Love by Aly & AJ came on and I realized it fit the vibes of this fic perfectly. I then played it on repeat for most of while I was writing. So, listen to that while reading if you want the full experience.

I honestly debated titling the piece after that song, but decided I couldn't pass up a good pun.

Inspired by @multifandom-nerds-blog's headcanons that Soren is cold and has scars because of the dark magic used on him in the past. Mix that with waking up cold every morning in the winter. Thus, a fic is born.

...

Soren couldn’t help it. He was almost always freezing. The dark magic in his veins guaranteed it. 

Except, somehow, right before bed. Even in the middle of winter, he’d have to take most of his layers off before laying down, because otherwise he’d never be able to fall asleep. 

Especially if he wanted to fall asleep cuddled into Corvus; he’d quickly get too warm. Even if they ended up on separate sides of the bed by the morning (because Soren couldn’t stay still in sleep, either), falling asleep in each other's arms helped to ward off the nightmares. Half the time he even woke up with all of his blankets crumpled at the foot of the bed because he’d kicked them off. Corvus was quickly learning to keep a death grip, even in sleep, on any blanket he actually wanted to keep on him.

So, on the night of the first freeze of the winter season in Katolis, Soren went through his usual nighttime routine of lavender scented skin and hair care products. He’d already put on his lightest pair of pajamas, not thinking about the weather; his only concern had been how quickly he could get out of his heavy armor and into Corvus’s waiting arms. It was Soren’s night to be the little spoon, and it had been a long day.

Soren stopped in the doorway to their bedroom and watched Corvus, mesmerized by the way the lamplight reflected on his skin. He was sitting in their bed, under the covers, working on perfecting his next cello piece.

“You look deep in thought,” Soren said, breaking Corvus’s concentration.

Corvus didn’t look up, but he couldn’t help his smile. “I’ve got a great muse.”

Soren’s face turned red.

Corvus let the words hang for a beat before he continued. “Yeah, you know, Pyrrah’s been really inspirational recently.”

Soren had been making his way across the room and stopped. He made the confused, deep-in-thought face that Corvus lovingly referred to as his “wait for it” expression. Then came the “realization” face.

“Was that… a joke?” Soren asked after a moment, Corvus’s dry sense of humor dawning on him.

Corvus put the papers on his bedside table with a wry grin. “It was! What did you think?”

Soren practically pounced on the man waiting for him in bed. Corvus let out an “oof” of air at Soren’s landing - like a big dog, sometimes Soren forgot how large he actually was.

 “It’s not funny when you joke about me,” he pouted into Corvus’s chest dramatically, words muffled by fabric and skin. On instinct, Corvus wrapped his arms around Soren.

“Soren, you know nothing compares to the awe you inspire in me.” Corvus ran his fingers through the silky blond hair tickling his chin. Now he’d also smell like lavender all night.

Soren’s head popped up with a grin. “That’s what I like to hear!”

Corvus rolled his eyes and tried not to smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched, unable to hide his amusement. Soren let Corvus’s hand on the back of his head guide him into a gentle kiss.

“Hi,” Soren breathed when they broke apart, forehead to forehead.

“Hi.”

Soren, abruptly breaking the quiet moment, rolled off of him and scrambled under the covers. “Okay, time for bed. Hold me!”

Corvus barked out a laugh. “Geez, aren’t you demanding this evening.”

Still, Corvus did just as Soren specifically requested, quickly snuffing out his lamp, laying down, and wrapping his arms around Soren from behind.

“Well, as Head Crownguard -”

“Don’t.”

“You know you love me,” Soren said, snuggling back into Corvus’s warmth. Soren tangled their hands together and brought Corvus’s free hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on whatever skin was nearest as he closed his eyes.

“I really do.”

…

Corvus was used to sleeping in the roughest of terrain. On the forest floor, in the mountains, in a tree - really, just about anywhere. He didn’t even need a tent or a sleeping mat because being a tracker meant being discreet and able to pack up quickly.

What was he not used to?

Waking up with his freezing boyfriend clinging to him for dear life on a cold winter morning.

“Soren…?” he asked groggily, eyes adjusting to the early rays of sunlight shining through their window. He turned his head and met icy blue eyes. “Are you okay? Did you just sneeze?”

Soren nodded minutely, digging his fingers deeper into Corvus’s side. “Yup. Because of the light. But I’m okay, just currently feeling a bit like an icicle.”

“Then why don’t you have a blanket on?”

“Too cold to move.”

Corvus rolled his eyes and sat up. Soren whined, but due to his grip on Corvus, sat up too. Corvus reached over to dislodge Soren’s hands from his side so he could stand up to get Soren another shirt and fix the blankets, but a small “Don’t go…” stopped him.

Corvus’s annoyance melted away as he felt his heart clench.

“Darling, I’m not going anywhere, I just want to help,” Corvus said, dropping a kiss on Soren’s forehead.

Soren vehemently shook his head, burying his head in the crook of Corvus’s neck and wrapping his legs around Corvus’s, forcing him to stay down. Corvus gasped at the shock of Soren’s freezing nose and cold toes against sensitive skin. He relented with a sigh, reaching towards the bottom of the bed for the mixture of sheets and blankets that Soren had crumpled there.

Corvus brought the blankets up, tucking them around Soren as best he could, and stretched towards his folded scarf on his bedside table, sending his papers scattering to the floor. He sighed. He’d have to pick all of those up later and put them back in order.

The things he did for this man.

“Soren, I will need you to extricate yourself from my body for a moment if you want to wear my scarf.”

Soren relented, loosening his grasp by a fraction. His eyes were bright. “It’s too early to figure out what ‘extra-kate’ means, but I heard the word scarf. I get to wear it?!”

Corvus nodded. Judging by Soren’s reaction, you’d think Corvus never let his partner borrow it, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Corvus loved seeing Soren in his scarf. It brought out his eyes and, honestly, a part of him loved knowing that people would see Soren in it and know they were together. That this goofy, fascinating man was his goofy, fascinating man. The man who balanced him out and inexplicably complemented his personality almost perfectly.

Corvus had also taken to leaving his scarf with Soren when either of them had a mission away. Soren, on the other hand, always sent Corvus with his favorite dragon plushie. Sometimes Soren would wear the scarf the whole trip. Or sometimes only at night, like how Corvus would sleep with Soren’s stuffed dragon beside him. It helped ease the ache of being apart.

Soren acted like this every time because he knew how important the scarf was to Corvus and treated each time he got to use it with reverence.

Soren finally released Corvus from his grasp, sitting up next to him, but kept their legs tangled together. Soren tried to keep his face serious, but Corvus still thought he looked like a kid about to get their birthday presents (to be fair, Soren also looked like that when he was about to get his birthday presents).

Corvus carefully looped the scarf around Soren’s neck, using adjusting it as an excuse to touch him. He couldn’t help but notice that the lightning-like scarring across Soren’s torso seemed to be more prominent than usual in the cold. He held his tongue, not wanting to ruin this moment that almost felt sacred.

But of course, Soren tracked Corvus’s eyes to his scars.

…

Most everybody knew Soren ran cold, but most did not know the reasoning. Not Corvus. Not even Ezran and Callum, who actually knew bits and pieces of the “why,” since they grew up together.

Not that he didn’t want to share it with Corvus. But his past and his family were so - ironically - cold and dark. Whereas what he had with Corvus was so good and bright and warm. He didn’t want to taint it by bringing up the past. Every other time Corvus had inquired about his scarring, he’d found a way to change the subject. Or distract Corvus with a kiss.

Of course, Corvus noticed him dodging the question, but he respected Soren’s need to reveal things in his own time. And he’d gladly be distracted by Soren’s mouth anytime.

The light filtering through the window made Soren feel… safe. Time felt like it was suspended, as if what happened now wouldn’t really count in the glaringly bright light of a winter’s day.

Which he knew was ridiculous. If this conversation was about to happen, it’s not like Corvus would somehow forget as soon as they officially woke up for the day.

But wrapped up in blankets, his boyfriend’s scarf, and with Corvus’s grounding presence next to him, Soren felt like maybe it was time.

Plus, Corvus was staring at his scars with that face he got when he was really committing things to memory. Usually he loved when Corvus looked at him with that face - it made him feel… wanted. Handsome. Precious. A thousand other feelings he didn’t have words for.

But this time, it just made him want to tell Corvus everything.

“Hey, I see you ogling my muscles,” Soren grinned, joking to try and psych himself up for what he wanted to talk about. “I’m just kidding. You can stare at them as much as you want.”

Soren followed up his statement with a dramatic flex of an arm and a wink, then a kiss to Corvus’s cheek. He could feel the heat from Corvus’s flushed face against his cool lips. 

“You know what ‘ogling’ means?” Corvus asked, raising an eyebrow once he’d managed to compose himself a bit.

“Of course I do,” he responded haughtily. “I read romance books.”

Corvus smiled softly, endlessly amused by his partner, which led Soren’s boisterous grin to turn into a genuine smile. Soren put a hand to Corvus’s right cheek and ran his thumb gently along his eyebrow scar. Corvus closed his eyes and nuzzled into the touch.

“Okay, but in all seriousness,” Soren started quietly. If he didn’t do this now, he feared he never would. “I can see the question in your eyes and I… I think I’m ready.”

Corvus nodded. He didn’t want to say anything and disturb the moment. They broke apart, and Corvus leaned back against the headboard, ready for Soren to continue when he was ready.

“So, you may or may not know that I was a pretty sickly child.”

Another nod in response. Soren and others around the castle had alluded to it previously, but he didn’t know much else.

“But what you don’t know is that… I wasn’t getting better. As a child, I couldn’t… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t play with Claudia without having a coughing fit or walk to the kitchen without wheezing. I was dying, Corvus.”

Soren heard his childhood mantra in his head. In through your nose, out through your mouth. He felt Corvus slip an arm around his shoulders and Soren leaned into the touch.

“But then, one day when I hadn’t been able to get out of bed for weeks… Poof. It was gone. I could breathe. I could run. I was like a new man - er, well, boy. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but that was the day these showed up,” he said, gesturing to his chest. “My being cold wasn’t as bad back then, when dark magic had only been used on me once.”

Soren heard Corvus’s intake of breath, fingers squeezing into Soren’s shoulder.

“Once?” Corvus asked, tentatively.

Soren nodded. “Yup. That was… that was the first time. But I didn’t realize what had saved me from my breathing sickness until the second time. Viren never told me how I got better, and I never thought to question it until I was grown and... and truly saw what he'd turned into.

“So, this next part you’ve definitely heard about. It was when I taunted Pyrrah in that town. When me and Clauds had you captured. While you were off being your gentlemanly self, saving the day and tracking the princes - or, well, king and prince, I guess - I was… taunting Pyrrah, yet again. We got into a bit of a fight and… well, let’s just say my armor couldn’t protect me from being thrown across a field and hitting my spine against a sharp rock.”

Corvus had indeed heard about it, but assumed the stories he’d heard about Soren’s injuries must have just been overly exaggerated. He was quickly learning that they were, in fact, not.

“I was paralyzed. Clauds tried everything she could, but nothing changed. I’d accepted it. That’s when I got the idea to reinvent myself as a poet, actually. But Claudia… she wouldn’t, couldn’t accept it. They kicked her out of the doctor’s office. I don’t know what she did while she was gone, but when she came back, she had this spell that made me start moving again.”

Soren unconsciously wiggled his fingers. Corvus took that as an invitation to grab his hand. When he felt how cold Soren’s hand was, he gave it a squeeze of encouragement and started rubbing the hand between his to help Soren warm up.

“That’s when her hair started going white,” Soren continued softly. “And that’s when the scars on my back showed up. I was cold to the touch from that day on. It took a little bit for me to put all the pieces together, but I eventually realized dark magic was inside me, and it had been that way for a while. I asked Viren as much when I was still on his side, and he confirmed it.”

Soren took a deep breath. He no longer felt like an icicle, and a weight was lifted from his shoulders. “So, yeah.” He met Corvus’s eyes. “Dark magic is the reason I’m alive today.”

…

Soren had ended up in Corvus’s arms as the story went on, and Corvus looked down at him, buried under blankets, in wonder. He’d joked the night before that Soren left him awestruck, but it was truer every day. The more Corvus learned about his partner and his past, the more he admired how strong he was to get up and start every day with a smile on his face.

No wonder Soren had such complex feelings surrounding magic as a whole. Dark magic had saved him and let him stay a member of the Crownguard, but it had also taken away his family and harmed so many.

Corvus couldn’t help but be selfishly grateful for it, since it meant Soren was around to lounge in bed with him like this. He couldn’t fathom a world without Soren’s vibrance in it.

“Soren, you never fail to astound me,” Corvus said, leaning in to kiss Soren’s no-longer-ice-cold nose.

“Aw, thanks babe. Back at you.” A moment of silence. “I think. What exactly does astound mean?”

“Amazing. Wondrous. Incredible.”

Soren’s cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink, and Corvus couldn’t help but give him a kiss. Soren shivered, and not because of the cold.

One kiss turned into multiple when Soren wrapped his arms around Corvus’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair, grasping at his back. Corvus tried to convey all of the love he felt for Soren, how glad he was that Soren was alive, into every touch of his hands, every brush of their lips.

“You know, I could think of some other ways you could help me stay warm…” Soren said once they broke apart, Corvus hovering over him. Soren followed up his statement with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

“Soren!” Corvus chided, shoving lightly at his shoulder. “We have work soon.”

 Soren shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

Corvus pressed a kiss to that same shoulder, snuggling into Soren as they laid back down to rest for a little while longer. “I didn’t say never. We have plenty more cold mornings in our future.”

“Yay!”

After that, they went quiet, enjoying each other's company. Corvus lay on top of Soren, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. That big, beautiful heart of his. It was strong and sure, even through the fabric of Soren’s pajamas. It was the most beautiful sound Corvus had ever heard.

Corvus waited so long to say anything, he thought Soren might have fallen back to sleep. 

“Darling?” he asked quietly, looking up at Soren’s face.

“Hmm?” came the groggy reply, eyes blearily blinking open.

“Thank you. For telling me. I know how difficult that was for you.”

“You make everything easier…” Soren said with a tender smile, sentence trailing off as his eyes closed once again. In moments, his breathing evened out.

Corvus brought the blankets up a little higher around them and closed his eyes.

...

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading!!

I tried to handle the topic of Soren being paralyzed as delicately as I could. I don't think he views it as a bad thing or that he was "saved" from it in the same way as his breathing sickness and I hope I portrayed that well.

Also, I personally imagine Soren's scarring to be kind of like Nora Valkyrie from RWBY after Volume 8!

My personal headcanon is that Corvus actually loves Soren’s little nicknames after they get together, but he just likes to keep them between them <3 and when Corvus is feeling especially affectionate he will also drop a pet name, which leaves Soren glowing for the rest of the day. And Corvus is almost always feeling especially affectionate when alone with Soren. Hence, multiple pet name drops this fic.

Also, Soren being a romance book reader is a headcanon originally thought up by the incredible jomipay on AO3/@halfofmysoulistrees on Tumblr. It's canon in my heart.

[kirby-derb]

im a big fan of Au's LIKE huge fan of the like college au's, coffee shop au's and all of that

and recently my brother dragged, n yeah I mean dragged, into the call of duty little world

So: College Au and you can fight me this is real I've seen it

John Price: now i put some thought into it but I strongly believe his major is either something like political science or history. He's probably one of the older ones on campus, (28) but he lives in his own apartment a good five minutes walk away. He's not the best student, but he sits in the second row in lecture halls and he IS the one someone would go to for notes because he somehow remembers everything?? His free time is either filled with taking his sister's dog (she lives with him) for a walk or he's volunteering at the local history museum as a tour guide/kids party guide. Ahem now just like everyone else in the world he needs shcoalship money and he found that he's relatively okay at debate, so he tried oug and by the end of the semester he was the captain. It works out.

Kyle Garrick: DONT GET ME WRONG, Kyle is a genuis. However I think journalism with maybe a minor in pre-law is his speed. He started a semester late so many people assumed he wasn't thr brightest, which was wrong, he's currently head of the school paper and has an internship with the cities main news outlet. He's the golden child, right up front, hand raised with a question whenever he was confused (and the whole class was too but he had the guts to actually ask) with his free time he is either working out, or is at the school coffee shop, if there are no seats he WILL sit on the floor, headphones on and furiously typing away- he's writing a memoir.

Simon Riley: Psychology. I'm SORRY but you cannot look me dead and in the eyes and say that poor baby that was traumatized wouldn't wanna know how the brain worked so he could fix himself. And that's why he chose it too, so he could fix himself and maybe like a friend or two. He's a solid B, rarely an A or rarely a C student. He sits in the back, sometimes he looks asleep but no? Now he and his roommate are both nocturnal otherwise he would have a small light clipped onto his text book and study there, instead he will go study in the lecture rooms till the security guard will come- his name is Jim, he and Simon are buds. For free time he likes walking down to the boxing gym that's not too far away, it's attached to some apartment complex. Now for his extracurricular, which he very hesitantly did- but he was cornered by some nerd in engineering so- ugh, well he's apart of the unofficial rugby team.

Johnny MacTavish: said nerd in engineering. He's technically double majoring in mechanical and chemical, how he's alive no one knows. He does spend about 99% of his time in the lab/workshop, or if someone's TV breaks down he's there is about two shakes. When he isn't studying, building, fixing, playing rugby with the psych dude who totally isn't his type he's asleep. Hate to say it but he doesn't have any free time, nd he perfers it that way. He does play rugby, and he's trying to make an official team- however till then he's also a prime member in the robotics club, his professions are trying to become president but that's just...so much time, time he doesn't have.

Um yeah? This is my first post so if you find anything wrong with it or if you see i did something wrong please please let me know!

[deezee112]

The worst ending 10 : A Delicate Descent

The worst ending 9 | The worst ending 11

Yandere!Jade Leech x GN!Reader

A/N : damn I'm starting to think of an ending where the main character dies. I think I should watch a movie to do the ending.

P.S. I'm almost done with the final draft of kalim.

Warning : This story contains themes of obsession , emotional manipulation , and accidental death.

Tags :

@iris-arcadia

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

English is not my first language.

The day you brought him home felt surreal, as though you were stepping into a bizarre dream. him as you decided to name him, was staring at you with those eerily sharp eyes. His expression never betrayed much—calm, collected, and somehow unsettlingly polite for a doll-child. You thought the name suited him. Something elegant yet grounded.

" Jade. " you said aloud, testing the weight of the name. " That’s what I’ll call you. "

The doll’s lips tilted up into a small smile.

You were a little shocked, but after all, this wasn’t an ordinary doll—he was meant to be human in every way that mattered. This would be your responsibility, as strange as it all felt.

" Well, Jade. " you said, setting you bag down and brushing past him. " Let’s set some ground rules, alright? First, no calling me ‘Mother.’ I’m too young for that nonsense. Just call me y/n. "

Jade tilted his head, looking amused but obedient.

Raising Jade wasn’t as difficult as your had feared, but there were moments when his quirks left you baffled. Most of all, it was his obsession with mushrooms.

One morning, you woke to the savory aroma of something cooking in the kitchen. Bleary-eyed, you shuffled in to find Jade at the stove, humming quietly as he sautéed mushrooms in a pan.

" You’re cooking? " you asked, voice thick with sleep.

Jade glanced over his shoulder, wearing an apron far too big for his slender frame. " Good morning, y/n. Breakfast is ready. I made mushroom omelets. "

You grimaced. " Mushrooms again? Jade, I told you yesterday I’m not a fan. "

He smiled that calm, unreadable smile of his. " You’ll like these. I promise. I seasoned them perfectly this time. "

Despite your reluctance, you allowed you self a bite, only to gag and spit it out dramatically. " Nope. Still mushrooms. "

Jade’s smile didn’t waver, but something in his eyes darkened. " You just haven’t acquired the taste yet. " he said smoothly. " You will, eventually. "

You laughed nervously, waving him off. " Sure, sure. Maybe next century. "

As time passed, you couldn’t deny that Jade was growing on you. He was intelligent, polite, and surprisingly thoughtful. He’d often brew you tea after long days at work, sit with you during meals, and even offer to help clean the apartment.

One evening, as you sprawled on the couch after a particularly grueling day, Jade approached with a small plate in hand.

" What’s this? " you asked, eyeing the plate warily.

" Just a snack. " he said, sitting beside you. " Mushroom crisps. They’re much less intense than sautéed ones. I thought you might like them. "

You sighed but took the plate, nibbling on one of the crisps. To you surprise, it wasn’t terrible. " Huh. Not bad. "

Jade’s smile widened, and for a moment, he looked genuinely pleased. " I told you I’d find a way. "

" Alright, don’t get cocky, chef. " you teased, ruffling his hair.

For all his endearing qualities, Jade intensity was difficult to manage. He had a habit of watching you too closely, always with that serene smile that felt just a little too sharp. And then there were the arguments.

One afternoon, after coming home late from work, you found Jade waiting for you by the door. His smile was as calm as ever, but there was an edge to his voice.

" You’re late. " he said, his tone deceptively light.

" Yeah, well, work ran over. " you replied, brushing past him.

" You didn’t answer my calls. " he continued, following you. " I was worried. "

" My phone died. " you explained, kicking off you shoes. " It happens. "

" You could have borrowed someone else’s phone. " Jade said, stepping closer. " Do you have any idea how anxious I was? What if something had happened to you? "

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. " Jade, I’m fine. You don’t need to hover over me like this. I’m an adult, remember? "

The tension simmered between them, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

The argument reached its peak one evening while they were walking home from the market. Jade had been unusually quiet, his expression unreadable.

" Something on your mind? " you asked, trying to break the silence.

He didn’t respond at first, but as they neared the apartment building, he finally spoke. " Why don’t you trust me? "

" What? "

" You keep brushing me off. " he said, his voice eerily calm. " You don’t take me seriously. You don’t let me take care of you the way I want to. Why? "

" Jade, what are you even talking about? " You asked, exasperated. " You’re overthinking this. "

" No. " he said, stepping in front of you, blocking you path. " You don’t understand how much you mean to me. You never do. "

" Okay, you’re being weird. " you said, trying to push past him.

He grabbed You wrist, his grip firm but not painful. " Why can’t you see that I only want what’s best for you? "

The argument escalated quickly. you pulled away, you frustration boiling over. " Jade, you’re acting like a child! Just—just stop! "

And then it happened.

In his desperation to make you stay, to make you listen, Jade reached out, his movements frantic. you stepped back instinctively, not realizing how close they were to the stairwell.

you foot slipped.

" y/n! "

Time seemed to slow as you tumbled down the stairs, you body crumpling at the bottom. Jade froze at the top, his eyes wide with horror.

For a moment, everything was silent. And then he was running down the stairs, kneeling beside you, shaking you gently.

" y/n... " he whispered, his voice trembling. " Wake up. Please wake up.. "

But you didn’t respond.

Tears streamed down his face as he cradled you lifeless body, his mind racing. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He just wanted you to understand, to stay with him.

" y/n.. " he choked out, pressing his forehead against you. " I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it… "

The reality of what he’d done sank in slowly, painfully. And yet, even in his grief, he couldn’t bring himself to let you go.

" You’ll forgive me, won’t you..? " he whispered, his voice breaking. " You always forgive me. "

He stayed there for hours, holding your, his mind spiraling into a dark, inescapable abyss.

Jade never moved on from that moment. The apartment remained untouched, frozen in time. Every day, he would sit by you favorite chair, talking to the empty air as though you were still there.

And every night, he would prepare a plate of mushroom crisps, setting it on the table for you.

" Try the mushrooms. " he would say softly, his voice echoing in the silence. " They’re so delicious. You’ll love them this time. I promise. "

[cutepresea]

So uh, Shirabe Meshi chapter 37, part 2

Immediately after the end of the first half, a group of people suddenly appear

They are very obviously up to no good, singing happy birthday and bothering people by getting in their faces saying stuff about "bathe in the light of deconstruction and it'll heal all sickness and end climate change" but Chris somehow comes to the weirdest conclusion that they got a flash mob for her birthday.

She turns to Miku, "Look, I don't feel right saying this to someone I owe my life to, but this is in really bad taste" and Miku says that she also doesn't have a clue what's going on

They all take out a bunch of summoning crystals and let loose a bunch of Alca-Noise

Chris: "This surprise took a turn for the disastrous!"

Hibiki: "We didn't know anything about this!"

Chris: "Why are you here?!"

So these people think they're creating some new world by breaking down the old one

"This world's bloated population will be culled by Alca-Noise! This filthy world shall be reborn on this day! Let's celebrate the birth of a new world! Happy birthday dear New World"

So yeah, these poor girls happened to be there the same day as some Alca-Noise death cult so now they gotta take care of it

As they're fighting the Alca-Noise, Maria eventually gets in contact with everyone and tells them how the group she was tracking down was one that would deceive wealthy people who were into the occult into sponsoring them. She had found evidence proving their connection (as she mentioned she was investigating in the first half) but she was too late to make an arrest

The cult keeps making their speeches and Chris is obviously not too happy with them

"Even without Noise, people will always be at conflict with each other...because there would be people like YOU! Today's the new world's birthday, you say? Small world, mine too! Take this! A heaping helping of missiles as a birthday present!"

And blows up the Alca-Noise

So the cult members get arrested and Chris makes it back to her apartment, disappointed that there wasn't a surprise after all but as she opens her door

"Happy birthday Chris-senpai!"

Kirika and Shirabe had been waiting the whole time

Hibiki and the others start patting themselves on the back for things going mostly as planned outside of that little incident

But Chris starts telling them that when nobody said anything she thought they forgot and starts crying, saying she's at least glad they didn't forget after all

Tsubasa, Hibiki, and Miku start apologizing saying they should've considered how it'd make her feel a bit more

"Um..."

Kirika and Shirabe walk up with the cake saying they worked hard to make it for her hoping it'd make her happy. Chris wipes her tears and takes a bite of the cake, which reminds her of the cakes she had as a child

"It's sweet...! But so good"

Afterward, absolutely everyone starts showing up

So of course Chris gets overwhelmed by everyone coming all at once (though Hibiki claims she's actually happy)

[bewilderedbunny]

.

[123pixieaod]

Inspired by this godly post which unlocked a part of my brain I didn't know existed, and solidly gave me complete and utterly brainrot until I wrote something

A thousand thanks to Lily for her wonderful help :))

"Does Kelly not mind you spending all your time with me?" Daniel asks, because she's Daniel and once she's thought something she can't keep her fucking mouth shut, even if she knows it's trouble.

Max looks up, pausing his set of weights, and blinks at her. Daniel feels her cheeks warm. One day, that mouth of yours will run you straight into trouble, young lady, her mum used to tell her, voice firm. Good girls know when to keep quiet. Daniel used to just laugh at the warning. Her laugh is loud and the opposite of quiet, but she used to know that everyone always loved her laugh.

"No," Max says after a beat and then continues lifting. Daniel hates the way her gaze tracks over him, lingering on the movement of his muscles, the ease with which he lifts the weight. Tawny hair brushed out of his eyes, cheeks dusted warm from the exertion. "Of course not."

"Why of course not?" Daniel asks. She wants to sew her mouth shut. This time, Max didn't look over as he answers.

"Kelly's very secure, she's not like other girls. And besides, she knows you."

It's strange. When Daniel was seven and Michelle eleven, they'd gone rock pool fishing. Michelle had been crouched over a shallow pool of water, her finger delicately brushing the tentacles of the anemone. Daniel had been scaling the rocks, wanting steeper, taller, more.

She'd found the shark first, nestled high at between the rocks, and for a beat she hadn't known what she was looking at. Just details, but nothing collective. Rotting smell. Shrivelled holes where eyes should be. Scales of silver lightning. Rubbery fish picked clean. The flash of bone, pearl white.

Then she realised what she was staring at, and screamed. Her father held her while her mother scolded her. I told you not to go climbing! It's too dangerous, Daniel. Why can't you just be good like your sister and stay by the shallow pools?

And then, later, ice cream. Her dad, beside her, explaining the horror away.

It's just nature, Dani. The waves wash them up, and they get stuck there. They can't get back to the sea, and then the sun dries them out.

They drown on air, Michelle helpfully pointed out, her feet kicking happily as she licked her 99. Daniel just just nodded, ice cream untouched. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the sunken holes, the rotting flesh.

She hasn't thought about that moment for years, but suddenly it washes back over her. She feels simultaneously both. The child, staring at the carcass, frozen in shock. The shark, burning up in the sun, chocking on air.

"What does that mean?" She asks, and somehow her voice is normal, is fine. She's fine. She's not a girl or a shark. She's stupid and a fool and a gawky, ugly idiot, but she's fine.

Max manages to shrug, even with the 50kg weights. "You know. Just that Kelly knows you. She knows what you're like. And she knows me too, of course."

Daniel swallows. She nods. She hates everything about herself.

"That's sexist," she forces herself to say lightly because if the silence stretches anymore, Max might notice and set his weights down and look at her, and Daniel can't bear that. She doesn't want his eyes on her, taking in every blemish and imperfection. The boyish, ratty clothes she works out in and her curls gone frizzy with sweat and her inked skin, so different to Max and Kelly's pale, perfect complexions.

"What's sexist?"

"Saying she's not like other girls," Daniel tells him, setting down the weights she been doing. Instead, she goes to grab the skipping rope, just for something to do.

Max laughs. Daniel's glad she's turned away. Her cheeks are burning again.

"It's the truth. You, of course, Daniel, are not like other girls either." He says it lightly and ends with a chuckle, as if it's all just a joke. Daniel drags a sweaty hand over her cheeks. Burning, burning, burning.

Apparently, in Max's mind, she and Kelly are the same; both not like other girls. Kelly, with her faultless makeup and wonderful daughter and classy dresses and perfect feminity. One end of the scale. Daniel, the other. Barely even considered "a girl." Always one of the boys, only woman in f1 for a reason.

"Thanks," Daniel says. She wants to make it sound humorous, like she's in on the joke too. Instead, it's too cold; muttered as if she actually gave two shits about the conversation anyway. She has an F1 season to prepare for, she's too busy to care about stupid shit like this.

There's a beat of silence as Daniel stretches out the rope, feeling the plastic flex and give. Then, Max exhaling, the gentle bump of his weights against the floor, the workout bench shifting as his centre of gravity changes. Daniel keeps her back to him, ignoring it all.

"I did not mean it as insult," Max finally says, stubborn. Daniel forces a laugh, turning to give him a smile, all teeth.

"Of course not Maxy. I get that." Voice light and blithe. One of the boys.

She thinks he'll drop it, but instead, his frown only grows. Pinched brows, thin lips, cheeks growing blotchy. Blue eyes regard her, intense and unyielding. She burns from the inside out.

"I've upset you," he says, in that blunt, genuine way only he can do. Daniel barks out another laugh.

"Don't be stupid. You're not important enough to ever be able to get under my skin." She gives him another smile with only teeth. She feels insane. Her mother tells her good girls stay quiet.

"I'm sorry," he tries again, growing frustrated now, "I did not mean -"

"I told you, you didn't upset me," she drops the skipping rope without actually using it. "Anyway, I'm bored. Wanna get lunch now? Or are you still trying to pump those muscle with more testosterone?"

Max gives her one last, searching look before standing. They're almost the same height. She wants to shrink to nothing.

"That is not how testosterone works, Daniel," he says with the air of an overworked teacher. He looks at her with a smile, uncertain but genuine. She laughs, allowing him to move the conversation on.

She walks out of the gym first but holds the door for him. He grins, relieved. His fingers skim hers as he takes it and she lets go. A chill runs through her. Cold like scales, cold like ice cream untouched.

Follow up here!

[sysig]

:D ♪

[cinnabeat]

jokes aside i do think this is a fascinating planet

[thedogofchristmaspast]

looking into the dialtown Deep Lore™ with how time works and everything is so validating...because a lot of it is Exactly what my headcanons and theories about how the timeline works in dsaf were. like i thought i was just reading too much into it but Then it's actually like that in dialtown? party!!! hooray!! i love that sort of stuff...i'm glad it is coming to fruition in DT hehehe

[celestialmancer]

⛈️ //

[adreamfromnevermore]

AU Where the Justice League forms as usual except for one slight difference where Bruce just so happens to have been the one superheroing for the longest. (Excluding Diana, who got up to it in World War 1 and then mostly didn't while she learned about Man's World)

Bruce helps form the Justice League, ignoring all of the comments as they come to the sudden realization that Gotham's baby cryptid story is actually a man in a very intimidating armored suit who can and will break your arm if you cause problems for him. They are unaware that this is not the first team he's led, and actually he's used to teams full of mostly teenagers who also happen to be his children. This should be easier, this team is primarily adults.

He realizes rapidly that he doesn't understand these people.

His kids take bonding activities to mean learning a dozen different ways to break someones leg. That doesn't fly with these people. And that is most of Bruce's ideas, hell when he was a kid Alfred took every opportunity to get him out of his room and mostly that was with the agreement that Alfred would teach him how to defend himself. He's come by it honestly.

This team is not easier. They have more drama than when his house was actually full of kids. It's insane. He doesn't know what to do with it, usually he just sent the kids to their rooms or grounded them from patrol. That doesn't work here.

He comes to a strange crossroads. That falls apart when he forgets who he's working with and snaps at Hal with a full room of heroes that the next person to throw a punch or an insult without a reason too will be sparring with him.

A long standing rule in the batcave that worked two fold to prevent infighting between the kids and too ensure that they were well and truly trained.

It works wonders. No one says a word out of line for the rest of the debrief. Bruce becomes the unofficial mediator of the league over Clark because anytime he walked in on a fight it suddenly became 10 times more civil out of sheer terror of what he'd do to them in a sparring match.

Eventually they actually meet his kids. Well, one kid.

Half way through a mission (one of the rare ones in Gotham) the Bat comes to a complete stop at the edge of an alley. Every single league member on the team comes to a stop behind him. Slowly from the shadows of the alley a man in a red helmet stalks out to greet them.

"You don't call, you don't write"

"Red Hood."

"Don't Red Hood me! We've been worried sick!"

"I was at the cave last night."

"You didn't answer my texts B. You always answer my texts."

Somehow it ends with big and scary following them through the rest of the mission with a running commentary of how much Bats has let him down in his failure to respond in a timely manner to a text send less than an hour before he ran into them in the alley. It only ends when Red Robin shows up.

And even then it only ends because Hood can't keep himself from throwing a punch and Bruce has to snap at him that if he throws another one they're sparring when they get home.

And by god is Jason giving up the chance to punch his brothers.

[muntitled]

Indebted

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: He wouldn't call it jealousy... He just wasn't very fond of sharing his toys.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Jealousy Language, Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Caning, Forced Orgasm, Controlled Orgasm, Dumbification, Impact Play, Blood Play, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Rough Sex, Blood Play, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume

4k words

"Seriously, if it weren't for your help, I'd probably fail this module-" you meet him at the door, your Salesman, who's come to play one of his games. He arrives just as you're ushering someone else out.

"It's honestly my pleasure," you say, "You've made me feel useful."

As you speak, you open your front door to reveal your Salesman standing on the opposite end of the threshold.

You hadn't been smiling, not until you saw him standing there in a crisp, well-fitted navy blue suit. He's not looking at you. Not immediately. His eyes are trained on the boy you're standing beside. The one who's slipping on his sneakers, still murmuring about how incredibly grateful he is for your tutoring.

'It's nothing,' you replied modestly, even though it was most definitely not nothing to dedicate your entire Wednesday afternoon to tutoring. The boy is a first year and budding with the need to get better in psychology. His essay would have been flawless, had it not been for the grammatical and spelling errors that plagued the page. You'd both sat for the majority of this Wednesday afternoon hacking through the issues and improving on his spelling. It was endearing. To be in university and still need a spelling tutor.

"Thanks so much for the help." The boy tries to maneuver his lanky frame past your Salesman who takes up the majority of the space by your little doorway.

"See you next week." He shoots you a small smile before giving an uneasy glance to your Salesman.

"Hello." Says the Salesman, so painfully formal it causes a wave of unease to swell. He peers down at the boy like a tiny little thing.

"H-Hey." Your student replies before thanking you once more.

When he leaves and it's just you and the man you're paid to please every Wednesday evening, an uneasy sort of silence settles between you both.

You're smiling up at him.

And he's smiling down at you but it's different somehow. Tighter. Not a genuine smile at all.

Although admittedly, none of his smiles were genuine. His entire face was a carefully orchestrated scam, to get any suspecting victim to trust him.

And yet somehow, this smile feels more phoney.

Like a tempest is brewing beneath.

Before you're able to dissect it further, he's already stepping closer, letting his large, elongated shadow fall on you. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"The last time you came to my house, you killed someone." You lean against the door, your hip leaning against the wood as you fold your arms over your chest. His eyes zero in on the movement and a rare occasion occurs: You feel powerful. That's the last thing you've ever been made to feel in his presence.

"It took a week to get the smell of blood and death out of my room." You continue.

He lifts his hands in front of you, showing the briefcase that hangs from his heavy fingers and the blisters coating his palms. Like a magician convincing you his hands were clean, "I come in peace." That deep and gravelly vibrato veneering his voice causes a tantalizing hum to run all the way down your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You step aside, staring blankly ahead of you as he steps into your house, bombarding everything with his presence.

From his brisk walk alone, trudging into your apartment like he owns the palace (which he regrettably does) you almost immediately realize that something is wrong. You are not under the impression that you've done anything to make him angry but unease still rolls in your stomach like a tempest that's brewing. When you make it into your adjoining living that bleeds into the kitchen, you find him standing in the kitchen. He lowers his briefcase onto the counter before resting both his heavy hands there.

You move to the other side of the counter, leaning down- giving him a more than perfect view of the cleavage spilling from your dress. You hope it might appease him as you try to wrack your mind for possibile slip-ups that would've caused this terrible silence.

This little-to-no-conversation between you both makes your dynamic feel like the transaction that it actually is: a girl, who needs her university fees paid and a sadist who wants his needs met. Feelings weren't in the equation and yet, your heart stops when he asks,

"How was school?"

"School was school." You reply, sounding pathetically excited to finally hear his voice since the moment he entered your little home.

"Although," you peer down at your jittery fingers on the counter. Your nerves are shot to hell as you admit, "I don't know how proactive I'm going to be tonight-”

He was a ruthless dominant, never failing to leave you absolutely spent by the end of the night. It left you with great discomfort to not be able to perform to the greatest of your abilities during these sessions. “I'm so tired... I've got this psychology quiz and-"

"Who was that?" His questions cut through yours like the tip of a hot knife.

“Who was who?” You ask.

He only smiles before turning his back to you, frantically pulling open cupboards as he says, “Rice. Where's the rice? Do you have rice?”

“The cupboard in the bottom row- Who are you referring to?”

He pulls out your tall container of rice and you watch him round the counter with it in his hands. “This place is so fucking small.” He says, popping the lid of the container, “Reminds me of my childhood home.” He stands right in the only open space in your apartment and all you do is watch as he tips the container over, watching millions of rice grains scatter to the bare floor.

“THAT'S MY FOOD, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-”

His voice is like molten lava when he looks down at you and points toward the ground. “Kneel.”

You feel nothing but cold air slide across your exposed arms when he trudges back to your little kitchen. Your mind reels and your stomach sinks and sinks and sinks- burning a hole through the rest of your organs.

“Am I being punished for something?”

“Be a good girl and kneel on the rice.” He says and because you were nothing but a slave to the dominance in his voice, you slowly lower yourself to the ground. From behind the kitchen counter he watches your face contort into unmistakable pain as the rice grains dig into your knees. He takes a while but soon you're fully kneeling on the floor. He rounds the counter once again until he's standing before you.

“That… child that was just here,” his voice is eerily calm as he caresses your cheek, “Who was that?”

Had you been in any other situation, under vastly different circumstances, you might have looked for the urge to laugh. His blatant jealousy of some university first-year was nothing if not laughable.

“He's just a friend from class- ah.” It almost becomes unbearable but for the sake of your self preservation, you know not to get up.

He continues to caress you, loosening his tie as he asks. “Which class?”

“P-Pardon?”

“You mean to tell me you only go to one class?” He snaps and you fight off tears, “What the fuck am I paying for?”

“You're paying for me to get my psychology degree.” You reply with feeble words, trying to put away the thought of all the little stabbings plaguing your knees.

“And does that entail sleeping with your classmates?”

“What?!” You screech as he walks away. You're suddenly left without nothing to hold onto and you sway forward, your palms landing on more rice.

“Y-You know I don't do that.” You cry, feeling the sting more from the accusation than the pain of all this bloody rice, “Y-You know I don't sleep around- You know I don't talk to anyone-”

You hear his briefcase click open. From your vantage point on the lowly rice-filled floor, you cannot see what he's taking out. It fills you with more dread than you've ever experienced before. Which was utterly ridiculous.

With him, dread is a thing you ought to be accustomed to. Dread is where you live now. You ought to get comfortable with it.

“Such a shame.” He tsks as he finally rounds the corner to reveal whatever it is he's gone to go fetch. His dress shoes clack against your recently varnished floor and you breathe heavily. The pain had subsided- or perhaps you've gotten used to it- which scares you more than anything. He's messing with your pain threshold. Causing you to build a tolerance for certain things and that terrifies you.

Hidden under all that terror was unmistakable lust.

God help you.

“I thought we were making progress, you and I.” you see the cane first. Made of rattan, it hangs from his strong hand corded with tense veins. A gleaming watch is secured around his wrist and you're already shaking your head as you slowly look up at him. Now the tears are right by the doorway. No matter how much pain he forces you to get accustomed to you could never survive this. Your body still has limits.

“He just asked me to help him with his spelling- Please!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Spelling, you say?” he pats down on your head, eliciting a dizzying wave of subordination as he says, “I think you've just given us our game for tonight, Doll.” He bends down, knees bending until he's somewhat closer to your height. He's still far too big for you. Far too much. You try to crawl backwards, you try to crawl away but he grabs you by your face. You're quite literally being expertly manhandled as he turns you around until you're on your knees in the opposite direction.

“Please…” You're begging but you don't know what for. Once his games were set in motion, nothing could stop him.

Your movements still when you fill him lower his large hand onto your backside. It's so big and warm and you momentarily forget about the rice digging into your skin. He slowly lifts up the skirt of your dress, revealing your underwear beneath.

“Our little Spelling Bee,” he lowers your panties down your thighs, causing a shiver to wrack through your entire body. It's pointless to hide how affected you are by every little thing he does.

“For every word you spell right,” he lifts your leg for you, giving you momentary reprieve from the pain as he manoeuvres you out of the underwear, “You get to cum.”

You'd never felt more degraded: being forced onto doggy style onto a million grains of rice while this man lets his fingers graze over your exposed cunt. He parts your folds and a wave of embarrassment rolls over your face. It's all so normal to him though, just sticking his fingers inside your cunt. He does it with the professionalism of gynecology and all you're able to do is stare blankly ahead while he prods at you.

“We can't make things too easy, though, so you're gonna keep this little thing warm for me while we play,”

You're craning your neck back, trying to get a look. “What thi-”

You release one hoarse gasp when he inserts something round and bulbous and vibrating, straight into your cunt.

“Th-This isn't a game. It's a punishment.” You say through gritted teeth, trying to fight off a moan as the vibrator hums inside you, “I've only ever had sex with one person-”

You. That voice pipes up in the back of your head, feeble as you felt. You think back on the time you gave him your virginity. It had been a bloody affair.

The second his cock ruptured your hymen and the blood began to coat your thighs, it only made him ravage you more. You'd gone to bed crying that night, your tears soaking into your pillows. You were unable to get up and head to classes the next day. All that pain and yet you also felt so incredibly fulfilled. The pain was a godsend.

But this pain? It's angry.

He's angry and he's punishing you for it.

Silence follows your pleas.

“Are you done?” He asks and your shoulders slump as the tears begin to fall. The urge to grind down onto the vibrator coupled with the rice stabbing your knees puts you in an odd predicament. The inner workings of your body is being made a fool of and he's the root cause.

“I'm afraid you've gotten too comfortable with me-”

“Comfortable?” You scoff, whipping your head back to glare at the man watching you with calm eyes and raised eyebrows. “I could never feel comfortable around you.”

“And you've forgotten your place.” He smiles before standing to his full height, “Letting little boys over to your place-”

“We were studying-”

“I've gone soft on you as of late.” He lets his other hand drag across the length of the hard cane. “Shame on me. It's clearly deluded you into forgetting about our arrangement.”

He steps around you until he's once again standing in front of you. “You've forgotten your place as a thing.”

He grabs your face. “My thing.”

You do a very wrong thing then.

You moan.

It's soft and insecure and so dreadful but you moan

His eyes search yours. You can see the pleasure diluting them. Causing them to go as round as saucers.

He wants to lean into that sound you just made, but he's still furious with you and that sends you into a spiral.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay-”

“So you admit you're a slut?” He asks, inches the buttons of his blaze as he readies his assault. “You whore yourself out to that little boyfriend of yours.”

"Boyfriend?” It's laughable. “Me?”

“Are you condescending me?” He asks darkly and you screech in frustration.

“You know I don't talk to anyone- Why are you so angry with me!?”

“You haven't seen angry, Little girl.” His face is calm. Dangerously so. “You haven't fucking seen angry.”

A shiver wracks through your body as you look up at his cold dead eyes.

“Fine.”

Whatever it takes.

“I am a slut-” you really weren't and the words barely register as truth but you're scrambling as he steps away from you. His hands folded in front of him and he appears oh so in control as he says, “Your first word is Gorgeous.”

You breathe out as you try to refocus enough to successfully spell the word.

“G-Oh.. fuck.” Your cunt spasms around the device and your eyes roll back. You're rocking backwards and forwards, frantically searching for friction that just isn't there. He loves the show you put on for him, writhing on the floor like a puppy in heat. He barely contains his glee as he raises his hand and says, “Wrong.”

“W-What!?” you blink, trying to shake away your pleasure-filled daze, “N-no that wasn't my final-”

“G-o-r-g-e-ou-s,” he says smugly as he moves until he's behind you. Your body tenses and the world shatters when he darkly repeats, “Wrong.”

The cane cracks through the air before it ever lands on your backside. The word ‘sting’ doesn't begin to cover the utter agony that blossoms across your asscheeks. All you know for all those seconds is white hot pain. Everything is at attention, and your body vitaly tries to urge you to take care of the inflicted wound but you can't.

“Sane.” He's breathing heavily as he walks over to stand in front of you. He's getting riled up, a strand of black hair falls in front of his almond eyes. His shoulders rise and fall and rise and fall. Seeing you get caned once does unspeakable things to his resolve. “Your next word is sane.”

Too easy.

"W-Which one?" You blink through the pain, trying to will the tears away. The second you slipped into self pity, it'd be over for you. "S-Sane is a homophone.” You say thickly. The pain. The pain. The pain. “There's Sane,” you glare up at him through wet lashes, “Which you very much aren't-" that amuses him greatly. You're regrettably far too happy to hear the dark chuckle. “Then there's Seine, like the fishing variety-”

He places his hand on your head. “Clever girl. I thought you didn't have a dad.”

“I don't,” you hiccup, “I just like fish. Men aren't the only fishers in the fucking world.”

“Smart mouth.” He pulls away again until he's standing at his full posture. “You use it like that with the boy from Psyche?”

Your shoulders slump and you don't care about the desperation in your voice as you reaffirm, “I'm telling you I haven't done anything-”

“Seine as in the fishing practice. Spell it.”

“S-E-I-N-E” your eyes are squeezed shut as you take a strike from a whip that never comes. Your eyes that had once been squeezed shut, slowly flit open and you're amazed to see his grinning face right in front of you. Every wrinkle running like tributaries around his eyes. The smile lines. He's so handsome it's devastating.

“Correct.” He says. “You're allowed to cum. Congratulations.” Just those few words have your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you begin to rock back and forth. You lean into the pleasure like a warm and fluffy blanket during aftercare. It's a godsend and it has you moaning and whining into the air.

“Let me give you a hand,” he says, before stopping to deliver that signature, “My little winner.” He brings you in close, your hands cling onto his forearm while the other reaches behind you. He delivers a kiss to your forehead as his fingers find your puffy clit.

“I'm gonna-”

“Cum for me my Clever girl. Cum for me before I change my mind,” There is nothing but him. He consumes you as you fervently hump against his hand on all fours like the animal he reduced you to. Your hips move on their own accord and in his eyes, you can see his own pleasure mounting. Its in the gravel in his voice when he clears his throat and says, “Thank me for letting you cum.” your orgasm crashes down on you and it's ferocious. It's vicious. It's guttural. The rice underneath you still serves as a reminder of your punishment and that somehow has you coming harder.

“Thank you for letting me cum Sir,”

his eyes flutter shut and his chest expands as he basks in your servitude. He breathes it in, letting it settle in his bones, making him feel as important as he needs to.

“N-No more, please,” you whisper once the orgasm passes. He doesn't switch off the vibrator and soon the pleasure bleeds into a painful discomfort. the aftershocks rattle through your body as you drift into overstimulation, “Please-Done-” you became horribly useless with your words when he had you like this, and he watches you so intently as if not only turned on by your torture but so completely intrugued by it. You intrigued him.

“Stop-” You begin but he chuckles as he moves away from you. He straightens his suit and readies the cane, “Why? You’re not even bleeding yet.” He says, “Suck it up.”

“Oh my god, I need to come again,” it rolls through you quite literally out of nowhere and you gasp as you try to keep it at bay. Cumming without having won a round was a breach in the rules of the game and you didn't wanna do that.

“Well then, I guess you better spell the next word for me.” he says with a smile.

You swallow thickly. Your previous win elicits a tiny sliver of confidence and spelling is something you excel in so you steel your nerves. You breath in deeply and stare blankly ahead.

“Honorificabilitudinitatibus.”

You immediately look up at him.

“Latin words arent-” another aftershock rams through you. You're so close to cumming completely hands-free. “L-Latin words aren't allowed.”

Nothing but a dark chuckle escaped him at your expense. “I had no idea you were making the rules.” He says sarcastically. “Had no idea the cane's in your hand.” That draws your gaze to the cane, leaning in his palm.

Point made.

He could throw in whatever wild-card word he wanted because he held the cane.

“H-o-n-o-r-” you make the mistake of looking up at him then. He's gazing down at you with his head tilted slightly to the right. His cane behind his back as he leans down slightly.

“No cumming,” he tsks, shaking his head. “Disqualified.”

“B-But I didn't-” even as you say those words, you feel it. The lightning zipping through you like a phantom. A ditzy sort of smile flashes across your face as you succumb to the pleasure being forced out of you. “F-Fuck-” its so painful and so fucking good you're seeing stars. He runs a hand through his messy hair and the cane comes down on your backside. This time it draws blood.

“I'm a rusty old man, glad to see I've still got a firm grip,”

“P-Please-” You're still caught in the world of unicorns and rainbows. Your orgasm is center stage, in spite of all the pain. You didn't even know your body could cum for this long. You didn't think it was possible but here you are, riding wave after wave of pleasure induced by a vibrator in your cunt while he canes you almost mindlessly.

He transcended every realm of physical possibilities.

He's breathing heavily now as the cane falls to the floor. The end is bloody. You stare down at the floor while he moves behind you.

“Don't forget, this is a transaction,” Behind you he kneels behind you, his fingers graze your backside, “This is about you avoiding student debt for the rest of your miserable life. A life you'll probably spend married to some depressed drunk who beats you and doesn't even let you cum.” A hand pulls you back by your hair until you're seated on your haunches. Skin had broken.

Your blood drips down your backside like a marble statue in the rain. There were marks. Scars.

“You're indebted to me.” He says behind you. “Say it.”

“I'm indebted to you.”

“Thank me for hitting you, Doll.” His hands drift over your body. The softest touch after these moments of brutality.

Th-" You struggle to catch your breath as he digs his fingers in your cunt, finally freeing you of the vibrator that rattles to the floor, “Thank you… for hitting me.”

He hums into your hair, smelling you, feeling you. “You're welcome, my little winner,”

You hear the sound of his zipper, and frantic movements behind you. You're utterly spent. You'd let him do anything he wanted. Anything at all.

“You look so pretty, Baby. Look at you,” his fingers swipes down the arch of your back. He brings his hand around to show you the crimson dropping from his index. Almost automatically as if the two of you were in communication far beyond that of human understanding, he brings your finger forward the same time you dip your head lower and roll your tongue out. Until the taste of your own blood drawn from all his sadistic torture is wiped along your tongue.

He groans. “I wanna jerk off with your blood.” He admits, “Fuck-”

You gasp, beginning to rock on haunches as if you could still feel that vibrator inside you, “Please- don't say stuff like that-”

This was bad enough.

You were bad enough.

He's already corrupted you to a point where you didn't even recognize yourself.

Where is the quiet, shy girl you had been? She's drowning under all the blood he'd spilled to make himself cum. She's buried under all the pain, all the turmoil and all the damn torture.

You don't miss her

"Pl-lease fuck me, I need it." Your voice is hoarse and you realize you're making demands but still you peer at him over your shoulders. Your tired eyes plead with him.

“I never ever ask you for anything. I've let you control everything.”

While you speak, your voice deep and hoarse, his hand is already moving over his erection. He bends you forward, until you're in doggy style again. Fabric rustles. Your limbs are trembling.

“For once, just grant me th-” the words are barely out your mouth before he's shoving his cock all the way inside you.

“O-Oh God!” Your eyes squeeze shut as he fucks you on the floor like a rabid animal. You try to crane your head back, to watch him ravage you.

His hair is a mess, his tie completely undone. He's everything he tries to hide from the rest of the world. Nothing but an untamed beast.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight-” he says, resting his hands on bloody ass. He guides your movements, pulling you roughly down on his cock until you're screaming into the open air. You're both like animals. You've both regressed to the very basis of your instincts.

“I need to see your blood on my cock,” He's already pulling out of you. The sound reverberates with finality all around the apartment and you cry. It's all you're able to do as you crane your head back to watch him stroke his cock with a bloodied fist.

“Are you ready to cum for me again, baby?”

Your lips are quivering as you rock backwards urging his cock in, “L-Like you won't believe,”

“Then cum for me, Princess.” He says, sliding his cock back inside your overstimulated cunt. Your orgasm is instant and swift and it rocks through you, tightening your cunt around his cock like a vice. His movements grow more frantic as he fucks you through it, keeping a firm grip on your ass.

Your mouth falls open when you realize he's fucking his own cum and your blood back into you and its all too much. He throws his head back when he cums, letting his hips stutter against your ass and the world spins.

“You're s-such a fucking slut,” he laughs manically. You've quite literally given yourself to a sadistic monster and the post nut clarity is vicious.

“I want to take you out,” he says, way softer than he had been a minute ago.

Your body tenses. “Out? Where-”

“Dinner.” He says. “You deserve it… my little winner.”

If you knew anything about anything, you knew it wouldn't just be any ordinary dinner.

But who were you to refuse?

[cdk13]

for real though i don't see my friends enough and it makes me sad :(