#snuff out the light {{ ic. }}

[boombambaby]

CHECK THIS OUT!

So now the sun is to blame for Yzma being scary beyond all reason? And I thought she was nuts before.

Cuckoo.

I do have to admit that's probably the best Yzma has looked in . . . a millennia, probably. She might be on to something.

. . . Pretty catchy song, too. Not catchier than MINE of course.

But! Not bad.

[worldcfdrknss]

" Hello, deja el show

Súbete la minifalda hasta la espalda

Súbetela deja el show, más alta

Que ahora vamos a bailar por to'a la jalda ."

[rosemaryhoney27]

Gotham's Sunshine child part 5

“The Day the Sun Went Dark”

It started with the eclipse.

A rare, total one, the kind that turned Gotham’s already dim skies into something unnatural. Shadows sharpened. Streetlights flickered. A hush settled over the city like it was holding its breath.

And Joker— Well, Joker looked at the sky and saw an opportunity.

Bruce was already on edge.

So were the others. Tim had pulled up emergency protocols. Oracle flagged Joker chatter on the darknet—gibberish mixed with phrases like “paint the moon black” and “snuff out the spark.”

Jason said what they were all thinking:

“…He’s going after Danny.”

Joker had learned just enough to be dangerous. Rumors of a boy the city adored. A kid who glowed with goodness and had every crime ring too afraid or too grateful to touch. A child who wasn’t just protected by Gotham’s underworld—but by its shadows.

So naturally, Joker decided to make it a joke.

A sick one.

He waited until the eclipse was total. Until Danny was walking back from a Narrows clinic, having just dropped off a box of donated socks. No backup. No witnesses.

Just him.

And the dark.

The Bat-Family wasn’t fast enough.

Not this time.

They were minutes late.

Danny was gone.

When he woke up, the world smelled like copper and chemicals. The floor beneath him was cold. Chains rattled. Lightbulbs buzzed.

“Wakey wakey, Little Light,” Joker sing-songed from the edge of a makeshift operating table, fingers twitching with barely restrained glee. “Do you know who you are?”

Danny looked up, groggy and blinking.

Then still.

Then—

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Joker leaned in. “Tell me, then. Because everyone else seems to think you’re special. Sunshine Child, right? Gotham’s golden boy? Well, guess what—sunshine doesn’t exist without shadows.”

Danny didn’t flinch.

Didn’t panic.

Didn’t scream.

He just sat there.

Silent.

Still.

And then— something shifted.

It was slow.

The air dropped ten degrees. The buzzing lightbulbs crackled. Shadows grew longer, deeper—like they were watching. Waiting.

And Danny’s shoulders slumped.

When he finally looked up at Joker, the glow in his eyes was not sunlight.

It was ice.

“You made a mistake,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper.

Joker laughed. “Ooooh, scary. Did I break the sun?”

Danny’s next words were cold enough to silence the room:

“No. You eclipsed it.”

Outside, in the city, it started to snow.

In August.

Frost crawled up windows. Electrical grids shorted. Spectral energy readings spiked so hard that Constantine choked on his tea three cities over and muttered, “Oh, bollocks.”

The Bat-Family was mid-search when Barbara gasped.

“Guys,” she said through the comms. “He’s going ghost.”

Inside the warehouse, Danny’s chains shattered like glass.

The boy who had smiled at muggers, shared soup with thieves, and taught math to gang kids—

Floated.

His eyes glowed with eldritch green light.

The temperature dropped with every word.

“You hurt Gotham’s people. You used my name. You tried to twist it.”

Joker backed away. For the first time in years—he was confused. Not afraid. Confused.

“Wh—what are you?”

Danny didn’t grin.

Didn’t monologue.

He just unleashed.

The explosion of spectral energy tore through the building. Screams filled the air—not just Joker’s, but the echoes of every soul he’d ever scarred.

By the time the Bat-Fam arrived, the warehouse looked haunted.

Frozen graffiti on the walls.

Chains hanging midair.

Joker? Curled in a fetal position, babbling nonsense, his smile gone.

And Danny?

He stood in the center of it all.

Floating. Glowing. Crying.

“…I didn’t want to,” he whispered.

Bruce caught him as he collapsed.

It took three days for Danny to wake up again.

He expected panic. Anger. Rejection.

Instead, he opened his eyes to find Jason sitting at his bedside, polishing a crowbar and humming.

“Yo.”

Danny blinked. “…Am I in trouble?”

Jason scoffed. “Kid, you scared Joker into therapy. I think we owe you a medal.”

Later, Bruce came in. Quiet. Calm.

“Danny,” he said, “you didn’t lose control. You protected yourself. And this city.”

Danny’s voice was barely a murmur. “But the eclipse—what I felt—I didn’t even know I could do that.”

Bruce rested a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not just our Sunshine,” he said. “You’re our shield.”

Gotham whispered, after that day.

That the boy who once smiled through everything had a storm inside him.

But they didn’t fear it.

They respected it.

Because when the sun went dark—

Danny Fenton shone brighter.

[pineconepie]

yandere english prof?

Sorry this took so long, its been sitting in my drafts forever LOL. Here you go! I actually really like this one haha.

TW: Violence, blood (not detailed), injuries, bullying, light forced infantilization, parental yandere, manipulative yandere, implied extortion

Everyone hated your English professor, Ellis, but you never understood the hate he received. Practically day one, everyone was complaining about how mean he could be or how unfair or harsh his grading was.

At first, you believed them, not really knowing the professor well enough to come to his defense. He seemed to have a no-nonsense attitude with you just as much as everyone else.

It wasn't really until one day, when some guys of a nasty fraternity came in and began harassing you.

You had always ignored it, but it became more impossible to ignore when one of them tripped you on your way into the class.

"Jerk," you grumble under your breath, watching him saunter off with a laugh. You feel blood dripping down your nose.

You grab your phone to see if it looks bad, and sure enough, it does. If the pain in your face weren't indicating you landed straight on it, then the blood trailing down your nose and forming bruise on your eye were.

After wiping your face clean as best as you can, you continue your trek back to class.

Sure, it'd probably be a better idea to email your professor and explain to him what happened, but knowing how harshly he can treat students, you'd rather get the attendance than email him about something he might not even believe is true.

And so, you stumble through the halls with blood dried at the corners of your nostrils, one eye looking swollen with the other's vision blurred from crying earlier.

A black eye must already be forming. A few people give you odd looks, but almost everyone else minds their own business. Soon enough, you finally enter your classroom.

"You're three minutes late," Ellis coldly says as soon as you step through the door.

He isn't even looking at you, probably just figures its you, because his eyes are on a few papers.

"I-I'm sorry." Your voice cracks. You wince from the sound of it.

Ellis's gaze immediately shoots up at you. He looks baffled and furious at first. "What on earth happened to you?"

He makes a hand gesture for you not to answer that, and looks back at the several rows of students, some of which are paying attention to the situation, but most are talking to their friends or on their phones. He puts his head down and begins writing something on a small piece of paper, then walks to you and hands it to you.

As you grab the note, his hand squeezes over yours. He lets go after you look at him. "Take it. Go. Come back when you get something for that."

You nod quickly, then glance down at the paper to see that there's a pass.

 Medical office, Room 305

He even went as far as to write the room number in case you forgot.

Thankful for that and everything else, you smile a little and make your way out the door, making sure not to get harassed again by some bully on your way.

Now that you really think about it, he's been having more of a soft spot for you recently, though maybe that's all in your head, too.

Like when you offered to help him clean up the room, and once you even stayed after class to ask him for help regarding what he was teaching.

Even though he could be intimidating sometimes, and downright frightening at others, you didn't find yourself scared around him. Only when he raises his voice, which he never does towards you.

Once you make it to the medical office and have the nurse inspect the damage, she determines that nothing is broken, just badly bruised.

You don't want to tell her that this incident was caused by bullies, so you just awkwardly tell her you fell down some stairs. She likely doesn't get paid enough to snuff out your lie.

She hands you an ice pack. "There," she smiles. "Not so bad. Try to watch where you're going next time, okay?"

Her condescending tone makes you feel worse. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

You apply pressure to your black eye as instructed, then head back to your English class.

When you get back inside the room, no one is there except Ellis. You check your phone, to see barely thirty minutes has passed. Maybe he sent them home early.

"Hi. I'm here." Your voice cracks again and you can't help but cringe. It sounds horrible, even to your own ears.

He looks up at you, brows pinching together in concern as soon as his eyes meet yours. He doesn't speak; he only pats the seat nearest to him on the front row of desks, gesturing for you to take a seat beside him.

Once you do, his cold fingers brush under your bruised eye. It should hurt, but they are so gentle against your skin that you barely flinch away from them.

"Who did this?" Ellis's gaze becomes narrow behind his round glasses.

You shake your head, suddenly feeling sick at your stomach. You hate how these kinds of things happen to you, especially since everyone else thinks they're harmless pranks.

They don't feel harmless. Especially when it feels like they leave physical and mental wounds everywhere on you.

"Nobody. I'm sorry."

He tuts in disapproval. "I know someone did this. Either you tell me, or I find out myself."

"Why do you care?" It sounds much more rude than you intended, so you try to soften your tone. "I'm sorry, its just... why would it matter if someone did?"

Ellis pinches the bridge of his nose. "Because you're too sweet. Too kind. It isn't fair that people treat you this way." He gives you another look over. "I dismissed my class today because of you, you know. I wouldn't do that for any of my other students, because they don't like me. And honestly, I don't really like them. But you..." he trails off.

"...but me?" you echo.

He scrubs a hand over his face. "You're like my child, (Y/n). It's my job as a professor to treat my students fairly, equally, but when it comes to you..." he sighs deeply, "...I worry about you every day. I wonder if you ate breakfast. If you've had anything to drink recently. How you slept. If anyone hurts you. None of my other students I let help me after class. Because if you're in front of my own two eyes, it's easier to just stop worrying. And I like being around you."

The information almost overwhelms you. "I had no clue."

"Well, now you do. So could you please tell me who did this? I'll have a heart attack if you worry me any more than I need to," he jokes with a weak smile, a very rare one.

"Just some guy from Delta Psi Lambda," you answer quickly. "I think his name was Brock, or something."

"I'll take care of him. Now, how's your eye?" As soon as you pull away the ice pack, he sucks in a harsh breath. "(Y/n). Oh, honey. It must be painful."

The term of endearment almost goes right past your head.

Almost.

"I mean, yeah. A little," you chuckle, trying to play it off. Really, it feels awful. "It doesn't feel too great, but it looks worse."

"It's bruising. Poor thing," he coos, taking your chin into his long, bony fingers and turning your head left and right, analyzing all of the damage. "This is unacceptable. Does anywhere else hurt?"

"No, this is all." You try to shrug again, but it comes out weird-looking. You can tell he catches it, too. "My nose was bleeding a lot earlier, but it stopped. Other than that, I guess everything else feels okay."

Ellis grabs a tissue and wipes off the leftover drying blood. His movements are careful yet firm, as if you would shatter to pieces if he wasn't gentle enough. "What am I going to do with you?" he sighs. "Can't trust you for even a moment before you're already coming back to me hurt." He presses a soft kiss on the crown of your head. "Do you need me to drive you back home?"

"I live on campus," you murmur. "I can just walk there."

He raises a brow at you. "That means they could just get you again if I let you go alone," he chastises. "Come on, follow me." He stands up, putting the papers into his work bag, then swinging it over his shoulder. He holds his free hand out and waits patiently for you to grab onto it, then he helps hoist you up.

As he does, your backpack slides down one arm. You watch as he puts it over his shoulder with his workbag, too.

...

A week passes, and Ellis is much softer towards you. He isn't as fatherly to you in front of people, but its pretty obvious that you've become the favorite.

He keeps asking if you have any food or drinks, and when you don't, he pulls out his lunchbox and offers whatever you need. You're not complaining. Free lunches are always good to accept.

"I don't need to eat lunch in here all the time now," you mumble, chewing on your favorite fruit that he offered. Weird that he knew that, but surely a coincidence.

Ellis pauses from what he's doing, which is erasing the whiteboard, and peers at you from the corner of his eye. "Why? Do you dislike spending time with me?"

You shake your head. "No, it's not that. I just... I think the bullies will leave me alone now. I haven't even seen any of the fraternity's faces since the incident."

"That doesn't mean I still can't worry about you," Ellis replies coolly. "You even forgot your lunch several times now. It worries me. I need to make sure you eat properly." The marker squeaks against the board as he writes reminders for next class's essay. Once he finishes that task, he sets everything down and heads to sit down at his desk. "I always pack extra for you now, because you're so forgetful. And thank goodness I do."

"Okay, Professor Dad," you sarcastically laugh.

He shakes his head at you while looking amused, making your words die in your throat.

That was clearly meant to be a joke, so why is he smiling like that?

Well, you know the answer, but it's still hard to believe. Even though Ellis seems to really care about you, he hasn't known you for very long at all.

So, why would he start acting so... so dad-like towards you? What exactly happened to turn him from the stern and rigid teacher persona into an almost doting father-figure towards one of his students?

"I-I didn't really mean—"

"I know. I get it," he says softly. "Just humor me. Let me keep fussing over you." After that, he falls quiet, working on grading some papers from earlier classes that day.

...

"You didn't bring a jacket?" Ellis asks exasperatedly. He's walking you to your dorm again after class ended, since it snowed.

Normally, you would've gone yourself, but due to the cold weather and Ellis's demands for you to stay in his classroom until he finished getting ready to walk you himself, you couldn't exactly refuse.

You look over at him, finding that his brows are pinched together in concern. "Oh, uh, no. I guess I forgot."

"For Pete's sake," he mutters, tugging the scarf from his neck and wrapping it snugly around yours instead. "I swear, you'll be the death of me one day, (Y/n). Can't even remember a simple thing like bringing a jacket." Despite sounding mad, there's also a tone of fondness mixed in with it.

You decide not to mention it, feeling embarrassed just thinking about it.

"Thanks," you hum.

"I don't mind doing things for you, you know," he adds after a moment. "I wanted to have kids of my own, but found out romance wasn't really my thing. And adoption costs way more money than what I have." He lets out a huff through his nostrils. "But it seems like you require the same doting as a toddler."

It doesn't even sound like its meant to be a jab at you; if anything, his voice takes on an affectionate edge.

"Is that bad?" you ask sheepishly.

"Not to me." He squeezes your hand, pulling you along beside him to cross the street. As soon as you reach your dorm and go inside, he dusts snowflakes off the top of your head. "That's better." You try to unwrap the scarf, but he stops you. "Keep it. I have several others like it. Besides, I don't want you catching a cold from being under-dressed."

You smile awkwardly. "Oh, okay. Thank you."

...

A month passes, and your friends had begun to avoid you. Even the bullies act scared to show their faces around you.

You wonder if its just Ellis's mere presence, but it's hard to tell. You decide a few days avoiding Ellis and trying to spend time with your friends again wouldn't hurt. You figure Ellis won't even notice too much, busy with papers and classes.

You notice Ellis giving you strange looks during class, but other than that, he acts normal. It's nice to feel like things are going back to the way they used to be again.

Barely a week after avoiding him, you hear someone yell your name.

But it isn't Ellis. It's Brock, and three of his other friends.

"Haven't forgotten what you did to me yet, did you? Because of you, I was nearly expelled!" he screams. Then, Brock runs towards you, fist flying directly towards your stomach and hitting you hard. You groan, then fall forward when one of his friends pushes you. "Hope you had fun trying to get rid of me, because you're gonna regret it!"

They get a few more punches in, and you can't even do anything about it because there's so many of them. You desperately look for anyone to be around, but there's no one.

"Stop!" someone yells.

You open your eyes from their previous screwed shut state, peering over at the man in glasses running towards you. Its Ellis.

He helps pull you away from all the frat guys, glaring down at each of them.

They must have some common sense, because they all freeze at the sight of Ellis. He barks something at them, but you can't pay attention over the ringing in your ears.

As soon as they begin sprinting off in the other direction, Ellis scoops you up bridal style and carries you somewhere.

You try opening your eyes to see where, but as soon as you manage to pry one open, he brushes his fingertips over your forehead.

"Don't stress yourself, love. Just rest." You close your eyes, and fade out from exhaustion.

...

You wake up in Ellis's apartment. It smells so clean, like it's never been lived in. Everything is so neatly organized, and nothing is out of place.

Not even a speck of dust lays on the windowsills or countertops. It seems like something straight out of a catalog.

You push yourself up into a sitting position, wincing from the pain in your arms and abdomen. Your lower back aches and twinges, too.

"Oh! Kiddo, please be careful!" You turn your head slowly towards Ellis's voice. He's holding some ice packs, water bottles, and bandages. His sweater vest has been changed for a plain gray shirt. "I'm glad you're finally awake. Let me take a look at you."

"What happened? Why am I here?"

He gives you a strange look. "You got beat up. Again," he emphasizes, clearly frustrated. "And you were so banged up that I brought you back to my place. I thought maybe I shouldn't take you back to your dorm, because you have no one who could take care of you." He clicks his tongue. "And besides that, you haven't come to me lately, and you're avoiding me. Now, you just got attacked again because I wasn't around to protect you."

You sniffle and in a sudden motion, wrap your arms around his neck. It surprises both you and him, but he's quick to embrace you twice as tightly.

His fingers curl into your hair, his other hand rubbing your back comfortingly.

"Hey, hey, shh..." He squeezes you. "Sweetie, calm down for me. You're going to hyperventilate if you breathe any quicker."

"I-I'm sorry... I d-didn't think th-they'd ever b-bother me again...!"

"Shh, breathe for me. Follow my rhythm." He takes deep breaths, waiting each time for you to follow. "That's right. You're such a good listener." Ellis cups your cheek and rubs away a few stray tears from it. He notices your breathing returned back to normal, so he smiles, placing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. "I've missed having you around."

"I'm sorry."

"That's alright. Now that I have you again, you're safe." He gets up, then walks to the kitchen. "Let me fix you something warm. You need it after today, poor baby."

As he cooks, you drift in and out of consciousness yet again. He chuckles when he notices you're basically passed out once again.

His phone rings. He scoffs, but answers it.

"What do you want? Yes, yes... you'll no longer need to worry about getting expelled for what you did... no, I'm not thanking you. Now please delete this number and never talk to them again. If I catch you even looking at them, I really will make sure you're suspended."

[yandere-wishes]

˖ ࣪⊹𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞/𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐜𝐞 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⸸ Yandere! Capitano x reader

༒︎ Summary: He's the ice bearer, the monster sent to snuff out the flames of your homeland. But isn't that just love? To kill with such passion. Wouldn't anything else just be a lie?

🗡Warnings: Yandere behavior, blood, and gore, reader has a pyro vision and wields a claymore

𓌜 author's note: I made some Girlypop Capitano edits to sorta fit the vibe: One & Two

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪⭑ ๋࣭

Do you love me? Or do you love how I make you feel?

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪⭑ ๋࣭

Kachina is lost

She does not emerge from the scared flame

Nor does her ancient name echo across the skies.

Life stills, death looms.

light wanes, darkness reaches.

The glow of the sacred flame burns your eyes.

It's ambers whispering grime truths.

"I volunteer to go, too. You'll need all the help you can get."

Mavuika's flame mane rasps across her shoulders as she shakes her head. Lips taut in thought, sepia brows furled in eccentric fret. You've yet to see this shade of worry painted across your archon's face.

"I can't afford to excuse you, especially now that I fear my powers are dwindling. I need someone to have my back. Besides I'm sure the champians can handle it."

Duty first, that's the oath of the Princesses of Flame. Guard the archon with your life, protect her through any means necessary.

You force your head into a sharp nod.

The chill in the stadium air sends a nervous tang rippling through your spine. You've heard the Wayob speak of this sort of frost before. This all encompassing thing.

His boots grace the stadium floor with all the grace of falling stars. Ethereal armor glows in the soft roar of dancing flames. Icicles in dawn's first light.

The tall figure tilts his armor-clad head up at the archon's perch, with impertinence. You almost swear you hear a chuckle of mockery chime from the inside of his helmet.

"Pyro Archon" he speaks, voice distant and distorted, ice on ice through hail storms. The chill glides across your body again, how can one man be so cold? Shouldn't the cold be a sweet thing? Relief from harsh suns and harsher fires?

"Since the oath made five centuries ago remains unfulfilled, what use is the gnosis in your hands?"

He is all ice. But not the sugar-laced ice cubes that float leisurely in spiced cacao milk. No. He is the harsh verglas only spoken of in hushed tones around grisly campfires. The ice that leaves plains frozen and destroyed. It kills all things warm, all things that breathe.

There is a chill in the air.

It penetrates the skin and nests between the bones.

subconsciously you run your fingers across your neck.

"I challenge you for the gnosis, for the right over Natlan's rules" He shrugs off the heavy cape, the multilayered garment with too much wool and heat.

Strange, strange thing.

It amazes you how he hasn't melted from wearing such stout apparel in such smoldering climate. He tosses it to the side careful to never ripe the precious fabric.

"Fight, or summon your champion"

Your hand rests heavily on Mavuika's shoulder. Eyes transfixed in a silent plea.

The people need their Archon.

Natlan needs its Archon.

Besides this is your duty.

Mavuika nods.

Red eyes never once straying from the intruder.

Vicious sparks flicker across your palm. Like sparking a match across dried bark. You feel the inforno's kiss licking past your skin, weaving into the bone, as your weapon materializes. Your fingers ring across the worn, burnt handle of your loyal armament.

"I shall fight you fatui, for the honor and glory of Natlan and the Pyro Archon."

He watches you through the mask, through the ebony darkness that shields his mysterious visage. He reminds you of how Saurians watch their prey. Weighing each tiny breath, tasting each heartbeat through the air. He looks nothing less than regally monstrous.

Like death, doom, and despair.

You've tasted this before, engraved the bitterness upon your tongue, and honed your body to fight it. He will not take Natlan, he will not condemn your home to his cold.

The weight of your claymore pulls you down. Plunging into hard rock. You watch as he bats the dust with his hand. Gloved and armoured. What is he hiding? You wonder. What man truly needs so many layers? Armor, ice, frost, steel, wool. You long to peel them away, desperate to find something human underneath. Something squishy and worm. You want to feel his heartbeath between your teeth. Drink from his warm blood and relish in the sweet aftertaste. A testament to how you conquered the cold.

You've never seen someone so eager to be hidden in layers up layers.

Snow on ice.

Ice on iron.

"You're awfully young to take on such a big responsibility little girl"

his voice makes you shiver, you can almost taste his ice on your tongue.

Bitter, like barbwire and salt.

"Don't mock me Fatui" You warn, molding your body into a battle stance, knees folded almost kissing the stadium floor, weapon clasped with both hands. Eyes on the target.

Just like Mavuika taught you.

Just like you taught Kachina.

You can feel the heat from your vision coursing through your body, cracking your bones and mingling with marrow. You wait, just one more breath. You use the pyro blessing to project yourself through the air, like an arrow aimed straight for the man made of ice and lies. Swinging your claymore, ready to dent his helmet - and hopefully his head inside-  but he blocks it with his glacier sword. Just a thin dainty thing, capable of quelling your inferno-laced colossus.

Capitano advances, with a flick of his sword he pushes you back. Your heart hammers wildly, someone so skilled so strong, it's almost a shame he can never compete in the pilgrimage. That he can never be on your side.

You use the momentum of his push to frontflip through the foggy air. You land squarely on his wide shoulders, digging your foot into his trapezius muscle, while your knee scrapes his other shoulder for balance. You swing your claymore once more, trying to strike his head off. But to your shock, he parries it with the back of his rime gauntlets.

You keep pushing trying to slice through ice, armor, flesh, anything. Yet everything about this man seems to be made of inviolable steel adorned with everlasting cyro. For a second the metal of his helmet kisses the inside of your thighs. There is no shame in battle, no flirting with the opponent. There are only two bodies entwined until death and defeat. Until one rises and one falls. Still, there's something about the way his black face, regards yours that has a shy blush creeping on the hollows of your cheeks. The man, no this formidable monster is far too close, it's almost as if he's longing for a kiss. You leap back, whispering patronymic blessing to the Archon when your feet meet solid rock once more.

"You fight well little girl, but your attacks are careless, loose. You can not defeat opponents if you can not penetrate their defenses."

He dashes, so quickly you almost think he's flickering between the ground and air. You feel his familiar cold before, you feel the hilt of his sword nestle into your abdomen. He leans forward, helmet sending frostbite through the side of your head "You smell so sweet, like the roses of Snezhnaya". Capitan thrusts his sword with raw force sending you soaring into the stadium walls, the rocks crumple around you, as you struggle to lift yourself up once more.

Your eyes try to carve sight through dust and debris. The air is thick, hot and cold. You blink twice desperate for your eyes to focus. There are silhouettes dancing towards you twirling through the air like Yumkasaurus.

Capitano's ice projectiles glide through the air, they're almost beautiful if you could doubt their lethality. He commands them with flickers of his wrist, and it's only when their frost kisses your body that you fully remember this is a battle, not a dance. They lounge themselves between your ribs, underneath your heart, in the plump of your thigh, the bullseye of your shoulder. Pretty icicles cut open your flesh burying themselves deeply inside you, you'd almost dub it romantic, with how the icicles intonate to your erratic heartbeat.

The frost begins to infiltrate your vascular flow, cauterizing you from the inside. Spreading through the outside, you hiccup out a low moan. Capitano laughs, in a tone that feigns mockery. "I see my ice is to your liking". You bite your lip holding back another moan, it's so wholly painful yet so satisfying. You were right the cold does offer such a delicious relief from the blazing inferno all around.

Your opponent stalks closer, kneeling by your freezing body. You doubt Muarvirka can see through the grey air permutating the stadium. Maybe that's why, away from all prying eyes. The captain lifts his helmet revealing smirking lips. He grazes the side of your mouth with a faux kiss. savoring your warmth before, parting your lips, and deepening the kiss. Even his lips are utterly frozen, he sucks you flames from your mouth extinguishing your fires, with blood-deep frost. He runs a cold iron-clad claw across her cheek, scrapping up the skin, creating a rivulet of red. Before licking it lovingly with his icy tongue. "Why are you so cold?" you shutter, "Why so frostbitten? Has no one ever taught you the joys of the flame?"

He laughs, really really laughs this time. And while you still can't see his eyes, you swear they soften. "I've been burnt too many times, trust me the cold has its merits. But one must be willing to surrender to them."

Capitano plucks your body from the ground. He cradles you roughly in his arms.

He has no warmth to offer.

No heat.

He is only ice.

The fog yields, as you look up. Mavuika screams, her anger palpable. "I'll accept her as my prize for now archon" Capitano spits. "But next time I shall challenge you and know that I will take the gnosis too."

The flames in the stadium roar, trying to melt away the frost plaguing your body. Trying to replenish your spark. You begin to flail and kick, desperate to be liberated from Capitano's iron and frost-clad grasp.

You need to break free, to return to your archon's side, to be there when the others return with Kachina. You can not let this monster pilfer you away from your home, your people, your archone.

"Let me go!" you scream, your last attempt at a battle cry.

"Shhh, war trophies have no right to refuse."

⋆⋆⋆༺𓆩⸸𓆪༻⋆⋆⋆

Super tempted to draw the reader's outfit!!

🪐 @definitely-asexual-volcano @eth3realc0rps3  @numberonefanfury  @madara3437 @crystalkat6747 @m00nlight-mexican @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @orcasandtea @tecchoukisserr

[bluerosefox]

Courting Chaos (to Balance)

A KlarionxDanny brain worm that has spawned

Tim Drake, aka Red Robin gets kidnapped suddenly and very randomly by Klarion in the middle of a JL and others meeting.

Leaving with a

"I'LL RETURN HIM WHEN HES NO LONGER USEFUL JUSTICE LOSERS!"

And fire and chaos in his wake.

While the JL, and others scramble to figure out what Klarion has planned this time, Tim manages to break free of whatever Klarion had used to kidnap him only to find himself on a couch and Klarion nervously petting Teekl on his lap while also sitting in a chair across from him.

When Tim goes to demand to know why Klarion kidnapped him Klarion finally speaks.

"Okay, I wanna strike a deal. I won't bug you or your little Young Just US buddies if you help me ask someone out..."

"...What the fuck Klarion?" Was Tim's only response.

-x-x-

So it turns out, every so often the three main entities and actual factions of Order, Chaos, and Balance get together to well discuss things happening in certain Realms, worlds, and timelines. Basicly to touch base, see where everyone was at. Etc etc.

Order was Order. Chaos was Chaos.

Very simple.

Both could be bad. To much order caused restraint and could snuff out growth. To much Chaos could get out of hand and cause ruin.

Both could be good. Order help stabilizes worlds and builds their future. Chaos allowed creativity to roam and brought forth wonderful things.

And Balance.

Well Balance was the very scales that kept both sides in check. They were neutral grounds. The ones that normally oversaw the meetings as well. And despite their low numbers they held powerful entities that more than made up for it.

Balance did their best to keep things in check, sure they do have their own preference sometimes and allowed the scales to tip a tiny bit but always corrected it later if it tips to much.

It was at this meeting, a meeting even Klarion knew better than to do anything too chaotic, pranks were fine but nothing too much, and had been chatting with a newcomer to the side of Chaos (Danielle, call me Ellie, Phantom. She did some heroing on the side but liked causing chaos in her wake to do so, he liked her so far though.) When the bells for the side of Balance to appear announced them.

Ellie had smiled brightly and said her brother was coming with his mentor, turns out her brother was apart of the Balance group which meant that he was strong, strong enough to need a mentor.

He watched as the members of Balance walked, teleported, flew, and other means into the meeting halls. And then froze when his eyes caught sight of him.

Floating next to a blue skined being that was switching ages was a beautiful otherworldly person.

Snow white hair that wisped upwards oh so softly. Glowing green eyes that were cat-like with their piercing glance. A galaxy cloak hanged around his shoulders and seemed to shift with each movement. Star like freckles decorated his face and seemed to glow a soft bluish white. A crown made of ice and aurora lights floated above his head as well.

All in all Klarion couldn't keep his eyes off of the being at all. He nearly spat his water out when Ellie commented that was her brother Danny, or rather.

High King of the Infinite Realms, Daniel 'Danny' Phantom. The Great One. Defeater of the Tyrant King. The Halfa. The Peaceful End. The Balance of the Undead. (And his mentor was the Ghost of Time itself. THE very Keeper of Time, Kronos original form himself.)

Klarion honestly didn't know what to think or rather what emotions he was feeling when he spotted Danny, nor why his face felt so hot and red when the young man looked over at them and smiled. (He was smiling at Ellie but Klarion for some reason hoped it was for him as well)

It wasn't until halfway in the meeting when a rather ingenious prank that Klarion, Ellie, and a few others had set up went off... thing was it strong enough that it had hit Danny's side of the meeting and had hit him.

Now, again pranks were okay but only after the meetings. It was one of the few rules many, even those in Chaos, took seriously because once it was done and over they could go do their things. So for it to happen in the middle of a meeting means someone set their time on the prank wrong and add the fact it hit a person on the Balance side...

Yeah not good.

Only...

Only instead of getting angry, even Clockwork who was seated next to Danny was chuckling, Danny threw his head back and laughed about it. And his laugh... was very cute.

And before he knew it, Klarion had already fallen.

-x-x-

"So yeah.... Since you have a boyfriend and know how to date in this modern age, I need your advice."

".... Klarion just because I'm dating Bernard doesn't mean I know how I did it..."

"Bernard? I thought you were dating that one Supes?"

[tuliptears]

"this is so fucking stupid."

with his patience growing increasingly thinner, Katsuki begrudgingly lets you yank him into an empty alley, an idea you'd been mulling over finally coming to life.

"sue me for trying to be romantic."

"we're on a date!" he throws his hands up incredulously, his raucous voice echoing out into the night air.

you hum, after taking a quick scan of your surroundings for any potential peepers, "consider this a perk for taking me out."

There are a few mumblings on his end, maybe a couple of curses, but other than that, no complaints are heard.

"give me a second." thrusting an arm up towards the underside of a nearby fire escape, a thin string of webbing shoots out from your wrist and hits the rusted metal with a muffled 'thwing!'.

as you move upwards, you readjust your grip and then carefully toss your legs forward with a few kicks, flipping yourself with ease.

there's a slight strain in your core, signifying that you are definitely going to feel this in the morning.

once you're able to find your balance and grapple both feet as you hang upside down, your hair rains down around you when you right your posture and frame your face.

the familiar sensation of blood rushing to your head creates a slightly uncomfortable pressure as you slide back down towards your agitated boyfriend, who’s pretending as if he didn't just have his arms stretched out to catch you in case you fell.

"how cool was that? I'm pretty sure I qualify for a high-rate circus."

"are you done?”

"yeah, yeah. how about a kiss for your favorite hero?"

he huffs in amusement, "like I'd ever put my lips on that shitty old man."

"a sense of humor, did you purposely hide it from me?”

despite his alleged annoyance, Katsuki carefully cradles both sides of your face, his hands warm from his quirk. 

however, he hesitates.

maybe this was a little too public for his comfort. this was probably a bad idea.

you’re about to tell him to forget about it, that the adrenaline from date night was clouding your judgment, but you realize that he’s gone uncharacteristically quiet.

he’s staring; rather intensely, too.

his gaze is focused, accompanied by a boyishly small smile that only ever shows up when he’s around you.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was powerwashing the memory of your face into his brain. he also takes the chance to lightly run his thumb over a fading scar on your cheek you picked up a few weeks ago on patrol; almost as if the gesture would smoothen the slightly raised skin.

sap.

When Katsuki snaps out of whatever trance he’s put himself in, he realizes that you’re staring right back at him, except you’re sporting a more mischievous look.

"I'm not taking you to the hospital if you break your neck." his grumbles are met with loud smacks as you pucker your lips at him, to which he rolls his eyes. 

the kiss is a little awkward, having to focus on keeping your balance dampens the experience for you by a smidge. his nose digs into your cheek and your chin is too close to his eye for comfort.

you grow to like it when he loosens up, your lips are so soft that he instinctively nibbles on them and draws out a hushed sigh from you. 

gravity might be working differently against both of you, but it helps pull you in closer. there's a pleasantly sweet clash from the ice cream you both indulged in an hour prior. 

Katsuki’s hold on you keeps you grounded as he grudgingly pulls away, breathless from having been lost in the moment.

"I knew you'd be into something nerdy like that," you smile triumphantly up at the blushing blonde, who wordlessly glares in return, "a total win in my book."

he snuffs out your light-hearted teasing with another kiss.

[lushleona]

SELFISH. mattheo riddle

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary ; he dreams of you after you leave him because of his addiction words ; 4.4k warnings ; angst, addiction, drug use, swearing, mention of vomit (super brief), established relationship, mattheo and reader live together, post-war

navigation. masterlist.

The dim light of the kitchen amplified the feeling of darkness threatening to take over your soul as you sat perched on the counter, silk robe slipping off your shoulder. The sweet scent of fresh cookies flooded your nostrils each time you took a breath, the tray resting on top of the stove. An ice pack was pressed to the burn you’d just attained as you were taking the cookies out of the oven.

It seemed baking was one of your many ways of running from your problems instead of solving them.

Mattheo would be home soon. And unbeknownst to the poor boy, you were currently contemplating how to do it. How to leave him.

Maybe you should just leave now, before he returns. No fuss. Or maybe you could spend one more night in his loving arms and then leave a note on the fridge and quietly slip out at the first cracks of light. But that seemed cruel. You knew what you had to do. You had to tell him face to face. That’s what’s right, isn’t it?

If only it wasn’t so hard.

At heart, Mattheo Riddle was a selfish man.

He was selfish when you kissed him for the first time and he greedily pulled you back in. He was selfish the first time he saw you talking to another boy and got his knuckles bloody because you were supposed to be his only. He was selfish when you gave him your body for the first time and he ravished it from dusk to dawn. He was selfish when he continued to love you during the war, knowing his very being compromised your safety. And he was especially selfish when he didn’t flush the powder down the toilet each time after you washed him of his own fucking vomit. He was even more selfish because he didn’t want to let you go.

You were the light of his life, and as much as he wanted to tell himself that he didn’t know how he’d managed to snuff out your bright candle, that was a lie. With each action he took, with each time he ignored your teary eyes as he grabbed the bottle, there was a gust of wind blowing your once fiery spirit out. He felt as though a knife was being stabbed into his chest over and over and over again, piercing the tissue of his heart and breaking him down. He just couldn’t stop.

“Matty, please,” begging, your whispers would break apart, your voice trembling even in the quietest of tones. He’d shrink down to the floor with you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as your palm clamped over your mouth to silence your whimpers, his glazed eyes would look back to the drawer, unable to stop himself from walking to it.

Guilt, guilt, guilt. It was the only feeling he’d known for a long time now. Guilt, eating away at him as he stumbled home with dilated pupils, your beautiful soul straying from judgment and instead leaning his arm over your shoulder. Guilt, gnawing at his quivering fingers as they drew a new line of white, your muffled sobs leaking through the bathroom door. Guilt streaming down his cheeks in the form of tears as he held you in the aftermath, whispers of false promises that both of you knew were fake but wanted to believe anyway.

The sound of the front door creaking open shook you from your daze, furrowed brows relaxing and pulling your nails away from your teeth. You don’t move. You don’t get up to greet him. Even him walking through the door was a rocky road of memories for you. Sometimes, he’d come home with a smile and a kiss. Other times, he’d return with red eyes and arms that refused to hold onto you for help walking.

”Y/N?” His deep, tired voice called out.

”Kitchen.” You yelled, eventually hearing his footsteps approaching you. Still staring at the floor, you see his feet come into sight as he stands in front of you.

”You’re adorable, you know? Making my favorite cookies for when I get home.” He commented, giving you a lazy smile and a long kiss on the top of your head. “What happened to your finger?” He asked, concern filling his eyes as he saw the ice pack on your hand. You ignore his question.

With a shake of your head, you finally look up so your eyes meet his. “Um… Matt, baby, we need to talk.” Your voice is quiet as you contemplate which words to use. His face sours, lips curling downwards into a frown. “Okay…” He swallowed nervously.

You take a moment to really study your boyfriend’s face and lo and behold, his eyes are red. No surprise. Your expression doesn’t morph into shock or horror or concern. This is your usual now.

“What did you and Theo do today, Matt?” The question sounds innocent but Mattheo knows it is anything but.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” He chuckled nervously in an attempt to dodge your question.

”No, but I asked you a question.”

His head tilts down, staring at his feet embarrassedly, and after a long moment of silence, he answers. “You know.”

You huffed quietly, the sound a mixture of a bitter laugh and a scoff. “Yeah, I know… That’s actually what I wanted to talk about.”

His head snapped back up in an instant, eyes filling with fear that he desperately tried to cover up as his feet shifted around, the wooden floor creaking under him. You averted your eyes, unable to meet his fearful gaze as you just decided to be straightforward with it.

“I can’t watch this happen anymore, Mattheo.”

He stumbled back a bit, as if your words were a physical blow. “What?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you continue. “I’m done.” You got down from the kitchen counter to walk away but his hands were already grabbing at your arms. It was like his blood had turned to gasoline, your words the match. He’d been speechless for many moments, his brain going blank as your words settled in and became the only thing occupying his mind, bouncing around the corners of his skull with a groundbreaking echo. Anger, despair, and most of all, fear. Fear that he’d finally pushed you too far, that you were finally leaving. His hands grabbed at you in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to lock you to himself. “No, please—”

“Stop, Mattheo.” You mutter, your voice breaking. His hand froze, his heart clenching in his chest as your voice hit his ears. He hated the way you said his name. There was no love or warmth in it anymore. Just a cold, sharp edge.

“We can talk about this.” He pleaded, his voice becoming low and desperate. “Please, Y/N. Just let me explain.”

“This isn’t something we can fix with a fucking conversation, Mattheo. Not anymore.”

“We can try!” He insisted, his grip on your arm becoming a little firmer. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, and he wasn’t going to let you go without trying to fix this.

“Mattheo, we have tried.” You let out a broken sob.

“I know I messed up. And— and I’ll do better. I’ll stop, I’ll do anything.” He said, the desperation seeping into his voice. “Please, Y/N, I’m begging you.”

If it weren’t for the fact that you’d heard similar words leave his mouth many times before, you may have broken and given in.

“That’s not how that works and you know it.” You utter quietly, teary eyes darting back up to his.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling a mixture of anger and hurt wash over him. “You’re not even willing to fix it.” He spat, his grip on your arm tightening.

He hated the way you spoke to him, like it was so easy for you to walk away. It tore his heart out of his chest. “You don’t get to act like you’re better than me, because you’re not. You’re just a coward, running away instead of facing this like an adult.”

With a sniffle, you bit your tongue and said, “Maybe. But I can’t take this anymore, so I don’t care.”

He flinched at your words, the pain stabbing at his heart as he realized that to you, it was that simple. A part of him wanted to say something more, to convince you to stay, but he knew he couldn't do anything to change your mind. He didn’t deserve for you to change your mind.

And so, with a frustrated, heartbroken glare into your eyes, he abruptly took a few steps back away from you, the walls he’d spent ages lowering for you closing back up, the years worth of trust and progress shattering within an instant.

“Fine. Go ahead. Run away. See if I care.”

You swallowed and walked to your guys’ shared bedroom to pack your things, hoping the walls are thick enough to muffle your sobs.

He watched you walk away, feeling like a dagger was plunging deeper and deeper into his heart with every step you took. He wanted to run after you, to hold you in his arms right then and there and sink down to the living room floor with you, but the cold reality of everything that had happened hit him, and he stayed rooted in his spot, unable to move.

Sitting against the gray wall, he couldn’t even look at you as you walked out the door with your bags clutched in your shaking hands. After you left, he sat there for what felt like hours. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His mind was filled with an overwhelming mix of anger, resentment, betrayal, but most of all, an excruciating amount of just simple childlike sadness. It felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

And hours later, still in the same dumbstruck position, in the hazy depths of his mind, he could swear he heard your pretty voice, felt your gentle fingers tracing the outline of his face as they’d done so many times before.

Finally, he decided that he needed to do something, anything to distract himself from the painful emptiness. So he did the only thing he knew how: he went to the white nightstand beside what used to be the both of yours’ bed to take out the one thing he knew would quiet his pounding head.

His fingers brushed against the bottle, and his heart leaped as he recognized the familiar feel of its cylindrical shape. He pulled it out, his eyes widening with relief as he held the bottle in his hands. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He hastily opened the bottle as he walked towards the door leaned against it.

Soon enough, a sudden lightheadedness washed over him, and he sat there for a moment, enjoying the light fuzzy feeling inside his head. It helped to erase all the terrible thoughts that were plaguing his mind, making him feel like he was floating. He reached for another pill, but as he was about to take it, a voice at the back of his head started scolding him.

“What are you doing?”

He flinched as he heard the voice in his mind, his hands still clutching the bottle. He looked around, even though it was clear that the voice wasn’t coming from anywhere in his room. He tried to ignore it, shaking his head and popping another pill into his mouth.

But the voice didn’t go away. It grew louder, demanding he listen to it.

“Stop!”

He began to recognize the voice as yours.

He let out a frustrated groan, rolling his eyes at the voice. “Please shut up, I need this right now!”

But the voice kept echoing through his head. “But Mattheo, you’re hurting yourself. You’re hurting me. Don’t do this to us.”

Jesus, had he really gone so crazy to the point that he started hearing voices and talking to himself in an empty room?

Reluctantly, he laid the bottle back down beside him.

“Good job, pretty baby. Go drink some water.” Your voice murmured in the back of his head.

He felt a pang in his heart at the way you spoke to him. He missed having your hand gently soothing his cheek, your soft kisses planted on his skin. He missed you, even though he was trying his best not to, to just be mad. Hearing your voice in his head, so soft and gentle, was making him crave you even more.

He sniffled loudly, blinking away his tears before they could fall. He couldn’t help but obey.

Without wasting another second, he stood up and huddled off to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. As the cold liquid flowed down his throat, he couldn’t help but feel like you were there with him. He could almost imagine you standing beside him, softly stroking his hair like you had done countless times before.

Sauntering back to the bedroom with his eyes glazed over, he laid back down in the bed, pulling the quilt over his body. The fact that it was riddled with your scent didn’t help to soothe his aching chest. A tired, defeated sigh escaped his lips as he sunk into the soft mattress. His body felt heavy and fatigue washed over him, making it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t help but wish it was you beside him instead of your pillow, your body pressed against his like it usually was every night.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, the voice spoke up again. “Go to sleep, my love. I’ll watch over you.”

His eyes snapped open and he sat up a bit straighter, his heart racing. God, you’re not really here, are you? You can’t be.

He shook his head, trying to convince himself that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But the voice continued, growing even more fond.

“Relax, darling. Don’t overthink it. Just rest and I’ll see you in your dreams.”

Your voice in his head was so gentle, a soothing balm over the wound in his heart. He hesitated for a few moments before laying back down. He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into a deep sleep.

But before he lost himself to the dream world, he could have sworn that he felt a gentle pair of lips grazing over his face.

In his dream, he found himself in a beautiful garden, surrounded by bright, colorful flowers. The air was filled with the sweet, fruity scents, and the warm sunlight danced on his skin softly. He stood there, taking a moment to drink in the beauty of his surroundings, before seeing a familiar figure in the distance.

You were walking towards him, dressed in a simple sundress. Your hair gently moved with the wind, and your eyes shimmered under the sunlight, resembling a star in the night sky. You were gorgeous, more beautiful than any flower in the garden.

He couldn’t help but smile as you approached him. He reached out for you, wanting to touch you and see if you were real. But as soon as his fingers brushed against your skin, you vanished, leaving him standing alone in the garden, all silent except for the sound of the gentle breeze.

His heart sank with confusion and disappointment as he realized he was alone again. He let out a frustrated scoff, kicking the grass as he began to look around the garden for you. Finally, he spotted you again, standing under an elegant archway.

He quickly closed the distance between the two of you, his hands reaching up to cup your face. He was relieved that he could touch you again. He softly caressed your cheeks, staring into your eyes with admiration. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice filled with longing.

But before he could say anything else, you vanished once again. He gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling within him as he yelled out your name. He began desperately running around the garden, searching every corner until he spotted you sitting under a cherry blossom tree.

His heart leaped in his chest as he ran towards you, but as soon as he reached the tree, you disappeared once more. He felt his frustration reach its peak and he let out a groan of annoyance, his fists clenching as he yelled angrily.

“Stop disappearing on me! Let me hold you, damn it!”

Just as he was about to give up hope, he suddenly noticed you standing behind him. You were smiling, a kind and loving smile gracing your lips as you said, “Catch me if you can, pretty boy.”

His eyes widened as soon as he heard your voice. He slowly turned around to face you, his heart thumping rapidly as he realized you had really appeared. He reached out to grab you, but just as he was about to wrap his arms around your waist, you suddenly sprinted off, your laughter filling the air.

Despite the initial shock, he broke out into a huge, boyish grin. Without hesitation, he began chasing after you. He was laughing, feeling more alive than he had in weeks. As time flew by, the two of you ran through the flower garden, chasing each other like little children.

Finally, after a long chase, he managed to catch you. He pulled you close, wrapping his strong arms tightly around your body. He let out a satisfied laugh, his eyes filled with warmth and affection as he whispered, “Got you now.”

His heart swelled with happiness as you wrapped your arms around him too, your body pressed securely against his. He buried his face into your hair and breathed in your scent, feeling overwhelmed with contentment.

He let out a gentle sigh before pulling away just enough so he could look down at your face. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before murmuring, “I love you, darling.”

You pulled away slightly to look into his eyes, mirroring his look of contentment. “I love you too, beautiful boy,” you whispered as you gently caressed his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, relishing the feeling of your fingertips against his skin.

But when he opened his eyes, he was met with the image of your figure fading away, a startled gasp escaping him. “No! Come back!” He called out, but you were gone. He frantically looked around the garden, only to find that he was alone once more. He felt your absence like a physical ache, and a sense of longing washed over him.

He stood there, his heart feeling heavy and lonely as he whispered your name, hoping for you to come back. But there was no sign of you, no response to his calls. He sank down onto the grass, feeling lost and desperate. The sun continued to shine, almost as if mocking him and his misery.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to regain a sense of comfort, but it wasn't the same. He missed you, longed for your presence. He couldn't bear being alone anymore. The garden around him, which had been so beautiful and filled with life, now seemed empty and boring without you.

He closed his eyes as he lay flat on the ground. Suddenly he felt a kiss on his cheek. His eyes snapped open to see you standing above him with a teasing smile.

A mix of disbelief and happiness washed over him as he saw you standing there, a playful smile gracing your lips. He sat up straight, looking up at you with a mixture of relief and confusion. “You’re back,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“What do you mean? I never went anywhere?…” Your voice echoes through the garden as you tilt your head in confusion, looking down at him.

He furrowed his brows, a bit confused by your answer. He looked around at the garden, which was now eerily quiet, then back at you. “But you disappeared. I was chasing you and you vanished.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve been here the whole time.” You giggled, toying with the straps of your dress.

The confusion in his eyes only deepened as he listened to your words. He was starting to feel a bit disoriented, like he was stuck in a twisted dream. “No, you weren’t,” he insisted. “I lost sight of you for a moment, and then I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Oh, beautiful boy. Are you seeing things again?” Your gentle voice echoed throughout the open field.

As he heard the echo of your voice, he felt a pang in his chest. There was something amiss, something that didn’t feel right. “I don’t understand… Are you really here, or is this just my imagination?” he asked, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.

“I’m whatever you want me to be,” You murmured, looking out at the swaying flowers with an innocent smile.

Frustration started to bubble up in him as he heard your ambiguous answer. “That’s not an answer. I need to know if you’re really here or if you’re just a figment of my imagination.” He stood up from the ground and stepped closer to you, his eyes fixed on your face, searching for any signs of truth in your expressions.

Your innocent smile morphed into a playful smirk, angling your head up to look at him. “Catch me,” You say before running again.

He watched you run away, a mix of frustration and determination now etched on his face. He let out a huff and began chasing after you once more. He was tired of feeling powerless and confused, and he was determined to catch you this time.

As he ran through the garden, the flowers of different colors and shapes passed him in a colorful blur. He pushed himself harder, ignoring the occasional thorns and leaves that clawed at his skin. His focus was solely on you, his eyes locked onto your figure as you darted through the garden.

He tried to strategize as he ran, trying to anticipate your next move. You were nimble and elusive, like a butterfly fluttering just out of reach. But he refused to give up. He zigzagged through the garden, trying to cut you off. He was getting closer, he was sure of it.

Finally, he saw an opportunity to cut you off as you headed towards a narrow path between two rows of tall bushes. He pushed himself to sprint even faster and managed to get in front of you, blocking your escape route.

He stood there in front of you, panting heavily from the chase. His chest was heaving, his eyes locked onto yours. “Caught you, darling,” he said breathlessly, a hint of triumph in his voice.

“Come back to me, Mattheo,” You whispered.

The sound of your voice was like a bandage to his tired soul. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them. He reached out and gently took your hands in his, his fingers intertwined with yours. "I'm right here, darling," he whispered back.

“No… You’re not. This isn’t real.”

He furrowed his brows, confusion and a tinge of hurt evident on his face. "What do you mean? Of course, this is real. We're here together, talking, touching. How can it not be real?”

He looked down at your intertwined fingers and lightly brushed his thumb over your knuckles, as if trying to convince himself of your tangible existence. "I can feel you," he murmured. "I can feel your skin against mine. How can that be unreal?"

He lifted one of your hands to his chest, placing it over his heart. It was hammering against his ribcage, his pulse strong and steady. "Can you feel that?" he asked quietly. "Can you feel my heartbeat? That's real. I'm real."

“No, you’re not, sweet boy,” You whisper, your body slowly fading away.

His eyes widened in alarm as he watched your form start to disappear once again. "No, no, no, no, you can't leave me!" He clutched at your hand tightly, unwilling to let you go. "No, you must be real. You have to be!" Panic and despair welled up inside him as he saw your body fading. He gripped tighter onto your hand, desperately trying to keep you with him. "Please, don't disappear," he pleaded, his voice trembling. "I need you. Don't leave me alone again."

“Wake up,” is the last thing you whisper before disappearing from his grasp.

His eyes snapped open, and he jolted upright in his bed. He was bathed in sweat, his heart racing and his breaths coming out in pants. He sat there for a moment, disoriented and confused. It had all felt so real, yet now he was back in his cold, empty room.

He raked a hand through his messy hair, raking his mind over the dream he had just had, searching for answers.

He couldn't shake the feeling of melancholy that had settled over him. He could still remember the way you had felt in his arms, the warmth of your touch and the sweet melody of your voice. He could still see your captivating smile and the sparkle in your eyes. But it was all just a dream.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling both physically and emotionally exhausted. He looked around at his room, which now seemed even more hollow without your presence. He let out a deep sigh, feeling more lonely and empty than ever.

It was clear he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep in the bed you once shared so he ambled back to the kitchen sleepily and grabbed one of the cookies you’d left in one hand, a bottle in the other, chugging it with no reaction to the sting.

Stumbling to the sofa and collapsing down, now with his system in overdrive, he couldn’t help but selfishly hope you’d come back and save him from falling deeper into oblivion.

But he knew you wouldn’t and most painfully of all, he knew that he deserved it.

© lushleona 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

i went to the melanie martinez concert yesterday! yay! anyways here’s a depressing fic for you <3 also this fic was very much inspired by that one line in chloe or sam or sophia or marcus by taylor swift lol

[mysterycitrus]

my headcanon for jason todd is this - he can't stand the smell of smoke. the first time he tried to light up after his ascent from the grave, crouched in the hallway of a motel behind an ice machine, he is returned to the warehouse and the fumes are suffocating. he chokes and gags and snuffs the cigarette beneath his shoe, but the taste in his mouth does not fade for hours. his helmet has a filter, so even amidst gunfire the smell is masked from him enough that he can continue to breathe. anything over a stove is out, fire itself can be difficult, the phantom feel of burning heat makes him think of his body, his first body, back when he was whole. back when he was someone worth loving.

my other headcanon is that he has tinnitus.

[namedaftercommunists]

'Meant to be' Daisuke (Mouthwashing) X Reader -OneShot

[Story takes place before Daisuke boards the Tulpa] [Fluff] [Romantic] [Gender Neutral Reader] It’s chilly out, and the menthol cigarettes you’re puffing on only add to it.

Ice fills and drains out your lungs with every inhale and exhale you make, and the smoke you make reeks of tobacco –a scent you hate, but admittedly, find comfort in. It hits your face when the wind picks up.

Now your clothes smell of tobacco.

“Stop that.” A familiar voice half-heartedly scolds before a hand from behind takes the cancer stick away from your mouth before extinguishing it with the heel of his worn Converse. The once-white soles are now yellowish with time and weather exposure.

“I hate when you do that.” You groan out -but your tone lacks venom. “-and I hate when -you- do that.” Daisuke says with a sigh before sitting next to you on the concrete rooftop.

He puts his hands out to you wordlessly, and you take out the small spray of antiseptic alcohol on your pocket to spray some on his hands. He never liked the smell of cigarettes, both of you know his parents would flip if he ever came home smelling like tobacco.

“I can’t help it.” You lazily defend yourself as you pocket the spray back. “It helps me keep my mind off things.” You add, despite Daisuke having heard this excuse time and time again since you started smoking years ago.

He rolls his eyes at this but doesn’t continue his nagging after. He knows you won't ever quit, not even with his constant lecture and reprimands. The best he can do is snuff out the cigarettes you light when you two are together.

“Your dad called.” Daisuke starts, and you already know that your father is calling for your whereabouts. You can only sigh and slump your shoulders at this.

“-and what did you say?” You ask, still looking at the city ‘view’. It’s a dilapidated thing, city walls covered in aging -sunbleached posters and tarpaulins that just get pasted and installed over one another since it was cheaper than taking the previous ones down.

It’s a view both Daisuke and you have watched grow and age while growing up.

“The usual. 'I don’t know’” He says with a shrug. “-and like always, he doesn’t believe me.” He continues.

“I don’t know why he bothers asking me. I give the same answer, you know?” Daisuke says with a chuckle, and you can only return it -the two of you never went a day without laughing together.

“You cave in sometimes.” You say, and he can only sheepishly nod at this. “I do- but that’s only, like, when I don’t ‘actually’ know where you are,” He says before awkwardly tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear to see you better. "Can you blame me for getting worried?" He rhetorically asks, and you're unable to talk back to that. Your nightly escapades are only a cause for concern when Daisuke doesn't know where you are.

“So what’s the matter?” He asks with a tilt of his head, referring to why you are up on the rooftops again. You respond with a shrug, which he sighs at.

“C’mon, what’s wrong?” He asks, leaning on your side and playfully nudging his shoulder on yours to get you to budge. You can only chuckle at his intrinsic nature to act childishly.

“Nothings wrong.” You answer, nudging his shoulder back. “I’m just –thinking about things.” You answer truthfully.

“Things like?” He asks, wanting you to expand on that. “I don’t know -just things in general.” You respond with an unsure shrug.

There’s a short silence between you two, with only the city ambiance filling the space before Daisuke inevitably breaks it.

“Are you moping because I’ll be going on that internship in a few days?” He asks somewhat jokingly with a boyish -teasing grin.

You can only scoff and roll your eyes at this. “Not everything is about you, loser.” You say with your own grin -your mood lightening up a bit.

“So you’re -not- sad about me leaving you for a year?” He asks with a raised brow, nudging your side with his elbow a bit. “I mean --I'm bummed out.” You downplay, making him dramatically pout.

“That’s it? Just bummed out?” He repeats with an unserious frown. “I was expecting, you know, tears in your eyes -or something.”

You let out another scoff at this. “I don't see -you- crying. Why should I when you aren't either.” You point out with a dramatic puff of your chest -making Daisuke laugh.

“You don't know that. Maybe I already cried.” He argues, still chuckling at your matched dramatism.

“Did you?” You ask with a curious brow -a bit taken aback.

“No.” He responds with a Cheshire laugh, and you roll your eyes at this again.

“Thought so.” You jokingly grumble before looking away from him -feigning hurt. He only laughs at this some more.

He takes a few moments to calm down, his laughter fading as his demeanor softens and he leans on your side some more.

“But I am sad,” Daisuke admits, his voice just barely above the sound of the city ambiance below you two.

“…”

You don’t know how to respond to this -looking back at him as he rests his head on your shoulder, leaning down a bit since he's just grown a few inches taller than you over the years.

“Aren't you?” He asks, looking up at you, his hair tickling at the skin of your neck. His voice is soft, and it's one of the few times you've heard him be -this- vulnerable with you.

“I am.” You answer truthfully, your shoulders slumping a bit.

You were sad -from the moment he told you about the internship even. It's a whole year apart without the person you've been joined at the hip with for more than a decade now.

It's terrifying and outright depressing just imagining going a day without seeing, talking, joking, and laughing with him.

-to not share these moments with him.

Your hand snakes its way to his, thumbing the bone of his knuckles, and your skin feels the warmth of his.

Daisuke was always warmer than the average person. It's a welcome contrast to how cold the city air was.

He holds your hand back, squeezing it for a moment.

“I'll think about you, like, all the time.” He says, and you can only snort at this a bit.

“You're corny.” You comment, and he can only childishly pout at this. “I'll think about you too.” You continue, your own voice growing softer as you look into his familiar, warm brown eyes.

“Thanks.” He says with a boyish grin, also looking into your eyes.

There's another comfortable silence between you two before he breaks it again.

“You wanna go buy ramen when I get back?” Daisuke asks, and you snort at this once more, tears pricking at your eyes from laughter as he continues to look at you with endearment.

“You didn't even go to space yet -and you're already making plans for when you get back?” You teasingly ask, and he can only laugh at this.

“Well I'm coming back, aren't I? Like, where would I go if not back here?” He argues back with a grin.

“You've got a point.” You say with a nod -following his logic.

“You gotta pay though -it's the least you could do after leaving me here.” You say, with feigned bitterness for his internship. You don't actually envy him, the thought of being in space already makes you nauseous.

“Fair -fair.” He says with a dramatic nod of understanding -the two of you chuckling right after.

You two calm down a few moments later, still smiling at one another, grinning ear to ear. Daisuke's cheeks were red, and your ears were burning the same color.

“I can't wait for you to get back.” You softly say, squeezing his hand. He mimics the action back.

“I can't wait either.” He says it back with the same softness.

It's funny. The city was far from quiet, and yet it felt as if there wasn't anything in the air other than the sound of both of your breaths. Your faces are just inches off of each other.

You always did find his moles pretty. . . . His cheek feels soft on your lips before you inevitably pull away.

There isn't any shock in Daisuke's expression, nor disgust or confusion. Your kiss on his cheek, just on his left mole, felt natural.

Like you were almost meant to place a kiss on it, to kiss his cheek, to kiss him.

Despite it feeling natural, he couldn’t help the rushing of blood to his cheeks, his face flushed.

A few moments pass before it’s his turn to close the gap, the heat of his breath hitting your cheek before his lips then press themselves against yours.

Like Daisuke, you can’t help the blood rushing to your head, the tips of your ears burning hot.

They’re soft. His lips are soft. As expected from someone who carries around a stick of chapstick in his pocket.

It's a simple peck to the lips, nothing more.

It…doesn’t feel like anything- at least not at first.

You’ve kissed others before, same for Daisuke, and like all others -there was no spark or fireworks in your gut afterward.

No. Instead of the usual burning or butterflies in the stomach that films and books always seem to insist upon -this kiss with Daisuke feels…normal.

Like your lips were always meant to be pressed together like this.

He pulls away after, and the two of you just sit in silence at this, looking into each other’s eyes. You two were neither pulling away nor moving closer.

His lashes are long and pretty, it’s an aspect of his that you’ve noticed early on in your youth.

This feels right -just being next to each other like this. With you eyeing every feature, crevice, and fold in his appearance.

Simply drinking the sight in -as if his face wasn’t something you saw daily for as long as you can remember.

Judging from how he’s looking at you, he may be doing the same.

You’ve both grown and changed over the years, yet, you still look like each other.

Daisuke, even with his taller height, the bit of muscle he’s put on, and the longer hair -still looked like the young Daisuke who ran around the classroom with playdough underneath his fingernails, and who boastfully sported the failed eyebrow slit he gave himself.

“I really like your nose. Did you know that?” He says.

The timing is awkward, and you can hear the slight shakiness in his voice despite his soft tone -like he was nervous. Despite this though, his sincerity comes across -it always does.

Your lips are on his again.

It doesn’t go further than that, but when either of you pant and pull away, the other is quick to join their lips again once they’ve caught their breath.

It’s warm despite the chilly night wind that pricks at both Daisuke's and your skin.

You squeeze his hand.

You can’t wait to spend more moments like these after he gets back.

[grandlinedreams]

Hi! I really love your work, and I’m loving these pieces you’ve been writing. Could you maybe do a Sanji x reader where they’re not a couple or anything. But clearly they have feelings for each other, yet the reader doesn’t like his smoking habit? 👉🏻👈🏻🥺💚

Hiya!! Thank-you, I really enjoy writing them and I'm glad that I can share them with you all! and absolutely I can, here you go!!

[heads up!: cigarette usage/smoking]

Click, snap. Click, snap. Click, snap. Click – 

You listen as Sanji finally lights his cigarette, finishing his idle playing with it – the end of it gleams red briefly as he inhales. Pause. Exhale, thin cloud of white smoke leaving his parted lips. 

You look up from your book. “Sanji,” you intone, a light warning in your voice – and he looks over. “I enjoy your company, but smoking in a library probably isn’t the smartest idea. Robin will have your head if any of these books end up smelling like smoke.”

True, the otherwise mild-mannered archeologist won’t be very fond of him if something happens, and he tugs his cigarette from his mouth. “Come outside with me then,” he says, “it’d be a shame to leave your beautiful company so soon.”

A born flirt, that’s what he is – and normally you’d roll your eyes and wave him off, but it’s rare that you get much free time to spend around each other. The boundaries of Luffy’s appetite are few and far between – who knows when your beloved captain will demand a snack or a meal. 

“Okay, okay,” you relent, watching as Sanji’s expression lights up, and he gestures at the door with a dramatic bow, the flourish of his hand included.

“After you, my sweet.”

Now you roll your eyes, though the gesture is good natured as you exit the library, Sanji in tow. He follows close enough that his hand brushes against yours, other tucked into his pocket – and you allow the brief graze of your fingers against his before you pull ahead. 

The lower deck of the Sunny is a bright contrast to the lighting of the library, and it takes you a moment to adjust to the bright blaze of the sun above before you move towards the sanctuary of the table Robin often sits at. 

“Want me to make you something to drink? Iced tea? Lemonade?”

You sit down, setting your book down before you look up at Sanji, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What if I want you to sit with me?” 

His own smile widens, even as he takes another drag of his cigarette – and misses the way your smile fades as he exhales a cloud of smoke and takes the seat across from you. Opening your book, you hesitate, debating for a moment before you look back up at the man across from you. 

“Sanji,” you begin, “why did you start smoking?”

The blonde blinks, not expecting the question – and he pulls the narrow cylinder from his lips to tap it into the waiting ashtray before he snuffs it out all together and leans back with a sigh. Guilt already tugs at your insides – you hadn’t meant to bring up any bad memories for him, though he speaks before you can voice your apology.

“I’m not sure,” he answers. “Couple of the guys back on the Baratie used to, and I picked it up from them. Helped calm my nerves during services, and definitely made taking the crap geezer’s shit a lot easier to handle.” He tugs his hand free from his pocket, lighter in hand – but all he does is thumb at the intricate swirls. “I know you don’t like when I smoke.”

Your brow furrows. “That’s–” 

“It’s not really a secret,” he says, but there’s no anger to his tone, and the fond look on his face is unfaltering as he reaches across the table to take one of your hands into his. “I know I should stop, and I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable with it.”

You stare down at his hand, the answering stutter of your heart at how easy he makes affection like this look – that though he still flirts with Nami and Robin, at least this is reserved for you and only you. “I could help you find other outlets,” you say, earning a look of momentary confusion from Sanji before you continue, your gaze still on his hand. “When you get anxious. I’m sure we can come up with something that isn’t…smoking.” 

Sanji stares, clearly considering it – and again, you worry that you’ve overstepped a boundary – and then he smiles. “We can try that,” he says, “I can’t promise anything, though.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “Trying is more than enough.”

[worldcfdrknss]

"Isn't this a sight for sore eyes. Hello, Alistair."

[ricciardo133]

Miami 2023

maxiel, Max in a bikini, light frotting

-

Max walks from the hotel hallway into the dark suite. He flips on the lights to see an inexplicable hot tub. There, just a few yards from the California king in the upscale room, is a marble jacuzzi.

It seems elegant but out of place, plopped in the otherwise normal room like someone was drunkenly designing in The Sims. The entire hotel is quite elegant, but Max wasn't expecting his solo suite to be this fancy.

He looks over his key card's paper pouch while dislodging his phone from his jean pockets. After confirming with his team that, no it was not a mistake and yes this was the only room the hotel had left, he hangs up and stares at the jacuzzi like he would a strange wild animal. He then calls Daniel.

"Mate, do you have a hot tub in your room?"

"What? Like the bathtub with jets?" Daniel asks back, his mirthful tone intrigued.

"No, like a fucking pool hot tub by the bed."

"Holy shit. You got a honeymoon suite? Complete with rose petals and champagne?"

"Sadly just coffee packets and little soaps." Daniel laughs that charming honk that always makes Max smile reflexively.

"I'm sure they can bring some in for ya. Aw, you're a lucky man, Verstappen. Sounds divine. Far cry from our little shared teammate suites back in the day, right?"

Max's smile falls. He bites his lip, thinking of the gentle touches, the hushed friction from back then. Furtive handjobs in darkened rooms, twisted sheets and nervous assurances it was only out of convenience. Daniel's lips around Max's length, then switching spots and swearing that whatever happened in that pocket of time didn't mean anything after. Always 'just for now' and nothing more. Just for now, never, despite Max's silent yearning, bleeding out from the hotel rooms' private universes to something more.

"Hotels are more boring without a roommate," Max says. They haven't done it in so long, but now that Daniel's back with the team? Max snuffs the thought. "Well, it's weird but fine. We won't be at the hotel much anyway."

"Hey, well, enjoy it while you can. A little pre-race soak sounds hella choice."

"I don't have a bathing suit."

"Max, it's in your room. You can use it naked."

Max flushes. "I guess."

"I can bring you a suit, if you reallly want? I'm actually out on the town right now."

"Uh, sure. And one for you. You can use it, too."

"I always pack one, Maxy. Don't have to get ready if you stay ready. What kind you want? Trunks? Speedo?"

Max laughs. "Surprise me," he says. He glances at the tub, picturing Daniel's lean frame in there with him, legs brushing like ice baths back then or past soft contact in hotel showers, knees on wet tub floors. He shivers. "Whatever you want. You know...just for now," he adds, as if the underlining, wordless current of want would somehow be beamed telepathically from iPhone to iPhone.

Daniel doesn't say anything for a moment. "Max, I..." He takes a sharp breath. "Do you remember Spa 2018? When that chick threw a bra on the fan stage?"

Max smiles but then freezes when he remembers getting back to their shared suite that night. That Daniel kept it, cheeks as red as the laced bralette as he handed it to Max to try on, both of them still slick with sweat after qualifying, thighs slipping against one another, Danie's damp hands on Max's cupped breasts.

"Yes, I remember."

"Just for now, right?" Daniel asks, in that soft tone he hardly uses with anyone else.

"Just for now."

"Okay, I'll bring two options."

He hangs up. Max stares at the cold marble and feels heat well in his belly. He lets a nervy breath go and unpacks just to do something to get his mind off the defrosting longing.

He still feels lost in snippets of horny memories as someone raps a little staccato melody on the door. Max darts over, opens it, and resists unspooling immediately.

"Damn," Daniel says as he eyes the hot tub. Max watches his friend stroll into the suite as he looks over the room. He's still in the team kit from some media event he must have been at downtown. Max feels undone seeing him in that shade of blue again. "A nice touch. Floridian elegance," Daniel says.

"I should start the water."

"I'll do it. Here," Daniel says, tossing a bunched up shopping bag into Max's arms. "Whichever you want, okay?"

Max looks into Daniel's big brown eyes and nods. His mind is a cat pawing Daniel's words like a ball of yarn as he slips into the bathroom to change.

The first thing he pulls out is a classic pair of swim trunks covered in little palm trees. He sets them aside, opens the bag further, and peers down at the other two red items at the bottom. He swallows. That throbbing, electric current ups in kilowatts in his heart, thinking that Daniel missed it, too. He wants it again, too. It's a simple mantra he repeats mentally on loop as he shuffles off his jeans and shirt. He puts on the bikini and assesses his reflection.

He wishes he had shaved. He looks from the smattering of facial hair around his full lips and soft cheeks down to his tense, strong neck and further down past his collarbones to his two pecs. His hand-full breasts are held in place by the scarlet triangles of silky fabric, edged with a slight lace design. He adjusts the thin bikini straps over his shoulders, feeling flustered at how defined and full his tits look. They lightly bounce as he lets the straps go, soft flesh jiggling and making his head spin. His hands slip down along his waist, pulling the bikini bottom out and then letting it similarly snap back into his plush love handles that slightly swell over the fabric.

Fuck, he thinks. He wraps himself in a hotel towel. His body is torn between being wildly self-conscious and uncontrollably horny. The latter wins out. Daniel picked this for him. He wants to see Max in this. Max feels whirled again in old, familiar, hot need. He leaves the bathroom.

Daniel has also changed into his own swim trunks, his torso bare as Max takes in the sight of old tattoos he hasn't seen in years. Daniel, thankfully, also seems a bit wound up. He looks up, one hand under the running water and the other clenched around the marble lip of the tub.

"Max," he says.

"Daniel."

"Whatever you want, y'know."

"And for you, too, of course."

"I want this." Daniel stands up, turning off the water. The room is suddenly thrown into a wild silence. "For now."

"For now," Max nods and lets the towel drop off his body.

The hotel air is cold but soon Daniel's warm hands are on him, tracing gentle lines up his arms.

"Holy shit," he breathes. He leans in. Max's hands mirror his lines, running up Daniel's arms, palms resting on ink. "Max, God. You look so good."

"Daniel."

Daniel squeezes Max's shoulders, fingers skating in to dip under the straps of the bikini like Max did just moments ago. "Tell me if it's too much."

"It's not enough."

"Jesus Christ, Max," Daniel says, hands moving back to press down into Max's shoulder blades. He swears and lets his hips roll forward. Max feels relieved at the press of Daniel's already hard cock against his.

"You missed this, too?" Max asks.

"Of course."

"I bet it was just as good, with the others?"

Daniel steps back, shaking his head. "There was only ever you." He looks down at Max. The room is so soundless, he can hear the soft rustle of skin on fabric as Daniel's fingers gently wrap around his tits. He squeezes, tenderly at first until Max's small whines make Daniel's grip harder. Daniel's hands press faster, squeezing Max's tits together as Max reflexively searches for friction, his hips bucking into Daniel's.

"I only ever wanted this with you," Daniel says in a small whisper. "God, I haven't...it's been so long."

"We used to do something like this," Max says. He holds Daniel's bare biceps, spins him gently, and pushes him onto the bed. Daniel's wide eyes meet Max's gaze as the younger man straddles his hips. "But usually we were not wearing anything."

Daniel smirks. "Yeah, not usually clothed for long." He pulls Max down gently by the straps of the bikini, his fingertips dancing along the lace and then under the fabric to squeeze Max's hardening nipples. Max groans. His eyes water as Daniel twists gently. He wants. He needs. He feels his thighs clench around Daniel's hips, his cock pressing against the bikini's bottom and wetting the fabric with a leak of precome.

He lets Daniel maneuver him, moving one of Max's thighs between his legs. Max rolls his hips down, his dick rubbing against Daniel's tattooed thigh. He groans. For a moment, there is a heated rhythm of Max bucking into Daniel's leg and Daniel's hands working into Max's breasts, a dizzying tempo. Max's head swims in the careening pace.

"Daniel," he whines as he pinches harder and twists until Max feels ready to burst. "Daniel."

The other man pauses, watching as Max struggles to keep composure. He sighs.

"I fucking missed this," he breathes.

"You can come by whenever now," Max says before he can think. He stops short of saying more, of saying it can be anywhere, anytime. That it can be more than just for now if Daniel wants that. "Even if there is not a hot tub in the next hotel."

"Oh, yeah, the hot tub," Daniel says. He looks over at the still, clear water. They hadn't even turned on the jets. "Probs too cold by now, you reckon?"

Max nods, his tone matching Daniel's mock sobriety. "Oh, definitely. Shame. We can just...stay here in bed instead?"

"Sounds good to me, Maxy," Daniel says. He gives Max's breasts a final squeeze before his fingers lace into Max's hair and pull him down into a heated, urgent kiss. Max melts in fully, losing all sense of space and time. Like years ago, it was just them. Just for now, that's all that matters.

[ganondoodle]

totk cataclysm event wasnt just a great (but utterly missed) opportunity to change the map in techincally little ways that has drastic consequences both in stakes and in gameplay (like i mentioned before, flooding the gerudo desert would have meant devastating consequences for its ecosystem- like imagine little islands of sand still poking out, acting as a sort of last doomed refuge for sandseals- but also cahnged the entire gameplay of it, good chance to introduce some neat new ways to surf on water like a new ridable creature or an ice shield freezing a path while you surf on it, the gerudo being forced to save the city from drowing in various means or now living on the roofs, trying to adapt by building boats ect - also call back to older games?? since totk loves that so much ..-, vah naboris serving as the savest refuge being high above the water, even if non functional; similarly takign away ALL water from the zora region, gaving it all dry out would imemdiately turn into something way different and could mean death for the zora- forcing them to move to the lower parts of akkala for example- maybe vah ruta is still halfway functioning bc the faith the zora have to mipha, dorephan and sidon is, while not enough to keep it fully functional, but enough to generate some water so the most stubborn or brave zora set up around it like a last oasis; i know its somewhat done with death mountain but the gorons dont really suffer from it bc their only problem is a drugged rock that makes them mean and lazy ..- what about collapsing or exploding it, leaving a large crater that over the course of the game could start to grow with plant life since vulcanic earth is so fertile- some never seen before ones that was dormant in the lava and now that its cooled off is springing to life, which might seem good at first but for the area and its wildlife means loss of their habitat; the rito freezing over, but actually having to move, maybe into the tabantha canyon, building their new makeshift homes in between the walls of it- generally just switiching things around a bit would have done so much wihtout having to edit every last detail ((seriously tho, how did this game take so long given that botw took similar but they did that ENTIRE main map as detailed as it is AND made it all coherent with itself and its themes- im ranting again ..)

-but it ALSO would have been the perfect opportunity to introduce new weather types created by the sudden change in environment, somethign like a super strong wind that slows you when walking agaisnt and lets you jump much farther when with it- a darkness thing that clouds the world in utter darkness with only little light getting through anything that is caused by mushrooms from the udnerground invading the surface and their spores snuffs out all light (which could explain the weird darkness in the ruins from botw too!!), or just simply mist! making everything misty changes the entire feel of any environment drastically- you could make vertain enemies spawn only in certain weather conditions, lessening the repetive overuse of them; and that is only on the surface- what if the sky had sunbeams so strong it sets anything on fire if you dare to leave the shadows- to comabt it get a armor with a giant hat!! the underground could have been filled with different environments in the first place, but then of course thered be those dark spores of mushrooms, an entire forest you have to carefully travers other wise making them release their spores and make it all more difficult, glowy mushrooms, MORE glowy mushroms, theres so many weird ass shrooms IRL you could take inspo from!! maybe soemthing like a forest of kelp, long flowy plants obstructing view and making you anxious by any movement- there could be one thats a mimic or infected with miasma, slightly off color and its knobs are malice eyes that open only if it thinks you cant see it

(also for the idea of taking botws stuff and recontextualizing it, the guardians or shrines, now non fucntional, could be infected my miasma sometimes, maybe randomly to keep you guessing- an overgrown shrine suddenly lifting itself up with hands clawing at you when you get too close or do sth wrong to distrub it- similar with guardians tho the effect might be less since you know them as a threat already- or sth i mentioned in another post, a tower being used as a weapon by a gigatic miasma monster- the one in the gerudo region with the bottomless pit for example, perfect for an arena for you to run around in the spiral while its swinging at you etc etc)

JUST taking what botw had and mixing it up, expanding on it, even if technically little change, it could do so much but in the actual game death mountain and rito is the only ones that saw anything of a change like it, and it largely .. didnt change anything or was reversible easily, and had no actual consquences that meant anything, neither stakes nor environmental or narratively (the gerudo felt like it at first but its also largely reversible, its just kinda .. adding a bit of city)

i hhhhhhhhhhhhhh have so many thoughts still, i am just better at holding them back .... also dont wanna annoy lmao

[bullet-prooflove]

The Bathtub: Billy Butcher x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @loveofvernonslife

Summary: Billy and you take care of a long-standing problem of yours.

Companion piece to:

Scar Tissue - Billy runs into a familiar face at the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.

Prequel to:

Addict (NSFW) - Billy realises he's an addict when it comes to you.

You’re more ruthless than Billy remembers.

Back then there was just a light in your eyes, a spark, but now there’s nothing. Nothing but the darkness he feels deep down in the depths of his heart as he watches you plunge Firefox’s head back under the water.

The three of you are in an abandoned warehouse in New Jersey, one that was used for  snuff porn back in the day. He’d taken care of the Supes behind it but he kept the place filed away, just in case.

“I drowned someone in this bathtub, full of piss it was.” He’d told you cheerfully, kicking the solid clawed foot with his steel toe cap. “I gave it a bit of a clean out because I’m a gent like that, didn’t want you getting covered in the stuff when you did the deed.”

“How thoughtful.” You’d remarked as you stared down at the piss stained porcelain. “We’re gonna need some ice.”

Drowning in freezing cold piss water, Billy can’t think of a better way to torture the man who almost stole your life.

The key to subduing a Supe is catching them off guard and that’s exactly what the two of you do outside a nightclub in Trenton. The wily, copper headed fucker pops out for a smoke and you manage to nab him by plunging a Taser straight into his jugular from behind. It’s a swift clean move you’ve done a thousand times before back in the SAS and gives Billy a tingle in his naughty parts as the two of you work in unison to restrain the wanker.

The power the little cunt has only works with his hands, they burn hotter than the fires of hell when he wants them to, it’s how he tagged Billy the first time, how he almost burned your oesophagus right out of your throat.

The sound of splashing brings him back to present, your fingers tangled in Firefox’s sodden hair as you force his head back under the water. His feet kick, skating across the wet concrete floor, his arms wrenching against the silver cuffs that cinch his wrists together at the base of his spine. His fingers scramble to find the metal, to melt it but Billy’s girl, she was taught by the best. You’ve already tightened those cuffs so fucking hard that every twist bites into him, splitting the skin, forcing him to bleed for his sins.

You pull back Firefox’s head and he chokes, gasping for air, trying to flood his exhausted lungs with oxygen. He’d stopped cussing you out after the first three drownings, now he’s just fighting to survive.

“You can leave.” You tell Billy with a voice as cold as ice still rattling around inside that tub. “This is gonna go on for a while.”

It’s the heart that usually gives out when it comes to water torture, it can’t take the stress. This fella though, he’s got a nice strong organ pulsing right there in his chest which is terribly bad news for him.

“No love.” Billy says lighting up a cigarette as he leans back against the wall. “It gives me hard on watching you work. This shit is like foreplay to me. The way you get him right to edge before bringing him back, I’m surprised I’ve not made a mess in my pants by now.”

You shoot him a dirty look and he gives you a filthy smile right back as he takes a drag of his cigarette, huffing a stream of smoke out of his mouth.

He has to admire your tenacity, you keep this shit up for another hour before Firefox’s resolve starts falter, he stops fighting, stops begging, he looks at you with glassy eyes and that’s when you know you’ve broken him completely.

It takes three minutes to put him out of his misery, there’s garble of air bubbles before his body goes completely limp. You leave him there, slumped over the tub as you raise to your feet, the top half of your body completely soaked through.

“Here love.” Billy says almost kindly as he hands you the towel he’s packed just for the occasion. You use it to wipe the chilled water from your chest and throat as Billy steps up to the tub, unzips his trousers and proceeds to piss on his corpse.

“He deserves it.” He tells you, zipping himself back up when he’s done. “For what he did to you.”

“You have no idea what he did to me.” You respond, shivering from the cold that’s now assaulting your nervous system.

He doesn’t but Billy can hazard a guess. That same madness that chews him up inside is burned into you like a brand, he can see it like a beacon lighting up the way home.

“Husband.” He guesses as he strips out of his jacket, draping it around your shoulders. The heat of his body warms your skin, the scent of his soap clinging to the fabric as you tug it even tighter around your body. “I’m not big headed enough to think that there weren’t other man after me love.”

“Fiancée,” You concede, untucking your hair from the collar. “I play for the other team too.”

“Oh.” He says because that had never come up back then. “Well I bet she was very special to you.”

“She was my Becca.” You say softly and his head jerks up, his fierce gaze meeting yours. He doesn’t ask how you know, he would bet his left nut that the Bureau has a whole dossier on him and the rest of The Boys. “I know she was very special to you too.”

“Aye, she was.” He responds, his palm coming to rest on your lower back as he guides you towards the exit. The adrenaline is beginning to seep out of your body, the crash just on the horizon and when it hits… It’s going to be bloody awful. It’s exhausting work, torturing someone, he’s more than impressed by your stamina.

“Right love, let’s get you in the car shall we?” He says, holding the fire exit door open for you. “You’re about to hit the very rocky portion of our evening.”

Love Billy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[deaddovedec]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Hello and welcome to Dead Dove December 2024!

We are a dark holiday-themed Bucky Barnes event. Below, you will find the prompts for each day of December, along with alternate options.

As this is our second year we just want to reiterate that this is a no-pressure, for-fun event that offers over 50 prompts to fulfill your dark needs during the holiday season! Please be aware that the prompts on this list will contain dark and potentially disturbing themes and may not be suitable for all audiences.

Our new prompt list will be posted later today and we hope everyone who participates has a fun writing experience. If you have any questions our inbox is open.

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ❆ 𝐀𝐨𝟑 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐎𝐧𝐞

1. Roasting on an open fire // Sweater Swelter

2. Torture // Bloodloss

3. Castration // Heartwarming

4. Forced To Watch // Punishment

5. Handmade // Glued Shut

6. Frostbite // Stocking - Stalking

7. Cuffed // Collared // Cold (Free Day)

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐓𝐰𝐨

8. Naughty or Sliced // Lights

9. Bricked Up // Chimney // Stockholm Syndrome

10. Sleep Deprivation // Waiting All Night

11. Restraint // Humiliation

12. Jolly // Folly // Slay

13. Kidnapped // Under The Tree

14. Something Red // Something Dead (Free Day)

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

15. Countdown // Out of time

16. Wrapped // Whipped

17. Blackmail // Letters To Santa // Holiday Hunting

18. Starved // Stuffed // Cannibalism

19. Snuff // Home Movies (Filming) (Free Day)

20. Used As Decoration // Dehumanization

21. Monsterfucking // Holiday spirit

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

22. Necrophilia // Given As A Gift

23. Sacrifice In Vain // Spiked // Drugged

24. Loss of Consent // Blood Splatter

25. Twisted Celebration // Silent Night (Free Day)

26. Breathless // Survival // Passed Around

27. Confined To Bed // Cabin Fever

28. Fighting For Life // After Death // Strangulation

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

29. Hypothermia // Co-Dependency

30. Non - Con Body Transformation // Brought Back

31. Cheers // Fears // New Year

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐬

Silk Ribbon, Trapped In The Ice, Candy Caned, Consensual Hypnosis, Last Christmas, Chopping, A Light In The Dark, First Night, Silk Ribbon, Skullfucking, Chained, Unneeded Amputation, Incest, Snowballing, Conditioning

Special thanks to @vesearlee for creating the spectacular header and dividers for this event!