#hard for him to be around anyone else but me sometimes

[moonlightwritingf1]

Safe with Me | LN4

^ྀི summary ━━━━━━━ Lando has a nightmare and Y/N comforts him.

^ྀི pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

^ྀི word count ━━━━━━━ 1.3k

^ྀི warnings ━━━━━━━ dying in dream?

Based on this request.

"Y/N… Y/N…" 

Lando’s voice was strained, laced with desperation as he thrashed beside her. His fingers clutched the sheets, breath coming in rapid, uneven gasps, sweat dampening his brow.

Y/N jolted awake, heart hammering as she turned toward him. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating his panicked expression, his eyes still shut—trapped in the grip of whatever nightmare had seized him.

"Lando," she whispered, her voice thick with sleep yet steady. Gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "Wake up. It’s just a dream. You’re okay."

His eyes snapped open, wide and disoriented, darting around the room before settling on her. His chest heaved, breath ragged, and she instinctively pressed a hand over his heart, feeling its frantic rhythm beneath her palm.

"You’re safe," she reassured him softly. "It was just a dream."

Lando said nothing. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. His face burrowed into the crook of her neck, his body tense, muscles coiled like he was bracing for something terrible. She wrapped her arms around him, one hand tracing slow, soothing circles on his back.

What had shaken him so badly? He was always the one who laughed things off, who masked pressure with humor and a shrug. But here, in the quiet of his Monaco apartment, he seemed... unraveling.

"I’m sorry," he murmured against her skin, breath warm as his lips ghosted her neck. "I didn’t mean to wake you."

"Don’t apologize." She pulled back slightly, brushing damp curls from his forehead. "Talk to me. What happened?"

He hesitated, gaze dropping to the tangled sheets. For a moment, she thought he’d retreat into the familiar armor of indifference, but then he exhaled, shoulders slumping.

"I was in the car," he said, voice low, strained. "Something went wrong. I lost control. I felt the impact, the heat… and then…" He swallowed hard. "I thought I lost everything. I thought I lost you."

Her breath caught. She’d never seen him this vulnerable, his usual bravado stripped away. It terrified her—and made her ache for him in a way she hadn’t expected.

"I’m here," she whispered, cupping his face. "You’re not going to lose me, Lando. Not like that. Not ever."

His eyes searched hers, looking for something—reassurance, an anchor in the storm of his thoughts. Slowly, he nodded, hands gripping her waist as if afraid she might disappear. Foreheads pressed together, their breaths mingled in the quiet.

"I just…" His voice faltered. "Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you. Like I’m not good enough."

The confession hit her like a punch to the gut. She’d spent so long wondering if he truly wanted her, but hearing him voice his own doubts… it shattered something inside her.

"Lando," she breathed, fingers tracing his cheek. "You’re more than enough. You’re incredible. I’m the one who doesn’t feel worthy of you."

His brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

She hesitated, her insecurities bubbling to the surface. "I’m not like the girls you’re used to. I don’t have the confidence, the—"

"Stop." His grip on her shoulders tightened. "You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I need. And I don’t care about anyone else. I never have."

Silence stretched between them, their breaths shallow, uneven. Lando’s hands trembled against her skin, his hold almost desperate.

"You’re going to choke me if you keep squeezing like that," she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He didn’t laugh, didn’t loosen his grip. Instead, his fingers dug deeper. "Don’t joke," he muttered. "Don’t…"

She sighed, cupping the back of his head, fingers threading through his curls. "I’m not going anywhere, Lando. Ever."

"You don’t know that," he whispered, voice cracking. "I can’t lose you. I can’t."

"You won’t," she promised, her tone leaving no room for argument. She tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Look at me."

He hesitated, then obeyed. The fear in his eyes made her chest ache.

"I love you," she said, firm and unwavering. "Do you hear me? I love you. And whatever nightmare you’re fighting—you’re not fighting it alone."

His breath hitched, throat working as he swallowed hard.

"I thought… I thought I was dead," he admitted. "And then I thought of you. Of not seeing you again. Not holding you. I couldn’t—"

"You’re alive," she interrupted, hands steady on his face. "I’m alive. We’re here. Focus on that. Focus on me."

Her thumbs brushed his cheekbones, wiping away the dampness she hadn’t realized was there. His eyes searched hers, as if trying to ground himself in the reality of her presence.

"You’re real," he whispered.

"Yes," she murmured, pressing her forehead against his. "And I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, Lando. Whether you like it or not."

A shaky laugh escaped him—weak, fragile, but real. "I like it," he admitted. "I’ve never liked anything more."

She smiled, trailing her hand down to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her palm. "Good. Because I’m not letting go. Not now, not ever."

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his body easing. His arms tightened around her, but the desperation softened into something deeper, more secure.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice muffled but sincere. "More than anything."

She traced slow circles on his back, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. "I love you too," she whispered, a vow sealed in the quiet of the room. "You’re it for me, Lando. My forever."

Her words anchored him. The weight he carried seemed to lift as his body gradually relaxed against hers. He didn’t let go, and she didn’t expect him to. She held him, letting the silence speak louder than any reassurance she could give.

Minutes passed, his breathing evening out, his body growing heavy in her arms. Her lips brushed his ear, soft and steady as she whispered, "You're safe with me. Always safe with me." Her voice was a low hum, soothing, like a lullaby for the trembling parts of him. "I’m not going to let anything happen to us, Lando. You’re my everything."

He didn’t speak. His silence was thick, heavy, but his arms around her waist tightened as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. His breath fanned across her neck, warm and ragged still, but slower now. More controlled. He buried his face deeper into the crook of her shoulder, inhaling her in gulps like a man starved for air.

"That’s it," she murmured, her hand tracing slow, deliberate patterns up and down his back. "Just breathe. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere."

His fingers twitched slightly against her hip, a silent acknowledgment. She pressed her lips to his temple—gentle, lingering. "You’re not alone in this, Lando. Never alone."

Still, he stayed quiet, but his hold on her didn’t falter. It was as if words had abandoned him entirely, leaving him only with the need to feel her close, to remind himself she was real, tangible, his. The weight of his trust pressed into her, wordless but unshakable.

She kept whispering, her voice a steady anchor as his breathing finally slowed and deepened. "I love you," she breathed, soft and fierce all at once. "More than anything. My heart, my life... you’re stuck with me."

Her cheek rested against his head, fingers threading through his damp curls. The night wrapped around them, silent but for the rhythm of their breaths. She didn’t sleep yet—couldn’t. Instead, she stayed like that, holding him as he held her, their quiet unease giving way to something deeper. Something unbreakable.

Pressing a soft kiss to his temple, she whispered, "Sleep. I’m here. I’m not leaving."

His face lifted slightly, eyes searching hers once more. The panic had faded, but its shadow lingered. "Promise?"

She didn’t hesitate. "Promise."

A quiet nod, then his eyes closed as he settled against her, his grip still firm but no longer desperate. His trust in her, in this moment, was unwavering.

She stayed awake, her cheek resting against his head, fingers combing through his hair. And as his breathing deepened into sleep, she realized the full weight of being needed—not as a burden, but as a promise she would never break.

[shadamyheadcanons]

@shadowsfascination showed me this post from the Writing-prompt-s blog:

“Some say that an invisible red string is tied around the fingers of soulmates meant to be together forever. As it turns out, you can see these red strings, and have therefore created a highly successful matchmaking business.”

It gave me two brief ideas. The first one is a little more angsty and strictly involves Amy, while the second is fluffy and Shadamy-centric. They both have happy endings, though.

Angsty version:

Amy learns very early on about her gift, as it’s rare but not unheard of. She’s precocious about it; when she’s five, she’s prone to doing things like seeing happy couples with unconnected strings and bluntly saying, “You’re bad for each other.” Naturally, Amy’s mother is mortified by this behavior and urges her to stop doing it.

At first, this seems like a normal reaction...until one night at dinner when Amy asks, “Mom, Dad, why aren’t your strings attached? Mom is attached to the mailman instead.”

That’s how the truth comes out that her mom is cheating on her dad, which leads to their divorce. Amy blames herself, and her parents don’t do a very good job of convincing her otherwise. The resentment’s there, and she can tell. From then on, she resolves never to share her gift–her curse–with anyone for fear of ruining something else.

This continues until she hears two good friends of hers talking. One is trying to defend her clearly abusive partner, saying he’s “not always like that,” he’s “usually very sweet,” etc. And Amy just can’t hold it in any longer. She blurts out that they’re not meant to be together. The one she belongs with is the best friend who brought her in, the man who’s holding her as she’s speaking. Everyone’s silent for a moment, and Amy immediately regrets it...until six months later, when the two are dating and thank her for stepping in.

Amy embraces her gift at last and uses it to help others, becoming a matchmaker and relationship therapist. However, she spends just as much time “matchbreaking,” carefully working to break up couples who are bad for each other. She learns that sometimes, the best way to spread love is by ending ties that pull in the wrong direction, like pruning a plant of old leaves to allow new ones to thrive. It’s hard sometimes, but there’s no one who’s better at it.

Her mother never makes amends, but her father apologizes profusely for how he treated her when she was younger and introduces her to her new stepmom, thanking her for giving him the opportunity to meet her.

--

Now, the happier option:

Amy can see the strings tying people to their soulmates. Aside from aromantics like Sonic, who have little knots/bows on their fingers to show they’re complete on their own, everyone has a string...except for Amy herself. Hurt but determined, she decides to start a matchmaking business to spread love around the world in her own way, even if she can’t be a part of it.

Then, she meets Shadow, the only other person she’s met without a string. He brushes off her concern, as he doesn’t put stock in the concept and has reluctantly resigned himself to being a “dead end,” but Amy insists on trying to match him up with his soulmate all the same, as she feels everyone who wants a soulmate must have one. She finds it’s not so easy without the cheat sheet she’s had all her life. While getting to know Shadow and considering all the wonderful things he could offer as a partner, she can’t help but fall for him herself. Likewise, Shadow sees all the care and effort she’s put into bringing him happiness and fulfillment, the passion and devotion no one else could ever match. He doesn’t stand a chance, either. Amy takes the plunge and gets together with him even without that divine confirmation.

The truth of the matter, one that Shadow suspects, is that someone with the gift simply can’t see their own string, but Amy doesn’t need that validation to know she belongs with him.

[pinkiemachine]

Hi- it's the anon who asked about potential Dami love interests. I'd LOVE to hear more!!!

*cracks knuckles*

Dear little Damian is a troubled soul, and sadly he takes after both his parents. A travesty, I know. When trying to root around the comics and surrounding media for that one perfect love interest that everyone agrees on, I didn’t find anything except maybe Flatline, but even that’s not unanimous, and I myself am part of the reason it’s not unanimous. When I thought about it reeeally hard, I realised why the idea of putting Damian in a relationship at all has felt so tricky up until now. In short: kid’s messed up and probably shouldn’t be dating at all. A travesty, I know.

But I didn’t let that stop me!

I’m just kidding, I did, BUT THEN I had a BETTER idea!

Ahem, ahem…

Chapter 1:

In my AU, the story goes like this: Damian had never given love a second thought. He was told that one day he would need to marry to continue the Al Ghul bloodline, but nothing more. Actually, it was entirely possible that he would wind up in an arranged marriage, so it was something he really, really hadn’t bothered to think about. Then, when he turned 14, he joined the Teen Titans as their leader and met Princess Amethyst. Heir to the throne of Gemworld, temporarily on Earth due to story shenanigans, but must go back home eventually to reclaim her kingdom.

Amethyst (or Amy) became a member of the TT shortly after arriving on Earth, and at first, Damian purely saw her as an underling, but Amethyst, oh, she didn’t stand for that. See, she was raised in the courts of the Gem Palace. She had received the best education money could buy, she had been personally tutored in magic since the age of four, and she was a well-bred young lady. Whenever Damian wanted to, he got lippy and snarky and smarter-than-you toward just about anyone, but when he did it to Amy, he got back what he served and then some. Amy didn’t shrink from his angry, snide tone, she didn’t hesitate when he got philosophical or witty, she could spit facts and wax poetically as fast as he could, and she didn’t take any of his insults lying down. The other Teen Titans would often stand on the sidelines in fear and morbid entertainment as they watched the two of them go back and forth, arguing for hours sometimes. Honestly, if you asked any of them if Damian and Amy got along, they’d probably tell you they were mortal enemies. And yet, both of them found themselves willingly plunging into each argument as if they had been eagerly awaiting it. As if this other person was the first person in a long time who could actually stand on their intellectual level and not bat en eye.

Well, a few missions go by and this remains the status quo. No major relationship changes of any kind, just lots of back and forth banter.

BUT THEN—

The TT were on one mission in particular and it involved a shapeshifter. It’s nighttime, the team is in this big old abandoned building, they know this shapeshifter character is around somewhere, then they get attacked, and the group is split. Damian and Amethyst wind up alone. Together. In a section of the building. Amy suddenly appears distraught. She turns to Damian, blinking her big eyes, and while no one else is around to hear her she asks if he’s ever… felt for another person before. Damian… stares blankly at her. “Uh…” (Internally, warning bells are blaring, and he doesn’t know what to do.) Amy comes closer to him, and asks him if he’s ever felt… like he wanted to kiss someone before. Damian continues to stare blankly. “Uh…” (Inwardly, there are no more thoughts, only panic and melt down! He was never trained for this!) Amy hesitates, feeling sure that he wouldn’t understand, and for a moment, Damian thinks he’s in the clear, but then Amy changes her mind, musters her courage, and kisses him! Goosebumps. Hair standing on end. Fireworks. The whole shebang! …And then Damian falls unconscious. Yeah, that wasn’t Amethyst. That was the shapeshifter! It’s Nobody, by the way 👇 Yeah, I wanted to give her shapeshifting, because I think it would be cool for her character and other plot related reasons… see previous.

Anyway, so Damian wakes up after the mission, having been totally blindsided by Nobody, tricking him into kissing who he thought was Amy, and now he doesn’t know what to do with all that! So he pretends it never happened. No one else needs to know. And yet, he can’t help but feel some type of way whenever Amy walks by. He can’t even argue with her anymore—it makes him feel too weird! So he starts avoiding her like the plague. He doesn’t talk to her, he doesn’t look at her, she might as well not exist to him! And this… was not the smartest idea.

Ever since joining the team and meeting Damian, Amy’s felt the full sting of his insults and attacks. She’d never admit it, of course, and she tries her best to not let him get to her, but after weeks and weeks and weeks of this, she’d be lying if she said his words didn’t chip away at her heart just a little bit, wearing down her self esteem. And now, with Damian ignoring her, it only made things worse. He hated her. She was sure of it. He hated her and he wished she had never joined the team, and maybe it would better if she’d never come at all. Again, she locked these feelings away, trying her best to ignore them, but they were still there, waiting for their opportunity to make a mess, and make a mess they did.

It all came to a head after the TT came back from a botched mission. Damian was in a particularly bad mood and was tearing into some of his teammates, lecturing them about what they did wrong, and then Amy stepped up to defend them. That was the first time in weeks Damian acknowledged her, and he was savage. He didn’t pull any punches—he said aloud every single thing Amy most dreaded to hear. “You’re a burden to this team! You don’t know what you’re doing! It would be better if you’d never come to Earth at all!” Everything short of saying “I hate you.” And Amy… usually so resilient and proud and strong… finally broke. Tears slipped out before she could stop them, and she ran from the room, embarrassed. The other Titans were furious with Damian, and went to go console Amy. Even Jon, who tried his best to be patient with his friend because he knew about his awful upbringing, couldn’t defend him this time. He’d gone too far and been unnecessarily mean to someone who had only ever tried to be his friend. Jon was going to go join the others consoling her.

Damian flew back to Gotham in a rage. He spent three hours on the training course, then went up to his room and slammed the door shut. Alfred could see what was wrong the moment he set foot in the house, so he called Nightwing, hoping that the two of them could have a little chat. And chat they did. They snuck out on patrol together and Dick prodded the truth out of Damian, but he insisted that he hadn’t done anything wrong! Amy overreacted! It wasn’t his fault! Dick had to have a very long talk with him that night, and what Damian took away from it was this: Amy was his teammate, but more than that she was his friend. He can’t go around insulting her and making her cry, and the only way to stop being mean to her is to learn how to care about her and her feelings. This is a difficult concept for Damian to grasp.

The next day, Damian goes to Jon and asks him about “caring.” How does one do it? Jon does his best to explain, though he doesn’t put it quite so eloquently, and then he asks why Damian wants to know. Is this about Amy? Hmm? Does he want to care about Amy? Does he secretly like Amy? HMMM???

Damian reacts with nothing but hostility at first, rejecting such an utterly ridiculous idea, but then… he remembers the night he thought he had kissed Amy… and then he started recalling so many other things about Amy… things he admired about her… and he had to take a step back. Holy cow. He did like her. He made Jon swear to never, ever tell anyone about this under any circumstances, ever. This was a secret he would take to his grave. Especially since… Amy would leave one day, anyway. She had her kingdom to go home to. Rule as queen…

So following that conversation, Damian then goes to find Amy and apologise to her, but it doesn’t go well. Amy wants the truth out of him. No more insults or arguments or beating around the bush, she wanted to know exactly what Damian really thought of her. The truth! But Damian couldn’t tell her. She asked again. And again, he just couldn’t tell her. She left him, saying “I’ll think about accepting your apology.”

For a while, nothing more was said about it. An uneasy peace had been negotiated between the two, and while their constant ignoring of one another left the rest of the team feeling uneasy, it was at least a small improvement from constant arguing.

Finally, something came along to help set things right. During one of the big season finales, Amethyst is in mortal danger. Damian, seeing no other alternative, dives headfirst into danger, taking a bullet for her and saving her life. Amethyst refused to leave his bedside while he recovered, but once he did wake up, she made herself scarce. She was beyond grateful to him, but she couldn’t tell him that. To his face, anyway. Damian knew she was just beyond the med room door, though. He understood how she felt, and he knew the flowers by his bed were from her. He’d never appreciated flowers more in his life. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not to her face, anyway.

From that day on, Damian and Amy were on continuously improving terms, and every once in a while it wasn’t unusual for one or the other to find a gift left for them in their room or their Titans locker. Small things, usually. Get-well-soon gifts after getting injured in battle for example. They argued less, but they still never spoke to one another. Casually, that is. During missions, it was a necessity, but now they found themselves agreeing on battle strategies instead of butting heads all the time. The rest of the team was speechless.

However, all good things must come to an end. By the end of the Ultimate Teen Titans run, Amethyst’s kingdom is saved, and it’s time for her to go home and become queen. She can no longer be a Teen Titan. As she stands by the portal, waiting to take her home, she says one final goodbye to all her friends she’s come to love over the course of her stay. Lorena and Jenny… Jon, Jaime, and Virgil… and then there’s Damian. Team Captain. She gave hugs to all the others, but when she gets to Damian, she falters. In the end, all she can muster is a handshake, and all Damian can think to do is accept it. She says goodbye. He says goodbye. Even though there’s much more they wanted to say… it almost felt too cruel to say it now, on the verge of her leaving. So, Amy turns and starts walking… but that’s when Damian felt his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he’d regret not saying something now while he could—he needed to say something quickly!

“Amy!”

She turned around at once, hoping desperately that he would say the words they had both left hanging in the air. She wanted him to tell her not to go… he wanted to beg her to stay… but…

“…I… take care of yourself…”

At once, Amy’s spirits fell so low, it was just unbearable. With a quivering lip, she gave him a smile, said, “You too,” and then vanished into the portal.

Damian was left standing there, still in shock.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Bruce would routinely go looking for Damian and find him in his room, curled up on the floor by his fireplace. Titus the Great Dane was usually close by. Damian would never admit it in a million years, but Bruce knew he had been crying, at least the first time, right after Amy had left. After that… he was in a deep depression and barely ate, barely slept, and barely went outside. He would get back into the swing of things eventually—he was the son of Batman and Talia Al Ghul for pity’s sake—but for those few weeks… while he was alone… he was just a 14-year-old boy who was beating himself up over missing his last shot to tell Amy… he loved her. And now she was gone forever.

End of Chapter 1.

[bubbleggum444]

—❝CRΛSH LANƊING IИTO YOU❞

contents clark kent x fem!reader, traffic officer!reader au, fluff, 2k+ wc. synopsis love at first (crash) sight.

The blaring horns of impatient drivers below were just another part of the daily chaos in Metropolis—after all, it was rush hour.

Clark hovered above the city, carrying out his usual morning patrol when—whoa. His vision blurred, his head spun. Strange. Superman doesn’t just get dizzy. Unless… unless he undercooked his chicken last night?

He barely has time to register the sudden, sharp pain piercing through his skull before—

CRASH.

Oh, great. Great job, Clark. Just had to be clumsy today, huh?

Dazed, he scrambles upright in a swift motion, immediately reaching down to help the poor civilian he just plowed into.

And then—oh.

Oh.

His breath catches. His stomach does something weird.

He hadn’t just crashed into anyone. He had crashed into a traffic officer. Not just any traffic officer—the most beautiful traffic officer he had ever laid his sea-blue eyes on.

“I—I’m so sorry, miss! I didn’t mean to bump into you—”

He cringes the second the words leave his mouth. Bump into? Really? He practically bulldozed her.

But instead of being upset, she lets out a soft laugh.

“That certainly was the hardest push I’ve ever received!”

Clark’s heart stutters. She… wasn’t mad? This sweet woman standing in front of him wasn’t mad that he had so idiotically crashed into her, knocked over her equipment, stopped her work?

His nerves, frayed and exposed, ease ever so slightly. He spots her cap on the pavement and, in his usual clumsy manner, stumbles as he rushes to retrieve it.

Another laugh—a beautiful laugh—escapes her lips as she takes it from him, her fingers briefly brushing his.

Up close, he notices the faint scent of vanilla and jasmine lingering around her—sweet, just like her. But then, something else catches his eye. A scratch on her cheek, no doubt from the fall.

Before he even thinks, his hand reaches out, fingertips grazing her skin.

“I—I’m so, so sorry—”

His words vanish, thoughts evaporating the second she gently places her much smaller, surprisingly cold hand over his.

She. was. touching. his. hand.

BEEP BEEP!

The blaring car horn jolts them both. For a moment there, time had frozen, the world had melted away, and they had forgotten everything—including the massive traffic jam forming around them.

“Oh! Oh my!”

She chuckles, flustered, before swiftly gathering her equipment and bringing her whistle to her lips, effortlessly resuming her job.

“I really am sorry,” Clark tries again, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, Superman.” Her voice is gentle, yet composed, cutting off his nervous rambling. “Be on your way now. I’m sure you’ve got your hands full.”

He nods quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, right… I should go. But, uh—this might be weird, and sudden, and maybe a little out of line, but—” He exhales sharply, steeling himself. “Would you let me take you out for coffee sometime? Maybe?”

His heart thumps. Hard. Too bold. Way too bold. But he also knew he needed to try. To let go, even just a little. And right now, with a woman like her in front of him, he couldn’t let the moment slip.

“I…” Her lips part, then curl into a small, shy smile. “Yeah.” A nervous chuckle escapes her. “I’d like that, Superman.”

BEEP BEEP!

Another honk. Another impatient driver.

Clark barely registers it—his head is too busy spinning, his heart too busy soaring.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

© — ggυɱi '25

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ

[crunchyheartbeat]

Sheepherder Simon (pt.2)

TW: None

Sorry this one feels a little rushed but I haven’t posted in a good while so I’m trying to get back into the flow of it.

A few months have passed since you found Simon laying out on your lawn, broken and twisted with his sheep stuck to his hip.

You helped him repair himself, making sure his wounds were clean every night, applying ointments, and laying out dry bedsheets on the couch.

When You allowed Simon to stay that one night you would not have guessed it would turn into this. Making two plates of food every night, buying his favorite bourbon to stack in the cabinet, or washing his laundry while he tends to the animals.

You know in your gut it’s wrong, to be looking at him the way you do, to compare him to the man you lost, but sometimes you put all of that under lock and key, especially when he has his eyes on you when the night sets low and the only sound is the humming of your voice.

You swear the look in his eyes is of a man that has found a golden treasure. He doesn’t talk as much as he did the day you found him, but when he does it’s so gentle. He comes up to you and hooks his finger onto yours to make sure he has your attention, because he truly wouldn’t want anyone else’s.

Little to your knowledge, Simon can see the struggle that you hide when when your longing for him. It’s like a battle being fought that he doesn't have the info for. He can feel your heart beat quicken when he bends down close to you to pick up something, or when he purposely takes his shirt off in the living room after work, claiming that “A man that works hard should be allowed to walk around shirtless in any home”.

He knows that he needs to do something that could have you seeing him for him, not a man that use to be there.

You watch your hands as you set the mason jars inside the pot of water, when you can feel his presence close to you. His chest pressed to your back and his hand slowly grazing your thigh.

“Y/n” he crumbles out, making sure to keep his voice low and steady.

“You have been here to long y/n” you can hear him take a deep breath, debating on what chosen words he should say next.

“Your soul, your body, your mind is glued to this place, this house that no longer served you any purpose. I see the pictures you have turned around on the walls, the cups you don’t touch in the cabinet, the looks you give me. It’s time to let go y/n, let me take you. Let me have you as one. Let me take you back home with me”.

You feel your hands start to tremble and your breath quicken, how could you leave all of this behind. This has been your life for years, being married and trying for children while tending to a farm. How could you leave the place you very much built your whole life around, but when it come to looking in Simon’s eyes, the desperation he has and the creases in the his forehead, you wonder if maybe there was something holding on to him too.

Feeling his hands grab your waist and his face nuzzle against your check you let yourself wonder for a second, a life on a different farm. That maybe this was your chance to have what you wanted and try to start living for yourself again, with the help of him, instead of living in this shell that has the scent of another.

Maybe it’s time to let go and allow yourself to be loved.

I hope you enjoyed!! I also love this gif lol.

[mgu-h]

this is bit long, sorry just something I noticed:

I noticed with Max F. and Lando, mostly Max, that he always protects Lando's privacy. I mean, that's no secret really, but mid-last year, I watched almost all of Max’s streams from beginning to end, whether Lando was there or not. Maybe only three days in total when I didn’t join his stream.

And I noticed that while, yes, he sometimes tells stories about Lando (I saw some Lando fans criticize him for that because they think he uses Lando for clout, which I think is absurd), it's always stories that Lando would mostly tell himself. It’s never anything scandalous, so I don’t get why anyone would hate Max for it. In a few instances, Lando was even in the chat, encouraging Max to tell a story or show an embarrassing picture of him, but Max never did.

I think Max feels like part of "Team Lando Norris." I mean, he is 100% part of it, but what I mean is that sometimes Bankai will ask if Lando is flying or if he’s home yet, and even Connor asks these questions to Max. And Max sometimes ignores them, even though you can tell he heard them—like, he was talking right before, so it’s noticeable that he just chose not to answer. Which, I mean, is obviously for a reason. But these are also Lando’s friends, and I think they sometimes forget they’re live, and that there are certain people listening who run gossip pages or haters just looking for a reason to hate Lando even more.

Mostly, Max will ignore the question or answer so vaguely that the question isn’t really answered at all. But it’s always obvious that he knows the answer.

Also, whenever it was a race week and Max was streaming the race with Bankai, and Bankai would criticize a driver for a mistake (without insulting them, just pointing it out), Max would kind of try to smooth talk it over for potential fans in the chat. Because he knows people could take it as another reason to hate Lando. Bankai would also ask things like, "Why is Oscar so slow compared to Lando?" and wait to see what Max would say. But most of the time, Max wouldn’t answer, which I find interesting. The only time he really broke that pattern was at the Brazil GP, and even then, he tried so hard to phrase it in a way that wasn’t insulting to any other driver but he was frustrated (understandable).

Yes, some of it is probably to protect himself and, with that, also Quadrant, but it’s so obvious that he does this for Lando. He knows exactly what people would do with these clips. And after the year Lando had, other drivers’ fans would rip Lando to shreds if they felt like someone from Lando’s inner circle had insulted another driver, he is 100% team lando norris.

1000000% to all of that. it reminds me a bit of that last stream from the house in woking, when lando blurted out to chat that max had a girlfriend, making max upset. he very easily could have returned the favor and violated lando's privacy too, you could see it in his eyes, but he explicitly refused to do that to him. it's clearly a huge priority for him to protect lando, and always has been.

there's that joke in his twitch bio 'very professional streamer' but honestly he really is one. he's good at not offending people and keeping his streams interesting without oversharing. he knows he's got the advantage of his connection to lando (it gets people to his streams, who sometimes stick around just for him) but he manages to keep that without exploiting him for content.

it must be an awkward position for him sometimes to have to deny requests for info, to ignore or pivot or whatever else, especially if it comes from mutual friends, who really should know better, but he manages to do it. he's really good at keeping in control of what he says, even in moments of high emotion. his internal 'protect lando' instinct is always operative.

[aspenmissing]

Hey this is very specific but could you write viktor + any characters you wish with an reader with ichthyophobia? (Fear of fish)

I know its very uncommon and it sometimes make me feel stupid for fearing this animal, but its the eyes y'know? It makes me panic

ʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰɪꜱʜʏ ꜰɪꜱʜʏ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ|| 6654 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɪᴄʜᴛʜʏᴏᴘʜᴏʙɪᴀ, ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪꜱʜ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰᴇᴀʀ! ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴜʀɪᴏᴜꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʏᴇꜱ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴇᴀᴋʏ. ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇʏ, ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴇᴀʀꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏ ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇ ɪɴ ɪᴛ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

Y/N had always kept her fears hidden. Most people wouldn't even know she had them. But deep down, there was one thing that haunted her: fish. Not just any fish—large ones, small ones, fish with scales that shimmered, with eyes that seemed too knowing. It was a fear she couldn't explain, a phobia that had plagued her ever since childhood, but she managed to avoid it as best as she could. Until that day.

The sun was setting over Piltover, casting a warm golden hue over the city. Jayce had invited Y/N to join him for dinner at a newly opened restaurant that had been getting rave reviews. It was supposed to be a peaceful evening, a rare moment for the two of them to relax and enjoy a meal together, away from the pressures of their work at the Academy. It was a chance to unwind, to share time away from their responsibilities—just the two of them.

=

As they walked into the elegant dining hall, the scent of fresh seafood wafted through the air. Y/N felt her stomach twist into knots. She looked around the large room, noticing the massive tanks filled with various kinds of fish, their glimmering bodies swimming lazily beneath the water. The sight, the movement, the flickering scales—it all made her heart race.

"Wow, this place looks amazing," Jayce said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the stunning décor. "I heard their seafood is top-notch. I know you're not picky, but I think you'll really enjoy it."

Y/N forced a smile, trying to ignore the growing unease in her chest. She couldn’t let Jayce know, not yet. She had always been good at hiding things, especially fears that didn’t make sense to anyone else. As they were led to their table, her eyes darted around the room, unable to avoid the fish tanks any longer. She felt her heart rate increase, her breath growing shallow. The sound of water splashing softly in the background only made things worse.

The waiter ushered them to their seats, and Y/N sat down, careful not to let her unease show. But she could feel the coolness of the glass tank against her back, the fish gliding through the water, their eyes seeming to follow her every movement. She tried to focus on the menu, but the flickering shadows of the tanks kept drawing her gaze.

"Is everything okay?" Jayce asked, his voice soft and filled with concern. He was looking at her now, his brow furrowed in that way he always did when he sensed something was off. He reached for his glass of water, but his gaze remained fixed on her, searching for any signs of discomfort.

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. Her throat felt dry, and she had to remind herself to breathe. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She tried to focus on the menu in front of her, but her mind kept drifting back to the tanks, to the fish... their eyes.

Jayce was quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving her. He wasn’t convinced. The silence between them stretched, but it was a warm kind of silence—like the pause before a storm, a stillness full of unspoken understanding.

"You’re not fine," he finally said, his voice gentle but firm. "I can tell. You’ve been quiet since we sat down, and your hands—" He looked at her hands on the table. They were trembling ever so slightly, but it didn’t go unnoticed. "Y/N, what’s going on?"

Y/N froze. She had been trying to push the fear down, to keep it buried where it belonged, but the weight of Jayce’s gaze and his words made it harder to ignore. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in a shaky breath. "I... I have a fear of fish," she admitted, the words coming out in a rush. "Ichthyophobia. I know it sounds silly, but... I can't help it. I can't even look at them for too long without feeling like I’m suffocating."

Jayce’s expression softened, the lines of worry smoothing out as he processed her words. His hand moved across the table slowly, gently reaching for hers. He took her hand in his, his touch grounding, warm. He squeezed it reassuringly. "It's not silly," he said softly, his voice filled with understanding. "It makes sense, really. I should’ve realized sooner. You’ve always been so strong, and I guess I missed the signs." He lowered his gaze for a second, regret creeping into his voice. "I’m sorry for not noticing before."

Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. It was such a simple thing—his understanding, his care—but it meant more to her than she could express. Most people would have laughed, brushed it off, or even worse, dismissed her fear as trivial. But Jayce... he didn’t. He didn’t make her feel small for something so deeply ingrained in her, something that she had struggled with her entire life.

"You don't have to stay here," Jayce continued, his voice warm and steady. "If you’re not comfortable, we can go somewhere else. We can grab something to eat at my place if you'd prefer that. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I just want you to feel okay."

Y/N looked at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. The tenderness in his eyes, the way he looked at her like she mattered—it made everything feel a little easier. She blinked away the sudden rush of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.

“I didn’t want to ruin the evening,” she said, her voice small.

Jayce shook his head, his gaze unwavering. "You haven’t ruined anything, Y/N. It’s just dinner, and we can make it better. We’ll figure something out, together." His words held a promise, and his hand on hers felt like an anchor.

With a soft sigh, Y/N managed a small smile. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

He smiled back, his eyes warm. "I’m glad I’m here too." He signaled to the waiter, who was still waiting nearby, and gave a brief apology as they prepared to leave. Jayce’s hand never left hers as they stood up, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel the weight of his support, as though she wasn’t carrying this burden alone anymore.

As they stepped out into the cool evening air, the city lights flickered around them, and Y/N let out a deep breath, feeling lighter than she had in hours. She had always thought that facing her fears alone was the only way, but with Jayce beside her, she realized that she didn’t have to.

They didn’t need fancy dinners or luxurious restaurants to enjoy themselves. They just needed each other. And in that moment, Y/N knew that, no matter what happened, as long as Jayce was by her side, she could face anything—even the deepest fears.

VIKTOR

The sun had barely risen, casting a soft, golden hue over Piltover's bustling streets. You and Viktor had just finished a meeting at the Academy, and now, you were walking down one of the many avenues toward the market. Viktor leaned on his cane, his leg brace clicking faintly with each step. Despite the visible signs of the difficulty in his gait, he moved with a quiet grace, always steady, always precise. Over the years, you had come to admire the way Viktor handled his struggles, never letting them define him, always pushing forward.

“I think I may have found something for your next project,” Viktor said with a spark of excitement in his voice. “A new component for the energy converter—more efficient than what we’re currently using. It should help reduce the power fluctuations we’ve been experiencing.”

You smiled up at him, appreciating his eagerness. Viktor’s mind was always racing, his thoughts constantly moving forward, thinking of ways to make the world around him better. It was something you admired deeply, the way his passion for progress never wavered.

“You’re always thinking ahead, aren’t you?” you teased, nudging him gently with your shoulder.

He chuckled softly, though there was a hint of pride in his eyes. “I have to keep the world moving forward. It’s the only way we can truly make a difference.”

As the two of you rounded a corner, the familiar scent of the fish market hit you. At first, it was just a faint trace in the air, but as you drew closer, the pungent odor of salt and seaweed filled your senses. It was overwhelming.

Your stomach churned, the sensation crawling up your throat. The smell—sharp, musky—was enough to send your heart into a frantic beat. You had never liked the market, but today, it was different. The fear seemed more intense, the anxiety more suffocating. Every time you passed by, it was like the fish stared at you—darting in their tanks, their eyes glossy, their gills fluttering in a grotesque dance.

You felt your pulse quicken, and the edges of your vision began to blur. The market loomed before you like a wall, a deep, suffocating fog surrounding you.

"Y/N?" Viktor’s voice cut through the rising panic in your chest. His tone was soft, but there was an underlying concern that you couldn't ignore. You hadn’t realized how tense you had become, your hands tightening around the straps of your bag, your body frozen in place.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to calm down. But the fear wouldn’t dissipate. “I... I can’t do it, Viktor,” you whispered, barely able to control the tremor in your voice.

He studied you for a long moment, his brow furrowing in quiet understanding. Viktor had never pushed you to confront your phobia. He had seen how it affected you, how it made your world shrink when you were near fish, and he always respected your space, your boundaries. He never treated it as a trivial fear.

Without a word, Viktor reached out, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. He was slower than usual, his leg brace clicking as he shifted his weight, but his touch was steady, grounding. “It’s alright,” he said softly, his voice like a warm balm against your anxiety. “We don’t have to go through there.”

You swallowed, trying to hold back the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm you. You had learned to manage your fear over the years, but moments like this made you feel helpless, exposed.

Viktor gave a small nod and began to lead you away from the market, guiding you down a quieter, less crowded path. The further you moved from the source of your panic, the more your breathing slowed, though your heart still pounded in your chest.

“Thank you,” you said in a barely audible voice. Your words were quiet, but they carried a weight of gratitude you couldn’t express fully. Viktor had seen you at your worst—had seen your fear take hold of you—and yet, he never treated you as if you were broken or weak.

Viktor gave you a slight smile, his eyes softening. “There’s no need to thank me,” he replied. “You’re important to me. I never want you to feel uncomfortable, not with me.”

You smiled faintly, glancing up at him. The years spent with Viktor had only deepened your admiration for him. He was never loud, never overbearing. His presence was quiet, constant, and his understanding of you—of your fears, your vulnerabilities—was something you had come to rely on.

“I know,” you said, your voice a little steadier now. “It’s just... I don’t want to seem childish. I should be able to handle it. I’m not a child anymore.”

Viktor’s expression softened further, and he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Fear is not childish, Y/N. It is part of being human. We all have our fears, our burdens. They don’t define us, but they shape us. And sometimes, it’s okay to be afraid.”

You looked at him, your chest still tight, but his words eased the weight just a little. Viktor’s calm presence had a way of making you feel less alone in your struggles. He didn’t belittle them, didn’t try to force you to be something you weren’t.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, lightening the mood between you. “Maybe one day I’ll get over it,” you mused.

Viktor chuckled, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. “Perhaps. But until then, I’m happy to be your guide through the difficult parts.” His voice held a quiet confidence, a promise that he would always be there, no matter what.

You smiled up at him, grateful for the comfort his words brought. “And I’m happy to have you with me.”

The rest of the walk passed in comfortable silence, the weight of your phobia slowly lifting as you put more distance between yourself and the market. Viktor, though still dependent on his cane and leg brace, moved with purpose and grace, his presence beside you a steady anchor.

The streets of Piltover were alive with the sounds of the early morning—horse-drawn carriages, the chatter of vendors setting up their stalls, the distant clatter of a forge—but for you, it was Viktor’s quiet presence that filled the space, making the world seem less overwhelming. With each step, you knew you were not facing the world alone.

JAYVIK

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, the soft light from the morning sun trickling through the blinds. It was early—too early for anything to feel like a disturbance. She stretched, letting out a quiet yawn as she swung her legs off the side of the bed and made her way towards the kitchen.

The apartment was still quiet, save for the soft clink of cups and the occasional rustling sound coming from the kitchen. She padded across the floor, still groggy, and rubbed at her eyes.

As she reached the kitchen doorway, her yawn caught in her throat.

Her gaze drifted to the far corner of the room, where she stopped in her tracks. A fish tank. Sitting there. Cold, alien, filled with swimming fish. Her eyes widened, her breath caught, and suddenly, the air felt far too thick. The sound of water, the flicker of their darting movements—it all hit her like a ton of bricks.

Y/N’s chest tightened, and she gasped, choking on the remainder of her yawn.

Jayce, who had been sitting at the kitchen table with Viktor, immediately looked up, startled by the sound. “Y/N?” he called, concern flooding his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Viktor turned his head at the same time, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Y/N?” he echoed, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as he pushed himself to his feet.

She didn’t respond right away. She couldn’t. Her body had frozen, locked in place as her eyes stayed glued to the tank. Fish. Why?

Jayce stood up, quickly walking over to her with a worried frown. “Hey, you okay?” His hand gently touched her arm, but she didn’t move.

Viktor reached them a moment later, his gaze flicking from Y/N’s stiff posture to the tank in the corner. His sharp eyes observed the situation, understanding flickering in his expression.

Y/N finally managed to tear her eyes away from the fish, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “I... I can’t... I can’t—” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, the words tangled in her throat. Her body was still locked in place, frozen in terror.

Viktor’s voice, soft and filled with curiosity, cut through the tension. “Fish?” He raised an eyebrow, offering Jayce a questioning glance.

Jayce, who had been sitting at the kitchen table and watching the exchange with a slight smile, now looked from Y/N’s rigid form to the tank, his expression shifting from amusement to shock. “Yeah, I thought I’d get some fish for Viktor,” Jayce explained, scratching the back of his neck. “You know, so when we get tired of hearing him ramble, he can talk to them instead.” He chuckled, but then his smile faltered as he took in the sight of Y/N’s fearful expression. His face drained of color as realization dawned on him. “Wait, you’re... scared of fish?” he asked softly, his voice full of surprise.

Y/N nodded, her wide eyes still fixed on the tank, her body stiff with dread. The thought of the fish—their darting eyes, the slickness of their bodies as they swam in unpredictable patterns—made her feel suffocated. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t make herself move.

Jayce’s expression softened instantly, his shock turning to concern. “Oh, Y/N... I had no idea. I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice full of remorse. "I’ll get rid of them, Y/N. You don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure they’re gone.”

“Hey, we’ll take care of it,” Viktor added, stepping closer and placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. His touch was warm and steady, grounding her. “You’re safe.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide as she looked from Jayce, who was already moving to pull the tank away, to Viktor, who was trying his best to calm her with his quiet presence. The tension in her chest slowly began to ease.

“I... I don’t want to ruin things. I know you thought it’d be nice,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jayce quickly shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips as he tossed a reassuring glance at Viktor. “Hey, it’s okay. We didn’t know. We’ll make it right.”

Viktor’s gaze softened even further as he squeezed her shoulder gently. “We’ll fix it together, love. You never have to face this alone.”

Y/N’s breath finally began to slow, her body unwinding just slightly as the weight of her fear began to lift. She was still anxious, still unsettled by the presence of the fish, but with Jayce and Viktor by her side, she felt like she could breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said again, more firmly this time.

Jayce smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You don’t have to apologize. We’ll handle it.”

Viktor, ever the calming presence, leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Always together, Y/N. Always.”

And just like that, with them there, Y/N felt a little lighter, knowing that whatever the world threw at her, she didn’t have to face it alone.

VANDER

It was one of those blistering hot days in Zaun when the sun seemed to burn through every layer of clothing. The kids—Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor—were playing around, splashing in the shallows of the lake, their laughter echoing through the quiet air. Vander had decided to take them out of the hustle of the streets and let them cool off in the peaceful water. Y/N, however, had her reservations. She stood at the shore, arms folded, watching the kids with a smile but keeping a safe distance from the water.

She had always been wary of fish—an odd, irrational fear that seemed to freeze her up anytime she was too close. It wasn’t something she often talked about, not even with Vander, but it was a part of her. So, while the others dived and swam, she stayed back, her gaze flicking nervously toward the ripples in the lake.

Vander caught sight of her hesitation, a playful glint in his eyes as he looked toward the kids. He made a decision then, a decision that would come with consequences, but he couldn't resist.

“Hey, love! You’re missing out on the fun!” Vander called out, grinning. The kids paused in their swimming to look at her.

Y/N gave a nervous smile, shaking her head. “I’m good here, really.”

Vi pouted, “Aw, come on, Y/N! The water’s fine!”

Vander's grin widened as he stood up, taking slow, purposeful steps toward Y/N, who was now trying to retreat further from the water. “You’re no fun, Y/N. You should really give it a try,” he said with a wink. Before she could react, he scooped her up, effortlessly lifting her into the air.

“What are you—” Y/N started, but it was too late. With a chuckle, Vander tossed her into the lake.

Y/N let out a surprised laugh as she splashed into the cool water, the shock of the plunge making her momentarily forget her fear. She surfaced quickly, coughing and laughing, her heart still racing from the unexpected drop. The kids laughed and cheered, watching her splash around in the water.

“See? Not so bad!” Vander called out, his voice full of pride.

But Y/N’s laughter faltered as she felt something brush against her foot. Her eyes widened in panic, and she looked down. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the slimy, wriggling form of a fish dart past her feet. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as her fear washed over her like a tidal wave.

“Vander! Vander!” she screamed, her voice high-pitched and filled with genuine terror. Her panic took over, and before she knew it, she was scrambling out of the water with wild, frantic movements, heart pounding in her chest. She found a nearby rock to scramble onto, her legs shaking as she stood there, breathless.

Vander’s playful grin instantly dropped, his face turning to one of deep concern. “Y/N?! What happened?” he called, rushing toward her with a furrowed brow, his voice filled with worry. “Are you hurt?”

Y/N was panting, still unable to steady her breath as she looked down at the water, her body trembling as if she expected the fish to leap out after her. “Fish!” she managed to stammer, her voice shaky. “There was—there was a fish!”

Vander’s face softened with concern, his heart sinking at the sight of her panic. He quickly approached her, kneeling down in front of her with an urgency that made his usually calm demeanor falter. “You’re not hurt, right?” he asked gently, his hand reaching out but hesitating just before it touched her shoulder.

Y/N shook her head quickly, though she was still visibly shaken. “I’m fine... I just—” She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “I just don’t like them, Vander. I—I can’t...”

Vander’s heart ached as he processed the depth of her fear. He’d known she was wary of water, but he hadn’t realized it was so intense. Gently, he reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, offering her a comforting squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Y/N gave him a small, forced smile, though it was clear she was still recovering. “It’s alright... I just need a minute,” she said, trying to calm her racing heart.

Vander carefully helped guide her away from the water's edge, his hand never leaving her back. He could feel the weight of what had happened, knowing it was supposed to be a fun outing for the whole family—but now, he only wanted to make sure Y/N was okay. The kids had stopped playing, sensing the change in atmosphere, and stood at a distance, unsure of what to do.

“I should’ve been more careful,” Vander muttered under his breath, his brows knitted in guilt. “I didn’t realize it would be this bad.”

Y/N, taking a few steadying breaths, looked up at him, her expression softening. “It’s fine,” she said, her voice more controlled now, though it still held a trace of unease. “I just... I really don’t like fish. It’s nothing personal, I swear.”

Vander exhaled, a sigh of relief, though his worry still lingered. “Next time, I’ll stick to more... fish-free activities, I promise.”

The kids, realizing it wasn’t serious but still wanting to comfort Y/N, gathered around her. Mylo, always the troublemaker, flashed a mischievous grin. “Guess we’ll just have to keep you out of the water next time, huh?”

Y/N laughed, though it was a little shaky at first. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” she agreed, her hand resting on Mylo’s shoulder.

Vander chuckled softly as he stood by her, watching the kids return to their playful antics. His heart was lighter, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of his earlier mistake. He had meant to bring some joy, but now he just wanted to make sure Y/N knew she was safe and that he’d never do something like that again.

“Maybe next time,” Vander suggested with a warm, reassuring smile, “we’ll just take a walk around the lake. No fish involved.”

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Next time, I think I’ll stay dry. For everyone’s sake.”

Vander chuckled, the sound full of warmth. He pulled her a little closer, his arm resting around her shoulder. They both watched as the kids continued to splash in the water, their laughter filling the air once more. The day wasn’t ruined—it had just become another reminder of the bond they shared, and how important it was to care for each other.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow across the lake, Vander and Y/N stood at the edge together, silently enjoying the peaceful moment. The kids had returned to their fun, but Vander and Y/N had a quiet understanding.

SILCO

The night was thick with tension, the distant hum of Zaun's machinery blending with the occasional clank of metal, a reminder of the industrial heart of the city. The alleys of Zaun felt familiar to Y/N, the familiar scent of oil and rust in the air, yet tonight, there was something off about the air. A strange unease had settled over her as she walked, her footsteps echoing off the damp walls.

"You're not feeling it, are you?" Silco’s voice cut through the silence, as smooth as ever, but with an edge that made Y/N pause.

She turned to find him leaning casually against a wall, his usual calm demeanour concealing the storm that brewed behind his eyes. He was always a mystery to her, a man who ruled Zaun with cold precision, but there was something comforting about his presence. He was different with her—less guarded, even if he rarely showed it.

"Feeling what?" she asked, her voice betraying the slightest hint of hesitation.

"The pressure," Silco replied cryptically. "You're tense. Uncomfortable."

She looked away, focusing on a flickering streetlamp as her unease deepened. The truth was, she hated being near the water. Ever since she was a child, she'd been haunted by a fear she couldn’t shake, the irrational terror of fish. The sight of their glistening scales and sharp teeth paralyzed her with anxiety.

"I remember the first time I saw you like this," Silco continued, stepping closer but keeping a careful distance, his gaze sharp yet warm. "You froze when we passed by that vendor with the tanks of fish. I never took you for one to freeze at something so trivial."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, the memory of the last time she'd been near water flooding her mind. She had tried to be brave, to push through the dread when a fish tank in a shop window had caught her eye, but her heart had raced, and her body had frozen. She had felt trapped in the moment, her breath shallow and her limbs heavy, unwilling to move, to breathe. Silco had been there, watching from a distance, but she hadn't been able to stop the panic.

She remembered the way he had approached her after, his presence like a quiet anchor, his steady eyes never judging, only waiting. His silence had been the only thing that kept her from breaking down in that moment.

"I don’t know how you do it," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I can’t even look at a fish without freezing. It’s like they’re watching me. Waiting for me to slip."

Silco studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if considering his next words carefully. He was a man of few words, but when he did speak, it was never without purpose. "You think I don’t have fears, too?" he asked, his voice low and filled with something deeper than just the question. "I’ve seen the depths of this city, the monsters that lurk beneath the surface. I’ve learned to live with them, control them. But I never forget they’re there."

His words struck her harder than she expected. For a long time, Y/N had thought of Silco as invincible, a man who was beyond the reach of ordinary fears and weaknesses. But hearing him speak so candidly about his own struggles—his own demons—made him seem more human, more real. It made her wonder if the fears that bound her could ever be understood by someone like him.

Y/N shifted uneasily, the tension palpable between them. She had never shared this part of herself with anyone—not even Viktor or Jayce, who knew most of her other vulnerabilities. To let someone in this far was frightening, but Silco wasn’t just anyone. He was the man who had seen her at her weakest, and yet, never once had he shown pity. It was his strength in that silence that had kept her steady.

"You think I’m weak because of it?" she asked, her voice edged with self-doubt. She was afraid that in confessing her deepest fear, she might lose the respect she had fought so hard to keep.

Silco’s expression softened, but only for a moment. “No. In fact, it’s your strength to confront your fear that fascinates me. Most run from it."

There was a strange intensity to his gaze, the way he saw right through her, peeling back layers she had worked so hard to keep hidden. For a brief moment, Y/N forgot about the fear that had held her captive for so long, and all that was left was the way Silco made her feel: seen, understood, and somehow, not so alone.

"You don’t have to face it alone," Silco added, his voice low, almost a growl. His words carried a promise, a subtle invitation. "The world has a way of throwing things at us. Things we fear. But we can fight them together, if you want."

His offer was like a lifeline, something she hadn’t expected from a man like Silco. She had always seen him as distant, hardened by the brutality of his world, but in this moment, there was something softer, a side of him that she wasn’t sure he even knew he had. It was tempting. More than tempting—it was everything she had ever wanted in a world that had often felt too cold to be vulnerable in.

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. It was terrifying to face her fears, but there was something oddly reassuring in the idea that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to do it on her own. With Silco by her side, the thought of confronting her fear didn’t seem quite as impossible.

"I’m not asking you to fix me," Y/N said quietly, her voice filled with resolve. "I just… I just want to try. I want to be stronger than this."

Silco’s lips twitched in a rare, fleeting smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let her know that her words had meant something to him. "Then try. You’ll find that when you face the things that haunt you, they lose their power."

The air between them shifted, and for the first time that night, the tension seemed to ease. In that moment, Y/N realized that beneath the surface of their lives, full of fear and uncertainty, was something far stronger—a bond she hadn’t expected to find, but now couldn't imagine living without.

"Thanks," she said softly, the words hanging in the air like a promise, a weight they both understood.

"Anytime," Silco replied, his gaze still lingering on her, knowing that their path forward would not be without its trials. But with him, at least, she wouldn’t have to face it alone. And that, in itself, was a form of victory. Together, they would face whatever came, whether it be the monsters beneath the surface or the fears that threatened to drown them. With Silco at her side, Y/N felt a strange sense of peace, as if, for the first time, she could breathe without the suffocating weight of her fear.

POWDER/JINX

It was late in the evening, and the glow of Zaun’s ever-present industrial lights cast long shadows against the grimy walls. Y/N had grown accustomed to the chaotic, buzzing city over the years. The constant hum of machinery, the clattering of metal against metal, and the sharp stench of burning oils and chemicals had become background noise. But there was something else about Zaun that still unsettled her—something that had been with her for as long as she could remember.

It wasn’t the noise or the smell. No, for Y/N, the thing that haunted her the most was the gnawing fear of fish.

Her ichthyophobia had started when she was younger, back in Zaun’s deep, grimy canals where the water was never clear and the fish were twisted things—scavengers that fed on the waste of the city. She had never been fond of the water, but the sight of those strange, flickering creatures swimming in the muck was enough to make her heart race. It wasn’t just the appearance of them—it was the way they slithered, the way they moved, and the way their eyes always seemed to follow her.

As much as she tried to block out the occasional fishy odor that lingered in the air from time to time, it still managed to creep up on her. The stench that came from the damp alleys or through the cracks in the walls would twist her stomach in knots, and no amount of distractions could make it go away. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d told anyone about her fear, and honestly, she didn’t think it was something she’d ever admit. In a city like Zaun, showing weakness could get you killed, and she wasn’t about to risk that for something as silly as fish.

=

Today, though, she'd ventured deeper into the heart of Zaun, looking for materials she needed to continue her work. Jayce had warned her to be careful, but Y/N was beyond taking it easy. She’d spent enough time hiding in Piltover or in the Academy, and today she just needed to get her hands dirty. So, she navigated the maze of streets, past the smoky factories and underground markets, until she found herself in an area that still felt wild, untamed, and full of danger.

It was there that she encountered Jinx, the whirlwind of chaos and mischief that had become an unexpected, yet oddly fitting, part of her life. Jinx was always unpredictable, always bouncing from one extreme to the next. She wasn’t someone Y/N had ever really expected to be friends with, but over the years, they’d grown to know each other. Jinx’s chaotic nature seemed to balance out Y/N’s more grounded demeanor, and despite everything, there was a strange understanding between them.

“Boom! Surprise!” Jinx shouted from behind, and before Y/N could turn around, a loud pop echoed through the air, followed by a strange squelching sound.

Y/N spun around, her heart leaping into her throat, only to find Jinx holding a fish—big, slimy, and wriggling like it was a prize she’d just won.

“Whoa! You scared the heck out of me!” Y/N gasped, pressing her hand to her chest as her mind raced to calm itself.

Jinx stood in front of her, grinning wildly, her usual manic energy unmistakable. “Oops! My bad!” she said with a giggle. “But hey, you’re looking a little tense! I thought you’d love a little bit of fun!”

Y/N, her eyes still wide, quickly looked at the wriggling creature in Jinx’s arms. Her stomach dropped, and her hands shook slightly as her throat tightened. The fish's scales shimmered under the dim light, its tail flicking in the air like it could leap at her any second. It was exactly the kind of fish she hated—the ones that looked like they could crawl out of the water and into her world.

Instinctively, Y/N took a few steps back, her eyes never leaving the writhing creature.

Jinx tilted her head, noticing the subtle shift in Y/N’s posture. The grin on her face faltered, replaced with curiosity. “Hey, what’s up with you? You look like you saw a ghost or something.” She wiggled the fish in front of Y/N as if it were some sort of prize. “You don’t like my new friend?”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt dry. “Uh... no, it’s not that,” she said quickly, forcing out the words. “I just... I don’t really like fish.”

Jinx’s grin grew wider, but there was something else in her eyes now—a little flicker of understanding. “Ohh, I see! Fishy-wishy got you all freaked out!” she teased, but her tone wasn’t mocking. There was no laughter in it, just a light-hearted curiosity.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and she could feel herself retreating inward. “Yeah, something like that…” Her voice trailed off, unwilling to admit how much it actually terrified her.

For a long moment, there was silence between them. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to look away from the fish, which seemed to mock her by wriggling closer to her feet. The smell of the creature wasn’t helping her nausea.

But then, to her surprise, Jinx paused. The manic energy that always seemed to buzz around her flickered just for a moment. Jinx lowered the fish to the ground, watching it flop around uselessly on the dirt and grime of the alley.

“Okay, okay, no fish for you,” Jinx said, her voice softer than usual, though still with that edge of mischief. “I get it. No fishy-wishy today.”

Y/N exhaled, her shoulders relaxing just a little. The tension that had been gripping her was starting to ease, but she still couldn’t shake the lingering discomfort in her chest. She’d never told anyone about her fear before. It always felt so... ridiculous. But there was Jinx, someone she knew to be unpredictable, not always kind, and still, she had been more considerate than Y/N expected.

“Thanks, Jinx,” Y/N said, her voice quiet but sincere. “I really appreciate it.”

Jinx’s grin returned, broader and more mischievous than ever. “No problem, Y/N! You’re safe with me. No fish gonna hurt you. You’re my friend, after all!” she said, giving Y/N a playful shove.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head, feeling the last bit of tension slide away. “Yeah, I’ll take your word for it. And, uh, maybe something a little less... explosive next time?”

Jinx made a dramatic pout, crossing her arms over her chest, but it was all an act. “Lame!” she exclaimed, bouncing on her heels. “Fine, I’ll keep it low-key. But I can’t promise no bangs in the future!”

Y/N shook her head, laughing softly as Jinx took off down the street, skipping like a child, her infectious energy carrying her away.

As Y/N continued her walk through the streets of Zaun, the weight of the encounter stayed with her. Jinx had shown her a side of herself that Y/N hadn’t expected—a surprising kindness buried underneath all the chaos. It wasn’t much, but for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt a little less alone in Zaun. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, she could breathe a little easier, knowing that not everything in this city was as harsh as it seemed.

In a world where survival meant toughness, Y/N had learned something new: sometimes, kindness came from the most unexpected places—and maybe, just maybe, that could be enough to change things.

[eempyreall]

This is the original request. This story is the non fandom original character version.

༺————————————————————————༻

♪ 𝐵𝑎𝑑 𝑆𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑏𝑦 𝐽𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑠 ♪

༺ Bad Side ༻

Oneshot ~ Yandere Boyfriend x Female Reader

Summary ~ You underestimated who your boyfriend really is.

Featuring ~ Original Character: Lee

Extra Notes ~ This is the non fandom version of this story. If you want to read the Tokyo Revengers’ version, press this link.

This story should only be posted under eempyreall on my tumblr. Report if you see it posted under anyone else but me.

l apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Warning ~

You and the characters are 21+. Although I picture the reader as a black cis-gendered female, physical appearance will not be described at all.

Content within this story may not be realistic or factual.

I do not condone any of the behavior displayed within the story.

There may be dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit content, sexual content, non consensual and/or dubious consensual content, etc.

That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Lee has always been gentle with you. Despite his rough exterior and tough demeanor, he was careful with you. You find it sweet how he treats you so delicately, as if you were such a fragile thing. But you had a moment of slight frustration as you spoke with your friend over the phone.

“I just wish he wasn't so soft. I love that he's kind to me and takes his time in the bedroom to make sure I’m alright, but it'd be nice to see him a little jealous sometimes or even a bit rougher when we have sex,” you sighed. “Maybe I'm just toxic.”

You hadn't meant for him to hear it. You weren't even that serious about it—wasn't even that big of a deal considering you both were just talking about your boyfriends. You definitely hadn't expected his change in attitude. What you didn't know was the inner turmoil Lee actually felt after hearing those words.

You had no idea what his true feelings were. You didn't know that he checked all of your social media apps and messages when you slept, using your face to unlock the phone.

You had no idea how many guys he's beaten till they're near death after they made a pass at you, whether it was the bartender, barista, or anyone else, all with tears streaming down his face at the thought of you leaving him. You had no idea that when he wasn't working, he'd follow you everywhere you went.

You didn't even know that every time you were both in the bedroom, he stopped himself from marking you and bringing blood to the surface while wanting to completely ravage your body. He wanted to break your mind, make you cry out for him and mix your tears and sweat together while he thrusts into you.

That night, Lee was different.

His usual quiet warmth was replaced with a sharp edge that his usual expression didn't produce. There was a dark undertone to his gaze as he stood at the bedside.

“Get up.”

Your eyebrow raised as you looked at him in confusion. “Lee? What's going on?”

You gasped as he snatched the front of your shirt and forced you to stand from the bed. “What the fuck?!” you exclaimed before he shoved you against the wall, the hard surface hitting the back of your head.

The pain in your head throbbed as you stared at him with wide eyes, noticing the tears building up in his own lilac irises. Your hands reached for his grip, only for him to release you and wrap his fingers around your throat.

“So that's what you really think, huh?” His voice was eerily calm, despite the tight grip closing around your airway. His tousled black strands cast a shadow over his face. “You think I can't handle you or somethin'?”

“L—Lee! What are you talking about?” You stuttered as you tried to pry his hand off your neck. “Just tell me what's wrong!”

“I was nice for your sake,” his tone laced with something sinister as the tears finally streamed down his face. “I held back... thought you were too weak to handle the real me.”

“Y-you're scaring me, Lee. Please calm down!” You pleaded.

You froze as he leaned closer to you, bowing his forehead against yours, the palm of his free hand flat against the wall. “Tell me what you want, Y/n,” he whispered.

“I—I don't know. I don't know where you're going with this, Lee, and it's throwing me off. Please, calm down and just tell me what I did to upset you,” you pleaded with a shaky tone, tears pricking your own eyes in confusion.

“That's alright, 'cause I know exactly what I wanna do to you.”

Your eyes were rolled into the back of your head, tears mixing with the sweat on your face as you pressed your head against the bed. His balled-up shirt was used as a gag to muffle your screams and whimpers. Fabric was tied tightly around your wrists, strapping you to the bars of the headboard as your body rocked violently from the impact of his thrusts.

The bloody scars and bites across your body burn, the intense feeling of overstimulation taking over as your vagina numbs around his thick cock. You’re pinned into a mating press as his grip tightens around your legs. The safe word is useless as your body is forced into another spasm of a painful orgasm.

“That’s fucking right. Look at you… so weak and full of my cum,” he pants as he continues to grind his hips against you—your vaginal walls clenching around his length. He groaned at the pressure, biting his lip as his hips rolled harder against you.

He stops for a moment to lean over, fingers curling around your jaw after gently smacking your face to catch your attention. You look up at him with teary eyes as he snatched the fabric out of your mouth.

He didn’t give you a chance to lick over your dry lips. “Stick out your tongue,” he says with a low voice.

Once you comply, he drags his own tongue over yours slowly before giving you a hard thrust and holding the head of his girth against your g-spot. You grunt in response.

“You’ve lost the privilege to go anywhere on your own, if it’s not work. I don’t give a damn about your slutty friends or whatever plans you have. You don’t go anywhere without me, got it?”

“B—but, Lee—hah!” You cry out in pain when he smacks your thigh with enough force to bruise the skin.

“Got it?”

You nod in response as he continued to fuck into you until you faint.

[sir-fenris]

AAAAAAAAA 🥹 I've lived for the day that I would be getting commentaries too. I can die happy. Thank you <33

Sorry for taking so long to answer. I read it before going to sleep and I giggled so much my cheeks hurt, but I was too tired to answer cohesively. And today I was busy pretty much the whole time :'(

But I was able to write this down while preparing and eating my dinner :D

(My responses organization is kinda messy, don't mind it please XD)

It is real and it is happening, I'm glad Cyrus's yearning was clear and that it seemed a strong start :) I went back and forth with SO MANY begginings, I think I wrote and deleted more than 10 completely different starting paragraphs XD.

I might put the rp on the masterpost soon! I wanted to ask you if I could, first. And find a way to organize it in a way I feel is nice to read.

And well... about the gloves, who knows? :) is it because he can use his magic with any skin contact? What I can say is that all handlers do have gloves with technology, but usually, they're are fingerless gloves. Wilson's hands and arms are fully covered.

(I already changed your emoji <3)

Yes, protection barriers makes him nauseous when he goes in, because it's designed exatcly to keep his magic contained in the tent in case he uses it unauthorized, so it gives him a bad feeling. Once Wilson gives him authorization, the barriers are set down. When the authorization is revoked, they come back up. That's one of the many reasons why Wilson has to communicate when he's about to turn the nullification back of the collar.

A lot of safety measures 😃

Well... I wouldn't say he's allowed to actually refuse food. Wilson just sometimes is "merciful" and allows him to take his breakfast after his comedown is done, because usually Cyrus feels sick before getting to work. (If Cyrus... makes a mess, yk, Wilson will have to report and take care of the situation, and that's too troublesome)

And I'm not one for underestimating trope either, but I guess in LW whump it's interesting because adds to the familiar dehumanization and because the LW is actually very powerful and that gets proven.

"ohhh :( he makes me sad I'm definitely gonna read the comfort ask"

My comfort is also whumpy, because I don't wanna spoil Cyrus too much yet, he's still on the whump arc... but I hope you find the hurt/comfort good enough XD.

":( he knelt fast then. man..."

He dropped down on his knees :') Wilson doesn't let him kneel down slowly.

And Wilson whispered the "behave". Rhe others around don't need to hear the weapon being reminded to behave, just know that it will.

About the other gifted. I'll show the sketches of the gloves soon, but you'll see that it does need a metal manipulator, or else it has to be cut off and re-made on his hand every time. It's 100% closed. So that's why they use other gifted to do it.

(Usually metalokinetics are used around for stuff like that, menial tasks. They only go to battlefield if they are strong enough to destroy enemy's weapons and machines.)

"yeah I know </3 man this is a bunch of info I know cause I've already been exposed to bits of this story but for future newcomers this is probably necessary clarification"

That was the hardest part :') I wanted anyone who didn't knew any context to be able to understand the first chapter (though that's really really hard without a beta/proof reader) and the people who did have context to enjoy it anyway, even though it's pretty much a retelling of the drabble a lot of you already read. I was afraid of giving too little information and making it hard to understand, and of giving too much information and making it too dense.

60% of the chaotic editing was because of this. And 50% of the typos is because I kept changing sentences and missing to change a word or to (like making a sentence about one of his hands, then decide it should be both hands, but forget to put one of the words in plural)

Speaking of that, I need to do a typo checking on the chapter asap... already caught 2 yesterday.

"ugh he's so well trained"

His handler is proud to hear that.

I'LL GIVE YOU ALL THE GRASS EVER SWEET LOVELY BOY </3

Own, that's adorable. He'll have grass in recovery, lots of it, don't worry.

(The bar is very low when touching grass is almost an ultimate reward...)

aaaaaaaaa? wilson my beloved he's so cold

"Wilson" and "beloved" in the same sentence is........ something I was not expecting ever. Huh.

ooooooo :D I remember wondering why the art of him showed him with blue lines in his collar when he was a threat level red!!! fascinating :3

😊 when the nullification is on, it stays blue. When he's being shocked, it flashes yellow, and when his magic is free, it turns red. :D safety measures, too.

About the withering description, thank you! I really think it might be too abstract or dense to some people, especially those who don't have any context, but there's really not much I could do. From Cyrus's view, he's not seeing what the magic is actually doing, and this needed to be included on the first chapter.

But I'll try to slide in some description from Wilson's view of his powers in a canon chapter to make it clearer, perhaps make a separate post showing his vision vs what's actually happening, if I can.

And yeah! On the drabble I was really thinking about that song. But on canon, it became more like a curious fact, because I made it so it's from another language. It doesn't have a set lyrics, though the translation would be something akin to the hurt incantation. No one knows what Cyrus's murmuring means, not even him, it's gibberish to them all.

Yeaaah! I'm happy you saw that "Sweet Creature" follows the same line that "Magic Euphoria" drabble. It's pretty much that drabble, but from his perspective, plus a bit more at the beginning and end. This chapter is the truly canon, since when I did the drabble I didn't have the characters in mind, but Cyrus really does say "yes, sir" because his conditioning runs deep. He doesn't say "okay" ever.

(But Wilson is also an unreliable narrator, so you can consider the drabble him remembering Cyrus's words to be more disobedient than it actually was, since he spoke quietly)

(Poor baby, being shocked not even knowing why, loosing his warmth, being remembered as disrespectful even when he wasn't...)

Metallokinetic whumpee is not well :(

"oooo so he has gloves on when not working got it got it. leather! I assume it's to avoid skin to skin contact? or his hands are the most effective conduit and the higher-ups don't want him touching anything with his hands?"

I like the way you're going :)

(Both Cyrus and Wilson have gloves, but Cyrud's is restrictive)

About the den (his cabin) and mattress.... eh, don't get too happy. Remember, unreliable narrator. And this ask is very important.

(Oh, you reminded me that I wanted to put the images of his cabin and capsule on the chapter, thanks, I'll do that later)

"oooo is his collar nullifying it? or the gloves? capsule??? I think it's the collar"

All of the above. Plus the glasses too. Safety measures :)

the euphoria narration thing is. so fucking good man. but why'd he get shocked?? this isn't in the wilson pov chapter 😔

First, thank you <3

Second, it's not defined, it could have been a lot of different things. But my favorite option is that he started singing without realizing it.

"someone please give him a blanket istg. I know this is a different kind of cold but can he have a blanket :("

He can only earn blanket privileges when he's at the central base. In caimpaings there are no blanket privileges.

If he's very very good, tho, he might earn one night with a blanket.

!!! sneaky :0

🥰 He would look down ashamed at your words. He really didn't mean to be... he just wanted to relieve some of the painful uneasiness.

also love that. “his handler always sees everything.” !!! love love love that love the sheer amount of fear and expecting danger

YEAAA, that's the emotions I wanted to show. Especially since Cyrus is blinded so often. He rarely knows when Wilson is looking, to what he pays attention, what is his expression. It's kinda like the Panopticon Prison. You never know when you're being watched, so you stay on edge the whole time.

Wilson is a smart handler :)

HE'S NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO MOVE WITHOUT PERMISSION??? I mean I expected that but damn. also gloves again. is it a military thing or is this the skin contact thing

He's not allowed to move in the ways Wilson doesn't approve. What moves does Wilson approve? Only Wilson knows.

Cyrus discovers when he's shocked for doing the ones on the "no" list.

And the gloves, ah the gloves. Who knows?

Wilson knows, he's the one that changed their designs too.

pfft I love those moments of like. passive caring about everyday stuff in whump. they're funny but then they're not funny

Yeah, I really like doing that :D

Cyrus doesn't want to go through an hour of Wilson getting his anger out in his hair, leaving him with a sore scalp and holding back tears. His hair is full of broken strands because of it already.

HEY DON'T CALL HIM SNEAKY I DID IT FONDLY >:(

I let out a really genuine laugh 🤣

ough.. he's so scared poor baby

Of Wilson? Always.

D: man I don't even know what to say this is just rlly fuckin good. guilt my beloved

Oh well, thank you <3

huh??? how come he didn't get physically close to any of it

His comedown has really fun hallucinations :)

Auditory, visual, gustatory, tactile, proprioceptive and interoceptive ones. Not all together or at the same comedown, it varies.

WOW!!! love the logic and treating cyrus like so much of an object wilson can just talk out loud while he's there.

:)

man. I love cyrus. I love wilson. I have so many feelings about them both... I rlly love handler whumpers those are so neat I love cold whumpers that are professional. wilson has such a presence in this chapter. cyrus is so cute I wanna wrap him in blankets...

I loved how this was like. stractured with the euphoria and comedown and everything. I also love how despite everything cyrus is still so caring towards others it's so. ough </3

Really, thank you for this <333 I'm really pleasently surprise to see people saying stuff like "doing the fenris thing" for the commentaries. It really makes me happy, like... YEAH? Please do! With me and with others. It's so cool to read these. Even tired, even busy, I just wanted to keep coming here to read yours and others comments.

So thank you <3 really enjoyed reading this, and I really like the way you think :)

-

Sweet Creature

Content: magical living weapon, dehumanization, "it" briefly used as pronoun, dangerous whumpee, magical euphoria, shock collar, sensory (visual) deprivation, manhandling, military whump, implied institutionalized whump, magical slavery, heavily implied mass murder, hallucinations.

(chapter 1) | next chapter ->

(Curse of Withering masterpost)

Cyrus wishes to at least have a look around while outside. It would only be a military camp, soldiers walking around, tents set up, maybe some horses on one side. Not a very pleasant nor interesting view.

But at least he would be seeing the sky, and the grass, and people.

He's not. He's seeing pure black from behind his nullification glasses, being guided by an unrelenting hand on his neck, just above his heavy collar. Not even allowed to feel skin, only the tough material of a glove.

Around Cyrus, talk dies down, and muttering comes to life, as he's used to. It never stops making him feel ashamed.

Also not allowed to curl up or hide in any way, he's just dragged forward to keep walking.

A strong sensation of nausea hits him when they enter his designed post tent of this campaign. It feels like the protection barriers put around the tents are getting stronger each campaign.

Being on an empty stomach doesn't help, either. Regret fills him from refusing breakfast, but he's sure his stomach wouldn't have kept it down anyway.

"... This is it? The rumors made it look spine-chilling, not... this." A voice from his right side says, a bit far back. Further into the tent, then. Cyrus doesn't recognize the voice, but the words are familiar.

The gloved hand on his neck squeezes, and he stops after a second of trying to figure out if it was out of frustration or a command to stand still.

No scolding comes, so it must have been a command. Or both.

"Wait until you see it destroying a whole military camp while laughing like a maniac," Mr. Wilson says. That voice he does recognizes in the very core of his being. And by the coldness of it, his handler is audibly used to that question as well.

Cyrus doesn't have time to feel ashamed of the words before a pressure on his neck commands him to kneel down. Even with the knee pads, a mercy not chosen by his handler, the impact hurts a bit.

"Behave." Is what reaches his ear before the leather gloves are unfastened from his wrists.

Magic wraps around the metal gloves that were beneath the leather ones and bend it open. Cyrus didn't even hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do that. Maybe this gifted doesn't have a handler, he knows there's some free Gifted that serve the military willingly.

Unlike Cyrus.

He obediently waits with unmoving hands until his handler applies pressure on his head in another silent command. No one speaks as the nullification glasses are unlocked from his bowed head, nor when his half-necrotic fingertips find the floor beneath him.

It's not grass, it's rocks. He suppresses a disappointed sigh.

Cyrus knows better than to look around or shift from his position, but he's still able to see a bit of the tent's inside. The metallokinetic does in fact have a handler, and a black eye. He can't see anyone else, they're all behind him for safety.

That black eye must hurt, there's probably more bruises under the clothing, it never stops at just one.

Cyrus shouldn't care that the gifted was hurt. But he did. They deserve someone to care.

Mr. Wilson blocks his vision of the gifted by crouching down. The direct, practical delineation of where the enemy camp is sinks into his mind easily as his handler speaks. It's easy to map in his head exactly where he needs to focus on.

"You have permission to use your power, Wither." An uncomfortable eagerness blooms in him at the words.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus whispers and his collar beeps, its blue lights turning red as magic comes to life under his skin once again.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Pain doesn't even register in the sea of feelings building up in his body. The rocks puncturing the palms of his hands aren't nearly enough to ground him, not after years of the magic slowly numbing his nerves.

The tent disappears and all he can see is colors erupting from the blackness, like thousands of little roots travelling through the grass. Ignoring the surrounding life had become easier over the years, and the withering knew to travel until it's closer to the delineated area than to him before branching to reach all soldiers of the other side.

It took less than a minute for him to spiral into euphoria this time.

Faintly, he knew his lips were moving, in that same eerie murmur of always, singing words he couldn't understand, but also couldn't forget. An incantation that breaks the laws of nature. A chant that was never created... only repeated. The echo of something that always existed.

And so he repeats. From the words, waves of withering magic follows the colorful branches and pushes it forward.

His hands crack and dug further into the ground, and he repeats the chant again. Again, again, again...

𝙰𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

Cyrus could see, or in a way feel, the life bursting out of the enemy's camp. It was hard to separate what was greenery and what was people, but it didn't matter in the end.

Wither magic fills the entire enemy camp with thousands of black ramifications that only he sees the colors of. Growing, rotting, decaying.

Every cell in his body beams with giddy energy.

A warm mist swirls on his arms pleasantly. Something similar started filling his eyes, and Cyrus's head was pure delight. His chest shudders with a bubbly feeling as a smile grows on his face.

And then everything goes black. The cold, painful reality crashes down on him, harshly taking all the cheerfulness away and leaving behind an itch, a hysteric uneasiness. A faint beeping of his collar tells him he's done today, it had turned blue again.

Cyrus didn't even know he had made a noise until the collar beeps again with a warning electrical shock. With a flinch, he goes dead quiet. An argument was happening over his head.

Cyrus wants to keep using his magic, why can't he? It's so warm and happy-

"It was fucking smiling, it is fine to keep on! What is the point of having a weapon that can't be used?!" A man behind him almost yells. Not the same one from before, a slightly more familiar one. It might be the general, but without seeing it's hard to be sure.

Yes, Cyrus was fine to keep going, he was! It's been less than a minute with the nullification glasses back on, but he misses the colorful cheerfulness already, his body is taut with the need to move, to do something, anything.

But Mr. Wilson is right there, so he stays obediently still.

"I'm not telling it to launch an attack again! The magic would consume it's head and-" Mr. Wilson pauses, and Cyrus recognizes his temper rising. It's an effort not to flinch. "Ugh, you have no idea how bad it gets. Wither. Up, we're leaving."

"Mmn?" The order takes a second to click. "Oh... yes, sir..." To speak was hard, his tongue didn't move the okay he wanted it to. Cyrus could hear the ecstatic smile on his own voice, and he almost winces at it, but without knowing why. To smile was good, wasn't it?

Should he even be speaking, actually? Wilson doesn't usually like him speaking. Did he say "Sir" as he was supposed to? He doesn't think so... but no shock comes. Perhaps he did. It's hard to remember.

The floor seemed to spin beneath Cyrus when he stood up.

A gloved grip squeezes his arm and Cyrus knows to stay completely still, despite the dizziness. Magic envelops his hands as the metal gloves are bent to fit them again. He still couldn't hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do it, maybe it had been a silent command.

He feels the leather gloves being fastened on his wrists, too, before Mr. Wilson grabs him by the upper nape and guides him out. The sound of many boots around them tells him the escort team is here already.

On the way back, there's no longer any murmuring. Even blinded, he knows everyone is just staring. There's only the sound of heavy steps and the wind slowly bringing the smell of death into the camp.

The heavy metal door shuts with the escort team outside, and the only steps that echo inside the container are his and Mr. Wilson.

Blindly, he's pushed to sit inside his resting capsule. Oh, that's right, he's at a campaign, his den isn't here... the sad longing only lasts a second.

The thin mattress is cold, and the restraints are too tight. Cyrus hates the cold, but it feels so weird, he can't help but giggle. It sounds off, but he can't pinpoint why.

"Quiet," Mr. Wilson scolds sternly, fastening his legs securely inside the capsule. Cyrus flinches and tenses from the upcoming shock that doesn't arrive.

What a silly thing, to flinch from something that didn't even happen. He suppresses another fit of giggles.

The pressure building up behind his eyes and neck is getting harder to ignore. His fingers twitch with the need to use his magic again, but the nullification doesn't let him.

The pressure gets worse.

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Now the shock comes, and Cyrus's flinch is not so funny this time. It wasn't just a warning shock, but he doesn't know why he has been punished. Mr. Wilson doesn't clarify it, either. He's scared of not knowing.

The twitches are getting worse. He wants to move. The cold is starting to creep in again, and he wants the warmth back.

His hands move slowly under the temporarily loose restrictions, trying to relieve some of the painful nervous energy without grabbing Mr. Wilson's attention.

It doesn't work. His handler always sees everything.

"Did I say you could move, Wither?" Cyrus freezes from the gelid tone. His shoulders go up chastened just before a gloved hand fists his hair harshly. That'll form a knot later... he wants to wash up and detangle his hair already, before it gets too bad.

From how harsh Mr. Wilson's grip is, he doesn't think he'll be allowed that so soon.

"Stop trying to be sneaky, that's the only warning you'll be given." Cold and firm as always. Frightening as always.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus answers quietly. It's weird how he still feels afraid and sad even when he's feeling giggly and euphoric.

Euphoric. Didn't that word mean something important? The headache is getting worse.

Mr. Wilson's grip only grows even more painful. There's more to be said, but Cyrus's head is not working well. He doesn't want to talk, he wants to move.

What weapons want doesn't matter.

He tries again. "I'm... I won't be sneaky again. I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson," he tries. The hand leaves his hair without any further words.

The need to move only gets worse in the silent. He knows Mr. Wilson knows. Cyrus's body is so tense it hurts.

He needs to use his magic, he needs to. It hurts, it's bad, he wants the giddy energy back, and not this nervous, restless cold creeping in. Everything is still pitch black, and the restraints are too heavy, and he wants his magic free again-

So you can kill more people with it?

No. What? No, no, no-

Your handler stopped you before the euphoria truly took place. Where is your gratitude, you vile thing? Why must others die just so you can smile?

That's not what he wants, he just... he just wants the colors back, the happy feeling of-

Of killing.

The memories of colored forms change. Those were people.

People you killed.

"Are you crashing already?" Comes the distant, cold voice. It takes long seconds for Cyrus to recognize it's Mr. Wilson's.

Crashing. Yes. Yes, he's crashing, and he's still on war camp, so he doesn't even get his white den-

Images strafe his mind. People died. People were killed. By him. And he was just smiling. He giggled to people losing their lives. Not only soldiers, there were medics, and servants, and-

A cold, sharp thing runs his arm and he flinched away, swallowing hard. He tastes blood. He knows it's not his.

Vile thing. You're a plague on earth that should be eradicated.

Cyrus's back presses against the capsule mattress, and he can barely separate what is real touch and what isn't. Sharp goosebumps run up his arm, his hands are being held, there's a pressure on his chest and a numbness on his left leg.

"It's euphoric state was pretty fast this time, it was a good timing to retrieve it," Mr. Wilson's out loud thinking reaches his ear along with a faint noise of screams that mustn't be true.

They're true, you're just hearing them too late.

"Today will be easy, then."

Cyrus couldn't disagree more with his handler.

-

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Want to see Mr. Wilson's pov? This is the drabble this series began as. You can consider it a loose version of this chapter, but in Mr. Wilson's view.

Taglist: @whump-till-ya-jump @floral-comet-whump @paingoes @bonbonbobomb @inhurtandincomfort @half-duck @scoundrelwithboba

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[intotheelliwoods]

Hmm, I think Sprout is going to take a break from questions..

[phagodyke]

in a hilarious turn of events my flatmate didn't even know I use any pronouns....

[snowyfrostshadows]

It's all fun and games until it isn't

[0fps]

i love danjin so much y'all

[evansbby]

.

[iturmom]

i started a sourdough starter and i've been having so much fun with it!! pics under the cut ha i've never made bread on my own so it all looks a mess. it feels so cool to make all my food home made cause yesterday i made my own salsa and i also cooked some other stuff too and the sourdough cookies which are giving gourmet bitch so i just felt so good. and full!! anyway the bread is okay. it's definitely bread, so it's good! it doesn't taste at all like my grandma's sourdough tho, but i'm not surprised cause her starter smells completely different than mine! uh the plain one is hard and it didn't raise quite as much but i think i accidentally used a lil too much flour. the garlic italian seasoning one is the perfect texture tho!!

i included the picture of the salsa bc look at the size of that lime it was the same size as one of the oranges i have never seen one that big!!

[thebestsetter]

I love it when my husband has a bad day.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I want to see him sad because things didn't go as planned during practice or that teammate of his was more annoying then usual. I just like the way he acts when he comes home to me after a bad day.

Some people shout and get angry. Other people isolate themselves to calm down after those (unavoidable) bad days. But not the man I promissed to love in sickness and health.

When he comes home, he doesn't say anything. He takes off his jacket and shoes as quick as possible and just throws himself at me. He then proceeds to nuzzle his head in my neck, still not saying a word, and, after he found the "perfect" position (which I know he did, cause he sighs and smiles when he does find it), he grabs my hand and puts it in hair, as if it's a silent plea for me to tangle my fingers through his locks and massage his scalp.

We spend hours like this. Just me and him bathing in each other's presence, without anything or anyone else to intervee. Sometimes, he even falls asleep, and I want to gush about how comfortable he is around me and yap about how cute he is while sleeping (even if he drools all over the bed most of the times). And then I concentrate on him and him only: his softened breath, his heart pace starting to slow down and those inconscious sounds he lets out when I caress the right spot.

I love to whisper to him about my day while passing my hand underneath his shirt, noticing the tension leaving his body and feeling each muscle he worked oh so hard to build. One time, I even joked about giving him a massage. He didn't deny it, so I think he wants one. He just doesn't know how to ask (we really need to work on this kind of communication).

I love my husband. And I love the domesticity and good moments his bad days provide: just me and him, showing our love for each other without needing to say anything.

ITOSHI RIN, ITOSHI SAE, Barou Shoei, Shidou Ryusei (hear me out on this one), Oliver Aiku, Michael Kaiser, Nagi Seishiro, Kunigami Rensuke, Bakugou Katsuki, Todoroki Shoto, Ushijima Wakatoshi, KAGEYAMA TOBIO, KOZUME KENMA, Tsukishima Kei, Akaashi Keiji

~ A/N: This is heavly inspired by a reddit post I saw!! Apparently, the og post user is @ThrowawayEngland2022 on reddit. Make sure to follow them!!

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