#still haunts me and will be for the rest of time…

[gongyoosgf]

army dreamers. - a dae-ho x gn!reader fic

warnings: minors dni!! gn!reader, very short fic i’m sorry.., angst, stressed dae-ho (i will sob), smutsmutsmut, dry humping, nicknames like honey, baby, etc, thigh job, cursing, not proofread, aftercare ofc, dae-ho needs a hug omg

an: this was requested by my lovely friend @222hyunju, i hope this is what you wanted ♡

the morning air is thick with the weight of unspoken fears. dae-ho sits at the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced together as he stares at the ground. his shoulders are tense, his breath slow but heavy, like he's carrying something too big for his chest to hold.

you watch him from behind, the sheets cool against your skin compared to the warmth of his body just moments ago. he hasn’t said much since waking up, just a sigh, a hand dragging through his long hair, his back turned to you.

you know what’s haunting him. the games never really leave. and now, even though you both survived, the fear still lingers, clawing at his ribs, making a home inside him.

you move slowly, slipping out from under the covers. you crawl toward him, pressing your chest against his bare back. your arms wind around his waist, hands splaying over his stomach as you press a soft kiss to his shoulder blade.

“talk to me,” you murmur, your lips brushing his skin.

he exhales sharply. “it’s nothing, honey, just go back to sleep.”

his voice wavers, like he’s holding something back. you know better. your hands wander, fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen, feeling the way he tenses under your touch.

“dae-ho,” you whisper, pressing another kiss, this time to the nape of his neck. “you’re lying.”

his hands, which had been clenched into fists, loosen just slightly.

you shift, pressing your lips along his shoulder, his spine, anywhere you can reach. you’re worshipping every part of him that’s been hurt, every piece of him that’s still healing.

he shudders. “you don’t have to do this.” his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“i want to.”

your fingers trail up his chest, feeling his heartbeat, too fast, too unsteady.

dae-ho exhales shakily. for a moment, he stays still, but then, his big hands cover yours, gripping them like a lifeline.

he turns in your arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing uneven. his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his lap, holding you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear.

you let him. you let him take what he needs, let him cling to you, let him feel that you’re real. let him know that you’re not going anywhere.

“i was so scared,” he finally admits.

“i know,” you whisper, cradling his face in your hands, pressing your forehead to his. “but you don’t have to be. not anymore. not with me.”

his lips find yours then, as if trying to make sure you’re real. making sure you won’t disappear like a dream. you kiss him back just as lovingly, promising with every touch that he’s safe. that he’s loved.

the kiss deepens, slow at first, sweet, desperate. but there’s something more now, an urgency buried in the way his lips move against yours. dae-ho’s hands slip under your shirt, tracing the curve of your back.

he pulls away, breath ragged, eyes dark with that raw need you’ve been stirring in him. his lips part, chest rising and falling as his eyes flicker between your gaze and your lips. “you’re too much for me,” he mutters, his voice rough with restraint.

you smile, fingertips grazing along his jaw, trailing down to the hollow of his throat, feeling the erratic beat of his pulse beneath your touch. “it’s okay. i can handle it,” you say softly.

he kisses you again, harder this time. one of his hands slips beneath the waistband of your pants, feeling the warmth of your skin as he draws you against him. you feel the evidence of his desire pressing against you, hard and insistent.

he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. “you’re so perfect,” he mutters, as his hands trace the curve of your body.

you kiss him again, softer this time, like you’re grounding him with your touch. when you pull away, your voice is a low whisper, “i’m not going anywhere. you can let go. let me love you.”

his body shakes, whether from desire or the weight of his fears, you’re not sure, but it doesn’t matter anymore. he’s here. he’s with you.

his lips find the pulse point of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as his hands explore, urging you closer, faster, until neither of you can keep the pace. the touch becomes frantic and he’s no longer holding back. his lips trail lower, his hands move with purpose now.

his body trembles beneath yours, but the tension from earlier is slowly melting, being replaced by a need that burns through every inch of him. his hands roam as he gasps for breath, as if he's trying to imprint the feeling of you on his skin forever.

“please,” he says, voice breaking, “i need you.”

you can feel his desperation in every movement now, every brush of skin, every gasp. and as you pull him back into a kiss, deeper this time, he surrenders completely.

his hands slip lower, fingers skimming over the curve of your hips, your thighs, just enough to tease, but not nearly enough to satisfy. you can feel the tension in his body, like he’s struggling to keep himself in check, but his touch is already possessive, pulling you closer, urging you to let him in.

you let out a soft gasp as he pushes you back onto the bed, his chest rising with every labored breath. his eyes never leave you as he spreads your legs, just wide enough to slide his hands between them, fingertips brushing the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“dae-ho…” your voice is barely a whisper, but the way your body reacts to him says everything. your thighs opening instinctively, offering him more.

he leans down, lips ghosting over the soft skin of your neck as his fingers press into your thighs, moving ever so slightly, just enough to drive you crazy. his breath is hot against your skin. “i love you so much.”

he pulls away just enough to look at you, his eyes heavy with need, lips parted, face flushed with a mixture of desire and frustration. “don’t make me beg.” his voice is raw now, as he slides his hands up your thighs, fingertips brushing dangerously close to where you want him the most.

you shudder at the closeness, biting your lip to keep from moaning as his hands slowly, deliberately, begin to spread your thighs even further apart.

“i’m not making you beg,” you breathe, voice low and teasing. “but you have to show me what you need.”

dae-ho’s chest heaves as he presses his body closer to yours. his lips are hot against your ear, his voice a low, needy groans. “i need you. i need you so badly.”

without warning, he presses his weight against your thighs, using them as leverage to keep you pinned, his hips grinding into yours, making you gasp. the friction between you both is intoxicating, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, using them to move you against him. you can feel every inch of his body against yours, the weight of his need pushing you both toward the edge.

“tell me you need me,” he demands, his breath shallow, the tension in his voice rising as he drives himself harder against you. “please say it. let me hear it.”

“i need you, dae-ho. i love and need you.”

the pressure between your thighs is almost unbearable, each movement of his hips sending shockwaves of desire through both of you. dae-ho’s hands grip your thighs tighter, pushing them further apart as his body begins to tremble with need, each shift of his hips more frantic than the last.

“i need you so much, baby,” he whines, his voice strained, like he’s fighting to keep himself from losing control completely. his lips are just barely touching yours, breath hot and ragged as his hips begin to grind against the soft curve of your thighs, the friction building with each movement.

the feeling of him against you, so desperate and needy, drives you wild. you can feel him, so painfully hard, pressing against the soft skin of your inner thighs, the tip teasing, brushing against you. his fingers dig into your skin as if he’s trying to hold himself back, but it’s impossible.

“please…” his voice cracks. “let me feel you… i can’t hold back much longer.”

without waiting for a response, his hips surge forward, grinding against the smooth skin of your thighs, the rhythm steady and intense. the friction makes you both gasp, the sensation of him against you, in between your thighs, a mix of heat and pleasure. he moves with purpose, each thrust harder, faster, as he loses himself in the sensation.

you can feel his body begin to tremble above you, his breath hitching, his hands now pulling you closer, urging you to hold him tighter, to give him more. “f—fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters, a whimper breaking his sentence.

his movements start to become erratic, the tension building in his body as he nears the edge. “i can’t…” his voice is shaky, like he’s losing control, but he doesn’t want to stop.

you moan softly, your hands running through his hair, guiding him closer, feeling his desperation as he presses harder, grinding deeper in between your thighs. the pressure is too much, his movements become frantic, the pleasure flooding him as he reaches his breaking point.

with one final groan, his hips stutter as he cums, the intensity of it pulling a ragged gasp from his chest. you feel his body go rigid against you, his release spilling between your thighs, his grip on you unrelenting as he rides out the wave of pleasure.

he collapses against you, his breathing uneven, his body trembling as he tries to catch his breath. “god… i needed that,” he mutters, his face buried in your neck, his hands still gripping your thighs like he can’t quite let go.

dae-ho’s body remains tense for a few moments, but as the last remnants of pleasure fade away, he slumps against you, his forehead resting gently on your chest. you can feel his rapid heartbeat, still racing, but slowly, slowly it begins to calm. his breathing is shallow at first, but soon it steadies, and his hands loosen their grip on your thighs, now caressing you with a gentleness that contrasts the desperation from before.

you run your fingers through his hair, smoothing it back as you press soft, reassuring kisses to the top of his head. his body shudders slightly, but this time it’s not from need, it’s from the emotional weight of everything that had built up.

“are you okay?” you ask quietly, your voice soft, trying to make sure he’s truly with you again.

dae-ho lifts his head, his eyes still glazed with the aftermath, but there’s a look of vulnerability in them now.

he nods slowly, his hands reaching for you, pulling you closer to him, curling you into his chest. “i’m... I’m good,” he mutters, his voice still a little hoarse. “i just... needed that. needed you.”

you smile softly, nuzzling your face into his neck as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close like you’re his anchor. you can feel the faint tremor in his limbs, but it’s no longer a sign of stress.

you let your hands roam over his back, tracing the lines of his muscles, offering comfort in every touch. “i’m here,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his neck. “always.”

his fingers trail along your skin, tender now, almost as if he’s memorizing the feel of you beneath him. “i don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“you deserve everything,” you reply firmly, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, “and more.”

dae-ho closes his eyes for a moment, as if letting himself truly absorb the safety in your presence.

“i’m sorry, i just…” he trails off, clearly trying to find the right words. “it’s hard to let go sometimes.”

you nod, understanding. “i know. but you don’t have to carry it alone. not with me.”

- - - - ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

uhh taglist: @222hyunju @kouzih @cybrasigilism

[littleindulgences]

Your day was going pretty good for once, all things considered—you woke up feeling rested, it was your day off, you even finally managed to finish the errands you were forced to put off all week!

…Then you get home. Your fridge is dead.

Of course it is.

You stand in front of the open door with one hand on your hip, the other on your chin, contemplating when the fuck, how the fuck, this could have happened. Your fresh groceries sit on the counter behind you, stuff you just went out to get because you assumed your fridge would still be operational when you returned. It’s your fault, really, for putting the bar so high.

Finally, after a whole three minutes of bemoaning your luck, you resolve to pull out the old cooler you shoved into your closet and put everything that would turn into a food poisoning nightmare on ice. Once you get everything put away, and the puddles of water mopped up, you put in a maintenance order and pray the landlord actually sends someone this time.

You leave the cooler in the corner, crack open a bottle of wine, and mourn the loss of your good day.

A couple days pass and you forget all about the work order. You figured out the next morning that the fridge wasn’t dead after all, it just got unplugged…somehow. Just added fuel to your “the building is haunted” fire. You simply plugged the fridge back in and went about your life, no biggie.

It was a big biggie.

You’re just out fetching the mail when it happens.

“Hello? Maintenance! Is anyone home?” The gruff, deep voice carries easily down the hall. You don’t register it at first, flicking through your mail, until the voice calls out again: “Hello? Maintenance, comin’ in!”

Wait. Maintenance.

The fucking fridge!

You dash down the hall, practically skidding to a stop in front of your apartment where two large—and you mean large, damn—men hover.

You avoid looking them directly in the eye as your pulse throbs in your throat, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. You’re sure the whole hall must’ve heard them, fuck.

“I’m so sorry!” you say, awkwardly pushing yourself between the biggest man and your doorway. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing actually wrong, I fixed it already! There was nothing wrong with the fridge, it just came unplugged.” You force a laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. You still don’t look at them.

“‘S alrigh’ ma’am, no problem at all,” says the man, and wow his voice is nice—

“It’s just, there wasn’t a way for me to cancel the work order,” you explain. “I’m so sorry you had to come all the way up here.”

Oh God, what if they try to come inside to double check? You’re cursing yourself for picking today to go out in your house clothes—short shorts and a tank that doesn’t completely cover your stomach—but the building was always so hot and you would’ve melted if you stayed in your work uniform—

“It’s okay, ma’am, really,” he’s saying again, “We’re glad there’s not an issue. You live on the second floor with no elevators, we didn’t want to bring a new fridge up anyway.” You giggle for real this time.

Then you risk glancing up at them.

Oh God…

They’re fucking beautiful. The man in front of you—his name tag reads John—is an absolute bear. Thick and broad, covered with hair, smiling gently at you like he really doesn’t blame you for your mix-up. And the guy behind him, you think his tag says Kyle, could be a supermodel: smooth, dark skin, a little leaner than John but still mouthwatering. The lopsided grin he’s giving you makes your heart race. The cap he wears makes him look almost boyish.

“Right,” you say, hoping you don’t sound as breathless as you feel. “Sorry again.”

Kyle absently licks his lips and you think you might pass out.

“Here. In case something else happens, you can reach me directly.” John hands you a crisp business card, lingering just slightly when your fingers brush his. They’re rough. Makes sense.

“Thanks,” you breathe. Kyle looks at you like he’s suppressing a laugh, then taps John on the shoulder, signaling him to leave.

“Take care, love.” John turns away from you with a wink, and you watch his arm flex as he hoists his toolbag and follows Kyle to the staircase. Kyle waves cheekily back at you before he descends.

Once you’re safely inside the apartment, you bury your face in your hands with a deep groan. And if you already begin brainstorming other things that might mysteriously break in the near future, well, that’s your business.

@beloveds-embrace ✨

[dulcescorderitas]

let me love you like a woman

parings: sam winchester x reader

song: let me love you like a woman by lana del rey

warnings: 18+, smut

from a small town, how 'bout you?

sam winchester wasn’t used to softness.

not real softness, not the kind that lingers in the morning light, stretching across sheets that smell like love and laughter. not the kind that curls up next to you on the couch, fingers tracing patterns on his skin, not asking for anything, just being there.

he had known the rough kind of love. the kind edged in fire and regret, love that felt more like a fight for survival than something you could rest in. jess had been soft, once. but even that had been haunted, because he had known—even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself, he had known—that it wouldn’t last.

but you—God, you were something different.

i only mention it 'cause i'm ready to leave l.a.

he found you in some nowhere town, the kind that didn’t have a name worth remembering. you’d been working in a bar, slinging drinks and dodging grabby hands with the kind of practiced ease that told him you’d been doing it too damn long. he hadn’t been looking for anything when he met you. hadn’t been ready.

but love doesn’t give a damn if you’re ready. it just happens.

one night turned into two. two turned into something more. and before he knew it, he was coming back to you after every hunt, like gravity had tied itself to his ribs and dragged him home.

home.

it still felt strange to think of it that way.

and i want you to come

he didn’t talk about the past much. you never pushed. you let him tell you things in pieces, in half-whispered confessions at two a.m. when the nightmares made his breath come short and shallow.

you learned about ruby first, because that wound was still fresh. the betrayal. the blood. the way he had let himself become something he wasn’t sure he could ever undo.

jess came later, and it wrecked him in a way he hadn’t expected. he could barely get the words out, hands shaking as he told you about her, about the way he had loved her, about how she had burned.

and the other women—well.

there had been other women.

sam winchester was a man who carried grief like a second skin, and sometimes, the only way to drown it out was to feel something else.

but none of them had been you.

you weren’t a distraction. you weren’t an escape. you were real. and that terrified him more than anything else.

80 miles north or south will do

one night, lying in bed with your head on his chest, you told him you wanted to leave. not forever. just for a while.

“pick a direction,” you murmured, tracing circles over his heart. “north or south?”

“doesn’t matter,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “as long as you’re there.”

and he meant it.

God, he meant it.

i don't care where, as long as you're with me

you didn’t leave right away. life never worked like that. there were hunts to finish, loose ends to tie up. but every time sam came back to you, every time he held you close, he felt something settle inside him.

he still had nightmares. still woke up some nights gasping for breath, the weight of his past pressing down on his chest like something tangible.

but you were always there. always whispering his name in that soft, steady voice. always pulling him back.

let me love you like a woman

one night, he broke.

not in a dramatic way. not in a way that made noise.

he just let go.

let you hold him. let you see him—all of him. the broken pieces, the sharp edges, the parts of himself he had spent years trying to hide.

and you stayed.

let me hold you like a baby

you didn’t try to fix him. didn’t tell him it would be okay. you just loved him.

and for the first time in his life, sam winchester let himself believe that was enough.

he was quiet that night, his body wound tight like a coiled spring. the hunt had been rough. not the kind where blood was spilled, but the kind that left an ache somewhere deeper. a child had died. a mother had screamed. and sam had carried the weight of it all, shouldering it the way he always did, like it was his burden to bear alone.

but you weren’t having it.

“let me take care of you,” you whispered against his jaw, lips ghosting over his skin. he sighed, hands flexing against your hips, fingers twitching like he wanted to pull you close and push you away at the same time.

“you don’t have to,” he murmured, but you could hear the longing beneath the protest. the way he wanted it but didn’t know how to ask.

so you didn’t make him ask.

let me shine like a diamond

you just kissed him. slow. deep. the kind of kiss that felt like unraveling a knot that had been pulled too tight. his breath hitched when your fingers slid beneath his shirt, tracing the hard planes of muscle, the scars, the story of his body written in old wounds and fresh tension.

“sam,” you breathed, pressing your forehead to his. “let me love you.”

his lips parted, a shuddering exhale slipping out, and then he melted.

let me be who i'm meant to be

he let you undress him, let you push him back onto the bed, let you kiss every inch of him like he was something sacred. his hands trembled when they found your skin, tracing up your sides, gripping your thighs as you straddled him.

“i’ve got you,” you whispered, guiding him inside you, taking him slow, taking him deep. his eyes squeezed shut, a groan ripping from his throat as he sank into you, as your body wrapped around him like something holy.

talk to me in poems and songs

“God,” he choked out, his hands grasping at your hips like he didn’t know how to hold on properly, like he was afraid to break you.

but you wanted to be his anchor. you rode him slow, deliberate, watching the tension bleed out of his shoulders with every roll of your hips. you kissed the furrow from his brow, whispered his name like it was a prayer, like he was worth worshiping.

don't make me bittersweet

and when he finally came undone beneath you, gasping your name like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, you held him through it.

pressed kisses to his temple. ran your fingers through his hair.

loved him the way he deserved to be loved.

and sam winchester, for the first time in his life, let himself be loved.

let me love you like a woman

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume @starzify

[onebadassunicorn]

Leather and Lace

pairing: Cassian x Reader

content warnings: kidnapping, assault, threats to unborn child

word count: 4.5

Taglist: @tele86 @candyjaypoppins @demon-master-zero @jesskidding3 @motheroffae @thegoddessofnothingness

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

******

Chapter 6

The cobbled streets of Velaris were quiet, the last of the evening sun casting long shadows between the buildings. You were only a few blocks from home—so close to safety, so close to Cassian. Your hand rested instinctively on your belly, a soft smile playing at your lips as you thought of him, of your daughter growing inside you. She kicked, just once, a gentle reminder that she was there, that she was real.

You never heard them approach.

Pain exploded in your jaw as a fist collided with your face, whipping your head to the side. You stumbled, barely able to get your hands up before another set of arms wrapped around you from behind, yanking you back into a crushing hold.

You screamed, kicked, twisted—fought like hell. But there were two of them, and they were stronger. One clamped a hand over your mouth, the other wrenched your arms behind you so hard you thought they might snap. Your heart slammed against your ribs, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Cassian—Cassian, please—

Terror surged through you as the world shifted, darkness swallowing you whole.

Winnowing.

When the world settled again, the air was thick with damp, rotting stone and something far worse. A chill seeped into your bones as you hit the ground hard, your knees scraping against the filthy floor. Your hands trembled as you pushed yourself up, your pulse roaring in your ears.

You immediately knew where you were.

Hewn City.

Where Elias would go to hide.

A shudder wracked through you as the realization set in, cold and sharp.

A dungeon.

A cell.

You had been here before—years ago, when Elias still had his claws in you, when you had been too broken, too afraid to leave.

And then you felt him.

You forced yourself to lift your head, to look at the man who had haunted your nightmares.

Elias stood over you, his eyes filled with nothing but cold, simmering rage. He had always been handsome in a cruel, calculating way.

A predator in silk.

But now, there was something more terrifying in his expression.

A disgust that turned his features sharp, venomous.

His gaze fell to your stomach, to the swell of your unborn child.

You barely had time to react before his boot connected with your belly.

Agony ripped through you, white-hot and unbearable. A strangled scream tore from your throat as you crumpled onto your side, your arms instinctively wrapping around your stomach in a desperate, useless attempt to shield your baby.

"No—please," you sobbed, gasping through the pain. "Please—don’t—don’t hurt her."

Elias only laughed.

Cold.

Mocking.

"Pathetic," he sneered, crouching down beside you. "Look at you. Swollen with an Illyrian bastard’s wretched spawn. What a disgrace." His voice dripped with disgust as he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Did you really think you could run from me? That you could belong to him?"

You couldn’t stop shaking.

You tasted blood in your mouth.

"Cassian will come for me," you whispered, your voice shaking. "He'll—he'll kill you."

Elias grinned, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Cassian won’t be coming for you. He won’t even know where to look." He stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his jacket. "I know how to stay hidden. And you? You’re right where you belong. With me."

You shook your head, still clutching your stomach.

"If you do as I say," he continued, his voice deceptively calm, "I won’t carve that brat from your womb."

A broken sob escaped your lips, horror creeping into your veins.

"But once it’s born?" He tilted his head. "You won’t be keeping it. I have no intention of raising some mongrel’s child."

Tears blurred your vision.

"You try to run again, and I will kill you." His voice dropped to something quiet, something deadly. "Because if I can’t have you, then no one will."

And then his hand came down.

A sharp, stinging backhand across your face.

Pain exploded through your skull.

The room spun, your vision darkening at the edges.

The last thing you heard was Elias laughing as he walked away, his footsteps echoing against the stone.

*****

The House of Wind was quiet, the lingering warmth of sparring still humming in Cassian’s veins as he lounged in one of the deep chairs by the fire, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His body ached from training, but it was a familiar, satisfying ache—the kind that made him feel alive. Across from him, Rhys and Azriel nursed their own drinks, the firelight casting flickering shadows over their sharp features. It was a rare, peaceful evening. And for once, Cassian allowed himself to enjoy it.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, a slow smile spreading across his face. "She kicked," he murmured, his voice filled with something reverent. "I felt her move for the first time last night."

Rhys lifted a brow, his lips curving in amusement. "What, no dramatic sobbing? No falling to your knees in worship?"

Cassian huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "It was... different than I expected." He glanced down at his palm as if he could still feel the tiny flutter beneath his skin. "I always knew she was there, but feeling her move... it made it real in a way I can’t even describe. She’s alive—she’s growing. And she’s ours." His throat tightened slightly, his heart aching with a love so fierce it nearly overwhelmed him.

Rhys grinned, lifting his glass. "Just wait until she gets here. You’ll be so protective, no one will be able to get within arm’s reach of her."

Cassian snorted. "Damn right. She’s going to know she has the fiercest Illyrian warrior watching over her at all times."

Rhys chuckled. "And the most ridiculous father in all of Prythian."

Cassian flipped him off, making Azriel smirk into his drink. But then Cassian’s expression darkened, his easy mood shifting as the thought that had been nagging at him all evening returned.

He turned to Azriel.

"Any progress on Elias?"

The Shadowsinger sighed, swirling his whiskey before setting it down. "Still searching. He’s covered his tracks well." His voice was careful, measured, but Cassian could hear the frustration behind it. "I’ve got my best spies looking, but the bastard knows how to disappear."

Cassian’s jaw tightened. His fingers clenched around his glass. "Keep looking," he said, his voice rough, edged with something dark. "The longer this goes on, the worse I feel. I know he’s going to do something else."

Azriel nodded, his shadows curling slightly at his back. "We’ll find him."

Cassian exhaled through his nose, trying to shake the unease slithering through his chest. He had a mate and unborn child to get home to. He finished his drink in one swallow, set the glass down with a firm clink, and stood.

"I’m heading home," he said, already moving toward the balcony doors. "I’ll see you both tomorrow."

Rhys lifted his hand in farewell. "Enjoy your last few weeks of peace before fatherhood takes you prisoner."

Cassian only rolled his eyes before leaping into the night sky.

The cool wind ruffled his hair as he soared over Velaris, his mind already drifting toward the townhouse, toward you. He could already picture it—walking through the front door, finding you curled up on the couch, one hand resting on your belly, waiting for him. Maybe you’d already be asleep, or maybe you’d give him that soft, knowing smile that always made his chest ache.

But then—something below caught his eye.

A coat.

A bag.

Groceries spilled across the cobblestone street.

A purse he recognized instantly.

His mate’s purse.

The world tilted.

Cassian’s wings snapped open, and he dove, landing hard enough to crack the stone beneath his boots. His breath came fast, too fast, as his eyes darted over the scene.

The groceries—scattered.

A struggle.

His heart pounded against his ribs, every muscle in his body tensing as realization crashed over him like a tidal wave.

You weren’t here.

You hadn’t made it home.

A sound tore from his throat—somewhere between a snarl and a roar as he reached for the bond, as he searched for your presence, but there was only silence.

"Rhys!" His voice was a command, an order laced with barely contained panic. "Send Azriel. Now."

He barely heard the answer before he was running. Sprinting to the townhouse, wrenching open the door—still locked.

You had never made it inside.

Cassian stood in the entryway, his breaths ragged, his entire body vibrating with fury.

You had been taken.

Someone had taken you, his mate.

And with only a few months left until you gave birth—his hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms.

Rage unlike anything he had ever known flooded his veins.

A rage that turned his vision red, that sent the world trembling around him.

He knew who had done this.

Elias.

That bastard thought he could put his hands on you.

Thought he could take you from him.

Cassian’s wings flared as he turned, as he stalked out of the townhouse with only one thought in his mind.

He would find him.

And then, he would spill every last drop of his blood.

*****

The moment Azriel landed on the townhouse steps, Cassian was already storming toward him, his face a mask of barely contained rage and fear. The Shadowsinger took one look at him, then at the scattered groceries on the street, and his expression darkened.

“She never made it home,” Cassian ground out, his voice tight, strained. He gestured to the mess, his hands trembling at his sides. “Her coat. Her bag. She was right here, Az. And now she’s gone.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched as his shadows curled tighter around him. “I’ll put every spy I have on it,” he said, voice low, deadly. “We’ll find her.”

But it wasn’t enough.

Cassian’s breath came in sharp bursts, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

His mate—his pregnant mate—was missing, stolen from the streets of his city, and he hadn’t been there to stop it.

He hadn’t felt it.

Hadn’t protected you.

“Whoever did this won’t get far,” Azriel continued, his mind already working through every possibility. “We’ll start with the streets. If we’re lucky—”

Cassian didn’t let him finish before he launched into the sky, Azriel following closely behind.

They flew low over the city, scanning every alley, every street, every shadow. Cassian’s heart pounded in his chest, every beat screaming find her, find her, find her. He prayed—Mother, please let me see her. Let me find her before it’s too late.

But the streets were empty.

There was no sign of you.

No one being dragged away.

No lingering scent of fear.

Cassian pulled up short midair, his wings flaring as a sickening realization set in.

“She’s not here,” he whispered, voice hoarse. He turned to Azriel, desperation flickering in his eyes. “They winnowed. They took her far.”

Azriel nodded grimly. “And if they winnowed, that means they planned this.”

Planned it.

Cassian’s stomach churned, nausea creeping up his throat.

He reached for the bond—reached hard—but it was faint.

So faint it made his knees weak.

He could still feel you, but barely, like a whisper carried on the wind.

He swallowed past the panic clawing at his throat.

“We need to go back,” Azriel said. “Tell Rhys. Start tracking.”

Cassian didn’t argue. With one last, frantic glance at the streets below, he turned toward the House of Wind, his heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack open.

The moment they landed at the House of Wind, Rhysand was already waiting for them. Feyre was at his side, her eyes wide with worry.

“What happened?” Rhys demanded, his voice sharp.

Cassian barely managed to get the words out. “She’s gone.” His voice broke slightly, but he pushed through it. “I came home and found her things a block away from the townhouse. There was a struggle, and—” He exhaled shakily. “She never made it inside. They winnowed her away.”

Feyre gasped, covering her mouth. “No—”

Rhys swore under his breath, his power crackling in the air. “Who?”

Cassian didn’t even hesitate. “Elias.” The name tasted like poison.

Feyre paled. “The ex? The one who—”

“Yes,” Cassian bit out. His entire body was vibrating with rage, barely contained. “And if he has her, that means she’s in danger. She’s pregnant, Rhys.” His voice cracked this time, raw with barely held-back terror. “She’s pregnant, and she’s alone, and I—”

He didn’t finish.

Couldn’t.

His hands were shaking too much.

Rhys was silent for a long moment before turning to Azriel. “Find him.” His voice was lethal, death wrapped in velvet. “Find her.”

Azriel nodded once before disappearing into the shadows.

Feyre stepped forward, eyes full of sympathy. “Cassian—”

But he shook his head, unable to hear anything else.

Unable to do anything but feel the empty, aching silence of the bond that tethered him to his mate.

To you.

*****

The days stretched into an agonizing blur, each one more unbearable than the last.

Cassian couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t eat.

Couldn’t train.

His body begged for rest, for nourishment, but he refused to stop—refused to sit still while you were out there, suffering, alone. Every night, he barely managed to close his eyes before jolting awake, his heart hammering with the gut-wrenching knowledge that you still weren’t home.

That you were still in his hands.

Elias.

The name burned like acid in his throat. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw him. Saw the way he held a knife to your throat, the terror in your eyes when he lunged at Cassian. He almost lost you after being stabbed by Elias and now he had you again.

Cassian tore through Velaris like a storm, searching the streets from dawn until dusk, questioning everyone—shopkeepers, vendors, beggars. Anyone who might have seen something, anything.

Nothing.

Every lead turned cold before he could follow it.

Every trail led to dead ends.

He flew to the other courts, desperate, pleading with anyone who might have information. He scoured the darkest corners of the continent, places he had never dared to go before.

But still—nothing.

The bond between you was still there, but it was faint.

So faint it made his chest ache, like you were slipping further and further away from him each day. He couldn’t feel your emotions, couldn’t reach you—but you were alive.

For now.

That thought sent him into a tailspin, had him spiraling into a dark, hopeless rage that only grew with every day that passed without you.

On the fourth day, he stood in Rhys’s office, fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms. His entire body was trembling—not from exhaustion, not from hunger, but from the sheer terror eating him alive.

Rhys stood behind his desk, his violet eyes full of something Cassian didn’t want to see.

Pity.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Cassian rasped, his voice hoarse from shouting, from screaming your name into the skies. “I can’t—” His throat tightened, his vision blurring. He swallowed, trying to force down the lump rising in his throat.

Rhys didn’t speak. He only waited.

Cassian exhaled shakily, his hands gripping the edge of the desk as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “If I lose them—” His voice cracked, raw with grief, with the sheer helplessness he felt clawing at his chest. “If I lose her and our daughter—”

His breath shuddered out of him, his shoulders shaking under the weight of it all. “It will kill me, Rhys.” the desk, gripping Cassian’s shoulder tightly. “We won’t lose them.” His voice was firm, but there was something else in it.

Something unspoken.

Cassian knew the odds. He knew the longer you were gone, the worse they became.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

His body ached with the absence of you.

With the fear of what Elias might be doing to you.

He imagined you alone, terrified, maybe even hurt—he imagined you whispering for him through the bond, and him not being able to hear you.

A ragged breath left him.

“I should have been there,” he whispered, voice full of nothing but self-loathing. “I should have walked her home. I should have—” His voice broke, and he shook his head violently, his hands gripping his hair as if he could tear the guilt from his skull.

Rhys tightened his grip on Cassian’s shoulder. “This is not your fault.”

Cassian couldn’t bring himself to believe that.

Because he had failed.

And if you died—if their daughter died—then he would never forgive himself.

*****

Azriel returned just before dawn, his face unreadable, shadows coiling tightly around him as he stepped into Rhys’s office. Cassian was already there, pacing, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked up the moment Azriel entered, his hazel eyes filled with something dangerously close to desperation.

“What did you find?” Cassian demanded, his voice rough from days of shouting, of not sleeping, of barely eating.

Azriel sighed, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the weight of what he had learned. “My spies in Hewn City confirmed what we already suspected—Elias has been hiding out there. He’s known for holing up in the city for long periods, but catching him is the problem.”

Cassian’s stomach twisted. “Why?”

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter, his expression darkening. “Because he runs an underground network. A group of men just as vile and twisted as he is. They protect him, cover his tracks. They rotate the places he stays, always keeping him under the radar. He doesn’t stay in one location for long.”

Cassian swore under his breath, his entire body vibrating with rage.

He knew Elias was a bastard, knew he was dangerous—but this?

This was an entirely different level of depravity.

Azriel continued, “If we want to find her, we’ll have to go undercover.” His voice was calm, but there was something lethal beneath it. “We won’t be able to storm in with weapons drawn. Not without tipping them off and risking Elias moving her before we can reach her.”

Cassian clenched his jaw.

Every instinct in his body screamed against waiting, against stealth—he wanted to tear through Hewn City, rip apart every shadowed alley and hidden chamber until he found you.

Until he brought you home.

But he knew Azriel was right.

“We’ll have to blend in,” Azriel added, his eyes flickering with quiet calculation. “We’ll need someone who can get close to the inner workings of Hewn City without raising suspicion.” He hesitated before continuing, “I want Nesta to come with me.”

Cassian stiffened immediately, his eyes snapping up to meet Azriel’s.

Rhys, sitting behind his desk, lifted a brow. “Nesta?”

Azriel nodded. “With the amount of power she has, her cunning, and my shadows, I think we have the best chance of finding her before it’s too late.”

Cassian ground his teeth. “Nesta isn’t exactly... subtle.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change. “She can be when she needs to be.”

Cassian turned away, exhaling sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. He hated this. Hated everything about this. Nesta had made a play for him not too long ago, had thrown herself at him, and when he had turned her down, it hadn’t exactly been an easy conversation. The thought of her and Azriel together, sneaking into Hewn City, putting themselves at risk—

But what choice did he have?

None.

Rhys steepled his fingers, considering. “Do you think she’ll agree?”

Azriel nodded once.

Cassian swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Azriel’s gaze. “Are you sure this is the best way?”

Azriel held his stare, unwavering. “Yes.”

A heavy silence filled the room before Rhys called for one of the attendants to fetch Nesta.

Cassian turned away again, bracing his hands on the desk, head bowed.

Every second that ticked by was another second you were gone.

He could still feel the bond—faint, too faint—but it was there. You were alive.

But for how much longer?

A few minutes later, the door opened, and Nesta stepped inside.

She looked at each of them, her cold blue eyes sharp and assessing. “What’s going on?”

Rhys folded his hands on the desk. “We need your help.”

She raised a brow, crossing her arms. “With what?”

Azriel spoke before Cassian could. “Going into Hewn City. Elias has an underground network there. They’re keeping him hidden, moving him from place to place. We need to go in under the radar.” He met her gaze. “I want you to come with me.”

Nesta blinked. She looked at Cassian then, something unreadable flashing across her face. He refused to meet her eyes.

Finally, she exhaled, tilting her head. “You want me to infiltrate Hewn City?”

“Yes,” Azriel said simply.

She was quiet for a long moment, and Cassian thought she might refuse.

But then—

“I’ll do it.”

Cassian’s head snapped up, his chest tightening.

Nesta turned to him, her expression unreadable. “Because I know how much you love her.”

Cassian swallowed hard.

He couldn’t do this, couldn’t let someone else fight this battle while he stood by, helpless.

But this was the way.

The only way.

Nesta turned back to Azriel. “When do we leave?”

Azriel’s shadows curled around him like smoke. “Tomorrow.”

Cassian clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms.

He hated this.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to go, to be the one to infiltrate Hewn City, to find you, to bring you home.

The thought of waiting, of staying behind while others did the searching—it made him sick.

“I’m going,” Cassian growled, already stepping toward the door. “I’ll rip that bastard apart myself.”

But Rhys’s voice was sharp as a blade, stopping him in his tracks. “No, Cassian. You can’t.”

Cassian whirled on him, rage burning in his chest. “Like hell I can’t—”

Rhys stood, his violet eyes filled with steel. “Elias will be looking for you.” His tone was firm, unyielding. “If you step foot in Hewn City, the first whisper of your presence will send him running. He’ll move her. Or worse, he’ll kill her before you even get close.”

Cassian felt his stomach turn, but Rhys wasn’t done.

“It has to be Azriel.” Rhys’s voice softened only slightly. “Elias won’t expect him to come for her.”

Cassian gritted his teeth, his entire body trembling with the force of his emotions. The bond between you both still pulsed faintly, a distant echo that barely reassured him.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell them that no one—no one—was going to stop him from finding you.

But deep down, he knew Rhys was right.

Elias would expect him.

Elias would be waiting for him.

And Cassian couldn’t risk it.

Couldn’t risk your life.

Couldn’t risk your daughter’s life.

He turned away sharply, hands braced on the desk, his shoulders heaving with heavy breaths. Every part of him screamed to fight Rhys on this, to demand to be the one to go.

But he didn’t.

Because the only thing that mattered was getting you back.

Azriel would do it.

Azriel had to do it.

Nesta watched him carefully, her expression unreadable, but Cassian barely noticed.

Cassian’s nails bit into his palms, his entire body trembling with the force of his rage. His breathing was uneven, ragged, as he forced himself to listen—to let Azriel’s plan unfold even though everything in him rebelled against standing aside.

Azriel remained calm, methodical, always a step ahead. "Nesta will be our way in," he said, glancing at her. "Elias surrounds himself with loyalists—men who see women as property, as prizes to be won. He’ll look at Nesta and think she’s something to claim."

Cassian stiffened immediately, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles went white.

Rhys frowned, his violet eyes narrowing. "You’re certain?"

Azriel gave a slow nod. "I spoke to my spies. Elias has a reputation in Hewn City, and it’s not just for keeping his operation quiet. He takes what he wants. And he likes power. Nesta will be a temptation—someone who seems like she might challenge him. He’ll want to break her." Azriel’s voice darkened. "He won’t be able to resist."

Cassian swore under his breath, his wings tensing at his back.

Nesta met Cassian’s gaze then, and something cold and unreadable flickered in her eyes. "Let him try," she said, her voice steel. "I’ll play the part. I’ll be what he wants me to be."

Cassian knew Nesta could handle herself.

Knew she had power thrumming in her very bones.

But still—sending her into that den of filth, into the arms of Elias, relying on the hope that his ego would blind him enough for Azriel to get to her—

It was almost too much to bear.

Almost.

Because nothing was worse than the alternative.

Nothing was worse than another day without you.

Cassian turned back to Azriel, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “When you find her,” he said, voice low and filled with a deadly promise, “bring Elias back alive.”

Azriel stilled, his shadows curling around his shoulders like smoke. His expression was unreadable, but Cassian knew that his brother understood the weight of his words.

Cassian’s breathing was ragged, his fists trembling at his sides. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care how many of his men you have to cut down. I don’t care if you have to drag him here in chains. But he does not get to die easy.” His hazel eyes burned, wild with fury. “He’s mine.”

Azriel studied him for a long moment before giving a slow nod. “I’ll bring him back.”

It wasn’t enough.

Nothing would be enough until Cassian had you back in his arms, until he knew you were safe, until he saw Elias on his knees before him, bleeding.

The thought of what that bastard had done to you—of what he could be doing to you—sent something savage roaring through Cassian’s blood. The rage was unbearable, a living thing inside him, tearing him apart from the inside out.

Elias had taken what was his.

And Cassian was going to make sure he paid.

Paid for every bruise, every scar, every fear he had ever inflicted upon you.

Azriel gave him one last glance before turning to Rhys. “We leave at dawn.”

Nesta stepped forward, nodding her agreement.

Cassian swallowed hard, his hands still trembling as he braced himself against the desk.

He couldn’t go. Couldn’t fight.

Not yet.

But soon.

And when he did—Elias would beg for death before Cassian was through with him.

Not yet.

But soon.

And when he did—Elias would beg for death before Cassian was through with him.

Chapter 7

[stuck-in-jelly]

With the new lens of Corvus knowing how Soren feels about him and Soren being a bit oblivious I also started thinking about wing man Terry during the hunt for Parrow too.

Terry trying so hard to wingman for Soren and Corvus because it’s painful for him at this point watching them flirt and seemingly never get that they are both very into each other. How can two people so perfect for each other not realize this!

Until one night after they’ve set up camp Corvus walks over to Terry and tells him they need to chat. Privately.

Terry of course does not like the sound of that and is pretty nervous as Corvus leads him deeper and deeper into the woods until finally Corvus turns around and is like:

“Hey. I know what you’re trying to do with me and Soren and I need you to stop.”

Terry starts getting embarrassed saying something along the lines of “oh sources I totally misread your feelings for each other didn’t I? Im so sorry I promise I wont-“

“No you’re right. We have feelings for each other.”

“Oh…oh! You’re already together!”

“No.”

“….I uh, I’m a little confused?”

Corvus kind of nods and sits down, patting the floor to let Terry know he is welcomed to join him. This is a weird conversation to have out loud so they might as well get comfortable.

Corvus awkwardly prefaces the conversation with how he isn’t great with words but continues on.

He tells Terry he’s known Soren has been in love with him for years but he has only realized recently he has also been in love with Soren for years.

Terry asks him if he knows why hasn’t he said or done anything about it? Corvus shrugs even though he knows the answer. He confides that he wants Soren to figure it out for himself, that the last thing Soren needs is someone telling him how he feels and what to do and how to act about it.

He wants Soren to make his own choice. If Soren realizes his feelings and wants to make a move he’ll be happy to reciprocate but if Soren realizes and decides be doesn’t want to do anything with it then that’s his choice.

He loves Soren and he wants him happy, that doesn’t mean it needs to be with him at least not right now. He’s been through so much and he still tries to smile but until the smile isn’t forced Corvus doesn’t want to rush into anything not until Soren is ready.

He has spent so much time haunted in the shadow of his family, and its been 3 years but Soren needs more time to be himself away from the chains of his history.

Terry can’t help but think back when Claudia had asked him to tell her what to do, how he declined. Sometimes guilt seeps into the memories of the times he could’ve told Claudia what to do, told her to not go down this path, but the feeling of control over her would’ve felt worse.

Its just now that Terry is realizing how badly Viren messed up both his kids.

Despite the memories Terry smiles cause he gets it now, these two are working in reverse from him and Claudia. Soren just needs time to be himself and Corvus is patient. He doesn’t need to rush things for them, they both are right where they want to be with each other right now.

Terry bumps Corvus’s shoulders and says Soren is lucky to have such a great future partner.

So although he’s playfully rolling his eyes when he watches Corvus rest his chin on Soren’s shoulder when they fly with a pleased look or when Soren can’t stop talking about Corvus when they split up with that wistful look in his eyes, or when Soren starts singing extremely off key and Corvus starts hums along he knows all they need is a bit of time.

That love they have for each other isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

[aspenmissing]

hii!! a lil request as this is my 1st ever doing this but ive been thinking abt this idea:

arcane characters w hallucinating!reader where reader had a tragic backstory n lost their love one(s) (either friends or families) n all of a sudden they started to hallucinate their love one(s)

i just want angst thats all LMAOO n u can make it fluff if u want! (well i mean reader needs some comfort after shit had happened)

anyways thank u for reading n have a nice beautiful day!

ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛꜱ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪ��x || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 6075 ᴡᴏʀᴅ�� || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʜᴀʟʟᴜᴄɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜱɪʙʟɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛʜᴇᴀʀᴛ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

Y/N sat by the window of the apartment, gazing out at the grand skyline of Piltover. The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden hue across the city. But inside, the room felt cold. A strange heaviness had settled in her chest, a weight that no amount of time or comfort seemed to lift. It had been years since she’d seen her family, since she’d left Zaun, since everything had fallen apart.

Yet, tonight... it felt like she was still there.

Her fingers curled around the fabric of the chair she sat in, the stitches in the material biting into her skin as she gripped tighter, her mind pulling her into the past.

A familiar voice echoed in her mind, rising from the depths of her grief. "You could have stopped this. You could have saved me."

Her breath hitched, her heart skipping a beat. She knew that voice. She could almost see him—her father.

His eyes, once full of love and wisdom, now burned with accusation. He was gone, but tonight, the pain of his death felt as fresh as the day it happened.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the hallucination away. It had been happening more frequently lately. The images came in waves, like cruel reminders of the life she had lost. His face, his voice, the anger and hurt that now tainted his memory—it was all too much.

"Y/N?"

The voice that broke her from her thoughts was soft, comforting, steady—Jayce’s. He had been by her side through thick and thin, but tonight, even he couldn’t seem to chase away the ghosts that haunted her.

She turned to him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. "I... I can still hear him," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I keep hearing his voice like he’s still here, blaming me."

Jayce’s heart ached at the sight of her torment. He stepped closer, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. He could see the depth of her pain—the way it clawed at her soul. The tragedy of her past had a grip on her, and no matter how much time passed, it still held her in its iron grasp.

"Y/N," Jayce said softly, kneeling before her. "You're not to blame. You were just a child. You didn’t cause this."

But Y/N’s mind was a battlefield, her father’s voice ringing louder. "You should have protected me... You should have saved me from this miserable life."

The guilt gnawed at her insides, the anger in his voice twisting the knife deeper. She had failed him. She had failed everyone she loved.

Her hands trembled as she reached up, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall. "I wasn’t enough," she whispered, the words barely audible. "I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t protect him."

Jayce reached out and gently cupped her face, lifting her gaze to meet his. "Y/N, listen to me. You are not responsible for what happened. Your father’s death... It wasn’t your fault."

But the words seemed to slip away, drowned by the echo of her father’s accusatory voice. "You left me to die, Y/N. You let me fall."

Her vision blurred as the hallucination became more vivid, like a cruel mirage. She could almost see her father now, standing before her, his expression one of sorrow and rage.

"No..." she breathed, her voice shaking with the weight of the memory. "I didn’t want to... I couldn’t protect you."

Jayce’s hand gently brushed a tear from her cheek, his voice low and full of tenderness. "Y/N, you did everything you could. You were just a child when it happened. Your father wouldn’t want you to carry this guilt forever."

But the hallucinations didn’t stop. His voice, now tinged with anger, continued to claw at her mind, every word a reminder of her perceived failure.

"You should have been stronger. You should have saved me," her father’s voice mocked, the accusation in every syllable.

Jayce’s brow furrowed in frustration, but his voice remained calm, firm. "Y/N, your father’s gone. And you can’t change that. But you can choose how you live now. You’re not alone in this."

Y/N pulled back slightly, her chest tightening, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The guilt threatened to overwhelm her, the voices in her mind too strong to ignore.

“I don’t know how to stop hearing him,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I failed him. And now, I’m haunted by it.”

Jayce’s heart ached for her. He could feel her pain, her internal struggle. He wasn’t sure how to make her see it, but he would try anyway.

"You didn’t fail him," Jayce said firmly, cupping her face in his hands, his thumb brushing away the last of her tears. "You were just a child, Y/N. A child who was forced to grow up too soon, but not because of anything you did. This guilt—it’s not yours to bear."

She trembled under his touch, her mind still fighting the hallucinations, but in that moment, Jayce’s presence seemed to anchor her to reality. His warmth, his steadiness, helped push back against the darkness, just a little.

“I can’t let him go,” Y/N admitted softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"You don’t have to forget him," Jayce replied gently. "He’ll always be a part of you. But you don’t have to carry this burden alone. I’m here for you, Y/N. I’ll help you through this."

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to believe him. The guilt, the voices—they didn’t disappear, but maybe... just maybe, with Jayce by her side, she could find a way to live with them. To move forward.

She took a deep breath, her grip on Jayce’s hands tightening, and allowed herself to believe that she could heal.

And for the first time in a long while, she felt like she might just be able to start letting go of the past.

VIKTOR

The air in the lab was thick with the smell of machinery and smoke. Y/N sat hunched over a workbench, her hands trembling as she carefully pieced together an intricate device. The hum of Viktor's machines filled the room, but Y/N's mind was elsewhere, lost in the swirling thoughts of a past she couldn't outrun.

It was late—darker than usual. Viktor had long since left for the night, his heavy footsteps fading from the corridor. But Y/N hadn’t noticed his absence, her mind too consumed by the memories that seemed to creep up on her when she least expected it.

She froze for a moment, the sound of a soft laugh echoing through her ears. Her heart twisted in her chest. The familiar sound of a voice that used to bring her so much comfort.

"Y/N?"

She slowly turned, her eyes wide, and there she was. Her.

"Elora?" She whispered, voice cracking. Her vision blurred with tears as her late friend—her best friend—stood before her, as real as the day she had died.

"Y/N, you’ve been distant lately. It’s like you’ve disappeared into yourself," Elora said, her smile kind, but there was a sadness in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Y/N took a step forward, her hands reaching out to touch the apparition, but before her fingers could meet Elora's skin, the figure flickered, and the world seemed to shift.

Suddenly, Viktor's voice pierced the air. "Y/N?"

Y/N blinked rapidly, and Elora was gone, vanishing like smoke in the wind. But the emptiness left behind was worse than the hallucination itself. Her chest tightened. The grief surged through her again. She tried to shake it off, but the memory of losing Elora was always there, lurking just beneath the surface.

"You’re… here," Y/N murmured, her voice almost a whisper, her breath catching in her throat. She didn’t want to appear weak, but the strain was evident in her face.

Viktor had entered quietly, leaning heavily on his cane as he observed her. His sharp eyes softened when he saw the state she was in. He could see the ghost of something painful in her gaze, the way her eyes darted as if she was still trying to make sense of the world around her.

"Y/N," Viktor said softly, his voice a soothing balm against her disjointed thoughts. He slowly approached her, his cane clicking against the floor with each careful step. "What's happening?"

She could barely meet his eyes. “I… I just saw her. Elora. I thought she was… gone, but she was here… and she was talking to me." Y/N’s voice wavered, the raw ache of her grief tearing through her again.

Viktor’s expression softened, though there was a weight to his eyes. He’d known loss, too, in his own way. But this was different. He could see the torment in Y/N's eyes, the way she struggled to pull herself back from the brink.

Without a word, Viktor placed his cane aside, stepping closer to her. His hand, warm but firm, gently cupped her cheek, guiding her face to meet his gaze. He knew how much pain she carried, how much she hid behind her strength.

“You’re not alone in this," Viktor said quietly, his voice rich with sincerity. "I know the feeling of losing someone, the way it lingers in your mind. But you have to remember—they’re always with us, even if they’re no longer here physically."

Y/N blinked, tears spilling down her face as she finally let herself crumble in Viktor's arms. The weight of her loss felt unbearable, but for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to mourn. The past few years had been so focused on survival, on the moments she'd spent in this city that she'd forgotten to grieve.

Viktor didn’t try to make her stop crying. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, his touch gentle despite the hardness of his frame. He had a quiet strength, and in that moment, Y/N clung to it. She buried her face against his chest, the warm embrace pulling her away from the spiraling grief, even if just for a moment.

"Elora… she was everything to me," Y/N whispered between sobs. "I never thought I'd feel this empty again. I can't… I can't keep living like this." Her voice cracked as she spoke, the vulnerability raw and unguarded.

Viktor closed his eyes for a moment, listening to her broken words. He had felt loss before—he knew the suffocating weight it carried, the way it clung to your every thought, your every breath. He couldn’t pretend to understand the depths of her pain, but he knew that there was no simple solution. But one thing was clear—she wasn’t alone in this. Not anymore.

"You don't have to live through it alone," Viktor whispered back, his voice like a promise. "I’ll be here for you, Y/N. Always." He tightened his hold on her, as though willing the strength to flow from him to her. "We’ll carry the weight together, step by step."

Y/N sniffed, her breath still ragged. His words felt like an anchor, keeping her grounded when the world around her felt like it was falling apart. Slowly, she drew in a deep breath, feeling the steady presence of Viktor beside her. His arms, his warmth, his very being—he was a constant, a source of strength when hers had failed.

The hallucinations had faded, but the echo of her loss still rang loud in her chest. Her mind wandered back to Elora, to the life they had shared, the future they had dreamed of. For a moment, she wished she could go back—to hear Elora’s voice, to feel her presence. But that was impossible. What was left now was a deep, aching silence.

With Viktor's quiet comfort, she began to believe that, perhaps, it would hurt less one day. Perhaps, one day, the pain would ease, and the weight wouldn’t feel so crushing.

But for now, though, she wasn’t alone. And that was enough.

JAYVIK

The streets of Piltover were bustling with life as the evening sun cast long shadows over the buildings. The city, always so full of promise and ambition, never felt like a home to Y/N. There were too many memories of the past that clung to her—ones she couldn’t escape no matter how hard she tried.

Her steps quickened as she walked, her breath shallow. She could hear it again. The whispers, the voices. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to acknowledge the ghosts that followed her every step. She could feel the weight of them pressing on her chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. Her mind was starting to unravel, just like the threads of her crochet work when she couldn't focus.

“Y/N…” The voice was soft, familiar, so painfully familiar. She clenched her fists at her sides and fought back the tears. It couldn't be. It wasn’t.

"Stop," she whispered to herself, but the sound of a door slamming shut echoed in her ears. She could almost see them—the ones she’d lost, the ones she couldn't save. They were right behind her, walking just close enough that she could feel their presence but never see their faces clearly.

=

Back at their shared apartment, Jayce and Viktor were discussing plans over their latest projects. Viktor had been unusually quiet, his gaze shifting to the window every now and then, as if he were waiting for something—or someone—to return. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that the Y/N they knew wasn’t the same anymore.

“Do you think we’re doing enough for her?” Viktor asked, glancing over at Jayce.

Jayce paused, the question catching him off guard. “I hope so. She’s strong, Viktor. Stronger than most people I know, but she… She’s been through so much. We both know she’s carrying a lot more than she lets on.”

Before Viktor could respond, the door to their apartment opened with a soft creak, and Y/N staggered inside. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and confusion. The sight of her made Jayce's heart ache. Something was wrong.

"Y/N?" Jayce called gently, but Y/N’s eyes darted around the room, and it was clear she didn’t even register his presence.

Her breath came in short gasps, and her hands trembled as she reached up to grab her hair, yanking at the strands in desperation. "No... please... stop... stop!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "It’s not real! It’s not real!"

Viktor moved toward her cautiously, his brow furrowed with concern. "Y/N, listen to us. You’re here, you’re safe."

But she didn’t hear him. She was locked in her own mind, her fingers pulling at her hair like she was trying to force herself out of the hallucinations. The voices were growing louder now, no longer whispers but full-blown echoes of the past—her family, her friends, the ones she’d lost in Zaun. Their faces flashed before her eyes, cruelly mocking her, accusing her of failing them.

"I couldn't save you," Y/N sobbed, her voice raw. "I couldn't save any of you..." She collapsed onto the floor, her hands still clutching her hair as if she could tear it out to stop the torment. "I tried... I tried so hard..."

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a look, both knowing the source of her pain. The trauma of her past, the loss of so many loved ones—family, friends, the ones she had tried to protect—had left deep scars, ones that she couldn’t escape.

"Y/N, it’s okay," Jayce said, kneeling beside her. He gently took her hands in his, guiding them away from her hair. "You didn’t fail anyone. You did what you could. You're not alone anymore."

Viktor crouched down on the other side, his voice soft yet firm. "We’re here for you, Y/N. We won’t leave you."

Y/N’s eyes flickered between the two men, still lost in the haze of her hallucinations. Her breath hitched, and her body trembled as if she were caught between two worlds—the past and the present. Her chest tightened as she fought to push the memories back, but they refused to stay buried.

"I... I miss them," Y/N whispered, her voice a broken sob.

Jayce and Viktor shared another silent look, and without words, they both moved closer, wrapping their arms around her. She didn’t resist this time. Her body slumped into their embrace, finally allowing herself to break down. It had been so long since she’d let herself grieve, so long since she’d allowed herself to feel anything but the weight of her responsibility.

=

The apartment was a mess—papers scattered across the floor, books and tools abandoned in haste—but it didn’t matter. All that mattered in that moment was that she wasn’t alone.

Jayce’s hand gently caressed her hair, his voice soothing as he whispered, “We’ll face this together, Y/N. Whatever it takes.”

Viktor, his voice a quiet promise, added, "You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. We’re with you."

Y/N closed her eyes, the sounds of her hallucinations slowly fading into the background, replaced by the warmth of their presence. For the first time in so long, she felt like she could finally let go of the pain—just for a moment.

And maybe, just maybe, she could begin to heal.

VANDER

The dim, smoky tavern buzzed with the usual noise of Zaun's underground haven. The low hum of conversation and clinking mugs filled the air, but Y/N hardly noticed it. Her thoughts, heavy with grief, spun around the same haunting memory, the face of the person she had lost years ago.

Vander sat at the bar, watching her from across the room. His gaze softened as he observed the subtle tension in her shoulders, the distant look in her eyes. It had been months since she'd come to him for shelter, but there were still days when she seemed so far away.

"Y/N," he called gently, standing and walking over to her side.

She blinked, her gaze snapping back to the present as if she had been pulled from another world. For a moment, his concern mixed with the shimmer of something else in her eyes. Something foreign.

“Are you alright?” Vander asked, taking a seat beside her. He could sense something off, something deeper than the usual weight of her sorrow.

Y/N gave a strained smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, just tired," she muttered, her fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the wooden table. She hated how it felt—this emptiness that lingered in her chest. She hated how her past still haunted her, how it still left her like this, staring into nothingness. But there was nothing she could do.

As she tried to push the thought of the lost one from her mind, a faint sound reached her ears. The unmistakable sound of laughter. Her stomach clenched as the memory flooded back—the sound of them laughing, full of life, before everything had shattered. Before the world had taken them away.

The laughter grew louder in her mind, ringing in her ears. She could almost see them, standing in the corner, their eyes sparkling with the joy they used to share.

Stop... Y/N's breath hitched, her pulse quickening as the laughter grew overwhelming. She gripped the edge of the table harder, her nails digging into her palms. Why are they laughing?

"Y/N?" Vander’s voice cut through the haze, but the laughter persisted, louder and mocking, as if they were right there with her, teasing her for her inability to save them.

"No!" Y/N suddenly shouted, her voice shaky and raw. She stood, her legs unsteady, and turned toward the empty space where she felt them, her body trembling with the surge of panic. "Stop laughing! Stop it!" she cried, her voice cracking as she dug her nails into her arms, holding herself tight.

Vander was on his feet instantly, his heart sinking at the sight of her so clearly tormented. He could see her spiraling, caught in a moment where the line between the past and present blurred, where her loss consumed her. The laughter still echoed in her ears, and it was as though she couldn’t escape it.

"Y/N, look at me," he said, his voice firm but gentle, reaching for her. He could see how badly she was hurting, how the hallucinations were clawing at her. "Come on, let’s get out of here."

Before she could react, Vander gently took hold of her arm, guiding her away from the crowded tavern, his grip strong and steady as he led her through the back door and into the quiet alley behind it. The cool night air hit her, the silence of the alley wrapping around them, but still, the echoes of laughter lingered in her mind.

"Y/N, breathe," Vander said softly, holding her close, his voice low and soothing. "I’ve got you. You’re safe now."

Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts, and she dug her fingers into her skin, trying to pull herself together. But the hallucinations were relentless, her past was relentless. "They’re laughing at me, Vander," she whispered, her voice raw with pain. "I couldn’t save them, and now they... they think it’s funny."

Vander’s heart broke at the rawness of her words, at how deeply the guilt had dug into her soul. "It’s not your fault," he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch grounding her in the present. "They’re not laughing at you, Y/N. It’s just the pain talking, and it’s going to fade. You’re here, and that’s all that matters."

Her body shook, but slowly, her grip on herself loosened. She wasn’t sure if the hallucinations would stop—if the laughter would ever leave her—but Vander was here. His presence, steady and unwavering, was the anchor she needed.

"You’re not alone," Vander whispered again, his voice warm as he held her close. "You don’t have to carry this burden on your own. I’ll help you through it. You’ll heal, love. I won’t let you go through this alone."

Y/N closed her eyes, her breath slowly evening out as the tension in her body began to ease. The laughter still clung to the edges of her mind, but Vander’s voice, steady and strong, helped push it back. In his arms, she felt safe. For now, that was enough.

Time would pass, and the wounds would eventually begin to heal. And as she leaned into Vander, trusting him to help her carry the weight, she knew she had someone who would never let her fall apart, no matter how loud the echoes of her past became.

SILCO

The small room was suffocating, the walls closing in on Y/N as she sat in the corner, her knees hugged tightly to her chest. The flickering light from a single lamp overhead cast long shadows that danced across the walls. Silence lingered, oppressive, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the voice in her head.

It started softly at first, a faint whisper. Then it grew louder, more insistent.

“Momma…”

She froze, the blood in her veins turning cold. The name, that voice… it couldn’t be.

Her eyes darted around the room, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. The space seemed to twist, warp, and stretch before her as the hallucinations began to consume her. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image burned brighter, clearer. A little face she once cherished, a child she loved more than life itself, stood before her. But the innocent smile was gone, replaced by a twisted, mocking grin.

Her heart skipped a beat. “No, no, you’re not real…”

“Momma, why did you leave me?” the voice asked, its tone dripping with venom.

“NO!” Y/N shouted, slamming her fists to her ears as if the physical pain could drown out the ghosts of her past.

The image of her child laughed—loud, mocking, endless. The echo of that laughter twisted into screams, the sound reverberating through her mind, unbearable, sharp. She gripped her head, eyes wild, desperate to escape.

"Why did you leave me, momma?" the voice taunted again. “You should’ve saved me…”

“Please… please stop…” Her hands were trembling as she reached for her gun, fingers brushing over the cold metal like a lifeline. The room around her seemed to blur, the walls pressing in as if to crush her beneath their weight.

And then, in a moment of madness, she stood, her heart pounding, breath coming in jagged gasps. With a sharp, guttural cry, she pulled the trigger.

Bang. The shot rang out, splitting the silence like a whip. A piece of the wall exploded, dust raining down. But it wasn’t enough.

Another shot, then another, until her hand was aching, and the gun’s barrel was smoking. The world around her was falling apart, fragments of broken furniture, shattered glass, and torn fabric littering the floor. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out everything but the screams.

“You’ll never be good enough!” the hallucination of her child screamed, their voice now distorted, a cruel caricature of the once-sweet tone.

But then, from the shadows, a voice broke through the chaos—cold, steady, but with an undertone of something far softer. “Y/N… put the gun down.”

It was Silco. His figure emerged from the doorway, his posture unwavering, though his eyes were filled with something that mirrored the pain she felt. He knew. He’d been there. He understood the horrors of losing someone you loved. But there was something different in his expression now—compassion? No, it was more than that. It was a quiet understanding, a recognition of her suffering.

Y/N’s chest heaved, her breath ragged, but her grip on the gun didn’t loosen. Her mind was spiraling, the hallucination still mocking her, still taunting her with her child’s voice.

“They never forgive you, Y/N…” the phantom whispered, cruel and malicious.

“You’re not real,” she murmured to herself, her voice cracking.

Silco’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, cautiously, aware of the danger. His voice was low, soothing, as if speaking to a wounded animal. “I know what it’s like to live with ghosts… but you don’t need to face them alone.”

Her eyes flicked to him, confusion and desperation swirling within her. “I— I don’t know how to stop it. I can’t...”

“Y/N,” Silco said firmly, his voice cutting through the panic. “The only way to stop them is to stop running from them. They can’t hurt you if you face them. You’re stronger than this.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as the hallucination of her child laughed one final, cruel laugh. The sound echoed in her skull, but for the first time, it didn’t seem as deafening. Silco’s words held her, anchored her.

Slowly, trembling, she lowered the gun. Her vision was blurred, tears staining her face as she let out a ragged sob. She sank to the floor, her hands dropping to her sides, empty, the gun clattering softly next to her.

Silco was there in an instant, kneeling beside her, his presence grounding. “You’re not alone,” he murmured, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. “We all have our demons, but we don’t have to fight them alone.”

Y/N leaned into him, her body shaking with the weight of her grief, but for the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of warmth, of something real, beneath the heavy shadows of her past.

And as she allowed herself to be held, the haunting laughter of her lost child began to fade, as if the sound was swallowed by the darkness, leaving her with the quiet understanding that, maybe—just maybe—she could heal.

Maybe.

JINX

The air was thick with tension, the kind that made it hard to breathe. Y/N’s heart raced in her chest as she wandered through the dimly lit alleyways of Zaun, her hands trembling at her sides. The towering structures cast long shadows across the narrow paths, the hum of machinery echoing in the distance, but all of it was a blur, a haze. Her mind was caught in the grip of something far more consuming—memories. They churned like smoke in her thoughts, impossible to grasp and even harder to push away.

She could see him—him—her brother. His face was vivid, sharp in the haze of her mind, so real that it almost seemed to shimmer in the air. His smile. His eyes. Everything about him was there, standing just a few paces ahead of her, waiting.

But he was dead. He couldn’t be here.

Y/N stumbled forward, her breath catching in her throat. Her feet moved on their own, pulling her toward him, as if some invisible force guided her steps. She had promised herself she was done with this, that she had buried the memory of him—the memory of that night—the explosion that had taken him away from her forever. She had buried it deep, pushed it down until it barely hurt. But now, standing here in the darkness of Zaun, the pain was rising up again like an open wound, flooding every inch of her.

"You're just... hallucinating," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. She repeated it, hoping the words would make it true, but her heart wasn’t convinced. Her chest tightened with every breath, her palms slick with sweat as she moved closer, her eyes fixed on his face. "This isn't real... It can't be real."

"You don’t have to face it alone, Y/N," his voice echoed, soft but so familiar. It was a comfort, the kind of warmth that she hadn’t felt in years. But it was wrong. It couldn’t be him.

"Stop," she gasped, her hands clutching at her temples, trying to block out the sound of his voice. "Please... stop."

She could hear the sound of her own breath growing shallow, panicked, as her body trembled under the weight of it all. The ground beneath her feet felt unstable, as though the very earth was shaking beneath her, and her lungs burned as though there was no air left in the world. Her chest was tight, and no matter how much she gasped for air, it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t escape.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, her body shaking violently as her vision blurred. The hallucination of her brother’s face grew clearer, more vivid, until it filled every corner of her mind. It was like she was being pulled into it, into the past, into that night. She could almost feel his hand reaching out to her, could almost hear the words he would say if he were here.

And that was when she felt it—the panic, the suffocation. Her heart was racing. Her body wasn’t her own anymore. She felt as though she was slipping away, drowning in memories she couldn’t escape.

=

Then, a voice cut through the chaos. It was strange but somehow grounding, chaotic but comforting in a way Y/N didn’t understand.

"Hey! Breathe! Breathe, okay?"

Y/N blinked, dazed, and then she saw her. Jinx.

Jinx stood just a few feet away, her wild eyes locked on her. Her usual manic energy was toned down, and her face held an understanding that made Y/N pause. There was something in her eyes, something that spoke of a shared pain, an unspoken connection.

Y/N’s vision wavered as the hallucination of her brother's face grew sharper, more intense, but Jinx stepped between them, blocking her view.

"Focus on me, not him," Jinx said, her voice strangely gentle. The edges of her manic grin were gone for now, replaced by something softer, a flicker of empathy. She knelt down beside Y/N, her gaze never leaving her face. "You’re freaking out. You gotta breathe, Y/N. I get it. I’ve been there."

Y/N’s chest tightened further, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t make sense of anything. "I can’t—he’s right there, I... I can’t breathe—"

"Yes, you can!" Jinx snapped, but there was no malice, only urgency in her voice. She reached out, placing a hand gently on Y/N’s shoulder. "Focus on my voice, alright? Forget the ghosts. Forget him. Just breathe."

Jinx pulled in a slow, exaggerated breath, her eyes wide, focused. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Like this."

Y/N tried, but the breath caught in her throat, the panic choking her again. The hallucination of her brother was still there, still so real that it felt like she could reach out and touch him. Her mind screamed at her to move, to run, but her body refused to respond.

"Look at me," Jinx said firmly, leaning closer. Her face was just inches from Y/N’s now, and Y/N could see the quiet pain in her eyes, the understanding that went beyond the madness. "You’re not alone, Y/N. You hear me? Not alone. We’ve all got our ghosts, our demons, but we don’t have to drown in them. You’re strong. You’ve got this. I’ve got you."

Y/N’s hands were shaking, but she tried again. She inhaled slowly, following Jinx’s breath, though it felt like an impossible task. The tightness in her chest didn’t ease, but the focus on Jinx’s voice helped. Slowly, the image of her brother started to blur, losing its sharp edges, becoming less clear. His voice faded into the background, replaced by Jinx’s steady rhythm.

"There you go," Jinx whispered, her voice softer now, as if she, too, was fighting to stay steady. "It’s okay. You don’t have to carry that weight alone anymore."

Y/N blinked, her chest still tight, but the panic began to loosen its grip. Her vision cleared, the hallucination of her brother fading to nothing. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her body trembling with relief.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, side by side in the dark alley, listening to the distant hum of Zaun’s ever-present machinery. Y/N’s heart rate slowly returned to normal, and she felt the weight on her chest begin to lift, just a little. She wiped her face, blinking back the tears she hadn’t realized had fallen.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

"Don’t apologize," Jinx replied with a quiet shake of her head. "I get it. Trust me. I’ve been there more times than I can count."

There was a silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was... understanding. A shared moment of something deeper, something unspoken.

"I still see them sometimes," Jinx added quietly, her eyes far away, staring into some distant memory. "My brothers. They never really left me. But... I keep going. For them. For me. For the people still here."

Y/N felt a pang in her chest, a sympathy for Jinx that she hadn’t expected. She wiped at her face again, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it wasn’t just sadness now. It was something else—a recognition of their shared pain, the unspoken connection between them.

"I don’t know if I can... let go of him," Y/N said quietly, her voice trembling. "I don’t know how to stop seeing him."

"You don’t have to forget," Jinx said softly, her voice steady, her gaze unwavering. "You just... you learn to live with it. You learn to breathe through the bad parts. And the more you breathe, the easier it gets. You’re not alone, Y/N. Not now. Not ever."

Y/N nodded slowly, taking in Jinx’s words. Slowly, she felt a kind of quiet strength rising in her chest, something that had been buried deep inside her, waiting to be found.

"Thanks," she whispered, her voice quieter now, steadier.

"Yeah, yeah," Jinx grinned, though it was softer than usual, more genuine. "We’re both a mess, huh? But that’s alright. You’ve got me. Don’t forget that."

Y/N chuckled weakly, taking Jinx’s outstretched hand. She pulled herself up, feeling the weight of her past still lingering but not holding her down.

"We both got this," Y/N said softly, her breath finally steady, the echoes of her mind growing quieter.

And with that, they walked together through the dark streets of Zaun, side by side. The weight of their shared pain wasn’t gone, but they were no longer carrying it alone. And that made all the difference.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: "No More Hiding"

Part 7

Marshall didn’t leave your side for the rest of the day.

He followed you from the couch to the kitchen, stood behind you while you made tea, his hands resting on your hips like he was afraid you might vanish. When you went upstairs to change, he sat on the bed, watching you with quiet intensity.

He wasn’t hovering.

He was waiting.

For you to say something. To let him in.

But you didn’t know how.

You wanted to pretend everything was fine. You wanted to put your mask back on, to shove it all down and move forward.

But you couldn’t. Not after last night. Not after Hailie heard you crying. Not after Marshall came home the second he found out.

So instead of saying something, you just curled up in bed, facing away from him, hoping he’d let it go.

He didn’t.

"Baby."

You felt the bed dip behind you. His hand found your waist, warm and steady.

"Talk to me."

You squeezed your eyes shut. "I don’t know what to say."

"Start anywhere."

You swallowed hard. "I’m tired."

"Then rest."

"I don’t mean like that." Your voice cracked. "I’m tired of pretending. Tired of being afraid. Tired of waking up and feeling like I don’t even know who I am anymore."

Marshall was quiet for a long moment. Then, he shifted closer, pressing his chest against your back, his arm tightening around you.

"Then don’t pretend," he said, voice low but firm. "Not with me."

You exhaled shakily. "I don’t know how to stop."

"I’ll help you." His lips brushed against your shoulder. "I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what we have to do. I just need you here, baby. I just need you."

A choked sob escaped before you could stop it. You turned in his arms, burying your face in his hoodie, gripping onto him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the world.

Maybe he was.

"I don’t want to feel like this anymore," you whispered.

"Then let’s figure it out together," he murmured against your hair. "No more hiding. No more faking."

You nodded against his chest, even though you weren’t sure how to start.

But maybe, just maybe, having Marshall next to you was enough to try.

Marshall stayed with you until you fell asleep.

You didn’t dream.

For the first time in a long time, there was no suffocating weight pressing down on your chest. No images of the past haunting you. Just warmth, just steady breathing, just him.

---

When you woke up, the space beside you was empty, but the lingering scent of his cologne told you he hadn’t gone far.

You found him in the kitchen, standing at the stove, coffee brewing behind him. He was making eggs, but the way he kept glaring at the pan told you it wasn’t going well.

You leaned against the doorway, crossing your arms. "Did the eggs offend you, or—"

He turned at the sound of your voice, eyes sweeping over you like he was making sure you were really standing there.

You expected him to joke back, maybe smirk and say something cocky. But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped forward, cupping your face like he needed to touch you, like he needed to feel that you were still here.

"Morning," he murmured.

Your chest tightened. "Morning."

His thumb brushed your cheek, his expression unreadable. "How do you feel?"

You knew what he was really asking.

You swallowed. "Like I don’t know what to do next."

Marshall nodded slowly. "Then we’ll take it one step at a time."

You looked away. "I don’t even know what that looks like."

"Then we’ll figure it out." He paused. "But I want you to talk to someone, baby."

Your stomach twisted. "Marshall—"

"Just listen." His voice was gentle, but there was no room for argument. "You don’t have to do it alone. You shouldn’t have to. And I can’t be the only one you lean on—I mean, I want to be, but I don’t know how to fix this for you."

You closed your eyes. "I don’t need to be fixed."

"I know that." His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns against your jaw. "But you do need help."

You let out a shaky breath. "I’m scared."

"I know, baby." His forehead pressed against yours. "But I got you."

You stood there for a long time, just breathing him in, letting his presence steady you.

And maybe—just maybe—you could take that first step.

---

You knew Marshall was waiting for you to say something.

He hadn't pushed after breakfast, hadn’t brought up therapy again. But you could feel it lingering between you, heavy and unspoken.

You spent most of the day in silence, lost in your own head. The idea of sitting in front of a stranger and spilling everything made your stomach twist.

But the idea of doing it alone?

That was unbearable.

So as the sun dipped lower, you finally worked up the courage.

"I’ll go," you murmured, barely above a whisper.

Marshall turned from where he sat beside you on the couch, eyes locking onto you immediately. "Yeah?"

You nodded, heart pounding. "But only if you come with me."

His brows pulled together. "Come with you?"

"I don’t want to go alone." You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the hem of your sweater. "I can’t."

His face softened, but there was something else there, something unreadable. "Baby…"

"Please, Marshall." Your voice wavered. "I can’t do this by myself. I need you there."

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you, his jaw clenched, his hand flexing like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

Then, slowly, he exhaled. "Okay."

You blinked. "Okay?"

"Yeah." He shifted closer, finally taking your hand. "If that’s what you need, then I’ll be there. Every time."

Your throat tightened. "Promise?"

His grip on you tightened. "I promise."

And for the first time, the thought of walking into that room didn’t seem quite so terrifying. Because you wouldn’t be walking in alone.

---

The first session was awkward.

You sat stiffly on the couch, Marshall beside you, his arm stretched along the back like he was trying to stay casual. But you could feel how tense he was, how he kept shifting like he wanted to bolt.

The therapist, a woman with kind eyes and a soft voice, gave you space. Let you ease into it.

"What brings you both here?" she asked.

You glanced at Marshall, but he stayed quiet, staring at a spot on the floor.

So you swallowed and said, "I need help."

Saying it out loud made your stomach twist, but Marshall’s fingers brushed against yours, a small, steady touch, and you exhaled.

The second session was harder.

"Can you talk about the night you fell into the pool?"

Your chest tightened. "I don’t know."

"That’s okay," she said. "But you’re safe here. No one is judging you."

Marshall shifted beside you. "I just—" He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t get why you didn’t fight."

You flinched. He hadn’t said it that bluntly before.

"Marshall—"

"No, I mean it." His voice was tight, strained. "I’ve fought like hell to stay alive for you. For the kids. And you—" His breath hitched. "You just gave up."

You swallowed, hands gripping your jeans. "I wasn’t trying to die, Marshall."

"Then what were you doing?" His voice cracked. "Because I pulled you out, and you weren’t even trying to swim."

You couldn’t meet his eyes. "I was tired."

Silence.

Then, quietly, he said, "I don’t know how to live in a world where you don’t exist."

You wiped at your eyes. "I don’t either."

The third session was different.

"How have things been since last time?"

You hesitated, then said, "Better."

Marshall nodded. "She’s talking more."

The therapist smiled. "That’s good. Have you been talking to each other?"

You and Marshall exchanged a look.

The night before, you had sat on the couch, curled into his side, and told him about the first time you had thought about leaving—not just physically, but mentally, emotionally.

And he had told you about the first time he realized he was afraid of losing you.

"Yeah," Marshall said. "We’re trying."

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t easy.

But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t carrying it alone.

---

You checked your phone again.

Still nothing.

The session was supposed to start ten minutes ago, and Marshall wasn’t here.

Your therapist sat across from you, her hands folded in her lap, radiating patience. "Do you want to wait a little longer?"

You forced a nod, even though your heart was hammering. "Yeah, he’s probably just caught up at the studio."

That was logical. Rational. You knew that was the most likely reason.

But your mind wasn’t logical.

Your mind was clawing at old memories, ripping them open, filling in the blanks with worse possibilities.

The last time Marshall was unreachable, he had almost died.

Your hands clenched into fists. You tried to steady your breathing, but your lungs felt tight, like you couldn’t get enough air.

You called him again.

Voicemail.

Your stomach twisted. Your vision blurred at the edges.

He should’ve been here by now. He would’ve answered. He always answered.

Your ears started ringing.

He was lying on the floor again, wasn’t he? Unconscious. Blue lips. Barely breathing. The hospital beeping. The way you shook him, screaming his name, Marshall, wake up, please, please wake up—

"Breathe."

Your therapist’s voice cut through the haze, grounding you. You blinked rapidly, realizing your whole body was trembling.

"You’re safe," she said gently. "Marshall is okay. I know your brain is telling you otherwise, but let’s stay here, in this room. Can you do that with me?"

You tried.

But the fear wouldn’t let go.

"I can’t—" Your voice broke. "What if he’s not okay? What if this is like before?"

"What if it’s not?" she countered. "What if he’s just running late?"

You shook your head violently, chest heaving. "I don’t know how to believe that."

"Because your brain is wired for survival right now. Because trauma convinces you that the worst-case scenario is the only possible one."

Tears burned your eyes. "I can’t lose him."

"You’re not losing him." She leaned forward, voice calm but firm. "Right now, you are here. You are breathing. Marshall is most likely driving, which is why he’s not answering. But even if something did happen, you are not alone in this anymore."

Your phone vibrated in your grip.

Marshall’s name lit up the screen.

Your breath hitched, and you answered immediately. "Marshall?"

"Baby—" His voice was rushed, apologetic. "Shit, I’m sorry, I just pulled up. I was driving, didn’t see my phone."

A broken sob escaped before you could stop it.

"Hey, hey—" His tone changed instantly, panic creeping in. "What’s wrong? Talk to me."

You covered your mouth, shaking. "I thought— I couldn’t reach you, and I just—*"

The door to the office burst open before you could finish, and then he was there, panting, still holding his keys like he’d run inside. His eyes found yours, wide with alarm.

You barely registered dropping your phone before you were in his arms, gripping his hoodie, pressing your face into his chest like he was the only thing keeping you standing.

"I’m here," he murmured, one hand cradling the back of your head. "I’m here, baby. I got you."

You just held onto him, shaking.

Your therapist gave you a moment before speaking softly. "This is what we need to work through."

Marshall looked at her over your shoulder. "What do we do?"

She met his gaze. "We help her retrain her brain to believe she’s safe."

You wanted to believe it.

You just didn’t know how.

You sat on the couch, legs pulled up to your chest, staring at the rug beneath your feet. You’d been quiet for most of the session, barely speaking since Marshall sat down beside you, his hand resting on your thigh in quiet reassurance.

Your therapist waited, letting the silence stretch. She knew, somehow, that you were trying to find the words.

Finally, you swallowed and said, "I don’t think I’m safe."

Marshall stiffened beside you. "Baby—"

You shook your head, eyes still locked on the floor. "I don’t mean physically. I just—" Your voice wavered. "None of this feels real."

Your therapist’s voice was calm. "Can you explain what you mean?"

You let out a shaky breath. "Ever since Marshall got sober, I feel like I’ve been living in a dream. Like it’s all too fragile, like any second I’m going to wake up and still be in that hospital waiting room, waiting for someone to tell me he’s dead."

Marshall cursed under his breath, rubbing his hands over his face.

"I don’t remember the last time I felt present in my own life," you admitted. "It’s all just a blur. Days blend together. I feel like I’m floating, waiting for the moment when reality crashes back in. And when it does, I know I won’t survive it."

"Baby, stop—" Marshall’s voice cracked.

You turned your head, meeting his glassy eyes. "You don’t get it."

"Then make me get it," he pleaded. "Help me understand."

Your throat tightened. "That night, when you overdosed, I felt you slip away." Your voice barely rose above a whisper. "You died, Marshall. Maybe not officially, maybe not permanently, but to me? You were gone. And I have spent every single day since then waiting to lose you all over again."

Marshall sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers clenching into fists.

"I don’t know how to let myself believe you’re really here," you continued. "Because if I do, if I let myself feel it—if I let myself have you—then when you’re gone for real, I won’t survive the night."

Marshall turned fully toward you, one hand gripping the back of your neck, the other pressing against your knee like he could physically anchor you to him. "I’m not going anywhere."

You shook your head. "You did go somewhere, Marshall. And I can’t stop living in that moment."

Tears welled in his eyes, his breathing unsteady. "Then we get you out of it." He looked at the therapist, desperate. "How do we get her out of it?"

She studied you both for a long moment. "We help her find proof that she’s here. That this is real. That the past can’t reach her anymore."

You let out a hollow laugh. "And what if it does?"

"Then we fight it," Marshall said, his grip tightening. "Together."

You wanted to believe him.

But you still weren’t sure how.

---

The house was quiet.

The kids were asleep, the soft hum of the TV downstairs the only sign of life. But upstairs, in the bedroom, you stood frozen in the doorway of the bathroom.

Staring.

The tiles were the same. Clean, pristine, like nothing had ever happened. Like you hadn’t knelt there, hands shaking, pressing your fingers to a cold, lifeless wrist. Like you hadn’t screamed his name over and over, hoping to force breath back into his lungs.

Your chest felt tight. Your vision blurred.

It was like you were back there, drowning in it all over again.

"Baby?"

Marshall’s voice was soft, careful, but it still made you flinch. You heard his footsteps before you felt his presence behind you, warm and grounding.

"Talk to me," he murmured.

You swallowed hard. "It happened right here."

"I know."

You shook your head. "I can still see it."

There was a pause, then the gentle press of his hands on your arms. "Look at me."

You couldn’t.

"Baby." His fingers found your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes weren’t just blue—they were alive. Clear and warm and full of something raw, something that made your breath hitch. "I’m right here."

Tears burned your eyes. "I know that."

"Do you?" He took your hand, pressing it firmly against his chest.

A steady thump met your palm.

"Feel that?" he whispered. "That’s real."

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking. "I hate that I can’t let it go."

"Then don’t," he said simply. "Not yet. Not until you’re ready. But just for right now, just for this moment—" He tightened his grip on your hand, pressing it harder against his heartbeat. "Stay here with me."*

You let out a shaky breath.

His heart kept beating.

And, for the first time in a long time, you let yourself feel it.

---

You stared at your therapist, her question ringing in your ears.

"Have you ever allowed yourself to be angry with Marshall about the overdose?"

Angry?

You glanced at Marshall beside you. He was tense but quiet, waiting for your response.

Finally, you shook your head. "No."

"Why not?"

You swallowed hard. "Because… he got better. He came back. What right do I have to be mad when I didn’t lose him?"

Your therapist leaned forward slightly. "But you did lose him that night. And you never let yourself grieve that."

Your throat tightened.

"I want you to tell him what you felt that night," she continued gently. "Let yourself feel it. All of it."

You exhaled shakily, turning toward Marshall. He met your gaze, nodding once. "I can take it," he said quietly.

You hesitated, then took a breath. "I was so scared, Marshall." Your voice was steady, controlled. "When I found you, I—" Your chest tightened. "I thought you were dead."

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

"I called 911, but I don’t even remember doing it," you continued, your voice trembling slightly. "I was just sitting there, trying to wake you up, but you weren’t moving, and I kept thinking, ‘this is it. This is how it ends.’"

Your hands curled into fists.

"And then at the hospital, they wouldn’t tell me anything. I just sat there, for hours, not knowing if you were alive or if I was going to have to go home and tell the kids that their father was gone."

Your voice cracked on the last word.

Marshall’s eyes glistened, his hands flexing like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

"*And then you lived," you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. "And I was so relieved. So fucking relieved that I didn’t let myself feel anything else. Because how could I be mad when you were still here?"

A shaky breath left you, and something inside you snapped.

"But I am mad, Marshall." Your voice rose, your heart pounding. "I am so mad at you for putting me through that! For making me think I lost you!"

Marshall tensed, but he nodded, absorbing your words.

"Do you have any idea what that did to me?!" Your voice shook with rage. "Do you know how broken I was? How I spent weeks barely eating, barely sleeping, just waiting for the moment when someone told me it was a mistake, that you were actually gone? Do you know how many times I thought about following you if you had died?"

Marshall flinched.

"Do you know what it’s like to be so fucking terrified of losing someone that you can’t even enjoy the fact that they’re alive?!"

You were standing now, fists clenched at your sides, your whole body trembling.

"How dare you leave me alone!"

Your voice cracked on the last word, and suddenly, all the anger drained from you at once. Your knees buckled, and before you could collapse, Marshall was there, wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight.

"I’m so sorry," he choked out. "I’m so fucking sorry, baby."

You buried your face in his chest, sobbing, gripping his hoodie like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

"I’ve got you," he whispered, pressing his lips to your hair. "I’ve got you, baby. Let it out. I’m right here."

And you did.

For the first time, you let yourself feel everything.

And Marshall held you through it all.

---

The drive home was quiet, the only sound the steady hum of the car engine. Marshall kept glancing over at you, his concern barely concealed, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Every now and then, his gaze would flicker to you, just making sure you were still there, still with him.

He had said all the right things after your breakdown, but you couldn’t help feeling like there was a gap between the two of you. Like, despite all his assurances, despite his words, there was still a piece of you that couldn’t quite feel safe, couldn’t quite believe that he was still here.

That night was always in the back of your mind, and even though you had screamed at him, cried, and let the anger out, it was still there—quiet and haunting. You needed more.

When you got home, Marshall walked in front of you, as if he was scared you might disappear if he looked away for too long. He took your coat off for you, his movements careful, as if you might shatter in his hands.

"Are you okay?” he asked softly. "I just... I need to make sure you’re okay, baby."

You nodded, but the truth was, you weren’t.

You needed something more.

"I’m fine," you muttered, turning away from him. "Just... just tired."

But that wasn’t what you needed. You couldn’t keep pretending you were fine. You couldn’t keep acting like this was something you could handle on your own.

You reached out, pulling him back towards you. His breath hitched when you grabbed his wrist, tugging him toward the bedroom.

"Where are we going?" Marshall’s voice was soft, cautious. His brow furrowed in confusion, but he followed you as you dragged him into the room.

You didn’t answer him. You just climbed into the bed, tugging him down with you, feeling the weight of his body settle against yours. You could feel his pulse against your skin, the warmth of his chest against your back. But it still didn’t feel enough.

"Baby?" he asked, his voice gentle, unsure.

"Prove it," you whispered.

Marshall froze, his breath catching in his throat. "Prove what?"

"Prove that you’re here," you murmured, your voice almost breaking. "Prove that you’re alive. Prove that I’m alive."

His hands cupped your face, tilting your head so he could look into your eyes. "I’m here," he said softly, his lips just inches from yours. "I’m right here."

But you needed more than words. You needed the tangible proof that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he wasn’t just going to slip away from you again. You reached for him, pulling him on top of you, your hands gripping the back of his shirt like you needed him to anchor you to reality.

"I need to feel you," you breathed, your voice breaking. "I need to know you’re still here. Still with me."

Marshall’s breath caught, and for a moment, you thought maybe he was going to pull away, but instead, his lips met yours, hard and desperate. His hands slid beneath your shirt, his touch rough with the urgency he was feeling, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate need for him to prove to you that he was still here.

His mouth left yours, trailing kisses down your neck, his hands gently running over your skin, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you, reminding you that he was still there, still alive.

"I’m not going anywhere," he whispered against your skin. "I swear to you, I’m not going anywhere."

Your body trembled beneath his touch, the weight of his presence grounding you, anchoring you to the here and now. You weren’t sure if it was the sheer physicality of it, the way his body pressed against yours, or the desperation in his voice, but in that moment, you felt seen. You felt like you weren’t just floating in a haze anymore.

"I need you," you gasped, your hands fisting in his shirt as you pulled him closer. "I need to feel like this is real."

Marshall’s eyes softened, but there was still that raw, desperate edge to him. "It is real, baby. You and me. Right now. This is real."

You closed your eyes, letting his touch consume you, each movement grounding you further. He kissed you again, slow and deliberate this time, as if he was giving you everything you needed without words.

And for once, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself believe that he was here. That you were here. That you were both still alive.

You didn’t know how long it would take for you to stop fearing that loss, but in that moment, wrapped in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against yours, you let yourself believe it was worth fighting for.

[rainydonutfun]

Oh, I've been wanting to speak out about this for a long time. Robin and Slade's relationship. I would describe the dynamics of Robin/Terra and Slade as follows:

"She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita."

Why is Robin so fixated on Deathstroke?

Don't forget that Robin was raised by Batman and therefore Robin picked up some of his bad habits. Robin is a perfectionist who hates losing throughout the series. (Winner Take All). He is constantly training and striving to be better. Slade manipulates him by relying on these features of Robin.

"It's simple. There is good and there is evil. There are people who commit crimes and those who prevent them. Two sides of the same coin, opposite as day and night. There is a clear boundary between them, or at least it should be."

The first encounter between Slade and Robin took place in the series "Forces of Nature". There, Robin will first encounter rivals that he will not be able to catch. This will instill in him a sense of guilt for his mistake, and in each subsequent battle this feeling will become stronger and stronger.

"You and I are surprisingly similar."

Slade will use it. He will force Robin to distance himself from his team. Grayson will turn red to get close to the villain, which will cause distrust in the future. Slade will often draw a parallel between them, claiming that they are the same, thereby causing Robin to doubt his beliefs. He forces Robin to steal from Wayne Enterprises, which reinforces Robin's sense of guilt.

"We even think the same way.… I've been monitoring your biological parameters during the fight: heart rate, adrenaline, endorphin. You didn't even know, but at some stage you were enjoying stealing for me."

Consequences or "Haunted "

In episode 3 of the Haunted season, we are shown the consequences of Robin and his experiences. There is no formal Slade in the series itself. All we see are Robin's hallucinations that reflect his fears. Throughout season 3, Robin has the idea that Slade is alive. The Titans convince him that this is not the case. Grayson constantly checks the monitors, goes down to the basement to check Slade's mask. this suggests that he did not let go of the situation. And after poisoning , his movements are revealed .

He is afraid that he has become weaker, that he has not been able to defeat his enemy on his own, because at the end of season 1 he was helped by the Titans, and in the second by Terra. He's downright paranoid. (It's very similar to PTSD)

"No, Robin. I won't stop. Not now, not ever. I am the thing that keeps you up at night. The evil that haunts every dark corner of your mind. I will never rest...and neither will you."

In the future, Robin will remember this situation less often, but the limited effect will still remain.

Result:

Slade left a serious injury and undermined Robin's trust in his team. He's a manipulative and creepy person. His reciprocal obsession with Robin, an underage boy, worries me a lot too. It seems very frightening to me. But most of all, I'm probably scared of people romanticizing their relationship. Is literally an adult man and an underage boy!

Note:

I drew the art purely for this post. For the atmosphere :)

[orangez3st]

The Sweetness of Slumber

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.13.25: Intimacy | Event Masterlist

Can be read as a stand-alone | Read Dream Currents: [Tumblr] [AO3]

Summary: What happened during the 501st Umbaran campaign still haunts Rex even in his sleep. Waking up in the middle of a night, the nightmares chasing and biting at his ankles, the ocean deity Sho'cye provides all the comfort he needs. Tags & Warnings: hurt/comfort, post umbara, umbara angst, established friendship, childhood friends, romantic friendship, eepy rex, eepy sho'cye, platonic cuddles, oneshot au, separate from the bigger sho’cye-verse, references to dream currents (no spoilers) Pairing: Rex × Sho'cye (OFC Force Goddess) Word Count: 4.8k A/N: I'm so excited to include this one in the event! This has been going and up for a complete read in the links provided above if you're interested. Title is a part of one of the lines in Homer's Odyssey Book 23 when the hero had finally reunited with his wife Penelope.

𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒎 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒔

— All I Had Was You - Paul Moody, The Field Tapes, Kyle McEvoy [X]

Shot awake, Rex's breaths break out of his chest in harsh and broken rhythm. Drowsiness bleeds away – in its place now, consciousness that's slunk in. And dread. His heart is pounding inside his chest and out his ears, drops of sweat breaking in and sliding down from his hairline as glimpses of nightmarish images glaze over his eyes once more.

No. He shakes his head. The darkness of his HQ barrack quarters, save for the low-power blue light on his work desk bathing the entire room, isn't helping. He always prefers to sleep in the dark, but after Umbara, the dimness of his room does nothing but stoke the anxiousness within him. The horror of being aware that so many of his men died…

The heels of his hands dig into his eyes, desperate for the glimpses to vanish. He grunts.

Let's give it a few minutes.

He closes his eyes and settles into breathing exercise, his shoulders heaving with controlled, rhythmic inhales and exhales.

Coruscant and its artificial sea. Not even natural. Even the rain’s made up.

It's during times like this, where his nightmares of past campaigns awaken him in the middle of the night, he yearns for Sho'cye. The ocean goddess who was ever present in their night rests when they were merely cadets back in Kamino, one of the planets where she's most powerful. The one who watched over their rest, and by extension, their dreams. She would grant them peaceful sleep, banishing their nightmares away along with the fear that follows.

Now away from her water dominion, he's never felt this much longing. 

He lets out a big, sad sigh.

If only she'd be here.

Now that his once thundering heartbeat has settled to normal, he allows his eyes to open.

Only to see a long-haired figure sitting on the side of his bed.

An embarrassing noise escapes his lips as he jumps back in shock, only reviving the uncomfortably fast heart rate yet again. I didn't feel the bed dip, I swear I was hyper aware…

A chord of melodic giggles fill the small bubble, warmth and familiarity immediately welling up in his chest and his recognition of the voice is glorious.

“Sho'cye?!”

His eyes get used to the blue dimness of his room, and he can finally see her clearly. Luminous smile that always graces her lips either in wonder or welcome. Humble, as always, with her unbound and flowing midnight ocean hair and, and…

Is that… civvie shorts and oversized t-shirt? Like those natborns wear to bed?

Sho'cye grins up at him. “You look at me as if you've seen a ghost.”

Rex, of course, gets reminded by the small yet embarrassing yelp that came out of him and the fact that she watched on. His cheeks heat up, wishing he’s got his bucket on now. “Very funny.”

Always with her quirkiness. Never changed.

He understands. Sho'cye has always been alone in the wide galaxy and she needs company. So he’d been there by her sole power, meeting up in the tropical dream realm he dubbed the Coastline when he was still a cadet, and throughout his growth cycle until he said goodbye that day… because the war had started.

“But… that's also because you're not supposed to be here,” he states wonderingly, his voice coming out hoarse.

Coruscant has no natural body of water on its surface. Or rather, topside. There's nothing of sorts. Coruscant is out of touch by her power but… she's here. In his quarters, out of all places. When his sleep was disturbed by the nightmares, out of all people.

Sho'cye doesn't reply, instead getting to her feet and crossing the room in the direction of his water canteen sitting on his desk.

“Ah, I'll–”

“It's okay!” she chirps, making her way back now with his canteen in her grasp. She smiles. “Allow me, Rex.”

His heart wells at the gesture, still in disbelief that she's here right now!. It takes everything in him not to pull her into a hug again… the last one they shared – the first time as well – was before he departed from the Coastline for an unknown stretch of time. Because the war stretches on, too. It had been warm and left him smiling for days straight, the weight in his chest lighter with refueled confidence. Such is her power.

After taking a few gulps of his water, he places the canteen on his side table. He bites the inside of his lip hesitantly, the previous thought overtaking the space in his head. Sho'cye merely looks at him, patiently waiting for him to speak because she just knows, her eyes soft. Oh her eyes. I wish I could just… see those nice sea green colors. It's been a while.

He used to admire them. Getting lost in the spectrum. Still is. The blue in his markings is a beautiful color indeed, but they're no match to her colors. But at least, his blue is also the color of the ocean as a whole, the color that one could see from a faraway view, or maybe when they treat themselves to a view of Kamino from orbit. 

Sho'cye stands there, towering over him when he's only been sitting in his cot. The distinction only makes him realize, so wordlessly, he grabs her wrist and tugs her in so she can retake her place at the side of his cot. Plopping down in acceptance, a light laugh escapes her lips – the small atmosphere momentarily filled with bliss of the reunion.

Rex's chest warms again at the joyous sound, but he's got more questions that need answering, and Sho'cye knows that.

“I sensed your distress when you were sleeping,” she starts. Oddly, she feels a little closer than before… Her expression, concerned. “You called for me.”

He'd forgotten about the nightmare at this point, too indulged in her surprise presence, but it's her presence itself, isn't it? “I just…” Well, she's right, I practically did. “Was just wishing you were here to ease my disturbed sleep,” he says, his hand coming up to the spot in the back of his neck that suddenly needs rubbing.

She smiles, blue illuminating the silhouettes of her face. “Well, I am here now.”

But her being here must’ve taken too much of her power. She said herself that her hold of her dominion ceases greatly on a planet with very little natural water. Coruscant is surely no exception. Manifesting a physical body the similar way she had been in the Coastline… while it makes him realize just how much divine power she has, it equally makes him feel bad. Coming here… just for me?

“You don't have to do that,” he finds himself saying. Even if it's technically what he truly wants (he'd love nothing but her company), her making the journey to the existence plane just for him must've taken a lot. It makes him, quite tremendously, feel bad. “S’just a nightmare. Going back to sleep will fix it.”

She raises her eyebrows challengingly, “So you don't want me here?”

“No!” Why was I even saying that? And I said it poorly! “I-I mean that you didn't have to go that far just to comfort a single clone with a nightmare.”

“But you've been harboring all these to yourself for the past week,” she insists, placing a hand atop his. She lets out a breath, eyes deeply boring into him. “I'm worried about you, Rex.”

He looks down at their hands, stacked and resting on his thin mass-produced blanket. Warmth emanates from the simple gesture, healing the longing that has been deeply settling inside him all this time. The relief and comfort bursts out of his chest like beams of light, making him sigh with the belief that it's safe now, both of us in our own little bubble.

In the darkness of his quarters, he tries not to picture the landscape of eternal midnight of that forsaken planet tinged with purple and vermillion red, eerie with fallen soldiers and death and tragic misfortune. He grounds himself, tries to cling onto Sho'cye's hold. He squeezes her hand in his, his other hand scrubbing down his face and across his buzzed blond hair.

“Our most recent campaign was in Umbara.” Rex swallows, staring dead on to their joined hands – every blink of his eyes is tempting him to just enjoy the darkness to mull and grief once again. “There was a new general. He was well-known in our ranks with the highest casualty count. He was nonchalant about the clones, Sho'cye, and he's a traitor. Had a Separatist agenda of his own and used us to turn against each other, I made us slaughter our own men…”

The hour they reconvened with the 212th was the worst. Even Fives had offered to take over to explain everything to General Kenobi because he just couldn't when Cody turned his way. His men killed Cody's men. Lieutenant Waxer died in their hands – a painful death full of betrayal. The single tear that came from the late brother's eye had him to not break down right there, his heart wrenching and all he'd wanted was to throw up.

Cody looked at him. He couldn't. Thankfully Fives had been quite to the point, as the most disturbed man out of them all, that while General Kenobi had been struggling to swallow everything that happened with the 501st, Cody pulled him aside. No words were traded, he sternly kept his gaze to the floor as his brother led him out of the vicinity, dragged him into a closed space – only right there and then, he dared to look up at Cody.

And finally, he broke down. His tears were angry, his throat hurt from snarling down his wails, his shoulders heaving and his plastoid chestplate squeaking against Cody's. Cody tried his best to muffle his little brother's cry – his distraught little brother whom he'd just want to hide from the world at that moment – and thought better of the situation, but it was the only moment Rex had broken down openly and so gut wrenchingly that it drove quieter sobs out of the marshal commander, too.

“If only I wasn't so blind following orders,” Rex's voice is quieter now, almost a whisper. He sniffs and swallows the lump in his throat. “I can't get it out of my head.”

He tilts his head to look at Sho'cye, almost regretting doing so when he spots a single tear in the midst of its path down her fair cheek reflecting in the low light. The way his heart clenches at the sight… his movement doesn't waver when he gingerly wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I felt your troubled hearts,” her hushed voice says gently, “What you felt ran deep in the Force, Rex, that even I could feel it. Your trouble, your apprehension, and your fear. And Pong Krell’s true intentions bled painfully into the Force as well.”

She knew. Of course she knew.

“I just wish you were here with us. Could've saved so much trouble to prevent incidents like this from happening.”

A harsh sigh through the nostrils, his stomach churns bitterly. “The Jedi failed us in Umbara with their decision to switch my general with that snake,” he gripes, fists clenching momentarily only to remember Sho'cye's hand in his. He sighs again instead, this time laced with exhausted irritation. “And Skywalker went along. He knew, we all knew about Krell, but he just couldn't…”

“I am with you. Always,” she says, taking both his hands in hers, “And you have the Jedi Order in my place.”

“Disobey orders?” Sho'cye finishes for him, her head tilting as if saying but neither could you.

Rex shakes his head. “If only I could do just that to save my men from unnecessary deaths.”

The Commander had been the one who noticed his deteriorating performance. Unfocused during one of the discussions in the war room. Sluggish walk. Too many filler words in a whole conversation. So unlike him, and he's struggling to keep top performance. The Togrutan padawan has always been a perceptive one. It ended up her pitching to her Master, and the other day the General comm’d him to come and see the mind healers at the Temple. Knowing Wolffe's severe PTSD due to Abregado has mostly been treated by seeing those Jedi mind healers, Rex is seriously considering it, as well.

Sho'cye reaches up, brushing her finger against his cheek– oh, that's a tear. I've been crying.

“You merely thought about what was best for the campaign at the moment. You were thorough and you were confident you'd go through, and you did. That is the value of being a soldier, is it not?”

Her voice is tender as she speaks, careful as if any louder than low mutter would break him. She reaches up again, this time with both hands, and cups his face gently. A shuddered breath falls off his lips. The warmth of her palms against his skin resounds so much comfort that he needs, the remnants of his longing radiating out into the compassionate touch.

Rex leans into it, giving in, relishing in all the warmth there is against his cold cheeks. Before he can stop it, he’s already scooting closer, so she wouldn't have to reach him too far and so he would've felt more warmth radiating off herself. And yet, in all turns of events, she's meeting him halfway too with a little scoot of her own and their thighs end up brushing against each other.

Determination burns, stoking yearning fire inside his chest, so he reaches up as well, cupping either side of her head and gently tugs her in to lean his forehead against hers – a show of affection he'd known all his life and done only with his brothers.

He can't see the pretty sea green colors inside those orbs in the dark. Sho'cye is bathed in blue, the source of the light sitting low-power on one of his desks, creating a humble image, yet divine still, with the color of her ocean. 

“Remember what I said?” she begins to whisper, their little bubble belonging to no one else but them in their closeness. “You're a good man, Rex. By heart, and by soul.” Her thumb caresses his cheekbone, showing her tender care and love. “Whatever you did… it's not your fault.”

There's a shuffle of movement. At the slightest shift that she makes, his body absently takes it as a cue and moves in – his head tilting to the side and burying his own face into her shoulder for just a moment to hide from the world, his arms wrapped and snug around her waist. The position is sideways and awkward at best, but it's when she shuffles again, quietly, slowly peeling his arms off just so that she can turn around, tucks her feet under her, and receiving him back into her arms. Rex pulls her in closer, arms returning to their rightful place around her waist as his person craves more of her warmth, her comforting words, and her familiar ichor scent as he breathes shudderingly into her collar bone.

Upon his quiet wavered exhale, Sho'cye's hand rubs up and down his back, the other is cradling the back of his head. Rex sighs contentedly, her fingers lazily running through his short hair, the comfort provided is simply unexplainable. All he can feel at that moment is that I'm safe now. She's here. I'm safe.

She wipes away tracks of dried sweat. Plucking at the back of his white t-shirt he wears to sleep to relieve his skin from the fabric that sticks so air can circulate back in. Her flowing hair, the color a shade of the ocean during midnight, forms a curtain around his head when she tilts her head down to place a kiss on the top of his head, his buzzed hair probably tickling her lips and chin but she doesn't care. And another, on the skin near his hairline – her compassion oozing with full force through the gesture. His hold on her tightens.

“When you die,” says Sho'cye quietly, her lips ghosting against his forehead, “Your essence will return to my waters. In this war, you take life, but when you die, you shall give life. You're in the sea, in the lake… in the rain. You'll have your place among the stars too, together resonating harmoniously in the Force, and the Force will sing and praise how tireless you warriors are. You fought for the peace of the galaxy, and you will relish and rejoice in the peaceful arms of death that you're finally at rest.”

Growing up acknowledging as an expendable soldier who would eventually die at war, the topic of a soldier's death is always unavoidable. But a warrior's death… after so many tireless fights. Fighting gives them life. The war. Something to live for. Something worth dying for. In the end, the peaceful rest must be a luxurious comfort. Being one with nature, with her, in the very waters that surrounds their home.

Sho'cye protects them in life. And even in death.

It brings so much comfort and safety to his heart.

“I wish you were a Jedi general or something,” Rex says hesitantly. He reels away from her shoulder, looking at her in the eyes, almost trying to convince her. “We need you here and close. Could've saved so much trouble. Could've changed the entire war itself.”

“A great idea, but who would watch over all of you?” A smile breaks out in her countenance, and further in fondness as she recalls, “Back then, Rex; every day I thought about these… lives, so many lives born into the world. There hadn't been many in Kamino, so I knew I had to see for myself.” A massive shift in the balance of the Force, it had been. “Then I saw you, bred for a purpose, your minds left alone and in constant unease of what's to come. Your fate earned my utmost attention. And love.”

The amber in his eyes glimmer with life, even in the dark, as a breathy chuckle falls off his lips. He smiles almost sheepishly, “I keep forgetting you can see the future.”

“It's not exactly fun,” she indulges him happily, “I have to weave my own threads to gain what I want.” She caresses down the side of his face. “And what I want is a better future.”

The topic of such a future is for another day. If they ever meet again. Even she isn't certain to do this again – manifesting a physical body onto the existence plane and drawing so much from the Force. It isn't draining in any way, but it takes most of her focus to be here.

Rex's pleads inside his mind had been loud. Cries that called out upon betrayal. Cries that blamed himself. She'd been wanting to be with him, to comfort him, but gathering her strength to cross planes took time. And now that she's here, she's glad to be welcomed with open arms and an open heart. To be close to him… to be able to embrace him, dearest and most cherished companion.

The way her heart always falters at his mournful tears, the way she'd want nothing else but good for his fate.

Rex's hand comes off her waist to stifle a yawn.

Warmth emanates in her chest at the simple sight. It reminds her of everything that's him. She grins. “It's been a long time since I've seen you yawn.”

One of his dark brows rise – the one thing she'd find as his quirk, no matter how many times he'd explained that it's normal to have different colors for eyebrows from hair. While she adores his blond head that he'd always like to keep as short as possible, one time Rex grinded so hard with his intense training that he hadn't the time to buzz it off – it had been a little curly at the top. As what they would say; she'd pay good credits to catch sight of that again.

“What, you like my yawn?”

“I think it's adorable,” she nods pleasantly, before going to tap the spot between his brows, “The way your eyebrows pinch in the middle, I think.”

With one hand still resting against his cheek, Shocye can feel the skin under growing a little warmer. His eyes dart to the side before meekly meet hers again. “I'll yawn more often, then?” 

She chuckles. “You wish so? I can take your consciousness out in mere seconds,” she teases back, half joking. “It's the things that make you human, Rex. It's what you are, after all. You're everything human.”

He smiles, eyes glimmering in the dark. “And you're everything not.”

Her fondness of him deepens. As it always has been, for years, since their first meeting that day and onward. It doesn't take long for her fondness to blossom into something more… something she dares not to venture. But she's a being of compassion, and compassion that's exaggerated incites desire. While it's not something unfavorable… a deity and a mortal is unheard of.

Perhaps with her own selfishness, Rex should be hers, and is already hers, yet obsessive love tips the scale of balance. Instead she lets her love run free, flowing with the course of nature and only reciprocating when there's a sign. Even if there is, another obstacle would be the nature itself – the Force, herself. There must be consequences for such things.

Rex begins to scoot away from her, settling to lie down again to catch up on lost time of rest.

But she won't leave him. Not again. At least not right away. The absence of natural water in Coruscant doubles her use of power – even the water in Rex's canteen is processed – but for Rex… for them, the clones… she needs to be here.

He watches her lifting his thin blanket, eyes blown wide, taken aback.  “W-what are you doing?”

Hesitance takes root inside her for even forgetting to ask. “Do you… mind?”

“I,” he weighs for a moment – a sad look and true confusion latching onto his bronze-toned face. “I don't know.”

Her face falls, yet tinged with understanding. She starts to move away, the words I don't wish to make you uncomfortable probably tickling her tongue to be let out because he knows her like that and he knows her long.

And I never feel like so, Rex wants to say sometimes. When I'm with you.

“It's just!” he says a little loud, a little panicked when she’s just getting to her feet. She plops back down, eyes blinking curiously prompting him to continue. “It's just gonna be a little tight.” His shoulders shrug not only to defuse his awkwardness, but to cover the growing heat on his cheeks, too. “And um, this is a one person cot… y'know.”

Sho'cye tilts her head, a cheeky smile makes her eyes glitter. “I think we can make it work.” She lifts the blanket again and slips her dainty legs in, her warm skin brushing against his red fatigues. “Scoot over, Captain.”

Rex is already doing that. “I told you not to call me that,” he chides playfully, but as he does that he gets into one of those rare moments where he falls off balance and unaware of his surroundings; an ow escapes him as his head bangs against durasteel. He swiftly formulates a plan out of instinct. “I hit the wall. Sideways.”

The goddess obliges, shifting to roll onto her side – one hand slipping under the pillow and her head, elbow brushing against his. A few unsuspecting seconds later, he rolls onto his back and fits snugly into the wider space.

He smirks smugly at the ceiling. “Thank you.”

Her melodic laughter fills his ears, a hand swatting at his shoulder and remains there. He can feel her fingers slightly gripping on his shirt. A glance to the side; the blue light illuminates her hair and he finally can see the blue of her tresses, and there's a wide gleeful smile gracing her fair face. “Since when did you even get so sly?”

A grin finally breaks out in his lips. “I’m a captain. I need to,” he says, reminiscing the times during shore leaves spent with, mainly, a handful of Torrent. “But probably since hanging with the boys a lot.”

Fives and Hardcase dart past his mind.

Sho'cye hums. “Do tell me more about them one day.”

“Of course.” But could she just find out herself– nevermind she's playing human right now.

Comfortable silence envelops over them like a second fuzzy blanket. Rex wonders if it's because of her mere presence, or an extra smidge of her power. Either way, he's fulfilled, the heavier weight on his heart has been lifted. With her quite literally next to him, an unspoken promise of a good night's sleep greets him with a smile and open arms.

He turns again under the blanket, this time lying on his belly so he can turn his head sideways to face her, arms pinned down to his sides. Sharing one pillow to lay their heads, he's aware their faces are inches away from each other's. Even breathing through her nostrils, air grazes his nose and cheeks softly. He wishes they could've done a sleepover like this back in his cadet days. Probably under a tree with that red rug and throw pillows, with a bonfire of her conjuration, the Coastline skies dark with stars glittering in the blank ethereal canvas.

Her eyes bore into his, blinking.

But those days have passed. Sho'cye being physically here – this could be one and only time happening.

How he wishes post-campaign exhaustion can stretch for a bit longer.

“I wish there'd been a body of water in our Umbara campaign,” Rex mumbles lowly, lips brushing against the pillow beneath him. His gaze meets Sho'cye's in mourning, the glassy look in her eyes reflecting the feeling likewise. Wish you were there. “Could've saved us so much.”

“Me too,” she whispers, nuzzling against the pillow like he does. She casts her gaze down, as if regretfully. Rex takes her hand and squeezes it. When she looks at him, once again he wishes he can look at sea green pools instead – how he misses them, and their dreamy landscape, the Coastline. Squeezing back, Sho'cye quietly admits, “Being unable to closely watch all over you unsettles me.”

Rex hums in acknowledgement and understanding. The burden must be heavy to look after and care for them, and equally is for not being able to. As after all these years, even her admissions and smallest gestures touch his heart. A deity choosing us clones, protecting us, over any other.

Stepping over the boundary of their intimacy, Rex tries not to meet her gaze, his movement half sheepish and half daring as he drapes an arm over her waist to pull her closer to his body. Without a breath of complaint, the goddess indulges him, even twisting her body so she lies on her back and snakes an arm under his neck.

“Sorry,” he breathes into her shirt, settling his cheek against her shoulder comfortably and his body against hers. Even clothed with a civvie t-shirt (the notion remains funny and adorable to him), unlike the last time they embraced she had adorned a sundress, she feels warm against him, and always does.

“Don't be,” she murmurs above him, “I like this, too.”

His cheeks and the warmth in his chest burn brighter, the fond statement only making him bury his face further into her neck.

A hand comes up to caress his short buzz, back and forth… his eyelids grow heavier and heavier… the repetitive movement lulling him to surrender to sleep at last.

Rex uses the last couple of ounces to stay awake and make sure, “You still gonna be here when I wake up?”

“No.” She nuzzles her nose into his hairline, still sounding very much awake – protective, oozing with care, making sure he’s asleep first before she follows. “As much as I'd love to.”

He hums.

His breathing steadies. There's a warm hand – hers – on his arm, adding another gesture of protectiveness to everything; half her body under his, snug and fit in his cot, his arm around her and is clinging onto her t-shirt, and her other hand stroking his hair.

He wishes it could be just like this, instead of… everything happening out there in whatever part of the galaxy.

His consciousness is slipping away.

And before he succumbs to the sweetness of slumber, he hears Sho'cye whispers to his hair,

“Sleep well, my sweet sea blossom.” Warm soft lips, tenderly, upon his forehead. “The nightmares are no more.”

Taglist (Form): @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @filamentlights @heidnspeak

[iaminfourthwing]

The Generals Daughter

A/N: Finally a new chapter! Tell me, what you think about it 🐉👀

Chapter XVII

The rest of Threshing is just a blur of celebrations and getting our dragon relics. Mine is spread over my right side to the middle of my back. It’s really fucking huge. And absolutely gorgeous.

After dinner everyone is celebrating. Well, not everyone. The unbonded cadets are nowhere to be seen, probably planning on how to kill us freshly bonded to get a dragon after all. My bet is, Violet will be one of the prominent targets, as everyone seeing her still as the weakest link. Even though she has bonded two dragons AND is tethered to Xaden fucking Riorson. 

I got myself a drink and now I am on my way to find a place where no one is bothering me. Today drained the fuck outta me and my muscles ache. Killing people is not easy, but killing people who deserve it, is.

In a deserted corridor towards the dormitories I find a place on a stone ledge with a view over Basgiath.

If someone had told me before my first year here that I would bond a dragon, I wouldn't have been so sure. And now I have Innea.

‚One can almost hear your enthusiasm' she replies sarcastically.

'I'm more than happy that you chose me. I'm just glad that Barlow’s words didn't turn out to be true.' They still haunt me.

'What do you mean? Barlowe... is that the rider of Baide?' She asks. Baide? Why does that name sounds familiar?

'Uh, I don't know. Baide? I think Violet mentioned something about an orange dragon. To answer your first question, he said some time ago that my father or Codagh would make sure that I didn't return from Threshing without a dragon. And those words, well, stuck. I trust my abilities, but I don't trust my father. And certainly not the black beast.'

'Don't worry about that. I saw you at presentation and knew immediately that you would be my rider. I know that you felt me ​​in your mind. Neither Codagh nor his rider had anything to do with it, I chose you because I wanted to, not because I had to. Together we will achieve great things.' She finishes.

I smile. God, I won today with her bonding me. A wave of affection reaches my mind, calming me even more. I already love and appreciate her.

During the conversation with Innea I didn’t realize, that someone took the seat in front of me. 

I am even more startled when my eyes meet those gorgeous one of none other than Bodhi Durran. The shock must be written all over my face because he immediately starts to grin.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, but you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't react to my words." I think... this is the first time I've ever heard his voice. And God, it's so deep and smooth, and so much softer than his cousin's.

I shake my head to clear my mind. Difficult, with this dream of a man in front of me. Am I really crushing on a marked one? Father would have a heart attack.

'I'm more likely to gag' echoes in my head.

"I'm sorry, I was a bit... distracted" I say, a little shyly, absolutely in awe of this man in front of me.

„I see. Your dragon?“ I nod.

"Sgaeyl wasn't really happy that your dragon bonded. And Xaden doesn't know what to think about it either." he admits. Oh? I mean, I already knew that Xaden doesn't trust me at all.

"I guess my last name isn't particularly trustworthy either. And my lineage." I grin.

I can completely understand why they're so unsure of me. But it's not like I'm going to run to my father and spill the beans, like he actually wants me to. That's not going to happen.

"It's... difficult. I admit that. But so far you haven't given anyone of our wing a reason to dislike you. Quite the opposite. What I've observed says anything but that. You help your squad and even beyond that, you help your wing. With history, battle brief, sparring, everything. And we've all seen what the general is capable of, even towards his own flesh and blood." He grimaces. It almost seems as if he is … pitying me. Well, I don't need that.

"I don't need pity. The way my father treats me is nothing new. It's just that he's never shown it in public before. That was actually something new, something I absolutely didn't expect."

I let my gaze wander over Basgiath. From here you have a clear view of the Parapet. Meanwhile, I feel his deep gaze on me, which makes me nervous. Damn, why does he have such a strong effect on me?

„I- uhm, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you! I just-" he sighs deep, not knowing how to explain himself.

„We all were really shocked, when we realized the relationship between you and your father. We all had our opinions on you without even knowing you, I admit that. But after that evening, with, you know, the injury on your neck, and now the scene on the flightfield... I apologize on behalf of all of us marked ones. We find it difficult to see this whole thing objectively. All of us are just trying to survive, which is hard as it is, but coming here without prejudice was practically impossible. We know what our parents and siblings fought and died for, so it’s not really easy. Some of us are still blinded by the anger and pain left behind by the loss of our loved ones. We try, especially for our squad and wing, but many of us struggle really hard with the emotions. Especially because people like Imogen, for example, are only guided by the pain. She tries, but with an Aetos, a Sorrengail and... well, a Melgren in the squad, it is three times as difficult." He takes a deep breath, clearly effected by his own words.

I am oddly touched by his little speech. I understand how hard it must be for them, I definitely don’t blame them. Their pain and anger is something I can relate to, even though on a different base. We all lost something in the past. 

"Thank you for your words. I can't imagine how difficult it must be for you here in Basgiath. You can feel the hatred of some of the other cadets and riders, but believe me... I'm one of the last people to judge someone for their past. And if we're being completely honest..." I look around to make sure we're alone. "I don't trust the history the way it's told. I have my doubts about various things. And I certainly don't trust my father, nor some other people. But other than that I can assure you that as long as no one gives me reasons, I will treat you with the same respect that I expect from y’all. We can all learn from and help each other, because at the end of the day we're all just trying to survive. I'm glad I ended up in Fourth Wing, because I much prefer Xaden as wing leader than someone like Amber Mavis." We both have to laugh.

The whole thing must give an awkward picture. A marked one and the daughter of the most feared general on the continent sitting together and laughing. We should hate each other, from the bottom of our hearts. But that's not how I see him at all. He seems to be someone who thinks a lot, rather than feeling direct dislike. And I'm grateful for that. He could have used my mental absence earlier, when I was talking to Innea, to kill me. Or knock me out. But he didn't. That's a start, isn't it?

"Yes, that's true, I also prefer Xaden much more, and that has nothing to do with the fact that we are family. I'm glad that I'm in the same wing as my closest friends, it makes things a lot easier. And who knows what friendships could develop," he says, looking deep into my eyes. Oh God, don't embarrass yourself now...

'He's not that wrong. I'm curious to see if you two will stay friends. Your thoughts say otherwise, you're really smitten with Cuirs rider.' I start to blush while looking shyly at him, trying to ignore Inneas words.

'What else could come of it other than friendship? He would never find a Melgren interesting.' I deny her words, for my own sanity.

'I'm not so sure about that,' she replies, chuckling deep.

I pull a face, confusion taking me over and Bodhi also seems to be communicating with his dragon.

'What are you talking about? I'm lost.' What the hell is she suggesting? Why shouldn't we just be friends? 

Bodhi’s head whips in my direction, shock and something else in his eyes as they find mine.

'Cuir and I are mates.'

WHAT?!

Taglist: @puttyly @lxnvmvrzx @freyagallileaevans @aroacemushroom @dragonsandrinks @mariahoedt @read-write-sleep-startover

[strawberrystepmom]

dante x f!reader. established relationship. just a very romantic fluff piece. don’t perceive me please. | wc 1k, reading time: ~5 minutes.

The sun rises twice in Dante’s world.

The first time, the one he always looks upon less favorably out of the two, is when the light peeks through the obnoxiously large spaces between the slats of your bedroom blinds. It’s a beam of sunlight, a spark dancing across the wooden floor that becomes a beacon that lights up the wall in half an hour’s time. He listens to your chest rise and fall, counting each breath with every second that passes.

Air in, air out. Air in, air out.

If he’s lucky, you’ll even make one of those precious noises he refers to as your morning gripes - whimpers and raspy whines, a fist dragged across your face that eventually opens itself and becomes fingers wrapped around his forearm. Or his bicep. Or his side. Any part of him you can touch.

Even subconsciously you reach for him. You can be anything when you dream yet you’re still his.

On occasion this ritual of watching you in your delicate humanity, something he prides himself on keeping safe, will lull him back to sleep. The softness of your breathing and the warmth of your hand anchor him back into his body, whatever ghosts of the past that still haunt his head whooshed away like clouds on a spring day.

Sometimes he’s a heavy sleeper, sometimes he’s a light sleeper. This morning, he must be going through one of those light phases.

So he gently turns over in bed, laying on his side facing you and propping his head up with his fist. The position gives him a better vantage point to look down at you, his hands itching to reach out and touch you even as you rest so peacefully. Your normally animed face is so relaxed, no worried eyebrows or smirking mouth he loves so much.

How did he end up with heaven in his bed?

Sighing contentedly, he finally settles back into bed beside you, arm reaching to pull you against his side. You groan weakly but feel no sense of danger or at least not enough to pop those pretty eyes open and see who is manhandling you.

You know it’s him. He’d never let anything happen to you.

Settled with his shoulders pressed against comfortable sheets, Dante allows himself to drift back off even as that spark crawls up the wall and becomes a golden drenched room. Sleep may evade him but at least he’ll be able to relax by your side.

Now the second time the sun rises, his favorite, is when he looks over through bleary eyes and spots the curve of your smile forming.

You’re attempting to move slowly and quietly, nuzzling into his side until your face connects with muscle and skin. Placing a kiss against the closest piece of him your lips can touch, he wonders if you realize he’s awake and oh so blissfully aware of your existence; your shine and how you’ve brightened every corner of his life.

Dante’s heart beats quickly - still - every time you touch him.

It’s a rhythmic reminder that you are as fearlessly and devoutly his as you have been since the first day. That younger you who grabbed him by the shoulder all those years ago and assured him that she’d be there no matter what hasn’t let him down yet.

You‘ve never let him down. Not once.

Dragging your face across his side, you lift your head long enough to press your cheek to his bare chest and reach up to press the tip of his nose with your finger.

You did that the first time you ever met him, too.

“You awake up there?”

Ever astute, you appear to have caught him mostly pretending to sleep.

“Just barely,” he mumbles, feigning a yawn and stretching his arm before letting it come to rest stretched across your hip with a hand settled on your ass.

“How long have you been up for?”

His fingers knead your skin, his other hand finding your shoulders to press you closer to him. A soft kiss is placed against your temple, his scruffy chin and lips resting there a moment.

“Not all that long sweetheart, honestly.” Gazing down at you through heavily lidded eyes.” It’s the damn light that comes through those blinds that gets me every time.”

Frowning, you shoot him a skeptical glance.

“No bad dreams?”

He shakes his head, drawing a line up and down your upper arm with his thumb.

“Nah, I’ve got something special to ward that scary shit away.”

Any skepticism softens immediately. You bat your lashes, turning your head to rest your chin on his pec.

“Aww, me?”

That smirk you’ve always been in love with finds itself on his face.

“Nah, two guns. A sword too.”

Refusing to bite the sarcastic bait you were left, you choose instead to sit up and gradually straddle him. Two soft palms cup his cheeks and press his face together.

“Don’t be mean before you’ve brought my coffee.”

The reminder makes him chuckle softly and he captures one of your hands, dragging it to his lips to kiss every finger and its tip. His other hand naturally finds the base of your spine, pressing you downward so that you rest on his chest.

“Of course it’s thanks to you.” You smile at his words, pressing yourself against his chest so you can look up at him. “Everything good I have I have thanks to you.”

His heartbeat is audible, that song you know all too well. Heavy thumps, strong as his footsteps across the loft when he comes home.

“Now would you let me up so I can go get your coffee, your highness?”

Shaking your head playfully, you sink as closely as you can against his skin and he just scoffs.

“Then I guess I’ll just bring you along.”

Shouting in protest and attempting to scramble away proves fruitless as he scoops you up, backs of your thighs resting on his arms and your legs wrapped around his waist. You continue to mumble and giggle, unable to shake free of his hold.

Dante smiles serenely, kissing your temple once again.

Now that his Sun has risen all the way, his day can begin.

[blackboxtheater]

voted for them again!

prompt this time is: cozy!

something simple, thanks!

I do believe the people have spoken, but on the off chance that you follow my blog and haven't voted for Mumpearl in the the Mumbo Jumbo ship bracket, you still can! We can show our presence as a small but mighty rarepair and go down with the ship as we sink beneath the waves lapping at Boatem's shores.

I will still take prompts until voting closes so if you wanted to submit, this might be your last chance 👀

But time for prompts!! Cozy prompts!!

So this could be read as a stand-alone season 10 established relationship tidbit, OR as the season 10 epilogue to House of String that I'm never going to write because I literally already have 21 chapters of content and that's just through season 9. If you've been suffering from all the pining in the recent updates, this is a bit of an antidote to that :)

But either way, the interior of Pearl's base, and in particular her double bed next to a wall of trap doors has HAUNTED me (/pos) since she ran around her base in hide and seek with Gem. Something about the vibe just gave me "sunlight streaming through shutters at sunrise" and now you gave me an excuse to write that!!!

Plus Pearl clearly designed a bedroom and actual living space in her base, while Mumbo just makes a giant storage system as a base and sometimes puts a bed places. So the idea that he still is making his base, but actually sleeps and lives at Pearl's is the premise for this setup.

🌙 🌙 🌙

The sound of the last shulker whirling shut echoes through Pearl's storage room.

There is truly nothing as satisfying as a neatly organized storage room with a set of perfectly prepared shulkers right in the middle, ready to be picked up on the way to a brand new build the next morning. Sure, Pearl likes the update this season where they can add text and images to the boxes. It's helpful and does make it easier to know at a glance what is in each box, but there is something so familiar and soothing about a classic, color-coded row of shulkers prepped for an exciting new build.

Now that she's stopped banging around her storage room opening and closing chests, there's a silence that settles over the space. It's a rare sound on Hermitcraft which is why she loves the peace and quiet that only comes in the dead of night.

She loves the chaos and mischief and joy that the other hermits bring to her life. She does. She loves them all more than she could ever describe. But she also has big plans for her builds each season that require lots of time and effort to not only design, but to construct and refine until they are exactly as perfect as she knows they can be. And it's hard to be productive when her communicator is constantly blowing up with Scar's death messages. Or when a wild Gem can appear out of the sky at any moment. Or when Keralis has some new ideas for the flower and dyes shop or when Ren is looking for an extra person to play Hungry Hermits with or when Grian breaks the mail system again or or or or or.

There is always a distraction looking for her during the daylight hours. It's so easy to have a full, busy, wonderful day where she makes zero progress on any of her projects. Which is why she keeps staying up so late season after season.

Sure she could try to fix her sleep schedule this year now that Mumbo is staying with her full time. He's always yawning by 9:30 and crawling into bed by 10. But she likes being able to get some focus time in when the rest of the hermits are fast asleep. Or at the very least deterred from dropping in unannounced by the ever present threat of mobs lurking in every shadow.

And Mumbo doesn't seem to mind that she drifts down to her study as he drifts up to bed.

Pearl does mind though that her dogs seem to have universally decided that sleeping in a comfy, warm bed is better than keeping her company late into the night. Sure the cats are still awake with her, watching her with their reflective eyes as Pearl makes her way up from the storage room to her and Mumbo's bedroom.  But it's not quite the same as previous seasons when she'd regularly been making design updates late at night with a dog curled up at her feet.

But when she open the door to their bedroom, she does get numerous sets of dark eyes turning to look up at her illuminated in the dull glow streaming in through the crack in the door. Mumbo, as always, is completely passed out, rolled on his side and sleeping right through the sound of her quietly slipping into their bedroom. Her valiant guard dogs, however, silently watch Pearl's nightly routine of she softly padding over to the closet to get changed and ready for bed. And, just like every night, once she is finally ready to climb into bed there is a series of soft thump as her babies jump down to clear her side of the bed and give her room to crawl under the covers.

There's one final round of shuffling and adjusting before the whole Pearl/Mumbo compound is settled for the night. There's the soft click of dog paws against the floor as her puppos find their places curled in corners and at the foot of the bed, the rustle of bedsheets as Pearl tucks herself in behind Mumbo, and finally the quite breath Mumbo lets out each night as Pearl curls around him.

When Pearl mentioned this little routine to him, Mumbo swore up and down that he slept right through her shuffling around and he had no idea when she finally ended up coming to bed each night.

While she initially assumed he was just being cute and polite for her sake, the longer they lived together, the more Pearl was inclined to believe him. He really didn't give any indication of being awake each night as she has moved around their bedroom opening drawers and shutting doors as she got ready for bed. But there is a soft noise that he make every night without fail as Pearl curls up again his back, tucking her face between his shoulder blades and into the soft fabric of his well-worn sleep shirt. Pearl almost likes the idea that he isn’t awake and aware that this happens better. It means that even asleep, there is some part of him that's waiting for her to come into bed. A part that doesn’t fully relax until he feels her warmth beside him. And once she's there, he can finally relax, letting out a soft sigh, barely audible over the rustle of leaves outside. She even thinks sometimes that she can feel the last bit of nervous tension easing out of his shoulders as she nuzzles into him, inhaling the smell of soap and fresh cotton.

It's become a familiar enough scent that even after to most chaotic days it helps calm Pearl's thoughts, helping her drift off to sleep under the warm covers to the sounds of Mumbo's even breathing beside her.

🔆 🔆 🔆

Now that Mumbo has had the pleasure of waking up with the sunrise, he's not sure he could ever go back.

There is no jarring alarm or unexpected buzzing from a communicator to jolt him awake. No sharp, sudden distinction between peaceful sleep and full consciousness. Instead, the sunlight filters through the copper trap doors that make up the walls of his and Pearl's bedroom each morning, slowly bringing him to awareness as the day begins.

The soft sound of the birds outside and the warm light against his eyelids is the first thing he's aware of most mornings now. Which wakes him up just enough so he can shifts around and reach out for the warm body even his subconscious knows is sleeping beside him. But the first tendrils of consciousness aren't satisfied with just knowing Pearl is there in the bed next to him, they want her closer and go seeking her out, gathering her sluggishly into his arms and pulling her into him.

That's one of the few things that can still jolt Mumbo awake now; reaching out and his hazy, half asleep brain not finding Pearl within reach. The first time he reached out to find nothing but a cold pillow and the furry back of an equally confused dog blinking back at him, he had startled awake, fumbling for his communicator with the terrible feeling that something bad had to have happened. If Pearl wasn't in bed, Pearl must be missing and in danger, his barely awake brain had concluded. His worried messages, which his brain had not been conscious enough to remember to whisper rather than put in the general Hermitcraft chat, had been greeted by a sheepish Pearl admitting she may have been so focused on her project that she hadn't notice the birds had started singing to tell her she had worked all the way through to sunrise. The messages had also been fantastic fodder for all of his friends to tease him for the rest of the week, even if most of it was good natured teasing about how cute him and Pearl were together.

But this morning isn't one of those unfortunate rare days he wakes up alone, so when Mumbo rolls over his arm curls around Pearl to pull her into his chest. Sometimes he catches a half mumbled 'good morning' or even a sleepy kiss if she rolls into his chest, but this morning she just wraps her arms around his and snuggles back against him with just the barest bit of fleeting consciousness that he knows will be gone again by the time he's fully awake.

But he's in no rush. These warm, cozy moments curled up together each morning are some of his favorite each day and he's not eager to end them too soon. So he spends a few more minutes letting his consciousness slowly come on line, becoming more aware of the world around him as his brain cells wake up one by one.

First, he starts to hear the leaves rustling outside and can feel their movement shift the pattern of sunlight against his eyes lids. He starts to notice the smell Pearl's shampoo and can feel her leg brush against his as she shifts again in his arms. And finally, he hears the click of nails on the floor as their dogs start to grow impatient in their wait for breakfast.

Which is his cue that his precious morning moments are drawing to a close and it's almost time to get up for the day.

By the time he finally opens his eyes, there is already 3 pairs of black dog eyes staring at him over the edge of the bed. The dogs are smart enough to know that Mumbo looking at them means breakfast is soon, and they can stop giving him pleading looks in bed and can go sit quietly by the bedroom door. But they are also smart enough to know that it will be another few minutes before he gets up, taking a few more moments to appreciate the warm, quite mornings now that he's actually awake enough to take everything in.

But Mumbo knows the dogs won’t wait forever, and there's a long list of things he wants to get started on before the rest of the server wakes up and starts causing chaos. So Mumbo presses a kiss to Pearl's temple and slowly detangles himself from her and the warm covers. There's a little grumble she always lets out as he does, but he attributes that more to the sudden chill as he slips out from under the covers rather than her being conscious of him leaving. He knows that by the time he comes back upstairs to change out of his pajamas, she'll be sound asleep, sprawled cross the bed and taking up more space than a single human should be capable of.

But right now, the most pressing concern is the flock of dogs patiently waiting at the bedroom door for him to get breakfast started, and the growing feeling that hot cup of tea sounds like a great idea right about now.

[oobbbear]

Everytime i got waken up by a nightmare near crying, it’s either the most terrifying shit beyond imagination, or I’m about to have a French presentation or something and I did not prepare.

[fishwikipedia]

someone come up with an interesting storyline reason malakai left brody buddy & julia or i’m just gonna say they put him back in the hospital

[gravelsong]

Excitement canceled I'm going to go scream in the woods for a bit

[chiropteracupola]

revisiting a couple of the major characters from the Dubious Fantasy Novel I attempted to write in high school

(the project started in 2016ish but the earlier drawings are c.2020 since I never took photos of the really early stuff)