#The Nightmare is about to begin... again!

[inseobts]

Love is a Disease?!

luffy x fem!reader

luffy keeps dreaming about you and ask chopper to cure him...

words count: 2.7k

tags: fluffy, sfw, soft, humour

masterlist || ko-fi

Luffy jolts awake, staring at the wooden ceiling of the Sunny’s sleeping quarters. His heart is pounding, his face is warm, and his lips are still curled into a goofy grin.

It happened again.

Another dream about you.

This time, you were sitting beside him on the deck, your laughter ringing in his ears. You looked happy, so happy that he could feel it deep in his chest, like sunlight spreading through his whole body. And then, right before he woke up, you had leaned in just a little too close, your breath tickling his cheek.

Luffy groans, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into his pillow “What the hell is this?” he mutters.

It’s been happening for days. No, weeks. Every single time he sleeps, you’re there. Sometimes you’re just talking with him, sometimes you’re laughing, sometimes you’re standing too close and making him feel… weird. A good kind of weird, but also a confusing one.

He sits up abruptly, gripping his hat “This ain’t normal” he decides.

Something must be wrong with him.

Luffy storms into Chopper’s office, his arms swinging wildly “Chopper! Fix me!”

The little reindeer jumps, nearly knocking over a stack of medical books “What?! What happened? Are you sick?!”

“I think so!” Luffy exclaims, flopping onto the examination table like a dying man.

Chopper gasps, immediately switching into doctor mode “Where does it hurt? Do you feel dizzy? Are you gonna die?!” He starts pressing his hooves against Luffy’s forehead, checking for a fever.

Luffy grumbles “It’s not like that… It’s weirder.”

Chopper frowns “What do you mean ‘weirder’?”

Luffy hesitates. He doesn’t really want to explain it, saying it out loud just makes it sound dumb.

Chopper crosses his tiny arms “Luffy, I can’t treat you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong!”

Luffy groans, throwing his arms over his face “Fine! It’s my dreams!”

Chopper blinks “Your dreams?”

“Yeah!” Luffy groans again, louder this time, like he’s in pain “Every time I sleep, I dream about Y/N!”

Chopper tilts his head “…And?”

Luffy lifts his arms just enough to peek at Chopper “What do you mean ‘and’?! That’s gotta be some kind of sickness, right?!”

Chopper strokes his chin, thinking hard “Hmmm… are they scary dreams?”

“No.”

“Are they nightmares?”

“No! They’re nice!”

Chopper blinks again “…Then what’s the problem?”

Luffy sits up, frustrated “The problem is that I keep dreaming about her! Every single time I close my eyes!” He grabs Chopper’s shoulders and shakes him “Chopper, what if I caught a disease that makes me think about her all the time?!”

Chopper wiggles out of Luffy’s grasp, landing on the floor with a small thud “I’ve never heard of that before…” He rushes over to his bookshelves and starts flipping through pages. Luffy watches him, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently.

After a few minutes, Chopper sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “There’s nothing here about dreaming about someone too much.”

Luffy groans, tired “Then what do I do?!”

Chopper scratches his head “Uhh… maybe you should avoid y/n for a while? Just in case...”

Luffy gasps “In case of what? What?! That’s not a cure!”

Chopper huffs “Well, I don’t know what else to do! But if seeing her all the time in your dreams is making you feel weird, maybe staying away will help! If you don't see her maybe you won't dream abour her...”

Luffy pouts “That sounds stupid.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Luffy doesn’t.

So he groans again, dramatically flopping back onto the table “Fine… I’ll try.”

That night, as he stares at the ceiling of his hammock, he tells himself that avoiding you will be easy.

Spoiler: It won’t be.

The next morning, Luffy’s grand plan begins.

Step one: Avoid y/n.

Simple, right? He just has to stay out of your way. No sitting next to you at meals, no talking to you, and definitely no falling asleep near you. Easy...

Or so he thinks.

“Luffy! Come help me carry these crates!” your voice calls from the deck.

His whole body freezes. You’re standing there, waving him over with a bright smile. Normally, he’d rush to help, no hesitation. But today? Today, he’s a man with a mission.

“Uh… I can’t!” he blurts out, spinning on his heel.

You blink “What? Why not?”

Luffy panics. He didn’t think this far ahead. He blurts out the first excuse that pops into his head.

“Because… um… I forgot how to carry things!”

Silence.

You stare at him, eyebrows raised “…You forgot... how to carry things?...”

“Yup!” He gives you a thumbs-up and then bolts in the opposite direction before you can question him further.

You watch him go, utterly confused “What the hell was that?”

Avoiding you turns out to be way harder than Luffy thought. You’re everywhere. Laughing with Nami, training with Zoro, helping Sanji in the kitchen. No matter where he goes, there’s a chance of running into you.

And Chopper, being the loyal doctor he is, decides to follow his advice too.

Which means he’s avoiding you too.

And both of them? They are horrible at it.

Every time you walk into a room, Luffy suddenly has “something important to do” and dashes off like his life depends on it. If you try to talk to Chopper, he lets out a nervous squeak and scurries away like a scared animal.

After a few days of this, you’ve had enough.

“Usopp” you huff, plopping down beside him “Something weird is going on with Luffy and Chopper.”

Usopp looks up from the gadget he’s working on “Weird how?”

“They keep avoiding me” You frown, crossing your arms “Luffy runs away every time I talk to him, and Chopper acts like I have the plague. Did I do something?”

Usopp snorts “Nah, if you did something, Luffy would just spill it. He’s a terrible liar.”

“That’s what makes it weird!” you groan “He totally avoids talking to me. He’s never acted like this before. Same goes for Chopper...”

Then you see Chopper, Luffy and Nami going out the kitchen and you norrow your eyes pointing them to Usopp "Look, they are there chatting normally. Now call them over here"

Usopp looks at you confused but interested, "HEY LUFFY, CHOPPER, I NEED YOU OVER HERE!! LOOK AT THIS" he yells showing them the thing he was working on until now.

The two look at him and their faces turn so excited to know about Usopp's new invention. This until they see you next to Usopp, then they both look scared...

"Oh sorry, I forgot I had something very important to do!!" Luffy says with a fake smile before running away.

Chopper looks at him and starts running behind him "LUFFY WAIT FOR ME!!"

In all this Nami shrugs in confusion and walks away.

Usopp turns back to you and taps his chin “Hmm… They’re hiding totally something, but what could it be?”

Your eyes narrow “We need to find out before I get crazy”

And just like that, a plan is born.

Later that day, Usopp corners Chopper in the infirmary.

“Oi, Chopper” he says casually, leaning against the wall. “What’s up with you and Luffy?”

Chopper nearly jumps out of his fur “W-What do you mean? Nothing’s up! Nothing at all!”

Usopp smirks. Terrible liar.

“Oh, really?” he presses “Because y/n thinks you guys are acting weird. And I agree.”

Chopper sweats “I-It’s not weird! We’re just… uh… busy!”

“Busy avoiding y/n?”

The poor reindeer lets out a strangled noise “N-No! We’re just—!”

He stops himself too late.

Usopp grins like a predator catching its prey “Ah-ha! So you are avoiding her.”

Chopper claps his hooves over his mouth “I-I didn’t say that!”

“But you did.” Usopp leans in “And now I gotta know why.”

Chopper squirms “I… I promised Luffy I wouldn’t say…”

“Ohh, so it’s Luffy’s problem?” Usopp’s grin gets wider “Now I really need to know.”

Chopper shakes his head rapidly “No! I-I can’t tell you! A doctor-patient relationship is built on trust!”

Usopp sighs dramatically “That’s too bad. Guess I’ll just tell y/n that you both hate her now.”

“WHAT?! No, we don’t hate her!” Chopper wails.

“Then why are you acting like she’s a ghost haunting the ship?”

Chopper hesitates. His little hooves tremble “I-It’s because… because…”

“…Because what?”

Chopper takes a deep breath. Then, in a panicked rush, he blurts—

“Luffy keeps dreaming about Y/N and thinks it’s a disease!”

Silence.

Usopp blinks “Wait. What?”

Chopper slaps his hooves over his mouth again.

“I SAID NOTHING!”

But it’s too late. Usopp already looks like he’s won the biggest jackpot in the world.

“Oh...” Usopp grins “Ohhhhhh, this is golden.”

Chopper gulps “P-Please don’t tell Luffy I told you—”

“Don’t worry,” Usopp says, slinging an arm around Chopper “I won’t tell him.”

Chopper sighs in relief.

“I’ll just fix the problem instead.”

And that’s way worse.

Usopp wastes no time.

He finds you on the deck, casually leaning against the railing, staring at the ocean with a frustrated pout. Clearly, you’re still confused about Luffy’s behavior.

“Y/N!” Usopp calls, throwing an arm around your shoulder like he’s about to tell you the best gossip of the century “Guess what?”

You raise an eyebrow “What?”

He smirks “Luffy’s been acting weird because of you.”

Your eyes widen “Because of me?”

“Yup.” Usopp leans in dramatically “Turns out, our beloved captain has been having dreams about you. Every time he sleeps.”

You blink “What kind of dreams?”

Usopp wiggles his eyebrows “You tell me.”

You roll your eyes “If this is another one of your dumb stories—”

“It’s not a story!” Usopp says, holding up his hands “Chopper accidentally spilled everything to me. Luffy came to him all panicked, thinking he had some weird ‘dream disease’ just because he keeps dreaming about you.”

You stare at him for a moment, processing. Then, realization hits.

“…Wait.” Your heart skips a beat “You mean—?”

“Yes bestie,” Usopp confirms, nodding smugly “Our dear, dumb captain is in love.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Luffy? In love with you?

You suddenly recall every weird interaction over the past few days. The way he’s been avoiding you, the way he stumbled over his words, the way he ran away from you yesterday. It all makes sense now.

You bite your lip, trying to contain the sudden warmth rushing to your face “So what do we do about it?”

Usopp grins mischievously “Oh, I have a plan already. Thank god I’m your best friend”

Later that evening, Luffy is minding his own business, stuffing his face at the dinner table, when Usopp slides into the seat beside him.

“Oi, Luffy,” he says casually, resting his chin on his hand “You free after dinner?”

Luffy, mouth full of food, nods “Mhm. Why?”

Usopp grins “No reason. Just wanna show you something.”

Luffy shrugs, too busy enjoying Sanji’s cooking to question it.

Big mistake.

Because the second he follows Usopp outside, he realizes something is off.

“Hey, where are we going?” Luffy asks, tilting his head.

“Just trust me,” Usopp says, leading him toward the front of the ship “It’s something cool.”

Luffy doesn’t think much of it—until he turns the corner and sees you standing there, arms crossed, waiting for him.

His entire body freezes.

Usopp immediately bolts in the opposite direction.

“W-Wait—!” Luffy starts to call after him, but the sniper is already gone.

The trap has been set.

And now, he’s alone with you.

Luffy swallows hard. He should run. He should stick to his original plan of avoiding you. But his legs refuse to move.

You step closer, eyeing him suspiciously “Luffy.”

He forces a grin “H-Hey, y/n!”

“Are you avoiding me?” you ask, cutting straight to the point.

His grin falters “W-What? No! Of course not! Why would I—?”

You raise an eyebrow “Usopp told me everything.”

Luffy panics.

“W-What? Pfft! No, he didn’t! He doesn’t even know anything!” Luffy waves his arms dramatically, laughing nervously “That Usopp, always making up stories! Haha! I don’t even dream! What even is a dream? I don’t—”

“Luffy.”

He shuts up instantly.

You sigh “You know you suck at lying, just tell me the truth.”

Luffy rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze “I, uh…”

You wait.

Luffy shifts uncomfortably. His heart is pounding, and he’s sweating bullets. Lying is so hard.

“…Okay, fine,” he finally mutters “I’ve been dreaming about you.”

You blink, surprised at his sudden honesty “…Every time you sleep?”

He nods.

You step closer “And it made you think something was wrong with you?”

Another nod.

You stare at him for a moment before breaking into a soft laugh. “Luffy… that’s not a disease.”

He pouts “It’s not?”

You shake your head, smiling “No, dumbass. It just means you like me.”

Luffy blinks “Like… like like?”

You roll your eyes “Yes, Luffy. Like like.”

For a moment, he just stands there, staring at you. Processing.

Then, realization hits him like a Sea King.

“…OHHH.”

You burst out laughing.

Luffy stares at you, completely dumbfounded “Wait, wait, wait—so I’m not sick?”

“Nope.”

“I’m just—” He points at himself “—in love”

You nod.

Luffy blinks. Then, suddenly, he grins.

“Huh. That’s kinda cool.”

You snort “That’s all you have to say?”

He tilts his head “Well, yeah. I mean… I like you. And you’re right here. So that’s good, right?”

Your cheeks warm “Yeah,” you admit softly “That’s good.”

Luffy beams. Then, without warning, he grabs your hand.

“Then let’s go tell the others!” he says cheerfully, already dragging you toward the dining area.

“Wait—what?”

“I gotta tell Chopper I’m not dying!”

You groan, but you can’t help smiling as Luffy excitedly pulls you along, already shouting for the crew.

Usopp, watching from a distance, smirks.

“Mission accomplished.”

Luffy bursts into the dining area with you in tow, grinning like he just found the biggest treasure in the world.

“Oi, everyone! Guess what? I’m not dying!”

The entire crew freezes.

Zoro, who was mid-sip of his sake, lowers his cup “Huh?”

Sanji looks up from the stove, cigarette dangling from his lips “I didn’t even know you thought you were dying.”

Robin chuckles, setting down her book “I assume this has something to do with y/n?”

Chopper, who had been sitting on the table, gasps in relief “You aren’t sick?! Oh, thank goodness! I was so worried—I thought maybe I misdiagnosed a new kind of illness!”

Luffy laughs, slapping a hand on Chopper’s hat “Nope! Turns out, I just like y/n!”

Silence.

Then—

“FINALLY!”

Usopp throws his hands in the air “I swear, if I had to watch you two dance around each other for another week, I was gonna lose my mind.”

Nami sighs, shaking her head “So that’s what all the weird behavior was about.” She smirks at you. “And? How do you feel about all this?”

You clear your throat, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. Your hand is still in Luffy’s, warm and firm, like he has no intention of letting go.

“I, um… I like him too, I've been obvious about it, he's the only one who was oblivous, am I wrong?” you admit.

The crew erupts.

Sanji dramatically clutches his chest “Nooooo! My sweet Y/N has been stolen by him?! Life is so cruel!”

Zoro snorts “Tch. Took you long enough, rubber idiot.”

Franky wipes a fake tear “Young love is so super!”

Brook laughs “Ah, my heart is about to explode by all this cuteness—oh wait, I don’t have a heart! Yohohoho!”

Luffy grins even wider, turning to Chopper “See? I told you it was something weird!”

Chopper crosses his tiny arms “You literally thought you had a disease.”

“Yeah! And now I don’t!” Luffy lifts your hand triumphantly “Now me and Y/N are together, so it’s all good!”

Your face heats up “I don’t remember agreeing to that part.”

Luffy tilts his head “Huh? But you like me, right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then we’re together!” he declares proudly, as if that’s how relationships work.

The crew laughs, and you groan, hiding your face in your free hand “I should’ve known dating Luffy would be exactly like this.”

Luffy just beams, completely unbothered “Dating sounds fun! Let’s do that!”

And honestly? Looking at his bright, happy face, you can’t even be mad.

[someoneelse0109]

˚₊♡JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS˚₊♡

ೀ My most favorite works are collected in one selection. I think they are famous and many of you have read this, but they are my favorites, maybe you missed it so you should read them.

ೀ Special thanks for the @enchanthings divider. It's beautiful, so I will use it.

𓄵 Symbols: 💜 - fluff, ❤️‍🔥 - smut, 🖤 - angst, ❤️‍🩹 - hurt/comfort , 🤬 - swearing, 🎭 - drama, 🔪 - thriller, 🍑 - PWP, ✍🏻 - one-shot, 📝 - drabble, 👩🏼‍💻 - series

⟣ FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE by @dailynnt

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, 🎭, 🔪, 👩🏼‍💻 | mafia au

━ Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⟣ AURORAᴺᵒʳᵗʰᵉʳⁿ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˢ by @dailynnt

━ ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, ✍🏻 | ex to lover

━ A relationship that survived a breakup but could not be forgotten. Like the northern lights that appear only at certain moments, their feelings had their peaks and troughs, but always remained on the horizon. You meet your ex at some event. The feelings are still alive.

⟣ AGAINST THE RULES by @dailynnt

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 📝

━ Controlling yourself and not getting feelings for any of the memebers was the number one task. Besides, you're not allowed to do that. The company rules strictly forbid it. But it was with Jungkook that you had the hardest time. Because he always showed special feelings for you, and you stubbornly thought that he was just being caring. You thought that right up until this moment.

⟣ The Feeling's Mutual by emmiouija

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 🖤, 🎭, ❤️‍🩹, 🔪 | mafia au

━ You hated your brother's best friend. Jungkook was annoying, arrogant, and patronizing; he was downright insufferable. But when he offered to teach you everything he knew about sex, and in exchange, you would pretend to be his girlfriend to make his ex jealous, it was a proposition you weren't sure you could refuse.

⟣ teach me daddy by redcherrykook

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 🍑, ✍🏻 | daddy kink

⟣ ⋆˙⟡step by step - J.JK by @rispwr

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 🎭, 👩🏼‍💻

━ When your first love becomes your last love, but obstacles come your way, will he truly be your last love?

⟣ “3 words, 8 letters. I mean it” - J.JK by @rispwr

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ✍🏻

⟣ Coming home to you. teaser + moodboards by @rerefundslocals

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 💜, 📝

━ when Jungkook returns to Willow Creek, what happens when he meets you again, struggling to make ends meet.

⟣ Take care of me - J.JK by @rispwr

━ 💜, ✍🏻

━ you haven’t gone to school or even touched your phone due to your flu. jungkook rushes to your apartment to take care of you

⟣ Stuck With You by @aajjks

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, ✍🏻

━ Imagine being stuck in a room with a walking nightmare who really wants to fuck you.

⟣ too much ☆ by @kissforyouu

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ✍🏻 | daddy kink

⟣ UNO by Craztextae (Ao3)

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🍑, ✍🏻

━ A friend wants to play a new game with you.

⟣ That Night of Graduation bysmartkookiee (Ao3)

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ✍🏻

━ After a stupid game of Truth or Drink you are convinced into telling everyone about the time you and Jungkook hooked up together the night of graduation. A missed connection that you and Jungkook hadn't even talked about. Bringing up some unexpected feeling that you hadn't realized had been lingering between the two of you.

⟣ The Art of Boxing by seokiie

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ✍🏻

━ Jungkook loves boxing and in an attempt to get closer you ask him to teach you a few moves. You didn't think it would end up with you pressed face-first against the boxing ring floor.

⟣ JUST FRIENDS by @kinktae

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ❤️‍🩹, 👩🏼‍💻

━ The transition from best friends to best friends with benefits is never easy, especially when there’s a daddy kink involved.

⟣ Blackjack by @kpopfanfictrash

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 🔪, 🎭, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, 👩🏼‍💻 | mafia au

━ Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out?

⟣ Oh My God, They Were (Quarantined) Roommates by @ot7always

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, 📝

━ What do you do when you’re quarantined for months on end with Jeon Jungkook - S tier cuddler, workout robot, and thirst trap extraordinaire? Fuck him, you guess.

⟣ (he)art thief | jjk by @latetaektalk

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, 🖤, ✍🏻

━ “jungkook is charming, kind, smart, and funny. jungkook is the guy to fall in love with. he is perfect in every sense, except that he is also a member of a notorious heist group and only getting close to you to steal from you. but what does he do when he starts to fall for you? who does he choose? his brothers or you?”

⟣ COLD NIGHTS & BLURRED LINES (m) — JJK by @awrkive

━ ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, 💜, 📝

━ jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

Only the first page. I will add as I find something new ❤️‍🔥 Enjoy reading 💜

[nonightingalesinberkelysquare]

WARNING FOR GOOD OMENS SPOILERS!!!!

FURTHER SLIGHT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE FOLLOWING BOOKS: The Bone Clock by David Mitchell, You Only Call When You're In Trouble by Stephen Mcauley, and Bibliomaniac by Robin Ince.

Edit: Photos by @polychromicron-persei-8 !!!!!

So I'm sure a lot of the fandom have seen the pictures posted by a very lucky fan who saw the production of good omens happening out in Scotland today!!

However what I'm not seeing people talk about is a hidden gem in the reblogs.

SOMEONE HAD MANAGED TO GET A PICTURE OF THE BOOKS IN THE WINDOW!!!

Naturally, I had to go and do my research to see if these books give us any clues or serve any other purposes other than decorative purposes

AND LET ME TELL YOU

These are the the books visible in the window:

I'll go through them one by one

(Please bear in mind, I haven't read any of these books personally!! The only information I have on them are the little bits I found online in a very rushed attempt at research!!!)

Okay firstly

"The Bone Clocks" by David Mitchell

Now, this is the one that I struggled to make sense of the most out of the three.

The story appears to follow a runaway teenage girl who is a "lightning rod for psychic phenomena." These visions are said to reorder reality and send her into a real life nightmare.

However,

It also states that there is a boy who eventually crosses paths with her and who's story "comes together in moments of grace and extraordinary wonder"

As I said, I've never read these books and the only link I could begin to make with this is the idea of a "supernatural being meets another supernatural being and what they can do when they're together defies anyone's wildest dreams" story, similar to what we have seen and could see in GO3.

The next book is where it gets FARRRR more interesting (in my opinion)

NOW

THE TITLE? INTERESTING ASF.

IS AZIRAPHALE IN TROUBLE? OR EVEN CROWLEY?

The quotes are literally taken from the amazon listing itself, but I'll just point out the bits that stuck out to me personally.

☆ "is it ever okay to stop caring for others and start living for yourself?"

And I'm skipping a HUUUUGE chunk of the story here so apologies

☆ "Tom does what he's always done - answers the call."

☆ "Thus begins a journey that will change everyone's life and demonstrate the beauty or dysfunction (or both?) of the ties that bind families together and sometimes strangle them."

THAT LAST QUOTE REALLY STICKS OUT TO ME. Personally, I'd say that could possibly relate to the heaven and hell divides?

But furthermore, we were told prior to the whole NG situation that Aziraphale and Crowley aren't talking.. so could that mean that as soon as they begin speaking once again, they have the power to leave heaven and hell behind? Perhaps stop the divides?

And last, but certainly not least

Now, keep in mind that this particular book is nonfiction and appears to be written from the authors own point of view as he aims to visit 100 bookshops in 100 days.

This has a relatively short description from what I can see right now so I'll put it in here

"Bibliomaniac takes the reader on a journey across Britain as Robin explores his lifelong love of bookshops and books - and also tries to find out just why he can never have enough of them.

It is the story of an addiction and a romance, and also of an occasional points failure."

This one interested me SO much because it SCREAMS Aziraphale character development sort of thing? You know?

I really struggled to find any spoilers for this one whatsoever but one website did mention the author's love for vintage books, which he only ever reads as and when, as opposed to focusing on just one book.

I just thought this was SO SO SOOOOO interesting, and if anybody has any differing thoughts/interpretations or has even read the books, the comment section is a safe space to do so!!! All theories/suggestions are welcomed (any hate WILL be blocked, don't test me).

OR MAYBE THIS ALL MEANS NOTHING AND IM JUST CLOWNING FAR TOO HARD?!??!??!

[bewwy1455]

Sometimes, after your boss/husband blows up, you adopt a pink hedgehog but you haven't really spoken for the 2 months she's been there so when you do it's a dumb Dad Joke™.

Fun comic for an au I have, more info under the cut

This au is called "The Garden of Stones and Roses" or "Sonic 4 Au" OR "The One(s) You Left Behind".

About 3 months after the death of Robotnik, Stone begins to work himself to death after moping for the three months before.

About a week after he began to work, he hears a ring open up behind him and out falls a pink hedgehog, running from something (G.U.N). Originally, he would have captured her and asked her questions (she may know something about that blue bastard), but he saw her face was just as lost as his. She had lost something and was running from the truth of it.

Their relationship isn’t the best at first. There is a distance between the two of them. He asks for some of her quills in return for him housing her. He builds new machines around her quills and she looks the other way for just a bit of peace. She never talks to him, only nods and agrees to make him less likely to throw her out.

After about two months of this, they finally bond with the trauma of losing people they love. They both open up after Amy woke up from a nightmare and Stone woke up screaming, seeing the doctor die in front of him again. He walks out to the kitchen area to find that Amy is there already, eating a sandwich (“It's a sadwhich, I guess…”). This is where they open up.

They get closer now, opening more up with each other to the point where they are each other's support systems. Finally, Stone thinks it's about time they go outside for some air. Amy is nervous due to being an alien, but Stone makes a holographic disguise for her to be more human. This becomes a normal thing, Amy being called Stone’s daughter and it stuck for the both of them.

[lumdays]

please notice me, prince!! ♡

au by @alli-ily << i've been meaning to join this au for a little while now hehehe

*click for better quality LMAO,,, sorry i have no idea why it's so fucked up but i did transcript the important stuff down here if you want

sir? dame? siyun (aka azul's worst nightmare)

"though they are very capable, they're quite unpopular with nobles as they tend to disobey even direct orders if they figure that there is a more efficient way to do things. they're also a little too honest for high society's taste."

siyun hails from far away lands, practically another world (hehe nod to them being a yuu). it is known that they have two younger siblings and that their parents are both well but it seems that they are no longer in contact.

...ashengrotto despises them (they give him SO many headaches, FREE HIM 🙏🙏)

some more stuff utc,, ARGHHH I BRAINROT OVER AUS LIKE THIS SO FAST💔💔💔 it's the evil manhwa lover in me

ALRIGHT SOOO.... the reason why i keep mentioning azul is because In My Head (please correct me if i'm wrong/you don't want me making up stuff HELPPP i didn't know what to go off aside that there's a bunch of kingdoms and nobles), he was accused/is suspected of embezzlement and siyun was dispatched to monitor him.

...they might as well be the bane of his existence honestly. embezzlement is likely the one crime he has yet to commit but with a highly competent knight keeping a close eye on him, it's gotten a lot harder for him to do anything that is remotely not outstanding-member-of-society material, which pisses him off to no end (...that's kinda just his own assumptions though LMAO, siyun does NOT care that much about the matters of some rich merchant,, unless someone gets hurt that is).

ANYWAYS. this made me think i should probably write down how they feel about lady ariya and prince shin

starting with lady ariya

siyun truly admires her resolve to clear her family's name. but they also can't help but feel something akin pity for her, the path she chose for herself will be long and arduous, especially alone—very few manage to walk out, head held high and pride intact. still, she seems like a promising young lady and siyun is a hopeful person, "i will assist you should you ever call for me."

prince shin (@liyuviq)

humble beginnings, big responsibilities. it's a bit presumptuous, but siyun sort of relates to the illegitimate prince. perhaps not fully—they never experienced Suddenly Being A Royal and sincerely hoped they never would, even in another universe. however, they can relate to the whiplash, the struggle to cram into a few months—no, weeks—everything the other nobles learned over the years, the stares, the whispers... they remember how it all felt, and when they look at their highness shin, they can only hope that they will rise through it all. "then again, i do know i am not your highness. perhaps you don't feel even a fraction of the dread that filled me back then—i would be very glad if so."

i hope i'm not overstepping 👉👈,, aghh also open for interactions for anyone interested hdhdhhdshd, i haven't checked the tag yet HELP

as for the hypothetical target of their affection,,, i fear it may be butler jade 💀💀........... I'M A SUCKER FOR BUTLER X KNIGHT ARCHETYPE 💔💔💔ALSO I BRAINROT OVER YUNDE 2MUCH💔AH AND quick lore rundown

i imagine their knighthood still stands in another empire—or kingdom,,, sorry my knowledge of the world building here is a little vague HDUAJHF. anyway the point is that they are skilled enough for the royal family themselves to take them under their heavy golden wing—until the ashengrotto accusations and they're given bits and pieces of their freedom back.

I'M REALLY SORRY MOOTS THIS IS JUST ME YAPPING ON AND ON..... but like this au's really sick‼️‼️‼️ tags - @heyhellohihowareyou @elenauaurs @distant-velleity @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @skriblee-ksk @sickle-stick @puowei @jadelover69 @tixdixl @nemisisnemi @angelwishess @theleechyskrunkly @chillygourami @bunniehunn @cheerleaderman UUUH DID I FORGET ANYONE.....

[marvelavengerspovs1]

Chapter 2- Ruinous

Pairing: Bucky x F!reader

Warnings: Lots and lots of angst (sorry but not sorry), toxic behaviors between Bucky and Reader, 18+ MDNI

Length: 1.8k

Summary: You and Bucky are going through a rough patch. Is it something worth fixing?

A/N: Did I write this when I should’ve been studying for an exam? Yes, but I couldn’t help it!

I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

Bucky stares at the pieces of the whiskey glass on the floor. Little droplets of the whiskey mixed with the Asgardian liquor stained the wall and the floor. It was unfair, you lashing out at him. You knew his struggles, his demons. And he told you it wasn’t your fault.

But he knew, deep down, that you were being fair. You had to do what was good for you. And right now, that wasn’t him.

Bucky collapses on the couch, his head in his hands. He knows that he acted like an asshole. He knows that you deserve better than that. So why couldn’t he change? Why couldn’t he stop lashing out?

He doesn’t have the answer. He wants to, but it’s like he can’t control what he’s doing. So he gets up, grabs another glass and pours himself a hefty amount of Asgardian liquor and whiskey, and grabs the mostly untouched box of cigarettes from his secret cupboard.

-

You wake up cold. You felt the emptiness beside you and slowly opened your eyes. You’re not home, you realize. The explosive fight with Bucky happened. You leaving your shared apartment happened. You staying the night at Natasha's happened.

You stare up at the ceiling, trying to think. How can your relationship be saved? How could you leave the relationship? The decision is daunting to say the least.

To start off, Bucky and you have been together for years. You know each other inside and out. Well, you used to.

You shake your head and try to think more.

Bucky has a short temper, quick to anger. But it was never with you. When you fought, it typically wasn’t anger that made you scared. He always made sure that you were trying to understand his side.

You shake your head. You couldn’t stop contradicting yourself. If you thought about a good thing about Bucky, a negative would follow. The whole situation is confusing for you.

You decide that laying in bed isn’t helping your decision. You get up and make the bed, trying to be a good guest. You leave the room to find Natasha in the kitchen making breakfast.

She offers you a small smile. “Morning, want some?”

You look at the pan and see eggs. You scrunch your nose.

“No thanks, I can’t even think about eating right now.” You sigh and hop up on one of the counters.

Natasha places her spatula down and leans on the opposite counter to look at you. “I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep.”

“Well I did sleep, it wasn’t very restful though.” You yawn and shrug.

Natasha nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I just don’t know what more I can say, you know?” You feel your eyes begin to water again. “I knew about his baggage, his nightmares, who he is. And I fell for him hard and fast. And now he’s going backwards and refusing to get help. All of the bad doesn’t negate the good, but his recent actions are things I can’t overlook.”

Natasha hums and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Maybe this is something you need to talk to him about.”

You quickly wipe under your eyes with a sniff. “Is that a good idea?”

Natasha pushes herself off of the counter to stand in front of you. “Are you scared that he’s going to do anything irrational?”

You shake your head. Even though Bucky isn’t acting totally like himself, he’s not an idiot.

Natasha nods. “Then you need to have this conversation with him. Maybe he can tell you his side of things and maybe that’ll change things for you.”

You think about what she said. On one hand, you know that talking to Bucky would maybe clarify some things for you. On the other hand, it may cause another fight. But it was something you were willing to risk.

-

You unlock the front door, the stench of Asgardian liquor and smoke filling your nose. You see Bucky on the couch, a cigarette in his hand.

He takes a drag before turning to you. “Where were you?”

You frown at his hand. Bucky follows your gaze. He knows you hate it when he smokes. Smoking is one of the few things he picked up again when he felt stressed. But he told you that he stopped because of how much you hated it. Now you know he lied.

“Natasha’s.” You mutter.

Bucky scoffs at this and puts out the cigarette. “Of course you were.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stands up. “It means I’m tired of you always running to her when we fight.”

“How is that any different than you going to Steve?”

“Because Steve is Steve. He’s my best friend.”

You let out a humourless laugh. “You’re telling me that just because Steve is your best friend he’s better than Natasha? She’s not some stranger.”

“Well she’s basically one to me, you spend so much time with her.”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t if you weren’t an asshole!” You raise your voice.

Bucky clenches his jaw. “So it’s my fault that you always run to her?”

“Sorry I don’t feel like I can come home!” You yell at him sarcastically.

He furrows his brows. “What, you don’t feel safe?”

“Look at you now! You’re getting angry with me for wanting space and hanging out with Natasha. Why would I come home if this is what I’m coming home to?”

“All because of what happened yesterday? Is that why you don’t want to come home?”

“No, I don’t want to come home because I’m scared of you! I’m scared that you’re moving backwards and this isn’t something that I can help you with. And… I’m scared that this isn’t something that I want to be around.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to be around?” He takes a step towards you.

“Bucky, you’ve been going backwards for months. You’ve been quick to anger, you started to drink more often, you’ve been lying to me about smoking for who knows how long. You act like you don’t have friends or loved ones who want to help you, like you don’t have resources.”

Bucky swallows. “I don’t need help. I’m fine.”

You take a shaky breath. “Then I’m moving out.”

Bucky’s eyes widen and his heart drops. “You’re gonna move out because I started drinking more and smoking again?”

“No, I’m moving out because I cannot and will not watch you destroy yourself. I come home drained. Not from work but from guessing what you’re going to be like. I want to do anything but come home to you and it shouldn’t be like that.”

Bucky runs a hand over his face. “What happened to through thick and thin? You’re gonna abandon me because I’m trying to work through some things?” 

“Bucky I’ve been with you through thick, and I’ve been with you through thin. But you haven’t. I can’t be two people.”

“Well sorry that I can’t be the perfect boyfriend.” He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not asking for perfect. I’m asking for you to do the bare minimum and I’m not even getting that.”

“So me sharing everything with you is not enough?”

“Bucky, you only share halfhearted things! You tell me what you had for lunch and then your upcoming missions. I don’t know much about who you were growing up or what your favorite color is. I want to know all of you and you only want to share a fraction of that.”

“Do you really think it’s easy for me to share the things Hydra did to me? The things I did?”

“I’m not saying it’s easy. And I’m grateful that you shared bits of that, but you are moving backwards. You won’t even go see your therapist!”

“I don’t need some shrink to tell me the fucked up things I’ve done. I don’t need someone who doesn’t understand what it was like to be a fucking science experiment try to ‘decode’ me. Therapy doesn’t work.” Bucky takes another step towards you and softens his voice. “And I don’t need you to see how truly broken I am.”

“Bucky, I only see you. I see a man who has overcome all of these terrible things and is trying to right his wrongs. But I can’t see all of him when he’s starting to pull away from me. And you can’t say therapy doesn’t work when you’ve only been to 3 sessions and haven’t been back in months.”

“Fine, I’ll share things with you. Is that what you want? I’m not going to see some shrink, bringing up the past is… it has too many memories.”

You sigh and shake your head. “I need space, you need time. I can’t keep living like this, seeing you deteriorate in front of my eyes.”

Bucky finally lets himself break, his eyes water and his voice cracks. “For how long?”

“Until you show me you’re trying to get better.”

Bucky swallows. “And if I don’t?”

You shake your head. “You’re going to try.”

Bucky nods. You take a deep breath and wipe the tears staining your cheeks. It bothers you how much you’ve been crying the past few days but it’s been a long time coming.

“I’m going to go get more of my things.” Bucky nods, not able to say anything to you.

As you move towards the bedroom, Bucky sits back down on the couch. How is this real? He thought to himself. He knows that his actions have consequences, but you are the best thing that has happened to him. Was it because he was too selfish? Should he have known that all good things come to an end?

But you were willing to come back to him. You wanted him to get better. And he knows that the selfish part of him isn’t going away when it comes to you.

You exit the bedroom with another big bag of your things. Bucky looks up and stands.

“I don’t know what to say.” You try to take in every feature of his. “I’m probably going to stay with Natasha for a few days, then I’m going to talk with Tony about a more permanent solution.”

Bucky nods, not being able to bring himself to talk. You feel a pang in your heart, not wanting to leave him but knowing that it’s what's best.

“I guess I’ll see you around.” You walk towards the door.

Bucky finally speaks up. “Stay safe.”

You turn around and give him a small broken smile. “You too.”

As the door closes behind you, Bucky can feel everything around him shake. He sits on the couch, his head in his hands. Bucky lets out a cry, gasping for breath.

His whole world had left.

[gorbo-longstocking]

Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter 6

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: You are not yourself. How can you be after the realization that this is your life now? What you thought was a long, neverending dream is actually reality. At this realization, you find the world and your sense of self begin to slip away between your fingers. The emperors notice, and Caracalla attempts to help you. Poorly.

Tags: Very severe dissociation from a POV character including both derealization and depersonalization, major emotional breakdown, implications of period-typical slavery, self-harm via negligence, injuries, homesickness, Caracalla is bad at comforting, low self-worth from reader, and implications of reader’s toxic relationship with their parents. I think that’s everything.

Word Count: 6.5k Words

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

The days blurred together into nothing more than a foggy haze. Your head hurt. It hurt and that terrified you. There was only one reason why you could feel pain, and you struggled to keep it caged in the back of your mind where it shrieked and writhed as if it had a will of its own. Think, remember, realize, it screamed. You had to cover your ears to drown it out. Unbelievably scared and absolutely sick with terror, your stomach would lurch every time those realizations returned. It was only locked away in the safety of your clinic, the praetorian in the adjacent room, and away from prying eyes, did you allow yourself to curl in on yourself. To feel this horror, if only for a second. A single, relieving, aching moment in time before you locked it back away, deep inside your chest where it belonged. Where it clawed at your ribcage and tore at your lungs.

This was something you couldn’t think about, wouldn’t dare to ponder, and yet…

And yet—

Your hands trembled as you reorganized your surgical instruments. Again and again, for two days, you would complete your duties in a mindless haze, then return to your clinic to stare at your tools. They were deceptively sharp. Your hands were covered in little cuts, bandaged haphazardly. Carelessness got you hurt, and you tried not to think about how your hands stung with every movement. The room felt fake, it was proof that you were right all along. Your body didn’t feel like it was your own. When you stared down at yourself, the way it moved, seemingly stuttering behind your actual instructions in a way that made you feel you were in a bad video game. You knew the truth.

It was more proof that this wasn’t real. A figment of your stress-addled mind, that was all this was. You hadn’t defied all logic, all science, and time-traveled back to Ancient Rome, because that was impossible. One day, you would wake up in your bed and this nightmare would be over.

You looked down at your injured fingers, blood blooming across the bandages. Then why did it hurt? Why could you feel pain? It wasn’t until you felt an ache radiate down your spine did you realize you were picking at one of the welts Caracalla left behind. There was a scab over it, the cost of all of your inspections.

You looked at the scalpel, glinting sharp in the torchlight. It was time to count that one too.

The events of the past two days were strange. While you could remember what happened, it felt far away, as if it had happened to someone who wasn’t you. A person wearing your skin, speaking with your voice, but, in the end, was separate from who you were. A clone, or a puppet, dancing on strings that belonged to no one.

That was who you were: no one.

It was hard to be ‘someone,’ and it wasn’t until you became empty did you realize the complexities of being. The choices that came with every day, gone, the simplicity of wading through it all on autopilot as the world writhed and shifted around you, just as empty as yourself. It was intoxicating. Why would you ever go back to how it was before? For once, living was easy, you would be a fool to give that up. Deep down, you knew it was wrong. That you should be fighting to stay present rather than sink away into the swamp inside your head.

Right now, being a person came with consequences, ones you didn’t have the faculties to fight through. Not right now, maybe not ever. One day, you would wake up in modernity, and all of this nonsense would fade away like every other dream you had. You had to cling to that.

“My friend,” Aelius began, his tone soft. It wasn’t until he spoke did you realize his hand was on your shoulder. His skin was darker than the hair on his arms that if it wasn’t so prominent that it would be hard to see. Your gaze flickered from Marianus to stare at him. He looked worried. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes.” Your voice didn’t sound like your own. There was an emptiness to it that echoed in the open air. The first time you had patched Marianus’ wounds, Aelius was asleep. It made the situation easier to deal with. If you looked closely, you could see the concern swimming in Marianus’ dark eyes, though he didn’t voice it.

Aelius had no such reservations. If you didn’t feel so strange, maybe it would have made you angry. You didn’t know. There was a bite in your gut. “Marianus mentioned you were acting strange the previous day, and I see why now. I think you should rest, medicus.”

“I’m not done,” Came your reply. Your fingers twitched against Marianus’ chest. There was a hand wrapped around your wrist and you stared at it before following it to where it attached to the glenohumeral joint.

It belonged to Marianus. He was frowning, and you wanted to feel ashamed. “Medicus, you are no use to anyone like this.”

He was right. Distantly, you recognized how badly you were dissociating. This is worse than it had ever been, and truthfully, treating Marianus right now, you would be more of a hindrance than a help. Your pupils flickered when you felt a wave of shame wash over you before it was gone, replaced once more with a buzzing numbness.

“What’s wrong,” Aelius tried, his thumb attempting to soothe you by rubbing against your upper arm. “Perhaps we can help.”

“I am as I need to be,” You muttered. Gently, you ducked under Aelius’ arm and stood. The exit to the barracks looked distant, and each step you took, it seemed to get farther away. Behind you, Aelius and Marianus were speaking, but you couldn’t hear what they said. Maybe it was Marianus who shouted, or maybe it was Aelius. Like all things these days, they faded away into the background, simply more noise for you to drown out.

Static faded away into silence. Blessed, blissful silence as you walked down the palace halls, your unblinking gaze fixated in the distance. You were nothing again. For some reason, you felt embarrassed, but you couldn’t remember why. It was probably not very important.

The first night that you made Caracalla his chamomile tea, he wasn’t put off by your inability to speak. He was far too preoccupied by playing with your fingers, his own tangling with yours before he pulled away, again and again. You focused on the repetition. It was comforting. His soft skin against your own, damp with sweat, only to pull away. He would clench his fingers around yours, forcing a little resistance in the motion, almost as if you didn’t want him to let go.

He did this until he fell asleep. It was his snoring that jostled you. Caracalla’s mouth was open, drool seeping from between his lips onto his pillow. When you blinked, you were using the hem of your tunic to wipe his face dry. It was an effort in futility, you knew that much. He would only drool more when you left. Still, it felt like something you needed to do.

You didn’t know when you returned to your clinic.

The sun rose as blood from your fingers dribbled onto the floor. You had spent the entire night lining up your supplies, and your absent state left you more reckless than usual. Instead of patching yourself up, you watched the red liquid drip from the tips of your fingers and onto the floor. There was an audible, rhythmic plop. It reminded you of a clock ticking.

Plop, plop, plop.

When you looked down again, there were bandages where the cuts had been. You didn’t remember doing it, but it must have been you considering you were alone. You flexed your hands, and a whisper of pain sliced through your nerves. That awful realization howled in your chest as the world felt more blurry than before.

It was morning, you had to check on Marianus.

You were back in your clinic and the bleeding had stopped. Unfortunately, the blood you had forgotten to clean up before you left had dried to the floor. It would take a rag and some elbow grease to get up. There was a nagging sensation in the back of your skull that told you to clean up before the wrong person saw. Who was the wrong person? You didn’t know, you didn’t care.

Your arm ached from scrubbing.

The floor glistened in the sunlight by the time you were done. Sweat dripped from your face — or were those tears? — moistening the marble further. You felt yourself frown as you wiped it away. There, now there was no evidence that you had injured yourself. It wasn’t until you saw the bloody bandages draped around your fingers did you realize how stupid you were being.

“Alga!” The snap of your nickname startled you enough to wince. Pulling yourself so that you were kneeling, you stared up at Caracalla. He was frowning, his arms crossed. “Why are you scrubbing the floors? We have slaves for that. This is not work for a medicus of your caliber.”

Caracalla was angry with you. There was a strange squirming under your skin and your head throbbed, almost reminiscent of how he had beaten on it. Your lips parted and you blinked at him. His eyes darted to your mouth before his pupils dilated, taking in your position with a hunger that wasn’t there before.

“Huh?” You uttered.

That seemed to snap him out of his thoughts. Caracalla’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached down to brush his thumb over the welt on your forehead. A bit of anxiety sparked in his blue eyes, only to be drowned away by frustration. “Did I knock you stupid? I don’t remember it, but Geta tells me I threw a cup at you.”

“Oh. Yes, you did.” Now you were standing. Caracalla was a short man, and you didn’t know who was taller between you or him. Either way, you were eye level with him now. “You hit me, too. It h—” You cut yourself off with a choked noise. A split second of horror buzzed under your skin before it was gone, leaving you numb once more. “I’m fine, now. I think.”

“You think?” Caracalla repeated. He was scowling now. “Either you are, or you aren’t.”

“I don’t know,” You mumbled.

With an exasperated noise, Caracalla grabbed you by your upper arm and steered you toward your chair. There was no gentleness in the way he pushed you to sit. His eyebrows were knit as he glowered at you. Underneath it all, however, was an undercurrent of concern that he didn’t seem to know what to do with.

“Look around the room and tell me what you see!” He snapped and clapped his hands twice to signal it was your turn.

All you managed was to utter another ungraceful, “Huh?”

Caracalla huffed and clenched his fists at his sides. “You’re impossible! How did you do this? Smell me, medicus!”

You didn’t have time to lean back before he was in your space. With one hand, he tugged down the collar of his tunic to display his collarbone, and with the other, he yanked you forward by your hair. Practically limp in his grasp, you allowed him to drag your nose against your skin.

“Alga, tell me what I smell like!” He ordered, his grip tightening.

“Lavender. You always smell like lavender.”

Pleased, Caracalla let you go. He seemed proud of himself, almost glowing under the force of it. “There! You must feel better now, Alga.” When you didn’t look at him, your gaze fixated on the floor, his face split into frustration again. “This is ridiculous.” He shoved an accusing finger in your direction. “You’re being ridiculous!”

Again, you didn’t respond, though you did lift your gaze to stare at the digit invading your space.

“Say something to me,” He demanded.

“I apologize.”

That must not have been the response that Caracalla wanted because he drew back, puffed up like a furious cat. His fingers gripped your shoulders as he shook you with each word. “I do not want an apology, I want my medicus back!” A bit more desperate, he added, his eyes closed tightly. “Fix! Undo! Return to how you once were! If you are like this forever, I will never forgive you!”

Even after releasing you, he was breathing heavily. Nostrils flaring, he gave you a firm pat on the cheek in an effort to snap you out of your episode. Followed by another, harder this time. It did little to break the fog you found yourself in. Caracalla looked furious, his jaw set and his other hand balled tight at his side. In the end, however, underneath all of his fury, there was regret. He reached forward, gentle now, to run his hands over the knots he left on your head.

“Geta will know,” He mumbled to himself as he ran his nails over your scalp. You didn’t realize you were leaning into his touch until a cackle escaped Caracalla’s throat. “Yes, yes, you agree, don’t you? My brother will know how to make you better. Stay here, Alga, I won’t be long.”

When you looked up, Caracalla was gone. You were alone in your clinic again. Sitting in your chair, you began to unwrap the linen bandages that covered your hand to examine your cuts. Instead of with a scholarly mind, you were bleary, poking at the scabs with an experimental finger. If you pressed too hard on one, it would hurt, and your surroundings would tunnel even further. You didn’t remember why pain was such a bad thing, all you knew was that you didn’t want to think about it.

There was so much that you didn’t want to think about. It was all there, bubbling under the surface of your marrow, though you refused to let it run over. You couldn’t lose control like that, your parents would be furious with you. They’d find you even more pathetic than they already did. Geta and Caracalla would likely agree. Your parents were the smarter, better versions of yourself, you were simply a cheap knock-off. The thought of earning the emperors’ disdain even more than you already have made your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

Someone was snapping. Your eyes darted from your lap to see a hand directly in front of you. Caracalla was back, like he promised, with Geta bent at the waist, his brown eyes examining yours.

Satisfied, he straightened and allowed his arm to fall to his side. “He responds to noise. That’s a good sign.”

“Is it, brother? You are no physician,” Caracalla argued. His jaw was set in a hard line as he gestured to you. “Look at him! He’s in a state of— of—” He cut himself off with a frustrated noise.

“If you are going to be difficult, why fetch me? You wanted my help, so now you get it. Be happy with it,” Geta responded. While he was clearly displeased with his brother, his focus was entirely on you. “Medicus, are you in there? Your emperor demands a response.”

You parted your lips to reply, but you couldn’t bring your jaw to open. Ever so slightly, you felt your eyebrows twitch together. Geta let out a long suffering sigh.

“Alga, you…” He turned to Caracalla, lips pursed into a thin line. “What was his name again?”

“I don’t remember! It was some ridiculous, foreign noise, how am I supposed to remember that?” Caracalla was shouting now, his hands on his hips. His body shook ever so slightly as his gaze shifted from his brother back to you. With a vacant stare, you watched his expression morph from frustration to something imploring and sweet.

“Algacula,” He cooed. “Tell me and my brother what has happened with you, and we will give you a very generous treat.”

“There is nothing wrong with me,” You replied on instinct.

Both emperors drew back. Caracalla brought his fists to his face to let out a scream between clenched teeth, while Geta let out a disbelieving scoff.

“You are not yourself, medicus, anyone can see that. Now snap out of it, you are upsetting my brother.” You were back to being quiet. It made Geta’s eye twitch, and you noted that he had kohl smeared on the outside of his eyelid. It made him look more intimidating than usual. Without taking his gaze off you, he nudged Caracalla to the door. “Have a slave fetch your pet ape.”

A smile made Caracalla’s eyes light up with relief. “Yes, yes, Dondas. That is a good idea, brother, she always helps.”

Geta waited for Caracalla to be out of earshot before he gestured to your hands with a subtle sweep of his finger. “How did that happen, medicus? It looks like you have barely taken care of your own wounds. What use are you as a physician if you can’t even do that?”

“Huh?” You looked from Geta to your hands and softly closed your hands. A few scabs pulled taut, but none split open. All you could recognize was that it hurt. “I was not careful. It was an accident.”

Geta closed his eyes and released a breath. “Accidental, yes.”

Caracalla’s giggle, followed by an animalistic squeak drew your attention. Sitting on his shoulder in her own tunic, one that matched Caracalla’s in color, and a golden leash attached to the collar on her neck, was a little monkey. She was small enough to be cute rather than terrifying, you had heard enough horror stories about chimp attacks to ever want to be near one. Still, though, there was a Roman emperor standing before you with a monkey on his shoulder. You felt your brain throb as a stab of sheer disbelief cut through the haze, causing your nose to wrinkle and your eyes to widen.

“Is that a fucking monkey?” You asked in English.

Caracalla’s expression mirrored you as he ran his fingers through the monkey’s fur. “Brother, he is speaking nonsense.”

“That he is. You made it worse, Caracalla. Remove the ape.”

His hands tighten around the monkey’s golden leash. “You liar! Dondas was your idea!”

“It doesn’t matter whose idea it was, look at him, it’s obviously making whatever is wrong with him worse!” Geta threw his arm out at you, his patience fraying at the edges.

Caracalla looked at you, then back at the monkey, his disappointment coming off of him in waves. Carefully, he allowed her to run off his arm into the waiting hands of a young man, who graciously took her leash without a word.

It was silent for a moment, only to be broken by Caracalla. His voice was soft, barely a whisper. “Brother, you don’t think I caused this…”

“No, I recognize this,” Geta said, softer than you ever heard him. He placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “This is what you are like after one of your outbursts, quiet and distant. I think what our medicus needs is time. He will come back, just as you always do.”

“He has been like this for over a day,” Caracalla hissed. “The praetorian I assigned to him told me.”

“We will assign guards to watch him at all times. Once he comes back, we will know immediately.” With a harsh sigh, Geta pinched the bridge of his nose. “Caracalla, we have duties to attend to today. Both of us. I don’t need you pining after an unresponsive physician while I juggle senators asking after you.”

Caracalla was ready to argue, glancing at you over his shoulder. “The senators are unimportant! We are the emperors, we should be able to do as we please. This is what pleases me.”

“Do not fight me on this, not now. Alga will be here when we are done, I’m certain of it. If they are not, the praetorian will fetch you.”

With narrowed eyes, Caracalla countered, “And you will allow me to leave?”

“Yes, brother, if that will get you to join me. Now, come.” Geta pressed his palm between his brother’s shoulder blades and began to force him out of your clinic.

Even as far away as you felt, you were able to recognize it wasn’t only Caracalla who gave you a final glance before the door shut.

It was dark now. Your reflection shone in the scalpel’s sharp metal as you held it up to the torchlight. The sight of yourself made your head spin. That wasn’t who you were, it couldn’t be. Dark circles lined your eyes and your hair hung in limp curtains around your face. If you looked closely, your roots were beginning to show. Once you woke up, you could dye it back to the green you liked so much.

“Wake up…” You murmured into the empty room. The sound of your voice almost startled you, it had been hours since there was another person in your clinic aside from yourself. Maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe months, maybe years.

There was a long cut on your palm. Blood bubbled from it as your scalpel clattered to the floor. Your hands were no longer bandaged, you didn’t remember when you removed them, nor why you didn’t bandage them once more. Staring down at the cut, you could only think one thing as it oozed red:

It hurt.

Inside your chest, your heart began to pound. It squeezed and thudded, filling your veins with adrenaline. It felt as though ants were marching under your skin, their little legs prickling along the folds of your muscles.

It hurt.

Tears began to flow down your cheeks, scorching and silent. Your lips trembled as your breath hitched and snot bubbled from your nostrils.

It hurt.

You couldn’t breathe. Weeping, heart thundering, you couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard you tried. Desperately, you clawed at your chest, an attempt to rip yourself open before everything you had been avoiding spilled from you in a white-hot frenzy. All you managed to do was smear blood in your tunic, settled next to the dried drool from Caracalla’s slumber.

You could never go home and it hurt.

“Oh, god!” You gasped. The speed at which you stood sent your chair clattering behind you. Your hands ached as you clutched at yourself, at your head, at your chest, at your leaking eyes. All you could hear was your own ragged breathing. “Oh, god! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

This was no dream, you knew that now. There was no hiding from it anymore. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t fill your lungs with air. You weren’t dreaming, this was real. Rome was real, the emperors were real, Aelius and Marianus were real, every person who called this palace home was real. It was all disgustingly real.

You were running now. Out of the clinic and down the halls, you were sprinting like a mad man. Upon turning a corner, your body slammed into the wall and a sob ripped from your throat with a ball of saliva. It dripped down your chin, and you pushed yourself onward on shaking legs. You needed to see, to prove to yourself that you hadn’t lost your mind, and there was only one sight that you could think of that would prove that to you.

The one place you had avoided looking since you arrived.

Grass stained your tunic. You had tripped on the small step leading to the imperial gardens, causing you to skid through the foliage. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t force yourself to stand. Each time you managed, your knees gave out on you, sending you back to the ground.

In the end, it didn’t matter. You didn’t have to be on your feet to look up.

To see the stars in all their glory.

Above your head was a tapestry of glittering silver, more beautiful than you had ever seen it. The sky was a beautiful mix of purple and blue, the moon nestled in its edges, full and bright enough to cast a milky glow on the gardens. There were constellations you didn’t recognize, but so many that you knew the name for. Ursa major, Orion’s belt, Cassiopeia, Perseus, you listed as you felt a scream begin to form in your chest. It was a strange mix of uncanny and familiar that only served to make your tear ducts leak all the more. You squeezed your eyes shut before you opened them again to see nothing had changed. The stars, ever present, even when the modern city lights emptied the sky of their shine, laughed down at you.

You could never imagine a sight such as this. No part of your brain could ever conjure this night sky, not in a million years. This splendor, the pain that flowered from your palms, none of this could ever have come from you on your own. Pathetic, worthless you, so far from everything you knew, with no hope of return.

You would never get drinks with your coworkers after a long shift again. You would never see the rare bits of your mother’s approval, or your father’s awkward hugs. You would never have chocolate, or have coffee, or eat a burger again. You would never enter the hospital where you worked.

Everything you were, everything you had, you watched it fade away under the everpresent stars.

A sob so strong it was almost a gag caused you to double over. Snot and saliva mingled with the salty taste of your tears. Your hands clawed at your neck under the weight of the keening wails you couldn’t hear, but you knew you were making. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t turn it off this time. Weeks of repression had come back to bite you in the ass as a catastrophic breakdown. It wasn’t new, you had always been like this. Pushing onward, wading through the muck until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I— I can’t— Breathe. I can’t— Help me— I can’t…” The words fell from your lips in sporadic English, followed with a bubble of snot when you tried to exhale through your nose.

So caught up in your own panic, you didn’t realize you weren’t alone anymore.

Not until a sharp bark echoed behind you, sounding both furious and scandalized, “Who made you cry?”

Now, more than ever, you wished this was a dream. You recognized that voice, it had become such a familiar one since you fucking time-traveled that you could never hope to forget it. Caracalla was here to see you break apart at the seams. Another gasp left you, and in a desperate attempt to hide, you curled your knees to your chest and covered your face with your hands.

“Alga! Who made you cry?” Caracalla was closer now. When he reached down to shake you by the shoulder, you realized he was next to you. His grip was harsh, just as Caracalla always was. Rough and unyielding. “Tell me now! Tell me who made my medicus cry!”

For some reason, his insistence irritated you. Ripping your hands from your face, you could taste your own blood on your lips. You must have smeared it across your face. “Me! I did! This is my fault, and now I— and now I cannot stop!”

Caracalla frowned. If he was taken aback by you shouting at him, he didn’t show it. He merely looked annoyed. “Yes, you can. Tell yourself to stop crying and you will.”

“Is that— Is that how it works for you, Caesar?” You sneered. It was cruel of you to throw his own issues back at him, but all you could think about was breathing again. Caracalla narrowed his eyes at you, though he said nothing. Talking irritated your throat, and you coughed a few times to soothe the ache. All it did was make it hurt more.

Everything hurt.

Your face crumpled again, and you must have looked pathetic because Caracalla’s scowl softened. Not enough to be kind, only enough to go from furious to frustrated. He crouched down and pawed at your face, attempting to wipe it dry. Each time he managed, more tears escaped from the corners of your eyes. It ruined his progress. Caracalla got rougher the more your body defied him.

“What is wrong with you, medicus? One moment, you will barely respond, the next, you are more hysterical than a woman in childbirth.” He was kneeling now, working tirelessly to clean your filthy face. Desperate for comfort, you grabbed his wrists and leaned into his palms.

By now, your crying had become miserable sniffles as fat tears rolled off your chin. “I can— I can never go home, Caesar.”

“Yes, I am aware.” He looked perplexed as the heel of his palm pressed into your nose. It wasn’t gentle, and it made you move to pull away. Caracalla didn’t let you, his fingers tightening against the flesh of your cheek. “It is as you told me and my brother when we hired you. Your strange little country will never let you pass through its borders again. Why is this a problem now, medicus? Or have you been lying to me?”

“I thought— I thought I could go back, I thought they’d let me in,” You choked out. It was hard to both speak Latin and weave lies into truth in the state you were in now. “I thought this was not—- not r- real and— How can this be real?”

Rather than use his own tunic, Caracalla lifted the hem of yours to wipe away snot from your upper lip. He was frowning again, eyebrows knit. “Of course this is real. I can barely make sense of what you are saying, Alga. You sound more ridiculous than usual.”

“I miss my mom, and my dad—” You were blubbering now, your fingers tangling with Caracalla’s. “— And my coworkers, and my superiors! I will never see them again!” There was an intake of air, signaling he was about to respond, only for you to bulldoze over him. “I will never be able to have chocolate, or coffee, or any other foods from home again.”

Caracalla placed his hand over your mouth and forced your lips shut. “I will have the kitchens make you whatever your heart desires if you will stop this crying! Who cares about your mater, or your pater, or anyone else. They are gone and I am here. That is better than what they have to offer. I can give you more than they could ever hope to, and here you are crying over them instead of being grateful for me.”

When you spoke again, it was muffled by his hand. Caracalla seemed to debate with himself, looking away for a moment, before he removed his palm from your lips.

“I have lost everything,” You whispered, glassy eyes staring up at him.

He huffed, and if you had to guess, he was frustrated his words didn’t sink in.

“Yes, you have!” He agreed bluntly. “Think of what you have gained, Alga. The favor of an emperor, a palace to lay your head to rest, skills that surpass every medicus in Rome! You are hopeless if you cannot see that you have gained more than you have lost.”

You wanted to keep crying. It couldn’t be that simple to soothe you, but his words, though harsh, were logical. Back home, back in the future, you weren’t happy. You had everything, yet, at the end of the day, you were miserable. Maybe that was how it would be in Rome, too. It was possible you were simply broken so completely that there was no hope of joy in your future.

It was also possible that your happiness laid in this miraculous event that defied every inch of your world view. That made sense, in a disturbing way. Everything Caracalla said made sense, even if you didn’t want it to.

“My parents didn’t even like me,” Your voice was thick as you spoke. At least the tears stopped.

Caracalla smiled, a sense of triumph in his eyes. “It is as I say, Alga. You are wanted in Rome, where in your country, even your parents didn’t want you. See how much you have gained? You should be rejoicing.”

“I am scared, Caesar.” You shook your head, far more calm than you were before. “Everything is so different in Rome. I fear that I will ruin everything by being here.”

“Then you will bring ruin.” Caracalla shrugged, his grin growing with each second that you weren’t crying. “Let it break, let it shatter in your grasp. Your Caesar will have it cleaned and you can return to his side, fat and happy.”

The assurance shouldn’t have steadied you as much as it did. Caracalla was unpredictable. While he may be attached to you now, how long would that last? You looked at his face, earnest and open in a way that betrayed his immaturity, his eyes gleaming as his thumbs traced the outlines of your face, careful to collect any wetness that remained. If there was one thing that you knew, now more than ever, it was that Emperor Caracalla was no liar. Even if the truth of his words changed in the future, for now, at least, he meant every word.

Hopefully, that would give you enough time to work out a backup plan. For once, you felt calm.

“Thank you, Caesar.” Against all odds, a tired smile made your lips twitch upwards. “I look forward to being your physician until you grow tired of me.”

Caracalla’s expression turned mischievous now that he was certain your outburst was over. Crawling closer to you, he pressed his hands against your thighs to uncurl your knees from your chest. With an ungraceful flop, he laid his head in your lap to stare up at you. “Good, good. I believe that I deserve a reward for suffering through your hysteria.”

“Would you like to watch the stars with me, Caesar?” Despite feeling better, you still sounded watery.

Impatient and uncaring now that you were no longer weeping, Caracalla grabbed your wrist to bring it to his hair. For a moment, he stared at the cut on your palm, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes flickered to your splotchy, still damp face. You startled when he tangled your fingers in his hair. “What is so special about the stars? They are the same as they are every night.”

“They don’t look so beautiful in my country.” It was grounding to play with Caracalla’s hair. His soft curls tickled the cuts on your fingers and his eyes fluttered shut with a soft hum once you began your ministrations.

“How can the stars look different in your country? Is it truly so far away?”

“Further than you could ever imagine, Caesar. In the cities, the streets are lined with torches that glow brighter than any you have ever seen. For the entire night, they are on, protecting travelers and showing off merchant’s wares. The city is so big and so bright, it drowns out the stars, making the sky empty, save for the moon.”

“Sounds like an awful place, melimelum.” Caracalla opened his eyes to search your face, testing you. “You are better off in my Empire. Here, you can see the stars in all their glory.”

“Yes.” Craning your neck, you took in the velvet sky one last time. “More beautiful than I’ve ever seen.” You took a deep breath, finally filling your lungs to the brink, then exhaled. “I apologize for my outburst.”

“You should,” Caracalla said, leaning into your touch. “I will not be so gentle next time. A good slap would have knocked sense into you faster.”

“Caesar, that would have made me cry more,” You weren’t able to swallow the incredulous laugh that bubbled in your throat.

Caracalla’s shoulders jumped in a lazy shrug. There was a hint of smug pride in his smile. “I would calm you, then. I have once already, how much harder could a second be?”

“I will be there to calm you as well,” You said, tugging at his bangs.

Before Caracalla could respond, the sound of footsteps on the walkway behind you drew your attention. When you turned, there was Geta, late to the party once more. He took in your red rimmed eyes and tear stained face with an air of urgency. It wasn’t until you gave him a small smile and a wave did his posture slump.

“Medicus, what are you doing in the gardens so late at night?”

Caracalla sat up to glare at Geta over his shoulder, your fingers still tangled in his hair. Your own expression was a juxtaposition to his, tired amusement etched into your features. “I needed to see the stars. They are beautiful tonight.”

“The stars? So, you can respond again,” Geta said, exasperated. “And somehow, my brother has found his way into your embrace for another night.”

“I calmed him down, brother.” Caracalla sat up, his breath was hot against the shell of your ear, making your face burn. It sounded almost like he was rubbing it in Geta’s face.

Geta glanced at you, his eyebrows raised. “Did he now?”

“Your brother has a way with words.” More so than you expected. Caracalla’s grin grew even more, showing off his teeth.

Rolling his eyes, Geta let out a scoff. “You are the first person to say that about Caracalla, and now he is certain to be insufferable because of it.”

“I have a way with words, brother. Perhaps I should be the one to speak to the senate tomorrow.” With his arms draped over each side of your collarbone, Caracalla rested his chin on your shoulder. You didn’t know if he was serious or not. Judging by Geta’s grimace, he was.

Now that Caracalla’s attention was on his brother, you mouthed a silent apology to Geta. He responded by pursing his lips at you, clearly displeased. With a flick of his wrist, he gestured to Caracalla. “Come, brother, off to bed. If you are to speak with the senate tomorrow, you must do so with a clear mind.”

“Come with me?” Came his whisper, lips brushing against your ear. The scent of lavender was stronger now. It made your head spin, not unlike earlier, but far more pleasant.

Gently, you pushed him away as you pried his arms from around your neck. “Tonight, someone else will make your medicine, Caesar. I must take care of my wounds.”

Disappointment and confusion made his face scrunch, though he stood with little effort on your part. “Tomorrow night, then.”

“Of course, Caesar.”

Caracalla stared down at you, his gaze heavy, before he let out a huff and trudged to Geta’s side. You offered both emperors a farewell. The relief on Geta’s features was too slight for you to notice in your exhausted state. Without waiting for either’s footsteps to fade, you laid down on your back to face the sky.

The stars were smiling now.

Only in the past could they do something so quaint to someone like you.

A/N: Helloooooo, this was a hard chapter to write, I’m not gonna lie. Alga’s dissociation is based off my own experiences with derealization and depersonalization, which made it hard to type out without accidentally making myself fall into the mindset. However, do not worry, my friends! I am fine, yay! I’m actually pretty proud over how I wrote their hashtag Episode. In an effort to convey just how disjointed time feels, along with their memory, I wrote events out of order in the first half. I hope it was conveyed well!

For anyone who didn’t catch it, Geta one hundred percent believed that the injuries on Alga’s hands were purposely self-inflicted. If they were, he would have assigned more praetorians to them and have them under supervision 25/8. Caracalla is clearly very attached and he’s not risking losing the only other person who can calm his brother. Speaking of Geta, I am sooooo sorry Geta enjoyers for the Caracalla wave we are under. Next chapter will have a major Geta moment, I swear to you.

And, finally, we can address the fact that Caracalla’s got a bit of a crush. It first manifested after the needle incident, stewing for a few days, and by the time he gives the needle back to Alga, it’s like a little sprout. After they calmed him down from his flashback, it’s a full ass rosebush. From how I’m writing it, I think it’s unfamiliar to Caracalla to have this particular feeling. He knows lust, but these feelings are far too innocent for him to really know what to do with. Like, of course He Wonts Them sooooo fucking bad, but also, he does just genuinely like being near them. It makes him feel giddy. It’s new and he may or may not be obsessed with how he feels when he gets to be near them.

During Alga’s episode, they are, uhhhh, way too out of it to truly understand the depth of Caracalla’s affections. Most of what he said in the gardens didn’t properly register, so they’re like both oblivious and aware as to how Caracalla is obsessed with them. It’s a mess. Also, he did NOOOOT mean for them to make him his medicine when he asked them to join him. Not in the SUH-LIGHTEST. Yesssss, come back to his bedroom so he can seduce you. You want to so bad, ooooooo.

Oh, and before I forget. Algacula is my attemot at making 'Alga' a diminutive petname. ‘Cula’ means little, and a lot of Latin petnames have that. Like melculum (little honey) and anaticula (little duck). Melimelum is another Latin petname that means “honey apple.” Most of Caracalla’s petnames tend to be overly sweet.

Finally, oh my god, thank you guys for the feedback last chapter!!! It was so sweet and I was rocking back and forth from sheer joy. Obligatory like, comment, and subscribe!!! You don’t have to, but I won’t lie. It does encourage me to write more 😭😭

Thank you for reading, bye, ily!!!!

taglist: @snazzynacho @t6gse370 @cherrysweets-world @justlibra @001mon

[velidewrites]

thinking very hard about crying in front of sylas tonight. need to sob into his giant tits while he gets all big and scary and protective of me :/

You're suddenly enveloped by a fur cloak.

Sylas pulls you into his arms, the thick coat descending from his shoulders onto your own. This, you realize, is the very first time the two of you have ever stood so close — had you not sought him out in his war tent tonight, you might never have known the warmth radiating from his body, as if that fire simmering within him was as desperate for your touch as you are for its master.

He holds you in his arms with a strength that is gentle yet... reluctant. It makes you want to writhe against him until your bodies are welded into one at last, shattering that last bit of uncertainty, of hesitation, of the cold, cruel war that has so desperately been trying to drive you two apart. Somehow, he's always been able to find his way back to you.

Tonight, you finally managed to find him instead.

The featherlight touch of the fur against your cheek tingles, making you half-turn, burying your face into his chest subconsciously. You feel his muscles tense beneath your touch at the proximity, and a heat of your own begins to rise in your cheeks at your own boldness. The last time he'd tensed up beneath you like that, it was with the tip of your sword teasing his sternum, not your nose. How far the two of you had come.

He must be realizing it, too, as you feel his shoulders fall an inch, the broad hand on your waist moving to smooth over your lower back. He pulls you in closer, close enough now that you feel his breath brush against your temple before he rests his chin atop your head. Not once, in all those months on the opposing sides of the battlefield, did you ever imagine Sylas Vanserra like this. Let alone with you.

It dawns on you then that he's probably never comforted anyone this way — had never been comforted like that by another, at least not at a time when it would have mattered most. For a moment, the very thought makes you forget your own reasons for finding yourself in his tent in the first place, forget the nightmare that made you walk through the camp on shaky legs in the dead silence of the night. Sylas is holding you, and he's...

You dare to speak. "Sylas?"

"I'm here."

The response comes immediately, and it takes all the strength you have left to keep your body from melting into his own. Sylas's voice carries a rasp that makes you think — makes you hope — he's not the only one holding back.

"You're very good at this," you tell him, nuzzling your face deeper into his chest.

A small scoff sounds from above, and you can't help but let out a small chuckle.

"You make my compliment sound like an insult," you point out.

There's only a beat of silence between you before he finally says, "It's not."

You sigh, content. It's as if the sound of his voice had somehow dissipated all the tension in your body and quietened the raging storm of your sleepless mind. "I'm glad you think so." You turn your face to the side again, then, letting your cheek rest right above his heart — right where you know a horrible scar begins, twisting his skin into patterns of flames rising all the way up to his neck. He hides it, even without the bronze plates of his armor, and he hides it well. But you know — know he hates himself for it, and you've seen enough to understand who truly is the one at fault. Even if Sylas himself does not.

"Like this, I can hear your heart," you murmur, hoping its strong, if not a little rapid beat resonates with your own. Perhaps then, the two of you will finally sleep.

You might already be drifting away — or maybe his question is barely audible enough for you to catch, buried under the warm embrace of the furs. "What is my heart telling you?"

You smile.

"I think it's agreeing with me."

[hisfavegirl]

Endless Battle Of Love- Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1.

Word Count : 10.2k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The first thing you feel is warmth. Not just the warmth of the sun spilling through the curtains, but something else.

Something solid.

Something strong.

Your lashes flutter open, blinking against the golden light filtering into the room. For a moment, you’re disoriented, your mind still heavy with sleep. But then— Your breath catches.

Jace.

He’s right there. His arms are still wrapped securely around you, his body solid and unmoving beneath you. Your head rests against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrumming softly beneath your ear.

You froze.

Shit.

Slowly, everything from last night crashes back into your mind. The nightmare. The panic. The way you broke down in his arms. The way he held you.

You swallow hard, your fingers curling against his shirt. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep on top of him, hadn’t meant to practically cling to him all night and yet… Jace hadn’t let go either. Even in sleep, his arms are still wrapped tightly around your waist, his body still curled around yours like he needed to hold you.

Your chest tightens.

You should move.

You should.

But for the first time in so long, you feel safe. Still, you can’t just stay like this. Carefully, you begin to pull back, your movements slow and deliberate his arms tighten. You freeze.

Your eyes snap up to his face, but Jace’s breathing is still even, his lips slightly parted. His brows furrow just slightly, as if instinctively aware that you’re trying to leave.

Your heart skips.

You hold your breath, waiting to see if he’ll wake up. Seconds pass. He doesn’t. Relief washes over you, and you very slowly try again, inching away just enough to slip from his grip. Almost there— "Where do you think you’re going?"

Your body jerks.

You snap your gaze up to find Jace’s very awake golden-brown eyes locked onto you, sharp and focused despite the sleep still clinging to him. You swallow. "I—I was just—"

"Leaving me?" His voice is still rough from sleep, but there’s something in his tone—something dangerous. "After using me as your personal pillow all night?"

Your face burns. "I didn’t—"

"Shhh."

Your breath hitches as one of his hands loosens from around your waist, coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle. Too gentle. Your heart pounds. "Jace—"

"Stay," he murmurs and the way he says it—the command laced beneath the softness— You don’t move.

You hesitate for only a second before slowly relaxing back into Jace’s embrace. Immediately, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer.

This time, however, it’s different.

Last night, he had been careful—almost cautious—as if he was afraid of holding you too tightly. But now? Now, there’s a quiet possessiveness in the way he wraps around you.

His chin rests against the top of your head, his warmth completely surrounding you. You don’t know how long you lay like that, but eventually, you find your voice. "I should make us breakfast," you mumble against his chest. "You must be hungry."

Jace hums, his fingers idly tracing slow, lazy circles against your back. "That can wait," he murmurs. "Let’s stay like this a little longer."

Your stomach flutters.

"But it’s already late—"

"It’s our day off," Jace cuts in. "We don’t have any meetings, no schedules, nothing to do." You open your mouth to argue, but he shifts, nuzzling slightly into your hair.

"You’re comfortable," he says simply. "And I’m comfortable." Your breath catches. The words shouldn’t affect you the way they do, but there’s something about the way he says them—something firm.

Like a fact.

Like he’s already decided that you’re staying right here, in his arms, for as long as he wants.

Your fingers unconsciously clutch at his shirt, your heart hammering against your ribs. Jace notices. Of course he notices. You feel his lips curve slightly against your hair. "Relax, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice still husky with sleep. "You’re safe."

Your chest tightens.

You don’t know if he’s talking about last night—about what happened with your ex, about the nightmare that followed— Or if he’s talking about himself. Either way, you let out a slow, shaky breath, closing your eyes and for the first time in a long time… You let yourself believe him.

Your entire body freezes as the sound of the door creaking open reaches your ears. You barely have time to react before—

"Well, well, well."

Shit.

Your eyes snap toward the doorway, where Cregan Stark stands with his arms crossed, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. You don’t know what’s worse—the way his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you practically curled into Jace’s chest, or the way his lips twitch like he’s about to burst into laughter.

You panic.

Your hands fly to your thighs, hastily tugging down the hem of Jace’s oversized shirt, which had ridden up sometime during the night.

Cregan notices.

His grin widens.

"Ohhh, this is interesting—" He doesn’t get to finish. Because suddenly, a pillow flies across the room— And smacks him right in the face.

"Get the fuck out, Cregan!" Jace growls, his voice still rough with sleep. Cregan stumbles back slightly from the impact, but it does nothing to wipe the amusement off his face. "What? I just came to—" Another pillow hurtles toward him.

"Out!" Cregan dodges this time, laughing loudly as he raises his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! No need to get violent, Chairman Velaryon!"

Your face is on fire.

Jace is still seething beside you, his arm tightening slightly around your waist as if trying to shield you from Cregan’s teasing gaze.

"You have five seconds to leave before I throw something heavier," Jace warns, his tone deadly. Cregan chuckles, stepping back into the hallway. "Relax, man. I just wanted to check if you were coming to the office today—"

"We’re not." Jace snaps. "Now go." Cregan smirks, his eyes flickering toward you one last time before he salutes playfully. "Got it, boss."

And with that, he disappears, the door clicking shut behind him. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your hands still clutching at the hem of Jace’s shirt. Silence stretches between you.

Then—

"Are you really throwing pillows at people now?" you mumble, your voice slightly muffled as you press your hands over your burning face.

Jace scoffs, shifting slightly beneath you. "He deserved it."

You peek at him through your fingers. "He’s your best friend."

"He was about to become my dead best friend," Jace mutters darkly. "He saw you like this."

You blink. "Like… what?"

His golden-brown eyes flicker to your thighs— To the way you’re still half-draped over him, to the way his shirt barely covers you. Your breath hitches. Jace swallows hard. His jaw clenches and for a split second— Something dark flickers behind his gaze.

Then— "Nothing," he says, forcing himself to look away. "Just go back to sleep."

You hesitate. "Jace—"

"Go back to sleep," he repeats, this time softer and you don’t know why, but something about the way he says it makes your heart stutter. So you don’t argue. You let yourself relax against him once more, pressing your face into his chest. His heartbeat is faster now and for the first time— You wonder if it’s because of you.

Jace steps out of the bedroom quietly, careful not to wake you. His fingers linger on the doorknob for a second longer than necessary before he finally sighs and makes his way downstairs.

He finds Cregan in the living room, lazily sprawled on the couch with a cup of coffee in his hand. The moment Cregan sees him, he grins.

"So," Cregan drawls, setting his coffee down. "How was sleeping with your secretary?" Jace doesn't even hesitate. He grabs a pillow from the couch and hurls it straight at Cregan’s face.

"Fuck off," Jace mutters, running a hand through his disheveled curls.

Cregan just laughs, unfazed. "Come on, you can’t blame me! I walked in, and she was practically wrapped around you like some clingy little thing. You looked—"

"Cregan." Jace’s voice is sharp. Cregan stops, eyeing him carefully and then— His smirk falters. Jace exhales roughly, collapsing onto the couch across from him. "It’s not like that," he mutters, rubbing his temples. "Last night was… a lot."

Cregan leans forward. "Talk to me."*

Jace is silent for a moment. Then, without looking up, he speaks. "Her fiancé— no, her ex—was blackmailing her."

Cregan’s expression shifts immediately. "What?"

"That bastard recorded her—" Jace's jaw clenches. "—without her knowing. That’s why she stayed with him. He trapped her."

Cregan swears under his breath. "That sick fuck—"

"It’s handled," Jace cuts in. "Aemond and Aegon took care of it." Cregan stares at him. "...Took care of it how?" Jace doesn’t answer.

Cregan sighs. "Right. I probably don’t wanna know."

Silence stretches between them. Jace leans back, his head tilting up toward the ceiling. "She had a nightmare last night."

Cregan watches him carefully. "And?"

Jace’s fingers twitch against his knee. "And I—" He exhales sharply. "—I nearly lost it."

Cregan raises an eyebrow. "Define ‘lost it’."

Jace doesn’t answer right away. His mind replays the way you had curled into him last night, the way your body had trembled against his. The way you had moaned in that goddamn video—

Jace inhales sharply, shaking his head. "She was crying in her sleep, Cregan." His voice is tight. "She was whimpering like she was still stuck there—like he was still touching her. I just—" His hands clench into fists. "I wanted to kill him."

Cregan’s brows furrow slightly. "Jace—"

"And then," Jace continues, his voice almost a growl, "when she woke up? She looked at me like I was the only thing keeping her safe." Cregan stays silent, watching his friend with knowing eyes.

Jace exhales roughly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I—" He pauses, his fingers threading through his curls. "I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me."

Cregan lets out a small chuckle. "Oh, I do."

Jace glares at him. "Cregan—"

"You’re obsessed with her," Cregan states simply. "And you have been for a while."

Jace freezes.

Cregan grins. "Come on, man. You think I haven’t noticed? You’ve been looking at her like she’s the only woman in the world since day one."

Jace grits his teeth. "I was just—"

"Protecting her?" Cregan cuts in, raising an eyebrow. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that, boss."

Jace scowls. "Go to hell."

Cregan only laughs. "Already on my way, brother. But you? You're screwed." Jace groans, leaning back against the couch and running a hand down his face. And for the first time, he wonders if Cregan is right.

Jace and Cregan were still speaking in hushed tones, their voices low to avoid waking you. "So, what’s your plan now?" Cregan asked, sipping his coffee. "You can't just keep her locked in here forever, you know."

Jace ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "She needs time. She just went through hell. I’m not throwing her back into the office like nothing happened."

"And after that?" Cregan pressed. "You think she’s just gonna act like this whole thing never happened? You think you can go back to just being her boss?"

Jace didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at the coffee in his hands, his grip tightening slightly around the mug. Cregan sighed. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

Upstairs, you had already woken up. The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You had taken a shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering fear and exhaustion from last night.

Now, standing in front of Jace’s wardrobe, you hesitated before reaching for something to wear. The only thing available was his clothes. You had worn his oversized t-shirt earlier, but this time, you decided to put on one of his white button-up shirts.

The fabric was soft against your skin, the scent of Jace lingering in the material. It was big on you—too big—but at least it covered your body properly. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the room, making your way downstairs. As you entered the living room, both men turned toward you.

Jace's gaze darkened immediately. His eyes swept over you—his shirt hanging loosely over your frame, the way the collar dipped slightly, revealing just a hint of your collarbone. You swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense stare.

"Morning," you said softly.

Cregan smirked. "Well, look who’s finally up."

You walked closer, hesitating for a moment before taking a seat on the couch. "How are you feeling?" Jace asked, his voice softer now.

You exhaled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Better," you admitted. "Thank you… for last night."

Jace nodded, his gaze still fixed on you. "You don’t have to thank me."

Cregan leaned back in his chair. "Alright, I feel like I’m intruding on something here," he teased. "Maybe I should go."

"You should," Jace said flatly.

Cregan let out a laugh. "Damn. Not even subtle about it."

You shook your head, hiding a small smile. Jace stood up and walked to the kitchen. "You should eat something," he said, glancing at you over his shoulder. "Come on, I’ll make you breakfast."

You blinked. "You can cook?"

"I’m not completely useless," Jace muttered.

Cregan chuckled. "Debatable."

Jace shot him a glare before disappearing into the kitchen. You turned to Cregan, curiosity getting the better of you. "What were you two talking about before I came down?"

Cregan smirked. "Oh, you know. Just about how obsessed Jace is with you."

Your breath hitched slightly. "He’s not obsessed with me," you said, but even you weren’t sure if you believed it.

Cregan raised an eyebrow. "Right. Sure."

You hesitated, your fingers playing with the hem of Jace’s shirt. "He’s just being… protective."

Cregan leaned forward slightly. "Listen, sweetheart. I’ve known Jace for a long time. And I’ve never seen him act this way over anyone. Ever."

Your heart skipped a beat. Cregan grinned. "You might not see it yet, but trust me… he’s completely gone for you."

Before you could say anything, Jace reappeared with a plate of food. "What the hell are you telling her?"

Cregan only smirked. "Nothing you wouldn’t admit to yourself eventually."

Jace shot him a warning look before turning his attention to you. "Come eat."

You nodded, taking the plate from him. As you did, your fingers brushed against his. The contact was brief, but it sent a small shiver up your spine. Jace noticed. His eyes flicked to yours, something unreadable in his expression. Cregan stretched, standing up. "Alright, I’m out. You two lovebirds enjoy breakfast."

"Cregan," Jace warned.

"Later," Cregan said with a grin before walking out.

The door shut behind him, leaving you alone with Jace. You cleared your throat, picking up a fork. "So… what’s the plan for today?"

Jace leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "We’re staying in. You need to rest."

You frowned. "Jace, I can’t just—"

"You can," he interrupted. "And you will."

You huffed, setting your fork down. "You’re acting like I’m fragile."

Jace’s jaw tightened. "You are fragile. After everything that happened, you need time to recover."

Your gaze softened. "Jace…"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I don’t want you to force yourself to act like everything’s okay when it’s not."

Your heart ached at his words. He wasn’t just your boss—he was someone who genuinely cared and maybe, just maybe, Cregan was right. Maybe Jace cared too much.

Jace wasn’t paying attention to the TV. Not even a little.

His eyes were on you—the way your lips curved into a soft smile, the way you hugged your knees to your chest, completely at ease in his oversized shirt. You were laughing at something on the screen, completely unaware of the thoughts racing through his head.

He never imagined this scenario would actually happen. You, in his home. Wearing his clothes. Sleeping in his bed.

Well… maybe he had imagined it once or twice. Late at night. Before falling asleep. But not like this. Not with you still haunted by the memory of him. Jace exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. You turned your head slightly, noticing his expression. "Jace?"

"Hm?"

"You’re staring."

He blinked, caught off guard. "Am I?"

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the screen. "You’re acting weird today."

"Weird how?"

"I don’t know… distracted?" You glanced at him again. "Are you okay?"

Jace hesitated. He could lie, brush it off. But something in your voice made him pause. "Yeah," he said, voice lower than usual. "I’m fine."

You didn’t seem convinced, but you didn’t press further. Instead, you turned your attention back to the show.

A comfortable silence settled between you.

But Jace couldn’t focus.

His mind was stuck on the way you looked in his shirt, the way you felt curled up against him last night, how your breath had tickled his neck as you slept.

And worse, his mind kept drifting back to that damn video. The raw panic in your voice. The way you had been used. Jace clenched his jaw, gripping the edge of the couch. The thought of him—your ex—touching you, forcing you, recording you without your consent—

"Jace?"

Your voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

You were looking at him with concern now, your brows slightly furrowed. "Are you sure you’re okay?" He exhaled through his nose, forcing his body to relax. "Yeah."

You stared at him for a long moment, then shifted closer. "Do you want to talk about it?" Jace scoffed. "Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?"

"Maybe," you admitted. "But right now, I feel like you’re the one who needs to talk."

Jace let out a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s nothing. Just… thinking."

"About?"

"About what happened. About him." His expression darkened. "And what I should’ve done sooner."

You swallowed. "Jace… it’s over now. He can’t hurt me anymore."

"Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hurt him." His voice was sharp, filled with something dangerous. You reached out, hesitating slightly before resting a hand on his arm. "Don’t do anything reckless. Please."

Jace exhaled slowly. "I won’t."

You tilted your head. "Liar."

That made him smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"I just hate that I couldn’t protect you sooner," he admitted. "That I didn’t notice."

Your chest tightened. "Jace, none of this was your fault."

"Maybe not. But it doesn’t change the fact that I want to make sure nothing like this ever happens again." His hand lifted, almost unconsciously, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His fingers lingered against your cheek for a second too long before he pulled away. "And that means keeping you close."

Your breath hitched slightly. "How close?"

Jace’s blue eyes darkened. "Close enough that no one else gets to touch you."

A shiver ran down your spine.

"Jace…"

"I know." His voice was rough, low. "I know I shouldn’t be saying this. But after last night… after knowing what he did to you—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else."

Your heart pounded.

This was Jace—your boss. Your obsessive, overprotective boss who had been crossing lines ever since that night and yet… You weren’t stopping him.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "Jace… I just need time."

He stayed silent, watching you carefully. "I’m still trying to deal with everything. The nightmares, the fear…" You swallowed hard. "I can’t rush into something when I’m still trying to put myself back together."

Jace’s jaw clenched slightly, but then, to your relief, he nodded. "I get it," he said, voice softer than before. "I won’t push you."

You felt some of the tension in your chest loosen. "Thank you."

Jace exhaled, running a hand through his curls. "But just so we’re clear—" His gaze locked onto yours. "I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait as long as you need."

A warmth spread through you at his words, at the sincerity in his expression. "That means a lot to me, Jace."

He gave you a small smile. "Good."* Then, as if trying to shift the mood, he glanced at his watch. "Anyway, we should probably head out soon."

You blinked. "Head out?"

"Yeah. Shopping."

"Shopping?"

"For clothes." You frowned slightly. "Jace, I have clothes."*

"Do you?" He smirked, eyeing the oversized shirt you were still wearing. "Because all I’ve seen you wear for the past day is my stuff."

Your face burned. "That’s because I didn’t have anything else!"

"Exactly."

You rolled your eyes. "I can just go home and grab some of my own clothes."

Jace’s expression darkened instantly. "You’re not going back there."

Your stomach twisted. "Jace—"

"No." His voice was firm. You wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes told you it was useless. You sighed. "Fine. But I don’t need anything fancy. Just something simple."

Jace smirked. "Yeah, yeah. We’ll see." Something about the way he said it made you nervous.

The store was filled with racks of clothes that seemed perfectly chosen for the season, with soft lighting and music playing in the background. But Your fingers froze on the fabric of the dress you were holding. The voice was unmistakable, sending an unpleasant chill down your spine.

Slowly, you turned, and your stomach twisted when your gaze landed on him—one of his friends. His smirk was dripping with malice as he looked between you and Jace, eyes gleaming with sick amusement.

"So it’s true," he sneered, arms crossed. "You really are just a cheap slut who jumps into another man’s bed the second things get hard."*

You felt like you had been punched in the gut.

Jace, who had been flipping through a rack of clothes beside you, stilled. His entire posture changed in an instant—his shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and when he turned to look at the man, his eyes were dark with fury.

"What did you just say?" Jace’s voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge of pure danger underneath.

The guy scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I mean, look at her." He gestured toward you mockingly. "Still parading around in another man’s shirt like some desperate little thing. You didn’t even try to pretend, did you? No wonder—"

The words were cut off with a sharp crack.

You barely registered what had happened before the man stumbled back, clutching his face in shock. Jace stood in front of you now, his fist still clenched, his breathing heavy.

"Say one more word," Jace’s voice was calm—too calm. "I fucking dare you."

The man’s face twisted in anger. "You think you can—"

Jace grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him close until they were nearly nose to nose. "You and your pathetic little friends think you can intimidate her?" His voice dropped lower, his grip tightening. "Do you have any idea who you’re messing with?"

The man swallowed hard, his earlier arrogance faltering under Jace’s deadly gaze. "Jace," you whispered, placing a hesitant hand on his arm. "Let him go."

Jace didn’t move for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in barely contained rage. But then, with a disgusted scoff, he shoved the man back.

"Get the fuck out of here before I break your fucking jaw," Jace growled.

The man hesitated only for a second before scrambling to his feet and practically running out of the store. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Jace turned to you, his expression still stormy. "Are you okay?"

You nodded slowly, though your hands were still shaking. "Yeah. I just… I wasn’t expecting that."*

Jace exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. "He won’t come near you again."* His voice was firm, his eyes locking onto yours. "None of them will."

You swallowed. "Jace…"

"Come here," he murmured, reaching for you. You didn’t hesitate. You stepped into his arms, letting his warmth envelop you as he held you close.

Jace froze.

Your whispered confession sent ice through his veins, his grip on you tightening unconsciously. His entire body tensed as the words replayed in his head, as if his mind was refusing to believe what he had just heard.

You felt his arms tremble slightly around you.

"What did you just say?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but the rage simmering beneath it was unmistakable.

You swallowed, your fingers clutching onto the fabric of his shirt. "They… sometimes they would take turns," you whispered again, your voice almost too soft to be heard. "I didn’t know how to stop them. I thought if I just—if I just stayed quiet, it would be over faster."

Jace’s breath turned ragged, his heartbeat pounding against your ear where your head rested against his chest.

"I’ll kill them."* The words were spoken so softly, so calmly, yet they dripped with pure, unfiltered hatred. "I swear to god, I’ll kill them."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might break. His hands, still gripping you, were shaking. His eyes—those usually warm brown eyes—were dark, hollow, filled with an emotion so raw it scared you.

"Jace," you whispered, lifting a hand to touch his cheek. "I’ll be okay… as long as you’re with me."

His breath hitched at your words. His entire body seemed to be at war with itself—rage battling against the desperate need to protect you, to comfort you, to make sure you never had to feel that kind of fear again.

"You don’t understand," he said, voice shaking. "This isn’t something I can just let go, sweetheart. They don’t get to walk away after what they did to you."

You shook your head gently, your fingers tracing along his jaw. "I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret."

"The only thing I’ll regret is not making them suffer enough."

Your heart ached at his words. You knew Jace was not a violent man by nature, but you also knew that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for the people he cared about. And right now, you were at the center of his entire world.

You leaned up slightly, pressing your forehead against his. "I just need you," you whispered, closing your eyes. "I need you to be here. That’s enough for me."

Jace exhaled shakily, his hands slowly moving up your back, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

"I’m here," he murmured. "I’m not going anywhere." For the first time in a long, long time, you believed it.

Jace carefully put the car into park and turned off the engine. The drive home had been quiet, aside from the soft sound of your breathing as you slept. You looked peaceful now, curled up slightly in your seat, your new clothes in a shopping bag at your feet. But all Jace could hear in his head were your words from earlier.

"They sometimes took turns."

He gritted his teeth, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. His jaw clenched so hard that it ached. The rage inside him had been simmering all day, barely contained beneath the surface, but he forced himself to stay calm. This wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about his anger. This was about you. And you needed rest, not the weight of his fury.

Jace exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head before turning to you.

"Sweetheart," he murmured softly, reaching over to brush his fingers gently against your cheek. "We’re home." You didn’t stir.

Jace huffed out a small, exasperated laugh, but there was nothing but warmth in his gaze as he looked at you. He hesitated for a moment before carefully undoing your seatbelt. Then, with an ease that only came naturally to him, he slid his arms underneath you and lifted you into his arms.

You barely even reacted, only letting out a soft sigh as you instinctively curled into his chest.

Jace swallowed thickly.

Holding you like this—so close, so trusting—made his protective instincts flare even more. He had no idea how you had survived everything you had gone through, how you were still standing, still smiling despite everything. But you shouldn’t have had to survive it and that was something Jace would never forgive.

He walked into the house with steady steps, kicking the door shut behind him. The house was dimly lit, silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. He carried you upstairs, straight to his bedroom, lowering you gently onto the bed.

You mumbled something incoherent in your sleep, shifting slightly, but didn’t wake.

Jace let out a breath, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. His fingers lingered against your cheek before he forced himself to pull away. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair, his mind still clouded with thoughts of your past.

Jace knew what needed to be done. He pulled out his phone, walking toward the balcony to make a call. The night air was cool against his skin, but his blood was still boiling. He pressed the phone to his ear and waited for the familiar voice on the other end.

"Jace," Aemond’s voice was sharp, knowing. "Tell me."

"It’s worse than we thought," Jace said, his voice low, dangerous. "Much worse." There was silence for a moment. Then Aemond sighed. "I’ll handle it."

"No." Jace’s grip on his phone tightened. "I want to be there."*

"Jace—"

"I need to be there," Jace snapped. "You don’t understand. They didn’t just hurt her, Aemond. They destroyed her. I want them to see my face before they beg for their lives."

Aemond was quiet again. Then, finally, "I’ll send you the details."* Jace ended the call and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he turned back to look at you, still fast asleep on his bed, his expression softened. He would take care of this. For you. For everything they had done to you.

Jace was focused on chopping vegetables when the familiar sound of heels clicking against the floor made him pause. He looked up just in time to see his mother, Rhaenyra, stepping into the kitchen, her sharp eyes scanning the space before landing on him.

"Cooking, are we?" she mused, arching an eyebrow. "That’s new." Jace sighed, setting the knife down. "Mother." He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel before turning to face her fully. "Thanks for coming."*

Rhaenyra gave him a knowing look, removing her coat and draping it over a chair. "You said it was important."*

Jace nodded, glancing toward the stairs before lowering his voice. "She’s asleep upstairs."*

Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly. "She?"

"Her name is—" Jace hesitated, then shook his head with a small chuckle. "I guess you’ll meet her soon enough."

Rhaenyra’s lips curled into a small smirk. "You’ve never invited me over to meet a woman before. Should I be flattered?"

Jace rolled his eyes. "It’s not like that. She…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair before exhaling. "She’s been through hell, Mother. Worse than you can imagine."*

That made Rhaenyra pause. The teasing glint in her eyes faded slightly, replaced by something more serious. "Tell me."*

Jace clenched his jaw, staring at the cutting board for a moment before speaking. "She was trapped in an engagement with a bastard who abused her." His fingers curled into fists. "And not just him. His friends. They took turns—"

Rhaenyra inhaled sharply. "God."

"And he had leverage over her." Jace’s voice was tight, controlled rage lacing every word. "A video. He was threatening to release it if she left him."

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened, her shoulders tensing. "Where is he now?"

"Handled." Jace didn’t elaborate, and Rhaenyra didn’t ask. She knew what that meant. "But she’s still scared, Mother. I can’t leave her alone, not even for a second."

"And yet, you’re leaving tonight."* Rhaenyra’s tone was pointed. "Why?"

Jace hesitated, but there was no point in hiding it from her. "Because I need to make sure this never happens again. To her, or to anyone else."

Rhaenyra watched him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. "You’re your father’s son," she murmured. "Too much of him, sometimes."

Jace swallowed hard. His father. A man of action, not words. A protector. "Stay with her tonight," Jace said after a pause. "She trusts me, but I don’t want her to be alone."

Rhaenyra softened slightly, stepping forward to place a hand on his cheek. "Of course I’ll stay."

Jace exhaled, nodding. "Thank you."

Rhaenyra smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Go do what you have to do. But Jace…" She narrowed her gaze. "Come back to her in one piece."

Jace smirked slightly. "I will."

At that moment, they heard soft footsteps descending the stairs. Jace turned just as you appeared in the doorway, rubbing your eyes sleepily, still wearing his oversized shirt. You blinked in confusion when you saw Rhaenyra. "Oh…" Your voice was still groggy. "We have a guest?"

Jace smiled and gestured to his mother. "Yeah. This is my mother, Rhaenyra."

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her gaze softening. "You must be the woman my son can’t stop thinking about."

Your eyes widened slightly, glancing at Jace, who groaned. "Mother."

Rhaenyra only smirked. "Come, sit. Jace was cooking something, though whether it’s edible remains to be seen." Jace rolled his eyes, and you let out a small laugh. For the first time in a long time, things felt… light. Safe. Even if you didn’t know what was coming next.

You frowned slightly as you watched Jace grab his leather jacket from the chair, sliding it over his shoulders with practiced ease. There was something about the way he moved—controlled, purposeful, but also… tense. Like he was bracing himself for something.

"Where are you going?" you asked, your arms crossing over your chest.

Jace glanced at you briefly, then at his mother, Rhaenyra, who was watching the exchange silently from her seat. He exhaled through his nose, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. "I just have to take care of something."

You didn’t like that answer. "Take care of what?"

"It’s nothing you need to worry about." His voice was even, calm, but you could tell he was deflecting.

"That’s not an answer, Jace." You stepped closer to him, tilting your head. "Why won’t you just tell me?"

Jace clenched his jaw slightly, his hands tightening at his sides. "Because it’s not something you should be involved in."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "Is this about—" You hesitated, your voice lowering. "—him?"

Jace didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked down, inhaling deeply before meeting your gaze again. "I just need to make sure this is over."

Something in his tone sent a chill down your spine. You weren’t naïve—you knew what kind of power Jace had, what kind of family he belonged to. His mother, Rhaenyra, and her brothers, Aemond and Aegon, weren’t just businessmen. They weren’t just wealthy elites. They were dangerous. And now, you were starting to realize just how far Jace was willing to go for you.

"Jace, you don’t have to—"

"Yes, I do." His voice was firm, unwavering. "I won’t let him haunt you anymore."

You swallowed hard. "But what if something happens to you?"

For the first time that night, Jace’s expression softened. He stepped closer, reaching up to brush his fingers against your cheek. "Nothing will happen to me," he murmured. "I promise."

You hated this. Hated that he was walking into something dangerous for you. Hated that you felt powerless to stop him. "Please don’t go." Your voice was barely a whisper. Jace sighed, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek. "I have to."

You clenched your fists, feeling frustration and fear twist in your chest. "Then take me with you."

Rhaenyra, who had been silent until now, let out a small chuckle. "That won’t be happening."

You turned toward her, frowning. "Why not?"

"Because," she said smoothly, standing up and adjusting the rings on her fingers, "you’ll be staying with me tonight. And I don’t take no for an answer."

You felt your frustration build, but Jace gently squeezed your wrist, drawing your attention back to him. "Stay here," he urged softly. "Please. Just for tonight."

You hated this. But you hated the thought of him walking away even more. Reluctantly, you nodded. "Fine."

Jace smiled slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back. "I’ll be back soon."

You watched as he walked out the door, the sound of his footsteps fading into the night. Something told you that when he returned… things wouldn’t be the same.

Jace stepped out of his car, his blood running hot as he took in the sight before him. Rows of black SUVs lined the abandoned warehouse, their tinted windows hiding the men inside. He recognized them instantly—Aemond’s and Aegon’s people. Loyal. Efficient. Ruthless.

His jaw clenched as he stalked toward the entrance, barely sparing a glance at the two men standing guard. They nodded in acknowledgment, stepping aside to let him through without a word. The heavy metal door groaned as he pushed it open, revealing the dimly lit interior of the warehouse.

The scent of blood and sweat hit him first. The muffled groans followed.

Aegon was the first person he saw. He leaned casually against a wooden crate, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, looking entirely at ease. His hair was slightly disheveled, his expensive suit speckled with something dark—blood, most likely.

"Took you long enough," Aegon drawled, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "We were starting to have fun without you."

Jace barely acknowledged him, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the group of men in the center.

They were barely recognizable. Bruised. Bloodied. Tied to chairs. Some slumped over, barely conscious. Aemond stood among them, pristine as always, his single blue eye gleaming under the dim light. He held a bloodied knife in his gloved hand, turning it over between his fingers with a bored expression.

"You’re late," Aemond remarked, his voice smooth as silk. "We were just getting started."

Jace ignored the chill that ran down his spine. He had grown up around violence, around men like Aegon and Aemond, but he had never let himself sink into it the way they had. Yet tonight… tonight felt different.

His gaze landed on your ex-fiancé—the man who had haunted you for so long. The man who had tormented you. Jace’s hands curled into fists. "Untie him."*

Aemond arched a brow, but didn’t question it. He simply nodded toward one of his men, who stepped forward and cut the ropes binding the bastard to the chair.

Your ex slumped forward, coughing, spitting blood onto the concrete floor. When he looked up and saw Jace, he managed a weak, bitter laugh. "Ah… look who it is. The fucking knight in shining armor."

Jace didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He simply stepped forward—one, two, three paces—before swinging his fist.

A sickening crack echoed through the warehouse as his knuckles connected with your ex’s jaw. The man let out a strangled noise, his head snapping to the side, but Jace didn’t stop. He grabbed him by the collar, hauling him up before slamming him back down onto the chair.

"You think you can do whatever you want and get away with it?" Jace’s voice was eerily calm, but the fury burning in his eyes was anything but. "You think you can hurt her and just walk away?"

Your ex spat out more blood, grinning through crimson-stained teeth. "What’s the matter, boss? Jealous that you can't fuck her like i did?"

Jace punched him again. Harder.

"She begged," the bastard continued, his voice rasping. "She moaned. She fucking loved it—"

Jace saw red.

The next thing he knew, he was on top of him, his fists colliding over and over with his face, his ribs, his gut. The bastard coughed and wheezed, but Jace didn’t stop.

"Say her name," he growled between blows. "Say her name, you coward."

Your ex-fiancé choked, struggling for air, but Jace didn’t let up. His knuckles split, blood—his or the bastard’s, he didn’t know—dripped onto the concrete.

"Enough," Aemond’s voice finally cut through the chaos.

Jace barely registered the hand gripping his shoulder, pulling him back. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred with fury. "He’s not worth dirtying your hands over," Aemond murmured, his voice almost amused. "We’ll handle the rest."

Jace hesitated, his entire body trembling. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to make sure this bastard never had the chance to hurt you—or anyone—again.

But Aemond was right.

Jace let out a sharp breath, pushing himself to his feet. He took one last look at the man bleeding out beneath him. "If I ever hear your name again… if I ever see you near her…" He leaned in, his voice deadly quiet. "You won’t be so lucky next time."*

Jace straightened, wiping the blood from his split knuckles onto his pants before turning away. Aegon chuckled, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Didn’t think you had it in you, nephew."

Jace wiped the blood from his knuckles, his breath still ragged as he stepped back. His heart pounded against his ribs, not from exertion, but from the raw fury still coursing through his veins. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to make them feel even an ounce of the pain they had inflicted on you. But then he remembered—this isn’t about me. It’s about her.

He turned, his gaze locking onto Aemond and Aegon, who watched him with knowing eyes. Aegon still had that smirk on his lips, but it had lost its usual arrogance. Aemond, ever the unreadable one, simply tilted his head slightly, studying Jace like he was something new. Something unfamiliar.

Jace exhaled sharply before speaking, his voice eerily calm but laced with something dark. "She told me something today."

Aegon raised an eyebrow, but Aemond didn’t move.

"She told me how they took turns," Jace continued, his fists clenching again. "How they held her down. How they laughed. How they made her beg."

Aegon’s smirk disappeared entirely. Aemond’s expression darkened.

Jace took a slow, measured step forward, his gaze never leaving theirs. "And you know what she said after that?" His voice wavered, but it wasn’t with weakness—it was with restrained rage. "She told me she would be okay… as long as I was there."*

Silence.

The air in the warehouse shifted, turning heavy, suffocating. Aegon and Aemond weren’t easily shaken, but now? Now they looked like statues, frozen in place, their expressions unreadable.

Because they knew.

They knew what those words meant.

Jace let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "She was trembling, sobbing into my chest, and she still had the strength to tell me she would be okay. But I saw it—I saw how broken she was. I heard it in her voice. I felt it in the way she clung to me."*

He looked down at his bloodied hands, disgusted. "And I just stood there, helpless, while she suffered alone for so long."*

Aemond’s jaw tensed, and Aegon muttered a curse under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

Jace finally looked back at them, his eyes colder than they had ever been. "So tell me—tell me why I shouldn’t rip them apart with my own hands."*

Aemond was the one who answered, his voice low, controlled. "Because that’s not your job, Jacaerys."* His eye flicked toward the barely breathing men on the floor. "It’s ours."*

Jace clenched his jaw, but he knew Aemond was right. He didn’t belong in this world, not like they did. But for you? He would burn everything down.

Aegon sighed, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. "We’ll take care of it," he said, his tone surprisingly serious. "They’ll never touch her again. They won’t even exist when we’re done."

Jace stood still, his breathing still uneven as he watched Aemond crouch down in front of your ex-fiancé, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against the man’s temple. The pathetic excuse of a man whimpered, his body trembling violently. Blood dripped from his swollen lip, mixing with the sweat on his face.

Aemond tilted his head, his single eye glowing with something far more dangerous than rage—it was amusement. Contempt. "You know," he started, his voice soft, eerily calm, "I’ve done many things in my life. I’ve killed men. I’ve burned down businesses. I’ve taken apart people, piece by piece. But you?" A small, humorless smirk pulled at his lips. "You disgust me."*

The man whimpered, shaking his head frantically. "P-please—"

"Please?" Aemond echoed mockingly. "Oh, that’s rich. Did she beg you? Did she cry? Did she plead for mercy?" His voice dropped lower, sharp as a blade. "And what did you do? Laugh? Tell her to be a good girl?"

Jace clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. He wanted to tear the man apart. He wanted to make him suffer. But he had done his part. This was Aemond and Aegon’s world now.

Aemond pressed the gun harder against the man’s forehead, making him flinch. "You see, we have rules," he continued, his voice laced with venom. "We kill. We manipulate. We control. But we don’t do what you did." His eye darkened, his lips curling in disgust. "We don’t prey on the weak. We don’t break something so completely that it may never heal."

The man let out a choked sob, his body jerking as he tried to move away, but Aegon was behind him, pushing him back down with a forceful grip. "You don’t deserve an easy death," Aegon muttered, his usual arrogance replaced with something cold.

Jace turned away, inhaling deeply through his nose. "Make it slow," he murmured. "Make him feel every second of it." Aemond chuckled darkly, finally pulling the safety off his gun. "Oh, don't worry, nephew." His voice was smooth, almost gentle. "We intend to."

Jace didn’t stay to watch. He had no interest in what happened next. His mind was already back with you. With your soft voice, your trembling hands, your fragile smile. You had told him you would be okay as long as he was by your sidea and he had promised himself—no one would ever hurt you again.

Jace’s breath hitched, his heart pounding violently in his chest. His fingers curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms so hard they nearly broke skin. He turned swiftly, his eyes burning with fury as he stalked toward the man who had spoken.

"What did you just say?" His voice was dangerously low, a sharp contrast to the sheer rage radiating off him.

The bastard smirked, lips curling in amusement. "You heard me," he sneered. "There’s more. Some where she was fully woke up... and some where she wasn’t."

Aemond’s grip on his gun tightened. Even Aegon, who usually had a twisted sense of humor, had gone still, his expression unreadable.

Jace lunged, grabbing the man by his shirt and yanking him so close their noses nearly touched. "Where?" he growled, his breath hot and heavy. "Where are the videos stored?"

The man chuckled, completely unfazed by the sheer malice in Jace’s tone. "You think I’d tell you?" he taunted. "It doesn’t matter anyway. The upload is already set. Three hours from now, and the whole world will see just how much of a whore she really is."*

Something inside Jace snapped. Without thinking, he pulled back his fist and slammed it into the man’s face with all the strength he had. The impact sent a sickening crack through the air, blood spraying as the man’s head jerked to the side.

"Talk," Jace hissed, his voice a whisper of pure, unfiltered rage. "Tell me where it is, or I swear on my life, I will make you wish you were dead."*

Aemond stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Jace’s shoulder. "Give me five minutes," he murmured, his voice eerily calm. "He’ll talk."*

Jace didn’t hesitate. He let go, stepping back as Aemond crouched in front of the bleeding man.

"Now, now " Aemond said, adjusting his grip on his gun, "let’s play a game. Every time you lie, I take something from you."

The man’s face paled, his smirk faltering for the first time. "Y-you wouldn’t—"

Aemond fired.

The room echoed with the deafening sound of a gunshot. The man let out a bloodcurdling scream, clutching his hand where his pinky finger used to be. Blood dripped onto the floor, pooling around his trembling body.

"That was just for fun," Aemond mused, tilting his head. "Now, let’s try again." Jace watched, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He didn’t care what Aemond had to do. He didn’t care how much blood was spilled.

All he cared about was you and he would burn the world before he let it hurt you again.

Jace’s patience had worn dangerously thin. His hands trembled with unrestrained fury as he snatched the gun from Aemond, ignoring the sharp warning look his uncle shot him. He didn’t care. There was no time left.

He pressed the cold barrel of the gun against the bastard’s forehead, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. "Where is it?" he barked, his voice raw with barely contained rage. "I swear to the god, if you don’t tell me right now, I will splatter your fucking brains all over this floor!"

The man whimpered, his eyes darting between Jace and Aemond. He was shaking now, his bloodied hands twitching as he tried to inch away. "You... you wouldn’t—"

Jace clicked the safety off. "Try me."

Aegon, who had been leaning lazily against the wall, whistled low. "I’d talk if I were you," he said casually. "Jace isn’t usually like this. But when he snaps? Well... you’ve seen what happens."

Aemond, still crouched beside them, smirked. "I’d say you have about ten seconds before he actually pulls the trigger."

"Alright! Alright!" The man’s voice cracked, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. "It’s... it’s in my phone!"*

Jace narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit," he spat. "We already took your phone. There's nothing there."*

"No—no!" he stammered. "It’s backed up! Cloud storage! There’s a scheduled upload! It’s linked to my laptop!"

Jace’s grip on the gun tightened. "Where is it?"

"My apartment!" the man gasped. "The files are on my laptop in my apartment! The password is in my notes app! I—I swear that’s all there is!"

Jace exchanged a glance with Aemond, his chest rising and falling rapidly. There was no way he could take this bastard’s word for it.

"Aegon," Jace growled, "get his phone and unlock it. Now."

Aegon pushed off the wall with a sigh, fishing the man’s phone from his pocket. "What’s the password?" he asked lazily, flipping the device in his hand.

The man swallowed hard. "My birthday... zero five, twenty-three, ninety-two."

Aegon smirked. "Cute." He tapped the numbers in, and sure enough, the screen unlocked. He scrolled for a moment before letting out a satisfied hum. "Notes app... here we go."

Jace didn’t lower the gun, his heart still hammering against his ribs. "Aemond, go. Get to that apartment and wipe everything."

Aemond didn’t hesitate. He stood, adjusting his coat. "Give me twenty minutes."

As he turned to leave, the man beneath Jace whimpered, "You said you wouldn’t kill me!"

Jace let out a humorless laugh, pressing the gun even harder against his skull. "I never said that."

Jace’s breathing was ragged, his hands gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His pulse pounded in his ears as he scrolled through the files, each one labeled with cruel, mocking names. Twenty four videos. Twenty fucking four. His stomach churned with a mixture of rage and nausea.

Aegon stood beside him, arms crossed, watching his nephew with an unreadable expression. "Told you it was worse than you thought," he muttered.

Jace ignored him. His thumb hesitated over the first file before finally tapping it open. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt as the screen lit up with the sight of you.

You were lying on a bed, your eyes half-lidded, body limp. Your voice—soft, broken—murmured something he couldn’t make out, but the desperation in your tone was unmistakable. Jace's entire body locked up as he saw the way those bastards touched you, the way you flinched, how your fingers weakly gripped the sheets.

"Turn it off," Aemond’s voice was sharp. He had just returned from the bastard’s apartment, his coat slightly damp from the night air. "Jace, don’t watch that."*

But Jace couldn’t stop. His hands were shaking as he scrolled to another video, then another. Each one worse than the last. Aegon exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "This is beyond fucked up."

Jace finally snapped. "You think I don’t know that?!" he roared, hurling the phone against the wall. The screen shattered upon impact, but the damage had already been done. The images were seared into his mind.

He turned back to the bodies on the floor—lifeless now, blood pooling beneath them. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

"Did you erase everything?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.

Aemond nodded. "Their devices are wiped. The cloud backups? Gone." He paused before adding, "But that won’t erase it from her mind."*

Jace let out a slow, shuddering breath. He knew that. No matter how many files he destroyed, how many people he killed, it wouldn’t take away what they had done to you. The nightmares, the fear—it would all still be there.

"She’s waiting for you," Aemond said quietly. "Don’t make her go through this alone."

Jace didn’t need to be told twice. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out, his mind set on one thing—getting back to you.

Jace exhaled sharply, trying to steady his trembling hands as he looked at his mother. The blood on his knuckles had already begun to dry, staining his skin in deep crimson. His heart was still pounding, his body still buzzing with the remnants of rage.

Rhaenyra’s gaze was unreadable, flickering between the blood on his hands and the haunted look in his eyes. "You should clean up first," she said softly, though there was a firmness in her tone. "She’s asleep now. She doesn’t need to see you like this."

Jace clenched his jaw, glancing toward the staircase. He wanted to go to you—needed to—but he knew his mother was right. You’d already been through so much, and the last thing he wanted was to wake you up in the middle of the night covered in blood.

"Did she wake up at all?" he asked, his voice rough from exhaustion.

Rhaenyra shook her head. "No. But she was restless."*

Jace cursed under his breath. Of course you were. Even in your sleep, you couldn’t escape what had been done to you. His mother sighed and stepped forward, gently placing a hand on his arm. "Jace…" she hesitated before continuing, "Is it over?"

Jace let out a slow breath, his eyes dark. "Yes." He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The bodies were still lying in a bloodstained warehouse, their screams still echoing in his head. But it was done. They would never hurt you again.

Rhaenyra studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Go clean yourself up. I’ll stay here until you’re done."*

Jace nodded, dragging himself upstairs. He peeled off his bloodstained clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water burn away the evidence of the night. But no matter how much he scrubbed, he couldn’t get rid of the weight in his chest.

Once he was done, he threw on a clean shirt and sweatpants before quietly making his way to the bedroom.

You were curled up under the blankets, your face peaceful in sleep, but he could still see the faint traces of dried tears on your cheeks. His chest ached. He gently sat on the edge of the bed, watching you for a moment before hesitantly brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

You stirred at the touch, blinking up at him sleepily. "Jace…?"

"It’s okay," he whispered. "Go back to sleep. I’m here."*

Without thinking, you reached for him, your fingers curling around his wrist. "Stay?"

Jace swallowed hard, nodding as he slid under the blankets beside you. You immediately curled into his warmth, your head resting against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair. "I’m not going anywhere."*

And for the first time that night, he finally let himself breathe.

Jace stared at the ceiling, his body tense, his mind refusing to rest. Sleep was impossible—not after what he had seen.

Those videos.

Each frame was burned into his memory, each desperate cry of yours clawing at his sanity. He had thought he knew rage before, thought he had reached the peak of his fury when he had put bullets in those bastards' skulls. But this—this was something else. A different kind of anger. One that seeped into his bones, poisoning him from the inside out.

His fingers curled into fists, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The only thing grounding him was the feeling of you in his arms.

You stirred, shifting slightly in your sleep. A soft whimper left your lips before you curled deeper into his embrace, your hand tightening around the fabric of his shirt. Jace inhaled sharply, his anger momentarily replaced by something far more fragile.

His grip on you instinctively tightened, his hand moving up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. "I got you," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "No one's ever touching you again."*

You let out a quiet sigh, your body relaxing under his touch. Jace’s throat tightened. He wished he could take all your pain away, wished he could erase the memories from your mind the way he had erased those men from existence. But it wasn’t that simple.

You had been strong for so long. Too long. And now, it was his turn to be strong for you.

His gaze flickered to the faint traces of tears on your cheeks, barely visible under the moonlight. A bitter taste filled his mouth. He had been too late. He should have been there. Should have stopped it before it ever happened.

Guilt gnawed at him, but then you moved again, pressing your face against his chest, a small sound escaping you. It was barely a whisper, but he heard it.

"Jace…"

His breath hitched. "I’m here."

He thought you had fallen back asleep, but then you spoke again, your voice hoarse. "Do you think… I’ll ever be normal again?"

Jace's heart twisted painfully. He shifted, propping himself up slightly so he could look down at you. "Hey, look at me."*

You hesitated before lifting your gaze to meet his. There was so much pain there, so much uncertainty. "You are not broken," he said firmly. "They don’t get to take that from you. They don’t get to decide who you are."

Your lip trembled. "Then why do I feel like they did?"

Jace clenched his jaw. He hated this. Hated that you were questioning your worth because of what they had done.

"Because they tried to break you," he admitted. "But they didn’t. You’re still here. You’re still you. And you’re stronger than you think."*

You let out a shaky breath, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, hesitantly, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "Thank you," you whispered. "For everything."*

Jace exhaled slowly, squeezing your hand. "I’ll always be here. Always."

And this time, he meant it more than anything else in his life.

Jace felt his heart drop as your quiet confession filled the room.

"I tried so many times…" Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. "I wanted it to stop. I thought… maybe if I disappeared, they would finally stop. But every time I tried, it only got worse. Like they knew. Like they enjoyed seeing me suffer."

Jace’s grip on you tightened. His throat burned with the effort of holding back the rage that surged inside him like a wildfire. He wanted to scream, to break something, to go back and kill those bastards again just for the way they had made you feel.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he did the only thing he could—he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "You don’t ever say that again," he whispered harshly against your hair. "Don’t you dare think that way. They don’t get to win. They don’t get to take you away."

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping onto his shirt like a lifeline. "But they already did, Jace. They took everything."

Jace closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to steady himself. "Not everything. They didn’t take you from me."

You let out a shaky breath, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you just pressed closer, like you were trying to absorb some of his strength.

Jace hesitated. He wanted to tell you the truth—that there were more videos. That what he had seen, what Aegon and Aemond had seen, was so much worse than what you knew. That even now, when they had sucssed on tracking down every last copy, ensuring that none of it would ever see the light of day.

But he couldn’t.

He knew you. He knew that if you found out, it would break you. And after everything you had been through, after everything you had barely survived, he would not let that happen.

So he swallowed the truth and whispered instead, "You’re safe now. No one is ever touching you again. I swear it."*

"But what if—"

"No ‘what ifs’." Jace pulled back just enough to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. "I won’t let anything happen to you. I don’t care what I have to do, who I have to go through. You’re mine to protect now."

You searched his eyes for a long moment before something in you seemed to crack. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you broke down completely, your body shaking as sobs tore through you.

Jace didn’t say anything. He just held you. He let you cry, let you release all the pain you had been forced to carry alone for so long. And as he did, he silently vowed— Whatever it took, whatever price he had to pay—he would make sure you never suffered again.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @ashblooddragons

[nabi-unveiled]

With each rewatch of When It Rains, It Pours, I had become increasingly uncomfortable. A question had begun to plague me.

How did I miss it?

It's no secret that I've been in the "don't trust Fujisawa" camp for a while. But I felt bad for him during the early episodes. After all, it really is a nightmare situation for him too. Why did it take me until my THIRD watch of ep4 to fully convince myself of Fujisawa's nature?

Missing sounds? Not a surprise.

But COMPLETELY missing something that's literally GLARING at me? Not even having it on my radar? That's unusual.

I always have multiple theories and numerous potential scenarios running in my head. It's not like I was watching this series casually.

And make no mistake - the man's been glaring since episode 1. It wasn't constant, but the glaring is not a new development.

Even Fujisawa's words have never been subtle.

So how did I miss it? Why did it take me so long?

I realized the answer yesterday, and I don't like it.

I missed the signs, because I was trained to miss them.

I see these dynamics all the time in my community. And when you see something all the time, you begin to notice it less.

Being uncomfortable with sex?

Growing up ensconced in purity culture means I know A LOT of people with very complex relationships with sex.

Some want it but would NEVER dare talk about it.

Some see it as something shameful.

Some see it as something to be feared.

It's what happens when you're constantly told libido is a swamp.

So this...

I didn't see it as a problem beyond them wanting different things. Either Fujisawa was ace or had issues with sex. He had been open about it with Sei, and he was doing the best he could.

This is fine as long as both parties are content. But Fujisawa is controlling and manipulative. Note the "bars" in the picture above.

Matching your partner's preferences?

I was taught catering to my partner's commands was an expectation. It was required to be a "good" partner. So this....

At one point WAS me. And even if I don't obey the rules anymore, I still see this type of "consideration" in most relationships around me.

IT'S NOT HEALTHY.

Consideration should not mean self-sacrifice.

At one point I thought, "Well, it's Sei's choice."

And that's true. But I know better than to fall for that logic.

It ignores his trauma.

It ignores his low self-esteem.

It ignores his fear of being left alone.

It ignores the difficulty of leaving those you care about and the life you know.

It ignores the manipulation.

Because this type of statement? It's tricky. It can be completely innocuous. But it can also be controlling, and a lot of that comes down to the power dynamics of the relationship.

Fujisawa holds the power here. He HAS been controlling and trying to manipulate Sei. I questioned last week what the purpose was of the editor if Fujisawa wasn't having an affair. However, it became clear when watching for the sizzle. Sei says he will go to the party and Fujisawa IMMEDIATELY says "I'll introduce you to my editor."

The unspoken words are if you don't go to the party. Mentioning the editor was a manipulation tactic. A subtle one, but it was there.

I give Sei credit. He went to the party. He kept emailing Hagiwara. He pushes back on occasion. He doesn't always follow commands.

But well.... damn.

I thought I could at least recognize when my raising was influencing interpretations. I thought I had worked through those issues.

So thanks When it Rains for reminding me not to forget my ID.

I sure as hell don't plan on getting trapped in that room again.

Break out Sei. It's not easy, but BREAK OUT.

There's a beautiful world waiting.

[emsdevs]

a/n: I had a nonnie ask for 25 with Joseph Woll specifically asking for fluff but I used the ask to ask them if they'd be okay with an angsty prompt so if you sent that in, this one is for you!! I can't wait to get through some more of these! 🧡

Prompt 25: “They were there. You weren’t.”

Birthday Celly 2025 Masterlist | masterlist

You never thought you’d run into Joseph Woll again, but here you are, staring at a man who left you high and dry almost ten years ago. You had moved on since then, found a nice guy, settled down, and had a couple of kids. Somehow, though, your past is looking you in the eye right now, and you wish there was some way to escape it. When you opened your front door, the last thing you expected was to be met with a skeleton you thought you’d hidden so deep in your closet it would never see the light of day, and yet, here he is, looking oddly hopeful. 

“What are you doing here, Joseph?” you whisper rather harshly, pulling the door closer to your body, even though your husband was away on business and your kids had been asleep for a couple of hours now. You see hurt flash across his eyes. You hadn’t called him Joseph since you two were kids.

“I needed to see you, to talk with you,” he takes a tentative step forward, but when he sees you flinch, he moves back to his original spot.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” your eyebrows are furrowed, and even without raising your voice, he isn’t sure he’s ever seen you this upset.

“Can I please just come inside for a minute?” he pleads. You glance behind you to be sure your kids haven’t woken up, and once you are sure they are still sound asleep, you open the door wider and step aside.

“Okay, just… make it quick, please.” He steps inside, letting you shut the door before following you to the dining room. You gesture for him to sit down at the table, following suit. The two of you sit in silence for a moment before you have enough of it, “Joseph if you have something to tell me, can you please get on with it? It’s late.”

“To be completely honest,” he takes a deep breath, “I came to ask for a second chance.”

“Jo-”

“Look I know it’s been a long time, but leaving you has always been my biggest regret. I’ve missed you every day since I left. I know it probably means nothing now that so much time has passed, but I had to come try. I couldn’t keep living my life in Toronto knowing what I left behind.”

“You’re right, Joseph. It means nothing now. If you told me this nine years ago, things would be different, but I can’t give you what you want now.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Sweetheart, please-” he gets cut off by tiny footsteps padding down the hall.

“Mommy?” Joseph swings his head in your direction, looking as shocked as you probably did when you opened the door.

“Give me a minute,” you stand, making your way to your daughter’s room before putting her back to bed. A nightmare had woken her up. Soon, you’re back in the seat across from Jo.

“You have a daughter?” his eyes are wide, and you think you can see some tears beginning to form in them.

“Two actually,” that’s when Jo notices you playing with the diamond on your ring finger. That’s funny. You had always told him you wanted an opal engagement ring, never having liked how transparent diamonds could be. 

“You’re married?” he lets his eyes shoot back up to yours, “You moved on?”

“I had to Jo. For me,” you feel slightly guilty for some reason.

“How could it be that easy for you?” he looks hurt, offended at the fact that you were able to leave him in the past.

“He was here. You weren’t,” you let a little bit of spite seep through your words, hoping it would hurt him a fraction of the amount you felt when he left.

“That’s not fair,” he starts.

“No, Joseph. What isn’t fair is you leaving me behind like I was nothing for an NHL paycheck. I moved on.”

“Did you? Because from what I can tell, this guy doesn’t know you at all.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“I do! I know you probably secretly hate that diamond on your finger because you would’ve wanted an opal. I know you’d never paint the walls this shade of beige. You always wanted colors, real colors, that make the room feel brighter. I know you wish there was a bouquet on this table right now because you love fresh flowers. I know one of those girls in there is named Margot, and if I had to guess the other is named Maeve because those were always your top two options for girl names. I know if I went to the master bathroom right now it would probably have a Jack and Jill sink because you think there’s not enough counter space for two people otherwise. Don’t tell me I don’t know you when I know this isn’t what you would’ve wanted. Where even is this guy, huh? How often is he home?” he takes a moment to catch his breath, but all of your emotions hit you at once. Before you know it, you’re crying in the arms of a man you thought you’d never see again.

When you finally calm down, you decide to be honest with Joseph, “Never,” you say it so lowly he almost doesn’t hear.

“Never what, baby?”

“He’s never here. The girls are used to it now. They barely talk to him when he is. I couldn’t even tell you the last time he kissed me Jo, or even took me out to dinner. You’re right. He doesn’t know me. He never has, and I’m miserable. The only thing keeping me going are Margot and Maeve.” Jo feels his heart soar knowing he got the names right, but he doesn’t let it cloud his judgment. 

“Let’s get you out of it then,” he says it like it’s a fact, like he knows you’ll say yes. You suppose he does know you better than anyone because you agree quicker than you’d like to admit.

“Okay,” you risk looking up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll work on starting the divorce process tomorrow. I can’t live like this. Ellis can keep doing whatever he wants without me and the girls tying him down.” 

For the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. You were truly happy, and you had a sneaking suspicion Joseph had a lot to do with it. You could only hope he’d stick around this time.

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[endlessburningdarkness]

If you wanted to write a AU of SVSSS Ending, with your ideas, what would you write?

is this about my bingqiu fix it idea?

i made a post about it once, here's the link: https://www.tumblr.com/endlessburningdarkness/759446410753097728/fic-im-working-on-bingqiu-au-after-maigu-ridge?source=share

basically the idea is post maigu ridge, shen yuan is absolutely traumatized and everyone else like liu quingge and yue qingyuan is horrified hen they find him near dead and with blood running down his thighs. they don't just let him go to luo binghe and he's not just magically okay after essentially being raped for the sake of plot. he could not give any proper consent because the alternative was the world ending. this is called coerced consent, and thus is sexual assault.

shen yuan saying he "chose" it doesn't change the fact that he felt he had no otehr choice, other than dying or letting the world get destroyed, which is not a choice obviously.

luo binghe also reacts more realistically and more emotionally intelligent and like he actually cares about shen yuan and not just about getting in his pants. he's horrified by what he unintentionally did. he gives shen yuan space and time to recover. making sure to wear different clothes than he did that day and not touching him or getting too close etc.

he self reflects and realizes he too was at fault for the events that happened.

shen yuan slowly heals and begins to experience his attraction to men as luo binghe is still there, making amends by fixing up the mess he created when trying to end the world. he's sometimes practising without a shirt for example and shen yuan admires him. shen yuan realizes and accepts he's into men but is still nervous about sex with binghe because he's fucking traumatized and doesn't want that dick anywhere near him. he has nightmares and they don't sleep together.

as i said things slowly get better, with binghe's patience and reassurance that they never have to do anything helping shen yuan gan confidence in his own desires. luo binghe goes to a brothel to learn how to pleasure a man, and then goes home and practices with a dildo he got from the brothel ladies.

then he eventually seduces shen yuan slowly and gently, and they have amazing loving, non-coerced, non-guilty tripped, not "i'll endure because i must" but actually genuinely mutually desirable and enjoyable sex. shen yuan gets the sex god husband he deserves and luo binghe is reassured that he won't hurt his beloved ever again. shen yuan also has some character growth, realizing luo binghe is not just the "protagonist" who MUST TOP, because luo binghe bottoms for him and loves it.

fixed.

[blackcorvette]

Own My Mind

Summary: 1986. Hawkins, Indiana. It’s not your fault that you’re pulled into the messy secrets and hidden world of your small town. It’s not your fault that two of your new acquaintances seem to be fond of you, and not of each other.

Warnings: Language. Stranger Things central violence. Spelling errors, grammar mistakes, and rushed writing. Eventual smut… (buckle in, it’s a long ride.) MDNI

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Hello again, welcome back to this humble little- whatever. Week five is here, and I just spent the weekend writing nonstop for this fic- there is much much more waiting for you guys in the future :) Special thanks to my bestie, @djosfavewig who will always be the first to know what happens, before it even does. Now, let’s read.

Currently Reading: Part Five

Masterlist

It starts with Nancy, she begins the story from where it starts. Retelling what you had learned from Steve and the kids, only this time with more attention to details that you hadn’t heard before, it’s only a summarized version, but it’s enough to give you a better idea- and enough for Victor to form his own view.

Then, when she finishes, you take over, from the point that you’ve been present. You tell Victor about Chrissy, letting Nancy speak about Fred, then you come back to tell him about Eddie running, how you found him. You tell him about searching for evidence, the school therapists office, then Max’s experience.

“When he attacks, our friend described it as a trance.” You recall what Eddie had said about what he had witnessed in the trailer, trying to remember what you had read from the papers as well. “Like a waking nightmare. What’s why we think he’s coming for her next. Does any of this, anything we’ve told you, sound like what happened to your family?”

“Victor?” Nancy prompts when he’s quiet too long. “I know this is hard-”

“You don’t know anything!” He yells and the echo of it rings, it continues in your mind even when it’s gone.

“You’re right.” You say, keeping your voice quiet, soft, trying to ease his nerves even as you struggle to maintain your own. “We don’t know. That’s why we’re here. To learn, to understand.”

“We need to know how you survived that night.” Robin says.

He lets out a laugh that sounds more terrifying than humorous. “Survived? Is that what you call this? Did I survive? No, I assure you, I am still very much in hell.”

When he speaks, he reminisces. Its slow, a memory coming to mind that’s not too far gone, one that he thinks of often, maybe even always. A soft smile forms on his lips, out of place with the scars, but whist full.

“I had been back from the war, some fourteen years. Her great uncle had died, leaving us a small fortune. Enough to buy a new home.” He says. “A new life. It was…a magnificent home. Alice said it looked like it was from a fairy tale.”

“Alice? Was this your daughter?” You ask him, hoping that he doesn’t take it as a hostile sign.

“Mhm, yeah.” He nods, and his smile falters as he continues, a happy memory tainted. “But Henry, my…my boy, he was a sensitive child. And I could see he felt something was wrong. We had one month of peace in that house. And then it began. Dead animals. Mutilated, tortured, began to appear near our home. Rabbits, squirrels, chickens, even dogs. The police chief blamed the attacks on a wildcat. This, this was no wild cat. This was an evil. And evil neither animal nor human. This was a spawn of Satan- A demon. And it was even closer than I realized.”

“My family began to have encounters, conjured by this demon. Nightmares. Walking, living nightmares.” The way he reuses your phrase, it solidifies your belief in him, in the evil you’ve become entangled with, the evil you are now attempting to fight. “This demon, it seemed to take pleasure in tormenting us. Even poor, innocent Alice. It wasn’t long before I began to have encounters of my own. I suppose, all evil must have a home. And though I had not a rational explanation for it, I…I could sense this demon. Always close. I became convinced it was hiding, nesting, somewhere within the shadows of our home. It had cursed our town. It had cursed our home. It had cursed us.”

He drops down onto his cot, defeated.

“It took Virginia first. I tried to get the children out- to save them. But…I was back to France. Back in the war. It was a memory, I had thought German soldiers were inside. I ordered its shelling. I was wrong. This demon, it was taunting me, and I was sure it would take me, just as he’d taken my Virginia. But then- I heard another voice.”

He removes his hands from where he had been covering his ears to shield himself from the dark parts of his memory. “At first, I believed it was an angel. And then I followed her. Only to find myself in a nightmare far worse. While I was away, the demon took my children. Henry slipped into a coma shortly after that. A week later he died.”

The crying starts, and it’s horrible, bad enough you have to tighten your fists and dig your nails into your already bruised palms.

“I tried to join them. I tried. Hatch stopped the bleeding. He wouldn’t let me join them!” He’s sobbing now, curled into his cot with his head against the striped pillow.

“The angel you followed…” You ask, though he might be too far gone. “Who was she?”

He doesn’t answer, confirming your suspicions by humming a song, rocking back and forth in the cot in a way that only the most broken man would. Nancy seems not to realize, attempting to try again, calling his name several times louder each- until the cell door at the end of the hall slams open and makes you all jump.

“Is he everything you hoped he would be?” Dr. Hatch yells down the tunnel, in a sinister voice that tells you he’s found out everything you tried to hide in order to get here. “I just had a very interesting conversation with Professor Brantley. Perhaps we should discuss it in my office, while we wait for the police.”

Security removes you, forcing the three of you out of the cell while Dr. Hatch yells, storming ahead to lead you back out of the cells and through the asylum.

Nancy begins to spill everything, about Eddie, Max, and every little detail that her mind can pull up and spit out- and if you weren’t in your own head trying to organize your plan to escape- you would be telling her to shut the fuck up.

They take you through the building and back into the listening room- where your eyes linger on the patients listening to music.

Debussy.

Etta James.

Elvis.

Brenda Lee.

Beethoven.

They shove you out of the room, Robin yells at the guard who had physically pushed her, and you follow quickly. As soon as you’re out of the doors, into the grounds of the inner courtyards and gardens, she pulls you and Nancy close.

“Victor said the night of the attack, everything went on in the house.” She whispers in a hurried manner, eyes darting up to make sure the guards and Hutch don’t hear. “But he made specific mention of music. He said music was playing- and then when we asked him about the Angel? He started to hum-‘Say nighty-night and kiss me, Hold me tight and tell me you miss me-‘”

“Dream a Little Dream of Me.” You remember the title of the song immediately, having listened to it growing up, the radio always on at home as a child. “Ella Fitzgerald.”

“Voice of an Angel.” Nancy says.

“Yeah.” Robin nods, glad that everyone follows her line of thought.

“Hatch said that music can reach parts of the brain that words can’t.” You say, walking briskly beside them, eyes scanning the grounds of the asylum, counting staff members and patients.

Robin nods again, her voice raising slightly, but not enough to alarm the guards. “So maybe that’s the key. A lifeline.”

“A lifeline back to reality.” Nancy mutters.

“It’s worth a shot.” Robin says.

Carefully, you look over your shoulder, at the guards. There are maybe two yards behind, they leave a gap large enough to take a few minutes to close if you run at the right time. They could get you, but only if they expect it and predict your movements beforehand.

“I think we can beat him.” You whisper.

“What?” Robin gives you a concerned look.

“To the car.” You say, ignoring the look Nancy shoots you.

“Okay, I’m warning you right now. I have terrible coordination.” Robin stresses. “Like, it took me six months longer to walk than all the other babies-”

“Just follow my lead.”

Before she can object, you sprint. You can hear her yelling, but she and Nancy fall right into step beside you- the guard quickly realizing and chasing behind them.

The grass is soft, but the ground beneath is firm enough to keep you from tripping. The patients watch with wide eyes, the staff slowly clueing in and rushing forward to catch you. But you run, as fast as you can, as far as you can and then further. Your sides burn, your lungs acting fast in the sudden burst of adrenaline- your heart doubling its natural rate, but you keep going until you’ve lost your shoes and run through the open gates.

The car is unlocked, and you silently thank God that Nancy hadn’t locked the doors before the meeting. The three of you climb in, and are almost immediately met with pounding fists on the windows. Nancy starts the car quickly, Robin yells, and you curse as you scramble for the radio that a familiar noise comes in and out. Static and Dustin’s frantic voice.

“Robin where the hell are you? This is a code red! I repeat, a code red!”

Finally finding it, you extend the antenna and press the button. “Dustin- It’s me. We copy.”

“Holy shit, finally!” His voice filters in immediately. “Please, please tell me you guys have this figured out.”

“What’s happening?” You have to yell over him, hoping he’d listen. “Dustin tell me what the hell is happening right now.”

“He’s got her- She’s- fuck.” The desperation in his voice hurts and you can’t do anything but talk. “What do we do? Tell me you found out something before-”

“Music.” You tell him.

“What? We need-”

“I can’t explain it now. Music, Dustin. Her favorite song, okay? Something that she loves that has meaning!” You speak as fast as you can, Robin yelling for Nancy to drive faster and your heart racing. “Just do it, okay! Her headphones. Get them and play a fucking song.”

“Okay.” He sounds stricken, and the line falls into static, a sign you hope means he’s doing what you hope will save her.

“Is she okay?” Robin asks frantically. “She has to be okay, right? The music? Fuck the music has to work- if it doesn’t-”

“It’ll work.” You tell her, louder than you meant to be but you can’t handle it, not while you have no clue what is happening or where they are. “It will work.”

It might take minutes, hours or maybe only seconds. All you know is that you can’t ease the tension in your body, you’re sitting up, knee bouncing, and staring out the window. Your hands are clutching the radio waiting for a signal. Nancy speeds away from the asylum, and eventually finds a rural road to start heading back home. Robin is chattering nervously, her hands tapping against her legs. None of you attempt to comfort each other, because there is no comfort to give.

Between the three of you, the car is overwhelmed with anxiety and anticipation. Not a single one of you knows that to do or say, and once Robin no longer has breath…It's silent.

The noise of the road is loud in your ears, mingling with the memory of Victor’s humming, the tune of his song stuck in your head like a spinning record, broken, repeating the same segment.

One, two, four clicks later- still no answer from Dustin. Not a single second of static from his end, not a yell, or a cry.

Nothing.

It will work. It has to work.

Even when Robin takes the radio, attempting to call for a response herself, you sit there waiting and listening. All you need is a voice. Dustin, Max, Steve. You need someone to tell you is she alright or is she…is she alright?

No answers. Not the first or the fifth time she tries. And then Nancy takes it, one hand on the wheel while the other holds the radio. No answers for her either.

Eventually, the radio is set on the dash, sitting in the sunlight as you speed down the road toward Hawkins. You count the street signs, watching the mile markers as you get closer. You're passing the sign reading eighteen miles to town, when the radio finally makes a sound.

Dustin’s voice comes in, quiet, no longer yelling for answers he doesn’t know exist. Robin is the one to pick it up, asks him what happened. And he tells her. She’s alright, she’s sleeping it off now in Steve’s car. They’re heading back to the wheelers.

She’s alright.

====

A loud sound wakes you. Your eyes open slowly, still blurry with sleep. It takes a moment to register that the sound is radio static and a familiar voice coming through.

Sitting up carefully, you make sure not to bump into Steve’s legs, where he’s curled in a seemingly uncomfortable way in an armchair, the same position he had been asleep in when you arrived last night. You search the floor for the radio, before realizing that it’s behind Dustin’s head on the TV stand. Reaching for the radio, you take it and carry it away from the others, who are still sleeping.

In your half asleep state, you press the button in the middle of Eddie trying to reach someone on the other end. “It’s way too early for this, Ed.”

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” His voice lightens when he finally receives an answer. “Um, I'm gonna need a food delivery. Like really soon, unless you want me going out into the world-”

“No, no, no. Don’t do that.” You rub your eyes and stifle a yawn. “Just stay where you are and we’ll be there as soon as we can, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He responds quickly, barely giving you time to finish. “Listen, um, can you pick me up a six-pack? I know it’s stupid as shit, drinking right now, but a cold beer would really calm my jangled nerves-”

Behind you, you hear the sound of Nancy arguing with somebody. “Hey, hold on. I’m gonna have to call you back-” Eddie starts to protest, but you set the radio aside and hurry back in time to see Nancy shaking Dustin awake. “What’s going on?”

She ignores you, speaking directly to a startled Dustin. “Aren’t you supposed to be on Max watch?”

“Yup, yup, yup- Sorry-”Dustin rubs his eyes, still not completely aware of the empty sofa you’re now staring at.

“Where is she?” She asks.

“She’s right there-” He freezes. “A second ago- I swear, I just dozed off for…an hour.”

“Hold on guys-” You try to reason with them, but before either can listen, they shoot up the basement steps to search for her. “Or don’t. That’s a choice too.”

A creaking behind you makes you turn, your eyes landing on a disgruntled Steve Harrington waking up and shifting in the too small armchair, untangling himself.

“That’s what all this noise is about?” He asks groggily, his voice deeper than normal and his eyes squinted as he grunts, stretching his arms. “Max went upstairs like, thirty minutes ago.”

“Alone?” You ask, dropping onto the now empty sofa and refraining from shutting your eyes, still tired.

“Mrs. Wheeler’s up there with her. Making breakfast.” He runs a hand through disheveled hair, somehow making it sit more perfectly than should be possible. “Are you…wearing new clothes?”

“Sleepover, remember?” You gesture lazily towards your discarded backpack. “I brought a few changes of clothes.”

He hums, his eyes lowering to his two days old shirt and the jeans he’d slept in. For a while you sit in silence, both of you still trying to wake up, or maybe just unsure of what to say. But it’s not unpleasant, rather, it’s the opposite.

When he looks up again, his eyes hold yours, and you find that he’s sharing the same feeling. It’s easy to tell that both of you are tired, and comfortable. Here, beside him, you feel at ease in a way you hadn’t in days. Maybe it’s the quiet slowness of the morning, or the fact that you’re alone, save for the sleeping bodies of Lucas and Robin. And for a while, you both embrace the stillness. But like most things, it only lasts so long.

It’s been over twenty four hours since you’ve decided to be upset with him. And in that time, you’ve lost reason to care about it anymore, there’s not an ounce of you that wants to be upset. It’s long faded- but you still feel a wave of something like relief when he brings it to light again.

“I don’t think it’s his fault.”

You ask, sitting up. “What?”

“Eddie. I don’t think he caused this.” He says, his voice kept low and his eyes not leaving yours, holding them captive without trying. “I don’t think that he killed Chrissy.”

“He didn’t.” You look down at your hands, unable to hold his gaze, whether or not you’re greatful to hear what he’s admitting.

He says your name, and it’s almost too much to hear him say it in this context. Your voices are little more than whispers, trying not to wake the others, but it’s like he says it through cupped hands- loud and demanding your attention.

He doesn’t get a chance to continue.

“We’ve got something.” Nancy comes down the steps first, interrupting with a stack of papers in her hand, Max and Dustin right behind. They quickly wake the others, nearly scaring the shit out of Lucas and making Robin yelp.

“What do you mean?” Steve stands, and Robin clumsily clears the coffee table she had been sleeping on, dazed from her sudden wake. “What have you got?”

Nancy and Max begin to pay out the papers, page by page. They connect lines, the scribbled marks coming together like a spider's web. They continue through each page, fitting broken images together until everything aligns.

“What’s this?” You trace your fingers over the lines, frowning at the distorted images. “A map?”

“Almost.” Max says, taking creased pages and beginning to fold them, red and black shapes being manipulated into something else. “I saw this during… At first I thought it was a random mess, like an upside down junkyard. Everything was disconnected and in ruins, torn apart and separated, but it’s not random, it’s all pieces of the same place.”

Steve leans closer, looking down at the pages as Lucas and Robin crowd around. “Where?”

Slowly, she starts to arrange the folded pieces, Nancy helping to match the lines and shapes together. At first, it looks like nothing, but it’s familiar to you. Then, before the image is fully formed, it clicks into place within your memory. You take in a sharp breath, startling the people around you. “The Creel house.”

“What-” Robin gasps, her eyes wide as Nancy lays the last piece, the stained glass door. “Shit.”

“That’s where we need to go next.” Max says, her eyes locked onto the image. “We need to go there and look for something, anything that could be useful. A clue to give us more time or-”

“A cure.” Lucas says, tapping the papers. “If we get there, we can look for a cure. Then you’ll be safe, Max. We can get you the hell away from all this shit, away from Vecna.”

“Lucas-” Dustin attempts to slow him down, but he ignores it.

“A cure.” He says again, sounding nearly distraught. “We can get her out of it, guys. Once she’s safe we can figure out how to take him down, but if this place can fix her-”

“Fix me?” Max cuts him off.

Lucas freezes, stumbling over his words when he tries to recover. “Not fix you. Fix this. If we can fix everything, then it’ll all be over. But a cure-”

“And what if there’s not a cure?” She asks, her voice raised enough that you take half a step back. “What if instead of a cure, I die? What if we find out that I’m going to end up like Victor? If that happens, you still have to defeat Vecna! You still have to figure out how to stop him, so that no one else dies.”

“Max-” Steve speaks to her gently, his hand hovering a few inches from her shoulder, careful.

“No, Steve.” She snaps her head up to him, and for the first time since you’ve met her, you see the pain in her eyes.

They’re red, her cheeks flushed with the same color, and tears threatening to fall. Her eyebrows are furrowed, anger and sadness showing straight through her face. Her voice begins to shake, her hands flexing as she tries to hold herself together. The headphones around her neck sit there as a reminder, of what she’s close to.

“We don’t know what will happen when we get there, but we have to go, okay?” She’s looking at him while she speaks, but she directs it towards everyone in the room. “He needs to hear it- because it’s true. If I die, you need to keep going. You can’t stop, got it? Find out how to kill him, because you fucking have to-”

Steve's hand settles on her shoulder just as the first tear falls, her face crumbling with it. He hushes her, pulling her into his chest and down into the armchair. You can’t see it, because he keeps her face shielded, but you know. You know that she’s crying, her breathing too shallow, even if she falls silent while she cries. She doesn’t sob, she doesn’t yell anymore, she just stays there- and it’s enough.

Nancy clears away the papers, Robin helps her and they step away to talk. Dustin slowly moves across the room when the radio starts to go off again with Eddie’s voice. And Lucas…Lucas doesn’t move. His attention is not once taken off of Max where she’s curled into Steve’s embrace. And you realize that you can’t move either.

For three days, you’ve been involved with them. You’ve only known them for that long, and yet it feels like you’ve always known them. Every problem, you feel you need to help solve. Their triumphs are yours, and their pain…you feel it, every little bit of it. And some moments it seems like everyone is on the same page, because they’re all fighting the same evil. But now, when you look at them, you see that they’re children.

Max, she’s only fourteen. She’s facing a fate worse that anything you can imagine, she’s forced to fear every second- whether she can spare them or not. And now, even while she’s crying, she’s fighting for herself and everyone else. She doesn't deserve it at all, and you wish you could stop it. You wish that you could take all the fear and pain from her, and save her from this monster and every other one that’s looming over.

But you can’t, not now, without knowing how to. And it tears you up, this girl you had met only days ago, that you can’t help her yet. That you don’t know how to, or if you’ll even be able to. It weighs on you, clouding your head with what ifs and wishes you can’t hope for. Things that you never hope to feel again, after everything is over. And it only worsens when you look at Steve.

Only a few years older, Steve is taking responsibility. You can see it in everything he does. He might complain, but he wouldn’t ever leave them when he’s needed. He would never let them be lost, even if it means he has to pretend to know the way. He’s here, holding Max as she cries, as if she’s his responsibility. Because to him, she is. To him, each of the kids, even Robin and Nancy, are under his watch. He doesn’t expect anything from them, and part of you thinks he wouldn’t accept it.

He’s strong, you know it. You see it in the way he talks to her, quietly, trying to sooth her. It’s evident in the way he acts without being asked, in the way he wants to do anything he can. And most of all, it’s in the way he’s able to comfort her while he looks as though he himself might break.

The way his eyes water is nearly impossible to notice. The way his hands tremble on her shoulders, as he rubs her back. The way he has to pause every few seconds to take a deep breath, to keep his voice from becoming unsteady, because he has to stay strong for her.

And it burns a hole in your chest, watching it all unfold, being witness to the unnoticed. But you can’t look away, you won’t, because when it ends, you will be here if they need you.

Because, you have to be.

[moviesiverecentlywatched]

930: Silent Night, Deadly Night: Part 2 [1987]

It's over.

2024’s 12 Days of Christmas… Movies:

5/12

Silent Night, Deadly Night 2 // Dir. Lee Harry

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[serpentface]

Don't get too attached