#[gestures at mild anxiety]

[arodrwho]

well. downside: pysch is not willing to prescribe me stimulants for arguably understandable reasons (pulse a lil stupid) so is instead prescribing me an antidepressant, which im not convinced will actually help as im not.. depressed......

BUT upside: this means i can legally drink coffee again

[sanchoyo]

my dog turned 14 the other day!!! 14 years old in human years... I've had him since he was a pubby and hes 14... woaw....🥺

[proxima-writes]

somebody to hold

pairing: könig x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 4,884

summary:

König discovers cuddle therapy.

You discover König.

author’s note: i don’t play COD, i just have a mask kink. all translations are from google, so feel free to send me corrections if they are needed! translations available at the end of the fic

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), potentially bad German translations, mentions of König’s social anxiety, descriptions of scars, touch starved könig, oral sex (m receiving), size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, mild breeding kink, choking, fingering, ab riding. Let me know if any are missing!

“Hey, your next appointment is here,” the voice of the practice secretary, Amy, says from the doorway of your office.

You look up from your computer, brow furrowed as you click around your calendar. “I didn’t think I had a late appointment?”

“Last minute add. And just…prepare yourself,” she says, eyes comically wide before she disappears.

You shut your laptop and head for the waiting room, curious about what’s got Amy acting so funny.

You stop short in the doorway. Perhaps it’s the veritable mountain of a man sitting in the tiny plastic waiting room chair fully kitted in military combat gear, including a sniper hood that only reveals two pale blue eyes that scan the room. His hands rest on his large thighs, fingers curling against the fabric of his tac pants.

You’re not unfamiliar with military clients. Your office is near a base, after all. You’ve had a few wander in before. But you’ve never had one quite like him.

“Uh, hi? Hi,” you say, clearing your throat. His eyes shoot to you and you swallow nervously. You give him your name, followed with, “I’m going to be your cuddler this evening. Do you want to follow me back to the session room?”

The man gives a single nod before unfolding from his seat. He absolutely towers over you, his build just as broad as it is tall, and he has to tilt his head down to look at you. He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to lead the way.

You lead him to the back session room, a space curated for comfort. It’s painted a deep blue and lit only with dimmable lamp lighting and string lights that can be turned on or off, depending on the client’s preference. There’s a large couch pressed to one wall, a sectional that has a hidden portion that pulls out to fill in the middle, essentially turning it into a bed. It’s perfect for both seated snugglers and the prone cuddlers.

There’s a snack and water station set up on a wood console table near the door, and beside it are cubbies for storing belongings. A large basket of soft blankets sits near the couch, along with an array of pillows.

You look back at the man that has followed you through the door. Those blue eyes take in every detail of the room before they land back on you. You toe off your sneakers, leaving you in your frog patterned socks. You wiggle your toes.

“Did Amy explain the rules to you and brief you on the terms and conditions?” Another silent nod. “Okay, well, everything we do is completely up to you, within those parameters. We can talk or touch as much or as little as you’d like for the length of your appointment. I can make some suggestions for positions, if you’d like?”

His hands fidget at his sides, fingers flexing and curling into fists like he’s not sure what to do with them. He stares down at the shoes that you’ve left by the door.

“You don’t have to take anything off, if you don’t want to,” you reassure him. “Why don’t you take a seat on the couch?”

The man takes two broad steps before taking a seat, as instructed. You feel a weird sort of giddiness that a man clearly as powerful as him listened to your orders.

He sits with his back straight as a bar of steel, eyes trained on you for the next step in the process, hands placed on his thighs once more. You take a tentative step closer.

“I’m going to sit right here, okay?” You narrate as you sit down near him, a cushion of distance between your bodies. “Is this alright?”

He nods.

“Would you like me to be closer? Or farther?”

“Closer,” a deep accented voice says. It makes your breath catch, the quiet gentleness of it and the way it sounds rough from disuse. “Please.”

You scooch closer, the distance between your bodies shrinking but not yet removed. “Okay?”

“Ja. Yes,” he says. A pause. “Could you…closer?”

“Of course. Is it okay if our bodies touch?”

He nods. You close the gap between your bodies, your thigh pressed along his and your arms brushing with each breath. He’s tense, shoulders tight and fists clenched as he breathes rhythmically through his nose and out his mouth. You let him take a moment to adjust.

“What’s your name?” You ask quietly.

“König.”

________

You are very warm. König can feel the heat of you even through his gear.

He feels a bit ridiculous, sitting here on a couch beside a stranger who he has paid to cuddle him. And he can’t even reach that point yet. Even just having you sit beside him has him trying to calm his breathing.

In…2…3…4….Out.

“Would you like to talk about anything?” You ask. He glances down at you. Scheiße, you’re pretty. That fact certainly isn’t helping him keep calm.

He shakes his head, not trusting his voice to reply. You give him a small smile.

“Well, do you mind if I talk?”

No, he doesn’t mind at all. He’d listen to your voice for hours if he could, the way it's so soft to his ear compared to the shouts and commands he’s used to hearing day in and out. He shakes his head.

Your small smile grows, a bright grin across your face that makes your nose crinkle adorably. König finds his shoulders relaxing the slightest bit.

You tell him about your day and how you were looking forward to the weekend because there is a show that you wish to catch up on. You talk about your cat, a little orange tabby that you adopted three years ago named Toast and how he likes to perch inside the window and watch the birds outside of your apartment. You also mention that Toast has an entire wardrobe of sweaters for the winter that he hates, but you love putting him in them anyways.

Slowly, the tension leaves König’s body. He relaxes against the back of the couch and adjusts his legs, stretching them out in front of him. His hands, which once fidgeted in his lap, are now folded on his chest as he tilts his head back and listens to your stories.

“König?” You place a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Our time is up.”

He blinks. Oh. He must have fallen asleep. He looks over to find you smirking at him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bore you to sleep,” you say, voice self-deprecating.

“It was not boring, liebling,” he replies quietly.

______

The following week, you notice a calendar event labeled [CLASSIFIED]. You ask Amy about it.

“It’s the big guy from last week. He made a standing appointment,” she tells you. “But he’s all big, scary military so he didn’t give me a name to put down.”

You smile to yourself. You know his name.

It feels like a fun secret between the two of you.

You’re thrilled that he wants to come back. You hadn’t stopped thinking about his voice and those bright blue eyes all weekend.

When it's time for his appointment, you smile brightly at him in the waiting room. He follows you back to the session room, just as silent as the last time he visited.

You remove your shoes, just as before. He sits on the couch without being prompted.

“Would you like me to sit beside you? Like last time?” You ask. He nods.

You sit down, close enough that your limbs brush, just as you had the week prior. He seems a bit more at ease this time.

“How is Toast?” He asks. You beam at him, thrilled that he remembered you told him about your cat. You tell him about your weekend spent on the couch with your furry friend.

“Can I--,” he begins to ask, pausing uncertainly. He lifts his arm slightly.

You wiggle against him, settling against his side as his arm drops across your shoulders.

“Danke,” the man says. “Thank you.”

“Of course, König.”

______

It goes like that for four weeks. Konig sits on the couch and allows you to settle in beside him, your sides pressed together on the couch. You talk to him about anything and everything that comes to mind, and he listens intently.

He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, you cling to his words. Especially when he slips into speaking in German.

And if you have to press your thighs together for relief during those moments? Well, you hope the man doesn’t notice.

On the fifth week of his appointments, König surprises you.

When you remove your shoes, König begins to unclasp the buckles holding his tac vest to his chest. You grin at him in encouragement as he sets it to the side.

“I feel…naked,” he comments with a small huff of laughter.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the cheeky reply that ran through your head. He is a client, after all.

He sits beside you on the couch, just as all the other sessions started, but he fidgets with the strap of his leg holster. “Could—,” he starts, pausing for breath. “Could we….lie down?”

“Of course,” you murmur. “Do you have a preference for position?”

“You can…lay your head on my chest?” He says. You give him an encouraging nod, standing up so that he can rearrange his large body so that he’s laying on his back. You reach for the pull tabs of the middle section, sliding it into place. He looks at you in surprise. “That was neat.”

You giggle. “Yeah, this couch is the best,” you comment as you crawl onto the cushion and settle your body along his, your head pillowed on his hard chest.

“This is…nice,” he says.

“Yeah, big guy. It is.”

______

Two weeks into sessions where you lay beside König, he begins talking.

In a quiet, albeit deep, voice he tells you about how he struggles with social anxiety. Being as big as he is was never useful for him until joining the military. He was mercilessly bullied in school as a young boy. He wanted to be a sniper, but his size was a burden to the position. Not to mention, he can’t sit still. He fidgets constantly, and his mind tends to wander if his body is not in motion.

His heart beats quickly beneath your ear as he tells you all the things about himself that he’d been keeping close to his chest for the last two months. He doesn’t stick to just the serious things. He tells you that his favorite color is blue. He has a massive sweet tooth and would kill a man for some traditional Sacher torte.

The laugh that accompanies that particular bit of information might just be your favorite sound in the world.

You don’t mention when your time with him has come to an end. You let him keep talking, afraid to break the spell and return König to his more stoic state.

König ends up noticing that the time has gone past his scheduled appointment. His blue eyes go wide and he sits up abruptly, knocking you off his chest as he begins to apologize profusely in a mix of German and English.

You place a hand on his chest. “It’s okay, König. Really. I just…I like spending time with you,” you admit quietly.

He rests a large gloved hand over yours.

“I enjoy our time as well, mein herz.”

______

König doesn’t show for his next scheduled appointment.

Or the one after that.

Or the one after that.

By the fourth missed appointment, you start to lose hope that you’d ever see him again.

You just hope he’s okay.

______

A sharp knocking noise breaks through your heavy sleep. You roll from the bed, landing gracelessly to the ground and startling Toast, the tabby darting beneath the bed for cover. Another knock sounds through the apartment as you stumble towards the door.

You stand on the tips of your toes to peer through the peephole with bleary eyes. Fumbling with the locks, you pull the door open as quickly as you can.

“König?” You ask breathlessly.

______

The adrenaline from the mission still courses in König’s veins as he tries to wait patiently for you to answer the door to your apartment, but he’s about one minute from either kicking down the door or picking the locks.

He imagines you would likely not appreciate either effort.

But finally, finally, he can hear your soft steps on the other side of the door before the locks disengage and the door is pulled open.

“König?” You ask. You’re wearing a large t-shirt that hits the middle of your thighs, more skin on display for his greedy eyes than he’s ever gotten the chance to see before.

“Liebling,” Konig replies. He steps forward, tentatively crossing the threshold to your home. When you don’t stop him, he takes another step. You look up at him with wide eyes.

“Where…what—,” you stutter, moving aside so that he can fully enter the apartment. He shuts the door behind him.

“Please, liebling, I–,” he starts, words catching in his throat as he looks down at you, the emotions bubbling up his throat. “I need you.”

______

König keeps his eyes trained on you as he unbuckles his helmet, lifting it from his head and dropping it to the floor. Next are the protective braces on his arms and legs, followed by the heavy tac vest and thigh holster.

He lifts the sniper hood, revealing the black balaclava beneath. His chest heaves with harsh breaths as his wide eyes scan your face.

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing tightly, your head pressed to his chest as you close your eyes and inhale the scent of him.

“Missed you, König,” you murmur. His arms wrap around your shoulders, holding you impossibly tight to his body.

Suddenly you’re lifted from the ground and you squeak with surprise, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms circling the back of his neck, holding onto him like a koala. The position puts you face to face with the man. His eyes search yours.

“Is this okay?” He asks. All you can do is nod. “Where is your bedroom?”

“Down the hall, last door on the right,” you instruct. König abandons his gear by the door, taking broad steps down the hall in the direction you gave. He gives the door a gentle kick, opening it wide enough to enter.

Toast darts out from beneath the bed, sliding past König’s legs and out to the living area.

He sets you gently on the bed, standing between your spread legs. His eyes remain fixed on yours as he kneels, deft fingers tugging at the laces of his boots.

You could get used to a view like this.

König stands to his full height once he’s removed his boots. A broad, scarred hand cups your cheek tenderly, calloused thumb moving across your cheekbone.

“Mein Liebling," he murmurs. His hand leaves your face and works the fly of his pants open, tugging the rough fabric down over his thighs.

You try very hard not to look but when he curls his fingers into the hem of his combat shirt, you can’t help the greedy way your eyes rove the miles of pale skin.

You take in the muscular thighs that give way to a defined Adonis belt, the cut so severe beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs that you long to trace your tongue along the valley. His abs flex, guiding your exploration up towards his thick chest.

There’s a litany of scars across his body, from smaller bullet wounds to deep slashes covered in thick scar tissue. You reach a hand out, lightly trailing your fingers across one that spans from his collarbone to the middle of his chest.

His hand curls over yours, holding it still against his warm skin. You can feel the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palm.

König’s free hand grasps the top of the balaclava and pulls, finally revealing the face of the man that’s occupied your every free thought over the almost two months you’ve known him.

Shaggy dark blonde hair falls across his forehead, slightly damp with sweat. Thick straight brows over the ice blue eyes framed with long blonde lashes you’ve become so familiar with. A slightly crooked nose and high cheekbones that lead into a strong, stubbled jaw.

There are scars on his face, too. A long silver scar slashes through this eyebrow and across his nose. Another cuts across the high point of his cheek.

He is so beautiful.

You watch as his cheeks turn pink and you belatedly realize you’d said that out loud. You shift to your knees on the mattress, reaching for his hand and pulling him toward you. He plants a knee on the soft surface and you guide him up until you’ve reached the pillows.

Stiffly, he lays beside you, head turned to watch you with those familiar blue eyes. You lay your head on his chest, sighing at the heat of his skin beneath your cheek. You wrap your arm around his waist and throw a leg over his hips, squeezing him tightly.

König doesn’t speak. He has an arm around your body, fingers pressing into the grooves of your ribs to hold you close. You breathe in tandem and his tense muscles begin to relax in your hold.

You shift your leg slightly, eyes going wide as you feel his cock against your knee. Feeling brave, you shift again, dragging your knee along the side of him.

His breathing stutters and you can feel his abs tense beneath you. You slide your hand across his chest, skimming your fingertips across the tight muscles.

“What are you doing, Kleine?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest to look at him.

“I want…can I—,” you stutter, losing your words at the dark look in the man’s eyes.

“I would let you do anything you wanted to me,” König says. “All you have to do is ask.”

You swallow nervously. “Can I touch you?”

“You are touching me,” he replies, a little smirk tilting his lips.

You ghost your hand across his straining length in retaliation. The smirk drops so fast you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips.

“What happened to all that cockiness, hm?”

“Do not tease.” His hips flex beneath your palm, grinding his cock against your hand. “I have very little patience for it.”

You sit up on your knees beside him, moving one of his thick thighs to the side with a press of your hand so that you can crawl between his legs. He looks down at you with half lidded eyes, an arm thrown behind his head to prop him up to see better. You curl your fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Is this okay?” You ask. He nods.

Permission granted, you slowly work the elastic down until his cock bobs free, slapping obscenely against his abs. Your mouth waters at the sight of the thick, uncut length of him.

“Jesus Christ, König,” you mutter. “Where do you think this thing is going to fit?”

“Ideally? Down your throat and then your cunt,” he replies easily. When you look up at him with wide eyes, he grins so brightly you feel like you’re looking into the sun.

And you’d gladly go blind for it.

You lean forward, giving into the urge to dip your tongue against the divot of his hip, running it along the cut of his abs reverently. His hips jolt at the contact, a whine spilling from his plush pink lips.

“Scheiß,” the man growls. “Bitte, baby, please,” he begs.

You let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing the prominent vein there to the flared head. You swirl your tongue along the tip, gathering the bead of precum and swallowing it greedily.

König’s chest rises and falls rapidly with his heavy breathing, his large hands fisting your blankets so tightly you briefly worry his bones may crack. He watches you intensely, almost like he’s worried you may disappear if he so much as blinks.

“Relax, König,” you coo, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. “Let me take care of you.”

______

König has to think about the steps for disassembling a rifle to prevent himself from coming down your throat too quickly. The tight wet heat of your mouth feels so heavenly that for a moment, he worries that he may have actually taken a bullet to the chest on this last mission and he is actually in heaven.

But then you swirl your tongue around the sensitive head of his cock when you draw up his length and he realizes there would be no sin as glorious as this in heaven.

You eyes catch his as you slide him to the back of your throat, your lips straining around him as you try valiantly to take more of him than your limit allows. You gag around him, throating tightening exquisitely before you withdraw for a gasp of air.

You return to your task with admirable determination, eyebrows pinched together in concentration as you work to relax your throat and draw him in deeper.

“Just a little more, liebling, you can do it,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek, feeling the bulge of him in your mouth as his thumb traces the stretch of your lips around his cock. “Nimm das alles für mich.”

Your lips meet your small hand that is still wrapped around the base of him and you breathe deeply through your nose as you hold yourself there for a moment, throat fluttering around him. He groans, fighting the urge to flex his hips and drive himself even deeper.

“That’s it,” he whispers. Your eyelashes glisten with little tears, tiny pearls of wetness that speak to your efforts to please him. “That’s my baby.”

You moan around him as you pull back, his cock dropping from your mouth with an obscene pop. Your breathing is labored as you scramble up his body. König’s hands steady you with a grip around your waist as you reach for his face, tugging him into a messy kiss.

It’s a desperate clashing of lips and teeth and tongues that has König groaning, little whimpers slipping past your lips as he explores your mouth. Your teeth nip into his lower lip before trailing down his jaw and neck.

“Let me see you, Schatz,” he asks, a hand sliding up the back of your thigh to grip your ass and grind your body against his.

You flip beside him hastily, tearing your panties down your thighs and pulling your shirt over your head. Gloriously naked, you straddle his waist.

You’ve positioned yourself just out of reach of where he wants to feel you the most. His hands circle your waist, sliding up until his thumbs caress the underside of your breasts.

“So schön, meine liebe,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across one tight nipple. Your hips flex and roll across his stomach and he can feel the slick wetness drenching his abs.

“König,” you moan, blunt little nails curling into the hard muscle of his pecs. Your head drops back, the long line of your throat calling to his hand.

He gives into the impulse, wrapping his fingers around your delicate neck, not constricting but merely holding. Your eyes go wide, hands gripping his wrist as you lean into the hold, your hips still grinding against him.

“You are making quite the mess,” König comments with a grin. You shudder in his hold. “Do not worry, liebling, I have never been afraid to get dirty.”

You moan, the sound vibrating deliciously against the hand he still holds around your neck. Your hips still over him as your release courses through you, your eyes fluttering shut.

König releases your throat and you sag against him. He runs a hand down your sweat slick back, over the curve of your ass until he can slip a single finger into your still fluttering hole. You gasp against his neck and he smiles.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, working his hand against you. You make little whimpering noises, lips working against his neck as you rock back against him. He eases a second finger into your dripping pussy, which earns him the sting of your teeth against his skin. “Scheiß!”

_______

You push yourself up on shaky arms, staring down into König’s dark eyes. His fingers slip from your pussy and you whine quietly at the loss.

“Wanna fuck you, König, please?” You murmur.

“I would love nothing more,” he says. He takes his cock in hand. “Take it, liebling.”

You lift your hips to position yourself over him, the fat tip of him notched at your entrance as you start your slow descent. The stretch of him is almost too much to bear, and it must show in your face because he drags a soothing hand across your thigh.

“That’s it,” he coos.

You slide another inch further with a whimper. “You’re so fucking big,” you tell him breathlessly. He chuckles, his cock pulsing inside of you and making you moan.

“Just think about how good it will feel when it is all inside of you, mein süße,” he says. “Filling every inch of you.”

You moan, your body accepting another inch. Your thighs shake with your efforts.

König’s hands grip your hips tightly, sure to leave fingertip shaped bruises that you’ll discover in the morning. On a deep breath, you lower yourself until you’re fully seated and stretched to your limit.

“Good fucking girl,” he growls. You meet his eyes, the blue nothing more than a thin ring around his blown pupils. His chest heaves as he breathes that same controlled rhythm you’ve watched him use before.

In…two…three…four…out.

You shift your hips experimentally, gasping at the overwhelming feeling of fullness. He wasn’t kidding about filling every last inch of you.

Pressing your hands to his chest, you lift your hips just barely off of him before dropping yourself back down. He moans, your name a curse and a prayer on his lips as you continue to build up a rhythm for yourself until you’re lifting almost fully off of him and slamming back down.

“Scheiß! Fuck!” König shouts as your pace picks up. “Mein perfekter kleiner Schatz.”

You lean forward to meet his lips, more of a sharing of breath than a kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you still as he thrusts up into you.

“König!” You cry, the slide and stretch and dull ache of him too much and yet not enough. His powerful thrusts are so deep at this angle that your eyes well with tears. Each drag of his cock from your pussy hits a spot that makes you see stars. “I’m gonna cum, please, König, please make me cum.”

“Anything for you,” he promises through gritted teeth, his hips picking up speed as he uses a hand on your ass to help slam you down on his cock. He turns his head, his nose brushing against yours tenderly in direct contrast to the way his hips pound against you. “Cum for me, engel. Let me see you.”

With a cry, you do just as he commands, your whole body going taught before sparking like a live wire, your release rolling over you so strongly it's more like a tsunami than a wave. He moans against your lips, hips pounding in an erratic speed as he works you through your orgasm and into his own.

“Fill me up, König,” you slur. “Wanna feel you. Bet you’ll get it so deep with your huge fucking cock.”

He comes with a deep groan, pressing up so deep as he spills inside of you that you gasp at the sensation, the warm heat of him filling you to the brim.

You collapse against him, the sweat on your bodies cooling in the chill of your apartment. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I missed you,” you murmur, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I will always come back,” he whispers, smoothing the sweat damp hair from your forehead. “So long as you are here for me.”

You tug the blanket from the foot of the bed over your bodies, snuggling into his side. You enjoy the quiet together, his fingers drifting up and down your back. The rapid patter of paws on the wood floor announces the approach of your cat.

The orange tabby hops on the bed, walking on light feet until he reaches the pillow König rests his head on. He curls up along the top of the man’s head, purring contentedly.

“Hello, Toast,” he says. His eyes flick to you. “This is a good sign, yes?”

“I’d say it was an excellent sign,” you reply, kissing the man’s cheek. He smiles.

“Good. Because I think I will be here a while.”

Translations:

Scheiße - fuck

Danke - thank you

mein herz - my heart

Mein Liebling - my darling

Kleine - little one

Bitte - please

Nimm das alles für mich - take it all for me

Schatz - treasure

So schön, meine liebe - so beautiful, my love

mein süße- my sweet

Mein perfekter kleiner Schatz - my perfect little darling

engel - angel

[bbydoll18xx]

Spike Me, Baby, One More Time

Paige Bueckers x fem!volleyball player

Based on this request: Can I request like fem! Volleyball player reader x paige? Like Paige and the team getting so excited for the volleyball game and watching her star vball girlfriend play? And even like a post game party or just something cute and domestic!! Smut or not smut, idc!!! Thank you I love your writing!!!

Themes: some suggestiveness, fluff, proud!Paige

Word Count: 1.2k

---------------------------------------------------------------

“Guys, hurry the fuck up. The game is starting soon,” Paige grits out impatiently. She is gesturing wildly toward the doors of the arena, where you were soon playing. Paige Bueckers generally did not care much about being early to things, but she did not want to miss a single second of watching you destroy your opponents. Your mild disposition was shattered on the volleyball court, making you absolutely ruthless. 

And Paige fucking loved it. 

She and several of UCONN’s women’s basketball team were coming to your game, and you were looking forward to seeing their obnoxious signs and hearing their loud hoots of support. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought. You had a family in Paige and her teammates, and just as you loved to support them, the feeling was mutual. 

As you step out onto the court, taking a deep breath to quell the nervous energy bubbling up inside your chest, you hear several people over the roar of the crowd. Craning your head toward the bellows, you see Paige, standing beside KK and Ice. They were jumping, waving their arms in a way that had bystanders rolling their eyes in annoyance. A grin emerges on your face, and all the pre-game anxiety vanishes. 

The game begins, and you’re locked in. Similarly to how you are with Paige, the world fades away into nothingness. Nothing else exists except you, the ball, and the overwhelming desire to win. 

A few times throughout the game, you lock eyes with Paige, feeling her encouragement, and the gratification hits you like a drug, fueling you through the end. The game ends with you spiking the ball ferociously, and the stadium erupts in deafening cheers as the ball slams against the floor. 

You yell out ecstatically, jumping into the arms of your teammates and spinning in the confetti that was falling. Life felt pretty fuckin’ good. 

Once you are changed out of your sweaty uniform, you leap out of the locker room, nearly running straight into Paige. 

“Stalker, much?” You tease, a giant smirk plastered on your face.

“Duh, I’m your biggest fan, baby,” Paige quips, and she was wearing an equally smug look.

“For real, though. Thank you guys for coming. Means a lot,” You beam, looking up between your blonde girlfriend and the two younger girls standing at her side. 

“Be for real. Like we would miss it!” KK declares solemnly, Ice nodding her head in agreement. 

“I think my roommates are throwing a celebratory party in our apartment. You guys down?” You ask, already knowing their answers. No one was going to turn down free alcohol and a chance to be a little crazy. 

~

Paige was fucking plastered. And you were loving it. So was every other person crammed into your apartment for the party. 

“Babyyy, give me a kiss. I love you so much,” Paige whines, smushing her lips up in a dramatic pout. You giggle, your cheeks pink between the alcohol and your girlfriend’s declarations of love. You peck her on the lips to appease her, but she pulls you in by the waist, anchoring your mouth to hers.

The alcohol in your veins, paired with the delicious taste of victory, created an irresistible desire to just let go. Climbing further onto Paige’s lap, you can feel the muscles of her thighs tense under you, and you let out a quiet moan into the slick heat of her mouth. No one hears it except for Paige, and it goes straight between her legs. 

“Whoa, y’all might wanna cool it on the PDA,” you hear over the blasting of the music. You pull away from Paige to see Ice standing over the two of you with a slightly repulsed expression covering her face. You’d think she would be used to the two of you by now, but you know she was only being protective. 

“Just proud of my girl,” Paige retorts, looking at you on her lap with a fond smile. A new wave of butterflies erupts in your belly, and you attempt to scooch closer into her. Ignoring everyone around you once more, including your own friends, you lean back into her and connect your lips again in a passionate embrace. 

You tug at her blonde locks, for once free from the confines of her usual updos and braids, and Paige lets out a groan at the sensation. Your head feels fuzzy from the lustful sounds, suddenly wanting all the people to leave so you could enjoy your girlfriend fully. 

“Wanna go back to yours?” You mumble in her ear, quickly starting to feel desperate. 

Paige pulls back, sighing with a regretful look on her face. “Course I do. But we should stay. I miss my old teammates, and you will, too.”

The honesty was surprising, but it made you realize that you had all the time in the world to kiss Paige.

“Fine,” you whine, somewhat childishly. “But as soon as all these people leave, I’m having my way with you.”

“Good,” Paige mutters. Her desire for you hadn’t waned, and she didn’t think it would. She could survive a few more hours of loud music and polite conversation before following you to your bedroom and fucking you into oblivion. 

And she did. Barely.

The rest of the evening, Paige watched you with such intensity. She was obsessed with every little thing about you. The way your nose scrunched when you laughed. The pink in your cheeks. And the way you licked your lips seductively in her direction after taking a drink from the cup in your hand. 

KK and Ice had left, and as the party began winding down, Paige grew more and more needy. While you were high off of the victory, she was high off of you. And it had been too long since her last hit. Showing an incredible amount of restraint, Paige hides behind her cup, watching you dance around in the center of the room. You make eye contact, from where she is sitting on the couch, and you don’t miss the ways her eyes darken. Her pupils are blown wide with lust, and her widespread legs are beckoning you to come take your rightful place in between them. 

You march over to her, plopping down on her lap once more, loudly stating that the party has ended. The last few stragglers, get the hint, and begin to move towards the door. With some help from your roommates/teammates, the apartment quickly clears out, leaving you with Paige and the soft pumping of whatever Drake song was seductively playing through the speakers. 

You gaze at her, lids heavy with desire, to see those blue eyes staring right back at you with equal intensity.

“Can you fuck me now, baby?” You whisper, your voice husky with want. 

Paige lets out a dark chuckle, and pulls you into her. “Only if you leave that jersey on for me.”

Your heart jumps into your throat. “Deal,” you affirm, pulling her towards your bedroom.

[tkwrites]

Summer Decisions - Quinn Hughes x ofc

gif from gabelandeskog

Title: Summer Decisions - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts

Warnings: Highly emotional, angst. mild fighting, lots of anxiety, swearing, crying, fluff. If I missed anything, please let me know. 

Summary: An invitation to his family reunion over the fourth of July has Quinn and Sarah tumbling into a long conversation about their future in the off-season and beyond. Though the ensuing fight is resolved, the reality of their commitments vs. their love for each other is put to the test.

Word Count: 4,600

Comments: I’m back with some highly emotional goodness. This fic was halfway done for a long time until your overwhelming reactions to my WIP ask game really got me in gear to start writing again. I really like the way this turned out, and I hope you do, too. It's, like, 98% dialogue, so if that's not your thing, I won't be offended if you skip this one, but it is setting up all of our off-season fics.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

I love Quinn and Sarah, and I’m constantly blown away that so many of you love them, too.

Summer Decisions

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

“My parents want to know if you want to come to our family reunion over the 4th of July. It’s in New Hampshire.”

“Oh,” she said, voice quiet. 

“Is that not okay?” 

“It’s just a big step,” she said, “meeting your whole family.” 

“I’m meeting your family in June, aren’t I?” he asked.

They’d discussed him coming to visit when she went home for a few weeks after school. Were it not for the Canucks making it into the playoffs, she would have bought a ticket for the Monday after her classes would be done. Instead, she pushed her visit back until mid-June, wanting to be in Vancouver to support him through the entirety of their run, however long it may be.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” 

It was a little strange to her how comfortably serious they were, but she couldn’t imagine life with Quinn any other way. It was that fated belonging she’d talked about so much when they first met. Even still, it was a little jarring to think about him meeting her family or meeting his before they even hit the six month mark. 

The phrase, ‘when you know, you know,’ never made sense until she met him. She knew, and even though it felt too fast and scary sometimes, she knew it would all turn out okay. 

“So we’ll fly out from Van, what? The night before?”

“I’ll have to fly out from Michigan.” 

“Michigan? Why?” 

“I thought I told you we train in Michigan in the summer.”

“You did, but I thought… I thought maybe that changed?” 

“Why?” 

“Because of us?” she gestured between them. 

“I mean, I’d love for you to come with me.” 

“I can’t do that, Quinn.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t just pack up and move to Michigan. I still have my research work, and if I’m not working or in school for more than 6 weeks in a quarter, it violates my education visa. Not only will I have to move back to the States, I won’t be able to finish my degree.” 

“Then I’ll fly you out every weekend.” 

Pricked, the old wound split open, and she couldn’t quite hide the annoyance in her voice, “so it’s up to me to fly to you?” 

Shit. He hadn’t taken her schedule into account again. “Sorry, no. Of course I’d come here, too.”

The annoyance still fresh in her mind she found herself asking, “why do I have to remind you my time matters for you to take it into account?”

Quinn winced. “I know your time matters. I’m sorry, it’s not fair for me to assume you could just pack up and move or fly out every weekend.”

“Then don’t bring it up again,” she said. 

Okay then. 

“I’m trying here, Sarah. This is all new to me, too.” He’d never felt close enough with June to figure out a summer situation. They saw each other once or twice when he was gone, and that was enough. Looking back, that should have been a huge sign about the trajectory of their relationship.

“And yet, I assume because I have a vagina, I was raised to take other people into account.” 

“That’s not fair,” he said. 

“No? Then why do you always jump into me coming to you? Into me changing my plans? Into me inconveniencing my life before you do?” 

Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. This was supposed to be a nice, light conversation about how he wanted her to meet everyone he loved. 

“Maybe we should just break up for the summer,” she said when he didn’t say anything.  

“What? No!” Quinn sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, hurt and disgruntled she would even suggest such a thing. 

“What would you suggest, then?”

Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “Do you want to date someone else?” His voice was hesitant as he braced himself for the blow. 

“No. Of course not.” 

“Then why do you want to break up?” he asked through the relief easing his mind. “Why would you even say that?” 

“Because we won’t be together.”

“That doesn’t mean we should just call it off. Why do you always jump into ‘we should break up’ or ‘I should go’ when something hard comes up?” 

“I…” Sarah broke off, caught. “I don’t know.” 

“Maybe you should figure that out because I’m willing to put in the work here,” he said, gesturing between them. 

“That’s not fair.”

He raised his eyebrows instead of throwing her words back in her face. 

“I’m sorry, Quinn. I am trying, and I know you’re trying.” Tears pricked at her eyes, “I’ve just…” her mind whirred, trying to find the right explanation. In the end, as it always did with Quinn, the truth won out. “I’m scared I’m going to fuck it up and I don’t want to lose you.” 

Bridging the space between them with one big step, he pulled her against him. When they boiled down to the heart of the problem, they were both scared of the same thing. 

Tucking his nose into her hair, he breathed in the calming, smokey scent that was uniquely hers. “I don’t want to lose you, either,” he said. “We can still be together. Just separately.”

A laugh snorted from her nose, and she pulled back, “what?” 

“Long distance?”

It was Sarah's turn to suck on her lip. “I’ve never done that before.”

“I have. It's not easy. But I think we're both committed enough to make it work. Plus, we'll see each other pretty often.”

She had her thinking face on as a pregnant pause passed, so Quinn didn’t interrupt.

“What would that look like?” she asked, finally. 

“We’d talk on the phone and video chat a lot. I can come see you every weekend.”

“That doesn't make sense, Quinn. You go to Michigan to train and be with family. If you're flying back here every weekend, won't that mess with those things?”

“Probably, but —”

“Then it's out of the question. You need to do what you need to do.” 

He felt whiplashed. “I thought you wanted me to come here.” 

“Only in equal measure to me coming to you. I won’t let you give up your summer training for me.” 

It stuck him how much care and understanding were laid out in that statement. 

“Just like I know you wouldn’t want me to give up my research for you. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

Still wrapped in each others arms, Sarah rested her head on his shoulder as they thought. 

Tucking his face into her hair again, Quinn breathed deeply. As always, that smokey, vanilla scent was so calming to him. He couldn’t ever get it out of his mind. 

“This fucking sucks,” he said, voice muffled.

“I know,” she agreed. “I wish it could be different."

It couldn’t. They both had commitments that needed to be fulfilled, and they just didn’t match up.

“I wish I’d known. I would have made different plans.” 

“How would you have known?” she asked. “We only met four months ago.” 

“Has it only been that long?” he asked. The reality of the swiftness of their relationship hit him full force. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.” 

“I know. I do too.” 

“I don’t want to go the summer without you,” he said, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. 

“I don’t either,” she agreed, “but it’s not like it’ll be five months where we just don’t see each other.” 

“Four,” he corrected. 

“What?” 

“Four months, I come back in September.” 

Well, that was a relief. 

“Okay, four months. I mean, we already have stuff planned. Let’s talk through what we do have,” she suggested, breaking away from him all together and pulling her planner from her bag. Flipping to the summer months, she lay it on top of her comparative physiology textbook and sat at the table. The urge to make a plan itched beneath her skin. 

He sat next to her, leaning in.

“So we have my family in June,” she said, pointing out the 10 days she had blocked out for her visit, “I sort of expected you’d come on the weekend?”  

“Yeah, that sounds good. And our reunion over the forth,” he said, flipping the page. “Then, we’re going to Hawaii at the end of July. You can come. I’ll get you a ticket.” 

“Hold on, have you talked to your family about this?” 

“No, but it’ll be fine.” 

She shook her head. 

He couldn’t believe she was turning down the option to spend two more weeks together. 

“That’s your family vacation, Quinn. I’d love to come, but I don’t want to go inserting myself —”

“You’re not inserting yourself, I’m inviting you.” 

“And I’m telling you I won’t come unless all your family is okay with it. Including Jack.” 

Even though Quinn had assured her Jack was a good guy and very devoted to his family and would come around once they met, he was still aloof anytime she happened to be around when he and Quinn were talking. Even Ellen had said as much, but Sarah still felt hesitant. Until she saw it from Jack himself, she wasn’t about to jump into an already planned vacation. She knew what it was like having a new person join the family. She didn’t want to make it any harder than it had to be. 

Quinn huffed. 

“The last thing I want is to come between you and your brothers,” she said gently.

His expression softened. “Okay. I’ll talk to them about it when they’re here.”

“So, it looks like we’ll see each other every three weeks or so, depending on when you come to Nevada and what Hawaii looks like. At least until August.”

Every three weeks felt like too long. He could hardly stand a week on the road, and they weren’t even living together. Yet. 

“I’d like you to come out to Michigan,” he said, “meet the guys. See the house.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “And you can come back here sometime here,” she said, her finger circling over a few weeks in August. 

Quinn nodded. It certainly wasn’t going to be easy, but it did feel better to have a plan.

“Are you renting this place out for the summer,” she asked, “while you’re gone?”

“I kind of thought you might move in here.”

“What?” 

“I mean, it’s just going to be empty, and I’d really like to live with you when I move back.” 

She couldn’t believe he could drop such a huge bomb so easily. As she tried to reconcile what he was saying, she repeated, “what?” 

“I mean…” he paused, voice and expression suddenly hesitant, “only if you want to.” 

Her brain finally caught up, “it’s not that. It’s just…we haven’t even talked about living together, and now you have this whole plan about how I should live here over the summer.” 

“I just thought there’s no real need for you to pay for rent anymore, since you spend so much time here anyway.” 

“I…” she was struck with the care in that statement, “that’s really sweet, Quinn.” 

He beamed.

“But I can’t live here alone all summer.” 

Expression falling, he opened his mouth.

“I just —” she interrupted before she lost her nerve. What was one more in a series of already vulnerable conversations? “I’d love to live here with you, but I can’t…I don’t know how my depression will act up if I live alone for that long. I’ve never lived on my own before, and I don’t think a summer where I’m missing my boyfriend is the best time to start.” 

The thought that she’d be here alone hadn’t crossed his mind. Not in a concrete way. Like, he knew she’d be here, and he knew he’d be in Michigan, but he never thought about it like she would be the only one in the apartment.

“Oh,” he whispered, taking her hands in his, “then of course not.” 

His immediate acceptance made tears rush to her eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked as she took a hand back to wipe her face. 

Smiling despite the tears on her cheeks, she shook her head. “I just really love you.” Her voice sounded full, almost like she had a cold.

“I love you, too,” he said, feeling a little confused, “but I don’t know why you’re crying.” 

“Just…” How could she explain something like this? “The way you accept and trust my needs. It’s really nice.”

“The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy, Sarah.” 

This brought on a new wave of tears, and she tucked her head into his shoulder, trying to pull herself together. 

Quinn still felt a little whiplashed but tried to roll with it, running a soothing hand over her back. 

“What?” he asked when she mumbled something into his shirt. 

Pulling back, she wiped her nose before repeating, “I’ll have to sign a new lease. It comes up in July.” 

“I’ll buy you out of it,” he said as if it was the simplest, easiest solution to any of the problems they’d discussed that day. 

“I can’t let you do that, Quinn. That’s a lot of money.” 

Her eyes went wide. They’d never discussed money so concretely. She knew he made big bucks. All pro athletes did, but, “eight million?” she asked. “What do you do with it?” 

He hated having this conversation, but it needed to be had. It was actually a little surprising to him that it’d taken this long for it to come up. June had asked him about it a month into dating.

“Sarah, I make eight million dollars a year. I can buy out your lease.” 

“I have a financial advisor who’s helped me invest most of it,” he said, “and I don’t really have all eight million available all the time. But I paid off my parents and some of our families’ houses, and I give quite a bit to charity.” 

She’d seen the way he was with money. He never worried about it, but he certainly didn’t throw it at anything and everything. He wasn’t irresponsible. 

Opening her mouth to say something, she found her mind still reeling and closed it again. 

The annoyed look he would give her when she paid the dinner bill flashed in her mind. No wonder. He made so much more than she did. All the same, she wasn’t about to become some sugar baby. That went against nearly everything her parents had taught her.

“I still want to pull my weight,” she said.

Quinn was a little taken aback by the fierceness in her voice, “what?” 

“If we move in together, I still want to pull my weight.” 

His lips pursed, and he held back his initial response in favor of gathering more information. “What do you mean?” 

“Like, if I make $80,000 a year, I want to pay whatever percentage that is of what you make.”

“You only make $80,000 a year?” he asked. 

“No. Right now, I make $50,000 a year from my research stipend. It pays for my schooling, too, so it’s technically more, but $80,000 is a general base salary for a marine zoologist.” 

“You’ve been living on $50,000 a year?” 

“Yes, and I’ve been fine,” she said, giving him a look that stifled any follow-up questions he may have had. “My point is that if —” she paused to correct herself, “when we live together,” he beamed and she lost her thought for a moment before continuing, “I want to pull my weight, even if it is just a small percentage of the household. I don’t want to be some beholden trophy wife.” 

“Beholden?” he repeated, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“Yes, I don’t want to be some kept woman. A lot of financial advisors that I listen to say you should split the household and each pay the percentage compared to your salaries. How much do you pay here a month? Do you rent? Is it a mortgage?” 

“It’s a rental. It’s not really smart for me to buy a place when there’s a chance I may get traded in three years. It’s not enough time to build adequate equity on a home.” 

Sarah stuck a mental pin in that to come back to, “and how much is your rent?” 

“12,000.” 

“A year?” she found herself asking, even though she knew that couldn’t possibly be the answer.  

“A month,” he said with an indulgent smile, knowing it was her shock speaking more than anything else.

She wasn’t quite sure why, but this fact struck Sarah harder than anything else they’d talked about. She knew she’d never be able to afford an apartment like this on her own, but this was insane. More than a fifth of her yearly salary went to Quinn’s rent each month. She counted herself lucky to find a private room for under $2000.

“Okay, so if I make,” she paused, doing mental calculations - moving decimal points. Her voice was flat when she spoke again, “one percent of what you do…” She trailed off, looking into his face, “Quinn, this is insane.” 

“I know,” he agreed. “I’m happy to just pay, but if you would feel better paying whatever, I’m happy for you to do that, too.” 

 “So, I’d pay one percent of the household expenses.” Saying it out loud, it sounded so silly. One percent? That seemed minuscule, too insignificant to matter. “Maybe I could pay ten percent? One feels too tiny.”

“Sure,” Quinn said, knowing this was important to her. Unless she was storming in, trying to take over all the bills, he was happy to have her contribute in whatever way she wanted. “If you want to do that, let’s do that. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

They sat quietly for a moment, and he gathered his thoughts.

“I know it’s important to you to contribute,” Quinn said gently, “and I’m not saying you shouldn’t - but I just want you to know I’m happy to pay for things. I know I’m insanely blessed to make the kind of money I do to play a sport that I love. I’d really, really like to live together once I move back. So if that means I need to buy out your lease, I’m happy to do it if you’re comfortable with that.”

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she thought. If Quinn paid off her lease, she wouldn’t have to put off moving in with him or live on her own in this giant apartment or find a place to live for the two months between when he was home and when her lease was up. 

She wondered if this was one of those instances her grandmother often talked about. “Sometimes,” she would say while they were cleaning the basement or kneading dough, or working in the garden, “life showers you with blessings. And it’s up to you to catch them.” 

She always accompanied this wisdom by shaping her hands into a bowl as if to fill them with water. 

Sarah did the same now, pulling her other hand out of Quinns to cup them together. 

Eyebrows knitted together, he glanced from her hands to her face. 

She giggled and told him the story. 

“I should start doing that every morning,” he said, cupping his own hands together. 

“Every morning?” she repeated. 

“Well, every morning that you’re here. When I wake up next to you, I feel like the luckiest guy alive.” 

Despite it being incredibly cheesy, Sarah couldn’t help feeling moved. “Quinn that’s really sweet,” she said. “I feel like that, too,” she paused, feeling like she needed to add a caveat. “And I want you to know your money isn’t part of that. I would love you no matter how much money you were making.” 

“I know,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips over hers, “I’ve known that from the start.” 

His hands found her waist as their lips connected. 

A while later, that pin she’d stuck in for later snapped back into her mind, and Sarah pulled away. “What did you mean about getting traded?”

Well, they might as well have all the hard conversations all at once. “I’m in contract for the next three years, but after that, or even before, there’s always a chance I could get traded.” 

The trade deadline had already passed for the season, and Sarah had watched, fascinated, as players were moved around from club to club, like pieces on a chess board as organizations tried to build the best teams possible. Now, she had a new level of understanding, knowing lives and families were being uprooted in the process.

“But they love you here.”

His smile was wide and genuine, “I love it here, too. I don’t really expect I’d be traded anytime soon, but I can’t say never with what I do. I could get seriously injured, or my game could crash.” 

She gave him an incredulous look. 

“Its happened before.” 

“To you?” 

“No, but it has to people I know. I really like it here, but I can’t guarantee I’ll play here forever, or even for the next three years. I think I will, but I can’t say for certain.”

“What happens if you get traded while I’m still finishing my degree?”

“I don’t think that will happen, but I guess we’d make it work apart until you were done. Most players get traded right at the end of their contract, so we’d be apart for the rest of the season, and then we’d decide what to do moving forward. If I was moving clubs by choice, we’d decide where to go together. ”

She nodded. “Do you get any say in trades?” 

“I think I probably would, but it doesn’t always work out that way. I mean, Bo had a monster year last season, but they couldn’t come to an agreement, and so he got traded, and I know he would have liked to stay. It’s just never guaranteed.” 

“How do you live your life like this?” she asked. 

He shrugged, “you just kind of have to get used to the idea that things could change tomorrow.” 

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.” 

The concerns his parents had expressed when they were here snapped into place, and a sudden, consuming worry that she might not want this kind of life overwhelmed him.

“Are you,” he paused to lick his lips, trying to find the right phrasing, “I mean, do you think you could be okay with that?” 

Even as it was racing with anxiety, the worried look on his face melted Sarah’s heart. It was difficult to reconcile the fact that while it felt steady now, his life had the possibility of being in flux all the time, and that where he chose to work was only partially up to him. At the same time, she didn’t want to be without him. The pull between them was too strong, too fated in a way she couldn’t deny. She was too in love with him to be scared of the reality of his life. 

There was only one thing for it. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I think I can,” she said. Perhaps this wasn’t even something she needed to be worried about. Thoughts buzzing, she tried to think of players on Quinn’s level who’d been traded recently. She couldn’t remember any off the top of her head. She’d have to look it up. 

He gave her a relieved smile, and she saw moisture shining in his eyes. 

“Oh, Quinn,” she said, her hands coming up to cup his face. The course hairs of his beard tickled her palms. “I think I’d probably move to the ends of the earth with you.” The words just fell out of her mouth, and once they were out there, spoken aloud for everyone to hear, she realized how true they were. For someone so practical, it was strange for her to have such a frivolous thought mean so much. 

His face split into a beaming smile, and he pulled her into a hug. Tucking his nose into her hair again, he let a few grateful tears fall. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” he said. 

“I don’t know either.” 

A sudden, surprised laugh barked from his chest, and he pulled back with a raised brow.

“Oh no,” her hand went to her mouth as a blush blazed over her cheeks. “I meant that I feel the same way.” Shaking her head, she wondered if she had ever said something so stupid. “You’re the most understanding, accepting man I’ve ever met, Quinn. I’m so glad the Universe brought us together.” 

He nodded, “me too.” 

Looking into his eyes, which seemed more hazel than usual to the point that she could almost see a ring of green near the iris, the reality of what was coming hit her square in the chest, “this summer is gonna fucking suck.” 

“I know,” he said, pulling her into his lap. 

Arms around his shoulders to bring herself closer, her feet hung awkwardly off the sides of the chair. Though she knew her toes would be tingling from lack of blood flow within a matter of minutes, she didn’t readjust, savoring the feeling of his solid chest against hers. 

The deep breath she sighed out moved her whole body against his. “We’ll get through it together, right?” 

Tightening his grip, Quinn agreed. 

As the minutes passed, his hands traveled over her back in slow, calming waves that put her totally at ease. 

“Do you have homework?” he asked quietly, almost as if he didn’t want to hear the question himself. 

“Yeah, but it can wait a while.”

A pleased little hum filtered up his throat, and he pulled her tighter against him. 

“Can we move to the couch, though?” she asked. “My feet are falling asleep.” 

Laughing, he stood, hands cradling her butt to keep her wrapped around him. When she hooked her ankles around his back, Quinn filed the position away to try later. 

Halfway up the stairs, Sarah unwound herself from him. Sure, he was an athlete, but carrying her up the stairs was still taking a toll. 

She lay down on the suede couch and held her arms open for him. He gratefully lay on top of her, his head on her chest. 

Running her fingers through his hair, Sarah replayed their relationship in her mind. Knowing what she knew now, both about Quinn’s celebrity status and his quiet nature, the fact that he came up to her at all was a miracle. He could have any woman in the city, and he’d stuck his neck out for her. It was overwhelming to think about sometimes. She hoped she was living up to his expectations. 

Half an hour later, Quinns phone chirped with a notification, bringing them out of their sleepy reverie. By that time, they’d switched places, and Sarah was draped over him. 

“It’s 6,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve got to get up to make dinner.”

Even as she whined, Sarah pushed herself up. This soft, caring version of Quinn was always her favorite, and she didn’t want to let him go. “I love you,” she said, looking down at him.

“I love you, too,” he said, standing and hugging her to him again before they had to get back to real life.

Her arms tightened around him. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, Quinn Hughes, but I’m so glad you’re mine.” 

Tucking his face into her neck, he pressed a few soft kisses there before telling her, “Sarah Roberts, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

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[gorgonwrites]

neuvillette headcanons

NSFW below the cut! minors DNI. 18+

author's note: ME AND BESTIE BACK AT IT AGAIN! oh gods, this beautiful dragon man. he deserves everything and then even more. my best friend and i are probably going to do more headcanons for more genshin characters, so expect those from me soon. enjoy! <3

So shy and timid when it comes to showing affection for another person. He’s always learning, but love is a foreign feeling to him. 

We already know it, but the man is the most respectful damn gentleman you’d ever find. Always opens doors for his partner, has his hand on the small of their back to guide them, and he offers his arm when out walking. He speaks gently, and is an excellent listener.

Has a serious shrimp allergy. He doesn’t feel like he’s missing much, though.

He hates being the center of attention, and it can even cause some mild anxiety if he’s caught off guard. Sure, he’s the Iudex and Sovereign of Fontaine, but if he’s not in the courtroom don’t expect him to draw attention to himself. 

Always sneezes in threes–  no more, no less. He has a dedicated handkerchief he carries with him everywhere to cover his mouth, and is always as quiet as possible as to not draw attention to it. If he’s in court and it happens, the entire audience blesses him. He used to ignore it, but he’s grown quite fond of the gesture and takes it as a small human act of kindness. As a result, if he’s ever in earshot when someone else sneezes he’s the first one to give them a blessing. He never skips over an opportunity to sow the seeds of kindness wherever he goes.

He’s learning how to cook. Not horrible at it, but he loves the idea of food inspiring community. He dreams of gathering the people he cares about most and cooking them all a yummy meal one day.

Can sing! And has such a pretty voice. He also has an affinity for most musical instruments he picks up. He’s quite used to the melusines asking him to sing them to sleep. 

Hardly ever gets sick (he does get stress fevers quite easily), but is used to caring for himself if he needs to. The first time he lets his partner care for him when he’s ill, he almost chokes on the vulnerability that starts to creep out of his bones.

Loves his hair being brushed or played with. This is another instance where he begins to feel vulnerable– he tries to avoid the feeling the best he can, but as he grows comfortable with his partner, he allows the feeling to make a permanent home in his chest. 

He loves being held. Even as big as he is, nothing stops him from curling up into his partner's arms to let his work fade away from his whirling thoughts. He has to grow accustomed to the closeness at first, but soon he can’t end a single day without at least having a few quiet moments in his partner’s embrace.

Receiving love, Neuvillette needs physical touch, quality time, and acts of service. He gives words of affirmation and acts of service to show his love. 

nsfw below <3

Has a beautiful blue marking between his belly button and his cocks that depicts his sovereign symbol.  

Neuvi’s ears, neck, and horns are extremely sensitive. Don’t mess with them unless you’re ready to have your brains fucked out. 

Has a praise kink (giving and receiving). Any kind of encouragement goes straight to his dicks. 

On that note- he absolutely has more than one cock. He’s usually so gentle, but if he’s worked into a frenzy he might just try to shove both cocks in at once. 

Has a rut cycle. When he’s not in his rut, he’s an incredibly soft lover. When he IS in his rut, don’t expect to be able to walk anywhere for a few days once his rut is over. 

Has a mild breeding kink. Sometimes he can’t help but think about his partner big and round with his child and it quite literally fries his brain a bit when he thinks too much about it. 

Aftercare once his rut is over is GOD TIER. Hot bubble baths, hair washing, massages, snacks, cuddles. The WORKS. He takes his time soothing his partners after completely wrecking them. 

ASS MAN!!! 

Has a serious overstim kink, both giving and receiving. One orgasm is simply just never enough (or two, or three, or four…). 

Is almost always dominant in his sexual encounters. He can be rough, yes, but he’s never mean. Think pleasure dom or service top. 

Has a body worship kink. He thinks humans are beautiful creatures and always wants to explore every inch of his partners when he can. 

Loves going down on his partner– probably his favorite thing ever after discovering it. 

TANTRIC SEX

Has a tail that occasionally makes an appearance if he gets too worked up. He WILL use it to fuck his partner silly. 

BITING. He loves leaving bites anywhere he can, even if no one else can see them. 

Will only take one life partner, though he may play with other people if allowed. Once he’s formed the bond with his life partner, they won’t ever be replaced. 

Will only allow his life partner to dom him. If he’s ever topped or dommed, it's a deliberate act of giving away his power to someone he trusts completely. These are some of the rarest moments where he willingly lets his worries and vulnerability spill out, and those moments are reserved for one person only. 

in conclusion, he is quite literally the best man ever.

[courtforshort15]

A Matter of Opinion

Pairing: Matt Murdock x femReader

Word Count: 2,800

Summary: A tale of disagreements, egging each other on, and a general disregard of the other’s opinion.

Trigger warning: So much fluff it might as well be cotton candy

Masterlist

“So what you’re saying is…you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

From across the room, Foggy snorts.

The gloating smirk falls from Matt’s face, quickly replaced by a look of confusion. “What? That’s not at all–”

“That’s what you literally just said to my face.”

Matt scoffs, waving his hand in dismissive action. “I definitely didn’t say anything of the sort.”

“You told me you don’t trust my opinion, Matt,” you say with narrowed eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. You stare him down, knowing that while he can’t see it, he can certainly feel it. With a mild look of alarm crossing his face, Matt leans back on his left foot as if the force of your stare actually unsettles his balance. 

He clears his throat. “Well, not when it comes to–”

“Ah ah ah,” you cut him off before he finishes his sentence. He rolls his shoulders, standing up straight, files of case notes at his fingertips from where he stands next to the table. Matt tilts his head, still looking incredibly confused. It takes everything in you to not walk out of the room and leave him to sweat it out. “You either trust it or you don’t.”

“Come on, you know that’s not at all how I meant it.”

“How are we jumping from not trusting you to not wanting to be with you?” he asks as his face shifts to one that’s a mix of incredulity and slight anxiety, voice growing steadily louder. He takes a small step forward, frowning when you take a step backwards.

“And if you don’t trust my opinion, then how can you trust me?”

“So you admit that you don’t trust me.”

“I didn’t say-”

“And if you don’t trust me, then why would you want to be with me?”

Matt groans and tosses his head back in a gesture of God help me. “Sweetheart–”

“Foggy,” you call to the other man in the room, not bothering to shift your head in his direction, eyes still locked on Matt’s tense form in front of you as you ignore the pet name. “Did you or did you not just hear Matthew say he doesn’t trust my opinion?”

Foggy snorts again, the sound of rustling paper sliding throughout the office as he picks up his folder. He doesn’t bother looking up as he shakes his head in amusement. “Nope. Not getting in the middle of this.”

“Come on, Foggy,” Matt says, his tone bordering on exasperation. “You gonna let her tear me down this like this?”

“Not getting in the middle of it,” Foggy repeats with a wide grin that suggests he’s enjoying watching Matt be put on the spot. Foggy moves into your field of vision as he noisily slaps a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I love you, but she scares me. I’m playing Switzerland on this one.”

“I’ll get in the middle of it,” Karen cheerfully chirps from the conference room table as she picks up her own laptop and begins gathering her stuff to take back to her office. “I’m siding with your girlfriend on this one, Matt. You threw yourself under your own damn bus when you told her that you had better taste than her.”

Matt groans loudly as you send a bright smile her way, catching her wink and flashing one of your own. “Thanks, Karen. Your tab is on me tonight.”

“I did not say that,” Matt says as he runs an agitated hand through his dark hair. You bite your bottom lip in amusement, always secretly pleased at the way you’re able to rile him up, well aware that he’ll get you back at some point this evening. “You all know that I–”

You interrupt him with a smirk. “You said, and I quote, “Why would we go to that awful pizza place she likes when I have a much better option for us? You know I have a better sense of taste.””

One masculine and one feminine set of laughter match each other from the other side of the table, further fueled by the pained look on Matt’s face as his words are shot back at him. Karen and Foggy are helpless to stop the giggles at their friend’s misfortune. He flounders for a second as he flushes, and you briefly consider taking it easy on him.

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way,” Matt tells you, his tongue sliding out as he ran it over his lips, the telltale sign of anxiety. “I just thought that we should go to the restaurant off of 37th. I’ve walked by it quite a bit since it opened and it smells amazing. So much better than–”

All sympathy for the devil leeches out of you with a snap. “I dare you to finish that statement.”

“I’ve been to where she’s talking about, Matt,” Karen pipes back in. She finishes picking her stuff up from the table, curled blond hair sliding over her shoulders as she flashes a smile your way. “It’s pretty good.”

“No offense, Karen,” Matt says with a shake of his head, red lenses glinting from the office light, “but you’re not from New York, so you don’t know what good pizza is.”

Karen raises a perfectly arched eyebrow and you can’t help the cackle of glee that escapes your lips as Matt digs himself further into a hole. “You really want to go there, Matt? I think you’re sadly lacking in allies right now.”

“You chose her side, Karen. We’re not allies right now anyway.”

“Maybe not,” she says with a happy shrug of her shoulders, lips splitting her pretty face open in laughter. Her blue eyes glint in a sense of amusement that barely hides her sharp ability to tear a man down a few pegs. It’s one of your favorite things about her. She crosses the room with her laptop tucked in one arm, folders in the other hand. “But it doesn’t mean we’re enemies. Just take back what you said about her opinion on pizza places sucking.”

“She’s from Chicago!” Matt growls in frustration. “Of course it does.”

You throw your head back with a loud laugh, enjoying the look of your flustered boyfriend, finding the conversation too funny to even be offended. “New York doesn’t own the market on good pizza, Matthew. Why can’t you just–”

“There’s just something about Chicago pizza that isn’t right,” he cuts you off with a look that suggests aggravation. He shakes his head emphatically, hands on his hips. “The ingredients are wrong, the spices and sauces just don’t match together all that well. It’s a travesty.”

“You act like you know all there is to know about food and what things go together and what don’t.”

“I do!” Matt cries out as he suddenly throws his hands in the air. “I literally do. And even without my senses I’d know that nothing beats New York pizza.”

“So arrogant,” Karen quips. “Can’t bring yourself to admit that others simply have different tastes than you.”

“Karen, you eat your pizza with ranch. You really have no room to talk.”

“Pizza with ranch isn’t bad,” you throw in, sending Karen a wink as you shrug your shoulders in a display of casual nonchalance. “I’ve been known to enjoy it a time or two.”

Matt turns to the other man in the room, one hand gesturing towards his friend in frustration of being all but ganged up on. You can’t help but snort at the motion that seems entirely too desperate for the situation. “Foggy, back me up here.”

Foggy laughs loudly. It’s the kind of laugh that offers no pity or effort to console, just a laugh that tells the room that Matt is on his own. “No can do, my dear friend. I am an equal opportunist when it comes to pizza. A pizza connoisseur, if you will.”

“You all are crazy.”

“Says the man who only eats ice cream if it’s plain vanilla,” you say as you raise your eyebrows, watching the man. His mouth drops in a sharp sense of betrayal, as if you were giving away a private secret that no one else in the room is privy to, though you know both Foggy and Karen are completely aware of his extremely picky eating. 

“I eat sorbets, too,” he says defensively, hands back on his hips. From behind red lenses, you see his eyes narrow.

“Sorbet is not ice cream.”

Matt tilts his chin up. “It is a sweet and tasty treat that you put in a freezer and later eat with a spoon. It counts.”

“Ice cream is dairy based. Sorbet is fruit based. Big difference.”

“I’d hardly–”

“You’re so lucky you’re pretty, Matt,” you coo suddenly, taking a few steps in his direction and reaching up to touch his heated cheeks with the back of your fingers. “You had a late night last night, didn’t come to bed until three. I can tell you’re tired and not thinking straight. Maybe we should go home instead of going to dinner so my beautiful Matty can take a nap.”

“Isn’t this a form of gaslighting?” Foggy whispers to Karen in the background.

Matt gently pushes you away with a growl of annoyance even as his lips twist up in the beginning form of a smirk. “I’m fine. It’s not my fault your pizza sucks.”

“That’s super rude of you, Matthew. I hope you’re prepared to sleep on the couch tonight.”

The smirk falls. “Sweetheart–”

“You two fight like an old married couple,” Foggy interjects from the other side of the room, finally on his way out of the conference space, mouth tilted in a grin that doesn’t bother hiding her extreme amusement. “Just propose already.”

You flush, eyes wide as you give Foggy and Karen a look that’s both panicked and pointed. “We haven’t even talked about marriage yet–”

“Shut up, Foggy,” Matt hisses as you’re talking, a severe frown aimed at his friend. “You know the ring is still being sized, so I’m not–”

Your mouth clamps shut as his words hit you, effectively cutting off the rest of your response to Foggy and Karen, and Matt immediately freezes when he realizes what he’s said. The energy in the room abruptly shifts, silence sharply cutting through the laughter and teasing argument. You don’t turn to him just yet, instead letting your round eyes take in the hand that Karen had slapped over her mouth and the pale face of Foggy who clearly hadn’t expected Matt to respond the way he did. Between Karen’s shocked face and Foggy’s look of guilt, it’s enough to cause you to swallow sharply, goosebumps lighting up and down your skin.

Matt clears his throat softly, and out of the corner of your eye, you notice how tense his form has gone, his white dress shirt straining slightly at his shoulders as he holds himself stiffly. “Can you—can you give us some privacy?”

Foggy and Karen leave with jerky nods of their heads and exit the conference room without a word, though they both take multiple glances back. When they’re gone, you finally manage to turn your face back towards Matt’s, taking in the flushed skin and eyes that have suddenly lost their glasses. He doesn’t speak, though he opens his mouth and closes it a few times as if he has something to say but doesn’t know how to say it. 

The silence is almost nerve-wracking, so you put an end to it.

“So…” you trail off, raising your eyebrows as you study him fondly, eyeing the way his hand twitches at his side, glasses held in a tight grip. “There’s a ring?”

Matt nods his head slowly, tongue poking out to run slighty over his bottom lip. His eyes flutter closed for a quick moment before he takes a deep breath and snaps them back open.  “Yes. There’s a ring.”

A wide smile blooms across your face, and you’re unable to reign in the joy that pulses through you. “Is there…a specific question that’ll go with that ring?” you ask as your hand reaches out to finger one of the buttons on his collared shirt, your tone teasing. The action is instinctive, one you often use to catch Matt’s attention and encourage to step forward closer, and it receives the same response as always. Matt’s lips shift into a soft smile, the one he so often gives you in these quieter, more intimate moments, and all at once, the nerves fall away.

“Of course there’s a question,” he responds with a brief nod of his head, the apprehension in his eyes shifting to something warm in his blank gaze. “Is there an answer that you might have?”

You tilt your head in consideration and pretend to ponder the question. Matt’s eyes blindly trail over your face, a barely noticeable hitch in his breath betraying a mind that, despite the small grin lighting up his face, is on edge in anticipation.  “Yes.”

Matt raises an eyebrow at your one-word answer. “Yes, as in there’s an answer? Or yes, as in…you’re saying yes?”

“What do you think it is?”

He tosses his head back with a groan. “Sweetheart, don’t play with me. What are you–”

“Y–”

“If I might interrupt for just a moment,” Foggy’s voice calls out from his office, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just cut off your answer to Matt’s question, leaving the two of you standing close to each other with Matt growling in annoyance under his breath even as your lips curve into an amused smile. “As best man, I’d like to offer the suggestion that pizza not be served at your wedding. And–”

The conference room door is quickly slammed shut in a brief flash of long blond hair as Karen opens her mouth to yell at the other man. “Shut the hell up, Foggy, before I cut your tongue off and make you mime your opening argument to the jury.”

Foggy makes a startled choking noise of horror before he manages to squeak out, “yes, ma’am.”

When Matt’s satisfied there will be no more interruptions, his head turns back towards yours from where he had been glaring daggers in Foggy’s general direction. A small smile tilts the corner of his mouth up as his body relaxes, no doubt having heard your mouth open with a yes before Foggy rudely had cut off the full word.

“You were saying?” he asks as he steps further into you and presses the heat of his body into yours until all you can feel is warmth.

You send him a teasing grin before it changes abruptly into a false frown. “You know, I actually just lost my train of thought,” you say in mock sadness. “What were we–”

“Holy mother of God,” he mutters under his breath. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

“If you’re referring to our pizza argument, you’ll recall that I never dissed New York pizza the way you dissed Chicago pizza. You’re the one who—”

“Shut up,” he huffs in barely restrained amusement, reaching out to settle his hands on your shoulders in a failed attempt to change the tone of the conversation. Eventually he just gives in, eyes lighting up as he shakes his head. “I’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

“Technically, you haven’t actually asked any–”

“Marry me.”

“Honey, that’s still not a question. That’s a demand.”

Matt’s hands pull your face to his, angling your head up so that he can press his lips to yours as swiftly as possible before pulling away just as quickly. “Will.” Another kiss. “You.” A nip to your bottom lip. “Marry.” An open mouthed kiss as you giggle against his lips. “Me?”

You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out, Matt’s matching grin the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen as he pulls away. It’s a question you don’t even have to consider the answer to, but that doesn’t mean you won’t tease him for it. “Of course I will, but–”

Dark eyes widen drastically. “There’s a but?”

“Hush, Matthew. You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

Matt gives you a frown that is far too exaggerated to be actually offended. “I can’t believe your answer to my marriage proposal was yes, but.”

You roll your eyes fondly as you reach out to tap his cheek in soothing matter that feels more like a teasing gesture. “Yes, I will marry you, but on one condition.”

He openly gapes for a second before he narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Name it.”

“We ditch these losers and have our own naked pizza party at home.”

“I am NOT a loser!”

“Yes you are, Foggy.”

The smile on Matt’s face is nothing short of blinding, even as the other two object in the background. “I happily agree to these terms, but from the place I suggested.”

“You’re prepared to die on that hill, aren’t you?”

He laughs, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours. “You gave your condition, I gave mine.”

“You drive a steep bargain, Counselor, but I accept.”

[thedemonscrawler]

Call/Response

A lil' oneshot for @bloo-the-dragon of a branch of their mer AU cos we kept talking about it in Discord and then I got brainworms OwO

----

When Eclipse wakes up, Ruin isn't on the bed.

That was… unusual, but not overly alarming. Even though Eclipse's ‘just this once’ had extended by nearly two months now, with the slender mer curling up in a nest made of stolen blankets or wriggling under the sheets almost every night, there was still the occasional exception. His current favorite jacket, claimed just before laundry day and which wouldn't be surrendered until the next laundry day, is also missing, which soothes Eclipse’s mild anxiety further. Clearly Ruin had decided to move to a different sleeping spot during the night, that was all. 

Eclipse stretches, feeling cables pull and worn joints scrub, before he leans over to look off the other side of the bed. No sleeping fish here, just a pillow that had gotten knocked to the floor. The door to the closet is wide open, which leaves either the couch or the tub as options.

He hopes it's the couch this time. He's getting really tired of hanging soggy sheets out to dry.

“Rue? You get overheated or something?” Eclipse listens, a faint frown pulling at his mouth when he doesn't hear anything. No scratch of scales against the tub, nor any sleepy chirps. Standing, he heads to the bathroom, poking his head inside.

The shower curtain is pulled back, revealing the tub to be as empty of mers as the bed. There aren't even any puddles on the floor to suggest Ruin might have been here earlier, only to move when it got closer to morning. 

Faint unease coils in his chest, but Eclipse tamps down on it, turning towards the living room instead. Things were fine, there was no need to panic. Maybe the fish was feeling sick or something, and that was why he was hiding.

“Ruin?” His boots thud against the worn hardwood floor. From this angle he can't see the couch, nor if anyone is on it. He crosses the threshold of the bedroom–

– and stumbles as his foot comes down on a swaying deck.

Automatically his optics adjust to the change in light levels, from a darkened room to mid-morning sun, with the added bonus of glare thrown back back by cresting waves. There’s activity around him, men with heavy coats and heavier beards lugging coils of rope and net to the ship’s edge, checking that the hauling chains were in good order. Gulls call to one another in their shrill voices, the background soundtrack for most of his life.

He was… back on the ship?

Eclipse’s ventilations hitch, and he immediately turns on his heel. He shouldn’t be on the ship, he’d left it (brilliant red flames leaping into a sky filled with smoke, the distant sound of sirens) but through the door is nothing but his pitiful little closet, too small to even be called a room. 

“Well there you are!” The harsh voice pulls him out of his stupor, and he looks over to see the captain glaring at him. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, get your tools and go check out the No. 2 winch.”

“No, I…” His head feels like it’s full of fog, smothering his thoughts under a blanket of panic, but he manages to force words through the static haze. “Wasn’t I guarding the mer?”

“Hm?”

Eclipse shakes his head, fixing the captain with his best level look and trying to keep the distress out of his voice. “The– the mer that we picked up, the one that was all– all mangled. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on h– it?” 

And the captain tilts his head in that way, scorn and impatience under heavy brows, and it sparks a nervousness in Eclipse that he hasn’t felt since he was a boot just learning what his new life would be. The device at the base of his neck weighs heavily with malicious potential.

“You flush your memory after breakfast or something?” The captain snorts, gesturing towards the stern. “We offloaded it this morning! Nearly wasn’t worth the effort of keepin’ it fed on the way back– I would have made twice as much if we’d just gone ahead and skinned it for a pair of boots!”

Offloaded…?

Eclipse isn’t listening anymore. He pushes past the human and rushes to the stern of the ship, catching himself against the railing.

Just on the horizon is a grey smudge, and something in Eclipse twists with despair when he realizes how far they are from shore. Any wild ideas about jumping ship are immediately dashed; he can’t swim, and trying to grab one of the life rafts would get him shut down before he even got it inflated.

Something rises in his throat, bitterly cold and covered in sharp edges, but it’s only when the half-static sound falls from his mouth that he recognizes the feeble cheep for what it is.

A call for help, or to locate companions.

(Where are you?)

His ventilations hitch again. It feels like his chest is crumpling in, like some uncaring god has reached out and started wadding him up like aluminium foil. He can hear the men moving around the ship, low conversation and boisterous laughter and nothing connected to him. Eclipse was a toy, a machine: on the records as barely sentient, the mockery of life constructed from metal. Of no use and no importance to anyone.

Except, maybe, a mangled little mer, who had met his assigned vigil with tolerance and curiosity. Who hadn’t yelled at him, hadn’t dismissed him as a thing just because he was made of metal and there was a hole where his past should be.

Who had heard Eclipse, and called back.

Another cheep rises in his throat.

(Where are you?)

“Hey! Shut up and get back to your station!”

The railing creaks under his grip, metal fingers leaving shallow dents in the aluminium. Conditioning has his voice faltering for a second, the habit of just enough obedience to buy him another day– but the despair is stronger. The longing is stronger. 

Eclipse slams his volume to max and shrieks. 

(Please, answer me.)

The echoes fade, shrill sound thrown back by countless cresting waves. Land was so, so far away, but surely something would make it the vast distance, and all he had to do was listen. Past the calls of gulls circling the ship, the slap of water against the hull, the complaints of the men behind him.

Listening for the faintest hint of a response. A whisper, a breath. 

Anything to let him know he’d been heard, for once.

“I said knock that crap off!” 

Heavy boots against the deck, jingling buckles and the snarl of promised punishment. Eclipse turns just in time to catch the blur of metal before something impacts his face.

Everything goes dark.

—

When Eclipse wakes up, it takes his panic-addled mind several seconds to recognize his surroundings.

The soft surface under his cheek and clenched hands is a blanket, a bed, and when he sits up he can feel the gentle tug and sway of a charging cable. Shadows gradually resolve themselves into doorways and furniture, a pile of clothes on top of a shabby dresser, his boots by the door. His roaring fans are loud in the darkness of so-late-it’s-early-morning, yet he can’t seem to get them to quiet.

Something gently touches his arm.

Still on edge, Eclipse can’t help flinching away from the contact, head whipping around to stare down at the culprit. The mer stares back up at him with wide, mismatched eyes, looking nearly as alarmed as Eclipse himself.

“Eclipse…? Are you alright?” 

The British accent is still jarring to hear, even now– some hysterical part of him wants to laugh, or snap at the mer in misplaced irritation. The rest of him is struggling to form words, to figure out how to dismiss this or reassure the mer or just get him to forget about it. Everything feels brittle, like the soft blankets draped over his legs will shatter if he moves, but surely he can get himself back under control. 

He can’t do it. The words won’t come. Expression crumpling in misery, he stops trying to swallow back the lump in his throat and cheeps.

(Where are you?) 

And Ruin blinks, ragged frills flaring out like the rays of a tattered sun, and chirps back.

(I’m here.)

The pitch is a little flat, with a layer of complexity his own chirps lack. It still hits that hollow place inside him, covering near-constant anxiety with a soft blanket of reassurance, a cool hand on a feverish forehead. The rest of his self control breaks and Eclipse buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with sobs that are equal parts relief and fading fear, interspersed with pitiful cheeps.

Ruin chirps back every time. A constant stream of reassurance, an unignorable reminder that there was someone here, that they hadn’t left. That he wasn’t alone. 

(I’m here. You’re safe. We’re together.)

Eventually the sobbing trails off, then stops. Eclipse spares a moment to be glad that he’s not organic, otherwise his hands and face would probably be covered in tears and snot and it would just be even more embarrassing. It’s bad enough he just broke down over a stupid nightmare, of all things. Huffing through his vents, Eclipse finally drops his hands from his face, and finds that Ruin has built a nest around him. 

That’s what it looks like, anyway. The blankets have been arranged so that they more or less encircle him, with Ruin’s current favorite jacket tucked in closest to his body. The mer himself forms the outermost layer of the nest: head pillowed on his arms, body curled in such a way that his crooked tail goes all the way around behind Eclipse and comes back to nearly touch his cap thing.

“Thanks…” The gratitude just slips from him, rough and scraping like gravel. He doesn’t even know if a ‘thank you’ is the appropriate response to this kind of thing.

With how Ruin’s eyes light up, the barely visible patting of his hands against the sheets, he can guess that the mer is probably fine with it. “You’re welcome! I hoped– are you feeling better?”

He can’t help the bitter laugh, looking down at the hands that sit limply in his lap. Scratched, dented, scuffed: the marks of a life spent clawing for anything he could hold on to, and having it ripped away anyway. “Yeah… I guess? I’m not– …yeah. I’m fine.” 

Out of the corner of his eye he can just barely see how Ruin’s head tilts. His voice is soft, hesitant. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Well, there was no sense in hiding it, was there? Ruin could sometimes lack what Eclipse considered common sense, or made some bizarre leaps of logic– but it didn’t take a genius to figure out why Eclipse might have gone from peaceful slumber to outright sobbing.

“Just… stupid stuff. Like being back on the boat, working for that asshole again. We were already pretty far out at sea– and it’s dumb, right? That hasn’t been my life for months now, and I made sure that it wouldn’t be ever again.”

Soft tugs on the blanket, a pair of webbed hands slowly inching their way across his legs. It’s easier to watch their progress towards his own hands than it is to look Ruin in the face and see those big, gentle eyes. Eclipse takes a deep breath, trying to keep his voice flippant and steady.

“We were out at sea, and– and I guess I chickened out or something because you weren’t… there. I’d left you in that cage on shore.” The lump is back in his throat, scraping the edges off of his words so that they emerge laced in static, barely more than a whisper. “I tried to call out, but we were too far away, I think. You didn’t answer.”

“Oh. I see.” Soft, organic fingers close over his own, covering the scratched metal with cerulean blue and buttery gold. It always took him by surprise that Ruin’s hands were so warm; all of an animatronic’s warmth was centered in their chest, with the extremities left to range from ‘room temperature’ to ‘christ that’s cold!’. The tail behind him shifts as the coil of Ruin’s body gets a little smaller, the mer doing his best to scootch closer while refusing to let go of Eclipse’s hands.

“I understand. Believe me, I do understand,” he says quietly. There is a deep sorrow behind the words, scars matching the ones that cover Ruin’s body from top to tailtip. The marks of a life spent clawing for anything to hold on to. “However…”

Organic fingers tighten their grip, a reassuringly solid presence. The mer flattens himself against the bed, trying to catch Eclipse’s downcast eyes, and he offers a small smile when the animatronic finally relents. 

“However, I am here. You are here.” His smile widens, showing razor sharp teeth, and he makes a musical, trilling sound that Eclipse has no hope of reproducing. It’s soothing, a sound that doesn’t pull at his programming like the chirps do, but it makes him feel better in a way that he can’t quite nail down. He’s hearing it because Ruin is here, because they’re both here.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, bud.” Eclipse tries a small smile himself, though he knows it's still pretty wobbly on the edges. The tattered remains of the nightmare cling to him like cobwebs, but Ruin is still holding his hands, and it’s surprisingly easy to focus on that warmth instead. 

This hasn’t been taken away from him. Ruin won’t suddenly disappear into the morning mist. Eclipse has his own home and a companion that wants to be here, and stupid nightmares can’t change that. 

“Come on, we might as well get up now and start the day early.” The small grin gets wider when Ruin whines dramatically, flopping over onto his side and covering his face with his tail in protest. He knows that it’s all for show, and he reaches over to pat what he can see of Ruin’s head, his other hand unplugging the charger. “I’ll make you some waffles, how’s that?” 

“...fish waffles?”

“Yeah, I’ll cut ‘em into fish shapes, too.”

[adnauseum11]

I.E.D. (John Price x Reader)

John breaks the news of his imminent departure.

2.2k words

CW: swearing, mild violence, alcohol

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, the Masterlist is pinned to my blog as well.

Feedback welcome!

IED = Improvised. Explosive. Device.

Masterlist

Ao3

It takes less than five minutes for John to completely eviscerate your plans after he returns from his phone call. He’s watching you absorb the news with an infuriating calm expectancy. You can feel your face flush, disbelief and hurt washing over you in equal measure. There’s a dull rushing in your ears, and you have to ask him to repeat himself as you slowly set down the wreath you are unpacking.

“I have to go, tonight, in a few hours.” 

He’s standing close, his hand smoothing over your shoulder and neck, tracking your reaction closely.

“What? You’re leaving? In a few hours?”

You can’t help the shocked whine in your voice as you process this news, even as you hate how needy it makes you sound.

“I can’t say too much but I’m required on a mission, love. I’ll be gone for a few days at least, probably a week.”

His tone is careful, mollifying, which only serves to heighten your distress.

“Out back in the field? You said you turned it down!”

“I did. This isn’t that.”

“Oh…right. Well, then by all means, that makes it fine.”

You can feel your face get hot and the prickle of tears behind your eyes, but you clamp down on that reaction like a dog with a bone. Anger is easier.

“Darling, I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear –“

“No shit.” 

You deadpan flatly. John has the good grace to wince, holding his hands up in placating gesture. 

“There’s extenuating circumstances here, love.”

“Since when are you still even entertaining these contracts?”

Your fists clench at your sides, the urge to swing something at his head building with every passing moment of this hideous conversation. You march away from him instead, hoping some distance will help your impulse control. He follows but wisely allows you some space. 

“I’m not, not really. This is different. It’s just… bad timing, darling.”

“You’re really leaving me here at Christmas, alone, with no plans and not even a job to go to? Seriously!? At least there would be other people at work, John! I wouldn’t be forced to be alone! Did you even consider me before you agreed to this!?”

“Darling, this wasn’t planned.”

“But you’re choosing to go.”

“I have to go, it involves me.” 

His temper finally makes an appearance, his whole demeanour becoming unyeilding.

“I’m sorry - I thought I heard you say you were involved. How the fuck are you involved in anything; you’ve been retired for a while now.”

You shake your head, trying to make his words fit with what you know of his life. John hisses a curse, his sudden discomfort with the topic setting off alarm bells in your head. 

“John.”

He drags his palm over his face in a gesture that belies his reluctance.

“John.”

“I’m involved in that it’s tied up with a mission I was on years ago. We thought it was put to rest and I guess… it’s not, anymore.”

He answers finally, his explanation sparse. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation, you can tell by the way he’s holding himself, his back and arms rigid. He rarely discusses his work with you, a topic you have by mutual agreement left well enough alone for years. Your anxiety means you can’t handle hearing the details without spiralling, and the nature of John’s work often precluded any details from being available, a situation that suited you both. Now you’re pulling teeth, trying to get to the bottom of this turn of events, neither one of you used to it. 

“And why do YOU have to go, why not someone else, who is active?”

“I’m part of the group they’re looking for.”

“Looking for.”

You deadpan again, the words sounding hollow as you repeat them back to him. 

“Darling, I can’t really disclose anything, you know that.”

“Right. But someone is looking for you.”

“Someone is looking for the men that were on my taskforce, hence why I am involved, yes.” 

John nods, his jaw tight. You pause to take in this tiny bit of information and a sudden bolt of realization hits you. The man in your apartment hadn’t stolen anything, he’d been looking for something. 

“Were they looking for you in my apartment?”

John’s face falls and you feel your stomach drop. His reaction tells you all you need to know. Some awful part of you can’t help but need to hear the truth from his own mouth, like running a finger over a bruise. 

“Suspect the break-in was related, yeah.” 

His tone is hesitant, but the words rankle all the same.

“Why are people looking for you at my apartment, not here?”

John refuses to answer, staring you down with pressed lips. 

“Why John?”

You repeat yourself forcefully, hands finding your own hips. You can tell the moment John decides to relent, whatever mental math he’s doing not adding up to his liking. 

“Looking for a way to scare me, is the assumption. Use you to hurt me.” 

He finally speaks, his gravelly voice low. A cold chill runs down your spine and you look at the man in front of you with what feel like fresh eyes. Danger lives closer to John than you had ever stopped to fully imagine.

“Were you going to tell me, or let me keep thinking it was a random break in?”

“Darling-“

He starts but stops immediately, reflexively scratching his whiskered cheek in uncertainty. You can read him like a book, instantly piecing together the reason for his hesitancy is he doesn’t like the way the truth sounds. 

“Oh my god, John, I’m so mad at you right now I could spit. What the fuck?”

“I just want you safe, that’s all that matters to me. I didn’t want to frighten you off.”

“So, moving me in here, talking me into quitting my job, all that was to do what?? Keep an eye on me?”

“I want you here. It also happened to be the safest course of action. Both things can be true. And I didn’t talk you in to quitting your job, I just stopped talking you out of it, love.” 

John’s uncharacteristically defensive, a wrinkle between his arched brows.

“You told me to rely on you! And now you’re fucking off over the holidays with no guarantee you’ll make it back! And I’m what – being watched or stalked or something?? And you weren’t going to say anything??”

This time you can’t help yourself from the impulse, grabbing the nearest reindeer figurine off the kitchen island and hurling it in his direction. John easily sidesteps it, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief at your eruption. You grab another figurine but John is on you before you can haul off and throw it, grabbing your wrist.

“Oi! Knock it off!” 

He barks at you, using a voice you’ve not heard turned in your direction before. You drop the deer on instinct but glare at him, your jaw jutting out in anger.

“I don’t have any confirmation that someone is watching you I just prefer to limit the possibilities for vulnerabilities when I’m not there to mitigate them.”

“Fucking speak English, John, I don’t speak military”

 You jerk out of his grip, putting some distance between you again. If you weren’t so agitated you would have an easier time of focusing on what he’s saying but it feels like your heart is sinking through the floor, heavy with disappointment and doubt. Another recent memory asserts itself, hitting you like a sucker punch.

“Oh my god, the pub? You kept saying you were concerned for my safety; I really thought you were just jealous.” 

You can feel the blood drain out of your face, your heart pounding as things slowly shift in to focus. The last few weeks were unrolling in a completely different context for John you are realizing. The sweet and protective gestures taking on a completely new layer of significance.  John holds his hands up, trying to ease closer to you again but you take another step back, feeling the kitchen counter behind you. John stops moving, the expression he’s wearing strange to you. He’s always so confident that the look of uncertainty is alarming on his face, making your thumping heart press against your breastbone painfully.

“I don’t know if that’s related. It’s unlikely. Like I said, nothing is confirmed. Just…playing it safe.” 

John admits, his face settling into worry.  

“You weren’t going to tell me any of this, were you? You were going to keep manipulating me. You just needed to keep tabs on me so I didn’t get caught up in whatever the fuck is going on.”

 It’s not a question, it’s a confirmation.

“That’s not true, of course I want you around. I love you, darling. You wanted to quit. I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do. I just made it safer.” 

John sounds a little desperate, the sound grating and unnatural to your ears. 

“I don’t want to be alone at Christmas, John! I didn’t even know it was a possibility for you to be gone until minutes ago! Now you’re leaving on a mission and I’m what? Just supposed to sit here until you get back? That’s not love, you didn’t consider me at all. If you come back. Oh god.” 

You feel a sweep of nausea and grip your stomach, pitching forward at the waist in discomfort. 

“When I come back, the threat will be neutralized. Not doing all this for fucking maybes.”

“Alright, you know what - yeah you, you should go.” 

You suddenly agree, crossing your arms over your painfully twisted stomach. You can’t remember the last time you were this upset with him, it’s been literal years. John curses under his breath, unable or unwilling to argue with you. He’s immobile, watching you intently for any clue as to your head space. 

“Darling –“

 He’s using a careful tone of voice and reaches for you again but it makes you flinch.

“Don’t John. Just go do what you need to do. It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly not fine, darling.”

He retreats, hands on his hips, and you can feel his eyes locked on your face. 

“For the purposes of this conversation, it’s fine.”

There’s an excruciatingly long pause before John responds, his voice soft. You refuse to meet his gaze, staring at the spot the missing reindeer should be in. 

“We’ll talk when I get back, yeah?”

You don’t answer, giving no indication you’ve heard him. Your insides feel like glass, one sharp breath away from shattering. Trying to reconcile the man standing in front of you, who’s been purposely keeping things from you with the man you’re in love with who bends over backwards for you is taking more brain power than you can summon. You’ll be damned if you cry in front of a man who is actively manipulating you. Taking your cue from the ceramic deer lining the island, you freeze in place. 

John either gets the hint or gives up because he leaves you in the kitchen, breathing carefully in the corner of the cabinets. You barely dare to move, everything feeling surreal. You eventually tuck yourself into your spot on the couch, buried under the blanket when John returns, his rucksack slung over a shoulder. He drops it at the door and you track it’s fall, determined to look at something other than the concerned man boring holes into you with his eyes.  

“I don’t want to leave like this. Talk to me please, love.” 

“Don’t, John. This is what you chose.”

“I chose to keep you safe the best way I know how. I didn’t choose for this situation to crop up now, it’s beyond my control. I love you darling, I’m not –“

“You say you love me but you don’t trust me, John. You don’t want to tell me things because your scared of how I’ll react. It’s not fair. You’re making choices that affect me too but I’m not part of the conversation. I just…I’m really pissed with you right now. And I doubt you have time to sort it out.”

You stay tucked under the blanket, your eyes finally meeting John’s across the expanse of the room. You can tell your point lands when his shoulders deflate, his posture shifting. 

“You’re right, I don’t have time.” 

He agrees, crossing the room to stop in front of you. You have to crane your neck to keep your eyes on his face until he bends to kiss you. You realize his intention and turn, giving him your cheek instead of your lips. His palm strokes over your hair before he backs off with a heavy sigh, scooping up his rucksack again. 

“We’ll figure this out when I get back.” 

John gives you one last reluctant look before he closes the door behind him. You can hear the lock turn, and your heart lurches, the finality of the sound chilling.

You spend the rest of the night on the couch, alternating between drinking a bottle of John’s expensive white wine and crying until your face is raw and hurting. You only briefly consider sleeping in John’s big bed alone, the idea so thoroughly off-putting you reject it nearly as soon as it crosses your mind. If anyone had asked you how you pictured your evening ending, face down in the couch cushions, drunk and alone wouldn’t have crossed your mind as a possibility. 

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch

[zer0pm]

Imagine working your first night in the village tavern and serving a drink to a man you catch sitting by his lonesome. He accepts your kind gesture and engages you in conversation. You didn’t realize you were talking to Lord Heisenberg until it was too late.

“Got a tall one with your name on it.”

The silver-haired man simply glances up at you from his seat, bright eyes switching between your smiling face and the full mug you’ve placed in front of him. The bored expression he wore previously relaxes into that of mild intrigue.

“I didn’t order that,” he says, amusement in his deep voice.

You shrug casually, “It’s on the house.”

When he didn’t say anything right away, you proceeded to explain yourself. “Barkeep mentioned you haven’t ordered anything since you got here. I figured I could spot you a round. Hope you don’t find it rude.”

To your surprise, the man chuckles, returning your patient smile with a toothy grin. “Can’t tell if you’re brave or just straight-up fucking strange. But you are definitely interesting, I’ll give you that.”

You tilt your head curiously, unsure of what to make of his comment. Perhaps, this stranger is one of those lone wolf types that rarely engage in social interaction. However, that didn’t seem correct. He seemed more like the type that enjoyed talking, if not just to hear the sound of his own voice. He has such a distinctive voice too, you found, the rich baritone hitting strings inside you that sent shivering notes tingling down your spine. You shudder not out of fear or anxiety, but out of genuine fascination.

The stranger takes the mug you’ve put down for him in one of his hands, lifting it by the handle and bringing it to his lips before tipping his head back. It gave you an opportunity to look him over. As you suspected, he is large in build. Burly and robust but not overly ripped in muscular definition. He looked strong and undeniably imposing, shaped by hard, laborious work. You imagine that if he wasn’t holding the mug at its handle, he could wrap his thick, calloused digits around the cup with ease. The loose shirt he wore had the sleeves rolled up, exposing several wiry scars that adorn the back of his hands and forearms. They varied in length and size, barely faded by time, and matched the old wounds that ran across his rugged face.

Questions danced upon your tongue on how he got his scars, but you thought better of it and bit them down. He looked different from the other men you’ve seen in the village and had a unique air about him too, one that you would be able to immediately spot in a busy crowd. He was quite handsome, in a rough sort of way.

The man must have noticed you staring for when you brought your eyes back up to his, he was already looking right at you. His bright gaze remained locked onto you even as he sets the drink back down with a quenched sigh, a devilish tongue swipes the excess liquid from damp lips before withdrawing behind wolfish teeth. The ends of his mouth tugs upwards, putting his canines into full display. The damn man is smirking again and his eyes had a knowing, teasing gleam to them. Feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, you bowed your head to hide the embarrassment burning on your cheeks.

Suddenly feeling incredibly shy, you take a step back. “I-I’m going to see to my other patrons, then. If you need anything else, just-”

“What’s your name, buttercup?” He cuts you off. There is an edge to his tone, as if daring you to move from your spot before him.

Buttercup? He’s giving you a petname? Is it derogatory or is it a genuine term of endearment? Either way, it made your face burn hotter.

Overwhelmed with the need to answer him immediately, you gave the stranger your name without a second thought. He repeats it in a low, slow drawl as if testing and savoring the sound on his tongue. Your heart picks up speed and you spoke up again in a futile attempt to calm the rapid beating.

“What’s yours?”

Like flipping a switch, the air between you two suddenly shifts. The wide smirk he wore falters and his brows furrow. These few words seemed to have disarmed him as the grey-haired man beholds you with a piercing glare, searching your face for any signs that you are joking or something. You could do nothing but stare back, balancing on the balls of your feet nervously. When he found that you were sincere in your question, he grasps his bearded chin thoughtfully.

“Intriguing,” he comments, his expression deeply pensive. His reply didn’t relieve any of the tension you were feeling and you wondered if you somehow offended him for not knowing who he is. “Are you local?”

Unable to fathom where his line of questioning was heading, you decided that it was best to answer him honestly as you have been doing thus far. “Uhh, yes, of course. Born and raised. Although, I’m not from the immediate area, if that’s what you mean.”

A thick silver brow arches. “So, I take it you’re not the religious sort, then.”

You shake your head. There was no helping the guilt taking root inside you. Clearly this man thinks that his identity should be apparent to you. Thinking about it, he does look sort of familiar but you couldn’t quite place him. You wished then that you paid more attention to the people around you in the weekly sermons.

“Not really,” you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “I rarely went to church. Not that I don’t follow the black faith, mind you. I just have other priorities. Life can be hard in the village, you know how it is.”

When he didn’t comment on this, you followed up with your own inquiry with the intention of making polite conversation. He mentioned religion, so…

“Are you a pastor?” That seemed like a logical thing to ask. But surely if he was leading the mass, you’d have remembered him right away. Maybe you simply missed each other in passing. You can’t shake the feeling that you do know him somewhere.

A bellowing laugh erupts from his throat. The man bends over on his seat, banging the wooden tabletop with a clenched fist as zealous humor consumed him. You didn’t notice that the rest of the tavern went completely quiet at his spontaneous outburst. When he finally sits back upright, he was in tears.

“Damn, you’re adorable!” He sighs deeply, his grin wide as he wipes the water from his eyes. “Do I look like the kind to give fucking sermons, buttercup?”

Again with the petname. You weren’t bothered by it this time. If anything, you took the lighthearted turn in the conversation as a good sign, pleased to see that the man looked like he was enjoying his time with you. Even at the expense of your embarrassment.

Deciding it best to play along, you returned his good humor with a playful smile of your own. “Looks can be deceiving.”

He scoffs, “Can say that again. Guess not everyone in Miranda’s herd is a sheep.”

You didn’t quite register that. “Excuse me?”

His hand waves off your question dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. You…”, the grey-haired man leans back against his chair, his lopsided smile bordered on teasing. “You get to call me Karl.”

A surprised hum escapes you, you didn’t expect a man so interesting to have such an ordinary name. Thankfully, he didn’t seem offended by the involuntary sound. Remembering you had a job to do, you throw him a courteous nod.

“Nice to meet you, Karl. I really should check on my other customers. Is there anything else I can get you?”

He casts you a playful look, “Are you on the menu?”

Although you were standing still, you nearly tripped over on the spot and tried to save face by quipping back. “Ha ha. Think you’re so smooth.”

Karl shrugs, reaching for the mug once more and inspecting the contents lazily. “I prefer to be rough. But no, I think this will do. For now.”

Your brain shut down after “rough” and you were quick to retreat back to the bar, ears turning red upon hearing his knowing chuckle as you created distance. So distracted by the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you that you failed to realize that the usual hustle and bustle of the busy tavern was completely void of sound. A loud bang of what sounded like someone slamming their hand against the wood harshly is all that it took to bring life back into the room and the patrons returning to their own devices. This somehow went under your notice too. You did not regain your wits until the barkeep you were working with for the night snapped his fingers in front of your face.

“Oy! New blood! Didn’t I tell you not to bother that one?” he reproached you. Was that panic in his eyes?

You blink back at your distressed coworker. “If it’s about the free tankard, I’ll foot the lei. Everyone else looked like they were having a fine time besides him. That didn’t seem right to me.”

The frantic man shook his head fiercely, “Whether or not he is enjoying himself isn’t any of our business. He could very well be plotting his wrath upon this establishment for what you did!”

The excitement that was bubbling within you before is now replaced by confusion. “Why would Karl do that? Who is he?”

The barkeep’s face falls into that of pure shock. “Are you completely daft!? He’s-”

He chokes. Suddenly, his expression pales to an alarming shade of white. From the corner of your eye, you spot a large shadow looming and felt an imposing presence from your side.

You turn your head to see the man from before standing next to you. But this wasn’t the Karl that you spoke with earlier. He had the same face but wore more clothing- more distinct articles of clothing that made you freeze on the spot upon recognition. Afterall, who could ever miss the signature dirty trenchcoat, or the dark, round glasses, or the well-worn hat of Lord Heisenberg himself? Who dares not recognize one of the four nobles that rule over the village with an iron fist? Evidently you.

He didn’t meet your eyes right away, instead he had a deathly glare directed right at the barkeep who was now quivering in his boots. “Because I’m in a good mood,” the lord began, voice descended into a low growl, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear what you just called my new friend.” Lord Heisenberg then looks down at you behind black lenses, his demeanor shifting from threatening and terrifying to playful and pleasant.

His smile returns, seemingly wider than before, likely because he knows that you know who he is now. “Thanks for the drink, buttercup. I’ll see you real soon.” He pushes his shades down the bridge of his nose, winking at you before tipping his hat in an exaggerated head bow. With heavy footsteps, he takes his leave, not giving a second glance.

Your eyes followed him and lingered on the door he went through long after he left. There was a deafening silence. It filled the tavern for what seemed like an eternity before it was broken by the clanging of the metal tray you once held in your hands.

The lord of steel was here in the flesh. And you were talking to him so carelessly. And he was flirting with you so shamelessly. This was not how you expected your first day on the job to go. And he declared he intended to see you again.

You’re in deep trouble…

[hopelessdazai]

Dazai and female s/o being each other first time?

✿ 》Those Promises Of Yours.

╰⧼ 🪻 note.. ⧽ ; I got you anon. coming right up. [ holy shit zai update. apologies for my absence once again, writing hasn't been a priority recently but I'll try to start up again :) feel free 2 send in vague concepts / thirsts pls ]

╰⧼ 🌙 contents.. ⧽ ; dazai x f!reader, nsfw, slight corruption from dazais end but its still all consensual, vague mention of self harm once, dazai can't keep his fuckin promises, slightly rough sex, no aftercare but it's hinted at + he's soft at the end anyway. I suck at dialogue.

dazai osamu was a womaniser, a player anything but loyal.

that was something that everyone had learnt to know and only some could bring to love. this fact wasn't foreign to you, and neither was it ignored. though you certainly hadn't anticipated that he himself was a virgin.

so you found yourself in his lap in your apartment. he'd refused to take you back to his, claiming "a princess such as yourself should have the luxury of familiarity," but you could've easily called his bluff with the stench of alcohol on his breath. the place was probably ridden with bottles and signs of his lowest mental points.

he'd never been good at being vaunrable anyway.

dazai fumbles with your shirt, his hands shakily trying to unbutton them in a way that would hopefully erase the concept he didn't know what he was doing. you took it upon yourself to close your hand over his, giving him a soft smile, which he returned. you could almost smell the anxiety dripping from his body. was he sweating?

"it must be the drugs," he mumbles, finding an excuse. his voice is hoarse, tense, even. nothing like the usual confidence he carried himself with; his tone had never been anything but smug. and you liked this side of him. you loved it.

"you're sober." you respond, your tongue had carried nothing but truthfulness this entire time. and you were nervous too. the vaunrability that was required of both of you was enough to keep your mouth without a lie. he laughs breathily, sliding your shirt from your shoulders and unclasping your bra with only mild difficulty.

"I could be masking, no?" the brunette begins, his hand sliding down under your skirt to tap at the inside of your thigh. your breath hitches. "I've always been rather good at hiding when I'm high. you should know that." you shake your head. he didn't smell like any drug. just him. just dazai.

"you're being too conscious to be high." you respond, working to undress him back. it'd be too awkward if you were the only one shirtless, your mind wasn't foggy yet. but you still couldn't get rid of the ache between your legs. he was all you needed.

dazai doesn't respond, merely wrapping a hand around your neck and pulling you into a kiss. he was acting, you could feel it. none of his gestures were the same as how you'd see him treat the ladies he'd woo at the bar. it felt real, raw. you kiss him back.

he helps you undress him, you find yourself in a state where the only covers you both possess are your underwear. completely at each others mercy, vaunrable.

he wasn't sure if he hated it or not.

dazai brings a hand down to pull your underwear aside, collecting your wetness with his middle finger. it almost felt like he himself was adjusting to your anatomy, figuring where he'd have to touch to make you feel good. he'd always spoken about wanting to give you the best experience he could.

you wince at the intrusion as he slides his finger into you, feeling him bend down to gently kiss your forehead as he worked you apart like woolen scarfs in the autumn. the warmth of a promise to carry you through to the next spring. an unvoulentary whimper leaves your lips as he brushes against a certain spot, and you swear his eyes darken a shade.

dazai had promised himself he'd make sure it wouldn't hurt for you. he promised that he'd gently ease you in. he'd promised a lot of things. but after seeing you like this, you might as well slice his pinky finger clean off.

he doesn't quite know what's coming over him when he lays you down on the couch, pulling your underwear completely down and tossing them somewhere in the room, he didn't care. he slides a second finger into you and almost lets out a gasp at how you tighten.

he'd promised to be gentle.

"osamu." you whisper, your voice almost foreign to you. his eyes met yours, then did his lips. you'd felt how desperate he'd become, sloppy open mouthed kisses where his tongue tried to cherish your taste for all eternity. maybe calling him by a name he'd never heard wasn't the best idea.

he pulls away, pulling his fingers out and making quick work of shuffling his boxers off. gently sliding his cock in-between the warmth of your folds, daring to slide in without the prep he knew you would've needed.

the prep he promised.

he meets your gaze, noticing the slight fear in your eyes. he knew it'd hurt you, dazai knew damn well the pain the stretch would cause. but something about those eyes of yours, something about the look of fear. it was almost like he didn't care. he didn't mind breaking a promise.

"..hold your breath." He mutters, gradually sliding himself into you, and you let out a whine, trying to hold your breath like instructed. he felt your nails dig into his back. they'd be nice marks to tattoo permanently, maybe you'd be a healthier method of drawing his own blood. his pelvis pressed against yours

he smiled as you let out a shaky exhale, staying still to allow you at least a small adjustment period. cupping your cheeks as a tear fell down your cheek. fuck. he couldn't even find it in him to feel bad anymore. you were so warm.

you'd only managed to focus your eyes to look up at him for a second, before clenching them shut as he snapped his hips against yours. it stung, you could feel the trickle of blood.

"ah- 'samu-.. wait-!" was all you could manage to say, hearing his breath get heavier as he set himself a pace. he wasn't waiting for you to adjust anymore, he wasn't waiting for anything. if he could prioritise himself once, this was the time.

"shh-.. shh.. 'tll feel good. I promise. fuck-" his voice broke, moving a hand to hold onto your thigh, pushing it up to meet your shoulder. you were never this flexible, it almost stung. but you couldn't do anything but trust him.

and something about it did feel good. even as the burn hit you from more areas then you would've liked; something about the desperation behind how dazai fucked you and how he was using you to relieve his stress. it felt good. you enjoyed to be used like this.

your mind fogged, feeling him hit that one spot inside you repeatedly, you were struggling to breathe. struggling to think straight, struggling to focus on anything but the man inside of you. and dazai seemed the same. his mouth half open and bangs out of order, hanging in front of his eyes. you could hear his heavy breaths and faint whines. and it only turned you on further.

your nails dug into his back, the only sensation you processed was his thumb rubbing your clit as you hit your high, chanting out his name like a mantra as he chuckled, his thrusts becoming rougher before he buried himself deep into you, an unfamiliar warmth filling your abdomen. your vision going white.

you almost blacked out for a moment.

"..sweetheart?" a sweet voice called out as you regained your ability to see. dazai's arms were shaking, obviously struggling to keep himself pinned up over you. his eyes were softer, kinder. a man you barely knew. there was a shine of concern in them.

"..are you okay? shit- did I go too far? 'm sorry.. you felt so good.. you're a good girl.." and all you did in response was smile. he'd done enough, he'd always be enough. though the stickiness between your thighs and loss of fullness as he pulled out was mildly discomforting.

"mmhm.. im fine." you reply, feeling him sit himself back, pulling you up and into his arms. pressing you close to him and peppering you with kisses. "I love you.. s'much.. my baby.. im sorry.. i know I broke my promise. i'll get you cleaned up.."

you just smiled. maybe this broken promise wasn't so bad after all.

[guilty-ff]

Fading Shadows: Love and Betrayal Pt.2

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

In a Task Force 141 operation, Soap sacrifices himself to save Simon, introducing tension in Simon and your relationship. Simon's emotional withdrawal escalates, leading to a heated argument where hurtful words are exchanged. You decide to end the relationship, leaving Simon to grapple with the consequences of his actions and the loss of both Soap and Y/n.

Pairings: fem!reader, Simon Riley, König

Genre: mild angst

Tags: MW3 Spoilers, angst, anxiety, break up, independent

The chasm between you and Simon widens with each passing day, the once seamless partnership now fractured by unspoken tensions. At work, the air becomes charged with the remnants of what was, and the camaraderie that defined your relationship on missions results into an uncomfortable silence.

Unable to bear the strain any longer, you decide to take the matter to Captain Price. Knocking on his office door, you wait for the permission to enter.

"Captain, we need to talk."

Price glances up from his paperwork, recognizing the seriousness in your expression. He gestures for you to sit, prompting you to share your concerns.

"What's going on, Sergeant?"

You take a deep breath, carefully choosing your words.

"Simon and I can't continue working together like this. It's affecting our Missions. I need a change, sir."

Price leans forward, his piercing gaze assessing the situation. "You two were one of the best teams I had. I need more than vague reasons, Y/n. You know that I can't just exchange my soldiers simply because of a request", he sighs.

"It's personal, sir. I can't disclose everything, but trust me, I need a different unit," you explain, aware that revealing the true depth of your personal struggles might complicate matters further.

Price studies your face for a moment before sighing.

"Alright, I'll process the paperwork. But you better sort this out, Sergeant. I won't have my team falling apart."

Months pass, and the separation becomes a painful reality. The memories of shared victories, haunting both you and Simon. The war outside may be unrelenting, but the emotional battles within are just as fierce.

One day, as you pass Simon in the hallway, there's a fleeting moment of eye contact. The unspoken words and unaddressed emotions hang heavy in the air. The wounds of a love lost on and off the battlefield are still fresh, and the path to healing seems like an uncertain journey.

In the following weeks, your final request grinds into action, and you find yourself reassigned to a different unit called "KorTac". Not exactly what you were hoping for, when you already know the tension and rivalry between the SpecGru and Kortac factions.

Moreover, the relief is accompanied by a nagging guilt for not being entirely honest with Price. Simon, on the other hand, watches your departure with a mix of confusion and quiet acceptance.

Entering the new faction, you are going to meet unfamiliar faces and a different set of dynamics. The work is challenging, but the void left by the fractured relationship with Simon remains, a constant reminder of what once was.

Back in the Task Force 141, Simon navigates the mission parameters with a stoic demeanor, but the absence of the seamless partnership is felt. The once vibrant laughter and shared glances now replaced by a stoic professional detachment"

Today was the day to say goodbye to your colleagues and friends that have known for over eight years. Eight years of laughter, agony and the painful farewell to beloved friends who aren't present anymore.

The barracks buzz with a mixture of emotions on the day of farewell. Hugs, handshakes, and heartfelt goodbyes fill the air as you prepare to bid adieu to friends who have been part of your life for eight years.

In a quiet corner, you find yourself engaging in a conversation with Captain Price and Gaz, the weight of impending farewells plasters on their faces.

Captain Price, his stern behaviour momentarily softened, speaks with a slight of nostalgia.

"Eight years, Sergeant. You've been a significant part of this team. You'll be missed."

Your eyes examine the room, stopping at a huge Silhouette that stands in the darkest corner of the room.

Gaz shift his glaze and sees your painful expression when he adds, "You've been a damn good comrade. We've been through a lot together. By the way, he actually will be missing you too. I just want to say it on his behalf because this dork won't have the balls to do it himself"

You nod appreciatively, the gratitude for their camaraderie weighing on your heart.

"It's been an honor, sir, and Gaz. I'll never forget the missions we've tackled and the bonds we've forged."

You thank them wholeheartedly with a light smile.

As the conversation continues, Simon remains silent and visibly confused in the background. His usual confident and cocky demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic uncertainty.

Captain Price notices Simon's subdued state and approaches him. "Simon, you alright?"

Simon, his gaze darting between faces and conversations, mumbles, "Yeah, just... trying to process everything."

Gaz, taking a step closer, tries to offer reassurance. "It's a tough day, mate. Saying goodbye to a lot of history here."

Simon's confusion deepens, his eyes seeking understanding. "History? What's happening?"

Captain Price, exchanging a knowing glance with Gaz, explains gently, "Y/n is changing to a different faction, Simon. It's a farewell."

Simon's eyes widen, the realization dawning on him. "Changing? Farewell? Why wasn't I informed?"

Gaz shrugs, "Guess it happened fast. These things aren't always planned."

Seeking solace and advice, you decide to return to the friend who welcomed you when you moved out of the apartment you once shared with Simon. The familiarity of her presence offers a comforting refuge as you navigate the emotional aftermath of the farewell and the complex feelings tied to your relationship with Simon.

As you share your struggles and the decision to move on from the Task Force 141, your friend listens attentively. After recounting the recent events and the growing distance between you and Simon, she suggests, "Maybe it's time to have a heart-to-heart with him. Clear the air, sort things out."

You consider her words, understanding the wisdom in addressing the underlying issues. However, a sense of uncertainty lingers, and you express your hesitation.

"I don't know if it's the right time or if he's willing to open up. It feels like he's a different person now."

Your friend, a supportive presence throughout, encourages you to consider the possibility of reconciliation.

"People change, especially under the weight of war. It might be worth giving him a chance to explain and, perhaps, find a way to rebuild what's been broken."

However, you shake your head, a sense of resolve settling in. "I can't, not right now. It's too much, and we both need time apart. Maybe in the future, but not now."

Your friend, though initially shocked, nods in understanding. "It's your decision, Y/n. Take the time you need, but don't let it linger for too long.“

That night, as you settle into the new routine at the Korean base, the weight of the unspoken breakup looms heavy. The separation becomes a reality, and the absence of Simon brings forth a flood of memories—eight years of shared victories, defeats, laughter, and tears.

As the night progresses, an overwhelming wave of anxiety engulfs you. The familiar rooms seem to close in as the echoes of countless memories with Simon play vividly in your mind. Each shared moment, each inside joke, and the warmth of his presence intensify the emotional turmoil.

You find yourself breathless, gasping for air as the anxiety attack takes hold. The vulnerability of the situation, the weight of the unspoken goodbye, and the uncertainty of the future converge, overwhelming your senses.

In the silence of the night, you grapple with the reality of the silent breakup, the emotions suppressed during the farewell event now demanding acknowledgment. Alone with your thoughts, you confront the pain of the unspoken farewell and the daunting prospect of a life without Simon.

As the night wears on, the panic gradually subsides, leaving you emotionally drained and physically exhausted. The room, once filled with memories, now feels emptier than ever. The journey to healing has just begun, and the road ahead seems fraught with challenges.

The weight of eight years spent alongside Simon becomes a poignant reminder of the intricate tapestry of emotions that once defined your relationship.

After a month of settling into the apartment of your friend and adjusting to the routine at the "KorTac" base, the day arrives when you're finally scheduled to meet your new teammates.

Nervousness and uncertainty grip you as you ponder the challenges that often accompany being the only woman in a military unit.

The atmosphere at the base is bustling, and the absence of your new teammates, currently on a mission, heightens the anticipation. You steel yourself, knowing that you've had to work extra hard in the past to prove your capabilities as a woman in a male-dominated environment.

As you navigate the hallways of the base, your mind races with thoughts of acceptance and validation. The whispers of unfamiliar voices and glances in your direction make you acutely aware of the scrutiny you might face.

Amidst the bustling activity, you receive a message to report to the general's office. The mention of a meeting with a colonel named "König" gives you pause. The name sends a shiver down your spine, a sense of foreboding that you try to shake off. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that names are just names.

Approaching the door of Colonel König's office, you muster the courage to knock. The sound echoes through the hallway, and a stern voice grants you permission to enter. The door swings open, revealing a room adorned with military memorabilia and maps.

As you step inside, Colonel König, a giant figure of authority, sits behind a large desk. His gaze meets yours, and a flicker of something unreadable crosses his eyes. You cringe inwardly, unsure of what to expect in this new chapter of your military career. The tension in the room is palpable, leaving the fate of your future at the "KorTac" base hanging in the balance.

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Don’t tell Jay -Jay Halstead

Summary: When you are still in pain when you should be fully recovered from surgery, you try to sneak to Med to not bother Jay. Will is not having it.

Mentions: Natalie Manning, Will Halstead, and Maggie Lockwood

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety and medical talk. Nothing really.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up still in pain after tossing and turning in Jay’s arms all night, you knew you needed to go to Med. You pretended to be asleep when Jay left an hour ago, knowing he would stay home and insist on accompanying you to see Natalie. You had surgery two weeks ago today, and you FINALLY just convinced Jay to go back to work three days ago. He had been by your side for a little over a week and a half, pampering you and making sure you were healing up nicely. You loved him and appreciated him, but you could tell he was ready to climb the walls. He was a man of action and, though he loved taking care of his wife, he needed to be with his unit and in the action.

Hopping into your car, badge in your backpack even though you hadn’t been cleared for duty yet, you made your way to Med. You knew Will was most likely on shift this morning, so you prayed he wouldn’t see you. He would call Jay as soon as you were put in a room.

Walking into Med, you bypassed Leah, smiling at the receptionist and waving like nothing was wrong, and made your way toward Maggie. The charge nurse looked up as her ED doors slid open, immediately coming around the desk at the sight of you.

“Hey Y/N. Here to see your brother in law?” Maggie asked, smiling and pulling you in for a quick hug.

You mustered up the biggest smile you could and shook your head. “Actually, I need Nat.” You barely got the sentence out before Maggie was pulling you into a room.

“Sit down. You look flushed.” Maggie said, placing you on a gurney and pulling out her phone. She pressed a few buttons before placing it to her ear, balancing it with her shoulder. “Nat. I need you in treatment 4. Now.” Maggie said, waiting for a second before hanging up and taking your temp as she went. “100.” She muttered, placing the pulse ox on your finger and blood pressure cuff on, pushing the button to start it as Nat and Will walked in.

You groaned, making immediate eye contact with your brother in law. “Ah Hell.” You muttered, causing Maggie to chuckle. “Don’t call Jay.” Was your immediate reaction to his presence.

Will rolled his eyes, staying in the doorway as Nat approached you. “You know he will kill us both when he finds out.” Will replied, looking cocky cause he knows you know he’s right. “You never know when he will walk through those doors either.” He pointed out.

You nodded, throwing your head back in defeat. “Fine.” You caved, crossing your arms and looking to Nat.

“What’s goin on?” Natalie asked, coming to your side and rubbing your arm.

“I’ve got some pelvic pain. And lower back pain. It doesn’t feel normal so here I am.” You explained, gesturing around the room.

“Heart rate and BP are high. Temp of 100 and oxygen is at 95.” Maggie rattled off, looking at Natalie first and then Will.

“I’ll be back. Hang in there kiddo.” Will said, patting your leg and taking out his phone. He was gonna call Jay.

Natalie nodded and started pulling off her stethoscope. “Let me take a listen and then I wanna look at your incision site and take a feel. That okay?” Natalie asked, already adjusting her ear pieces.

You nodded and laid back, trying to relax. After taking a listen and feeling your abdomen, Natalie stepped back and grabbed the Ipad Will left for her at the foot of your bed. She typed a couple things as Maggie started an IV on you.

“I’m gonna get some blood work on you and a CT. I’ll be back in a bit. Maggie, hang fluids and give her something for the pain and a mild sedative. Jay can take her home later if all turns out well, but I think the high BP might be a stress response.” Natalie rattled off, before giving my leg a squeeze and leaving Maggie to work.

“Jay is gonna have a cow.” I muttered to Maggie as the charge nurse started to put an IV in my arm.

“Moo.” Jay deadpanned, walking in with a serious face but playful look in his eyes.

“That was fast.” I muttered as Maggie laughed at his response.

“Hailey and I were already here to check on a Vic. I was upstairs.” Jay replied, coming to sit next to you as he took your hand. “Why didn’t you call me or tell me before I left? I know you didn’t sleep well.” Jay said, nodding a thanks to Maggie as she finished up and left the room.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” I muttered, looking down and picking at the blanket Maggie had put over me at some point.

Jay sighed, figuring this would be your answer. “Hey. Look at me.” Jay waited until you looked at him, tears in your eyes as guilt flooded your system. “Listen to me. You are my wife. My first priority. You matter more than this job or anything else. You hear me? You are NEVER bothering me.” Jay said, reaching up to wipe your tears.

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. Jay reached up, gently pulling your lip down with a thumb on your chin. “Just hate this.” You sighed, wiping at your eyes. “I wanna go back to work and put this behind me.” You were beginning to get sleepy. You knew the meds were starting to take effect.

Jay sighed too, standing up and telling you to bunch over. You did as he asked, allowing him to crawl onto the gurney with you and take you into his arms. “I know baby girl. I know.” Jay muttered, leaning up to kiss your head. “But you gotta let me take care of you. The more you relax and let me take the reigns, the faster you will heal up and be back in the bullpen with the rest of us.” Jay reassured, rubbing his hands up and down your arms.

“Nat gave me a sedative.” You muttered, leaning your head into Jay’s chest. You were already exhausted when you came in. These meds were gonna knock you out.

Jay nodded without needing an explanation and pulled you closer, being careful of the wires. He placed a hand in your hair as he pressed the bar to recline the bed back a little bit from his position. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to recline you a little more and make you more comfortable. “Alright. Well, you just let it work. Relax, okay? I’ll be right here.” Jay said, pulling the pony tail holder out of your hair and massaging your scalp.

You hummed in response, allowing your eyes to slip closed. You knew he was disappointed that you didn’t call, but he wasn’t going to press the issue now. You were in enough pain to come in and need a sedative for what he figured was anxiety, so he wasn’t going to add any more stress into your life. He would have time to talk to you later when you were feeling better. Your heart was in the right place, but you needed to let him take care of you. After all, he made a vow and he did not intend on breaking it.

[theetherealbloom]

WHERE DO WE GO NOW? - CH. 2 | 14th Doctor

Chapter Two: All Our Best Years Are Behind

Summary: With the TARDIS out of control, you three end up stranded on a spaceship. Unbeknownst to you all, you're not the only one on board.

Pairing: 14th Doctor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt-to-Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Possible Plot Holes, Vague Background, Aliens, Mild Horror, Violence, Past Trauma, Depression, Anxiety, Timey-Wimey Stuff, Star-Crossed Lovers, Second Chance, Character Death, Mention of Su!c!de, 

Word Count: 11.7k

A/N: Tbh, this chapter took a while for me to write because of all the holiday shopping I needed to do tehe! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter and as you know I thrive for feedback, reblogs and comments. Thank you for all the love you've given so far to this series and I can't wait to start writing the next chapter because I have a bunch of ideas swirling around in my mind hehe. Also, please note that English isn't my first language, please forgive me for any grammatical errors or wrong spelling etc. Love you loads!

Song: anything (demo) by Dodie

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

ENGLAND, 1666 — MORNING

The TARDIS collides with an unknown object, sending you and Donna tumbling through the room. Donna clings to the railing for stability, but you, unfortunately, lose your balance. As you teeter on the edge of falling, the Doctor swiftly intervenes, grabbing your waist and pulling you close. Your bodies collide in the chaotic scenario as flames and sparks whirl around the console.

The Doctor gently cradles your head with one hand, conducting a swift but thorough assessment for any injuries. Satisfied with the examination, he presses a tender kiss to the top of your head. With a determined look, he retrieves a piece of the console, swiftly making his way to the TARDIS doors. His focus shifts to triangulating your current location and time, a sense of urgency evident in his movements.

You, the Doctor and Donna pop your head out the TARDIS and you can see a bright blue clear morning sky and it seems that you have crashed into an apple tree. You look down to see a man holding an apple while looking up at the three of you in disbelief.

The Doctor, with a quirky smile, introduces you and Donna to the stranger he's just encountered. His charm radiates as he explains, "Oh! Sorry, we’re just slightly out of control. This is my fiancée, Stargazer. My friend, Donna..." He playfully gestures towards Donna, who greets the stranger with a friendly grin, "This is Donna. Donna Noble."

"Hi!" Donna chimes in cheerfully.

The Doctor, ever the quick thinker, continues, "Just dropped some coffee into the console." Donna interjects with a light-hearted assurance, "But don’t worry. He’s got a time machine, which means he can blame me for all eternity."

Ignoring Donna's quip, the Doctor turns to the perplexed man and earnestly asks, "I just need to triangulate. Could you tell me what year this is?"

The man, clearly taken aback, responds, "It’s 1666."

You and the Doctor exchange puzzled glances, your lips puckering in unison as you simultaneously warn the stranger, "Oh! Stay away from London."

The Doctor proceeds to input the year into a device, then has a sudden realization, exclaiming, "Wait a minute. Apple tree. Apple. Man holding an apple in 1666. Are you Sir Isaac Newton?"

"Sir Isaac?" to which the man reveals himself as the renowned figure who discovered gravity.

The Doctor, correcting his error, teases, "Oh! Not yet. Spoilers."

Donna, injecting some humor, remarks, "Have you got the controls set to famous or what?"

The Doctor, with a hint of exasperation, retorts, "If I had controls. Thank you."

Donna playfully engages Isaac Newton, saying, "But it's got to be said, Mr. Isaac Newton, that you, above all others, can appreciate—"

The Doctor interjects with a cautionary, "Oh, no, don't."

Undeterred, Donna persists, "You can appreciate—" and you join in, emphasizing, "Really, really don't." Donna groans and urges, "Oh, come on!"

Turning back to a bewildered Isaac Newton, she asserts, "You can appreciate—" and in unison, the three of you declare, "the gravity of the situation."

A loud bang and fire erupt from behind the three of you, prompting a swift turn to witness the chaotic scene inside the TARDIS. The Doctor hastily tells Isaac Newton, “Oh! Sorry, gotta go. Bye!” You and Donna join in, adding your farewells, “Bye!”

UNKNOWN SPACESHIP — ???

As the TARDIS crash lands, Donna steps out of the TARDIS, beginning to say, “I am never ever—”

After hastily evaluating the impending disaster at the TARDIS console, you and the Doctor realize it's on the verge of erupting in flames. The Doctor seizes your wrist and swiftly ushers you outside, shouting to Donna, "Out of the way!"

Both you and the Doctor hit the ground, Donna in tow, as flames erupt from the TARDIS doors. Strangely, the U.S. Air Force song plays in the background with audible lyrics:

"Here they come

Zooming to meet our thunder

At ‘em, boys, give ‘em the gun"

Lying on the floor, the TARDIS abruptly slams its doors shut, bringing an unexpected end to the song. The three of you are panting on the floor in shock and confusion plastered on your face.

As you three pull yourself up and stand, Donna asks in disbelief and unsureness, “Is it… Is it all right? Is it broken? Is it knackered?”

With a frown, the Doctor strides toward the TARDIS doors and pushes them open. "Uh..."

Ducking your head from underneath his shoulder, you peer inside to assess the damage. The hiss of fire and creaking of objects reach your ears amid the billowing steam surrounding the TARDIS. Both you and the Doctor frown at the sight, and he utters a small, "Ooh."

Gently closing the TARDIS door, the Doctor grips both sides of the time machine with his hands. You take a step back, and Donna softly and sheepishly asks, "Is it bad?"

The Doctor presses his forehead against the blue doors in defeat, groaning, "It was brand-new."

Donna softly says, "Sorry."

The Doctor composes himself, taking a deep breath. He spins around and addresses Donna, saying, “Not your fault.”

“Yes, it was.” Donna responds matter-of-factly, accompanied by an awkward smile. “But can we fly? Can you fix it? Can we get back home?”

The Doctor grins, “We can do anything.” Donna laughs in delight.

The Doctor brandishes his sonic screwdriver and says, “Sonic screwdriver,” then pulls out a regular screwdriver, “and a non-sonic screwdriver.”

You and Donna share a laugh, and you playfully point out, “I think a non-sonic screwdriver is just called a screwdriver.”

The Doctor nods, giving you an adorable smile, “Thank you, love.”

“But if I can just reconfigure…” The Doctor starts as he fiddles with the keyhole of the TARDIS, “'Cause this old box can regenerate itself if I can just click it into gear.”

“Am I going mad, or did the TARDIS play ‘Wild Blue Yonder’?” Donna asks both you and the Doctor. He frowns and furrows his brows, “Yeah, it did, didn’t it?”

“What for?” Donna asks, and you reply, “I wonder.”

“We sang that in the choir in primary school. We’d have a little concert every Christmas, but gramps complained. He said, ‘You shouldn’t be teaching children that.’ It sounds all jaunty and fun, but it’s not. It’s the military going to war.” Donna shares as you stand next to her.

“Yeah. It’s the Air Force. The words are ‘wild blue yonder,’ which means the TARDIS played us a war song.” The Doctor frowns in contemplation but then manages to remove a portion of the keyhole. He inserts the end of his sonic screwdriver into the keyhole and clicks a button. The sonic emits a sound as the Doctor continues, “There, now... it can rebuild.”

The Doctor leaves the sonic screwdriver inserted as it continues to hum. The three of you take a few steps back as you hear the TARDIS clattering inside, shifting gears. The Doctor makes a face as he says, “Ooh. Okay? Yes?”

The TARDIS suddenly groans, and you three lean a little backward. Donna then asks, “Is it working?”

“Think so. Strange.” The Doctor comments. After a few seconds, the light atop the police box lights up blue and emits a small ding. The Doctor smiles and clasps his hands together, “There you go! Mending, mending, mending. Give it a bit of time.”

The Doctor then looks around the space you had landed, bends his knees up and down as he says, “So, now. I wonder where we are. Feels like a spaceship? Yeah?”

Donna concurs, “Yeah.”

The Doctor remarks, “Flight.”

Donna then adds, “Spaceship.”

The Doctor scrunches his nose as he shrugs, “Let’s just see.” He moves to what seems to be a door and presses the button on the side, leaving you and Donna to follow him.

“Wow! Nice!” The Doctor remarks as you enter the large, long corridor of the spaceship. Multiple shapes and sizes of grey panels surround the interior walls, while large mechanical beams hold the roof, leaving you in awe of the immense size of the entire spacecraft.

“Big!” Donna comments as she looks around, and The Doctor adds, “Very big!”

“I’d hate to be the cleaner,” Donna says as she gazes up at the high ceilings.

You then spot something in the distance, a small, white figure standing still. Squinting your eyes, you try to make out its shape and say, “Is that—”

The Doctor begins to wave his hand in the air, yelling, “Hello! We just landed. By accident. I hope that’s okay.”

There’s no response from whatever is at the end of the long corridor. Donna leans a little closer and asks, “Is that a person or a thing?”

The Doctor can’t help himself as he looks at the two of you, his tone suggesting, “We could take a look.”

Donna scoffs and points out, “Or we could stay here, wait for the TARDIS to mend itself so I can get back home. My family is waiting for me.”

The Doctor makes a face as he hums and points with his thumb, “Mmm?”

You shake your head while looking up, knowing his curiosity will always win. Eventually, Donna relents, “Yeah, all right.”

The Doctor smiles and shoves a hand down his pocket as he takes your hand in his, and the three of you walk down the massive, long corridor. Donna begins to say “Still, wherever we are, could be worse. We’ve got air. We’ve got lights. We’ve got mavity.”

You and the Doctor glance at each other before nodding along with Donna. Both of you hum and agree, “Yeah.”

“Was it me, or was Isaac Newton hot?” Donna says, and you grin wildly as you nod your head in agreement, saying, “Oh, thank the stars someone said it! 'Cause, yes, he was very hot.”

“He was, wasn’t he? He was so hot.” The Doctor said before realizing, “Oh, is that who I am now?”

You give the Doctor a reassuring squeeze as Donna says to the Doctor, “Well, it was never that far from the surface, mate. I always thought—” She’s cut off by the sudden sound of the TARDIS engine whirring, and the three of you race back to where you had landed to see it disappear.

The Doctor exclaims in panic, “No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

“But— What?” Donna says as she takes a small step back in disbelief. You're by the Doctor’s side as your mouth slightly opens in shock, feeling a tightness in your chest of uncertainty.

“You’ll get it back though?” Donna asks, “Doctor, you can get it back.”

The Doctor has wide eyes and a mouth agape as he doesn’t reply. Donna steps in front of the two of you, saying, “Doctor, you can get the TARDIS back, can’t you? Use the sonic.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows dip in the middle, a visible annoyance and frustration as he replies, “It was in the keyhole.”

Donna’s eyes widen, and she stammers as she tries to gather solutions to the problem you three were in. She says, “But you can whistle. You could snap your fingers. You could summon it. Just use that stupid head of yours and get it back.”

The Doctor gives her a look as he grits his teeth in slight rage, and Donna shakes her head at him, pointing a finger as she says, “Oh, don’t you look at me like that. It’s your fault.”

To which you and the Doctor give her a more pointed look, and Donna continues on, “I said, ‘Let’s stay here’. But you two had to wander off.”

You raise your voice as you say, “You wandered with us!”

Donna retaliates with her voice high-pitched, “Oh, like I could stop you both!”

The Doctor adds fuel to the fire, his voice raising, “You spilled the coffee—” He stops himself, not liking where all the blaming and pointing fingers were going. To him, there was no point, so he threw his hands in the air as he turned around, saying, “No.”

The Doctor places both hands on his hips as you let out a deep sigh through your nose as you cover both your eyes with the palms of your hands, rubbing them out in frustration. 

Donna fiddles with the lapels of her coat as she nods and agrees with a soft note, saying, “No.”

The Doctor briefly raises both of his hands in surrender as he softly says, “Sorry.” To which you also add your own, “Sorry, Donna.”

Donna steps back, and her voice shakes as she says, “No. Okay. Fine.” Then you see panic seep through Donna. She begins to pant, her eyes slightly water and rim her eyes, and her lower lip begins to tremble. “Oh— Oh, my God. Where are we?”

You and the Doctor move towards her the moment her lower lip begins to tremble, and Donna has an outstretched hand, trying not to let you two get close, but it’s no use. The Doctor grabs her hand and gives it a small kiss in reassurance. Then you hold on to grab her other hand in support as she whimpers, and she sniffles out, “Rose is waiting.”

The Doctor looks directly into Donna’s shining blue eyes as he says, “I will get you home.” Donna shakes her head, “How?”

The Doctor is serious as he says, “There is one hope. A mechanism on board the TARDIS called the HADS. Hostile Action Displacement System.” He then lets go of Donna’s hand and continues, “If the TARDIS is in danger, it goes away.”

“Goes where?” Donna asks.

“Anywhere. And it only comes back when the danger is gone. I turned it off years ago. I mean, I’d never land anywhere. Once spent three years with the Stargazer in orbit, and I thought, ‘Oh, mmm, turn off the HADS’, but if the TARDIS is rebuilding itself, maybe it clicked back on.” The Doctor explains, and Donna realizes, “But that means we’ve landed in the middle of hostile action.”

To which the Doctor replies with a somber tone, “Yeah.”

In moments like these, you remain silent, your mind kicking into overdrive as it gathers as much information as possible, desperately searching for a solution to the chaotic situation around you.

“There’s something on this ship that’s so bad the TARDIS ran away?” Donna asks, a slight quiver in her voice. The Doctor stammers, “Y-yes.”

Donna takes a moment before declaring, “Then… we go and kick its arse!” She moves to slam the palm of her hand on the button on the wall that opens the door and strides down the corridor with determination. You and the Doctor exchange a look before trailing after her.

“She was very put out. Mrs Bean,” Donna says as the three of you stroll down the long spaceship corridor. The Doctor, intrigued, asks, “Mrs Bean?” Your hand is in his, swaying with the movement of your bodies as you walk. He never wants to let you go again, now that he has you back.

Donna recounts her memory, “Head of the choir. She said, ‘It’s not a war song. It’s jolly.’ That’s what she said, ‘It is jolly.’”

After a brief moment of silence, you turn to Donna with a silly expression, “Mrs Bean?” The three of you burst into laughter at the absurdity of the last name, wondering just how unlucky someone must be to carry a vegetable as their surname for the rest of their life.

“Fenslaw.”

An automated voice echoes through the speakers of the spaceship, causing the pillars and panels to click and clatter as they shift and move around you three. You, the Doctor, and Donna stand still in concern, watching as everything unfolds before settling back into place.

“What was that?” Donna asks with narrowed eyes.

The Doctor frowns as he tries to understand, “Like circuits moving. Or it’s reconfiguring to become…”

“But what was that word? Fenslaw. What’s that mean?” Donna asks.

The Doctor shrugs, “I don’t know. The TARDIS translates, but now it’s gone.”

“No, the TARDIS translates for me. I thought you knew twenty-seven million languages.” Donna points out.

“I know fifty-seven billion two hundred and five, but not this one.” The Doctor says matter-of-factly, and you roll your eyes at his subtle brag. Then he tilts his head slightly, “Unless it’s Mr Fenslaw saying his name?”

Donna shakes her head, “It wasn’t that.”

The Doctor nods and agrees as he parrots back, “It wasn’t that.”

Donna turns and places her hands in the pockets of her coat, jutting her chin out in the direction where the unknown species or object stands from a distance and says, “Jimbo didn’t move. What is that?”

The Doctor begins, “Oh, wait a minute. If I’m right…” Then he steps on a button on the floor with his grey converse, and a mechanism hisses before popping up a small orange hovering transport vehicle. Donna chuckles in amusement as she moves to sit in the passenger seat on the far end.

The Doctor gives you a cheeky grin and exaggerates his accent as he says to the two of you, “Your car, milady.”

“Thank you, Parker.” Donna says with her own exaggerated accent. You sit in between them as the Doctor drives.

After a few meters of driving, the object comes into view, and you say with realization, “Oh, it’s a robot.”

The Doctor pulls the vehicle to a halt, and you three exit the cart as you stand in front of the white, round, and old robot. The Doctor then says, “Hello, Jimbo. Can you talk?” The robot doesn’t move or make a single beep, and the Doctor continues to try to talk to it as he bends down to its height, “You got basic communications, Fenslaw? Fenslaw. No?” He moves an inch closer as he slowly speaks to it, “Fenslaw.”

With no response, the Doctor resorts to knocking on the white metal of the robot’s head, and a hollow echo sounds out. The Doctor waddles a little backward as he continues to ask, “Have you got controllers listening? Hello, I’m the Doctor, this is my soon-to-be-wife the Stargazer,” you interject him by saying, “Haven’t agreed to anything, yet.” He ignores it and continues with introductions, “This is Donna. We need help. We need to—”

He’s cut off as the Doctor takes a slow and mechanical step forward, causing the three of you to jump and take a step back. “Is that it?” Donna asks, wondering if there’s more to it than the robot.

“One step at a time.” The Doctor says, and Donna spirals, “What is it? Maybe it’s an invader. Maybe that’s the hostile action.”

Then you look around the robot, observing it, before remarking, “I think it’s just old. See, look at the rust.”

“It’s primitive if you don’t mind me saying so, Jimbo. Someone got a very old robot out of storage to walk very slowly down a very long corridor.” The Doctor says before taking a long inhale, “Why?”

“Maybe… time slowed down.” Donna guesses and you and the Doctor shake your heads. You then say, “No. We’d feel it in our bones.”

The Doctor points at the robot while saying, “Stay there, Jimbo. No sudden moves.” He then tilts his head back on the cart, “Onwards?” You and Donna hum before following the Doctor back to the cart.

Donna lifts her hand and tells the Doctor, “Uh, I’ve got it.” As you climb into the cart, Donna says, “Allons— as the idiots say— –y!”

She steps on the gas, and the car moves forward, zooming along the corridor. Eventually, you reach the end of the corridor, revealing a door. The three of you move to the door, which slides open.

The door behind you slides down shut as the Doctor calls out, “Hello? Is anyone home?”

With no response, the three of you push forward. The entire room glows in cool blue light, leading you to the front of the ship where you find an empty captain’s chair and two monitors attached to the front.

“Well, definitely a spaceship,” Donna comments as she steps forward to look out the large window in the front, continuing, “If that’s space.”

The Doctor hops into the pilot’s chair, saying, “We’ve got a chair. That’s a good sign. It’s a life form with a bum.” He presses one of the switches on the control panel, adding, “If I can translate their basic one to ten, I can find out where we are. And when. And why.”

Putting on his glasses, the Doctor reads out the screen, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Now I can read the base codes. So, life signs?” After pressing a few buttons, the computer whizzes and chirps, and the Doctor frowns, “None. Just an empty chair.”

“Where have they all gone?” Donna asks, leaning forward, and you feel something shiver up your spine, as if you’re being watched around the corner.

The Doctor hums, “The spaceship seems to have powered down. Basic functions ticking over.” Then something catches your eye, and you point out on the monitor, “Oh. Someone opened an airlock door three years ago. And then it closed.”

“What for?” Donna asks with wide eyes and continues, “This whole ship has been empty for three years?”

“Don’t know,” the Doctor mumbles as he reads the symbols on the screen. Then he realizes and says, “Those numbers are lenses. There’s a camera.” As you lean a little closer to see what the Doctor is saying, you feel him tug you closer and suddenly let you sit in his lap, your entire body flooding with warmth.

You squirm in his lap and playfully smack his shoulder as he lets out a yelp, “Ow!”

You look at Donna apologetically, and she gives you a knowing smile, not letting the display of affection affect her. She hasn’t seen the Doctor this happy in ages.

The Doctor flips a few switches while explaining, “Like a drone. We can see where we are.” As the drone activates, you see what it’s seeing on the screen in front of you, and the Doctor chuckles in excitement, tightening his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he mumbles, “Well, it’s definitely a spaceship.”

Donna asks, “What kind of spaceship?”

“Don’t know,” the Doctor replies honestly. Then the drone appears from the front of the ship, shining a bright flashlight in your direction. The Doctor moves his head to the side and uses a hand to wave, “Ah! Hello!” which you see on the monitor to your left.

“But if we’re in space, there are no stars,” Donna points out and then asks, “Where are the stars?”

“We could be inside a dust cloud or a mavity well, or—” The Doctor pauses suddenly as he reads the screen to his right, “Oh.”

“What?” Donna asks with concern in her voice, and the Doctor shakes his head, “No, it’s fine. The ship is lost. It fell through a wormhole.”

“Ending up where?” Donna inquires, and you frown as you try to translate the rest of the symbols. The Doctor sighs, “I’m sorry, Donna. The TARDIS was out of control. It’s taken us…”

“To the edge of the universe,” you say, finishing the Doctor’s sentence. The drone moves away, and Donna takes a step forward toward the glass, where a void of pitch black is on the other side.

“So, what’s out there?” Donna asks with a subtle shift in her tone, a little scared. The Doctor taps your hip to stand, which you do, and the two of you follow Donna to look at the view of the edge. The Doctor removes his glasses and pockets them as he begins to say, “Well, that’s difficult… for you because if the universe is everything, then the concept of everything having an edge is, mmm, kind of impossible. But that’s the language of 21st-century Earth, and you don’t know anything yet.” The Doctor pauses and adds, “Not being rude. You just don’t. When you discover Camboolian Flat Mathematics, you’ll discover it’s possible.”

“What?” Donna asks softly, and the Doctor replies, “That. The nothing. At the edge of creation. Absolute nothingness.”

Donna then says, “But starlight travels. You can stand in my garden and look at the light from stars a billion miles away. So, where’s the light?”

You nod to the corner and say, “Over there. It just hasn’t reached us yet.” You then point and explain, “If we flew in that direction, it would take a hundred trillion years to reach your house.”

You see Donna’s eyes glaze over and water, “That’s my family. Over there.”

The Doctor comments, “I’ve never been this far out.” He then places a hand on the glass, “To stand here like this.” He begins to softly say, “Physically. Unprotected. Right on the edge.” He then places his other hand on the glass and leans forward to observe the empty void. Absent of stars and light. He continues, “No one ever has. Not ever. Till us. And this ship.”

“And an airlock that opened three years ago. And closed,” Donna says, and the Doctor pushes himself off the glass and inhales, “Yeah.”

Suddenly, a loud metal clang reverberates throughout the ship, causing the three of you to whip your heads around to see the source of the noise. You rush out of the pilot’s room, and the door slides up and opens, revealing nothing.

“Must’ve been just settling,” the Doctor says, and Donna looks around skeptically, “You said no signs of life. Are you absolutely certain?”

“Coliss.”

The deep automated voice echoes, and you watch as the hexagonal panels and large pillars begin to flip and switch, clicking and clattering before coming to a stop.

“It said fenslaw and coliss. Like a list. Or a solicitors. Or a countdown. Or instructions.”

“Or a warning,” Donna adds.

The Doctor’s brows furrow, and he puffs out his cheeks. “Slow warning,” he says as he turns around back inside the pilot’s area with you two following him.

“I think this way,” the Doctor says, spinning to the far right end of the room before entering a different section and saying happily, “Yes! Base plate repetition filaments.” He pats both of the drawers that glow a bright orange before pulling a drawer while letting out a small gasp, “Huh.”

He then pulls one of the filaments out, and it creates a squelching sound as he does, vocalizing, “If we move one up…” It drips out goo as he inspects it, and Donna asks, “Is that stuff dangerous?”

“No. I don’t think so,” the Doctor says. He moves to sniff it before sticking his tongue out on the filament, licking the goo, and you and Donna make gagging noises as you groan in disgust.

Then the Doctor shakes his head, “No.”

As he goes to put the filament back, he begins to gag and groan, clutching on your arm and you and Donna begin to panic. “Doctor! What—” You begin to say but then he suddenly stops and stands straight, “No.”

You and Donna whack him on the arm in annoyance with his little joke. He pulls the top drawer and, placing the filament on top, he says, “Clip it into the fold back. Can you do that? Take all the rectangles, move them up there.” The Doctor asks Donna, and she replies, “What does that do?”

The Doctor then explains, “The ship's on neutral for some reason. It’s just idling. We need to get it back on full power.”

He then grabs your hand and begins to drag you away from the room, and Donna calls out, “Well, don’t leave me on my own.” The Doctor spins around with you in his grip as he says, “Donna, there is no one else on board this ship.”

Donna retorts with, “Hostile action, remember?”

As if on cue, a metal clang thumps and creates an echo throughout the room, and Donna asks, “And what’s that?”

The Doctor shakes his head, “A noise.” Donna scrunches her face as she sarcastically replies, “Oh, well, you’re very helpful.”

The Doctor takes a step back with you, and Donna says, “Go on then. And hurry back. You little streak!”

“I need to find the spindle. That’s not like wool. It’s a water pivot.” The Doctor says, and you look back at the Captain’s chair. You tell him, “I’ll try and see if I can access any of the logs.”

The Doctor nods, and you walk off to sit in the pilot’s seat. You hear the Doctor exclaim at the end of the hallway, “That’s it! Can you still hear me?”

You hear Donna yell out, “No,” as you let out a little hum of acknowledgment.

“Good. Good. Won’t be long.” The Doctor says from the spindle room, and you tap the monitor, trying to understand each symbol to see if you can find out what happened during all those years this ship was lost.

You exhale in frustration, conceding defeat in your attempt to access the logs. Slouching back into the chair, you cross your arms, and a visible puff of warm air escapes your mouth with each breath. A slight shiver courses through you, prompting a tighter embrace of your own body, as you curl into a small ball. Surveying the vast empty void at the edge of the universe, there's a profound absence of light, sound, or anything discernible.

Donna enters your field of vision, and you inquire, "You alright? It suddenly got colder." She responds with a nonchalant, "Yeah, 'm fine."

"Already done with the filaments?" you ask incredulously, and Donna hums in affirmation, "Yeah."

Raising your eyebrows, you nod, "Alright then." Donna moves to stand with her back to you, gazing into the abyss. After a brief silence, she asks with a tone void of emotion, "Did you ever miss it?"

"Miss what?" you seek clarification.

"Running away with the Doctor?" She clarifies, and you lean your head back, looking up at the ceiling as you hum in contemplation. Eventually, you settle on, "I did, sometimes... The thrill, the chase, all the excitement... because I often thought to myself, 'What would I give for another run with the Doctor?' or even just to catch a glimpse of him. Then as the years went on when I..." You release a deep breath before continuing, "I realized I didn't miss any of that... I just... I missed him."

"But I couldn't... even the thought of my desires versus the entire universe collapsing. I just— I never thought I would ever see him again." You say and Donna lets you continue, “Now he’s back and… it all feels so surreal. And I fear that there’s going to be a price to pay.”

"My arms are too long," Donna suddenly declares, and you frown, "I don't think so."

"No, seriously, look!" Donna insists, and you divert your gaze from the ceiling to see her facing you. Your eyes widen as her arms appear unusually long and huge in front of you. You jump out of your seat, taking a step back, "What—"

"Star! Star, are you there?" you hear the Doctor call from behind you, and you shout, "Yeah! What about Donna? Is she there?"

Turning around, you rush to the middle of the room to find the Doctor. Donna does the same, and you both clutch each other as you watch the three duplicates move toward you. Fear laces Donna's voice as she asks, "What are they?"

“They’re us,” the Doctor says, and Donna denies it, not wanting to believe as she says, “They’re not us.”

You watch as your clones walk into the room. The Doctor's double says with zero emotion, “The notion of shape is strange.”

Your doppelganger remarks, “It limits. It is limiting.” As it waddles from the other room where Donna once was, a consuming fear sets in. “It limits. Limits everything,” you hear the Donna clone say as it walks forward. The Doctor tries the friendly approach, “Whatever shape you want to take, that’s fine. You can do whatever you want. I just want to say it’s very nice to meet you. I’m the Doctor, this is the Stargazer, and this is Donna.”

Donna chimes in, “So are they.”

As the unknown creatures move a step closer, you three take a step back to the door that leads out to the corridor. The Doctor raises his voice, “If you can just get those bodies to calm down, we can talk. That’ll be nice, don’t you think?”

“They’re looking at us like food,” Donna says, and the fake Doctor says, “Food is interesting. Because once I sort out the arms…” You watch as it stretches back to a normal size, and then it continues, “then I have a problem with the jaw.” The creature-like-Doctor’s jaw stretches down to the floor, and the three of you are wide-eyed in shock, confusion, and fear before it clicks back into place.

“It’s the knees. How many knees?” The other-Donna asks, and your non-Doctor replies, “Two.”

“Two in total, or two in each leg?” The non-Donna asks, and you hear the sound of cracking as it adjusts its knees.

The three of you take a few steps back, and the door behind you opens. The Doctor asks, “Where did you come from? You’re not part of the ship, are you? Did you come from outside?”

“We came from the nothing,” your doppelganger says as it twitches and resets her wrists while stepping forward. “We are No-things,” the Not-Doctor says, and the Not-Donna adds, “But you. You are not nothing.”

The Doctor replies, “Oh, I think you’ll find we’re quite something.” The three of you hastily jump into the transport cart, the Doctor seizing the driver's seat while you and Donna squeeze into the passenger seat as the No-Things pursue you.

Then, a menacing growl echoes from behind. You and Donna glance back to witness the No-Things crawling on all fours, steadily growing larger. Donna exclaims, “Oh, my God, they’re growing!”

“Come on!” The Doctor urges, stepping on the gas and shifting gears. Donna raises her voice, “Go faster!”

“I know!” The Doctor responds, and you feel a slight tug on the back of the cart. Turning around, you see the Not-Doctor gripping it as he crawls. You and Donna grab tools from the back as the redhead declares, “No, you don’t!”

You two start to strike the Not-Doctor's hand, and your Doctor announces, “I can’t control it!”

“You stupid big hand!” Donna yells out in anger, and it eventually releases its grip on the cart, flinging you and Donna forward. The Doctor shouts, “No, no, no, no, no, no!” The cart crashes into a hydraulic pillar but manages to regain control, only for the Not-Donna to throw its hand at the side of the cart, causing you to spin out of control.

The Doctor rips out the steering wheel, and Donna screams as the spinning comes to a halt. You watch as the three No-Things expand and become entangled in each other’s limbs, hissing and growling at you three. The engine sputters as you sit there in shock. Donna then asks uncertainly, “What are they?”

Exiting the vehicle, the cart's frame falls apart, causing a loud clatter. You turn around to see the Doctor approaching the chaotic mess in front of you, and you groan, “Oh, no, don’t!”

“We’ve got to see,” the Doctor says, walking a little forward. The metal groans under the weight of the twisted limbs and squished faces. The Doctor mumbles, “It’s strange enough my face coming back, but not this big.”

“The airlock door three years ago. That’s when they got in,” Donna states with a nod, and the Doctor adds, “No-things. No control of shape. No concept of shape or size.”

“How can they get bigger? ‘Cause you only get a certain amount of mass, don’t you? Shaun used to complain about that watching Venom films. He said, ‘Where’s the extra mass come from?’”

You then recall the chill you felt as you sat in the pilot’s chair, pointing out, “It got colder.”

Donna agrees, nodding as she announces, “Oh, yeah, it got colder for me.”

Glancing back at the No-things, you conclude, “Heat into mass.”

The Doctor builds on that, saying rapidly, “But they’re not just physical copies. They’ve got our thoughts, too. That other Star, she mentioned Gallifrey and Mars.”

“The other Stargazer said, ‘Wilf’,” Donna remembers, pointing to your copy.

“The Not-Donna asked me if I missed all the adventures with the Doctor,” you add with disbelief.

“So they’ve got our memories,” the Doctor concludes, and Donna shudders, “Okay. So they’re copies with memories and mass, but what I don’t get is why do they hate us?”

Suddenly, one of the hands drops onto the metal floor, causing a loud thump, and the three of you jump back, letting out yelps. Donna looks at it with a concerned tone as she says, “That’s my hand.”

The metal begins to creak, and you look around as the Doctor points out, “They’re getting free. We should reason with them. Try to make peace. Welcome them to our side of the universe.”

The No-things roar in anger and disgust, and you flinch. The Doctor takes a step back and remarks, “Maybe later.”

As the three of you turn to run, the Doctor points out the three hexagon panels with steps on them, exclaiming, “I know, I know. Ladder. Do you think? Maybe up there?” You see a small exit hexagon, and Donna shrugs, “Let’s go!”

The Doctor climbs first, leading the way as you and Donna follow him up. But you hear the familiar automated voice resonate throughout the speakers of the ship, “Brate.”

The Doctor groans, “Oh, not now!” The triangle panels begin to flip, and you feel each hexagon shape slide opposite sides. You hear Donna exclaim, “Doctor! Star!”

“It’s okay. I’m right here!” the Doctor says right before the panel flips inwards, and he’s out of view. You watch as Donna slides down from the ladder and into a different area of the ship. Your hexagon moves upwards and flips inwards, flinging you into the interior of the spacecraft. You let out a yelp as you land on your bum, and suddenly the three of you are separated.

Fatigue etches lines of frustration across your face as you wearily rub your eyes with both hands. With a sigh, you push yourself upright, casting a glance down the dimly lit corridor. The soft hum of glowing pipelines provides the only illumination as you traverse the hallway, the occasional hiss of escaping air and steam accompanying your footsteps. Abruptly, a door slams shut behind you, prompting a swift turn of your head. Shaking off the interruption, you continue walking forward in the eerie silence of the spaceship's metallic passageway.

You discover a ladder and descend, the metallic clangs echoing in the confined space. Moving forward, the whirring of systems shutting down and rebooting accompanies your steps. The flickering lights above cast erratic shadows, and as you exhale, your breath materializes in the cold atmosphere.

Finally, you reach a door, stepping out just as the Doctor emerges simultaneously. A moment of uncertainty hangs between you two.

You cautiously take a step back, asking, “Are you—”

The Doctor interjects, “Is it—” A shared pause ensues, and you murmur, “But it got cold.”

“I know I’m me,” you assert with narrowed eyes, and the Doctor affirms, “Well, so am I.”

Frustration flickers across your face as you lick your lips. The Doctor initiates, “Tell me, how did we meet?”

“When?” you inquire.

“The first time we met, how did we meet?” the Doctor specifies.

"At the Academy. What was the color of the sky back on Gallifrey?" you respond, then throw a question back at him.

“Orange sky and trees with silver leaves. That reflected the morning sunlight, making it look like the forests were on fire. You and I would have picnics outside of the Capitol when we didn’t want to show up for class… your eyes would shine like starlight, and I… I knew then that I loved you.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and your bottom lip trembles as you say, “You didn’t say it then.”

“I can say it now,” the Doctor pleads.

You purse your lips, feeling a wavering resolve, and shake your head, “You also hated me back then.” The Doctor shakes his head, attempting to step forward, but you take two steps back, edging closer to the door. “After what I had done. When you found out who I was and where I came from. A rift in time. A supposed observer who interfered with fixed points in time when I had to save everyone. I had to save… you.”

The Doctor begins, “You and I both know it wasn’t your fault. After the Rift, the Time War, and Mars…”

You shake your head, swallowing down your guilt as you take in the way he looks at you. It wasn't him, but the weight of the past bears down on you. Another step back, and this time the Not-Doctor grimaces and says mockingly, “You and your sad backstory. ‘Oh, woe is me! I started an entire war! I altered a fixed point in time! Boo hoo! I should have died.’ Blah, blah, blah. No wonder the Doctor left you on Earth! You are annoying to be with. And you are right about one thing, you should have died! Why didn’t you die? Hmm?”

Gritting your teeth, you head out the door and slam the button shut, running down the corridor. The echoes of harsh words linger in the cold metallic passage. Exhausted, you eventually stop to catch your breath. Sliding down one of the walls, you can't contain the streams of tears flowing down your cheeks. Quiet sobs escape, and you cup your mouth with your hand, trying to muffle the sound, the weight of emotions overwhelming you in the dimly lit corridor.

Taking a deep breath, you try to settle yourself down, a skill you've honed over years of navigating the guilt within. You've learned not to be ashamed of your survival. You did what you had to do, continuously clawing your way out of the ache, cutting through the pain to the bone. It was never going to be pretty, but deep down, you know it will always be worth it.

You bury your head in between your curled-up knees, seeking solace as you take another breath and sniffle. Suddenly, loud banging echoes from a few meters down the hall, and amidst the clamor, you recognize the voice shouting. The Doctor's frustration is palpable as the grunting and banging continue. You remain still, waiting in the silence that follows. When the noise subsides, the Doctor notices you. He comes to a stop, and as he meets your tear-stained gaze and red-rimmed eyes, you say nothing.

Anger seems to cloud the Doctor's expression, evidence of the harsh words exchanged with the Not-You or Not-Donna. Yet, his demeanor softens as he kneels to your level, whispering, "Is it you?"

Weakly, you mumble, "I think you know."

He draws you close, his arms enveloping you, and his warmth provides a comforting embrace. Placing your head on his chest, you admit, "I should have known the it was the Not-Doctor I was speaking to, but I—"

The Doctor shushes you, planting a gentle kiss on the side of your head. "I was tricked too. I'm here now, love. Wasn't your fault." Gently rocking the both of you back and forth, he eventually stands up, offering a hand for you to take and pull yourself up. Moving through the hallway, this time, he doesn't let go.

“Gilvane.”

You find another door, and upon entering, you are met with the peculiar sight of your doppelgangers and potentially the real Donna. As you and the Doctor survey the two sets of clones – one set of you and the other Donna not holding hands – the two Donnas exchange uncertain glances. One Donna breaks the tension with a comment, "I’ve gotta say, this is the biggest nightmare of my life, but… I look quite good."

"I can’t argue," the other Donna adds. The Not-Doctor then points at your Doctor, demanding, “I want to talk to you. You Not-Doctor. I know you’re a fake. I know for a fact. So I want to know why you’re doing this.”

Your Doctor frowns, “That’s what I was gonna say!”

“You should have been faster. ‘Cause that’s me, isn’t it. Fast. Am I fast? Do I talk fast? Yes.” The Not-Doctor rattles off rapidly. Your Doctor retorts, “But you’re a copy of me! You’re only fast because I am.”

“You seriously want to marry this one?” The Not-You asks, and you nonchalantly reply, “Of course you’d know. Spent almost my entire life with him, might as well.”

“Oh, well, I can’t follow any of this. And that is proof. ‘Cause let’s not pretend. I’m the stupid one,” the other Donna interjects, prompting the Doctor to squeeze your hand as he questions, “You think you’re stupid?”

The other Donna replies, “Of course I do.”

“That’s very Donna,” your Doctor says, and the Not-Doctor chimes in, “That’s so Donna. That’s my Donna.”

“Except Donna does not think she’s stupid,” you point out, and the two Donnas say, “Oh, but I do.”

You shake your head, “No. Donna thinks she’s stupid, and sometimes she thinks she’s brilliant. She thinks both. Because that’s the astonishing thing about people from her planet. They can believe two completely different things at exactly the same time.”

After a moment, Donna looks at the both of you with your intertwined hands, grinning, “Brainbox and Stargirl!”

“Earthgirl!” You and the Doctor say in unison as the three of you reunite, sharing a group hug. Suddenly, the sound of cracking fills the air as the No-things begin to stretch. The Doctor swiftly whips out a salt shaker, exclaiming, “But salt! You can’t cross salt. In our universe, it is said that vampires, demons, and ghosts cannot cross a single line of salt until they’ve counted every single grain.” He starts drawing a line of salt in front of you before lifting the shaker up, “You’ve got no choice!”

“But that’s a superstition,” the Not-Doctor says, and your doppelganger adds, “Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“It’s a superstition, and it’s true. Two things at once,” the Doctor asserts, and the Not-Doctor attempts to call him out, “You’re lying.”

Challenging him, the Doctor exclaims, “Then walk towards me. Come on. Stop copying and make your own minds up. Cross the line!”

The Not-Donna glances at your Donna and says, “She doesn’t believe him.”

“But you said I’m stupid,” Donna points out, to which the Not-Donna retorts, “And also brilliant.”

Your Donna sneers at her copy, “Then which one is it, Donna? Cross the line. Or count.”

As if the Not-Donna couldn’t help herself, like an impulse, she gets on her knees and begins to count each grain of salt, mumbling numbers as she does. Now all that stands is the Not-Doctor and the Not-Stargazer who stands there staring at the three of you.

“So tell me. What do you want?” The Doctor asks, to which the Not-Doctor responds, “You tell us.”

“It didn’t get cold this time.” You point out, and Donna agrees, “No, it didn’t, did it?”

“Which means you’re acclimatizing. Your arms are a bit too long. Your mouths are a bit too wide. But are you stabilizing?” The Doctor inquires, and Donna adds, “Like they’re becoming us properly.”

“I just wonder why.” Your Doctor says aloud, and the Not-Stargazer singsongs, “Why?”

Donna realizes something as she says, “Because the TARDIS will come back for us. They know that. So if they become completely us, the TARDIS will come back for them.”

“Is that what you want? Escape?” The Doctor asks with his hands in his pockets. Suddenly the tone of the Not-Doctor shifts and explains, “We drifted here. In the lack of light. Passing no-time.”

Your copy continues, “But we would feel it. From so far away. Your noisy, boiling universe.”

“We want to travel there. To play your vicious games and win.” The Not-Doctor says with a grave tone.

You frown as you say, “If you existed here with no shape, no form, no purpose, then what’s made you so bad?”

The Not-Stargazer replied with eyes devoid of emotion, “The things we felt, they shaped us. Carrying across the dark. We could hear your lives of war. And blood and fury and hate. They made us like this.”

“We are more than that.” Donna spits out, and the Not-Donna says, “Love letters don’t travel very far. And neither do your lies.” She then blows the line of salt away, and you three step backward as your clones begin to have sharp teeth as they hiss and growl at you.

You feel your back against the wall, and suddenly the automated voice can be heard once more, “Stond.”

The lights flicker as the panel behind you begins to flip you three around, clicking and clattering, and Donna remarks, “That’s lucky.”

But the panel flips you back to where you were, and Donna whispers, “Or not.”

“Run?” The Doctor asks, and you and Donna agree, “Run!”

You sprint through the corridor, timing it perfectly as one of the doors manages to stall them before you re-enter the captain's area. The Doctor gestures a hand and says, “Come on!”

After pressing a few switches, a glass panel slides down from above, dividing you three from the No-things. As they stare at you three, Donna asks, “Why? I don’t understand why. What are they scaring us for?”

“Problem is, ten minutes ago they’d have ripped that door off its hinges. Now they’re just standing there. Locking into shape. Almost complete,” the Doctor comments, and Donna presses, “Yes, but if you just listen to my question, thank you very much. Why are they making us so scared? If they wanna copy us, why don’t they just sit in a corner and do it? Why terrorize us?”

The Doctor’s face lights up and says, “That’s a very good question.”

“Yes. I’m brilliant.” Donna says while bouncing on her tip toes.

“Why provoke us? Unless… that’s how it’s done. The more scared we are, the more blood pumps. Hypothalamus. Adrenaline. We think faster and faster and faster.” The Doctor says as the pieces begin to click.

“It makes us easy to copy.” You remark, and the Doctor takes a step towards the glass as he says, “Goosebumps, like braille. You’re reading us. Is that right?”

“Well, what do we do? How do we stop ‘em? Stop being scared?” Donna asks urgently, and the Doctor says, “Like the ship all ticking over in neutral. Donna, stop thinking.”

Donna laughs nervously, “Well, that’s easy for me. What about you two?”

You look at the Doctor as you pull your lips to the side, “Took up meditation for a bit, so the only one with that problem is him.”

The Doctor takes a deep breath and says, “Just calm. Just cool.”

“Yeah, I’m calm.” Donna says with a deep inhale, and the Doctor comments, “Even calmer.”

“Well, you do it too.” Donna says, and the Doctor exclaims back, “I am!”

Donna grits her teeth, “Mmm. Stop rattling me!”

“Will you two just shut up!” You say.

The Doctor softly says, “Slow. Slow heartbeat. If we’re slow, they can’t read us.”

“Okay.” Donna says, and the Doctor replies, “Good. Shhh.”

After a few moments of complete silence, Donna asks, “For how long?” And the Doctor replies, “Uh, there’s a flaw in the plan.”

The Not-Doctor decides to bait him by asking, “How can you not think on a ship full of questions? Why the empty chair?”

Not-Stargazer adds on and asks, “Why do the walls keep moving?”

Not-Doctor asks, “What are the words in the air?”

Not-Donna asks again, “Why did the airlock open and close three years ago?”

You and Donna say simultaneously, “Don’t.”

Your Doctor begins to protest, “But—”

Both of you are firm as you say, “Don’t. Stop it.”

Then a sudden loud metal clang rings out once more, and the Not-Doctor asks, “And what is that?”

“Doctor, stop thinking.” You warn but eventually the Doctor relents and groans as he says, “Let me think. Let me think.”

The No-things begin to chant creepily, “Think! Think! Think! Think!”

The Doctor moves to a few switches and buttons on the wall and begins to press and pull each of them as he says, “What is making that noise?”

The rooftop panel whirs as it slides open, revealing a glass roof, and the three of you look up, and the Doctor says, “There.”

You watch as a creature in a spacesuit floats in space with no helmet, the skull of what once was. You frown, and the metal hook clangs as it thumps against the glass. “The Captain of the ship.” You say somberly, and the Doctor adds, “Circling round and round forever. Caught in the gravity field.”

“Caught in the what?” Donna asks, and you quickly clarify, “Mavity field.”

“But why? Did they throw him out? Her out. Them out.” Donna says with a breathy voice, and the Doctor says, “Her. I wonder. Why is the captain outside? Why is she in a spacesuit with no helmet?” He turns around to face the No-things and catches their expressions, he says, “And why don’t you know?”

The Doctor moves closer to the glass as he looks at the Not-Doctor; he growls as he says, “I know that face. I know my expressions very, very well, and you don’t know. The captain did something you don’t understand, but what?” The No-things begin to say, “Tell us! Tell us! What did she do? What did the Captain do? What did she do?”

You move to stand next to the Doctor as he says, “They don’t know. They really don’t know. The questions aren’t a test. They need the answers. We’re all stuck in a system because of the Captain.” He groans as he jumps up and asks, “What did she do?”

Donna shakes her head and points out, “Well, if they want the answers, don’t tell ‘em!”

“You know what my head’s like, Donna, once I start having ideas.” The Doctor explains, and the Not-Doctor interjects, “Then I have ideas. So the captain…” Not-Donna looks at him and finishes, “Tried to stop us. But how?”

“Wait a minute.” Donna begins, “If they don’t know why the Captain’s outside… The airlock door three years ago wasn’t them coming in. That was her going out. She killed herself.”

“But what for?” The No-things ask in unison from behind the glass.

The Not-Doctor says, “She hid her thoughts.” And the Not-Stargazer explains, “So we couldn’t see.”

You watch as the Doctor’s expression turns to understanding, the final bits of information making sense in his head. His mouth opens in a silent gasp as he exclaims loudly, “Maximised automatic brain function! Oh! Well done, Captain. Because she knew. Even with a lost ship, if you were found one day, if you three ever reached the universe, you’d run riot across the stars!”

Your eyes widen in realization, adding, “And you were already becoming copies of the captain. You’d have owned this spaceship. If you’d copied her perfectly, you could’ve flown the ship home and started your war!”

The Doctor points out, “So, she ended her life to hide whatever it is she left behind. Because when she died, you hadn’t completed her. So you lost everything she knew. Gone.”

The lights flicker as clicking and clattering sound throughout the ship, and Donna asks, “What is that?”

The Doctor runs around animatedly, beginning to explain, “That captain, calm as a Zen master, set in motion to stop those three. And she took her own life so they couldn’t work out what she’d done.”

The Not-Doctor grins, “But you’re working it out right now.”

The Doctor shakes his head as he denies it, “No, I’m not. Mm-mmm.”

The Not-Stargazer smiles as she tilts her head, “Yes, you are, and so is she. Therefore, so am I.”

You bite your lip and try to calm your racing thoughts, standing next to Donna for support. Then you hear the Not-Doctor begin to say, “It’s all about slow. We don’t understand the slow, so the captain set out to slowly stop us. So the ship is slow. The robot is slow. The words are slow. Is that it?”

You see the Doctor holding it in as he bounces out the energy, and he shakes his head, “Nope.”

The Not-Doctor continues, “The words move the walls, so the ship is slowly reconfiguring to become a very slow…” The Doctor finishes the sentence for everyone, “Bomb.”

“What?” Donna asks with a high-pitched tone, and the Not-Doctor explains rapidly, “The captain set the self-destruct slowly so the words are a very slow… countdown.”

The Doctor groans out in frustration as he throws his arms up in the air, “I said so! I said countdown straight away! It’s that simple.” He sighs, “I translated the numbers. I’d never heard them out loud! ‘Fenslaw, coliss, brate,’ means ten, nine, eight.”

The Not-Doctor turns to the Not-Donna and says, “The robot.” The three of them move to the door that leads to the long hallway, and as it opens, the Doctor flicks a switch to lock it.

The Not-Doctor glares at you, “We’re as clever as you now. That robot won’t stop us!” It begins to flick a few buttons and switches by the nearby control panel next to the door. You and the Doctor move about the area, flicking switches to try to override the system they were trying to break.

Donna quickly asks you two, “So, what’s the robot?” And you reply, “The robot is the trigger. A primitive mechanical brain that those two couldn’t read, taking three long years to walk a very long corridor with one slow instruction.”

“Kaboom.” The Doctor finishes as he twists a few knobs before pressing a button, and Donna says, “Countdown. What number are we on?”

“Ratico. That’s five.” The Doctor says as he slams his palm on the button, closing the door once more, “It’s been counting down for years, but the TARDIS brought us here just in time for the final sequence! We can’t let them reach that robot. There’s only one way we can stop them.”

You move about to flick a few more switches and rapidly slam your palm against a few more buttons as the Not-Doctor, Not-Donna, and Not-Stargazer begin to rip out different wires. “What’s that?” Donna asks, and you hear the Doctor say, “I’m sorry, Donna. But the countdown needs to speed up.” The Doctor then slams his palm on the button, and an alarm begins to sound along with the automatic voice, “Vandeen.”

Donna begins to panic as she yelps, “That’s number four!”

“We know!” You and the Doctor say, and Donna shrieks, “But we’re still on board!” To which you both reply in unison once more, “We know!”

But then the No-things manage to get the door open, you hear the Not-Doctor say, “Stop that robot!” To which your Doctor says as he presses a button that lifts the glass divider, “Don’t stop that robot!”

“Could the robot just wait!” Donna says as she runs after both of you.

“Blinss.”

“That’s three!” Donna says as she pushes her legs faster to try and catch up to you. Suddenly, the Not-Stargazer turns around and hisses at the Doctor, throwing herself on him to try to stop him, but he shoves her aside only for her to attack you.

Donna slows down a moment as you wrestle with your double, and you yell to Donna, “Keep going!” The redhead nods and keeps running, following the Doctor. You manage to get the upper hand as you maneuver your weight and lock your knees to her waist, saying, “For some odd reason, this is going to be theraputic.”

You smack her across the face, tumbling off the No-thing, and proceed to run after the Doctor and Donna.

“Sensill.”

“That’s two!” Donna announces from in front of you as you feel your lungs expand and deflate while running after them. But then, you're taken down by the Not-Stargazer from behind, and you shout out in pain as you roll on the floor with her.

As you wrestle yourself to the ground, you hear the TARDIS whizzing as it floats down, playing the song Wild Blue Yonder. The lyrics and the music echo, “Off we go into the wild blue yonder. Climbing high into the sun.”

The Doctor snatches his sonic screwdriver from the keyhole and steps into the TARDIS with Donna climbing inside, pushing it forward with his foot like a scooter towards you and your double. As the Doctor and the TARDIS are in front of you, you hear the automated voice echo, “One.”

The Doctor's voice reverberates, urgent and probing, “What was my nickname at the Academy?”

“Theta Sigma.” The simultaneous reply from both you and the Not-Stargazer hangs in the air. The Doctor scrutinizes both of you, his keen eyes flickering between your faces. His next question pierces the tension, “What happened on Trenzalore?”

“Nine hundred years of battle and that’s where you were buried,” The Not-Stargazer asserts confidently, a sense of triumph coloring her words. However, your gaze remains distant, memories of Trenzalore flooding your mind, and you avert your eyes from the Doctor's penetrating gaze. He swiftly ushers you into the TARDIS, slamming the door shut.

As the flames engulf the three No-things, their screams echo in the air. The TARDIS whooshes away, leaving behind the burning remnants. The three of you huddle on the floor inside the time machine, wrapped in a comforting embrace.

THE TARDIS — SPACE

After the intense ordeal with the No-things, a collective decision is made to refresh and rejuvenate. In the soothing confines of the TARDIS, you find a moment to cleanse yourself from the recent events. The warm water cascades over you in the shower, washing away the remnants of the unsettling encounter. Drying your hair, you change into a fresh set of clothes, embracing the renewal that accompanies the change.

Exiting the room, you traverse the winding corridors of the TARDIS, making your way to the control room. The Doctor, having already cleaned himself up, is engrossed in the myriad buttons and switches that adorn the console. As you approach, he turns, a warm smile gracing his features, “Hello, love.”

With a hum, you encircle your arms around his waist, and he reciprocates by wrapping his arms around you. A tender exchange of glances unfolds as you gaze up at him. Offering a small smile, you inquire, “How did you know it was me?”

“You could never bring yourself to talk about what happened that day. Not once after that, you never mentioned it again,” he replies. Pressing your forehead against his chest, you take a deep breath, absorbing his freshly cleaned scent.

“I know you were the one who saved me and brought me to Earth after the Time War,” you admit. He furrows his brow, “How did you figure that out?”

Sighing, you recount, “The No-thing appeared as you when we got separated and said some really hurtful things... but he also mentioned you were the one who brought me to Earth. You saved me. All those years ago…”

The Doctor exhales before planting a gentle kiss on the top of your head, “You saved me. It was only fair.”

“I love you,” you declare, feeling his smile against your forehead. “I love you too.”

"She'd almost completed you," the Doctor shared, his gaze fixed on Donna as she joined them at the console. "The other Donna was a 99.9% copy. Except I thought, 'What's wrong?' Turned out her wrist had an extra 0.06 millimeters. Obvious, really."

Donna, hands resting on the controls while you expertly pilot the TARDIS, quipped, "The devil's in the details," and the Doctor agreed with a nod, "Yeah, isn't it just?"

After a brief pause, he mused, "Oh, I keep thinking, 'I wish I hadn't done that thing with the salt.'"

Donna shook her head, dismissing it, "What, the bad luck thing? That was just a lie."

"Normally. Except I invoked a superstition at the edge of the universe, where the walls are thin and all things are possible," the Doctor explained with a slightly shaken tone. "I just got this feeling."

“What?” Donna inquired, and the Doctor, after a momentary space-out, shook it off, saying, “Which is gone. Fine. Good. Onwards.”

The Doctor moved to pilot alongside you, adjusting knobs as he continued, “So anyway. I was wondering, she said on the spaceship— That other Donna had your memory. She could remember us as the DoctorDonna. So she could see my life and my mind and my thoughts for the past fifteen years. All the time we’ve been apart, she could remember it. Can you?”

Donna blinked, contemplating, and replied, “No. It’s too much. It’s like looking into a furnace. But I suppose she had a great, big, outer-space brain. She could make sense of it.”

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Why?” Donna probed, and the Doctor mumbled, “Just wondering.”

“What did she see?” Donna persisted, and the Doctor, puffing out his cheeks, evasively said, “Ooh. Things.”

“Like what?”

The Doctor remained silent, prompting Donna to push further, “Come on. Where have you been since I last saw you? What’s happened?” Attempting to shrug it off, he nonchalantly said, “Oh, you know, the usual. Robots, chases, waterfalls.”

Donna mockingly nodded, “Oh, okay,” before giving him a scrutinizing look and asking, “But what really happened?”

The Doctor's expression turned sad and tired as he admitted, “A lot.”

Donna nodded in understanding, then turned to her friend and asked, “You okay?”

The Doctor, opting for candor, grasps your hand, affirming, “I will be.”

“When?” Donna inquires, tilting her head, and the Doctor responds, “A million years.”

The TARDIS emits a pleasant ding, signifying your arrival as it materializes. The Doctor, wearing a contented smile, notes, “Ah. There we are, back home.”

Donna strides towards the TARDIS doors, commenting, “You timed that to get out of awkward conversations.” She then rushes down the bridge, calling out, “Where are they? Where’s the family?”

As you prepare to step out, the Doctor playfully pulls you back, encircling your waist with his arms, prompting a delighted squeal, “Doctor!”

“Wait, I have a present for you,” he announces, positioning you by the console. With a gentle push, a concealed compartment reveals a new sonic screwdriver—silver and gold with an ergonomically designed handle. Overwhelmed with excitement, you bounce up and down, unable to contain your joy. Seizing the Doctor's face, you plant a passionate kiss on his lips, and in that moment, the Doctor melts into the warmth of the affectionate embrace.

“My own sonic screwdriver. Thank you.” You say to him as he gives you a grin, “Consider it as a wedding present.”

You lightly smack his chest and say, “I expect a proper proposal, Doctor.”

He kisses your cheek, “Of, course dear.”

CAMDEN MARKET, LONDON — MORNING, 2023

Intertwining your hands, you and the Doctor emerge from the TARDIS, greeted by Donna and Wilf. Donna beams triumphantly, exclaiming, “I said so!”

Wilf gasps, hand covering his mouth in shock, while the Doctor grins, “Wilfred Mott. Oh, now I feel better.” Wilfred erupts in delighted laughter as you and the Doctor approach him, enveloping him in a warm hug. The Doctor affirms, “Now, nothing is wrong. Nothing in the whole wide world.”

Stepping back, the Doctor smiles broadly, addressing Wilf, “Hello, my old soldier.”

“I never thought I’d see you two again after all these years. Oh, the Doctor, that lovely face. It’s like springtime,” Wilf chuckles, and the Doctor nods to Donna, remarking, “And Donna’s got her memory back.”

“Without dying, which I recommend,” Donna adds with a smile. However, you hear distant sirens, not giving them much thought. Wilf grins, “Yeah, well, I knew it. I never lost faith. I said, ‘He won’t let us down. He’ll come back and save us.’”

Both you and the Doctor frown, and he questions, “Save us from what?”

Donna asks anxiously, “And where’s the family? Where’s Rose? Are they all right?”

Wilf reassures Donna with animated gestures, “Yeah, they’re fine. They’re safe. I’ve told them to bunker down, and I’ll keep watch. I said, ‘You save yourselves.’”

Your eyebrows knit in concern as you ask, “Why? Is there something wrong?”

Right on cue, the food truck in the background erupts in flames, people shouting and screaming, chaos ensuing. More people join in the madness, hitting each other, and the Doctor queries, “What’s going on?”

The tumult intensifies, with people shouting and cursing, and Donna implores, “What is it? What’s happening?”

Wilf attempts to explain, “It’s everybody. It’s everything. They’re all going mad. Listen, you’ve got to do something, Doctor! The whole world’s coming to an end!”

As an airplane approaches, its engines emitting smoke, people scream and clamour. The plane crashes in the distance, prompting the Doctor to swiftly move Wilf's wheelchair to the front of the TARDIS, shouting, “Quickly!”

Taking cover, the four of you shield yourselves from the ensuing blast, and amidst the chaos, you can't help but wonder if the kiss was somehow connected to this impending disaster.

TAGLIST:

@awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @matthew-lilards @a-dash-of-cinnamon @imthedoctorlove @scoliobean @allophonicmess @mirkwoodshewolf @jaziona92 @melloww-akira @crowleythesexydemon @pedrettilov3r

[eldritch-spouse]

Bregs obsession being a weirdo who secretly collected his cum in a jar who knows how and breg walking in on them slurping it like a regular drink

[Oh, you're so gross. I love you. Fem reader.]

TW: Unsanitary (cum jar TW? I dunno, it's gross.)

He can't really believe it.

There must be something wrong with his mind, with his sight, he's hallucinating. He's finally gone mad and this is what his melting brain chooses to taunt the breeder with.

It could be worse, all things considered. He has to admit that.

Out of all the horrid things a greatly perturbed mind could pluck from its many shelves of unfortunate life happenings, Breg's brain was the least bit merciful- And in the wake of his spontaneous insanity, he's only shown projections of you, eating his cum like it's frosting on a cake.

The monster remains stock still, partially hidden behind the door to the kitchen, black skin shimmering slightly in the pitch black darkness of your home, the only thing providing any light being the open freezer.

Breg didn't plan to get up from bed tonight. Sure, he finds it hard to sleep as many hours as humans apparently require, but that doesn't mean he can't cuddle you or play with your hair while you're deep into slumber. It just so happened that he did nap for a while, and when he woke, you weren't there. This had raised in the male no small amount of anxiety, and he began looking around for his mate. Perhaps it was wise of Breg not to call out for you, because he would have missed this marvel of a sight.

There you were, a decently-sized glass jar in your hand. The type you'd used to store jams or fancy desserts, the substance inside was of a pretty solid white coloration, nothing too off, so he wondered if you were going to cook something at that untimely hour. Said assumption died as soon as little hands unscrewed the lid. His nose never fails him, that was definitely fluid... After a quiet snort, Breg balked.

His cum?

That... Definitely smelled like him.

He sniffed again just to be sure, pelted with his own musk, even if masked by the coldness.

Why- Why did you have a jar of his seed? When did this happen, for that matter? Breg wasn't that surprised, you make him so horny he basically agrees to everything you want when you're touching him, but that didn't make this any less odd.

Some part of him soured. Were you selling it?

Again, his expectations are flung out the window, as the breeder watched you lick your lips, cheeks heated, slipping a single finger right into that mess and shoving it right in your mouth, a string of it falling to your chin. Breg could see your throat shift when you swallowed, making a quiet sigh of what he could only hope was contentment, before repeating the gesture.

He swears to anything out there his cocks never sprung up so fast.

It hurts actually, to get hard that fast. His slit is stretched before having had the time to warm up, Breg bites into his arm to muffle a groan of equal parts relief and mild pain. He can feel the events unfolding before him being burned into his frontal lobe, something he'll keep fresh in his mind for a while to thrill himself with.

It's one of the most puzzling but also erotic things the breeder has ever seen in his time outside captivity. Your short, pretty, now cum-stained tongue laps at slick pink lips and you forgo sucking on your fingers entirely in favor of tipping the jar directly into your mouth.

Oh fuck him. Fuck yes, Gods above yes. You filthy thing.

Breg feels his eyes bulge out under the layer of skin hiding them, stiffening -In many ways- As you almost chug it, audibly swallowing down his seed like it's the sweetest, most addicting treat one could ever hope to taste. You were never the type to waste his offer, now that Breg thinks a little, but he had no idea you loved it this much.

His cocks practically ooze to the floor, he wants to cry out from how hard he is, but the monster doesn't think he could forgive himself if he ruined the moment. The vision. The dream. Whatever the Hell this is, hardly reality.

This has to mean you love him as much as he loves you. There's no other explanation, you want him so bad and you're so taken with him that you'd collect the fruits of your love and eat it. So that it always remains with you at some capacity. Sure, his cocks throb, but so does his heart.

And then you had to moan.

The voice of self-control in Breg sits down and shrugs, telling him to do whatever at this point. His legs power him forward immediately and the monster stalks into the kitchen without so much as a click of claws on tiled floors. He's behind you in seconds, hovering like an unseen shadow, having to suppress the chirp from deep inside his throat when you make a gross slurp.

Do that again and he'll fucking cum.

A fever seizes his arms. He slams the fridge door closed. You're jarringly turned around, the container in your hands tumbling to the ground, thick enough not to break upon contact. Although you yelp and prepare to scream, the air to do such with is forced out of your figure when he pushes you down by the shoulders, forcing you to land on your knees. He'll regret this later, but right now, he's got other, urgent goals in mind.

You can't see anything in this blackness, but Breg gets to ogle you, a wet cock nudging your cheek while the other hovers untouched.

" W- What- "

" Please please please please- " As if he had the mind to say anything else, guiding a precum-soaked member to your lips desperately.

" Breg, I- " There's something akin to shame and timidity in your face.

" Please angel- It'll be quick. I'll come for you, as many times as you want, please I'm so hard. "

You gawk in what would be the general direction of his face, and he whimpers like a kicked dog until you finally slip the insistent length into your mouth, working at it. Breg sighs, then moans, as you focus on torturing the most sensitive parts. He fists his other girth with a fury, intent on keeping his promise.

" You- You don't think I'm gross? " His sweet angel must be joking.

" I think you should just tell me when you want my cum. " He nearly growls, a large hand edging you back to work. " Please harder. "

It doesn't take too long before you get more than a generous reward. It's hot and fresh as it slides down your throat, coats your mouth, chin and chest, the breeder more than happy to let you wring the rest out of him with that eager little tongue.

You seem secretly satisfied. Perhaps, in the dark, you forgot he can see your face perfectly fine. Breg grins as he resumes stroking his members in front of you.

" M-More? " He suggests.

He wakes up long before you. As usual.

Breg's planning on doing some simple errands for you, but of course, he hasn't forgotten your present. How could he?

There's a nasty little smirk on his vastly featureless face as he calmly walks back to your now shared bedroom.

Your bedside table is graced with a hefty, slightly bigger white jar filled to the brim. Warm, and perhaps clumsily cleaned.

Breg kisses your cheek before getting ready to leave.

He loves his mate so much.

[callsign-rogueone]

deja vu - b.d.

Bodhi Durran x reader part of Bodhi and Darling's story 💗 words: 2.9k 🏷: set in the year before Fourth Wing (Bodhi’s first year). one tiny book spoiler but it’s not stated explicitly, hurt/comfort, anxiety, imagined character death (in a nightmare). mild dissociation, anxiety, nausea, fighting (challenge match), one very small injury, canon-typical peril and danger.

“I love you,” Bodhi rasps, closing his eyes. “I’m so… sorry…”

“No, no, hey, look at me,” you beg, hot tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re gonna be okay, we’re getting you help, but you have to keep looking at me, okay?”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move or make any indication that he can hear you. He’s silent, perfectly still — he isn’t breathing. 

“Bodhi,” you cry, “Bodhi, please don’t leave me. Wake up, please.”

His heart has stopped beating. The love of your life, the man who had sworn to protect you, who you had sworn to love in sickness and in health and through the test of time, until the end of your days, is dead.

You feel like the air has been squeezed from your lungs, your breaths coming in choked sobs. 

“Wake, child,” someone interrupts — Sìoda. “It’s just a dream. It’s not real.”

You shake yourself awake, panting like you’d been running for miles. You look down at your palms, illuminated by the gentle moonlight filtering into the room -- they’re clean; not streaked with Bodhi’s blood. It was just a dream. Just a terrible dream, likely a product of the overactive imagination you’ve had your whole life, and your anxiety about the dragonkind exam you have tomorrow that you’re convinced you’re going to fail, despite spending all evening studying. 

“Your mate, and all of your brothers and sisters are safe in their beds,” she soothes, “as are mine.”

Oh. You still aren’t any good at shielding, so she’s been getting all of your emotions through the bond — you’d likely woken her up with your distress.

“I’m sorry,” you say in a guilt-ridden whisper. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Don’t apologize, my child. Just breathe.”

You mop up your tears with the sleeve of your pajama shirt, and focus on deepening your breaths, trying to relax your racing heart.

“There are still a few hours until formation,” she says gently. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

You lay back down, gazing at the wall of gray stone beside you, counting the bricks and trying to find patterns in the texture until the exhaustion overtakes you, and you fall back asleep.

Thankfully, your subconscious doesn’t torment you with any more cruel sights. You wake up to gentle November sunlight warming your skin and birds chirping — last month, a pair of doves had made a nest in the tiny alcove by your window.

You get dressed quickly, sorting out your hair and straightening your uniform. You’re in the middle of lacing your boots when there’s a knock at your door, the familiar rhythm that you know can only be Bodhi; like clockwork, he comes down the hall to get you every morning so you can walk to breakfast together.

You unlock the door with your mind, something you’ve been able to do for the last week, breathing a sigh of relief when he walks into the room unharmed and smiling. You hug him extra tightly, tucking your head into his neck and holding him a moment longer than usual, comforted by the steadiness of his breathing.

“You okay, Darling?” he asks, sounding concerned.

You hum in contentment. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

You don’t mention the dream, because nobody wants to hear about their own death, and it would be silly to bother him with something you’ve already gotten over — though you know the image of Bodhi bleeding out in your arms on the floor of that empty classroom will likely be burned into your brain forever.

He gives you an easy smile, shouldering your bookbag and gesturing for you to head out the door.

You’re comforted by the normalcy of the day. It’s almost too easy, too smooth.

Everyone is present and accounted for at breakfast, in good spirits — as good as they can be, in your current situation. Battle brief passes quickly, with no reports of catastrophe, though you know that they likely aren’t giving you all the information they have. The dragonkind test you’d been so worried about is much easier than you’d expected, and you have the rest of the afternoon off until dinner.

You don’t object as your squadmates suggest you use one of the empty common rooms to study in — the same one you’d seen in your dream. 

What would you even say? Sorry, guys, but can we pick somewhere else to be, because I had a nightmare last night that Bodhi died in this room? 

You shake it off, repeating Sìodha’s words in your mind as you crack open your textbook: It’s just a dream. It’s not real.

But then every word of the conversation going on around you starts to sound very familiar, like you’ve heard it before — like they’re reciting lines for a stage play.

It’s just a dream. It’s not real.

But this can’t be a coincidence. There’s too many similarities for comfort; the location, the timing — the sun is just starting to set — the exact page that each boy’s book is open to… you remember that, remember Sawyer’s book being open to a page with that same illustration.

“Have you done number four yet? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let me see.”

You predict their replies with nearly perfect accuracy — because you’ve heard this exact conversation before.

What if it is real? What if you’re trapped in an endless loop like in one of the novels you’d read, where the leading lady has to live the worst day of her life over and over until she figures out how to change it? 

You could hardly bear to watch the light leave Bodhi’s eyes in that dream, and so help you gods, you are not going to see it ever again; you’re going to do something about it.

You’d read some theory in a philosophy book once that the flap of a butterfly’s wings can set off a chain of events that cause a hurricane. Would it be safer to stop this exact moment as it happens, or to interrupt now? Or was that dream really just a dream, and today will just be a normal day, or Basgiath’s version of normal, and you’re worrying over nothing?

“I don’t think that’s it. I think that’s the answer to number five, though.”

Those are the words. You’d almost missed them, too concerned about what’s going to happen in the next five seconds, but you should have just enough time if you act now. Sìodha seems to think so too, sending you a flood of urgency and panic.

You tackle Bodhi to the ground, wrapping an arm around his waist and putting a hand behind his head to cushion his fall as you both hit the floor. Your knuckles split on the impact, pain ripping through your hand, but all you can focus on is Bodhi underneath you — his eyes wide with shock, but still blinking up at you, his lips parted in a gasp, but not slick with blood, his heart racing, but not stopping. 

There’s a shout from beside you, the clatter of metal against stone, and the sounds of a brief struggle. Dain has the would-be assassin pinned in a matter of seconds, Sawyer helping him restrain her and haul her away, leaving you and Bodhi alone, still tangled up in one another on the floor, his eyes locked with yours.

He finally manages to form words, but not a complete sentence, still stunned. “What… How did you… What?”

“I saw this in a dream last night,” you answer, your voice wavering. “I saw you sitting right here with me, talking to Sawyer. You said that same sentence, and then there was a knife in your chest.” 

You look to your right, where it lays on the floor a few feet away — the exact shape and length as the one you’d dreamed of. “That knife.”

Bodhi’s eyes widen even further as he puts it together.  “I think that was your signet,” he breathes. “You’re a visionary.”

You finally let go of him, moving to sit by his side on the cold stone of the floor and staring blankly at the dagger. It had missed either of you by at least three feet, but had you acted a second later, or not at all… That doesn’t matter, you suppose. What matters is that Bodhi is alive; that you’d been able to save him, because you’d known what was going to happen and you altered course at the last second. 

You should be proud of yourself, but all you can think about is his words to you, and the implications thereof. If this is truly your signet, then you’ll have to watch this kind of thing happen over and over, and likely not just to Bodhi, but to the rest of your friends, too. But what if you can’t stop it next time? What if you see something happen to the twins? They’re a two-hour flight away, and you can’t abandon your post just because you had a dream that something bad happened to them. 

Will any of your dreams be just dreams anymore, or are you going to see all manner of terrible things every night for the rest of your life? How are you supposed to distinguish between dreams and reality, between the sleepy inventions of your subconscious, or the magic of your signet?

“I’m sorry, child. It is a powerful gift to have, but it can be quite cruel.”

You can hear Bodhi speaking, likely a thank you and some soft reassurances, but you don’t process the words. You don’t respond to either of them, still not fully convinced that this isn’t another dream.

The warmth of his hand on your arm starts to pull you out of that numbness. “Talk to me, darling.”

“I watched you die,” you whisper. “There was nothing I could do. I just had to hold you, until… I thought it was just a nightmare, but then it started happening in reality, and...”

You shake your head, eyes welling with tears that you try to blink away. You tell yourself that there’s no reason to be crying, no use when he’s standing in front of you, alive, breathing and talking and holding your hand, but you can’t stop the flood of emotion; confusion and relief and horror and several other things you can’t put a name to right now.

“Hey,” he coaxes, “look at me.”

You focus your gaze on him, on those soft brown eyes that still blink at you, the rise and fall of his chest.

“I’m okay,” he says softly, wrapping your hand around his wrist, mindful of your scraped knuckles. He positions your fingertips over his pulse, pressing them into the skin so you can feel the gentle beat of his heart. “I’m alive, because you saved me.”

You nod silently, warm tears slipping down your cheeks. 

He gathers you into a warm embrace, rubbing your back in soft, soothing motions. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, my darling girl. But the next time something like that happens, you tell me, okay? I don’t care if you wake me up at three in the morning, I want to be there for you.”

“Okay,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Good.”

You stay like this for a moment, just sitting with him and finding comfort in the warmth of his touch and the steadiness of his breathing.

“Do you want to go to the healers for your hand, or do you want me to wrap it up for you?”

“Want you to do it,” you answer softly, still feeling a little fragile. You don’t want to be away from him, even for a moment; you might work up the courage to ask if you can sleep in his bed tonight.

“Okay.” He presses a kiss to your temple, getting up to pack your bags.

Dain and Sawyer haven’t returned, likely still in Varrish’s office with the unbonded girl. You scribble a quick note to thank them, and to say that you’re done studying for the afternoon, leaving it on top of Dain’s book.

Bodhi picks up your bag, shouldering it along with his own.

He stops to pick up the dagger, sheathing it at his side, and you blink at him, confused. “You’re keeping it?”

“Of course I’m keeping it. It’s a memento of my first assassination attempt.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Only you could be so proud about someone wanting to kill you.”

He pulls you in closer, tucking you under his arm. “Not nearly as proud as I am of you. You should have seen it. I’ve never seen you move that fast in my life.”

Your cheeks warm in embarrassment, suddenly shy. “I was worried I’d lose you,” you say softly.

“You won’t ever lose me,” he soothes. “We made each other a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

“So do I,” you say quietly. “So do I.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t have any more terrible dreams -- visions -- for the rest of the week, just a generalized sense of anxiety and insomnia, waiting for the next one and wondering what it’ll be, what terrible fate may befall one of your friends.

Each day that passes simultaneously soothes your anxiety and stokes it. If you aren’t dreaming of any terrible things, then they won’t happen, but what if you don’t dream them? What if you can’t see harm coming to them in advance, and thus can’t prevent it?

As soon as you enter the gym for Emeterrio’s class, it hits you again; that incredibly strong sense that something very bad is going to happen, very soon.

Bodhi sees your posture change, your normal relaxed and graceful presence tightening uncomfortably, and puts it together immediately, looking at you with concern.

“I have that feeling again,” you manage, forcing down the acid rising in your throat. “But this time, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“It’ll be okay,” he soothes.

“You don’t know that,” you reply, still looking around, surveying the gym for anyone that could pose a threat to you or any of your friends, which happens to be every single person in the room. 

He takes your hand, and the feeling stops; vanishes completely, as if it was never there. Bodhi’s presence and his gentle touch have always been a comfort to you, often the only comfort you have, but nothing like that has ever happened before, a relief so intense and sudden.

Your gaze snaps to him, eyes widening. “How did you…”

He lets go, and the anxiety and nausea comes back in a tidal wave that nearly knocks you over. He lays a hand on your back to steady you, worried you’ll collapse, and the feeling dissipates again in the blink of an eye. Definitely not a coincidence.

“I think you turned it off,” you whisper. “When you let go, it came back.”

He blinks at you for a few seconds, processing. “Do you think that’s…”

“Laurent and Daneel,” Emeterrio calls.

Oh. That’s what you’re supposed to be worried about.

“Deep breath,” Bodhi prompts.

You inhale as deeply as you can before he moves his hand off of your back, and you aren’t hit with another tidal wave, just a normal, manageable level of anxiety appropriate for someone about to start a challenge match.

But as you step onto the mat, the anxiety fades into… something new. Confidence, like nothing you’ve ever felt before -- like you know you’re going to win this fight, without question, like it’s already been written down in the professor’s gradebook, and carved into history. 

Interesting.

You lower your head to your opponent in respectful acknowledgement, getting a snarl in response. Well, then. Maybe this will be harder than you’d thought -- but you still have that unshakeable feeling that you’re going to come out on top.

She makes the first move, a punch that you’re able to dodge easily. She tries again -- and you step to the side without thinking, avoiding the blow by a few inches.

You continue dodging and blocking, reacting naturally, almost subconsciously, not even thinking about your movements. 

You feel the same strange feeling you’d felt during the conversation leading up to Bodhi’s would-be assassination; you’d known all the words, knew what was going to happen because you’d seen it in a dream -- only you don’t remember dreaming any of this at all. It had been a total surprise that your name would be called with hers, the intense anxiety you’d felt being the only indicator, and even then, you’d been worried that it would be one of your friends in danger, not yourself.

Very interesting.

A slow smile spreads across your face as you realize exactly what is happening -- this is your signet at work, that familiar hum of power through your veins as you move, keeping you a few seconds ahead of everyone else in the room.

“You’ve had your fun,” Sìoda nudges, sounding amused. “Now end this, and end it well.”

The girl agrees. “Come on, you filthy fucking traitor! Fight me already!”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the quadrant as they wait for you to respond -- every eye in the gym is watching you, even the other cadets that are supposed to be fighting across the room, but you don’t move, don’t react to the comment, preparing for what’s going to happen next.

She hurls a dagger at you, enraged by your lack of engagement in this fight -- and your hand flies up to catch it, your fingers wrapping around the hilt and stopping it in midair.

Silence. Absolute dead silence.

You examine it for a second before you tuck it into your belt, looking back up at her. “Let’s fight, then.”