#miss anxiety investigates

[missanxietyinvestigates]

Who were you, Mary Jane?

For a class assignment, I had to go to the local cemetery and choose a grave to research. I ended up picking a broken, weatherworn grave that just said "Mary Jane". There was clearly more, but the break was part way through the words, and so much of it had worn away that even a gentle pencil rubbing couldn't bring it out. Something about her seemed sad and lonely.

I found her last name, Hathaway, on FindAGrave, where you could see slightly more of the grave and where it was before it was broken. It reads, "Mary Jane, wife of Hiram Hathaway" with the rest sunken into mud.

I found her on Ancestry, but her profile was strangely empty. So was her FamilySearch and her Genie. Her husband's was equally empty. Three sources total between them. Eventually, through manually searching through records, I discovered her parents Enoch Aiken and Mary Bailey.

I expected information to start flooding in now, it had been two hours and I finally had enough to do some cursory searching, but the only thing I found was death records, and things on her parents. Eventually, though, things started to reveal themselves.

Mary Jane Aiken was born in 1837 in Cornith, Vermont. Her mother was from Hartford, Connecticut, and her father was from Cornith. Enoch had been a blacksmith all of his life and looks like his father was one too. She had three older brothers, two older sisters, and one younger brother.

(East Cornith, early 1900s, via Cornith Historical Society)

Mary somehow managed to elude the census all her life, so she disappeared from the historical record for a while. She probably spent the time before her marriage with her family in Corinth.

Her mother passed away from pneumonia in July of 1863. She was 69.

When the Civil War rolled around, (at least) two of her brothers and her father were called to war. The house would have been just her and her sisters. Her father was a blacksmith, part of the First Cavalry Regiment, Company D. He would have seen the Battle of Gettysburg, and came back to tell the tale.

You can read more about his unit here:

One of her brothers though, her little brother William, did not make it back from the war. He was shot and killed in the Battle of the Wilderness, on March 5th, 1864, in Spotsylvania, Virginia. We are lucky enough to actually have a photograph of him publicly available (though the image quality isn't great):

Her father would come back to Cornith, presumably for the funeral, and would pass away the next month, April of 1864 (his records say he died of dropsy).

I can't imagine the amount of loss that Mary and her siblings were feeling, losing both their parents and their little brother in a little over a year.

On April 27th, 1872, Mary appears again, marrying Hiram Hathaway of Bennington, Vermont on April 13th. Depending on when the wedding was, it would have been a rather chilly wedding.

Her husband, Hiram Hathaway, was born in 1837 and had grown up in Bennington. He had several siblings. He had been a farmer most of his life, though he also managed to elude the census a few times so he may have had other jobs.

Hiram had also had a rough 1860s. In 1863, when he was 26, his father took his own life using opium. In 1866, he lost his sister, Mary, though I can't find how she died. In 1868, he lost his mother to old age. After that, the rest of his siblings scattered to the winds. One to Wisconsin, one to Florida.

In June of 1872, her husband would appear in the paper, as putting up no trespassing signs for seemingly no reason. You can read the whole clipping here:

In 1874 and 1875, Mary Jane would write wills that had the executor of her estate as her friend, Abraham Gardner. I couldn't find anything on him, it seems like there were several Abraham Gardners running around Bennington at the time. She notes in her will that she wants all of her money to be put the the benefit of her husband, giving him monthly allowances. She wanted to give everything but the house, furniture, and one set of bedding, to her sister Aphia. We also get to see her signature:

On February 15th, 1875, Mary Jane Hathaway passed away from cancer. In 1876, due to her debts, her entire estate had to be sold off.

As unfortunate as that is, it gives us a very interesting look into her life, as an inventory and appraisal had to be made of all her things.

Among her items, she had:

A stereoscope (though no stereoscope cards were noted)

Many many sewing notions (it seemed to be a hobby of hers)

Numerous photos of family on her walls along with (at least) 3 photo albums.

A room full of books, especially on the history of religion and geography books.

Painting supplies

A box of "trinkets" (probably sentimental items she kept)

Her school book on grammar.

And a much clearer picture of what she was like starts to develop.

She's an avid reader, was very sentimental, and cared quite a bit about her family. She enjoyed sewing and painting, and maybe scrapbooking with the things she collected (though that part isn't confirmed).

In 1880, Hiram remarried to Ellen Thurber, a local Bennington woman. He moves into her parent's house, where he works as a farmer. One family tree says that he died in 1889, but I can't find anything to prove or disprove that. As far as I can tell, Hiram has no death records (at least none digitized). He is also not buried with his parents and first wife. He does not appear to be in the cemetery at all. His story ends with his marriage to Ellen.

Mary's sister, Aphia, died in 1901 due to paralysis in Keene, NH. Her brother, Enoch, would die soon after in a debtor's house.

After finding this all out, I went back to the cemetery looking her Hiram and to visit Mary again. I searched all over that section, but I think if Hiram was buried here, his grave has been eaten by the hill.

Hopefully, Mary's story can be reunited with the rest of her family, and maybe one day some more information will surface about her or Hiram.

I hope so. She deserves to be remembered.

[fingertipsmp3]

I have no proof or anything but I’m pretty sure this man, who called me twice and left two messages, is now rejecting my calls

[ddarker-dreams]

Better The Devil You Know.

Yandere Chrollo x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, discussions of past minor character death, and descriptions of anxiety. Word count: 2.6k.

You awake to cold sheets and damp cheeks. 

It isn’t a peaceful transition into consciousness. You fight for each breath, a losing battle that swaddles your mind in thick fog. The vapors thin out as time drags along. It doesn’t dissipate in its entirety, preferring to linger and prolong your disorientation. 

You wipe at your face with your wrists, ignoring the sting accompanying the action. Hesitatingly, you appraise it in a ray of moonlight that snuck past the blinds. It’s clear, not crimson and thick. A normal product of a healthy body. You should feel relieved, you think. Every organ is as it should be. Your brain remains in your cranium, your lungs expand and contract, and your heart pumps, albeit at an alarming speed. 

It’s better than the chill of encroaching death. 

… 

You are alive, aren’t you? 

This question prompts an investigation. 

Nothing hurts. Your throat, maybe, but that’s a minor ache spurred from thirst. Your skin is warm and clammy. Peeling the comforter off, you squint, assessing your body’s condition. Weary eyes take in everything. Your socks, the lace trimming of your nightgown, its diaphanous midriff, then your chest. Everything appears in order.  

Would your incorporeal form accurately reflect your physical body? 

You shake your head. 

This can’t be heaven — no pantheon would be cruel enough to set the stage of your paradise with props from your captivity. 

It can’t be hell either. If it were, you wouldn’t be alone right now.

You blink.

You’re alone? 

Chrollo’s side of the bed is notably empty. He must’ve got up in a hurry, the sheets are in disarray. The adjoining restroom is dark and unoccupied, confirming he must be elsewhere. Your stomach churns. Determined to do away with this creeping anxiety, you get up, padding across the hardwood floor. 

The night gifts shivers and goosebumps. Wishing to ward off its unwanted advances, you wrap your arms around yourself. You pass through the door that connects to the common area. Although it’s dimly lit, you can tell he isn’t here. The attached balcony is similarly uninhabited. A quick foray into the study confirms your status; you’re truly by yourself. 

What should be a triumph or a relief delivers nothing but dread. 

You return to the common room to assess the situation. 

You’ve never been left alone before. Not without him telling you in advance, normally with a rough estimate of when he’ll return. There’s no way an important detail like that would slip your mind. At a loss, you dredge through your memories for some sign you may have missed. His voice pierces through your head like an arrow. You wince but ignore your body’s displeasure at anything associated with him. The unintelligible noises sharpen, forming consonants and vowels. 

The thrum of the air conditioner eases away. 

You’re left in absolute silence, until Chrollo’s voice fades away, replaced by another.

“... She was five or six, I think. Right around the age where you start losing baby teeth. There’d been this game she wanted and, y’know, kids aren’t rolling in cash. So she figured, what better way to pay for it than through the tooth fairy? I caught ‘er with my wrench, determined as anything, ready to speed up the process. It ended up being a little inside joke between us.”

Your lower lip trembles. 

“... That’s how she ended up getting identified. Her teeth, I mean. Wasn’t anything else left to go off of. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. A whole life she lived, sometimes getting into trouble, but mostly helping others outta theirs. And to have that— all that— reduced to just… just a couple, couple fuckin’— teeth? What kinda joke is that?”

You fill a glass with water until it overflows.  

“Hey, tell me. Has that fucker ever mentioned ‘er? … Probably not, right? Probably never knew she existed in the first place.” 

Head thrown back, you gulp down the liquid, fighting the lump that longs to form in your throat. 

“Who knows? Maybe I’m the one in the wrong ‘ere. Hell, you don’t look much older than her yourself. I don’t— don’t wanna hurt ya. But…” 

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. 

“There’s no other way to hurt him.” 

Someone’s beside you.

You can hear their voice, though it sounds like it’s coming from miles away, carried over by the wind. Warmth sears your bare shoulders. You smell the faint aroma of sandalwood and amber. It’s distinct, this cologne that serves as an ill-omen better than any blackbird or cracked mirror. You couldn’t scrub it from your memory if you tried. That, or the scent of old books, leather, coffee, and red wine. 

You dig your nails into something — fabric, perhaps — but nothing grounds you. It’s like you’ve been transported outside of space and time. Existing, yet far from alive. Your stomach falls while your head floats away. Up, up, up, lifting you higher and higher. From this impossible vantage point, you sway, your limbs gleefully ignoring every attempt to regain control. 

And there it is again. Your name echoes throughout the atmosphere, beckoning you to acknowledge the sound’s source. 

Maybe you should.

Even if you’ll come to regret it. 

When you first met Chrollo, his eyes stood out the most, like the universe itself deemed them worthy of veneration. You found the gray depths captivating. The undertone varied, you never could ascertain if they were a cool or warm shade. All you knew was that once they found you, they boasted a vitality siphoned at the expense of your own. 

Presently, they can’t. Their unwitting host has been exsanguinated. 

“Where were—” You silence yourself, aghast by the implication. 

You’d sought him out. So desperate for an anchor, you would’ve latched onto the culprit behind your drowning. There’s no doubt he’d find some twisted satisfaction in the accidental admission. You shrink away, but the solid counter presses against your spine, halting your retreat. He doesn’t advance, you’d barely created any distance. 

“There’d been something that required my immediate attention,” Chrollo answers your unfinished question. There’s no thinly veiled derision or curiosity in his voice. You miss the familiarity. “Does anything hurt?” 

It’s then that you recall your predicament. 

You’re on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scintillating shards of glass. A pool of water gathers to your right. Chrollo’s bent down before you, wearing a heavy coat and a tint of pink on his nose. He must’ve come from outside. He stares unblinkingly, awaiting your verdict, which you deliver by shaking your head. There’s a dull ache in your tailbone but you keep that to yourself. It’s awkward enough that he found you in this state. 

You’re sitting on the floor with one leg extended and the other bent at the knee, allowing your short nightgown to ride up. The compromising position stokes your embarrassment. You shuffle around to maintain some dignity. In doing so, you forget the pointed glass strewn about. Before you make contact, you’re hoisted up. Chrollo foresees your struggle and holds you tight enough to thwart its success. 

“You’re alright,” he reassures, his sincere gentleness unbecoming. "Everything's alright."

He places you down on the closest couch and sits beside you. While you regain your bearings, he shrugs off his jacket, then drapes it around your trembling form. His scent and warmth flood your senses. You consider throwing it off out of spite, only to decide against it. You’d be the one to suffer the most. Chrollo remains unusually silent as you cocoon yourself in the thick wool jacket. It’s big on you, but not big enough to swallow you whole like you’d prefer. 

“Should I grab your propranolol?” 

Another head shake.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Foreseeing your tepid response, he adds, “Verbally?” 

You clear your throat as quietly as you can. “I got thirsty.” 

“Hm.” 

You both know he isn’t convinced. It’d be easy for him to poke and prod until you revealed everything — intentionally or not — but his lips remain in a thin line. You shuffle in your seat. The fabric brushes against your wrists, eliciting a sharp inhale. The burn is short-lived yet the memories associated with it rage on. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He blinks, likely unused to the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, love?” 

“If that man killed me, would it have hurt you?” 

A shadow falls over his visage, like a waxing crescent transitioning to a new moon. When you shiver, it isn’t from the cold. Dark hair frames a far darker expression. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to see you better, beyond your flesh, at the crux of your soul. You await whatever comes next, returning his stare with equal intensity. 

Finally, he slowly replies, “Yes, it would’ve.” 

“Then why was it so easy for you to kill his daughter?” You ask, the words weighing heavily upon you. “You might’ve liked her, if you’d gotten to know her.” 

The man revealed enough for you to feel like you knew her. Lana Ellis — a woman with an iron will, sharp tongue, and golden heart. She’d recently been hired to work as a waitress at a business that catered high-end events. Galas, celebrity birthdays and weddings, those sorts of things. It wasn’t going to be a permanent arrangement. Lana planned to ditch the gig after saving up tuition money, where she’d then aim for a doctorate in veterinary medicine. According to him, he’d squandered her college fund after the unexpected death of her mother; his childhood sweetheart. He said he’d never forgive himself or the Troupe. 

“She wasn’t s’posed to have been there,” he wheezed. “She never should’ve been there…!” 

Chrollo shuts his eyes. “What are you getting at, dear?” 

His words come out light, though they’re anything but. 

“She could’ve been me.” 

“Yet she wasn’t.” 

“But—!” Your voice cracks, so you take a deep breath and try again. “You… you deprive the world of people you could’ve come to like, be friends with, whatever! All for stuff you eventually do away with. How is that… how can you…” 

Righteous anger suits you. It's a sword and shield that requires no skill to wield, reaching for the instruments have become second nature. Their effectiveness doesn't matter so long as you can hold onto something.

“You don’t need to understand.” 

This isn't a parry or pivot, he's disarmed you.

“Huh?” 

“Yes… if anything, it’s best if you don’t,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His eyes find yours again. “I can’t make sense of your empathy any more than you can grasp my lack of it. If I could, you’d no longer be yourself. Your self-limiting, bleeding heart should remain as is. It’s the one part of you I’ll leave untouched.” 

You don’t know what you were expecting. 

You slump back into your seat. “... Don’t you think you’re overestimating yourself?” 

“Hardly,” he replies. Then, in a softer voice, “You torment yourself, love. This—” 

He rests his hand over your heart.

“—Hurts you more than anything I’ve ever done. Yet you believe it unthinkable I’d do away with such an inconvenience.” 

“So you’re a coward,” you mumble. The insult is uninspired but it suits your purposes. “You can’t handle it, so you took the easy way out.” 

“Rationalize it anyway you'd like.” 

Chrollo reaches for your forearm and coaxes it into view. His fingers brush along your wrists, where the man’s restraints left rope burn behind. The irritated skin is slowly recovering. The deeper wounds, those without a cure, will linger after the surface heals. They’re etched into your bones. 

“Isn’t going against your morals worse than having none?" Chrollo queries. “That girl’s father knew you had no involvement in his daughter’s death. You’re an unwilling third party, same as she was. And he was ready to hurt you regardless."

Your mouth feels dry. “He didn't hurt me—” 

Chrollo raises an eyebrow, causing head to flood your cheeks.

“—All... that... much. I don’t think he was going to...?” 

“No, not until he was intoxicated enough to stomach it,” Chrollo retorts. “We’ll never know for certain, darling. Thankfully, I interrupted before it could get to that point."

That point, that point, that point...

What could that man have done to you?

Chrollo appraises you like he's yet to decide on something.

After a moment passes, he leans in, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your muscles stiffen as he pulls you close. He exerts none of the force you know him to be capable of. The gesture's languid nature gives the impression you could wriggle free if you tried. You don't test this theory. Chrollo's mood seems pensive, not amorous, hence your hesitant compliance.

He speaks your name. Then, he asks, "What's really bothering you?"

Biting your lip, you turn your head away from him.

He doesn't relent. "You can tell me anything, you know."

If you weren't so utterly exhausted, you might've laughed.

"You wouldn't be my first choice for a heart-to-heart."

"How about your second?"

You look at him like he's just suggested the world is flat. He smiles softly, allowing you time to think.

It's weird.

This is weird.

The lack of verbal finesse, designed to extract any emotion or confession he desires. You're used to his cunning, his depravity, his unfiltered self. You've come to expect it, as one would the sunrise and sunset. Briefly, you search for it. The expedition is futile. His normal tells are gone.

Truly, you could almost forget the imbalanced nature of this dynamic and pretend it's normal.

It isn't, however.

So you'll need to keep your wits about you.

"Could... er..." you trail off, uncertain of the best parlance, "Will something like that... happen... again...?"

The claustrophobia of being shut in a trunk. Blindfolded, hands and feet bound, gagged by a rag. Terrified and sobbing. Unable to breathe, unable to scream.

You feel as small now as you did then.

The man told you his reasoning. It tugged on your heart. Wringed the organ for everything it was worth. He deserved justice. He deserved revenge. At that lone instance, the playing field was even. The immeasurable gap in strength between him and the Phantom Troupe's boss meant nothing if Chrollo wasn't physically present. There was a chance for this bereaved father to return the pain unfairly inflicted on him.

But why on you?

Why do you have to be cast into hell for the sins of another?

And why was it so tempting to forgive the devil's transgressions against you, if he provided salvation just this once?

You don't know when you began shaking, but you do know it won't be easy to stop.

"You must've been scared," he murmurs.

This observation makes your throat feel impossibly tight, as if a serpent coiled around your neck. His eyelashes flutter shut and he rests his forehead against yours. He contents himself on breathing in your air while you wrestle with the odd intimacy of it all; this simplicity untainted by needling or provocations.

"I never make the same mistake twice," Chrollo eventually says. "In light of recent events, I've made it clear that you are off limits. Those who still wish to try their luck, well..."

The air itself writhes like a malicious entity. The sensation is brief, but the impression lingers, chilling you on a primordial level. You're reminded that his control, while impressive, isn't flawless. Every surface can fissure, allowing the noxious contents contained within to break free. This concentration of ill-intent isn't even focused at you. To be on the receiving end must be to face the inevitably of death.

"... They can be made examples of too."

Curiosity nips at your heels, demanding satiation.

Your part your lips.

Then his eyes reopen. They're dull, lacking any illumination, like light itself felt the urge to flee.

It's an understandable sentiment.

For that reason, you decide some questions are better left unanswered.

[ilyhaitanii]

save a horse, ride a cowboy ! ft. boothill

nsfw. you are tasked with the job of investigating a man named boothill who has attracted the attention of the ipc, little did you know, you'd fall for his charms and be caught under his teeth just like those bullets he shot at you a few moments ago

a/n: CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK YEOOOOOCH!!!!!!!!!!!! i need him so bad it's actually driving me insane. he's all ive been to think about for the past few days

there's no way this is happening right now. you dash down the constracution zone of the city, trying to evade your target. he shoots one bullet at you, barely missing your head. you yelp, your lungs begging for air.

you turn the corner, begging and praying you've finally lost the man. just as you press your back to a wall, an arm slams down beside you

"found ya," he snickers. caught red handed, boothill corners you into an alleyway. he towers over you, the sound of his mechanic limbs slightly squeak, causing you to flinch. his hat covers his eyes, but his sly smirk perfectly teases those razor-sharp teeth of his.

"what do we have here?" boothill leans down, his arms caging you into the corner. under him, you feel so small. his large chest plate covering your entire field of vision. he's so close to you that he can practically feel the anxiety vibrating off your body.

"please don't hurt me! i'm sorry, sir please!!" there's saliva pooling under your tongue as you try your hardest to stammer out an excuse. you're not even an ipc executive-- your just some lowlife who is in debt to them.

"wanna tell me why you're following me all the way out here, dollface? saw you at the entrance of the hotel." his metal thumb making contact with your bitten lower lip. the cold has you trembling under him, fearful for your life. "y'er not that good at tailing," the galaxy ranger chuckles.

"i'm not tailing you, sir. please, i'm sorry," your voice is so low, so timid. you were such a curious little thing when you were tailing him. the contrast has boothill chuckling. he hums, rubbing his thumb across your soft lips.

"we both know that's not the truth, so let's try that again. why's a pretty gem like you tailing a man like me?" his lips curl into a sadistic smile. a shiver crawls up your spine at his expression. there truly is no way of getting out of this, is there?

"i was sent by the ipc...please don't hurt me!" you try your best to squirm in his hold, but boothill's leg between yours keeps your pelvis in place. he lets out a whistle,

"is that so? how sad. what're you look to find?" his thumb does an especially rough drag on your lip, before gently soothing the skin. you wince, eyes screwed shut.

"they want to know why you're here, sir. i'm just an informant, please?" he laughs again before pulling away from you. boothill's fingers are quick to wrap around your wrist as he tugs you along with him.

"mm...well in that case, i'll send you back to the ipc with a little message. how does that sound?" he looks over his shoulder at you, pitying your pathetic expression.

you dumbly nod as the anxiety in your stomach has reached an all time high, sensing this, boothill speaks,

"don't worry, i don't hurt pretty things like you. it'll be quick, yeah?"

he's rough, almost addicting. the pleasure you're receiving from boothill is almost mind numbing. your thighs are thrown around his hips while his cold hands are digging into your hips. he raises your body up his cock before slamming you back down onto him. your jaw is slacked, voice unable to let out a scream.

"poor thing~" he coos, watching the way your brows furrow in ecstasy. he can feel your hips twitching and cunt clenching around him. his head is laid back on the bed with a hand presses against your lower back.

"atta girl, you got it. come on, baby." boothill finds your struggle amusing. you can barely register his voice, not when his thumb is vibrating against your clit and your nipples are so stiff. he leans himself up a bit, swirling the tip of his tongue against your stiffed peaks.

you mangle out a squeal, fingers scratching against boothill armored shoulders. with your head thrown back, you manage to circle your hips around his cock as he bounces you up and down. a series of curses fall from your mouth when boothill bites down on your nipple. the pain mixed with so many different types of stimulation creates pools of tears in your eyes.

"let go, sweetheart." boothill laughs with his pink tongue peaking out from his lips. the knot in your stomach is so overwhelming and your vision is so blurred. the dizzying feeling finally reaches it climax as you clench around boothill for the umpteenth time and gush around his cock. you cum so hard, your body physically jerks, falling flat against him.

as you come down from your high, boothill smoothes his hand over your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"good girl~ make sure to tell your folks about this, alright? and tell 'em i'll be coming to find 'em too," you don't exactly listen to his words, but when you're sipping on a bottle of soda while walking back to your hotel room, you think that boothill may not have been joking...

fuck, there goes your commission check.

© ilyhaitanii - please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my content, and do not repost it to any other platforms

[angelshadowsinger]

Too Late (Priorities 2)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: angst

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Azriel hurries back from his mission to find you’re gone. (sequel to Priorities)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

hiii guys! i originally intended on leaving Priorities an open-ended angst, but! y'all demanded part 2, so here it is~ just so you know, this is not happy. if i make a part 3, that might be! also, sorry this is a bit late. this last week was crazy busy and next week probably will be too. TW: very brief mention of vomit

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

The wind howled as Azriel pelted through the sky, his raw cheeks stinging from its relentless barrage. Scarred fists were clenched so hard the imprint of his fingernails marred his palms, jaw set as he grit his teeth and powered through exhaustion. 

You were right. 

The mission that Rhys had sent him on was nothing but a menial task. Any of the lower members of Azriel’s investigation force could have done the job the same as him. But ultimately, it was only himself he had to blame; even if his brother had given him the task, he had failed to pass it on to his espionage underlings. Delegation was perhaps one of his weakest skills— even after all these years he felt he had to earn his worth within his family. 

Thankfully, he was already on his way home the evening after leaving, the ordeal taking not even a full day. And he was flying full-speed in order to get back to you as fast as he could. 

His stomach had been in knots ever since he winnowed from his room at the Town House, where he had left you alone with your tears. The sound of your sobs echoed in his head, and he bit the inside of his cheek as he recalled your pleas for him to stay. 

He should’ve listened— This mission was the last nail in the coffin he had been slowly building every time his brother had summoned him away from you, calling him to duty with barely any time to rest between requests, barely any time to hold you in his arms. 

Gods, he missed you. Every time he had to leave you was like pulling teeth, his body and his shadows always begging to stay by your side, savor your kiss and your touch and your voice whispering sweet nothings in his ear. But his mind always won out. He couldn’t count how many times he had forced himself to withdraw from your ambrosial embrace, how many times he averted his sight from your melancholy gaze. If he allowed himself to linger on it, shame would begin to swirl in his guts and tighten his throat. 

The border of Velaris came into view and the shadowsinger dared to smile, stopping on a tall plain to gather a few wildflowers together. A meager peace offering, but a gift to show his remorse nonetheless. He had never returned to you empty-handed after a fight, and would not begin now.

Azriel plucked a few more stems to fluff up the bouquet, silently preparing himself for the emotional turmoil that was bound to ensue. The things he felt for you terrified him— and maybe that was partly why he would always answer Rhys’ call. Because if he stayed, and told his brother no… that would be his recognition that you had become his top priority. Perhaps it was time to make that leap, he thought, as he winnowed right into the foyer of the townhouse.

The home was eerily silent as he materialized in the dark, no candles or faelight illuminating the first floor. The sound of the clock ticking caught his attention, hazel eyes glancing at the last hour of dusk. The Illyrian frowned, straining to hear you, hoping to pick up the clank of dishes in the sink, the crisp turn of a page from a book, or even the quiet breaths of your sleeping form from the couch you usually dozed off on when you waited up for his return. But he detected not a single sound. 

Anxiety exploded in his chest, his shadows immediately surging out in every direction without needing instruction. His feet were moving before he could think, swiftly carrying him to the last place he had seen you— where he left you, falling apart and alone. 

He cursed as he hurtled up the stairs, three steps with each stride. It was times like these that he especially wished you were his mate, so that he could reach out to you and calm the ceaseless concerns that regarded your well-being every second he was apart from you. 

Rounding the corner, Azriel burst into his bedroom, eyes immediately zeroing in on the empty, made bed. Within a second, faelight lit the room. His shadows dwindled in the corners of the room, uncharacteristically mild as they slowly swirled at the floor, not reporting their findings to their master. Azriel bared his teeth at none of them in particular, but the reprimanding he was ready to bark out died in his throat as he noticed a small whirl of black lingering on the nightstand at his side of the bed. 

He came closer to inspect it, the little mass of shadow concentrated there, some spilling down the drawers at the side and joining its gloomy brethren on the ground. With a wave of his hand it dissipated. The bouquet in his grip fell to the tile with a soft whoosh. 

Your ring. 

It felt as if he had been shot, the jolt of lethal pain akin to when he had taken an arrow to the chest in Hybern. His lips parted as he examined the delicate silver band, the large, tear-shaped sapphire that once gleamed so brightly now dull against the wood. 

‘Stop wearing this the day you stop loving me,’ he had said, his arms around her as she giggled into his chest. She was giddy at his gift, kept admiring how it looked on her finger, her hand fanning out so the moonlight would catch the gem and shine. 

‘That would be never, shadowsinger,’ she had replied easily. 

He had never felt so light, so careless and content; she loved him too. She loved him, and he kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Perhaps she was. 

Azriel fell to the ground, his knees buckling and smashing onto the hard tile. He barely felt it, every fiber of him in shock as he stared at the piece of jewelry that lay on the tabletop, now at eye-level. 

He barely heard his shadows inform him that the ring was the only piece of you in the home left, that your clothes and books and even that ugly throw pillow he hated was gone from the sofa. His wings slowly dipped until they pooled into a black mass on the floor behind him, dread oozing through him as he read the words that laid on the note beneath your ring. 

I’ll never stop, even if you have.

The shadowsinger sat and stared at the ring, at those awful words. He read them again, and then he reread them, again and again. 

He had told you he loved you before he left… But you didn’t believe him. And why should you, when all he gave you as of late were empty promises? Pretty words could only satisfy temporarily, and the latest string of seemingly-endless missions was longer than ever before. 

Doubts began to fill his mind with malicious whispers, his gaze still stuck on the ring and that hideous note. They murmured the thoughts that often found him at the odd hours of the night, when he would lay with your perfect body in his arms and sleep would welcome you but evade him– that you deserved more than he could ever give you, that he was unworthy of your pure and whole love. 

The sound of droplets splattering on the ground summoned Azriel from his descent into devastation, and his eyes slowly fell to examine the tiny pools his tears had formed beside his knees. He hadn’t realized he had started crying. He gingerly raised a scarred hand to his cheek, studying the newfound wetness on his fingertips. It had been so long since he last cried, the evidence of his emotion was foreign. 

Shaky fingers plucked the ring from the nightstand, coming to hold the tiny finery in his lap. It looked so bizarre against the crude black of the leathers binding his thighs, so bright and pure that he couldn’t help but think of you. Couldn’t help but think of when he had seen you personified the same, and he himself as a mass of darkness that would bleed into your light and poison you somehow. He thought of how every time he felt that way, you had worked so hard to convince him that he deserved you and that he deserved love, that you were so happy to be the one to give it to him. More tears escaped as he now realized his failure in telling you the same. You had always been there for him, and when you had begged him for support in your time of need, he had failed you. He had run away.

And now you had erased all traces of yourself from the house Rhys had gifted him. 

The town house had become Azriel’s official residence since his brothers had coupled off, and it had once been the fortress of his solitude. That was before he had found you, and before you had gradually moved your things in… before it had become a home. And now that it was void of you once more, it had suddenly reverted back to that empty, bleak place he had learned to hate.

A lump formed in his throat at the notion that perhaps this place had slowly transformed into your own prison of isolation these last few months. That maybe you had felt this sinking, desperate feeling when you were here, in the place that was meant to be your nest of love, your safe haven. That you had told him you were drowning here, and he had simply told you to wait for him when you were already exhausted, gasping out for him with your last breath. That when he had disregarded your desperate plea, he had effectively swung the sword and severed any faith you had left in him. 

You were gone, and it was all his fault. 

He was too late.

Nausea rolled deep in his gut and he winnowed in front of the toilet just in time before the contents of his stomach surfaced. Only once his body had heaved up everything it could did he begin to sob, knuckles pale as they clenched onto porcelain, his broad form slumped on the cool tile. Shadows swarmed the bath, mirroring their master’s distress. 

Eventually the shadowsinger sat back against the nearest wall, trying to calm his ragged breath. The shadows produced the note that had been left behind, and the sight of your parting words to him nearly triggered another fit, bile rising at the back of his throat. But he paused as he read the words again, scrutinized them even though they were few and short. He sat up and analyzed the note, hazel revisiting and eating up every curve of ink.

You still loved him. 

Even after he had ignored you, neglected you, failed you… you still loved him. Was there a chance that you… still wanted him? If he could repent and swear to do better, would you take him back? If he could just talk to you, if he could get one more chance from you… he could love you. He already did love you, but if he had another shot to be with you, then he could really give you his all, he could really allow himself to love you like he had always dreamt of. He could stand up to his brother, he could tell you how his world was meaningless without you, he could cherish you– prioritize you, he could… 

Azriel frowned, a panicked hand combing through his dark hair. 

Could he do all of that?

He had never been so outright with his emotions, it felt weak to bear his heart to such a degree… But what was the alternative? A life without you? A life filled with wondering what could have been had he not been a coward that was too scared to tell you how he really felt, too scared to even try? 

If there was a time to be brave, it was now. 

He was absolutely terrified, but his resolve was steel as he took a minute to fix himself, another to grab the flowers from the ground and ensure he had your ring. And then he was off in search of you, shadows enveloping him and melting into the night.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

[bladiegfs]

it's been a long, long time

➵ hcs + drabbles of being separated from your lover for a while (ft. jing yuan, blade, gepard)

➵ warning(s) applicable: none

➵ wc: 2.3k

➵ they say distance makes the heart grow fonder. but sometimes, you can't stand it.

➵ author's note: hugging (and a kiss on blade's) as a treat...

Jing Yuan

⇢ It had been a while since you two saw one another; you were both far too busy with the threat of the Stellaron Hunters coming to Xianzhou.

⇢ You were busy with matters concerning work; no matter whether or not literal criminals could be walking the streets, the world stops for no one.

⇢ Well, most especially because you were involved with the Realm-Keeping Commission. It kept you ridiculously occupied, so much to the point that you couldn’t even pick up your phone.

⇢ Many things were keeping you occupied: first was the clear issue of the well-hidden secret of Blade’s escape. Second were the strange visitors that Sushang had been lugging around, especially the one carrying around a coffin and… hitting enemies with it. Third was the investigation of the spread of mara within soldiers— the Cloud Knights had been bleeding more men than predicted, which only made it more difficult for them to handle the criminals.

“He’s quite suspicious, isn’t he?” You comment, pulling Sushang to the side. The young knight raises an eyebrow at your words. “Who?” “The fair-haired one,” You explain. “The one with the coffin.” “I thought of that, too,” Sushang nods. She then beams at you, “But I can handle this, [name]! Trust me— you don’t have to worry more than you already do. The Loufu General won’t be too happy to know you’re running on anxiety, you know?”

⇢ And of course, you greatly missed Jing Yuan. At first, it was a faint feeling of sadness that resided in your chest. Then, as the days went by, it only grew in intensity. Somehow, seeing happy pairs of Foxians walking outside left a bitter taste in your mouth.

⇢ However, you had to push those feelings to the side and needed to put all focus on doing your job— the determination of ending all that gets in the way kept you fueled. After all, the sooner you deal with work, the sooner you’d be reunited with him.

⇢ And when all things ceased— finally and for the better, too— you find yourself overly aware of just how much you really missed your beloved. His absence had made your side turn cold.

⇢ Not only that, but worries also started to wander into your head. Where is he? What had happened to him these past few days? He didn’t do anything reckless, did he?

⇢ Those questions, you thought, could be easily answered by the one junior you know you could trust: Yanqing. And there he was, wiping his sword clean of dirt on a pavilion. You approached him, raising a hand in acknowledgment as you call out his name. He looks up at you with a bright smile.

“The General…” Yanqing tilts his head, eyes wandering up as he thinks. Some grime was on the little boy’s cheek as well as his hand, but he paid them no attention, or perhaps he did not notice. Then, his expression lights up and he says, “I last saw him with Madam Yukong! They’re probably at the Starskiff Haven.” “Thanks, Yanqing,” You smile, one hand reaching out to away wipe the dirt on his face as you spoke. Yanqing’s hand quickly darts up his face, replacing yours. With a voice tinged with shame, he says, “You better hurry or you might miss him.”

⇢ When you arrived at Starskiff Haven, the docks were filled with other officials within the Sky-Faring Commission. You peeked between the crowd, looking for him— looking for a hint of that light hair, and straining your ears to pick up the sound of his voice.

⇢ It was difficult to look around. There were far too many people blocking your line of sight, and he was likely right up front, unconsciously commanding attention like he always has. 

⇢ And so, you turned around, opting to wait for the crowds to dwindle instead.

⇢ As you turned around, you bumped into someone. Before you could apologize, realization dawned upon you. You open your mouth soundlessly, unsure of where to start.

“Looking for someone?” Jing Yuan says, a playful smile on his face. You quickly rushed in for a hug, engulfing him in your arms. He stumbles back a little in surprise, momentarily stunned before returning the embrace. “Missed me that much?” He teases you as you melt into his arms. “You have no idea.” You reply, holding him even tighter. A laugh escapes his lips as one of his hands combs through your hair. He breathes in deeply and replies in a voice low enough that only you can hear, “I missed you too.”

Blade

⇢ Worries filled your head the moment you heard that Blade was captured by the Cloud Knights.

⇢ Kafka was quick to wave it off when the news hit, laughing as she does so. It did little to dissuade your worries.

“Oh, Bladie’s fine,” She quickly says, her voice a little more gentle this time. “Don’t worry about it, [name]. It’s all going according to plan.” “Plan,” you incredulously echo. Kafka nods as she turns to one of the screens, projecting an image of the planet. “After all, he’s already gotten away.” “Huh?” You stand up, your chair dragging on the floor with a loud noise. “What’s he doing now, then?” The half-grin Kafka gives you answers none of your questions.

⇢ With that, you breathe out a sigh of relief. Kafka had already plotted to go to Xianzhou Loufu herself— something about fulfilling what Elio had foreseen. None of which you’re allowed to know, but the fact that she’d be there reassures you.

⇢ You find yourself resting a lot easier. You return to your duties, significantly less bothered.

⇢ …Until a certain someone lets it slip that Kafka has gotten captured by the Divination Commission’s Master Diviner.

⇢ The entire situation spelled trouble; Blade had a nasty habit of meddling in fights involving any other members of the Stellaron Hunters. Hell, that’s how you met him first. But not only that, you worried about what information the commission could read on Kafka, and what they could possibly do to her.

“I’ll come get her myself,” You grit your teeth. Sam laughs, “Hey, don’t be rash. It’s all going—” “According to plan,” You finish, irritation audible in your voice. “That’s what you’re going to say, right?” “…Going to be alright, then,” Sam offers a sleazy smile. “Better?”

⇢ Right as you were briskly walking to the teleporters— followed by Sam who refused to let you go— a loud noise rattles the headquarters and lights flicker on and off for a second before stabilizing once more.

⇢ You rush to the source of the noise and was met with the sight of him dusting his clothes off, clicking his tongue. Meanwhile, Kafka sat beside Silver Wolf, amused as she watches Blade move.

⇢ When Blade meets your eyes, his expression somewhat relaxes. But he doesn’t spare you a greeting as you unconsciously scan his person; your eyes narrow at the new set of bandages wrapped around his arm. He then walks out of the room, pushing past Sam.

⇢ Looking around and at the three hunters looking at you expectantly, you sigh and turn to follow Blade.

⇢ He quickly walks through the halls and disappears behind the automatic doors of his room. You hasten your steps, and when the doors open for you, he’s seated at the foot of his bed, in the progress of removing his top.

⇢ He silently glances up to look at you and his hands stop working on his clothes. Instead, he leans back a little, propping himself up with one elbow against the bed and his free hand motioning for you to come closer.

⇢ You follow him and find a seat on top of his lap. You wrap your arms around him, breathing out as you feel his warmth once more.

Blade’s arm snakes around your waist, pulling you even closer.  A jolt of electricity moves through your spine as he moves lower to press kisses on your neck. He murmurs against your skin, “Missed me?” “Yes,” You whisper. You feel his mouth curve up in a smile at your reply. And he leaves it unsaid as he kisses you, his lips meeting yours; I missed you, too. 

Gepard

⇢ From the very start, you understood what Gepard’s line of work meant and you admired him for it.

⇢ But there was also the fact that there were days that were truly rough for him. He is a skilled fighter but there were still days when he’d come home wounded and tired. And you knew that he always means to be careful– he hated to see you look so worried and distraught– but his work comes first before anything.

⇢ And with his position in his work, it was all the more riskier. ‘To fight for Belobog is an honor,’ they said, but it sure didn’t feel like one whenever Gepard comes home to you and you’d see him injured. 

⇢ Fortunately, those days were sparse.

⇢ But suddenly, there were orders for the Silvermane Guards to be dispatched outside the city. Length of stay? Indefinite. They were to remain there until they’ve completely eliminated the threat of Automaton Beasts— machines that might as well be pests with the way they never seem to never run out. 

⇢ You felt somewhat assured that Gepard can handle the threat; he told you things like these were a walk in the park for him.

⇢ It was the distance that troubled you, as well as the intense cold outside the city. You vividly remember your early teen years, when you’d curiously explore the vast, snowy plains and shivered as you moved.

“Be careful,” You told Gepard as his hand hovers over the doorknob. “Stay safe, alright?” Gepard throws a glance behind his shoulder and looks at you with a small smile. “I’ll try.” You give him an unamused scoff, which only makes the smile on his face grow. Then, he gives in and says, “I’ll contact you as much as I can.” Slowly, a tiny smile also appears on your face.

⇢ Days turn into a week. He’d occasionally call you at around dinner time, checking in on you and chatting about trivial matters. You’d ask about how his mission is going, and he’d tell you the same thing he usually does: “It’s going great. Don’t worry, [name].”

⇢ But one night, the clock ticks past dinner time and you stare hard enough at your phone that you could almost launch it flying with just your gaze.

⇢ After a while, you pick up your phone— it works two ways, doesn’t it? But it only rings, and rings, and rings.

⇢ You told yourself to not worry about it too much; he was probably simply occupied for the night. He deserved and earned his rest.

⇢ Until it extends to four nights of silence. Four nights of not hearing his voice, not knowing what’s happened to him. Nothing.

⇢ At this point, you had wanted to march right out of the city walls once more, just like what you had done before. But you snapped back to reality the more you thought about it— you didn’t want to give the guards another thing to worry about, another to look out for.

⇢ Instead, all you could do is sigh discontentedly as you stare into your phone, waiting and waiting and waiting.

⇢ Seven days had passed since you last heard from Gepard. An entire week of waiting for news– waiting for anything at all– to tell you that he’s alright.

⇢ Then, as you walk through the city to quickly shop for more rice, you overheard a conversation between some guards within the city.

“—the captain.” “How long?” “I have no idea. Apparently, they’ve run into one of the biggest ones and sent his subordinates back to camp with one foot in the grave.” “So he’s fighting it alone?” “One at a time, yeah, I think. Chipping away at it. But it has been like, what? A week? Who knows how much longer it’ll be?” “Right,” The guard nods. “It could take him a year if he just kept going by himself instead of mobilizing his juniors.” “You know the captain. He’s not that type of person.”

⇢ You stumble back home, sick to your stomach.  Gepard– the sweet, kind, caring man that he is and you fell for– had been fighting alone, all for the sake of his subordinates.

⇢ Right as you were about to get your phone to call Serval, the person you know would understand, you saw some guards and paramedics within the city walk in packs through the window.

⇢ Curiously, you peek out. Suddenly, hope and dread both fill your stomach as you see lines of guards– Gepard’s subordinates– start to litter the streets and go en route to the nearest medical bay.

⇢ You quickly rush outside your home and trail behind them, anxious to see their captain, your Gepard.

You pushed through the other soldiers, determined to make your way to him. He stood there, looking worse for wear. Yet, he stood steadfast. It was as if the wounds all over him didn’t exist. Instead, he ordered the paramedics to take his subordinates first. Your heart aches as you watch him and found yourself unable to hold back any longer— you pushed past another line of soldiers with some effort and broke through. With that, you start rushing toward your lover. When he catches sight of you, his walking first speeds up, until he starts rushing to you as well. And it was as if the world stopped moving when he catches you in his arms, engulfing you in a tight embrace. He cradles your head when you mutter, “I thought… I was so…” “It’s alright,” Gepard replies in a soothing voice. “I’m here. I’m here now.” 

[theetherealbloom]

WHERE DO WE GO NOW? - CH. 1 | 14th Doctor

Chapter One: After All Of The Time, And Give An Actual Try

Summary: An enigmatic old face makes a reappearance, heralding unforeseen events. A mysterious spaceship plummets to Earth, bringing chaos and prompting the Doctor's intervention. Amidst the unfolding narrative, a cute and endearing creature seeks assistance, weaving together elements of mystery, adventure, and companionship.

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 

Word Count: 12.2k

A/N: Surprise! I love Doctor Who too. I’m a huge nerd, I know tehe. I hope you enjoy this mini-series I have planned for the 14th Doctor! As we know, he is played by the beloved David Tennant who is one of my favorite Doctors ever.

Song: Where do we go now? By Gracie Abrams

→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MILLSON WAGNER STEELWORKS, NORTH LONDON – EVENING, DECEMBER 2023

A UNIT team was promptly dispatched as the spaceship breached Earth's atmosphere, making its way North of London. Both serving as scientific advisors, you and Shirley were on-site where the ship had landed.

While some military personnel were busy extinguishing the flames from the spacecraft and securing the perimeter, preventing you from delving further into the investigation, you found yourself engrossed in studying the ship's scans displayed on the monitor in your hands, attempting to unravel the mystery.

"Miss them, do you?" A voice called out from behind.

You averted your gaze from the tablet, turning to find Shirley maneuvering her wheelchair next to you. Curious, you asked, "What? Who?"

The redhead sported a cheeky smile. "The Doctor, of course."

It was widely known that you had journeyed alongside the Doctor and his myriad companions. Images of their faces flashed in your mind as you reminisced about those exciting adventures. Rose, Donna, the Ponds, Clara... you longed for them. There was a noticeable absence of the Doctor that left a gaping black hole in your chest.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself, "Can't let the Doctor catch a glimpse of me again; the entire universe might just fold in on itself once more. Already me being here is a problem since there’s a possibility he could pop out at any moment. I’m only on duty since I owe Kate a favor."

Shirley hums and responds, "I've read the files, you know. You two were quite the team. Everything that had happened… was in the wrong place at the right time. Still, it could happen, the two of you… together."

You raise your eyebrows at her and offer a small smile while shaking your head, scoffing, "The Doctor was unaware before, and I won't be the catalyst for another cosmic meltdown due to my selfish reasons. Besides... the Doctor doesn’t know I’m still alive and UNIT is already on my arse for even existing on this timeline.”

The redhead emits a sympathetic murmur and pats the side of your thigh, "Wasn't your fault, love. A colossal tear in time and space that dragged you in here... sounds like fate, or destiny even. If anything, maybe it was supposed to happen... like you and—"

The tablet beeps, abruptly halting Shirley's train of thought. You glance at the monitor, furrowing your brow, then hand over the device to her, saying, "You need to see this. I believe there's more to this than we initially thought."

“Now I think we’re making a fundamental mistake. ‘Cause maybe that spaceship was a collision course to start with, but look.” Shirley says while the UNIT soldier looks at the tablet, “At the last minute, it pulls up, then settles. What I’m sayin’ is, that ship didn’t crash. It parked.”

As Shirley presents her observations to the UNIT soldier, you can't help but notice the intensity in her gaze, the lines of concentration etched across her forehead. The soldier queries, "No signs of life?" You step forward, interjecting, "Not yet. But we don't know what kind of life we're looking for."

Suddenly, an unexplained shiver races up your spine, goosebumps breaking out on your skin. A palpable sense of familiarity and the eerie feeling of being observed by someone you know too well. Your expression shifts into a frown, and Shirley catches on, concern knitting her brows. "What? What's wrong?" she asks.

You open your mouth but hesitate, exchanging glances with Shirley and the UNIT soldier. Shirley, sensing the urgency, instructs the soldier to step aside. Both of you retreat to a secluded corner, where she probes, "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost, dear."

You exhale shakily, "I... I think he's here. He's back."

Shirley blinks, seeking clarification, "You mean..."

"The Doctor. The Doctor, he’s here."

"Shirley, I need to leave, immediately," you declare, attempting to stride away with urgency.

"Wait, hang on a second," Shirley interjects, gripping your wrist and compelling you to halt. "He's already seen you, yeah? Looks like nothing bad has happened and—"

"Nothing bad has happened yet, Shirley. The stars could go out; millions of galactic species could die if we so much as breathe in each other's direction. I can't risk it. I won't."

Tears well up, and Shirley guides you to a stop near one of the staircases, settling herself in her wheelchair. As you take a seat, you rub both hands over your face, wiping away the tears. "I should have died that day."

Shirley remains silent, allowing you to continue as you shakily sob, "I should have died. But I didn't, and I'm still here."

"I lied to him, Shirley. I lied. He... he might never forgive me for it," you confess brokenly. Shirley shrugs, offering, "You won't know unless you talk. And it seems to me that whatever was keepin’ you apart before… is tellin’ you two maybe now is the right place at the right time."

Deep in contemplation of your choices, someone suddenly seizes your wrist, muffling your voice as they pull you close, your body pressed against a comforting warmth.

"Hey, it's me. It's the Doctor," he reassures, and you instinctively push away, allowing some distance between you two. Both of you stand there panting, but he breaks the silence first, shouting, "I thought you were dead!"

Throwing the words back at him, you retort, "I was supposed to be dead!"

"Why aren't you dead?" he demands, and frustration laces your high-pitched response, "Are you bloody serious in asking me that?”

 “No. Yes! Argh, I don't know!"

Shaking your head and taking a step back, you declare, "I need to leave."

The Doctor firmly grabs your wrist, halting your escape. "No. Not again."

With determination, you wrench your wrist from his strong hold, shouting, "The universe could collapse! Again! We weren't ever supposed to meet. It was a mistake."

Wide-eyed, the Doctor gazes at you and replies in a breathy tone, "Is that really what you think?"

Paused, unable to respond, you hear his voice in your head, a telepathic whisper so familiar. "You and I both know, that it wasn't a mistake."

Glaring at him, you muster as much resistance as possible, but those big dark brown eyes make it challenging. "That's not fair. Get out of my head," you retort with furrowed brows.

The Doctor whispers your name, barely audible, causing you to flinch and look away. Instead of acknowledging his presence, you pivot to a question, "You regenerated… But why this face? Why are you back?"

"Why do you ask? You don't like this one?" he retorts.

Crossing your arms, you roll your eyes, "With you, there's always a reason for everything."

The Doctor admits, "Must be why the TARDIS brought me to you and Donna."

You regard him with a concerned gaze and tone, "What? You saw Donna, did she recognize or remember you?"

"The fail-safe worked; she just commented about my clothes. She has a daughter named Rose," the Doctor hums, kicking a small piece of gravel on the floor. You nod, "Yeah, I keep tabs on 'em. Making sure they're alright. Even though Donna gave all that money away to charity."

"Do you know why she did it?" The Doctor asks.

"I don't. But I have a couple of guesses," you reply with a close-lipped smile and a shrug. The Doctor brings his gaze to you, and you can already feel the question before he says it.

"I thought you were dead, for fifteen years."

You scoff, "Oh, that's nothing for you, Time Lord and all."

The Doctor throws his hands up in frustration, "Oh, don't do that."

"Do what?" you demand.

"Pretend that it was nothing for me! You were everything to me," the Doctor says, taking another step closer, and you take a step back this time. You look at him with narrowed eyes, and in a low tone, you say, "You and I both know that's not true."

"What happened? Where did you go?"

"You and I both know what happened after Arcadia. I was ready to die. I thought I had served my purpose, what I was made for. I got shot midway through the regeneration process, and I felt it. I felt myself slipping away... I could only see the two suns, and then when I closed my eyes, there was this surge of energy... I couldn't explain it back then, and I can't now. But it was like someone had given me their regeneration energy... but when I looked around, no one was there, and I was no longer on Gallifrey."

The Doctor finishes the sentence for you, "You were brought to Earth."

You nod, "I still have no idea who did it. But now, I can't leave. And all those years, my memories were locked away in that old pocket watch until I met you... and then the stars started to go out once more, and I knew I had no choice… I couldn't stay with you."

"All those years... you were alone, just like me," the Doctor says, and you look away before sitting atop one of the crates by the pillar, sighing, "I need to leave again... planets could disappear and galaxies could collapse at any second, and we'd be back where we started."

The Doctor remains silent as you close your eyes, resting your head on one of the stacked crates behind you. You yearn for him. Every atom in your being longs for his presence, yet every angle you examine seems to present an unsolvable puzzle. Thus, you convince yourself that distancing is the best course for everyone involved. How does one repay a sacrifice of such magnitude?

Then, you detect his approaching footsteps, and he settles comfortably beside you, shoulders brushing as he leans in. "Or... we could finally figure out a way to solve the paradox."

Opening your eyes, you shoot him a pointed look. "Doctor, we're in the middle of yet another crisis. A spaceship just landed, and we have no bloody clue who the hell we're dealing with right now. And you want to solve the impossible with our situation?"

"Who says I can't multitask?" he retorts, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. You lightly smack him on the arm, feeling warmth flood your cheeks. Memories of the carefree early days flash through your mind, recalling lingering gazes and soft touches exchanged. Licking your lips nervously, you release a heavy breath, "One problem at a time. We have another alien on the loose."

The Doctor takes that as a win, a calculated risk, with the universe as a potential consequence. He's never demanded anything, and for the first time, he yearns for something for himself. He envisions it — hope — the prospect of finally rewriting the ending you both desperately desire.

The sonic clicks and buzzes as the Doctor conjures a holographic screen, displaying the schematics of the spacecraft that recently landed nearby. He retrieves his glasses from his coat pocket, donning them as he peruses the screen. Pressing a few buttons, he zooms in on the bottom part of the ship before highlighting the drive.

Frowning, your eyes narrow as an unsettling weight settles at the pit of your stomach while reading what's on the screen.

"Too good for us now?" Shirley remarks as she rolls up in her wheelchair. The Doctor briefly glances at her, nodding, and casually greets, "Evening."

Shirley smiles knowingly as she looks between the two of you. "Doctor. I see you and my colleague have talked. Has galaxies and universes collapsed yet?"

The Doctor hums, "Mmmm, not yet. Soon maybe, if I could get her to kiss me."

You smack him on the shoulder a little harder this time, and he yelps out, "Ow!" Making a face at him, you retort, "Oh, sod off!"

The Doctor gives you a cheeky smile while Shirley chuckles next to you. She then looks at the holographic screen on display, and the Doctor brings his focus back to the problem at hand, saying, "That’s a double-bladed dagger drive, damaged by laser fire which means we’ve got two sets of visitors at war with each other."

He glances at Shirley politely, "Nice to meet you. Did you get the heat readings on deceleration?" Shirley chuckles and clicks her tongue, "Oh, I got everything." She unfolds her tablet to give to the Doctor, who presses a button on his sonic screwdriver to close the holographic screen. Taking the tablet, he begins to analyze the readings as your colleague introduces herself, "Shirley Anne Bingham, UNIT Scientific Advisor number 56."

The Doctor sounds delighted, saying, "Oh! I was Scientific Advisor number one."

Shirley smiles, "No, I know. I’ve read the files. I’m gonna get a bonus just for meeting you."

The Doctor makes a face, not used to humble praise. "Oh."

Shirley then asks, "But why are you hiding away? We’re on the same side and it can’t be ‘cause of her now." She looks at you, and you also turn your attention to the Doctor.

He slightly groans and inhales sharply before replying, "It’s all a bit mad, Shirley. I don’t know who I am anymore."

Shirley crosses her legs in the wheelchair and says matter-of-factly, "Well, you look like the Doctor to me."

The Doctor shrugs, "Well, exactly. The one in the skinny suit. After that, I wear a bow tie. After that, I’m a Scotsman. After that, I’m a woman."

Shirley frowns, "But that’s your future. You can’t know that. It’s forbidden."

The Doctor replies, "I regenerated. And she became me."

Both of Shirley’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes widen as she says, "You got your old face back?"

The Doctor replies with a resounding pop, "Yep."

"But why?" Shirley asks, and the Doctor sighs, "Well, that’s what I’m worried about."

He then inhales deeply before continuing, “Because, besides this lovely stubborn woman right next to me,” you pinch the bridge of your nose briefly as he continues, “I've got this friend called Donna Noble. She was my best friend in the whole wide universe. I absolutely love her as much as I love this one right here.” The Doctor pulls a face and pouts, puffing out a breath as his thick eyebrows furrow, he says, “Oh. Hmm. Do I say things like that now?”

Shirley smiles at him while commenting, “Sounds like a good thing to say.”

You mumble, “I’m not used to this.”

“But Donna took the mind of a Time Lord into her head. I had to wipe her memory to save her life. If she ever remembers me she will die. So what happens next?” The Doctor said with emphasis and leaned closer to you and Shirley, “I get this face back, and the TARDIS lands right next to her. I turn around, there’s her husband. A spaceship crashes in front of her. That led me here to my other best friend in the whole wide universe, my Time Lady who I thought was dead for many years. It’s like she’s drawing us in.” The Doctor finishes, and you and Shirley give each other a look, processing everything he has just said. Especially you, who was processing the fact he called you his. You and Shirley blinked a few times before Shirley said, “What? She’s making it happen?”

The Doctor shakes his head, “No, she’s got no idea. She’s so ordinary. She’s brilliant. She’s got this beautiful daughter. She’s happy. Is she? Hmm.” He pauses before saying in a lower tone, “But the universe is turning around the two people I love the most again. I don’t believe in destiny, but if destiny exists, then it's heading straight for Donna Noble and quite possibly the love of my life right next to me.”

You blink in surprise, opening your mouth to try and say something, maybe correct him, but nothing comes out, so you sit there, mouth gaping next to him like a fish while Shirley has a toothy grin as you say to the Doctor, “Okay, I’m still not used to whatever this is… and I don’t think I ever will be. You’re kind of freaking me out a little, dear.”

The Doctor grins, “Ooh, are we doing pet names now darling?”

You rub your right eye, feeling a migraine beginning to form, “I… What the hell is happening? You sure you’re alright? Last time you regenerated into this form you had a high fever and you were… completely out of it.”

The Doctor scrunches his nose and sniffs, “I feel great. Fantastic even!”

You purse your lips, observing the Doctor from head to toe, and then focus on his eyes—those warm, inviting brown eyes. Softly, you remark, “You've grown.”

The Doctor returns your gaze, his lips forming a quirked-up smile that reveals a dimple. "Just a little bit, yeah."

Shirley interjects, steering the conversation back on course, “You said it was also heading for Donna. What for?”

The Doctor responds with a swift, “I don’t know.” Shirley replies with an, “Oh.” The Doctor continues, with deep emphasis, “But she can’t remember. I won’t be the one who kills her.”

Shirley nods, and the tablet in the Doctor’s hands beeps. He looks at it, saying, “Right. There’s no sign of a pilot, but that’s not an automatic drive, so you should look for–”

“Ma’am,” a soldier interrupts, cutting off the Doctor. He slinks back into the shadows, and you and Shirley listen to what the soldier has to say. “We found the escape pod. No sign of life, but we’re moving out to secure the site.”

Shirley quickly replies, “Good work, soldier. Go get it.” Dismissing the soldier and watching her walk away, the Doctor moves to stand, removing his glasses and putting them away, ready to follow the soldier. But Shirley raises her hand and says to him, “Uh, yeah, yeah. Not you two, mate. I’ve got this. Off you pop. Bye-bye.”

Shirley begins to roll her wheelchair away, leaving the Doctor and you confused. The Doctor then calls out to her, “Waited your whole life?”

To which Shirley throws a look over her shoulder as she responds with a smirk, “You wish.”

The Doctor looks at you, and you look up at him. He turns his hand, palm up, waiting for you to take it with your hand. You glance at his hand and back to his eyes; he sees the uncertainty swirling through your gaze.

The Doctor speaks gently, “I know you aren’t ready and you’re scared… but I know you’re brave. And the universe listens to the brave. C’mon, it’s time to be brave again.”

You release a shaky exhale, swallowing the lump in your throat and dismissing the rational urge to walk away from him. Taking his hand, he tugs you along, pushing his legs into a run with you, hand-in-hand.

He thrusts the exit door open, utilizing his sonic screwdriver with his other hand on the back of the UNIT truck, the chains rattling as the trunk hatch pops open, pulling you with him to settle at the back of the truck.

As the UNIT truck pulls away, you see Shirley waving you off, and the Doctor gives her a small salute while you offer her a faint smile.

CHISWICK, LONDON – EVENING, 2023

You constantly poked your head out to see the stars, in case anything had changed. The Doctor held your hand, squeezing it every time you did, quietly reassuring you that whatever you faced, you'd do it together.

Arriving in the residential area, a long street lined with cars and now multiple UNIT trucks and soldiers running around, you could hear Donna shouting, “Oh, what the hell is it doing in my shed? Get out of my garden!”

The Doctor ran towards the sound of her voice, and you followed him. Reaching Donna's home, the Doctor pounded on the door, “Let us in! Let us in!”

Sylvia glared at the Doctor as she briskly walked towards him, but he exclaimed happily, “Sylvia! Oh, Sylvia! So nice to see you again. Could you let us in?”

Sylvia angrily whispered, “You said that if she sees you again, she will die. Well, no. If – if she remembers me. That’s slightly different.”

You heard and saw Donna through the stained glass yelling from down the hall, “No such thing as spaceships? We’ve got a bloody Martian in the shed!”

Sylvia angrily said, “Just get out of here, now.” But the Doctor knelt down to peek through the mail slot to see all the commotion, finding a small white fluffy creature with big eyes. “Oh, wow. He’s so cute,” the Doctor mumbled. With no other choice, he used his sonic to unlock the door as Sylvia told Donna, “Don’t look! Don’t look. It doesn’t exist.”

As the Doctor walked down the hall, with you trailing behind him, Sylvia whirled around to slap the Doctor. He grunted and groaned, “Here we go again.”

“It’s that man!” You recognized Rose say as Donna pointed at the Doctor, “Oh, it’s the skinny man!”

Sylvia continued to try and gaslight Donna, outstretching both her arms to block both of you, “He’s not there! You can’t see him. And there’s no monster. Oh, for the love of God, none of this is real!”

You and the Doctor ducked down and crawled to the creature to help assist them. In the middle of all the shouting and noise, you saw Shaun Temple appear, saying, “Hey, hey. Dad’s home.”

Everyone stood at a standstill, wide-eyed and unsure of what to do next. After a pause, Shaun commented with a small smile, “Something smells nice.” Sylvia smiled, “Tuna madras.”

“Meep, meep.”

As you and the Doctor sat on the floor, he carefully wrapped Meep’s injury in his hands with medical tape, while you quickly assessed if the Meep had any more injuries. Sylvia spoke to Donna, “We should think about infection. I mean, I think this man should deal with this beast, and we can leave him alone and go back to mine.”

Donna pulled her arm away from Sylvia and gestured around the Meep, “Never mind. Never mind about the ferret from Mars.” She gave you and the Doctor a pointed look as she growled out, “Who the hell are you two?”

You looked to the Doctor for help, and he stumbled over his words, “I– um. What was it?” He looked to Shaun who replied, “A friend from Nerys.” To which the Doctor promptly agreed, “That’s it.”

Donna scrunches her nose and says, “Nerys. Well, now it all makes sense. That viper in the nest.” She continues and points to the Meep, “I’m not going anywhere. We could sell mad Paddington for a million quid.”

Everyone reacted, giving Donna a pointed look and a noise of disagreement, “Woah!” Donna tried to justify her comment by saying, “You fill the fridge!”

The Doctor’s expressive eyebrows furrowed, and he asked Donna, “What did happen to all your money?” Donna got defensive and threw back, “Why are you so interested in us? Everywhere you go, there you are. Now you got this woman with you,” She gestured to you, “are you sure you’re safe with him, darling? Is he forcing you to be with him? Did he kidnap you?!”

You blinked wildly at Donna, “Uh, no– I’m good. He’s my partner.”

The Doctor smirked at you, “Ooh, I’m your partner?” To which you narrowed your eyes at him, “Quiet, you.” He pouted but continued to finish wrapping the injury of the Meep, then the Doctor said, “There is one person missing. I used to know your grandad, Wilf.”

Donna shook her head, “He’s not with us anymore.”

The Doctor had a somber expression as he nodded, “Right. Course. He wasn’t young; he was—” His lower lip trembled as he admitted, “I loved that man. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Donna shook her head, emphasizing, “He’s not dead.” Sylvia shot the Doctor a sharp look, “You idiot.”

The Doctor gaped at them, and Donna continued to share, “He’s in sheltered accommodation. He’s 94. He can’t manage the stairs.” Shaun took over, saying, “We were lucky. We couldn’t afford it, but this offer came along.”

Rose smiled, painting a vivid picture, “It’s amazing. He’s got this room, like a cottage and a garden, and it’s almost free.”

“Run by that lot in the middle of town? UNIT? This woman in charge, Kate, she says he’s an old soldier, she’ll look after him.” Shaun said, and the Doctor's face lit up, “Right. I know her. She’s looking after Wilf. Brilliant. Brilliant.”

Shaun tilted his head as he looked at you, “You look very familiar… Weren’t you with Kate as you were helping with the accommodations for Wilf?”

Your lips pinched together as you nodded, “Yeah, I work with UNIT. I check on him regularly; he’s wonderful.”

“Meep, meep.”

You and the Doctor turned to the fluffy white creature in front of you, and the Doctor’s eyebrows raised as he inhaled sharply, “Yes! The Meep. I promise I can help him get home. Then you’ll never have to see me, or well, the both of us ever again.”

Rose looked at the Doctor and gave him a questioning look, “You’re assuming he as a pronoun? Hmm.”

The Doctor took it in stride and nodded, “True. Yes. Sorry. Good point.” He quickly turned to the creature and asked, “Are you he, or she, or they?”

The high-pitched voice of the Meep responded, “My chosen pronoun is the definite article. I am always the Meep.”

The Doctor’s expression shifted to one of understanding as his thick eyebrows raised and he nodded, “Oh. I do that. But you were shot down. Who wants you dead?”

You tilt your head, captivated by the Meep's explanation, “The Wrath Warriors. They cultivate Meepkind for our beautiful fur. But then the galaxy said, ‘No more fur. It’s wrong. So the Wrath Warriors slaughtered their livestock.”

The Doctor crosses his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face, and leisurely leans back on the couch, letting his back rest against it, “You’re a fashion victim.”

A collective groan escapes from all the humans in the room, “No.”

The Doctor quickly mumbles an apology, and the Meep continues, “Now, they will hunt me down till there are no Meeps left.” The Meep sniffs, “It breaks both my hearts.”

You and the Doctor exchange surprised glances, both of your eyebrows raised. The Doctor shares with the Meep as he gestures to both of you, “You got two hearts? So do we.”

Donna quickly catches onto the Doctor's revelation and frowns, “You’ve got what?”

Sylvia tries to downplay what the Doctor just exposed, stammering as she speaks to Donna, “No. He means it like a metaphor. Like two minds. Do you?” You and the Doctor shake your heads, but suddenly there’s a pounding at the door.

“Open up!”

“Well, what the hell is it now?” Donna exclaims, her frustration evident as she wonders why all these strange anomalies keep happening. The Doctor pushes himself up, and you assist him with his navy blue coat as he puts it on. He continues addressing everyone in the room, “Ah, good. The soldiers! They can give us a lift.”

As he goes to answer the door, leaving you with the Meep and Donna’s family, Rose can't help but ask, “Are you two…”

Your cheeks feel flush, the tips of your ears turning warm, “Yep.”

Just as Donna is about to make a cheeky comment, you hear the Doctor slam the front door shut, loudly informing you all, “I think we need to run. Woah!”

Suddenly, an explosion rocks the backdoor, causing everyone to hit the ground with a collective yelp. You and the Doctor peek to look at the new visitor; arthropods, with a tough chitinous exoskeleton. With their external skeleton acting as a skelo-shield they had formidable strength. Their eyes were like large red lights. Seeing the Wrath Warriors enter while saying, “Wrath, attack formation! Surrender the Meep!”

UNIT soldiers burst in from the main entrance, their voices echoing down the hallway as they shout instructions to each other. The distant hum of gunfire and the vivid flashes of lasers light up the space, creating a chaotic symphony that fills your senses.

Donna, caught in the middle of the sudden onslaught, shouts in confusion and frustration, “What the hell is going on?”

The Doctor deftly manipulates his sonic screwdriver, adjusting its settings. He turns to Shaun and inquires, “Where’s your car?”

Shaun, bewildered but cooperative, responds, “Uh, five- five doors down.”

“Excellent.” The Doctor nods. He pivots, activating the sonic screwdriver to generate large, rectangular force fields. The blue glow emanating from the force fields reveals a recent upgrade, and you can't help but smile, commenting, “Nice upgrade, love.”

“Thanks, dearest. Help me move this, won’t you?” The Doctor passes the sonic to Donna, who handles it with familiarity. You and the Doctor work together to slide the force field into the first section of the hallway, dodging blaster shots as you go. Once in the living room again, you take the sonic from Donna, creating your force field with the Doctor’s scientific instrument. The Doctor observes you with admiration, and together, you slide the final force field into place, sealing off the area where the Wrath Warriors were firing from.

Immediately, the Doctor issues a commanding directive to the Noble-Temple family and the Meep, “Upstairs! Up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up!” They follow the urgent order, shrieking as they ascend the stairs, sandwiched between the force fields that shield them from the relentless onslaught of gunshots and laser fire.

“Come on, Meep!” The Doctor encourages, executing an energetic dance of hopping and flailing arms. The Meep responds with a whimper, “No.” Undeterred, you and the Doctor persist, the Doctor continuing his lively hopping routine, insisting, “Come on! That’s it.”

You guide the Meep up the stairs, the Doctor closely behind. A reassuring hand rests on your back as the trio ascends. When you're halfway across the corridor, a deafening explosion erupts from behind. The Noble-Temple family screams in fear, and you're thrown to the ground. However, the Doctor reacts swiftly, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to break your fall. In a protective move, he cushions the impact with his body, leaving you on top of him.

You swiftly roll off him, your palms hitting the floor as you propel yourself upward. Grasping the Doctor's hand, you haul him to his feet, both of you swiftly turning around to confront the aftermath—a colossal, gaping hole now occupying the space where a window once stood. Donna's cry of agony echoes through the room, "My house!"

Despite the devastation, there's no time for dwelling. The Doctor urgently directs everyone, gesticulating emphatically, "Upstairs. Upstairs, upstairs!"

Observing the Wrath Warriors soaring menacingly through the breached window, and amidst the symphony of gunfire and laser blasts echoing from the stairs, you and the Doctor deftly ascend to the third floor. With a swift motion, he lowers the ladder leading to the attic, urgently urging everyone, "Up we go! Fast as you can."

The entire group efficiently ascends to the attic. Positioned beside a robust brick wall connecting attics along the street, you and the Doctor huddle close. The Doctor showcases the device in his hand, proclaiming, "This is a sonic screwdriver. And if it's good at one thing, it's resonating concrete." He flips it in one hand before activating it, causing vibrations to ripple through the mortar.

Shaun interjects, "That's not concrete. That's mortar." Donna, in her familiarly exasperated tone, sighs and quips, "Thank you, Bob the Builder."

With a determined push, you and the Doctor dislodge the bricks, prompting them to cascade down. Donna crouches beside the Doctor, complimenting, "Skinny minnie, you're not bad."

The Doctor grins at Donna, "You think?"

However, Sylvia intervenes, frowning as she guides Donna aside, firmly asserting, "No, she doesn't. Now move."

"Come on. Five houses down," the Doctor grunts, effortlessly moving aside a box brimming with Christmas decorations. He takes the lead, guiding the family through the interconnected attics.

Traversing through these loft spaces, you witness the chaotic scene unfolding outside, with laser beams and gunshots punctuating the air. Explosions resonate in the distance as you navigate the makeshift route, carefully descending a staircase. Along the way, you stealthily pass by someone deeply immersed in sleep on a couch, oblivious to the turmoil around them.

Upon reaching a door, the Doctor jostles it open, revealing a view of the black cab parked a few meters away. Amidst the cacophony of gunfire and distant shouts, the Doctor extends his hand and requests, "Can I have the keys?" Shaun promptly hands them over.

As the Wrath Warriors advance with their menacing backs turned, the Doctor swiftly swings the door open, directing the family and the Meep into the sanctuary of the black cab. Positioned in the passenger seat, you observe the Doctor deftly using his fingers to check the pulse of a fallen UNIT soldier. Abruptly, a Wrath Warrior pivots, growling, "Meep located. Stop the Meep!"

Evading blaster fire with nimble agility, the Doctor slips into the driver's seat, swiftly igniting the engine and propelling the cab into motion. The Meep whimpers, "Help! Save the Meep!"

As the Doctor skillfully navigates away, Donna exclaims, "Oh my God!" Shaun pivots within the cab, jubilantly stating, "You did it!" Meanwhile, Rose chimes in, "We're alive," and Sylvia expresses gratitude, "Thank you."

"Meep, meep."

While the Doctor keeps a vigilant eye on the side mirrors during the escape, there's a discernible shift in his tone, "Either we've escaped, or we've got things very, very wrong."

UNDERGROUND PARKING GARAGE, LONDON – EVENING, 2023

The Doctor skillfully maneuvers the cab, smoothly parking it in an underground garage. A contemplative furrow graces his forehead as he steps out of the vehicle. With an attentive courtesy, he opens the passenger door, gesturing for you to alight from the cab. Simultaneously, he opens the back passenger door, facilitating the exit of the Meep.

The Doctor deftly extracts a barrister's wig from the depths of his coat, perching it atop his head with an air of theatrical flair. Meanwhile, the Meep positions itself purposefully in front of the cab. In a tone of authoritative declaration, the Doctor announces, "This court is now in session."

With a swift motion, he retrieves his trusty sonic screwdriver, and it emits a distinctive whiz as he proclaims, "Intercept teleport!"

The Meep emits a piercing shriek, swiftly retreating a few meters behind you and the Doctor. Donna, emerging from the cab, questions, "What the hell are you doing?" The Doctor, with an authoritative air, responds, "Silence in the court."

In the blink of an eye, two Wrath Warriors materialize just across from you and the Doctor. You stand there, massaging your face with your hand, as he adopts a menacing tone and declares, "I’m invoking Shadow Proclamation protocols 15, P, and 6. Under my jurisdiction, there will be no violence until such time I deem it fit and proper. Is that understood?"

The Wrath Warriors nod in compliance, dutifully stowing away their weapons to their sides. The Doctor, brandishing his sonic, gestures towards the taxi, asserting, “Now, exhibit A. The taxi. No scorch marks. Donna, can you confirm?” Donna swivels around, inspecting the taxi behind her, and nods, “Um. Yes, no, nothing.”

You arch your eyebrows, interjecting, “We were hit by plasma bolts, but there isn’t a mark.” The Doctor affectionately kisses your forehead, remarking, “Clever girl.” You duck your head, feeling a slight warmth in your chest and cheeks. He proceeds, “And that soldier in the street. He was unconscious, not dead.” Pointing at the Wrath Warriors' guns with his sonic screwdriver, he continues, “Exhibit B. Those guns are stun guns. Is that correct?”

The right Wrath Warrior nods, “The guns apply a mild and harmless neural anesthetic. For the record, my name is Sergeant Zogroth.” The left Wrath Warrior adds on and says, “And I am Constable Zreeg.”

The Meep interjects from behind you, its large ears folding to the side, “But the evil Wrath Warriors want to kill the Meep.”

“The only ones out to kill were the soldiers with the swirling eyes,” the Doctor asserts, gesturing in a circular motion with his sonic, his eyes widening to emphasize his point. “Were they coming to hurt you, the Meep? Or save you?” The Doctor eyes the furry creature suspiciously.

“If I may speak,” Sergeant Zogroth says, and the Doctor promptly replies, “Address the court.”

“The story of the Meep is a tragic tale. Their planet basked in the light of a living sun. Until one terrible day, the sun went mad,” Sergeant Zogroth began, his voice laden with the weight of the narrative. Constable Zreeg chimed in, “A psychedelic sun.”

Sergeant Zogroth continued, “Its radiation mutated all of Meepkind into cruel beasts who live for conquest.”

The Doctor's face lights up with realization, "The eyes. That's solar psychedelia." Sergeant Zogroth adds, “It renders them as maniacs.”

“The Meep army captured the Galactic Council, beheaded them, and ate them,” Constable Zreeg revealed, sending shivers down your spine. You and the Doctor exchange a grimace at the horrifying revelation. “The Wrath Warriors were summoned. And we fought across the stars, a long and awful battle,” Sergeant Zogroth continued with a somber tone.

“Meepkind died rather than surrender. And now, only this one survives. Their leader, the most cruel and despicable of all,” he added, pointing to the Meep, who responded with a plaintive, “Meep, meep.”

The Doctor, adopting a composed stance, interjects, “Now. Let’s be fair. It’s your turn, the Meep. Witness for the defense. So, what do you say?” The Doctor crosses his arms, and you observe as the Meep's innocent visage transforms into something more sinister and monstrous.

The Meep's sharp teeth are bared as it growls defiantly, "Oh, to hell with this!" With a swift motion, it brandishes a weapon, declaring, "Exhibit C!" The Meep takes aim and fires, bringing down the two Wrath Warriors, their bodies collapsing to the ground. You, the Doctor, and Donna quickly rush to the fallen foes. The Doctor, during the action, removes his barrister wig. The Meep, in a sinister tone, adds, "No stun guns for me! Just die!"

Shaun leaps out of the cab, urgently shouting, "Donna! Donna, don't!" Despite his plea, Donna remains fixated on the fallen warriors, her concern evident. You find yourself beside the Doctor on the ground as the Meep triumphantly declares, "And here they come! My soldiers of the psychedelic sun!"

Suddenly, a convoy of UNIT vehicles arrives, accompanied by soldiers with their distinctive headgear, forming a protective perimeter around all of you. Their authoritative voices ring out, "Obey the Meep!"

Donna, her maternal instincts flaring, turns to Shaun and passionately commands, "Get out! Get Rose out!"

Shaun swiftly maneuvers to the driver’s seat while Rose and Sylvia settle back in the taxi. However, the UNIT soldiers, now under the control of the Meep, have you all surrounded with no clear escape.

“I don’t need to pretend, for I am the Beep of all the Meeps,” the Meep declares, grinning menacingly with its sharp teeth.

Sergeant Zogroth emits a final groan, his parting words being, “Sergeant Zogroth regrets retirement from active duty.” His eyes dim, and his body goes limp. Donna, disgusted, confronts the Meep, saying, “I was right. You are a monster.”

The Meep revels in Donna’s anger, taunting, “And you believed every word I said. You stupid woman! With your weird child!”

Donna, ready to confront the Meep for insulting her daughter, stands defiantly, retorting, “Oh, don’t you dare!”

The Meep, relishing the confrontation, points its weapon at Donna, threatening, “Oh, I dare!”

You quickly rise, positioning yourself in front of Donna, raising your hands in a protective stance. Simultaneously, the Doctor moves across the floor on his knees, hands raised, pleading, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! But— Last-minute evidence! Me.”

He emphatically points to himself and exclaims, “Why are there two more two-hearted species on this planet? Unless we are part of a strategy by the Wrath Warriors to outfox you? If you kill me and her and fail to take this family hostage, you’ll never find out, will you?”

The Meep hums, then commands the soldiers, “Bring them!”

The Doctor stands animatedly, “Good! Now, look, I can suggest a much better way off this planet than a double-bladed dagger drive. ‘Cause that thing is gonna—”

His sentence remains unfinished as he is abruptly knocked out by a UNIT soldier. The Meep cackles triumphantly as the rest of you are ushered into the back of a truck, alongside the unconscious Doctor.

On the truck's floor, the Doctor lay with his head resting on your lap, his unconscious form a testament to the challenges you faced. Your fingers moved soothingly through his untamed, spikey hair, offering a quiet comfort amid the tension.

Donna observed the scene, her curiosity getting the better of her. "How long have you two been together?" she inquired, attempting to place where she might have encountered you before.

"A good number of years," you replied, choosing to keep the more intricate details to yourself, considering the Doctor's timeless nature.

Rose, equally intrigued, posed another question, "Are you two married?"

A snort escaped you. "Nope. I don't think he wants that with me if I'm being honest."

“Why?” Rose pressed on.

Your gaze drifted, and you sniffed softly. "I’m all sorts of wrong for him. And sometimes, it scares me. The emptiness I see in my eyes,” you admitted, vulnerability seeping into your words. Your eyes lingered on the Doctor as you continued, “The Doctor is brilliant. He is truly brilliant. After all he’s been through... he deserves everything good and more… more than me.”

As your confession lingered in the air, the Doctor began to stir awake, bringing a momentary hush to the truck. His eyes fluttered open, and a low groan escaped him as he gradually sat up, settling next to you.

Donna eyed the Doctor with suspicion, her narrowed gaze fixed on him. "Who are you?" she questioned, her tone demanding answers.

The Doctor, still feeling the effects of his earlier unconsciousness, touched the back of his head with a wince. "I’m just passing by," he nervously replied, attempting to deflect her inquiries.

Undeterred, Donna redirected her attention to her mother, Sylvia, and pressed on, "Do you know him?" Sylvia, in an attempt to conceal any familiarity, shook her head, responding, "No."

Donna, frustrated and puzzled, continued, "You act like you know him. Ever since he arrived, it’s like—" She heaved a heavy sigh, abruptly halting her train of thought. "I’m so stupid!" she declared, voicing her self-reproach.

Shaun quickly reassured his wife, "No. No, you’re not."

Donna shook her head, lost in contemplation. "We could be living somewhere far away from here. Monte Carlo. Switzerland." She then turned to her daughter Rose, who sat beside her. "And you— And you’d be safe, Rose." Donna pulled Rose into a comforting side hug. "It’s all my fault. Gave away that lottery money."

The Doctor, unable to resist his curiosity, interjected, "Why?"

Donna shot him a glare. "Because. There are places out there where people are in danger. And in pain. And fear. And I could help. Just felt the sort of thing he would do." Her words hung in the air, revealing a sense of duty and compassion that drove her actions.

Abruptly, the truck jolts to a stop, resulting in the Doctor colliding with one of the crates, eliciting a pained groan. You swiftly move to assist him. The truck door swings open, and a stern voice commands, "Out!"

MILLSON WAGNER STEELWORKS 

NORTH LONDON, – EVENING, DECEMBER 2023

The UNIT soldiers briskly led you towards the heart of the steelworks, where the Meep's spaceship had strategically landed.

"It didn't choose the steelworks by accident. It came here to be mended," the Doctor remarked as the group neared the spacecraft. The Meep made a grand entrance, seated on a makeshift throne of steel carried by a procession of UNIT soldiers. With its menacing teeth and booming voice, it declared, "Hail to the Meep!"

A hypnotic chant echoed through the steelworks as multiple officers joined in unison, "Hail to the Meep. Hail to the Most High. Hail to the Meep. Hail to the Most High."

"Human scum, behold my vessel to the stars! Far beyond your tiny, grasping minds," Beep the Meep declares with an air of arrogance. You respond with an eye roll of annoyance, and the Doctor shakes his head while humorously interjecting, "I name this ship the Delusions of Grandeur."

Beep the Meep growls in protest, "Meep."

"You can't fire those engines. Not from here. A dagger drive gets its energy by stabbing down. It would extract, ooh, five square miles? The whole of London town burnt as fuel," the Doctor explains, his tone serious and concerned.

Rose, wearing a frown, adds, "But that's nine million people."

"A great day for Meepkind. And the start of a new reign of terror as the Meep return to the stars for revenge. And feasting. Now, activate the initializers," the Meep commands, its voice dripping with malevolence.

A disciplined UNIT soldier swiftly responds, "Initializers activated."

The low hum of the spaceship's engines reverberates through the steelworks as the Meep grins with an evil glint in its eyes, proclaiming, "Brandish the gravity stanchions."

"Gravity stanchions brandished," announces a focused UNIT soldier as the prongs of the spacecraft forcefully dig into the ground.

"Calibrate the flight deck," the Meep commands with a sense of authority, intensifying the tension in the air.

A disciplined UNIT member announces, "Flight deck calibrated."

The Meep, perched on its steel throne, commands, "Take the prisoners on board! Then I’ll decide which one to eat first. Hail to Meep!"

The rhythmic chant of the hypnotized UNIT soldiers fills the air, "Hail to the Most High! Hail to the Meep!" while the Meep indulges in a sinister cackle, reveling in its delusions of grandeur.

The liftgate slams shut, transporting you to a different floor. Thoughts of subduing the UNIT guards swirl in your mind as the lift grinds to a halt. As the gate creaks open, Shirley appears, wearing a mischievous grin. "Evening, boys."

With swift precision, she activates a concealed device beneath her wheelchair, firing two darts at each soldier. The tranquilizers swiftly take effect, rendering the guards unconscious.

"You've got weapons in your wheelchair," the Doctor exclaims, eyeing Shirley with a mixture of surprise and admiration. She glances back at him, a knowing look in her eyes, and responds, "We all have. You've got your girl to thank for that. Come on." With a nod, she leads the way, wheeling herself confidently through the complex.

"Right. You lot, the family, you can get out through that door," Shirley says, gesturing towards the exit on the right. She then turns her attention to you and the Doctor, her tone more serious, "You need to get to the engine control. But the port side’s guarded, and there's no way around it."

A quick exchange of glances between you and the Doctor precedes his question to Shirley, "So what do we do?"

With a confident smirk, Shirley retorts, "I don’t just fire darts, mate." She spins her wheelchair around, revealing hidden capabilities. With the push of a button, two missiles activate and blast through the wall, creating a makeshift path forward. The unexpected firepower leaves you and the Doctor momentarily impressed.

Shirley swiftly directs the family, "You lot run. I’ll fight them off at the lift."

The Doctor tightens his grip on your hand, leading you through the large breach in the wall. The chaotic, metallic environment of the spaceship's bridge unfolds before you. With his trusty sonic screwdriver, the Doctor deftly manipulates the controls, unlocking the gate to the engine control room. As the door creaks open, the two of you step inside, ready to stop the ship from taking off.

The Doctor removes his coat and hangs it on one of the pillars as the ship's system voice declares, “Dagger drive systems initializing.”

In a sudden burst of energy, Donna enters the control room panting, "That's enough… running. Blimey."

The system voice abruptly announces, “Chamber deadlocked.” Panic sets in as the only exit seals shut, leaving the Doctor frustrated. He slams his hands on the door, exclaiming, “No, no, no, no! I told you to go—just don’t!”

Frantically, he moves about the room, urging, “No time. I’ve got this. We’ve got it. We’ve got it. You stay there. Don’t move, Donna!”

The Doctor and you scramble around, pressing buttons and flicking switches, racing against time as the system voice declares, “Star launch in five minutes.”

Climbing up one of the pillars, the Doctor instructs you while you squat on the other side to manipulate hidden switches. Suddenly, the system announces, “Deadlock sealed.” A flicker of discomfort courses through both of you as the ship's mechanisms react.

“It’s been deadlocked,” you groan, and Donna questions, “What’s that mean?” 

The Doctor replies swiftly, “It means, we can do it by hand.”

You move to the far end of the ship, and the system voice chimes in again, “Maxifold bisecting.” A glass pane wall starts dividing the room, separating you from the Doctor and Donna. “You can stay on that side Doctor, I—” But then the Doctor rolls under the glass just before it seals, protesting, “Oh. No, no, no, no!”

“Double dagger drive installed and initiated.”

You can feel your eye twitch as you look at the Doctor standing next to you. “Okay, okay. Okay, we can do it with half the room. That’s fine.” The Doctor tries to reassure himself and you look at him wondering why he had to end up on your side of the room.

“Let me help.” Donna insists and the Doctor is quick to disagree, “No! You can’t get involved.”

Donna looks at the Doctor with a glare, challenging him and the Doctor tries to steady his resolve, “You can’t!”

It's then your turn to shoot him a pointed look. The Doctor groans and pants in frustration before finally surrendering. He instructs Donna, "Switches, the top ones, the blue ones, flick them all down."

Donna diligently follows his directions, swiftly flicking the switches down, while you navigate to a different section of your side of the room to spin a dial a few times. Despite your efforts, it proves futile, and you slump down in disappointment. The Doctor, leaning defeatedly on a pillar, somberly admits, "We've run out of time."

“Ignition in 230.”

The Doctor sighs with a heavy burden on his shoulders as he confides in Donna, "If there was anything else I could do, but there's one thing left."

"Well— Well, then do it," Donna urges, her tone laced with desperation. The Doctor, however, looks down in shame, prompting Donna to insist, "Hurry up and do it! What are you waiting for?"

Pushing himself off the pillar, the Doctor strides over to the glass partition separating Donna from the two of you. "I think… all that coincidence was heading here to save London from burning. 'Cause the three of us can stop this ship. Together."

Donna gasps in realization, "Oh."

As you rise and move towards the glass, locking eyes with Donna, you declare, "But it will kill you."

Donna sharply inhales, and responds easily, “Okay.”

The Doctor’s voice cracks as he says, “You’ll die.”

Donna's lower lip trembles, her eyes reflecting the imminent crisis, as she says, "My daughter is down there."

"Ignition in 180."

Tears well up in Donna's eyes, and her voice stammers with fear, "And it's not just Rose. It's nine million people. Who cares about me?"

The Doctor responds swiftly, his urgency palpable, "I do. We both do."

Donna takes a deep breath, mustering courage, and asks, "But why?" She pauses, gathering her thoughts, and continues, "I'm just no one."

The Doctor's expression shifts to one of anger, his eyebrows furrowing as he yells, "No, you are not!"

He takes a few steps back, the weight of the situation evident in his sob and scream, "Why does it have to be this?"

"Entering the final sequence."

The Doctor looks at Donna with a somber gaze, defeated, as he utters the words that trigger Donna's memories, "Westerly. Pelican. Dreams."

Donna is desperate as she says, "I don't— Look, I don't care what it is. All right. Just— just go on and do it, will you?"

"Ignition in 150."

"Tornado. Clifftops. Andante," the Doctor says.

"Get on with it!" Donna shouts.

The Doctor continues, "Grief. Fingerprint. Susurration."

Donna's eyes light up as she begins to remember her adventures, "Oh."

The Doctor and Donna utter the last few words in unison, "Sparrow. Dance. Mexico. Binary. Binary. Binary."

A golden glow emanates from Donna, the metacrisis shimmering through as she regains her memories once more. You and the Doctor press your palms against the glass, witnessing her transformative moment.

"Ignition in 100."

As the glow dissipates, the Doctor anxiously asks, "Are you alright?"

"Ignition in 90."

Donna pants, sighs, and sweeps her bangs away from her eyes as she glares at the Doctor. Inhaling deeply, she says, "I gave away my money."

"Ignition in 75."

The Doctor looks at her, puzzled, "Right, but—"

Donna, expressing a mix of frustration and anger, interrupts, "I gave away all my money. And do you know why, Doctor? I gave it away to be like you. So I could be kind. So I could be nice. So I could be helpful— I—"

Donna releases a frustrated growl as the system voice continues, "Ignition in one minute."

Moving her face closer to the glass panel, Donna continues, "I had a subconscious, infracutaneous, retrofold memory loop making me act as soft as you and give away 166 million pounds!"

"Ignition in 50."

The Doctor, wide-eyed, nods in agreement but attempts to refocus on the urgent matter, "Yes, Donna, but— Destruction of London?"

"Oh, I'll show you destruction, mate," Donna declares, intertwining her fingers before flexing them to crack her knuckles.

"Ignition in 40."

You and the Doctor observe in awe as Donna moves around the control panel with ease. "I'll triple-drive the particle manifesto, overstep the umbilical feed, vindicate the cyberline, and roast the hyperfeeds! Like this!" Donna exclaims, spinning the dial on the lower left of her.

The Doctor navigates about half of the room, deftly flicking switches while instructing, "Maximise the stressfold links!"

"Channel up the booster drive!" Donna commands, pressing a few buttons.

"Inculcate the plexidrones!" You chime in, flicking a few more switches.

"And shatterfry the positrons! Oh yes!" Donna exclaims.

"Twenty, nineteen..."

Donna interrupts, asking, "How long have I got to live?" as she switches off a few controls.

"...sixteen, fifteen..."

All three of you simultaneously answer, "Fifty-five seconds."

"Thirteen, twelve, eleven..."

"The best fifty-five seconds of my life!" Donna exclaims.

"Seven, six, five, four..."

"Because I get to do this!" Donna proudly announces, turning around and simultaneously flicking off several switches.

"Three, two— Ignition halted."

You three watch as the panel flies off the wall; the countdown has stopped, and Donna proudly states, "Donna Noble is descending."

"Ignition reverse. Ignition reverse."

"It’s working!" The Doctor's voice resonates with exhilaration as the tangible effects of the reversed dagger drive unfold before your eyes.

However, your joy is cut short when you notice Donna beginning to falter. Panic sets in, and you urgently cry out, "No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

Swiftly, both you and the Doctor move in unison to catch Donna as she descends, cradling her fragile form in your arms. Donna sighs, her expression reflecting a mix of exhaustion and relief. The Doctor reassures her, "We did it. She’s fine. She’s safe. You saved her."

Donna smiles weakly, and you add, "You saved them all."

In a moment of introspection, Donna questions, "Why did this face come back?" She turns her gaze towards the Doctor, who responds with a sigh, "I don’t know."

"To say goodbye," Donna asserts with a soft smile. She then shifts her attention to you, saying, "Oh, the Stargazer. I’ve missed you."

"I’ve missed you too, Donna, every day," you confess, and the Doctor emits a thoughtful hum.

"Good fun, though," Donna remarks, her chuckles mingling with yours and the Doctor's. The lighthearted moment takes an abrupt turn as Donna's eyes flutter closed, her entire being going limp in the arms of her two closest companions.

A collective sob escapes from you and the Doctor as you sit there, cradling your best friend, a bittersweet mixture of victory and loss filling the air.

Abruptly, the door to the engine control room opens, revealing a cadre of UNIT soldiers with swirling, hypnotized eyes. The air tightens with tension as one of them declares, "We have orders to kill you."

Undeterred, the Doctor retorts defiantly, "Do what you want. This ship isn't going anywhere. You were beaten. By the DoctorDonna." The soldiers, rifles at the ready, cast ominous shadows in the confined space. You resign yourself to the impending threat, feeling the Doctor's protective instinct as he positions himself to shield you.

In a surprising turn, the psychedelic light emitted from the soldiers' eyes screeches and hisses, dissipating into nothingness. Bewilderment echoes through the room, and you join the Doctor in uttering a perplexed, "What?"

Even one of the soldiers can't help but question, "What?"

Donna, roused from her unconscious state, adds her own disoriented, "What?"

The Doctor, his voice tinged with disbelief, softly utters, "You're not dead."

A collective sense of confusion lingers, and Donna, now fully awake, queries, "But how?" as she steadies herself.

After a brief pause, Rose's voice resonates through the intercom, "Can you hear me? Mum? Doctor? Star? I think it's safe for you to come down now."

Donna responds, perplexed, "Rose?"

The Doctor's eyes widen with a sudden epiphany, "Too much power for one person, but you had a child, and the metacrisis passed down. A shared inheritance."

Donna grins, “It was always there. Shining out of her.”

“And she chose her own name,” the Doctor adds.

“Oh, the shed! The shed was her memory of the TARDIS. The toys! Every creature we met, she remembered as a toy,” Donna says with a glint in her eye.

You gape, suddenly realizing, “We are binary.”

“She’s not. Because the Doctor’s—”

The Doctor interjects, “Male.”

“And female,” Donna finishes.

"And neither. And more," Rose says, her voice carrying a warm smile through the intercom.

Donna rushes down the stairs, her steps echoing in the cavernous steelworks. Rose meets her halfway, and they share an emotional hug, Shaun joining in the embrace.

You and the Doctor follow suit, descending rapidly to the ground floor. Sylvia awaits, and as you approach, the Doctor wraps her in a jubilant hug. He inquires, “Happy now?”

Sylvia responds with a radiant smile, "My father would be impressed. I have no higher compliment." Laughter of triumph fills the air as you and the Doctor proceed to the nearby control center.

Shirley deftly maneuvers her wheelchair towards you and the Doctor, offering her unique perspective. She addresses the Doctor with a sly grin, “There’s a word for you, Doctor. And that word is jammy.”

The Doctor responds with infectious enthusiasm, “Jam on toast.” He decisively slams a button, activating the intercom. With authority, he speaks into the microphone, “Calling the Meep.”

The Meep's defiant voice crackles through the speakers, “You forget I still have my ship. And if I have to explode the engines and rupture this world and damn us all to hell, then I will!” A shared glance between you and the Doctor follows, and he graciously hands you the task of flicking the crucial switch.

With a resounding click, the Meep’s cockpit is ejected into the sky, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of the Meep's distressed shrieks. You and the Doctor gaze upward, drawn into the spectacle unfolding against the canvas of the vast night sky.

“There you go.” The Doctor points with a wry smile, observing the Meep’s cockpit deploying a parachute against the cosmic backdrop.

You feel the Doctor's reassuring grip on your waist as he pulls you into his side. Together, you look up, transfixed by the celestial display. The stars twinkle above, and in that moment, you choose to hope and believe that nothing universe-ending has transpired yet.

As the sun ascends on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the scene, the Wrath Warriors stand sternly with the imprisoned Meep, forming an uneasy tableau. You step forward, addressing them with a heavy heart, "Sergeant Zogroth and Constable Zreeg gave their lives, alongside many Earth soldiers."

The Wrath Warrior, resolute in the face of the aftermath, declares, "Their names will be included in the litany of crimes as the Meep atones in prison for 10,000 years." The Meep, defiant in defeat, mutters, "Oh, I will escape and have my revenge. So you beware, Doctor and Stargazer, because there’s one more thing."

With a determined stride, the Doctor moves closer, inquiring, "Which is?"

“A creature with two hearts is such a rare thing. And to have two of your kind here… Just wait till I tell the boss,” the Meep retorts, an ominous promise lingering in the air. The Wrath Warriors and the Meep vanish in a teleportation, leaving a sobering aftermath beneath the morning sun.

The Doctor, caught in contemplation, mumbles under his breath, "Cryptic. I hate that." He takes a deep breath, turning his attention to Donna and Rose with a sense of urgency, "But… we’ve still gotta fix you two. ‘Cause the metacrisis might have slowed down, but that thing is wrapped around your cortex."

Donna, with an eye roll and a knowing nod, quips, “Yes, we know.”

Rose adds confidently, “We know everything, thanks.”

Donna, in her typical nonchalant manner, shrugs, “And you know nothing. It’s a shame you’re not a woman anymore. ‘Cause she’d have understood.”

Rose, crossing her arms, asserts with confidence, “You’ve got all that power, but there is a way to get rid of it. Something a male-presenting Time Lord will never understand.”

Donna, ever pragmatic, advises, “Just let it go.”

The unity between mother and daughter becomes evident as Rose takes Donna’s hand, and together, they release the accumulated metacrisis energy. Shaun interjects with a grin, “Like I said, mate, how lucky am I?”

Rose, with a joyous laugh, concludes, “After all these years, I’m… finally me.”

CAMDEN MARKET, LONDON — MORNING, 2023

Shaun skillfully navigates the vehicle, bringing the group back to Camden Market in London. Earlier, you had informed Shirley about the intention to bid farewell to the Doctor and Donna before returning to headquarters. Shirley responded with a nonchalant, "Sure..." accompanied by a discerning look, rolling away from you in her wheelchair.

The Doctor maintains his characteristic chattiness as he informs Donna, "And UNIT has a splendid insurance policy for damage caused during an alien war. While they sort that out..." Approaching the iconic tall blue police box, the TARDIS, the Doctor gestures towards it, saying, "One last trip?"

"Uh, don’t you dare," Sylvie interjects with a pointed look. Donna, casting puppy eyes at both you and the Doctor, laments, “Do you know, I would love to.” She then takes a sharp inhale, sighs, and adds, “But… I have got adventures of my own, bringing up this one.” Donna points her thumb towards Rose.

“Can I see inside?” Rose asks the Doctor curiously, taking a step toward the TARDIS. Donna, however, swiftly moves her away, cautioning, “No. No! No. No.”

Rose sighs, and Donna playfully waves her finger, “No. Because summat will go wrong, and you’ll end up on Mars with Chaucer and a robot shark. And that’s actually happened, hasn’t it.”

The Doctor gives a sheepish, “Oh, yeah.”

“But I was thinking, we could go and see Wilf?” The Doctor suggests to you and Donna.

Donna then says, “Now that is cheating.”

The Doctor pouts, “Just a suggestion.”

“I mean it, don’t you dare.” Sylvie says, and Donna sighs, “But imagine his face, Mum. Oh, he would be so happy. All those secrets Grandad kept for years. He— He thought I’d never remember. And to see the Doctor. One last time.”

The Doctor and Donna make a puppy face to you and Sylvie, urging you to join them. Sylvie relents and gives in, “Oh, all right. But one trip. That’s all. Just one.”

The Doctor turns to unlock the door with his key while Donna laughs with glee, “One tiny, little trip. That is a promise.”

Donna turns to you and the Doctor and gasps in excitement, “It’s like the old days. Just me, the Doctor, and the Stargazer. Together.” She then turns to her family, “Is that all right?”

“Yeah, of course it is,” Shaun says confidently with a huge smile.

“Well, a lot of husbands would worry. You know, me, in a box, with another man.” Donna jokes, and Shaun shrugs and shakes his head, “Yeah. But not him.”

The Doctor looks somewhat offended, but then Donna shoos him to go inside, “Come on, space man.”

In the quiet aftermath, with Donna entering the TARDIS, the Doctor notices the unsure expression on your face. He whispers to Donna to go ahead, and she complies, leaving the two of you alone, behind the TARDIS, sheltered from prying eyes.

With a gentle gesture, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He cups your face with both hands, his smile revealing dimples that carry the weight of countless adventures. “The stars haven’t gone out.”

Your raised brows betray a hint of skepticism, “Yet…”

The Doctor locks eyes with you, his deep dark brown orbs conveying understanding. As tears well up in your eyes, you break the silence, your voice a fragile whisper, “You have no idea how bad it gets. How scared I am that all of this is temporary and I lose you… and I can’t have you.”

“Hey. Hey, hey. None of that,” he reassures, his gaze unwavering. “So far, everything has been leading me back to you. And when the time comes to face it… we’ll fix it… together. I can’t lose you again. Not ever again.”

His words linger in the air, a vow shaped by the quiet resilience of a Time Lord who has navigated countless challenges across time and space. You respond with a nod, sealing the unspoken pact, and tenderly kiss his wrists. In return, he draws you closer, planting a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“When this is all over,” he declares, “we’re getting married.”

“What?” you screech, caught off guard by the unexpected revelation.

“We've waited this long. I’m not spending the rest of my how many years without you,” the Doctor insists, his eyes earnest.

“Is this a proposal?” you inquire, a mixture of surprise and delight in your voice.

“If you want,” he smirks, playfully nonchalant.

On tiptoe, you reach up to kiss the tip of his nose, a tender acknowledgment, “We'll see.” The promise of an unwritten future hangs in the air, held by the shared understanding that time and space will unfold their stories together.

THE TARDIS

The Doctor guides you inside the TARDIS and closes the door behind him and both of you are in awe of the major changes of the entire TARDIS. Huge curved white walls with round circles that glow with lights and many ramps that lead to different corridors.

The Doctor hangs his coat on one of the railings as he grins and laughs, “Whoa!” He begins to run around all the ramps with the energy of a little kid as he shouts, “This is amazing!”

“It changed! Oh, you clever thing! Look at that!” The Doctor laughs as he finishes his lap around the new interior of the TARDIS. He runs over to the console and smiles, “It’s got this!”

He pushes a lever forward, and the lights within the TARDIS shift to a vibrant orange, casting a warm glow. Your gaze is drawn upward in awe as the ambient hum of the time machine resonates around you. Running your fingers along the railings, you can feel the TARDIS responding, and you affectionately murmur, “Hello, sweet thing. I missed you too.”

Amid the luminous atmosphere, the Doctor darts around the console, engaging with switches and buttons on the refurbished device. Donna, observing the transformation, remarks, “It’s still a bit nippy.”

The Doctor protests, “Oh, come on!”

Undeterred, Donna concedes with a grin, “All right…” Her expression changes as she admires the surroundings, “It’s gorgeous!” Laughter bubbles up from both Donna and the Doctor, who joins in the jubilation, bouncing excitedly.

“It’s cleaner. And it’s grown,” Donna observes, her laughter echoing through the TARDIS.

Making your way to the console, you overhear Donna questioning the Doctor, “But I— I still don’t get it. I mean, the TARDIS can change all right. But what about your face? Why did it come back?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” the Doctor muses, and Donna, with a snort, retorts, “In your life? Yes!”

With a nonchalant shrug, the Doctor remarks, “Well, I’m stuck with it now.” He continues exploring the console, fidgeting with excitement, and comments, “Oh, this thing is brilliant. It’s even got a coffee machine!” Glancing at you and Donna, he inquires, “You want one?”

You shake your head, “No, thank you, darling.”

“You’re kidding,” Donna says with wide eyes.

“With cold milk, yeah?” The Doctor deftly presses a few buttons, and Donna, smiling, says, “Well remembered.” To your delight, a white cup materializes with coffee and cold milk.

He carefully hands the cup of coffee to Donna who says, “Thank you very much. Careful. It’s how I lost my job. Dropped a coffee in the computer.”

To which the Doctor just hums and moves to flick a few more switches around the console as you lean on a railing, to listen to him say, “I really do remember, though. Every second with you. I’m so glad you’re back ‘cause it killed me, Donna.” The Doctor clicks another switch as he continues on, “It killed me, it killed me, it killed me.”

"We can have more days, can’t we?" Donna inquires, her tone laced with a mix of hope and curiosity. Her eyes reflect a desire for a future filled with shared moments. Continuing with optimism, she suggests, "I mean, why is it such a big goodbye with you? Why is it one last trip? ‘Cause you could visit. With my family."

The Doctor, absorbed in examining a screw, listens attentively as Donna paints a vivid picture of ordinary yet precious moments. "We could do outrageous things, like have tea, dinner, and a laugh! And Rose’s school play. Well, maybe not that. She can’t act. She’s terrible. I don’t know how to tell her. But the point is, you’ve been given a second chance. You can do things differently this time."

Encouraging him to embrace change, Donna suggests, "So why don’t you do something completely new and have some friends?"

The Doctor contemplates the idea, responding with a hesitant "Maybe. Yeah." Donna chuckles, savoring the simplicity of their current moment. "Mmm. Like now," she remarks, lifting her cup as if to toast. "Here we are. Having a coffee."

Before the Doctor can respond, Donna's accidental spillage disrupts the calm, eliciting a gasp from her. "What’s gonna go wrong—" Her sentence is abruptly cut off as the spilled coffee interacts with the TARDIS console, resulting in sparks and flames.

With urgency, Donna questions, "What’s happening?" The Doctor, swift in his actions, ushers both you and Donna away from the unfolding chaos. The TARDIS groans and whines as its engines protest, and the cloister bell rings ominously in the background.

"We could end up anywhere in time and space," the Doctor confesses, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. As the atmosphere fills with anticipation, you brace yourself, thinking, "Here we go again."

TAGLIST:

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter seven

Summary: Baby, bye bye bye?

Warning: Mentions of John Walker.

Word Count: 1252

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A/N: The NSYNC gif tho. I love Sam Wilson. Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @thetorturedbuckydepartment

By the time Sunday evening came, you felt rejuvenated. Thanks to your family and friends, and some relaxation, has worked wonders on your frayed nerves. 

Yet, as Monday approached, the familiar anxiety crept back. You knew you had to face him again. The thought gnawed at the edges of your peace, like a shadow lingering in the background. 

The office was gradually coming to life with the hum of morning conversations and the clacking of keyboards. Settling at your desk, you took a deep breath to steady yourself. A mix of anticipation and uncase grew as the minutes ticked by. Your gaze kept darting to the entrance, waiting for his inevitable arrival.

But, as the clock struck 9:00 AM, he had not walked through the doors. By 9:30, whispers began to ripple through the conference room as your colleagues glanced at each other. Puzzled by his absence, catching snippets of their conversations - questions about his whereabouts, if anyone had heard from him.

You couldn’t help but feel relieved, but, you couldn’t help but wonder: had something happened? Was this just temporary? Was someone more intense to come?

As the morning dragged on, his absence was both a blessing and a cause of concern. The office turned into full-blown speculation by lunchtime. Theories were being exchanged in hush tones, their curiosity spiking. You tried to focus on your mind, yet your mind kept drifting back to him, especially after the mumbled accusations aimed at your brother. 

~

It wasn’t until late that afternoon that you finally got some answers. Your phone buzzed with a notification from the local news app. Out of habit, you took a glance at the screen, your heart stopping as you read the headline: Police department asks for help in locating a missing man. 

Your pulse quickened as you clicked the notification, bringing up the article. The picture accompanying the story confirmed your speculations - it was John. According to the report, his wife reported him missing after not being seen or heard from since Saturday evening. 

The article mentioned the police were investigating, specifically, Officer Fury would be leading the case. He was appealing to the public for any information. Your mind began to race with questions. Had he simply vanished? Despite everything he had put you through, the news of his disappearance left you with an uncomfortable mix of emotions. 

Sitting back in your chair, you tried to process the revelation. As the office continued to buzz with the news, you decided to share the article in the Avengers group chat: Have you heard about this? - you asked, with the link attached. 

Within minutes, you received replies:

Nat: “Why am I not surprised he was a cheater too?”

Wanda: “Yeah, it just came on the news at the bar. Everyone is talking about it.”

Sam: “*NSYNC ‘Bye bye bye’ GIF*”

Stevie: “Sam, no! 🤣 Yeah, I’m with Wanda and EVERYONE is talking about it, had to tell them at least 10 times we had nothing to do with it.”

Bucky ❤️‍🩹 : “Good.”

~

The usual office chatter was overshadowed by the unfolding mystery as the rest of the day passed. Whispers in corners, and gazes fixed on his empty cubicle. As much as you tried to focus on your new project, your thoughts kept returning to him and the article. 

By the time you returned home, the sky darkened, and a cool breeze swept through the city streets. Unlocking your apartment door, you felt a shiver run down your spine. The weight of the day pressed down on you as you settled on your couch, your thoughts drifting back to Saturday morning, cuddling with Bucky.

Turning on the TV, you caught the last few moments of another news report about him, the anchor repeating details you already knew. Seeing it on the screen made it feel even more real. Leaning back, your mind swirled with possibilities. 

The buzz of your phone interrupted your thoughts. Glancing at the screen, you expected another report about John, but instead, it was a message from Bucky: “Want some company? I’ve got pizza… and cola.” 

You felt your cheeks flush as you smiled down at your phone. “You know the way to my heart. Doors open for you,” you replied as you stood from the couch, heading to your apartment door to unlock the latch. 

Within minutes, the door opened, and your gaze snapped to it. You managed a smile as you watched Bucky enter your apartment with a pizza box and a small crate of cola bottles. You noticed the first thing he did after closing the door was put the latch back into lock. 

“I don’t like you having that unlocked, even for me,” he mumbled as he set the food and drink aside on the dining table. 

~

After dinner, the two of you settled on the couch, the aroma of takeout filling the apartment. Bucky had kept the conversation light throughout the early evening, you recounted funny stories from the bar and shared the latest gossip from your friend's lives. He was a welcomed and comfortable distraction. 

The TV played in the background, and the same news article from earlier began to play once again, snapping you out of your Bucky-induced haze. His jaw tensed as he reached for the remote, swiftly turning it off just as they showed a photo of John. Bucky turned to you, his expression serious. “How are you feeling about all this?” 

Sighing, you put your cola back on the coffee table. “It’s strange,” you admitted as you brought your knees up to your chest. “I should be relieved that he’s not, you know, around, but instead, I feel… unsettled.” 

Bucky nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “I get that, Sweetheart, it’s hard for you to switch off your feelings,” he reached out, wiping a tear you hadn’t realized had spilled. “Even if the person who caused them was… well, him.” He sighed, pulling you into him. 

A sniffle escaped as you rested your forehead against his, “Thank you, Bucky. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.” you mumbled, trying to steady your breathing. 

He smiled, his thumb still wiping the tears. “You don’t have to find out.” 

~

Bucky stood in your doorway, making sure you were truly asleep before, he glanced down at his phone, dialing a number. Once he was positive you weren’t going to wake up, he closed your bedroom door and quietly slipped back into the living room. 

Keeping his voice low, “Fury,” he said as the line connected. “Yeah, she’s asleep,”

There was a pause as Fury spoke on the other end of the line. Bucky’s jaw tensed as he listened intently. “She’s doing alright,” he continued, keeping his voice steady. Another pause, during which Bucky glanced toward your bedroom again, ensuring you were still asleep. “You got any updates?” 

Bucky nodded slightly at Fury’s response, keeping a calm demeanor. Listening as Fury outlined the state of the investigation his responses were brief and measured as he reached for another slice of pizza.

“Got it. I’ll keep an ear out,” he spoke before giving Fury another moment to speak, his eyes narrowed. “Sure, I get it.”

Bucky ended the call, finishing the pizza. He turned the TV back on, the news report still covering John’s disappearance, the same details they’d had all day replaying. 

Sitting back on the couch, his thoughts churned, the weight of the situation pressing down. Yet, his resolve to protect you was tireless.

---

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[lucid-loves]

First Light ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 3

Pairing: bodyguard!Ghost x princess!reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: 5.3k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, verbal abuse by parents, physical abuse by parents, psychological abuse by parents, opposites attract, forbidden love, slow burn, fluff, attraction and sexual tension, reader POV and ghost POV, minors DNI, eventual smut, virgin reader

TW for this Chapter: roofies/drugging, attempted assault

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After receiving death threats from a mysterious terrorist organization, your royal parents make a decision to reach out to the United States for help. Specifically, they want the US to send a bodyguard to protect their precious princess. When the 141 is called upon to investigate, Ghost is the one assigned to protect you. With your lack of experiences outside of your royal life and his experience with nothing but deadly, worldly affairs, opposites attract.

Chapter Synopsis: It’s the night of the party and everything seems to be going well at first. However, after a close call, Ghost decides that he needs to keep you safe by any means necessary. You don’t oppose any of his ideas. 

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6

The dress felt tight around your waist as the maids zipped you in. It flowed out in other places, but the cinched waist was so tight that it made it almost hard to breathe. It wasn’t like you weren’t used to this. Your mother always picked out party dresses that showed off your figure. Forced a figure sometimes. You did always look beautiful at the end of getting ready, though you were always eager to undress by the end of the night. 

As the maids finished styling your hair, the door to your temporary bedroom opened up to reveal a man that you almost didn’t recognize. If it wasn’t for the skeleton-jaw face mask, you would’ve mistaken Ghost for a different man. A warm blush crept along your cheeks.

His dirty blonde hair was stylishly tousled in all the right places. His navy eyes seemed brighter without the black warpaint and full balaclava as well. There was a scar cutting through one of his bold brows, but it only made him oh so much more ruggedly handsome. All of that combined with a simple, black suit had your heart fluttering. 

Ghost was feeling the same way as soon as he saw you in your formal dress. A rather modern, yet elegant dress perfect for a modern yet elegant princess such as yourself. He had to clear his throat before speaking lest his voice would crack due to light nerves. “Almost ready?”

“I believe so. We are just doing some finishing touches.” You explained, familiar with the maids’ routine when it came to pampering you. As the last tendrils of your hair were in place and jewelry was secured on your person, you graciously thanked the maid for all of their help. Many of them fawned over you, admiring both your beauty and their finished work. The compliments made you blush, but you remained humble. You wouldn’t have looked nearly as good without their efforts. 

Ghost escorted you to the ballroom where the party was being held. Before you opened the doors though, you paused to take a deep breath. You were nervous to meet so many people, especially the man that your parents wanted to marry you off too. You didn’t even realize that your hands were trembling with anxiety.

Your bodyguard noticed, though. He began to notice almost everything about you since the night you played piano freely in the moonlight. “Everything is going to be okay, Princess Y/n. I’ll be watching over you the entire time. If we need to leave earlier, we can do that as well.”

You let out a shaky breath and gave him a light smile. Though, it was hard to look at him with how handsome he was. “Thank you, Lieutenant Ghost. Truly.” 

As soon as the doors to the ballroom opened, all eyes were on you. Every man, woman, and child were watching your every move as you entered the party. Everyone was dressed formally. A small orchestra played live music for the party. Plenty of flowers, tables, and silver platters of champagne were available everywhere. Your parents eagerly waved you over to where they were, a decently handsome man in their little group. That must have been the bachelor. 

“You look ravishing, dear! Very pretty in your dress. This gentleman here is Duke Theodore. He has been waiting to meet you.” Your mother played up, taking care to ensure that her loving, motherly facade was set firm. No one was the wiser except you. You could tell that she disapproved of something in regards to your appearance based on how her gaze on you became icy. Thankfully, your father was a little warmer with his honest approval, a proud grin on his face as he took in your formal wear. 

The Duke held out an open hand, a gesture that you couldn’t refuse in front of your parents. Once your hand was in his, he raised it to his lips. The feeling of his chapped lips on the back of your hand made you tense up. Ghost, who diligently watched from a safe distance, felt tension too along with a steady fire that rose from the pits of his soul. While he promised that he wouldn’t let this guy touch you, he had to obey the etiquette here. You had told him that you approved of the common greetings already as well. 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess Y/n. I’ve heard many good things about you.” Duke Theodore tried to converse. Every word out of his mouth was sickly sweet, disingenuity clear as day to your ears. You knew immediately from the way he looked and spoke to you that he saw you as a prize. Already, you knew that you hated him. 

If only you could call him out. Instead, you kept up appearances and faked a smile like you have done for every party guest since the day you were forced to attend these vanity projects your parents loved. “It is lovely to meet you as well, Duke Theodore.”

“Princess Y/n has many talents. She is very diligent with her studies, is committed to learning the piano, and always does what she is told!” The queen chimed in, pitching you to him as if you were a product to sell. Duke Theodore’s cold eyes lit up a little at the reveal. 

“Is that so? It seems like she is indeed a proper young lady then. I am excited to get to know her very well.” He replied, his subtly sinister smile making goosebumps run up your arms. 

He attempted to reach for your hand, eager to pull you in to drag you to the dancefloor. However, a strong, firm hand stopped him. When he looked up, he was startled to see a pair of cold, angry eyes that stared daggers into him. Ghost had finally come to your rescue, finally keeping his word. His tone was equally spine-chillingly cold. “All party guests will refrain from touching the Princess unless it is for a simple, common greeting or if she permits it first.”

Your heart swelled as your bodyguard protected you directly. No verbal warning first with a lack of bite. Ghost’s grip was firmly on the Duke’s wrist, ready to break it if he really wanted to. And God, did he really, really want to. From the moment he dared to kiss your hand, make you have goosebumps, Ghost wanted to break every bone in his fucking hand. 

The king and queen quickly tried to save face. Your father gestured for Ghost to let go, to which Ghost slowly did. “Pardon our daughter’s bodyguard! He takes his job of protecting her very seriously. Lieutenant Ghost, this man is trusted. There is no need for such aggressive protection.”

You fought the urge to defend Ghost. To pipe up and reveal that you requested his protection like this. However, one look from Ghost told you that it was fine. He was expecting this kind of push back from your parents. And he wasn’t going to back down. “This protection is absolutely necessary, your Majesty. Unless the princess herself approves, then no one will lay a finger on her more than what is just basic courtesy.”

Some eyes from party guests began to watch the scene unfold. Any amount of drama brought them in like buzzards to a corpse. Already, gossip began to erupt through little whispers. 

Clicking her tongue, your mother saved the scene, not wanting this to turn into a real altercation. “Let’s all calm down now! You know, we just love our daughter so much that we decided to hire such a devoted bodyguard. He comes from a military background, so it isn’t his fault that he can’t let a little loose for the night.”

“I see. Well, thank you for your service, Mr. . ?” The Duke awkwardly laughed, also trying to salvage the situation that would make him seem like he was innocent in all of this. 

“Lieutenant Ghost. You will address me by my title of Lieutenant.” Ghost subtly threatened. 

While everything went down, you just stood complacent behind Ghost, unsure of what to do or say. Truthfully, you were loving the way Ghost was protecting you at the moment. How he was sticking it to both your parents and the man that you already didn’t trust. Saying so in front of everyone was sure to get you into serious trouble with your parents later, though. 

While it wasn’t fair that Ghost had to fight your battles for you, you had no choice. Especially not during a party. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant, for protecting me so diligently. I should be okay now.” You finally reassured, your response to the ordeal graceful as you praised Ghost for his work while also catering to the pressure on your shoulders.

Your parents seemed satisfied with your response. Duke Theodore especially seemed happy with how you handled your words. Before backing off though, Ghost looked at you, searching for any sign that you want him to just whisk you away right now. He would do it in a heartbeat if you so much as looked hesitant to continue the party. When you seemed sure of yourself, he finally backed off, retreating to his safe distance. 

Party guests returned to their conversations, disappointed that drama didn’t unfold more to gossip about. However, they did spread compliments on how well the situation was handled. Of course, praise of your parents’ devotion to protect you didn’t fail to reach their ears, inflating their egos. 

“Well then, shall we dance with your consent, Princess?” The Duke offered, his tone slightly bitter now that he had to ask first. Not even wanting to touch him again with a ten-foot pole, you instead made a graceful excuse that should take up most of the one hour you had to be here for.

“My apologies, Duke Theodore, but I must refuse your offer for now. I think it would be wise to partake in a few hors d'oeuvres to gain some energy for dancing. I would hate to only give you a single dance if you wish for more.” You cleverly excused, quite proud of yourself for such a simple plan. 

Thankfully, the bachelor and your parents seemed to buy it. Duke Theodore grinned as if he won the lottery. “Of course! How considerate of you, Princess. We shall eat and enjoy some private conversation then.”

Your parents split off to socialize with the other guests while you and the Duke grabbed some plates and drinks to take to a private balcony. Normally, you would have refused to converse in private. However, Ghost presence, even from a little distance, made you feel secure. There was no doubt in your mind now that he would run to your rescue if you needed him. He would be listening to the entire conversation anyways without the bachelor knowing it too.

The night air was crisp and cool, providing a comfortable temperature for what was a late summer season. Stars painted the sky as far as the eye could see. Music from strings, winds, and brass traveled out to the balcony, setting a rather easy mood. While you nibbled on the small hors d'oeuvres on your porcelain plate paired with a golden flute of champagne, Duke Theodore tried his hand at conversation once more. 

“So, Princess, how far along are you in learning the piano?” He started innocently enough.

“I know the basics along with some simple classical pieces. I hope to one day play more complex pieces such as Fantaisie by Chopin.” You lied as if it was second nature to you. Hidden behind a red curtain just near the balcony entrance was Ghost who listened to you lie with ease. A part of him was proud of you for keeping such a secret. A part of him also felt rather giddy at the realization that he was probably the only person in the world that knew your secret. 

He wanted to keep it that way. 

“Ah, a classic and known to be a difficult piece to learn. I’m sure that if you keep up with practice, you will learn it in no time. I myself am a fan of Nocturne in E flat Major. A very romantic piece. Do you appreciate romance, Princess Y/n?” He continued, his tone shifting from polite to mischievous subtly that you picked up on immediately. 

Treading carefully, you answered. Though, you did avert your gaze to the stars as you felt uncomfortable looking him in the eyes. “I do enjoy romantic pieces greatly. Clair De Lune and Gymnopédie are a couple of my favorites. While they may not be overly complex pieces to learn compared to some, there is beauty in simplicity.”

“Right. Love does not need to be so complex. I am happy to hear that you can appreciate the simplicities in romance. I take it that you prefer it when people are straightforward then?” He pushed, his tone hinting at something you didn’t like. 

“I do like it when people are straightforward, but there's also something to love about complexities. Noticing extra efforts to create beauty should be recognized as well. The melody must match the harmony, after all.” You elaborated, hoping that he would pick up the hint that you weren’t such a simple woman to win over. You expected him to put in a real, kind effort into earning your affections if he really wanted it.

He didn’t get the hint. “You are quite right. I will be upfront then. I am curious to know how far your romantic knowledge extends to.”

You nearly choked on your champagne. “Pardon me?”

Ghost was close to stepping in, not liking Duke Theordore’s insinuation whatsoever. In fact, he wanted to punch the guy right in the jaw. Before he could intervene, however, a server bumped into him. Champagne spilled all over his suit while crystal glass shattered on the marble floor. The server profusely apologized, pulling out a handkerchief for Ghost to use. 

Distracted by the sudden mess, he missed some of the next pieces of conversation you were having with the inappropriate bachelor. “You don’t have to play coy with me, Princess. I bet you haven’t even had your first kiss yet, let alone more than that.”

Panic started to rise in you, your stomach tying itself into knots as your instincts screamed for you to get away from him. You were baffled at how nonchalantly talked about your romantic life. “This conversation is incredibly inappropriate, Duke Theodore! I-”

“You are to be my wife soon, so I don’t see how this conversation is inappropriate. Early? Sure. But I just want to make sure that my wife truly is a virgin. Don’t you think that is fair?” He justified, a malicious smirk on his lips. 

Just as you began to protest some more, your head suddenly felt woozy. Your vision began to turn fuzzy and your strength dropped like heavy weights. It suddenly began to get hard to stand, your hands holding yourself up on the balcony rail. A pair of hands landed on your shoulders, making your blood run cold. “You know, if you won’t tell me outright, I don’t mind checking myself. I think I would like to finally have that dance you owe me now.”

Your brain blacked out for a moment, your body following along with the bachelor without you knowing. No one bat an eye, not even your parents, as he guided your body out of the party, figuring that the both of you were simply already madly in love with each other. Besides that, they did trust the Duke to remain gentlemanly. He was a Duke after all. 

When Ghost finally managed to get the server to fuck off, his heart dropped when you were missing from the balcony along with the bachelor. Blood ran like ice through his veins. He ran to the balcony, calling out your name as if doing so would suddenly make you reappear. When he noticed your half drunken champagne glass still on the rail, he examined it carefully. 

His eyes widened as he noticed tiny flecks of powder that haven’t completely dissolved yet float with the bubbles. An untrained eye wouldn’t have noticed the powder whatsoever. Especially not a princess that wasn’t exposed to the outside world. His mind raced to dangerous places as he scrambled to look for you. 

Reentering the party, he tried to look through the crowd for you or that damned duke. After trying to see through the crowd, he grew frustrated. There were too many fucking people at this party! Your life was in danger and your parents invited so many people to their fucking palace!

Having enough of it, he pulled out his pistol that he kept hidden under his suit jacket. With a booming voice and gun aimed, he gave orders. He didn’t give a shit if he made a scene. “Everyone get down on the ground now! That’s an order!”

There were screams of panic as everyone dropped like flies, obeying the command as their lives depended on it. Now with better vision, Ghost was able to scan the crowd better for you. When he still didn’t see you, he nearly became weak in the knees from devastation. To no one in particular, he called for witnesses. “Where did the princess or the duke go?! Someone answer me now!”

“Please, Lieutenant! Let’s just calm down and-” The king tried to take back control only for Ghost to fire his gun into the air as a warning, the sound echoing throughout the ballroom. He didn’t care if he was terrifying everyone. Traumatizing them even. All he cared about was finding you before it was too late. 

“WHERE?!” He demanded, this time louder and more aggressive. 

“Th-They left! They went out those doors!” Someone finally spoke up, pointing to one of the exits that led to a long hallway. 

Ghost wasted no time weaving through the crouched crowd to storm the hallways. As soon as he entered them, he heard nothing but silence. He called your name again, hoping to a god that you were conscious enough to hear him scream for you. There was no way you could have left the palace yet. With how huge this place was, there was still time before Ghost could figure that you were truly gone. His hands shook at the idea before he clenched his fists tight over his gun that he still carried. Leaning into his earpiece, he called for extra security to search for you. No one was to come in or out of the palace no matter what. 

He didn’t think he would be this shaken up on the off chance that you were harmed. Now that it was happening though, it was like a living nightmare. 

As your bodyguard continued his search for you, you drifted in and out of consciousness inside a private gallery room. Pieces of valuable art ranging from portraits to landscapes hung along the walls around you as you lay down on a classic chaise lounge. It felt like white noise was flooding your senses. Your limbs tingled like static electricity. 

All you could think about in your moments of consciousness was how you wished Ghost was here. 

A finger traced up your cheek, catching a tear you didn’t even know you shed. Out of the corner of your blurry eyes, you watched Duke Theodore lick the salty tear off his finger. “No need to cry, Princess. You should be happy. Not only do you get to lose your virginity to a man with a high pedigree, but you will experience life outside these walls right after. I know that you have been stuck here your whole life. You must be dying to leave, at least for a little while.”

“There are some people that are dying to meet you too, you know? People on the outside. They aren’t unreasonable people. They just have different views on how this country should be run. If they meet you and your parents give them the power they seek, then you and I will be free to do whatever we wish. Of course, as my promised wife, I will make sure you are taken care of. As long as you agree to my own needs.”

You felt fingers lightly trace the length of your neck to your collar. You felt disgusting as he treated you like not only a piece of meat to eat, but as a bargaining chip too. 

From outside the hallway, you could hear the echoes of Ghost calling for you desperately. Duke Theodore must’ve heard him too by the way he sucked his teeth. “That bodyguard of yours is quite a thorn in my side. I suppose that’s what you get when you are up against someone from the military.”

As you heard the calls get louder and closer, you began to muster up your strength. You didn’t have much of it from whatever was in your champagne, but you were trying to save as much of it as you could nonetheless. With the right timing to use it, it could save you. 

Right when it sounded like Ghost was shouting from right outside the door, you spent your energy on calling for him right back, hoping that he could hear you past the thick doors. “Ghost!”

Surprised by your sudden outburst, Duke Theodore clamped his hand over your mouth. “Damn it! Your mother told me that you always did as you’re told! Shut up!”

That one scream for him as all Ghost needed to pinpoint where you were. The doors to the gallery were kicked in hard, the doors swinging open as if they were loose on their hinges. Gun aimed at the duke’s head, Ghost suppressed the urge to just shoot him dead right then and there. “Get down now before I fucking kill you!”

Blood draining from his face, the duke slowly lowered himself to the floor. More security rushed in, guns and handcuffs ready. Once the duke was apprehended, Ghost immediately turned his attention towards you. You were barely hanging on, fighting another blackout as your bodyguard appeared in your vision. He sighed in relief as your dress was still in place on your body. Though, the stray tears on your cheeks told him that the duke did more than enough damage already.

“It’s okay, Princess. I’m here. You’re not leaving my sight again.” He soothed, that strong, Manchester-accented voice giving you more comfort than you ever imagined. He gingerly picked you up off the sofa in a princess carry, holding you close to his chest that hammered away for you. 

You let your head lull against his shoulder, sleep overtaking you once more. As you drifted to sleep, Ghost gave the security detail some strict instructions. The duke was to be detained for interrogation along with that server who bumped into him as a distraction. All party guests were allowed to leave after leaving all of their contact information with the team for future interrogation. Captain Price was to be contacted immediately to be informed of what happened and to send backup. 

In the meantime, the lieutenant was going to watch over the princess and make plans to leave for a safehouse. 

With the security detail all set up with their orders, Ghost left them all to settle you into your bed. He didn’t mind that he had to carry you a bit of a way to get to your bedroom. He could carry you around the whole palace several times before getting tired. He was just relieved to have you in his arms, safe with him. 

Finally, you were back in your bedroom, away from the chaos. Carefully, Ghost tucked you into bed, not bothering to call for a maid to help undress you or let your hair down. He didn’t want anyone but him near you right now. He didn’t trust just about anyone now. Not even your parents. 

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the feeling of his fingers grazing your cheek waking you up for a brief moment. Your voice came out as a whisper as light as a breeze. “Ghost?”

“Yes, Princess?” He immediately gave you his attention. 

“Please, don’t leave the bedroom tonight. . .” You managed to request, your words slurring as the drugs still took their toll on your body. 

Taking your hand in his and taking off his face mask with the other, he revealed his whole face to you. Your vision was still fuzzy, barely making out most things in the room, but you saw his face as clear as day. You knew it was a sign of trust. For the both of you. You nearly cried when you saw him like this. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Wouldn’t even think about it, Princess.”

The way he called you “Princess” was soft, loving, and determined. He said it like it wasn’t just your title. It was your name.

You drifted off to sleep once more, leaving Ghost to begin planning the move to a safehouse. All while holding your hand and sitting right by your side the entire night, he planned his next move.

~

You woke up with a migraine and a dry mouth. Your eyes were slow to adjust to seeing clearly, your first sight being your bodyguard sitting in a chair right near your bedside. His attention turned towards you as soon as he noticed you awake, skull balaclava back on. “Morning. How are you feeling?”

“I have a headache and I feel dehydrated.” You answered honestly which Ghost was grateful for. He liked how you were blunt about your physical ailments. It meant that you knew the severity of the situation. 

“I’ll get you some water and some medicine. Some breakfast will do you some good too. You haven’t had anything since those appetizers from last night. Do you remember what happened?” He questioned, careful with how he asked for your memory.

You took some deep breaths, trying to remember what happened last night. All you could see when you closed your eyes were bits and pieces. Visions of Duke Theodore, drinking champagne on the balcony, and then nothing but darkness. Eventually, you shook your head. “I don’t think I do. I’m sorry.”

Ghost shook his head. “No need to apologize. Perhaps it’s better that you don’t really remember. The duke drugged you and took you away from the party. Before he could assault you or take you out of the palace, I managed to find you just in time.”

Your heart dropped as you heard what had happened. Now that he mentioned it, you did remember more of what happened, but it was still mostly a blur. “I see. . . Thank you for finding me in time.”

Again, Ghost shook his head. He couldn’t forgive himself for this. “No. I don’t deserve your thanks. I should’ve kept a better eye on you. I shouldn’t have gotten so distracted. Hell, I should’ve have even allowed your parents to throw a fucking party. I was supposed to protect you and I failed. I owe you an apology.”

It broke your heart how Ghost beat himself up over this. Yes, the situation was bad, but you could never hold this mistake against him. Neither of you knew that this was coming. The royal etiquette wasn’t meant to make protecting you easy either. 

This time, it was you who took his hand in yours. “I don’t expect anything that I say will make you feel better, but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I wouldn’t want anyone else to continue to protect me as much as you have. What needs to happen now?”

Ghost looked at you like you were an angel. While it would still take him a while to forgive himself for what happened under his watch, he was still grateful for your forgiveness. The fact that you still wanted him to remain your bodyguard meant the world to him too. You trusted him, even if things went wrong. 

Now more than ever, he wanted to protect you. Not as a lieutenant doing his job, but as a man that has fallen for you. 

“We are going to move to a safehouse. Captain Price has sent Sergeant Soap to come help file reports and take testimonies while me and you begin to pack what we need.” He determined, ready to whisk you far away from this marble hell. 

“What about my parents?” You couldn’t help but ask. Surely, they wouldn’t approve of this.

“They won’t know where we’re going. I don’t care about their approval either. I tried doing things their way. Now, we do it my way. Do you have any issues with this?” He considerately asked, though his tone was rather jaded. 

Your heart leapt within your chest, your stomach turning into a full butterfly house at the prospect of you finally leaving the palace walls. You tried to hold back your excitement as you shook your head. Ghost saw how bright your eyes got, though. 

He lifted your hand to his mask, kissing the back of your hand through the mask. The gesture made you blush like mad, not expecting him to do something like that. The truth was that Ghost has been wanting to erase that duke’s kiss off your hand like this for a while now. “Good girl. I’ll have one of your maids start getting you all set then.”

Your heart nearly beat out of your chest as he praised you, the moment replaying in your head over and over. Even after he left the room to allow you some privacy, you couldn't stop thinking about it. It lit something up in you. A feeling that you only read about in banned books. 

This seemed more like just infatuation or fascination at this point. Yes, you admired Ghost for his work ethic. His powerful build and handsome features were nothing to scoff at either. His tattoos that decorated his sleeve held your attention more than any piece of art in the palace too. 

Now? Now it felt like more. Now it felt like your heart skipped a beat every time he called you “Princess.” Now your hand ached to keep holding his, craving the strong warmth that he gave you. Now you wished to play the piano for him every single night to capture his attention. Now it felt like you wanted him to call you a good girl through a husky whisper straight into your ear.

You buried your reddening face into your feather-filled pillow, feeling the heat radiating through your whole body. Perhaps you always had a little crush on Ghost since meeting him and understanding his true character. However, now it was definitely more than just a crush.

You have fallen in love with your bodyguard. 

-

Taglist: @angel-anna @ghostlythots @maiyatheprettiestprincess @cum-tea-and-towels

Please comment that you would like to be added to the taglist for this story! You can just say "please add me to the taglist" and that would be enough :)

[invisiblestringmm]

chapter two

cut open my heart, right at the scar

chapter index

author: thank you for staying. feedback will be greatly appreciated!

warnings: soft smut, alcohol mention, drinking, anxiety mention.

word count: 2.571k

Some people call it faith, a few others call it manifestation. It could be a mix of both — after all, what could be more powerful than an innocent child wishing for something every night as if her life hangs on it?

You didn’t know if the stars and the whole cosmos were aligned precisely to make your daughter happy, but you felt wretched knowing that her happiness meant some tough times ahead for you; all this time, she never had what she wanted the most because you’ve been keeping it from her. 

For a good motive, though.

Knowing you so well, practically as if you shared the same brain, it didn’t take much for Willow to discover what was wrong when she was determined to investigate a little. It began when you called up the office to inform them you’d be working from home due to a sudden heavy cold, then Willow found out that Lily was staying at your parent’s for the next two days; usually, the time she stayed when something was up and you needed time isolated. Then, you ignored her text messages, and also her calls when she decided to insist a bit more, knowing you’d shut off from everyone.

But you couldn’t ignore the banging on your front door.

Willow groaned when she found you still in your pyjamas, dark circles around your usually sparkly eyes, and your hair up in a messy bun. She had her brows furrowed and a large paper bag from your favourite bakery in her hand, you sighed knowing what was probably in it and how much you needed it along with a bottle of red wine - once you were done with work.

“I’ve stalked a little,” she confessed, stepping into your flat once you opened the door a bit more, giving her space. “What are the odds?”

“There aren’t any, it’s called karma and I fully accept my punishment,” you went straight to the point as you threw yourself on the sofa after grabbing the paper bag from Willow’s hands; the freshly baked chocolate muffins and croissants inside relieved your nerves only for a second.

“Don’t say that, Y/n. We both know you had your reasons,” she rubbed your back, making an effort to reassure you the minute she noticed your eyes glistening with tears. Willow had been there through it all, from the night you met Mason. 

FOUR YEARS AGO

The loud music and the bright lights were annoying, to say the least. Still, you were in such a great mood that you couldn’t stop your hips from perfectly moving right and left, to the sound of every beat, and you were having fun. It was Willow’s birthday and, as a sucker for birthdays, your mission was to have the greatest time and make sure your group of friends had a blast too. In your little world, you poured champagne into your best friend’s mouth and allowed her to pour it into yours too, but you knew Willow’s reflexes weren’t the best when sober so why would they be when she was already wasted?

“Fuuuuck!” The black slipper dress was glued to your body, but you couldn’t hold a loud laugh as Willow followed you. “Fuck, fuck! Whatever, fuck! Let’s go get another drink.” 

The thin line between carefree and careless was already there, even more so when you were bold enough to ask for tequila, after shamelessly flirting with the bartender and a few other guys around, and returned to your booth with one bottle in each hand, knowing the group would want some shots. Almost stumbling on the last step that gave you access to the booth, sitting on the burgundy leather sofa, you frowned when a towel was given to you. Looking up, you found that cute guy who you’d been staring at, holding it for you and that big smile that made the corner of his eyes wrinkle flashing at you. 

“I thought you might need this, Miss Champagne.”

“How thoughtful of you to help me with my champagne problems…?”

“Mason.” He winked and your heart skipped a beat. How pathetic, swooning for a guy you just met. At a club, and completely drunk.

Mason was a cute name, but right now you could only think of how it’d sound if he made you moan it. You didn’t know, but he thought about that multiple times since you walked into the booth next to the one he shared with his friends and watched you, he thought of how those hips would move on top of his instead of moving to the beat of each song that filled the place. He thought how badly he wanted to just hold it and make you help move them for him. You were fun, your energy matched his and he was looking for an escape. And, on top of that, you were breathtakingly gorgeous and couldn’t care less for who he was when he told you, and you stated that the only athletes you cared about were swimmers-Italians, to be more specific.

As the night went on and Willow was now forming a line of boys to kiss - twenty, to match her age - you wanted to go and stop her but you knew you wouldn’t be able. Instead, you switched the first guy for one of Mason’s friends and begged him to kiss your friend so good she wouldn’t want any other. Declan was on for the mission and they disappeared together after the kiss. 

You danced together, shared a few more shots of tequila and when Mason asked if you wanted to go to his place, there was no point playing difficult, you both wanted the same thing: fuck each other senseless. He got you all naked before you could even reach the stairs.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Masey.” You pouted, making him giggle at the nickname. Mentally, he was already fucking you and you could tell that by the way he looked at you. “And you’re perfect just like that, I don’t want you wearing nothing but the adorable flush on your cheeks while you’re here or I might have to punish you.” 

“Hm? I think I’ll put my clothes back on, then.” On your tiptoes, you reached for his lips and brushed them with yours, his warm minted breath making you close your eyes and let out a low and hoarse moan that only worked as an incentive for Mason to grab your thighs and carry you into the living room, straight to his large dark sofa. “Too many clothes, Mason.”

He nodded and quickly got rid of the navy blue Nike hoodie and the basic white shirt at once, leaving his bare chest exposed. Your mouth watered as your eyes wandered through his body, noticing how beautifully sculpted it was, all in the right places. But what caught your attention, innocently for the first time of the night, was the bulge under his faded blue jeans. You gulped.

“Like what you see?” Mason grinned and you quickly nodded, reaching out to unbutton his jeans. He softly slapped your hand. “Why so eager, baby?” The pet name made you moan, along with the tip of his fingers touching your nipples, then between your boobs and making the dangerous way to your lower stomach. 

“Mason…” You felt your pussy clench around nothing and he gave you another grin as he made himself comfortable on the sofa and you watched his head disappear between your legs.

You felt his breath against your pussy, making your eyes roll and your back arch. “Such a beautiful pussy, I bet it tastes so good.” Mason pressed his lips against your inner thigh as his fingers now played with your juices, teasing you, making your whole body shiver and crave his touch. It felt like you were about to lose your fucking mind when he circled your clit with his thumb and his warm tongue played with your folds. Mason’s moans while eating your pussy were heavenly, he knew what he was doing and enjoyed it, but you craved for more. 

“Mason, please,” You whimpered and your eyes met. Those big, brown eyes met yours and he lifted his hea, the sight of his lips wet from your juices making you bite your lower lip as hard as you could.

“Say it.”

“I need your cock inside me, now. I need you to fuck me.”

And he did, each thrust harder and deeper than the previous as Mason devoured you. Your sweat mixed with his, your moans, and the way he fucked you was something else. When his thrusts started to become sloppy and his breathing heavier, Mason quickly flipped you so you could ride him and your only goal was to make that man cum so hard he’d forget his name. 

“You take me so well, Y/n. Such a good girl.” You felt your pussy clench around him when he praised you. Leaning your body forward, you held his jaw with your hand and let it slowly slip to his throat. Mason just nodded and you grinned, finally squeezing it softly, making him moan louder. 

“You gonna cum for me, Mason?” He nodded again, holding your hips steady as he now moved his hips up again at his own clumsy pace. “Then look at me when you do it and while I cum all over your cock.”

He repeatedly moaned your name, his grunts only encouraging you to squeeze his throat a bit harder, letting it go when a final loud grunt parted his lips and he came, followed by you, with your body finally crashing onto his.

“That was fucking great.” Mason giggled and you nodded in return, giggling too as you rolled to the side. 

“For drunk sex, it was.” Looking down at his body once again, to appreciate the view next to you, you instantly frowned when you noticed his uncovered and still-hard cock. “Mason, I thought you were wearing a condom?”

PRESENT DAY

The streetlights softly brightened your living room in the most soothing yet nearly depressing way; Willow was gone for a few hours, leaving you and your memories to yourself. During the day, you didn’t talk much about your current situation and what you’d do - if you’d do anything or just let things happen, and go with the flow, but still with some sort of control over the whole thing. Your thoughts were everywhere but also focused on two people: Lily and Mason. You knew that, eventually, you’d find yourself in this situation - it was painful, it made it hard to even breathe, and you never really prepared for it because deep down you spent four years hoping it would take lots and lots of years for Mason to be in your life again, as unfair as it was to Lily. And being unfair to your own daughter was, by far, the most disgusting thing you could do in life. She brought you nothing but love and joy. 

Willow would often say that before being a mum, you were a human being. A woman who had been hurt by a man, and then you had to raise this man’s child. But you knew you couldn’t use this excuse anymore, it was time to face the consequences of keeping Lily hidden from her father and his family, and above all, stop punishing your daughter for your poor choices in life.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Jaz asking if the plans you had for Saturday were still up, and you apologised saying that you had the flu, but that Lily was more than allowed to go and you’d talk to your mum to arrange everything. After another lie to protect yourself, since there was no flu, you thought that maybe opening a bottle of white wine would help you through what it would be a long night awake, alone with your own thoughts and desperate attempts to minimise all the collateral damage that would find its way into your life once you revealed the truth. First to your daughter, then you’d have to hunt Mason Mount again.

His reaction was what frightened you the most. What would he do? What would he say?

Would he take Lily from you?

Would he hate Lily and reject her?

Every question that crossed your mind blurred your sight, made your heart clench and felt like a stab right through your heart. 

You would never let him take Lily from you, but the thought of him rejecting her was just as painful, because that little girl was something else and she deserved the whole world. She deserved a daddy that would be entirely devoted to her, just like yours had been since the day you were born.

Already feeling your body welcoming the familiar floating sensation caused by the wine, you allowed yourself to stalk Mason a little - something you hadn’t done in the longest time. It didn’t surprise you that he still looked pretty much the same. Everytime you caught his face on TV, you avoided looking too much because it hurt and bothered you deeply, but now, scrolling through his pictures you noticed that his smile was still the same and the wrinkles around his eyes was something Lily had inherited. The soft redness on his nose too. Lily had a lot of him, even if you knew so little about Mason, despite sharing a life with him.

The Instagram “message” button burned under your finger, but you went back to scrolling through his pictures, because what exactly would you say? 

“Hi, remember me? That day I went to your house and you shoved me off, I was going to tell you I was carrying your child so I’ve decided to hide her from you for a period of four years”.

Gosh, what a fucked up situation you were in. Besides, what was the chance he’d actually reply?

Liking one of his pictures was subtle, he wouldn’t notice. One like amongst the millions he was getting post World Cup. You’d let the universe decide if things should run its natural course or you’d have to put yourself in a situation you’ve lived before: ringing his doorbell and telling him the biggest news of his life, but four years later, and pray for the best outcome there could be of this situation. You wondered what your family would say, what his family would say, how everyone would treat you after but you couldn’t expect much. You were hiding a child from her own right to have both sides of her family whilst growing up, despite your personal reasons. 

What would the media say, if it ever came to that? 

“Heavens, I think I’m gonna vomit…” You mumbled, the combination of alcohol and thoughts of your daughter’s precious face in the media, on gossip websites, made some tears fall freely down your cheeks. You still forced a large gulp of wine, to ease the anxiety that was creeping in. Half of the bottle was gone.

You fucked up, greatly and badly.

With tears still wetting your cheeks, looking absolutely pathetic, you frowned at the notification that popped on your screen. 

Mason Mount was officially back into your life.

In fact, he never really left. You had the most special part of him with you, and you could only hope he’d see it the exact same way.

next chapter

[maddascanbe-blog]

Lifeswap Alya! (you'll get Nino in a bit)

Alya doesn't run the Ladyblog. Instead she runs the Bug-Cast, a podcast covering Ladybug and Chat Noir's exploits. As well as talking to the akuma victims about what they experienced and theorizing about the miraculous.

Since Ladybug came onto the scene in all of her magical girl glory, Alya has been the number one advocate. She admires the girls confidence and determination and decided to devote her time to chronologically recording all of the miraculous incedent's in Paris.

Alya is more focused on research and entertainment so she tries to stay away from the akuma fights if possible. After all, there are plenty of other witnesses she can ask later, ones who might not get to tell their story on larger news broadcasts. Or ones too scared to reveal their identity post being akumatized. Alya's podcast format and mostly anonymity from going by 'Miss-Red' online, lets victims feel more comfortable talking about it.

Only Marinette and Nino are aware that Alya is Miss-Red. Later Adrien, as Chat Noir, also finds out.

She picked Marinette up because she saw this poor anxiety ridden girl and said "honey. chill." Alya's easy going attitude is a nice ballance for Marinette's livewire personality. She also is new, and doesn't really carry the (deserved) prejudice against Luka that everyone else does. So she's more willing to put up with him for the first and second season.

As Rena Rouge, Alya is a stone cold badass, prone to hanging back and playing tricks on her adversaries, often leading them to cause their own downfall. Ladybug and Chat Noir will sometimes give her the miraculous for the sake of letting her investigate Hawkmoth. This becomes a permanent arrangement when the guardianship transfers.

Also her design and some of her personality is based on The Question *cough*

Bonus- Fully Colored Rena Rouge

[pstelwitchcraft]

My personal takes for each of the Nevermore characters

Lenore Vandernacht

Gets bitches

Mad Dad Energy

So Gender she made you fluid

If adhd was a Poe themed lesbian

Would prob swindle people out of a LOT of money as a banker or smth with her charm alone

but her real vocation is as Annabel's trophy wife

Too much rizz for her own good

Number #1 the most loyal and protective ever, will murder and pillage and die for the ones she loves

Literally Died and still can't take a hint that her WIFE might like her back

Looks iron deficient, really isn't

Annabel Lee Whitlock

Actually has no idea wtf she's doing

Possessive Bitch to an extreme (would prob sow herself to the ends of Lenore's gay little victorian blazer if she could)

If anxiety/depression was a person AND a villain origin story

Untrustworthy but in a Sexy Way

Doesn't know how to Humanly Interact

Would make a BANGER of a politician or lawyer (still deciding if for good or evil 🤔)

Genuinely Absolutely needs professional help but fuck it we ball

Is taking this whole thing somehow more and less seriously than everybody else

Craves and Yearns and Aches to be cared for and loved but will admit it over her cold thrice-dead body

Doesn't look iron deficient, totally is

Duke

There's a 50/50 chance he's not actually French and just fucking with everybody

Can't grow a beard

The real reason he doesn't like Annabel is that he absolutely despises the British

Illusionist by trade, jackass by passion

Loves cheese to an ungodly degree

Ada

Worries everybody around her

Literally Died and still on her bullshit

Can't spot a red flag to save her life (ironic bc it's prob how she died)

Will Not Stop Talking

Pluto

Teddy Bear in spirit/cat in body/Tortoise at heart

Has either all the chill or never had a chill ever

Needs a booster seat to eat at restaurants

Hates dogs

Cannot survive without his friends

Really selective eater

Morella

Can be swiftly and effectively peer-pressured into anything

Got mad once. Still feels bad about it

Feels actual, physical pain at the idea of not being liked

Asks people if they have pets before asking for their name

Consumes a preposterous ammount of sugar

Eulalie

Will sage u if ur vibes aren't right

Got kicked out of a paranormal investigation team for asking the ghosts weird questions

Actually the only one who prob knows what's up

But has decided to just let it play out for funsies

Has correctly diagnosed everyone behind their backs

Berenice

#cuntsagainstthepatriarchy

Misses alcohol the most since her death

Will bite men for looking in her direction 😌

Always there to defend a fellow woman tho

Has the vibes of a pinball machine

Actually genuinely a caring and loving person

Prospero

Done with everybody's bullshit

Superiority complex to an EXTREME

His whole closet is organized by color, season and year of making

Just trying to get through one fucking book this whole time

Has incorrectly diagnosed everyone behind their backs

Held a puppy once. Didn't like it

[theaverageptncasualenjoyer]

The garden. (Fem Priv investigator reader)

An: Oh god... I hope that this wouldn't FLOP 😭 I made this blog entirely for practice writing in the 🌹 romance 🌹 department 😨 And in honor of choosing miss Coquelic as my pfp... I'll make her the first experiment for this fic... Slight nsfw/suggestive towards the end... After receiving orders from the chief, you wind up investigating the Garden. A secret assassin organization that was run by a sinner, that sinner being Coquelic, who is the one that you are NOT supposed to meet, since you do not have enough resources to defend yourself from the sinner, but also have not been given permission to arrest the suspect. You found out the FAC commissioner that was supposed to investigate this case was killed of by the members of the Garden, making you feel a little uneasy. They're going to be after you next if you were to overstep their territory... Which, you don't plan on doing at all. You were only to investigate and figure out how they were able to commit such crimes in a short amount of time. You are very aware of the gap between you and the others, you were not like Adjutant Nightingale, and definitely do not have the shackles of the chief... You feel insecure. Insecure about how you do not have the abilities of the others, enough to protect yourself from any imminent danger coming from the perpetrators... You heaved a deep sigh. Reeling from the fact you were brooding and weren't doing what you were supposed to at in the first place. Making you snap out of it and get back on track. At the sudden notice from the chief that I'll be facing the Garden's leader, I began to pace back and forth due to the sudden turn of events a day after being assigned to investigate the Garden. I couldn't resist asking that why it wasn't her...? You didn't have anything to defend yourself from such a strong sinner, so how are you supposed to deal with her when you are in fact, powerless? The chief picks up on your nervous state, then the chief assured that she'll be there to stop her from doing anything to me. That wasn't reassuring at all. Regardless, I attempt to keep a cool demeanor, masking my anxiety. In an hour or two, I will be facing the Mentor. I have to calm down. An hour later, the time has finally arrived. You began to make your way into the interrogation room to see chief before starting the interrogation. The chief and I had a small chat, she as always, gives me that gentle smile, it almost alleviates my anxiety, but the nerves were starting to get to me. It didn't go unnoticed by chief, who patted my shoulder as if to ward off the nervousness that plagued both my thoughts and body. She hands me important documents, I thank her and asked her a question. "Chief, before I enter the room... Is there a reason why it should be me instead of you...?" You cursed inwardly at the way you sounded a little too timid... The chief's soothing voice registered in your ears, soothing the soul and making your shoulders free from the stiffness it once held. "It is because Coquelic asked for you specifically. She didn't state the reason why." It made me feel weird hearing it, especially the fact that I never have even met the Mentor before, so how did she come to know me? Could it be there is an ulterior motive behind this? Had she planned to kill me to taunt the chief...? They have intelligence on everyone, so it wasn't far fetched to assume that way. I am the weakest link in the MBCC, after all.

I heaved a deep sigh. Finally entering the room. Her eyes immediately met mine, making me tense up immediately. It had this... Peculiar glow that made me feel odd... But alas, I still had an interview to conduct so, I sat down in front of her, and started asking a series of questions. Taking notes at the chief's advice and notes about previous interrogation, I made sure to avoid asking questions that can provoke anger from the Mentor. Her eyes had not once left my figure during the whole interview, making me overthink things once again. Perhaps she is waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike... But I wouldn't give her the benefit from inviting herself in for an easy kill... After finishing up the interview, I hear her speak. "You seem to be tense during the whole interview. I do not bite." I stayed silent, eyes on the papers still. "Look at me. Am I not good enough for you?" I snapped my eyes at her, blinking rapidly, and my mouth agape from shock. The Mentor smiled widely. She enjoyed your reaction very much... "Good. I'll have you know that you should feel blessed that I have graced you with my presence. It is uncommon for people... Especially for you to see me in broad daylight." I gave a small nod. Replying politely. "...It's an honor to meet you." I kept it short, as I didn't want to do something that can make her feel displeased with me. "Loosen up. You're doing it again." The mentor attempt to soothe me, standing up from the chair and inched towards me. Making me stiffen more at the slowly approaching figure. "You should know that I don't intend to harm you, dear. I only want to get closer to you..." Her voice is silvery. Making me cautious of her true intentions... "Thank you for the assurance, Mentor." Making her look a bit frustrated at the mention of her title. "Oh, don't be so cold... Investigator. You can call me by my name..." In a honeyed tone. I don't buy it. "As you wish, Coquelic..." Coquelic can sense the hesitance from your tone, making her brows furrowed in sadness(?) "What does it take for you to trust me that I mean what I said about bringing you no harm...? Do I not seem trustworthy at all...?" Her tone was thick with emotion, I was alerted by the chief about her surging mania level... I had to diffuse the situation. I needed to act fast. I looked back at Coquelic, who seemed to be growing more and more affected by my silence... I hastily responded, "I... I am not used to meeting people like you... Coquelic, I am nervous about dissatisfying you due to my bland persona, I didn't mean to upset you." Her eyes then softened, returning to it's usual state instead of the hostile expression. "I see... Then, you don't need to act so stiff around me. I wouldn't think less of you if you somehow managed to anger me." She sounded so sure about it, that I couldn't help but tilt my head slightly in confusion. She smiles at the action, before standing right in front of me, grabbing an orange blossom out of nowhere, my eyes follow her hand, as she tucks it on my ear gently. "An orange blossom, a flower that symbolizes chastity, purity, and loveliness. Do you perhaps see me as pure..?" I inquired, reaching to touch the flower. She warmly smiled. "You can think of it that way, but I prefer... The definition being, lovely. I think you are as lovely as a flower. This flower describes you best." Making my cheeks have a slight tint. Coquelic doesn't miss the effect she had on me. "...Thank you for the gift." She waves a hand dismissing my thanks. "No need to show much appreciation for such a small gift. There will be plenty more from where it came from. Visit me in my garden, I can provide you with something far more better." Her inviting voice enchants me, prompting me from being unable to decline such a lovely offer. "I'll see to it if I have the time..." Her next response caught me off guard. "Oh, dearest... You needn't not to worry about such trivial matters... What is important to me, is that I'll ensure it, that you may be able to come to my garden, no matter what.."

She sounded almost possessive, that broke the romantic aura that had surrounded the room. I cleared my throat, shoving my gloved hand on my pocket, as if to reach something in my coat pocket, but in reality, I was calming my rapidly beating heart. I didn't want to fall for her charms too easy, I had to get a grip of myself. For all I could know her sweet words are tainted with poison. I'd rather not engage in such matters... But the hearts speaks for the soul. It does not calm down after my attempts to get it to beat normally. I stood up, dusting off my coat and adjusted my tie... "I must go now, the interrogation is over. You may resume to what you originally sought after, miss Coquelic." She frowned, at the sudden formalities being reintroduced back to the conversation, again. I flinched as a cold hand reaches to grip my wrist. Preventing me from leaving. "I thought we've already established a relationship? One that excluded formalities, dear?" I suppressed the urge to shiver, my pulse speeding up once more... "I... Apologies... I am not feeling well." She replied, shooting me a knowing look. "Are you perhaps not feeling well after I had flirtatiously asked you on a date, dearest investigator? Is that it?" Her bold proclamation had made my cheeks burn. Now, it was obvious that it is likely. "I... This is inappropriate. I cannot engage in fraternization, especially pursuing a romantic relationship with someone who is... In a higher standing than me." The way you worded it made you more appealing to the woman, causing her to caress the flesh on your wrist, making an effort to breach your defenses, her hand gliding through the fabric of your coat, making you feel more of her touch... You swallowed thickly, pushing away invasive thoughts about... Her actions. "This is what I like about you, darling... You don't see me as less, you see me as more. Better than the others who do not see me in the way that YOU do." She purred, invading my personal space. "Can't you see that I desire you, dear investigator? I've been watching you for a while now... The moment I laid my eyes on you, you were always mine to possess. From the start, and until the end, you are mine." I couldn't help the way that it frightens me and makes me feel things at the same time... Making my breath uneven at the confession... "H-how long have you been stalking me?" She grins, unfazed by my poor word choice. "Ever since you were at the FAC... You got promoted into a higher position, you saw how Sinners were being mistreated, you resigned from your position immediately after the incident... Beloved, can't you see? I've fallen for you. It goes deeper and deeper the more I get to see you..." I couldn't help but tremble at the realization that she had been watching me for awhile now. She is responsible for my paranoia. Her eyes had glowed darker, seemingly growing more infatuated at the officer, her hand gripping her wrist in a manner that held a deeper meaning that had the officer feeling caged. "Do you remember visiting a greenhouse? Where you take care of the flowers day by day, unknowingly charting towards the garden's territory... Do you recall the day that you had chosen to gift me with such, beautiful flowers? I swooned at the way you cared so much about them. Thinking that there will be someone who are to take care of the flowers... You left the greenhouse, full of life, and I couldn't resist accepting such gifts..." She sighed dreamily, clearly recalling the moment. The chief had used her shackles to restrain Coquelic and calm her mania level. I hyperventilated as the chief went inside and pulled me out of there. I thanked her, and immediately handed her the files, I abruptly left the room. Coquelic glared at the chief for interrupting her precious time with her investigator, demanding angrily to take her to the officer. Chief uses the power of the shackles to calm her down. After managing to bargain Chief into seeing her dear investigator once more, she finally complied with the Chief, happily thinking of her dearest...

After a week, I was tasked by the Chief to accompany Coquelic outside of MBCC. On a mission. I was hesitant to accept but Chief had convinced me to take the mission. So, I met up with Coquelic... And she had disguised herself as an officer... You were still pretty shaken up about the whole event last week, so it was only natural that you became tense at her once again; making her feel frustrated at going back to square one. But of course, she didn't want to show it, it might scare you away from her again. So she decided to approach it with a different strategy this time.

"I dressed up as a fellow officer just for you, investigator." I feigned surveying our surroundings just to not meet her eye. She notices, making her mania level slowly rise up again. But you can tell with the way she is looking at you, making you let out a shaky sigh. She did not miss the way your attempt to calm your shaking hand... Making her feel more... Incompetent and feel her efforts were in vain. I attempt to lighten up, chuckling awkwardly. "For me? Hahaha... I see. You wanted to replicate my occupation as a private investigator?" She smiled, satisfied at her own actions. "You may interpret it that way, but I did it to rid you of the tense atmosphere that had once clouded the room during last week." I wasn't trying to think about what had happened in that time. But to think about her efforts in wanting to get close to me, I feel... Oddly touched in a way. Coqeulic felt that her plan is working, making the atmosphere lighter than before. We carry on with the mission; the mission being to stop a riot nearby... After stopping a riot nearby, with minor injuries, we were now walking back to the MBCC. I can feel her eyes on me, staring intensely at my figure. "Investigator, your hand... It's bleeding." She pointed out, I took notice a second late. Her eyes was starting to darken. Someone had lay a hand on their darling. They wouldn't let that slide. I watched as Coquelic took a hold of my injured hand, swiftly cleaning the cut, and bandaging it neatly. I thanked her, to which she responded "Anything for my dear investigator." It made my cheeks turn slightly red. She was happy at the result. "Do not fret. I shall deal with them accordingly when they are to meet me back in the MBCC." I shook my head, wanting no conflict. "It is alright, Coquelic. It is merely a small injury." Making her gasp in disbelief. "My dear...! It is not a minor injury... It is a large cut in your palm...! Do not perceive it as if it was a paper cut..." She sternly scolded, making me sheepish. "I... You're right." We were now walking in an empty, abandoned alleyway, making the atmosphere between us... Feel... A little hot. Again, Coquelic takes advantage of this situation to talk about... You. "Dear investigator, have you picked up gardening again? I saw the arrays of rare, and unique type of flowers in the Garden that I have never seen before in the MBCC's mini garden. Making me freeze up at the mention, as if caught like a deer in headlights. "I... Yes, I have picked it up again once more." I say in a small voice, failing to hide the embarrassment at the mention of my hobby. "I enjoyed the display. It was neatly arranged, almost as if you meant to woo me once again unknowingly. You and I have a shared affinity of flowers, my dear. You know very well that I am also well versed at the language of flowers, just as you are..." She affectionately said, making my cheeks grow more redder than before. She continued, "The arrangement were a ray of basils for good wishes, then a ray of red carnations, a sign for deep affection, the last one being pink camellias; longing." Making my blush worsen at how she was able to figure it out. "There's no escaping you, is there?" She softly purred. "There isn't, my dear. I now know how you feel about me..." She takes a step forward, cupping my cheek delicately. "I return the same affections as well, but I would add red camellias for being a flame in my heart, white clover for you to think of me all the time, heliotrope for eternal love, and lastly red salvia symbolizing that you are forever mine..." She whispered so sweetly, making me tremble at her touch. "Isn't it romantic that we reciprocate feelings of love towards one another? But my love is different from yours." Her face inched closer to mine. "My love, I want both of your heart and soul. Your body is a temple that I aim to worship." Making my knees weak at the statement.

"Coquelic... You know that we mustn't engage in romantic affairs... It is forbidden to enter in such a relationship." My breath hitched, putting my hand above hers that caressed my cheek. She had gotten rid of her hair tie, the police cap, and the sunglass she wore earlier. She stared amorously, further strengthening the growing intense atmosphere... "You don't understand... I want you. Badly. I ache for you to surrender yourself to me. I desire deeply to claim you as mine." I couldn't take it anymore. I smashed my lips against hers... Making the first move. She smiles onto the kiss, deepening it further. Her kisses stole my breath, deeply imprinting how deep her love had went for me... I whimpered in her mouth as she prodded her tongue into my wet cavern, making her hum in approval. We finally pulled away for air. She craved for more. I want her too. I let myself be enclosed by her body, leaning against the cold wall of the back alley... My cheeks were now scarlet red, mouth agape, enticing her to dive back in... "You look so endearing... It's like you are asking me for more..." I surprised her with my response. Voice laced with need and want... A plead that had activated her carnal desire... "More... Please?" Her scarlet eyes had darkened. Her next words arousing me more... "I'll make love to you in a manner that will make you come crawling back for more..." I couldn't resist to pull her back in for another heated round of making out.

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen: The Hills

Plot: When Y/n doesn’t show up to a staff party, Jamie takes it upon himself to investigate why.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: language, mention of child neglect/abuse, one dirty joke

A/N: I did not expect to have this one done so soon after the last, but it came together super fast so I’m just running with it before I overthink it.

This chapter’s a bit more inside Jamie’s head, something that will happen more as we round the turn on the series. Richmond Hill is an actual place and it looks gorgeous and super peaceful. The perfect setting. Hope y’all enjoy, and let me know if you’d like to be tagged 🌈

—————

Every few months, the AFC Richmond staff had a cook-out. The entirety of Nelson Road was invited from star player to security guard. It was a great way to help facilitate the family atmosphere they prided themselves on. Like a lot of things, it had only been instituted after Ted arrived.

Most of the players were sat together, animatedly conversing over foldout tables and food definitely not permitted on their strict diets. Higgins and Beard were double teaming the grill. Ted, ever the social butterfly, was flitting from person to person, not satisfied till he’d made sure he’d greeted everybody. Keeley was absent, still not feeling up to a party in the wake of the video leak, but Rebecca had assured whoever asked after her that she was doing better.

Jamie was sat with Isaac and Dani, talking about the upcoming game that weekend. Every thirty seconds, like clockwork, he’d glance up at the entrance to the pitch, expecting to see someone walk through. Someone who should’ve been there by now.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket. No text. No missed call.

Jamie frowned, this wasn’t normal.

He got up from the table, knowing that if he showed any concern about where she was in front of his teammates, they wouldn’t hesitate to tease him. Ask questions. Why did he need to know? Why did it matter so much to him that Y/n hadn’t shown up? Jamie didn’t care to deal with any speculation, his mind was singularly focused on figuring out where she was.

As Ted was at one of the tables, filling a plate, Jamie grabbed an empty one and sidled up to him.

“Hey, Jamie,” Ted greeted.

“Hey,” he replied.

“Havin’ fun?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamie muttered, “Couple people missin’.”

Ted glanced around as if he hadn’t noticed, “Yeah, Sam mentioned he needed to be at the restaurant tonight.”

Jamie looked back at their group, realizing Sam wasn’t there. Huh. He should have noticed that.

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded, moving with Ted down the line while not taking any food. He tried to sound as casual as he could, “Y/n ain’t here either.”

By now, Ted was fully aware that Jamie and Y/n were connected at the hip. He knew better than to comment on it, but he wasn’t at all surprised by Jamie’s clumsily concealed concern.

“Yeah, I knocked on her door before I left,” Ted explained, “See if she wanted to walk over together. She said she wasn’t feelin’ well.”

That only worried Jamie further. Not because he thought she was actually unwell, but because he’d just talked to her the night before. She’d been fine.

“Ah,” he said.

“I’m sure she’ll bounce back before the match,” Ted smiled, reassuring Jamie with a pat on the back.

Jamie stayed, twirling the empty plate in his hands. Y/n wouldn’t lie for no reason, something had to have been wrong. And he couldn’t ignore the tightening in his chest because of it.

——————

Y/n laid on her living room floor, her back against the rug and her feet resting on the couch. For whatever reason, the floor seemed like the best place to be when feeling miserable.

She knew she was letting people down by not being at the picnic. Lying to Ted, something she could do so easily a few months ago, had nearly made her wince when he knocked on her door an hour prior. But to explain why she wasn’t going would have taken much longer than simply calling on the anxiety-provoked stomach ache she had and claiming she wasn’t up to being social. She could spend the evening by herself and give herself a clean bill of health the next morning.

The first sound of something hitting her window she mistook for a very large bug and didn’t flinch.

The second one got her to lift an eyebrow, glancing over at the glass.

Another one and she dragged herself to her feet, pulling back the curtains to find the culprit. She felt stupid for not banking on the one person who surely would have figured her out.

Jamie rolled his remaining pebbles in his hand, waiting as Y/n unlocked and opened her window. He’d known if she was in a mood, she wouldn’t be answering her door.

“You’re not at the party,” she called down.

“You’re not sick,” Jamie squinted up at her.

“You don’t know that,” Y/n replied, she barely had the strength to argue with him but damn it if she didn’t try.

Jamie frowned at her, “Seemed fine last night.”

In her stupor, she’d forgotten that they’d been texting less than 24 hours before.

“Things…” Y/n shrugged, “Develop quickly.”

“Right,” Jamie sighed, somehow having her lie to his face was worse than not knowing where she was, “You tell me what’s goin’ on, or I start throwing rocks again.”

Y/n didn’t particularly want company, but Jamie was…Jamie. He wasn’t going anywhere.

She relented with an exhausted smile, walking away from the window. Jamie headed for the front door.

Y/n unlocked the door and trudged back up the stairs, Jamie entering just as she made it back up. She retook her place on the floor, they were long past the point in their friendship where she had to play hostess.

Jamie stood at the top of the stairs, unable to see Y/n. He stepped into the space further and peeked over the couch, spotting her hair.

He chuckled, “The fuck’re you on the floor for?”

“It’s my thinking spot,” Y/n replied, keeping her eyes closed.

“Hm,” Jamie smiled, trying not to laugh at her when something was clearly wrong, “Well, if you are dyin’, maybe tell me now. It’ll be a bitch tryin’ to replace ya. Keeley’ll have to start right away.”

Y/n sighed, “I’ll live.”

Jamie waited a few seconds to see if she’d explain further. When she didn’t, he crossed the distance between them and took a seat on the couch.

“So…” he pursed his lips, “You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Y/n’s vision blurred as she looked up at the ceiling. Since she’d woken up, any move she made felt thick, like trudging through mud.

“It’s my dad’s birthday.”

Jamie blinked a few times, the wash of concern morphing into understanding. Of course she’d lied, of course she was on the floor. Of course.

“And as much as I enjoy watching Beard and Higgins argue over the correct way to grill a steak,” Y/n sighed, “Didn’t exactly feel like being around people.”

She didn’t need to explain herself. Jamie and Y/n had seen each other through most of their terrible family anniversaries. They rarely mentioned them, either their time spent together conveniently fell on the dates or they invited the other one out for no particular reason. This was one of the first times Y/n had actually told Jamie what day it was, and that meant it was bad.

Thus, it had to be treated the same as the others.

Jamie exhaled deeply, “Where d’you keep your blankets?”

Y/n didn’t say anything, simply pointing down the hall where her linen closet was.

Jamie got off the couch, patting Y/n’s knee as he did and headed down the hallway. Per her excessive organizational skills, all the towels and blankets were meticulously folded.

“Got one you don’t mind getting dirty?” Jamie called.

Y/n grimaced, “There’s, like, ten different ways to take that question.”

“Not that, ya pervert,” Jamie said as he reached for the top shelf. He found a faded and stained blanket that fit the bill.

Y/n hadn’t moved an inch when Jamis came back. He gently hit her leg with the blanket, “Get up.”

Groaning, Y/n opened her eyes. “What?”

“Get up, get your shoes.”

“I’m not going to the picnic,” Y/n rubbed her eye.

“No, you’re not,” Jamie agreed, “We’re goin’ somewhere else.”

Y/n exasperatedly sighed, “Jamie-“

“If it doesn’t make you feel better, we’ll leave,” Jamie held his palms up, “Promise.”

There weren’t a lot of people Y/n would have listened to in that moment. Jamie was probably the only one, in fact. There was an unspoken trust between them.

Y/n pushed herself into a sitting position, giving him one more disgruntled glance, before standing up. Jamie pulled her the last bit before heading for the stairs.

Friday evening in Richmond was busy and Y/n and Jamie took purposeful, long strides to his car. The faster they moved, the less of a chance of someone recognizing Jamie.

“Okay,” Y/n sighed once she was in the passenger seat, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Jamie answered, backing out of his parking spot.

“You’re gonna drag me out of my house and not even tell me where you’re taking me?”

Jamie popped his lips, “Yep.”

Y/n shook her head in annoyance and looked out the window, watching as her home disappeared.

The silent drive lasted ten minutes, ending with Jamie pulling them into an older parking lot. Nothing but trees and grass sprawled out before them.

Jamie locked his car and set off towards the greenery, “Come on.”

Y/n followed, making her displeasure known on her face, if not her mouth.

Jamie led them down a path that quickly changed to an incline, growing steeper and steeper.

“Why is it every time you take me somewhere,” Y/n took a deep breath, “It involves exercise?”

Showing off, Jamie took the last few steps backwards. “Call it payback for training sessions,” he smirked.

It had a been a couple weeks since Roy had invited her, but Y/n was owed a fair share of crap.

“Welcome,” Jamie spread his arms out, “To Richmond Hill.”

Trying to catch her breath, Y/n stared out at the expanse. There were walking trails and thick oak trees spread everywhere. In the near distance, she could see gardens. The sky, beginning to turn all the pastels of a sunset palette, was blending with the forest green tops of the trees. It was beautiful.

“Wow,” Y/n whispered.

Jamie nudged her with his elbow, smiling, and unrolled the blanket. He spread it out across the grass and gestured for Y/n to sit down.

“So you went the whole ‘Fresh Air and Nature’ approach,” Y/n said, sinking down onto the blanket.

“Just needed to get you out of that sad lil’ flat,” Jamie took the spot next to her.

Y/n scoffed, “You picked that sad little flat.”

“Yeah, but,” Jamie stretched out and laid back, “It ain’t the flat’s fault its renter was bringing it down.”

He felt better when he was able to get a laugh, however meek, out of Y/n. It meant she wasn’t totally beyond his help.

“And now you’re gonna ask me if I want to talk about it,” Y/n said, fidgeting with her fingers. The habit had only been made worse by watching Jamie play with his hands so often.

“Nope,” Jamie shook his head.

Y/n hummed and nodded cooly. “Was the party fun before you left at least?”

“Yeah,” Jamie shrugged, “It was fine. When I was leaving, Coach was just startin’ to tell those dad jokes.”

Ted was a treasure trove of puns and some truly awful jokes. “What’s the one he loves?” Y/n tried to recall.

Jamie could recite it from memory, “‘What did the mama llama say to the baby llama as they prepared for a picnic?’”

They hit the punchline in sync, “‘Alpaca lunch,’” and descended into tired laughter.

“That got old the second or third time,” Y/n smiled down at her lap.

“Or the first,” Jamie replied.

Y/n sighed and stared down the hill, there were shockingly few people enjoying what surely was a busy place any other time.

“How’d you know about this place?”

“Come here every once in and a while,” Jamie answered, his hands folded behind his head, “Good for trainin’. Good for just…quiet.”

She had to agree. If one needed to do any contemplating, this would be the place to do it.

The silence was encouraging. “I haven’t spoken to my dad,” Y/n started, bitterly smiling at the air, “In a year, I think.”

While it wasn’t totally surprising in Y/n’s situation, the statement itself was. Jamie raised his brows, “Fuck.”

“It wasn’t even a holiday or anything,” Y/n continued, “They’d just found some old toys in the garage. Told me they’d pack ‘em up and send them.”

“Isn’t it a fuck ton of money to ship here from the States?” Jamie asked.

Y/n chortled and picked at a piece of grass, “Shows how badly they wanted to get my stuff out of their house.”

Jamie ran a hand over his face, he couldn’t relate. His mum had kept his childhood room exactly the way it had been when he moved out.

“When was the last time you spoke to your dad?” Y/n dared to ask, she wanted to feel a little less lonely.

“Haven’t,” Jamie answered plainly, “Not since Wembley.”

Y/n hugged her legs to her chest, “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t. What about before then?”

“Before that,” he sighed, “Only when he wanted tickets or somethin’.”

Jamie tried not to think about his father, not unless it could be used as fuel to play. Proving his dad wrong was one of the things that had made him great, if not the thing. But even the great Jamie Tartt couldn’t banish the ever-persistant voice in his head telling him that he wasn’t good enough. That he was only good for what he good get out of him.

“If you could have a releationship with ‘em,” he ventured to ask, “With your mum…would you?”

Y/n looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze, but he had unfolded one arm to fiddle with his ring as he usually did during their more serious talks. “Like, if they wanted me?”

“If they wanted to talk,” Jamie added, “Wanted to be a part of your life.”

It was a loaded question. There was hurt in both potential answers. Y/n had found life on her own, a life she rather enjoyed. But the only reason that life had come to be was because she needed out of America, away from her parents. On the other hand, she felt like a child on special days like her dad’s birthday. She’d have given anything to fly home, hug her father and sing him ‘Happy Birthday’ alongside her mom and Caylee.

She lived in the nicest possible version of the worst outcome, but she’d have died for even the crappiest of the best one.

“I don’t know,” she answered, “Truthfully, I don’t think there’s any hope for us. Caylee’s off with her life, I have mine…” Y/n squinted into the distance, “And they have theirs. I think we’re past the point of no return.”

Jamie wasn’t trying to get her to come to any conclusion. He was just curious. He’d thrown his dad out of his life several times, but he’d always gotten back in somehow.

“What about you?” Y/n asked.

He blew out a gentle breath, there’d always be a part of Jamie that wanted a relationship with his dad. The version of the man he’d wished for as a child.

“Nah,” Jamie replied, “Don’t think so. Think we hit that point when I decked him.”

Y/n rested her chin on her knees, “That would do it. Do you regret it?”

“What? Hittin’ him?” Jamie waited until Y/n nodded, “Fuck no. I just…” He looked down at his ring again, “Just hate that I had to.”

The words were sour in Jamie’s mouth. They didn’t belong there. No child should ever be in the position to say they landed one on their parent. Worse, that they didn’t regret it.

“Do you ever regret leaving America?” Jamie asked, his eyes tracing Y/n’s profile, “Comin’ here?”

“No,” Y/n answered, feeling a few tears beginning to well. “I just hate that I had to.”

They sat in silence after that, letting the cool evening breeze hit their open wounds. Neither of them were good at being vulnerable, their friendship had forced them to become comfortable with it. But still, it hurt to hurt.

Eventually, when the sun began to melt into deeper shades of pinks and oranges, Y/n laid back on the blanket. Without looking, she reached between her and Jamie’s bodies and took his hand, weaving her fingers between his. Jamie didn’t hesitate to do the same.

“This is better than the floor,” she admitted softly.

Jamie smiled, shutting his eyes as he turned himself to stone. It was a moment he was afraid would end if he touched it. And he wanted to make it last as long as he could.

—————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @strawberryacethingz @mentalistfan @tortilla-maria1 @katdahlali @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @glitterquadricorn @jamieolivia27 @imvibin69 @katlizada @lil-tracys @fanaticalfantasist @heyitz-julia @cactajuice @peachyy-tea @notalxx @rockchickrebel @anxiety-prime-max @mentalistfan @loveforaugust @jellycolors @actuallybarb @heletsmelovehim @lovinnscarletknight @imfalling-inlove @leslieiscrying @meg-ro @littlemisssunshine192 @beboldbebravethings @maydayfigment @spencerreidsbookclub @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @lemoonandlestars @im-a-weirdo-for-life @mindless-rock (tags cont. in comments ❤️)

[rottendollface]

Guilty.

Character: Wriothesley.

Warnings: NSFW, female reader, OOC Wriothesley and Neuvillette, religious cult, mass suicide, psychological manipulations, gaslighting, corrupted court, unrequited love from Wriothesley to reader, unhealthy obsession, toxic care, forced unequal marriage, unhealthy self-criticism, unprotected gentle sex, oral sex (reader receiving), 18+.

W/C: 3240.

In the DNA of every Fontaine citizen there was a primal fear of the Primordial Sea. Some of the citizens were happy to convince themselves that it wasn't a fear – just a placidity with the notes of hidden anxiety. Others were counting days and seeking for the proof of the prophecy coming true. Your father belonged to the second category.

He was a good speaker and did know how to manipulate other people's feelings. He was blessed with good fantasy, lively tongue, and commitment to his ideas. He would rather die than betray his ideals – thanks to this impressive core strength, he was able to become a preacher for a group of people that was waiting for the end humbly. Your father's mind was gone and he, drugged with the sense of power, created a cult of Primordial Sea, where he and his followers were praying for the Judgment Day to come. Their insanity was ineffable: the whole cult decided to commit mass suicide as a prey for the Primordial Sea. Your father told his followers that after their death, their souls would beg the Primordial Sea to pour on the Fontaine to purify the sinners, and the evil would be erased. He managed to make people think that the whole nation of Fontaine was born as a messiah. But something went wrong: everyone, except your father, had died.

The trial was rough and humiliating for you; there was only you left in Fontaine as your mother left the city right after her husband became a preacher. The Chief Justice Neuvillette was furious, you could swear his piercing gaze was directed not on your father only, but on you as well; Neuvillette himself insisted on your presence and prohibited you from leaving the trial. You could hear people in the courtroom whispering behind your back: they were discussing every detail of your family life, laughing scornfully at your destroyed reputation. The whole clan of yours was disgraced, and you, as the only alive representative of it, was meant to take this burden on your shoulders. You were thinking about leaving Fontaine, too, but you missed the opportunity. During investigation, you got into a list of suspects and was banned from leaving Fontaine for a couple of years. Your innocence was proved, but the authorities promised to keep an eye on you, as they still believed you were affected by your father's ideas.

For the whole trial, you couldn't take a handkerchief out of your eyes. You were crying silently, praying for this grotesque performance to end. The white cotton handkerchief of yours embroidered with pink roses was wet with tears and felt disgusting when you pressed it to your skin, but you couldn't help but cry about your ruined life. It was a triumph of justice and the funeral of your youth. Not a respected man would ever marry you or hire you on a prestigious job. You were doomed to lead a miserable life until you would be able to leave Fontaine.

Wriothesley was here too, and he was observing you carefully. He knew you well since adolescence and the whole situation left him in shock, but with a pleasurable aftertaste. Previously you wouldn't even look at him and now you didn't have a choice but to go to him if you wanted to save the remnants of your reputation and provide yourself a life without hardships. Wriothesley wasn't lucky to fall in love with you since the very first moment he met you at a tea party between honorable families, but you were fascinated with another boy. Wriothesley knew your engagement fell apart, so he was blessed with a good chance.

Despite his social status, the title of the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide left its mark on Wriothesley's reputation. Respected as usual, he silently became unwanted at many events and parties, as if the spirit of jail and the aura of social outcasts he had to work with were following him everywhere. This isolation affected Wriothesley, making him distant and cold. The more time he spent at the Fortress, the fewer reasons for leaving it he had seen. Maybe if you agree to become his woman, he would taste the pleasure of simple walks and visits to the cafe again.

Wriothesley noticed you looking at him and he gave you a nod, you gave him back a forced sorrowful smile and turned your head to Neuvillette. Even in a state of full emotional breakdown you were beautiful: your puffy and red eyes with clumpy eyelashes, the reddened tip of your nose and your swollen red lips awoke long forgotten desires in him. Your hair with two small and messy braids that were framing both sides of your charming face left him dreaming of just one touch of it. Rose gold locket with a print of a flower on your neck begged Wriothesley to replace it with the one with his family's symbol; and this mourning black dress on your fragile figure needed to be torn off of your body and burned in a fire along with this tragic past of yours, Wriothesley believed. You were a heroine of his dreams, and Wriothesley was determined to become your knight in real life.

You didn't look at all the relatives of the victims of your father's deeds. You paid them a stated compensation, but money couldn't bring back their loved one – it was impossible for you to endure talking to them as the guilt was covering your whole existence and turned you into a silent shell of a man. You had to sell all the furniture and tableware, all your jewelry except family heirlooms and plenty of your dresses were sold, too. The more you tried to hold the family estate and the heritage your ancestors made in your hands, the faster it fell down, as if your touch was diseased. When the trial ended you were the first to rush out of the courtroom.

You got into debts trying to pay off legal costs and to feed yourself. You applied to dozens of jobs but all of them were silent. The debt papers were multiplying and there was no way for you to escape the vicious circle, until one morning you got a letter with a black wax seal and the emblem of Wriothesley's family. It was short and cold. Wriothesley stated that he paid for all your debts and invited you for a private talk to the Fortress of Meropide. Your hands started shaking both from fear and gratitude, your mixed emotions made your heart beat so fast it was hard to breathe. You cried all your tears already and your face grimaced in a painful cry without any tear. You didn't expect Wriothesley to stand by your side when everyone else turned their backs on you, he had no reasons for helping you: you had always been allured by someone else and rarely found a moment to spare on him. You suspected that he had romantic feelings towards you and this made you avoid him even more. For you Wriothesley was just an acquaintance and you were afraid to give him a false hope. The only time you initiated a talk with him was the day of his promotion to the post of Lord. It was short and simple: just a greeting and a small present with a congratulatory card. The present was so simple and unsuitable for the occasion, yet it seemed like a great idea for you to present to Wriothesley a set of your favorite pastries. It was the best pastries on the whole Fontaine but you didn't even ask him if he liked them.

Wriothesley was waiting for you nervously. You came right at the appointed hour. Before he could tell you a thing you hugged him, pressing his mature figure to yours tightly.

'Words can't express my gratitude to you, Wriothesley.' You whispered loud enough for him to hear. Stunned, he even forgot to hug you back, and you let him go right when he wanted to embrace you. 'You wanted a private talk, and I'm here. Still, I can't understand why we have to do it in the Fortress…'

You shivered and looked around with pain in your eyes. It worked, Wriothesley thought, noticing every detail in your appearance that showed him clearly – you were exposed and ready to accept everything he would offer to you. The extreme degree of despair that you felt coming through the cold moldy corridors full of murderers, thieves and rapists made you distressed, and the escort of Clorinde with her attentive eyes watching your every step didn't make it easier.

'I hope you understand all the seriousness of the situation you ended up in,' Wriothesley started with a calm assured voice. 'Your life fell apart in a moment. My life is crumbling slowly. The best we can do is to stay together. Your reputation will be restored, you will live a happy life again, I promise you I will take all the responsibility for it in my hands.'

'I appreciate your tenacity, but how? It's impossible, dear Wriothesley. I will leave Fontaine after the end of my travel restrictions, just like my mother did. This is the best I can do.' You answered him with sadness. Leaving behind the great history of your family, the manor and a carefree life that you once had, and the lovingly tended homeland was hard, impossible even, but you couldn't endure the way your friends were turning their faces away from you on the streets, hiding their hands inside their cloaks just not to have a handshake with you.

Dear Wriothesley… Those words were sweeter than honey when spoken out of your lips. It seemed like he ignored everything you said after, his gaze fixated on your lovely face as he admired it. He dreamed of those words, of the private moments, of the simplest conversation – and now he had it all at his plate.

Wriothesley's tone was stern. 'The stain on your reputation is indelible. You shouldn't think that a simple escape will erase it – it will make everything even worse, everyone will think that you are guilty, just like your father. You should stay in the city and forget about your plan.'

'Why?' Your eyes filled with tears. 'How can I stay here if everyone despises me?! Merchants close their shops when they see me coming! I'm pushed out of society just because of my father! I am the one tortured with terrible inner guilt! This is a miracle that you are talking to me, you are the only one whom I'm talking to in a month! I'm so sorry to the one who lost their relatives, but they are not the only victims and no one feels compassion towards me!' You cried like an animal wounded by a trap. Your lips were trembling, as you tried to prevent tears, but it didn't work and an uncontrollable stream poured from your tired eyes. You covered your face with your palms, but your shuddering shoulders unrevealed your hysterical, bitter, full of anger and sense of helplessness crying.

Wriothesley came to you and hugged you softly, carefully, not to scare you away: he pressed you to his body, one of his hands held your back and the other was patting the back of your head. You felt safe for the first time and took your palms away from your face.

'Marry me, and your problems will be gone.' Wriothesley whispered, pressing his cheek to your head. His touch was full of need and love, he held you in his hands tightly, as if you could melt and disappear, and was the most precious part of his life. Seconds before your answer were the most agonizing in his entire life.

You bit your lip until blood while thinking chaotically, choosing between honesty to yourself and all the goods you could have from pairing with Wriothesley. You respected him, admired him for his character, but you never loved him. And he loved you – the terrible guess turned out to be true, and guilt pricked you once again. All this time your cowardly silence was hurting him. Even now he was ready to put at risk his own reputation only to save yours. The selfless things Wriothesley was ready to do for love – you never deserved him.

'I will…' You could feel how your heart dropped, and how Wriothesley's heart started beating faster from excitement. He was the happiest man on Teyvat, and you were the most despised in your own eyes.

You moved to Wriothesley's house before you got engaged. He insisted on it, as he believed that your manor was full of negative memories and he wanted you to rest before the ceremony. Everything was just like Wriothesley said: people started treating you better after you were announced as his fiancée. The wedding was small, only for the closest friends, and there was no one from your side.

'I see the results of my help,' Neuvillette said, patting Wriothesley on his shoulder, when you were busy talking to Sigewinne. 'Treat her well. That is the only way you can atone your foul trick on her.'

'Sure, Chief Justice.' Wriothesley chuckled. 'You don't have to worry about it.'

Wriothesley's authority was strong enough to affect people's opinion. If he believed you and thought of you as a good match for him, then it meant that you were a decent woman, disgraced by your father's deeds. Slowly, you became welcomed again. The society that once cruelly pushed you out, was pitying you. You were able to attend parties, but Wriothesley didn't share your happiness.

Every time you got an invitation he was here to remind you, that those families turned their backs on you when you needed their support. He claimed them unworthy of your presence, he told you it would be better if you stop befriending traitors. You were surrounded by traitors, Wriothesley believed, and all your surroundings needed to be changed.

You tried to brush it off, but deep inside you knew – Wriothesley was right. Instead of noisy parties you preferred to spend your time at home, having a conversation with Wriothesley and drinking tea with your favorite pastries. He was so generous towards you: your every whim, your smallest wishes were done. Your laugh and joyful shine of your eyes were his best payment – he wanted nothing, but your smile. The only reason Wriothesley came home was you waiting for him. He knew you would meet him and give him a greeting kiss, then ask him about his day. It was an unchanging ritual, a rule of your and his family. While on work Wriothesley dreamed of your gentle touch, of warmth of your lips against his. He couldn't forget how blessed he was to share the most intimate moments with you. Your body was supple and took everything Wriothesley gave to it. Usually a rough lover, he couldn't treat you the same way he treated other women. His hands undressed you, traced your curves gently, with adoration, as if he was touching the masterpiece made by Archons themselves. His lingering touches were mixed with his wet kisses on your body. Your soft skin got hot from the simplest touch and Wriothesley used it to his advantage. You laid under him, exposed and needy, and Wriothesley started from kissing your lips until they swell. His tongue slipped inside your mouth to tease yours, he sucked on your lips and bit the lower one to hear you gasping. Wriothesley's fingers were caressing your breasts, pinching your nipples lightly only to prepare them for his tongue. He sucked on them alternately, playing with them with his tongue and wetting with saliva. Before entering you Wriothesley had always spared a moment for teasing you by using his mouth. He opened your thighs with droplets of your wetness glistening shamelessly on your skin, his lips reached your swollen clit immediately. He licked on your pussy hungrily, adding stimulation but denying you cum. Wriothesley sucked on your clit, licked on it while his fingers circled around your clenching hole, then stuffed you and bumped on the sensitive spots inside. When he replaced his fingers on his tongue, Wriothesley showed it inside as far as possible, pressing his lips firmly to your opening and fucking you on his tongue.

Your wet pussy took his massive cock easily and hugged it tightly. Wriothesley felt the pulsation of your overstimulated walls and pounded on you in a calm rhythm, leisure even, to let you feel all the pleasure when his cock hit on your deepest parts. Once you begged for more, Wriothesley went faster, going hard, his hands on your hips pressed you down on his cock roughly. The faster and rougher pace drove you mad, you couldn't hold your screams in your throat. Wriothesley could go on you for hours before cumming, and you accepted all of him, as your pussy couldn't get enough of his cock. Usually quiet, Wriothesley became loud when he was close to release, his grip on your body was so tight it left bruises on your skin. You were the first to cum, and your climax on his cock made him cum too, scorching your spasming pussy with his seed.

From your side you tried to do everything for him, showed him as much affection as you could, but the feeling of falseness accompanied you at your every deed and made you sick of yourself. Wriothesley couldn't have enough of you, he needed to be with you for the whole day and even at night he was hugging you to his chest so tightly you couldn't escape. His sleep was light and he woke up every time you left the bed. Wriothesley shared your every hobby, and you did the same with his, even though you didn't like them. When you wanted to go for a walk, he came with you even if it interrupted his own plans. He tried to do everything together with you: cooking, cleaning, resting, sleeping and being awake. Wriothesley wasn't tired of you, but you felt the opposite. All the hours he spent at work were just like a pure blessing from Archons – it were hours of tranquility and silence. You were afraid to ask for more private space: you still felt that you owed him. He had plenty of money that he spent on you without any hesitation, he restored your family manor and treated you like a queen. You didn't have to work, but you searched for a job – of course, Wriothesley noticed it. He sat you up in the Fortress of Meropide, so you two could see each at work too. It was the best job a woman could dream about: with a good salary and easy duties to perform. When he had a free minute he always came to your office, knowing perfectly that you had already finished your job and were helping other girls with their stuff. If you refused to spend a lunch time with him, referring to the strains of work, you felt stink-eye gazes from your colleagues which lead to a self-loathing.

In the storm of complicated feelings, the only one, that had never left you, was guilt.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Eros: Chapter Seven

Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son’s death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…

Warnings: Nothing Explicit, Nudity, Language.

To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.

Word Count: ~2.1k

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The grand throne room of the Dreaming is shrouded in an atmosphere of unease. The usually calm and composed Morpheus sits on his intricately carved throne, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the marble in aggravation. His queen has vanished without a trace, and an uncharacteristic worry clouds his thoughts.

Lucienne, the loyal librarian, stands nearby, her face reflecting the same concern, and Matthew perches on the armrest of Morpheus’s throne, his dark eyes flickering with anxiety.

“My lord, it has been two days,” Lucienne begins softly, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “We have searched every corner of the Dreaming. There is no sign of her.”

Morpheus’ usually serene blue eyes are stormy with frustration and fear. “She cannot simply have disappeared, Lucienne. We are bound together. There must be something we are missing.”

Matthew ruffles his feathers, shifting uneasily. “Boss, you don’t think it’s some kind of magic, do you? Someone messing with the Dreaming? Or worse, with her?”

Morpheus’ gaze hardens, and he looks down at Matthew, his eyes darkening with anger at the thought. “If she has been taken by magic, then the perpetrator will know the full extent of my wrath. But we must consider every possibility.”

Lucienne nods, stepping closer. “Perhaps we should review her last known whereabouts. Was there anything unusual in her behavior recently? Any disturbances in the Dreaming that could have indicated a threat?”

Morpheus’ mind races through the events of the past days. He has been preoccupied with the duties of the Dreaming, but nothing has seemed out of the ordinary. “She mentioned feeling restless,” he admits. “She often spoke of her desire to walk in the Waking World.”

Matthew tilts his head. “Actually, boss, there was something. Just before she disappeared, she went to check out the Ocean of Dreams. There was a storm, and she thought something was wrong. She dove in to investigate.”

Morpheus’s eyes widen, a mix of fear and anger flashing across his face. “Why was I not informed of this sooner, Matthew?”

The raven flinches slightly, his feathers ruffling. “I’m sorry, boss. She told me to go get Lucienne, and by the time I got back, she was already gone and never came back up. We didn’t find anything out of the ordinary at the ocean after she disappeared.”

Lucienne looks thoughtful. “The Ocean of Dreams is a powerful and ancient part of your realm, my lord. If she went into it and encountered something unexpected...”

Morpheus stands abruptly, his robe billowing around him like a storm cloud. “Then she may be trapped within its depths or worse. I must go there myself.”

Lucienne nods. “I will continue searching the archives for any records of disturbances in the Ocean of Dreams. There may be something we’ve overlooked.”

Morpheus turns to Matthew. “You will gather the ravens. I want them scouring the Dreaming and the Waking World for any sign of her. Leave no stone unturned.”

Matthew nods, taking off to carry out his task. Lucienne bows and quickly departs for the library, her mind already racing through the possible texts she will need to consult. Left alone in the vast throne room, Morpheus lets out a slow breath. His connection with his queen, so strong and vibrant, is eerily silent. He cannot sense her anywhere, and that absence gnaws at him.

As he strides out of the throne room, determination etched into his features, he reaches out with his senses, feeling the vast expanse of the Dreaming. He will dive into the Ocean of Dreams himself if necessary. The thought of her being trapped, alone, fills him with a fear he rarely acknowledges.

With every step, he resolves to uncover the mystery of her disappearance, to bring her back to his side where she belongs. He will not rest until his queen is safe once more. Morpheus arrives at the shores of the Ocean of Dreams, the usually tranquil waters now churning with an undercurrent of unease. He stands at the edge, his eyes scanning the horizon, feeling the pull of the ocean's ancient magic. He will find her, no matter the cost.

Taking a deep breath, he wades into the water, letting its cold embrace wash over him. As he dives deeper, the currents grow stronger and more aggressive, mirroring the turmoil in his heart. He reaches out with his mind, seeking any trace of her presence, any clue that could lead him to her.

The depths of the Ocean of Dreams are vast and mysterious, but Morpheus is relentless. He will search every corner, face every danger, to bring his queen back. His love for her is deeper and more powerful than any magic, and he will not rest until she is safely in his arms once more.

Morpheus paces the floor of your shared chambers, the ethereal light casting long shadows across the room. His normally composed demeanor is shattered by the torment of not knowing where you are. He has scoured the Dreaming, reached into every nook and cranny of his realm, and found nothing. Even the Ocean of Dreams has turned up nothing! His thoughts race as he considers who could have caused your disappearance. His anger simmers beneath the surface, ready to boil over at any moment.

His mind is a whirlwind of possibilities, but none seem plausible. You are powerful, and the protections around the Dreaming are impenetrable. It would take formidable magic to whisk you away without a trace. He stops his pacing and runs a hand through his dark hair, his thoughts briefly interrupted by a flicker of a memory—your wedding, the joy in your eyes, the warmth of your touch. He had asked you whatever you wished for, he would give you… you had told him that all you wished for, was him, and he had only fallen deeper in love with you.

He is about to turn to make another round of the room when a shimmering light appears, and you are suddenly standing in your shared bedchambers. You are naked as the day you were born with wide round eyes and shock plastered across your features. Morpheus should have been staring at the state you are in—love marks covering your body and evidence of lovemaking thoroughly coating your thighs—but memories flood his mind like a rampant tidal wave.

You wake with your face buried in a pillow smelling of marjoram and flowers. Feeling like your entire body is one big ache, you struggle to roll over onto your back and blow the hair out of your face. You blink a few times, making sure that you do, in fact, still have legs, before trying to roll to the edge of the bed. Son of a—

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself, feeling embarrassed that you are this sore from copious sex alone. Oneiros certainly has a healthy appetite for the indulgences of the flesh. You wouldn’t complain though, you haven’t seen that catastrophic glower of sadness and devastation upon his face in days. Job well done, you suppose. But you really need a bath... you glance down at your thighs and cringe. Your combined releases are smeared all over your discolored thighs, and when you stand up, you all but moan out loud when you feel it dripping from you.

“Bath, definitely need a bath,” you grimace, nearly waddling forward on what feels like newborn legs. Mustering up the strength, you take careful steps, teetering around on sore muscles. But as you make it to the center of the room, a flash of electricity runs along your skin, and your vision goes black. Floundering for a few seconds, you force yourself to remain calm until your vision returns moments later… but you are certainly not in the same place as you were a second ago.

Blinking away black dots, your eyes go round the moment you spot Morpheus standing not far from you, frozen where he stands. He looks disheveled and ill, paler than you have ever seen him. A few seconds go by and he still hasn’t moved.

“Morpheus?” you question in a small voice, your voice cracking a little from soreness and the shock of the sudden change in surroundings. Morpheus remains still, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and relief. He had thought he would never see you again, feared the worst had befallen you. The sight of you standing before him, albeit disheveled and confused, is like a caress to his tortured soul.

How many weeks has he spent looking for you after you disappeared from his bed into thin air? Endless. It was impossible to understand your sudden disappearance from Athens. He had wallowed in misery and despair, the absence of your presence weighing heavily on his heart until he ultimately moved on.

“αστέρι μου,” his voice is raw with emotion, his usual composure shattered in the wake of your sudden return. Your brain connects what is going on in his head. He is remembering you. His gaze drops to your body, and you shift as a flush crawls up your neck.

“In my defense, you seduced me first,” you softly mutter, not seeing the raging jealousy flashing through silver-blue eyes. You think, perhaps, that he would be angry at you for having sex with his past self, and he would certainly have every right to be so… but that is not what is running through his mind. All Morpheus can think about is how Oneiros has indulged in your body and repeatedly filled you with his seed. Jealousy rears its ugly head all the while the Endless can’t help but feel an intense lust for you. He wants to reclaim you from Oneiros. Right. Now.

Your heart pounds in your chest as Morpheus takes a step closer to you, his eyes darkening with desire and possessiveness. Then, in an instant, he is on you. His lips crash against yours in aggressive possession as a hand buries itself into your mussed hair. You can feel the intensity of his need in the way he kisses you, a mix of hunger and desperation that sends shivers down your spine.

You instinctively grab onto his shoulders, not quite expecting this aggressive onslaught but also not wanting to fight it. His kiss is raw, unfettered, a testament to the depth of his feelings. As your minds meld once more, you can feel the mixture of relief, desire, and possessiveness radiating from him in waves.

His hands move from your hair to your waist, pulling you closer. The hard lines of his muscular body press against you, reminding you of the intense passion the two of you have shared. The desperation in his kiss becomes more apparent and your own desire stirs within you. The realization dawns on you that he is trying to reclaim you from Oneiros. The clothes have to go.

“Clothes,” you barely manage to eke out between tongue-tying kisses that leave you feeling drunk. His lips never leave yours as Morpheus dissolves his clothing from his body and pulls you against his naked flesh. As he envelops your body in his strong embrace, your skin tingles with the sensation of his warm, bare skin against yours. His touch is electric, a mixture of tenderness and urgency that brings forth a whirlwind of emotions.

His hands roam over your curves, tracing every line, every contour, sending a storm of desire coursing through your veins. Each touch, each kiss, is a claim, a valid reaffirmation that you belong to him. The memory of Oneiros fades into oblivion as Morpheus' deep, silken voice whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

"You are mine, and only mine," he growls, his eyes burning with possession and an intense desire to make you his own once again. It is a claim that reverberates through your very soul, leaving you breathless and completely under his control.

“For as long as you shall want me,” you return, raising your hands to cup his face. His eyes flare with intensity, fueled by the raw desire that courses through his body. He knows that his claim to you is unmistakable, yet he can't help but feel the reassurance in your words. “But I do have to ask…”

Morpheus’s eyes glow as he waits for you to air your question.

“Are you jealous?” You watch as his expression twists with a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and, yes, jealousy. It is an emotion he has kept well-hidden, but seeing it now, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

"You think I would be jealous?" he scoffs, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Beloved, if you are still able to use your legs come the morrow, I am not jealous.”

Well, shit.

Date Published: 6/12/24

Last Edit: 6/11/24

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