#his existence is such a mystery that even for the being who's duty is to record the past and the history of

[005mins]

/ sometimes I think about how d.aybit went through an eternity of 0.2 seconds in the blink of an eye; an incident that as soon as it occurred, it automatically made all records and background of him and his father to completely vanish from the world and from people’s memories; making it appear as if neither he nor his father have ever existed at all. All that was left were two shadows burned into the ground, his and his father’s; the only indication that ‘someone’ must have once stood in that place. Now who those shadows might belong to? no one would ever know, for the records of both of their existences completely vanished from the world and from people’s memories. Such was the intensity of the event that the shadows remained etched on the ground despite no one being there, and no methods have worked in getting rid of them either, thus making the headmaster of the department that later arrived to the scene to conclude that the shadows would continue to remain there even after the universe has completely cooled down 

A human would die were they to theoretically be disassembled entirely on an atomic level, yet in 0.2 seconds, D.aybit became a gap between time and space that somehow managed to ‘survive’ albeit something has definitely and fundamentally changed him, and I think thats s o metal-

[moongirlcleo]

Dutybound

❤︎  tags and content: arranged marriage, two dicks, double penetration, overstimulation, aftercare, rough and messy, raf is a smug bastard ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo  

Married to a god of the deep, you expect duty. You don’t expect desire.

Rafayel is patient, indulgent—dangerous in the way he watches, waits, toys with you. He lets you pretend this is an obligation, that you don’t want him.But when you finally ask—when you offer yourself to him—he makes sure you understand: This was never just duty.You were always meant to be his.

You had never met your husband.

That was the first thing people always wanted to know. "What’s he like?" they'd ask, eyes gleaming with the kind of curiosity that thrived on scandal. And you would laugh, awkward and forced, because how did you even begin to explain that your own husband was a stranger to you?

"He’s... mysterious," you’d say, which wasn’t a lie. He had to be, considering you knew next to nothing about him. Your marriage existed on paper, a set of meticulously drawn signatures binding your life to his in a way no real emotion ever had.

A political arrangement, they called it. A necessity. An alliance between two worlds that had once been at odds, the threads of old wounds still raw between the lines of diplomacy. You, a human with nothing particularly extraordinary about you, were now tied to Rafayel—the Lemurian prince, the so-called God of Tides, a man whose very name carried the weight of tides and tragedies you had no part in.

And yet, in the eyes of the world, you belonged to him.

It was an absurdity you had never fully wrapped your head around. One day, you had been yourself—just yourself. And the next, you were a wife to someone you had never spoken to, never touched, never seen outside of fragmented images and whispered rumors.

He was beautiful, or so they said. Ethereal in the way all Lemurians were, a creature woven from the sea itself. Dusky violet hair, bi-colored eyes like a shifting current. Taller than most men. A smile that either charmed or threatened, depending on his mood.

You had spent nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he thought of all this. Did he resent it? Did he scoff at the idea of being bound to a human he had never met? Or was he indifferent, viewing you as nothing more than another burden to bear?

Tomorrow, those questions felt heavier than usual. Because after months of silence, of letters exchanged only through intermediaries, of a wedding that had been sealed without so much as a glance between you—

You were finally getting the chance to meet Rafayel in person.

You wake up before dawn, the weight of reality settling into your chest before your mind fully catches up. Today is the day. The day you finally meet your husband.

The morning air is crisp against your skin as you dress, each movement meticulous, measured. You’d spent far too long the night before debating what to wear—something regal enough to match his station, but not so extravagant that it felt like an act. In the end, you settled for something simple yet elegant, the kind of thing that whispered confidence instead of shouting it.

Your hands are steady as you adjust the fabric, but your pulse betrays you, thrumming beneath your skin like the distant crash of waves.

You’d been prepared for this moment in theory. Advisors had coached you on the proper way to address him, on the history of Lemuria, on the subtle nuances of a culture long thought lost beneath the tides. But none of their words had prepared you for the reality of it—that in mere moments, you would stand before a man who was as much legend as he was flesh and blood.

And then, the summons comes.

A quiet knock at the door. A low-voiced attendant informing you that he has arrived.

Your breath catches. With a final glance at your reflection, you step forward to meet the mysterious man that, to the rest of the world, had stolen your heart.

The room is grand—of course it is. Every inch of this place is designed to remind you of the weight of history pressing down upon your shoulders. Dark wood panels stretch along the walls, and high arched windows spill the morning light across polished floors. It smells of salt and something faintly metallic, like the remnants of a storm at sea.

And yet, the man waiting for you is not the one you expected.

He stands near the center of the room, hands neatly folded in front of him, posture straight but not stiff. His suit is pristine, the deep navy fabric tailored to perfection, but there’s something about the way he holds himself that feels unshakable—a man who has long since mastered the art of control.

“Lady y/n,” he greets, his voice smooth and measured. “A pleasure.”

You blink, your carefully rehearsed introductions crumbling under the sheer weight of confusion. “I—thank you.” A pause. “I was told I’d be meeting my husband?”

Something flickers across his face—just for a moment, just enough for you to catch it before his expression smooths back into polite indifference. “Lord Rafayel has been... delayed.”

Delayed.

Your stomach tightens. You are standing here, in a place you do not know, bound to a man you have never met, and he—what? Couldn’t be bothered to show up?

Thomas seems to sense the shift in your mood because he exhales, a soft, barely-there thing. “It is not a slight, I assure you,” he continues, his voice dipping into something quieter. Smoother. “Lord Rafayel is... particular about how he does things.”

You don’t know why, but the phrasing makes something bristle in you. “And meeting his wife isn’t one of them?”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of Thomas’s mouth, gone before it fully forms. “On the contrary. He has been very interested in meeting you.”

You don’t miss the deliberate wording. You fold your arms, tilting your head just slightly. “Then why isn’t he here?”

Thomas hesitates. Just for a second.

And that second tells you more than any explanation could.

“He prefers a certain... grandeur to introductions,” Thomas finally admits, and for the first time, the carefully placed neutrality in his tone wavers, like he knows exactly how ridiculous that sounds. “He will arrive soon. In the meantime, he has requested that I keep you company.”

You narrow your eyes. “To distract me?”

“To prepare you.”

The words land heavier than you expect.

You don’t know what you expected from this meeting, but something about the way Thomas says it makes your pulse slow, deliberate.

“Prepare me for what, exactly?” you ask.

The man finally allows himself a real smile, small but undeniably knowing. “For him.”

Thomas is efficient, moving through the room with the kind of practiced grace that suggests he has been in service far longer than his youthful features let on. A man trained to anticipate needs before they are spoken. He gestures for you to sit near a low table, where a tray of refreshments has already been arranged—an assortment of delicate pastries, rich tea, and something that gleams darkly in a crystal glass. Wine, perhaps. Or something stronger.

You sit, smoothing your hands over your lap, not missing the way Thomas studies you with the quiet precision of a man taking careful notes.

"You don't seem particularly nervous," he remarks as he pours your tea.

You arch a brow. "Should I be?"

Thomas lets out a soft, amused hum. "That depends." He passes you the cup, waiting until you've taken your first sip before continuing. "Most find Rafayel... overwhelming at first."

The way he says it—light, unassuming, but with a thread of warning—makes something stir uneasily in your chest. "And you? What do you think of him?"

Thomas considers you for a moment before answering. "I think he is not easily understood."

Not a good man. Not a bad one. Just... not easily understood.

Something about that unsettles you more than an outright warning would have.

You set your cup down, tilting your head slightly. "And why do I get the feeling you're trying to understand me?"

This time, Thomas doesn't bother hiding his smirk. "Because I am." He leans back slightly, his gaze assessing, sharp without being unkind. "I have been by Rafayel’s side for a long time. I am very familiar with how he operates. And so I am curious—what kind of woman agrees to marry a man she has never met?"

The question lands softly, without judgment, but still, you feel the weight of it settle in your ribs.

You glance down at the ring on your finger, at the delicate band that binds you to someone you should know, but don’t.

"My reasons are my own," you say finally, keeping your voice even. "Just as I imagine his are."

Thomas hums again, something like approval glinting in his eyes. "A diplomatic answer. You’ll need that."

Before you can ask what that means, the candlelight flickers. Just a whisper of movement in the farthest shadow of the room. A disturbance so slight that most wouldn’t notice it.

But you are not most.

The air shifts, the faintest rustle of fabric reaching your ears.

You are not alone.

And somehow, you never were.

Thomas, still composed, still pouring himself a glass of wine, does not turn his head as he speaks again. But his next words are different, heavier, threaded with something almost... knowing.

"Tell me," he muses, swirling the wine in his glass. "Do you prefer your introductions grand... or intimate?"

You don’t answer Thomas right away. Instead, your gaze flickers toward the far end of the room, toward the deep pockets of shadow that seem too thick to be natural.

The sensation of being watched drapes over you like silk and iron, both weightless and unyielding. It shouldn’t unnerve you as much as it does—this place is unfamiliar, its corners vast and unknown. It makes sense that you would feel small beneath its walls.

But this is something else.

Something pointed.

And Thomas—well. Thomas seems amused.

He watches you with the sharp patience of a man who already knows the game being played but is far too entertained to warn you of the rules. He swirls his wine again, watching the deep red liquid coat the glass before finally breaking the silence.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Your spine stiffens, and you force yourself to focus on him. “What question?”

Thomas tilts his head slightly, as if you’ve just confirmed something he already suspected. “How you prefer your introductions,” he reminds you, voice smooth as the wine he sips. “Grand or intimate?”

The way he says it—intimate—is deliberate. A brush of velvet over steel, a thread of implication woven just faintly enough that if you called him out on it, he could feign innocence.

You shift in your seat. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that you’re suddenly hyper aware of your own posture. The space you take up. The way your breathing has slowed just a fraction too much.

Thomas notices. Of course, he does.

And, somewhere in the shadows, so does your husband.

There’s a reason Rafayel has not revealed himself yet. He is watching, studying, waiting for something only he will recognize.

You lick your lips before you can stop yourself, forcing your voice into something composed. “Does it matter?”

Thomas smiles. A small, knowing thing. “To him? Oh, absolutely.”

The weight of unseen eyes presses heavier now, the air shifting in a way that makes the candlelight tremble. A flicker of movement—too swift to catch—somewhere just beyond your periphery.

Your heart picks up, but Thomas is merciless in his curiosity. He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the arm of his chair, gaze never leaving yours.

“I wonder,” he murmurs, as if he’s speaking only to himself. “Do you fear him?”

The question catches you off guard. Not because you don’t know the answer—you do. But because you feel the shift. Something in the air tightens. A ripple, a tension pulling. And suddenly, you are very sure that whoever watches you from the shadows is no longer just watching.

He is listening. Waiting for your answer.

You wet your lips again, pulse thrumming against the delicate line of your throat.

Do you fear him? Or does something else coil in your stomach at the thought of meeting him?

Your lips part, the answer forming before you can second-guess it.

“No.”

The word settles between you and Thomas, clear, steady. A statement, not a question. Not a doubt.

For a moment, there is silence. A low, amused hum from the darkness shortly after. Slow. Drawn-out, ike someone savoring the taste of your answer.

“Interesting.”

The air in the room shifts.

The shadows stir, peeling away from the far wall like they are no longer satisfied with merely lurking. There is no grand reveal, no sudden burst of movement. Just a presence unfolding—fluid, effortless—as though he had been part of the very architecture, waiting for the right moment to detach himself from it.

There he is. Your husband.

Rafayel moves like a man who has never needed to rush a day in his life. His presence fills the space effortlessly, as if he had already claimed it long before he arrived. Tall, lean, otherworldly.

His dusky purple waves frame sharp, striking features—high cheekbones, a jawline that could cut, and eyes that are wrong in all the right ways. Blue and pink, flickering with something unreadable, something depthless.

He is dressed in dark silks that shift with every movement, the deep purples and blues of his coat nearly indistinguishable from the abyss he just stepped out of. And yet, despite his ominous introduction—despite the way your body knows he is dangerous—

He smiles at you. Not the smirk you expect, not the wolfish grin of a man who enjoys his power. But something softer. Playful. Amused. You don’t know what you were expecting from the Lemurian prince, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the easy, almost lazy confidence in the way he watches you. It wasn’t the way his head tilts slightly, like he’s indulging in the sight of you, rather than staking a claim.

And it certainly wasn’t the first thing he says.

“You’re lovely.”

The words are too casual. Too intimate for a first meeting, as if he has known you for much longer than the last few seconds. You blink. Open your mouth. Close it. Thomas—damn him—looks supremely entertained. Rafayel’s smile lingers, his gaze flickering over you like he’s committing something to memory. Then, with a graceful dip of his head, he speaks again.

“I suppose introductions are overdue. Though I feel as if I already know you.” His voice is smooth, rich—like deep water lapping at the shore.

Then, his lips curve just slightly at the corners, teasing.

“You did say you weren’t afraid of me. I think I’m flattered.”

His tone is unreadable—mocking? Delighted? Genuinely intrigued? You can’t tell.

You should say something. You need to say something.

But your mouth has forgotten how to form words, and Rafayel—your husband—knows it. The way he watches you is almost lazy, eyes lidded in amusement, like he is waiting for you to catch up. As if he already expected this reaction. As if your flustered silence is exactly what he wanted. And Thomas—ever the opportunist—seizes the moment with all the grace of a man who lives for entertainment.

“Well,” he hums, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “I’d say my job here is done.”

You snap out of your daze just enough to flick a sharp glance his way. “Wait, you’re leaving?”

Thomas gives you a look that is all polite indifference, save for the glint of humor in his eyes. “You are married, my lady.” He gestures vaguely between you and Rafayel. “It’s only right that I allow the happy couple some time alone.”

The words send a fresh wave of awareness through you—because he’s right. You are married. To this man. To this prince. To this God of Tides whose presence alone feels like it has swallowed the entire room whole.

Before you can form a protest, Thomas inclines his head in a short bow. “I’ll take my leave, my lord.”

Rafayel, still entirely at ease, flicks his fingers in a lazy dismissal. “Thank you, Thomas.”

He doesn’t even look at him. His gaze remains on you as the door clicks and the two of you are alone. The silence stretches. You swallow, your fingers twitching slightly against your lap before you decide to busy yourself with the teacup Thomas left behind. You reach for it carefully, only to realize too late that your hands are not nearly as steady as you’d like.

Rafayel notices. He watches the way you hesitate, the way your fingers tighten minutely around the porcelain before you manage to lift it to your lips.

He smirks.

“You’re nervous,” he observes, tone far too amused for your liking.

You lower the cup, glaring at him over the rim. “I am not.”

Rafayel makes a low, thoughtful hum. “No?”

And then, before you can react, he leans forward just slightly—not enough to be invasive, but enough to make you feel it. The shift in proximity, the awareness prickling along your skin like the tide creeping up on unsuspecting shores.

His voice drops, low and measured. “Your hands tremble when you lie.”

Your breath catches. Heat prickles up your spine—traitorous, unbidden.

You pull back, willing your pulse to slow. “Maybe I’m just cold.”

His smirk deepens. “Are you?” You don’t answer. You can’t answer, which only seems to amuse him even more. Then, as if deciding to take mercy on you, Rafayel shifts back, allowing just enough space for you to breathe properly again. He watches you over the rim of his own glass as he takes a slow sip, considering.

“Would you like to ask me something, wife?”

The title lands heavier than it should. Not mocking, not teasing. Just… a fact. You grip your teacup a little tighter. There are a hundred things you could ask him. A hundred different paths this conversation could take. But what comes out of your mouth instead is—

“…Why did you watch me before revealing yourself?”

Rafayel pauses. Then, a slow smile unfurls across his lips, like the tide dragging back just before a wave crashes.

“I wanted to see if you were afraid of me,” he admits.

You blink. “And?”

He tilts his head, studying you. “I haven’t decided yet if I believe you.”

A shiver curls through you—one you hope he doesn’t notice. You clear your throat, shifting in your seat. “That’s not an answer.”

“Isn’t it?”

You glare at him, but he only grins. He sets his glass aside, propping his chin against his palm as if you’ve just become his new favorite curiosity.

“Ask me another,” he offers.

You hesitate this time, choosing your words more carefully. “What do you want from this marriage?”

Rafayel doesn’t answer right away.

He watches you instead, gaze dipping lower—not improper, but assessing. A slow, deliberate once-over, like he is measuring something unseen.

Then, finally— “Everything.”

Your breath stutters. All Rafayel gives is a smile. The way he says everything lingers in the air between you, heavier than it should be. It coils around your ribs, presses against the delicate skin of your throat, and sinks.

You swallow, pulse fluttering where it shouldn’t. “That’s—” Your voice catches, and you hate that it does. “That’s not very specific.”

Rafayel tilts his head, watching you with the slow patience of a tide creeping forward, his gaze shifting between blue and pink in a way that makes him unreadable. There’s a calm deliberation in his expression, as if he’s already considered every possible response you might give and is simply waiting for you to stumble into the most interesting one.

“It is not,” he agrees, amusement curling at the edges of his voice.

Your fingers tighten against your cup. “Would you care to elaborate?”

His lips curve, slow and deliberate, before he leans forward again—closer this time, enough that the warmth of his presence seeps into your space. He doesn’t touch, but he doesn’t need to. The sheer weight of his attention is enough to make you forget how to breathe properly.

“You wish to know what I expect of you?” he asks, voice as smooth as silk, laced with something you can’t quite name. “As my wife?”

There’s no mistaking the intent behind the way he says it, the possessiveness woven into the words, not spoken as a mere formality but as an undeniable claim. You hate the way heat pricks at your skin in response, creeping up the back of your neck despite your best efforts to ignore it.

You clear your throat, willing your pulse to slow. “That would be helpful, yes.”

Rafayel hums, watching you for a moment longer before settling back into his seat with a deliberate, unhurried ease, as if indulging you. His posture is all relaxed grace, yet something about the way he moves suggests he is always in control.

“In Lemurian tradition, a royal union is not truly sealed until it has been properly consummated.”

The words drop into the space between you like a stone into deep water.

You knew this. It had been mentioned in your endless briefings, an unavoidable detail buried among the many customs and expectations you were expected to uphold. But hearing it spoken by him, in this setting, while he watches you like that—like he’s already imagining what fulfilling that particular duty will look like—has your grip tightening around the delicate porcelain in your hands.

Rafayel notices.

His smirk deepens.

“I see you remember.”

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to maintain your composure. “That’s not—” Exhaling slowly, you fight to keep your expression neutral. “That’s not exactly an immediate concern, is it?”

His gaze remains steady, unwavering, and entirely too entertained by your reaction. Slowly, deliberately, he tilts his head, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. His voice drops just slightly, as if drawing out the moment for his own amusement.

“No,” he murmurs, taking his time with the word. “But it will be.”

Heat floods through you before you can stop it, spreading from the base of your spine up to your cheeks, and damn him for the way he seems to take pleasure in every second of it. He doesn’t move, doesn’t lean in again, but the weight of his presence feels closer than ever, as if he is already closing in, testing your reactions, measuring your every breath.

You force yourself to focus on something else—anything else—and grasp onto the shift in conversation when he finally moves on.

“Beyond that, there are formalities,” he continues, finally offering some distance, though the lingering amusement in his voice tells you he isn’t finished toying with you. “Public appearances. Celebrations in your honor. You are to be presented as the Princess of Lemuria, and with that comes expectation.”

You latch onto the new topic like a lifeline, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control. “What sort of expectation?”

Rafayel doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches you in that careful, assessing way of his, gaze dipping over you as if weighing something unseen. The pause stretches just long enough to make your stomach tighten, anticipation curling in the space between heartbeats.

“You are mine now,” he says, as if it is the simplest truth in the world, and it is not a metaphor. “And I intend for the world to see that.”

Your fingers press into your lap, grip tightening on the fabric of your dress. The certainty in his voice leaves no room for question, no space for doubt. It is not a boast or a threat—simply a fact, one that he expects you to understand as well as he does.

“There will be gatherings, ceremonies, and opportunities for you to become accustomed to your role,” he continues, tone lighter now, as if this is all perfectly reasonable.

You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze despite the lingering heat in your cheeks. “And what, exactly, does that role entail?”

Something shifts in his expression, not quite a smirk but something close, something knowing. He studies you for another moment, stretching out the silence just enough to keep you on edge.

“You will find out soon enough.”

The deliberate vagueness sends another shiver down your spine, and you hate the way he seems to enjoy the way you react to his words.

Your breath hitches, and for the first time since he entered the room, you realize—

This isn’t just a conversation to him. It’s a game.

And you, whether you like it or not, are playing it.

His gaze flickers over you one last time, that same unreadable look settling into his features before his lips curve into something slower, something deeper.

The silence stretches, thick and charged, his words lingering between you like something palpable. You will find out soon enough. There is no teasing lilt to his voice this time, no smirk playing at his lips. Just certainty. A weight that settles over you, pressing against your ribs, making your skin prickle with awareness.

Your fingers tighten in your lap as you force yourself to focus. You knew this moment would come eventually—that there would be expectations between you beyond the political union, beyond the public ceremonies and carefully curated appearances. There is another duty that marriage demands. A truth you’ve known from the moment you signed your name on the documents binding you to him.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. “About the consummation.”

Rafayel’s expression doesn’t change, but there is something new in his gaze, a flicker of interest as if he had been waiting for you to bring it up. He shifts slightly in his seat, his posture still relaxed, but there’s a weight to it now, an attentiveness that wasn’t there before.

“Oh?” His voice dips, smooth as the tide lapping against the shore. “You wish to discuss it now?”

Heat creeps up your neck, but you hold your ground, refusing to let him unnerve you any further. “I think it’s something that should be addressed sooner rather than later. It’s a requirement of the union, isn’t it?”

His lips curl—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile, just something slow and considering. “It is.”

You nod, exhaling softly. “Then we should establish expectations.”

Rafayel watches you, his fingers drumming lightly against the arm of his chair, his eyes flickering over your face as if he’s searching for something. The slow rise and fall of your breath, the way your shoulders are set with careful determination, the way you refuse to look away despite the heat pressing against your skin.

Finally, he moves.

Not much—just a small shift forward, a subtle lean of his body, but it feels as though the very air around you changes. He does not reach for you, does not bridge the space between you completely, but his presence alone is enough to remind you exactly who you are speaking to.

“You say that as if this is a contract negotiation,” he murmurs, his voice just above a whisper, something dark and amused threaded through it. “Tell me, wife, how do you propose we handle this particular expectation?”

Your pulse stumbles, and his gaze sharpens, catching the flicker of hesitation before you manage to smooth it over. You steel yourself, swallowing past the dryness in your throat. “I think it would be best if we approached it with a clear understanding. No surprises.”

Rafayel’s expression flickers, a shadow of something unreadable passing through his features before he settles back again. “No surprises,” he echoes, as if tasting the words, rolling them over in his mind. “How very... diplomatic.”

Your fingers press against your lap, resisting the urge to fidget. “I only mean that we should agree on—”

“On what, exactly?” His voice is softer now, but no less intense. “On how it will happen? When?” He pauses, and the way he tilts his head, the way his lips part just slightly as if savoring the thought, sends something warm curling in the pit of your stomach. “Or are you looking for reassurances?”

The words settle over your skin like a slow tide creeping in, dragging you under inch by inch. There is no outright mockery in his tone, no cruel edge, but there is something deliberate in the way he speaks, in the way he waits for your reaction, drinking in every little shift in your demeanor like he’s memorizing them.

Your throat tightens, but you refuse to look away. “I think it’s important that we both know where we stand.”

Rafayel considers you, his gaze sweeping over your face, lingering at your lips before meeting your eyes once more. “You’re tense,” he observes, and there is something far too knowing in his voice, something that makes your breath stutter despite your best efforts to remain composed.

“I’m being practical.”

His lips curve, slow and unhurried. “Are you?”

Your fingers twitch, curling slightly against your lap as heat prickles beneath your skin. You don’t trust yourself to answer, and he seems to know that too, because he shifts again, this time just slightly closer, his presence wrapping around you like the pull of deep water.

“You don’t need to worry,” he murmurs, and for the first time, there is something almost gentle beneath the amusement. “I have no intention of taking anything from you that you do not wish to give.”

Your breath catches at the quiet promise beneath his words, at the certainty in his tone that does not feel like a concession, but a truth.

And yet, something in the way he looks at you—the steady weight of his gaze, the quiet intensity simmering beneath the surface—tells you he does not believe this will remain an issue for long.

Because despite his patience, despite his willingness to let you set the pace, Rafayel is a prince. A man who has spent his life taking what he wants, bending the world to his will.

And right now, that sharp, unreadable gaze tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

He will wait. He will give you space.

But when you do come to him—and he seems certain that you will—there will be no mistaking that it was your choice.

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat through your veins, and as you quickly reach for your tea, desperate for something to focus on, Rafayel just watches.

The silence stretches long enough that your own thoughts begin to betray you. The weight of his gaze, the certainty in his expression—it’s too much, too overwhelming, pressing against your skin like the tide creeping in, swallowing every last inch of sand.

Your pulse stumbles, breath too shallow, and you hate that he can probably hear it. That he can see every tell in your body, every shift in your posture that betrays the nerves coiled tight in your stomach.

It would be easier if he were cruel. If he taunted, if he smirked with the satisfaction of making you squirm. But this—the quiet patience, the way he looks at you like he already knows exactly what you’re going to do before you do it—is far worse.

You need control. You need to take control before it slips completely from your grasp.

The words are out before you can think them through. “We should just do it now.”

The air changes.

Stillness settles over the room like the deep ocean before a storm, thick and weighted, suffocating in its quiet. You hear the faintest shift of fabric as Rafayel straightens slightly in his seat, but he does not speak immediately. He just watches.

And then—his lips part, voice smooth, steady. “Now?”

Your throat is tight, but you force yourself to nod. “Yes.”

His gaze flickers over you, trailing from your eyes to your lips, lower still before returning, a slow drag of attention that makes your pulse hammer against your ribs. “Because you want to?” The words are soft, deliberate, but you hear the unspoken question beneath them.

You know that’s what he means. And you know he’s right.

You lift your chin, pushing past the dryness in your throat. “Because it’s expected.”

Something glints in his expression, something sharp and unreadable, and for the first time since he stepped into this room, the air between you shifts. The teasing lilt in his voice fades, the lingering amusement dulling into something deeper, something darker.

“You truly wish to do this now,” he muses, voice slow and thoughtful, as if weighing something unseen. “To get it over with.”

The way he says it makes your stomach tighten, and you hate how clinical it sounds when spoken aloud. You clench your fingers slightly, willing yourself to stay steady. “I just think prolonging it will only make things... more difficult.”

For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, he moves.

Slowly. Deliberately.

He stands from his chair with an ease that feels far too controlled, like a predator shifting from rest into motion. His steps are unhurried as he crosses the space between you, silent save for the soft rustle of fabric, until he stands before you, close enough that the faint scent of salt and something darker curls around your senses.

Rafayel lowers himself into a crouch before you, resting one arm on the side of your chair, his other hand reaching out—not touching, but there, hovering near your wrist, close enough that you feel the warmth of his skin.

“If we do this now,” he murmurs, voice like the deep pull of the ocean, “it will not be because it is expected.”

Your breath catches.

His fingers ghost up your forearm, barely grazing over fabric, not quite a touch, just a whisper of presence.

“It will not be to ease your nerves,” he continues, eyes locked onto yours, unblinking, unwavering. “It will not be because you are uncertain, or because you think it will be easier to have it done and forgotten.” His voice drops, the syllables dragging over your skin like velvet and tidewater. “If we do this now, it will be because you are asking me to take you.”

The words send something molten sinking low in your stomach, twisting tight.

Your throat is dry, your fingers curling against your lap as his hand finally closes the distance, fingertips grazing lightly over your wrist. Just enough to feel. Just enough to make you aware of every inch of your own skin.

“Is that what you want?” His question is quiet, but not hesitant. Never hesitant. His touch is warm, his breath feathering against your skin as he speaks, but he does not push. He does not take. He waits.

For you. For your answer.

Because he meant what he said. If you say no, if you pull away, he will not press. But if you don’t—if you let him continue, if you let him show you what it means to be his—there will be no half-measures.

You will know what it means to be taken by Rafayel of Lemuria. And he will make certain that you never forget it.

Your pulse pounds against your ribs, every breath a battle between reason and the undeniable pull of him. You should hesitate. You should take a moment to think, to untangle the mess of nerves and desire twisting in your stomach. But the moment he touches you—just barely, just a whisper of warmth against your skin—it becomes impossible to deny the truth.

You do want this.

You want him.

Your fingers tighten slightly against your lap, your throat dry, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. His eyes are steady, impossibly deep, waiting for your answer with patience that feels far more dangerous than if he had pressed for it.

You could lie to yourself, pretend this is just about duty, about obligation. But you know, and he knows, that would be a lie.

Your lips part, and when the word finally comes, it is softer than you mean for it to be.

“…Yes.”

His gaze sharpens, that flicker of something dark and satisfied flaring beneath the pink and blue of his eyes. But he does not move, not yet. He waits.

You inhale slowly, pressing forward, trying to steel yourself. “I want it.”

A breath. A single moment where the weight of your words settles between you.

And then, Rafayel moves.

The shift is slow but deliberate, his fingers sliding higher along your arm, just barely trailing the fabric of your sleeve before settling at the crook of your elbow. His other hand rises, brushing a knuckle over your jaw—light, teasing, a feather-soft touch that makes your skin prickle beneath it.

“Say it again.”

His voice is low, a command wrapped in silk, coaxing you toward the edge of something you aren’t sure you’re ready to fall into.

Your breath shudders, but you do not look away.

“I want you.”

It’s barely above a whisper, but it doesn’t matter. Because the second the words leave your lips, Rafayel decides. His fingers tilt your chin higher, his touch still gentle but firm, leaving no room for retreat. His gaze flickers lower, to your lips, lingering there for a single, agonizing heartbeat. And then, he closes the distance.

The first brush of his lips is light—testing, deliberate—but it is not hesitant. He wants you to feel it, to know exactly what you have asked for, what you have invited. But when you don’t pull away—when your fingers twitch slightly, your breath catching in a way that betrays you completely—he presses.

The kiss deepens, slow and devouring, his fingers sliding down to your waist, drawing you closer in a way that makes it impossible to think of anything but him. He kisses like a man who has already decided that you belong to him, that you will know the weight of his claim, that this is no longer just about duty but something far more dangerous.

And when he pulls back just slightly, breath fanning against your lips, his voice is dark with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

Heat floods through you so fast it makes your head spin, your stomach tightening at the way he says it, at the way it feels earned, at the undeniable truth beneath it—

You are his.

The kiss lingers even as he pulls away, leaving your lips tingling, your breath uneven. He watches you for a moment, his gaze heavy-lidded and dark with satisfaction, before his fingers slide lower, just barely grazing the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t need to comment on how fast it’s beating—he knows. He feels it beneath his touch, beneath the way your body shivers when he moves.

He exhales, soft and warm against your skin. "Come."

It is not a request.

He takes your hand, fingers lacing through yours with a casual intimacy that makes your stomach tighten, and rises fluidly to his feet. When he guides you forward, you follow—because what else is there to do now but go with him?

The halls are quiet as he leads you through them, the air thick with unspoken promises, with the knowledge of what’s coming next. Your heart pounds with every step, nerves and anticipation curling in your stomach, but Rafayel doesn’t rush. He walks as if he has all the time in the world, never looking back, knowing without question that you are with him.

And then, you are in his chambers. Your chambers.

The room is vast, but not in an overwhelming way. It is warm, dimly lit with the golden glow of candles reflecting off dark wood and deep blue silks. The scent of salt and something richer lingers in the air, something undeniably him. But your attention is drawn to the center of the room—the massive bed draped in fabrics the color of the ocean at midnight, waiting.

Waiting for you.

Your breath catches, and Rafayel turns to face you, fingers still wrapped around your wrist. He lifts your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, slow and deliberate, before trailing them lower, dragging warmth in the wake of his breath.

“There is no need to be nervous,” he murmurs, voice smooth, steady, but knowing. “I will give you everything.”

Your pulse stutters, heat licking at your skin despite your best efforts to stay composed. He can see it, feel the way your fingers twitch slightly in his grip. He hums, pleased, before guiding your hand to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You are mine now,” he continues, his other hand sliding along the curve of your waist, up to your shoulder, lingering at the clasp of your clothing. “And I intend to make sure you feel it.”

There is no hesitation as his fingers begin their work, unfastening the first piece of fabric, the cool air kissing your skin where the barrier once was. His touch is slow, agonizingly so, taking his time with each clasp, each ribbon, each delicate fold.

He doesn’t strip you—he undresses you.

With reverence. With purpose.

His fingers skim over the newly exposed skin, not grabbing, not claiming yet, just learning, just feeling the warmth of you beneath his fingertips. His breath is even, controlled, but his eyes burn with something deeper, something dangerous as each new inch of you is revealed.

You shift under his gaze, heat spreading in a slow, consuming wave over your skin. You should feel self-conscious, should feel exposed, but Rafayel does not let you. He does not let you shrink. His touch is steady, reassuring, making it clear that this is not just for him. This is for you, too.

A soft hum leaves him as his fingers finally slide the last piece of fabric from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms, pooling at your feet. You are bare before him, and yet, he does not move immediately.

Instead, he looks.

His gaze drags over you, taking in every inch, every detail, like he is committing you to memory. Not with hunger—but with something deeper.

Possession. Devotion. And then, with slow, deliberate intent, he lifts his hand to your cheek, cradling your face in his palm as his thumb brushes over the heat of your skin. His lips curve, the barest hint of a smile, but his voice is low, heavy with something unreadable.

“Perfect.”

The word sends a shiver through you, your breath catching as his thumb drags lower, tracing the curve of your jaw, the column of your throat.

He leans in, lips barely a breath away from yours, and murmurs, “Lie down for me.”

The air between you is thick, weighted with something inescapable. Anticipation coils in your stomach, your skin prickling under his gaze as you lower yourself onto the bed. The sheets are soft against your bare skin, cool in contrast to the heat burning beneath your flesh. But the moment you settle, the moment you look up at him, everything else fades.

Rafayel stands at the edge of the bed, watching you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. His hands move to the fastenings of his clothing, undoing them with a slow, practiced ease, shedding layers of dark fabric one by one. His movements are unhurried, deliberate, but his eyes remain locked onto yours, drinking in every reaction, every shift in your breathing, every quiver of expectation running through you.

When the last of his clothing falls away, your breath stutters.

Because he is not just a man.

You knew this already—of course, you knew. But knowing and seeing are two entirely different things.

His body is sculpted, all lean muscle and power, his dusky purple waves of hair falling over his shoulders, framing the sharp angles of his face. But below—where flesh meets something more, where the remnants of his oceanic lineage remain—his body shifts into something distinctly not human.

Two thick cocks spring from his lower half, soft pink, ridged and powerful. Dark veins tracing along their edges like the glow of some deep-sea creature lurking beneath the waves.

Your lips part, something tightening in your stomach at the sight of them.

At the implication of them.

Rafayel sees the way your breath catches, the way your thighs press together just slightly, and he smirks.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice smooth as silk, thick with amusement.

Heat blooms in your cheeks, but you don’t look away. Can’t.

“What…” Your voice falters, your throat suddenly dry. “What do they feel like?”

Rafayel exhales a soft chuckle, and in one slow, fluid movement, he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His arms cage around you, steadying him as he moves over you, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“Why don’t you find out?” His voice is a murmur against your ear, his breath warm, teasing. One of them sits lightly against your thigh—not enough to do anything, just enough for you to feel.

A shudder runs through you. The skin is smooth but firm, powerful, the ridges adding the slightest texture against your bare flesh. The touch is exploratory, almost gentle, as if waiting to see how you react.

You exhale sharply, your body responding before your mind can catch up, your hips shifting just slightly toward him.

Rafayel notices.

“Eager,” he muses, fingers trailing down the length of your side, slow and reverent, while he shifts his own hips to drag them up your thigh, skimming over sensitive skin, teasing, testing. “Good.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is on yours again, stealing whatever thought you might have had, devouring you with the same slow, deliberate hunger. His kiss is deep, claiming, but controlled—he is savoring this, savoring you, taking his time unraveling you beneath him.

He pushes closer. The sensation is overwhelming, not just because of what he is, but the fact he remains controlled, patient, intentional.

You gasp, your fingers gripping at the sheets, your body arching beneath him, seeking more. Rafayel smiles.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your throat, his lips dragging lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck. “I wonder…” His voice is thoughtful, teasing, dangerous. “How much you can take.”

And then, with slow, agonizing intent, he pushes both cocks inside.

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve felt before—the firm, thick heat filling you, the ridges dragging against your walls, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core. The other slides into your ass as he holds you steady, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

A soft, broken sound escapes your lips, your body tightening around him, and Rafayel groans, the sound reverberating through his chest, vibrating against your skin.

“You feel—” He exhales sharply, his grip tightening at your waist, holding you still as he gives you more. “Perfect.”

Your head tilts back, pleasure rippling through you as he moves, slow and deep, every inch of him dragging against your walls, every ridge pressing in ways that make your toes curl. Your fingers scramble for something to hold onto, nails pressing into his shoulders, his back, needing something to ground you.

Rafayel’s breath is heavy against your skin, his lips brushing against your jaw, your cheek, your mouth, stealing every gasping moan that escapes you.

“You are mine,” he murmurs, his pace steady, unyielding, each slow thrust pulling another whimper from your lips. “And I will make sure you know it.”

His grip tightens, his cocks pushing, pressing, claiming, and the pleasure surges higher, drowning you, pulling you under, until there is nothing left but him.

Nothing left but the way he takes you—slow, deep, thorough—and the way you surrender to him completely.

Because you do.

You give yourself to him, to the weight of his body, the strength of his touch, the inescapable truth that you are no longer just yourself.

The pleasure coils in your stomach, winding tighter with every slow, deliberate thrust of his cocks inside you. Rafayel moves with intention, with precision, his pace measured, his control absolute. The firm ridges drag along your walls, each movement sending another wave of heat pulsing through your core, yet he does not rush.

He is holding back and you can feel it.

It’s in the way his fingers grip your waist, strong but restrained. It’s in the way his breath comes in slow, controlled exhales against your skin. It’s in the way his body trembles ever so slightly, like a storm waiting to break.

You need him to break.

“Rafayel,” you gasp, your fingers tightening against his shoulders, your nails digging into the smooth, firm muscle beneath his skin. His pace falters for the first time, a flicker of hesitation, as if waiting for something.

You swallow hard, tilting your head up just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes burn, a shifting mix of blue and pink, the light within them flickering wildly, barely restrained.

“I’m ready,” you whisper, voice trembling with something more than just need—trust.

And that—that—is what shatters him.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin, a primal, possessive sound that sends a shiver down your spine as he moves.

His grip tightens, spreading you open, locking you beneath him as he slams into you. The force of it knocks the air from your lungs, pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave.

A sharp cry leaves your lips, and Rafayel devours it, his mouth capturing yours in a searing, claiming kiss as he sets a relentless pace. There is no hesitation now, no careful control—only need, raw and overwhelming, as he takes you the way he’s wanted to since the moment you walked into his life.

The ridges of his member drag against your walls, pressing against every sensitive place inside you with devastating precision. The second one, the one buried in your ass, throbs as you see stars. Your whole body shakes.

“You take me so well,” Rafayel growls against your skin, his lips trailing fire down your throat, his pace brutal and perfect. “As if you were made for me.”

Another deep thrust. Another broken moan spilling from your lips.

His voice drops lower, rougher, sending a shudder through your already trembling form. “Say it.”

You barely register the words, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of him filling you, stretching you, owning you. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your fingers curling against his back, desperate for anything to hold onto as he continues his relentless claiming.

“Say it,” he demands, his thrusts growing rougher, sharper, pushing you higher, forcing you toward the edge. “Say that you’re mine.”

The pleasure builds too fast, too intense, threatening to consume you whole. You barely manage to choke out the words between gasps, your voice breaking under the weight of it.

“I— I’m yours,” you whisper, then louder, more desperate as he slams into you again. “I’m yours, Rafayel.”

His grip tightens, and his whole body shudders at the sound of it.

“Good girl,” he groans, his pace turning frantic, his breath hot against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder, threatening to mark. His fingers sneak between the both of you, pressing hard against your swollen nerves, sending sharp pleasure rocketing through you.

You don’t stand a chance.

The orgasm crashes over you like a violent tide, dragging you under, stealing your breath, making your whole body tighten around him. A cry rips from your lips, pleasure consuming everything, and Rafayel follows you into it, his movements turning erratic, wild, as he buries himself inside you, his own release shuddering through him.

His lips find yours again, a deep, lingering kiss, as if sealing something unspoken between you. His appendages slowly unravel, his hands smoothing over your trembling body, grounding you, holding you close even as the aftershocks pulse through you.

For a long moment, neither of you speak, the only sound in the room the slow, heavy breaths of two souls tangled together, bound now in a way that cannot be undone.

And then, softly, his lips brush against your ear, his voice a quiet, satisfied whisper.

“You were perfect, wife.”

The room is quiet now, save for the soft, steady rhythm of your breathing, still uneven but slowing as the aftershocks pulse gently through your limbs. Your body feels wrecked, boneless and sated in a way you’ve never known before, heat still lingering in your skin where Rafayel’s touch has claimed it.

You expect him to pull away, to put some distance between you now that the act is over, but instead, he stays.

His arms remain around you, strong and steady, his warmth sinking into your skin as if he isn’t ready to let go just yet. His breath is slow against your hair, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along the curve of your back, grounding, soothing.

It’s almost tender.

You shift slightly, and immediately, Rafayel tightens his grip, pulling you closer, pressing you fully against his chest. A soft, pleased hum vibrates through him, low and content, and you feel the ghost of a smile against your temple.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is rough from exertion but still carries that teasing lilt, that ever-present amusement as if he is entirely responsible for the state you’re in.

You huff, your cheek pressed against the solid warmth of his chest. “Nowhere. You’re holding me.”

He chuckles, the sound low and pleased. “Of course I am.” His fingers continue their slow path over your back, tracing every ridge of your spine as if memorizing you all over again. “Would you rather I let go?”

You hesitate. You should say yes. Should remind him that this marriage was not something you entered with romance in mind, that this was meant to be duty, obligation. But after everything, with his body wrapped around yours, his hands so gentle despite everything he’s done to you, the words don’t come.

“…No,” you admit softly.

His arms tighten just a little, as if rewarding you for your honesty. “Good,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. You listen to his heartbeat, feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against yours, and let yourself sink into the warmth of him.

And then, softly, Rafayel speaks again.

“You were perfect.”

Heat rises in your cheeks, and you make a quiet sound of protest, burying your face deeper against his chest. His chuckle rumbles through you, amused and knowing.

“I mean it,” he murmurs, his fingers tilting your chin slightly so you have no choice but to look up at him. His eyes, still flickering between blue and pink, are softer now, the intensity subdued into something quieter. “You are mine, and I will take care of you. Always.”

Something warm settles deep in your chest at the quiet certainty in his words.

He means it. Despite all his teasing, despite the way he enjoys watching you fluster under his gaze, there is nothing uncertain about this. He has claimed you, not just in body, but in a way that feels far more permanent.

And, perhaps most surprising of all—

You don’t mind it.

The thought should scare you, should send panic curling in your chest, but it doesn’t. Instead, it settles comfortably, as if some part of you already knew this was inevitable.

As if you were always meant to belong to him.

Rafayel watches you, his gaze flickering over your face, taking in your silence with something unreadable in his expression. Then, after a moment, his lips curl slightly. “You’re thinking very hard, wife.”

You roll your eyes, shifting against him. “I’m thinking that maybe this marriage isn’t going to be as awful as I thought.”

His grin is slow, satisfied, and utterly self-assured. “Of course it isn’t,” he murmurs, brushing another kiss to your jaw, trailing lower, as if he’s already thinking about pulling you under again. “I plan to make sure of it.”

Your breath catches, warmth flaring through your body all over again as your hips softly grind against him, eliciting a growl from the prince.

Maybe married life wouldn’t be so bad.

[cakypa120]

When Hal became the Spectre, he ran into one problem. Namely, the Champion of Magic. Or to be more precise, the fucking Champion of Magic was Captain Marvel!

And it turns out that Captain Marvel was a homeless twelve-year-old kid.

Hal:....

Billy:...

Hal:...

Billy:...Can I explain this?

Hal also had to deal with a bunch of unruly mages who wouldn't listen to anyone. Except Captain Marvel. Hal had seen mages hide behind Marvel dozens of times. Even under his cape! Isn't that what kids do? Hal knew most mages were traumatized, but not enough to consider a twelve year old boy a parent?

Hal: They know?

Billy: *sweats*

The mages were always breaking some rule. Not very important, but rules. And Hal had to punish them. And then he finds out what a protective twelve-year-old with the powers of the Gods can be.

Hal: Marvel, their spells hurt people.

Marvel: I understand, but they fixed it. We even compensated those people! I will deprive them of their summoning abilities for a week.

Hal: A month.

Marvel: A week and a half.

Hal: Three weeks.

Marvel: Two weeks.

Hal: Two and a half.

Marvel: Good. But you will not send nightmares to them.

Hal: Good. Now get to it.

The kneeling mages only sigh in defeat and prepare for their punishment.

And there are many such cases. Sometimes the arguments about punishment lasted for hours, and somewhere only a few minutes. The magicians always clung to the edge of Marvel's cloak and looked guiltily at the ground, except for Constantine, that bastard looked angrily at Hal.

Marvel: Gods! John, what did I tell you about alcohol?!

Drunk John: Don't drink too much.

Marvel: And what did you do?

John: Drank too much.

Marvel: Go back to the House of Mystery, we'll talk when you're sober. You're being punished, young man.

Hal:*holds the guilty wizard and looks at this scene* Is it always like this?

Mage: Yes, John likes to drink, and Pa... I mean, the Champion doesn't like his habit. But you should have seen the fight between Marvel and Doctor Fate. Last time, a supernova was almost born.

Hal even felt a little sorry for Billy, who had to maintain the fragile balance between the world of magic and the ordinary world. And Hal knew very well how afraid everyone else was of magic. Even he hadn't been very fond of it before.

Hal: When was the last time you slept?

Billy: Three days ago. I have a new war on the horizon. I need to prepare for peace talks or my first battle.

Hal: Billy, you're twelve.

Billy: *smiles bitterly* A Champion has no age. He only has duties. But thank you for your concern.

If the next day the kings made a peace treaty, then Hal vehemently denies his involvement in it. Billy don't look at him like that. He just talked to them, honestly!

When Hal becomes human again, his view of Marvel changed forever. Now he constantly asked when Billy rested, or what he ate. Marvel grumbled, but answered, and Batman became more suspicious.

Batman: The captain's late again.

Hal: Don't worry, Spooky, he's just busy with family matters.

Batman: What?

Hal: Two demons are rampaging through Hell again, and Marvel is just up against them again.

Hal's knowledge of Marvel is driving Bruce crazy, and it's not just Bruce. The entire League is worried about it, too. Especially when Hal walks up to Marvel and pats him on the back and whispers something. That's what Superman heard.

Hal: Are you okay?

Marvel: I'm fine. I'm not a little guy.

Hal: Don't lie to me, I know who's behind that big man.

Marvel: I'll erase you from the plane of existence.

Hal: I know you won't do it.

Hal knew the identity of the Captain. But from where? And how did he know? Was it somehow connected to the time when they thought he was dead? Hal began to treat Marvel like a father. He even ruffled his hair, even though Marvel was much taller than Hal.

Hal didn't pay attention to the looks of his colleagues. He just wanted to give Billy at least a little parental love. Something the boy lost very early. Even if Billy is stubborn, Hal does not give in. He wants to give this brave child at least something normal.

[amaryllis-3]

unhinged fem reader × unhinged task force 141

WARNINGS: MDNI, dark themes, stalker! reader

"Don't you have the feeling of being watched?"

It was a hunch, nothing more, but after all those years of having to keep his guard up, Kyle was painfully aware of his surroundings. Even with his back to them, the man could perceive someone's intense gaze piercing him, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing up slightly. For a moment he almost felt in danger, as if a predator was about to pounce on him and tear him to shreds, before he forced himself to rationalise the situation.

He was in a pub, at home, not in some war theatre putting his life at risk for international security. Most of those present were so drunk they were struggling to stand; they could hardly have posed a threat. Besides, with the military background he and his teammates, who were sitting in the booth around him, had, the most dangerous ones there would have been them.

Perhaps it was the duty's mindset talking: his body might have been in Britain, but his mind was still stuck in some scorching desert of the Middle East. After the long deployment that had kept him busy over the last few months, getting back into his everyday routine had proved difficult. Having a pint with his best mates should have been the right opportunity for that, and he didn't need to ruin it with his paranoia.

He almost regretted bringing it up, noticing how relaxed his comrades were. Had anything really been out of the ordinary, they would have noticed it too.

Yes, it had merely been a poor trick of his consciousness, nothing serious. He could have ignored the unsettling sensation that had begun to simmer under his skin; it was just for a night at the end.

Notwithstanding his good intentions, Gaz's eyes ended up moving subtly around the room, his body remaining motionless as they scanned every nook and cranny they had access to for explanations.

There didn't seem to be anything relevant to report.

Kyle almost breathed a sigh of relief, once, to his extreme horror, he identified the source of his discomfort. His heart slowed its pace for a fraction of a second before resuming beating at double speed.

You had the most bloody chilling stare he'd encountered in a long time, and that was already saying a lot. It appeared capable of delving into his soul, but not in the pleasant, clichéd way one would have found exclusively in a romance novel.

No, yours was ruthless.

It clung tooth and nail to the walls of his being without regard for what his reaction may have been. It was greedy and insistent, driven by an insatiable hunger that nearly bordered on desperation; the kind of expression that should have belonged to a raving lunatic, not someone like you.

Despite having been caught red-handed, you hadn't even bothered to look away. You'd met him head-on, as if you wanted to make your presence known to him, wanted him to realise that from the moment he'd set foot in that place, your full attention had been uniquely on him. Hell, he wasn't even sure he'd seen you blink since he'd initiated eye contact.

There was something extremely wrong with you, something that he wouldn't usually prefer to meddle with outside of work, but which simultaneously drew him like a moth to the flame. You were simply captivating, in a psychotic way, but equally so.

"That's the bird." Gaz's head turned quickly towards Ghost, who hadn't dwelled to articulate more. As though that was a well-known notion. The comment was followed by Johnny's big laugh and a grunt of approval from Price, knowing glances exchanged between the three able to convey more than a thousand words.

Was he the sole one in the dark about the whole affair?

Kyle shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Your existence was still a steady constant in his brain from which it was practically impossible to escape, but he was stubborn about discovering the truth. His eyes moved around his companions, trying to interpret the mystery you were. He wanted to be part of it, wanted to have access to what could only be a dirty little secret he'd been excluded from for no apparent reason.

"The bird?" He asked in a hushed whisper that had a reverential tinge to it. His focus was locked on the man who had dangled the forbidden fruit in front of him just to deny it right when he was about to grab it. His lieutenant was a mask of austere silence, the balaclava he wore making it difficult to comprehend what Simon Riley was thinking. Gaz, however, swore he saw the corners of his lips lifting barely from beneath the fabric, brown irises flashing with a mirth he didn't believe he'd ever witnessed on him.

The answer, however, didn't come from him, but rather from the Scot, who was far too excited to share the news with him. "The bonnie thing has been stalkin' us for a while noo." The casualness in his tone would normally have made Kyle frown, but with you involved, he didn't feel like opening his mouth. Ah, pretending nothing was going on when a stranger was actually hounding his mates purely because you had made the butterflies in his stomach flutter in a manner he couldn't define? What on earth was happening to him? To them?

"And she's quite dedicated," Ghost added, "she sneaked into Price's house the other day." At that the captain let out a small chuckle, lips stretched into an affectionate smile, which clashed considerably with the talk the group was having. "She surely did. (Gaz didn't mean to be mistaken but was that a hint of admiration seeping out of his superior's words?) Was naive to assume I wouldn't notice, though."

How strange life was. If anything like that had happened a few days earlier — no scratch that! if that had happened merely a few hours earlier, he would have taken them for crazy. Yet now... Now he was somewhat envious that you hadn't attempted to break into his residence.

"Seems she's startin' to fancy Garrick as well". Only then did Kyle notice how none of the three were really looking at him. Their faces might have been facing in his direction, but their equally intense eyes were passing through him, trying to catch a glimpse of what was behind, trying to catch a glimpse of you. "Och, ye bet. Ah could ken that wild stare anywhere," Johnny confirmed, hardly suppressing the excitement he was experiencing.

As if drawn by theirs, Gaz's gaze returned to you, finding you in the same position he'd left you. No noticeable changes were present, but now that all four of them were acknowledging your presence, he was pretty certain he saw your pupils dilate. His rational side would have considered it simply a play of the lights; after all, his eyesight wasn't sharp enough to pick up those small details from his position. And nonetheless he sensed that this was the case, that you thrived a little more under their attention.

He had to see it, witness for himself how that strange dynamic between the five of you would evolve. He was sure you would disrupt their lives, but they would absolutely return the favour.

"So you'll be on board too, sergeant?" Kyle didn't even need to ponder much the instant the proposal left John's mouth, mind and soul already strangely in agreement about his next course of action. "Yeah, I think I will, Cap."

Just a silly thought I've had lately instead of behaving like a productive human being. May add more in the future.

➮ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[koji-haru]

Misperceptions

[Sorry, I'm late!! But here's your holiday present @evilmenshoe80!! I hope you like it!! I tried my best, but I'm sorry if I made your characters ooc 🙇‍♀️]

There were two great armies of Heaven. The more well known one, The Army of God, was led by none other than the archangel Michael, Prince of the Heavenly Hosts, who defended Heaven from monsters that lurked within the endless void. The other army, The Exorcists, was led by Adam the First Man, God’s greatest creation, and was an army shrouded by mystery and secrecy. Not many knew what exactly the Exorcists did, save for a few higher ranked angels, just that their work was just as important as the Army of God’s.

And while the two armies share a similar role of protecting Heaven from the dangers of the world outside, their public impression could not be more contrasting. The Army of God, just like their leader, were composed of angels trained to the highest of caliber, highly serious and committed to their duties, exuding an aura of pristine excellence as they sport their golden armour. The Exorcists, on the other hand, were composed of only female angels, saved for their golden commander, clad in black and grey uniforms with a menacing devilish helmet to obscure their faces. And unlike the soldiers of Michael, the Exorcists were often found to be quite the lively group with a harsh undertone. However, despite the two armies' differences, both commanded respect and adoration from the citizens of Heaven for their reputation as strong and reliable defenders of Heaven. 

The leaders of these two armies, Adam and Michael, while they both shared a reputation of being strong and capable commanders, appeared to hold no love for one another. With both having a propensity for obstinacy, unwilling to share control to anyone else despite evidence that would suggest it better to let go, the two were bound to clash heads often. Just like now…

“–and that’s why I think the technique you’re teaching them needs more work,” Michael ended his long critique regarding the Exorcists weapon handling skills and techniques as he watched the women train in their barracks, standing beside their commander, Adam. 

A loud slurping noise from a drink that was essentially empty was all the response Michael received from Adam, who remained sitting slack on the bench as he watched his girls train hard for the upcoming extermination. 

“Adam.”

More slurping, an uncouth burp, and then more persistent slurping from the straw before Adam finally gave Michael a glance, one brow raised. “Dude.” 

Michael simply responded with a similar quirk of his brow, a silent dare for Adam to say what he had in his mind.

“They’re my girls,” Adam started, “and they're badasses already.”

“They could be even better,” Michael insisted, arms crossed as he looked down on Adam, a hint of worry in his calm features. “You can never be too careful when dealing with Hell,” he added in a hushed tone.

A snigger left Adam at the archangel’s words of concern as he placed his now empty cup to sit on the bench beside him. An air of nonchalance clinging heavier than ever on him as he waved Michael off, “What can they even do? We’re invulnerable. Calm your ass and tend to your own soldiers instead.”

In a way, Adam understood where Michael was coming from. Hell was a place not to be underestimated, filled with the most vile, filthy, unsalvageable souls in existence; the chaos and madness only exacerbated by their useless excuse for a king. One would be wise to completely avoid that dumpster fire of a place, or even better, cleanse the filth off of existence with an army of deadly skilled angels. And Adam’s army of exorcists were more than capable of doing the job, possessing both the skill and passion required for such a gruesome task. So while he somewhat appreciated Michael’s persistence on impeccability and covering all bases, even the irrelevant ones, the most it did for him was grate his nerves a little since as literal angels, they were already immune to whatever sinners could even hope to throw at them. The concern was sweet, but highly unnecessary. 

“You’ll be the one needing to tend your ass later,” mumbled Michael though Adam didn’t miss a single word that was said. 

“Wha–! You!!” hissed Adam as he swiftly threw his empty cup at the archangel, who easily dodged the projectile.  

Beneath his mask, Adam’s face was a bright gold, the ventilation and cooling system of the mask not helping in any way to calm the heat that was quickly spreading across his cheeks. And while Michael couldn’t possibly see any of this, Adam’s reaction was all he needed to know he had successfully flustered his pretty angel. 

“No?” Michael asked with a slight tilt of his head, pretty blue eyes shining so prettily beneath long lashes, his long golden hair flowing like silk in Heaven’s cool breeze. If it were anyone else, they would instantly fall for the veil of innocence in front of him, believing that the archangel was oblivious to the undertone of his words prior. But not Adam, no. He had known and spent too much time with the Prince of Heaven to know otherwise. Of course, that didn’t mean he had become immune to Michael’s titillating gaze; somehow always finding himself readily falling for it. 

With a huff that lacked any real heat and a golden flush still painted all over his face, Adam muttered, his voice as quiet as the gentle breeze, “...maybe later…”

“But after work!!” Adam immediately added as he abruptly stood up to push and shove Michael out of the Exorcists’ training grounds. “Now, get out! You’re a distraction!”

“Oh? Am I now?” pondered Michael as he let Adam shove him towards the exit. 

“Yes! Now, out!”

While all of their bickering was nothing more than playful banter and shameless flirting when they believed no one seemed to be watching, unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth. Four sets of eyes lurking just behind some pink bushes watched on as Adam and Michael appeared to be in a heated dispute, with the father of humanity seemingly so aggrieved enough to have thrown his drink at their brother before proceeding to kick him out of the training grounds. Three out of four sets of eyes gave one another a concerned look, while the fourth one, with eyes like plums, simply looked bored and exhausted with a hint of irritation. 

Four archangels pulled away from the edge of the bush, hiding themselves further into dense pink foliage as they mulled over the scene they all had just witnessed.

“That…didn’t look so good,” Raphael remarked, brows creased in concern. 

“No, it didn’t. It seemed that our brother and Adam were fighting. Again,” Jophiel nodded in agreement, her thoughts already skimming through possible causes of their seemingly long standing feud, but coming up with no viable explanation. Yes, Adam and Michael had somewhat contrasting personalities and demeanour, but she didn’t think it was enough for the two to hold such dislike for one another. And yet, whenever she witnessed the two sharing a space in public, they either barely acknowledged each other, or just like she had seen now, engaged in argument with no resolution since neither seemed willing to relent. 

“I don’t understand,” she pondered aloud. “Michael isn’t normally one to persist in such childish behaviour. And Adam…well, he never truly let anyone’s words affect him much.”

“Not everyone has to get along. Sometimes people just don’t like each other,” Uriel added, a little irked at being dragged into a bush to spy on both his brother and the first man, when he was on his way to get some work done. 

“But Michael’s our dear brother and Adam’s our precious friend!” Gabriel asserted, both hands on his thighs as he sat up even straighter as his amber eyes shone with resolve. “We can’t just leave them like this!”

In the background, Raphael placed gentle hands on Gabriel’s shoulders to ease some of the excess energy off of the spirited angel; a quiet request for silence lest they be discovered sneaking around. 

“Okaaay?” Uriel rolled his eyes at Gabriel’s display of what he thought as childish fervour. “But, is all this sneaking even necessary? Why don’t you just ask them both directly? That’ll get the problem solved in no time.”

“Such things require delicacy and sensitivity to solve, Uriel,” Raphael kindly reasoned. “We  can’t just pull them aside and interrogate them.”

“We must find the root cause first,” Jophiel continued with Raphael nodding in agreement.

“Oh! I know exactly what to do!” Gabriel raised a hand, energy quickly returning back to him. 

“Please don’t tell me it’s got to do with mor–,” groaned Uriel, truly tired with this mess. 

“The next we see them fighting, we listen in on what they might be arguing about, then we can go on from there!” Gabriel announced proudly, a beaming smile on his face.

“Ugh…” 

All Uriel could do was groan and rub his temples as his two other siblings, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, agreed to Gabriel’s terrible idea. He didn’t mind so much, really, if only they would keep him out of their inane plan. But deep down, he knew there was no way they would ‘leave him out’. Just the thought of enacting Gabriel’s plan was already giving him a headache, he couldn’t imagine the mental anguish he would have to go through on the day of the plan itself. But siblings stayed together, he supposed.

—-

The day of unveiling the truth had finally arrived. And of course, Uriel just had to be dragged along with his siblings' schemes just when he was on his way to his own office. Currently, all of the archangels, including Michael and Adam, were in their work building. All four archangels, Jophiel, Raphael, Gabriel and Uriel, had all finished their lunches a little earlier than normal and were just heading back to their respective offices, when they all caught a glimpse of Adam following Michael into his office. It wasn’t anything particularly unusual, they were both commanders of an angelic army, sometimes there were things they must discuss. However, Jophiel, Raphael and Gabriel were all quickly stopped in their tracks when they heard multiple things hitting the floor from Michael’s office. Even Uriel momentarily took a pause before deciding that he was much too busy to intervene, though he was quickly pulled into it by siblings. 

So now, all four of them were currently by the door of Michael’s office, either crouched or standing, but all trying to eavesdrop on the possible argument inside. 

An irritated scowl formed on Uriel’s face as he pulled himself away from the door. “This is useless. All we hear are muffled voices.”

“Then should we just knock and ask?” asked Gabriel, amber eyes wavering with worry.

“Hold on a second, hmm,” Raphael lightly touched the office door, a faint golden glow emanating from his fingertips. “It seems that Michael had placed a small barrier around his office.”

“So we can’t get in?” Jophiel queried.

Raphael shook his head, “Not really, unless we use force. It’s only a mild barrier, nothing particularly strong.” 

“Well, that’s it for us then.” Uriel clapped his hands as he stood up, ready to head back to his own office, “We can’t really do much until they’re done with whatever they’re fighting about this time.”

An air of resignation surrounded the siblings as they realised their current lack of options. And really, as much as they would’ve preferred to wait outside and confront both Michael and Adam about their conflicts as soon as they’re done fighting, they had no idea when the two would actually come out and they all still had some work to get done for the day. So, in silence, all four siblings agreed to simply catch and confront the two commanders once they were free of their duties. 

All four were just about to separate and head on to their respective offices when they hear another much louder noise from Michael’s office, and then another and another until something seemed to have hit the door and then fall down with a dull thud. Concern and panic swiftly washed over all four archangel’s features as they froze on their tracks with the exception of Gabriel, who immediately made his way back towards Michael’s office with a fiery haste. 

“That’s it! I’m not standing by any longer!”

And with gathered strength, Gabriel kicked the door to Michael’s office, causing it to fly off its hinges and revealing the two commanders…entangled with one another…on Michael’s desk…with Adam beneath him, one bare leg wrapped around his brother. 

“Gabriel! What–” called out Jophiel as she followed suit with both Raphael and Uriel behind her. 

In front of them four was a scene they had never expected to see: both Michael and Adam in a state of indecency, limbs wrapped around each other, their clothes haphazardly half taken off with Michael’s coat at the foot of where the door used to be. Papers, books, cups and everything that used to be on Michael’s desk scattered in a mess all over the floor. Both Michael and Adam flushed golden, their hair in wild disarray, the sweat making it stick to their faces as signs of their passion began to show in small, golden blooms along their necks and chest accompanied with a few lovingly toothed marks here and there. 

“AAAAHHH!!” screamed Adam as he tried to both push Michael off of him while also trying to pull him closer to use him as a shield to hide the scandalous state he was in.

“Ummm…” before Gabriel could even say anything more Michael had already teleported both him and Adam out of his office in a cloud of blue smoke.

“So all this time they weren’t fighting?” Jophiel wondered aloud. “It was just their form of flirting?”

“That…that explains a lot,” Raphael said, still a little shocked at what he had just witnessed. 

Uriel wanted to gouge out his eyes. That was something he never wanted nor needed to see.

—-

“Please, I’m ready to move on into my third life now…” Adam groaned into his hands as he laid on the bed of Michael’s bedroom. A heavy cloud of unconsolable despair hung over him as he felt the weight of shame and embarrassment on his body. Never had he wished to sink into the ground and disappear forever more than ever in both his mortal life and afterlife. 

“It– it’s not so bad,” Michael tried to console Adam, one hand gently patting his head. “People were bound to find out. At least it was my siblings and not someone like Sera.”

“Michael, please, shut the fuck up.” Adam could feel the tears of shame prick his eyes. “I can’t believe they caught us like that!!” screamed Adam into a pillow he had grabbed. 

“Yes, that– that is troublesome,” Michael nervously agreed. For all his confident capability, for the first time in his long immortal life, Michael wasn’t exactly sure how to face his siblings after this…incident. At least without it being painfully embarrassing for both him and Adam. 

Adam whined into the pillow, still refusing to believe what had happened just minutes before, “I want to return to dust now, Father pleeeease!”

[I actually really really enjoyed writing your OCs, might have even fallen in love with Uriel here ahahaha.]

[ophelia-gaunt]

Tom Riddle || “sundays are for missing him”

summary: once hopelessly in love with Tom, reader is now left with nothing but memories of their love, and their special Sundays together. Reader! Narration basically. She’s reminiscing.

Warnings: none really, slight mention of toxic relationship (it’s Tom), sad ending :(

Pairing: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

On Sundays I miss him a little extra. They used to be reserved for us, you see? It started as a tradition back at school when we first got together, we’d spent Sundays glued to each tohers side from morning till after dinner time. There were no other friends, no knights, no duties. Just us. We would study, explore the grounds together, read against a tree by the Black Lake (he’d glare at anyone who dared to even came close to where we were sitting). Most of the warmer months were spent there, with my head on his lap as he read whichever book held his obsession for the week, and other times we’d switch, his head on my lap as I read the latest murder mystery book I had recently bought. And of course, the bloody genius he was is, would always solve the murder before the end of the book (though my fondest memories were of us both trying to solve a particularly hard one together) His handsome face frowning is we’d gotten it wrong, furiously claiming that his ending made much better sense - or his lips would curl up into a smug victory smirk if we’d gotten it right, then we’d share a victory song. His head always stayed on my lap for much longer after finishing the book.

On the colder months, we usually spent it at the Room of Requirement, exclusive to us at the time when no one else was aware of its existence. Whenever we stepped into the room, it’d transform into a beautiful and cozy flat looking space, with a big, green, canopy bed at the center, in front of the big fireplace, sporting a luxurious green comforter and several pillows (my doing which always seemed to annoy him whenever we had to stop making out and sweep the pillows onto the floor). On the left side, behind a screen, a decent sized bathtub took up room, where we’d spend hours relaxing and cuddling. A large fluffy rug covered the right part of the room, where a plush green velvet sofa and a couple armchairs sat by a large bookshelf filled with many books, manuscripts and trinkets, next to it a small radio playing 30’s and 40’s music, sometimes pausing to broadcast news about the wars (muggle and Wizarding). On the left side of the room, two work desks were placed in front of one other and, as always, a large stash of sweets piled up neatly on my own desk.

There, we’d spent hours and hours reading, chatting, making love and studying. It was almost as if we had our own home together inside the castle, in there were truly a couple, certainly arguing like an old married one, and hungry for each other as if we were newlyweds. A million secrets, promises of love, sweet nothings and plans were shared in our lovely sanctuary.

After graduation, our tradition continued. I moved in with him quickly to his family’s ancestral home, a manor in the muggle village of Little Hangleton. When he turned 18 he had been able to claim he was the son of the recently deceased Tom Riddle Senior (the similarities between him and his late father were undeniable, even to the old stuffy muggle lawyer) so the inheritance passed on to him, including the manor. But there we had grounds to explore, a small lake at the edge of the property to relax by and make love without the fear of being discovered. It was truly heaven on earth, until he started to change. Until the horcruxes they changed him. The love of my life gone in what seemed to be a blink of an eye (though in truth were many months of tears and heartbreak on my part) and what remained of him simply a dark shadow of the man he used to be. Promises of loved turned into indifference, coldness and empty looks. No proposals, no rings, no weddings, not even ‘I love yous’ were exhanged near the end. Just silent tears on my side of the bed, and impatient sighs once he heard them.

Now, after all is said and done, I can only look back at those memories with fondness and longing. Unable to stop missing the man he once was. As he vanished on a foggy April night to an unknown location in the country of Albania, I find myself in America 10 months later, left with a newborn son who has his father’s eyes, and the memories of what once was.

A/N: Omg!! This is inspired by So Long London, by Taylor Swift. English isn’t my first language. Hope you enjoyed :) please be kind. Grammar corrections are welcome, just hit me up on my dms :)

[mountkennedie]

Siren

Prince Caspian x mermaid!reader

Summary: Caspian goes on a late night stroll and gets intercepted by a mermaid

warnings: none

The reader has long hair, other than that, there aren't any character descriptions

A.N. I have been thinking about this so much over the past few months omg

Being a prince, Caspian had many responsibilities. But being a human, he needs to escape from those duties from time to time. What seemed to calm his mind the best was a late night stroll on the coast of Cair Paravel.

Due to the full moon, the sands glitter in a way no gem could ever replicate. He thought the only thing that could compliment the beauty of the sparkling sands was the illuminated water. Just standing there, Caspian felt the stress lifting off his body. The salty sea air was always something he was a fan of. The feeling of its breeze through his hair only made the entire scene that much better.

There were some rocks along the coastline. He would normally not pay them any mind. However, when an unusual sound emitted from them, his head whipped around. His eyes scanned to find a pair looking back at him.

He drew his sword immediately, pointing it at the creature. "Who are you," he questioned. All sorts of things can exist in the lands of Narnia, and anything that would be out at such an hour is one of suspicion. Especially one that already had its eyes set on him.

The creature shied behind the rock. From a different angle, she peered back at him. The moonlight glazed her skin in an ethereal glow, and before the prince realized, he had taken a few steps towards her. "Call me, Y/n."

Her voice was smooth and soft. He felt himself begin to drift away in it. He took yet another step closer, now only a yard or two from the rock she hid behind. With grace and caution, she climbed the large stone until she reached the top. She rested on her forearms, now at eye level with the prince.

Caspian's eyes took in the new view of her. She wore nothing on her upper half, relying solely on her flowing hair to cover her frame. His breath began to shallow, never in his life had the prince seen a woman in such an ease of wardrobe. He used his extensive self-control to bring his focus back to her eyes. And her eyes were another pool to fall into. Everything about this mysterious woman was holding him captive, and he could not figure out why. Nor did he want to put up any resistance.

"And yours?" She spoke once again in a voice of velvet. He almost didn't register that she said anything at all.

"Hmm?" He hummed. In any other context, he knew it would be rude to simply hum instead of coming up with the words to say what he meant. But in this moment, his brain was taking on more and more fog with every second he was near her. He was not focused on being the well-mannered prince as he always was.

The woman smiled, "Your name, dear sailor."

"Oh, yes," his voice was breathy. The smile she provided him only worsened his condition. The fog in his mind had crept to the rest of his body. He hadn't even realized he was up against her rock. "Caspian. And I'm not a sailor, I'm a prince." Every word that he could conjure came spilling from his lips. He wanted her to speak again, smile again, anything. It was astonishing how quickly she had gotten him under her finger.

"A prince." She maintained her smile as she reached a hand out and touched his chest. "I would have thought as much. You wear the finest of leathers." Her hand stayed on his chest. And he made no effort to remove it.

He hummed again in response. He wore a smile on his face that proved how removed he was from sanity. She moved her hand up over his heart, his hand came and met her there. The warmth of his palm sealed her to him.

"Would you like to see the rest of me, dear prince?" She spoke in a whisper. He only nodded in response. She smiled once again and lifted her tail out of the water. She allowed herself to wrap a bit around the rock to make sure the moon made her scales shimmer.

He gasped, and she looked back at him. At first, I was nervous that she had scared him off. But he only stared. His eyes soon traveled back up to hers, and his pupils were completely blown. She knew she had him.

"You are most beautiful," his voice was airy. His breath steadied, and his eyes were trained on hers. With her other hand, she placed it on the right side of his face. He leaned into the touch and, for a moment, allowed his eyes to shut.

"As are you, dear prince."

How it happened was simple. She held onto him as she descended the rock. Held his hand from the shallow water, deeper and deeper. Until the water was too high for his feet to hit the bottom. And before she dragged him to the depths, an idea of mercy came to mind. He was a prince and a handsome one at that. Maybe something could brew between them. So she kissed him and filled his lungs with the new ability to no longer rely on air. Then, drug him down underneath the waves.

[notdotspot]

Dc x DP The Batman

Masterpost

Danny has been through a lot in the past few days. Before this, he was having the nice, normal life of a broke college student in Gotham. Minus the weird feeling of being watched, though, he thinks that could boil down to trauma and paranoia. Now, he knows that no good deed goes unpunished.

All he wanted to do was stop a robbery. The man had a gun and looked crazy enough to pull the trigger on a young teen girl. Like the sucker he is, Danny went ghost to scare the guy off, but this is Gotham. The man grabbed the girl and threatened her with the gun. Hostage situation. That was the exact moment Danny realized he had never fought a mortal. Sure, there were run-ins with his parents and the GIW but an evasive maneuver or two and he was out of sight. They could never beat his speed or agility, even equipped with anti-ghost weaponry. This, however, is an entirely new situation that even Pandora’s training could not have prepared him for. One wrong move on his part, and he could turn a light ghost zap into a fatal strike. But again, in case it was forgotten, this is Gotham. While Danny is having an internal dilemma, the feeble-looking young woman elbows the man in the jaw and digs the taser she had been hiding into her attacker’s stomach. 

After his moment of shock, Danny shoots into action, kicking the gun away and punching the man. He turns to check on the girl, but she is already running down the street. Looking back at the attacker, Danny realizes he may have used a little too much force. The man is lying on the dirty Gotham sidewalk, unconscious, with an obvious bruise forming on his face. That is when a motorcycle screeches to a halt in front of him. A muscular man in leather and a red helmet shuts off the bike and stomps towards Danny. Is this one of the famed protectors of Gotham?

“Did you do that?” The bulky man points to the unconscious man at his feet. For the second time today, Danny makes a horrible realization. He, an unknown evil-looking creature, is standing over a beaten and bruised body in the middle of one of the most notorious crime cities in the country, and whoever this is, thinks Danny is a villain of some sort. Great. 

So he takes off. What else is a ghost to do in a compromising situation? The more the pursuit goes on, the more Danny leans into his ghost powers. He missed being about to fly through a city so openly. He is not worried about the vigilante chasing him. No antighost weapons exist in Gotham. This is just a fun game of cat and mouse. Danny will only be caught if he wants to, which is fortunate since he has a paper due tonight and should wrap up this little chase. 

Danny shook him easily, but his curiosity got the best of him when he overheard the man’s phone call. That is how he landed himself in a ghost mystery that probably falls under his royal duties anyway, with a vigilante and a hot guy who dreams about him. Shit. The third terrible realization of the day: Phantom looks fourteen, so there is no flirting in his ghost form. 

After his call with Frostbite, he has a plan for both curing the Red Hood and removing the tainted ectoplasm from this realm. Even though he had wished for more of a break from ghostly activity on this, he is grateful to have something more intellectually stimulating than his physics class. Seriously, he was doing these calculations in middle school. At least the engineering for an ectoplasmic purifier will put up more of a challenge. Fourth terrible realization of the day, Danny still has a paper due. 

✩✩✩

Meeting Batman might be the worst thing Danny has ever had to face. He has heard the stories and seen the bat on rooftops before, but coming face to face with him is terrifying. With his plan made and rough sketches of the purifier ready, he found Red Hood in the middle of his nightly patrol. Now, three days after their first meeting, the bats are meeting Phantom. Hood opens the door to the unmarked building for him motioning him to walk in. 

Danny is greeted by a small boy in a colorful costume, a blonde girl in a purple suit, a taller guy in red with an R emblem, and a tall man in full black. 

“Hello, everyone.” He waves awkwardly at the small crowd. “Oh, hey, Tim!” He waves more enthusiastically. The girl giggles as the attention of the room turns toward the suited man. 

“Was I not supposed to know that? It is not your fault. I can recognize people’s soul signatures.”

“Phantom,” a deep voice rings. 

Danny’s spine goes rigid as he turns back to Batman. 

“I am sorry. I know secret identities are important. I did not mean to.”

“It is okay. It is not like our secret identities could be hidden for long. Knowing your ability, crossing one of us on the street would reveal us. You are going to be using the Batcave for the project as well, so you were bound to find out.” 

“But, Batman,” the smallest in the room speaks, “how do we know he is trustworthy enough?”

“I have a feeling he would have harmed already if he wanted to. Am I right?”

“Yes. Right. One hundred percent right. Not that I would cause anyone harm. I try to avoid meddling in mortal realms. This is a special case. That ectoplasm does not belong here, and its presence has resulted in obvious harm. It is my duty to solve these issues even if it is my vacation.” 

“Yelp.” Red Hood pushes himself from the wall he is leaning against. “Names Jason.”

“You know I am Tim but dressed like this, I am Red Robin.”

The girl comes up to him, thrusting a hand in his direction.

“I am Spoiler. My name is Stephanie. Steph works too,” she says smiling as she shakes his hand. 

The youngest turns to Batman.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.” The boy sharply puts a hand out, shaking Danny’s with a deadly grip.

“Robin.” 

“And your name,” the girl, Steph, says smiling.

“Damian Wayne. Heir to the Demon Head,” he states. Batman steps forward, placing a gloved hand on Damian’s cape-covered shoulder. 

“Bruce Wayne. I trust that our identities are safe in your hands.”

“Of course.” Danny musters his most serious expression and tone, even if he thinks it may look silly coming from a fourteen-year-old-looking ghost boy. “I would never do anything to harm you or your family. I know the dangers that can come from a reveal like that.”

“Let us get to work, shall we? Red Robin, Spoiler, and Robin you are will me in the Batman mobile. Phantom you can ride with Red Hood.”

“I do not need it. Thank you, though.”

“Okay. Then follow him to the cave. We have much to do.” 

-------

taking a little break after this chapter to get ahead on writing and establish a schedule

sorry not sorry about the slight cliffhanger

Thanks for reading!

[miladyziggystardust]

Why Benedict Bridgerton Is the Best Bridgerton: A Masterclass in Handsomeness, Charm, and Pure Unadulterated Vibes

In a family brimming with handsome men, sharp wit, and undeniable charisma, one Bridgerton rises above the rest, not because he tries, but precisely because he doesn’t. Benedict Bridgerton, the second son of the illustrious Bridgerton family, is not just the best Bridgerton; he is the Bridgerton to End All Bridgertons. He is effortlessly charming, devastatingly handsome, and refreshingly rebellious, embodying a magnetic energy that no other sibling can rival. This thesis will argue, with irrefutable evidence and a healthy dose of admiration, that Benedict Bridgerton is the superior Bridgerton, the most attractive, and the most charismatic, proving once and for all that second sons should never be second choice.

Exhibit A: The Looks of a Renaissance Painting

Benedict Bridgerton doesn’t just walk into a room, he saunters, looking like he was plucked straight from a Caravaggio masterpiece. His features are the perfect blend of aristocratic elegance and bohemian nonchalance, a rare combination that allows him to look equally breathtaking in both a perfectly tailored waistcoat and a hastily unbuttoned linen shirt after an evening of painting. Unlike his older brother Anthony, who exudes a brooding, burdened energy (as if he’s single-handedly holding up the entire British economy), Benedict carries his attractiveness with a casual, almost effortless grace. His beauty is neither overwhelming nor intimidating; it is simply a fact of existence, much like gravity or the need for afternoon tea.

Exhibit B: The Charisma of a Man Who Knows How to Hold a Paintbrush (And Probably a Woman’s Heart, Too)

Benedict is not just a man of looks; he is a man of art, creativity, and soul. While his brothers are busy with their Viscount duties or rakish conquests, Benedict is out there embracing life. He immerses himself in the arts, attending clandestine soirées, mingling with artists and intellectuals, and, in general, exuding the kind of effortless coolness that makes other men question their life choices. A man who can paint? Irresistible. A man who can paint and has a sense of humor? Downright lethal. His charisma is that of someone who knows his worth but doesn’t need to announce it—unlike some Viscounts we know (Anthony, darling, we’re looking at you).

And let’s not forget his flirtation skills. Benedict doesn’t merely flirt—he converses with an amused smirk and twinkling eyes, leaving his conversation partners slightly breathless and wholly intrigued. There is an ease to his manner, a confidence that suggests he doesn’t take life (or himself) too seriously, making him infinitely more attractive than the men who spend half their time brooding by the fireplace.

Exhibit C: The Energy of a Man Who Knows How to Have Fun

Benedict Bridgerton radiates “I am here for a good time, not just a dutiful time” energy. While some of his siblings are drowning in responsibilities, duty, and their own emotional repression, Benedict has a refreshing joie de vivre that makes him stand out. He doesn’t just go through the motions of high society—he questions it, pokes fun at it, and sometimes outright ignores it. He’s the Bridgerton most likely to sneak a flask into a ball, charm a dowager out of her jewels with a witty joke, and disappear into the gardens with a mysterious (and undoubtedly lucky) companion.

Moreover, he’s fun without being reckless. Unlike some of his more impulsive siblings, Benedict doesn’t make bad decisions—he makes interesting ones. He explores his passions, challenges societal norms, and does it all with an air of relaxed confidence that screams, “I know I’m fabulous, but I’ll let you figure it out on your own.”

Conclusion: The Undisputed, Unbothered, Unparalleled King of Bridgerton Handsomeness and Charm

While the Bridgerton family is blessed with an unfair amount of beauty and wit, Benedict Bridgerton stands apart as the true King of Charisma, the Duke of Handsomeness, and the Earl of Effortless Charm. He is the most handsome because he embodies the perfect blend of aristocratic elegance and artistic soul. He is the most charismatic because he possesses the rare ability to be both utterly charming and completely unbothered. And he is the best Bridgerton because, quite simply, he is the only one who looks like he’d be a joy to drink wine with while discussing existentialism at a scandalous midnight gathering.

Thus, I rest my case: Benedict Bridgerton is the ultimate Bridgerton, and if you disagree, you are simply incorrect.

Argue with your mama. 😌

[iamhereinthebg]

Heya Anon!

Tbh I don't really know, Akane is a character who has been dealing with a thousand death flags leading to nothing since his most serious appareance in the manga. And this new timeline is not an exception.

Especially since we know that Kako and Mirai gave him 'You have to try to stay alive' rule as one of his duties

Implying that it is dangerous to altern the past and be the Clock Keeper of the Present, that they have to stay alive to make sure everything goes according to plan.

It also ties to my theory that Akane is the first human clock keeper of the present; Because after all if Kako and Mirai have been asleep since they changed the past in this new timeline, they couldn't have chosen anyone during 1968 and the current events in the manga (2015).

Akane is the only person who is directly coming from a different timeline even compared to Nene and Teru who just remember the stuff from the previous one, being on a time limit before their memories are erased. Akane brought along with him the fact that he is a clock keepers and mystery n°1, something he couldn't be in this new timeline in the first place since both of them don't exist.

But I digress.

Akane has been a little bit different since they came back from the boundary closest to the far shore. It's not that surprising with how much the previous arc must have taken a toll on him. Understanding that Aoi wanted to die, losing her, being impaled, having Teru confirming that he will lose years of his lifespan by turning back human too soon, being beaten up twice by number 6, etc...

Akane is like Kou and Nene on this point, a character who wants to do a lot, but is always a step behind when it comes to supernaturals. And like the other two, it is starting to show in his attitude.

Akane has been shown more unsure of his choices and of his opinions when it's something that never posed him a problem before. He is more scared of Teru (when he knows the exorcist by now) and of being hurt in general,. Something he hasn't showed as much before, liking and enjoying life of course, but never being afraid to be in the first line even if it meant being hurt; Now he acts like he is truly scared of dying.

And he lets things involving Aoi not being his first priority. Refusing to listen to Natsuhiko plan to even try to heal her. Akane has always been showed to be really proactive anyways, that's one of his main character trait. So seeing that he is putting something for a later date and it involves Aoi can be seen as a little bit strange. Akane still loves her deeply and all but he seems to have other plans now, which we learn later in the clock keeper arc. He is not even looking at her directly, having an air of melancholy when he announces he will heal her but not now

That's more of a stretch now, but I think it's pretty safe to assume that Akane has known since a long time what it meant to be the clock keeper of the present, that they had the power to change the timeline. But nothing special has been happening to make the clock keepers take this drastic decision, especially since we know that nothing has been ever changed since the Yugi Twins 4th birthday at least. Which is why he probably never thought about it before. But now that he knows the school mysteries are more important, not just dangerous supernaturals but are protecting the land, and that Hanako has been destroying the yorishiros (which to me, seem to be the seals to keep away the God from the pit/the God Sumire was supposed to marry) he seems to be more aware of this duty in general.

Or if he was made aware of it recently anyways, it's something that the clock keepers must have brought up before the fall festival, being something that even someone as 'Carpe Diem, it is what it is' Aoi Akane may not be able to entirely ignore.

He has been forced A LOT in his role lately too and he clearly doesn't really like it, even if he is good at it.

He finally say 'we' when talking about the clock keepers, and consider even himself as the biggest threat of the school. He doesn't know what to think directly of the supernaturals or seven mysteries now. Knowing that they have an important role to fulfill but still not trusting them at all, knowing of their dangerous tendencies to hurt humans. He can't even look Teru in the eyes when he asks him if the clock keepers are planning to change the timeline over and over again. His feelings for the clock keepers being clearly a difficult case for him to tackle down even if he pretends it's not.

I always said this kinda as a joke, that Akane had the role of a Chosen One but went 'fck no' with it. But I think that it really is this kind of stuff now. Like for Nene who is 'the Kannagi' of the current time and get to make choices and stuff she doesn't want to do. Akane is the same with his role as the clock keeper of the present. Because no matter what he says, he kinda has accepted this fate now, preferring to know what is happening (since he realizes how ignorant he was in the "to the far shore" arc), and having a way to be able to change things. Sacrifying his chance to be 'a normal student'.

But he is not happy with any of it, being the one on the front row to endure all of the supernaturals choices, even knowing that if they don't change back the timeline, he will be the last one to remember. And as said previously, he is now a part of it! He is of course still more human than supernatural but he still acknowledges his role way more than before. Akane hates the way supernaturals work and now what he is doing? Being one of the reason the world is in this state. Of course it's taking a toll on him.

Of course, he doesn't accept everything right away, like Aoi's engagement, it's at first played for jokes but even then, it's understandable with how far their relationship evolved in the previous timeline. He is now thrown into the role of 'the childhood friend who never stood a chance in the first place'. I do think he has a right to be a little bit upset

But after understanding that technically, it's not that much of a big deals in the current events of everything else, since at first most people seems okay, he goes right away to do what the clock keepers asked him to do. Even going to go ask for Teru's help when he knows how much he destroyed his trust.

To finish this long stuff, I think the real big ''death flags' for what is happening right now is of course the fact that he got cursed by the red house (which is a supernatural who has already tried to fool him in the og timeline btw) .

And that there is a chance, like said earlier, that there is only one Akane like him for now, and that he could get stuck here or at least not coming back entirely as the Aoi Akane we knew in the manga (a chance for him to become a full supernatural for example, to be forever now the clock keeper of the present) But for this tbh we don't know a lot it's really more speculation because we know nothing of what could happen to him particulary.

My fav 'suspicious af thing he said' for now in the new timeline is this.

The official translation goes " .. And will love my whole life to the day I die and even beyond that."

When he starts the manga with this.

With the same belief than Hanako that 'death is the end' and now he is considering the After Death, with everything he saw of course, but specifically for him in this case.

Bonus: a thing that is apparently confirmed to be a lie, or he can bend the rules, but he didn't say this in front of Teru and Nene the first time.

And something that I truly think he doesn't know anything about too (my brain truly think Kako and Mirai choose him, and I have some delulu proofs but I digress) Akane do not know sht about the clock keepers and especially doesn't see when people show clear interest in him

[theblueflower05]

Just a Little Taste

A/N: Welp. Somehow my breeding/breastfeeding kinks manifested themselves into a story. I wrote this sky high on painkillers and I am a little in love with the whole premise. @tiredmamaissy -I hope more than anything that you enjoy this. You deserve all of the goodness on this site. Your Masterlist is my personal spank bank lol

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: This story is Filthy. Smut with very little plot. Breastfeeding. Pussy Eating. Slight mommy kink if you squint. Very pregnant reader getting pleasured, because pregnant beings can still be sexual. Aged up!Neteyam

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Summary: You’re eight months pregnant with Neteyams child, and after a long day, you both need a little relief. Neteyam x Human! Reader

"Sugar, Honey, Iced Tea

Bumble-bee on the scene.

Yeah, I'd give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie"

- See You Again, Tyler the Creator ft Kali Uchis

Life in the village is always busy. Constantly bustling with life and movement as everyone; human scientist, Avatar and Na’vi alike, rush to keep things afloat.

High Camp is so different then Home Tree had been, the rage of war adding a constant edge to long days and restless nights. You miss the comfort of a slow life, of hazy days down in the jungle. The jagged cliffs of the Hallelujah Mountains still don’t quite feel like home to you.

Still, you go about your daily duties.

Being a Pandoran raised human had always given you a different insight, the two massively different cultures you we’re brought up in clashing and mending to create a skill set that was like no other- it had taken many years of painful trial and error to find your place within the Omiticaya, but healing had always come naturally.

Both holistic and surgical alike. You’d spent years shadowing Mo’at and learning the ancient herbal ways of the people, while well as taking advantage of the many PHD toting scientist back at Hell’s Gate. Medicine had no boundaries, was a way for you to feel close to both sides of yourself. To broach the gap between human and clansman.

You find your skills being needed more than ever. The ever constant raids against the RDA means your hands are rarely idle, forever in movement as you tend to the wounded. Some days you sit in the big Healers Tent with Mo’at and the other Taskarem, and others you’re in the makeshift Medi Bay, which is really more of an Avatar Pod Trailer turned OR, with the handful of human surgeons.

The long hours spent on your feet leave you sore and exhausted, but you have to pull your weight.

Even if said weight is far heavier than usual as of late-

“Y/N” you’re broken out of your thoughts by Max- as he enters the trailer with a holo-tab in hand and a concerned look in his dark eyes “What are you still doing here?”

“I was just finishing up inventory- our antibiotic stock is back way up. Jake was right, those helicopter raids were more than worth it” you’d sorted out the tiny vials of vital medicine by hand, not wanting any to be misplaced or mislabeled.

“You don't think maybe you should head home?” He continues and you sigh.

You miss your tent, and the soft bed of furs that lay inside the secure warm flaps. And the man that waits for you inside of the patchwork leather walls-

“I’m fine” you assure. And really, you are.

It's a fact you have to keep reminding people of.

Yes, you’re as big as a Strumbeast, but you are no less competent. No less able bodied.

Pregnancy is one of the most natural parts of life, a base staple in all’s existence. There are plenty of pregnant Omiticaya women who were expected to play their roles, even as the battle raged outside the safety of the mountain cave system.

It was the nature of your pregnancy that was more…fragile then average. Inside your womb grew a child that would be the first of it’s kind. A scientific mystery: no one had even known it was possible for Na’vi and humans to procreate.

And yet all of the evidence now lies under your shirt. Your stomach round and pronounced, full of growing life.

Full of the love between you and the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son.

Neteyam had left his permanent mark on you. Had part of himself growing inside of you. The thoughts we’re enough to make your knees buckle if you focused on them too hard.

“You’ve been here since 6am, you really should get some rest. Take one of the empty bunks if you want. Have you checked your blood pressure-”

You’re a grown woman. You’re not going to huff and puff and roll your eyes, but fuck, do you want to.

Everyone was so overbearing lately.

Norm and Max we’re constantly breathing down your neck; “The baby has a different growth rate then a human child, we need to monitor the way that your body is responding” Followed closely by Jake who watches you with sharp eagle like eyes and Neytiri, who used to all but ignore your presence, constantly checking in on you throughout the day. Mo’at’s always poking and prodigy, and Kiri almost always has her hands on you in some way shape or form.

You are glad for the support, happy that this baby would be so loved.

But really, you missed being treated like the competent, independent woman you knew you we’re.

“My blood pressure is fine. I thought since we ruled out preeclampsia we weren’t going to worry about it anymore” you know that it’s not going to silence his worry, but still. You can try.

Max goes on one of his science mambo jumbo spiels, and by the end of it you’re waddling out of the lab and back to your hut, annoyed as shit but placating your pseudo father figure all the same. Only a month and a half mor of this and then things could go back to normal.

Everything had just…changed so quickly.

You 're a caretaker by nature. Caring for others is easy, feels right. You’d tucked the much older scientists into bed when you we’re just a pre-teen. Made dinners. Looked out for Spider and the other Sully’s-

And the role reversal still didn't quite sit right with you. Your control freak ways didn't do well with not being the one in charge- you’d been stripped of your title so to speak. You we’re supposed to relax into your new role, enjoy being doted over before the nine month’s we’re over.

You and Neteyam’s shared tent is in the centered in the cave, close to his families, but standing on its own. As private as anyone could get in the busy, close quartered camp. The walls of the hut are familiar, adorned with your combined belongings. Cozy and familiar.

You shimmy free of your confining bra, step out of your cargo pants, then toe off your boots, releasing your swollen sock covered feet with a groan before collapsing into your well loved bed, the soft blankets and familiar scent of your mate lulling you into a deep state of peace.

It’s kind of wild how quickly you can fall asleep these days. Growing a little person from scratch tends to burn a lot of energy and the moment you relax, you’re out like a light.

You don't wake up, even when the horns are sounded for the return of the War Party.

Not when Neteyam makes his way through the camp and enters the tent. He’s wearty, grime covered and hunched over. He only softens when he sees you, tucked safely, into his bed. Your eyes still closed and face still scrunched up as he strips out of his battle band and shin covers. He’s quiet, washing off with the large freshwater basin in the corner before making his way over to his much-missed bed mat.

It isn't until he's crawled under the blankets and wiggled his way as close to you as possible that you begin to stir. His large cat like snout nuzzles into the vulnerable crevice of your neck, chuffing hot breaths against the smooth skin.

You’re not upset at him for waking you up, a drowsy half alert smile stretches over your lips as your hands run up his strong back. Gently working the tense muscles.

He gets so greedy when he comes back from the War runs. He needs to be comforted, to be held and you are all too willing to comply.

Everyone else infantiles you now, and yeah, Neteyam could get a little intense and overprotective, but your relationship had always worked because you were the one person in all of Pandora that babied the future chief.

He was such a sweet man, with so much responsibility on his plate. You loved nothing more than holding him in your arms. Letting him release any and all tension because you had him. You, a tiny soft skinned human, were the barrier between him and the ruthless world.

You’d be such a great mother to his children. His hind brain purrs at the thought. That even through all of the controversy, he knows he’d chosen the right mate. Little and fierce, he hopes the baby is just like you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, tone hushed in the darkness of the tent. The only light coming from the small dying embers of the firepit in the center of the space. Hypnotic shadows dance along the canvas walls and Neteyam's breathing grows shallow as he sinks into it.

The way you smell. The way your heart beats, strong against his cheek. The way your plump body feels so good under his wandering hands. He hadn't been okay, just moments ago. He was delirious, so sick of the fighting that he felt ill with it.

But how could any of those bad feelings exist when he had you waiting for him? Ready to welcome him into your body, your heart, your mind. He doesn't think he could survive without knowing the solace of your love.

“I’m okay, narlor(beauty). Just missed you” he mutters, still trying to dig his face deeper into your skin. He wants to escape inside of you, you chuckle at his futile attempts to mend you both into one entity. His large palms rest against your bloated belly, tenderly and your heart flutters “Missed you both so much”

Being so loved is overwhelming.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

“I missed you, my sweet baby. I missed you all day” you assure him with the words you know he needs to hear. “Our son here thought it would be fun to jump on his sa’nok’s bladder all day. It was like was playing the wokau(pendulum drum) all day long- I spent hours in running back and forth to the bathroom”

Neteyam's laugh is deep and rich. Thoroughly pleased to listen to your stories of your day, eager to hear every minute detail. Desperate to drown out visions of blood and gun smoke with your voice.

“Ah, you have to be nice to your momma, little one” he chastises the bump, raising your shirt over your head, wanting that flimsy barrier gone. His lips trail over the tight skin of your bulging belly as he speaks to his child.

Your son, still safe inside your soft body, knows his fathers voice already. Recognizes that slightly accented cadence, and squirms inside of you happily.

Neteyam usually speaks strictly in Na’vi to your unborn child-

“He needs to know the language of our people, first and foremost”

-he’ll spend hours whispering his mother tongue into your flesh. It always leaves you boneless and shaking. Feeling so special and cared for. Na’vi, though your second language, is familiar to you. You’re fluent in the language- but fuck. The way your mate speaks it is the most beautiful thing. It’s musical, he tells sprawling stories with his colorful words.

There is one English he’s very fond of though. Every time it leaves his plush mouth it makes you grin, sharp. Knowingly.

“Are you gonna be nice to momma, Neteyam?” you question him after a while. His ears quirk, swiveling on his head and his tale flicks once, in obvious excitement.

You know what he’s wanted, ever since he woke you up by nuzzling at your chest. Ever since he peeled off your top and left your heavy breasts bare. Did he think you missed the way his golden gaze would flick to them, eyeing them hungrily.

He needs this as much as you do, but as usual, your sweet boy is too selfless to ask. Won't trouble you with his wants unless you bring it up first.

You reach for his big hand that rests on your belly, and drag it to where you need him. His palm enveloping your tits, the rough callus’s catching on your sensitive nipple just right-

Your pregnancy had been different than regular humanoid pregnancies. Your body worked hard, thrown into overdrive in an attempt to keep up with the fast growing fetus in your womb. You’d started lactating months ago, far earlier then normal. Your breasts firm, full with milk. Ready to feed the child that had not yet come into the world.

At first it had been both painful and embarrassing. You had no child to drink what you were producing and the other breastfeeding women in the tribe we’re hesitant to feed their babies your tawtute(human) milk. Already over emotional due to the hormone change, you’d wept at the fact that you had no one to give what your body readily made.

The fact that you couldn't be a bigger part of your community due to your human heritage, combined with the intense pain that came from having backed up ducts had been too much,

Eventually you’d turned to Neteyam, both your eyes and shirt soaking wet. Begged him to help you. And of course, as always, he did.

It should be awkward, or shameful- but connecting with him on any level is something you cherish. Why would this be any different?

“I’m always nice to you, aren't I, love?” Neteyam gruffs as he gently works at the breast in his hands. Its firm and full of milk, his mouth waters “Do they hurt again?”

“Mhmm” you whine pathetically, and you’re not lying. The skin of your chest is now marred by stretch marks and you’d had to stuff precious, hard to come by toilet paper down your bra all day to keep them from spilling over “They’re so full, Nete”

“Oh” He hums, thumbing at your nipple “Poor momma, I’ll help you. Don't worry” his lips are wet against your skin as he kisses his way to your breast, his tongue peeking out to circle your puffy nipple. A pearlescent drop of milk tops the rosy bud and he groans as it hits his taste buds.

He tells you that you taste good, often. The juices of your pussy, your spit soaked kisses. He’s always been greedy for it, his tongue bullying its way into your holes, desperate for your essence. Your milk is just as delicious as the rest of you.

It quickly goes from kitten licking, wide wet stripes against your pebbled nipple to sucking your big breast as far into his mouth as he could. Careful of his fangs as he gorges himself on your flesh.

He’s loudly appreciative as he suckles on your nipple. Grunting and humming and moaning at the flavor. Your arms come around him, cradling his head to your bosom because it feels so good. Having him this close, knowing that he'd do anything to take care of you. That he truly loved the way you tasted-

Many people thought you and Neteyam would never last. It was lust, they’d claim. Curiosity. A childhood friendship that would fizzle out eventually. Na’vi needed Tsaheylu, it was the lifeblood of all their relationships. Why would the much desired future Olo’eyktan stay with you if he couldn't even properly bond you?

While you couldn't deny that there we’re doubt filled moments that you yourself wondered why he’d chosen you and stayed so loyal to you…you still felt your own form of connection to him. While you’d love to make that sacred bond with him, you didn't feel any less close to your mate.

You never thought that you could be so intertwined with another being.

As Neteyam takes his fill from your breast, you massage the base of his Kuru, firm enough that it makes him hiss. You have no special braid of your own, but he’s always been very free with his when it comes to you.

You can do with as you please. Stroke it. Lick it. Massage it. Hell, he’d even let you touch glowing pink tendrils at the end of it before. Let you feel his exposed nerves, so vulnerable and raw in your hands that he had shed tears as you explored.

Nothing was taboo in your relationship. There was no space undiscovered between you.

Your bodies we’re so very different, and yet you knew his like the back of your hand. All of the strong muscles and hard sinew. The cobalt expanse of his skin didn't have one blemish that you haven't memorized. You could point out his striped pattern in a sea of other Na’vi.

And he knows you right back.

Loves to dig his fingers into your doughy hips, into your pillowy thighs. Your wide ass and ample chest. He loves your form, goes crazy for all of your alien curves. He never cared for your human modesty, he’d wanted to part your ass cheeks and stare at plump of your pussy for as long as he could remember. Wanted to strip you of all of those clothes and just stare.

The fact that he gets to do just that, for the rest of your lives, is his favorite, favorite thing.

You watch him eagerly as he slowly nurses. You can't get enough of the sight of him, his hollowed cheeks, the bob of his throat as he swallows your free flowing milk. He's so strong, his muscles flex in the dim light. All of that strength, and yet he’s so very gentle with you, his rough tongue laving at your sore buds every couple minutes. Soothing and tickling you all the same.

You giggle at a particularly quick swipe, letting out a small squeal as Neteyam’s tongue plays with the flesh in his mouth. His eyes peek open, glittering with mirth and low boiling heat as he meets your gaze. Whin his lips split into a smile, a dribble of translucent white milk escapes. Trickles down from the corners of his lips.

Heat pulses between your legs and you know he can smell how aroused you are.

Neteyam has always been able to turn you on without even trying. A well spoken word, or even a pointed look could get you running your thighs together. All desperate to get him alone and put your hands all over him.

You hate that you cant kiss him the way you want to, your Exo Mask, while necessary to your survival can be suck a fucking menace sometimes.

Your thumb traces his lips, the ones you want pressed against your own so bad. You rub the spilled milk from his chin. Cleaning him up in a way that's so simple, and so beyond erotic.

He breaks eye contact first, like he just can't look at you anymore. His brows all scrunched up, his chest raising and falling rapidly. He releases your sloppy nipple, completely covered in his saliva, and presses his face against the damp skin. Making a sound of distress.

Your fingernails skritch at his scalp, tangled in his many braids “What is it, baby?”

“I wanna fuck you so bad. Eywa, do you even smell yourself, Y/N? So good. I have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay” You nod, agreeing blindly. He can have whatever he wants.

“Fuck you hard, though. Gotta pound you. I know I shouldn't but it’ll be alright, huh? Won't hurt the baby?” his face is still buried in your skin, you cant even see his expression as he pleads for your pussy. It makes you so hot.

You push at his chest, needing him to get off of you for just a moment. He’s heavy as shit, a dead weight- doesn't really move until you're pouting and demanding for him to just give you a little space.

Enough that you can wiggle out of your panties and spread your thighs wide for him. Your swollen, sticky pussy on display for your mate.

His nostrils flare, and his thin tail whips wildly behind him.

When he swings your thick thighs up onto his broad shoulders, you let out a low, appreciative moan.

“Such a good boy for momma” you praise him the way the people praise the Great Mother. The cradle of your thighs a sanctuary where you both come to worship.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Welp, I should be finishing up Part Three of First Love/Late Spring or plotting out future installments of The Sweetest Sylaung, but here I am writing nursing filth. Lol I truly have zero regrets, this story was so very self fulfilling(even though it partially came from a request). I hope you guys enjoyed though

As mentioned many times before, requests are currently open. Please send in all that good shit. I could use a good distraction from real life!

[fantarain]

The Vampire and The Knight

YESS YESSS I FINALLY FINISHED THE DESIGNS FOR THE VAMPIRE AU!!! been working on this for nearly a month!! Some stuff is subject to change (like hels’ sword, both of their designs in general because they would have multiple outfits). This is a Vampire AU but I amm kind of going for beauty and the beast vibes…

Here’s some lore below!! it’s not very well written, I wrote it a couple weeks ago while I was high and I don’t feel like rewriting it

Helsknight, a knight with a cursed bloodline. It’s said that every few years someone is born with demon blood in them. Hels and Wels, of course. Despite being twins, people shun Hels, suspecting and spreading rumors that he has demon blood, as he doesn’t have blond hair and blue eyes like his brother. Wels is the only one who treats him normally, like a brother, despite that. But even than, Hels still feels at times that he treats him differently.

Wels is a higher up knight (a general? idk what it would be called) than Hels. Wels has chosen other knights over him for stuff that he was perfectly capable of. Whether it was for the sake of saving face and not having a “demon” perform their duties, or because he truly thinks he’s not good enough, Hels felt alienated. Even by his own brother.

So he goes on his own, up to the abandoned castle far away, rumored to be home of a vampire. He will slay the vampire and earn the respect and adoration he so desires from his town. This is what he has to do.

Years ago Evil X lived in a small town with their older brother, Xisuma. In this town there was magic, and potions. It wasn’t a lot, but a few people in the town possessed some sort of magic and/or potion making skills

Evil X craved power, stronger and better magic than their brother, tired of being lesser than. They did a ritual to gain power from the underworld. In the process they were cursed by a mysterious entity and outcasted, exiled by their town. They were nearly killed, but Xisuma sent them away for their safety, but never allowing them to come back ever again.

Now they live in their castle, all alone, with the power they so sought after. Cursed to be a vampire, alone for years, either killing and scaring anyone who dare enter. After years their existence turned into a myth. Nobody knows if they’re real or not, but they’re scared of them.

Except for a single knight who comes to see them one day.

(and they kiss with tongue MWAAHHH)

I do want to make a full length fic with this soon :3

[radioactivesweet]

Ok hear me out, what about moon god s/o x Poseidon, its been itching my mind cause of the sea x moon troupe.

What i imagine is, s/o being a powerful god like nyx but rarely appears so only a few gods know or saw them so Poseidon became curious about this mysterious (beautiful) god. Feel free to add more about this!! im just really craving for someone to write this 🥹

Uhhh I like this concept a lot!! I tried to keep the reader's gender kinda neutral, I hope it's fine^^ btw I really enjoyed writing this!

word count: 1.2k

Poseidon often found himself staring at the moon. He couldn't really explain why he would do that - not that anybody would dare asking the God of the Sea what he was doing. Unbothered, Poseidon would stand silenty on the ivory balcony, looking up to that apparently endless sky. Even for someone like him that domain appeared far and full of mystery.

It was a dark night, its only beam being the peaceful and perlescent light emanated by the sleeping moon. He was once told that a god inhabited the moon, far from all other living beings. It wasn't known the reason why the deity ended up there, observing humankind from the satellite. Some believed they refused to get involved with human affairs and chose to live as a hermit instead; others claimed the god was exiled and was cursed to live on their own, bound to live in loneliness; some believed that god to have died long ago, the moonlight being their only inheritance, the memento of a god who existed no more, the reminder of a otherwise forgotten past.

Poseidon, everytime he would look at the moon, would wonder the real story behind it. None of the moon goddesses he knew could give him a response, despite asking themselves the same question - with whom were they sharing their moon? A god, a ghost or nothing at all?

Not knowing made the God of the Sea restless. He wasn't supposed to be this ignorant - it was his duty and right to know the truth. Yet, all he knew didn't make sense to him at all. He couldn't find a reason why a god would choose to abandon their place a seek shelter on the moon; if a deity was trapped on the moon, he would have surely heard of it somehow. It wouldn't have been just a rumour; lastly, gods weren't meant to die, it wasn't their nature. They didn't have an expire date nor any time limits, so it was impossible to begin with. If there really were someone looking down on him from the moon, Poseidon would discover it.

Poseidon spent that whole night reading books and looking for information regarding the legends surrounding that mysterious and mystical figure. There weren't many references and he couldn't even find the name of that god, yet there were reported some events which most likely involved them. A beautiful deity whose melancholic face was reflected on the moon on certain nights, someone wearing a silvery armor while riding a shining chariot across the sky. Also, a powerful god who could conceal the sun and the earth. A god capable of moving the stars and making humans into constellations. A god who could flex the tides to their own amusement - which meant disturbing the God of the Sea too - the moon phases and the sea had always been strictly connected to one another, but the thought of someone directly interefering had never crossed his mind. An ancient deity whose name had been long forgotten and all traces canceled, no statues nor temples left, their believers long dead and turned to ashes.

Poseidon was intrigued to say the least. He couldn't recall even if tried the last time he had felt so interested in someone - maybe last time was when he recognised Hades as his brother thousands of years before? He didn't remember anymore, and it didn't really matter to him neither.

Rumours spreaded fast across the Heavens. It was a matter of days before everybody knew what the lonesome Poseidon was looking for, yet nobody dared approaching him nor suggesting him the information that could have helped him reach his objective. Yet, everybody was curious as to why he was interested in that legend in the first place. Poseidon was used to those lower deities' gossips, so he didn't pay them much care, they were nothing more than a bother and wasn't expecting them to act some other way. He was more interested in what certain gods had to say.

Zeus, despite his prestige, knew no more than him but reccomended talking with the goddess Nyx, whom he was afraid of, much more ancient than he was. Hades and Hermes agreed with Zeus and added some rumours that had been circulating for ages in the Underworld regarding a moon deity who lead the souls of the dead to Hades' domain. Beelzebub clearly remembered studying moon's phenoma and seeing that legendary face. They didn't ask him the reason why he was looking for the god. He wouldn't have answered anyway. Without a single word, he left, approaching his next destination, the goddess all gods feared: Nyx.

He respected the goddess, recognising her value and strenght, but didn't understand the reason why even the almighty Zeus feared - he could only suppose it must have been because of one of his many affairs that didn't end the way Zeus imagined. Poseidon didn't have anything to do with that though, therefore had no reason to fear her.

Nyx knew it all, the story of the human who ascended to the skies and then flew even higher above. That god's name was (Y/n), the vagabond of the stars, the hermit who found a home in the dim light of the moon. Poseidon was satisfied by the answers he had finally found - and a way to reach the moon itself. He was close to his goal.

He had finally landed on the moon. Poseidon had never been there before. It was the first time he got to see the sea he ruled from that perspective. It was a foreign feeling to him. He could almost understand the reason why humans tried so hard to leave Earth and reach the space - it was undescribable. He couldn't even blame (Y/n) for hiding in that timeless place. Poseidon felt as he could touch the stars if he only wanted to. And he was just about to do it, if only a sudden voice hadn't interrupted him.

"I've heard someone was looking for me. I don't receive many guests, so I suppose you must be that person." it was quite, almost a whisper. It didn't surprise Poseidon. (T/n) mustn't have had someone to talk to in a long time.

"You are Poseidon, aren't you? You often stare at the moon, I noticed it." a voice comparable to the music of the spheres, the musica universalis, the harmony between the celestial bodies.

(Y/n) seemed to have no material consistence, one with the stars and the deep blue sky surround them, floating on the ground, detached from the earthly beings. Poseidon almost felt unworthy of being before someone surrounded by such a, otherwordly aura, belonging to a different dimension. On the other hand, he was attracted by that holy creature.

"You are welcome here, God of the Seas." almost as if they had read his mind, (Y/n) reassured him "We all belong to the moon, all beings are made of the same stardust. There are no differences between us."

For once, Poseidon, enchanted and bewitched, couldn't reply. He was part of that symphony too - he could feel it resonating deep into his bones.

The everlasting sea below him, the everlasting stars above him. Poseidon felt whole for the first time in his equally everlasting life.

[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:

[menea-the-pharmakon]

The Gods Remain

Athreos, God of Grief

He continues to push his way across the Tartyx River, though the gods who claimed dominion over both sides and the waters themselves were gone. One of the few surviving gods, one of two not aligned with Blue or Green, he mourns as he shepherds souls still. Kunoros handles protecting the dead, but Athreos is forced to rule them.

He doesn't know how to feel about this.

But it's not like anyone else will carry this burden.

Ephara, God of Civilization

She once held domain over Meletis alone. But when Theros had to rebuild after the invasion, she swept the rebuilding Akros and Setessa under her guidance as well. Even Oreskos, compleated and covered in oil, was cleaned and brought to her care. The only one she did not guide was Skophos, for that was Mogis’s domain.

She once had numerous allies for this. Heliod, Thassa, Purphoros – but they were dead now. They were dead, yet Karametra and Phenax remained. Their shared survival had reunited Karametra and Ephara as sisters, yet Phenax remained as he always had been.

It made Ephara’s waters boil.

But her duty was to protect the civilization that remained.

Karametra, God of Family

Harvests were not the only thing Karametra concerned herself with. Reuniting with Ephara on the dawn of the first day after the invasion reunited them in their shared duty, the protection and care of people. Karametra reached into the wilds with compassion, understanding now what Nylea sought to protect about them. Her worshipers still gave Nylea offerings, though the elder goddess was now gone.

Gone. Gone like Iroas, who Karametra once hated. Gone like so many mortals that Karametra had sought to protect and ensure the lives of. Gone like Heliod, the one she had been closest to. Gone like most of their family, as strained as it had been before.

And so, like with nature, Karametra drew the concept of family close. Food on the table, clothes on the back, roof over the head – all of these became Karametra’s duties.

Kruphix, God of Travels

Kruphix had long been aware of other planes. It was his duty as the god of mysteries, horizons, and the passage of time, after all. But when the Omenpaths began to open, he tuned them carefully. They opened in places of relative safety, rather than in the middle of the ocean or in Purphoros’s abandoned forges.

He became the new head of the pantheon, as the eldest one who remained. He didn’t care for this, as he had never seen himself as involved in their disputes. But the other gods needed a leader, and Heliod would not return, so he stepped into the role. He let them choose their expanded domains, then took what was left – travel. Distance had always been something of his, but now distance on the scale of the multiverse was his concern.

He offered hands to every god. To Athreos, grieving. To Ephara, shaken. To Karametra, mourning. To Mogis, vengeant. To Pharika, healing. To Phenax, unchanged.

He would be the leader they needed to continue through existence.

Mogis, God of Vengeance

Slaughter. Violence. War. This was what Mogis knew in the core of his being, even when his twin brother had put rules on their warfare that Mogis ignored anyway.

But now Iroas was gone.

He stayed in Skophos, the only god worshiped there who still remained. Erebos, one of the string-pullers alongside Heliod, was gone. Keranos was gone. Purphoros was gone.

Iroas was gone.

It was Ephara and Karametra who offered the hands of peace to him. He didn’t want peace. He wanted vengeance. But even he knew that nothing would bring the other gods back.

Iroas was gone.

It was with his own hands, stained with blood and trembling (from anger or grief, he could not say), that he accepted theirs.

Now, when someone cried for their lost loved ones, it was not Slaughter who answered.

It was Vengeance.

Pharika, God of Recovery

Pharika had always been one of dualities. Healing and harm were two sides of the same coin, and she walked the world as that whole coin.

Once the invasion was over, it was Pharika who took a deep breath and began the work. She and her worshipers cleaned the oil, tended the wounded, cured the ills. She relieved the burdens of Athreos by guiding the dead to his river, she aided Ephara and Karametra in re-establishing life, she followed Kruphix when he took the duties of being the pantheon’s head.

It was the loss of Nylea that shook her hardest. But she inclined her head and stepped back when Karametra cared for Nylea’s wilderness. Pharika could recognize when something was meant to be.

Not much harm was needed now. Not for a while. So she focused more on the healing in her duties, being twice as careful with dosage and care. Her gorgons and those she blessed to be like them aided her. No longer would one need to travel far distances to seek aid.

It was with Ephara’s blessing that the first Asklepieion opened in Meletis. And it was the first of many.

Phenax, God of Deception

Phenax had not changed. He was the only one who had not. He did not expand nor limit his domain or duties. Instead, he put his wiles to good use (at least, if you were to ask him).

There was much in Theros to rule and worry about. Things that the other gods had not claimed. Things that, were he to claim them, would put a larger target on his back. So he did what he did best – he concocted a plan.

He had been instrumental in the rising of Xenagos to a god. He had been instrumental in the disguising of Ashiok from other gods, leading to the birth of Cacophany. So he would continue doing just that. He would make something happen to a mortal, have stories about that spread around, make people associate the event with the mortal, and wait. He was a god; he could wait for a very long time. If he waited long enough and the story spread enough, they would become a god of their thing.

And with that, he could make a new pantheon.

[biscuitboba]

Hii, do you have some zolu/luzo ff rec??

Hii!!, uhh i have over 100 zolu/luzo fics downloaded YES OF COURSE, i'll try and list down some (many) fics with one chapter only cuz i'm not sure if i can stop recommending if i include multi chaptered fics... (But if you want some rec for the multi chaptered fics just let me know!! Ohh and maybe some ongoing fics?)

This is gonna be a very long post😭🙏

Bleed like an Idiot by Augment [13k words]

Rating: Mature (for mild gore/torture)

Something something about their fear of disappointing/failing each other, the perfect amount of angst, so good

Not that Luffy wouldn’t die for each and every one of his crew, and he knows, though he will make sure it never ever happens, that they would die for him. But to supersede Zoro’s dream like this, that makes Luffy feel so hideously guilty it locks up his lungs, and his jaw, and he can’t speak, touch Zoro, anything.

The salt & the sea by novks (thychesters) [25k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Modern setting, reincarnation au. Zoro being the last person to regain his memories (of his past life) and luffy being lowkey annoyed by it lol

It’s like with Nami, hitting him full force, but it’s so much more than that as the reality of it all comes crashing down around him. Zoro, his (first mate, first friend in this world of pirates, first crew member and first one he swore an oath with), his—he isn’t even sure what to call him. There’s too much but too little to describe him.

Zoro. Zoro, who—no, no, no offense to Nami—should have been first. Zoro, who’s a constant, and he’s practically vibrating with the need to reach and touch him, make sure he’s really real. His tongue darts out to wet his lip as he steps forward, crowding into his personal space and finally grinning because I found you!

Luffy wants to call him an idiot, because it figures he would get lost finding his way home.

But Zoro just blinks at him, flushes, one eye still framed by a familiar scar and says, “Oh, sorry,” and makes it so much worse when he says, “Do I know you?

Of First Mates and Duty by Whatev3rs [14k] 

Rating: General Audiences

Zoro's bad at feelings, but he is trying ok!! 

“First mates… we devote our lives to our captains. Our entire beings. We live for them, breathe for them. And they expect us not to fall in love?” He smiles, small and knowing.

Zoro’s eyes widen and he sputters, trying to muster a response. The man only laughs more.

OR

Being a good first mate was easy enough for Zoro. That is, until the… feelings.

If I Had to Give a Reason by MiniPandaBuns [5k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Tooth-rotting fluff, Zoro and his view of luffy, #feelings, love confession, idiots in loveee

“I wonder what you see in him.”

"Too much." He'd say. "It's endless. All of my reasons can't be condensed into words."

I love him simply because he exists. Because Luffy is Luffy, limitless and free.

Inseparable on the face of Impossibility by the11thhour [25k]

Rating: Not Rated

Luffy is taken by some bad guy, his boyfriend and family (crew) to the rescue! #superworriedzoro:(

A fun trip to a new island takes a turn for the worse when a mysterious group of pirates cause trouble and Luffy goes missing. The crew led by Zoro embark on a mission to get their captain back while his vivre card burns away.

When the Dew Falls Up by louluna [10k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Time travel au, there are two zoros!!

As the bright light enveloped his body, Zoro knew his day had gone to absolute shit.

New year's kiss by grimsoul [4k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Post wano, the title is pretty self explanatory i guess.. fluff, very sweet!! 

Luffy didn’t understand back then but the couple seemed so happy. Kissing someone to strengthen a relationship must have really worked.

It’s been long since that time so Luffy had almost forgotten about it. But then as he sails again now with his crew—the title of an Emperor latched to his name, their journey getting closer and closer to the One Piece, to his dream—a new year approaches them.

Found in the Crack of Your Palm by The_Furthest_City_Light [11k]

Rating: General Audiences

#luffybeingsuperdemisexualatzorofor11k (personally demi luffy is my favorite headcanon of him!)

Zoro’s hands are big, thick and knuckly and covered in calluses from his swords. He has a strong grip, too, and strong muscles because he trains them to be strong.

None of it explains the way Luffy’s body lights up when Zoro clasps the back of his neck, like every nerve is alight and trained on the palm cupping the baby hairs at the back of his skull. His stomach knots over itself and he wants to eat everything in Sanji’s kitchen. Zoro’s skin is a little rough and sweaty from fighting and warm.

Zoro is close, his forehead nearly butting Luffy’s and Luffy couldn’t move if he wanted to, trapped there by the closeness and the touch that makes him aware of Zoro’s skin against his in a way he’s never been before.

Zoro’s eyes bore into his, digging deep into Luffy and dragging out—something, buried in the base of his spine. He feels like the earth is tilting, and freefall seems like it might be fun.

the moon asks a question by d_s_writes [1k]

Rating: General Audiences

A very short fic, but can't stop thinking about the rest of strawhats and their idea of love vs luffy's, like- he really gagged me here😭

Zoro doesn’t understand—how can he feel all the things that the others had spoken of, yet none of it the same time? He felt that each of their versions of love were merely motions of love, rather than love itself.

He doesn’t get it. Love has never been a word, or a sense of belonging, or any of those things. He had only ever really thought of love when he looked at Luffy.

OR: An investigation of the lives and loves of the Strawhat Pirates.

Robin knows by leopardgeckoz [3k]

Rating: General Audiences

Oh moment for both zoro and luffy but especially for the oblivious captain

In which Nico Robin has always known how her captain and first mate feel for one another, and the scenario's in which the rest of the crew discover it.

Alternatively

"Every passing hour of Luffy's silence drove Zoro further and further into madness. He wanted Luffy's smile, his laugh, his chatter, but his captain had spent the better part of the day on the complete opposite sides of the ship as Zoro. Out of sight, but most certainly not out of mind. If anything, his absence plagued Zoro's even more."

step 1: die by swordsmans [11k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Roronoa zoro and his unstoppable self  destru sacrificing tendency for his one and only captain (featuring sanji!)

After two years with Ivankov, Sanji knows something about Luffy that Zoro does not.

ship to wreck by novks (thychesters) [9k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Zoro and luffy but from nami's perspective?? Mutual pinning and luffy's oh moment

Nami is the first one to notice something is amiss, but then given her current competition is Luffy and Zoro, it isn’t surprising.

“Do you love Zoro?” She doesn’t bother beating around the bush. Doesn’t bother with easing into it with any metaphors or small talk, one of which Luffy would have little interest in, and the other of which would go over his head.

He stares back at her, and for a split second she feels like she’s gone and shoved her foot right into her mouth. Something flickers through his eyes, but she doesn’t have time to fully study it before his features shutter again.

Luffy tilts his head. “Of course I do.”

Part of her wants to cheer, shout aha! because she knew it, dammit, but then he proceeds to barrel right over that.

“I love you too,” to which she freezes, and then: “And Usopp, and Sanji, I guess. You guys are my friends.”

She wants to scream.

But Patience Boasts by Augment [9k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Ughh i love the way this fic portray zoro and sanji's dynamic… anyways, lowkey wingman sanji!

Sanji and Zoro have very different love languages.

Kizuna by YokoHogawa [5k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

#nakamaship, basically 

Usopp carefully watches Luffy over the sandwich he is biting into, and he can’t help but worry.

Sanji has an anxiety problem.

Something wakes Zoro at the crack of dawn.

Half a step (into the sun) by TheOctopusofWriting [29k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Demon prince zoro, that's it, that's the point.

Zoro was the exiled prince of an island of demons. He spent the first portion of his life wandering from island to island without any place to really call home, that is until he follows a boy in a strawhat out to sea and finds the home he'd been looking for

to cut your teeth on love by freckledshoulderblades [10k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Smth smth the bond between captain and first mate...

Zoro meets Luffy and gives himself over wholeheartedly the instant Wadō is placed between his teeth again. Luffy meets Zoro and decides in a heartbeat that Zoro is his

Take Me Out to Sea by MiniPandaBuns [3k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audience

Just them being all sweet and wholesome<3

Luffy and Zoro take a pleasant little swim together, despite the fact that Luffy can't swim and Zoro told him no. Many times.

He just can't refuse his Captain. Even if he does, Luffy still wins, because he's just Luffy and that's how it goes.

everybody wants your time by dwaal [3k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Uhh abo au, omega zoro and alpha luffy, jealousy, bonded mates, making out, y knoww~

An unclaimed omega on the seas can be a liability. It's commonplace for captains to bite any of their crew to prevent any incidents, but the marks are usually temporary.

Zoro is intensely aware of this, as Boa Hancock proceeds to make herself at home on the arm of his captain's chair

it's an ambush! by tuhituhi [3k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Zoro meeting his bf's brothers for the first time!

Luffy's middle name should be B. for Blindside the way he's constantly taking Zoro off guard. Or maybe the D. stood for Devious, or Devil- any of them would fit, considering the Situations this man has put him through. OR

Zoro meets Luffy's brothers. Was he expecting this? Technically. Was he prepared for this?

Not in the slightest

end of summer (now i know) by taka0 [2k]

Rating: Mature

Just luffy being very sappy (and a tiny bit horny) about his zoro<3

Luffy loves all of Zoro while they lie in a hammock.

Ocean theology by swordsmans [40k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Reincarnation au, yearning and devotion, symbolism-

“Zoro—”

“Did you know?” he repeats, desperate, and Luffy just looks at him. And he wonders, then, how much of this has been preordained—how much of this is real, how much of this is him. How much of what he’s felt since they were wedged side-to-side in a shitty wooden boat on the East Blue has actually mattered, and how much has been the universe pressing him down into the mold of someone else's heart.

And then Luffy is gripping his horns, bringing his forehead down to meet his, repeating, “Zoro? Zoro?” like his name is a mantra, like he’s gone somewhere far away and gotten lost on his way back.

And Zoro blinks at him, then, and sees both of them at once—both of them—and he grips Luffy’s face in his own hands (claws) and presses his lips (violent, full of teeth) against his. Because this is who he has been waiting a thousand years for, the brightest and most beautiful of them all, the one thing he could never have—could never see, not if (Luffy, Joyboy, Nika) had made different (worse) choices—the thing that could never thrive in the darkness, just like he could never (has been unable to for centuries) survive without it—

let thy sword be thy tongue by queerweather [14k]

Rating: Mature

Sword language, sword personification, swords- zoro not being so normal about his captain, whats new?

It’s strangely exhilarating, imagining himself on his knees in front of Luffy, blindfolded. Like he really is getting executed this time. All of Zoro’s senses stand at attention and his mouth fills with saliva.

The flat of Kitetsu’s blade presses cold against Zoro’s cheek. “Zoro,” Luffy scolds. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

.

.

.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and Zoro is not afraid of Luffy handling his swords; Zoro is afraid of how Luffy handling his swords might unravel him.

The only animal by batman [10k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content)

 It's about roronoa zoro and how he pines for his captain

It wasn't until Kuraigana that he realised how the world had split into two kinds of touch: swords and hands.

Luffy's hands.

(In a stolen week between islands, Luffy touches Zoro again.)

Sunward bound by iffervescent [13k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top zoro)

Ace luffy & sex positive luffy!!

Zoro's a pirate bounty hunter, which means he's used to going after the pirate he wants and getting them. Except this time the pirate he wants is his captain and now he has no fucking clue what to do.

Expressions by Leoporidae_Lagomorpha [2k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top luffy)

Them being disgustingly in love whats new?, sexy times (plot what plot) 

Monkey D. Luffy knows, that despite popular opinion, Roronoa Zoro is a man of many expressions.

hanabi | 花火 by narramin [8k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top luffy)

Just the captain and his first mate being silly while enjoying their date in wano (eventual smut)

firework /ˈfʌɪəwəːk/

noun

plural noun: fireworks

• a device containing gunpowder and other combustible chemicals which causes spectacular effects and explosions when ignited, used for display or in celebrations.

• a display of great skill or energy.

Luffy and Zoro finally reunite in Wano, visit a gambling den and go on a less than traditional festival date night.

a tale of two gods by grimsoul [6k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top zoro, implied switching)

Sun of God x God of death. a fiery tryst between two gods

“Ne, Zoro, come with me,” Luffy said, giggling, pulling him closer. “You’re going to be a part of my court.”

Contrary to what most people believed, hell was a rather cold place. Zoro had been quite used to it, the lack of light, the vast glaciers, his body no longer as fragile as it was eons ago, and so a simple touch like this from Luffy, from the sun, made him feel like his flesh was scorched—melting away easily like winter in summer’s heat.

They were close, so close that their foreheads were almost touching, and despite the burn of it, Zoro didn’t push him away. He smirked, his one eye glowing just as red as Luffy’s.

“Don’t decide something on your own, idiot.”

running just to keep my hands on you by nevermordor [6k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, switching)

They are so competitive in pretty much everything lol

The thing they do is kind of like a game, because Luffy likes games, but it’s also kind of a competition because Zoro can’t not turn anything and everything into a competition. It doesn’t have a name and there are only two rules, because more than two would just be making things boring and overcomplicated.

1. Whoever takes out the most guys in a fight is the winner

2. Whoever is the loser has to do whatever the winner says

“Why’s it gotta be a whole game and stuff," Luffy says. "That’s gonna take too long.”

“It makes sex more fun," Zoro explains. "You gotta win it, you gotta earn it. Like anything good in life. Like pirate king or greatest swordsman.”

Luffy considers this.

One on one by EclecticIsMyMiddleName [6k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top luffy) 

Post canon, domestic married luffy and zoro my beloved… they are so in love?? It's sickening

Zoro's just trying to get ready for the day, but Luffy has other plans

Prayers Carried on Waves Reach the Sun by anarchycox [8k]

Rating: Mature (sexual content, switching)

Sun god luffy & demon zoro ftw

Luffy is the sun god, Nika. Zoro is a demon. And his boyfriend. They make it work. On earth the Thousand Sunny is the ship of worship for the sun god, the crew Nika's priests. When they call for help, Luffy and Zoro go to their aid.

Luffy decides they should stay a while, and Zoro loves him enough to do so.

Being human is a pain and stupid, but for his Luffy, he'll endure it.

Ok i need to stop here cuz it's getting way too longgg, but i'm just so ill about the two of them sorry not sorry😭😭