simp-ly

simp-ly tries to write sometimes... | multifandom blog | 18+ MDNI for select fandoms

[simp-ly-writes]

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─ · · "CREATIVITY TAKES COURAGE" - HENRI MATISSE

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[simp-ly-writes]

hey,

i've seen all the comments, and asks, and DMs, thank you all for the support still...

i know its been... over a year... and maybe a bit more to update some of my things.... sorry about that...

and i'm also sorry to say i don't think i'll be coming back to update this blog still... sorry again... (but maybe one day i'll get really motivated again)

i can provide more context to those who want any or have any questions and to all my mutuals still there, y'all are extra cool 🫂.

so thank you all for the support over the years and for 2k followers and over 50,000 likes (thats crazy)....

but seriously, thank you all again, truly, 🩷.

simp-ly

[simp-ly-writes]

Hey you haven't been online in a while just popping in to ask if you're doing well

~🦦

Hey 🦦 Anon! Thank you for this sweet ask! I've been pretty okay since school ended but just have been in a major creative burnout that I've been struggling to get over 😬. I've just been feeling frustrated with everything I put to page. But I hope that you are doing well 🫶

Simp-ly

[simp-ly-writes]

The Letter's

─────── · · Dreams of Dragons (pt.5)

PAIRING: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen!Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader

SUMMARY: Words are said to be the most powerful force all. And that statement continues to be truthful when letters are exchanged between the King of the North to that of the Seven Kingdoms. Eager eyes drink of the ink as you cherish your final moments in Winterfell.

TAGS: alternate universe, canon divergence, no use of y/n, second person perspective, female pronouns used, coarse language, protective!Daemon, angst, blood and gore, hurt/comfort, soulmates, time travel, targ-cest, engine-translated high valyrian, not beta read. MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,763 | PRIOR | NEXT A/N: i should be doing school work rn... but i my mind is HERE 😭

─────── · ·

DISMOUNTING FROM YOUR HORSE THE GROUND LOOKS TO BE TOUCHING THE SKY AS THE GREAT ICE WALL STANDS TALL ABOVE THE SILENT WHITE LANDSCAPE. The wooden elevator creaks with the weight of you all standing within the box. It swings slightly with every gust of wind sending your heart rate skyrocketing unlike the pace you were being brought up with.

You grip the wall tightly with your gloved hands, eyes frantic as you watch the ground become more distant before becoming minuscule to the sky. "Afraid of heights, your highness?' one of the guards asks whilst adjusting the crossbow on their back.

You offer a weary smile before adverting your eyes to the opening doors ahead of you all. "Well this is no dragon," you counter knowing that you couldn't begin to explain what an aeroplane is and you receive a chorus of humoured grunts before stepping out and on to the wall.

You first take a long look in both directions in order to try and grasp the sheer mass of the structure, your hand glides across the equal wood and ice walls with silent fascination as you pay no attention to the various men and women that stumble in seeing your presence before returning to their duties like nothing happened in the first place.

"I cannot begin to imagine how mankind created such a structure," you state while looking towards the Lord to already find his eyes upon you. Holding one another's gaze, Cregan takes his time to reply, "and so you must know why such a thing had to be created?"

You bow your head deeply, walking up a series of steps towards an outlook point and it as if all of the South fades behind you, your eyes stolen by a sea of nothingness that unsettles your bones better than the winds like a lingering dread that you cannot look away from. "I-" you are unable to respond, your mind painted in scenes of smoke and blood like your earliest dreams.

You twitch underneath your furs, leather boots creaking as you shuffle your feet at the gruesome scenes that play out in your mind. That familiar and overwhelming smell of copper laces through your nose finding its way right to your gut and suddenly a hand pulls your arm back as you squint as realities blur together.

It is a silent scream as you see red eyes and white skin appear before you, the hands move up your shoulders giving you a light shake, your name is bellowed to overcome your senses as you look into silver eyes and brown hair once more.

"You had a vision..." Cregans hands slide off your form, he takes a half step back, just far enough to give you space yet just close enough to let you know he's physically there to support you. "...what did you see?"

You swallow hard, the information you hold within yourself is dangerous in the wrong hands and in that moment you realize you are in a foreign state with men surrounding you that you fully didn't know. But the Starks saved me... surely... You take a hesitant look upwards at Cregan who tilts their head slightly in a silent ask to tell me.

Shaking your head, you step back away from the wooden raining, bumping your shoulder into an oil lantern that swings on a post before settling once more as does your heart rate. "If I speak anything on what is to come, it will change the outcome I know to be," you cryptically answer, tearing your eyes away and looking over the small group that tries hard to act like they were not listening to your conversation the whole time.

Amongst this group sits a man hunched over on a stool, his left hand gently grasps a piece of charcoal that drags across a cream coloured page. Their white eye-brows are furrowed as you raise your chin, trying to gain a clearer view of what they were sketching- two figures, you observe... one in a dress the other with a large sword- oh.

The artist looks up, offering you a smile before continuing their drawing. Cregan's arm brushes up against your own, you feel his warmth radiating out from his armour and off from his furs. "It is proof for the letter," he speaks quietly, eyes casting a stern look to the formed group that returns to their positions without another word. "You are distracting my men, princess," Cregan notes, eyes looking at the side of your face before returning to the artists hands.

You chuckle, moving a strand of fallen hair from your eye, "you are not the first to tell me that." Cregan hums in response, his hand moving to casually rest on the hilt of his dagger. A mutual silence is shared as the artist concludes their drawing, you both are presented the final image, your fingers drift over the corner as to not blur the unsettled material atop the page.

In all your studies it was rare to come across a complete drawing and now you held an original and better yet, an image of yourself. You pass the image towards the Lord, thanking the artist politely and watch as they take back the drawing and head back towards the elevators.

"It is sad that the drawing will have such a short life time," you comment, watching as people move up and down the hall with various supplies of alternating shapes and sizes. Cregan furrows his brow, "and why is that?"

You turn to face the Stark seeing as he has two cups in his hand of steaming liquid, he silently presses it into your hands before taking a sip of the dark liquid and your face lights up at the taste of hot chocolate. Yourself internally laughing at the Cold King of the North drinking the beverage with a stoic expression.

"Odds are if my mother or sister is not first to receive the letter... my father or uncle will be quick to crumple and burn it," you giggle, shaking your head as you waft the comforting smell of the drink towards your nose. Cregan watches you with an amused expression, lips turned to the smallest smile that falls all too quickly in remembering what he just heard.

Clearing his throat, he places your empty cups in a bucket of other used items before walking off with a silent expectance for you to follow along and you do so further across the wall.

You do not know how many hours you spent between the icy walls as Cregan noted the history of his ancestors to your eager ears, taking the occasional glance back to see your bright eyes lighting up with every fact you absorbed.

"Your father, grandfather and all those before you's dragons refused to pass the wall, the most ancient and deadly creates afraid of what lies beyond the horizon..." the Stark pauses, his next words seemingly hesitant in comparison to the calm even tone you were used to hearing, "...death and destruction." You misstep with your footing, a flash of red snow beneath your feet before you stabilize yourself.

Cregan adjusts the sword on his back, "I seem I guessed your visions correctly." You do not meet Cregan's gaze that provides him with enough of an answer, "And so is also why I am hesitant to continue our connection for I am not able to face two directions at once, your highness. I understand more than ever my duty to the North and I would not want to keep you from your family as other's have."

You open your mouth to outright protest but before you can speak a new face steps forwards, two swords swinging down by their hips, their hair grey and weathered yet they stand upright and at attention to their lord with their message, a small paper enclosed with a blood red seal, "a message from the Red Keep, my Lord."

The note is promptly handed over before they walk away, disappearing into the white walls. You stare at the small note in Cregan's large gloved hands with interest as he beckons you forwards, opening the small seal and rolling out the paper for both of you to read.

For the eyes of Lord Stark only...

Cregan raises a brow to you, head tilted ever-so slightly in a teasing manner in seeing that you don't even begin to look away from the note, eyes quickly skimming over the fresh ink and your fathers signature and stamp at the bottom.

I know the South and the Middle Lands by the back of my hand as you do the North and in reviewing every scar on the back of my hand that travels up my arm and past where I can view, my search is brought into your territory and so I must make a request of the North. My eldest daughter has been discovered missing, you know of her condition- of her value- and so I am lead to believe she is somewhere within your lands. If you are to find her, your reward in exchange will be grand- your name will be praised. And if it is found that you are to be withholding her- know that your blood will water the lands that will all but forget you and your people with our victory.

You watch as the letter rolls back into its original state, Cregan pockets the note as you both share a look before a smile breaks out on your face in seeing the Lords almost horrified expression. You place a hand on the Starks arm for reassurance, "Like I told you before, I will address my family and make sure you are rightly compensated for your kindness and hospitality."

"Yes, Princess, but it is but a half-lie that you have been kept here for longer than you-" You cut off the Lords anxious lecture, walking back towards the elevators, a few guards following in tow looking between you and their leader with concerned glances.

"I asked to stay, did I not? If my father is that thirsty for blood he shall drink mine as well if he strikes down upon innocent men," you counter, stepping into the shaft and spinning on your heel to face the Lord who stares at you for a long while. Eyes tracing over your schooled features before closing his eyes and taking in a long breath, releasing it as he stands beside you.

The doors shut as the cart is lowered to the ground, "you are already willing to die for a man you have just met in the name of supposed righteousness?" His tone is low, eyes having not left the doorway as your eyes cast up his frame and nod your head whilst looking away.

"I would argue the role you play is even greater than mine, even without morals it would be downright foolish of me to forgo the logic of it. Your army alone is enough to sway many battles and," you giggle to yourself, "you are a young man with great prospects and land to their name- the perfect set up for a heir," your smile leaves you with your next words, "As for my life... well... best not to think on it too heavily..."

─────── · ·

And yet when settling yourself back on to your saddle and trotting down the barren frozen paths before you- it was all you could think about. My life's a lie, my real parents only talk to me like I'm a pawn... and they are not wrong. My sisters going to have the throne, she will marry my uncle as the texts dictate...

The very words send a sicking feeling right down to your gut as you grit your teeth at the image of them close, of his hand caressing her cheek, of their lips connecting... your whirlwind of thoughts only continue on a downwards spiral... she will hold Dragonstone and befriend the King of the Seas while I'll be... there...

"Are you well princess?" Cregan slows his horse to a trot, his eyes cast over your face in seeing your soured expression that you try and cool. "I am fine," you respond albeit with a bit too much force that shuts down any progress you made with the reclusive lord, "I'm sorry," you breathe out after collecting your thoughts, stuffing them into a deep corner near the back of your mind as you open your eyes towards the present, "my father's words just made me see my choices differently."

The Stark nods understandingly, "fathers have a way of doing that," and you can tell by the way in which he speaks his words, they are from the heart. Your rekindling moment is soon broken as a flash of yellow snaps your attention down the path, you briefly hear as Cregan mumbles something underneath his breath before the direwolf, North comes into picture.

You lean to the side in your saddle to be closer to the Lord, "what is going on?" you ask as the party comes to a standstill.

"There is a bear on the path ahead," Cregan notes, looking over to you, amber swirling around steel in his eyes that he blinks away, cutting off his connection with the animal. You watch as he guides his horse to turn simply with his legs, his arms already directing the men and weapons are distributed.

You open your mouth to think of another way not to kill the animal before remembering that this was their way of life and the very furs that now rested upon your shoulders must have been made by a very similar situation. You swallow down your words before offering to help, "with horse riding my parents also made me do lessons in archery." A bow is soon tossed into your hands, a quiver of arrows stationed at your hip.

Your head is turned on a swivel, eyes casting wide and out towards the horizon for any signs of movement. The air is still in these quiet moments, no one dares to speak- wanting to get catch the animal off-guard for an easier kill. You adjust the arrow in your bow, cracking your neck side to side before freezing as the shadows appear to be moving in the tree line. Setting your horse parallel to the forrest you raise your bow, squinting your eye to combat the shimmering reflection of the setting sun off of the snow.

Watching where your arrow is pointed, Cregan casts his arm forwards as other men take a similar position and ready their aim. Once again you hear a mumble from Cregan and the furious growl of a bear has you jumping on your mount before taking aim once more as North darts back towards you all, a massive black bear chasing behind them.

Taking in a deep breath you pull back the arrow and watch as the animals sprint begins to falter as arrows land in its hip and torso, another shot in its neck- you don't remember letting your arrow fly. You hear its the scream of its long tail running across the plane before striking the creature in its eyes.

It's head swings side to side before you feel the force of its body fully greeting the earth. Next a spear is thrown, ensuring the animal to be dead before Cregan dismounts, walking up towards the bear and crouching down. His hands pick of the animals head, his fingers brush over the teeth before he looks over at you.

Dismounting you are quick to rush over and take a similar position. You feel as Cregan's hand pulls at your wrist, your fingers finding the softness of the black fur as you stroke one of the bears short ears with a sigh. You watch as the men that surround you lower their heads, a silent prayer is shared that you close your eyes to respect their culture.

Standing, Cregan looks to you as he unsheathes the large sword from his back, holding it between both of his hands as he takes aim to decapitate the animal. Look away now if you must, his eyes convey yet after everything you had seen today, you felt that it would be of disservice to yourself for not seeing the full practice.

You back away, seeing as red splatters onto the white carpet beneath your feet, some landing on your cheek and garbs that you pay no mind too. Cregan holds the heavy head in his arms before handing it off to another man who straps it to the back of their horse.

Next the skin and fur is stripped as thoughts are shared on how the pelt should be used when you all reached the estate. A flask is then shoved in front of your face that you silently drink from before handing it back to the Lord. "In my position I was often so far removed from these practices... the final product presented in front of my like magic with no prior thoughts," you comment, interlacing your fingers in front of yourself.

Cregan hums, taking a drink himself before storing it back at the side of his saddle, "I will have something commissioned for you when we reach back home."

You shake your head, moving to stand beside your horse seeing as the men had taken as much meat as they could, leaving the rest for nature and its predators to feast upon. "But you took the killing shot, princess, by my tradition you get first choice, often which is the head."

You bite your lip, sighing, "I have no idea what I will do with a bear head nevertheless some teeth, I already have plenty of those," you joke yet Cregan takes your words as truth and confusion clouds his features, "But I thought you did not hunt?"

It is your time to fully laugh as you hike up your skirt and mount your horse before trotting ahead, yelling back, "I meant myself, my Lord." You do not get to see or hear Cregans reaction yet you feel his gaze upon your back as you look back and smile before picking up more speed; feeling the wind in your hair and the kisses of winter burning your cheeks with its bitter attention.

─────── · ·

Back at the House of Stark, the gates shelter your company as you dismount once more and are welcomed by warm hugs from your staff Alexi, Eda, and Lyah. The first practically squeezing you to death while whispering in your ear, "Lady Stark yet?"

You flush sending the younger girl a glare before turning back to catch a flash of worry in Cregan's eyes that vanishes with your smile. Little did you know how hard the Lords heart was racing at the sight of it and how it ached knowing that this would be one of the last times you might see one another.

He raises the head of the bear to hear the praises from he crowd before placing it in the hands of another and from one loud moment turns to a quiet one. A sense of familiarity washes over you as you sit on the large stone fireplace once more and watch as Cregan sits at his desk, feather in hand, ink well just above, and an open page waiting to be marked.

He looks up without picking up his head, you lean your head back against the stone wall, crossing your ankles as you play with the ends of your sleeves. He props the feather back on his desk with a sigh, your head tilts to the side, eyes raking over the strands of hair that dangle over his forehead. "I have never been so worried over a mere letter before."

You do not laugh at his words as you hear the truth that lies behind the humorous tone, "words leave us when we need them most so it is no wonder we love them so much. For when we finally hear the words we need- nothing else matters."

"Usually my jokes are answered by silence or laughter, never poetry," Cregan deadpans as you crack a smile, standing and moving to the corner of his desk. Your eyes trace over the various letters, nicknacks and paperweights across its surface with utmost interest, your hand twitching to touch the dagger staked through a few notes and into the solid dark wood.

Cregan leans back in his chair, looking up at you, "I will miss you, Princess."

"And I you," you extend your hand feeling as his scared one traces over your knuckles before pressing a soft kiss, lingering before letting go. You bring your hands up to your chest, stroking your collarbone before turning your mutual attention back to the letter. "As any good letter should start, we should say hello."

"I am not saying a simple hello to the fucking king of the seven kingdoms," Cregan speaks in an even cold tone. You shrug, "thats all I've got," you say in a false sad tone, eyes gleaming with happiness as you catch yet another small smile from Cregan that makes you notice just how far your short relationship with the Lord has come since your near death in the woods at the beginning of the week.

Soon ink hits parchment as you begin to walk around the study once more, humming to yourself as the Lords eyes trail up from his note and back towards his page every time you cast your eyes back with a smile, "thought you couldn't look in two directions, my Lord," you tease to receive a grunt.

"I see your confidence grows the longer you stay, do not allow your fire to burn you from the inside out, Dragon-guide."

"I will keep that in mind, King of the North, if you promise to think of me too?" You receive no reply for Cregan knew he would think of you and your shared moments for the rest of his life with fondness. You listen as the paper is rolled and wrapped by a simple piece of twine.

You watch as a crow rattles in its cage by the Lords desk, stirring in preparation for its next job. You look to Cregan for permission to open the window, holding one another's gaze for longer than necessary knowing that this was but the first part of saying goodbye, and then he nods. The iron latch is cold to the touch as is the breeze that sneaks in before you shut it. Watching as the crow soars up into the clouds and flutters above the tree line before disappearing from sight.

"May I ask what you asked for your reward?" you do not turn to face the Lord, keeping your eyes to the outside landscape, trying to paint this scene in your memory so that you could request an artisan back in the Red Keep to paint the same scene in all its perfection.

"Do you truly wish to know?" Cregan stands, you feel as his footsteps shift the planks on the floors as he nears your side. You look at yourselves in the reflections off the glass with a nod.

"For a future Targaryen princess to marry one of my heirs." Your breath hitches, so this is how it happened, how it ends, you think to yourself before responding, "a fair ask," in an even tone, raising your chin so that the tears of disappointment do not fall down your cheeks understanding that your part of the story was only to be an observer that ensured the right story played out, nothing more.... nothing less.

You could shout at your younger self for always desiring to learn more but perhaps the excitement always came from the unknown rather than the prospect of knowing.

"I apologize for not being able to do more," Cregan whispers, eyes tracing over the side of your face with a heavy sigh, "I- you-" he closes his eyes before continuing, "I hope you find another man more selfish than I have already been with your attention."

"Nonsense, I am the selfish one, have we not already had this conversation? But thank you for your words.... maybe I will run away and marry a simple man and live a simple life with.... ducks and little fluffy cows." And the sound of Cregan's boisterous laughter filling your ears warms your heart.

─────── · ·

A CROW'S CAW BLEEDS THE EARS OF THE STAFF IN THE RED KEEP AS GUARDS WORKING THE TURRETS AND WALLS COVER THEIR EARS AS THE SCREAM PELTS AT THEIR EARS UNLIKE THE ROAR OF A DRAGON. And without another word, the young princess Rhaenyra takes off from a small council meeting and towards the halls, racing up a winding stair well in order to fetch the letter, an unknown force pushing her every step as she offers a few seeds to the creature, unhooking the note from its feet before watching as it takes back off into the blue horizon.

The paper is a dull yellow in colour, a simple unsuspecting twine laced around the scroll. The Princess wants nothing more than to see the occupants of the letter yet thinks otherwise of all the potential eyes around her as she tucks the paper into a pocket of her gown and walks at a more pleasant pace back to her room.

Seeing the oak frame in view, she picks up her skirts, heart pounding in her ears as her curiosity peaks, the paper burning against her side knowing that whatever was inside must have been important to have such a magnificently groomed bird drop it off.

Yet before she can twist the handle of her door open, a scream yet again sounds through the halls of the Red Keep and as she looks left and then right, she finds the source of it to be coming from herself as her Uncle Daemon grips her arms down tightly to her sides. His teeth gritted together, features sharp and eyes cutting through her weak smile.

"Uncle," she greets, feeling as bruises begin to form across her skin. "Don't think I didn't see that blasted bird as well, Niece. You know what I want so when I let go I expect that you present it to me."

The Princess blinks, mimicking innocence, "the note I hold is from Alicent Hightower, surly some mundane gossip is not of interest of the Rouge Prince?" She smiles, trying to shake out of the Princes grip that remains unwavering just like his hissed words, "you lie terribly. If you were one of my men your tongue would already be in my hand as I dare to to try again."

"Ao dare threaten se dārilaros naejot se Dēmalion Āegenko, kepus? (You dare threaten the heir to the iron throne, uncle)?" Daemons dark laugh rings through the Princesses ear drums as he releases his touch, hands clasped behind his back as he leans daringly close to her face, "Gaoman daor dare, mērī kivio, (I do not dare, only promise)."

"Only the troubled make promises for if you were a good man, people wouldn't need your word- they'd. just. know," and with that the Princess quickly turned into her room, slamming the door closes and pressing a chair to lock the handle in place. She listens to her Uncles shouts with a glee-filled expression, watching as the door vibrates with every knock and shove pressed to it as she sits on her bed and unravels the note.

Eyebrows shooting impossibly upwards with the large gasp she intakes in seeing who signs the letter. Sister, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

To the Mighty King of the Seven Kingdoms, I have received your letter, I have heard your worries and by my words and the image provided by my artisans, see that your daughter is indeed safe and has been resting under my care. She is healthy as she is well and has been learning about our culture in her stay and will be coming with a gift of our shared hunt- she by far had the sharpest eye out of all of my men. A feat not to be hidden but highlighted immensely. But in my praise, I do not wish for her hand, yet ask that in return that a future Targaryen Princess is to marry one of my heirs. May this letter find you with speed, grace, and health, Lord Cregan Stark

─────── · ·

A/N: back to being responsible now *heavy sigh*

─ · · DREAMS OF DRAGONS TAGLIST: @blkmystery @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @themoonlitquill @hnslchw @myownevils @vermillionwinter @r-3dlips @jubilee40 @wisdomcrys @purplecloaks

[simp-ly-writes]

me knowing u don't write for smosh anymore checking the trevor x reader tag: [tumbleweeds] ily

hi anon! i'm sorry that i don't post smosh fics anymore but i hope for you that more people will write for the fandom 🫶 ily too~

[simp-ly-writes]

Hi! I just read three parts about Daemon Targaryen and fem!Targaryen!Reader and I am delighted and charmed by this au! And, please forgive me if this is too brazen, may I translate this these parts and the following into Russian, please? If you'll excuse me, I'd like to post the translation on the Ficbook website with a link to your blog. I would like to do this because there are too few good fanfiction about Daemon in Russian right now.

hi reader! i hope you're doing well and i'm sorry for the late response. thank you for your kind and respectful ask but i don't feel comfortable with my work being translated onto a different website. i hope you find more people that write for daemon! (and thank you for asking 💕, its really awkward when people have not...).

[simp-ly-writes]

Winterfell & Wolves

─────── · · Dreams of Dragons (pt.4)

PAIRING: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen!Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader

SUMMARY: Rescued from a snowstorm by the Starks, you find yourself warming up the house more ways than one. Meanwhile your lack of presence in the Red Keep definitely does not go unnoticed as Rhaenyra learns the truth behind her Uncle's apparent obsession with you.

TAGS: alternate universe, canon divergence, no use of y/n, second person perspective, female pronouns used, coarse language, protective!Daemon, angst, blood and gore, hurt/comfort, soulmates, time travel, targ-cest, engine-translated high valyrian, not beta read. MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,910 | PRIOR | NEXT A/N: wrote this on my commutes, kinda (well very) angsty but we get a new POV!

─────── · ·

YOU STIR FROM YOUR SLEEP AS THE HORSE COMES TO A HALT, THE SOUND OF LARGE SPRUCE DOORS CREAKING OPEN ON IORN HINGES MAKES YOUR EARS RING. Picking up your head and blinking away the blurriness of your vision you notice half a dozen people standing on the front steps to House Stark of Winterfell as you stop just in front of them.

"She is awake," Cregan Stark notes whilst dismounting, he offers his hand to help you down as you slide off the saddle and grit your teeth as your feet touch the snow.

A young woman rushes over, presenting you a pair of slippers with an anxious smile, "these were the best we had on hand, your highness, we will get you-" You place your hand on the girls shoulder and offer her a smile once feeling her tense underneath your hold.

"These are wonderful, thank you. I know you were not expecting me and nor was I expecting to be here," you turn to face the Stark, tipping your head down to show your gratitude, "I thank you for all your generosity."

You look up to see as Cregan nods, his hand extends out from his side, motioning you forwards and indoors yet you pause in your steps once noticing he does not join you right away. His back faces you now, you watch as he pats the horses neck, talking to a group of men and boys who also wear the crest of a wolf upon their chest.

They each carry a weighted blade upon their backs with the youngest holding a bow in between their hands. "The stag is wounded, North still tracks its scent into the eastern woods, if you go now you should be back before nightfall."

The group presses a fist to their chest, bowing their heads before moving towards the gates. The youngest boy waves shyly over to you which you return with a playful wink before seeing as he takes the reigns of the horse and scurries out of view.

"As a boy I was told it was rude to stare," the Stark comments before turning to face you, he stands at the bottom of the steps, you both eye level with one another. You feel as your hair is taken by the wind, you do your best to pull it away from your face as you speak, "Who is North?"

He tilts his head, eyes cast to the side in contemplation before looking back at you, tone even and carrying sincerity, "They are the Wolf that found you." You raise a brow, "Just a wolf?" you press forwards, you hadn't studied much about creatures other than dragons and water serpents, though the latter you still questioned if they truly existed.

"Direwolf, you have dragons, we have wolves," Cregan explains before continuing up the steps and holds the door open for you. You step through the threshold and are met with warmth as hundreds of candles burn in the alcoves between arched doorways. At the end of the hall is a large tapestry of two wolves playing in falling snow underneath the moon.

"Your home is warm," you smile, you hear as Cregan lets a small breath of air out of his noise in a quiet laugh. "And yours is not?" he says in a lightened tone, walking forwards- expecting you to follow him down a series of twisting halls as stone floors turn to wood ones. The ceilings lower slightly by the support of pillars and trusses that frame the stained glass windows.

"The Red Keep is colder than anyone expects, even the breath of a dragon does little to warm its halls," you answer whilst stepping into a another room. A large wooden desk covered in papers and books sits across from a two-story fireplace made of boulders and stones. A fire burns brightly from within as extra logs are stacked beside to keep the flame.

A small sitting area sits just off to the side divided by the pelt of a bear, its open mouth and eyes watch as you enter the space and take a seat on the stones in front of the fire. You slip the fur cloak off from your shoulders and fold it on your lap, presenting it to the man that kneels before you.

He silently takes it, placing it on the floor by his side as he checks over your wounds. Placing your hands in your lap you look anywhere but him as he gently takes your leg, placing it on his thigh as he picks away the fallen leaves on your bruised knee with foreign gentleness. You flush as his hand slides down the back of your leg to your ankle, your squeeze your hands together, if either of my fathers stepped foot into this room now, are the thoughts you distract yourself with yet the Stark thinks you to be in pain.

"I apologize for your pain, princess, but I had to check, your bruises have deepened a few shades," Cregan says as you swallow deeply. He lowers your ankle slowly to the floor before checking over your other ankle and you clear your throat before responding, "I think the snow has frozen any pain I have felt... I have just never been treated my anyone other than my Maesters."

Cregan nods, "Then I am sorry to be your first," his tone quiet and overtly sincere and throw your head back laughing and try to speak between gasps of air, "It was not my intention to insult you, Lord Stark."

"I know, but I am sorry nonetheless," he sets down your other leg before brushing his thighs and standing. He walks towards his desk, leaning over to grab a pitcher and two cups before retuning to you.

"A Maester is on their way from the barracks, they should arrive in the hour. Would you like for me to word to the King?" You pause in taking the cup from his hand as he sits beside you as you look towards the fire in between you two. The Stark watches your hesitation with a piqued interest.

His hand rests closer to yours on the stone bench as he leans forwards, "Do you... not wish to return home? Has something happened that we have yet to hear word of?" Your eyes widen before shaking your head, you take a large sip from your cup before responding, "Everything is as it should be back home, for better... or for worse. I..." you pause before meeting his eyes, your hand creeps forwards, your fingertips brushing against one another, "...I am just tired after the stresses of lately but I would hate more to intrude upon-"

"It is an honour to host the princess," Cregan cuts you off before holding your hand in a silent apology for overstepping with his words. You savour the moment, feeling the various small scars and indents across his warm skin before seeing his brown hair flash silver and you quickly pull away- looking towards your lap.

"I was told the north is cold in more ways than one yet everyone I have met so far has been kind, even to the weather," you comment, looking over the space, leaning back against the stone as you pick at the dried blood on your arms.

"It is our duty to serve the weather, to serve the North. My ancestors ancestors understood that, as did yours, that there are greater evils up here than in the South. And so we must measure kindness and ruthlessness as equals to survive." You listen to the pride in his tone, watch the way he sits that much straighter as you know he must have been trained to do so since a young age.

"Your sense of duty is truly admirable," you offer the man a smile in which he returns with albeit a smaller one only noticeable in the soft crinkles by the corners of his eyes. "What is more admirable is to compare my devotion as higher than your own, Dragon-guide."

You are silent, eyes widening as he looks over your form. "You know who I am?"

"It is the Song of Fire and Ice," Cregan notes, downing the rest of his drink before standing at the sound of footsteps nearing the entry way. He turns back to look at you before opening the door, "I shall be in the next room if you need me." You simply nod, head still spinning with the new information as an older man steps forward, bowing deeply to you before walking forwards.

Cregan lingers watching as various bottles and tools are taken out from the Maester's satchel and lined up on the mantel before moving to step out of the room, pausing at the sound of your voice as you see over the Maesters shoulder, "Your cloak, Lord Stark." You move to stand, picking up the fur yet he raises a palm to halt your actions.

"Keep it for the duration of your stay, Princess Targaryen." And the door closes softly behind him.

─────── · ·

The Maester looks up, a knowing look in his eye as he begins to clean your wounds, humming to himself.

"What is Lord Stark like as a leader?" you question to the Maester as he pauses in his actions before counting his work, "he is a just leader with a strong mind. He took down his father to take his current Lordship and has never made anyone question his ability. He is a good man, your highness, as he is also an unmarried one at that."

You look off to the side and out through a window as snow softly falls and melts against the glass. "Dragons and wolves-hm?" you question to yourself quietly. The Maester hums a brighter tune in response before asking you to turn. You hiss as ointment hits the gash on your face.

"There is pain before there is healing," the Maester comments seeing as you grip the stones beneath you. "I see that now," you speak through gritted teeth. "I will work as quickly as I can, your highness." And you nod in thanks, tears beginning to well in your eyes as you breathe through the deep stinging feeling before releasing a long breath once it is finally over.

"Should I call for the staff to take you to your room, your highness?" the Maester asks, placing his emptied bottles and tools back into his bag. You open your mouth to respond but before you can Cregan steps back into the room in more relaxed garbs, his hands are placed behind his back as he dismisses the Maester.

"I shall show her to her rooms and introduce her as host, take care Maester Evos," the Lord Stark commands watching as the other man exists the room before offering his hand to help you stand.

Before you do, you reach down to grab the forgotten clock, setting it under your arm before taking his as he leads you back down the hall and towards a separate wing. Three girls stand at the end of the hall, each one bowing in a row to you both. "These are to be your staff, Alexi, Eda, and Lyah," Cregan explains to you, his hand lingers on your arm as you feel the stares of the girls focus in on your connection.

You smile, "I thank you for your service in advance."

"A bath is readied for you, your highness... should we prepare you for dinner afterwards?" They look towards there Lord as do you finding him already peering down at you in a silent ask, is this what you wish?

You raise your head, "It would be an honour to dine with the Lord Stark." Your chuckle in seeing him hastily look away and hear as he clears his throat, Dragons and their fire, he murmurs before dismissing himself.

You watch as he leaves before following the staff into your guest chambers. The rooms are fit with blue wallpaper, various hand drawn designs encompass the space. A fur rug is settled underneath a canopy bed, a warn arm chair nestled beside the fireplace and to the next room over you find the bath already filled.

You allow your tattered dress to fall and be disposed off before stepping into the hot waters and allow yourself to sink into the bubbles. You lean back against the walls of the tub and listen to their idle gossip. Hands begin to massage soap and oils into your scalp and watch as another readies your gown and shoes on a table in the corner of the room.

"I heard local clans have been spotted tampering with the wall-" Alexi begins to speak before being cut off by a scoff.

"Well they really must have a death wish- one that accounts for all of mankind," Eda says, flattening out your gown and picking off specks of dirt.

"They hope that the chaos will bring them an opportunity to uprise," Lyah counters whilst rinsing your hair.

"But our lord serves us well... why would they play against his hand?" Alexi mumbles to herself, turning around to grab a stack of linen towels.

"Well how am I supposed to know?" Eda says and you can almost hear her eyes roll and thats when you decide to speak up, startling the ladies that surround who thought you to be asleep in the tub.

"There are different levels to need that others struggle to see depending on where they chart. Why take from the hand when you can be the hand? Or better yet... be the one who decides who gets hands in the first place," you watch as the women look between one another before continuing their work.

"You are wiser than your years and we all apologize, your highness, we thought you were resting-" Eda flushes, grasping her hands in front of herself with a weary smile.

"Nonsense!" you pick your bubble-covered hand up with a soft chuckle, "it has been quite some time since I've been able to hear the talk of the people," you explain and watch as each slowly relaxes the muscles in their body.

"Are you allowed out of the castle much?" Alexi begins to ask before being swatted by Lyah, a pointed look is shared yet you answer honestly, "no, I'm afraid not with my condition or without another member of my family as my uncle tells me."

"I am sorry to hear that, princess," Alexi's head tips down. You push yourself out of the bath, grabbing one of the towels to wrap around your hair, the other you begin to dry yourself off with before the girls move you to a stool where your hair and face are prepared before you step into the gown. Its fabric is a deep grey with silver accents, not too different than what you wore in the Red Keep.

Yet besides the dragons that usually crawled up your form, wolves danced around the bottom of your skirt so that if you spun they would become an animated run. "It is gorgeous," your hands drift across the material.

"It was our Lord's late mother's collection from her younger years," Eda explains and you freeze at her words before beginning to protest, "Surely I cannot-"

"The Lord brought it as forwards as an option, there are others if you do not like it but this one was closest to your size," Lyah reassures you before presenting you a pair of gloves to wear, "if you decide to go out later," she quickly explains and you grab them, tucking the pair into your belt.

"Thank you all for preparing me," you smile graciously.

"When else could we dress a princess?" Alexi smiles, bowing her head as you laugh before telling her to raise, "well then I wish for another princess to grace your halls in the future." Yet your words do not comfort the girl, her smile fading, "You are not to stay?"

Eda and Lyah share a look behind your back that you catch in the mirrors reflection. "I must return to my duties soon, I do not wish to think of the chaos that awaits my return."

Alexi does not respond, simply opening the door to the hall as you follow behind her towards the dining room where the Lord of Winterfell can be seen overlooking the mountain peaks.

"The Princess Targaryen, my lord," a guard announces by the door. You watch as Cregan pivots on his heel, his head tips towards you in greeting yet he takes his time looking on the way back up.

"It fits," he states as everyone clears out of the room behind you. Placing your hands behind your back you walk up to stand beside the lord, peering out the window to take in the view, you do not ask for clarification for his words, mistaking yourself for thinking too deeply on the matter and change conversation.

"By the morning I should be well rested enough to send correspondence, the Maester said all my injuries were minor once cleaned properly," you announce, keeping your view to the snow-peaked mountains- feeling Cregan's stare.

"Is your leave to take place in the early morning hours? Or could I show you the true north?" You look down at the wolves on your dress, smiling as you shift the weight between your feet.

"Sending a letter by evening works as well, perhaps better they are to receive it in the morning," you question aloud and face the Stark who extends their hand, "hungry?"

You take his hand, "famished," you answer as he leads you both towards the table already set. Cregan pulls out your chair before sitting at his own. He pours out two glasses of wine before leaning back, eyes reflecting the flames of the fire on the other side of the room.

"Is the direwolf, North, yours?" you ask, cutting into a steamed carrot on your plate.

"Yes, we bond similarly to how you do with dragons," you know his words are not meant to hurt you yet you can do little to hide the pain in your eyes knowing that you, a Targaryen, do not have one to call your own.

"I have seen to misspoke," Cregan clears his throat upon seeing your sadness before changing topics. Conversation flows easily afterwards as you bring up childhood stories, talk about your differing cultural traditions and events.

─────── · ·

Next thing you knew night had transitioned into the early morning hours as you stood in front of your bedroom door. Cregan bowed his head, wishing you a goodnight, his eyes lingering- waiting for you to disappear from his sight.

You turn away, blushing underneath his gaze, your hand wraps around the cold metal door handle, squeaking slightly as you begin to turn it before pausing and looking back at the Lord over your shoulder.

"Would it be... overstepping as a guest to say that your kindness gains more than my thanks." The air stills, your breaths tightly and uneven as you wait for his response. You feel his warmth approaching your back, feel as his hand brushes a strand of hair away from your shoulder, his warm fingertips lingering against your skin.

"I think..." another long pause, "...that we both should rest and become clearer headed before pursuing anything, your highness." You swallow, nodding your head gently before shielding yourself behind the safety of your door.

Your heart sting more than just a light rejection- it burns and pains you physically leaving you feeling hollow with.... guilt? But I need a huband... father demands it. You quickly discard your layers, a growing anxiety has you feeling light headed as lay upon the covers in your chemise whilst picking at your skin.

The lingering memory of Cregan's touch sends a shutter down your spine as your head finds the pillows and you bring your knees up towards your chest. Years worth of memories of your parents- dragon masters you correct yourself, condemning you for wanting friendship and attention from men in your younger days slip past your eyes.

Always so persistent it confused you to no end while you watched your friends kissing in the school yard, getting partners, hooking up, or even getting married and you had never even come close to brushing hands nevertheless kissing a boy... and today it seemed your curiosity peaked, you feel disturbed by your mixed feelings on the matter, tossing and turning throughout the early morning hours before the girls come with a tray of breakfast and a new gown for you to wear.

─────── · ·

By the time you are prepared and the Stark's fur cloak sits heavy upon your shoulders, you step out into the front courtyard to see a number of black horses standing in wait, supplies draped over their body and men at arms awaiting their Lords orders. Cregan stand in the middle, his baritone echos against the stone walls as he delegates tasks and orders alike.

You catch eyes with a familiar golden-eyed and white-fur wolf who tilts their head in your direction. North remains seated in between the Lords legs as you step closer to the crowd that slowly dies down upon seeing your presence.

"Good Morrow, princess," Cregan greets you, bowing his head as does everyone else around you. You straighten your shoulders as you tip your head in reply, "Lord Stark, are we to travel to the wall?"

"Yes-" North stirs at Cregan's knee, their snout pressing into your thick gown curiously. Clearing his throat the wolf meets his eyes, an almost silent conversation is held before Cregan kneels, hand resting at the back of the animals neck.

"North wishes to greet you, your highness." Your eyes light up with excitement that you do nothing to conceal as you hastily bend down and extend your hand, feeling as the cold wet nose presses against your palm as you pat the wolfs head. Cooing as their eyes close.

"Are you not the sweetest creature?" You rhetorically question, hand moving to scratch behind their ear. A chorus of laughs can be heard around you, "I believe that sweetest creature has ripped the throats out of a dozen foes just this week," a voice comes from the crowd that you cast a small smile towards before turning you attention back to North.

"The sweetest man-killer, I stand corrected," you clarify underneath your breath, and catch a small chuckle coming from the lord who stands seeing as the animal would not attack you anytime soon.

"Have you ridden before, princess?" you cast your gaze upwards, eyes gleaming with a number of thoughts and prior dreams that would be unbecoming of someone of your status as you answer simple, "yes," standing as a horse is brought forth.

You hesitate for a moment seeing the height of the stallion before a pair of gloved hands are on your waist, helping you up onto the saddle. You and Cregan share a look before you watch as he easily saddles up and casts his hand to the side in a silent as for you to join him.

You trot over, a sudden gust of cold air eats at your face as the gates open, "Are you ready to see the truth North, your highness?" You watch as North dashes out ahead of you, emitting a howl before disappearing into the barred white landscape.

"I am," you respond confidently.

─────── · ·

THE RED KEEP HAD NEVER FITTED ITS NAME BETTER AS BLOOD COULD BE SEEN SPLATTERED UPON THE FORTRESSES WALLS AND POOLING ON ITS FLOORS. Screams could be heard echoing down the hall that Rhaenyra peered down from around a stone corner. Her eyes cast to the Rogue Prince holding the last of your personal guard pressed against the wall, their feet kicking at the stones and dirt, their nails digging into the hands at their throat.

The Princes words were quiet and deathly so in comparison to the loud start to his massacre once his brother finally brought forth the news that you were no where to be found. Your night shawl the only evidence of your disappearance the night prior hanging from your balcony.

Rhaenyra kept her footsteps light to try and keep herself hidden for as long as possible- hiding between pillars to try and hear more of the conversation. "Your ignorance took her from me and you will pay for you sin. You fight so hard for your minuscule life now while you should have fought just as hard for hers," Daemon all but growls lowly into the knights ear, his eyes drinking in their fear, his shoulders tense and shaking as he thinks to how you must have felt that night.

Rhaenyra gasps as dark violet eyes latch onto her presence. Her heart aches in her chest at the rising hopeful glint that swiftly dies once realizing she was the wrong princess. The man coughs as he is dropped to the floor. The Princess holds her spot and watches as the knight crawls towards her, his right hand missing half of its fingers reaches up towards her before a boot rests heavily between their shoulders, stopping any further movement.

Dark Sister gleams in the daylight as she raises to meet the suns rays. Rhaenyra swallows down the bile growing in her throat watching as her uncle stares at her with dead eyes before the knights head rolls, stopping down by her feet.

Daemon cleans off the blade on the beheaded mans cloth before kicking the head aside, "If you are here to denounce my actions on behalf of my brother, know that this is me refraining."

"I am not here to lecture you, Kepus (uncle), I am here to say that I feel the same-" Rhaenyra begins to speak, extending her hand to grab the Princes arm who flinches away.

"You had no idea what I feel," Daemon spits back, chest heaving, blood dripping down his chin and running down his neck. He raises his head, closing his eyes to try and not strike down your sister for irritating him with her words, "I have lost her too many times due to my brothers actions, his apparent lack of care and attention-"

"I have lost my sister just as you have your niece! So don't you dare speak of your pain above my own!" The Princess raises her tone, stepping forwards, hands balled into fists down at her sides.

Daemons chuckles are cold and empty as with every long stride he takes, Rhaenyra hastily takes one back down the hall followed by another with every word the Prince speaks, "If I cared for her just as my niece, just as you, than why do I constantly crave her presence? Why do I only know calm with the weight of her in my arms? Why do I ache for her?" The pair soon run out of hall as the Princess finds herself cornered, any initial anger she felt now overcome by her growing fear, "Why do I dream every night to feel the softness of her lips agains mine if she is just my-"

"You love her," Rhaenyra cuts her uncle off with a statement rather than a question. Daemons eyes cast away, his lips pressed, eyes distant. "You truly love her," she repeats again more softly to herself. That is why you never treated me the same... Her heart breaks in seeing the slow single nod she receives, "Then why does father not approve? It would fall in line with family tradition after all...."

Teeth is all she sees as Daemon steps away, spitting on a nearby corpse as he cracks his neck, back turned. "He wants you as queen, Rhaenyra, not your sister, you know that?"

"I do," she raises her head, eyes tracing over his broad shoulders.

"So you must understand, just like your father, that our union would make it easy to challenge you to that title."

Rhaenyra furrows her brow, head tilted in confusion that borders on frustration, "My sister does not want to become Queen though? I do not understand-"

"But he knows I do and so comes the second part..." Daemon turns to face Rhaenyra, "Viserys knows that I will obey whatever he demands of me with your sister as my prize-"

Rhaenyra, "My sister is not a prize to be won," she instinctively spits out, "but if she were to agree to take your hand then why does my father not demand that you don't become king in return?" She questions, starting to play with the end of her braid, eyes squinted as if trying to see the answer she seeks.

"And so now you understand my frustrations, Rhaenyra," Daemon swings his hands outwards before allowing them to drop at his sides, "He can ensure that you will not be dethroned and yet actively chooses not to..." Both royals stare at one another as the smell of copper stings both of their noses.

"There has to be something more to this," Rhaenyra steps around her uncle, walking back up the hall to try and clear her senses of the decomposing corpses that surround them. Daemon watches as she bites her lip, shaking her head slightly before looking around the room.

"If there were..." Daemon takes a few long strides to meet back up with the princess, "...I would have found the answers long ago...."

─────── · ·

PRIOR | NEXT

A/N: i don't know when i can get the next chapter out but i hope you all enjoyed this one 😊

─ · · DREAMS OF DRAGONS TAGLIST: @blkmystery @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @themoonlitquill @hnslchw @myownevils

[simp-ly-writes]

heyyy besites, trying to be a full time student while workin' has got me feeling like above /\ recently- and i need to cram for my finals too :'(

i'm sorry for the lack of updates or replies recently and into the near future. know that i see your asks, messages, and comments and will get back to you as soon as i can :)

love you all - simp-ly

[simp-ly-writes]

Reborn From Ashes

─────── · · Dreams of Dragons (pt.3)

PAIRING: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen!Reader

SUMMARY: Realities collide when an unknown man calls you his princess and chaos ensues. A great storm has taken over Dragonstone as an equal one starts to brew in your mind. Will you listen to this man that speaks of destiny? Or will you try and fight it?

TAGS: alternate universe, canon divergence, no use of y/n, second person perspective, female pronouns used, coarse language, protective!Daemon, angst, blood and gore, hurt/comfort, soulmates, time travel, targ-cest, engine-translated high valyrian, not beta read. MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 3,468 | PRIOR | NEXT A/N: Happy after work chapter! Sorry for the heavy lore dumping in advance heh...

─────── · ·

WHAT HAS MY LIFE BECOME?, was all you could think when waking up on your cot in Dragonstone. A great fog had taken over the island, your head fuzzy as you stumbled forwards out of your tent- your knees slipping into the mud as you cursed underneath a breath.

A hand extends to you, yet another glimpse of sparkling silver has you squinting thinking it to be the sun as you grab their hand to stand. But you soon come to realize it is the chain they wear that glimmers so brightly and you can do little to conceal your gasp at the three headed-dragon crest as they smile down at your reaction.

"It has been some time since I last saw a silver sister," the bald man notes, head tilting towards the fortress where many teams were already at work underneath canopies and tarps within the courtyard, you nod and follow behind his steps in order to take in more of his appearance.

The wind was bitter cold, your cheeks hurting from being pelting of rain and your outer shell of a raincoat was already soaked through, it was as if the sea was down from the skies as much as its waves roared up the cliff face- and the man in front of you practically skipped through the onslaught- as if in his own element.

Feeling your gaze, he looks back and bows his head, "having troubles, silver-haired?" You take his words as an insult, "I can assure you the hair has nothing to do with my age," you fire back watching as his eyes sparkle with humour that he soon stifles before he holds open a heavy oak door, allowing you to walk in first before it slams behind you both, the wind also trying to find peace indoors from the rain.

The entrance hall is empty of people yet the space is filled with the echoes of every sound you make from the vaulted ceilings. Large and imposing trusses hold dark metal chandeliers forgotten to time as artificial lamps brighten up the space. Everything appeared too bright and sterile under the cold lighting, you missed the warmth of open flames and candles alike warming your skin... among other things, you shake your head of the nonsense and turn back to the bald man to find him already looking at you whilst leaning against a carved stone pillar that depicts dragons and native fauna.

"Have we met before?" you question, walking closer whilst trying not to shiver as the cold water had made its way down to your bones. "Have we?" he echoes back, standing up straight- his stance appearing confident yet his eyes are cast to the floor and on your muddied boots.

"Why speak in riddles when we can speak in plain truth?" you counter before shaking your head, why do I even bother?, "who is your superior? Look at me and tell me," you demand, feeling around your pockets for your phone to call whatever manager misplaced their rogue trainee.

"I am meant to be here just as much as you are," he ignores your demands, looking over your shoulder and up the grand stone staircase, "and that means more than you think."

"More than I think? Well, I spent my life studying my ancestors in order to be here and you dare ask- no, tell me my position? I belong here," you cross your arms, partially to warm yourself, the other to guard your heart that feels attacked.

"You are right, you do belong here, I never said otherwise-" you shake your head, turning around to walk upstairs, hand moving to the radio on your hip to page your team. You listen as the man follows behind you, eyes curiously looking over your frame before you stop feeling as they slam into your back before apologizing, "my princess, you must forgive me." And you swear that by sheer force alone your radio crackles- threatening to snap in your hand, "I'm sorry?"

And you receive no response, turning on your step to stare down as he does his best to kneel before you on the uneven steps, "It was never my thought nor intention to offend you, my princess. I ask of your good heart to forgive my transgressions."

You begin to look around panicked, phone, radio, watch, lights... I cannot be back in the past.... can I? You slowly lower yourself to sit on the steps, any rage you once felt had succumbed to the overwhelming fear you felt, am I losing my mind? And so you whisper softly enough for only you both to hear, "but I am not a princess?"

The silence that follows is heavy, you watch as they stiffen, hands gripping the stone steps as do your hands as if competing who would be first to draw blood in their anxieties. "May I speak freely, your highness?" Their tone equally soft as you nod, unsure of your own voice.

"I am an Elder of the Dragonkeepers. I have devoted myself to the old gods and to my kings and their dragons alike. I have been tasked by those above us in a test of my devotion to guide you back on your path..." the man takes a long pause, hesitantly meeting their eyes with yours, "...if you will allow me to?"

And without a second thought you answer, "I think you have the wrong person." You stand, taking two steps at a time, moving past the second level and up to the third and then the fourth.

The man follows like a shadow, "You have dreams, do you not?" You trip, hissing as you slam your face into the uncut stone edge of the stair. A gasp begins to form at your temple, blood seeps down your cheek like a tear.

You hiss at the pain, standing you wobble, gripping the bannister for strength before continuing upwards the seemingly never-ending staircase as tears begin to form in your eyes. "You have read the tapestry, have you not?"

You grab the bannister this time, pulling yourself up as you stagger up the remaining steps and walk through an arched door frame and into a dark hall seemingly yet to be explored. Cobwebs act as barriers that you step through and walk over, you swear to hear the scurrying of rats near your feet yet nothing will keep you from getting away from this dragonkeeper.

"The Rogue Prince has threatened his brother, your father for-"

"He is not my father!" you whip around and yell, "I am not a princess, I am a scholar, I am no one's niece, guide, nor bride!" Your hands curl up into fists, you swear to look manic, dressed in blood and split skin, soaking wet down to the bone.

The Dragonkeeper stands still at the end of the hall, his back basked in sunlight, "please, let me help you understand-"

"You don't understand! I was never meant for this... this insanity! You are only a figment of my imagination, this whole thing is just some large prank, right?" You reach for your radio to speak yet find it dead in your hand, dropping it to the floor, kicking it away in your frustration.

The Dragonkeeper takes slow steps forwards, joining you in the darkness as you fall to your knees, shivering. They offer the cloak off their back, wrapping it around your shoulders as you clench the cloth tightly, knuckles turning white. "The eldest princess was beloved by not only her parents but by the people. It was a great travesty thought to be punishment of the gods when she died unexpectedly in her early years."

You look towards the floorboards, counting every nail you see as the Dragonkeeper takes a seat in front of you, their palms sat in their lap, a silent ask for you to take them as they close their eyes, recounting the tale as is they were reliving through it in their thoughts. "Her body was never found in time for the burial. Some said that she was fed to the dragons for her weak blood, others that witches kidnapped her... but it was us, the Dragonkeepers, that took the child and presented her to the old gods on behalf of King Viserys."

You too, close your eyes, hesitantly reaching forwards for their palms, warm and weathered skin greet you with a soft squeeze of reassurance. "The King knew of a prophecy that had been passed down generations of Targaryens, knew that his daughter he found asleep more than out playing with the rest of the children, who spoke of events way before her time who could see the future in many instances, had to be part of this prophecy, and so he begged and pleaded for your safety and for many years it was unknown if our pleas were heard..."

─────── · ·

Soon the blackness of your eyelids became painted with a vivid scene. Encompassed by black stone walls that formed a colosseum was a fiery red dragon, Caraxes! you yell in a voice unlike your own. You look down to see your long black garbs on fire, you hastily pat the flames out with your hand as your other grips a quarterstaff.

The Dragon cries, its neck swings side to side, trying to be rid itself of its chains. "lykiri Caraxes! lykiri! (calm! calm!)," you shout, trying to walk towards the dragon only to find a wing coming down like a wall that sends you crashing back against the black stone.

You watch as many other Dragonkeepers come forwards, shouting commands, other throwing food, treats and toys towards the creature yet nothing seems to calm down the beast as it roars that soon fall to whimpers as a figure emerges in dark armour that blends into the walls.

Their helmet is held underneath their arm as they confidently stride towards the enraged dragon without second thought, their hand outstretched as it touches the scaled muzzle, closing their eyes with a heavy sigh as smoke exhales from the dragon's nostrils. It is then you notice their face to be covered in blood and that their red hair was unnatural, silver stained by blood.

"Nyke rȳbagon aōha ōdres keskydoso ñuhoso ziry feels kempa isse ñuha prūmia, nyke miss zirȳla tolī, (I hear your pain the same way it feels heavy in my heart, I miss her too)," the man you now know to the Prince Daemon speaks to his dragon, consoling it. The rest of the Dragonkeepers bow their head yet you hide behind a pillar to hear the rest of the conversation.

"Kessa māzigon arlī naejot nyke, naejot īlva, kesi mazverdagon sure hen ziry iā se vys kessa addemmagon syt taking ñuha soul hen nyke (She will come back to me, to us, we will make sure of it or the world shall pay for taking my soul from me)." The Dragon roars in agreement before outstretching a leg allowing for the prince to climb up into their saddle and the pair fly away as you remerge into the pit.

─────── · ·

You gasp, retracting your hands as the Dragonkeeper keeps their eyes closed, smiling softly, "the prince has always cared deeply for the princess... and is but an instance of the madness that ensued after your untimely passing. Yet little did everyone know, even yourself, you were being raised and protected for your mission-"

"But how do I keep crossing between worlds?" you question, cutting the man off as your heart aches in seeing your uncle's pain, "If I am safe here in this time, why do I leave?"

"Allow me to finish the tale, princess." You bite your cheek, closing your eyes and grabbing their hands once more. Memories of your childhood bedroom walls coated in sigils and ripped maps, of your parents, the Dragonkeepers that raised you sitting by your bedside, silver dragons dangling from their necks. Your thought-to-be father appears to be speaking the words of the man before you, their eyes are filled with unshed tears.

"Have you ever questioned how they knew so much about your family's history that has been forgotten to time? Have you not worried over their lack of care for your condition as if it is something normal?" A smaller you sits in their bed, gripping their bed sheets tightly. You cry softly upon realizing my life was nothing but a lie.

"The magic that keeps you here has been dwindling and will continue to do so, the only thing that keeps you here now is your fear," the Dragonkeeper whispers, dimming the lamp beside your bed.

"But what of my life, the people I have met? What about my career and aspirations, everything I have worked so hard towards?" you reach out for their hand to stop their movements, "I do not want to lose it all to be a mere princess."

"You are not only a princess, you are a protector of realities, your highness. Everything you have learned will be worth twice its weight in gold back where you are meant to be, you must allow yourself to let go-" his voice echoes in your mind.

"But I can't!" you stand up and shout as the room becomes darker as you stand alone in the shadows.

"You can, you will. You cannot stomach the world's end due to your own stubbornness. The world you reside in now is not possible if you do not go back... so I ask you to do what you do best, and think," the Dragonkeeper's voice fades, you feel their hands slide out from under yours yet you are unable to open your eyes.

Spinning around, you cannot see your hands or feet in the blackness that surrounds you- nor can you scream or shout- your voice drowned out by a constant hum. Soon fire ignites around you in a circle, the roar of a dragon has you shuttering and hunched forwards by the power of its breath.

Figures emerge standing around the flaming circle, you see the ghost of Prince Daemon's hands shake, his eyes a mixture of grief and pain before turning around and storming away. You then see the Princess, Rhaenyra step forwards, she throws a picture of a grey dragon, the first you ever saw into the circle before she too is dragged away into the darkness.

You meet King Viserys eyes as he nods at you, head held high to support the weight of the crown yet silent tears stream down his weathered cheeks. You hold his stare, watching as he slowly extends his hand through the flames, "be reborn through the dragon's flames," he chants. You look over his shoulder to see the Dragonkeeper standing behind him, he nods his head, silently asking for you to take his hand.

The fire feels warm yet you do feel a burn, you smell as your clothes burn away. The uneven rocks you step upon with bare feet are jagged, threatening to push into your skin yet you persevere. You reach your hand out to grasp the outstretched one of the king and your eyes are met by white light that blinds you and the cold touch of a breeze.

─────── · ·

You find yourself to be in a vast forest of pine trees frozen to time, standing tall in an effort to thaw by reaching the sun. Another breeze casts a light layer of snow over your body, you shiver as the cold bites at your skin, finding its way into your wounds that ache.

Your dress is in shambles- holding on by a mere thread. You reach down, ripping a part of your skirt and wrap it around your waist in an effort to keep the garb up before following the sun in hopes of finding your way out.

Passing by a frozen over creek you kneel down and do your best to analyze your face and wipe the blood that nears your eye. I look like death, is all you can think to yourself, and you feel close to it too if you did not find better clothes or shelter soon. The frozen water cracks, the ground shakes below your knees, you dogs barking and howling in the distance followed by a dozen horses galloping- and you chase after the sound.

Tree branches blur in the background, your feet ache, torn up by the uneven ground below you yet you know you would not survive once the warmth of the sun had vanished, not with the injuries that still sting upon your hands and face. You run as fast as you can before tripping over a fallen branch, scraping your knees on your way to the forest floor.

You shout in pain, trying but failing to pick yourself up and suddenly a stag rushes past you, eyes wide in panic as it belts out in pain. You see an arrowhead sticking out of its neck, a hunt, you raise your head, eyes beginning to freeze over as the high sun reflects off of the snow, blinding you from seeing further.

"HELP!" you shout, "PLEASE!" you beg as the howls become louder. "Please," you whisper, shaking as another gust of snow drapes over your fallen form. You reach out your hand in desperation, waving it in the air, your voice lost as the winds sing and your heart stops at the sound of a low growl.

The snow had suddenly formed yellow eyes that peer deeply into your own. You shake your head, reaching out with your palm, "I mean you no harm," you beg the animal yet know that it has no chance of understanding you, so curl into yourself in an effort to appear smaller.

You startle in your actions feeling as a wet nose touches your cheek, your eyes peek open to see the large muzzle of a wolf staring down at you. Its eyes appear human-almost as they widen, looking over your features carefully before howling loudly. You wince, tucking into yourself again yet the animal stops you part way as it lays beside you, head resting beside your own.

You all but whimper as the warmth of their fur helps to ease your blue fingertips and you await the footsteps that crunch in the snow. Metal clammers, leather boots squeak as they approach your form. The wolf stands tall to attention, you watch as a hand pats the space between the large wolf's ears. You cannot hear the praise or command over the singing of the wind yet the wolf darts off, disappearing into the snow.

A young man now kneels beside you, their long brown hair flowing in their face. His gloved hand picks up your head, his other tries to shake the snow off your hair. You watch as they still- realizing it is not the snow that makes your hair brilliant silver but your natural tone. "A Targaryen?'" a deep voice questions to themselves, "how did you end up here?"

You silently watch as they unsnap the heavy cloak from their shoulders and place it over yours. "Thank you," you breathe out. Their hand swipes away the blood from your cheek, eyebrows furrowing, "were you taken?" You nod knowing it to be the easiest answer.

He bares his teeth, "by who?" The man helps you upright yet you fail to stand on your own, body weak from the cold as you rest upon their broad chest, "I am sorry-" you try yet fail to move away.

The man holds you upright with ease, their grey eyes flooded with concern to match their frown. "Why apologize when it was against your will... unless you wanted to be kidnapped?"

You shake your head rapidly and notice the metal wolf sigil on their armour, a Stark. "I-I do not remember, it was at night and I just managed to escape," you explain, "you must believe me," you grip their leathers tightly with your plea.

"As a lord, it would be treason for me to speak otherwise, and as a man, I would be stupid," Cregan Stark jokes yet his tone lacks humour. You twitch in his hold as he picks you up in his arms, setting you on the saddle of his horse.

You open your mouth to protest before watching as he sits behind you, reaching forwards to grab the reins, "Rest" he commands. You tip your head in confusion before realizing the words were directed at you. "Rest," he says again in a softer tone, "I will ensure no more harm comes your way, consider it a promise from my house to yours." 

And with his words you allow your head to rest against his chest, listening to his heart as sleep finds you.

─────── · ·

PRIOR | NEXT

A/N: warming up with the Starks huh? 🤭 wonder what your family might think of that...

─ · · DREAMS OF DRAGONS TAGLIST: @blkmystery @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @themoonlitquill

[simp-ly-writes]

The Prophecy

─────── · · Dreams of Dragons (pt.2)

PAIRING: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen!Reader

SUMMARY: Knee-deep in growing family tensions, you continue searching for the answers to your 'sleepwalking condition.' And in this search, you find yourself learning more about your ancestors, an uncle obsessed with his eldest niece, a king who struggles to be a father, and a young princess determined to invoke change.

TAGS: alternate universe, canon divergence, no use of y/n, second person perspective, female pronouns used, coarse language, emotional hurt/comfort, protective!Daemon, angst, soulmates, time travel, targ-cest, engine-translated high valyrian, not beta read. MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 3,257 | PRIOR | NEXT A/N: thank you all for the support on the first part, I hope you enjoy this next part! (I also used a translator for the high valyrian- so apologies for any inaccuracies).

─────── · ·

A DOZEN HUSHED WHISPERS SOUND FROM AROUND YOU YET YOU REMAIN FROZEN. You force your eyes closed- pretending to be asleep to try and focus on the words being spoken, "not ill... no symptoms... magic, sorcery..." you frown, I am most certainly ill if I am experiencing this, you think to yourself in yet another one of your dreams.

"...dreamer?" a whisperer asks before another confirms, "a dreamer, a seer, but how?- it has been decades..." And suddenly a frustrated whisper silences the room as you feel the bed dip by your knees, a hand picks up your own and holds it gently. "Mandia (older sister), do you hear me? Show me a sign that you are still with me like you promised me so," Rhaenyra calls out to you, head dipping to closely watch your face for any reaction- she gasps seeing your eyes fly open as you stare at the top of your canopy bed.

"Where am I? When is this?" your voice horse as you rub your eyes- thankful that your parents taught you the dying language of high valyrian back in your times.

"You are in the Red Keep and it is the year 104, your highness," a maester calls from the corner of the chamber, head dipping once meeting your gaze as yours soon widens at the sight of a much younger Princess Rhaenyra who sits by your side, she signals for a pitcher of water to be brought forward whist stacking a few pillows behind your back- helping you to sit upright before tiping the cup slowly against your lips.

You bring your hands forward, trying to take the cup from her yet her grip is strong for her small hands, "please, let me help you get better." And you can't help but comply in seeing her violet eyes turn a light shade of blue.

Setting the cup back down, Rhaenyra takes both of your hands in hers, placing them on her cheeks that silent tears stream down steadily. "Why must everyone be so sick? First you and then mother, is just not fair!" her head falls forwards and into your lap, "its just not fair..." her sorrows muffled into the bedding and as if on muscle memory you bring a hand to her head, threading your fingers gently through the knots and hum gently, unsure of how to answer her pleas.

You look up seeing as the maesters around you shuffle awkwardly, "you all are dismissed," your head tilting back in surprise for your own commanding tone watching as they hesitate for a moment before beginning to file out of the room, shutting the door softly behind themselves.

Rhaenyra's sniffles slowly fade as she looks up at you, "Kepus (uncle) was so worried for you, he always is and so was father... yet he was more worried that his brother would scare the maesters to death before they could treat you." She watches your eyes, trying to gage your reaction before you speak it, your heart aches seeing how earnestly she awaits your words- like they would soothe every ache in her mind.

"Kepus always needs a busy mind, Rhaenyra, worrying is just another distraction for he grows bored easily," you recite from one of the many records you read on the Rogue Prince while in school.

You watch as your supposed sister frowns at your words, eyebrows pinched together, "Don't let him hear you say that, Mandia, he may get offended." You snort before leaning in closer and whisper, "he is quick to offend." You laugh at Rhaenyra's short gasp before she giggles and shakes her head, pushing your face away.

"Is that laughter I hear? What are you two up to now?" a new voice calls from the doorframe that has you both freezing in your spot. Rhaenyra sits quickly upright as you force yourself not to bow at the sight of King Viserys, your supposed father. Gosh I need to wake up soon, you think to yourself.

"As you were," the King raises his hand, moving to stand at the foot of your bed. Hands gripping the footrest for support as he smiles down at you both, "you seem well," he acknowledges with a soft smile, "what did the Maesters do this time?" Viserys looks towards his youngest daughter expectantly who watched your whole procedure closely, she basks in her fathers attention.

"They used the same ointments as the last time but she woke up on her own again," Rhaenyra explains, quickly side eyeing you to agree in which you slowly nod, curious as to why she was not telling the full truth from what you briefly heard.

Viserys hums to himself while looking between you both before sighing and standing up straight, fixing the coat he wears like an anxious tick, "I'm sure your mother would be in better spirits if you both gave her a visit now that you are awake."

Rhaenyra jumps up, hand extending to help you up, frowning when you don't budge, "I am in my sleeping clothes, sister," you explain, "let me get dressed and then I shall meet you in the hall," you compromise and then you are finally alone.

Falling back onto the covers you bite your lip before looking out to your balcony, the doors are slightly open, a warm breeze drifts in carrying the sheer curtains with it that wave to you in greeting like the world is teasing you, withholding the very answers you desire so you curse the air, standing and heading towards your wardrobe. Let's hope those historical fashion classes were worth the money.

─────── · ·

You were out of breath by the time you were finished lacing up your garments, no wonder they needed a second army to get ready, you scoff before starting to twist the door handle and become startled as it seemingly twists itself in your hand and flys wide open.

Hands find your hips that pull you close to a broad frame draped in black robes, a silver dragon rides across their chest- its head framing their shoulder. Next you feel as their forehead knocks against your own, their breaths hot and heavy against your nose that you crinkle in confusion before seeing the light scaring on pale skin and a flash of silver hair reflecting in the sunlight, Daemon.

"I thought you had died when I saw the maesters dart out of the room," his whisper is like sandpaper to your ears, coarse and rough from unshed emotion, "like they were running from their fate by my hand." You hesitate on how to respond, unlike when Rhaenyra looked for your comfort- you didn't know what to do with your uncle so you mirrored his hold with your hands slowly moving to circle his hips- pulling yourselves closer together and in for a hug.

His arms are like a weighted blanket around your frame, you can feel his long stuttering sigh in relief as every muscle relaxes knowing you are in his arms. You flush, feeling flattered before rubbing circles with your palm against his back and wait for him to pull away yet he squeezes you closer, resting his chip to the top of your head, you feel as his fingers play with a loose thread of your dress, curling it around his finger before letting it fall.

Footsteps soon echo from down the hall, you try to shuffle away yet Daemon continues to hold you, squeezing his eyes shut to savour the moment as long as he can before the footsteps near and he pulls away and leaves a lingering palm that rests against your lower back.

A young guard stops before you both, his eyes sneak a glance at you before casting forwards, looking to an invisible point on the wall between your heads. Your uncle catches the stolen glance with a scowl, his hand rests upon the hilt of dark sister as he takes a step forwards, mouth opening to make a comment before you silence him with a smile and touch to his arm, a sudden rush of confidence clouding your better judgement.

His head tilts back, eyes in a silent demand to let me do this, for you, yet you shake your head firmly to vanquish his actions, "do you have a message?" The guards eyes go wide in remembrance, "y-yes, your highnesses. One reminder for the princess from the Queen. She requests your immediate presence in her drawing room."

You raise your hand, dismissing the guard while not meeting Daemon's accusatory stare, "he should be taught a lesson for his actions."

You feel the air shift in the corridor as he takes a confrontational step forwards- trying to sway your answer yet your feet remain planted in spot- not meeting his eyes that try and connect with your own, "what if I said I didn't mind his eyes, Kepus?" You drag out the title- choosing then to raise your chin, clashing violet with violet. You smirk upon seeing his nose flair- eyes sharpening to slits.

"Iksā daor olvie funny, Qēlītsos, (you are not very funny, little star)," his words are spoken in a cold charismatic poise, a double-edge sword of playful commentary and threat that has your adrenaline spiking with a desire to drink in more of his bubbling rage that warms you from within.

"Gaoman daor pirtiapos, nyke nūmāzma ñuha udra, (I do not joke, I mean my words)," you speak with determination and take a half step forwards, placing your hands behind your back as you lean forwards, enunciating every word, drinking in every minute reaction his chiselled features provide you, a seemingly endless entertainment as you stand toe-to-toe.

Daemon growls, his head tilts, peering down at your amusement that irks him beyond belief, "Yn ao sōpagon rȳ issa protection? (but you laugh at my protection?)."

Your smile softens to something bittersweet as you know the fate for this body like all the other women of your current position throughout history; having to face the looks in order to gain a marriage for the betterment of the throne, "sir gaoman yn issa ñuha future se konir sagon mirros ao daor keligon, (now I do but it is my future and that is something you cannot stop)."

"ao doubt ñuha kostion? (you doubt my ability?)," Daemon confidently poses his shoulders back and tone teasing. Accepting yet another challenge to keep himself amused with, you think to yourself with a shake to your head, "daor, Kepus, nyke sepār daor skorkydoso ra mōris, (no, uncle, I just know how things end)."

You gently knock your arm into his own as you pass him in the narrow corridor. Daemon does not answer nor move, brows furrowed as he contemplates your words. He turns and opens his mouth to speak only to find you already gone.

─────── · ·

After a few wrong turns and directions from servants and guards alike, you arrive in the Queen's drawing room where your sister sits opposite of your mother. A set of tea is set at the centre of the table, an assortment of fruit displayed in a bowl just beside as you take your seat, a servant rushes forwards to fill you a cup in which you politely take with a soft thank you for their service.

"It is good to see you alive and well, dear," Queen Aemma Arryn smiles at you, yet her eyes are filled with hurt, raising her cup to chime against your own, and it is then when you realize the Queen is pregnant.

"I am...." you pause before remembering you are not who you are in this body, "...glad to be back, I have missed you both without knowing I was in the first place." And then a knowing smile raises the corners of Rhaenyra's lips.

"You took some time to get here, sister... was there anyone-" she clears her throat, "anything that kept your attention?" You shoot your sister a glare that has her smile turning into a grin, troublemaker, you shake your head, cheeks warming. Aemma leans forwards, grabbing a grape while looking between the two of you expectantly.

"I sense a silent conversation that I don't understand the language to, do let me be a part of the talk," your mother chimes in. You and Rhaenyra share a look, go on, her eyes say and you sigh, finishing your cup of tea before placing it on the table and smoothing out your skirts.

"Kepus kept me from coming right away, I apologize," you state, pleased now? Rhaenyra nods enthusiastically, looking for the Queen's reaction that looks nothing but pleased as she looks you over.

"He cares for you more than his own lady wife, I think your uncle needs a reminder of his position- don't you think so, dear?" the once affectionate term now sounds like an insult as you swallow deeply and lower your head, a pain shoots through your chest that you choose to silence, "yes, mother-"

Yet Rhaenyra chimes in before you can finish your sentence, setting down her empty cup, "but he has always cared long since before I could remember, he is only trying to be a good uncle, why-"

"You have not matured enough to see my reasoning, Rhaenyra," Amma shuts down your sister, "what he thinks to be protection borders on obsession, it is not a good look for either of them."

Rhaenyra looks towards you yet you solemnly nod, agreeing with your mothers words. She appears more saddened by the words than you do, "but wouldn't Kepus get even more mad?"

"He can get mad all he wants sister but there is little he can do," you refill everyone's cups with a heavy sigh, "there is little any of us can do." You look towards your mother and down towards her stomach, a sickening feeling sits deep within you already knowing their fate.

But your words seem to spark something in the young girl as she stands, tipping her head down to you both as she moves to exit yet stops just before the doors, "then I will do something about it."

But seeing as one door closes, another opens as King Viserys walks over and grabs the Queen's hand, sharing a look before they both regard you, "with my new heir on the way, you must marry to ensure an alliance to strengthen the throne," Viserys says to you not from a position of your father, but as your king and so you bow your head, "I understand, father."

While in reality you did not, in all your studies you never read anywhere of a second princess, an older one nonetheless... your look of contemplation your parents take as devotion, smiling down upon your determined self.

"May you find a good husband," your mother wishes, placing her hand atop your fathers. "For the betterment of the seven kingdoms," your father adds, extending his other hand for you to grab and hold, "for the betterment of the seven kingdoms," you echo, squeezing his hand, "I will do my best," you promise equally yourself to finding answers and to your father.

─────── · ·

Night falls upon the castle as you walk the halls, studying the various tapestries hung underneath candlelight, no matter so little survived, you think to yourself before pausing in front of one detailing Aegon the Conqueror's invasion of Westeros that spans the entire length of the dining hall.

The vividness of the full spanning narrative is breathtaking from the little remnants you remember viewing in the museums of your time, you feel blessed by the gods in being able to see the real work so closely and without damage. Your hand gently taps one of the tassels at the corner of the work, watching as it swings before taking a step back and into someone.

You quickly try and turn around, apologizing for your lack of sense yet their arms wrap around your front, a chin rests upon your shoulder, "Aegon the first had two sister-wives as he was taking over Westeros." You place your hands atop of Daemons, "yet they were not treated equally," you counter, trying to pull his arm away yet they remain locked in place, "I am not some doll, Uncle Daemon, I am allowed to move on my own terms-"

"Then move," he deadpans, watching as you move your head to look up at him, "I am trying to," you growl, twisting and turning with a huff.

"You must try harder, fight, Zaldrītsos (little dragon), I promise you won't hurt me-" you force your elbow straight in between his ribs, winding your uncle as he staggers backwards. You dart forwards, grabbing the swords from one of the guards hips, your arms shake at the weight of the steel that you point at his heart with a scowl as he claps slowly at your outburst.

"So you can protect yourself... but you still will need for me," he quickly unsheathes dark sister, tipping the top of your sword that bends your wrist and forces you to yield. He kicks your sword back towards the guard, you listen as it screeches against the stone floors before stopping and all that is to be heard are your heavy breaths and the flickering of flames coming from the dozens of  torches within the hall. 

“Skoro syt gaomagon ao worry sīr olviem kepus? (why do you worry so much, uncle?),” you whisper, eyes trailing up from his boots till your meet eyes. You see as he hesitates to respond, teeth gritted in an internal battle, his words are spoken with careful precision as the back of his hand caresses your cheek before he kisses the top of your head, “Kesrio syt iksā se mērī run nyke refuse naejot ojughagon, (because you are the only thing I refuse to lose).” 

You watch as he quickly drops his touch as if you burned him, pain shoots through his eyes before he turns and storms out the room leaving you under the watchful eyes of Aemond the Conqueror once more. If the Rogue Prince cared so deeply for this Princess… then why was she not kept on any records, you think to yourself, turning back to the tapestries and watching as Dragons fly high over the burning rubble of cities below and the mangled corpses of hundreds of thousands that lay in the foreground only to end with the missing image of your time; a still of Aemond being crowned in front of his men and wives. 

His stitched eyes bore into your own, the flickering light of the flames makes his appearance appear animated before you, his mouth moving to read the faint inscription that circles his head, The Song of Ice and Fire, the prophecy you had read and seen played out before you in textbooks but the next words were new and uncharted, is the equal dream and fate I see across conquered lands. Silver must sit upon swords by the guidence of another conqueror- a dreamer, or all shall eternally sleep. 

Your head spins at this information, a voice calls to you, their presence close yet you feel so far. Your feet waver as you reach forwards to stabilize yourself, unknowingly grasping the tapestry and pulling it down alongside you towards the floor. A sudden heat rushes across your skin, a torch must have fallen as you smell the smoke and feel the flames surrounding you as shouts echo through the hall yet you do not scream in pain, allowing the fire to encapsulate you as sleep closely follows.

─────── · ·

PRIOR | NEXT

A/N: I would be passin' out too if I read that, all we wanted to do was look at cool old stuff! lol

─ · · DREAMS OF DRAGONS TAGLIST: @blkmystery @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

[simp-ly-writes]

A Noble Act

─────── · · For All Time: The Series (pt.6)

─ · · PAIRING: The Doctor x F!Time Lord!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: There are two definite things in this universe. One, Donna Noble will get the Doctor and the Lady back together. And two, she was going to do whatever it takes to make it happen.

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, second person perspective, canon divergence, soulmate au, mutual pining, emotional angst, ✨ jealous!Doctor ✨, suggestive themes, kissing, eventual happy ending, not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SEVEN

─ · · A/N: sorry that it skips around a bit, was trying to fill in the time between events but nevertheless I hope you all enjoy this second-to-last part!

─────── · ·

~ Prior to the Gardens...

Donna Noble has had quite enough to put it simply. She was sick of the Doctors constant moping and pouty stares off into space like a lost puppy caught out in the rain. Sick of his defensive quips and strike-backs to make her stop asking about you. And she was most certainly sick of nobody doing anything when you both obviously just needed to kiss and make up already.

So when she stepped foot back onto the TARDIS, Donna Noble had a plan... to get two Time Lords back together like some romantic-comedy gone wrong. How exactly would she do this?- she had to do some research first and brew herself a bot of tea to enjoy with it.

The Doctor was suspicious of why his companion all the sudden was digging through the deepest of storage rooms and climbing up the highest shelves in the library to stick her nose into dusty books and boxes yet in the grand scheme of things, this was the least weird thing he had encountered and so he let his companion be.... for now.

─────── · ·

The Lady is a member from one of the most powerful houses on Gallifery who are thought to be descendants from the original Time Lords line and thus is where her title was established. Her house oversaw smaller states across the red planet and acted as the main conductors for interplanetary relations. Originally, she was set for a political marriage to ensure the lineage of her house but after careful consideration another member was pulled. The reason for why this change happened was unknown to the public for many years and many suggested that the cause was her finding her soulmate. It wouldn't be until several years later until answers were provided as the Lady made her relationship with rivalling house member, the Doctor, public. It was very well known how their parents detested one another so to see this union was a shock to all socialites and papers.

Donna held onto every word of the textbook fixed between her hands, cooing and aw-ing at the Doctors seemingly 'love story for the ages' as this writer put it or as Donna read between the pages, a 'jealous love story of the ages'. As she snickered at the rivalry between the Doctor and the Master for your hand. To be fought over, Donna sighed before shaking her head and Flipping forwards to the next page, she saw an old portrait of yourself from regenerations ago.

Yet falling out onto her lap between the pages was a chain of paper flowers and hearts, it is all sickly sweet, too sweet, she thought to herself and she would be correct in picking up her next book, The History of the Time Wars, that crushed her high spirits.

Said to be the true war to end all wars and to some part it was to an outsider looking in. Two greatly evolved species, the Daleks and the Time Lords in a tale fundamentally as old as time set to an end by their mutual destruction. Many tragic stories have came out of these loveless fights, some even too dark and sad to be placed into words. Yet amongst these all, the Lady and the Doctor stands to be the saddest of them all, their tale connecting across language, time, and species of a man driven to absolute destruction thinking their love to be lost as they trash out against the universe, a tale as old as the Time Wars itself found repeating across storytellers everywhere. Nowadays only singular survivors of these wars remain with limited resources to reconstruct their once great fleets and nations... the only question remains on which species is stubborn enough to wait for the other to die or to die trying to kill the other... the answer, if you are reading this, is already found.

So entrenched into her readings she didn't notice the Doctor leaning in the doorframe a sad and contemplative look upon his features as he stared at the array of books he spent many of his younger years reading- hoping to gain a closer connection to you in some way by the mere mention of your name against a white page.

With a heavy sigh, the Doctor pivots, closing the door softly behind himself unknowing to Donnas stare following him out the room. 700 years of waiting... and not a year more, she told herself with determination.

─────── · ·

After easily convincing the TARDIS to track your signal in which it happily complied, lights flashing brightly and engines singing, the Doctor could do little to control where the blue box was headed as he scrambled with the controls that appeared to be moving on their own violation.

Donna just sat back in her chair with a large grin on her face, ankle press atop her knee with a cup in one hand, saucer in the other. "Are you seeing this? I've never seen her act like this before, maybe someone has hacked- no thats impossible..." the Doctor was threading his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots as he paced. A part of Donna wanted to tell yet the better part of her knew that it would only add to the reaction so she kept her lips shut, nodding absent-mindedly with each of the space-man's complaints.

"Oh yeah I know, terrible blue box not working for the blue-box man, right?" she pouts before shoving a scone in his face. "I find stress eating helps sometimes, you ever tried it?"

Crumbs falling out of his mouth, the Doctor tries to talk, raising a pointed finger before chocking on the dryness of the pastry, signalling for some water instead. "Both ladies have lost their mind today," the Doctor grumbles to himself receiving a quick swat to the back of his head by his companion.

"Oi! the only mind being lost is your head when I take it if you keep up this attitude, I swear sometimes I'm like your mother, grandmother, and great grandmother," Donna retorts, sitting back down with a huff. The Doctor stays silent, taking a seat beside his companion and finishes the rest of his scone as the TARDIS descends.

"I don't even know if I have a great grandmother," the Doctor takes a look towards Donna out of the corner of his eye.

"Well I'm not going to help you with that one."

─────── · ·

Donna had planned a myriad of excuses yet tried to not act stunned as she didn't need to use them, the Doctor had decided himself that he would be staying within the TARDIS to try and repair whatever 'damage' had been done from the automatic flying.

Setting off down a hill from where the blue box had parked she stumbled into a garden where coincidentally enough she found you getting your portrait done? Donna furrowed her brows, I didn't know you to be so narcissistic. Yet those thoughts are quickly dissolved in seeing your shock ridden face whilst staring at yourself in the painted frame that only grows when another man steps into the frame that you seem to recognize almost instantly that has Donna frowning deeply.

Who are you, what do you think you're doing? She stares at the bow-tie man sharply, ducking out of sight as his eyes chase over the landscape- jumping right past her head. She cannot hear your conversation yet follows at a distance conjouring up another plan on sight.

If memory serves me right... the Doctor asked for your hand after seeing you with the Master more... so if the Doctor sees you now with him... she quickly turns back to the TARDIS, not bothering to say hello to the Doctor as she grabs her camera and storms back out just in time to- she nearly drops her camera at the sight but manages to snap a quick albeit blurry picture.

"Oi! Minster! You get your hands off her! I can’t have you ruining my plan so off you go, shoo!” She watches as you both freeze, glaring at his hand placed high above your raised knee. After what she had seen on the Titanic, Donna's mind was working on overdrive on how quickly you could move on from the Doctor to whoever this was feeling up your leg in an open field.

She watches as the man leans down to whisper something into your ear that has you blush, covering your face in his chest as he grips you tighter. That is the opposite of what I wanted to happen! Donna panics to herself, I need something more threatening...

“If you think I’m playing around that one there has a very angry alien friend that is looking for something to rip his teeth into and it could be you!” Donna tries to persuade further, taking a step closer and she swears to hear you both laughing that only fuels her dissatisfaction with your actions.

So lost in her own anger she does not see you shoving the bow-tied man away from you, her world clattering down at the mention of her name not from your lips... but from his in a warm recognition, “and yes, hello Donna. I’ll leave in a moment just have to make sure the Lady here gets to where she needs to go safely.” 

Donna opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water, how on gods green earth does HE know my name? Yet before she could receive any answers she notices you both had disappeared like mere figments of her imagination. So this is what I get for messing with aliens! Donna sighs, kicking stones back to the TARDIS before remembering the camera strapped around her neck. Maybe things just like work out after all...

─────── · ·

Darting back to the TARDIS will laughing a little bit evilly to herself, she kicked the bottom on the Doctors converse- signalling him to roll himself from out underneath the TARDIS.

He looked a right mess, hair sticking out on all awkward angles a few drops of dried red oil staining his collar and his tie askew. "Whatcha need?" he stands, stretching at near impossible angles that Donna debates being more painful than relieving.

"I have something that you need to see," her face hides nothing on her racing heart as she unfolds the picture from her pocket and is at first met with silence.

The Doctor looked at the blurry image of you being kissed by this random man that somehow knew her name, she explained to the Doctor who did not look to be breathing and made no response. Simply taking the image from her hand and inspecting it closer.

At first she saw how the edges began to crease as his grip tightened, his eyes confirming this to be in fact you. Next was his brow, coming down alongside the corners of his mouth into a deep frown. His head tilted to the slightest degree, suit becoming smaller as his chest heaved and soon the image was crumbed and kicked into the heart of the TARDIS underneath the console, Donna could smell the ashes.

"How long ago was this?" his voice cold and distant and receives no answer, the Doctor asks again, "Was this recent?"

Donna clears her throat, raising her head to meet his darkened stare, gotcha, she smirks to herself, stepping forwards eyes darting towards the door and back to his challenging gaze, "just now-" and the Doctor storms off, door slamming behind him.

The TARDIS whoops and cheers as Donna laughs, "I guess kissing in a TARDIS is close enough to a closet... give or take that its bigger on the inside." The TARDIS does not respond, simply humming contently to itself.

"You sound excited to have them possibly back," she pats the console gently seeing as the buttons press themselves rapidly showing the machines excitement and little did Donna know just how excited the Doctors TARDIS.

─────── · ·

Donna was beginning to be worried after a day had passed and there was still no signs of the Doctor or you returning to the TARDIS nor anywhere near it. Taking on a light jacket Donna walked back up the hill to find the same shed you disappeared in front of hours ago.

Hesitantly raising her hand to knock on the chipped wooden door she hears no movement nor response inside as she pushes the door open and is shocked to find it greatly larger on the inside.

It amazed her how different your TARDIS looked to the Doctors. The warm lighting, various plants and books littered the walls with art from throughout the ages. It looked like a true collectors dream and at the centre of it all, unknowing in their bubble of bliss Donna saw you wrapped in the Doctor's shirt and a pair of socks as you leaned against your console, mug in hand.

The Doctor looked drunk, absolutely plastered, the companion noted to herself in seeing how lazily spread out in an arm chair he was before you, pants all creased and a simple undershirt that did little to cover up the marks upon his cheeks and necks. Donna stayed quiet once seeing her best friends look of pure, softened adoration as he picked up your hand, kissing every knuckle before flipping it over to place one last lingering kiss to your palm.

In response you fell into his lap with a chuckle, fixing his hair gently as he closed his eyes in response, humming in thanks as you both shared a silent conversation that soon was imposed upon when Donna accidentally kicked over one of your smaller plant pots, the clay shattering against the floors as you jumped and reached for your sonic- the Doctor immediately standing and pushing you behind him, a scowl present on his face.

Holding her hands up, Donna took a few more steps forward, "sorry love birds! Just-ah checking in that the two last time lords aren't dead so I can make it home eventually," Donnas tone raises with every word she speaks, embarrassment evident as her cheeks become the same shade as her hair.

She peers around the Doctors back and watches as you press your forehead between his shoulder blades, arms circling around his waist as you giggle to the Doctors annoyed huff as he places his screwdriver back in his pocket. "You two seem to have been... busy," Donna smirks, the initial embarrassment quickly wearing off as you cast her a playful wink.

The Doctor sputters, "Well I-uh, not like that I..." for a response as you move and pick up his arm, placing it across your shoulders. "We were just getting to know each other again," you smile towards the companion your husband had told you all about.

Donna snorts before horror flashes between her eyes, "but what about the other-" you cut her off, "Oh him?" you smile, the Doctor groans, removing himself from the conversation as he sits back down in his chair and reaches for his jacket, placing it across his lap as he smooths out the creases in the fabric, "he was also the Doctor," you smirk.

"But he knew my name?" Donnas statement comes out more like a question that you step forwards, placing a hand against her shoulder in reassurance.

"You are his best-friend after all... are you not?"

Donna hugs you tightly, overjoyed about the news, "so he never found a way to get rid of me- this was better than I was expecting!" You throw your head back in laughter as does Donna.

"Did the Doc ever mention anything about me on your travels?" you question once your laughter dies down, Donna stills, taking a step back as she grits her teeth together, "uh... well..." you raise a brow in a silent ask for her to continue as you sit back in the Doctor lap, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"...well I don't know, he was rather cryptic, something about destroying universes and committing atrocities, you know, the usual for a man with a load of power," and her sarcastic answer tells you all as you turn your head to glare at the Doctor. "You didn't tell her about me?"

The Doctor tenses and presses a kiss to your cheek, "well love I-I- there was so much to say and so little time to say it all in," he smiles confidently at his words as you rolls your eyes and look back at Donna.

"we are going to be good friends," the Doctor shakes his head watching as Donna nods enthusiastically.

"You two are going to be the death of me."

"Like I wasn't already," you jab him in he ribs before offering your hand, "so my ship or yours?"

─────── · ·

The Doctor for the first time was a bit embarrassed that he turned of the chameleon function of his TARDIS leaving you to change yours to a piece of luggage that you carried aboard reassuring the Doctor and Donna that you would in fact not create a paradox as long as you didn't open it inside the Doctor's TARDIS, you just didn't trust leaving your house out in the open, something about human locks Donna remembers you mentioning.

You and the Doctor acted like an old-married couple that Donna swore to grow grew hairs because of. You both bickered endlessly in the morning on where to go, who too meet, what to eat and who got to wear what- it was maddening.

Donna later that day found you both making out on your joint afternoon travels, walking hand in hand down alien streets like no time had passed, and by evening you were back to fighting over who controlled what part of the TARDIS before working in tandem- it was chaos to say the least yet above all, she had never seen the Doctor so... light.

He practically skipped with every step, twirling you every outfit change to take in your appearance, kissing your face every time he would spark a brilliant idea like he couldn't control himself but you controlled him in a way that he needed.

Donna noticed your special ability to keep the Doctor from being his worst self, from becoming just another one of his many enemies. You reminded him of light, love, and most of all... hope. A word that the spaceman had long since forgotten until reuniting with you.

It inspired Donna to know end and to some part she was jealous of seeing others have such a pure love for one another that they couldn't help but spread across the universe. So many times everyone had gotten saved that it became the new regular and even when it was not possible, you held one another on the floor of the console room, a silent comfort in knowing that the other wouldn't have to bare the pain alone.

─────── · ·

On one of your late night conversations as the Doctor steered the TARDIS, you sat in Donna's room, a plate of snacks on the bed for you both to share.

"So... what was the Doctor like as a child?" you smile before taking a big sigh.

"He was a downright menace," you begin with before heavy footsteps can be heard running down the hall stopping at the door.

"You take that back!" the Doctor burst through the door, finger wagging in your face that you swat away yet he can't contain his smile.

"I only speak the truth," you shrug, casting Donna a wink as she smirks from behind her cup watching as the Doctor slips into the bed, sitting behind you.

"If that's the truth than your father loved me to death and Gallifrey was blue," the Doctor scowls, stealing a bite of your biscuit from your hand, "I was a perfectly normal time child."

You wipe away the crumbs off your lap and onto the floor before mouthing to Donna, he set a tree on fire during TARDIS driving lessons 101.

"I hope you know dear that I know over a thousand languages and can in fact lip read." You shift to look up at his face, a finger crooking his chin down to meet have your lips meet, "and what did I say now?"

The Doctor hums contently, "That you love me?" as Donna begins to feel uncomfortable in her own space. You nod, "always.," before gasping in surprise feeling as the Doctor picks you up in his arms.

"Have a goodnight, Donna!" the Doctor calls as you wrap your arms hastily around his neck, cursing his name as the Doctor echos your own.

"Doctor!"

"Lady!~" and you both burst out into giggles. Donna shakes her head as the TARDIS shuts the door behind the couple, they truly will never grow up... will they?

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: Gonna miss these guys!

─ · · FOR ALL TIME TAGLIST: @posionapple24 @azriel64290 @smallerontheoutside @soniiyi @spirit-of-the-hollow @f0x33 @blackoutdays13 @dlljdhsh @staygoldsquatchling02 @athenxt @whatislifebutlemons @cardanxjude20 @zara-aliza08

[simp-ly-writes]

GAME OF THRONES / HOUSE OF THE DRAGON MASTERLIST

─────── · · SERIES:

DREAMS OF DRAGONS: It had been centuries since Kings and Dragons ruled over Westeros but in your dreams- they still do. Being a descendant of the Targaryens, your parents told you stories of the great battles your family had fought generations ago that inspire to to become an archeologist determined to dig up more on your families past. So on a opportunity trip to Dragonstone, you are met by an invisible force that appears to have its own plans for you. (Daemon Targaryen x F!Reader)

(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) (on-going) word count: in counting...

[simp-ly-writes]

Dreams of Dragons (pt.1)

─────── · · A House of the Dragon FanFic

PAIRING: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen!Reader

SUMMARY: It had been centuries since Kings and Dragons ruled over Westeros but in your dreams- they still do. Being a descendant of the Targaryens, your parents told you stories of the great battles your family had fought generations ago that inspire to to become an archeologist determined to dig up more on your families past. So on a opportunity trip to Dragonstone, you are met by an invisible force that appears to have its own plans for you.

TAGS: alternate universe, canon divergence, no use of y/n, second person perspective, female pronouns used, coarse language, depictions of blood and anxiety attacks, emotional hurt/comfort, protective!Daemon, angst, soulmates, time travel, not beta read. MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,070 | NEXT PART A/N: this is my first time writing something for this fandom, please be kind and I hope you all enjoy!

─────── · ·

EVER SINCE YOU WERE A CHILD, YOU WERE FASCINATED BY DRAGONS. Once night would fall your parents would sit at the foot of your bed, a flickering lamp by your bedside acted as the only illumination of the room and played with the shadows to cast the great tales of your ancestors, the once mighty House Targaryen upon your ceiling.

Eyes feeling heavy and body sore from running about all day, your mind was always active, imagination sparking to life as their stories washed over into your dreams that you often confused with reality. Your dreams always felt too real, as if that distant past was increasingly tangible every time you opened your mind to rest.

You could hear the sounds of battle, the clashing of metal and cries of men fighting amongst ash and blood that seemingly rained down from the skies. You were unflinching to the thunderous roars of dragons above, their wings the wind carrying the smoke over to everyone neighbouring in warning not to mess with the Targaryen's. But it was a dream you woke up from nevertheless as you found yourself back in the waking realm day after day.

Your parents thought nothing of your over-active imagination nor your constant desire to learn more of your ancestry, just taking it to you being a curious child with an ambitious mind for knowledge so they kept telling you stories of the bravest princesses and princes that defended the realm, the tricks and battles they faced, and of course, the dragons they rode above the clouds touching the sun before anyone else could.

But as you grew older and your peers 'matured past fantasies' as your teachers put it, you became distanced from the people of your years and wanted to stuff your face in a book or memorize another historical map than attend any social events or soccer practices.

The walls of your room could not expand like your mind and became increasingly flooded in your illustrations and detailed diagrams of each house crest and dragon you read in your books.

Once the upper years of your secondary school education came, so did your time to shine in your historical, political, and classical studies. With ease you could recite the lineage of the great houses and every battle waged from coast to coast of Westeros that allowed you an early pass into college where your passions could be fully envisioned.

But with every sleepless night that passed you by from being enveloped in your studies, your once vivid dreams of the battlefields faded to staring at the back of your eyelids and waking up to the sound of your alarm.

─────── · ·

You would be one of the earliest graduates from your doctorate program in archeology and history, the slips of paper hung proudly up on your office walls beside your original illustrations that you hoped to inspire the younger generations that stepped foot into your office with a thirst for knowledge just like you were and to some point, still are.

The university you graduated from and now worked at was sending you and a small research team to the remains of Dragonstone and you nearly kissed your department head in thanks as you ran out of the meeting room to pack your bags and equipment. 

A heavy backpack, duffle bag, and camera bag were all thrown into the back of your car as you made your way towards the airport for your overnight flight to the coast where it would be a few days of boat travel before you would reach the island. 

You fell asleep easily on the flight contradicting the restless excitement you felt and for the first time in years, you didn’t see the back of your eyelids but vines slithering between weathered stones. The bench you sat on was a cold hard stone, porous and rough underneath your palms as you observed the long black dress you wore. 

Pinching the material between our fingers, its softness confused you for the garment materials you researched for the lower classes were definitely not so velvety. Hiking up your gown slightly you stared at your polished short heels that confirmed your suspicions. You were a noble woman of some kind in this new dream and by the looks of your hands, had yet to see battle if you ever were. 

A cough has your eyes snapping upwards, your skirt dropping as your neck warms and crawls up to your cheeks. “To be scandalized or enthralled by seeing the princesses hiked up skirts, hm,” a tall man with long white hair hums to himself whilst leans against a pillar, hand lazily resting upon the hilt of a sword, their smirk wavering on a grin as they await your response with humour evident not only in their tone but in they violet eyes. 

You look away confused, you recognize the man from some place yet cannot place a name to the face as you take in the gardens that surround you in search of an answer. The rain of blood from past dreams is now a small fountain with a swan spraying water in a steady stream from its beak into a porcelain bowl. The flowers that surround you are thriving in various pigmented shades of reds, blues, and yellows; land untrampled and not a single corpse or dragon in sight.

Your distant attitude and lack of response seem to offend the man, his smile sliding off his face as he casts a glare to the foliage for taking your attention away from him. He takes long strides, sword and cape swinging by his sides to stand before you, casting you in his shadow as a gloved hand tucks a strand of your matching white hair behind your ear. 

“What troubles your mind?” His voice is tender, all traces of humour left as you turn to look into his eyes. No one had ever spoken to you nevertheless touched you in a dream before… you pinch yourself in an effort to wake the real you up only to see a bruise starting to form against your skin. The silver-haired man before you hisses, separating your hand from your skin with a glare, “why are you punishing yourself? What have you done?” 

You watch as the pastel violet fades to a deep purple and look away, mind racing to conjure an explanation but any thoughts are ripped away as a gloved hand grips your chin, forcing your eyes to cast upon his refined features set between a dozen healed scars. “Are you still ill? Do you need me to grab a Maester?” 

He uses his teeth to pull the glove off his other hand, leaving it to fall amongst the grass and clovers before resting his knuckles against your forehead to check your temperature, “you don’t feel hot…” his voice a mere murmur in his observation before sharpening, “who has made you this way?” 

His grip is unwavering on your chin, bordering on a physical comfort and hurtful as you mistake his growing concern for anger and rush to speak, “It is me! This is all of my doing, your highness.” You swallow deeply and pray that you stated the correct title so as to not lose your physical head. You shake yourself away from his touch before moving to stand. 

Yet just as you step around his broad frame his hand reaches for your upper arm, keeping you in place, “Do you forget yourself?” his mouth pressed directly near your near, he feels you still beneath his touch. 

“Please, excuse me,” you look straight forwards, peering down the open hallway for an escape. 

“I demand you tell-” the man is cut off by a new feminine tone that steps out into the sunlight. She too wears a long dress yet hers is mostly red with gold accents. Her hair braided across the top of her head to form a crown, her stance upright, gaze as violet and piercing as the man who holds you and suddenly it dawns on you. 

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you whisper before slowly turning your head to meet the Rogue Prince’s gaze. Your mouth is agape, eyes wide before casting down as you try and bow yet Daemon’s hold on your arm keeps you. 

“She is not right in the head,” Dameon calls over his shoulder to his niece who looks between the two people she adores most in concern. You shoot the prince a glare for his choice of words that he chooses to ignore. 

“But the Maester promised that once she woke up again she would be herself again,” Rhaenyra frowns. Dameons hand slips down your arm, fingers interlacing with your own before raising your hands to press a lingering kiss to your knuckles. His thumb tracing the sparks leftover from his mouth to your skin.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water, breathing starting to become ragged as you feel overwhelmed, not understand why you have yet to wake up, why the royals you to some part idolized in the stories your parents told you were worried over you presently, “It's just not adding up,” and you don’t realize to be speaking your thoughts. 

“What does not?” Rhaenyra takes another step forwards, hesitant to give you space, not wanting to overwhelm you further. Your lip quivers and you swear to hear a bee humming in your ears as your body begins to sweat. You start to grip at your bodice that feels too tight against your body, feet wavering on stability before you feel yourself falling back and into an awaiting chest. 

“Get the Maesters!” Daemon roars before hearing a dozen rushed feet of servants departing down the hall. He walks you both towards the bench to sit in his lap, pushing your head gently back to rest against his padded shoulder. 

Rhaenyra falls to her knees before you both, gripping your hands with tears welling in her eyes, “please,” she squeezes your hands, “stay with me, I cannot do this alone again, I need my-” you fail to catch the rest of her words feeling as your eyes grow heavy with every passing moment. Your breaths begin to even out in contrast to Daemons short panicked ones as his hands rubs up in down your waist in a reassurance for you or himself you will never get to know as sleep overcomes you, the last thing you hear are his pleas, “wake up, I will not live to see you laying lifeless for another day!”

─────── · ·

You find yourself in the waking world and being blinded by artificial lighting as a stewardess politely asks you to place your seat upright and tray up. You hastily comply with an anxious smile as your co-worker in the aisle seat across from you greets you a polite, “good morning.”

But as you deboard the plane, grab your luggage and head for the boats down by the docks, it is as if a presence lingered behind you… watching… waiting, your paranoia growing with every step you took closer towards Dragonstone. You could hear your heartbeat like a drum ringing in your ears with every step you took, connecting to your soul as you were unflinching to the waves coming over the boat, soaking you to the core. 

You debated turning back as you were last to leave the boat and step onto rocky terrain yet your body was acting on its own volition, physically keeping you from moving backwards and dragged you to the cliff face as the sun was setting, a pastel painting of hues reflecting across the deep blue sea that you stood before. A town of tents behind you and a fortress awaiting just up the hill. 

The cool ocean breeze kissed your skin and blades of grass brushed up against your ankles like the island was comforting you for something you had yet to discover. A call of your name has you snapping from your thoughts, a flash of silver out of the corner of your eye has you ignoring your peers before you squeeze your eyes to shut off the nonsense you were experiencing and join everyone for a communal dinner that you are last to leave from, childish to say you were scared to fall asleep in fear of waking up on the other side again… 

─────── · ·

NEXT PART

─ · · A/N: what did you think? and is there anything you want to happen next? 😊

[simp-ly-writes]

House of Talis

─────── · · How Could You Refuse? (pt.13)

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Shy!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: With a miniature Talis on the way, you grow weary of how your husband will react.

─ · · TAGS: epilogue kinda, fem!reader, pregnancy and labour (non-descriptive), overprotectiveness, second-person perspective, depictions of panic/anxiety, happy ending, domestic fluff, married life.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,036

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · A/N: hope you enjoy, this is the finale!

─────── · ·

─ · · After the two weeks of Jayce... putting you 'out of commission' so to speak. You were embarrassed to say just how foggy your mind and sore your body felt going back into the everyday swing of things; going to the lab, helping graduate students with their studies at the academy, and writing thank you letters to the wedding gifts you received from foreign diplomats... your brain was fried before the clock had even hit noon and you hadn't even started on editing your book to be published by the end of the year.

─ · · You felt disorientated, the stark pick-up of life again after feeling like you were floating of bliss from days of end to powering on your mind to think critically and converse with the public had you feeling increasingly overwhelmed as the hours ticked by and days progressed. You woke up happy- sure a little woozy but feeling fine, by mid-morning you were stressed, afternoon?- sad and longing to see Jayce and before you knew it evening hit and you were getting pissed off at Evren.

─ · · Evren had decided to stay and had gotten a job at the Academy. He loved riling you up about your's and Jayce's vacation period- watching as your cheeks warmed and the way you shuffled on your feet before trying to change conversation. Evren also had started a committed relationship with Jayce's ex-secretary that served as perfect rebuttal for all of his questions.

─ · · It was finally Friday, you had survived your first week back by a hair and were anxious to leave the Academy on time to be home ahead of Jayce- a handful of letters and your best friend the only barriers from leaving.

"Evren! I'm trying to work and you keep distracting me," you whine, rubbing your hands across your tired face, "can you talk to me in an hour? I just have to get these letters in before the office closes."

Evren stares at you for a long while, leaning back in his chair across from your desk with a small smile appearing on his face, his foot bouncing on his knee as he looks out the window contemplative. You look up, seeing that he hadn't left yet with a sigh, now looking at you with a mixture of joy and... concern? "What?" you ask, yourwince again at how sharp your tone appears as you apologize softly before double checking your writing.

"Do you feel... different?" Evren asks quietly, leaning forwards slightly to make the conversation feel smaller, you slowly tare your gaze back up while sealing the envelope, "different? well yes, I just came back from vacation, Ev," you explain with a chuckle before standing up quickly to grab your coat once seeing the time.

You stumble slightly forwards as Evren rushes to a stand and level yourself, "woah there short stuff, I'm really worried, I think you-"

"I'm feeling fine, Evren. Just need some more sleep and I should be good as new," you cut him off and explain, shrugging off his touch and shrugging on your coat before opening the door and signalling your friend out of the laboratory to lock for the day.

Evren stands still within the space, shaking his head and pulls you back in, shutting the door once hearing footsteps down the hall. He keeps his hands gripping your shoulders, unknowing to how you'll react to his next works. You watch as his glasses slip down his nose, exploring his stressed face fully. "Ev?" you call out, blinking and taking in his rigid stance, "everything alright?"

"I'm fine its just..." Evren sighs, choosing his next words with extreme caution, "...fuck it I'm just going to say it. Are you pregnant?" You blink once... twice... then thrice at his words. At first you are appalled, opening your mouth for what you thought to be a poor off-hand comment before quickly shutting your mouth as panic sets in and you analyze your recent week...

Nausea, mood-swings, fatigue, and tender muscles... fuck. Evren watches as a dozen emotions cross over your face before you feel him pulling you into a firm hug as your body starts to shake. "Ev?" you ask in a timid tone, gripping his back tightly- almost certainly ruining his knit sweater.

"Ev I," you choke up on your words, blink profusely as Even stands there holding you and rubs your back gently. "Hey, I'm here with you in the lab and you're picking apart my girlfriends least favourite sweater I own- she'll thank you for that." You barely process a laugh before choking back a sob, pressing your head into his chest.

"What tears are those?" Evren asks gently, "I just need to know if I have to get out my old kickboxing equipment or not." That comment has you coming back to the surface as you shake your head. "No, Jayce and I have wanted to start a family," you pull away looking down at your shoes, "I think I'm happy but I'm also just... scared- I just. I've never been through something like this..." you bite your lip, furrowing your brow before opening your eyes wide to meet Evren's curious gaze, " shit how far along am I? I should go see my doctor..."

Evren's nods, "yes, that would be a very good idea... should I let Jayce or someone of Jayce's office know?" You pause, thinking for a moment, "...no, I want to do that once I know for sure." Evren nods before extending his arm for you to take, you grip his arm like a lifeline, locking the door- feeling a cool wisp of air follow you out, thank you for the support, Viktor, I really need it now more than ever.

─────── · ·

─ · · Jayce could feel every mark you left across his back and neck, groaning every time he move from a sitting to standing position in between meetings. Mel tried not to laugh seeing her fellow councillor wince at someone slapping his shoulder in thanks a bit too hard (while it was done lightly) or how poorly his collar covered the bites across his neck- doing his best to remain professional and keep conversations surrounding the city not his personal life to the many curious stares.

─ · · His eyes are heavy, hair dishevelled by how many times he's wrung his fingers through it as he sits behind his desk meeting with tradesman after officer, hearing out how the city was developing.

─ · · When Jayce gets wind of you at the clinic, his heart dropped, hands gripping the wood of his desk and shoulders tense as he stood up slowly and rigid. Sudden images of you in that Piltover of despair, the smell of blood and the sight of a thousand corpses had him breathing in sharply through his nose before he was rushing to get his coat and sprinting down the cobbled streets. Please be okay, please be okay, fuck, please, Jayce prayed, taking a sharp right turn and nearly bumping into someone.

─────── · ·

─ · · Your feet swung back and forth off the table, your hand gripped Evren's tightly as you waited not so patiently for the results. You both looked towards the door, hearing a commotion from outside, rushed footsteps, heavy breathing and a sharp tone. "No. I must- my wife-"

"Councillor Talis. You must understand that-"

"What do I fail to understand? She came to a doctor suddenly without prior appointment and was seen nearly in tears by some of her students- please, at least let me see her if I can't speak with her- or let her know I'm here for her-" You bite your lip, seeing Jayce's tall outline from behind the curtained windows before looking towards Evren nervously seeing as his jaw is tense, shoulders rigid, "How'd he know so quickly?" Evren mumbles to himself, "Thought we were better at this hiding thing," he jokes.

That gets you to laugh as you loosen your grip on his hand, immediately the voices stop from outside. Jayce closes his eyes at the sound, relief flooding through his mind, you were alive, you were laughing, yet his hands still shook, needing to see you, to hold you, to physically know you were alright.

Jayce stays firm in his position as a nurse grips his arms, urging him back to the visitors gallery yet the Councillor watches as a doctor walks down the hall and towards the room he believes you to be in, two nurses follow behind, clipboards and bags tightly pressed against their chest as Jayce's heart leaps out of his own.

He see's a flash of your hair before the door is closed swiftly behind the group of medical professionals. Jayce takes a step forwards, another nurse grips his other arm, they shake their heads, "Mrs. Talis has not requested for you... yet. Please respect the lady's decision."

Jayce grits his teeth before nodding and following them back, not before looking and trying to stare through the door, eyes begging to catch another glimpse... instead Jayce glares at the white tiled floors, ears filled with white noise as he bounces his knee anxiously. Head jumping to every sudden sound he can hear down the hall.

Jayce's heart hurts as much as his brain, trying to figure out why didn't you immediately call for me?

─────── · ·

─ · · "Mrs. Talis," the doctor bends down in front of you face stoic yet eyes gleaming with happiness that she tries and hides. "Yes?" you respond, leaning forwards, a subconscious hand moving towards your stomach in wait. "Congratulations, you are expecting," she announces.

─ · · You stare at her for a moment before your shaky hands grasp the paper results, pressing them against your chest, feeling your rapid heartbeat. Evren stands off to the side, giving you space to feel out the moment. Your eyes look up at his, shining with tears as you let out a chuckle in disbelief, "I'm pregnant," you state softly and slowly to yourself, "I'm pregnant!" you say with much more confidence, "oh god, I'm pregnant," you tell yourself.

Evren laughs unsurprised that you and Jayce were having kids so shortly after your wedding, "you have no idea how much money you just made me, thank you and congrats!" Evren grasps your shoulder pulling you in for a hug. You shake your head at your friend. "I don't even know what to do-I-"

"Shush you. You have me, Jayce's mom, Jayce- who I'm sure is going to be a mother hen and is loosing his mind over you again..." Evren trails off patting your back as you pull away," I guess I should tell Jayce now?" you question.

The doctors, nurses, and Evren all look at you, slowly nodding, "I think thats a good idea, ma'am."

─────── · ·

─ · · You don't look to see the door open, the room is dead silent as you stare at your shoes, head lowered. Jayce curses, footsteps rushed as he kneels in front on you, hands resting on your knees, chin lowering to your lap, "sweetheart?" he calls out so softly you felt yourself falling for him again.

You hear as Evren gags in the corner, picking up your head a slight bit to catch the glare Jayce throws back, biting the inside of your cheek to contain a laugh. Jayce thinks you to be crying by the way your shoulders jitter, hands racing to hold your waist as he kisses the top of your head. "I'm here, always. Tell me what I can do- or I can listen, whatever you need," Jayce holds you so delicately, not wanting to overwhelm you but not being able to stop his need to ground himself to you physically.

You don't answer right away, instead peeling his hands away from yourself as you observe his eyes that stare widely into your own, confused, worried.... scared as you drop your touch, his hands shaking down by his sides.

Evren clears his throat, "She's not divorcing you man, stop thinking that." Jayce looks to you, shoulders slumped, eyes begging like a puppy kept out in the rain. The word alone sends him into a stressed state as he begins pacing around the room, gripping at his tie and shirt that feels too tight all the sudden, "No, please- I. I'll do better I promise I- you don't have to leave," Jayce begs.

"Jayce, I'm not divorcing you," you cut off your husband, standing slowly and walking over, pressing your head against his back, looping your fingers through his belt loops and glaring at Evren, look what you did. Evren simply raises his hands, backing out of the room and closing the door.

Jayce lets out a breath, placing his hands atop yours. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing yourself tightly against him, "I'm pregnant, Jayce. You're going to be a father."

Jayce blinks slowly, breath hitching as he stills in your hold, me... a father... wife... pregnant... "Jayce?" you call out, panic settling into your bones again at the sudden thought of having to do this all alone.

Jayce spins around in your hold, picking you up quickly, peppering your face with kisses as you laugh, "my wife, my gorgeous wife pregnant with my baby." Jayce thinks he couldn't be happier, does not know the words to formulate how perfect his life feels right now.

You nods your head at his words as he gently sets you down on the table, hands cupping your stomach, "I'm mad at you though Jayce."

"What? Why?" Jayce asks without a care in the world, brain not registering your words- still trying to fathom that his every wish, every dream had come true in this room. He blinks away tears of happiness, smile spreading across his cheeks- unable to be ripped from his features. "Im. mad. at. you. Jayce," you slowly articulate, "we agreed to have one later and you knocked me up!"

Jayce merely shrugs, willing nothing to break his happiness as he kisses you deeply, "It's my fault-hm? All my fault..." Jayce kisses you slowly, you can feel his smile on your skin and the rumble on his chest against your palm as he laughs, nipping your ear gently, "... on how you got on your knees for me underneath the dining table, pawed at my lap pleading or woke me up begging for me to fuck you? How about all those times you locked your ankles around my waist and squeezed hard enough to-"

"OKAY!~" you sing, shoving a palm over his mouth, flushed. Jayce just steps back admiring you. "What?" you ask back seeing as Jayce continues to stare.

"I'm just so thankful for you and all the happiness you've allowed me to have." A suddenly you start crying uncontrollably, Jayce curses rushing over, "fuck, shit, uh I'm sorry, didn't mean to make you cry- I'm such an idiot, I know."

─────── · ·

─ · · Jayce had gone full-blown overprotective and it was getting on your nerves how little he allowed you to do. He called his mother to move in with you both and to watch over your take care of you! You loved talking and spending time with Ximena but she was just as bad if not worse than Jayce.

"No! You're stressing too much by working, just relax my dear, let's take a short walk around the garden." Or, "you shouldn't be bending down to fetch the laundry, please allow me."

─ · · Their care was endearing as it came from a place of love but it was also mind-numbing not being able to leave the house on your own for an errand no matter how quick and short distance it was. You also were frustrated about not being able to go back to the lab or your office during the day as Evren would somehow always catch you and send you back home with a smirk, "don't worry! Once that kid is born you and Jayce will be fighting over who gets to stay home~" you glare at his cheery-tone as he walks you back to your front door and into an awaiting Ximena who taps her foot in wait.

─ · · As soon as Jayce comes home, Ximena allows you to rush up to him and throw practically yourself into his arms, "Jay, I'm so bored please let me do more than drink tea and water plants all day. I'm sure I'd be fine taking one trip by myself to the market or hosting an office session-"

And like every other conversation you had on the matter, his answer never changed, "No, I just don't want you over-working yourself. If you want we can go out together later." (and you struggled to throw your shoes at his face, with love of course).

─────── · ·

─ · · When you feel your water break, the entire household has exploded into panic. Ximena who had been so worried and cautious over you had you feeling whiplash from how quickly she changed to cool and assertive as she held your hand and wiped the sweat from your forehead with a cool-cloth while waiting for transit to the hospital.

─ · · Evren was blowing up your phone and when you arrived at the hospital was walking alongside you throwing question after question, hands running through his hair, glasses askew, "are you thirsty?" "how are your contractions?" "you'll tell me if you feel off, alright?" "what do you-"

Ximena precedes to slap his arm and if that did not work, splashes a cup of water on his face to shock him out of his panic. Evren finally sits in a corner of the room, staring off into the distance to maintain his breathing. You take one look at your mother-in-law who only shakes her head, "the men always act like its them giving birth," and you laugh, hard.

─ · · Jayce practically rips the door off its hinges to get into the room quick enough and slides to your side, kissing your forehead and brushing the hair away from your eyes. "I'm here, never gonna leave you, not again," you nod, smiling at his words before gripping his hand tightly.

Jayce grits his teeth knowing that in these moments, he could not make one comment about the pain. Ximena smiles, nodding to her son approvingly as he places his other hand atop your connected ones.

─────── · ·

─ · · "ONCE THIS KID IS OUT JAYCE, I"M GOING TO KILL YOU," you scream at Jayce part way through. He just nods his head in agreement feeling utter guilt for being the reason you are in such pain, "yup, I know, I know, I'll dig the grave and everything before hand."

"You better," you grip his hand even tighter if that was possible and Jayce debates if he'll even have his left hand by the of it.

─────── · ·

─ · · Your first child would be a girl and a few years later you both would have a middle-child boy and a few years after that, a youngest girl.

─ · · There was never a boring nor quiet morning in the House of Talis as all the children had taken after your's and Jayce's tinkering and science interests. It would be considered a more quiet day if only one part of the house caught on fire. On that note, many people did not want to babysit for your children.... even your closest of friends as the kids only wanted to listen to their mom and dad.

─ · · Evren had lost his eyebrows in under two hours after your son had prototyped a flame thrower using scrap parts in Jayce's workshop in the backyard.

─ · · Vi and Caitlyn both ended up in emergency care after trying to play a game with the children that became overly-competitive, your kids coming unscratched and victorious as they showed the nurses the trophy they crafted from stick and rocks.

─ · · Ximena almost had a heart attack in watching the kids take turns in their make-shift sleds made from blankets and pillows down the stairs and nearly crashing into the front door if Jayce didn't step through the threshold a moment earlier to catch them.

─ · · But in perfect opposition, when you and Jayce would take your kids into your respective workplaces they acted as angels. Listening, silently observing what you both were working on and asking questions to learn more. (Evren was weirded out beyond belief once observing this quote 'phenomenon' and was mildly offended that you barley had to do anything and they just listened to you).

─────── · ·

─ · · Once your kids came of age, Jayce would step down from the council so that your eldest could pick up the metaphorical torch and continue your houses name. You would also step down from your position within the academy and become an occasional spokesperson/seasonal lecturer.

─ · · In this newfound spare time you had together, you and Jayce went back to your roots, spending all your time in the backyard workshop working on all the projects you left unfinished decades ago.

─ · · It was peaceful, a record playing in the background, window slightly open and desks right beside one another as you leaned your head on your husbands shoulder while reading through your notes. Jayce was breaking down a trinket at his desk, humming softly with the melody of the song.

─ · · So lost in your thoughts you didn't realize Jayce had finished with his work as he looked down at you, observing the crease in your brow. "Everything alright, sweetheart?"

You blink, forgetting what you were even staring at as pick your head off his shoulder, "I'm fine... just thinking," you shrug, standing up to stretch before feeling Jayce's hands wrap around your waist pulling you into his lap. His chin rests on your shoulder, beard scratching the exposed skin of your neck, "what were you thinking about?- you looked serious," he chuckles, you call feel the reverberations against your back.

"Just thinking about how old you are now," you tease, fighting off a grin as you turn in his lap to catch his offended gasp. "I'm not much older than you," Jayce childishly retorts, squeezing your hip, "but seriously, whats wrong?"

You pause, smile dropping, "I just wonder how different life would have been if I had chosen different things." You feel Jayce tense, his hold loosening on you.

"Oh," his tone distant, "...do you regret anything... do you regret this?" his voice barley a whisper. You lean back, pressing a kiss against his jaw as you smile at all the silver hairs mixed in his beard.

"Never," you speak honestly, "....just maybe not meeting you sooner." Jayce wraps his arms around your front, holding you close.

"I regret that too then," Jayce exaggerates a pout. You roll your eyes, "I was being genuine!"

"I was too," he retorts, patting your thigh in a silent as for you to stand. You comply, extending your hand to help him up that he takes and holds as you both walk back to the house yet Jayce freezes half way causing you to pause, turning to face him already seeing as he looks down at you.

Eyes a mixture adoration and something you can't pinpoint just yet, "Jay?" you call out, searching his face for clues only to receive no answer as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"Thank you for staying with me... I..." he pauses, stumbling on his words, "...I wouldn't know myself now... wouldn't be here now if it weren't for you."

You smile reaching up to pull his face forward and press a kiss to his cheek, "thank you too, Mr. Talis." Your heart races seeing the recognition flood his eyes, "now how does some coffee sound?"

"Sounds perfect, Mrs. Talis."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: thank you to all those who decided to stick with this story, it was the best of time... it was the worst of times (lol). But I hope you all enjoyed nonetheless!

─ · · JAYCE TALIS TAGLIST: @sseleniaa @sunshiines-stuff @kiromiix @todorokishoe24 @w2momo @m-arj-1 @reid490 @kaminocasey @chickenlvr123 @peachhiz @hellokittyluvr69420 @mommymilkers0526 @whatislifebutlemons

[simp-ly-writes]

A Chance Encounter

─────── · · A Doctor Who FanFic

─ · · PAIRING: 11th Doctor x F!Reader, Rory Williams x Amy Pond

─ · · SUMMARY: One day you walk right into an invisible wall and out comes a stumbling tall alien that you pass out on top of. When you reawaken, said alien you now know to be the Doctor is determined to get you home safely (if you'll let him, of course) and now that you think about it... he's good looking for an alien...

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, second person perspective, canon divergence, coarse language, meet-cute, suggestive themes, fluff, not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,830

─ · · A/N: been on a Matt Smith binge recently... if you seen a sudden influx... don't question it...

─────── · ·

It was a Tuesday afternoon, the sun had started to peak out from the morning onslaught of rain and you had just started your lunch break and were taking a shortcut through a short alleyway to escape the foot traffic of the city as you had done so dozens of times since starting your job. 

Tugging your coat tighter to yourself as a gust pushed you down the alley you found yourself slipping forwards on the wet pavement. Bracing for impact with the ground you were beyond shocked to feel your face smash into an invisible wall. 

Gritting your teeth together and feeling tears start to well in your eyes. You bring your hand up slowly to check your face, pulling away to see blood dripping off your fingers and suddenly your nose feels like it's drumming with nauseating pain. 

You whimper pitifully, eyes casting back to see that there was nobody nearby to help you. Cursing to yourself now you feel around the pockets of your coat in search of anything to absorb the blood while you think of your next plan of action. Your gloves were all you found and would be the sorry cloth to absorb all your blood. 

You wince at the prickly cotton against the scuffed sensitive skin and look around for your phone dropped just ahead. Standing up with a bit of a wobble, you walk slowly and crouch down to retrieve it yet feel yourself bumping at the corner of whatever invisible wall caused you all this pain. 

“Fuck!” you curse aloud in partial hope that someone would hear as you white-knuckle your phone and try and type in one of your co-workers numbers into the cracked screen with one hand. Yet before you can ever reach the fifth digit a male voice calls out from behind you. Their tone is soft yet confident, “are you doing, al’right ma’am?” 

You turn around to hear their audible wince as they rush over to your side, bringing the glove away from your face to observe your injury. “Looks bruised, not broken, just missing a bit of skin yet nothing too severe. The bleeding should stop soon and the cuts on your palms will need to be disinfected… Did you fall?”

You blink slowly at the man as he claps a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Yes… I fell into something I just…” your sentence trails off as you bring your hand to knock on the invisible surface, it feels solid and by the sounds of it is made from wood. You furrow your brows in confusion, you had seen space ships, aliens in parliament, and ray-guns yet this invisible object had you stumped. What are you? You think to yourself and answers would be quick to come as in the blink of an eye a blue box appeared before you. 

You gasp, not believing your eyes, “did you see that?” you ask the man beside you, looking at him with wide eyes and a slight shake to your hands yet he just shrugs mumbling something about ‘it doing that sometimes.’ 

Your brain starts running at a mile a minute and burning through your initial rush of adrenaline as you begin to panic. “I mean, I just wanted lunch, wait… you’re not an alien right? Please don’t take me- I promise I don’t taste good! I am a very average human that does very average-ly human things!” you begin to ramble, trying to stand again as the man tries to support you yet you pull yourselves crashing back to the ground as you slip on the icy pavement once more. 

“I assure you, ma’am, I am not an alien. I am nurse Rory Williams, also human, and I’m here to help, oka-” Rory tries to calm you down seeing as your tears start to mix in with the dried blood across your face, not the most charming sight, but before he can finish his sentence, the doors to the mysterious blue box fling open as you curl yourself into a ball and peek out from between your fingers. 

“RORY?!” a new male tone calls out, the door slamming closed behind themselves as you watch the head of their shadow cast left to right before turning around suddenly and faces you both with a smile. 

“Ah! There you are and you’ve made a friend!” their movements are quick and a bit wobbly as they crouch down, “why are we all huddled up here? Are we sharing secrets? I promise to share one if you both tell me a good one first.”

You are at a loss for words, “Nurse Rory… I think I have a concussion,” you mumble, feeling yourself starting to fade, brain too overwhelmed by the series of events. Rory hastily grabs your head and starts to feel around, “no bumps or bruising I feel, are you seeing spots? Feel dehydrated?” 

You just blink slowly, your breathing ragged, “feel lightheaded,” you whisper before falling forwards and into the lap of the mystery man. The last thing you hear is a panicked shriek before the world fades to black. 

─────── · · 

When you reawaken you don’t recognize the room you rest in. It’s no hospital cot but a queen size bed fit with fluffy sheets and filled with plants. The paint colour on the walls is your favourite shade and the window appears to be a light box and not the outdoors as you squint between the shades. A knock at the door suddenly sounds and you feel across the bedside table for some form of defence. 

Lamp in hand, your muscles tense as the door clicks open and you relax seeing as its nurse Rory with a tray in his hands. A tall glass of water and a few simple cut fruits in a bowl are gently rested on your bedside table as you place the lamp back down to join the display. 

“How’re you feeling? Gave us all a shock when you passed out suddenly,” he comments before staring at your nose, mumbling something to himself before reaching into one of the drawers and presents gauze, “for your hands,” he explains as you look down to see the dirty bandages with a wince. 

“It's not as bad as it looks, these are just all we have aboard,” Rory explains as he begins to unwrap your hands, you nod your head slowly before stilling at his odd choice of words. 

“Aboard?” you whisper, eyes squinting to reanalyze the seemingly human man before you as he treats your small cuts. 

“We’re on Earth, It’s Wednesday now of the same week and we’re near the alleyway,” he reassures you before placing the tray in your lap and disposing of the old gauze. You stare down at your food and then back up at the nurse with a raised brow. 

“It’s not poisoned either,” he sees your anxiousness yet you still don’t move, finding yourselves in a standstill until a ginger woman knocks at your door, smiling at Rory as he does the same to her. “Hello you,” he waves her over to his side as the woman glides over, pulling him into a hug, “and what would we do without you, Rory?” she teases. 

Rory blushes before pulling away, eyes flickering over to you and then back to her. “Oh, yes, hello,” she fully faces you now, walking over and extending a hand, “Amy Pond.” You grasp her hand gently and shake it, introducing yourself.

“Thank you for helping me,” you look between the couple. “Anytime,” Amy responds, taking a seat at the foot end of your bed as she extends her hand, silently asking for a piece of fruit. You push the tray forwards, eyes watching closely as she swallows the food and pushes the tray back to you, “I’m still alive and yes, I am human too.” 

You close your mouth, deciding to just awkwardly smile as you pick at the bowl, “do you by any chance know where my phone is?” Amy leans forwards, feeling between the pillows on your bed before fishing the device out and passing it towards you. 

“Someone called Steve tried to call you a few times and left a voice message,” you grit your teeth together, well let’s hope Steve doesn't fire me, you think to yourself and call him back only to receive no response seeing as it's the end of the next workday already, I was out for awhile…

“Oh they’re up!” you fling your sore neck over to see the man that emerged from the blue box that caused you all this pain sauntering up to the foot of your bed with a smile. “So what's the census Rory? They gonna live?” their tone is light, eyes sparkling- already knowing the answer- just waiting for their knowledge to be confirmed. 

“Clean bill of health, just a little bit dehydrated still but should be cleared to leave later today,” Rory nods at you as you smile in thanks. A cough has you looking back at the mysterious man before you as you observe their bow-tie, suspenders, and tweed jacket with piqued interest. 

You watch as they lean forwards, gripping the bottom of the bed to whisper quite loudly into Amy’s ear, “you know it's not everyday a pretty lady falls into your lap but it must be the universe’s way of telling me something,” they wink at you and you quickly divert your eyes to the ceiling, feeling an oncoming blush starting at your neck, trailing up towards your cheeks and ears. 

Amy scoffs, pushing the mysterious man away, “has no one taught you how to whisper properly, Doctor?” she grumbles before standing, Doctor? You question not realizing you had said your question aloud. 

“That's me,” he stands up that bit straighter, hands behind his beck, smiling down at you, “and you?” 

You say your name and question again, “But Doctor… who?” 

“Oh they said the thing!” He looks between Rory and Amy, judging their nonchalant expressions before deflating his own, “I’m just the Doctor.” 

“And is ‘just-the-Doctor…’ human?” you press yet by the way your hearts beating and seeing as their eyes crinkle with that familiar all-knowing look, you know that he is most certainly not. 

“I’m afraid I’m not-” and you scream. The Doctor quickly covers his ears, gritting his teeth as he spins on his foot, yelling something incoherent to your fellow humans and you panic louder, jumping out of your bed, glass clattering to the floor and rushing towards the door and down the hall. 

The Doctor is quick to rush after you, “please, slow down! The floors are uneven and you might-” you hear the alien wince as you stumble forwards, “-trip.” catch yourself this time and continue to race down the hall until it opens up into a larger domed room.  

At its centre sits a large machine with various buttons, knobs, and levers that lights up and spin on their own volition. Your voice is dead from screaming as your jaw hangs open like a fish out of water as your eyes quickly try and drink in the foreign technology that surrounds you. 

Hearing as the trailing footsteps near, your eyes dart around in search of another door, one coincidently labelled ‘exit’ in big red, glowing letters. You almost cry out in relief as you rush towards the exit, hand just grasping the handle before long arms scoop you up and pull you back inside the room, gripping you gently but firmly in place. 

“I need you to calm down before-” the alien behind begins to explain yet on another rush of adrenaline you bring your bandaged hand up to their face and throw a punch to their chin. They are quick to drop you, reeling from the impact as they curse, rubbing their reddening skin as you make your escape out onto the busy city streets barefoot and shivering from the cold night air yet you are determined not to be whisked away to be some alien’s slave. 

─────── · · 

You think the coast to be clear as you had run about fourteen blocks away from that original alleyway… the only problem is that you had no idea where you were and the streets were becoming dark as the streetlamps fizzled out. 

Turning around a corner without looking you start to scream again when arms move to stabilize you and feel as a large warm and calloused hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your sounds with a pointed look, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Done screaming yet?” They slowly start to remove their hand yet you shake your head, screaming again as they nod, hand returning as their arm drapes around your back, pushing you both closer together as the Doctor swings his head side to side counting the seconds before you rip his hand away, breathing deeply. 

 “I think I’m done now,” your voice hoarse. 

The Doctor hums in reply, “Good. Done running now?” their grip tightens, squishing your chests together. 

“Do I have a choice?” you scoff, trying to wiggle your way out of their touch but ultimately fail to. 

“Nope,” he answers, “Can we talk now?” You remain silent, “I’ll take that as a yes then. I am the Doctor, yes I am an alien, no I don’t take strangers without their permission, no I am not a warlord, no I do not take slaves, and yes, those humans you saw are voluntary companions who are happily married to each other and before you have any wild ideas- I have not been in same bed as them.”

You open and close your mouth on his last point before laughing at the absurdity of the situation you find yourself in. “So… why did you run after me again if not to take me prisoner?” 

The Doctor tips his head down, voice softening, “you forgot your phone.” He finishes around in his chest pocket before presenting the device to you with a smile. You cautiously take it from his outstretched hand and remove yourself fully form his touch. 

“Thank… you?” you reply yet it comes out more like a question. 

“You’re… welcome?” the Doctor replies with a tease of a smile. You roll your eyes in response before turning around and going back down the street. “That ways a dead-end!” he calls out, adjusting his suit jacket and hair as you pivot on your heel to face him again. 

His head tilts to the left, “that ways to the main road.” You nod, marching past him whilst opening your phone and typing your address into your maps app for directions. The Doctor trails a few steps behind you wanting to make sure you make it home safe, when trying to follow you here he had seen the various stares you were getting from late-night city-goers that disturbed him. 

Pausing suddenly the Doctor walks into your back, lost in his thoughts as he looks down at you with a smile, “where are we headed?” 

“I’m headed home,” you respond, “you’re free to do whatever…” you look him up and down, lingering on his rather handsome face, you shake your head of these thoughts, forcing a frown onto your features, “...whatever alien stuff that aliens do.”

The Doctor throws his head back in laughter, joining your strides beside you, “well this alien is walking you home… unless you want a quicker way?”

“What, you going to hail us a cab or something?” you scoff, turning another blind corner as the Doctor is quick to grab your shoulders, pulling you away just in time from a cyclist. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, cheeks warming as you think it just to be the cold seeing as his eyes well with concern.

“No, that would be too human of me, right?” he teases, knocking his shoulder into your own and managing a short laugh out of you that has both of his hearts racing at the sound of it. 

“Right,” you agree, looking down at your screen to follow the next green arrow. One hour walk with an alien, they’re never going to believe me at work, you think to yourself. 

“But I could… take you there in other ways,” the Doctor walks ahead of you to stand and block your path, hand extended in an offering as he bows down, a piece of long brown hair dropping over his right eye, “if you’ll let me?”

You look between his hand and his face cautiously, gripping your phone closely to your chest, debating his offer, “and how would you travel?”

“I’d have to show you for it to make sense, time-y wime-y stuff,” he explains or rather fails to yet his eyes and tone appear so sincere as they glance at your shaking shoulders and slippers you bought from a convenience store on your way.  

And so you grab his hand and from that day forwards had remembered to not let go. 

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: hope you all enjoyed! this is my first 11th doctor fic so please be kind!

─ · · ELEVENTH DOCTOR TAGLIST: @smallerontheoutside

[simp-ly-writes]

Love Don't Roam

─────── · · For All Time: The Series (pt.5)

─ · · PAIRING: The Doctor x F!Time Lord!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: After nearly drowning in the Titanic, you find yourself a few years later in France where two men wait for you in the gardens, a famous painter and later a physician who comes bearing dire news. Now it wouldn't be very "Lady-like" of you to not help out... right?

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, second person perspective, canon divergence, soulmate au, big ass monologue, mutual pining, grovelling, emotional angst, ✨ tension ✨, coarse language, suggestive themes, kissing, eventual happy ending, not beta read or edited.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 5,216 | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR | PART SIX

─ · · A/N: this chapter is inspired by the song "Love Don't Roam" by Murray Gold from the Doctor Who soundtrack :)

─────── · ·

You smelled too much of aftershave and coffee with a hint of honey. Your skin was crawling to life, hot and yearning, your thoughts a whirlwind of how his touch felt, the sound of his voice whispering into your ear- you wanted to scream at your body for thinking it could control you. So when stepping foot back into your TARDIS, you quickly stripped yourself of all your clothings, stuffling the garments into a bin before finding a new outfit. 

The first shirt felt too itchy, the next not warm enough. You grew even more frustrated when you couldn’t find the skirt you wanted to wear and felt like a tantrum throwing toddler once seeing the mess you’ve made of your wardrobe. A wave of embarrassment washes over you as you hug your knees on the floor, head atop your knees as you stare off into the distance. You are the Lady, you are a Warrior of the Time Wars, a survivor, one of the last of your kind… you do not need-

Your TARDIS choses then to gather your attention, a hum for the engines sounds like a soft coo  meant to comfort you, the lights gone dim and presenting a warm yellow-ish colour yet you only feel more frustrated. “Not helping! I’m trying my best not to feel pathetic right now,” you retort to the walls. 

The TARDIS remains silent, guilt starts to creep its way up your spine as it was just trying to help. “I’m sorry, I’m just not in the right headspace right now,” you whisper yet receive no reply. Sighing through your nose, you will yourself enough strength to stand and head towards your bed, tossing and turning underneath the covers before holding your pillow.  

Drip… Drip… Drip… the distant sound drives you mad, distracting you from your floating thoughts as you rush out the room and towards the console where the lower level has been flooded. I didn’t travel… shit! Shit! Shit! You panic, looking up to the ceiling and rafters that have started to take on water damage. 

Slipping on the wet floors, bathrobe caught on a lever and brain a bit frazzled in a sleepless haze, you press in random coordinates with no date or time in mind, just anywhere but here, now! The TARDIS slowly stirs back to life, the internal voice gargles like their mouth is filled with water. 

Suddenly you are thrown around the interior of your spacecraft. Lights are blaring and fading, warning sirens sound in your ear, the rush of the water from underneath your feet as you hold on tightly to the console as your TARDIS tips and sprays the water back out into the ocean. 

Once the room is upright you shakily sit down in a nearby armchair and flick a switch for the heating to come on. Well… that just happened, you and the TARDIS share a laugh before your heavy head starts to dip into the high back of the chair. Your legs tucked over the armrest as you bury your face into your shoulder, taking in one deep breath before the room fades to blackness around you. 

─────── · ·

In the morning, or what you hope to be not fully knowing how long you were resting. You walk out of your TARDIS in a lace white dress, your outfit is complemented by its various small bows as you twirl a parasol in hand keeping the sun away from your face. 

Flowers, hills, a small pond surrounded by mature trees. You look back to see your TARDIS become a simple shed on the property before continuing down the gravel path. The hills come alive with the wind causing the grass to stand and wave. Tree branches creek and groan as birds sing high up above. For a moment you question if you’re in heaven as the sun gently kisses your face high in the afternoon sky. 

But in taking a deep breath in you feel your nose hairs burn at the faintest hint of gunpowder, a shiver runs down your spine as you realize that the peace of this moment was on the cusp of ruin- the world would forget all about it for years to come…. Humans and their silly little guns, you shake your head, adjusting the hat upon your head with a small frown. It was late March in 1914, two months ahead of WW1 and when you turned a blind corner around a tall hedge you saw a bearded man in a pork pie hat that matched the leather of his suspenders. 

His suit was a beige linen, dress shirt a light blue as he offered you a smile, waving you over to the park bench he sat upon. “Is it my time finally?” he asks once you are within hearing view, you pause in your strides, eyes going wide at the sudden sight of tears dripping down his cheeks. You rush forwards presenting a handkerchief in hand as he pats his face gently, holding the material between his shaking fingers. 

“You don’t have to say anything, I’ll come willingly. I fear there’s not much left for me to realize here. I’ve lost my second wife, my son, and soon my house and garden to those savages with guns… the world would be better if everyone held a brush. But maybe that's a world only when I’m gone, we best make it quick then,” he smiles up at you before turning towards the swans in the pond drifting elegantly around the water lilies as if trying to put each detail to memory. 

Water lilies… you ponder, eyes drifting across the pond to where a record player sits beside a canvas upon the rocks. You then turn yourself around to see a grand pink house with green shutters. Mature veins span all across the lower level making their way up to the second floor where the roof has been maintained with freshly lain shingles. 

“I’m no angel, Monsieur Monet, but I can tell you that you have many years ahead of you to finish the scene and maybe it’ll inspire others in that new world you imagine,” you greet the Father of Impressionism with a small tilt to your head, clasping your parasol shut as you take the empty seat on the bench. 

The Master Painter chuckles, “you speak with such certainty, are you sure you’re not a higher being? No human should speak in such a way for the light is always changing.” You don’t reply straight away, watching as the sunlight reflects off the waters and dances across the white feathers of the swans. 

“I’ve lived long enough to always be certain of somethings,” you respond, patting the hand that rests upon his knee. 

“But you look so young?” Claude Monet’s brows furrow as he tries to look more closely at his face. You hum, “it's because I’ve made art.” Monet laughs at your comment whole heartedly, “maybe I should have made less then.” And you join in on the laughter. 

“So, if not an angel and most certainly not my nurse or child. What are you doing here in my gardens?” the Painter asks, tone curious with eyes holding a knowing look of what you have yet to place your finger on. He suddenly stands and motions for you to do the same, offering you his arm before leading you further into the painted scene you had viewed many times before. 

“That I still have yet to discover…” your sentence drifts off with the wind as you stand on a green bridge. Your forearms lay across the railing as you take a closer look across the pond at what he was painting. The landscape looks serene, pink hues dance up the middle of the canvas parting the blue waters to encapsulate the setting sun. “Waiting for the sun to set?” you comment off handedly, looking to take the attention away from yourself again. 

Monet does not look at you, simply staring at his painting with a mixture of thoughtfulness and dissatisfaction. “I’ve been debating all this morning if I should stake a knife through it or try and fix the reflections again,” he lets out a frustrated sigh, taking off his hat and rotating the brim around in his fingers, “I’ve succeeded with the other two panels, it is this middle one that fails me or maybe it is my eyes.” 

“Not your eyes, not yet,” you mumble, feeling yourself becoming lost in the painting as you drift off in between the subtle ripples he’s captured. So enraptured by the scene you fail to realize that the Painter had walked away and back off to his canvas. You snap up to attention once realizing he joined the painting, brush in hand, hat castaway upon a nearby stool. 

You pick up your skirt- ready to follow along yet he holds his palm out halting your actions. “Stay there, I think I might change this one,” he smiles at you, “as you were,” he orders as you try to resume your relaxed appearance. You hear him chuckle from behind the canvas, you roll your eyes, “you better not be painting me green, Monsieur,” you joke yet receive no response as the artist has lost himself to the canvas once again. 

Hours pass you by as you close your eyes, head starting to slip from off your palm as the sun sets behind you. A cough as you stand upright as Monet waves you over and removes his hand from off the stool, offering you to sit. At first you don’t think to take it, gasping at the elegant image of yourself, dress blowinging away with the wind as you lean over the banister watching the lilies float and suddenly you find yourself sat, eyes filled with thankfulness as you grasp the hand covered in paint without a care for your dress or gloves.  

“It is wonderful, one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen and trust me that is a compliment, you truly are one of the greats,” you smile brightly before confusion clouds over your features as when Monet opens his mouth to speak yet a different voice calls out from behind you. 

“I think I see two suns in that image, it reminds me of home in more ways than one,” the voice sounds eerily familiar yet you didn’t think to have ever heard it before. Spinning around you are met with a tweed jacket and bowtie, their smile is large as they bend towards you and press a kiss to your cheek. 

You freeze in your spot as does the man before you. He pulls back quickly, clearing his throat before sucking in his lips, “So we haven’t connected yet… alllll-right.” And in an instant you place your finger on who this could be. 

“Haunting my past, present, and future are you now?” you tease whilst patting the future Doctors cheek, his larger hand holds your touch against his face, eyes closing briefly to savour the moment. 

“You know how time works, darling. Can’t tell you anything about the future,” the Doctor mumbles, opening his eyes slowly to look over every feature of your face with precision, “but you can answer me, when's the last time we saw one another?”

You pause, “well for me it was about a day or two ago on the Titanic, I have no idea where the Doc- well you are,” your spouting smile starts to wilt once realizing the situation, “Does something bad happen if you’re holding me like this now?” 

The Doctor's face drops, you can hear his hearts thumping loudly as he scrambles for words. His hands move to gently cup face, “nope, nothings happening to you, not now, not ever. You’re fine, more than fine actually you’re stunning- practically better than ever. But for me… well,” his tone high and awkward, “...I need you to do something.” 

You raise a brow, “need me to do what? It best not be you,” you joke, removing his hands from your face to go back to looking at the painting and realize that Monet had gone inside for the night. The Doctor frowns at your lack of attention, moving to stand behind you, head tilting to rest on your shoulder. Future you is very physical… noted, you comment to yourself. 

“Of course you would say something like that now,” he grumbles in your ear, “We’re both too stubborn for our own good. I remember when your father warned me of that.” 

“He hated you, you know,” you scoff at the memory. Your father was furious that out of all the suitors you ‘had to go with him,’  your father’s words not your own. 

“He just hated that I was the best choice,” the Doctor stands, puffing out his chest proudly. You roll your eyes, giving him a playful knock with your hip. “If you’re so playful with me now… what's stopping you from going to current me?- Wait, don't answer that quite yet,” his voice goes down a notch, a smirk beginning to form as you hold your breath in wait for whatever nonsense he was about to spill, unable to contain the humour in his eyes. 

“Do you fancy me more like this?” he whispers, biting his lip whilst waiting somewhat patiently for your answer. You suck in a sharp breath at his question before bursting out laughing and walking out of his hold. The Doctor appears absolutely mortified and offended before marching after you, “I promise you I am better in many-”

“Oh shush you. I’m not telling you what variations I like the most-” you begin your sentence before getting cut off. 

“So you DO have favourites! If you can’t tell me details you can at least tell me where  matchstick man sits on the rankings,” the Doctor tilts his head, eyes bright at his new discovery as he practically dances across the pathway stones behind you. 

“If you really must know he’s up there and that’s all you’re getting,” you cross your arms, the cool kiss of the night air making you cold. The Doctor instantly notices this, stripping himself of his coat to cover your shoulders. “Thanks,” you smile up at him loving the way his eyes dilate at the sight, “so what did you need me to do?” you ask whilst leaning up against your TARDIS camouflaged as a garden shed. 

The Doctor's shoulders drop as he realizes his time with the younger you was coming to an end. He takes two long strides forwards to stand toe to toe with you. An arm comes up to rest above your head, his face leans down to stare into your eyes. 

You place more of your weight against the door, head tilting upwards to meet his gaze, exposing your neck. “Well don’t you look gorgeous like this,” he teases. “Doctor,” you strain his voice in warning. 

“Fine, fine, I need you to pretend,” he emphasizes, “to kiss me-” he gets cut off by your gasp. 

“What?” you start to look off to the side for an escape, the Doctor's other arm cages you in.

“Donna Noble is about to come in,” he looks down at his wrist watch yet just before you can look down to double check the time he grabs your chin, gently tilting your head back up with a smile, “just under a minute to try and convince you to stay, and as you can tell by my sudden appearance, it fails. Soooo!- above all else, I need you to stop me from doing something to someone that affects the future Doctor, this Doctor,” he raises his hand, pointing at himself and then the surrounding environment, “and the whole universe,” before placing his hand on your hip.

“Ah so this current ordeal is a canon event? And how am I going to distract you if I’m standing here with future you?” you swallow deeply. “Mhmm,” the Doctor hums back, a wild look in his eyes as you lick your lips and you don’t know what question that hum answered. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you try another angle to get your questions answered, the Doctor just presses his body closer against your own, disregarding your comment. “Place your hand here please and oh, you are ahead of me,” he kisses your cheek again in praise with a chuckle. 

“Doctor,” you warn more breathily than the last. “Sorry,” the Doctor replies instantly and you can tell for a fact that he was very much not sorry. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” you grumble, starting to feel drunk off of his affections, fingers struggling to undo buttons and trying to loosen his neck tie. With your head clouded, your legs fall weak at the sounds of the Doctor's short gasps everytime you touch his skin whilst tugging at and wrinkling his shirt to make him look more dishevelled. 

“And I’ll be there and waiting to meet you on the other side. Thank you for cooperating, my love,” the Doctor states earnestly, hand sneaking underneath your skirt to rest on your lower thigh. You hear footsteps trailing uphill, looking at the Doctor and suddenly feeling breathless, head spinning, body burning in want that practically make you forget about all those dark years just to feel this warmth, this light in this moment. 

“I think this is one of the weirder ways I’ve saved the universe,” you murmur, lips hovering just above the Doctors holding your position as a sudden burst of light shocks you both, you whine as your eyes burn from the flash of a camera, the bubble of bliss popped. The Doctor places your head against his chest trying to recapture what was lost, “I hope you know that I-” he begins to say before you both freeze at the sound of a shout. 

“Oi Minster! You get your hands off her! I can’t have you ruining my plan so off you go, shoo!” You are frozen in spot feeling as the Doctor's shoulders bounce- trying to conceal his laughter in your shoulder. “If you think I’m playing around that one there has a very angry alien friend that is looking for something to rip his teeth into and it could be you!” Donna tries to persuade the Doctor from… the Doctor, you begin to giggle too, biting your lip to conceal a smile at the ridiculous scenario you find yourself in. 

“Didn’t you hear? I’m looking for something to sink my teeth into,” the Doctor whispers while looking up at you, a dark look passing through his gaze, a finger trails down your spine and then it all clicks together. “You’re using me to distract you,” you deadpan, shoving the future Doctor away from you as you sober up, “You’re making yourself jealous… with yourself…” you pinch your nose, what a mess this is going to be. 

“Well If I know me, and trust me I do, you are the best way at getting me to do something,” the Doctor clarifies before waving a hand behind him as Donna opens her mouth to speak again, “and yes, hello Donna. I’ll leave in a moment just have to make sure the Lady here gets to where she needs to go safely.” 

Donna stands appalled that this stranger before her somehow knows her name. She looks at you for clarity yet you just roll your eyes before slamming your TARDIS door shut and when she looks back around the man is gone. Great… Just great! She thinks to herself. 

─────── · ·

This man! Should have gotten with the Editor at least then I wouldn’t have to worry about greying so much, You grumble to yourself, hands starting to fly across the console as you undo the pins in your hair, massaging your scalp with one hand, typing with the other. Yet just before you pull the lever to launch yourself back off into the space you suddenly remember… the painting!

Darting out of your box and down the hill in bare feet you are surprised to find a lack of Donna Noble when you reach the bottom of the hill yet think nothing of it, must have returned to the Doctor. Grabbing hold of the large frame, your arms wobble as the weight of the wood frame has you stumbling side to side before carrying it successfully into your home and leaning it against a wall. 

Out of breath you grip the console, leaning forwards and trying to regain your breath. Yet when you close your eyes, all you see is him. Fuck… you press a hand to your hearts and feel as they jump at the sudden sound of the door slamming shut behind you.

Swiftly turning around to face the intruder you see the Doctor, your current Doctor, you specify looking rather coldly at you, jaw locked, breathing ragged, and is that a drop of blood on his collar? The final thing you notice are his eyes blazing with a passion you had yet to discover what for. He walks swiftly up to you grabbing hold of your wrist as you try and twirl away- setting your hand back against the console as he cages you between his arms and chest. 

“Doctor,” your throat dry as you stare up at him with a nervous smile, “any reason for your… sudden appearance?” you lie straight through your teeth. 

“I think you know why I’m here, love,” you suck in your breath at his quiet, deep tone, “So you have a choice, you either tell me what happened and who that was or… I will make you forget.”

“That sounds like a threat, Doctor. You know I don’t like to be threatened,” you fire back whilst pushing against his chest yet he does not move, doesn't even touch you, just stares… waiting for your answer, sighing when you don’t. His and the Masters words are so mirrored yet it feels so different when it comes from his mouth, you think to yourself. 

“You’ve said my name twice now, which means I’m doing something right, and it's an offer, sweetheart, I’m giving you a way out as soon as I know he’s good for you,” he explains, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead before setting his arm back down. You close your eyes at his touch, feeling the warmth of his fingertips and the small calluses that accompany his touch and your skin comes alive alongside your heart, bond humming with joy as the missing parts of yourselves are rekindled. 

“Well for starters, he really is fit,” you nearly cackle but just manage to refrain in seeing the creases that suddenly appear across the Doctors forehead, “and he never failed to make me laugh or become weak at the knees,” a frown sprouts and grows quickly, “he is surprisingly muscular… and just a bit shorter than you but I like that I can weave my hands through his gorgeous hair more easily,” the current Doctor subconsciously runs a hand through his hair, I have good hair too and I’m not that skinny am I? He thinks to himself. 

“And don’t even get me started on the suit or suspenders, just adorable for someone whos saved the universe-”

“I’ve saved the universe more times than he has I can bet,” the Doctor fires back, oh he is jealous, jealous now, you smile up at the Doctor, eye’s fluttering as you reminisce some more on the recent memory in your greatest form of justice for the last half a millenia. 

“I actually doubt that Doctor, he is older than you and has seen more than you could imagine. It must be a shock for you to have found someone older than you,” you joke, fingers crawling up his arm watching as the muscles relax just in time for your final strike, “and I’m interested in how you’re gonna make me forget you, but indulge me, I’m very curious to know, as I’ve failed to forget countless a times.” 

You observe the Doctor's blatant confusion, his mouth opening and closing like a wish out of water and you throw your head back in laughter pulling the Time Lord closer to you. 

“That man, Mr. Bowtie, was me? Gosh I really let myself go… I really need you, darling, so I don’t end up dressing like that,” the Doctor shakes his head that now rests upon your shoulder. The tease of his hair against your skin has your laughter converting into giggles as you raise a hand to rest against the back of his head, fingers drifting across his scalp. 

“So that's all you need me for? A personal stylist? Quite the fall from being your wife…but if it’s what you want I cannot hold it in me anymore to question that mind of yours,” you press a little further loving the way your husband scrambles with his words, his actions speaking louder as his large palms rub up and down your back in an effort to comfort you or himself you have yet to know, perhaps both.

“No, but if you want to become a professional undresser I would gladly become your partner.” Your laugh warms the Doctor's heart. You can feel the Doctor's smile against your shoulder, feel the small shakes of his chuckles echoing his future self.

“Partner not customer?” you decide to further the joke once your laughs die down. The Doctor presses a featherlight kiss to the nape of your neck, “partner since I would be your only customer.” 

“Jealous still, are we?” you pull the Doctors head up from your shoulder, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw hearing as he hums out in pleasure. 

“Always. I’ll even be jealous of dirt if it keeps your attention from me,” he rests his forehead against yours. 

“You’re insatiable,” you whisper, eyes flicking down to his lips and up again. 

“Very much so. You are everything I could ever want, you are my desire,” and yet his words meant to comfort manage to ping that still hurt part within yourself as you remember Martha, Rose, and all the others you had yet to meet and yet to even know of. 

“Then why be with all the others? Why destroy me and then rebuild me?- You left me there on that battlefield as our planet burned and imploded, I watched you leave with tears in my eyes and blood dripping down my arms,” you grip his arms tightly, shaking the man before you, your words rattling him more than your actions. 

 “At first I looked for you, endlessly but always came empty-handed. There was too much smoke, too much blood and fire, my injuries too demanding. If I had known my love, If I had known I would have not had any second thoughts and taken you with me but after a while my brain refused to register you in any way, the mere thought too painful,” the Doctor steps away, walking around in circles as he recounts the scenes of war so vividly he finds himself flinching before forming fists that slam against a wall before he continues to speak,

“In a way, I was terrified that I had killed you somehow, terrified that you would know what I had done- what had to be done because who would want a killer? Even if you were alive, I told myself, you would not want me. I had watched billions die at my command, I've killed millions with my bare hands and watched their lifeforce dry underneath my fingertips. I've listen to over a thousand species scream my name, curse it like the devil, like a god, like darkness itself- the victorious time lord that knowingly let my planet and people burn and die for the betterment of the universe- to create an equal universe where the only one that would have to suffer to such extent would be myself… how wrong I was… but…” the Doctor takes in a deep breath feeling as you press your head against his back. 

“...Soon that terror soon took to anger that I was forced away from you. That the universe had been so cruel that I lashed out for a while in the never ending silence of your absence and soon realized that I needed some way to cope. Needed someone to make me forget I was missing my Lady, my wife, so that's when the companions came in. Mostly platonic but I could when I would catch a glimpse of you in someone… I couldn’t help myself,” the Doctor feels sick with himself feeling as you hug him from behind and sob, staining his suit jacket with something arguably worse than blood. 

You sob thinking back to the closeness you both used to share back of Gallifrey and then to the Titanic and Monet’s Gardens. You grip him tighter when you hear those screams he tells you off, can smell the blood that has stained his hands just as well as you feel the way it coated your hands like gloves you never managed to get rid of and with a broken voice you ask him to turn around, “please-” but it is the Doctor that falls down to his knees, begging.

He holds the back of your thighs, forehead pressed against your stomach as he shakes, recalling all the grief he has faced and prepares himself for your final rejection that never comes, “I am overwhelmed… parts of me are unsure but I must speak it, I love you,” you whisper his true name with tenderness like easing an old bruise. 

The Doctor raises his head blinking once, twice, thrice, “I’m sorry?” he clears his throat and you laugh, trying to haul him upwards to stand alongside you, “I. love. You,” you speak the words slowly and clearly and you can’t help but cry in seeing that brilliant smile appear just for you, just from your words alone as he suddenly picks you up, causing you to scream as he spins you and for the first time in 700 years, his lips are against your own.

Like two universes colliding, time slows to a halt as warmth begins at your feet spreading across your body and warming your soul from the inside out. His touch is grounding, a bit firm but comforting as you both lose your heads, not knowing how to process such unrivalled bliss. His head dips to deepen the kiss, your hands tugging at strands of his hair as his moan rumbles against your lips, the vibrations going straight to your legs that the Doctor lifts with your assistance around his waist, walking you both towards a chair. 

Pulling back you make yourself comfortable in his lap, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as the Doctor fails to fully pull away, his breath hot and heavy against your shoulder as he trails open wet kisses all the way up to your jaw, stopping and sucking the skin in all those familiar places you can’t believe he still remembers and you jolt as his teeth nip your ear before whispering inside, “I love you too.” 

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: 😮‍💨 that was a lot, thank you for making it all this way- I hope you enjoyed~ (also can't wait to write about Donna POV next chapter 🤭). No promises on any smut or things like that for now but if I do end up writing it in the future I'll only be tagging blogs that have an age of 18 or above!

─ · · FOR ALL TIME TAGLIST: @posionapple24 @azriel64290 @smallerontheoutside @soniiyi @spirit-of-the-hollow @f0x33 @blackoutdays13 @dlljdhsh @staygoldsquatchling02 @athenxt

[simp-ly-writes]

The Titanic

─────── · · For All Time: The Series (pt.4)

─ · · PAIRING: 10th Doctor x F!Time Lord!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: One year, twenty-one days, and nine hours since you had last seen a Time Lord (not including yourself in the mirror), and you were ready to made that twenty-three days while voyaging on the Titanic... if only the Doctor didn't have similar plans...

─ · · TAGS: jealous!Doctor 👀, female pronouns used, second person perspective, canon divergence, soulmate au, emotional angst, ✨ tension ✨, coarse language, eventual happy ending (but not yet), not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,169 | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE

─ · · A/N: I. am. so. invested in these two I swear-

─────── · · 

One year, twenty-one days, and nine hours since you had last seen a Time Lord, not including yourself of course while preparing your century-conscious appearance in the mirror this morning. It was the early 20th century- just ahead of world war one and part way through the second industrial revolution. 

City streets were covered in a layer of smog, cars were humming loudly past you and various city dwellers could be heard shouting in the early morning streets. Even with the ability to time travel you still found yourself late, pushing yourself through the mass of people at the port all there to catch a glimpse of the “Wonder Ship.” 

You listen as the horns blare, cheer erupt from the crowd you apologize and step around before finally making your way in life to board. Psychic paper in one hand, your TARDIS luggage in the other. And to think some don’t think to carry their’s with them, you smile to yourself, flashing the blank paper at one of the staff members. 

“Welcome aboard the RMS Titanic, Miss. (last/name). We hope you have a pleasant trip,” the young man greets you with a slight bow, “may we take your luggage to your room for you?” He offers, extending his hand to yours yet you pull back just in time. 

“I should be fine with this old thing, I think the gentlelady behind me might need some help though,” you tilt your head back signalling to the refined woman behind you and the array of suitcases her various staff carry behind her. 

“I will do just that, Miss. Smith,” he smiles at you and you mirror the same before making your way up the step onboard. You pause just in front of the staircase, luggage being supported by both your hands as you spin around in a circle to watch as the stained glass dome above reflects against the mosaic tiles and marble staircase. The carved wood beams and panelled walls are nothing short of stunning not to mention all the crystal fixtures. Humans… never cease to amaze me with their pure determination…

Looking down at your watch, the undocking ceremony would be happening in just under an hour and with that in mind, you made your way towards your room. Yet just before you could turn down the last hall a male voice called out to you, “Madame! Mademoiselle! Miss! Ah- Lady? Duchess?... Princess? Excuse me!” footsteps rushed in your direction before pausing just in front of you. 

“At some point I have been all of the above but its Miss (last/name) now,” you clarify while observing the man before you; watching as their shirt expanded and flexed with every breath, the man smiles apologetically at you, cheeks slightly flushed from running as a white-gloved hand presents a key hanging from a silk bow to you, “well then, Miss. All of the above, you dropped this in the lobby,” he explains. 

“Oh… thank you,” you take the key gently from his possession and tuck it into your pocket before continuing down the hall- pausing after a few steps hearing as he does not turn back, “Is everything alright?” you question. 

“Yes, quite. I was just wondering… do you drink?” You hum to yourself in contemplation. 

“Depends on what's being served,” you counter, playing with the stitching on your gown. 

“We’re on the Titanic, they’ve got it all,” he does his best to entice you with a dazzling wink. 

“If that's the case then… How could I refuse, Mister…?” you linger your words for an answer. It feels good being wanted, you think to yourself standing up that bit taller feeling as his gaze lingers on your warming cheeks. 

“Mr. Hartley, Wallace Hartley-” he begins to answer before your own excitement cuts him off, “the musician!- violinist and band lead if I am correct?”

“Most certainly so, It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he bends down, pressing a kiss to the back of your gloved hand, touch lingering as he stares up at you before letting go. You feel one of your hearts skip a beat as you shift your weight from foot to foot. “...Can I expect to see you at the Lounge at seven?” he asks. 

“Till then, Mr. Hartley,” you give him one last look over before entering your room and falling against the closed door. Maybe I allow myself this one night to forget who I am… just the one…

─────── · ·

“Doctor! I have nothing to wear, we’re going on the bloody titanic of all things and I can’t waltz up on the deck wearing M&S!” Donna yells from her room, various articles of clothing thrown out into the hall as the Doctor emerges from the wardrobe in a full black tailored suit with a silk bow-tie to match. “Well don’t you clean up nicely, making me feel real good here spaceman,” Donna grumbles before throwing a shoe by his foot that he kicks aside. 

“You do know that the TARDIS has a full costume room… right?” the Doctor dips his head, whispering the information in an effort to lower his companions tone. 

“And you didn’t think to, oh- I don’t know, tell me that sooner before I emptied my whole closet?!” Donna stands with a frustrated sigh before walking past the Doctor and across the hall to open the suddenly-appeared door. She lets out a long low whistle at the multi-leveled room, each article organized and tagged by planet and era. “Why do you have so many feminine articles?” She picks out a Rococo gown, mesmerized by every pearl detail that glimmers underneath the warm lighting, “I mean this is just… it really takes your breath away, just look! Someone made this!”

The Doctor pauses, a frown noticeably forming on his face as Donna picks up one of your old dresses. He remembers ordering that very gown for you whilst visiting the Queen of France for the first time. He watched you spin and twirl underneath the candlelight, held you in his arms as you smiled brightly up at him. He could still feel your painted lips underneath his shirt before you buttoned it up with a teasing smirk that made him feel hot and bothered all night long- “Doctor?”

The Time Lords blinks repeatedly, “Sorry, what?” He clears his throat, standing up straight- refusing to look Donna in the eyes. 

“Is everything alright?” she asks, placing the gown back on the rack, concerned for her best-friend. 

“It's nothing,” the Doctor shrugs it off, starting to humm to himself while making his way ‘further in time’ towards the earlier twentieth century in search of something for his companion to wear. “I think we have a few options over here and shoes are just underneath. I’ll grab you a coat for the deck.” 

Donna silently watches as the Doctor flinches while touching certain articles of clothing as if they burned him, his eyes blinking away the smoke and ash before casting her a bright smile, coat and shoes in arms. “I think this is everything, I’ll be in the console room when you’re ready-”

“Doctor?” Donna calls out once more, heart pained seeing as the Doctor forcibly tries to stifle a pain burning from within. 

“Yes?” the Doctor pauses at the door, turning back around while staring down at his shoes. Donna pauses, eyes casting over the lanky man’s frame with a saddened sigh, “can I ask you something?”

“You just did-” he quips.

“Oi! Don’t you get all smart on me now,” Donna hisses like a disappointed mother watches as the Doctor's shoulders only deflate more. “Who wore these clothes?”

The Doctor stills, breathing and hearts stopped as the oxygen in the room becomes heavy in his lungs causing him to cough up an excuse. Donna instantly regrets asking the question having never seen the Doctor appear so… weak and small. “You don’t have to answer that!” She quickly rushes out yet the Doctor concedes. 

“They were- they are everything to me, the stars, the void, and time itself…” The Doctor opens his mouth, hesitating before killing the thought as it sparks, “we really must get going now or else I’m afraid we’ll miss the band playing,” the Doctor proceeds to storm out of the wardrobe, hand clenched into a fist that he forces himself to ease. 

─────── · ·

The Lounge is packed by the time you arrive. The undocking ceremony was… uneventful and took quite some time to move such a ship from the port that you left part ways. Wallace was already performing on stage, casting you a wink as you moved towards the front of the stage to take a seat at one of the lower tables. A crystal glass sat in your hands, a small plate of finger-food on the table for you to pick at as you watched the ice melt whilst tapping your foot to the beat, head swinging side to side- following the rhythm. 

You can hear the small conversations happening around you, the clinking of glasses and polite laughs but amongst all the noise a small gasp has you turning around in your seat, attention peaked to find a tall, slender, and very handsome man with brown eyes already staring back at you and your bond snaps back into place. Your hearts stop, you feel yourself sink more into your chair, rooted in place as the song begins to pick up with the shakes in your hand as if you're conducting it. 

With parted lips you whisper a name you promised yourself to forget yet never seemed able to, hands squeezing and threatening to shatter the crystal in your hand. Doctor… and the man responds to the title with darkened eyes and long strides over to you before being stopped by the ginger woman on his arm. You shake your head at the scene, of course! You laugh at yourself before forcing your eyes back towards the stage seeing as Wallce is already looking concerned at you. Want to leave? He mouths, eyes pointed towards the backstage door. 

You raise a brow, Leave, now? But you’re performing… you mouth back, setting your glass on the table and readjusting your gloves. 

Wallace only shrugs before whispering something into the pianist's ear and the song slowly dies out. You stand quickly, clapping with the rest of the crowd as Wallace hands his violin off to one of his band members and jumps down from the stage, sauntering over to you and presses a kiss to the back of your hand.

You jolt at the touch, your skin coming alive with a thousand sparks trying to reach the surface and taking on the appearance of goosebumps hidden beneath your gloves and sleeves. Wallace places a hand against your back that slowly dips down seeing as the Doctor nears and for a moment you doubt your ability to see properly as the moment feels too surreal. 

Whatever rush you originally felt was met with an overwhelming sense of calm, as if you were simply resting underwater and being hugged by all angles, protected under his gaze. “Hello sweetheart,” he speaks softly, hand raising slowly to hover just below your chin yet refusing to touch. 

He watches you, waiting for you to reply, to pull him in or push him back like the tide. You press more weight into Wallace’s side as the Doctor studies you, Wallace’s head drops in order to whisper in your ear- asking if you’re alright. The Doctor’s hand twitches at the sight, the millisecond of a touch has you taking in a shaky breath and you suddenly feel too hot, cheeks flushed and throat dry as your body wants nothing more than to be near the Doctor, to try and reform your bond. 

You catch the fiery-haired woman's gaze as she looks between you and the Doctor in nothing short of purse shock and maybe a bit of terror. The Doctor’s hand lingers, slowly cupping your cheek, pulling your face gently closer, “you’re… so you,” his words broken and strained by on-coming tears, “so incredibly, eternally beautiful,” he whispers too quietly for human ears.  

Your throat is dry as you lick your lips, unsure of how to respond- you pull away from his touch, instantly regretting your actions by the wince in his eyes and the sharp pain you feel in your hearts. You force your gaze away and towards Wallace, “Mr. Hartley, meet my ex-husband, John Smith. Mr. Smith, this is Mr. Heartley.”

The Doctor reaches out and grabs the other man's hand in a firm handshake with dead eyes and to your shock, Wallace levels the Doctor's look, looping his arm around your waist with a stiff smile, “A pleasure, Mr. Smith.”

“Wish I could say the same, Mr. Heartley and now darling, ex-husband? Can we at least discuss something’s-” the Doctor begins to ramble, taking a step closer before Donna grips the back of his suit, “Mr. Smith! What on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

Yet you both don’t pay attention to the human, your reminiscent gaze now hardened by the Doctor's apparent nonchalance, “You would still be my husband if you didn’t try and kill me, darling, or did you forget already? Seems that's an easy thing for you to do,” you spit out the pet name with enough venom to have the fellow Time Lord stumbling back in shock and hurt before becoming overwhelmed in rage. 

“Forget?” the Doctor wiggles Donna's grasp off himself as he storms back up to you, pointing a finger between your two hearts, “I forgot nothing. Not their screams, the death and murders. Not our wedding and our travels and especially not the way you make me feel. How could I ever forget about the best thing in my life?”

You laugh, cackle even as you stand straight and walk out of Wallace’s hold, the Doctor's finger now pressed against your heaving chest as you shake with anger. “If this is how you treat the best thing in your life, I really must not know who you are anymore, John-”

“I’m not John to you, not now, not ever,” the Doctor’s tone is low as he glares down at you causing you to suddenly notice just how tall this regeneration is as he looms over you, enveloping you in his shadow. 

“You lost any titles the moment you kissed another, you lost me once you began dreaming of her, and you lost any chance to be together again when you broke me so irreversibly that the Master had to come and help me out of all creatures! You. are. a. monster,” you grip the lapels of his suit jacket firmly between your fingers knowing that you’ll leave more than just creases by the time you were done with him and everything he did to you.

“And what? The Master is some saint?! He killed millions without cause and you call me the monster?” The Doctor's jaw is slack, disbelief echoing in the shakes of his head. You can feel his hearts racing and watch as a few strands of hair fall against his forehead. We’re awfully close holding each other like this, you think to yourself feeling as his warm breath fans your cheek and the gentle yet firm way he holds your hips. 

You swallow deeply, the Doctor's gaze immediately locking on to your throat, lingering on a section he remembers kissing the sweetest sounds out of. A thumb now circles your side causing you to bite your lip before responding, “You’ve killed millions too and most certainly more,” you grumble, feeling yourself slowly starting to lose your anger by every circle he traces. I hate the effect you have on me.

The Doctor hums, eyes flicking down to your lips and back up again with a wink, “and I would burn down the whole galaxy again if you simply asked me to.” 

Again? You question yet are too caught up on winning the argument to care. “I hate you,” you mumble, adjusting his crooked tie. 

“No, you don’t,” the Doctor whispers into your ear while casting Wallace a smirk as he presses you against his chest, “You’ll always love me and I’ll always love you, for better or for worse.” 

“What makes you so sure of that?” words becoming slightly muffled as you press your face into his chest, soaking up the pure bliss and protection you feel in the Doctor's arms- like all the pain and suffering I’ve faced just fades away, you swallow deeply knowing this just to be your bond speaking to you but a small part within begs it all to be real, but it can’t, not after everything he’s done, I just wouldn't be right or fair to all the suffering I’ve faced. 

The Doctor closes his eyes, grip tightening around you as he places his chin atop your head, “Because we both fear the same thing… the darkness being all that's left and waiting for us at the end.” You let his words linger in the air just like his touch you try and absorb before peeling yourself away, every step like a shot to your chest. 

Don’t go, the Doctor's eyes speak, his touch featherlight whilst holding your hand, gaze utterly pained seeing your broken smile that wavers on a frown and you let go, apologizing to Wallace on your way out before making your way to your room without looking back. You could feel the Doctor’s gaze lingering on you until you were out of sight and even then the ghost of his touch still haunted you all the way back to your TARDIS. 

─────── · ·

Donna was struggling to keep up to the Doctor's long and determined strides as he blindsighted the various ornate details of the ship on a mission towards the lounge. “Doctor! Doctor,” Donna panted, stumbling into his back in her heels as the Time Lord stopped suddenly. “What’s got you in such a rush? This thing is sinking anyways so I don’t think any of your enemies would be aboard-”

“I just feel something, can’t place my finger on just what it is,” the Doctor cuts his companion off, taking a moment to allow Donna to catch her breath before she loops her arm around his in an effort to pace his strides. 

“Well whatever it is it better not be a heart attack since I don’t know the first thing on resuscitating two hearts,” Donna quips while staring at the frosted glass doors before the Doctor bows, inviting her into the room with a teasing smile. 

“I’ll show you how to after…” his sentence dies on his lips after losing the fight to a sharp in-take of air when he hears a rather irregular but all too familiar heartbeat in the crowd. A well dressed woman somehow hears his shock from across the room and turns in their seat to meet his gaze. It was like two stars colliding, an explosion of feeling that expands his chest when he hears his title addressed by your very lips and a chill runs down his spine. 

He wished he had a way to record this moment, to remember it as vividly as he was feeling it, but that would just be a waste of tape, he thinks to himself seeing as you turn back around without a second glance in his direction. Your rejection stings, acting as if he was just another face in the crowd and to make matters worse jealousy fires through his veins in watching some musician eye you up from the stage. And with a burning passion to have you look at him again, his shoes take action, body twisting and turning through the crowd with polite apologies that too die on his lips seeing as the musician's arm works its way around your waist, a position he remembered fondly taking. 

The Doctor almost smirks as your body reacts before your head, turning subconsciously to focus on him and he drinks in your flushed cheeks and wide eyes greedily. “Hello sweetheart,” his hearts sing with utter joy as you are just within reach, his hand lifting to caress your face gently as if you were made of glass. 

Another jolt of pain seeing as you lean into the musician has him drawing in want, lean into me, my love, he internally begs and uses a soft tone to try and hide some of his desperation from painting himself to be a pathetic picture in your eyes. “You’re… so you,” he fails to hide his emotions as tears force themselves forwards, “so incredibly, eternally beautiful….” and you pull yourself away again and again from him, each time more painful than the last. 

And with every word that takes the form of a sharpened stick staked into his chest, he can only stand still and wounded as you walk away and return to being just another memory that he would hold on tightly to until he forgot how it felt originally. 

Feeling as if he is standing alone in a room filled with people, the Time Lords' only stream of conscious thought is on you, how you thought yourself to be forgettable and just how wrong you were. He scouted various dimensions and galaxies, practically ripping time itself apart in an effort to find you after he was done fighting off the remaining Daleks. 

A shiver runs down his spine at the memory of standing in his TARDIS empty handed and alone as it too remained silent, the pure agony he felt before the rage that followed when not even the screams of his most wicked enemies could calm his soul. He was vengeful for so long, 700 years of healing to only form a scab as he searched for parts of you in others. The Doctor shakes his head at these thoughts, too painful to bear in the company of others. 

“You know Donna… I’ve always had the worst luck in a black suit,” the Doctor tries to joke and distract himself yet receives no reply as Donna’s mind is sent reeling with all the new information she just bore witness to, the dresses, the stars, everything, she thinks to herself whilst peering up at the Doctor. Who are you? Who are you, truly, to have such an impact on such a man… the Lord of Time himself… Yet just before she can ask any further questions, a sliver of the vengeful doctor slips out. 

Wallace shuffles on his feet awkwardly, feeling a bit embarrassed by the situation as the over six-foot alien glares down at him, “I’ve killed more people then there are current stars in your galaxy and even if you did manage to get to her… you wouldn’t stand a chance for very long… you wouldn’t even feel it happen.” 

“DOCTOR!” Donna breaks their disguise, pure unabashed shock and horror evident in her reaction to the Time Lords threat. 

“It's true,” the Doctor adjusts his suit with a shrug, drinking in the horrified human's face with satisfaction before swiftly turning on his feet and returning back to the TARDIS with Donna in tow. 

“I can’t believe you would say such a terrible thing to that poor man, Doctor. That really was not right,” Donna tisks disapprovingly while starting to take off her jewelry and gloves into a pile. 

The Time Lord rips off his suit jacket as if it burned him, tie following suit as he unbuttons the top of his shirt with a sigh of relief. “You know what’s not right, Donna?” the Doctor rhetorically asks, hands starting to float across the console like he had done a thousand times before. 

“Is that without her, I would gladly watch this universe and every other universe burn and take myself away with it but… I don’t… So call me greedy, a bad man, pathetic, a villain, what have you, I simply don’t care anymore!- and that should scare everyone,” the Doctor smiles yet it does not quite reach his hollow eyes, that childlike enthusiasm seemingly lost. Donna knows that look all too well, she’s seen it across her own face and in the faces of others but on the Doctors… it just didn’t look quite right. 

Donna turns, grabbing her pile of belongings and heads to her room without another word. The Doctor cracks his neck before leaning down and tinkering underneath the console in order to distract his mind. Donna takes note of the small tremors in his hand before closing her door to the hall and leans against the door. I’ll find you, whoever you are, Donna commands the space in front of her with determined eyes as if she could will you to be in front of her, I’ll find you… and then shove you both in a closet together, she laughs to herself at the thought… Now just how do I find a Time Lord?

─────── · · 

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE

─ · · A/N: God its gonna be so hot when they kiss... wait.. who said that?

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