#night wilf prompts

[night-wilf]

Writing prompt 64:

Lancer is overjoyed to finally leave the ghost infested town, teaching at a small rural highschool needing better teachers. The super heroes and Justice League nothing to him as he settles into a new routine.

It doesn't even register to him he's teaching the kryptonite family in the small town.

Clark manages to finally meet him after a few weeks and finds out the hard way his 'fill the gaps' trick doesn't work. Seemingly blocked by the man's mind somehow.

His strange appearance dismissed with a wave of the hand and "Mr Kent please stop trying to influence how I perceive you. I can assure I have seen worse with my previous students."

#danny phantom #dc comics #dc #writers on tumblr #fan fic writing #writing #writing prompt #night wilf prompts #dp x dc prompt #prompt #mr lancer #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp/dc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp #crossover #superman #clark kent #lois and clark #smallville #smallville getting a new teacher in town #mr lancer has seen enough ghosts to not care for superheroes #understandable

[stealingyourbones]

Clark is just a regular dude from another planet. He has no "super powers" as kryptonite is a sister planet to earth. He gets his powers from being the reincarnation of Danny's physical body, while his ghost rules the infinite realms.

Danny doesn't mind this and lets Clark do his thing, stepping in sometimes when things are about to go wrong. (e.g. injustice/tyrant superman is Danny becoming like pariah)

Connor is the reincarnation of Dani/Ellie, joining Danny in the royal family as a true ghost after years of having a painful existence.

When Clark meets Connor for the first time, he embraces him with tears, feeling as though he was a child he lost long ago. Connor hugs back as he feels safe with Clark.

Everyone else is confused :)

:0 yES! this is such a fascinating idea

#night-wilf #bones replies #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc prompts #homie your mind

[scary-senpai]

Holiday Hi-Jinks - Ch 7

Rating: Teen

Category: Promptfic (for Christmas), Fluff, Humor (Situational Irony Goes Up To 11), Misunderstandings, Comedy of Errors

Pairing: Garou x Genos. Garou and Saitama Are Besties (and also drive each other crazy constantly).

Fic Summary: When Garou and Genos agree to watch Tareo for the holidays, chaos ensues. Genos accidentally ruins Christmas with science. Saitama confronts his arch nemesis (elves). And who the heck keeps melting all of Garou's snow monsters? Certainly not Reigen Arataka.

In this Chapter: Garou has solved the mystery of the missing Christmas ornaments, and all that’s left is revenge. But first, he’ll have to team up with an unlikely ally. Also, Reigen fakes a seance.

“Spirits and Such Consulting, how can I help you?”

Garou stared down at his hand, at the glistening business card he clutched between his knuckles; the one remaining item in his otherwise empty wallet.

The neat script and smiling cardstock image beamed back at him with overwhelming conceit. “Reigen Arataka,” it read. “Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century.” On the back, attached with a single staple, was a tiny packet of restaurant exorcism salt.

God, Garou thought. What an asshat. What an insufferable asshat—

“Good afternoon,” the voice repeated. “You’ve reached Spirits and Such. How can I help you?” It was a soft voice, a boy’s voice… probably the same middle school kid from earlier.

“Uh, yes… hi.” Garou picked at the staple with his fingernail. “So, uh, you were at my house yesterday, and, um—“

The boy murmured a few words of gentle encouragement, and then suddenly the line cut out. A shuffling, scuffling sound followed as Reigen wrestled the phone away from his assistant.

“Don’t worry, Mob, I’ve got this.” Reigen’s voice was faint, away at first. Then he leaned towards the receiver, chiming in with a smug, singsong tone: “Well, well, well… look who’s calling. And by the way, you’re on speaker.”

“Hey, you’re the one who gave me this number.” Garou glared at the low-res image printed on the business card—Reigen’s insufferably smiley photograph. Garou could see it all clearly: the self-proclaimed psychic lounging around his office, kicked back at his desk, lying in wait for this embarrassing-yet-inevitable phone call, with that terrible, arrogant grin plastered all over his stupid face—

And where was Garou? Stowed away in a pantry, currently. More specifically, he was in hiding; hoping the industrial-sized sacks of flour and rice would muffle his voice and praying to God that none of his housemates would wander into the kitchen for a last-minute snack.

Nobody could find out about this conversation—nobody.

[[read the whole chapter on ao3]]

#one punch man fanfic #opm fanfic #wanpanmas #wanpanmas2022 #garou fanfic #my writing #wilf #(work i'd like to finish) #holiday hi-jinks #we had several prompts and one was a free day #so good news everyone! #you're getting a seance #btw #oh my god you guys i am so tired #boyfriend is being exceedingly gracious about me staying up past 1a on a school night #or perhaps he has fallen asleep #anyway #ca-chan needs a hug

[thathufflepuffteachersblog]

My prompt fill for @tatennant ‘s request:

I have one! Donna is trying to get the Doctor drunk. And in the end, she herself gets drunk.

Drunken Fail (This is my first story for the pairing in at least 4-5 years, so probably rusty)

Donna’s birthday was Saturday, but she didn’t care for all that nonsense. Every year her birthday passed and each year she tried to minimize the fuss as much as she could. When Rose was old enough to understand what a birthday was she took it upon herself to create the most lavish crafts and decorations for her mother’s celebration. Sylvia would bake a cake. Wilf would always sing “Happy Birthday” embarrassingly at the top of his lungs, and Shaun would always record the entire tragedy. But not this year. This year was different in so many ways. This year she had the Doctor back in her life and she was all but focused on him and his well-being.

Donna noticed that even though he was supposed to be resting that the Doctor did little of it. He was constantly finding project after project to throw himself into. He was driving her bonkers just watching him. The nerve of this Time Lord! Stays with her to heal and doesn’t even meet basic requirements! Well, this would not do! She would get him to loosen up and have a good time. So, Donna did the one thing she never thought that she would do, she welcomed the planning of her birthday party. Booze and all.

The week passed in a blur and Donna’s party was set to begin. Donna herself didn’t drink, but she made sure that one of the punches was nice and spiked. As everyone mingled around her she saw that the Doctor was making conversation with a woman, Julia, that she worked with and Julia’s partner Samantha. Smiling at the domesticity of it all she picked up her punch and his punch and walked towards him.

“Julia! Sam!” She greeted with a smile, “very glad you could make it.” She quickly thrust a drink in the Doctor’s hand. He took it with a smile, raised it up to clink with her glass, and drank it down like an enthusiastic kid.

Donna smirked and drank hers with as much vigor. It was a hot summer night and she was feeling particularly parched.

“Another one, Doctor?” She questioned.

“Yes please!”

Donna went back to the two punch bowls, scooping out some of the blue punch for the Doctor and some orange punch for herself. She returned back to his side and handed him his drink. He drank this serving much as he did the first. Not wanting to discourage him, Donna did the same.

She suddenly felt very light. How odd. Must be the heat.

When the Doctor requested a third glass she shrugged and went off to retrieve another glass for the two of them. As she walked away she thought she vaguely heard Rose ask her granddad why he rearranged the refreshment table. She didn’t give it much thought.

“A third drink for the Doctor man!” She giggled as she slopped it in his hand.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, but took a sip regardless.

“You work too much,” Donna mused as she sipped her punch.

“Well,” he tugged at his ear absently, “you know. All this free time now. I have all the time in the world to work on projects.”

She drained the bottom of her glass and sat it down in the garden. She took a step closer to him and poked an index finger accusingly into his chest, “You’re supposed to be resting, Spaceman! I’m supposed to be taking care of you and you’re not letting me.” She was fully pouting now. A few people were starting to look as the pitch of her voice went up.

The Doctor took the hand that was poking him into his hand and he kissed it lightly, “Donna, you do take care of me. No one looks after me like you.”

“It feels like you’re hiding away all day in the TARDIS. You’re not resting properly,” she was actually sad now. The Doctor took in all the eyes in her direction, and shared an understanding look with Shaun. He clasped her hand tighter and guided her into the TARDIS.

Donna, in her unusual state of drink, took this action to mean she should begin twirling. When the TARDIS door closed behind them she lifted the Doctor’s arm and twirled herself around once, twice, three times. She was a bought of giggles and the room was blurry around her.

“We should take a trip!” She staggered towards the console and began pushing buttons, “we should go to the Planet of the Hats!” She pulled a lever in an exaggerated way and almost face planted.

“Oi, be careful Donna!” the Doctor exclaimed, clutching her to him and steadying them both against the console.

Donna looked up at the alien who was holding her to his chest. She leaned her head down to lay it against his ribs. He was so thin. She could hear the twin heartbeats. This calmed her. When her memories left her she’d still dream of this sound. The sounds of the groaning TARDIS, his twin heartbeats, and the song of the Ood.

“Donna? Are you drunk? You don’t drink.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed in response. “Is the room spinning for you too, Spaceman?”

“No. I’ve not had any alcohol.”

She was quiet a moment, but suddenly snorted laughter from her nose. “I must have mixed the drinks. You were supposed to be the one drunk and having a good time.”

“Donna, were you trying to get me drunk?” He almost couldn’t believe it.

“Pffft,” she sat up straighter, “not sloshed. Just enough for you to loosen up a bit. You’re all sonic and Mr. Fix-It, and talking a million miles a minute. You need to calm down.”

He couldn’t suppress the grin that formed on his lips, “Donna Noble, this is supposed to be your day. You shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

“But I do worry about you,” she whined, “all I want is for you be happy and healthy because I just love you so much.”

His hearts clenched in his chest. They’d never said that to one another out loud before. Everything between them was always so unspoken. He knew she loved him, but to hear her say it…..

“I love you too,” he admitted softly, “I’m sorry I’ve not been taking my retirement seriously. I’ll try my best to do better. I promise. I’ll let you take care of me.”

She place a hand gently on his cheek and absently rubbed his sideburn. “I’d never admit this sober, but I like your face like this. Just a bit older. You are quite handsome.” Her hand slid down his face and onto his chest. “I missed this face so much. Even when I couldn’t remember it properly. But you know what I missed more than that?”

“What?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“You. It doesn’t matter what face or body you’re walking around with. I missed you, Doctor.”

“All those years,” he began, “all my companions, I loved them all in different ways, but I never forgot you. I was so tempted to go and check on you, but every time I’d land the TARDIS it hurt too much to open the door. I feared I’d muck it up and you’d feel I was too familiar or that I wouldn’t be able to make myself leave. The amount of times I wanted to walk out that door and take your hand is too many to count.”

There were tears in her eyes. It was clear she was sobering up slightly. “Well,” she reached for his hand, “you can take it any time you like now.”

“Yep,” he popped the p, “I’m here to stay. Forever.”

“I told you that you don’t have to stay forever,” she reminded him.

He looked her deep in the eye and squeezed her hand, “Forever.”

“Forever, then” she confirmed.

“Want to go back out there?” he asked; taking her other hand into his.

“Not really,” she admitted. “I hate my birthday. It’s just another year.”

“Another year that you’ve been brilliant,” he smiled.

“Another year of you being daft,” she shot back.

“Since you’re not up for going back just yet, want to go look for your birthday present?”

She shook her head in disbelief, “I told you not to get me anything.”

“Well,” he elongated the l and sniffed absently, “must have forgotten you said that. Another year of bring daft and all.”

She rolled her eyes, but he could tell there was nothing but affection behind the action, “lead the way, Spaceman.”

He kissed he knuckles for the second time that afternoon and turned to leave the console room with her in tow.

“And Spaceman?” Donna began as they turned a corner.

“Yes, Donna?”

“Never let me drink again.”

“Yes, Donna.”

#doctor x donna #fourteen x donna #donna noble

[leighsartworks216]

Overwhelmed (Part 2)

Darkiplier x autistic!gn!reader

Part 1 Here

Requested by @thecosmosstuff:

“I was wondering if you could do a longer Darkiplier X autistic!reader? Either enother overstimulation prompt or one where reader is like super excited and talking about their special interest super excitedly”

Okay so I know you wanted like a focus on the autistic reader but uhmmmm I got carried away 👀

Warnings: explicit descriptions of being overwhelmed/getting sensory overload, swearing, so much god damn fluff

Word Count: 899

Masterlist

The party was Wilford’s idea, of course. Was it in celebration of anything? Well, his answers kept changing. You asked one day and he replied saying it was a birthday party. The next day, when Dark asked, he said it was to liven up the mansion. The Host got yet another answer. In the end, you all seemed to agree that perhaps Wil just needed the stimulation.

It took a week to plan, when all was said and done. Drinks and food were planned, music was added to a playlist to be blasted loudly throughout the night from some very new, very expensive speakers the gun-toting host had most definitely stolen. Dark had glared the entire time they were being set up. You were sure he contemplated messing with the ladder Wilf propped himself up on.

But, and the shattered entity hated to admit it, Wilford was right.

The night of the party rolled around and spirits were higher than they had been in months. Drinks were flowing (both alcoholic and otherwise), egos were eagerly adding more songs to the playlist, and various party games had been pulled out from who knows where. Yancy played against the Jims in Just Dance. Illinois and Bim took turns throwing ping pong balls into red cups filled with various, vile substances. Yandere also busied himself gathering a crowd of egos willing enough to play spin the bottle truth or dare with him.

Everyone seemed to be having fun. Even you had gone out with thick headphones covering your ears to protect from the loud sounds to mingle. But something felt… off. An itch in the back of Dark’s mind. He thought perhaps it was just the culmination of souls within him. They often enjoyed piping up at the worst of times. Tonight, however, they were quiet…

The longer he stood in the corner, scanning the party goers enjoying their time, the more uncomfortable he felt. His skin itched. It wasn’t normal. It felt like the itch was coming from just under his skin. It was like the music, the light, the talking was digging into him.

His corner, without him even realizing it, had become monochrome. Red glitches flickered off of him as he clenched his fists, trying to ignore everything affecting him. His head would jerk to the side, cracking his neck almost violently, and push his aura further out into the party.

Dark eyes immediately locked on to you. When had you appeared in front of him? How long had his eyes been unfocused?

Your mouth moved. You were speaking, he realized. Only, he couldn’t hear a damn thing you were saying. It wasn’t because of the music. Your words reached his ears, he just couldn’t fucking translate them.

Perhaps you noticed this. You very carefully grabbed the sleeve of his suit jacket. He watched, lost and confused as a child, as you tugged him away from his corner. He followed for a step or two, but when the sounds got louder, he bristled and stopped.

You tugged gently on his sleeve again. He stayed firm. It wasn’t until you gave him one of your soft, reassuring smiles that he began to follow once more. Egos parting for him like the Red Sea didn’t even catch his attention.

It was perhaps a couple of minutes before you had pulled him into the hallway. Minutes longer still until you dragged him up the stairs, step by step, and into his office, but it felt as if hours had passed with each second surrounded by that noise.

You let go of his sleeve, his arm falling limply to his side, and took off your headphones. They were abandoned on a side table, or a chair. He couldn’t focus on anything other than you. When you stepped back toward the couch, he was following, if by pure instinct alone. You pressed down on his shoulders so carefully, getting him to sit down on his sofa. His eyes were still dark, but they no longer held that deep, lost look within them. Instead, they stared up at you with a sort of awe.

You moved slowly, watching his reactions for any sign that you weren’t allowed to touch him. Feeling no objections, you slowly ran your fingers through his hair. He relaxed instantly under your fingers. His dark eyes fluttered shut. A soft sigh of relief at the silence he had only just noticed. Pulled by an invisible force, his head fell to rest against your stomach.

At some point, you sat down on the couch with him. He laid down so his head rested on your chest, and you continued to run your fingers through his hair. His aura contained itself within his chest once more. The fragments of red disappeared long before the monochrome faded. And for once, the ringing that followed him everywhere was gone.

Neither of you spoke; there was no need to. Dark opened his mouth once to thank you, but you placed a finger over his lips and silenced the words before they even fully formed.

He would undoubtedly repay you later, in some way or another. He had a way of showing his gratitude through actions and gifts. If that meant making your favorite food, or dancing with you late into the night to one of his old records? He would be more than willing to do so.

#request #requested #fanfic #fanfiction #markiplier #markiplier egos #markiplier egos x reader #darkiplier #darkiplier x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x autistic reader #autistic reader #sensory overload cw #cw sensory overload #fluff #swearing cw #cw swearing

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Apple cider, and any variant of Tucker and Rose you’d like (I know you have a couple lol)

thinky! thank you so much for this prompt. i once again just sort of started another au with it, because i have no self control. i just love putting these two in Situations. or three, rather. wilf showed up in this one, for some reason. hope you enjoy (when you get your internet back, lol)!

read on ao3 here. or send me a prompt here!

-

something for nothing

-

"Hot," Rose asked, thrusting out her hands, "or cold?"

In each was a paper cup, the left one gently steaming while the older man glanced back and forth between them with his usual consideration.

"That depends. Is it chocolate?"

"Nope."

"Coffee, then?"

"No." She failed to stifle a grin. "Sylvia would have my head and you know it."

An extremely unnatural-looking scowl made its way across his face. "It's not one of those fancy 'steamer' things, is it? Those always end up tasting like plain old spoiled milk."

Rose shook her head in fond impatience. "Just pick one, will you? Or they'll both be cold."

His eyes narrowed beneath his bright yellow bobble hat. "Fine, then. Hot," Wilf finally declared. "But this had better not be like the time you put chewy stuff in my tea."

"Boba," she corrected. "And don't worry, only liquid in there. And some spices, of course."

At this, Wilf took a long inhale, his nose hovering just above the thread of steam. It was endlessly endearing, how dubious he was about the whole exercise.

Then again, she had just been a stranger who walked up and offered him eggnog, that first time.

It had been nearly a year ago, around the holidays, and she'd been leaving after another long, tedious shift at the café across the way. Her manager had given rare permission to close up early after Rose pulled a double, but she'd not taken advantage: instead, she'd satisfied an intense exhaustion-fueled craving for eggnog by whipping it up right there in the shop.

But she'd made a bit too much, and with no one to share it with, she'd spied the old man at his newspaper stall—such a merry figure, like Father Christmas himself in a heavy red-and-white striped scarf, packing up his stacks of paper like gifts bundled in twine. He'd looked so cheerful and so cold, with his red nose and fingerless gloves, that she went out and offered him a cup of still-warm eggnog. He'd kindly offered a copy of Radio Times in trade, and suddenly they were talking like old friends.

That had been the beginning of a ritual which she held to after nearly every shift she worked. She never emerged without two cups of something to share, and he always held aside a paper or magazine he thought she'd like. They didn't always chat, but they did undeniably enjoy one another's company.

Rose thought of him almost like an adopted grandfather.

She watched with amusement as he put his eye to the narrow hole in the lid like it was the lens of a telescope, trying to see the colour of the substance within. She bit down hard on her lip. "What can you see?"

"Not much," Wilf admitted.

"Drink it! I promise there's nothing odd in there—well, too odd, I mean."

He shook his head at her, but he was smiling as he went to take a sip. She waited, holding her breath—and was delighted when his eyes lit up.

"Oh, that's not bad," he proclaimed, "not bad at all!" As he took another sip, Rose finally lifted her own cup to her lips.

Ripe apple, cinnamon, nutmeg—a faint hint of smoke—even cold, it all burst over her tongue, evoking a sense memory disconnected from anything she'd ever personally experienced. It reminded her of campfire nights after crisp autumn days, falling leaves and waning grey skies. Days so perfect they could really only exist in films, or books, or daydreams.

"It's cider, but with a little—something! Very good, Rose," Wilf added warmly. "So, what's the secret?"

"An infusion of lapsang souchong while the cider's warming up." She was a little proud of that one. "And all the usual suspects—clove, cinnamon, a tiny bit of anise… I have more," she said, patting her thermos where it stuck out of her messenger bag. She'd planned to take it home and sip it with her feet up in front of the telly, but seeing how eagerly Wilf drank from his cup made her want to share more instead. "Want a refill?"

"Let me see to what I've got first," he said, after another savoring sip. "It's good stuff! Is it going on the menu?"

She scoffed. "Of course not. Nobody around here wants fussy cider. They just want tea, or else coffee, black, no sugar—god, if you only knew how many red eyes I make in a day…"

"Well, it is Westminster," Wilf reasoned, looking around at the street which, while presently quiet, was crowded with buildings still fully lit up at long past six. "There's always some crisis they're perverting."

Rose hesitated. "You mean averting?"

"I meant what I said," he replied with a chuckle. "Takes a lot of energy to play at running the world."

"Yes, well, I just wish they'd get a bit more creative with their drink orders while they do it. Civilisation won't end if one of them branches out and adds a shot of vanilla to their latte! And," she went on, voice hushing dramatically, "then there's the peacoats. They all wear the same bloody shapeless things. What is with that?"

"Speaking of peacoats…" Wilf coughed, clearly covering a laugh. "Evening, Mr. Tucker!"

Rose tripped over her own feet whirling around to see who he was talking to, and then nearly stumbled up again when she saw who it was.

Malcolm Tucker.

The Malcolm Tucker.

The scariest man in British politics, and possibly in Great Britain generally, stood about a foot away from her.

She recognised his face from Wilf's newspapers and the occasional clip on telly: fair eyes, humped nose, harsh lines bracketing a restless mouth, head crowned with tarnished silver hair. Under the flat, unforgiving light of the street lamps, he looked hyperreal. But even someone who didn't know his face would see evidence of his hand everywhere. He ruled the media with it. He puppeted the ministry with it.

And he was shaking Wilf's hand with it.

"Wilf, how the fuck's business?" he greeted, breezing right past her, smiling with the kind of familiarity that couldn't be faked. It even looked sincere. He brushed close enough that she could smell the wool of his coat, and she winced.

"Better, now that your mug's back out of the papers, sir!" Wilf laughed, and strangely, so did Tucker. "What'll it be today? We've got the New Statesman, fresh out this morning. There's an interview with your man, that baldy economist—"

But the other man brushed him off carelessly. "Oh, please, none of that, I'm off the clock."

"What brings you round, then?" For a second, Wilf's eyes darted sheepishly her way, and she could only goggle back in confusion. It was like he didn’t want to give something away, something secret. To Tucker, he said, voice low, "Celebrity Skin?"

Rose's jaw dropped. "Wilf!"

"Now, now, Rose, you can hardly fault the man! Just because he's in government doesn't mean he's made of metal."

"It's not him scandalizing me," she shot back with a laugh. "Wilfred Mott, I learn something new about you every day."

“Got to keep you interested, don't I?” Teasing though his tone was, there was also a glint of genuine pride as he added, “Or else I'll stop getting the best hot drinks in London hand-delivered to me!”

They were so busy sharing smiles that it took her a moment to remember they had audience. A rather intimidating audience. One of his iron-dark eyebrows was arched in something like humour. “That so?” Tucker said, eyeing her up and down.

“She’s more than just a pretty face, she is,” Wilf replied, and she felt herself flush. Whether it was from Wilf’s blunt, overenthusiastic praise or the assessing look she was receiving from the Prime Minister’s media enforcer, she couldn’t tell. “You should—oi, Rose, why don't you give him a little of that cider stuff? Mr. Tucker looks cold. Or maybe that’s just his personality.”

She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, amused by the blatant ribbing. He’d accompanied it with a wink, and Tucker didn’t seem offended. In fact, his smile was back, spreading slowly, like it was foreign to his mouth.

“Not sure that's a good idea, actually,” she said.

“Why not?” asked Tucker, locking eyes with her for the first time. There was just something about his face; she knew she ought to be intimidated by him—and maybe she was, a little—but she was at least equally fascinated. He looked just like a man, ordinary.

Except not.

His gaze was too intense for that. Like it was used to cutting right through people. All day, people with glazed-over eyes muttered orders at her—barely seemed to even notice her. It was a startling change, to feel so… observed.

She blinked. “Do you usually risk drinks from strangers?”

“You're saying you wouldn't, if you were me?”

“If I were you—there’s an idea,” she dared with a breathless laugh. “If I were you, we probably wouldn't have quite so many bald, boring blokes in office. And things would probably get a bit more West Wing. But I wouldn't risk poisoning, no.”

“You're clever, then.” The smile that played around his mouth was a shade off the one he’d offered Wilf, but she liked it all the same. “Cleverer than me.” Her eyebrows jumped, and the corners of his lips only ticked higher. “I'd love a warm drink, if you can spare one. It's been a… very long day.”

And she didn’t know quite how, or why, or anything at all, but her hands just started moving on their own, sliding down the strap of her bag to the pouch with her thermos. She was actually going to share her drink with the Hitman of Downing Street, the thing that lurked under the beds of the ministers she saw on television.

You couldn’t make this stuff up.

“Easy, now,” Tucker drily warned. “No sudden moves. I might get clever.”

She chuffed a laugh. “Not likely.” But she slowed anyway, attention bouncing momentarily to Wilf—who was watching their exchange with a rapt and wildly amused expression—before she turned back to Tucker.

His eyes were more reflective of the colour of the sky than she’d ever imagined eyes could be. So blue and grey that it was like looking through the clearest water at the river stones beneath.

She couldn't quite shake off the observation—couldn't manage an appropriate amount of detachment as she withdrew the thermos and twisted it open. Concentrated steam burst free, smelling sweet and enticingly sharp, and she extended the mug out to him.

He took it. And when their fingers brushed over the warm metal, it hit her.

Attraction.

What she was feeling was attraction.

Her first thought was oh, Mum’s going to brick herself if I tell her. Which, of course, Rose wouldn’t. After Jimmy Stone and the complete fiasco he’d created in her life as a teenager, she knew better. But what would Jackie Tyler say about Malcolm bloody Tucker? He'd been working in politics for practically half Rose’s lifetime.

She could just imagine her mum's face, the repulsion and horror, and the picture was incongruous enough that it successfully pulled Rose out of her stupor. She withdrew her hand, feeling the cold snap of air instantly, more fiercely than she might have.

With a tense eye, she watched him lift the thermos to his lips. Watched him drink, slow and contemplative. He didn't seem particularly slow or contemplative by nature, so it must have been for her benefit. Her fingers made fists, which she wedged into her coat pockets.

He took another sip. Then proclaimed, “That's very good. Is that tea I taste?”

Her smile bloomed without thought or permission. “Secret recipe,” she said. “Now you owe me four pounds fifty.”

Those eyebrows leapt again before resettling even lower than before. He looked very intent. “You charge our mutual friend,” and here, he glanced at Wilf, “for cider, too, or is it just me who pays for the privilege?”

“Well, you know what your sort say—no such thing as a free lunch. Or cider,” she added, realising exactly what was about to come out of her mouth and doing nothing at all to stop it. “Wilf pays me back in magazines and good conversation. So what'll you give me, Malcolm Tucker?”

And god, she was actually doing it. She was flirting with him.

Beside her, Wilf was laughing into his fist. Part of her was embarrassed—or would be later—that she was making a fool of herself in front of the old man. He’d certainly rub her nose in it the next time she popped out with a drink. That was just what family did.

But there was another part of her, a much deeper and more untameable part, which insisted on saying, What the hell? Why not?

After all, this would probably be her only chance to tease one of the most powerful men in England. The prospect of pushing him, even a little, felt dangerous, rebellious. Deliciously improbable. And if there was a little extortion involved, well—he was hardly a man with clean hands.

One of those hands, she noted, slid into the pocket of that ridiculous peacoat—which was, she could admit, beginning to grow on her a little; it contrasted sharply against his skin and hair, so pale and severe—and he withdrew something small and white and rectangular. He extended it to her, but before she could take it, his hand snapped back. He seemed on the verge of smiling again.

Then, tipping back his head, he took another long drink from the thermos. A long, long drink.

She grinned, watching his throat bob. The bastard was draining the mug. Getting his money’s worth, she supposed.

She found she didn't mind. Her evening was shaping up to be substantially different than she’d expected.

Only when he'd finished with a faint hum of appreciation and returned the thermos did he give over the proffered card. It was simple, unremarkable white cardstock with crisp black text.

Malcolm Tucker

Director of Communications for the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom

10 Downing Street, Westminster, London

Below were two phone numbers. One was crossed out, the smudged ink suggesting he’d done so recently. The second number was indicated as his personal line, and her breath caught. Was he mad, handing out this information to a veritable stranger? Did he know the trouble she could make for him if she started, say, making copies and handing them out with every cup of coffee she sold to his more politically repellant enemies? Of which there were many?

“Don't get clever,” he warned her, and there was a trace of real threat there. She felt it. It made her spine straighten and something senselessly warm unfurl in her belly. Then he said, mildly, “Call it an IOU.”

She looked up at the man before her and wondered if he was mad—or perhaps just fearless—or possibly, she guessed with a tilt of her head, he was lonely.

But whatever he was—and however much she needed to get her head checked for being so intrigued by it—there was only one way to find out.

Rose slipped the card into the back pocket of her denims, meeting his unwavering eyes the whole time, smiling to herself. She bit down on the tip of her tongue to prevent it spreading.

“Well,” she said, trying to sound tough, “it’s not exactly four pounds fifty. But it’ll do.”

Tucker smirked. And—oh, yeah, she thought. Mum’s definitely gonna lose it.

#SORRY I GOT LOST IN THE WILF OF IT ALL <3 I LOVE GRANDPA MAN #prompt fic #rose tyler #malcolm tucker #tuckerrose #fic and chips #dw fic #abbey writes #my fic #malcolm tucker x rose tyler #also RIP to me. if there are mistakes i'm sorry. my fingers are just cold and i'm tired of typing lmao

[soulless-angel25]

Doctor Who Femslash February, Day 8 Prompt- Torchwood/UNIT @doctorwho-femslashfeb

It had started when they'd met at UNIT with Martha having called the Doctor there. And maybe as no one else watched it blossomed into something else.

So as Martha walked up to the where Donna lived with her mum and grandad and rung the doorbell, as Wilf(?) looked at her and she asked for Donna, explaining that she was a friend of the Doctor's and he looked at her heartbroken she knew something had happened.

And as he explained Martha could feel her heart sinking into her chest. Donna didn't remember, Donna could never remember otherwise it'd kill her.

She thanked him and left quickly, not wanting him to see the tears that fell down her face as she thought of Donna, lovely, amazing, beautiful, wonderful Donna not remembering.

Martha thought back, their interactions had always been hung over by the fact that Donna was adamant that the Doctor couldn't be left on his own. But her hand drifted to her lip as she thought of how Donna had said 'screw it all' and had kissed her.

She held back the tears till she was at her own flat and curled up into a ball on her bed.

Martha Jones cried herself to sleep that night.

#dwff24 #femslash february #donna noble #martha jones #doctor who #dr who #donnamartha #marthadonna #angst

[petri808]

Prompt- Marking/Monster fucker @bkdkkinktober Day 5

Izuku woke up with a start, hand clutching over the heart racing frantically in his chest to the darkness of a witch’s hour. The sheen of sweat coating his body glistened in the moonlight flowing over his bed, and his breathing raggedly trying to find normalcy in the pungent scent of sex still lingering in the air. But how if this was just a dream? A dream perhaps, yet the strongest since they’d started two weeks ago. The sticky dampness between his thighs indicating anything but fiction.

A slight breeze through the window sent shivers along Izuku’s body still sensitive to the touch… the touch— his touch… The red eyes and blonde shadow emblazoned behind his eyelids. Who was he? This thing, this person haunting his dreams and sending his body into realms of ecstasy night after night to leave him wanting and drained the next morning. He couldn’t wait to get back to bed after a long day of work, ready for more like a drug addict jonesing for their next hit.

“I want more…” Izuku whimpered into the silent room. Of strong hands dominating his toned frame, sharp nails… or were they claws? Regardless, the way they dug into his skin and controlled his hips forcing him to behave… Izuku reached into his boxers and began stroking his cock through this trip down memory lane. “Yes…” he whined, “more, I want more…” of heated bodies entwined, feeling so safe below that scarlet gaze, yet frozen by their stare— and the bites… he remembered the canines that sent his heart stuttering. Izuku paused mid-stroke to reach up to his nape. Yes, the tenderness was there again, but skin still unbroken.

To experience being filled and fucked by this gorgeous dream man. Damn, he’d do anything to make this real! Take him, mark him, a willing slave if it meant nights of endless bliss! “Please—” Izuku groaned. “Be real…”

Each night that passed by left Izuku craving more, and body left spent and tired the next morning. He didn’t know how dreams could cause so much exhaustion, but the intensity was definitely increasing. The logical part of his brain knew damn well this wasn’t good for him, too bad his lonely heart was winning the fight.

“Y-Yeah, I’m heading out right now sir— literally running out the door as we speak… Yes, Mr. Aizawa, I know it’s the second time this week I’ve been late, I… I need to get a new alarm, I think mines broken— oh… of course, sir, I’ll grab that on my way to the office for you.”

As he rushed out of his apartment, Izuku clicked off the phone, repeating his bosses order. “Double macchiato, add cinnamon, double macchiato add cinnamon, don’t forget— OOF!” The phone went flying out of Izuku’s hand as he smacked right into a solid object and bounced back, falling on his ass. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorr—” Izuku gasped.

“Tch. What a way to welcome your new neighbor.” The stranger held out a hand to help Izuku up. “Just be more careful next time.”

“R-Right,” Izuku stammered, “sorry, mister?”

“Katsuki Bakugou.”

“Mr. Bakugou, thank you— I-I mean sorry, again!” Izuku bowed before rushing away.

Blonde hair, red eyes… It couldn’t be! This was the first time he’d met his obviously solid flesh neighbor, so there was no way he could’ve dreamt up the beefcake! “Couldn’t be,” Izuku mumbled to himself. The man was very new, moved in maybe a week ago… ‘right around the time the dreams started escalating…’ He shook his head. Ridiculous. Those were dreams and this man was real— they couldn’t be linked. By the time he got to work, Izuku put the whole event out of his mind and focused on his job before he lost it.

A guy that hot was out of his league, so why not just live in his dreamworld?

“Ka…cchan…” The name wisps out from Izuku’s lips as clawed hands guided the sharp rocking of his hips, ground firmly over the man’s cock. “I can’t—” Izuku whined, legs trembling and starting to give out. “Please…” It was the first time of any of the dreams that the mystery lover had him doing the work.

But in the blink of an eye, Izuku found himself on his back once more, his lovers low grunts to his moans echoing as he was filled over and over in rapid succession. The man’s face stayed buried in the crook of his neck— till a cry rang out, Izuku’s own from fangs sunk deeply into his skin. Familiar, delicious white-hot ache flowing through his system, sending stars flashing beneath his eyelids, and red glowing eyes burning in his mind, filling his soul with a sense of wholeness his life was lacking.

“Mine…” the male growled, “forever…”

Forever…

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Ahhhh!” Izuku shot up in bed, drenched in the familiar sheen of sweat to the sound of a blaring alarm. “Fuck!” He groaned and dropped back down. Stupid alarm! But as amazing as these dreams were, they were seriously starting to drive him insane. His days were turning into endless cycles of unfulfilling work and fornication, work, and fornication— with a physical emptiness left in its wake.

As routine, he touched the painful spot on his neck expecting the same thing he’d endured for weeks— but this time, something wet and tacky hit his fingertips. “What the?”

Izuku scrambled to his bathroom, and there in the mirror— two fresh puncture wounds… a gasp broke free. “Oh, my god—”

That was the first time the dream blonde spoke to him. It’s deep raspy voice sending shivers through his body just thinking about it. But it was so embarrassing to walk into work with a large bandage on his neck to hide the wound! Lots of snickering and questions of who the lucky guy or girl must have been to mark him with a hickey. If only it had just been a hickey! All the other nights left the area tender for just a few minutes, and no evidence, but today the damn thing still throbbed. This was all becoming way too real for Izuku— and frankly, scared him a little. ‘Forever…’ The thought had even crossed his mind that someone was simply breaking in every night, but there was never any proof.

So, as he crawled into bed that Friday night, the throbbing spot on his neck a reminder, Izuku set his alarm to go off at 3am. If there was any truth to this nightly visitor, he was bound to catch him if could break free from the dream. This was it! He had to know what the hell was going on!

Izuku twisted in his bed, whimpering under the lustful gaze of his dream lover. “No, please…” he shivered as the long tongue teasingly flicked the tip of his over sensitized cock. His body was still coming down from a high that had left a sticky mess plastered all over his torso.

“Say it,” the husky voice demanded.

“Forever…” Izuku breathed out.

With a grunt, red eyes flashed, centered, and drove its cock all the way into Izuku. Growling, “forever mine,” as he leaned over to suckle the man’s mark with licks and tortured kisses. Each touch ignited the same soul-stealing connection that kept Izuku trapped and begging for more. Powerful hips rocked in measured cadence, filling the man over and over to finish what it’d started.

Izuku’s back arched and legs clamped around his lover’s waist, nails digging into the man’s shoulders as heat swirled and a familiar smoky scent grew in the room. He sensed his lover’s climax, could feel it coming like a sensor knowing a storm approached. Their connection… it felt so real… so good— different this time. Peaceful, no pain… “forever…” Izuku mewled as darkness overtook him.

The distant sounds of morning slowly crept into Izuku’s consciousness. Soft bird chirping, the muffled roar of cars on a nearby street. He moved to bury his face in his pillow to block the sunlight, shifting his body from its side to his stomach— only he couldn’t. Izuku’s eyes pop open as the awareness hit. He wasn’t alone. Without moving his head, his eyes looked down at what was around his waist and saw arms, hands— someone’s hands?! Wait! His alarm hadn’t gone off either!

He forced himself to shift so he could see who was spooned up behind him and found blonde hair. The neighbor?! Izuku screamed at the sleeping male. “What are you doing here?! How’d you get into my apartment?!”

“If you’re gonna wake up your mate, a good morning would’ve been nice.” Katsuki mumbled against Izuku’s back. “After all I’ve done for you.”

“Y-You? I, w-wait, the dreams, h-how?!”

“Shhh,” Katsuki clamped a hand over Izuku’s mouth. “Go back to sleep, talk when I’m up.”

“Maft?!” Izuku mumbled back.

“Forever, remember? I need more sleep, now shush.”

“I wilf nats sh— ahhh—”

A blinding white light hit Izuku’s mind again, followed with a dull ache in his neck as Katsuki’s mouth clamped over the mate mark on his neck. “Oh, my kami—”

“Now do you believe me?”

Izuku looked over again at Katsuki’s face and noticed the man’s eyes were glowing red and fang tips glinted from his mouth. “F-Forever?”

“Forever.”

It was all real, and yet somehow… maybe this wasn’t so bad after all...

#bakudeku #bkdkkinktober #bkdkkinktober21 #marking/monster fucker prompt #bnha #bkdk #bkdk smut #incubus #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #katsudeku

[skyler10fic]

The Rose of Fortuna | Ch. 5 Paint

By Skyler10

Tagging @doctorroseprompts for our general artist!Rose prompts

Summary: John introduces Rose to his family. But others have some opinions to share.

Read on Ao3

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4  

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

Rose was a city girl, as much as she loved wandering around stately gardens. She had eagerly accepted John’s invitation for a night of stargazing with Donna and Lord Wilfred, but as they hiked around the hillside in the dark, Rose was beginning to regret her choice of shoes.

“Are you SURE this is the right direction?” Donna shouted.

“YES,” John returned. “I suppose you want to pull up the map on your mobile and lead us in the exact same direction?”

“Oi, you two,” their grandfather called with a chuckle. “If you’re done arguing, it’s right there.” He pointed to a spot of hillside that looked exactly the same to Rose as any other, but she was grateful they had arrived at their destination.

John took her hand and smiled down at her, which looked a bit odd in the light of the mobile phone in his hand, but she returned it anyway.

Donna unfolded a chair for Wilf and one for herself. John spread out a thick blanket and pillows for himself and Rose, and then he went about setting up their equipment: two telescopes and a starchart app on a tablet. Donna unpacked her bag: wine, glasses for all of them, shortbread biscuits, and a small box of chocolate truffles. They passed these around and settled in with light conversation.

John had told them about Rose’s family and background, so they asked how her parents were doing, Rose showed photos of her much-younger brother, and that led into stories from John and Donna’s childhood.

Rose was struck by how easy it was. She had been nervous to meet John’s posh family, but they were hardly up to the stereotype. She truly enjoyed spending time with them; in fact, it felt like she’d always known them. They seemed like those kind of people: once you have met them and spent time with them, you feel like family already. At least, that’s how Rose felt as she realized John’s arm had come up around her shoulder as they laughed together. She leaned into his casual half-embrace.

When their glasses were empty, they set them aside and Wilf deemed it time for Rose’s astronomical education. He made sure they were set up properly, then left it to John to explain what she was seeing. John, of course, took advantage of the opportunity to get close to Rose. Donna and Wilf shared the other telescope.

“Oh!” Rose exclaimed and looked to John. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” John blushed in the dark, caught staring at her instead of the sky.

“There’s more!” Donna pointed in the direction of a surprise meteor shower, if you could even call it that. A few streaks across the sky, but to Rose, it was magical. She understood Van Gogh's famous painting in a new way. She’d hardly believed there could be this many stars, having grown up in London. But this… she took it as a sign of good things to come.

“Did you make a wish?” John whispered to her alone.

“I thought that was for the first star you see,” she whispered back, heart pounding at his proximity.

“Shooting stars are good for wishes too. I made one,” he confessed.

“What is it?” She smiled at his seriousness.

“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.” He shook his head and she instinctively brushed back his hair that fell across his brow.

Wilf, eye to the telescope, broke in with facts about meteors in these parts, of the largest ones found in the surrounding farmland and the resulting stories of UFOs, which devolved into a discussion of alien life and what it would be like to travel out there amongst the stars.

“I’d go,” Donna volunteered. “But only if I could bring you all with me. And Lee, of course.”

“He’s a good driver. Think Lee could pilot the spaceship?” Wilf asked.

“Nah,” John broke in. “I’d be the pilot. I’m good with machines like that.”  

Donna snorted. “Building robots as a hobby doesn’t make you a spaceman.”

“How come I’ve never seen these robots?” Rose enquired. This sent Donna down another teasing spree from their younger days, which led to John explaining what they all did. Most were to help people, which Rose found endearing, even if they didn’t all work as intended.

She sighed in happiness late that night as they made their way back to the car. John swung their hands between them and looked as content as she felt. Perhaps it was the wine but something told her this would be the first of many such adventures, and she was already looking forward to them.

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

Word got around town that Rose had been spending more and more time at Mott House. The most prominent women of Wickshire happened to drop by her office or gallery functions with increasing regularity, asking how she was doing personally, though they had never shown an interest before. Finally, one day it all made sense.

She was leading the open house night for their young rising artists display. Over lemon bars and tea, a mother of one of the artists introduced herself.

“Director Tyler, I’m Lady Susan Debourgh.” The woman shook Rose’s hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lady Susan. Georgia’s been doing so well in acrylics this year.”

“Thank you. We’re thinking of taking the summer watercolor class.”

“Sounds lovely. I have to warn you, though, that one fills up quickly.”

Susan nodded. “If I may, there’s a rumor going around... and you know how these old gossips can be...”

Rose raised an eyebrow, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“I’m all ears.”

“Well,” Lady Susan blushed, “is it true that you’ve taken up with my dear old friend John?”

Rose’s mouth opened but she didn’t know what to say.

Lady Susan rushed out, “Oh, not that I have any mind about it at all, of course. I think it’s lovely to see him getting out again, someone he has an interest in. It’s only…”

“Only what?” Rose narrowed her eyes as Lady Susan glanced around the room.

“There have been big plans for Sir John, ever since he was a child. There’s a lot riding on his decision.”

“His decision.” Rose intended it as a question, but it came out more of a statement.

“Yes. Many believe it best for the future Lord of Cribbenswick to be mindful of his position.”

“I assure you, Lady Susan, he thinks of little else,” Rose answered, too taken aback to process what was happening.

Another woman approached, whom Rose was familiar with for her vocal opinions on the gallery’s board of directors.

“Rose Tyler,” Carolyn gushed. “I’m so glad Lady Susan’s had a chance to catch you up on our little problem. I hope you don’t mind terribly. He is rather handsome, but I’m sure you understand.”

Rose grew more puzzled and frustrated. “I’m afraid to say, I do not.”    

“Oh my dear Rose,” Carolyn soothed, “it’s not that we don’t love you here, titles and whatnot are far from the true sign of quality in our opinion, of course. It’s just the position he’s in, you see? It has nothing to do with you and your… background.”

Suddenly Rose understood perfectly, a punch to the gut she hadn’t felt in a long time. It didn’t matter how much she would inherit or how well she did for herself here. She was new money and there was nothing she could do to earn what she wasn’t born into: Class. She would never be good enough for their Sir John. She thought of his smile and his teasing winks and his flirtations these last many weeks together.

What if John was simply having his fun? What if, and surely he did, he knew she would never be good enough for him? It was in this moment that she realized an unfortunate fact.  

She loved him.

Not just attraction or a crush or a plaything. She honestly, truly, loved him. The way he was so openly kind, yes, but also the slow revealing of himself and his painful past he had let her into as they walked the grounds of the estate, as she came across an object or painting or place and he explained it as if for the first time to another living person. The way he treated people he had no social obligation to favor, and yet, everything he did, he did with care and attention despite bouncing with energy. She loved his sense of duty and his pride, his wild adventures and his bluntness, his sudden shyness and his awkward babbling and the way his eyes lit up when he was telling a story or making an impassioned point. She was irrevocably, undeniably, tragically, deeply in love with Sir John Mott.  

Lady Susan was explaining gently about the importance of continuing the Mott family line. But Rose’s hearing turned everything to static. She was going to be sick.

She excused herself and ran out to the gallery’s courtyard, to a private area only staff had access to. She slid down a smooth marble wall and shook with anger and tears and shame at letting her heart get involved so fast and so hard. She knew what she needed to do.  

When she got home that night, she went straight to her easel. She grabbed the canvas and dropped it in the rubbish bin. She collapsed in a huff on her sofa. Naturally, it was too big to fit, so her half-finished portrait of him stared back at her. If it were happening to someone else in a movie, she would have laughed, but she was too tired and frustrated to do anything but fall back into the cushions and stare at the ceiling instead.

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

Notes: Sorry for the angsty ending, but the next chapter is coming soon after so you won't have long to wait!

#doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #dw fic #ten x rose AU #ten x rose #artist!rose #nobility au #stargazing #wilfred mott #donna noble

[rosetintedgunman]

Verse Info: Wilfamatronic (F.NAF)

The original idea I had when we first learned about W.AIA was to have it that Wilf turned himself into a robot. So... I’m keeping that! By default, it’s for a F.NAF setting, but it can also be applied for settings that would require Wilf as a robot, and not W.AIA (eg, someone finds a broken robot in an au and repairs it :D ).

If you’re confused at a glance, go by the name. If it’s named W,ilford, uses he/him pronouns and doesn’t speak in fragmented sentences, it’s for this verse!

While I do call him an ‘animatronic’, Wilf is actually a modern take on an automaton. This is a mechanical creation that can perform a simple task when prompted. For instance, one of the most famous examples is a boy that can write. Wilf sits at a table in a quiet corner of the ‘vintage area’ to help teach the history of robotics and animatronics (which includes some of the older F.azbear models). If someone sits on the opposite chair, it begins a sequence of a mini ‘interview’ with the automaton. The questions are generic, but can be one of several ‘paths’. Children are entertained by his choice of absurd questions (one being “have you ever worn underpants on your head?”). The mechanics and coding allows him to respond somewhat naturally to questions.

When night falls and the electronics are left alone, Wilf can get up and walk around. However, this is a little difficult for him given that he was only given minimal support for legs. He would normally be spotted wandering around the pizzeria using a red-and-white striped umbrella for support. His range of speech is much better when speaking independently, though his voice box is a little temperamental at times. He also is not possessed by a ghost. His hardware is modern enough to have his own thoughts and minds, but not fancy enough to be hacked. If it’s attempted, his program will abort independent thinking and resort to the automaton behaviour. Compared to other animatronics, he is scrawnier, standing at five foot seven. His wear and tear condition doesn’t help with emphasising this. 

As for his origin...? It’s a mystery. He wasn’t a creation of William or Henry. He was discovered in the pizzeria when the building was bought, and extensive research led to swift dead ends. Is he something made by a mysterious amateur, or is he a reporter who stumbled through timelines and landed in a mess he can’t get out of? Who knows...

#v; wilfamatronic (fnaf) #(I shall be using the same icons because I am a lazy ass) #(he's a curious fella) #(not okay to reblog)

[lostcybertronian]

JDKSJKDDJ for the more recent prompts dark and wilf w 90 if you can

A little something about remembering.

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @holyshitsnakesandspace @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr  @demonnightmareangel @moonysmayhem @demon-dark-666 @xpouii @damesdoodles @projectwkm @sororia04s

Prompt 90: “Do you remember when we were little?”

    Part of being two souls and an entity shoved into a corpse was the confusion. Memories from before tended to be fuzzy at best, if not gone completely. It left Dark in a state of bewilderment, some nights, when he tried to recall something other than rage, than hate, than Mark.

    “Darkie!” A pair of arms wound around his waist, and a mustache-d face buried itself in his neck. “Whatcha up to?”

    “Just thinking,” Dark said faintly, his mind awhirl with thoughts: who was this man? Why was he interested in his affairs? “Watching the rain.”

    Only now did it occur to him that it was, in fact, what he was doing; the glass door he looked through was cold to the touch. Raindrops struck it in seemingly rhythmic patterns, tip-tapping its way through the silence. 

    “Sounds boring. Pay attention to me instead.” The man kissed his neck. “Wilford Warfstache is more interesting than the rain.”

    Ah. Wilford. Wilford, who always smelled of candy. Wilford, who didn’t know the meaning of death or dying. Wilford, who used to be someone else a long, long time ago.

    “Do you remember when we were little?” Dark asked, struggling to recall the memories himself. “Mark wanted to go hunt for frogs in the rain. We got sick.”

    Wilford chortled. “Didn’t catch any frogs. Caught the influenza, though. Dames was bedridden for a fortnight. Say . . .” 

    Dark didn’t need to look at him to know his eyes were glazing over with that same confusion that plagued him now. Didn’t need to ask to understand. 

    “Where is ole’ Damien, anyway? Haven’t seen him in a while.” Wilford looked around as if he might suddenly spring from the festering shadows, alive and well and not a day aged. “I should stop by and see him sometime.”

    “I’m sure he’s around.” It wasn’t worth it to tell him the truth. Not when he didn’t know the meaning of death or dying, and not when he wouldn’t remember tomorrow. “Be patient.”

    Wilford huffed, but nonetheless returned to nuzzling Dark’s neck, unbothered by cryptic non-answers. 

    Dark, for his part, tolerated it and returned his gaze to the rain, and his attention to the stormy muddle of memories.

#darkstache #wilford warfstache #darkiplier #markiplier egos #writersofmark #fanfiction #lostandwandering #my writing #lost writing tag #writing prompts #angst #hurt/comfort #asks #lovely anon

[night-wilf]

Writing prompt 61

Sam moves to Gotham to attend the university at her parents insistence. Joining an illegal motorcycle gang to pass the time when not studying.

Her cover name among the group 'Overgrown'.

She easily beats everyone when they race as her bike has had the Fenton treatment for anything and everything she might need. The blueprints almost impossible to understand to someone who has never encountered their work before.

Red Hood becomes interested in her after a few weeks of observation and asks she helps with a drug bust he is leading with Robin.

The task done in half the time with Sam's assistance of speed and weapons. Her aim of a stun gun scarily accurate for being so young. Promptly hired by Jason as anonymous backup with a healthy salary to keep her quiet.

She proves her worth and the money allows Sam to cut off her parents and change course to do what she wants.

Why wouldn't Jason hire her?

She has a fucking lightsaber built from a cat toy and computer scraps! Like hell he is letting her skills be nabbed by someone else to use.

Over a period of years 'backup' becomes making new guns and ammo for Jason to use behind Bruce's back. Fully employed with benefits a few hours after she graduates in a secret portion of Wayne Industries Jason controls.

Danny, Tucker and Valerie all move to Gotham with Sam's help. The small home with enough space for them all to live comfortably around each other.

Phantom, Huntress and TooFine all join Sam in her employment after tests thrown their way and become valuable members to Jason's cause.

Bruce is wondering who there new people are and how Jason has deprived Joker of his resources doing the work of 5 people. The fake names of the new residents in the city bringing up bland online profiles and charity work that make him very suspicious.

#danny phantom #dc comics #writers on tumblr #dc #fan fic writing #writing prompt #writing #prompt #dp x dc prompt #night wilf prompts #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp/dc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp #sam manson #tucker foley #valerie grey #danny fenton #jason todd #jason finds a new colleuge

[stealingyourbones]

Alfred Pennyworth seems to have lived forever when he has, being one of the ancients/eldritch creature who helped create earth. His body becoming the land Gotham was built on, sacrificing it to become the living spirit of the city.

His human body is one he took over as the buildings were made, choosing to become human and still have his powers to watch over the citizens of his city.

Force to play his hand one day, Bruce can only watch in true terror as the man he's known as a father brutally murders creatures threatening to flatten to the city. No words spoken as the seemingly human man gains a body over 30 ft tall with the strength to match.

I-

The concept that Alfred is an immortal god. Seen that more than once. Alfred as an immortal being who’s body is the fucking foundation of Gotham?! That shit I have yet to have seen and I am fascinated. How on earth did you come up with that because holy fuck.

God Alfred for the win dude I love this sm

#dc comics #writing prompts #god Alfred #night-wilf

[chelseareferenced]

Two prompts 1. Angst Hurt/Comfort - Wilford having one of his William episodes, remembering what he did to YN, and begging for forgiveness. YN comforting them - “There’s nothing to forgive because I don’t blame you.” 2. Protective/Jealous/Flirty - Wilford doesn’t really know why he does his best to keep it from Dark, but he keeps the truth of where YN really is to himself. Doesn’t wanna share his find for reasons he only understands as “Mine”

From the moment that Wilford had woke up that morning he felt... Off almost. Like something that was hidden deep down inside him was trying to get out.

Pushing those feelings down he got up and walked towards the meeting room. Dark was sitting at the head of the table and in the corner was his friend. Y/n.

Well at least he thought they were Dark's friend. It was hard to tell sometimes. Dark would say something and that cause y/n to get upset and then they would get angry at each other.

But y/n was his friend. Will knew that deep down. Even if they didn't care all that much about Dark they liked him.

They would always laugh and smile when he was around.

When Will sat down, Y/n waved at him. He waved back but the twisty feeling on his stomach was getting worse. He had felt like this a few times. He couldn't remember what happened afterwards, Dark would make him forget. To "keep him safe" apparently.

The day moved along but the feeling got worse. What had started as a twisty stomach, had turned into a really bad headache. Like it was struggling to hold back something bad. He didn't know what and he didn't want to know.

He was in his studio when it happened.

Y/n was sitting happily watching him record an interview. Then Wilford fired his gun and they shrieked.

And then it all came rushing back, unstoppable and horrible.

Memories of a party.

Mark.

He had killed Mark.

Abe.

Wasn't dead but Will had shot him dead.

Damien and Celine.....

And Y/n.

Y/n standing before him, eyes wide in shock and pain. Blood pouring from a bullet wound.

He had shot them.

But they were alive!

Will could still save them!!

And then they fell....

A sickening crack rang through the empty mansion.

Will had sat with them for 10 hours... Keeping his lonely watch...

He had killed them.

It was all his fault.

-------

Y/n had shrieked when the gun had went off. It was reaction out of their control but what they saw now...

Will had dropped his gun and on the floor holding his head. He was screaming and sobbing.

Slowly... Carefully they walked closer to him. His sobs were heavy. When they placed a hand on his shoulder he flinched and moved away.

They sighed and sat down next to him.

That's when he spoke.

"It's all my fault...."

The words alone brought up old memories but what made is worse was how he said them.

He spoke them in a voice that y/n only heard in memories and dreams now.

He sounded like the Colonel again.

Like William J Barnum, not Wilford Warfstache.

He looked at them finally and cried even more.

"I killed you!! I hurt you! Why are you still here?! It's my fault!"

Y/n hugged Will and held him close. He tensed up but kept saying "I'm sorry" over and over again.

Y/n had never really got an apology from anyone at Poker Night.

Not even Dark.

And hearing Wilf-William. Hearing William apologise seemed to put certain things into perspective.

What had happened had been an accident.

It truly had been.

They were fighting over a loaded gun. In a House that had turning all their negative emotions up to 11. Of course someone had got hurt.

But it was afterwards. When they had stood up. Will had stayed by them all night. He hadn't left. He had even put his coat over them. He truly was sorry.

They sighed and ran their fingers through his hair. "Don't you dare apologise William...."

He fell silent hearing that. They hated him... Of course-

"There's nothing to forgive... Because I don't blame you..."

Then the tears started falling again. And this time he clung onto them. Desperate not to loose them again. And they held him close, rubbing his back and whispering softly to him.

He was safe and he wouldn't let anyone hurt y/n again...

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

Well here's part one of the two requests but here we are. Have some Wilford angst with a side of comfort!

@withjust-a-bite @raimeyl @purple-anxiety-blog @trashbunnysblog @veryrussiancorn @statictay @toasty-tart @captainsaltypear @gay-spaghetti

#chelseareferenced #markiplier #who killed markiplier #wilford warfstache x y/n #wilford x y/n #wilford warfstache x reader #markiplier wilford #wkm wilford #wkm y/n #dark is mentioned #but not important here

[iamvegorott]

12, with anti saying to dark after an outing with wilf

12. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

“Why haven’t I met Wilford sooner?” Anti said with a chuckle as he walked with Dark, arms looped together as the night stars hung above them, the streets empty and silent. 

“He’s a little…eccentric.” Dark tried to find a polite way of saying that his friend tended to be chaotic. 

“And I’m not?” Anti raised a brow and laughed when Dark stopped walking for a second. 

“Shit.” Dark cursed to himself. 

“But, seriously, Wil seems pretty cool,” Anti said, getting Dark to walk again. “He knows literally everything about you, everything.” He added the second one with a wink, laughing when Dark just refused to look at him, not wanting to speak of the storied Wilford told, he was not going to explain his punk phase to Anti. “His powers are also amazing, like, everything might be pink, but did you see the way he got that dude to literally punch himself because he said so” Anti put a hand to his face. “His eyes went all pink and swirly and cool as shit!” 

“I can get others to obey my will as well,” Dark stated in a grumble. 

“He made a whole show about it and-wait a minute.” Anti caught the tone in Dark’s voice. “Are you jealous?” 

“I don’t get jealous.” Dark sniffed. 

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I just kept talking?” Anti smirked. 

“Of course not.” 

“Like, how much I think Wilford is funny and charming and just oh-so-seductive.” Anti placed his free hand on his chest and let his voice drop into what almost sounded like a moan.  

“Maybe we should enjoy the night air in silence,” Dark suggested, trying his best to not grit his teeth.

“You’re jealous~” Anti sang. 

“I just don’t want to hear my partner refer to my friend as ‘seductive’.” Dark protested. 

“You’re adorable.” Anti giggled, giving Dark a kiss before the other man could even open his mouth to argue. “And I love you. Wilford’s cool and all, but he’s not my little demon.” 

“I’m taller than you.”

“Take the affection, dude.”

Drabble Prompts 

#anon #drabble prompts #danti #jealous dark #take the affection dude

[lastbluetardis]

And Babies Make Five and Six (8/16)

Summary: Sometimes the things we want the most stay just out of reach. But after an extra helping of heartache as they try for a third baby, James and Rose are blessed with double the joy.

Trigger warning for infertility for select chapters–this is one of those chapters.

Ten x Rose AU

This chapter: NSFW (not very explicit), 10,300 words (another long one)

We’re finally at the climax of the story! This chapter was so hard to write, in more ways than one. I rewrote this approximately ten million times, and I’m really proud of it. 

Betaed by the marvelous @chocolatequeennk. This is also for @doctorroseprompts and actually for a real prompt this time! It’s for the domestics prompt (yeah yeah, I know it’s not in the TARDIS, but it’s still life at home).

AO3 | TSP | FF | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16

James took the lead on planning their trip to Paris, and by the time December first arrived, he’d booked a hotel suite and arranged a flight for them.

December passed in a blur. For Rose, she was busy scheduling holiday shoots and arranging her team’s holiday vacation schedules. For James, he was swamped with frantic students panicking about their final exams.

But finally it was time to drive to Scotland to celebrate the holidays. They only arrived on Christmas Eve this year; it was the soonest Rose could take off work, considering she was taking off the week after the New Year.

The combined giddiness of being in the Scotland manor and the impending arrival of Santa Claus made it difficult to get the girls to go to bed. They were wound up during the final Christmas film of the night—How the Grinch Stole Christmas!—and they asked to watch another movie all throughout their bedtime routine.

“You know the rules,” James reprimanded as he oversaw Sianin’s clumsy attempts at brushing her teeth. He stepped in to help with her molars when he saw she was content just to brush her front teeth.

“But Daddy!”

“But whatty?” he whined, grinning when she giggled through a foamy mouth of toothpaste. “Rinse and spit.”

He then guided her to the room across the hall from the master suite, where Rose was tucking Ainsley into the full-sized bed that the girls would be sharing. Sianin took a running leap and jumped on top of her sister.

“Santa’s comin’ Ainsley!” she shrieked, bouncing excitedly.

“I know, Sian,” she answered, her eyes lit up in excitement. She turned to face James. “D’you think he’ll like the biscuits we left out?”

“Definitely,” he said, eager to scarf down the biscuits that were on the coffee table as soon as the girls were asleep. “But it’s time to sleep. And remember, no presents ‘til seven.” He pointed to a clock on the wall, where Rose had put a sticker of a Christmas gift on the ‘7’. “Right, Sian? Seven o’clock.”

“Seven o’clock is present time,” she parroted, wriggling under the covers. “Coffee then presents.”

James and Rose shared a laugh, and they fussed with the blankets, making sure each child was comfy and warm enough.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, leaning over Sianin to give Ainsley a kiss. He then kissed Sianin’s forehead. “I love you both.”

“Night, Daddy.”

He stood from the bed and watched Rose kiss their daughters, then flicked off the light and shut the door.

They retired to the living room to place the gifts beneath the tree and munch on the plate of biscuits. Just as they were about to call it a night and head to bed, knowing tomorrow morning would come way too soon, they saw headlights through the front window.

A few minutes later, the front door of the manor opened.

“It’s started snowing!”

James and Rose walked to greet Donna and her family. Flecks of snow were in her hair and she was positively glowing. Married life was suiting her well.

“Maybe Ainsley and Sianin will wake up to a white Christmas,” Rose mused. She stepped forward and offered hugs to Donna, Lee, and Wilf, and a tight smile to Sylvia. Even after all these years, the woman still put her on edge. But she seemed to be in a good mood that night. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

“We’ve g-g-got a bit of n-n-news,” Lee said excitedly, wrapping his arm around Donna’s waist.

“We’re pregnant!” she cried, giggling.

Rose’s heart dropped and she heard a dull ringing in her ears. James stiffened beside her and she hoped he had the good sense of smiling.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Rose said. Her cheeks hurt as she forced a grin across her face. Her mouth felt dry.

“It’s funny, we weren’t trying or anything,” Donna said. She passed her hand over her flat belly, and Rose felt slightly nauseous to watch Lee rest his hand atop hers. “It just sort of happened, y’know?”

Rose felt a hand fumble for hers, and she reached out to twine her fingers through James’s. She squeezed, and her nose burned with welling tears. It wasn’t fair that Donna got pregnant without even trying.

“Congratulations.” James’s voice sounded slightly hollow, but in their elation, Rose doubted Donna and Lee even noticed.

“You still have all of your old baby things, don’t you?”

Rose turned her attention from the happy, expecting couple to Sylvia. For the first time in Rose’s memory, Sylvia looked proud of her daughter.

Her words finally sank in, and Rose’s stomach knotted, knowing exactly where Sylvia was headed.

“Why don’t you donate it to Donna and Lee?” Sylvia continued. “Money’s a bit tight for them, what with the new mortgage and all…”

“Mum!” Donna hissed.

But Sylvia kept speaking. “…And you obviously don’t need it anymore.”

Tears welled up in Rose’s throat, making it hard to breathe. James’s hand was clenched so hard around hers that it hurt, and she knew her grip was just as tight. She wanted to snap at Sylvia that that was none of her damn business, but she knew if she opened her mouth she was going to burst into tears.

James, however, seemed slightly more composed. His voice was hard when he asked, “And what makes you think Rose and I are done having more children?”

Sylvia blinked. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” Rose whispered, and she squeezed James’s hand one last time before she slipped hers out of his grasp. She turned and walked passed Robert, who was looking at her so sadly that it made her first tear fall, and she moved down the hall to the master bedroom.

She paced around the room as she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing her tears away. She only had a few seconds before James would come find her. She could currently hear raised voices from the front room, and she had half a mind to go back out and tell them there were children trying to sleep just the next room over.

Thirty seconds later, a knock sounded on the closed door.

“Rose?”

“Yeah, come in,” she called, wiping at her eyes.

James slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. He stepped up to her and wrapped her into a hug. Neither of them spoke, and a few minutes later, another knock sounded on their bedroom room. Donna’s voice came from the other side. “Can I come in?”

James looked down at Rose, and when she nodded, he called her in.

Donna slipped through the door then latched it behind her.

“I am so sorry,” she said, her face tight with worry. “I didn’t realize Mum would say that. We didn’t know you’ve been trying for another baby… Even still, she shouldn’t have said that.”

“Thanks,” James said.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel badly about…” She gestured vaguely at her stomach, and Rose gave her a small but genuine smile.

“Don’t. This really is wonderful news,” she said sincerely. “A baby will change everything, but it’s such a good change.”

She stepped up to enfold Donna in a hug, then started asking when she was due and how she was feeling.

The snow had continued overnight, and though not much accumulated, there was a fine dusting of white coating everything the next morning. Ainsley was entranced at the sight, and they watched the sun rise through the tree line and sparkle across the fresh snow.

But the excitement of snow dimmed when they saw the pile of presents beneath the tree, and by the time all of the gifts were opened, the snow had melted in the morning sun.

Christmas passed in the same manner as previous years, though it seemed like tension had settled over the house. Whenever somebody congratulated Donna and Lee or asked them about the baby, Rose could feel everybody’s gaze flicker to her and James. She wanted to shout at everybody to mind their own bloody business, but instead, she actively engaged in the conversation about Donna’s pregnancy with gusto, forcing down her bitterness as she did so.

Luckily Ainsley and Sianin didn’t realize anything was amiss, and their presence was one of the only things keeping Rose from going mad.

It was finally time for her and James to head to the airport for their flight to Paris.

James felt on edge for the first day of their trip. After he and Rose checked into the honeymoon suite he’d booked for them, they decided to sightsee. Donning jackets, hats, and scarves, they stepped out into the chilly Paris street and started to walk, with no real destination in mind.

His hand brushed against hers, and he felt something unclench in his stomach when she fumbled to twine their gloved fingers together. She gave his hand a squeeze as she stepped closer to him and rested her head against his arm.

“It’s amazing here,” she marveled, her breath puffing out in front of her face. She looked up at him and flashed him a genuine smile that went all the way to her eyes. His lungs hitched at how beautiful she looked. “Thanks for suggesting we come here. We needed this.”

He nodded mutely and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

It was impossible to not feel the romance of the city. The beauty of the old architecture was everywhere, and all of the restaurants seemed to be designed for couples.

The day of their anniversary, they went shopping for nice dinner clothes to wear that night. James found a smart-looking suit rather quickly, and he shivered when he saw Rose’s eyes darken when he stepped out of the dressing room to model it for her. She hadn’t looked at him that way in so long. While they hadn’t made love yet on their trip, James was hopeful that tonight would be the night.

After purchasing the suit and giving their room address for delivery, he walked with Rose to find a dress for her. They spent the next two hours in the shops, and James felt a little bad that he had no opinions, but he thought she looked fantastic in everything.

When she eventually decided on a little black dress that would complement his suit, James excused himself for a few minutes.

“Loo break,” he lied smoothly, and he pecked a kiss to her cheek and slipped out of the store. He wandered across the street to a jewelry store to pick up the order he had placed a couple weeks ago. He pocketed his gift to Rose, then joined her in the shop, where she was finishing paying for her dress.

Their evening was perfect, and James couldn’t have been happier. Rose was delighted when he showed her the earrings he’d bought for her. Platinum metal had been worked into the shape of a rose, with a diamond set into the center.

“Oh, these are beautiful,” she gasped when she opened the box.

“They’re a new design,” James said. “When I saw them, I couldn’t resist.”

“They’re absolutely wonderful.” She carefully took them out of the box and put them in her ears. When they were secure, she rocked onto her toes and pecked a kiss to his lips before turning away from him. She moved to her purse and reached into a side pocket, where she withdrew an envelope.

He took it from her and pulled out two pieces of paper. Admission tickets for Palais de la Découverte, a science museum right there in Paris.

“I know we said we wouldn’t have a formal itinerary,” Rose said as he scanned the back of the tickets for the various exhibits, “but this looked like something you would love.”

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “But what about you?”

She furrowed her brows. “What about me?”

“It’s our anniversary,” he said. “Surely a stuffy old science museum won’t interest you.”

“And you’re saying the stuffy old art museum we toured yesterday interested you?” she shot back.

He felt his neck grow warm.

“Well… the art was pretty,” he said sheepishly. “But you loved it so much and listening to you explain everything to me made it much more fun and interesting.”

She smiled softly at him. “You do know I feel the same way when you talk science to me, yeah? I love seeing you get all excited. I know we have vastly different interests and different definitions of what we call fun, but as long as I’m with you, anything is fun.”

James’s heart fluttered in his chest, and he fell in love with his wife all over again. He stepped up to her and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist as he ducked down to press his lips to hers. She smiled into the kiss, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thank you very much,” he whispered, pulling back from the kiss to look down at her. “I’m really excited. They’ve got a planetarium! I haven’t been to one of those in years!”

“I’ve never been,” Rose said, seeming to catch onto his enthusiasm.

“What?” James squawked. “How have I been your husband for eleven years and not taken you to a planetarium before?”

“Dunno, but we ought to get going. The taxi’ll be here soon.”

He nodded and pressed a parting kiss to her forehead before he stepped away from her. He grabbed her coat from the rack and held it open for her. When she fastened all of the buttons, he offered her his arm and affected a posh accent to say, “Dinner awaits, milady.”

She giggled and looped her arm through his. “Lead the way, good sir.”

He guided her to the taxi he’d called for and helped her into the back seat before he walked around to the other side. They were driven fifteen minutes across town to an elegant and expensive-looking restaurant. The floors were a dark, glossy tile with a long, narrow rug that spanned from the front door to the host’s desk.

“Reservation for Tyler-McCrimmon,” James said as they approached.

They were taken back immediately, and James admired the restaurant’s interior. Chandeliers hung across the ceiling, bathing the restaurant in a soft, yellow glow. The tables were spaced far enough apart to give illusions of privacy.

James pulled out Rose’s chair for her before he sat across from her.

The ambience of the restaurant created a quiet intimacy for them, and when they weren’t holding hands, their legs were intertwined beneath the tablecloth. The wine they drank made them warm and bubbly, and when they swayed together on the dance floor, they stole kisses until they couldn’t stand the need for propriety anymore. They paid for their meal and waited in the lobby for their taxi.

As the driver took them back to their hotel, they snogged in the backseat until they were broken apart by an awkwardly-cleared throat. James paid the man then wrapped his hand around Rose’s and guided her back to their room. As soon as the door closed, Rose pulled him down for a kiss. They snogged lazily against the door for many long minutes, teasing each other with kisses and touches until they were both aroused beyond coherence.

When he suspected Rose was going to suggest they go to bed, James began kissing his way down her chest, then he dropped to his knees. He heard her inhale sharply, guessing his intent, and he smirked to himself as he hiked up the skirt of her dress and slipped her knickers down her legs.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled against her hip as he kissed and nipped his way to her inner thigh. She parted her legs for him, and he pressed one last kiss to the seam where her thigh met her hip before he moved his mouth to where she was wet and throbbing for him.

It barely took any time at all, much to James’s delight. As he licked and sucked and caressed her in all the ways he knew she loved, she cried her appreciation and her pleasure, until she finally lost herself to her orgasm, panting his name as he worked her though it.

Her thighs trembled and her chest heaved, and James felt relieved. He guessed he hadn’t lost his touch after all. And when they eventually stumbled to bed, kissing and pawing at each other’s clothes, he settled between her thighs to give her another orgasm. When they finally joined together, he coaxed a third orgasm from her before he followed her in bliss and pleasure.

As she lay beside him, boneless and out of breath, James felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

The rest of their trip passed with them both in good spirits. They didn’t make love every night, but James wasn’t too bothered, not when Rose was looking at him like he hung the stars for her as they played tourist around Paris.

The made love on their last night in Paris, and similarly to their anniversary night, James worshipped Rose and her body until she tipped over in pleasure three times.

Upon coming home, James was relieved that the tenderness between him and Rose remained. They had regular movie date nights after the kids went to bed, and even if they didn’t make love after every date, they often snogged like teens on the sofa during most of the film.

Rose seemed happier than he’d seen her in months, and her attitude was infectious. The new year seemed to bring with it a new start for him and Rose. They rekindled the spark that had been missing, and it felt like the weight of the world was no longer on his shoulders.

When Rose’s period arrived a week and a half later, they weren’t surprised. She’d reached peak ovulation the day after Boxing Day, and what with the busyness of the holidays, they’d only managed to squeeze in one round of lovemaking before traveling to Scotland.

However, it seemed to shatter the illusion they were under, and once again, their intimacy cooled. James wanted to cry when he saw himself and Rose falling back into their regular routine. Wake up, get the kids ready, a kiss goodbye—if they remembered—go to work, collect the kids, come home, have dinner, have family time, put the kids to bed, go to bed. Repeat. They rarely had a date night until Rose entered her fertile cycle. They didn’t make love any other time, either.

James stopped initiating sex outside of her ovulation cycle, knowing he would be shot down nine times out of ten. His confidence in himself and in their relationship was all but gone. As the end of February approached, bringing them back to Rose’s fertile cycle, James found it difficult to engage in sex.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but think that Rose didn’t want him anymore. Their anniversary had convinced him otherwise, for a brief period of time, but obviously the magic spell was broken, and Rose was back to being indifferent to him. He hated it, and he hated himself, and some nights, he hated Rose too. He wished they’d never started trying for a third baby. Maybe then his wife would still be in love with him.

oOoOo

Rose didn’t bother putting on pajamas, as she knew they would only be coming off later that night when James came to bed. She was two days in to her ovulation cycle, meaning they were due for another shag.

But when James came to bed nearly an hour later, he went through his usual nightly routine then turned off the light. It wasn’t unusual for them to shag in the dark, but it seemed like darkness was becoming the new normal for their lovemaking sessions.

James crawled into bed and leaned over to press a kiss to her lips. It was chaste and static, with just lips and no tongue or movement of their mouths at all. Rose reached up and twined her fingers into his hair to deepen the kiss as she tried to tug him closer, urging him on top of her.

“Wait, Rose, no,” he said, pulling away. “No, Rose. Not tonight. I’m really not in the mood.”

Rose dropped her hands and had to bite back the protest. She was ovulating. They only had a small window of opportunity before she became infertile again, and they had to make the most of this time. But he’d said no. She would not force him to have sex with her when he didn’t want it.

“Okay,” she said softly. All of a sudden, she felt exposed by being so naked. She wished she could get up and put on at least a t-shirt, but getting out of bed to put clothes on felt too awkward. James had seen her naked hundreds, if not thousands, of times, and she hated that she felt so uncomfortable around him right now.

She swallowed down the acidic taste in the back of her mouth and rolled over to try to go to sleep. But sleep didn’t come as swiftly as she wanted. She couldn’t help but feel so defeated. It was almost three years since they decided to try for another baby. But it was only recently, within the last year and a half or so, that she’d really felt the heartbreak of their failure. Of her failure. Of her body’s failure. James never said anything to indicate it, but he must be getting frustrated with her. He wanted another child so badly, but she was keeping it from happening and he was just too nice and polite to tell her.

But if he wanted a baby so badly, he should know that they needed to have sex when she was ovulating for that to happen. Then a thought struck her that made her insides go cold. What if he just wasn’t attracted to her anymore? Wouldn’t that explain why he didn’t seem interested in sex anymore? Why they made love—no, shagged—in the dark? Why he got it over with as quickly as he could? Why he’d just rejected her?

Rose squeezed her eyes shut against a swell of tears as she worked on convincing herself that her soulmate still wanted her.

The following day, Rose worked out how she could try to woo James. She made arrangements with Robert for him to pick the girls up and keep them for the night. After work, she went to the grocery store to gather the ingredients for the dinner she’d planned for them.

When she got home, she cleaned the house and put the girls’ toys in the box in the corner of the living room. With a half hour to go until James was off work, she quartered potatoes on a baking sheet and seasoned them before slipping them into the oven and setting the timer for an hour. She then went to get a quick shower so she could shave her legs and feel clean and fresh when her husband got home.

She wrapped her hair in a towel then moved to her dresser to find the matching bra and knickers set that James particularly enjoyed. It was a lovely dark plum set that he had given to her on last year’s birthday. The bra did wonders for her breasts by accentuating her cleavage, and the knickers were so comfy, despite the skimpiness of it.

With her underwear on, Rose moved to blow dry her hair until it fell in soft waves around her shoulders, then she reapplied her makeup with a light hand. After that was done, she moved to her closet and picked out a soft cotton dress that clung to her curves nicely.

Feeling rather pretty, Rose skipped to the kitchen to get the rest of dinner started. She seasoned the salmon and green beans. When the timer reached fifteen minutes left, she took it out and put the salmon and green beans onto the sheet. She slid the food back into the oven.

James was due home any minute, but she wanted to give him a minute to freshen up if he wanted to before they sat down to dinner. As the food cooked, she worked on lighting candles around their home as she picked up her iPad and made a romantic playlist.

But the oven timer went off fifteen minutes later, and James still wasn’t home. She kept their food in the oven to stay warm as she went to see how much longer James would be.

“Dinner’s getting cold,” she texted, sending a winking kiss emoji.

It took a few minutes, but finally he replied with, You and the girls start without me.

Her heart fell. “The girls are at your dad’s. I thought you and I could have dinner alone tonight.”

I’m not done here. Sorry. Save me a plate.

Rose set her phone down on the table with more force than necessary as she scraped her fingers through her hair. She felt hurt and annoyed, but more than that, she felt humiliated and rejected. She’d tried so hard to make a perfect night for her and James, but he didn’t want anything to do with it or her.

Feeling stupid, she blew out the candles and turned off the music before walking down the hall to get out of her nice clothes. She washed her face of makeup and changed into her comfiest pajama set, which incidentally included one of James’s shirts. It had stopped smelling like him a long time ago, but she still loved wearing it.

Deciding to not waste the food she’d made, she plated her dinner and put a second serving on a different plate, which she set in the microwave for James for whenever he decided to come home.

After she finished her dinner, she packed up the leftovers and stuck them in the fridge for tomorrow, then grabbed a carton of ice cream and settled onto the couch to let one of her favorite movies soothe her aching heart.

But not even The Runaway Bride could help, especially when she remembered why it was a favorite of hers. It was one of their go-to date night films, when she and James decided they wanted a quiet night in together. They both knew the movie by heart, and James would often act out the scenes—quite terribly and with outrageous accents—just to make her laugh.

Tears filled her eyes at the memories of James quoting the more romantic moments of the movie, to which she would usually catch his lips in a kiss and they’d spend the rest of the film making out on the sofa. She ached to get back to that. It was what she wanted for her date with James tonight. A nice supper together, maybe dancing together if a song they both liked dancing to came on, then a movie together on the sofa.

Even if they didn’t get around to making love, that would’ve been fine. She just wanted to have a romantic night with James. But it seemed he didn’t want to have a romantic night with her.

The ice cream sat as a hard lump in her stomach and left her feeling half-nauseated. She set the carton to the side and swiped at her stinging nose as her first tear fell. James had to have known this was a date, and still he didn’t want to come home.

Her chest hurt at the realization that her husband wasn’t attracted to her anymore. He couldn’t even bring himself to have sex with her anymore, outside of ovulation. But judging from the night before, he was even putting that off as much as he could.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and it felt like she couldn’t breathe. Sobs ripped up her throat as she tried to figure out why James didn’t want her anymore. He’d said time and time again that she was all he would ever want, but he obviously was wrong.

She just wanted her husband back. She wanted it to be like it was before when they were so in love with each other and they could make each other happy. Before she was beaten down every month as she failed to get pregnant. She didn’t want to feel this broken anymore, and more than anything, she wanted James to want her again.

Meanwhile, across town, James finally shut down his computer and gathered up his bag and keys. It was dark when he stepped outside, and his gurgling stomach reminded him of how late it really was. At least there would be a plate of food waiting for him when he got home, even if his daughters weren’t. His dad must’ve asked to take them for the night. Thinking back, James remembered his dad telling him he’d wanted to take the girls to a play. He thought it wasn’t until next month, but he shrugged to himself. He must’ve gotten the dates wrong.

The house was relatively dark when he got home, minus the light from a lamp in the living room and the glow from the TV. He heard the familiar dialogue of one of his favorite movies, and an ache of longing lodged in his chest. He and Rose hadn’t watched that movie in longer than he could remember, and he wondered why Rose would choose to watch that particular movie, especially when he wasn’t there to watch it with her. Unless the movie wasn’t as special to Rose as it was to him. That thought sent a stab of pain through his chest.

He sighed and set his keys in the dish and moved to heat up something for supper. His stomach rumbled when he saw the plate of salmon in the microwave. While he loved dinners with his daughters, he enjoyed when he and Rose ate alone and could cook adult food that the girls wouldn’t touch. There were times when he or Rose would make two different meals, but that was often too time-consuming and thus they were left eating foods compatible with a child’s palate.

As the meal heated up, James turned to leave the kitchen, but he stopped when he noticed the candles on the table. They were half-burnt down. He glanced around the kitchen and saw Rose’s iPad hooked to their stereo.

A heavy weight settled into his stomach. That weight hardened when he walked to their bedroom and he saw a dress and his favorite lingerie set on the floor.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered, realizing that Rose had intended for them to have a date night. And he’d mucked it up. “Shit!”

He shed his work clothes and pulled on casual clothes before going to apologize to his wife.

“Rose, I…”

The sight that greeted him nearly stopped his heart. Rose was bent double and wracked with sobs on the sofa. The sound of her gasping breaths restarted his heart and made it pound throughout his body as he rushed up to her. He felt numb as his brain frantically came to conclusions as to why she was crying so hard, and he prayed that his daughters were okay.

“Rose, what is it?” he asked, rushing up to her. He moved the carton of melted ice cream from the sofa cushion so he could sit down beside her. “What happened? What’s the matter?”

Impossible though it seemed, she began crying harder when he wrapped his arms around her. His body was shaking as he tried to get her calm enough to tell him what had her so upset.

“Please, you’re scaring me,” he whispered.

Rose gasped in a breath and manage to choke out something that sounded like “you don’t want me”.

“What?” he asked, sure he misheard her.

Rose drew in several shuddering breaths and sniffed hard before she whimpered, “I don’t know why you don’t want me anymore! It hurts so much.”

James’s eyes burned and his stomach roiled. What did she mean he didn’t want her? He would always want her.

“Rose, love, calm down,” he said. “Breathe for me. Deep breaths. And tell me again. Why on Earth do you think I don’t want you?”

“You didn’t want to come home for our date!” she wailed, her face crumpling again. Before he could tell her that he didn’t realize she’d planned for them to have a date, she continued. “Because you don’t want to have sex with me because you’re not attracted to me anymore.”

James clenched his jaw. “Excuse me? I don’t want to have sex with you?”

Rose sniffled and rubbed her hands across her face.

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to have sex with me,” he snapped, his voice cracking as his eyes stung with tears. “Unless you’re fertile, that is.” The insecurities James had been harboring for months reared up. “The only time you ever initiate sex anymore is when you’re ovulating. I’ve just become a bloody sperm donor, Rose! D’you know how that makes me feel? It makes me feel like my wife doesn’t love me. It makes me feel dirty and used!”

His voice had risen in volume as his hurt and loneliness from the last six months surfaced. But when he saw Rose’s face crumple again, he knew shouting wouldn’t help anything. She was hurting, too.

He inhaled deeply until he didn’t feel like shouting anymore, then he rested his hand at her knee.

“It hurts to feel used, Rose. You haven’t wanted to make love with me unless it was at a time you could’ve gotten pregnant. I know we’re trying for a baby, but it’s so hard to want to have sex, or to enjoy it, when it feels like I can’t pleasure you anymore.”

“What?” Rose asked, frowning. “You pleasure me all the time.”

“I don’t, actually,” James retorted. “You hardly ever orgasm when we make love. For the past few months, you’ve rejected my advances, and so I got nervous to even ask, which is why I stopped initiating sex. I thought you just weren’t into it anymore. But then when we did have sex, you wanted to focus on me, and that made me feel even worse because it was so obvious you didn’t want to be having sex.”

“That’s not true,” Rose said quietly.

“Well how was I supposed to know that?”

She shrugged and sniffled, and rubbed the back of her hand across her nose. James leaned forward for the box of tissues and he grabbed a handful. As Rose blew her nose, he stood and told her he was going to get them a glass of water.

When he entered the kitchen, the reminder of their blown date night made his stomach twist. The smell of his reheated dinner made him feel sick, even though he’d been famished when he got home. He ignored the microwave and instead grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and filled them with water from the pitcher in the fridge.

When he returned, Rose had turned off the TV and was mangling her tissue between her fingers.

“I’m sorry, James,” Rose murmured as he sat down beside her. She took the glass he offered to her and brought it to her lips for a small sip. “I’m sorry I’ve been blind to your feelings. I’d been so caught up in conceiving another baby that I didn’t think of you, and that’s awful of me to say, and I hate that it’s true.”

James sighed and Rose turned her head to meet his gaze. Dark shadows were under his eyes, and he looked so much older than she had ever seen.

“I feel like it’s my fault that we’ve struggled to conceive,” he whispered.

“No, James, it’s not—”

“But that’s how I feel,” he interrupted. “I felt like it was all down to me. I’m the one with the sperm, so obviously it’s my fault that we’re not getting pregnant because your body is fertile and ready to go. My sperm are the ones failing.”

Rose sucked in a sharp breath as anger swelled up inside of her. But my body isn’t ready to go, she thought bitterly. Not always. Not like yours is.

“How dare you,” she hissed, feeling hot tears prickle behind her eyes again. “How dare you!”

James blinked over at her in confusion, which made her anger spike, bringing with it all of the feelings of inadequacy she’d been harboring.

“Your body doesn’t live on a fertile cycle,” she said. Her hands were shaking so badly that she thought she might spill her water. She reached over and set it on the end table. “Your body is always fertile! But me? I have a five-day window to get pregnant. Five days, James! So how dare you say that my body is ready to go. It is not ready to go, and that kills me. I’m the limiting factor here. It’s my bloody fault that we only have a few days a month to try and make a baby, and if it didn’t happen, we had to wait another month to try again. And that was all my fault!”

Her tears spilled over, and she turned away from him as she tried to brush them away. But when James touched her shoulder and whispered, “Oh, Rose,” there was no stopping them. She hugged her middle as she tried to breathe, and when his grip on her shoulder tightened as he tugged her to him, she willingly went into his waiting embrace.

“Oh, Rose,” he whispered again, and she heard the anguish in his voice. “Rose, I am so sorry. I didn’t even think of it like that.” He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, tucking his head so his face was nestled in her shoulder. She clung to him, shaking as she tried to control her tears, and for a few silent minutes, he held her and rocked her gently as she cried for all of the hurt she’d been pushing down for too many months.

“For over a year now, I’ve felt so guilty,” she rasped. “Since the fertility tests. I only have a brief window of time to conceive a baby. And I kept failing you.”

His arms tightened around her. “No, Rose. No. You did not fail me. You could never fail me. Never ever. God, Rose. I had no idea you’d been pressuring yourself like that for so long. It wasn’t all down to you, love.”

James continued speaking softly to her as her tears fell, and Rose melted closer to him. Finally opening up to James and having him so vehemently dispel all of the fears she’d harbored of him resenting her lifted an enormous weight off of her chest.

Once her tears stopped, Rose pulled back and wiped her eyes dry. She sniffed against her running nose, and she turned away from him to find a tissue. She blew her nose noisily and tried to slow her breathing.

“Let’s finish our water then go to bed,” James suggested after they’d been sitting quietly for a few minutes.

While Rose was tempted to take him up on this offer—she was so bloody tired—she couldn’t. Not until they’d finished talking.

She shook her head. “No, we’re not done with this conversation yet. You said you felt guilty for a lack of conception.”

James dropped his head and muttered, “It doesn’t matter now. I was being insensitive and selfish.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rose said. “You’re still hurt.”

James sniffed hard. She kept her head on his shoulder and rubbed her hand soothingly up and down his thigh as she waited for him to speak. But when he still wasn’t saying anything, she prompted, “You said you felt like it was your fault we weren’t conceiving. Which is ridiculous, just so you know. None of this is your fault. Okay? None of it.”

“How is it not?” he murmured miserably. “You and your eggs are perfectly healthy—”

“And you and your sperm are perfectly healthy,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. “We’ve been tested. We’re both healthy.”

“But—”

“No, James,” Rose said firmly. “I won’t let you do this to yourself. I won’t let you take the blame for something that isn’t your fault. Okay? If I’m not to blame for not getting pregnant, you aren’t to blame either.”

He sniffled and pressed his fingertips into his eyes, and she let him compose himself.

“James?” she asked tentatively. “Earlier, you said… you said you felt like just a sperm donor. That I made you feel like that.”

Rose watched his body tense up as he stayed silent.

“James, love, I never ever thought of you as just a sperm donor,” she said fiercely. “Hey. Look at me.”

Rose waited for a few seconds, and James finally exhaled shakily and lifted his head. His face looked shut-off and cautious, and Rose hated it.

“James,” she whispered. “Please believe me. I’ve never thought of you as a sperm donor. How could I? You’re my husband, and my soulmate. You’re the father of our children. I could never demean you like that.”

James’s muscles all loosened at once as he sighed.

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured quietly. “But Rose… it killed me to watch you being so passive when we had sex. You just… lay there. And when you started faking… I thought I’d… I thought I didn’t satisfy you anymore. And that you hated our sex life… hated sex with me. And that that’s why we only began shagging when you were ovulating, because you couldn’t bear to be intimate with me anymore.”

“No,” she said immediately, her heart breaking. “No, James. That’s not it at all. Oh, God.”

She scooted closer to him until she could wrap her arms around his shoulders. He let out a whimper and hauled her closer to him. His fingers clenched into her shirt and his stubble scraped across her cheek then ear as he buried his face into her neck. Her back twinged as it was awkwardly stretched, and so she leveraged herself into his lap and then cradled his head to her shoulder as his tears fell. They were hot and wet against her neck, and her eyes prickled in response to his pain.

“Oh, James.” She stroked her hand down the back of his head, hoping her fingers in his hair would calm it as it usually did. She turned her head and pressed her lips to the side of his head and kept them there as she murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t think it was possible, but he managed to cling to her more tightly. The sounds of his stifled sobs broke her heart, and she let her own tears fall as she finally realized the agony he had been in for months.

“James, I didn’t hate—I don’t hate our sex life. Never.” She begged for him to believe her. “I had just gotten to the point where it felt like a chore. Like a means to an end. And I should have told you how I felt, but I didn’t know how. I’m so, so sorry I’ve made you feel inadequate, or like I was using you. Please believe me when I say that you are more than adequate.”

“I got so scared you didn’t want sex with me because I couldn’t pleasure you anymore,” he whispered raggedly. “And that you went through the motions when you were ovulating because it was necessary in order to make a baby. Then I thought maybe you were angry with me for not being fertile enough to get you pregnant. It’s all just been so hard lately, and I’ve been so, so scared, Rose, and I didn’t know what to do.”

She thought back to the times they’d been intimate over the last six months when it had seemed as though James had lost his attraction to her. She remembered all of the times he’d made love to her quickly, achieving orgasm in just a few minutes. While she hadn’t been in the right state of mind to take pleasure from their coupling, she loved watching him enjoy himself. There was nothing quite like holding him in her arms, feeling him moving inside of her, hearing him gasp her name as he reached the pinnacle of pleasure and spilled himself inside of her. She loved that moment, sharing that ultimate moment of intimacy and love with James.

So when he’d seemed to rush to get there, it had broken her heart. She’d thought he didn’t cherish their intimacy the way she did anymore.

But apparently she’d gotten it all wrong. She’d made James feel used and unloved. And in turn, that was how he made her feel.

“James, I never once thought you were unsatisfactory in bed. I love making love with you.”

“But I can’t make you come anymore,” he mumbled.

“That isn’t you, love,” she said softly. “I swear. You’re so wonderful and attentive to me. I’ve just had trouble enjoying sex because I felt the overwhelming pressure to conceive a baby. But believe me, I still loved watching you enjoy sex.”

“It was so hard to want to make love when I knew you didn’t want to,” James said. “Making love with you is something we do together. It something that’s just ours. And then you didn’t want it anymore, and that hurt. But of course I would never force you to make love when you didn’t want to. But then you didn’t even want to cuddle or kiss on the sofa or anything.”

“I thought I was being rude,” she whispered through numb lips. How had she misread this whole situation so completely? “I thought it was rude of me to want to make out with you but not make love afterwards.”

James sighed. “Your distance made me feel like you were upset with me. Upset that I wasn’t getting you pregnant, or that I was just being a rubbish husband and lover.”

“No. I was never angry with you for not getting me pregnant. It was kind of the opposite, actually,” she admitted. “I was angry at myself for being so infertile all the time, and then for failing even when I was fertile.” She took a deep breath, then continued, “And then I thought you just… I thought you weren’t attracted to me anymore.”

James lifted his head so fast that it cracked against Rose’s jaw. She rubbed the smarting area as she met James’s bloodshot gaze.

“How the hell did you come to that conclusion?” he demanded, wiping his eyes.

Rose shrugged. “I told you. I felt like I was failing you. And, well, I managed to convince myself that you thought I was a failure, too. I thought you’d been angry with me because I couldn’t conceive a baby, and I also thought you’d maybe just… I dunno… gotten bored with me. Between all of that and my feelings of failure, it was hard to enjoy our intimacy, or to feel like you were enjoying it.”

“Rose.” The hurt and betrayal was tangible in his voice. “You are the love of my life. You’re my soulmate. My wife! I promised to love you and cherish you and be your best friend for the rest of my life!”

“Even so, I could feel the apathy, James,” she rebutted. “It felt like you were indifferent to me and to our relationship, and it broke my heart.”

“I never meant to make you feel…”

“But I felt it anyway,” she interrupted.

James looked like he could argue, but instead, he worked his jaw for a few seconds. His shoulders slumped as he exhaled deeply.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. He reached up and cradled the side of her head in his hand as he leaned up to press his lips to her temple. “I am so sorry I’ve hurt you, Rose. I’m so sorry I made you doubt my love and devotion to you and our relationship. I promised to support you no matter what. Yes, I’ve been upset at our lack of conception, but never once was any of it directed at you. How could I possibly ever get upset with you over something like this?”

Rose shrugged and leaned into his chest again. She felt a little daft now, hearing him dispute her fears with such conviction.

She breathed in the smell of him and listened to the faint sound of his heartbeat. He wrapped his arms around her and they sat in silence for a few minutes, just holding each other. It was nice, Rose thought. It had been ages since they’d had a cuddle together.

She rubbed her fingertips through his arm hair as she steeled herself for her next thought. All of this hurting and heartache came about mostly from a lapse in communication, but also at their mutual stress and frustration of trying and failing to make a baby. She wanted another child so badly, but not at the cost of her relationship with James.

“I think we should stop trying for a baby,” she suggested quietly. “At least until we’re back in a good place. Because where we are right now, it’s not good. I’m so sorry, James.”

“It’s not all your fault,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “I should’ve spoken up sooner. But I kept holding onto the hope that each month would be the month when we’d get pregnant and everything would be all right again. I kept convincing myself over and over and over again.”

“I know. I told myself that, too.”

They sat quietly together for a few long minutes, just holding each other.

“I think you and I should go away together,” James murmured a few moments later. “Just you and me. So we can focus on being us again. Without the stress or pressure or expectation of pregnancy, and without the distraction of the girls.”

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds nice,” Rose said. “We can see if Mum or Dad can come stay with Ainsley and Sianin. Your term ends the week after next. We could plan to leave then. That Saturday, maybe?”

James shook his head. “Mother’s Day is that Sunday. I want you to be able to spend that day with Ainsley and Sianin. We could leave later that night, or the next day.”

“Let’s see if my mum or your dad can watch the girls that soon, first,” Rose said. “We may need to wait until after Sianin’s birthday.” She pecked a kiss to his jaw, then slid out of his lap. “But we can figure all of this out later. C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

James nodded and pushed himself up. He grabbed her half-empty glass of water and downed the rest of it before putting the glasses into the sink. Together, they double-checked that the doors were locked, then they made their way down the hallway. Out of habit, Rose glanced into her daughters’ bedrooms, even though they were empty and the beds were made.

When they got to their bedroom, they moved around each other as they readied themselves for bed. Rose finished first and crawled under the blankets and listened to James brush his teeth. A few minutes later, he emerged and walked around to his side of the bed, where he slipped under the covers.

“Nighty night,” he whispered, his minty fresh breath puffing against her face as he leaned over and pecked a chaste kiss to her forehead.

He then rolled over and hugged the corner of the duvet to his chest.

Rose stared over at him, feeling a little lost and disappointed. After the conversation they’d just had, and how he’d held her in his lap for most of it, she anticipated a little more warmth from him. Though she supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything else. This was part of their routine. They each stayed on their own side of the bed and exchanged perfunctory kisses with each other before rolling away from each other. She hated it.

She wanted to go back to the days where there were no sides of the bed because they cuddled too close to distinguish where his half of the mattress ended and hers began. She wanted him to snuggle into her side if only for a few minutes before he would sleepily roll away, but have his leg kicked out so his foot was near hers. She yearned for those nights where they stayed up far too late just talking to each other.

But it had been months since they’d had that. She racked her brain, desperately trying to zero in on the moment it all fell apart, but she couldn’t.

Their eleventh anniversary was fine—perfect, really—but it was a fluke. They’d gone back to bad as soon as they returned home. Ainsley’s birthday… James’s birthday…

She grew more frantic as she skipped backwards in the months and her memories with James were still so cold.

Tears threatened, and she blinked them away impatiently.

“James?” she whispered, hoping they could cuddle for a bit before trying to sleep.

But he stayed on his side as he mumbled, “Hmm?”

The sight of his back remaining facing her broke her heart, and her tears fell.

“Never mind. Goodnight,” she whispered. She rolled over onto her side to have some semblance of privacy as she cried.

She curled into herself and tried to swallow her sobs, but it felt like she couldn’t breathe. She sniffled to clear her clogging nose and cringed at how loud it was in their quiet bedroom.

“Rose?” James shifted behind her, and then his body was pressed along her back. “Rose, love, what’s wrong?”

The endearment and the concern in his voice, coupled with the way his body was curled around hers, made her face crumple. Her lungs were screaming for air, so she gasped in a breath and exhaled out a sob.

“Oh, Rose. Shhh. C’mere. It’s okay. It’s okay. C’mere.”

He leaned away and tugged at her shoulder. Rose readily rolled over and she buried her face in his chest as her tears streamed down her cheeks.

“No, it’s not okay,” she whimpered. “What happened to us, James? Why are we so broken?”

“We’re not broken,” he whispered, rubbing her back slowly. “We’re just…”

He fell silent, and the fact that her husband, the person who seemingly knew every single English word known to man, couldn’t come up with a different word than ‘broken’ set her off again.

“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay. Breathe. Just breathe. We’re gonna be okay. I promise. We’re not broken. We’ve just lost our way a little. But lost things can always be found again, especially if two people are looking for it together. Because you and me, we’re still the best team there is. Eh?”

The confidence in his voice reassured her slightly. If James believed they could be fixed, and find what they’d lost in their relationship, she would trust him. More than that, she would work with him to get them back to good again.

She sniffled and draped an arm around his waist to hug him to her.

“I love you more than anything, Rose,” he whispered.

She squeezed her hand into a fist around his sleepshirt and held him tighter.

“I love you, too, James.”

He nuzzled his nose into her hair and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“What did you want to say earlier?” he asked.

“Just wanted a cuddle,” she answered.

He stiffened.

“And you didn’t think you could ask for one?”

The hurt in his voice was palpable, sending a dull ache through her chest and down into her stomach. She shrugged.

“I thought you were still angry with me.”

“Oh, Rose. No. I’m not angry with you. I never was. I just feel exhausted. And… and a little empty.”

Rose squeezed him and rubbed her hand across his back before she made to move away.

“Sorry. I’ll let you sleep now.”

But he tightened his grip around her. “No. Please. Can we keep cuddling for a little bit?”

Rose relaxed back into his embrace and nodded.

They were quiet for a few minutes, just holding each other and content to listen to each other breathe. The quiet intimacy was nice and relaxing; they hadn’t had that in far too long.

They both eventually drifted off to sleep, still twined together. Rose awoke sometime later to James shifting beside her. He pulled his arm out from under her neck, and he flexed his hand a few times.

“All right?” she mumbled, rolling onto her back. Her neck spasmed from the awkward position it had been in, and she slowly turned it from side to side.

“Pins and needles,” he answered. He let out a long, slow sigh and tugged the duvet up to his chin. He rolled over onto his side but angled his body so that his bum was close to her hip. “Nighty night.”

Rose patted his hip and closed her eyes to get more sleep.

She didn’t awake again until her alarm went off. Her mind was groggy and confused; she felt like she could sleep for a few more hours yet. She heard James shuffling around behind her and groaning softly as he woke up too.

She grabbed her phone and silenced the alarm, then sat up.

“How’d you sleep?” James mumbled.

She glanced down at him and saw his eyes were still closed, but he’d turned to face her and was hugging the duvet to his chest.

“Like a rock,” she said. He heaved out a sigh and his hair fell into his eyes as he arched his back. Rose stroked her fingers through his hair as she asked, “How’d you sleep?”

“All right,” he said. “Had some odd dreams. Dreams where it felt like I was awake, so it didn’t feel like I slept.”

“Well, you’ve still got some time before you have to be up. Go back to sleep.”

Rose leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek before she rolled out of bed and got ready for the day.

Things were better with James than they’d been in months; however, a stiffness had settled over them. It felt like they were tiptoeing around each other, making sure they were being careful and cautious to not upset the other. Rose was frustrated. She knew it would take time and effort to get back to the comfortable relationship she’d once had with James, but there had been a tiny piece of her that had hoped everything would have magically fixed itself. It was daft, she knew, but still she’d hoped.

“Dad said he could come stay with the girls starting Mother’s Day Sunday night,” James said after they put the girls to bed.

“Good,” Rose said. “Where are we going, by the way? We ought to figure out hotel arrangements if needed.”

“I was actually thinking we could go up to the manor in Scotland?” James suggested. “So we’re not too far away, and we won’t have to worry about hotels and eating out for all meals. It’s somewhere familiar, and it’s a place we won’t get distracted by sightseeing. We can just focus on us. What do you think?”

“Sounds great,” Rose said, making a mental note to ask her boss for time off.

Lindsey was more than willing to let Rose have the week off.

“You’ve been pulling overtime left and right,” she said. “Take a break.” After a short pause, her boss lowered her voice and asked, “Is everything all right, Rose? Did something happen?

Rose shrugged and said, “I don’t want to talk about it. James and I are okay, but we really need to take a break alone together.”

Rose worked hard to finish up all of her in-progress projects, and she assigned one of her teammates to act as the boss for the week. By the time she was due to take her week alone with James, she had all of her work wrapped up and would start with fresh assignments when she got back.

Mother’s Day finally came, bringing with it a colorful bouquet from James, and cards that the girls made.

“Happy Mother’s Day to the best mother on the planet,” James murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple as he ushered her to sit down at the kitchen table. “There’s no one else I would want to be raising my children with.”

Rose smiled at him and inhaled the perfume of the flowers he’d bought her. The girls then sprinted into the kitchen and vied for their mother’s attention.

“Come here you two,” Rose giggled, scooping them both up, glad that they were still small enough to fit in her lap at the same time. She hugged her girls tightly and pressed kisses to their hair, feeling so much love and joy for the two people who were responsible for making her a mother. “Oh, I love you both.”

“Love you, Mummy!”

“I love you too, Mummy!”

Rose rocked her daughters gently and rested her chin on Ainsley’s shoulder as she looked at the cards her girls made for her.

Robert and Jackie joined them in the afternoon for a late lunch barbecue, and once everyone was fed, James and Rose took their leave.

“We’ll be home next Sunday,” they promised, hugging their girls tightly. “Love you lots.”

Giving their daughters a final hug and kiss, James and Rose loaded their suitcases into their car and drove off into the setting sun and hopefully towards a regeneration of their marriage.

<-- Ch7 | Ch9 -->

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #au #ten x rose au #james x rose #soulmates #my fic #and babies make five and six #perfectly matched series #lemons #themes of infertility #here it is!!! #i really hope y'all like it #and i'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter