#13 x reader

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Lying is wrong, but if you don't eat anything you will get sick. So Simeon lies about the ingredients that Diavolo supposedly sent to you and uses his angelic magic to disguise the taste, the texture, the smell and to change the appearance of the dish. If you discover his little lie, he will feel guilty and apologize, and he will be sincere about his intentions. He doesn't like lying to you after all but he's not gonna let you starve yourself, he will hold you in his lap and spoonfed you if necessary.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Barbatos imagined that something like this could happen, after all demonic cuisine is completely different and he can understand why you would be uncomfortable trying something so strange. There are dishes that genuinely don't look good but taste good but you vehemently refuse to try any dish that isn't human. But his knowledge about food is extensive, drinks, foods and fruits, he is sure he can create the perfect dish that suits your taste buds.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ However, starving yourself is not possible in front of him. If necessary, he will shove food into your mouth and hold your limbs while you struggle, and you will eat everything until there is no grain left. He can be an attentive butler when he needs to be, but if you continue to act like a child and refuse to eat he will think of more extreme measures to get you to eat.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Well... You are insistent on eating human food, but I think that after you taste Solomon's dishes you will be able to eat Devildom's dishes without any problems. Or, you can persist through the horrors and continue eating the food of your fellow human, whose appearance always looks like the food is going to jump off the plate and choke you to death. But well, it's human food like you wanted.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Solomon understands your reluctance to try Devildom's food since it looks strange, but he convinces you little by little to eat it so you don't get sick. And as a human, you trust him (bad idea, really, you shouldn't trust someone who doesn't know how to cook). While he gets you used to Devildom food, Solomon still happily cooks for you, even packing lunches for you and inviting you on kitchen dates to spend time together - the brothers and the dateables reaction is like this btw: (⁠╬⁠☉⁠д⁠⊙⁠)⁠⊰

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ At least there are instant noodles, apples and pancakes in Devildom, so you can possibly survive on that.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Thirteen is a reaper, but reapers and demons share similarities in many things, especially food. It might be a little weird at first, but Thirteen likes it and she shares her food with you, piling food on your plate until it looks like a mountain and she watches you push and turn the vegetables and meat around. Humans are funny, why don't you just ignore the taste and texture and eat? You know that if you don't eat you can get sick and die, would this be your way of telling her that you want her to harvest your soul early? Oh my, are you courting her?

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Thirteen goes to the human world often to collect souls so while she is there she can bring you snacks and food that you like, however this all comes at a price. Sometimes it's easy things like spending time with her or helping her build her traps, but she tends to escalate her requirements with each trip made to the human world.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Diavolo, bless his heart, was too excited about the exchange program stuff and ended up forgetting about that little aspect. He's never tasted human food and you've never tasted demon food, so it's only fair that he invites you to a little feast where you can taste each other's worldly food. He's having the time of his life, listening to you talk about the human world and the place you live, but you're not having as much fun. Who the hell eats Quetzalcoatl Brain? What even is Quetzalcoatl brain?

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There are three things, the Doctor had said, that you ought to remember about Paroxus V. One: the food isn’t fit for a human. You eat it, you die. Hands to yourself. Two: it is infinitely easy to get lost. Stay together. Three: at night, it gets very, very cold.

The sky is darkening. Around you the trees only seem to grow taller as their oppressive shadows stretch over frost-covered grass. The forest is as silent as can be when a storm is coming: animals looking for holes to crawl back to, branches brushing against each other in the wind, and your own stuttering breath as the air thickens with the promise of rain.

Cold sneaks through your light jacket and you shiver. The tree you huddle up against is thick enough to pass for shelter; at least when you drag your knees to your chest and curl up into a ball. It’s better than nothing. You flex your trembling fingers and the skin over your knuckles breaks, revealing tiny beads of blood. You blow into your palms and rub them together. The relief is brief, and is immediately taken away by a chilling gust of wind.

It’s been hours now. Seconds of gasping, frightened breaths had stretched into minutes, into hours, and now the sky was turning black. No sign of the Doctor, no wheezing groan from the TARDIS, nothing. Not even a peep. She might be terrible at parking but this is pushing it.

Admittedly, it was you who had let go of her hand, you who ran off in a panic, you who had wandered further into the dark and brooding trees because you swore you’d seen her coat in the distance. Explicit instruction, as it turns out, means very little when your amygdala is screaming at you to run.

Something cracks in the distance.

You force yourself to stay very, very still, and turn your head to peek past the tree sheltering you. Something stirs the tall grass and the trampled wildflowers a good ten feet away from you. An acrid stench floats in your direction, and nearly sends you into a violent coughing fit. You gag at the sharp, acidic stench, and swiftly wipe your watering eyes. The wind carries heavy, skittering footsteps to your ears, like dozens of legs crawling in the foliage.

A long, arching back, covered in faintly glimmering plating, rises from the grass and stretches into its full height. Hundreds of feet line the body on both sides. On top of its head are two antennae, both the size of your arm.

Your stomach lurches, and acid rises into the back of your mouth. Your hands, placed on the trunk for stability, claw into the bark hard enough to leave small crescent-shaped dents. That thing is massive, big enough to eat you whole.

What would the Doctor do?

Be benevolent. Be kind. Things she keeps telling you and the unfortunate souls you run into; both easier said after a frightening adventure, instead of right now, deep into the hunting grounds of a monstrous centipede.

But in the end it doesn’t matter, because you’re not the Doctor. You’re a human, average in most aspects, equipped with one human heart and one human brain, both of which are on their knees, pleading at you to run or hide.

So far, that’s just instinct. Paleolithic age knowledge overriding your brain to keep you safe. The centipede has made no move to hurt you. It might not even be carnivorous, for all you know.

Out of your view, scampering steps pound against hard dirt, and something emerges from the long grass. A furry animal, quite like a rabbit, shoots into view. The centipede flies into action. It rises further up and arches forward, spewing a foul, pulpy mucus that coats the rabbit, trapping it where it stands. It shrieks in pain, but the sound is drowned out by hundreds of feet approaching, a whine when the centipede throws the rabbit into the air, and a revolting crunch of bones cracking as it finishes its meal. It only takes a moment; ten, fifteen seconds at most.

Bile burns your throat, and you fear you’ll retch; sounds and motions you cannot afford right now. You sneak back behind the tree and you breathe, in and out, silent and slow as you can. Your eyes keep watering but you don’t dare even blink.

Grass shudders, and the centipede crawls to your right. Your heart seizes in your chest, and vivid images of your arms being torn from your person attack your vision.

The sound recedes. Further and further, until you can barely hear it anymore. You look up, and catch a glimpse of the first stars of the night through criss-crossing tree branches.

You count to twenty, savor each number like one of them might magic you away from here, and stop on your favorite one for a good long while. Maybe it has some luck left in it, who knows.

Silence.

You sigh in relief, and the sound is unsteady, jittery, like a butterfly struggling to take flight. It jerks in your chest, a persistent hiccup that threatens to transform into panicked hyperventilation, but you don’t have the time. You squeeze your eyes shut and wipe the tears that come falling. One long, grounding breath, and then you finally dare to take a peek past the tree.

Empty, as far as the eye can see. Night has finally fallen, and everything past fifteen feet turns into a dark, dangerous jumble of unidentifiable, vaguely threatening shapes. You crane your neck to look past the long grass, in the direction of the centipede, but you can’t see anything. The creature could be hiding, biding its time until you make a run for it to gobble you up like a sausage puff, but you have to take that chance. It’s now or never.

You bite into your own cheek hard enough to draw blood, and take your first step. You wait; a moment of anticipatory stillness as your shoe settles firmly into the dirt.

The woods remain silent.

You take another step, and another, each one heavier and more hurried than the last, until you settle into a jog; light enough to hopefully keep you unheard, but quick enough to get you the hell out of here. Branches snag on your clothes, your hair, as if the forest is trying to keep you in its clutches.

Fifteen minutes you trudge through the dark until the eerie silence finally breaks. You freeze, eyes darting over your surroundings in search of a rock, a tree, anything to hide behind. Before you can find any such thing, though, the sound repeats itself.

A voice. This far away, you can’t recognize the owner, but god, it doesn’t matter; there’s someone out here beside you and you’d rather die than let that miracle go. You stand on your toes and strain your ears, praying silently for that someone to wait, to please just wait; you’re here, right here, and they can’t be too far off, if they’d only just—

There it is again. Faint, but growing closer. You laugh, unable to entirely contain the sound and keep it under your breath. The call comes one more time, and you turn to its direction: off the path and even deeper into the woods.

You step over the bushes and push your way past the thicket, ripping handfuls of leaves off their branches in your desperation to move, move, move. Your feet pound against the ground as you finally let yourself run. The trees grow thicker the further you go, but even they can’t muffle the sound: a woman, calling for... for you?

With every step the call gets closer, gets clearer, and it is your name; they’ve finally found you, she’s found you, the Doctor is here and if you could just move faster in this blasted forest, you might catch her before she thinks you’re gone, and then you’re really, properly dead.

You want to call her name, scream for help, but the image of the rabbit disappearing down the centipede’s throat keeps your mouth firmly shut. You can’t risk it. If only there was a faster way to get to—

Your foot doesn’t bounce off the ground. It plunges into the foliage and you follow suit. You roll down the hill face first, sharp stones tearing your clothes and biting into skin, the smaller ones lodging themselves into your flesh. The landing is hard; the grass covering the ground offers very little in the sense of cushioning. When the world stops spinning, your hands fly to your knee to ease the sharp pain crackling there. Sand glitters in the wound right under your kneecap, and sticky, fresh blood lingers on your fingers when you pry them away.

You gently try to move your leg, but cry out, tears stinging your eyes. There’s no way you’re going anywhere like this. You try to even your breath, ears strained again as you try to listen past your heart hammering in your chest.

The voice has gone quiet, but in its stead the earth groans above you. You hear crawling; hundreds of little feet carrying a thick, armored body across frosty grass that crackles and snaps like clacking teeth. The tall grass shifts above you and antennae peek through, followed by a head, and you finally get a glimpse at the centipede’s open maw.

Rows of miniscule, needle-sharp teeth ring its circular mouth as deep as you can see. It’s like the creature has several round jaws that all open and close in their own perplexing rhythm. It’s almost hypnotizing.

Dirt and grass rain down as the centipede crawls down the hill and stops right at your feet. You heave panicked breaths as it rises to its full height and shrieks; a high-pitched, serrated sound, followed by dark spittle that splashes in all directions. You throw your arms in front of your face and howl as it burns through your jacket, your shirt, and leaves a sizzling patch of scorched skin. You gasp and struggle to wrap your head around the feeling of dead nerves and bubbling, weeping skin.

The centipede crawls closer, draws itself further up, and you know what’s coming. A heave, a brief moment of flight, and your flesh torn and rended between thousands of little teeth.

You sink further into the ground, a last ditch effort to hide, to disappear and turn up back home, on asphalt and a city too well-populated and polluted to house anything like the creature in front of you. You look up; one final glimpse of the stars that lured the lot of you on this planet in the first place, and sure enough, you see them. Constellations the local children could name in their sleep, lone planets shining brighter than the rest, and satellites lazily circling the planet on their calculated courses. It’s shocking how little empty space there is on this foreign sky.

You close your eyes.

A high-pitched mechanical whine; a screwdriver pushed past its limit. Panicked voices. Shouting. The centipede’s screech, and a long, heavy body escaping into the thicket. Hurried boots on loose dirt.

A light shines over your face, and you wince. Too bright. Someone tries to pull your arms away from your face but you cry out, and the touch is swiftly withdrawn.

“Christ,” someone whispers, further away.

A hand caresses your cheek and a soft line is drawn across your cheekbone.

“It’s all right.” Northern accent. “The Mexvogel is gone. Off to find easier prey. You’re safe.”

You pry your eyes open. Golden hair, hazel eyes, and a brow drawn in worry; there’s that crease between them, the one Yaz always teases her about. The Doctor’s whole face sheens with sweat and dirt, and her clothes are speckled with grime.

Your gaze is drawn to movement in your periphery: Yaz, Graham and Ryan, all rushing towards you.

“Did you see the size of that thing?” Graham asks. “I’ve only ever seen one in my mate’s flat, in Bristol. It were the size of my finger, though. Not my whole house.”

“Can you sit?” The Doctor offers you her hand as she speaks. You try to take it, but moving only elicits a shock of pain, universally felt. The Doctor’s fingers press against your cheek, and when she draws back, they’re stained with blood.

 “Took a nasty fall, you did. I could’a sworn Mexvogel were extinct by now, especially after the hunt in 3319, but I guess there’s still stragglers. Nasty buggers.”

She takes something from her pocket: a small flashlight, clicked awake to shine directly into your eyes. You try to look away, but the Doctor holds your jaw tightly in her hand. No escape.

“Looks alright,” she mutters, and to your relief, puts the light back in her pocket. “Say something.”

It takes a moment to make sense of the words, the sentences, to parse each one from the next and assign bouncing, meaningless letters meaning; your thoughts are simultaneously scattered in the wind and one big, coagulated jumble.

The Doctor’s face falls.

“Could be concussion,” she says. “Best get you to the TARDIS. Try to stand, if you can.”

You lean forwards and try to shift weight into your legs, but the second you put pressure on your knee you yelp and fall back to the ground. The Doctor frowns, and shares a concerned look with Yaz. They crouch beside you, and your arms are carefully placed over their shoulders.

“Ready?” The Doctor asks, and there’s a small smile on her face, a wrinkle at the corner of her eye; you will be okay. She’ll take care of it. It’s what she does. They heave you to your feet, hands pressed against your back, support to take weight away from your arms. You take a small step, barely move your foot at all, but grind your teeth like whetstone all the same.

“I…” you start, but the words are too far, too much of a mess.

“Shit,” Yaz says under her breath. “What do we do?”

The Doctor looks at you quietly for a moment, and then turns to Yaz. “Let go.” Yaz’s brow shoots to her hairline, but the look the Doctor gives keeps her from questioning orders.

“Alright, alright,” Yaz says, and delicately lets you lean fully against the Doctor. She bends down, puts one arm behind your knees and slides the other around your back.

“On three,” she mutters, and takes a breath. “One, two—“

You wail when she lifts you off your feet, every scrape, burn and bruise begging you to stop, to lie down and die so they can find peace.

The Doctor waits for a moment, and eventually your breath calms, a tear rolls down your cheek, and your head lolls against her chest. The beat of her hearts is fast but steady, their b-bmp b-bmp a sturdy enough anchor to keep you in this world for a small while yet.

“This won’t be entirely painless,” she warns you. “I’ll be jostling you around a bit. But the TARDIS isn’t parked far. You ready?”

She looks you in the eyes, watches for a moment, and there’s that wrinkle again; right between her eyebrows, deep like a crevasse, and probably with just as many worries buried inside.

You nod.

Logically, the trek can’t have been more than a few hundred feet at most, but god, if it doesn’t feel like hours, days of aching muscles and lacerated skin. The Doctor holds you close to her chest, and you take solace in her warmth, try to focus on her heart, her breath, anything to take you away from the misery of your body.

By the time you see the TARDIS, more worn than the time you’d left — her paint chipped and her wood scratched — you’re barely conscious anymore. The dots in your vision grow into a dark expanse that encompasses most of your vision, and Ryan and Yaz sound like they’re bickering beyond a thick, padded wall.

The moment The Doctor crosses the threshold, you’re out.

You wake up to a great, throbbing headache. Your eyelids feel like they’re stuffed with cotton as you open them to the soft lamplight of your bedroom. You’re stuffed under every blanket in the house, built up to an impressive stack. Music is playing, though you don’t recognize the song.

You take a deep breath, and try to move. A groan and a wave of nausea warn you against making a second attempt.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

You slowly turn your head despite the soft ache beneath your temples and find the Doctor sitting by your bedside in your rickety yellow chair, the one with the torn cushion. She’s cross-legged and in her hands are a cup of tea and a book you haven’t seen before. She’s frowning.

“Sorry,” you say, and try to catch her eye. She is determined to only stare at the yellowed, worn down page.

“You’re lucky, you know,” she says. There’s an edge in her voice, a silent anger she seems reluctant to voice. She takes a sip, and turns the page. “Most people end up in shreds if they run into a Mexvogel.”

Your lip curls. “I didn’t exactly intend for this to happen, thanks.”

The Doctor’s grip around the cup tightens. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Your mouth drops open, and you scoff. “You could at least look at me if you’re going to say something like that.”

The Doctor takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and sighs. She snaps the book shut and drops it on the floor next to her. The thud is soft against your ragged carpet.

This time she looks you deep in the eye, unblinking and unflinching as she says, “You could have died.”

“I didn’t,” you say, and find your eye-contact slipping despite your best efforts. The Doctor’s face thunders with the storm gathering inside her, and you’re on a direct course into the middle.

“You have no idea,” The Doctor says, her voice growing tighter, louder. “We got back to the TARDIS and you were gone, couldn’t find you anywhere. We asked everyone, ran around for hours, and finally some kids had seen you stumble into the bloody woods.”

Tears threaten to blur your vision, and you can’t even lift your arms enough to wipe them away.

“Thank the stars I have your biopattern saved in the TARDIS’s memory or we would’ve never found you in there.” Her voice thickens and wavers. “Why would you go in there?”

You unclench your jaw and sniff. “Thought I saw you.” “Where?” she asks, and rests her forehead against her palms.

“Just… There. Running. Do you think I’d just wander in there for the sake of it? See the sights?”

It’s the Doctor’s turn to go quiet, to look away and rub her temples as she grimaces. “No, I—“

“You’re an arse,” you say. The Doctor breathes for a few quiet moments and looks out the window. A group of teens is passing by, horribly drunk. One of them stumbles, and almost falls over, but her friend catches her by the waist. “I’m sorry,” the Doctor whispers. “You don’t deserve this, I— I was so worried. You humans can be so unpredictable; centuries I’ve spent on this planet and I still can’t figure out what the lot of you are thinking, sometimes.” “I’m here,” you say. “I’m safe.” “You could’ve—“ “I didn’t.” She watches you, curiously. Her eyes are red-rimmed and the bags underneath are so purple they look painted on. She heaves a sigh, and places her hand by your cheek on the pillow. “May I—“ “Yes,” you whisper, and she cradles your face in her palm. Her hand is warm where it held the teacup, and you smile softly into it. “How long until I get to leave the bed?” “If it were up to me? A week.” The Doctor sighs. “But you’re too stubborn. Three days.” You groan. “Minimum. No strenuous activity of any kind, you hear me? Yaz will stay here with you.” Sadness pinches your heart. “Are you going somewhere?”

The Doctor looks exhausted. The way her eyes are half-closed, her mouth drawn into a tight line, she should be stuck in bed just as much as you.

“I have to,” she says, her voice crackling as if she’d just woken. “It’s personal.”

You wish she didn’t do this. The secrets, the vague destinations, the places she’s not ready to show you yet. This is the anxious Doctor, the one that needs to keep her heart to herself.

“You’ll come visit me, at least?” you ask her, hopeful. “If I have to be stuck here, at least come show your face a few times. Make it worth it.”

Busy. The Doctor always kept busy, even if her human companions couldn’t always keep up. So sometimes, she left them behind on earth to catch up on their rest while she went back off into the stars. She never let on that she had adventures without them, instead leaving them to draw their own conclusions about what she does in her time away from them.

This excursion happened to be one such occasion where The Doctor was traveling alone. She pulled a few levers and pushed a few buttons on the console of the TARDIS and off she went, landing on an unfamiliar yet beautiful planet. She appeared on a street paved in sparkling gold. Decorations hung on lampposts and buildings as if a grand celebration was occurring and she was just in time to watch it happen.

As The Doctor took in more of her surroundings, she found a flier laying at her feet. In large lettering it read, "Royal Wedding Today! Who Will The Princess Choose?" And below was a smiling, holographic picture of the princess. The Doctor smiled back, triggered by habit, but nonetheless genuine. When she looked up, there you stood, in the flesh. The Princess.

Unsure of the proper custom in addressing royalty on this planet, The Doctor went for what she deemed the most universally acceptable, and frankly, the only thing she could think to do in the moment; curtsy. It came off a bit awkward, seeing as she was in pants, but she bowed her head, thinking it would have to do.

Your melodic laughter rang out shortly after, not so much laughing at her, but with her. "Darling stranger, there is no need for such antiquated formalities," you said, gently raising her chin with your fingertips.

"Sorry, new here. I’m The Doctor. It’s my first time on this planet actually. Don’t even know the name of it yet. Didn’t have time to use my sonic." At that, she whipped out a short little contraption the likes of which you were entirely unfamiliar.

"Welcome to Menzora. If you’d like, you may accompany me to the palace and I shall give you the grand tour."

With a childlike glee, the Doctor tucked her sonic away in her coat and smiled wide. "I’d love a tour. Don’t often have time to see the inside of a castle. Seen my fair share of dungeons though." She rambled on, going off topic several times, as you took her hand and led her along on your way to the palace. Yet what finally stopped her talking was the surprise at finding you unguarded. That was very unusual for any of the royalty she’d met.

Entering the castle, you were greeted by your parents, the king and queen. "Mother, Father, this is The Doctor."

"And you have chosen her for your bride then," your father asked, immediately assuming that you had in fact done just that by even bringing her into the palace.

"I—" you began to protest, but your mother interjected.

"She’s delightful. Such a beautiful specimen. What species is she?" Your mother approached The Doctor, looking her over thoroughly, all the while The Doctor kept trying to twirl away from her appraising eye.

"Mother, Father, please. She is only a newcomer I wished to show around. I—"

But once again you were cut off. "Clearly, she is the one you’ve selected. Look at the two of you." Your eyes followed your mother's and locked on your hand clasped on The Doctor's. "The arrangements will all be made. Now go. Take your bride to your wing and show her around." Your mother shooed the two of you off, and you had no choice but to go.

You hadn’t known her long, but you suspected The Doctor's silence was not a good sign. You hadn’t meant to get her wrapped up in this. She had to know that wasn’t your intention. "So, we’re getting married now, I guess," you said. Weak, but you just wanted her to say something.

"Married, right. No, yeah, I’ve been married. Not so bad. Though we hardly know each other, so how are we to know if we’re compatible? I don’t even know your favorite color. I haven’t had time to prepare any vows. When’s the wedding again? Today, wasn’t it? That’s what the flier said. Today. Today? Oh my, I am nowhere near prepared. How long are your days here? Oh, never mind, it’s still too soon. Not enough time."

"Doctor," you attempted, but she kept going. She was panicking so hard that you suspected she wasn’t even hearing you. And the pacing. It was giving you a headache watching her pace so incessantly. She may be wearing down a track in the flooring.

"It’s teal," you said at last when she finally fell quiet.

"What’s teal," The Doctor asked, stopping to look at you.

"My favorite color. You said you didn’t even know my favorite color. It’s teal."

"Ah," she said. "That’s hardly enough information for a marriage now though is it?"

Before she could start up again, you walked over to her, taking both her hands in your own. "Doctor, I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this. I hadn’t realized I was holding your hand when we walked in. Doing so is a contract for royalty here. An agreement to marriage. It’s just, you were talking and I thought if I didn’t physically bring you along, you may still be standing there while I went on. And now you’re here. In a marriage contract that you didn’t ask for."

"Been in stickier situations," The Doctor admitted. "You seem lovely, so I can’t complain."

She was taking this all so well. A flesh bound contract was sacred and despite being new to Menzora, The Doctor was willing to honor that custom. For that, you were unbelievably grateful.

Just then a soft knock fell on the door, and your father came in. "It is time," he said. "Get changed and escort your bride to the altar." You nodded to your father and he ducked out. You then gestured to the door to the adjoining room, where no doubt The Doctor's wedding garb would be hanging, waiting for her. With a nervous glance, she disappeared into the room to change.

Once you’d both changed, you stepped out of your wing of the palace together, once again, hand in hand. The Doctor squeezed your hand, a signal you weren’t sure was meant to be reassuring or fearful. Either way, you squeezed back and she gave a half smile.

The walk to the altar was completely silent. The Doctor's hand was becoming sweaty in your own, and you could feel her nervous energy filling the space around you both. Then, your father began to speak. "Here we are gathered to commit the princess to her chosen spouse. She has selected The Doctor, a newcomer to our planet, as her bride. If anyone wishes to challenge her choice, speak up now."

The room went quiet for a moment. "Wait," your voice rang out, the acoustics of the wedding chamber causing that one timid word to fill the space. The gasp that followed brought about another silence as all eyes turned to you. But you only noticed one pair of eyes. The Doctor's.

She looked up at you, locking into your gaze, wondering what you were doing. "Doctor, I cannot, will not, force you into this. It was because of my silly mistake that you ended up at this altar with me, and the last thing I want is for you to be stuck here, unhappy. I can see it in your beautiful eyes, and feel it in your soul. You aren’t meant for this. I release you."

When The Doctor finally spoke, she directed her words to your father. "If it’s not too much trouble, do you think we could have the room to ourselves," she asked. At his command, the room began to clear. Finally, you were there alone with her. "I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me," she told you. "Maybe I’ll come back someday."

"I’ll be waiting. A Menzoran marriage contract is never truly broken. You’ll be my betrothed for as long as I live and breathe. I am yours if you ever decide you’re ready."

"And you’re alright with that," The Doctor asked.

"Perfectly content with it actually. I don’t think I could have made a better choice, accident or not. Take care, Doctor and maybe one day we’ll see one another again."

"I know we will." A smile lit up her face, that beautiful face, and tears welled in your eyes. "Promise I’ll come back. Walk me back to my TARDIS," she offered. You agreed.

Now standing face to face at the TARDIS door, you almost couldn’t bear to say goodbye. "I really will come back. I don’t go back on my word," The Doctor reassured.

"I’ll miss you."

"I’ll miss you too." At that, The Doctor darted forward, pecking a kiss to your lips. Her cheeks were burning a deep pink when she pulled away from you. You waved as she turned back in the doorway and when she left, you wept.

The Doctor returned to earth, nearly a full day from when she last left. Yaz and Dan were already waiting for her. "What’s got you so sad," Dan asked.

"Sad? Me? Not at all. Just bored waiting for you people to finish sleeping," The Doctor joked dejectedly.

"What did you do while you were gone," Yaz inquired.

"Oh you know, the usual. Had an adventure."

"Was it good?"

The Doctor smiled, bringing your face to mind. "The best," she replied.

She was mad at you, she had to be. She had this thing about violence. You’d been there while she scolded Ryan about it many a time. You knew she wouldn’t approve, you knew that when you burst into the room like that, picking fights with the locals. But what were you supposed to do? They picked a fight with you when they kidnapped the Doctor. She was handcuffed to a chair when you’d gotten there. The people in the room with her were trying to get some information out of her about how she’d gotten there apparently. 

It seemed they had been exiled there a while ago, and given no evident way off the planet. So they were very interested when the supposedly locked down planet suddenly received visitors.

You thought, of course, that you had taken the right course of action. You’d kept them away from the Tardis, protected the key the Doctor had managed to slip you before they took her, and managed to find her when she didn’t return within the hour, like she had promised she would.

So maybe you decided to punch one or two. In your defense, they were being assholes.

But the Doctor had been quiet ever since you’d left, and now that the adrenaline was wearing off and the cuts on your hand had begun to sting as the Doctor bandaged your knuckles, you were beginning to doubt that.

You winced as the Doctor tightened the bandage slightly, and she murmured an apology under her breath, almost unconsciously. That was it, you decided. An apology.

“I’m sorry” You repeated back at her. The Doctor glanced up for the first time since she’d sat down and furrowed her brow, tilting her head at you in question.

“What for?” She questioned. You paused. You weren’t really sure what for. You weren’t all that sorry really. The guy had deserved it, and you’d saved her after all. But you figured she’d want an apology, and that maybe it would prompt her to say whatever she’d been thinking as she silently worked on your hands. That could give you a hint as to what she was actually mad about, and might even make you actually sorry. 

But she didn’t have an answer for you evidently, and she had gone back to your bandage while you were thinking.

“I thought… thought you were upset with me..” You admitted. “For, you know”

The Doctor’s frown deepened, but she didn’t look up again until she had taken a bit of medical tape and secured the bandage.

“I’m not upset with you” The Doctor told you, giving a small smile before reaching for your other hand. 

“Then why have you only looked at me three times since we left Durann?” You questioned, making her hesitate.

“Alright, I see what you’re getting at” She sighed. She began to disinfect the small scrapes on your other hand, and as it started to sting terribly, you were very careful not to move, the only sign of you even being able to feel it being the hitch of your breathing. The Doctor smiled a little to herself.

“I’m not cross with you” She said simply. “I’m just.. Thinking”

“Oh.. okay” You said.

The room was quiet again, but this time it was more of a comfortable quiet.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked after a moment. It was rare that she didn’t immediately want to share.

“You” She replied simply.

“Me?”

“Yeah” She nodded, smiling again. She glanced upwards, looking at you through the hair that fell over her face. You couldn’t help but smile in return. She just had that kind of smile.

“What about me?” You asked, nervous to hear the answer. But her seemingly cheery disposition comforted you a little.

“I’m just thinking about how amazing you are” She said casually, reaching for another small roll of that rapid healing bandage she always kept around.

“Oh” You said, nodding slowly. “Yeah I… well I suppose… well I mean I don’t.. I suppose you could say that”

The Doctor looked up at you again, frowning, even as she continued to wrap your hand. She didn’t seem to be giving it as much attention as the other. Perhaps it was because she was aware that it was your less dominant hand, and so she decided it didn’t need as much care? No, probably not. The result looked just as well done. It seemed she could do a quality job even if she was only half paying attention. But she’d initially wanted to put extra care into the work, just for you. Even after you’d told her that you could simply disinfect and put a bandaid on it yourself.

“You really don’t understand, do you?” The Doctor said, almost to herself, shaking her head with a smile.

“I don’t think I do” You admitted. The Doctor nodded slowly, moving to get herself a piece of tape to secure the second bandage. She double checked that they weren’t going anywhere before taking one hand in each off her own.

“You” She began, bringing your right hand up to her lips and placing a gentle kiss atop her handiwork. “Are” She shifted to do the same to your left. “Brilliant” She tugged ever so gently on your hands, prompting you to shift slightly forward, and placed a quick kiss at your forehead. You felt your face heat up and found yourself averting your gaze, studying the wraps on your hands. The Doctor laughed a little, lowering your hands so they rested on your knees, but didn’t let go of them.

When she said your name, it was in the same way you said hers, and it made your heart flutter in an odd way to think that she thought of you in the way you thought of her. It would be consistent with what she was currently telling you.

She called your name again, and you chanced a look at her, finding her encouraging smile.

“Not only were you able to come find me and rescue me, which was amazing as it is, my beautiful, brave companion. Do you know what happened today?”

“Uh, I punched someone” You pointed out, lifting your hand a little in show.

“No! Well, yes, but that’s not the point!”

“What’s the point then?” You laughed a little. She said your name again in a way that threw you off, the sparkle in her eyes was brighter than you’d ever seen it, and it startled you. You didn’t think she could get any more beautiful than she was the moment you met her, but she just kept proving you wrong.

“Everybody lived” She whispered in awe.

“Every… oh my god” You gasped, realizing for the first time that that had never happened in any of your adventures-gone-wrong. Sure, some got their equivalent of a nose a little broken, and some got kidnapped, and some got some bruised hands, but not a single being died. 

“Everybody lived” You repeated, a shocked laugh making its way out of you. “No way..”

“And it was because of you” The Doctor added, one hand going to cup your cheek. You slowly moved to copy her action, and the Doctor grimaced slightly at the reminder of the bandages on your hands. She turned her head slightly to place a kiss on the bandage where it wrapped around your palm before turning back to lean into it.

“I say we have a nice night in, to celebrate” You suggested and the Doctor hummed in agreement, her eyes falling closed as she leaned even more into your palm.