Prompt: Faramir invites an old friend back to Minas Tirith
A/N: It's a little different, just slightly, to how I usually write. It's a rollercoaster, and it's long, so get yourself a hot beverage and prepare yourself for 6k words worth of brainrot.
Faramir x Reader
Fem reader
No content warnings
6.2k words
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You paced the lavish sitting room, throwing irritated looks at all the doors. Faramir was a busy man, you knew, but he had always been punctual. With a groan you sank into the cushioned bench and stared out of the tall, pointed windows.
Minas Tirith had changed since you were last in the city as a girl. Gone was the heavy atmosphere, the distant encroaching darkness on the horizon, The Dead Tree, its gnarled branches cold and bare, the darkened halls, haunted by Denethor’s bitterness.
The city had thrived under the new king’s rule and the new steward’s management. The white stone glowed in the sunlight, vines grew across walls and flowers blossomed in window boxes, there was chatter in the streets and laughter in the halls.
It was no mystery then, why Faramir wrote to invite you back into the city, now renewed and reborn. No, the mystery was why he wrote to you at all.
You had only known him for a year, more than ten years ago. Just two young teenagers, bickering with each other over readings while the tutor tried to calm the both of you. He had been a scrawny thing then, growing taller, but not broader. Not quite a man, like his brother was growing into, not quite a boy, like the other children in the Citadel. His hair too, had been at an awkward length, shaggy around his ears, falling about his forehead and into his grey eyes.
But while Boromir might have been the bolder of the two back then, when it came to academics, Faramir was just as eager. He had been relentless in his pursuit of knowledge, hounding the tutors and dogging the librarians, and, more than once, your spirited debates with him had drawn a small crowd of curious onlookers in the Citadel. There was even a time where you had to race him to the library to get your hands on some coveted book before he did.
But perhaps, the most infuriating thing about him was his kindness.
How he would smile softly after an intellectual argument, as though consoling you, if you had lost, or congratulating you, if you had won. How he would share his notes with you if you had missed lessons, or gift you with chocolate in return for a peek at your own writings. How he would walk you back to your rooms after classes, showing you shortcuts and asking about your day.
How he had offered you his handkerchief and wiped your tears away the night before you left the city with your uncle.
Your heart clenched and you blinked yourself back into the sitting room.
There were voices in the corridor now, and hurried footsteps. You stood and straightened yourself, smoothing the creases in your dress and schooling your features into something neutral.
The door swung open and a man walked in.
He was tall and broad with the build of an archer, with steady legs and strong arms. His light brown hair fell in gentle waves to his shoulder, and his beard was short and well-trimmed. You took in his sharp jaw, his pink lips, his face, handsome, noble, familiar somehow.
His grey eyes sparkled in the late afternoon light and a jolt shot through you.
Faramir.
You stared at him and his barely-there smile grew.
“You’re late,” you blurted.
His eyes widened in shock before he shook his head and chuckled. “And I was told you arrived early.” His voice was low and rich, inviting and warm.
Faramir. This man was Faramir. Solid, handsome, real.
“You have my apologies,” he continued. “There was a meeting that ran over. I did not intend for you to wait so long for me.”
“It’s no matter, I was just admiring the city. A lot has changed.” You turned away from him, scolding your racing heart and chastising your rapidly flushing cheeks. You sucked in a breath and straightened your spine. It was just Faramir.
He came to join you by the window and you kept your eyes fixed on the plains beyond the buildings. “Your letter surprised me,” you said. “I hardly thought I ever crossed your mind.”
A laugh escaped from him, short and sharp. “You’re still the same.”
Your head snapped towards him and you narrowed your eyes. His easy, unfazed demeanour rankled something in you. “It is quite a slight, being told one hasn’t changed in so many years.”
Did he still see you as that awkward, graceless girl? Someone who had not filled out her dresses yet, who made ill-timed comments in conversations, who battled with her skin, her hair, her sharpening mind and her rapidly fading childhood.
He blinked at you, jaw agape. “I did not mean… I simply meant…” He laughed again and gave you a rueful smile. “Forgive me. What I should have said, I suppose, is that I am glad to see you again.”
That strange, foolish feeling was rising in you, like you were fourteen again and you had said the wrong thing at the dinner table. You fought the urge to cross your arms and you nodded slowly. “I am glad to… to be back. Thank you for your generous invitation.”
The words felt strange in your mouth. So formal and distant. Polite. You gestured woodenly at the view. “My uncle would have been pleased at how well the country is doing.”
“I am sorry to hear about your uncle.”
“It has been a few years now.” You hazarded a look at him. His eyes had melted into something soft. You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I am sorry about your father and,” your breath hitched, “and Boromir.”
“Yes,” he said, voice low. “It has been quiet in the Steward’s House of late.”
Your chest constricted and you wanted to reach out, to lay a hand on his arm, to say, I too have been left alone by all who loved me.
He cleared his throat and nodded at the door. “Has anyone shown you to your rooms yet? I thought that the one on the second floor, that faces east, would be best. But if you’d prefer your old room, I’m certain we can —”
“No.” You swallowed and flashed him a smile, burying the discomfiting feeling. “I mean… No, thank you. I’m sure what you have prepared will be suitable.”
A bell tower somewhere chimed the hour and he grimaced. “I’m sorry but I have another meeting, the last of the day, in a few minutes. Would you be happy to join me for dinner? It would not be anything formal. We could even dine outside, if the fine weather holds. There is so much I wish to discuss with you.”
It was jarring to hear those words coming from Faramir’s lips. Invitations to dinner were something said between two adults, not adolescents.
But you were no longer fourteen, and Faramir was a man now. A friend.
A stranger.
“Yes, dinner outside would be lovely,” you said. “I look forward to it.”
He broke out into a wide smile. “I shall send someone to show you to your rooms, and please, if there is anything you should require, just ask.”
“Of course, thank you.”
He reached out and took your hand, large fingers enveloping your own, and gave it a light squeeze. “I shall see you in a few hours.”
He withdrew with a smile and closed the door behind him.
You stared at your hand for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks, before scowling and scrubbing it against your dress.
-
The evening breeze swept through the open doors and the candles on the table flickered. The temperature had dropped with the sunset, and in the end Faramir had settled for dining in one of the rooms that opened up to a courtyard. Trees rustled and crickets chirped and music from another part of the Citadel drifted over the walls. The warmth from the lit fire licked at his back and he belatedly wondered if he should have offered you the warmer seat instead.
Faramir caught his eyes wandering from some vague spot behind you to your face again. You were focused on the last bit of roasted meat on your plate, cutting it into dainty pieces before lifting it to your lips. He let his eyes trail over your hair, braided and pinned, to the softness of your cheek, the angle of your jaw.
When he had seen you that afternoon he could scarcely believe his eyes. He did not expect you to stay the same, of course, and yet… the sight of you, grown, beautiful and striking, made his pulse jump.
Where was the girl he had known? Who had picked up her skirts and clambered up walls with him, whose quick wit had both frustrated and delighted him? Was she gone, suppressed by etiquette lessons and laced up gowns, washed away by time and tempered by misfortune?
But then you had opened your mouth and bluntly stated his tardiness and he couldn’t help but laugh. No, your spirit was still unchanged, your fire still undimmed.
You looked up and his eyes skittered away. His palms grew clammy and he exhaled. Valar, he was acting like a silly boy, sneaking looks at you across the table, filling his mouth with food instead of conversation.
“What is the matter, Faramir?”
“Nothing.” He smiled.
You had an inquisitive look on your face, half-curious, half-challenging. The same sort of expression you used to wear before launching into an argument. “You were looking at me.”
Heat started to creep up his neck and he dropped his eyes back to his nearly empty plate. “I was just thinking.”
He heard your intake of breath and he prepared himself for an onslaught of words, ready for the cajoling comments and prodding persuasions that you always used to coax him to speak.
Instead, he heard the clatter of cutlery and he looked up to find you arranging your fork and knife at the side of your plate. You glanced towards the open door and, something in that small action, so intensely familiar, made the words tumble from his lips.
“Would you like to go on a walk?”
“I…” Your astonished look morphed into one of suspicion. “How did you know?”
“You used to walk after meals, if I remember correctly.”
“I didn’t think you noticed.”
He noticed. Of course, he noticed. Boromir had once pulled him aside, warning him that if he did not get his looks and glances under control, their father might start getting ideas for future marriage matches. He had wondered if your uncle had realised this and that was why he had whisked you off to the family estate back in North Lebennin when autumn arrived once more.
In truth, Faramir never found out the reason; he was never told, and he never asked.
He grinned and stood. A walk would be good. Dinner had been pleasant, with the usual, banal questions asked and answered. Proper and polite. A far cry from shared smirks and ceaseless chatter you once shared with him. Perhaps some movement would ease the atmosphere. “Shall we walk? Is there any place you would like to see first?”
You paused for a moment, biting your lower lip, before a sly smile crept onto your face. “The old lookout tower. The one that overlooked the Houses of Healing.”
“I do hope you won’t chase me up it. I do not think the excitement would agree with the food we just ate.”
“I won’t.” You looked out at the courtyard then back at him, eyes now dancing with mirth. “Are you becoming old and decrepit?”
“More like sensible and wise.” He walked over to the hooks by the door and reached for the two cloaks that hung there. “Here, you are welcome to borrow one of mine. It is cold out.”
He offered you the thicker one and watched as you ran your fingers over the soft wool before throwing it around your shoulders. It fell past your feet, pooling on the floor, and the sight of you swathed in his cloak stirred something in him.
He led you out into the courtyard and then onto the open ramparts. Hundreds of little lights flickered in the city below. It was quiet, save for the distant bustle of the kitchens and the rustle of the guards shifting on their feet. The wind carried your perfume to him and he inhaled the sweet scent of lilies.
“I have always wondered,” he said, “why you left Minas Tirith.”
“My uncle was worried about me growing up in court. I think he wanted to avoid any pressure that might have befallen me. Marriage offers and gossip and the kind.” You looked away, towards the plains. “I was sorry to leave, but I am glad that I had gone.”
His heart dropped. Had he been selfish? Writing to you and asking you to visit the city when you were clearly happy out in the country? Had you not thought of him once in all the years? He swallowed. “Does it bring you pain to be here?”
“No, not at all.” You shook your head and laughed, and his shoulders relaxed. “I simply meant that I think he made the right decision. It might have been a little boring, but I grew up unrestrained.”
“I do hope you will enjoy the excitement of the city.”
“The change of scenery is refreshing. And I will confess that a break from my responsibilities back home is welcome.”
He noticed then, the shadows under your eyes, the weary tinge in your smiles.
Yes, the both of you were no longer children.
The old, crumbling tower neared and your steps quickened. You paused at the base of the steps, throwing a mischievous look over your shoulder, before vanishing up the stairs. He chuckled and hurried after you, taking the steps two at a time. “You said you would not race me!”
“I said I would not chase you up it!”
He caught sight of the edge of his cloak and the flash of deep purple silk underneath it as he rounded the corner. “So you’ll have me chase you instead?”
Your laugh echoed in the narrow stairwell. “I have no doubt that you’ll catch up. You were always the faster one.”
“And you always the cheater.”
“It is called levelling the playing field.”
The gap between you and him rapidly narrowed, and as the both of you emerged at the top, his hand closed around your shoulder before he could stop himself. You turned, flushed and giggling, eyes alight. Laughter rose in his chest and he chuckled, breathless and buoyant. “You’ll get me into trouble. Like before.”
“Faramir, you are the steward. There is no one to get in trouble with.” You grinned at him before striding towards the merlons. “In any case, I have no plans to lob mushy apples from here so you need not worry about disgruntled guards and unfortunate citizens.”
“I always have to worry about disgruntled guards and unfortunate citizens. It is no easy feat, running a city like Minas Tirith.”
“I can imagine.” Your voice was soft, sympathetic.
He strolled towards you, and you glanced behind at him, shadows from the flickering torches dancing across your face. Your eyes were intense, searching. Valar, he could never stand to hold your gaze when it was like this. It was as though you saw through him.
“Faramir, why did you ask me here?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling boyish and clumsy. “I was… clearing some of the rooms in the Steward’s House when I chanced upon our old classroom. I found one of your old essays.”
“A beastly thing, I’m sure.”
He slowed to a stop beside you, close enough that your cloak fluttered against his legs when the wind blew. “It was rather good, actually. I’m certain you would have made a valuable advisor if you had stayed in court.”
“Well,” you scoffed. “I do not think the court missed us much when my uncle and I left.”
“Boromir and I did.”
“You did not write.”
“I was not certain I was allowed to. Father refused to tell me anything, and then there were other matters. Training, classes, scouting missions.”
He felt a pang in his chest. In truth, he had thought of you over the years, but there were always things to attend to. His father’s growing resentment, his strange prophetic dreams, city matters and trade routes.
The War.
It had been a sleepless night when he had wandered the empty halls, opening old doors and peering into neglected rooms, when he stumbled upon the old classroom. It was still and dusty, books stacked by the window and sheets of paper on one of the tables, abandoned as though someone intended to come back, but never did.
He had been hit with an intense loneliness, a hollowness, an aching.
When he had seen your familiar scrawl on the sheets of paper, along with an unflattering sketch of the tutor, the memory of your playful smile flashed into his mind. And then there was a comforting warmth in his chest, and then for the first time in weeks, he had laughed.
“Faramir,” you said, and he shook himself out of his thoughts. “I am sorry I did not write either.”
“It is no matter.” A smile tugged at his lips. “We are here now.”
-
“Faramir, if you wobble the ladder I will drop these books on your head.” You gripped the polished wood with one hand and clutched a stack of books to your chest with the other.
“If memory serves, you were the one who had a habit of rattling stools and ladders.”
You glared down at him, scoffing at the grin on his face. He was leaning against the shelf with his arms across his chest, relaxed and languid. That night on the tower had shattered the stiffness between the both of you, and the last week and a half had been filled with nostalgic adventures.
Between his duties, Faramir had shown you the changes in the Citadel, walked with you to the markets and shops, even challenged you to a slingshot contest which he won. There had been dinners on balconies, and picnic lunches in gardens, and midnight snacks in derelict towers.
He had told you about his experience in the war. His heartbreak at finding Boromir’s cloven horn, the near-fatal Osgiliath charge, recovering in the Houses of Healing. And you told him how you had to manage the family estate, the scramble to build temporary houses for the refugees, how many of them chose to settle and work the land instead of returning to the ruins of their villages.
He had smiled at you in that soft way you knew, had given you the unbroken strip of apple skin he peeled, had discussed new theories and topics with you by the light of the fire.
“Are you coming down?” Faramir smirked at you. “Or are you going to add to that dangerously heavy pile in your hands?”
You shook your head and started down the ladder, feeling the rungs with your feet.
The library was empty, the librarian having gone home for the day. Light rain pattered on the windows and a fire crackled somewhere in the room. The library, of all places, had remained the most unchanged. There was something comforting in that, in the musky smells of books and paper, of the plush chairs and rickety stools.
As you neared the bottom, your foot slipped, misjudging the distance to the floor, and you stumbled. Instead of hard stone, you were met with a firm chest at your back and a hand on your waist.
Had Faramir always been this warm and big?
“Are you alright?”
You felt the rumble of his chest, his breath by your ear.
His hand, large, heavy, burned through the thin silk of your dress.
“Yes, thank you.” You stepped out of his touch and fumbled with the books in your arms, rearranging them into a neat stack. Valar, what has gotten into you? It was just Faramir. You shoved the books into his arms and turned away. “Next time you can go up on the ladder.”
“I think I would flatten you if I fell.”
“I’ll be sure to step out of the way.” You forced a laugh and wandered down the aisle. You heard him follow after you, his steps slow and steady.
How could such a simple thing affect you so? It was not as though you were so wholly inexperienced; there had been one or two sweethearts in the past, though most of them were short lived.
Had there been anyone for Faramir? Some pretty thing with a perfect education who could recite poetry and embroider and dance?
Your stomach churned and the twisting feeling in your heart squeezed the traitorous words up your throat. “You know, I am surprised you have not found a partner yet. I would think that the offers must be pouring in.”
“Why would you think such a thing?” He was closer now, just behind you, and you could hear the dismay in his voice.
“The maids, they love to gossip.” You laughed, but it sounded hollow to your ears. “I spoke to a couple of them when I went down to the kitchens two nights ago.”
He fell in step with you and you glanced at him. There was a small smile on his lips but his eyes looked clouded. “There have been offers, yes, but I have declined them all.”
“Unable to find a suitable one?” You arched an eyebrow at him.
“It is not a question of suitability. There is no need for me to choose a partner for their station or standing. Such things never mattered to me, even more so since my family’s passing. I would much rather have someone’s genuine love and affection.”
Of course he would say something of that sort. You smiled to yourself, heart warming at his words. They would be lucky, whoever he loved.
The rain fell harder against the glass and thunder rumbled. You glanced at the window, a memory coalescing in your mind. “Is the little alcove still here? The one behind the curtain?
Faramir grinned and inclined his head towards the back of the library. “I believe so, though it has been some years since I have sat in it.”
He led you to the back of the library where a narrow velvet curtain hung in the corner. He drew the fabric back to reveal a cosy space with a wooden bench built into the wall by the window. The lantern that hung from the low ceiling was dusty and unlit.
You padded over to the bench, bending and inspecting the corners. “It is still here,” you breathed, tracing the two sets of initials carved into the wood. “I cannot believe it.”
He leaned over you, so close that you could inhale his scent. Sandalwood and something, paper perhaps, or mild soap. “So it is.”
You looked up and Faramir’s face was mere centimetres away. Were there always so many yellow flecks in his grey eyes? And his lips… did they always look so soft and inviting?
All you would have to do would be tilt your head, and your lips would connect…
You stepped back and waved stiffly at the lantern. “Shall we light this? We could read here. If you’d like.”
He glanced at the narrow bench. There would be no doubt that the both of you would have to be pressed up in some way to fit.
“If you would like. I think there are might be some oil on the librarian’s desk, and a lit candle, I could —”
“I’ll go.”
You turned around and marched away, pressing your hands to your hot cheeks when you were safely hidden by the shelves. You took a breath. It was just Faramir. You would find the oil and the candles and sit and read with him, and think nothing of lips or kissing or how solid he had felt behind you.
-
Faramir was in a hell of his own making. Truly, it had been all his fault. For the first time, he cursed his gentle nature. If he had chosen not to speak and steered you away from the instrument shop…
How could he have forgotten that he was not the only friend you had made in your youth?
Elphir, the boy, no, the man who made lutes and drums had been one of them as well. And how could Faramir have denied you when you had lit up at the sight of the old shop and nearly tripped over your feet rushing to the door? And when you had asked if Elphir could come to the Citadel in the evenings to teach you how to play, he could not find it in himself to refuse you, even as discomfort settled deep in his stomach.
In some fantastical lapse of judgement, or perhaps in some foolish notion to watch over you, he had offered the sheltered courtyard below his sitting room to you and Elphir, and now music drifted into the room. Teasing, taunting, tormenting in the way it would mingle with your laughs.
He strode over to the window and slammed it shut.
For five evenings now, you had rushed off after dinner to Elphir, returning to your rooms after your lesson without seeing him. The pot of tea you usually shared with him in the evenings sat unfinished and cold on the table each night. Faramir sagged against the stone pillar and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. If Boromir was alive, he would call Faramir a fool and insist that he go over and chase the man away. But what right did he have?
He was not your lover or your partner, and even if he was, it would be unreasonable to get upset over you spending time with another, especially for something as innocent as music lessons. Faramir was your friend and…
He was your friend.
His breath hitched as the thought rippled through his body. Somewhere in the past three weeks he had forgotten that.
When he had written to you, inviting you to the city, he had only planned to reconnect with an old friend. Someone who got along with him, who understood what his family had been like, who was not a soldier or a subordinate.
He did not intend to be run away with his feelings.
He had grown used to you in the Steward’s House. Your shawl was draped over a chair, the table was always laid for two, you wished him goodnight in the evening before you retired. He had even considered clearing the set of rooms next to his own for you so that you did not have to walk through two corridors just to visit him.
But alas, you were not his.
“Faramir!” You burst into the room with a wide smile on your face and he startled. You slowed your steps, tilting your head and lowered the arm that held your lute aloft. “Is something the matter?”
He shook his head and tried to smile. “I was just deep in thought. How was your lesson?”
“There is something I want to show you.” You wandered over to the cushioned seats by the fire. “Will you sit?”
He nodded and sat in the lone arm chair instead of sharing the bench with you. Your brows creased for a moment before you shook your head and positioned your hands on the lute.
A haunting melody began to fill the room. It was simple, no more than five or six notes that changed subtly every few bars. It tugged at something in his mind, a dream perhaps, or a memory.
A woman humming, a gentle hand on his cheek, the comforting scent of beeswax.
“My mother,” he whispered, frozen where he sat. “She used to sing this to Boromir and me. To get us to sleep.”
Your playing petered out and you looked up at him. “You used to hum it when we were younger, when you thought no one could hear.” You laid your lute to the side. “Elphir taught me the basics of playing. I taught myself the song. In the night, after my classes.”
He felt the corners of his eyes start to burn and he glanced away. How could he not love you now?
“I am sorry, if I shouldn’t have —”
“Please do not apologise. I…” He shook his head and dabbed at his eyes. “ She would be happy to hear these rooms filled with her music once more.”
You came over to him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, your thumb soothing the tension in his muscles with its idle strokes. His eyes focused and unfocused on the decorative ribbons on the bodice of your dress. The crackle of the fire and the rhythmic sound of breathing filled the space between your bodies. He felt your hand drift towards the side of his neck, your thumb just grazing the edge of his jaw, and he slowly, slowly looked up at you.
Your eyes were soft and half-lidded, your lips slightly parted.
He did not dare move, did not dare breathe.
“Faramir.” He shivered at the sigh in your voice. “I—”
A knock sounded on the door and you jerked away from him. Cold air replaced where your heated hand had been.
A muffled voice came through the door. “I have your tea, sir.”
“The tea,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “Would you like to…”
“It has been a long day,” you said, snatching up your lute and striding to the door. “I… Goodnight.”
You flung the door open and he heard the startled squeak of the maid followed by the rapid patter of your footsteps.
-
You slammed your room door shut behind you and leaned against it. Your breaths came short and quick, chest heaving and skin searing.
What had you almost done? What words were going to spill from your traitorous lips?
It was just Faramir.
Just… a friend.
You shook your head and slumped to the floor. There was nothing decidedly friendly about what had just passed between the both of you. And… and what? What could possibly happen between you and him? You had an estate waiting for you in Lebennin, there were people who needed your instruction and leadership. And Faramir was the Steward of Gondor; the people needed him as well.
Your trip to Minas Tirith was supposed to be nothing more than a visit to an old friend. You had forgotten yourself. For so many years you had run the estate on your own, had resigned yourself to quiet meals in the day and lonely nights in the study. There was no time, no place, to entertain such ridiculous notions like love.
And yet…
You stared at your hands, hands that had held him for just a moment, had felt the coarseness of his beard and the beat of his heart.
Want burned in you.
Want for his lips, his hands. For his gentle smile, for his joyous laughter. For a permanent seat at the table, for space on his shelves for your books.
-
Faramir stared at the tea tray on the table. Two cups, two saucers. A full pot of tea.
He stroked the side of his jaw, his own fingers feeling indelicate compared to your touch. There was no mistaking the look in your eyes, desire mixed with tenderness. Perhaps it was not so ridiculous to think that you might return at least a fraction of what he felt for you.
His stomach swooped and a strangled laugh burst from him.
But was it just a flash of fancy, borne from the moment? A reckless action in the dim of the night?
Were you going to slip from him, retreat back into your shell of polite distance? He would not be able to bear it, to hear your stilted words, to have you shrink away from his casual touches. To have you vanish again, taking your laughter and your light away with you.
Should he go to you? Would that be impertinent? But he had lost you once before with his inaction, and only a fool would not learn from their mistakes.
-
You tugged the borrowed cloak on your shoulders closer around you. It smelled like Faramir, like sandalwood and that evasive something, ink perhaps. Mist had descended on the Citadel and drifted across the parapets like sheer curtains. Your steps were soft on the stone and you wandered from torch to torch, veering closer for warmth, roaming further for the cover of shadow. The guards paid you little attention, and the stars overhead twinkled unbothered.
Twice you had tried to walk to Faramir’s room, twice you had turned on your heel and fled back to your rooms. In the end, your room had become stifling and you rushed out into the open air.
Your blood had cooled and, now in the starkness of the open night, you felt foolish.
You paused by the old watchtower, leaning on the cold stone and staring down at the Houses of Healing. You would apologise when you saw him next, and then perhaps it was time to return to the family estate…
Muffled footsteps approached and you turned.
Faramir emerged from the mist, still in his day clothes, his hair mussed and his eyes tired.
“Faramir,” you whispered, arms falling to your sides. You opened your mouth to speak, but your rehearsed speech refused to leave your lips.
He came to a stop in front of you, a disarming smile on his face. “Somehow, I am not surprised to find you here.”
“Were you looking for me?”
He nodded, and amusement coloured his smile. “I suppose, in a way, I have always been looking for you.”
“Is there something you wanted from me?”
His twinkling eyes grew serious. “I wished to speak to you.”
You turned away, suddenly unsure, but his hand reached for yours. His thumb caressed your knuckles and you lifted your eyes to him. “What about?”
“I think you already know.”
You swallowed and tried to speak, but the words stayed lodged in your throat, and your eyes fell to your joined hands.
“I have never been good at disguising my feelings,” he said, voice soft and low. “I am sure you must be aware…”
Aware? Aware of what? His feelings? That he only viewed you as a friend, and that perhaps you had taken advantage of his kindness, mistaken it for affection and…
His fingers skimmed your chin, gently urging it up. His grey eyes were alight, burning almost, with an open passion so rarely seen in him. You scarcely dared to look away. Your heart pounded in your ears.
“Perhaps I have always loved you, even before I realised what that word meant. I was too young, too naive.” He cupped your cheek and you leaned into his touch. “But we are older now. And I can say for certain that I… I —”
You surged forward and pressed your lips to his. They were pillowy and soft and carried a trace of bitterness from the tea. He deepened the kiss, pulling you flush against him. You laid a hand on his chest, fingers splaying across his heart. He sighed into your lips, his exhale hot on your skin. You felt him grin and you nudged his nose with yours.
“I think,” you muttered, “I have wanted to do that for a long time now.”
He laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You are welcome to do it any time you wish.”
“Faramir, why me? And after so many years since we last saw each other.”
“Can such a thing truly be explained?” He hummed to himself. “I suppose the simplest answer I can give is that you bring me joy. And perhaps also, I think we make good partners. We have always made good partners.”
You sobered at his words. “Faramir, we are not children anymore. My estate… I cannot leave it unmanaged. And I have neglected my duties already these past weeks.”
“We will find a way,” he assured. “It is only a full day’s ride from Minas Tirith, is it not?”
“Less, if one has a good horse.”
“Less, I think, if you had the reins.” He chuckled. “We are not children anymore, yes, but that only means that we can truly do as we wish. As we choose.”
You mulled over his words. “And you would choose to have a busy bride, to have to make trips out to the country with her?”
“I choose to have you.” He stroked your cheek. “And you, my love? What would you choose?”
“I choose, I think,” you said with a smile, “to remain where I have always belonged.”
“In Minas Tirith?”
“With you.”
He grinned and wrapped his arms around you. He laughed into your hair and you tucked your nose into his neck. You inhaled his scent, thinking of the unknown, familiar note in it that always eluded you. Thinking of how it smelled like rain and books, of apple peels and bitter tea.
Thinking of how, perhaps, it smelled like home.
---
If you made it this far, holy shit thank you for reading.
I characterised Faramir a little bit differently here. I think I have a tendency to conflate kindness with passivity when it comes to him, but I think he can be pretty intense if he wanted to be.
And also, I feel like this entire piece is tinged with the bittersweetness of growing up, but I hope that it veered more sweet than bitter. To you young'uns out there, truly, I promise you, it is not terrible to grow up ❤️
You would hit BELIEVE how happy I am that you’re writing fics for Declan O’Hara he’s my new DILF obsession!!! Also it was so well-written and in-character, oh my goodness!
I was wondering if I could request a fic where Declan and female!reader are having an affair, and she’s super nervous because she’s Taggie’s best friend. She meets Declan one night in his car, and he calms her down and, obviously, they have car sex.
Ending this with a huge I LOVE YOUR WORK
Shut Up and Drive.
It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The one person who riles you up the most is also the only person that can calm you down.
declan o’hara x female reader
warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. cheating. declan and his dirty mouth. one use of the c word. overuse of the nickname sweetheart.
word count - 3k
authors note - the minute he put that baby blue t shirt on… I was suddenly on my knees. funny how that happens. can’t and won’t stop with the fics for this man. I am riding the rivals train to the ends of the earth, baby. thanks for being so sweet, anon <3
masterlist. inbox.
The phone is shaking in your trembling hand, cord all tangled where you keep twisting it around your finger nervously.
“Hello?”
You almost drop the receiver at the sound of that familiar Irish accent, despite the fact that you were the one that rang him. It has your stomach churning, in a different way than usual.
“H-hi,” you barely whisper, before clearing your throat and trying again. “Hi. It’s me.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” he breathes, as if it’s the first time he’s taken a lungful of air all day.
“I, um… I’m sorry to call you on the house phone. I know it’s not how we do things usually.”
“It’s alright. What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just, uh… I called to say that I can’t do this anymore.”
“Sweetheart-”
“I would have told you in person, but I didn’t know when I was going to see you next, so.”
“Can we-” he begins, before lowering his voice so as not to be overheard, “-can we talk about this properly? Please?”
“We can’t. I can’t. We shouldn’t.”
“Sweetheart, I’m beggin’ ya. One conversation. You’re not ending this in a quick phone call on a Wednesday night, you hear me?”
You inhale deeply, biting at your lips. There’s pure anxiety radiating through your body, prickly and unrelenting.
“I hear you,” you murmur down the receiver. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he sighs in relief. “I’m gonna come and get ya - we’ll go for a drive, alright?”
“Sorry you have to lie,” you whisper, guilt colouring your tone.
“I’d lie for you a thousand times over.”
His words shouldn’t make you feel as giddy as they do, but alas. Here you are.
“I’ll put some shoes on.”
“And a coat. It’s cold as fuck tonight.”
You half laugh, half snort at him down the phone, dreamily imagining the grin he most likely has painted on his face listening to you.
“Yes sir,” you tease, giggling. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll drive up without my headlights on. Look out for me, yeah?”
“I will.”
I always do, you think to yourself. I always do.
The line goes dead abruptly, the buzzing vibrating straight into your temples. You slip your shoes on, quickly fixing your hair and touching up your makeup in the mirror in the hallway while you’re there. You shrug your arms into your coat at Declan’s orders, knowing he’d tell you off if you turned up without it on.
You’ve almost forgotten the entire reason you called in the first place was to break things off with him.
Almost.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
True to his word, Declan drives up your road without his headlights on, slowly and with practised precision.
You’re waiting at the window for him, patiently anticipating the sight of that stupid yellow car. You’re out of the door in seconds as soon as you see him, bounding towards the passenger side and slipping in before anyone notices. He drives off quickly, not taking any time to say hello before he’s taking off out of the town and towards the rolling countryside.
You drive for a good fifteen minutes, to a spot the two of you frequent on your drives. It’s a dirt track, leading to nothing but fields for miles on end. Declan pulls the car around the bend and out of sight from the busier road, knowing that it has more than enough privacy. You’ve never been caught here before, and you don’t plan to start.
Finally turning off the engine, he turns to face you, taking in how the moonlight illuminates your features in the lowlight of the car.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi.”
You’re refusing to look at him, knowing that if you do, you’ll surge over and kiss him until you’re both dizzy. You can feel his gaze on you, though, intense and unwavering. As it always is.
His thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, forcing you to stare straight into his determined brown eyes. You’re willing yourself not to crumble, but you can feel your resolve starting to slip already.
“I missed you,” he whispers, careful not to spook you.
“I missed you too,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Shit.”
He chuckles, and the low timbre of it settles right in the pit of your stomach.
“What’s all this about then, hmm? The phone call?”
“What did you tell Taggie? Where did you say you were going?”
It’s your least favourite part about all of this, the lying. Lying to Taggie, to Patrick, to Caitlin, to Rupert, to your friends, to your family. Coming up with excuses has become second nature - something you hate about yourself now. You hate how it comes so naturally to both of you these days.
“Told her I was going to meet someone about some potential research for a show. She had evening plans anyway, she’s off out to Lizzie’s.”
You’re fiddling with your fingers, picking at your nails in a nervous habit as you chew your bottom lip. If anxiety was personified, it’d be you.
“You avoided my question. We need to talk about what you said on the phone, sweetheart.”
Taking a deep breath, you turn in your seat to face him properly, going over the speech you’ve practised in your head dozens of times.
“Okay. I’m… I’m not sure we should do this anymore. I- I just… I feel guilty. For lying to Taggie, mainly. And because you’re technically still married, but mainly for lying to Tag. She’s the closest friend I have, and I’m sleeping with her father. It makes me a terrible person, Declan. I have to put a stop to it.”
He processes your words for a moment, looking at you intently.
“Do ya want to?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you want to? Put a stop to things? Or do you just feel like you should? For other people.”
You want to lie, tell him exactly what you had planned out, feed him what you know will work. But you can’t. You can lie to everyone… except Declan.
“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “But I should. We should.”
“Why now? Did something happen? Did someone say something?”
“No, no. I just… Taggie said something really sweet the other day about how she was glad that she had me, because making friends here hasn’t been easy for her. And it should have made me happy, and instead, it broke my heart.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Declan cradles your face in his rough hands, resting his forehead against yours. It’s like the whole world melts away for a moment, leaving just the two of you in the tiny yellow car.
“I’m a horrible person,” you mumble. “And a horrible friend.”
“You’re speaking as if it’s just you. And it’s not, you know. There’s two of us in this affair - I’m just as guilty as you are.”
“Fine then. We’re both horrible people.”
He chuckles, breath tickling your face, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. His lips are brushing yours every time he speaks, meaning you can practically taste the cigarette smoke and spearmint on his tongue.
“I never claimed otherwise,” he retorts, still smiling.
“I don’t know what to do,” you admit as his thumbs sweep back and forth across your cheekbones. “It’s weighing down my conscience, and I don’t want to hurt Tag. But… I can’t give you up, Declan. I need you. I need you more than anything.”
“You make me crazy. God, I think about you night and day, sweetheart. My thoughts revolve around if I’ve seen you and when I’m going to see you next.”
“So what do we do? I can’t quit this. I can’t quit you, I can’t quit us. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. I wish I had the answers… I wish I could make all your worries go away. But I can’t.”
“I don’t expect you to. I just… I thought that I could do it in one clean sweep. Get it out the way, you know? Call you, end things, be done. And then the minute I heard your voice over the phone… I knew I couldn’t do it. Because deep down, I didn’t want to.”
He leans in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, desperate to be close to you.
“Declan.”
“If I could fix it all for you, I would,” he murmurs against your skin. “You know I would.”
You pull back to put some distance in between you, watching him carefully for his reaction to what you say next.
“You should break things off.”
He flinches as if you’ve punched him in the stomach.
“What?”
“You should. I clearly can’t, so you have to be the one to do it. Do it, Declan. End things with me right here, right now. Please.”
Your tone is weak and unconvincing, as if you can’t even bring yourself to say the words with any conviction.
“I can’t,” he confesses, voice breaking on the last word. “I can’t do it.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
He takes a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling it slowly as if he’s buying himself some time. You wait patiently for him to continue, nerves frayed at the edges.
“Because I love you.”
Now it’s your turn to flinch, his admission smacking you across the face violently.
“You-”
“Yes. I love you, sweetheart. It’s taken me a while to figure all of this out, but I know it now. That’s why I’ve never been able to end this. Because it’s not just incredible sex… it’s something more. Something real.”
There are tears welling in your eyes as you look at him, watching the way he lays his heart on his sleeve in the moonlight just for you.
“I’m scared,” you confess. “I love you too and it scares me.”
You don’t miss the way his face lights up as you say it, but he’s trying to keep a careful lid on his emotions for now.
“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to ya. You know that.”
All you can do is nod in response, digesting everything that has happened in the last five minutes. You do know that. He’s proven time and time again that you’re not just some fleeting fling to him.
“Declan?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
Now he grins like an idiot, eyes alive with adrenaline and hope.
“That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard ya say.”
You tuck some hair behind his ear before leaning in to gently press your lips to his, wanting to seal the moment. He kisses you back sweetly at first, before taking control with more force, slipping his tongue into your mouth cheekily. You happily let him take the lead, sighing in contentment as you melt into him.
“C’mere.”
Climbing over onto his lap, you hinge your legs on either side of his in the drivers seat, straddling his hips. You try to straighten up but end up hitting your head on the roof of the car, which makes you both wheeze with laughter.
“This car is too fucking small,” you grumble, rubbing the spot that you smacked.
“Y’alright? Want me to kiss it better?”
You hate the way the teasing tone in his voice shoots right to your core, shaking your head in defiance.
“Fuck off,” you mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Patronising bastard.”
“I like it when you get your claws out,” he chuckles, tracing patterns on your thighs over your jeans. “S’hot.”
You kiss him again to shut him up, biting at his bottom lip in punishment. He groans all low and slow, which makes you grind your hips into his, despite the multiple layers of clothing separating you.
“Backseat,” he whispers, pushing you off of him gently. “More room.”
You splay yourself across the wide back seat, opening your legs so Declan can slot in between them.
“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he prompts as he shrugs off his own jacket and undoes his belt.
You can’t help but chuckle at his impatience, happily taking off your coat and jumper and unbuttoning your jeans. Your breath catches in your throat when you look back up at him - he’s wearing the Venturer t shirt that hugs his biceps just right, accentuating every delicious muscle he has to offer you.
“Wore it for you,” he mutters against your lips. “Know you like me in a t shirt.”
You roll your eyes but kiss him with determination anyway, all teeth and tongue and clashing bodies. You’re clawing at his clothed shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist to buck your hips into his.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “Lying awake at night thinking about your thighs, your tits, your cunt.”
All you can do is sigh, fingers digging into his biceps in desperation.
“Wish I could take my time with you like you deserve. These quick fucks just aren’t the same.”
He sounds almost upset about it, voice staying deep and low.
“Remember that time I stayed the night? And you couldn’t walk in the morning?”
You laugh breathily, thinking back fondly to that night a few months ago. You’d both orchestrated it so carefully, crafting cautious lies and fabricated stories to snatch a good sixteen hours of time together.
“Need that again soon. Might have to start sneaking ya into my house in the dark, make you climb the gutters like we’re in a film. Although, it is a bit hard to keep you quiet.”
You try valiantly to ignore the heat that flushes across your chest as he teases you, knowing that he’s right.
“Declan?”
“Yeah, baby?”
You grab his hand and shove it down your underwear, jeans trapped around your thighs. There’s very minimal room in this tiny car, but you’re both determined to make it work. He groans when he feels how wet you are, swiping through your core.
“Fuck me. Have you been like this the entire time?”
“Since this afternoon,” you whimper, trying to grind down onto his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about when you ate me out on my kitchen worktop last week. My legs were shaking for two days afterwards.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, slipping a finger into you as he drops his head onto your shoulder. “I got myself off thinking about that yesterday. I swear if I concentrate, I can still taste you on my tongue.”
All you can do is whimper, desperate to have him in any way you can. The fact that you have the same effect on him that he does on you makes your head spin, dizzy with want.
“Don’t make me wait,” you beg, cradling his face so he has to look you in the eye. “Fuck me, please. Please, Declan.”
“Okay, pretty girl. I’ll give ya anything you want. Anything.”
He shuffles around so he’s sat back on his knees, pushing his jeans and underwear down just enough to free himself. You spread your legs as wide as you can, trying to give him as much room as possible. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself in this position in this car with him - and it won’t be the last.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss you, licking across your teeth with his tongue. “Most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”
He slides into you with ease, both of you gasping at the familiar sensation. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as he holds your hips in a bruising grip, pads of his fingertips biting into your flesh.
Declan doesn’t waste any time, setting a relentless pace that has you bouncing across the seat. The car is shaking like crazy, all the windows fogged up - anyone who passes will know exactly what’s happening inside.
The man above you can read you like a book and play you like a fiddle. He knows the exact angles of his hips that’ll have you keening, the certain spots to focus on that’ll have you seeing stars. He knows you better than anyone, in more ways than one.
“That’s it,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Atta girl. Taking it like you were made for me.”
“Maybe I was,” you breathe, tipping your head back to give him access to your neck. “Just for you.”
He groans all melted and golden like molten honey, the vibrato of it rumbling through your bones. You’re holding onto him for dear life, as if he’s the only thing tethering you to this reality. When his thumb finds your clit to rub firm, slow circles, you’re convinced you’re floating on another plane of existence.
The only word you can seem to formulate is Declan, which only pushes him closer to the finish line. He’s determined to get you there first, angling his hips upward to hit that one spot that has you gasping. When he moves one hand to your throat and gently squeezes, you fall apart instantly, taking him with you.
“I love you,” he breathes as he comes, forehead resting on yours. “My girl.”
You’re shuddering and shaking as you lie underneath him, panting like you’ve just ran ten miles. Declan collapses on top of you, laying his head on your chest comfortably. Your fingers rake through his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp like you’ve done so many times before.
You both allow yourselves to close your eyes for a minute, recovering and attempting to catch your breath. You’re convinced, for a moment, that you’ll never feel more peaceful than you do right now. You breathe each other in, satiated and content.
You finally open your eyes, expecting to see nothing but fogged windows and starlit darkness. Instead, you see a man bending down, looking straight at you. Arguably the worst possible person that could see the two of you in the position you’re in.
Rupert Campbell Black.
He’s grinning like an idiot, shaking his head in disbelief.
You’re about to warn the man in your arms when Rupert opens the car door, slipping himself into the drivers seat and spinning so he’s facing you. Declan has jumped out of his skin, jolting upwards to cover you as best he can.
Rupert smirks all dirty and knowing, eyes dancing over your half naked forms.
“Well, well, well. Secrets out, lovers.”
@graceflorence @dionysus-drabbles
as aaaaaaaalways… reblogs are golden!! they’re the currency of tumblr, my loves. you reblog, and your favourite writers will write you more fics. simple as that. mwah. <3
reader gender is not described could be literally anything. inspired by this post that made me giggle for ten minutes
sfw, no risky content, just silly cuteness. jake isn't mentioned sorry lockley stans but maybe I'll do another version w him <3
Steven and Marc, Marc and Steven. The two of them, peas in a pod. Keeping each other company in Steven's tiny flat.
Until, you.
You'd caught both their eyes, really, but Steven called dibs because he was fronting when you'd met. Though, Marc argued, he was feeding the poor guy lines because he was blushing so hard he couldn't think straight.
From the first day, Steven wanted to jump the gun and tell you how pretty you were and invite you over forever and gush and gush but no. Marc was patient, reminding him to breathe, to take his time. They were in this together, and he didn't want his hope for your affection to be crushed by his headmate's eagerness.
So Steven sat back, hands wringing his sleeves and a stupid smile smarting his cheeks. You thought he was the sweetest thing you'd ever seen. His sass made you keel over laughing, listening to his funny recounts of ignorant customers or mishaps on the bus.
He was sweet and pretty and so, so clever.
Which is what first planted the seed of doubt that he didn't like you the way you liked him. Steven, as much as he stuttered, was sharp as a tack. He loved puzzles and trivia and escape room games (though the real thing made his hair stand on end). You thought for sure he'd sniff you out in an instant; your growing crush wasn't discreet.
But he never mentioned it, never made a move, nothing. Marc, whom you'd met a few weeks later, was also very smart. He liked deeper conversations, and his warm gaze would be intensely focused on whatever subject you'd picked. Surely, if Steven missed your hints, Marc would give him a wink and a nudge and bam, game on.
Still, nothing but platonic smiles.
Little did you know, a tug of war was raging in your friend's mind the second you left his flat.
The three of you shared a wall, so Marc ensured his whisper-fights with Steven stayed quiet.
"Too soon," Marc hissed into the kitchen mirror. It was small and round, and you had left a little sticky note with a smiley face on it for them to see in the morning.
Steven was tearing his hair out in the small frame, eyes round and watery. Mate, I've never had this much courage to do anything in my life, you know that, please, it can't be that bad!
Marc gritted his teeth. Naive little Steven.
"What if you scare them off, huh? We've known them for a month and you think they'll jump in just like that?"
Steven paused his worrying, realizing for the first time the kind of fallout that might occur. His cow eyes saddened, imagining the empty space that would replace you, if you didn't reciprocate. He couldn't live with that.
"Just a bit longer," Marc sighed, rubbing his face. He needed to sleep. Steven continued to fume, for once at odds with his best friend.
You'd noticed his distance. Steven, always happy to see you, had withdrawn. He waved quietly in the morning, and mumbled a good night when you passed his door. It stung. Marc was stoic as ever, but his jaw was tighter and he didn't look you in the eye.
Something was wrong.
So, like any good friend would, you picked up takeout and a few movies and knocked on Steven's door.
It took a few moments, but your favorite mop of curls soon peeked out from behind the frame.
"Oh, erm, uh, heya, sorry, did we plan something? I, um," Steven still didn't look you in the eye, fumbling with the latch as he stuttered through an apology. You stepped forward and touched his shoulder.
Smiling what you hoped was gently, you eased his worry. "I just wanted to say hi. I brought snacks," you said, holding up the warm bag of food.
Still nervous, Steven nodded and beckoned you inside.
Bollocks, he griped. Marc was having a conniption, trying to come up with a reason to push you back out. It's raining, Steven pleaded, and we haven't hung out for ages and Thai smells really good and they've got that cute sweater on-
That's the problem, Marc tossed back, you'll trip all over yourself like a fool. Lemme front-
Steven had to bite his lip to stop from yelling his dissent. He'd been pestering Marc to invite you over for days, now was his chance.
You were dividing the curry and rice into equal portions while he poked through the movies and games you'd brought. There were a couple of his favorites, Clue, James Bond (The originals, of course) and some he didn't recognize.
"Hey, what's this?" He grabbed a small box and peered at it. You paused your chopsticks and leaned over.
"Oh," you said around a mouthful of rice, "I dunno, Rachel from work recommended it." You picked at your food as he flipped it over to read the back.
20 Questions, it was titled. Forty different cards, each with a subject. One person had the subject and the other had to guess what it was in twenty questions or less. Only three hints allowed and nothing made-up.
"Let's do it," Steven decided. He enjoyed a challenge and if it meant he could hear your lovely voice, he wasn't complaining. Marc had fallen silent, taking to brooding in the background. Probably for the best - he wasn't very good at puzzles.
You wiped your hands on a napkin and took the first card.
"A classic movie," you read. Steven rocked on his heels for a moment, fiddling with his plate.
"Got it," he said.
You knew what to start with. Steven loved classic movies, but none of the scary ones. Probably something historical.
"Does it take place in the last fifty years?"
He nodded, chewing. One.
"Does it have a female protagonist?" Two.
He shook his head gleefully. That familiar Steven sparkle was back, and it eased the worry in your head. He wasn't so off, then. Maybe just a bad week.
"Does the man have a whip?" You were grinning, sure you'd got it. Steven's lips twitched - he knew he'd been found out.
It took only two more questions for you to guess Indiana Jones, to his shock. You blamed it on luck rather than the adorable predictability of your friend.
Steven's turn next, and it took him halfway to guess "Fondue" at Favorite food. You went back and forth, giggling at each other on the floor of his rainy flat. Steven protested when you argued that he couldn't use himself for Favorite Superhero.
"I am a hero," he wheedled, gesturing to the Moon Knight stuffie you'd got him as a joke.
"Yeah, but you can't guess yourself," you argued. Nowhere in the rules did it say that, but it felt good to have your bickering sessions. You'd missed this - bantering over stupid issues with tummies full of food and a fun game to play.
Steven blushed when you mentioned it. "Sorry," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "I got busy, 'n Marc was being pissy 'cause - yeah you were, don't be a knob," he muttered to himself. Your grin twitched at the mention of your other friend.
"How is Marc?"
He swallowed thickly. "Uhm...he's, uh, he's swell. Hang on, sorry-" There was a pause as he flickered between scowling and mumbling.
You ignored his stuttering and resumed eating. He needed space at the moment; Marc was probably arguing over something. You didn't want to make them uncomfortable.
"Sorry," Steven said sheepishly. "My turn, yeah?"
Setting down your empty plate, you nodded. Flipping a card, you saw alarm flash across his face. You laughed nervously.
"What?"
He swallowed and smiled nervously. "Nothing, nothing. Ah, I guess, we can skip it if you want...?"
You snatched the card and froze. Longtime Crush.
Fuck. Stay calm, this will be fine. A door of opportunity glowed in your mind, and you smiled.
"No. Let's do it."
Steven, still wary, nodded and tried to push away the intense shame inside. This was going to crush him. He could feel Marc's annoyance through the barrier. Told you so. Not wanting to ruin your game, he soldiered on.
"Is...are they...a man?" You nodded, eyes glittering. God this was worse than torture.
"Have you known him very long?"
You thought about it. "Yeah, I guess. Feels like forever." Great, you'd had a childhood crush all along. He never stood a chance. Marc was burying his head in his hands. Steven wanted to push him to the front so he could have a good cry, but he needed to face it. His fault you were here anyway.
"Do you see him at work?"
"N....Sometimes," you added. He scrunched his nose.
"Whaddya mean sometimes? Either you do or you-"
"Next question," you laughed. Steven wracked his brain.
"Oh, bugger, uh...." he didn't want to pry, but he couldn't think of anything.
"Need a hint?" You were on the verge of cackling. Grumpily, he shook his head.
"Does he live nearby?"
"Definitely."
He pursed his lips, thinking of your small social circle. Your work was a tiny office, there had to be a few guys that he knew.
"Does...Is he friends with our friends?"
You nodded. "He's very close."
He had to be missing something. "Fine, gimme a hint."
"Well," you began, smile stretching to the moon, "he's very clever. He'd like this game, I think. He likes to laugh, but he can be quite serious too." Ignoring the fact that you'd given him two hints, Steven's heart wilted as he noticed the starry look in your eyes. Whoever this guy was, he was a lucky chap.
Marc was miserable, gloominess radiating. Steven felt awful, he hadn't meant for this to go so poorly. Just get through the questions, Marc grumbled.
"Where does he work?"
You tapped your chin. "Well...he's got two jobs."
His eyebrows raised. "Busy fella, huh?"
"Yeah." Your lips quirked. "Almost seems like he's two people."
"What's his jobs, then?"
"Let's see...it's very unconventional," you said slowly, a cute smile on your face, "Sorta self-employed."
Steven cocked his head at the confusing answer. Self employed? That's not really a second job. Marc shrugged. We're kinda self employed, so it could be.
It was strange how many similarities he found between himself and this mystery man.
"I'll give you a hint," you said after the moment dragged. Steven vehemently shook his head.
"No, I've got it, swear."
You giggled. "it won't count, promise. He's got a pet fish."
Steven threw up his hands in exasperation. "How've I never met this man?! We sound almost identical, I'm sure I'd remember him!"
You were bent over laughing now. He sat there, bewildered, while Marc watched with growing understanding.
Steven, he hissed. Steven, hang on.
Stop being a spoilsport, I know you're mad, Steven retorted, too invested in the game.
"Marc's met him," you said between fits, tears streaking your cheeks. Marc opened his mouth again but Steven waved him away.
"Nuh uh, I can do this," he said determinedly. STEVEN! Marc was shouting now, thumping his hands in vain.
You'd stopped laughing, grinning like a loon while you waited. He'd get it now, surely, you hoped, the fading laughter revealing your anxiety.
Steven had short-circuited, eyes flicking around like a pinball machine.
"You're clever," you murmured, "you'll get it."
He snapped out of it and raked a hand through his messy curls. "Hang on, hang on, what? This doesn't- how can he be friends with our friends when the only man friend you've got is me?" He was genuinely perplexed, triggering a sympathetic smile from you.
Marc was in fits now, and Steven was getting a headache. Oi, Marc, chill out a bit, yeah? I'm trying to-
Steven for once in your life listen this is important oh my God-
"What?" he relented, mouthing sorry at you. Marc heaved a breath and closed his eyes.
You. Us. Steven, it's so obvious.
Steven rolled his eyes. "Me? You've lost it, mate, really, you've gone mad."
He froze, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Oh my days, sorry, I didn't mean to guess so soon, sorry-"
You did nothing but grin, leaning closer. "Clever boy," you whispered, then pressed your lips to his.
Marc fainted.
Steven, sweet man, had frozen, too preoccupied with his internal screaming do understand what was happening.
Oh.
oh.
His hands found their way to your cheeks and he giggled, the sweet sound muffled against your lips. It was clunky and off-centered, but it was real and he was laughing and every insecurity he'd ever had vanished in a puff of smoke.
You pulled back for a breath, but Steven hadn't finished, chasing after you with a huff. Marc, finally back online, was sitting in a lovesick stupor. Your lips were soft and your hands were rubbing soothingly down his back. A quiet solitude had blanketed the flat, now dark. Steven leaned his head on your shoulder and you hugged him tight, smiling into his neck. The two of you breathed together, winding down from the excitement of your game.
Once you'd sufficiently relaxed, you pulled away and were met with Marc's twinkling gaze.
"Y'know, I was the one that gave Steven the head's up, so I think I-"
"C'mere you," You huffed, peppering his cheeks in light pecks. He preened, taking a heavy sigh of relief. Marc leaned in and captured your lips, licking gently into your mouth. He'd definitely had more practice, and your heart sang with joy.
Game over, plates empty and hearts full, you curled up and watched the rain pitter-patter in the warm comfort of your home.
yes i think steven loves james bond. he is the type to try and figure out the mystery along with the movie. also 100% knows all cinema trivia Ever To Exist. Marc hates it.
AN: this is an ANGSTY one which is usually not the vibe for me but I got lost in this idea and completely fell in love with it so I really hope you like it!! this is the ost piece I was listening to while writing -
Set Things Right
With a sigh, the Doctor rubs his face with his hands, then places his palms flat against the console of the Tardis. She wheezes halfheartedly, seeming to wince in pain.
“Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong?” The Time Lord pleads with her, desperate for any sign, any handy hint on what he can possibly do to help her.
The two of them have been drifting aimlessly through deep space for a time that even a lord of such a thing has been unable to truly focus on. Hours, days, weeks - he doesn’t know, all of it has been lost to the worry over his oldest and truest companion. The one piece of home he has left.
Closing his eyes tightly in a pained blink, the Doctor takes a deep breath in an attempt to tune himself into the Tardis further, to understand her, just enough to help. In focussing as hard as he possibly can, his subconscious grabs at the first sound it finds, no more than an unidentifiable flicker, but the Doctor hones his thoughts to the spark that the Tardis has sent him, whatever it may be. The very moment the sound becomes clear to him, though, the Doctor flinches away from the console, feeling a physical tear through his hearts and rubbing against his shirt to soothe the ache that resides there. Has resided there, and been ignored for another time that he dares not address.
“Don’t. Just…don’t, please. She’s….” The Doctor shakes his head, refusing to say the words as he falls against the railing, gripping it with one hand at his back while the other still holds his chest, as though shielding his hearts from another fatal blow. “She can’t help us, not anymore.”
And he feels it, the judgemental gaze of the Tardis on him at every angle, even in her weakened state. Loosening his bowtie to escape some of the pressure, the Doctor speeds from the control room, past a door that he knows was not previously so close to the main control room but he will not give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it, past the swimming pool, and towards the library. There must be something in here, he thinks to himself, haphazardly throwing books from the shelves on which they previously sat and creating a disheveled pile in the center of the room behind him, hoping one of them may contain the secret to healing his sickly time machine.
Quite suddenly, the Tardis jolts to the right, sending the Doctor falling into the pile of books he had unintentionally used to form his own landing pad. Jumping back to his feet with a firm frown on his face, the Doctor straightens his shirt and huffs.
“Now, I know you aren’t very well, but there is no need-”
Interrupting him, the Tardis throws him back to the ground with another fierce jolt, and then she bursts to life in what the Doctor can only describe as a fit of rage. She is taking flight, furiously, to a destination of her own choosing, with no regard for the Time Lord that is crawling his way back to the main control room through corridors that she turns on their heads, walls that she shrinks and enlarges, floors that she shakes and cracks with the sheer force of her determination.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” The Doctor shouts into the main control room, over her screeches, as glass panels splinter at his feet.
Flinging himself at the console, he grabs the monitor with both hands and tries to read the Gallifreyan text, the co-ordinates, anything, but she is flying too fast for his eyes to keep up with her train of thought as it blazes across the screen.
And with a final, deafening crash that sends the Doctor hurtling into the railing, the Tardis halts to a sudden stop. She wheezes again, but this time it almost sounds…relieved? As though wherever she has landed, it has brought her a sense of peace. This place can heal her wounds, the Doctor recognises her feelings towards it, and his ever curious mind is buzzing with excitement at the thought of such an incredible, new place.
“Oh, where have you brought me this time, old girl?” Having already forgiven her for the bumpy ride, the ancient god is giddy, rubbing his hands together and retying his bowtie, grabbing his tweed jacket as he races for the door.
He braces himself as he reaches for the wooden panel, hand trembling with excitement. With a deep breath, the Doctor pushes open the door and steps out into the brand new world. Except it isn’t, and it is.
The street is one he would recognise even if he had never set foot there, because he knows this planet almost as well as he had known his own. Earth, the planet to have given him the greatest friends and adventures he’d ever known. But this street is not one he has never set foot on. The Doctor is a man who cannot look back because he dares not, there are many streets on this planet that he avoids for fear of the pain he would revisit on seeing them again, in the absence of those he once knew occupied them. And this street is no different, except in that it is the most recent of the streets he never wanted to see again, and in the way that he has been forced to do exactly that. He wants to run and hide, more than anything, but he is frozen to the spot, because something isn’t right. The air tastes different, the gravity feels slightly askew, and he can’t tell what year it is amidst the emotional tidal wave of it all. As fundamentally wrong as all of those aspects are, the Doctor cannot deny that they point to one possibility amongst a million others, but that one - regardless of the agony - he cannot live with the regret of denying.
And then he hears it again. The same sound he had heard when inside the Tardis, the sound she had told him would help her, and now again, in the place she has taken him to heal her. Time seems to slow as the Doctor turns to his left, his eyes immediately locking onto and blurring a perfect vision he never thought he would see again. You.
Laughing so hard you are throwing your head back, eyes crinkled and tears spilling at their creases, your mobile phone to your ear only mildly distorting the view of you. Completely oblivious to the big, sad eyes that watch over you, a trembling smile of pure anguish choking out a disbelieving laugh with you, though he has no idea what you are laughing at.
Clutching at his chest and feeling the world around him beginning to spin, the Time Lord stumbles back through the doors of his time machine and falls to the floor, pressing his back against the wooden panels in an effort to lock himself away.
For the briefest second, all he feels is pain. Wound after wound tearing through his very being, bleeding him dry and crushing him into dust. And then that second ends, and the oncoming storm rises to his feet, a darkened frown etched into his brow.
“Why.” He mutters, approaching the console. “Why. WHY!” He throws his arms in the air and slams them against either side of the monitor, watching as you disappear down the street and then shoving the monitor away from him. “WHY would you bring me here?! What kind of cruel trick is this?! How DARE you! How…could you? How could you take me back to a time when she was…when you know that I can’t…”
The Doctor trails off, defeated, and collapses onto the jump seat with his head in his hands.
Sensing his anguish, the Tardis groans at him, exasperated by the way in which he continues to miss the obvious. Sending the monitor flying back over to the side of the console that the Doctor is facing, the Tardis displays the exact time and date beyond her doors and waits. It takes the solemn, lonely man several seconds to lift his sorrowful gaze from his hands and read the Gallifreyan text she has written for him.
He blinks, and blinks again. Then stands, closing the distance between himself and the monitor.
“But, this can’t be right, that means…” The cogs begin to turn inside the mind of a genius, knowing for a reason he cannot come to terms with that he could not have possibly seen you on this date, in this time.
And as the realization hits him, his eyes widen, the Tardis seeming to screech in pure glee as her masterful plan is revealed to him.
“You…” He whispers in disbelief. “You punctured a hole in the fabric of the universe…to bring us to a parallel world, where…”
A soft knock at the door interrupts his bewildered and undecidedly disapproving train of thought. Leaning around the console, he frowns in confusion and, in a daze, strolls over to the door. Opening it just enough to show himself and not the bigger-on-the-inside majesty of his time machine, the Doctor unintentionally finds himself very nearly nose to nose, with you.
Jumping back in surprise, you chuckle. “Oh, hello! Blimey, talk about up close and personal!”
And the Doctor cannot say a word. In all his hundreds of years, you are the one thing to render him completely and utterly speechless.
“Anyway, sorry to disturb you and your…policey business? I’m guessing this is a new thing or I just never noticed this blue box on the corner of my street, but, is this somewhere that I can raise concerns?” You ask him, staring up at him with the most clueless and curious expression. The pain caused by the lack of recognition in your eyes is nothing compared to the bliss of seeing the life within them.
Without a word, the Doctor nods.
“Oh, perfect! There’s this guy that’s been following me home from work in the evenings and it’s really starting to freak me out. I’m not sure if I just report it to you and you keep an eye out, since he hasn’t done anything and the law for creeps is lenient at the best of times, but if you’re stationed here I just wanted to give you a heads up, I guess.” You glance to either side, as though fearful the man you are reporting could overhear, but then your eyes meet the Doctor’s again and you smile so kindly. “Anyway, that was all. Hope you have a good night and don’t get too cramped in there! See ya!”
And, like what you’ve done hasn’t just altered the course of history, you spin on your heel and walk away without a care in the world.
The Doctor closes the Tardis doors again and turns to face the console.
“We can’t be here. She doesn’t recognise me, this version of her has never met me- well, she has now, I suppose, and that is entirely your fault! But she doesn’t know me, she’s lived the days on this planet that another version of her spent traveling through time and space with me, she has stayed safe here and I cannot do anything to jeopardize that, not again, so we have to-” He stops himself, mid-ramble and mid-walk to the center console.
“Except…the other version of her, the version that we knew, she mentioned a man that followed her home, just once.” His blood runs cold. “She said that had we not met when we did, she feared what he would have ended up doing to her, and in this timeline…” The Doctor’s fists clench at his sides as the reality of the situation dawns on him. “You have given me an impossible choice. To choose between the very fabric of the universe, and saving her just one more time.” He straightens his bowtie and heads for the door, casting a flirtatious smirk over his shoulder.
“And you knew exactly what I would choose, you sexy thing.”
The next morning, you all but stumble into your office in a half-asleep state, having stayed awake far too late the previous night watching youtube videos about conspiracy theories to distract yourself from the curious, bowtie-wearing policeman you had met. Falling into the spinny chair behind your desk, you open your laptop and start tapping away to log yourself in for the day, tuning out the background noise of your coworkers doing the same.
“Ahh, (Y/N)!” Your manager’s voice makes you jump, your life flashing before your suddenly wide eyes as you sit up straight and turn to face him.
“I wanted to introduce you to John Smith, he’s a detective in the area that’s been assigned to watch over this part of town due to some unsightly folks being reported on the streets!” He grimaces at the thought, but you hardly notice, your eyes having already gravitated towards the tall, slim man with the dopey smile on his face as he watches the tiniest spark of recognition ignite in your eyes.
Standing from your chair, you hold a hand out to him. “We’ve met, actually, but I didn’t think it’d amount to this! Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith.”
If possible, the warm smile on his face brightens to challenge even the sun outside. “Duty calls! Pleasure’s all mine, but please, call me the Doctor.” He pretends to very dramatically whisper “It’s my code name.”
Unable to stop yourself, you giggle and shake your head at his antics, making the young man with ancient eyes beam.
“I’ll be surveying the area today, but this evening I wondered if you could take me on your route home, so that I can evaluate any…unsightly folks.” He says, referencing your report the day before and your manager’s choice of words.
You nod at him, smiling gratefully. “That’d be wonderful, thanks…Doctor.”
And oh, how his hearts both skip a beat at hearing you say that.
For the rest of the day, you sit at your laptop and work away, while occasionally casting glances out of the window and at the carpark below, where the curious bowtie-wearing Doctor-policeman “surveys the area”. Now, you don’t pride yourself on being knowledgeable about police work, but you are quite confident that it doesn’t usually entail climbing trees simply to sit in them or getting bored enough to begin peeping in people’s parked cars and accidentally setting several car alarms off. All the same, every glance from the window leaves you with a smile that you truly struggle to wipe from your face, even in the wake of your desk job.
At the end of your working day, you practically skip out of your office in search of the sweet fool that has offered to walk you home. You find him waiting beneath a streetlamp, surrounded by its golden glow, casting a halo over him that you can’t help to find somewhat metaphorical.
“Evening Doctor, had a good day?” You tease, knowing as well as he does that you have seen the majority of his antics.
“Good evening! I did have quite a good day, yes, did get a bit dull towards the middle, but as long as it helps keep the community safe, I will do it! How was your day?” He kindly returns your question, the two of you subconsciously starting to walk in step with each other.
“It was alright, bit dull, like you say, but we got through it!” You change the subject. “Before I entrust you with my route home, do you have a badge to prove your position, detective?”
Something twinkles in his eye at your sensibility, your desire to protect yourself, and the opportunity for him to show off one of his favorite party tricks. “Ah, of course! Here.”
Digging into his tweed jacket, he retrieves a leather bound wallet and opens it out to you. The second you have digested the words on the small piece of paper within it, you are laughing so hard you are throwing your head back.
The Doctor, in a state of pure confusion, rapidly looks between you and the psychic paper. “What? What does it say?!”
Wiping your eyes, you try to calm yourself down. “It’s safe to say your flirting is much appreciated after a long day, Doctor.”
With wide eyes, the Time Lord reads over the piece of psychic paper that has never been more accurately named than when it answered your question of his professional title with a few, simple words.
The love of your life.
And the Doctor has never flushed a more violent shade of red in all his years. With a disgruntled cough, he shoves the wallet back in his jacket.
“I am so sorry, that was not at all appropriate, please forgive-”
Nudging him playfully, you cut him off. “Nothing to forgive! As I said, I appreciated it. I know a creep when I see one, as proven, so I can tell when someone isn’t one. Translation: you can flirt with me as much as you like, pretty boy.”
He expects your flirting to fluster him even more, having not heard it in some time, but the sentiment is so familiar and by extension, comforting to him, the Doctor finds himself relaxing into your presence again, like nothing has changed.
“Pretty boy?” He chuckles.
You shrug. “Yeah, I’d definitely say you’re pretty. I suppose I’d have to, if you’re the love of my life.”
Playing along, the Doctor smiles at you, perhaps a little too adoringly. “Well, yes, it would be quite a shame if one of those statements were false.”
“Either one, in fact.” You give him a cheeky grin, the two of you sharing a comfortable laugh as you pass beneath another streetlight along your walk home that you have memorized so completely, you have all the time in the world to memorize an entirely new part of it.
By the time the Doctor walks you to your front door that evening, both of your faces ache from smiling as much as you have.
“I regret to inform, I didn’t look behind us to see if we were being followed at any point.” You say, feigning disappointment in yourself that the Time Lord very quickly catches onto.
“Ah, well, in that case, I regret to inform the same- and it’s my job! I am rubbish at this.”
His response brings another warm laugh from you. “I wouldn’t say you’re rubbish, but I think it is only fair we reconvene tomorrow evening and ensure we do keep our wits about us. What do you think?”
And the Doctor is grinning at you like you’re a tree with silver leaves, standing tall in deep red grass, beneath twin suns. A piece of home he truly never thought he would find again.
“I think I owe it to you, after my poor show today.”
With that, you’re smiling right back at him. “Wonderful! See you tomorrow then, Doctor.”
He raises his hand without really thinking about it and gives a very awkward wave, considering how close the two of you are standing, but it seems you are already accustomed to his clumsy social skills and have found the charm in them that speaks to your heart in the same way it does across every version of you. Sharing one final laugh, the two of you part ways, the Doctor beginning to retrace his steps from your house to his Tardis.
When casting one last look over his shoulder, he sees you still standing in your half-open doorway, watching after him with a lingering smile that is so beautifully familiar to him. With a more socially acceptable distance now between you, he waves again, and you wave back, stepping into your house and closing your door behind you. And with a spring in his step that was previously long forgotten, the Doctor returns to his time machine.
She is in wonderful spirits, of course, seeing her Time Lord return with such a dopey smile plastered between rosey cheeks as he recounts the day he’s had, everything you said, everything you did. The Tardis makes what can only be described as mechanical noises of approval with every new piece of information about you.
Knowing he can’t risk trying to time travel to the next morning when already breaking the rules by being in this parallel world to begin with, the Doctor decides to spend the rest of the evening and night tidying up. Something he doesn’t often do, as the Tardis will usually default to clean settings whenever he leaves a room in a mess, but she watches endearingly as he tidies away the books he’d thrown into to the library floor, polishes the railings of the main control room, and strangely, tidies away the fairy lights that you had wrapped around the bannister what feels like a lifetime ago, because you had insisted the Tardis could use a little more ‘dolling up’, as you put it. A classy girl, you had called her. No wonder she is still so fond of you.
But the Doctor had been unable to merely focus his gaze on the little glowing orbs that decorated the main control room, ever since you had last set foot in there. The reminder of your physical presence and the agony of the absence that followed was too much for him to confront, and yet here he is, wrapping them up and tidying them away like Christmas decorations that have been left up just a little too long. It is curious, the Tardis thinks. Does this mean he is ready to start processing his grief? Is he simply on an emotional high from seeing you again, to the point where he can touch the tangible reminders of you that were previously forbidden to trembling hands? Or, does he wish for you to set foot in here again and make the request for fairy lights that he will already have waiting for you? The Tardis does not know, but she knows very well what she hopes to be the truth.
The next morning, the Doctor actually decides to go on a stroll to the local shops. He had visited them only a handful of times with you before and often found them to be incredibly boring, which they once again proved themselves to be when he arrived at 5am to find none of them were open yet. Naturally, he spun around the carpark in shopping trolleys until the doors opened hours later.
At work, you sit at your desk tapping your shoes against the carpet beneath it impatiently, glancing out of the window every few seconds with a frown that you truly cannot believe is there. Are you really this disturbed by the lack of presence of a man you have known no more than 48 hours?
But when he hobbles into the carpark, very awkwardly carrying a foldable ping-pong set, you struggle to contain the howling laughter that brings tears to your eyes. You watch in absolute wonder as the strange man sets the table up against a tree he had climbed the previous day, in perfect view of the window by your desk, and then turns to wave at you, ping-pong paddle in hand and a goofy grin on his face as he points at it and the table, in case you hadn’t noticed it. Waving back and miming that yes, you acknowledge the ping-pong table he has brought with him, you shake your head in disbelief and finally allow yourself to focus on your work. Meanwhile, in the distance there is the occasional, disdainful yell of a Time Lord playing ping-pong against a tree and losing.
That evening, the Doctor is once again waiting for you under the same streetlamp, illuminated by the same angelic glow as the evening before, and you can’t help feeling that each time you see him standing under it, that becomes more and more fitting.
“Evening Doctor, what’s the final score?” You ask, gesturing to the ping-pong table that he has left in the carpark.
Scoffing and pouting dramatically, the Doctor replies. “I don’t want to talk about it, but good evening.”
In an instant, the two of you are chuckling again, like old friends that have known each other far longer than you two have. Or rather, far longer than you have known him. The walk to your home continues in much the same way as it did the previous day, except the Doctor is more aware of your surroundings this time.
“So, I said to her, y’know, that’s totally unreasonable, and then she-”
The Doctor interrupts you by gently tapping your hand with his own as they swing between you.
“I don’t want to alarm you, but we are being followed. Carry on as you were, I’ll keep watch.” He whispers, your arm immediately going rigid with fear beside him, but nodding along with his reassurances. “You are completely safe. I won’t let anything harm you.”
Clearing your throat, you continue. “Sorry, just remembered I forgot to save a file at work and made a mental note to sort that tomorrow. Anyway, as I was saying-”
Listening dutifully to your stories, as he always has, the Doctor only occasionally casts sideways glances to the opposite side of the street, where a shadowed figure is walking ever so slightly behind the two of you.
Once safely at your door, the two of you share a small smile, but your nervousness is obvious.
“Please, dont worry. After tonight, you won’t ever have to feel this way again. I will deal with him.” The Doctor tells you, voice soft but words firm in their meaning.
And you don’t know why, but you trust him completely. “Thank you. Goodnight, Doctor.”
With that, he gives you a warm smile, one that you will hold onto for the rest of the night. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”
He waits until you have stepped inside your home, closed and locked the front door, before he takes his leave. There is no skip in his step this time, his shoes thud against the concrete road with a determination and fury like no other.
Walking over to his Tardis, the Doctor rests his back against the doors and crosses his arms.
“I know you’re hiding over there, I know you like to follow her. Just tell me why.” He speaks into the street that appears empty, but in his peripheral vision, he can see the same hooded shadow that had been following you earlier, hiding around the corner of someone else’s house.
For a moment, the stalker says nothing and the Doctor is tempted to speak again, but then a voice greets him from the dark.
“None of your business.”
The Doctor laughs coldly. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong. By choosing to subject her to the fear that you have, you have made this my business. So, I’ll ask again, just once: why?”
The hooded figure considers the words and the obvious confidence of the bowtie-wearing man that leans against a police box. Based on this, he evidently tries to choose his words carefully, but not carefully enough.
“I like the way she walks faster when she sees me behind her.”
The Doctor’s blood boils in his veins. “You like to scare her?”
When no voice replies to correct him, the Time Lord stands up from leaning against the Tardis and walks over to the monster of a man that thinks himself hidden.
“Does it make you feel powerful, scaring her? Like you’re making some impact on the world?” The Doctor seethes. “Let me make myself very clear: she is one world that will forever be out of your reach, both in who she is and the fact I will make sure of it. She is under my protection, do you want to know what that means?”
Without giving the monster time to answer, the Doctor grabs him by a tuft of his hair and slams his forehead into his, sending him a shockwave compilation of the Time Lord’s most formidable and incredible moments. The paper man crumbles to the floor, a shaking mess, and the Doctor stands tall over him.
“If I ever see your face again, it will be your last day on this planet.” The Doctor threatens, voice eerily soft given the weight of his words.
Nodding frantically, the stalker scrambles to his feet and sprints as fast as he can away from the ancient god.
Rubbing his face tiredly, the Doctor returns to his time machine and collapses on the jump seat.
“He won't bother her again, she’s safe now.” He tells his oldest companion.
She whirrs pleasantly at him, grateful for him having saved you, but reiterating a question that already nags at his mind.
“After seeing my list of atrocities, it’s highly likely he’ll ever come back. We should…” He trails off, exhausted by the task of sharing his own history with another mind in such a way. Sighing deeply, he sits back in the chair. “But highly likely still isn’t definite. I should probably stay, just one more day, to be certain.”
And the next day, after another wonderful walk home with you, the Time Lord comes skipping through the Tardis doors with another beaming grin.
“Well, there’s no way he would come back the day after I threatened to remove him from the planet, and I can't leave her so suddenly without an explanation! I owe her that, at least.”
But he is only justifying the continuation down this path to himself, the Tardis holds no opposition to what would usually cause her and the fabric of reality a great deal of stress.
Before he knows it, the Doctor has done the impossible: he has lived a normal week in normal human time. He knows that without you, he never could have done such a thing. To be honest, even if he had been with you as he was before, he would have struggled with this. Having lost you and lived without you in the way that he has, he has never wished more for the most mundane parts of a life with you. All the time spent running with you at his side, facing varying degrees of danger head on, running on adrenaline and saving planet after planet - it was only when he lost you that he realized in doing all of that, he barely had the time to just walk with you. Talk about your day, the weather, your friends, the gossip about town, the slow passing of an evening instead of cramming a month’s worth of adventures into a week of traveling and then dropping you back into your normal life on the same day you’d left it. How you adjusted to both, how you effectively gave up on the life you had here, the one he has now been blessed enough to live with you, he will never know.
And on the last night of the working week, when the two of you share a look that acknowledges the fact you won’t see each other again until Monday, and you invite him into your home for a cup of tea, the Doctor feels a piece of his hearts slot back into place.
Stepping into your home, without the souvenirs and paintings from your travels with the Doctor filling every empty space, only seeing pieces of you everywhere, your ornaments and trinkets and chosen wall art - all of it sings your name to him like a prayer. It is strange, to step into someone’s home for the first time and feel a sense of nostalgia. Something feels wrong, still, but the Time Lord allows himself to be blinded by everything that feels right, the constant comfort that he feels in your presence, the peace you bring his ancient mind. Just once, he feels he is allowed to ignore the nagging in his brain. The universe can let him have this, just for a little while longer.
Having made the Doctor the best cup of tea he has ever had - simply because it is you that has made it - you inform him it is against your code of conduct to stay in your work clothes once you have returned home, and rapidly ascend the stairs, leaving the Time Lord sitting in your living room in a lovesick daze. And when you re-enter the room in the coziest looking pajamas he has ever seen, the Doctor is absolutely certain that the look in his eyes tells you loud and clear, he would do anything for you.
Flopping down on the sofa beside him, you kick your feet up on the plush footstool ahead of you. “So, Friday night, what are we saying - takeaway and a film?”
You could have asked him to marry you and the question would have sounded just as heavenly. The Doctor nods frantically, grinning after you as you briefly exit the room again and return with a box full of paper menus for various takeaway places, asking him to pick while you choose a film that you say he has to see at least once in his life. He pretends to deliberate, his eyes fixed on you as you dig through your stacks of DVD’s, but he knows that he’s going to choose your favorite takeaway and you’re going to put on your favorite film, which he has watched with you a number of times before, but cannot wait to watch again for the first time.
In the post-takeaway bloat, the Doctor has discarded his tweed jacket and bowtie, and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, while you have simply shifted your position to be snuggled into his side with your head against his chest. The two of you are snuggled under a fluffy blanket, watching your favorite movie in silence, save for your choice commentary over your favorite scenes. With your ear pressed against his chest, the Doctor wonders how you haven’t made a point of his irregular sounding heartbeats. While you have acknowledged it in your own head, something about it feels normal to you, preventing you from having any kind of reaction beyond being comforted by its sound.
And never before has the Time Lord wished to be stuck in a time loop more. If the only way he could live this day, everyday, for the rest of time, would be to play it out over and over again, he would never complain about a thing. If his moral compass had a gray area that was just a little larger, he could let his Tardis being here cause a fracture in the fabric of reality with any number of consequences, if it meant he could stay here with you. But above all else, the Doctor wishes he could have a silly little job to complain about, that everyday he could come home to your little house, cook and eat dinner with you at your dining table, laugh about the days you’ve had and yours plans for the next ones, then snuggle up on the sofa in your pajamas to watch your favorite shows until you were tired enough to go to sleep. And every night, he would carry you up to bed, looking down at your sleeping face and planning each and every night how he’d ask you to marry him someday soon.
It isn’t until you feel a droplet against your head and sit up to face him that the Doctor realizes he desires that life so strongly it has reduced him to tears.
“Doctor? What’s wrong?!”
The care in your voice, the way he can tell you already feel for him, the bond you have automatically slipped back into without even trying. He has made an imprint on your life again, he couldn’t help it. He was here to save you just one more time, to set things right so that he and his time machine could grieve and carry on, that was his purpose here, but he has gone too far. There is no logical way that he can leave unnoticed and in any which way he left you now, he would hurt you. While it would only be a fraction of the agony he has lived in without you, he cannot bring himself to hurt you in any capacity, not again.
“I have to show you something.” The Doctor tells you, standing up from the sofa and taking your hand, grabbing his jacket with the other and leading you to your front door.
It is silent as you step into a pair of slippers big enough to fit your fluffy socks in, staring up at the Doctor in confusion and concern, and it is silent as the two of you walk the short distance between your house and his police box.
Taking a deep breath, the Doctor pushes open the door and gently tugs you inside. Your legs falter behind him and he turns to face you, seeing an exact replay of the shock and wonder in your eyes as he did on the first occasion he brought you here. But there isn’t time, not anymore.
“Not a policeman, a time traveller. This is my ship, it’s bigger on the inside.” With your hand still in his, the ancient god rushes through the necessary clarifications as he leads you through the main control room, down a flight of stairs, and to the door that he previously couldn’t bear looking at, that the Tardis had moved closer to the main control room than it had ever been before.
The Doctor’s other hand is shaking as he reaches for the handle, but he cannot delay this any longer. He has gone too far.
Turning the handle dowards, he pushes the door open, the gesture weak but taking everything from him, his arm falling limp at his side. The room glows at your arrival, the Tardis sensing your return and greeting you in a warm smile. And despite the overwhelming strangeness of it all, you manage a small smile back at her.
The Doctor feels your hand slip away from his as you cautiously step into the room, while he feels an invisible barrier denying him entry. After everything, he does not deserve the right to stand in there with you.
“This universe is not the only one.” He begins, voice light as he focuses on telling you a story, providing an explanation of what came first, forcing himself to forget what came after until he has no choice but to tell you that, too. “There is an ever expanding number of galaxies and worlds out there in this universe and others, and time is like…a cabinet, with folders pressed together that are so similar, only those who know them well enough could tear them apart. Parallel worlds.”
His eyes are fixed to you as you seem to glide around the room, gaze lingering on every trinket you see, until you reach the fireplace to the left of the door. It bursts to life at your presence, flames roaring and firewood crackling, warming your slippers, but you neglect to notice that, otherwise entranced by the photographs that decorate the mantelpiece. Frame after frame, all different sizes, some photographs not framed yet, but placed there still, waiting to be stood with pride amongst the rest. Your own face, and the Doctor’s, smiling back at you in each and every one, with backgrounds of countless different places.
“I was lucky enough to meet you in a world parallel to this one. We…traveled together.” He takes a deep breath, watching you pick up some of the photographs to examine them closer, a confused frown on your face as you stare at them with such intensity. “There are planets safe in the sky, stars that sing songs of that version of you for saving them, even just for visiting them. That version of you was like…a sun, to many a planet, spreading an infectious joy wherever you went…to none more than me.” With a sad smile, his gaze drops to the floor, the line of your doorway that he cannot cross. “I took you from the planet that created you, the stardust from which you were born, and because of me, that world is now without you.” All light drains from the Doctor’s voice then, the weight of his crimes crushing the flicker of his spirit that only you could bring back. “What should have been an easy pit stop on an asteroid became the worst day in existence. It was your birthday- not that you remembered, you hadn’t been living earth days for some time, but you had mentioned how much you enjoyed celebrating and I couldn’t strip you of that human right along with everything else.” As kind as his gesture had been at the time, on reflection it is morbid, cynical and cruel. Everything he did that led you there had grown sour in the absence of you. “I took you to the largest asteroid belt in history, so that we could have a picnic there and you could take another photograph for your collection. But when we arrived…” The Time Lord swallows the lump in his throat, remembering every agonizing second as though it was happening all over again. “Colonizers, that was what they called themselves. A disorganized group of criminals; a broken cyberman and discharged jadoon, among them. They had stolen a vortex tunnel, which in itself was a terrible crime- they thought they could control one but not even Time Lords managed to master them. My history and their anger towards me for it was waiting outside the Tardis doors but because it had been clear when I’d set the picnic up, I didn’t think to scan the perimeter again. I sent you out there first to surprise you, and they-” Trembling fists clench at his sides, closing his eyes in a pained blink before opening them to a grave frown. “They’d already grabbed you and before I could say anything, they’d thrown you inside.”
Having already placed the photographs back on the mantelpiece, you watch the wonder of a man you’ve come to know crumble with shame.
“What does a vortex tunnel do?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper so as to not upset him further by verbalizing such painful memories for him too loudly.
“Vortex tunnels are a risky means of escape. They pluck you from where you’re standing and send you hurtling across space and time with no definite destination. They could send someone to random coordinates, floating in space, to certain death- there is no way to predict them.” The Doctor answers, keeping his words factual and objective to regain some composure.
“Why would anyone want to use one?” You question gently.
“Desperation. Based on their unpredictability, they are illegal and kept in stasis, but there have been cases of criminals that use them to avoid trial and execution.” He replies.
“Couldn’t outer space police track them down, or something?” You aren’t quite sure you understand the full extent of the events, feeling that certain aspects are missing and it is down to you to piece together what you can while trying to save the Doctor from reliving such pain.
“Vortex tunnels don’t just send you across time and space, they erase your mind entirely. In the highly unlikely case of someone being tracked to where the tunnel had spat them out, they have no memory of their crimes, so cannot be charged for them. The creature that they were, all but ceases to be.” His voice is light again, fragile this time at the thought of the person he had known being erased from existence and left stranded. “There was no way for me to trace you, not even with a psychic link in the Tardis, because the psychic link with you was gone, your mind as we knew it, was gone. The Colonizers jumped into it afterwards, of course, to escape me.” The Doctor rubs his face with his hands, then places a palm against the doorframe. “She’s the reason I’m here. She mourned you so deeply that she ripped a hole in the fabric of reality to bring me to a parallel world, just to save you one last time, to make our last memory something better.” His hand falls to his side. “But I went too far, again. I stayed too long, made too much of an impression on this version of you, your life here. Now, leaving will hurt you, but I can’t take you with me. Not only do I refuse to take you away from the world, the family that is yours a second time, but I cannot replace her. As similar as you are, you are not her, and I know it. Something has felt wrong from the moment I arrived and as much as I’ve tried to ignore it, I can’t anymore-“
“What family?” You interrupt him, stunning him into silence for a moment.
He is so shocked by your question, he manages to meet your eyes for the first time since opening your bedroom door. “Your family, your parents.”
Your brow furrows, expression lost. “I…don’t have parents, Doctor.”
The Time Lord stares at you, dumbfounded.
And then he’s walking towards you, stepping across the invisible barrier and breaking the distance to stare into your eyes, read what lies beyond them, a stern frown etched in his features. “Yes, you do. As different as parallel worlds can be, if you did not have parents, you would be a very different person. Your mother picked out your living room curtains, your father built the coffee table in there-”
You shake your head, interrupting him again. “Those were both part of the house, they were there when I arrived.”
Too perplexed to continue this interrogation manually, the Doctor takes your hand and all but drags you back to the main control room. Retrieving his sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket, he scans your brain and then transfers the data to his monitor, eyes reading the Gallifreyan data displayed over and over again, trying to make sense of it.
“Is there something wrong with me, Doctor?” You ask, beginning to worry based on his expansive knowledge and lack of ability to give you an explanation.
Looking from his monitor to you, he scowls. “Arrived.”
“What?” You question.
“You didn’t say the furniture was there when you moved in, you said it was there when you arrived.” His eyes slowly start to widen. “You saw the Tardis. When we first landed here- she automatically blends in with the world around her, but you saw her. And when I told you to call me the Doctor, you didn’t question it, not once. Despite being introduced to you as John Smith, you never called me that, even in private.” Slow, hesitant steps towards you, as though he’s scared to approach what you could be. “You didn’t question anything, throughout my explanation. Not the time travel, not the Tardis or referring to her as ‘she’, not parallel worlds, not the alien species I referenced, not how we met, the places we’d been- you only started asking questions in the end, about the only things that - out of everything I told you - you didn’t already know.”
His words sink into your skin slowly, your mind finding it much more difficult to digest this information than it had everything else the Doctor has previously told you, and he’s right, all of that should have raised more questions from you.
The Doctor reaches for your hand so slowly, and you don’t know why, but you accept it, instinctively. A small smile blooms on his face, the tiniest glimmer of hope as he looks between you and the Tardis console.
“She wasn’t sick, oh, you sexy thing- that’s how she brought us here, she was tracking you across time and space, pinpointing the anomaly of you, thrown from your own timestream and into another.” He whispers, bringing your hand to his lips to place a kiss against your knuckles. “If we fly away from here, if we go back to your Earth, the timeline will correct itself and you should remember everything- we can’t let this anomaly continue or it could tear apart time and space in some grandiose butterfly effect!”
And he lets go of your hand to run around the console, pressing buttons and pulling levers with an exhilarated grin on his face, the Tardis whirring with excitement, while you just stand there.
“All this time, I thought she couldn't find you, silly old Doctor! I was slow on the uptake, as usual- I hope the Shadow Proclamation can forgive any ripples in the continuum that follow this, but-”
“Doctor, wait.”
He stops suddenly, the wondrous time machine collapsing into silence.
“The fact I already trust you as much as I do and don’t feel terrified by this frankly alarming turn of events, suggests you and the Tardis are right, but…remembering an entire life that, as of now, I don’t fully recognise I’ve lived, how will that feel?” For the first time since meeting the Doctor in this world, you are scared at the thought of what comes next.
Understanding your concern, the Doctor returns to you and takes your hands in his. “Quite honestly, I have no idea, I’ve never seen the recovery process from a vortex tunnel. I can only guess that it will feel overwhelming, it could send you to sleep, but whatever happens, I will be right here, and you will be fine. I promise you. I will never risk you again.”
He holds your face in his hands, gaze locked with yours.
Taking a deep breath, you nod. “Okay.”
The Doctor smiles at you. “Keep your eyes on me and reach for the lever on your left, you know the one.”
And like it’s second nature, your hand grabs the very lever he’s referring to, bringing a beaming grin from the Time Lord as you tug it down.
With a wheeze and a groan, the wonderful time machine lifts into the sky and drags herself out of the parallel world, beginning the journey back to the one you came from. Through the time vortex, your knees buckle, winding you and forcing you to collapse into the Doctor, who holds you against him so tightly, slowly lowering the two of you to the floor to hold you on his lap, arms keeping your body safe as your mind races a mile a minute.
“You can do this, we’re almost there. Come on (Y/N), hold on, for me.” He murmurs into your ear, comforting you through the tears that wrack your body, memories attacking you from every angle.
Regardless of how happy the majority of those memories are, to experience them all at once and at the same time as all of the sad ones, the painful ones; to feel every emotion you are capable of feeling simultaneously and remembering every instance in which you have felt every one, in a microsecond; a human mind can only cope with so much.
The memories of his smile and laugh overlay every flashing image of every place you’ve been together, every species you’ve encountered, friend you’ve made, planet you’ve explored, until it all fades to black and you are empty again.
Only this time, instead of waking up in a simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar house with a mental block on how you had arrived there and no understanding of who you were beyond the corporate life you led amongst billions of your kind, your eyes flutter open to your home. Sitting in a chair beside your bed, he watches over you, your guardian angel. The delirium with which you scan the room around you, acknowledging the crackling fire and the familiarity of your bedroom on the Tardis, makes you feel as though you have slept a thousand years.
“Doctor? What-”
He interrupts you, gently shushing you. “Rest, (Y/N), you need to rest, please. Recovering and reliving your entire life all at once and in under a minute is not a normal process for anyone, you need to let your mind recover.”
Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you nod at him. “How long have I slept for?”
“Three days.”
With eyes like a deer in headlights, you sit bolt upright in bed, immediately starting to feel dizzy and the Doctor jumping from his chair to steady you, propping your pillows up behind you.
“Three days?!”
The Doctor nods. “Yes. Had I thought about this recovery process, I probably would have picked a more comfortable chair.”
Your jaw drops. “Tell me you have not been sitting there for three days straight.”
And the ancient god is silent.
You sigh. “Doctor!”
He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “If I told you I hadn’t been sitting here for three days, that would have been a lie, so I thought it best not to say anything!”
Shaking your head in disbelief at him, you shuffle to the side of your bed that is pressed against the wall. “For goodness’ sake, you ridiculous fool.” You pat the empty space beside you on your bed. “Get in here.”
The Doctor’s eyes widen. “Y-You need the space to rest!”
You hold his gaze. “Before getting to the parallel world, how long had it been since you last saw me?”
He avoids your eyes. “I wasn’t keeping count, we were just drifting while she tracked you- it doesn’t matter.”
Frowning, you look up at the ceiling. “Tardis? On the monitor above my bed, can you tell me how much time had passed between my disappearance and the two of you arriving on the parallel world, in Earth days?”
And as always, she is ever so happy to listen to you. The monitor above your bed flickers on, displaying a black screen with a single line of text.
1096 days, 15 hours, 38 minutes, 4 seconds.
Having never been particularly mathematically gifted, you turn back to the Doctor. “...How many years is that?”
But he doesn’t have it in his hearts to tell you, to admit how long he was alone for, how long he and the Tardis grieved for, how long they drifted in space while she searched for you and he tortured himself with the guilt of losing you, the hopelessness of never being able to find you again. Retrieving his sonic screwdriver from his jacket again, he zaps the monitor above your bed and then returns the tool to his pocket, hanging his head.
Looking back up at the monitor, your eyes fill with tears at the change of text.
3 Years, 1 Day, 15 hours, 38 minutes, 4 seconds.
One hand lifts to cover your trembling bottom lip, while the other reaches for his hand.
“Three years?! Doctor, that’s-”
He cuts you off. “If the Tardis hadn't taken flight when she did, it would have been an eternity, I can assure you.”
The Doctor’s words hit you like a train, so suddenly and stopping your heart with a screech before it starts again, spluttering frantically in your chest at the impact. Sniffling and wiping your eyes, you chuckle, in complete disbelief.
“Well, daft old man, you know what that means, don’t you?”
Unable to resist the urge to lift his head and see your smile again, the Doctor meets your eyes. Without realizing it, he starts to smile back at you, silently asking you to continue.
And you do, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go of it to tap the empty space on the mattress beside you again, with a tearful smile that sets both his hearts ablaze.
➳ pairing: yandere!charlotte katakuri x fem!reader
➳ summary: you adapt to your new life, and your husband shows you his biggest insecurity, your reaction surprises him.
➳ content warnings: mention of previous non-con, male mastrubation, inappropriate use of devil fruit, uhh..voyeurism? dubcon,fluff, insecurity, kinda of dom!reader/ sub!katakuri, uhh, emotional breakdown [?? idk, lol ] ooc katakuri, err marriage kink?? [ i seriously don't know ], oh! a bit of a breeding kink, a smidge of a size kink [ i mean come on, he a big boii ], emotionally vulnerable katakuri doesn’t know how how to deal with feelings, a smidge of food play, I guess implied virgin!katakuri, reader is shy yet shameless, handjob, blowjob, pussyjob, no mention of aftercare, kind of rushed ending, also first time writing actual smut
➳ word count: 8.7 k [ 8,751 ]
➳ author note: i have katakuri brainrot, and he needs some love, so it's a win-win situation. also unedited and kind of a rushed ending. Please mention any warnings I missed. Inspired by this ask. English isn’t my first language, and I accept constructive criticism and any advice :)
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It has been a while.
7 months since the wedding, maybe.
you aren’t allowed out often, the few times that you are out you are attached to him, your husband, quite literally by his mochi.
you find it ridiculous, a power that is so powerful due to its user, you saw him fight once and it wasn’t a fair fight, if you could even call it a fight.
whatever…
days tend to blend in each other, especially if its spend in just one room, sure it’s a huge room even while not compared to your ‘normal’ sized body, but there isn’t one to really keep you company.
sure, servants come and go to bring you food, clean and organize, but they don’t speak
well, not to you at least
which you also find ridiculous, you find a lot of things are quite ridiculous.
the first month was spent crying, thrashing, and escaping, trying to at least, he would always find you, or one of his siblings would.
you stopped trying to escape when he emerged from a literal mirror
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the second month was just spent…existing?
you were, are scared of him, you just spent it in a haze, you guess, you don’t remember much but you do remember the time you almost caught him with his scarf off.
It was by accident really, but before you could even glimpse at what was hidden you passed out, and woke up with an aching head, and flowers with a bunch of donuts on your side of the bed.
you didn’t really care what was under the scarf to be honest, but after that incident you went out of your way to avoid him if you even thought his scarf was off.
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the third month…, was when he ‘forced pleasure’ on you.
you guess he is a man after all….
he never did anything other than use his fingers, but even that was too much for you, if you would compare it, its like using a human cock.
well, that’s a lie…
he did use his cock once, just not his real one.
can you even consider a mochi finger shaped as one, a real cock?
you don’t want to think about it.
he never force himself at you, at least not in that sense, even when the budge in his leather pants looks so tight it may just burst.
he makes sure you are cleaned on clean sheets, then he gets off in the bathroom, and sometimes he doesn’t.
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the fourth month, is when you got invited to his mother’s tea-party, it was…nice, to go outside that is, the party itself was chaos.
believe it or not, you tend to fall into routine once you are kidnapped and aren’t allowed to get out of the room being held captive in.
so it was a breath of fresh air when you were let out of your room, and into the tea-party, and yes his siblings are a handful, and you are scared half to death from half of them , but it’s nice.
nothing much happened during the month, you don’t expect much.
…except that one instance.
he makes sure to come back at night, no matter how late the time is, he is always back, and he always gets up early, his side of the bed messy and the distant smell of him still present in the morning.
most of the time you are asleep when he gets back, sometimes you are not.
it was in the latter end that it occurred.
it was late at night, can borderline be considered a morning, no one is supposed to be awake, but you are
you were on your side, glimpses of a well-rested sleep taunt you as the door to the room opens, you don’t get up, you already know who it is, and you’re too tired to entertain his bullshit.
when you hear him call out to you, you don’t respond.
you would’ve called yourself foolish, if not for the fact that he doesn’t use his future-something-haki when he’s with you.
evident by the time, someone walked in when he was pleasuring you, and you never saw that servant again.
there is a rustling present, and it almost lures you back to sleep, except that he calls out to you again
you are annoyed, and very much on the verge of snapping at him, but you ignore it since you aren’t stupid, that is until you hear it
“darling, fuck—j-just like that”
is he…?
he wouldn’t…
“ah—you’re s-so—shit—so good”
would he?
“mmhm, you’re—hah—so sweet f’ me”
what are you supposed to do? do you turn around? talk? pretend to be asleep? ignore?
his pants continue mixed in with a couple of curses and groans, most of them are stifled and you hate that his voice alone sends blood rushing to your face and awaken a second rhythm within you.
you shift to test the waters, he doesn’t make an attempt to stop based on his noises, maybe you shouldn’t…
you ignore that part of you that says you shouldn’t, as the ‘squelnch, squelench, squelench’ drowns your thoughts.
you just wanna see, peek at his tip, see what the obscure sound is, surely his hands and cock aren’t the only thing that can produce such sounds, and bring him such pleasure, right?
it should be fine, right?
you’re his wife, it’s ok, right?
right?
right.
you slowly shift your body, trying not to make such ruckus that you do stop him, and his pleasure from escalating any further.
‘fuck it’ you think as you lay on your other side, eyes closed and make a sleepy sound, you hope it won’t deteriorate him or the situation.
his grunts don’t last another second, as everything around you stills, and silence fill the air, the sound of your deep breaths, and his harsh ones are the only thing present, seconds pass by and then-
hands are on your head, they trail to you cheek, and you feel one of his fingers trace lines on your cheek, and then they let go.
you don’t feel or hear anything after that, and you worry that you caused him to stop, and not reach his end.
not that you should care if he does cum or not.
that thought is interrupted by the noisy sound of slapping of his skin against something that continues, only this time faster and louder.
you are afraid to open your eyes, but that fear disappears when you hear his next words
“i’m going—fuck going to b-breed, you, be -hah- be a good w-wife and take it” accompanied by a loud moan.
all caution is out the window, as your eyes fly open, and what you see leaves you breathless and dripping.
there he is, charlotte katakuri, sweet commander, cold, merciless, the perfect brother, the man who brought you here, your captor and husband, fucking his fist.
his mochi fist, that looks like a cushion and is suspiciously moving along with his hips.
you don’t dare look up, eyes transfixed on his hips moving in and out of the cushion, his cock looks so big and you can even see its imprint —despite the dim lighting— from inside the makeshift cushion, his other hand is gripping the mochi with a death-grip, and you can only imagine what his face looks like.
you hate what the image does to you.
you hate the fact that you can feel your slick drench your panties, even more and then it occurs.
“f-fu—ck!”
holy shit.
you think you can cum from the image of him cumming alone, his hips stall in their movement as he cums, his thighs tense, yet shakes, and his cum spills into and out of the makeshift cushion or fleshlight or whatever; no other thoughts enter your mind other than that you want that thing to be you.
you almost scold yourself for the thought, but then he starts moving again and he do so with a whine you can’t watch it, you wish you could but you honestly think you would cum if you would do, so you take a deep breath and close your eyes.
that night you sleep to the sounds of him panting, and wake up to the same messy sheets with no evidence of the night prior other than the drench in your pants and an almost un-noticeable tear in his pillow.
it’s also the month when he starts to become least present.
sure he sleeps at your chambers with you, but he doesn’t visit or stay or talk, not like he used to, and you find it ridiculous.
you find it ridiculous that he makes you crave his presence, you find it ridiculous that he makes you miss him, you find it ridiculous that you cry yourself to sleep twice a week because of him.
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the fifth month, you snap.
he comes in one day, it's midday if you would assume, there are no clocks in your shared room so you have no way of telling, you are reading a stupid romance that can’t catch your attention, when the door open and the ‘clink, clink, clink’ of his steps appear.
you look up at him, as he shrugs off his jacket, and wanders to your shared closet.
you would have admired his back, if you weren’t so blinded with rage, you look at the mirror, think twice, shake your head then get up from your place.
you stalk towards the closet doors in the big room, and come face-to-face with his leg, oh what did you even expect?
you look up at him, as does he look down on you, he speaks first “darling? do you require anything?”
you stare, and stare and stare, a million thoughts rush into your head, a million more you want to scream at him, in the end just tears fill your eyes.
you sniff, gather all your strength and hit his leg, he may punish you but you don’t care, you are hurt.
“why did you leave?” another hit
“who do you think you are?” another hit
“you can’t j-just—just leave me like this!” another
“what? you can’t even spend time with me?” and another
“you’re so so…selfish!” another, and another and another, and then he bends down, and you break.
your eyes are closed, sobs recks your body and fills the air, your tears fall to the ground, and you probably look like a mess right now, but you don’t care.
your breath escapes in gasps, and you feel yourself being picked up, you’re so tired you can’t even yelp.
he brings you up to him, and when you open your eyes, blurry vision can barely see past his scarf, sobs, snot, tears, and even a bit of drool are falling all over his gloved hand.
god, you are so pathetic.
before you can wallow in more self pity, his other hand come to wipe at your face, and trying to save yourself from more humiliation, you go to help him, he doesn’t let you, and you don’t have the power to fight him.
your face is flushed, and you try to calm your harsh breathing that is broken by a few sobs.
once you have calmed down enough, he speaks, voice filled with an unknown emotion “I apologize darling, I hadn’t quite thought of how my actions may affect you”
you look up at him and hold his stare, after a few moments he pats your head.
you stare off at his scarf and decide to just spit it out before you chicken out “w-will you stay with me?”
his eyes soften, and you feel your heart flutter as the words “of course, my dear” are whispered into the air.
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the sixth month is…messy.
your relationship is improving somewhat, there are still awkward moments, not that you are the one to blame; after all it's not like you asked to be kidnapped.
it’s the month he lets you out the most, he takes you on walks, and strolls, he combs your hair once, well at least he tried, he makes you sleep on his chest that month, you refused at first, but he didn’t care and either way you both know that you can’t do anything about it.
you think that his chest is warm and smells like mochi, and you had asked him to take you with him when he went to do his work, surprisingly he did.
he makes you a mochi bed thingy, which you quite enjoy as it is very comfortable and bouncy. You stopped asking for it though, since he would become red in the face almost every time you did ask for one, and would sometimes leave you alone in the room.
you find being left alone ridiculous.
you find the fact that you miss him, more so.
you find yourself catching feelings, the most ridiculous fact of all.
➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
the seven month, this month is…
you are in your room, getting ready for bed, he isn’t here, however you find comfort that he would be in the morning, after all tomorrow is your anniversary, and he had made sure that he got the day off, well half-a-day but it’s better than nothing.
you are in your nightgown, about to get under the covers when he enters the room, and locks the door, which he doesn’t normally do, unless he leaves you alone in his office.
something is wrong
the air around him is tense, you can tell from the frown present on his face, and the slight rigidity of his movement confirms your suspicion that something is wrong.
you are debating whether or not to ask him when he sit on the bed, you blink and tilt your head, the question lingers in the air, you ask nonetheless “is something bothering you?”
he looks at you, you hold his stare, your frown mirrors his, it deepens when he sighs, he looks to the side.
this is new, he is usually…well, straightforward, blunt.
you sit upright when he mumble a “it’s nothing”
“katakuri…, what is it?”
he looks at you, off to the side again, back at you, closes his eyes, then sighs.
“kata—”
“I may be a monster, but I will always protect you, you may find it unpleasant, many before you have, however that won’t deter my affection for you…”
you are confused as fuck.
his eyes are on you, watching you as if you’re the only one that matters, and in that instant you feel like you are.
“it’s an unsightly matter, I will not put the blame on you, if you may wish not to view.”
what the hell does he mean?
he stops, and makes his way into the bed adjusting himself so that his face is near yours, and then he continues.
“this mark of shame that is constantly on me, i will not be saddened if you may not require to view it, again…”
you can see the intensity of emotions in his eyes, and despite all the words spewing out of his mouth, you think that you can get lost in the pretty amber.
“after all it is the reminder of my failure, a-as a brother, my imperfection…”
his hands go up into his face, you feel obliged not to look away, as if you owe him this, grips his scarf with one large hand, stays there, waits.
his breathing is hard, like he has been waiting for this moment, knows how it will end.
…and in one swift movement the barrier between the both of you is broken.
his eyes scan your face, as you do the same.
you want to laugh, honestly.
scoff at his face, and laugh at him.
for thinking all of that, and making a speech over some fangs.
it’s laughable, but you don’t.
laugh that is.
what you do is scan his face, his lips are kissable, his fangs are nice, gives him a charm about him, you wonder how they feel, are they pointy? or soft? could a nip penetrate the skin? you want to touch them, no you want them to touch you.
you want to feel them, really feel them, want to kiss them, want to feel them running down your body, want them to go up and down, want to feel them between your legs, nipping at your—
his scar stretches all the way up to his ears, and you never thought a scar could looks so attractive before, you want to kiss it, every inch of it, you want to run your hand through it, you wonder if the skin feels different there? would the texture feel different than his skin, his lips? how far is he willing to let you explore him?
you intake a sharp breath, his eyes flicker to you, right now though, right now, with his heated cheeks, laboured breath and flickering eyes, he looks so, so…
“cute.”
he blinks, you do too.
a blush.
“you’re so cute, katakuri”
your hand goes to his cheek, his eyes follows.
your thumb runs over his scar, it does feel different.
not bad…, just different.
he blinks at you, you can feel the heat rising to his cheek, when you look at him, he holds your stare for no more than a second then immediately invades it, you swore you saw a glimmer of tears there.
a few more beats and breaths, his hand stops you from touching his fangs, his eyes still haven’t caught yours.
“s-stop, it’s not—you may hurt yourse—”
his words are cut off by your hum, you can almost feel his doubt, guilt, he’s nervous, anxious, and you never wanted him more.
you slip your hands out of his, you take a large hand into your tiny ones and begin pulling it towards you as your words fill the air between you both
“you don’t believe me, hm? well, you can use your whatever haki, or…”
your eyes goes up, up, up, as the hand that you captured goes down, down, down.
“you can check for yourself…”
until it reaches below your nightgown and presses his enormous fingers into the damp spot, leaves them there.
you take a deep breath, consider your choices, this man is the one who took you, forced himself on you, you feared him for the longest time, he left you alone multiple times, felt like you were abandoned, but…
his eyes speaks volumes, there are tears and disbelief present, and that speech that left his mouth still makes it so that he is open, vulnerable
you want to take care of him, eventhough….
ah, fuck it, you think and then speak.
one.
two.
three.
“…my dear husband”
he intake a sharp breath, and stills, you swear you could see his eyes darken, his fingers push where you left them, which makes a surprised moan leave your lips.
and then you pull yourself up into him, your hands are on his cheek, a few beats then he looks at you, a frown on his face.
you pay it no mind as your lips crash into his.
a beat, then another, and another, then he responds, and oh, does he respond.
its inexperienced, messy, your lips don’t mold together, but god is it satisfying.
you don’t think you have been kissed like this before, you don’t think you will ever be kissed like this again, and in that moment you don’t think you mind it so much.
at first it's slow, then escalates and escalates, and then there is tongue, and spit, and drool, and teeth, and fangs.
you find out that the fangs do break skin, well at least the ones on your lips.
a beat, and a second, then a third, your heart throbs against your ribcage, and escalates until you are almost sure that he can hear it, you want to stay there forever, trapped into an infinite kiss but alas you are a human and you need oxygen.
you pull back, he chases after you, trapping you again against him, you smile, pull back, want to tease him yet his hand pushes your head pressing into him, he wants more and more and more.
he is greedy.
he is insatiable.
he is selfish.
but only with you.
only for you.
you put your hand on his jaw, he jolts, you break free, with only a string of spit trapping you to him.
pants escapes you, making you breathe harder, and harder, he isn’t in a better state than you, in fact you would say he is in a worse state.
drool escaping from the side of his open mouth, face flushed till his neck, you can swear there are hearts in his eyes, along with unshed tears—your heart clenches at the sight.
your lips brush against his, and he almost captures you again, if not for the grip you have on his hair, one tangled in his now messy hair, another grabbing at the nape of his neck, he groans as the grip you have on him causes you to pull on his hair. 
he presses his fingers into you, both of you are playing a dangerous game.
none of you mind.
“wait, kata…lay on your back.”
his eyes that were previously glazed with a haze clear a bit, yet there is a confused frown on his face.
“huh? b-but you—”
“shh, kata, let your wife take care of you for a split second, and relax.”
“come on, katakuri…” a peck on his lips, “be a good husband and lay on your back” another peck, this time near his fangs, “let me make you feel good” another peck, this time on his nose, his eyes flutter close at the contact.
with a groan he gets off you, and lays on his back on the bed, you follow after him, straddling his heaving chest.
your hands slowly travel along his abdomen, towards his pecks, slowly trace over each nipple, lingering there and then escalate towards his neck, to his jaw which is slack open for you, his eyes continue to follow each movement as your hands stay at his jaw a bit further.
you dully note that a past you would call you ridiculous, what you are doing is ridiculous, would probably shout at you, tell you that you shouldn’t do this with your kidnapper, the man who strike so much fear inside you, the man who hurt you for far too much, that you should hurt him just as much, and even if it was a lie call him ugly, disgusting, a monster.
you leave that part behind you whenever you press your lips to his jaw, trailing pecks over there, he jerks in your hands, you guess he is pretty sensitive there.
you hum, with a smile, and whisper in his ear “what’s wrong kata? did i hit a spot?” he shudders in response, and you get more wet at the thought that a man so big, powerful, and beefy is reduced to a shuddering and blushing mess with just a few touches.
Katakuri has no idea how to feel, or process the situation before him.
He didn’t expect your response in a million years, and the mere thought that you not only said those words but continued to mark him with your wet kisses and wandering hands makes his head spin.
and while surprise and bashfulness full him and heat his cheeks at the way you called him your husband—the tone, the hidden emotion, and the way you looked at him—he can’t deny that it turned him on, immensely.
perhaps he should feel more grateful for you and your reaction, however he can’t help feeling that maybe you do deserve to feel some level of disgust at viewing his face, that maybe you should have screamed, or that maybe you should have—oh
“Fuck”
“Hmm? now tell me dear husband of mine—” he almost whines “—where have i lost you”
he flushes more under your gaze that captures him feels like it will swallow him whole, it's lustful and full of want, he duly notes the effect you have on him, and that a past him wouldn’t be so appreciative that he is allowing himself to be weak and vulnerable.
but that’s ok.
because the past him doesn’t have you around.
because the past him doesn’t have you kissing down his tattoos.
because the past him doesn’t have you whispering hushed praises about him.
because the past him doesn’t have your lips kissing and licking down his body.
because the past him doesn’t have you willingly blushing and fumbling as you ascend his body.
because the past him doesn’t have you, just you, so tiny, and exposed to him.
his hands flex at his sides as you kiss down his happy trail, leading you to his prominent bulge that's straining against his leather pants.
you hum and look at him through your lashes, his breath catches in his throat, god he’s so weak for you, its almost pathetic.
Almost.
your tiny fingers go to his belt, trying to free him, yet as you fumble with the skull on his belt, his hands come to join you, he’s hesitant, you note “can you help me?” you encourage him and the blush is consistently increasing down his neck as he whispers a “yes”
you let go and watch in fascination the way his hands quickly and masterfully unbuckle his belt, then proceeds to remove his pants, your hands flies to his, “take those off too” you motion to his gloves.
he nodes then does as he is told, and you inspect them, you know how they feel, but seeing every little detail in them? appreciating how his hands are much bigger than yours? how are his fingers longer? knowing they could reach spots you never dreamed of experiencing?
god, they were pretty, looked calloused and rough, like they have texture, and the veins that ran down them, you could drool.
your thighs unconsciously rub against each other to gain some friction, but you remind yourself that this isn’t about you, it's about him.
“kata, kata, you’re so pretty..”
his closes his palms at that, and flexes them open, you can’t help it, your hands go to grab his fingers and bring them to your lips “can i?”
“yeah.” he says the word breathless, and you don’t wait a second before you put two fingers into your mouth, both of you groan at the contacts. Your hands goes to hold his hand and guide more of his fingers into your wet cavern, you suck on them and run your tongue under them, as response he presses on your tongue, weighing it down, you moan at the feeling, dragging his fingers backwards and forth, a few more times until you feel harsh breaths blowing into your face, you open your eyes that you haven’t even realised you closed, to meet amber ones.
Katakuri’s eyes were wide blown, watching the way your mouth sucks his fingers off like its a cock, and the way you seem like the simple act of having his fingers in your mouth has brought you pleasure, he couldn’t help it, he normally has enough self-restraint, but it was like his fingers had a mind of their own.
you are taken aback by the taste of a mochi-like substance that suddenly erupts in your mouth, and you stare at him yet find his gaze distracted at the way his fingers escape your mouth to make the liquid dribble down your chin and into his leather pants.
You swallow what you could of the liquid, and he watches with eyes of a predator as it gobbles down your throat, you lose yourself for a moment in his face, and once again you are captured by the beauty of the man infront of you.
Katakuri can feel the heat of your cunt on him, and the realization that he is the one who got you all hot and bothered turn him on more than he cares to admit, he can feel the weight of your gaze on him, and when his eyes flicker to you, he is stunned by you for a second, and just when he is about to be captured in your spell again its broken by your small “hi”, and he thinks you never looked more adorable than this, so flustered and tiny, cute little gasps escaping you, and the way you keep fidgeting around.
“Hey” his voice rumbles, a rare smile crossing his face, and the giggle that you let escape warms his heart a bit more.
The wholesome moment is yet again interrupted, by the gasp he lets out as you adjust yourself directly into his bulge, and the shocked expression, followed on by the smirk on your face lets him know that he’s in for real.
You continue your previous actions, and pull down your kata’s pants, he helps you by raising his hips and then continuing to pull them down further down, and yet again you are infatuated with the man below you. The way his thighs are flexing and twitching, they looked so muscular and you find yourself wanting to bite them, kiss them, and worship them, yet the only thing that you find more delicious is the way the now much larger bulge is wet, you’re not even sure if a man can spare that much pre, without cuming.
You wont lie, you are intimidated by his size, that isn’t fully revealed, yet you find yourself strangely aroused, you’re not even sure why, thus before you can back out, you pull down his boxers, and your jaw drops.
The way he almost slaps your face as he springs up, only to be hung down by the sheer weight of him, the way he has veins running up and down his shaft, the way he is continuously twitching and the way he throbs, the angry red tip that is all but leaking delicious pre, all that and more makes a second rapidly fast heartbeat in you awaken, and all you can think is that you want him i– no.
you need him inside you.
“Darling, y-you don’t have to do this if you–oh fuck” he is cut off by your mouth leaching on his tip, and sucking on him, you can’t fit him inside you, yet you hollow your cheeks and push more of him into you.
Katakuri is convinced he has died and ascended to a heaven-like place for monsters like him, not only is he feeling toe-curling pleasure, he is receiving it all from you, and katakuri has never felt more loved as he does now.
Laying on his back, with you pleasuring him, and both of you having such a vulnerable yet intimate moment, he would have never imagined this the day that you came into his life, not by the way you reacted at first, screaming and thrashing all around.
No, he was fully prepared to live all his life loving you while you hated him and despised him, you are his everything, and as he gasps at the way you littered him with kisses, all wet and sloppy, he can swear that he has never felt more loved and in love than in this moment.
You lick up the pre from the underside of his cock all the the way to his tip, where you kiss it, before smearing some on your lips, you lick your lips as you watch the way your hands continue to pump him, he’s so big, both your hands can’t even fit around him.
“You taste so good kata, like mochi” you giggle at the sound that escapes him at that statement, before going back to licking and sucking him, one hand goes to his balls, while the other sneaks its way to rub at your embarrassingly wet panties.
You close your eyes shut, as you hear the few groans that he lets out, his mouth otherwise covered by his hand, you would have told him to let you hear him, if you couldn’t feel that he was close.
You try your best to relax your throat, its painful you won’t deny but you know you will be rewarded with the sight of him cumming, so you push through, you force your muscles to relax, to fight the discomfort, you bring both hands to stroke his twitching length, you try what you know, your drool and his previous pre helps serve as lube.
Your eyes snap to him, intent on watching him climax, katakuri’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, his mouth is covered by one hand, drool escaping the side of it, his other hand gripping the pillow beside his head so hard that you worry about it for a moment, yet the best treat of all is his eyes, rolled to the back, and if the light focused just right you could see the tears mark down his flushed cheeks.
it’s all too much for you, and yet it proves the same for him as his hips suddenly jolts, with a keen moan–more like a whimper of your name–and then he cums, it’s sweet, yet thick and is too much, your eyes water trying to swallow as much as you possibly can, however it proves futile as after a few seconds you’re getting off him, choking and gasping for air, you try to get your breathing under control, and when you do, it’s when he just finished cumming.
Katakuri does not recall what happened the moment his orgasm has him, all he know is that the pleasure was too much, and then he was seeing stars, he barely registers the sound of choking, nothing but pleasure that he never has felt before registers in his veins, it’s as if every fibre of his being is experiencing it, and he thinks he passed out for a few moments, he cannot recall.
All katakuri knows is that by the time his eyes are opened again, he feels at easy yet so ridiculously sensitive for the first time in his life he doesn’t have the words to describe how he feels, only that he was feeling an after-glow of pleasure he can’t comprehend however that was contracting the look on your face, your eyebrows are crossed in a frown, and you had your hands holding the side of his face.
your thumb rubbing his cheek, which was a weird sensation, not unpleasant…just different; he feels exposed, like he is showing something meant to be a secret to everyone and everything around him, yet he never more close to you than at that moment, and he quite liked that, he liked having you and him alone, intimate, vulnerable together, to be able to indulge in each other like this has to be a blessing, or divine intervention to have an angel like you gifted to him.
“You’re drooling, kata”
He didn’t think he had the energy to blush even more, nevertheless you prove him wrong once again in the same night, yet the sound of your laughter makes it worth the temporary embarrassment, without him noticing a smile stretch into his face, he feels safe and content with you.
But then he remembers, “darling?”
“Kata” he can hear the smile in your voice, he takes both hands in his, and your smile flatters a bit, “what’s wrong? Did you not like it?”
He shakes his head, before pressing his lips to your palms, he’s careful not to graze you with his fangs. “No, i did, i enjoyed it quite a lot, frankly”
“Then what's wrong, do you-”
“Darling, rest, i just…”
“Hm?”
“Well, i–you, i want to return the favour…i need to make you feel good” he feels like a fool, stumbling over his words like that.
“...you don’t have to do that”
“No, I want to, I need to bring you pleasure, as the one you have brought upon me, only if you are comfortable with that too. darling , do you want this?”
“Yeah” it's breathless, the way you say it, just like he previously did and the way your lips are, it’s like every movement you make is to tempt him, tease him, it feels like a trap, and even if it was, he would gladly fall into one, if it's for you but now, now he wants to kiss you.
So he does.
You’re surprised for a moment, and he thinks that he did something wrong, before you respond back, with the same intensity. It's passionate, full of electricity and emotion, it's like two lovers have met after a long time. It's pleasant, but then it’s not. It quickly escalates, until it’s all drool, teeth and tongues clashing with each other, it’s like taking a bite out of a forbidden fruit, something that you know is wrong yet feels good, too good, both of you want more, so more you take of each other, until the moment you can’t go longer with oxygen is reached.
God, this must be the millionth time you kissed him tonight, yet you can’t get enough; you want to makeout with him forever, his lips are addicting, and the way his fangs feed that addiction is unmeasurable.
Somehow during that process katakuri managed to get rid of your nightgown, you don’t even notice until you feel one of his hands creeping up your back, and that sends signals down your spine.
The way his fingers are delicately running up and down your back, and fiddling with the strap of your bra leaves goosebumps down their path that you are sure he can feel, you would be too occupied with the thought of that if it weren’t for his lips that are moulding against yours.
You let out a gasp that is swallowed by his tongue, as he manages to get you out of your bra, he keeps a hand on your hips, holding you still with one and the other one goes to your cheek pulling you away but not before ending it with a peck on your lips, you try to deepen it drunk off the taste of him but he doesn’t let you, instead he chuckles at the whine you let out and the sound goes straight to your core.
“patience, pretty…” his voice is sharp, deep, and sends tingles all over your body, the ability of his voice and the entirety of him that has a hold on you can’t be denied any longer, no matter what you try it always catches up to you.
katakuri ‘s thumb rub over your bottom lip, teasing you, everything stalls for a moment, it's like there’s only you and him, he looks majestic like this, almost heavenly, the way his amber eyes are gazing at you, almost devouring you, and then the cold air hits you, and you realize your bra has abandoned you, almost instantaneously his eyes widen with an emotion your brain cannot decipher.
Your hands go to cover yourself, suddenly feeling shy and bashful under his intense gaze, he doesn’t say anything for what felt like forever, until he grasps both of your wrists in one broad hand, and rubs circles into the back of your hand.
The other hand still trapping you against him, almost like he needs you two to be close, intertwined with each other, desiring you, becoming selfish and indulging himself for once, and yet he will be selfish, if it's with you, never once daring to think of a warm embrace, a chance to rest, to be vulnerable with no judgement, he needs you, and you need him. It’s a simple fact, yet one that seems as a sin, and yet, yet…if a monster like him is to be able to serve you, bring you pleasure, will it be less of a sin?
“Darling, don’t hide from me..” he sounds almost hurt, as if the mere thought of you thinking you’re undesirable brings him pain, as if you’re anything less than perfect, the mere thought of you not seeing yourself as he sees you, not being treated like you deserve to be makes a flame lit inside of him, he needs to show what he sees through his eyes when he dares lay his gaze on you, and he starts by pulling your hands away.
The hand on your hips brings you further into his chest while the other lets go of your hands, not before placing a kiss on each of them, your hands land uselessly into his pecs, as his mouth graze the tender flesh on your breast, hesitantly he begins placing kisses there before taking a nipple into his mouth, the euphoria you feel from such a simple act causes your hands to press down on him, and such a simple act makes you feel a heartbeat raising under your touch.
He gains courage the longer he keeps nursing on you, one hand is already playing with your other nipple, teasing you as he rolls it in-between his fingers, he’s good at this, almost too good. A choked moan escapes you at a particularly hard twist accompanied by sharp fangs scraping your skin, it’s too much and yet not enough, your hands somehow found their way into his hair, pulling at him, and you feel rather than hear the growl that follows your actions.
“katakuri, please” your voice comes out more pathetic than you would like, yet you don’t have time to dwell on it, as he releases the bud from his mouth with a ‘pop’.
He leaves a wet kiss into your other nub before whispering against it “no one else likes seeing me like this” Your hands grips his hair harder, pulling him away from your chest, his eyes unhoded and hazed with lust takes a moment to adjust to yours, ignoring the way his saliva and cool air makes your nipples stand hard you took in a shaky breath to arrange your thoughts.
“…stop” you don’t know what else to say, this is the same man who kidnapped you, and took you by force, and yeah sure your feelings for him developed into something, but it’s complicated.
it’s within your right to be upset at him, you should curse him and after all the things he had done to you, be ingratiated to be within his vacenitg yet you can’t bring yourself to do it, you look at him and his eyes stare back at you.
There it is again, that look in his eyes, it makes you want to scream, why? why? why?
You can feel tears brim near your eyes, he blinks at that once, twice, “stop, just stop!” it comes out more than a sob than you would like, yet you can’t do anything about it, you don’t want this, you don’t—
Katakuri’s lips are on yours, his knuckles brushing against your cheeks, other hand on your back, pushing you more into him, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle, connected, pulling away just to whisper sweet nothings against your lips, apologizes spill from him, and continue doing so as his kisses trail down your jaw and into your neck, his fangs scraping along them, neither painful nor pleasurable, just applying pleasure.
You gasp as wet kisses are being planted into your collarbone and descending further downwards, yet not fast enough, large large hands busy themselves by pushing you into him, other hand hovering on your thighs, hesitant, before grabbing a handful of them.
“kata, please…” It's amazing how a couple of words can make your husband snap, as soon as these words are let out into the air, his grip on you tightens where it can almost be considered painful.
He drags you closer to him, and the feeling of countless hard years of training runs deliciously against your clothed cunt. Your moan is wet and full of sound as the first real friction of the night is received by you. Familiar fingers push your ruined panties to the side before proding against your entrance, they move slowly coating themselves in your juices before plunging into you.
The wanted touch of his makes your back arch, and suddenly your back hits the mattress, and his mouth is on your nipples again, it’s all too much stimulation, the way his fingers is constantly moving in and out of you, the way his tongue leaves marks and kisses everywhere, the hold he has on your hip bone preventing you from running away from his ministrations.
Too much.
Too much pleasure, it's almost painful.
And yet.
Yet you want more.
Need more.
Your thoughts are in a jumbled mess, and it takes way more effort than you would care to admit to speak, still you do; because as his desire for you is insatiable, so is yours for him.
“W-wait, wait, please stop!” his hands stall almost immediately, he detaches his lips from your body, and his hand is again in your cheek rubbing soothing circles into your cheek, which you lean into, before meeting his gaze.
It’s full of worry, his brows furrowed, a pout on his flushed lips—really all of him is— before asking in a whisper, as to not startle you “are you alright, darling? have I gone too much? Do you want to stop? We don’t have to–”
You feel bashful under his gaze, and the way he is so concerned for you, you try to regulate your breath, but you want it so bad, need it in you. “Hah- god no…no, no, I-I wanna cum on your cock…”
“Darling.., I–We can’t…”
Katakuri feels bad for the frown on your face, he doesn’t want to deny you it saddens him and as he watches a frown settles on your face, your lower lips wobbles, it pains him to see you like this and he is ready to apologize again, offer you another option to bring you pleasure as the one you brought him, yet his thoughts are interrupted again by you.
“We– you don't have to put it in…” your voice is small, mumbled but he is sure that he had heard you, he is confused for a moment before you say again, your voice wavering “you.., I can just rub it against me..” your hands immediately goes to your face.
He doesn't say anything, too stunned to say anything, his mind is running around trying to figure out how that will be possible.”We–we don’t have to do it…it’s ok, just forget I said anything” God, he really is terrible at this whole thing, however he won’t let his inability to express himself to you get in his way.
“Yes.” you sniffle and peek between your fingers to look at him “Whatever you want, just show me how to please you and I will.” The way he says those words makes your heart skip a beat and butterflies erupt in your stomach.
You whine as he pulls your hands away from your face, he kisses them as an apology, before his breath hits your face, “whatever you want…” he whispers, so genuine and full of emotion that you almost burst out crying, but you don’t, and the only thing that manages to slip out of you is a tiny “uh-huh”
He pecks your lips, and looks at you expectantly “lay back” he does as he is told, slowly manoeuvring his way so he is sitting with his back to the headboard. His cock is semi hard, laying on his stomach twitching every other second.
Katakuri watches you intently as you fix yourself on top of him, keeping a hand near your hips to support you whenever you need it.
Your hands go to grab his cock, coaxing a bead of pre from him, his groan makes you clench, impatiently wanting to have him against you.
“Hah, you can touch katakuri, help g-guide me” you say breathing harshly, it’s not like you can go around his whole length by yourself, you need some form of assistance.
His hands grab your hips, thighs spreading widely to accompany his size, helping you align yourself with his cock. Your clit is swollen and twitching, desperate for some sort of stimulation, his precum serves as lube mixing in with both of your juices.
Your hands are on his abdomen searching for stability before you make contact with him, an embarrassingly large moan a result of that
The drag of him feels heavenly, your eyes don’t tear away from the sight of where the both of you are mixed, your lips are spread open, you can feel every vein on his shaft, every throb of him, the entirely of him, you slid easily against him, the pre of him helping you in accomplishing that.
Your breathing is harsh, biting your lips to conceal your moans before wet lips press against yours, you gasp unsuspecting of your husband's actions, before reciprocating trying to shove and mold your tongue against him
He pulls away just just for you to chase after him missing the familiar warmth, he doesn’t let you, capturing your jaw in his hands, cupping them before breathing into them, you’re practically breathing each into each other and sharing the same breath.
“Please…” you’re not above begging and thus you find yourself with a thumb in your mouth and his dark voice whispers into your ear “don’t hide, darling, speak to me, let me hear you…” you don’t think, you just nod, desperate to have him against you again “i need to hear you say it darling…”
“I-I won’t hide…just please” He can never deny you, your head is thrown back yet you can feel his gaze on you, moans escape both of you—an indicator and reassurance of the pure bliss and ecstasy you both are feeling.
He guides your hips making you feel the drag of your clit, so puffy and desperate against his cock, feels like paradise to you, the only thing that would feel better is having him inside of you—but that’s for another time.
You’re enthralled to have him like this, countless nights you have been spending thinking of a moment like this, with him, charlotte katakuri.
Your husband.
You can feel the coil in your stomach reappearing, you won’t last long—that you know, yet as you look down on your panting husband you feel the need to hold off your orgasm a bit longer, in hopes of seeing him cum.
His face is concentrated, and all scrunched up, the warmth of your cunt against his frustrated cock is nothing like he had imagined, and he distinctly notes that he can’t go back to a mochi cushion after feeling you since he can never replicate the feel of your pussy, something so divine.
Any sense of rationality katakuri has disperse as he hears your voice, high pitched, whiny and desperate—so heavenly to him “I’m gonna cum, please, wan’a cum, fe—ah!—feels good”
Your hands dig into his skin, and his speeds up, frustrated desire accompanies him, intent on watching you unfold before his eyes, he can feel his end too, never imagining something like this could feel so good.
“Go ahead and let go” and just like that with a broken moan the coil in your stomach snaps, it feels beyond heavenly to be rewarded after such a long time, and katakuri keeps you upright with a hand while the other still stimulates you, makes you ride off your orgasm and he keeps going even your orgasm washes over you in waves, it’s too much stimulation for your brain and body, no coherent thoughts are present in your body “too much, ‘s moree pleaseee….”
“Fuck.” with a curse word that seems too improper for your husband, he manages to cum for the second time of the night, semen splattering all over his stomach, his grip on your is the only thing keeping you stable from falling into his heaving chest.
The afterglow of your orgasm basks you into sleep, you’re sure when you wake up in the morning your body will be filled with bruises and an ache in your muscles, but you can’t seem to focus on that with the way your husband’s voice lures you to sleep, baking you and consuming you whole.
“Darling, you did so good, I didn’t hurt you, did I? Was I too rough? Do you require a—“
warnings: none but it goes along with what the pic implies
a/n: look ik this is like the 3rd one of the characters I've written from the movie but like uquiz even declared I got a thing for older men so I get a pass okay
pic from pinterest
It was clear that he was independent by nature – among other things – but despite that streak in his character, he could still admit when he needed help. Given the fact that he had a permanent limp he used an ornate cane for on top of his advancing age, it became evident that he needed someone to help out around the upkeep of his expansive and elegant home. As for me, I needed work and he offered the best pay with a surprisingly minimal amount of difficult work, as well as absolutely no hostile verbal confrontation that some other wealthy bosses I’d worked for in the past. It was a miracle job and I did my best to keep it that way.
Though, part of me was curious as to how he earned his living before retirement. I never saw him meet with anyone from his past work, no evidence of what subjects it dealt with, and he never spoke of it. The only thing I could determine was that it paid extremely well for him to live like this in an early retirement. He spent most of his time inside the house, asking me to run errands for him and having his grandson visit him at home. There were rare occasions when he went out himself and, even then, only in a hat with nondescript clothes. Maybe it was a simplistic personal style, or he really didn’t want to risk being recognized. Either way, he was always cautious and measured in everything he did.
He always seemed to be busy with some important task and looked very professional doing it, even though I was the only other person around. Whenever I spoke to him, he also always seemed to know just what to say through proverbs or his own eloquent words. Just judging by his demeanor, I could’ve guessed he was some kind of sovereign or diplomat if I didn’t figure that something a little shadier had been his actual job. I saw a little peek of a tattoo between his shoulders when he changed out of an outer layer and his clothes shifted, which confirmed my suspicions about his former employment.
With only the two of us in the house, things usually got fairly quiet and I would join him in whatever he was doing, keep him company. Though, regardless of how many times he told me to call him by his name, it seemed wrong to speak to someone of his character without the utmost respect. Even if he told me funny riddles or vague anecdotes outside of his professional life and listened to anything I said as attentively as a best friend would, I couldn’t bring myself to cross that line.
I thought I needed the reminder. This was a job, I was keeping house for him, he paid me, he was my employer and not my friend. As kind, attentive, charismatic, refined, and everything as he was – and as much as I appreciated all of those qualities – I kept mentally pushing to distance myself from him. He could see it, I could tell, and he would encourage me to drop it yet never push too far. The furthest any of this had gone was when I had arrived on an early morning to find him sniffling from a cold.
Somewhere through the process of playing doctor and wondering how he could’ve caught a cold, I ended up with the task of making his hair neat. I never saw it completely loose the way it was then, black strands silky across his shoulders with just the roots greying out. He was drinking a soothing cup of tea as he sat down, patiently letting me work a comb and my fingers through his hair. The usual style he sported wasn’t one I knew how to reproduce so I did my best in just braiding the top half of his hair, leaving the rest loose. Something about the grateful smile and words he gave me afterward made me think I needed to back away from him; my reaction had internally been a little too strong.
So I busied myself with tasks like ironing out every last piece of clothing in the house that was iron-able, under the excuse that it would be prepared for wear at any given moment. Meanwhile, he was busy in his office. Or so I thought, until I heard his voice call my name as he peeked into the room I was in with the ironing board and iron.
“Yes sir?” I asked, raising my brows in expectation.
“First, drop the ‘sir’.” He pointed out with a teasing smile. “Second, please come to my office when you finish what you’re doing.”
“Yes s- Yes, Mr. Kimura.”
“That isn’t necessary either.” He chided kindly, stepping back out of the room and walking back to his office.
I finished going halfway through my monumental busy-work task and went to his office, unplugging the iron while I was away. He wasn’t sitting at his office desk as I expected, but scanning the backs of the many, many books on his shelves with his chin intelligently raised up. Softly, I knocked on the door to announce my presence and he gave me a subtle gesture to come in. Since he wasn’t at the desk, I just walked over to him and kept a few paces of distance between us for propriety’s sake. He stepped between me and the bookshelves, walking to my opposite side so I was closer to the wall as he turned his attention to me.
“You’ve grown away.” He remarked, his dark eyes kind with concern as he looked into mine. “Have I offended you in any way?”
“No, never.”
“Are you not comfortable being here?”
“No, it’s lovely here.”
“You did not argue that you’ve grown distant yet neither of my two assumptions were correct. Would you care to explain? I won’t be offended if you’ve found a better offer somewhere else, I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep you here with me.”
I folded my hands in front of myself, not really sure what to tell him. My gaze drifted down to the floor and I could see my hands fidgeting while a subtle heat rushed through my chest then up to my face. There was no good way to explain it. I didn’t want him to think I was being unprofessional or feeling something unprofessional towards him. But I didn’t want it to sound like I was shifting the blame onto him for being so friendly and I sure as hell didn’t want him to stop being so kind to me.
Taking a breath, I tried to answer him as vaguely as possible: “I think… well, maybe it’s just that I thought it might’ve been unprofessional of me to get too close to you. I only work for you.”
He was still smiling faintly, “You may work for me but I won’t treat you as though you’re beneath me. Is it too much?”
I shook my head while it was hanging downward, “No s-, No, I think maybe I’m just not used to it.”
His gaze softened when I looked up at him again, “How difficult your life must have been with people who treated you with disrespect or disregard.”
I could almost feel myself shaking, subtly and just in my hands. People didn’t just speak like that, or at least I’d never met anyone who spoke like that to me. To describe his words as compassionate would be accurate but it wouldn’t convey the intensity of the reaction they had on me. I could feel the empathy he was extending towards me in a way that made me seem to understand the difficulties of his past life weighing on his chest too, to see it dimly shining in his dark eyes. The warmth and swell of my heart made me wish to confess everything to him. Maybe it was a skill he honed in his previous work experiences but I couldn’t think of any situation in which he would’ve employed this method of extracting emotional vulnerability in some world of illicit business with dangerous people.
“Are you alright?” He asked softly, his hand gently reaching over one of mine.
I nodded as I felt a perplexing combination of lightness and the weight of the different things I was feeling. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I seemed to let go of any sense of filtering myself as I spoke: “Yes, I just- I don’t think you know what you… how I think of you.”
His smile grew slightly, the wrinkles near his eyes crinkling in deeper, “Somewhat fondly, I hope?”
I pursed my lips before making an admission, “More than just a little fondly.”
A soft chuckle sounded from him as he raised his hand from lightly cloaking one of mine to the side of my face, with the reserve and caution of feeling the smooth polished white marble of an invaluable, archaic sculpture’s face. I could see the grace and control of his demeanor as he observed my countenance, deciding what to make of my confession. My gaze lowered while he held my cheek to try ensuring that I faced him. But I was still afraid, thinking he would diplomatically tell me off or refuse the affection hiding behind my vague words.
“I share your fondness, Y/N, though I… I am unsure if it’s the same kind of fondness.” He politely prompted, occasionally searching for just the right words to use.
I could feel my hands trembling as they were folded together and the impatient nerves of held-back sentiment running along my spine, wearing down any sense of composition I had left blocking me from acting upon them. All it took was for me to blink and take the leap, my hands gently resting over his shoulders as I stepped forward. My eyes shut, letting me sink into the feeling and be blind to his initial reaction. This was my answer to his implied question: my lips on his as my fingers caught between the silky strands of his dark hair and I felt everything pour out of my heart in the gesture.
The instinctive tensed flinch in anticipation of his reaction eased when, after a few seconds, I realized he wasn’t going to push me away. I parted breathlessly and looked at him with scared eyes, trying to read his expression from my risky action. Maybe he would’ve been too kind to physically stop me from it but a stern talking-to would be coming now that I had parted myself from him. The stinging little prick of tears in the corners of my eyes and hammering of my heart between my ears made me feel sick with anxiety of the unknown. He had to tell me something or I’d very well pass out on the spot from how overwhelmed I felt.
“Please say something.” I whispered in a trembling tone, my hands slipping down from his shoulders.
“I was hoping you would share the same sentiment I had for you.” He answered mercifully, a wise smile across his face. “It seems fate brought you to me and I could not be more grateful.”
gn!Reader in one car with Holland March in the middle of a traffic jam
Gif by @adoresbenho
A/N: Tell me, would you read a fanfic about Ryan Gosling's five-minute role as a lecherous elf on snl New Year's episode? (this sounds so crazy, but Ryan is so cute with the pointy ears, bangs, and tall hat... I just need to write it.)
Summary: Agency partner Chitach once again gets stuck in a traffic jam with Holland;
Song I recommend: Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen was just made ror Holland;
Word count: 724 words;
Nice reading!
It was just another morning as the third member (counting from the moment of join, although Holland always argued with Hilly to take over as "second" as if it were something really important) of the detective agency. It was just another morning traffic jam in Los Angeles, the only advantage of which was extra time to shave or drink a cup of coffee. After all, as it turned out, working as a detective requires punctuality, which in the case of Holland March was a big problem. So from the very beginning of the day, you were in a hurry, rushing to get things done, and only during irreparable traffic jams could you afford to exhale.
Holland could finally shave, and you could have a cup of strong coffee instead of breakfast.
For such occasions, Holland even kept a thermos of coffee and mountains of plastic cups in the car. No matter how many times you persuaded him to get rid of at least half of them, he categorically refused, calling it a "necessity of life." Well, given that he also used them to drink his liter-long supply of alcohol, it's not surprising.
The only thing that remained a mystery even to the three detectives was why a jar of whipped cream kept appearing in the glove compartment of his car. Although you had a bold guess that after you told Holland that you loved whipped cream coffee, he took it too much to heart.
"Do you think Healy is there yet?"
You asked, sipping from your cup.
"Oh, yeah, Mr.I'm-right-on-time-because-this-is-an-important-job has been there since sunrise."
You couldn't help but laugh out loud at that. The special relationship between your two partners couldn't help but make you laugh, literally, every day.
Holland beamed with pride when he managed to make you laugh.
"Oh, and also..."
But another laugh from you didn't let March finish his sentence. But what could you do? Still, the naive look on Holland's face with a piece of shaving foam on his cheek was more amusing than you could have imagined.
"Pfft... Ha-ha, wait..."
You reached for his cheek to brush away the remaining lather as Holland watched you in pure embarrassment. His eyes looked even more confused when you were a few millimeters away from his face.
However, you quickly returned to your seat, showing traces of white, puffy foam on your palm.
"Is that what made you giggle so much?"
This made you think back to that unsuspecting look on March's face, caught up in his own joke, and made you laugh uncontrollably again.
"I'm sorry... You just looked so cute."
"Did I?"
Holland leaned closer to your seat, scrutinizing every part of your face. You were about to ask what he was going to do, but...
"Aha! Found it!"
His head came as close to yours as possible, and he touched something near the tips of your lips with a triumphant exclamation.
"Is that cream? You're such a sloven."
Holland's finger did indeed show traces of cream from your coffee. And your partner seemed to be expecting some kind of funny reaction from you, looking expectantly into your soul, but you were honestly not in the mood for it... Still, your heart was still racing from being so close to Holland. For some reason, when there were so small distance between the two of you, you began to feel strange jolts inside your chest.
When you barely regained consciousness, the only thing you could do was to move your whole body as close to Holland as possible, making your partner's eyes widen in surprise once again. You didn't know what was driving you at that moment, but you knew you had to work, and you were within a pinkie nail's distance of March's face.
"You're one to talk..."
You ran your fingers through Holland's mustache, wiping away the subtle streaks of shaving foam that had started this whole thing.
Although you wanted something like this, you hadn't expected Holland to do it first. That he would push forward, quickly crossing the short distance between you, and confidently touch your lips. Of course, you immediately returned his kiss.
It seems that car horns were already blaring behind you and angry drivers were furious, but for now you were too busy with each other to pay attention to such trifles.
summary: reader is exhausted with her boring life. So, she makes a wish. the Doctor gets a message on his psychic paper. Will she let him rescue her from the dull life she lives?
Every day was a repeat of the last. A mundane life on a neverending loop. And Y/n couldn't help but feel that she was missing something.
She placed the last of the pots she had been drying into the cupboard, before she exhaled and gazed out of the window. It was a dark and starry night, with the moon just barely luminating her overgrown garden.
And again, as routine, the same thought popped into her mind. 'There has to be more out there. There has to be more to life than this.'
More often than not, the assumption was merely fleeting, in one second, out the next. But today, for some unknown reason, the quote stuck with her. Almost like it was urging her. She tried to ignore it, attempting to busy herself with more cleaning, but when she rotated her head around the kitchen, unsurprisingly, she found it to be spotless.
She huffed, placing her hands on the countertop as she stared out of the window. "I can't believe I'm doing this." She muttered to herself, inhaling deeply before closing her eyes.
And she made a wish.
She regressed to her childhood antics. It was common for her to wish when she was younger. Back then, it felt right. It filled her with anticipation as she awaited for her dreams to morph into reality. But now, standing grown, she just felt silly.
Hesitantly, one of her eyes opened, followed by the other as she stared around in expectation. Of course, nothing had changed. Her shoulders sagged a little as she shook her head, feeling humiliated despite no one else being a witness to her behaviour.
"Stupid Y/n." She scoffed at herself, pinching her eyes shut before turning to stalk out of the room.
However, she halted midstep at the sound of crashing coming from her garden. With a raised brow, she spun on her heel and ran to the window. A blue box had made its claim on a patch of grass, causing her to narrow her eyes in confusion.
She crept out of the door, shutting it lightly as she walked into her garden. She studied the strange blue box for a few seconds, daring to move a little closer.
Her hand was formed into a fist as she held it in the air, debating if she should knock on the door. Though she didn't get the chance to make a decision as a tall man suddenly staggered out, the blue door closing behind him.
Instantly, Y/n backed away, staring at the stranger with wide eyes.
"Oh!" He exclaimed upon noticing the woman. "Hello. This your garden?" He asked, circling the spot before coming to a stand still.
Y/n's lips parted as she stared at him in surprise. "Who are you?" She found herself asking, words tumbling out before they even registered in her head. "How'd you do that, then?"
The man furrowed his eyebrows, observing the house and woman before him. "Sorry, am I at the right place?" He asked, shoving his hands into his trench coat. "I'm the Doctor," He began to explain, lifting one hand out from his pocket whilst the other remained. "I got a message. Thought there was danger?"
Y/n looked as he flickered open the paper, her eyes further widening more than she believed was possible. The little piece of paper read, in her handwriting : 'Please, someone, something. Please. Just save me.'
"That's my wish!" She said, pointing at the paper. "How'd you get my wish?" She continued, almost accusationary.
"Your wish?" The Doctor repeated in bewilderment before enquiring. "So, you're not in danger?"
Y/n crossed her arms across her chest, then informed him. "I don't think so."
"Right. What do you need saving from, then?" He questioned, genuinely curious. He was a little calmer than he had expected himself to be, considering he made a house call for apparently no reason.
Y/n's cheeks tinted a little and she ducked her head to stare at her feet, the ground beneath her suddenly becoming interesting. "Just...this life." She mumbled.
The Doctor's eyes softened at her statement. He could understand it. Had anyone forced him to live his lives stuck on one, admittedly boring, planet, he'd probably be driven to insanity.
"Well," he started, dragging out the word. Y/n looked up, the heat in her cheeks finally cooling. The Doctor nodded to behind his shoulder. "I have a box."
"A box?" She quirked in amusement, small smile settling on her lips.
"A box." He confirmed, a smile of his own forming. "It's called the TARDIS. Stands for Time And-"
"Relative Dimension in Space." The woman spoke along with him, before she recoiled, face blanching a little.
The Doctor narrowed his eyes, wrinkles forming on his forehead when he looked at her sharply. "How did you know that?"
"I'm not sure. Just, sort of, whispered in my mind." Y/n replied truthfully, her right hand clutching the locket adorned on her neck. "Always happens."
"Hmm," He said, taking a few small steps forward. "What's your name?"
"Y/n." She answered easily, trying to ignore the way her body wanted to retreat as he stood directly in front of her. "Y/n Y/l/n."
He watched her for a few seconds, his eyes drifting from hers then to the locket she was toying with absentmindedly. "Do you mind?"
She shook her head, allowing him to take it from her grasp. His fingers lingered on her hand shortly, a little flame igniting in the both of them, but he ignored it. He flipped the jewellery over, a small gasp leaving his lips in surprise. "Where did you get it?"
Y/n shrugged nonchalantly. "I was found with it." She spoke softly, though a little unnerved at how easily she was giving him this information. "Turned up on my mum's doorstep, no note, no warning. Only thing I had with me was this."
The Doctor tucked it back into her shirt, where it had been prior, then stepped away. "Is it important?" Y/n questioned.
He paused for a few seconds, and in those seconds she could see the disbelief roaming in his eyes. But eventually, he lifted a dismissive hand. "Nah," he replied evasively. "Porbably not."
"So, Y/n Y/L/n, coming?"
She laughed a little, confused. "Coming where?"
His gaze remained on her as he pointed to the blue box. "Anywhere. Anywhen."
His reply was cryptic and a fuddled expression sat on Y/n's face. "You're not making any sense."
The Doctor smiled happily when he fondly clarified. "It's more than a box, you know. It's my time machine. We can travel anywhere in time and space."
"Rubbish." She denied, beginning to think he was a madman. He chuckled, shaking his head in joy.
"I'm being honest!"
She pondered on the thought for a minute. Somehow, he did receive her wish. And the box had appeared from nowhere. Though it did seem a little bit farfetched. Surely there were some realistic explanations. She rushed between thoughts but couldn't think of any. So, she accepted what the bizarre man was saying as fact.
"Why me?" She asked, cautious.
The Doctor tensed slightly, now avoiding eye contact. "Been travelling by myself for a bit. It's lonely." He whispered. "I don't like to be alone."
Y/n took a deep breath, nodding her head as she revealed: "Me neither."
His head slowly looked upwards, excitement in his eyes. He saw the eagerness in hers and smiled widely, lifting out his arm and wiggling his fingers. She smiled too, reaching forwards and accepting his touch.
"Screw it." She whispered. "let's go travel through time and space."
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