#gentle angst

[thewritersaddictions]

The Pitt: Dr. Whitaker - If It Were Obvious

Pairing: Dr. Dennis 'Huckleberry' Whitaker x Fem!Resident!Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Distress, Angst, Medical Content, Exhaustion, Burnout, Mild Language, not very good communication, trying to be better, start of a new relationship, Doctors in love with each other, angst/fluff, trinity santos saving the day. Trinity helps you two figure out your shit. Mentions of Perlah, Dana Evans, and Dr. Abbot.

Summary: Dr. Whitaker is a quiet man when it comes to showing someone that he loves them. He acts rather than speaks, but some people need both to understand.

A/n- @ Firefly-graphics for the dividers.

WC- 3.8k

The Pitt Master List

The hospital glows with unnatural fluorescent lights, and it’s far too bright for just how late the clock on the wall, and at the bottom of the monitor says. The ED is mostly calm, most of your patients for the night have fallen asleep or are doing just fine. There you sit at the nurses station, your attention divided between the half finished chart on the screen and just staring at the blinking cursor on your screen. 

Your shift still isn’t over for at least another hour, so time just drags on and on. It’s Perlah that is dragging you out of your stupor, “You okay?” She asks you with a certain kind of concern etched into her tired features. “Huh” is the first word that leaves your mouth. She gives you a shake of her head, and repeats her questions. A small laugh gets pushed out, “I’m all good, Perlah don’t worry.” You unfortunately don’t sound very convincing. 

She gives you a look that you’re certain she’s learned by the charge nurse on the day shift. You hesitate, and then far too tired and worn out to properly sensor yourself, the truth comes mumbling out of your mouth. “I don’t really think… I don’t think he cares.” It takes Perlah a moment to understand what and who you’re referring to, she takes a glance down the half empty hallway. “You mean Whitaker?” 

You give her a small shrug of your shoulders as if the words that are now floating around in the air have no real meaning at all. “He’s just so… clinical. He likes that with everyone and that somehow also includes me.” You reach up dragging your tired hands over your temples to ease the small headache that is starting to grow due to the ED lights. “I really do try, you know? I make sure he’s got his coffee at the start of the shift, I make sure to stay late whenever he does, and he just doesn’t seem to notice. He just…” You give Perlah a vague little nod. “Nods at me.” 

Perlah brows furrow as she looks down at you, “He can be emotionally guarded if that’s what you’re referring to.” Perlah offers, “I know.” Your voice cracks as you try to hold yourself together and steady yourself at the same time. “Whitaker is a good kid, he’s a great doctor too.” Perlah adds, “I just feel so… so stupid like I've made everything out to be way bigger than it actually is.” The sound of echoing footsteps doesn't alert you to anything as the ED is always bustling. 

You and Perlah may not notice, but Dennis does. The R1 had been making his way back from radiology when hears you. You sound tired, and worn out to the very edge of morning. He takes a quick glance down at his wrist watch and sees that the night shift is almost over. He hasn’t stopped moving until the words hit him like a punch to the gut. 

“I don’t think he cares.” Dennis nearly ends up flat on his face when the sheer force that over takes his body. His boots squeak against the tile flooring. He takes a moment. His heart is beating so fast in his chest that he thinks he might be going a bit tachycardic. It’s absolutely ludicrous how much your words seem to hurt Dennis. 

But he doesn’t dare show it, he takes a second to collect himself and continues on his way. Finding his way into a consulting room that is empty and shutting the door as quietly as he can. His hands shook as he pressed his weight into the counter. Letting his mind replay every single word that he had heard. 

As if he’s watching a vhs tape being rewinded on the tv. He sees how he rearranged his schedule for you, so you won’t be alone on the night shifts or the day shifts. The simple way he has gotten all your patients memorized before the wellness checks come in from the nursing homes, so he can ease the work load without making it way too obvious to you. Or the way he watches his wrist watch like a hawk making sure that you’re ushering yourself off the floor and into the locker room when you’re supposed to be off.

Yet somehow here you are, talking without anyone thinking that he doesn’t care about you at all. 

The clock moves inch by inch as you sit down in the break room. It smells like burnt coffee, and stale danishes. You had gotten a bottle of water from the back of the fridge before taking a seat down at the table, you picked at the label aggressively as if the label had personally accused you of some wrong doing. You don’t hear anyone else enter as you continue to pick away at the sticky label. 

The R2 doesn’t give you more than forty seconds before she’s clearing her throat and scaring you so much that you drop the plastic water bottle down to the tile. “What’s got you spiraling alone in the break room, Crush?” She asks, her arms folded and crossed over her chest. “I’m not… I’m not spiraling.” Trinity rolls her eyes before looking down at your water bottle. 

“Is that why you’re destroying that damn water bottle as if you’re taking revenge for something it did to you.” You sigh and shake your head as you reach down to grab the forgotten water bottle off of the tile. “Can you just not, Trinity?” There is no bite behind your words, just a twinge of something sad and dark. Instead Trinity takes that as the right to sit down and lean back into the chair across from you. 

“Oh I know what this is about.” Your brows nearly touch as you look up at her quickly. “This is about Whitaker?” You freeze in your spot, your eyes going wide with shock. You’re not exactly surprised that Trinity knows something is going on, she’s very observant and can see tiny details but tends to be blunt about her findings. “No…” You take far too long to answer Trinity just stares at you the same way Perlah had. 

“Who are you trying to convince, Crush? Me or you?” She asks, “Cause you’re terrible at it if you’re trying to convince me. Just so you know.” Your shoulder drops along with the water bottle. “I just don’t… I don’t understand him.” Trinity pops a brow up and hums. “That’s real, specific Crush.” 

You let out an involuntary groan as you let your head fall back. “He’s just… and he’s so…” You let your arms fly around for a few seconds. “He’s just Dennis.” You mutter. Trinity huffs out a laugh, “So that really narrows it down to Dennis being emotionally constipated but Dennis also being morally sound.” 

You laugh regardless, “I do try.” You say with a heavy sigh. “I’m sure you do.” Trinity offers. “I flirt with him, I mean I subtly flirt with him, and all he does is blink at me with his mouth open like a fish out of water.” Trinity shakes her head. “I’ve lived with him long enough to know that Huckleberry does that with everybody.” Your brows shoot up and you lean over the table. “That’s my point, Trinity.” 

Trinity leans in, her elbows digging into the table, throwing the table off with a slight wobble. “So then what did he do?” Trinity asks, “It’s what he hasn’t done, and that’s nothing” You mutter softly, “That’s the problem, ya know?” You ask, praying that Trinity understands what you’re saying in just a few words. 

“Oh.” Trinity nods as if the R2 has somehow solved some complex diagnosis that only someone of a longer tenure would have been able to solve. “What you’re lookin’ for is some verbal affirmation, and confirmation.” She offers the solution. “I just need something, anything.” You admit with wide eyes. “Literally anything that just tells me that this isn’t just in my head and it’s real, or at least isn’t one-sided.” You let out with a little huff. 

Trinity takes a long moment to study you. The frustration is written all over your face, but so is the love and admiration you have for Huckleberry. “Alright, Crush.” Trinity finally says. Reaching across to grab your hands. “How about we examine the evidence.” You groan and go pull your hands back, “Please, Don’t.” You mumble, fearing that she’s just gonna end up teasing you. 

“Come on Crush, We’re doing this right now.” She says dropping your hands and starting to count on her fingers. You watch with confusion. “When you needed to switch your shift, who did it for you?” She asks, you stare at her for a moment. “Dennis.” You answer. Remembering that you hadn’t seen Dennis working at all the next time you came into work only to be told by Trinity that he had taken a shift for someone else. 

“And who was it that gave you half of their protein bar without making it into a big deal because you hadn’t eaten yet?” Trinity asks. You remember it clearly as day. You hadn’t the chance to eat anything, between a MVC with at least three separate cars involved, and triage being backed up due to the holiday. You’re hesitant to answer, but you do anyway. “Dennis.” 

“Who stayed with you on your trauma case even though Dr. Abbot told him that he was reassigned to another case?” The R2 asks with a certain smugness. You just stare at her, going back to the trauma case, it had hit far too close to home for you. Your hands shook as you tried to push through the feelings that were rising quickly through your chest and making it hard to breathe. You remember hearing Dr. Abbot told Dennis that he was reassigned, but he didn’t dare move from your side for the rest of the night. “Did Dennis get in trouble for that?” You ask, finally coming out of your thoughts. 

Trinity waves your questions off, “Plus who’s walking you to your car after shift, Crush?” She asks with a raise of her brow. Trinity looks far all too knowing and smug as your blink over at her from across the table. “What?” You ask clearly lost. Trinity just tilts her head to the side, and looks generously surprised. “Huh, you didn’t know.” 

You feel your stomach drop into the pit that you wished would just eat your whole and make you disappear. “I didn’t know what, Trinity?” She squints at you “That Huckleberry here times his exits with yours. Every single shift.” You take a huge breath in, and feel your chest tightens as you try to breath out. “No he just… that’s not… he’s probably just…” The entire sentence dies on your tongue. 

“Dennis does not just do anything.” Trinity starts to explain interrupting your stammering. “Dennis makes sure to calculate everything he does.” You go quiet in your seat across from Trinity. “Crush, Dennis doesn’t do it out loud.” She continues as she reaches across the table and grabs your hands once more. “Dennis is consistent though, and always will be, so with him that’s fuckin’ everything.” 

You stare at the connection of your hands in the middle of the table. “I might have told Perlah earlier that I thought he didn’t care.” You say with a small sniffle. You hear Trinity take a sharp inhale, and wince. “Ohh, that’s ouch.” “I wasn’t…I didn’t mean it…I was just…” You stammer, as your voice softens, “I just… I don’t wanna feel stupid.” 

Trinity gives your hands a gentle squeeze pulling you back from your thoughts. “You aren’t stupid, Crush. You love a little differently than Dennis does. You just love out loud.” She says with a small shrug of her shoulders. “Dennis loves through actions.” The huff you let is wrapped in the emotions hanging around in the back of your throat. “But what happens if I’m wrong?” You whisper the fear bubbling up in your chest. 

Trinity lets go of your hands and stands up dropping her now empty coffee cup into the trash can. “Then you’ve gotta ask him, Crush.” She says making it sound so simple. You look up at the R2, “You make it sound so easy, and simple.” “It is simple, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. You’re both great people with very very advanced degrees in something that is far harder than expressing emotions.” 

You roll your eyes at her, Trinity throws a smirk over her shoulders. “You could always just keep suffering on the daily.” You chew your lip, “It would be very on brand for this fucking ED.” You sit there a moment, deep in your thoughts. “So you think…” She cuts you off with a quick.  “Yes.” She answers before you can finish. “You don’t even know what I was gonna ask?” She rolls her eyes at you, “I always know.” You let out a shaky breath. “Dennis is just so hard to read.” 

It causes Trinity to pause at the door. She looks over her shoulder. “Dennis looks at you as if you’re the only thing stable in this entire building, probably the only stable thing in his entire life besides me of course.” She says quietly meaning every single word. “You’ll never see it because he’s very good at being subtle when it comes to you.” 

You feel your heart stutter in your chest. “Plus for whatever it’s worth to you.” Trinity tacks on, “That man out there always without a beat misses looks absolutely wrecked when you aren’t here.” Trinity opens the door back up to the loudness of the rest of the ED. “Go talk to him, seriously before one of you ends up combusting with all these festering emotions and feelings.” She says turning on her heels leaving you to sit there in the break room for a moment longer. 

The clock on the ED wall tells you that you’ve got just another twenty minutes left in your shift. You finally find Dennis, he looks like he’s been stuck staring at a CT scan. You bite your lip to hold a laugh back when you realize that he’s hadn;t even flipped the image over once. 

“Hey, Dennis.” Your words pull the man out of his stupor, making him nearly drop the ipad to the floor. He shakes his head and takes a quick glance up at you, there is a second where you can see his face before the mask of professionalism takes over and you take a step back. Wincing internally. “Do you need something?” He asks coldly. 

You swallow and run your hand through your ponytail. “Did I do something to offend you?” You ask. Dennis is quick to answer, a little too quick that it seems rehearsed. “No.” You don’t care anymore, you grab at this bicep and drag him into an empty consult room, shutting the door behind you. “You’ve been avoiding me, Dennis.” You say your voice is wet with emotions. “I’ve been working.” He tries to correct you. 

You shake your head and look down at the ipad, “You weren’t even scrolling, you were lost in thought.” You argue. There is a heavy silence that takes over the empty room. You’re staring at Dennis, and he won’t dare look at you, his eyes casted down at the tile. You breathe deeply in and exhale hard. You’re hesitant at first before you ask the question, but push through. 

“You heard what I said to Perlah?” There is a solid beat before Dennis is looking up at you, his eyes are sharp, and so clear under the fluorescent lights. “So it was Perlah you were talking to.” You feel your stomach drop and land back in the pit beneath you. “And yes to answer your question.” You cringe at the cold tone that Dennis has with you.

“Dennis I didn’t mean…” He cuts you off. “The thing is you did,” He’s so calm and so controlled that you wince at his tone. You take an experimental step closer to Dennis. “I was tired, Dennis.” You offer him as a flimsy excuse. “I know that.” Dennis says calmly, no matter how calm the man is you can see how his jaw tightens and twitches as he grinds his teeth together. 

It’s the only visible crack in his perfect aura. “You seriously think I don’t care… care about you.” Dennis adds quietly. “I can’t see it.” You admit to him honestly, Trinity words echoing through your mind as you push further. “You don’t let me see it, Dennis.” You tell him. Dennis finally, really looks at you. He lets his eyes gaze over your shoulders and then land on your features. “I will stay here until I know that your charts are complete.” He tells you. 

“I honestly thought that you were just being nice, and maybe a bit of a perfectionist.” You admit to Dennis. His shoulders drop, “I will always swap your cases if I can see that it’s getting too heavy for you.” Your brows knot together because Trinity hadn’t said anything about that. “And I always make sure to review your labs before you can even come to me and ask.” 

Dennis' voice lowers just a little, but it still sends a tingle of warmth down your spine. “I make sure to keep an eye on your vitals. Especially when it’s veen a horrible fucking shift.” His words echo in your mind's eye. ‘Your’ vitals, not your patients but you. Dennis keeps an eye on you. It may be nice to hear from Trinity, but it’s ever better to hear from the source of your affection. 

Your chest tightens from the sheer amount of love this man shows just can’t say to you, “And I even make sure to wait up for you. I time my exits with yours so you don’t walk to your car alone.” He adds at the end. “I know…” His brows shoot up, “Trinity told me.” You admit to him. He lets out a slow breath. “So you think I don’t care because what…I don’t touch you in the middle of the hallways. Or because I don’t verbally say it in front of every single person in this ED?” He asks, taking a step closer to you. 

There is such little space that stands in between the both of you that you can feel the heat coming off of Dennis. “Here’s the thing, I notice everything.” You hum, nodding your head. His words land so heavy that it has tears brimming at the bottom of your lashes. “I just don’t know…I was never able to be loud about it before.” He admits to you with a sadness in his voice. 

“But that doesn't mean that I don’t feel it. I do.” Your eyes tingle, and you feel the first tear roll down your cheek. “Oh Dennis.” You manage to mumble out. “I’ve never made grand gestures.” He says calmly, “But I can surely do it consistently.” He tells you. “So Trinity was right about that.” Dennis lets out a huff of annoyance. The hospital is still humming away on the outside of the door. Waking up and becoming more and more alive by the passing second. 

You take the final step into his space, carefully unsure of what steps are the right ones to make. “Can you tell me?” You ask Dennis, the whisper sounds so loud in the empty consulting room. “Even if it’s just once.” You add. You watch Dennis face contort as the man hesitates. He seems to be measuring the moment before even opening his lips to respond, but then the moment is cut off by his voice echoing in the room. 

“I care about you.” Dennis says so steadily and calm, so certain of the words that have been put into the air around you now. “I care about you more than is professionally advisable, more than HR would like for me to care about you.” You feel a smile tug at your lips as you let out a broken laugh. 

There is a type of relief that comes flooding the room, your knees feeling weak from Dennis admission. It’s no longer one-sided, it's no longer something that is festering in the back of your head every single day of work. “God you’re such an idiot." You whisper out your voice trembling and thick with emotion. 

Dennis only tilts his head so far, his brows pinched together. “That was so uncalled for.” He scoffs. “You couldn't have just said that, Den.” The nickname slips through your lips with a familiar ease. “I thought I made it pretty obvious, sweetheart” You roll your eyes, but blush at the sweet nickname. “If it were obvious we would not be having this conversation right now. Instead I would be kissing you.” You say with a pout. Then softener you look up at Dennis.

“I don’t need to be loud, Den.” You say. “I just need to know that this wasn’t some one sided, in my head sort of thing.” Dennis looks at you with a warmness that flows over your entire body. His hand reached for your waist hesitantly. The touch is firm and ground but still careful around the edges. “It isn’t in your head, sweetheart.” He promises. You just rest your forehead against his chest. The material of his scrubs are cool beneath your skin pushing the blush away. 

Dennis is still hesitant as he rests his chin on top of your hair. It’s the subtle things that Dennis does, but now knowing you know it’s all intentional. “I’m still learning, so give me some grace.” You hum, “I’m learning too, Den.” You whisper. He presses a hand into your neck and makes you look up at you. 

“Can I get that kiss though, before someone comes calling for one of us?” Dennis asks, the blush is back with vengeance on your cheeks, you give a nod and with that your lips are pressed up against his own. They may be a little chapped, but Dennis tastes like coffee, and a half eaten protein bar that you know he’s got in his pocket. 

You pull away and blink up at him, the moment is smashed when someone calls for “Dr. Whitaker!” He groans and drops his forehead to meet yours. “I’ll walk you to your car.” He offers. “Please.” You whisper, but he doesn’t let go of you yet. “I’ll be right there!” He shouts to the voice on the other side of the closed door. That’s how you know Trinity was right. 

Posted on 02/18/26

[aventurineswife]

I hope you don't mind if I request something wild and out there. XD

For 3 Amphoreus characters of your choice, the reader ends up becoming an non-human Amphoreus creature! I'll leave it to you which ones you want to play with. There's the usual Dromas, Chimeras, and Seals, but there's also the Dryads from the Grove or the living flames of Georios too.

Have fun! ^_^

“You Were Still You, And That Was Enough”

Tags: Anaxa x Reader, Castorice x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Non-Human Reader, Droma!Reader (Anaxa's part), Chimera!Reader (Castorice's & Phainon's parts), Soft Moments, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gentle Angst, Found Family Vibes, Mutual Understanding, Platonic/Implied Romantic Undertones, Protective Behavior, Non-Touch Intimacy (Castorice's part), Post-Transformation Bonding.

Warnings: Mild Angst, Themes of Loss/Grief, Light Emotional Vulnerability, Transformation (Didn't describe), Brief Mentions of Death, (Castorice’s part), Physical Contact Avoidance (Castorice's part), Subtle References to Past Trauma.

The first time Anaxa saw you after your transformation, he didn’t speak.

Not immediately.

His one visible eye swept over your towering new form, the corners of his lips twitching as though caught between a frown and the smirk he refused to let you see.

“…You’re ridiculous,” he finally said. “Absolutely absurd.”

Your head dipped slightly, an involuntary movement in this unfamiliar body.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he added sharply, stepping closer. “I’m not… sentimental about dromas.”

His tone was defensive—too quick. His hand hovered for a moment before brushing against your scaled neck, fingertips tracing a ridge like he was cataloging data.

“You’ve retained stability of gait,” he murmured, half to himself. “Stronger musculature, perfect balance. Yes, yes, yes… this is—” He stopped short, snapping his gaze back to yours. “…It’s tolerable. That’s all.”

When you nudged him gently, he stumbled a half-step, scowling. “Careful. You’ll crush me, and then who will be left to keep you from eating rocks? You’re still you, you know—still hopeless in your self-preservation.”

But when he turned to walk away, you caught the faintest upward curve at the corner of his mouth. His voice carried back over his shoulder:

“Come on, then. If you’re going to be my research subject, you might as well make yourself useful. I hear dromas can outrun temple guards… though I doubt you can.”

You landed softly on the worn steps of Castorice’s chamber, the muted flutter of your wings/thumping of your tail against the floor catching her attention. She froze in the doorway, lavender hair shifting with the wind, eyes widening for only an instant before a soft understanding settled over her features.

“…Oh.” Her voice was quiet, reverent. “It’s you.”

You padded toward her, but she stepped back, her gloved hand curling at her side. “I can’t,” she whispered. “You know I can’t. My touch…”

The distance between you felt heavier than stone. You tilted your head, making a small sound—part question, part reassurance.

“I wish I could,” she said, a faint tremor in her voice. “To hold you like this… without fear. But if I do, it might be the last time.”

Instead, she knelt, close enough for you to see the faint cracks in her composure. “Your colors are different, your shape changed… yet I can still read you. The way you shift your weight when you’re impatient. The way you tilt forward when you’re curious.”

Her gaze softened, like the snow-laden dawns of her homeland. “I’ll make you something—something you can carry. A piece of me, since I cannot carry you.”

And so she did—sewing charms and soft ribbons, never touching you, but always near. In the evenings, she would sit by the window, speaking poems into the air. You stayed by her side, and though she never once laid a hand on you, you had never felt more held.

The moment Phainon spotted you in the market square, he froze mid-step, disbelief flickering across his face before recognition broke through like sunlight.

“…No way.” He knelt quickly, arms out as if expecting you to leap into them. You did—and his laughter was immediate, warm, and a little choked.

“You’re… smaller,” he said, holding you carefully, “but still heavier than you look. Guess that’s one thing that didn’t change.”

Carrying you away from the bustling streets, he talked like nothing had happened—about the patrol route he’d just finished, about the stubborn blacksmith who still owed him repairs. But when the two of you reached a quiet overlook, his voice softened.

“I’ve lost too many people,” he admitted, stroking the air just beside your head before letting his fingers rest on your fur. “I don’t care what shape you take, I’m not letting you be one of them.”

You chirped—a small, bright sound—and he smiled in return. “See? That’s still you. And if you’ve got wings (or tail) now… well, I guess that means I’m gonna have to learn to keep up in the air (or land), too.”

He set you on the low stone wall beside him, eyes fixed on the horizon. “We’ve still got a dawn to see. You lead, I’ll follow. Always.”

When you nudged his arm, he chuckled and tapped your forehead gently. “And don’t think this gets you out of training. Chimera or not, you’re still my partner.”

[salemrph]

The taste of apple and pomegranate

Ch. 1: This is your fault

Nav: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Ch. 11 / Ch. 12 / Ch. 13 / Ch. 14 / Ch. 15 / Ch. 16 / Ch. 17 / Ch. 18 / Ch. 19 / Ch. 20 / Epilogue / AO3

Summary: You just wanted to survive university, not fall for either of them—let alone both. Two handsome idiots who somehow made your apartment their second home. You, Sylus, and Caleb were supposed to be just friends. So why does everything feel like their is more going on?

Character: Sylus x f!reader x Caleb // Tara, Rafayel // AU - College, Student

Genre: romantic, fluff, intimacy, humor, friends to lovers, poliamore, slow burn

Word count: 3k | Reading Time: 12 min | AO3

A/N: This one’s more of a short, episode-style story. I just wanted to have some fun throwing these two into everyday situations and seeing what kind of chaos unfolds. Hope you enjoy the mess!

Tag list: @thechaoticarchivist @peacedreamer14 @blessdunrest @strwberriiblnde @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusqt @sakuraneko-sakupanda-chan @peacedreamer14 @escapeis @plzdonutpercieveme

Chp. 1: This is your fault

The clock blinked past midnight, and your fourth beer of the evening was dangerously close to becoming a fifth. Your apartment was dimly lit, warm from too many bodies and old radiator heat, littered with half-eaten snacks and scattered notes. A half-empty pack of cigarettes lay discarded on the coffee table, nestled beside a ridiculous lighter: a fluffy kitten pattern grinning up at you with the defiant, stupid quote “I have other 9 lives.” The scent of stale beer and cheap ramen hung heavy in the air, almost comforting, now mixed with the distinct, masculine perfumes and deodorants of your best friends.

Caleb was hunched over his laptop at the far end of the couch, still typing furiously. “Stop drinking so much, Pips,” he muttered, not even bothering to glance up.

You rolled your eyes, stretching your legs across the coffee table, with a sigh that was 50% relaxation, 50% resignation. “It’s my beer, my apartment. Let me live.”

In the background, your chill playlist hummed, the kind you usually put on when you're drinking. You were right at that sweet spot, alcohol just starting to expand in your veins, making everything feel kinda hazy and good. You knew your brain was about to start overthinking something, probably something dumb.

The melancholic melody filled the silence: "I always want you when I'm (coming down)," the song played softly, what a sensual song, you think. Something silently ignited something deep within you.

You took a long sip from your bottle, the cheap lager almost tasting good enough to forget the rising frustration about your non-existent dating life. Your gaze drifted across the dimly lit room, landing on Caleb's focused profile. Your eyes snagged on his hand, currently flying across the keyboard. The same hand that had, more than once, casually hoisted you over his shoulder after particularly wild parties, or carefully bandaged a scraped knee from a clumsy fall. Around his neck the apple necklace you present him hung against his skin. Your eyes followed the line of it, down to where his t-shirt to his white bandages wrapped around his forearm, a fresh souvenir from his last basketball game. Your gaze traced the edge of it, then drifted, admiring the solid curve of his bicep. You avoid biting your lips.  

From the other side of the room, sitting at the dining table, Sylus offered a lazy, noncommittal hum, his eyes similarly fixed on his own monitor—stock charts, forex rates, and whatever other wizardry he used to casually rake in ungodly amounts of money. The man was practically a walking, breathing hedge fund, and you still didn't get why he was bothering with university. He could probably buy the entire campus and turn it into his personal empire without blinking.

He sipped his espresso and with a soft click, he closed a tab where he'd apparently just bought a stock at a very good price. His glasses, an expensive, minimalist frame, perched casually on the bridge of his aristocratic nose, drawing attention to the sharp line of his jaw. Your gaze followed the elegant curve of his long fingers as they clicked another tab closed, his nails perfectly manicured. He was dressed, as always, in something impossibly chic yet understated – a dark silk shirt, the sleeves rolled precisely to his forearms. He had this overall presence that just radiated 'out of reach'. Yet, you'd had the bizarre, almost illicit privilege of glimpsing a lot more than just his designer clothes. Like those warm summer nights when he'd showered at your place, the sight of his lean, powerful body illuminated by the glow of your bathroom light burned into your memory. The first time you saw it wrapped in the towel, you swear your nose was bleeding.

He continued searching for other gadgets and artifacts at auction sites. “You should at least drink something imported.”

You shot him a look that could curdle milk. “Not all of us are billionaires by twenty-four, Sylus.”

He just smirked, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips, not bothering to deny it. Bastard.

The days and months had started passing more and more quickly since those two insufferable idiots had crashed into your life.  Sylus and Caleb were a little older than you, but not by much, two or three years at most. They were both part of the university basketball team and knew each other from a few overlapping courses in their respective majors.

You still didn’t quite understand why Sylus was studying engineering when he was so absurdly good at business and finance. Over time, you realized he was a tech nerd and was always creating things. A true genie. Caleb was another natural talent. He’d told you more than once about the summers he spent dismantling and rebuilding cars just for fun. His real dream was to become a pilot, but apparently, he didn’t do well on the psychological assessment.

Out of respect for the simmering frustration you'd glimpsed beneath his usual easy going demeanor, you'd never pressed on what that test involved or why he'd failed.

Sylus, with his ever-present “don’t bother me” energy, was, along with Caleb, one of the main attractions on campus. Wherever he went, people noticed. He drew attention without even trying, but never seemed interested in anything or anyone in particular. Most of his time was spent glued to his laptop, tracking stocks, studying currency shifts. He should’ve been a goddamn broker. About two years ago, he’d made a fortune literally overnight, landing him on the cover of a few important financial magazines. Yeah, just casually.

You, on the other hand, were still somewhat unsure whether the career path you’d chosen was really what you wanted. But instead of figuring it out beforehand, you’d decided to figure it out while doing it—which, honestly, felt like the most brilliant idea you’d had at the time.

Caleb let out a heavy sigh, finally tearing his gaze from his screen to meet yours. “You’ve been off lately, Pips. What’s going on?”

You let out a sharp, exasperated breath, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. You weren't entirely sure if this was the right topic to drop on the guys, but honestly? You didn't give a flying fuck. They were your friends. They could just cope with your impending mental breakdown over whatever fresh hell was brewing in your life. So... 

“I haven’t been on a date in months. Everyone either ghosts me or cancels last minute. I swear to god, I'm starting to think I'm cursed. Or hexed. Or...” you squint at them both, a wave of drunken suspicion washing over you, “sabotaged.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Sabotaged?”

You pointed a wobbly finger, barely managing to keep it steady. “Don’t act innocent. I bet that you have something to do with that. Probably you have scared them off. You're a pair of overprotective guard dogs."

Caleb let out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head. "You’re reading too much into it, Pips."

Sylus didn’t look up. “If they were scared off that easily, they weren’t worth your time.”

"He's not wrong," Caleb agreed, a light mocking smile playing on his lips. 

You stared at them. How these two insufferable, brilliant, competitive idiots who couldn't go ten minutes without throwing shit at each other but still managed to be friends, is a mystery for you. You took another long sip from your bottle, eyes bouncing between the two of them. They didn’t even deny it.

The last guy who looked at you flirty at the library suddenly found his entire research paper deleted from the shared drive, and Caleb was “just” helping him out. Which ended, according to rumours, in a threat with the smile of an angel. And how about the coffee shop guy? Cute. Charming. You actually went on a date with him. There was chemistry, flirting and potential. You’d even texted Tara that you had a good feeling. Then you casually mentioned to the boys that you’d met someone. A day later? Ghosted. Like a goddamn phantom. It couldn't be a coincidence. It couldn't. 

“Oh, really?" you countered, your voice rising in disbelief. "What about the guy in my peer study group, huh? He got a death stare from both of you. I practically had to convince him you two weren't going to bite him.” You slammed your bottle down on the coffee table with a thud, the sound punctuating your declaration. “You know what I think?” you declared. “If I can’t go on a date and you little shits are messing with my dating life, theeen… guess what?”

Caleb’s expression shifted from detached amusement to a wary curiosity. Sylus raised a single eyebrow.

“You two are going to fix it.”  you stated.

Caleb lets out a dry laugh. “Fix what? Your dating life?”

Sylus finally closed his laptop, his lips curling into a subtle smirk, clearly amused by where this is heading. “And how do you propose we ‘fix’ this, sweetie?” he purred with a hint of playful condescension.

“You’re fucking responsible for my needs,” you declared, waving your hand like you were pronouncing a royal decree. “Congratulations.”

The room falls silent. The alcohol has clearly reached your brain, and you haven’t yet realized what you were trying to say, let alone the seismic shift they'd just triggered in both their minds.

Caleb blinked slowly, like his brain had momentarily disconnected from the rest of him. "...What?"

Sylus's response was flat, almost dangerously so “Define needs...”

"Human touch! Kissing! Sex! The whole damn package!" you exclaimed, throwing your arms out in exasperation, your voice rising in a frustrated crescendo. “I'm practically wasting my colleague's year because you two. You’re like gods,” you continue, voice rising while standing up on the sofa, mimicking your parallelism “sitting on Mount Olympus, throwing lightning bolts at anyone who so much as looks at me sideways!”

You stopped, chest heaving slightly from your own dramatic flair, glaring at them both. Caleb massaged his tempel, Sylus simply took another slow sip of his espresso, his smirk widening as he leaned back against the chair.

“So let me get this straight, pipsqueak,” Caleb began, but then it hitched, his mouth suddenly dry. "You're blaming us for the drought in your love life, and your solution is...?"

“I’m saying,” you cut in, sitting back on the sofa. Taking the almost-empty bottle and pointing accusingly at both of them, “if neither of you is going to let me date literally anyone, then maybe you should be the ones handling the consequences. Physically.”

Another long pause stretched between you. Caleb looked completely baffled. Sylus, ever composed, finished his coffee. 

“Well,” he said, voice smooth as sin, “this escalated nicely.” He stood up and walked over to the sofa. With a quick movement he snatched your bottle out of your hand. “You had enough of this,” he said, tone light but firm, leaving no room for argument. You blinked at him, half-offended, half-flustered, and pouted, like a little girl who'd just had her favorite candy snatched away. “Such a bold kitten we have tonight…”

Then he leaned down, close, his body nearly caging you against the cushions. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent a potent mix of espresso and his usual spicy and woody perfume. He examined the bottle, tilting it slightly, then let out a quiet sigh, as if he'd just connected the dots and realized your little outburst was the predictable consequence of cheap liquor.

But of course, he wasn't letting you off the hook. Not when you'd just handed him such a delicious opening. So he leaned in a little closer, playing it up, his voice dropping to a low, seductive murmur.

“If you wanted to upgrade our friendship to something with… benefits, you could have said it earlier.” His eyes flicked to Caleb, a quick, mischievous glint, daring him to match the energy. Caleb, not one to back down from a challenge, closed the remaining space between you. His body radiates warmth, and a grin spreads across his face. 

“Alright honey,” he murmured. His fingers brushed your jaw, light, teasing caress that sent shivers down your spine. “This is next level.”

Your heart was hammering now—between Sylus’s velvet voice and Caleb’s proximity, you were seconds away from full combustion. Your skin prickles. Your face burned, a furious blush creeping up your neck. You’re too aware of how close they are. Of the heat rolling off their bodies. Of the way your knees suddenly feel too weak and the air in your lungs refuses to behave. You swallow hard. The heat of the alcohol combined with the heat of your own mortification was a potent cocktail. What were you even thinking? Sylus was probably already calculating the market value of your desperation.

You did the only thing your overwhelmed brain could manage. You shoved them both.

“Okay! Nope!” you blurted, scrambling to your feet like the couch was suddenly on fire. You sighed, dragging a hand down your face as the heat in your cheeks caught up with your mouth. “Nevermind, I’m drunk.” You stood up, wobbling a little from the beer and embarrassment. “Forget it. I’ll talk to Tara.” You didn't even bother glancing back as you snatched your empty bottles, the glass clinking as you stomped toward the kitchen. “Apparently a new hot art student has joined the campu, so maybe I’ll get a chance.” you murmured more for you. Behind you, silence. Caleb blinked at Sylus. Sylus blinked back. And then, like a perfectly timed glitch in the universe, both spoke at once:

“Hot art student?”

Caleb was already flying over pictures on social media. He obviously knows everyone on campus, and it would only take a couple of messages to find the guy in question. A few seconds later he pulled up the profile. Caleb clicked his tongue and a slight spasm made his face twitch for a moment. Without a word, he tossed the phone across the couch. Sylus caught it one-handed, gaze flicking down with mild disinterest. He studied the screen for all of two seconds before the corner of his mouth twitched. Violet hair, clothes with light, almost theatrical cuts. A flamboyant guy named Rafayel.

You peeked around the corner, raising a brow. “You two shouldn’t care who I date or fuck.”

Sylus leaned back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other. “Kitten,” he said, that dangerous softness in his voice. “Do me a favor, okay?” You tilted your head, already bracing. “Raise your standards.”

You straightened up, trying to project an air of nonchalance you absolutely did not feel. 

“Are you suddenly volunteering to step in and save me from a life of celibacy?” You crossed your arms, daring them to answer. The silence stretched with unspoken possibilities, with implications that made your skin prickle. You cleared your throat awkwardly, waving a hand dismissively. “Gosh… It was a joke. I mean, obviously,” you added quickly. “I’m not actually... I just—ugh, whatever. Just go home, both of you. I need to sleep.”

You turned on your heel and started toward your room, absolutely refusing to make eye contact. 

Behind you, Caleb chuckled under his breath. “Sure, Pips. Jokes. Good night.”

“Sleep well, kitten. Try not to dream about moody art boys who can’t find your G-spot.”

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the apartment. Your heart was racing. Your skin was on fire. And all you could think was: You were never drinking around them again. Never. Again. Your cheeks are still blazing, and you can practically feel Sylus's smirk through the door. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. And Caleb, that traitor, just egging him on. They love this, don’t they? Love seeing you flustered and embarrassed. This whole situation is just a mess. 

Why did they have to look at you like that? Like they were actually considering it. Caleb, with that flicker of genuine concern and something else you couldn’t quite decipher. And Sylus… Sylus with that infuriating, knowing glint in his eyes that always made you question everything, every boundary, every assumption you had about him.

What were you trying to do? Was it a pathetic attempt at making them jealous? You couldn't deny that you'd been more than a little attracted to them when you first met them. How could you not? Their sculpted bodies, the way their muscles flexed under taut skin, their easy confidence. You've seen them shirtless too many times… Sweaty post-game, fresh out of the shower, pants slung far too low. Honestly? They should open an OF. Just for you. So you could enjoy the view in private, without having to explain why your brain short-circuited every time they took off their T-Shirt. 

You’ve gone too long without a decent date. That was the only rational explanation. Now you’re sexualizing your friends. Which led to dangerous, fleeting images flashing through your mind, so vivid it made you swallow hard. Both of them, staring at you. Cheeks flushed. Foreheads glistening with sweat. Their eyes dark, locked onto you, devouring you. Their voices rough. Almost in sync, whispering your name with a heat that makes your hair stand on end.

An electrifying sensation shot through your entire body, hitting all the wrong places. Or maybe the right ones. Your breath catches. You slap a hand over your mouth, fast, stifling the sound threatening to escape. A very involuntary and absolutely needy moan that rises from somewhere deep in your chest. 

You blink hard, shaking your head like it might rattle the fantasy loose. God help you. No. You’re not going to think about it. You were going to take a cold shower and pretend this entire humiliating, sexually charged conversation never happened.

Release every 1-2 week

Nav: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Ch. 11 / Ch. 12 / Ch. 13 / Ch. 14 / Ch. 15 / Ch. 16 / Ch. 17 / Ch. 18 / Ch. 19 / Ch. 20 / Epilogue / AO3

Back to MASTERLIST

[mythboundcal]

The Last Person to Say My Name That Way Naruto (Kakashi) Fanfic by MythboundCal

He dreams of her in water.

Not the battlefield. Not the mud and blood and the moment everything went wrong. Just… water. Still. Cool. Quiet.

Rin sits with her feet in the stream. Not smiling, not angry—just there. Like the past didn’t happen. Or maybe it hasn’t yet.

“Kakashi,” she says, and that’s the part that breaks him.

Not her face. Not her voice. But the way she says his name. Like it still means something good.

He doesn’t speak. Not yet. Not in these dreams. He just sits. A little downstream. Close enough to feel the ripples.

“You still think it was your fault,” she says after a while, plucking a petal from the water. “It wasn’t.”

“You died,” he replies. The petal slips through her fingers.

“So did you,” she says.

That part stings. Not because it’s untrue—but because she says it without blame.

Kakashi stares at the water. There’s no reflection. There never is.

“I’m not looking for forgiveness,” he says.

Rin hums. “Good. Because I’m not offering it.”

A pause.

“I’m just here.”

And somehow, that’s worse.

Because he wants to be punished. He wants her to scream. To cry. To make him say it out loud. But Rin… is just kind. Like she always was. And it guts him in ways the war never did.

She stands. Water doesn’t cling to her feet. She leaves no footprints on the grass.

He doesn’t look up. But she touches his shoulder. And for a moment, his whole body remembers what it was like to be chosen without effort.

“Try again,” she says gently. “And let someone say your name the way I used to.”

She fades before he can answer. She always does.

But when he wakes up, Kakashi whispers it to the ceiling anyway—

“Rin.”

And the way it echoes in his own voice… almost sounds like hope.

[smlmsworld]

A Stucky work from the

Not Without You anthology

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary:

"I know how it is," Wanda said. "Being half of something. I would go anywhere if I knew he was there waiting for me."

Notes:

This story was written for the Not Without You anthology. Many thanks to Bohemienne for organizing that (especially all the editing), and to dancinbutterfly for invaluable advice on writing Jewish Bucky! Fair warning: this story seems to make a lot of people cry. Like. A lot.

Illustrations by pium_poetam!

Snippet:

Bucky drew back, giving him a final soft kiss.

"I'll be okay, Steve," he said quietly. "I'm not gonna lose anything I'm better off having. This is like cutting out a cancer."

Steve swallowed hard and didn't make any of the arguments he'd made when Wanda first offered this last-ditch answer to Bucky's programming. Is this moment a cancer? Was last night a cancer? The moment you chose to pull me from the river, the moment you broke their control, the life you made for yourself for two years on your own?

But Bucky had already answered that: they were collateral damage, a necessary sacrifice. The cancer was Hydra, the programming they'd sunk into him that had resisted every other attempt to remove it. This was the last best chance, and without any hope of being rid of those triggers, Bucky had been close to giving up completely. This wasn't about losing Bucky; it was about saving as much of Bucky as they could save.

"I'm not gonna lose you," Bucky added, curling his fingers into Steve's shirt.

"Never," Steve agreed. "Soon as you wake up, I'll be with you. I'll finally get to be the one to show you around the future."

♥♥♥

[deardiary17]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler Additional Tags: pregnant Rose, interspecies pregnancy, very gentle angst with a very happy ending, Romance, Chips, Mood Swings, allusions to love making but nothing explicit

Summary: How Rose and the Doctor deal with the domestics that imminently come with pregnancy.

Inspired by this moodboard by @gingerteaonthetardis .

Notes:  This is for Abbey, a lovely person who brightens days of anyone who knows her. Abbey, this was inspired by the moodboard that you created a couple of days ago. Probably not what you imagined…still :)

She is lying on her belly on the floor by the koi pond. Well, she tries to, because she’s actually lying on her side, one hand in the water, stroking the fish tenderly, the other on her rounded belly.

Rose is tracing finger around her swollen stomach absentmindedly. She’s so tired. She wants nothing but to lie all day. She craves chips like nobody’s business. She smells tea tree oil at least three times a day because she likes the smell and for some unfathomable reason it helps to abate the nausea. She wants the Doctor to hug her. She doesn’t want the Doctor to hug her.

Rose wants to relax in the jump seat, watching her Doctor sexily tinker. She doesn’t want to see the Doctor because she knows he’s being smothered by her domesticity. Rose doesn’t want to smother the Doctor, doesn’t want to change him but she relishes in the feeling of homeliness setting into the Tardis these days. And he tries really hard not to get exasperated at her bouts of nesting.

She’s hot and she’s cold repeatedly and her feet are honking. None of her rings fit her fingers anymore. She cried about it for an hour, giving herself a splendid headache, hiccups that lasted for twenty minutes and a blotchy face. She also scared the Doctor nearly to the point of a hearts attack. He didn’t know what to do when he found her sobbing by her jewelry box. He just stood there, eyes wide open, surprised by the reason for her hysterics, lips in a thin line, careful with his words for once.

Yeah, no more harsh words and snappish comments. Rose wouldn’t tolerate that. Or she would but only with torrents of tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how many times she told herself not to be stupid and overly emotional.

Needless to say, the next day’s trip was to the small jewellery store in the 21st century market where the Doctor didn’t bother her for three full hours while she was perusing the jewellery stands in the shop (nothing fancy, nothing expensive, just your typical 21st century jewellery from cheap alloy in all shapes and colours).

Needless to say, the Doctor was thanked generously that evening. Rose baked him a banana pie and promptly fell asleep in their bedroom before the second, more intimate, part of the gratitude.

The Doctor smiled and hugged her to his side when she woke up next to him, reading, and hushed her sheepish apologies.

It goes without saying that the dancing that morning was splendid. In their bed. In the shower. And in the galley, too, where they broke the dish that held the last scrapes of the banana bread from the evening before.

Rose sighs and enjoys the sound of the water while humming a lullaby to her unborn child. The Doctor and her decided not to learn the gender of the babe, and the Tardis is the only one who knows because it’s the Tardis’s medbay where the Doctor monitors their child weekly. He is still worried because the pregnancy is the interspecies one, Rose can tell, but it’s been seven months already (out of twelve) and the risk of the foetus not surviving the pregnancy has passed.

Not that the Doctor is any less relaxed about it. Probably because of how the pregnancy treats Rose. It’s not awful, it’s not harmful to Rose, it’s not dangerous but it’s taxing both to her body and mind. She’s restless, lazy and weepy, her nesting instincts are through the roof and she’s bloody big . Rose was jeopardy-friendly, yes, but her body was always her trustiest assistant in life. She was fast, athletic, graceful because of her past in the gymnastics team.

Now, however, Rose is downright clumsy and inelegant. She trips and bumps into things. She can’t tie her own laces and if it wasn’t for the Doctor, she’d have hairy legs. He says that he doesn’t mind that, that it’s natural and he finds it annoying that humans try to get rid of things programmed into them by Nature and evolution but he helps Rose shave her legs when she tells him that it would make her feel more comfortable and attractive. Beautiful. Desirable.

The Doctor shows her just how desirable she is to him before they get to the razors in the bathroom drawers.

The baby kicks suddenly. Rose jumps, still not accustomed to the movements in her womb. It seems that the baby loves dancing as much as their father does. She smiles and coos at her belly, curling around it lovingly, protectively. She feels content knowing that the babe is fine and out of harm’s way in her womb. She doesn’t want to think about parting with the baby but she’s also so excited to meet the little one, to see their face. To kiss the chubby cheeks. To hold them tight in her embrace, to nurse them.

Most importantly, Rose wishes to place the precious burden wrapped in a blanket into the Doctor’s awaiting arms. She wishes to fill the emptiness in his mind, in his soul, in his hearts if only partially, by bringing another one of the Doctor’s kind into this world.

She’d give birth to a dozen of babies if he asked her to.

Rose cherishes the thought and tucks it away for another time. She’s young, she’s healthy, she’s got the Doctor’s skills and the best hospitals in all of Time and Space and the Doctor seems to be thrilled at having a baby of his own despite his initial distress and rejection to even accept the idea of becoming a father, again .

Yeah, Rose still remembers the shock that hit her like a tsunami wave when the Doctor confessed about being a father and a grandfather once. She remembers how her knees buckled and how frantic his voice sounded when he was fanning her face with his palms when the world tilted for a moment. Rose didn’t fancy the foolish beliefs that she was the one and only for the Doctor - it would have been ridiculous because the Doctor was over 900 years old. He must have had friends, companions, he must have loved, he must have had relationships before, maybe even marriage - but children! He had, and he lost, children!

Now that Rose is about to become a parent herself she can’t imagine living through something as traumatic and devastating as losing a child. She’d go mad if she were to lose her baby, even if she hadn’t actually met her baby yet.

Rose reckons that the Doctor went a little mad right after the Time War what with his suicidal tendencies and one-liners about his imminent death during their first meeting when the Nestene Consciousness tried to invade the Earth.

Rose doesn’t believe that she has healed her Doctor but she wants to believe that she gave him something worth living for, even if only a little.

Maybe the baby will make him feel less lonely.

***

The Doctor finds her by the pond after searching for an hour. He was worried but not too much because he was certain that the Tardis was hiding Rose’s location deliberately and the Ship would never do that if Rose was in danger or ill somehow. That only meant that Rose wanted to be alone, without his company.

While it was something he wanted when Rose and he had started travelling together, it was not what the Doctor wanted now. They were an item now, him and Rose, and she was carrying his child, and he didn’t like the thought of her avoiding him for any reason.

That was, of course, hypocritical of him to think so. He enjoyed the solitude greatly before meeting Rose and often during their initial travelling, so what if she needed some quality time alone every now and then? Especially with her confusing mood changes and thoughts about upcoming motherhood now.

Rose had all the right in the world to seek peace and quiet and enjoy time on her own.

But not if she felt like a burden, she didn’t.

And the Doctor is going to make sure Rose knows she is loved and appreciated even if he has to suffer through episodes of tears, even if the galley smells like oil and chips all of the time (the dish of the pregnancy, chips!), even if their shared bedroom is filled with fresh flower arrangements from many gardens on the Tardis.

Rose has been careful about spending too much time with him after the incident that happened two days ago.

It was about rose flower petals of all things possible to have a misunderstanding about.

***

Two days ago…

The Doctor steps into the bedroom Rose and he have been sharing for more than a year now and his smell senses are assaulted brutally by the flower perfume, heavy smell of scented candles and…are those rose petals on the floor?

Rose petals on the floor and the bedding. Candles on all possible surfaces. The sound of water running in the adjacent bathroom and the gentle singing shocks the Doctor to the core.

This is as domestic as it gets. All of this! Romance! Candles! A bath with bath oils! This…this…this is a mating ritual, the rose petals on the silken sheets, the future mother of his child, humming a sweet romantic song, gently swaying her hips and stroking her belly, waiting for the bath to be drawn, for the bubbles to cover the surface, for him, the father of her unborn child, to enter the ensuite. Rose has it all prepared for him: his favourite aftershave, his dark grey towels, the bottoms of his sleeping attire.

She went and prepared a whole relaxing ceremony for him, and he can’t breathe. The Doctor is overwhelmed by the sheer display of Rose’s feelings, of her caring for him. He feels trapped but not because he doesn’t like it but because he knows the feeling of losing what he values well, and what he lost in the past wasn’t as dear to his hearts as Rose and the baby are. Surely, he lost his family, he lost his home, his children but it was all somewhat cold-hued, obligatory, lacking true emotions.

Now, however, he knows what it is like to love, to cherish; the Doctor has learnt the taste of happiness, of hope.

The Doctor knows all too well that the Universe won’t be kind to him for a very long time. Something will happen, something awful, something tragic, and there will be no one in this Universe to wait for him to come back, to love him, to hold his hand.

The Doctor flinches when Rose’s warm palm lands on his forearm. He must have been lost in his anxieties for a long time.

“Doctor? Are you alright?” Rose’s voice is worried, soft, tentative.

He blinks furiously, willing the tears to stop and then does the only thing that comes to his mind.

He bolts.

Rose just stands there, shocked, shattered and crushed, feeling emptiness filling her already swollen limbs.

She is still numb when she switches off the water, when she puffs out the candles and she is properly unresponsive by the time she sweeps the floor with a broom, binning the rose petals from the blankets and crawling under the sheets. Rose hasn’t got the strength to cry. She falls into a restless sleep-like state only to awaken three hours later to the feeling of her stomach rolling and to the Doctor’s hands on her back soothing her while she retches.

They go to bed together that night and the night after that and the Doctor is as gentle and as attentive to her as he was ever since the start of their romantic involvement.

It’s Rose who’s reticent and careful now. She never wants to overstep the domestics line again.

***

Present time…

Honestly, he should have thought about the koi pond right away. Rose loves looking at the fish, she still can’t believe that the fish are willing to be petted by humans, unafraid of human violence, that they are so bright, like swirls of shining reds, oranges and silvers floating around in crystally clear water.

The colour palette of the koi fish reminds the Doctor of Gallifrey, he notices with a tinge in his hearts, but he absolutely doesn’t mention that to Rose in fear of her crying inconsolably over his lost home. Rassilon knows there are so many reasons for Rose to cry now that she is pregnant and overly sensitive because of the ballistic cocktail of human and Gallifreyan hormones coursing through her blood.

Not that the Doctor dares to mention Rose’s mood swings to her. He’d never. He values this regeneration’s body quite much because somehow it is good enough to attract a woman like Rose Tyler. The Doctor still can’t understand the how or the why of the nature of Rose’s attraction to him but he can be sure at least that it’s not just his looks that draw Rose to him. There is, certainly, the fact that he is an alien and owns an impressive Time Ship but the Doctor notices that Rose rarely asks to visit a destination of her own choice, trusting him to find somewhere to land be it to save the day, to have an educating excursion, to relax or to shop for the Tardis parts. Rose has been guarded ever since the trip to see her father, and the Doctor was to blame for that, too.

Rose tries to make it perfectly clear to him that she’s happy to be his companion, that she’ll ask for nothing that will be selfish or harmful to the timelines of the Universe.

The Doctor values that as well, the fact that Rose has never used him for her own gain.

Still, it is a miracle that Rose loves him at all for who he is. Especially when he’s acting like an unstable moody bastard.

The Doctor stops in the doorway leading to the garden when he sees Rose lying on the tiles, cooing at the baby. He smiles crookedly and comes closer, leaning over her relaxed body to clasp her little hand in the water with his one.

Rose hums lazily and arches her back a little when he pulls her to a sitting position and starts kneading her back. She moans pornographically when his hands go to massage her neck and the Doctor chuckles heartily. It’s obvious that Rose is content to stay right there on the tiles of the fountain but he stands and tugs her into a standing position.

The Doctor leads Rose to their bedroom, his palms covering her eyes for a surprise effect. She’s trembling in anticipation and he feels excited and worried at the same time.

The Doctor hopes that Rose won’t fret when she sees the surprise.

He opens the door to their bedroom, carefully leads Rose into it, noticing her elevated heartbeat and irregular breathing. He kisses her head and removes his hands from her eyes.

Rose gasps and whirls around to look at him. The Doctor decides to forgo the words and kisses her palm, looking at Rose through his lashes.

Rose’s heart flutters as she stares at the Doctor’s electric blue eyes and she swallows hard, recognising the foreplay to the oldest dance in the Universe.

***

By the time they end up in the scented bath after three rounds of fulfilling love-making Rose has no doubts about the Doctor’s attitude to domestics with her.

They laugh and throw rose petals at each other after they crawl under the silken sheets and Rose falls asleep, pleasantly tired, to the sound of the Doctor’s voice reading passages from the Intergalactic Children’s Fairy Tales Book.

The end.

[carelessannie]

To my Spidershield anons,

I see you.

I’m here for you.

And I’ve got something coming very soon.

Love,

Annie

[valianthunts]

‘‘I hope I ain’t disturbin’ you--- I’m sorry... I jus’ can’t sleep.’‘ @fleewest || SC.